Queen Alexandra was accompanied by Lady Gray, her great friend, and the hereditary princess of Greece.  After M. Hollman and I had played a duet, she expressed a desire to hear me play alone.  As I attempted to lift the lid of the piano, she stepped forward to help me raise it before the maids of honor could intervene.  After this slight concert she delivered to each of us, in her own name and in that of the absent king, a gold medal commemorative of artistic merit, and she offered us a cup of tea which she poured with her royal and imperial hands.

Other queens have also received me—­Queen Christine of Spain and Queen Amelie of Portugal.  After Queen Christine had heard me play on the piano, she expressed a desire to hear me play the organ, and they chose for this an excellent instrument made by Cavaille-Coll in a church whose name I have forgotten.  The day was fixed for this ceremony, which would naturally have been of a private character, when some great ladies lectured the indiscreet queen for daring to resort to a sacred place for any purpose besides taking part in divine services.  The queen was displeased by this remonstrance and she responded by coming to the church not only not incognito, but in great state, with the king (he was very young), the ministers and the court, while horsemen stationed at intervals blew their trumpets.  I had written a religious march especially for this event, and the Queen kindly accepted its dedication to her.  I was a little flustered when she asked me to play the too familiar melody from Samson et Dalila which begins Mon coeur s’ouvre a ta voix.  I had to improvise a transposition suited for the organ, something I had never dreamt of doing.  During the performance the Queen leaned her elbow on the keyboard of the organ, her chin resting on one hand and her eyes upturned.  She seemed rapt in exstasy which, as may be imagined, was not precisely displeasing to the author.

The press of the day printed delightful articles about the scene, but with no pretense to accuracy.  I had nothing to do with that in any way.

Her Majesty Queen Amelie of Portugal once honored me in a distinctive manner.  She received me alone without any of her ladies of honor, which allowed her to dispense with all etiquette and to have me sit in a chair near her.  In this intimate way she entertained me for three-quarters of an hour asking questions on all sorts of subjects.  I had the chance to tell her how the oriental theme of the ballet in Samson had been given to me years before by General Yusuf, and to give her many details of that interesting personage of whom she had heard her uncles speak.

“I am going to leave you,” she said at last, “but not because I want to.  If one conscientiously practices the metier of being a queen, one doesn’t always find it amusing.”

What would that unhappy woman have said, could she have foreseen the calamities that were to befall her!