Miss Andrien was remarkably beautiful. She was fifteen; her talent as a pianist had already won her a first prize at the Conservatory. She was just the companion, wise and devoted, to counterbalance the flights of imagination and the momentary transports inherent in the temperament of many artists.
I pause, fearing to wound a modesty which I know to be very sensitive: the living cannot bear praise with the indifference of the dead; but I must be allowed to insist upon the valuable assistance which the young wife lent her husband in his professional duties; this is a special part of my subject.
Mme. Delsarte started with a genuine talent. The situation in which she was placed, soon made her a perfect accompanist. Never was there more perfect harmony between singer and player. Amid the incessant interruptions necessary to a lesson, the piano never lagged a second either in stopping or in going on again. The note fell promptly, identical with the first note of the piece under study. To attain to this obedient precision, one must possess indomitable patience, must be willing to be utterly effaced. Delsarte appreciated this self-denial in proportion to the merit of her who practiced it.
In everything that concerned him, he relied especially upon the opinion of his accompanist; he felt her to be an abler and more serious judge than the most of those around him. But--with the shy reserve of merit unacknowledged even to itself,--the young woman shrank from expressing her impressions. If I may judge by the anecdote which follows, the artist was at times distressed by this.
One day Delsarte, granting one of those favors of which he was never lavish, consented to sing a composition of which he was particularly fond, to a few friends. It was the air from Méhul's "Joseph:" "Vainly doth Pharaoh ..."
Mme. Delsarte, always ready at the first call, took her seat at the piano.
The master was in the mood--that is, in full possession of all his powers. His pathos was heartrending.
"You won a great triumph," I said to him; "I saw tears in Mme. Delsarte's eyes."
"My wife's eyes," he cried as if struck by surprise, "are you quite sure?"
"Perfectly," I replied.