she left the room.
Outside, a spring breeze stirred the smaller branches of the century-old oaks on the castle grounds and rippled the surface of the nearby Thames. Across the river, the students of venerable Eton College were sleeping soundly, never suspecting that their haughty sovereign, in emulation of several high society ladies, was giving herself over to making tables move.
On July 25, 1876, Albani was welcomed onto the stage of the Royal Albert Hall. The curtain rose, and amid thundering applause, the diva stepped forward. She glanced up at the royal box. Her friend Victoria was there, surrounded by members of her family. Emma's eyes filled with tears as she was warmed by the thought, “The Queen appreciates me; I have conquered!”
On the following day, the soprano received a letter from Victoria's secretary:
Buckingham Palace,
July 26, 1876
The Queen asked me to write you to tell you how much Her Majesty was enchanted by your singing last night at the Royal Albert Hall. The Queen affirms that it was perfect and that Her Majesty was able to distinguish every note of your splendid voice. I regret very much not to have had the time to visit you, as the Queen returns to Windsor today, but I am certain that you will be happy to know how much the Queen appreciated you and that it was such a success.
Believe me, sincerely yours,
Jane Ely
The friendship between Emma Albani and Queen Victoria was not a recent development. The two women had met two years earlier in the British capital.
At the beginning of the summer of 1874, the young operatic soprano, Emma Lajeunesse, alias Emma Albani, was attracting considerable attention in England. The Queen had been intrigued to hear of this young Canadian singer, already an opera star – the first from the colonies to have achieved such a notable success in Europe – and wanted to meet her. For Emma, her first introduction to Victoria was unforgettable. Ever afterwards, she would recall it in sharp detail.
On June 24, 1876, a coach emblazoned with the royal arms stopped in front of the Cavendish Hotel in London. This was where Emma Albani was staying with her sister Cornélia, or “Nelly,” and their father, Joseph Lajeunesse – who had taken to calling himself Monsieur de St. Louis to fit in with the aristocratic entourage of his celebrated daughter.
“A letter from Her Majesty, the Queen,” announced the royal messenger, handing over a sealed envelope. The two sisters were struck dumb. To examine the contents of the missive, they took it into the drawing room of their suite.
This room was furnished with well-padded poufs, ornate ebony chests of drawers, gracefully gathered striped drapes, and large plant stands inlaid with oriental motifs. On the walls were several landscape paintings depicting bucolic country scenes. Here, the grand piano occupied the place of honour, taking up the centre of the room; it was graced by a photograph of Tsar Alexander II, in a frame studded with diamonds and incorporating the imperial eagle of the Romanoffs. A flattering dedication to Miss Albani was written on the photograph itself. In a second gilt frame was a portrait of Maman at the piano in the Lajeunesse home in Chambly. A group portrait showed little Emma and Cornélia with their father, and various other mounted photographs commemorated triumphs of Emma's career in the opera houses of Messina, Malta, and London. This souvenir gallery was completed by a number of original sketches of opera sets and costumes.
Emma opened the envelope and caught her breath.
“The Queen has invited me to sing for her at Windsor Castle! What will Papa say?” she asked Cornélia, while prancing in delight, her eyes aglow. “And what will I wear?”
“Your white dress,” Cornélia answered promptly. “With the Valenciennes lace bodice, and Maman's cameo. Wear it around your neck on a cerise velvet ribbon. It will be your lucky charm.”
“And you'll wear your dove-grey dress. You'll carry my scores and accompany me on the piano, as usual.”
“As usual!” parroted Cornélia.
A long week passed.
On the afternoon of July 1, the clock in the entrance hall of the hotel suite chimed three o'clock. The two sisters took the lift downstairs; the swaying little elevator frightened them but they felt that they should get used to this new invention. Their hearts were beating fast: they were on their way to meet the Queen of England! Outside the hotel, they hailed a cab.
“To Windsor Castle!” Emma ordered proudly.
“Yes'm,” was the plump cabby's unruffled response.
The city was resplendent on that sunny summer afternoon. The parks were at their greenest, and roses bloomed riotously against the brick walls of the town houses in the better sections of London. Imposing pillared façades paraded by like a row of postcards. Elegant ladies strolled languidly along the sidewalks, their magnolia complexions protected from the sun by light-coloured parasols. Hawkers, vendors, and other working people ran across the paths of moving vehicles and crowded onto tramways covered with advertisements.
“Thank goodness it's not raining!” remarked Cornélia, adding, “Summers at home are so much nicer!”
“That's true, Nelly, but there's no opera house worthy of the name at home,” replied her sister. “I can't imagine going back to live there.”
“But it's our country, Emma. You seem to forget that we're French Canadian!”
They were nearing their destination. Emma had butterflies in her stomach. At the palace gates, a soldier on guard stopped them. “Her Majesty is expecting us,” said Emma, holding out her invitation. The wrought-iron barrier slid up and the carriage proceeded. At the entrance of the castle, a bevy of servants received the sisters and escorted them along interminable corridors.
In the royal library they were met by a lady-in-waiting to the Queen. Victoria soon appeared and was greeted by a double curtsey.
“We welcome you,” she said. “This is Dame Lady Erroll, my lady-in-waiting.”
“We are very much honoured, Your Majesty,” answered Emma. “Allow me to introduce my sister, Cornélia Lajeunesse, who is also my accompanist.”
“We are pleased to receive such a beautiful artiste,” said the Queen with a charming smile.
Another lady was announced; her appearance provoked a spontaneous exclamation of delight from the Lajeunesse sisters.
“Mrs. Rich – you! – here!” cried Emma.
“Her Majesty did me the honour of inviting me, as I am Lady Erroll's sister, and because we three were acquainted in Malta,” explained Mrs. Rich.
The happy effusions over, tea arrived and every-one was seated. The silver tea service sparkled. Sandwiches and the traditional scones lay on a laddered tray of flowered porcelain.
The conversation quickly became a friendly dialogue between the Queen and the young singer, with Lady Erroll, Mrs. Rich, and Cornélia looking on.
“How did you find Russia, my child?” asked the sovereign.
“What
