spots.... Flowers, verdure, streamlets, all united to form a picture
of perfect harmony. There, without being fatigued, I seated myself
mechanically on a fragment of rock, and fell into so profound a reverie
that I seemed to forget that I was upon earth. While sitting thus,
sounds broke on my ear which were sometimes of a hurried, sometimes of
a prolonged and sustained character, and were repeated in softened tones
by the echoes around. I found they proceeded from a mountain-horn; and
their effect was heightened by a plaintive female voice. Struck as if
by enchantment, I started from my dreams, listened with breathless
attention, and learned, or rather engraved upon my memory, the 'Ranz des
Vaches' which I send you. In order to understand all its beauties, you
ought to be transplanted to the scene in which I heard it, and to
feel all the enthusiasm that such a moment inspired." It was a similar
delightful experience which, according to Rossini's statement, first
suggested to that great composer his immortal opera, "Guillaume Tell."

Among many interesting anecdotes current of Viotti, and one which
admirably shows his goodness of heart and quickness of resource, is one
narrated by Ferdinand Langlé to Adolph Adam, the French composer. The
father of the former, Marie Langlé, a professor of harmony in the French
Conservatoire, was an intimate friend of Viotti, and one charming summer
evening the twain were strolling on the Champs Élysées. They sat down on
a retired bench to enjoy the calmness of the night, and became buried
in reverie. But they were brought back to prosaic matters harshly by a
babel of discordant noises that grated on the sensitive ears of the two
musicians. They started from their seats, and Viotti said:

"It can't be a violin, and yet there is some resemblance to one."

"Nor a clarionet," suggested Langlé, "though it is something like it."