I had
the honor to be her regular accompanist both at the organ and the piano.

But this passionate lover of song was an all-round musician. She played
the piano admirably, and when she was among friends she overcame the
greatest difficulties. Before her Thursday audiences, however, she
limited herself to chamber music, with a special preference for Henri
Reber's duets for the piano and the violin. These delicate, artistic
works are unknown to the amateurs of to-day. They seem to prefer to the
pure juice of the grape in crystal glasses poisonous potions in cups of
gold. They must have orgies, sumptuous ceilings, a deadly luxury. They
do not understand the poet who sings, _"O rus, quando te aspiciam!"_
They do not appreciate the great distinction of simplicity. Reber's muse
is not for them.

Madame Viardot was as learned a musician as any one could be and she was
among the first subscribers to the complete edition of Sebastian Bach's
works. We know what an astounding revelation that work was. Each year
brought ten religious cantatas, and each year brought us new surprises
in the unexpected variety and impressiveness of the work. We thought we
had known Sebastian Bach, but now we learned how really to know him. We
found him a writer of unusual versatility and a great poet. His
_Wohltemperirte Klavier_ had given us only a hint of all this. The
beauties of this famous work needed exposition for, in the absence of
definite instructions, opinions differed. In the cantatas the meaning of
the words serves as an indication and through the analogy between the
forms of expression, it is easy to see pretty clearly what the author
intended in his _Klavier_ pieces.

One fine day the annual volume was found to contain a cantata in several
parts written for a contralto solo accompanied by stringed instruments,
oboes and an organ obligato. The organ was there and the organist as
well. So we assembled the instruments, Stockhausen, the baritone, was
made the leader of the little orchestra, and Madame Viardot sang the
cantata. I suspect that the author had never heard his work sung in any
such manner. I cherish the memory of that day as one of the most
precious in my musical career. My mother and M. Viardot were the only
listeners to this exceptional exhibition. We did not dare to repeat it
before hearers who were not ready for it. What would now be a great
success would have fallen flat at that time. And nothing is more
irritating than