I remember discussing the subject with His Majesty on one occasion when we were entertained at the Palace prior to my departure. I had asked (and received) permission for rather an unusual amount of leave of absence, and the Intendant, who usually conveyed such a request to His Majesty on my behalf, said this time he really did not have the courage to ask again so soon. "Very well," said I laughingly, "I will ask him myself, to spare you the embarrassment." "But why should you wish to leave Berlin?" inquired the Kaiser. "We are glad to have you with us; we admire you; we love you. What more can you gain elsewhere?" "Pardon me, Your Majesty," I replied gayly. "Already I have become accustomed as a spoiled prima donna of luxurious habits to ride in automobiles, and I don't wish to have to walk when I am an old lady and when this" (touching my throat significantly) "has ceased to interest the public. In the words of the great Napoleon, Your Majesty, 'Beyond the Alps lies Italy.' Yes, and there is a white chateau by the sea where the golden shower is just waiting to be coaxed into my pockets. May I not then go and sing a little among the palms and the flowers?" I went. * * * * * Ah, that first rehearsal of "Boheme" in Monte Carlo, in March, 1904! I was introduced for the first time to a tenor of whom I had never heard before. He was somewhat stout, not over-tall, but with a wonderful voice and a winning smile. His name was Enrico Caruso. It was his debut in Monte Carlo. He had sung in Milan, in South America, and the preceding winter in New York. But he had not then attained even a small part of his present great fame. At this first rehearsal in Monte Carlo an interested listener was Jean de Reszke, who was kind enough to say that he remembered me as the little Boston girl who had sung for him some years previously, and that he was delighted to see that I was meeting with the success he had predicted. [Illustration: ENRICO CARUSO] My Monte Carlo debut occurred on the night of March 10, 1904. Although I had rehearsed with Caruso, the tenor had never used his voice fully at the rehearsals, and on the night of the actual performance, when I heard those rich and glorious tones rise above the orchestra, I was literally stricken dumb with amazement and admiration. I forgot that I, too, was making a debut, that I was on the stage of the Opera House, until the conductor, Vigna, rapped sharply with his baton to bring me back to my senses. Then I put forth every ounce of strength to match if possible that marvelous voice singing opposite to me. I copy the following extract _verbatim_ from my diary of that night:-- Tremendous reception on my debut. After the third act, and in full view of the audience, Caruso lifted me bodily and carried me to my dressing-room in the general wave of enthusiasm.