I recall that later on I had to re-write the whole work at the request of several provincial houses so that it might be played as they wished. The manuscript of the score (only the entr'acte was engraved) was burned in the fire of May, 1887, as was my first work.
An invincible secret power directed my life.
I was invited to dine at the house of Mme. Pauline Viardot, the sublime lyric tragedienne. In the course of the evening I was asked to play a little music.
I was taken unawares and I began to sing a bit from my sacred drama Marie Magdeleine.
Although I had no voice, at that age I had a good deal of go in the manner of singing my music. Now, I speak it, and in spite of the insufficiency of my vocal powers, my artists get what I mean.
I was singing, if I may say so, when Mme. Pauline Viardot leaned over the keyboard and said with an accent of emotion never to be forgotten,
"What is that?"
"Marie Magdeleine," I told her, "a work of my youth which I never even hope to put on."
"What? Well, it shall be and I will be your Mary Magdalene."
I at once sang again the scene of Magdalene at the Cross: