Bach did not founder on this rock. His soaring genius attended an equally ardent industry which incessantly impelled him, whenever he found his own equipment insufficient, to seek guidance from others. Vivaldi and his Concertos were the first from whom he sought counsel. From them he turned to the principal Organ and Clavier composers of the period. Nothing is more intellectually stimulating than counterpoint, and the composers Bach studied were distinguished by their mastery of it, as their fugal writing attests. Hence Bach’s diligent study and imitation of them pointed his taste and imagination to perceive wherein himself was lacking and what steps were needed to take him farther in his art. A second rock upon which genius often comes to grief is the public’s undiscriminating applause. To be sure, I do not undervalue public approval or commend without reserve the remark of a Greek teacher to his pupil, “You performed badly, otherwise the audience would not have applauded you.” Yet it is none the less true that many artists are thrown off their balance by exaggerated and often unmerited plaudits, particularly in their early careers before they have acquired self-discipline and sound judgment. The public merely asks for what it can understand, whereas the true artist ought to aim at an achievement which cannot be measured by popular standards. How, then, can popular applause be reconciled with the true artist’s aspirations towards the ideal? Bach never sought applause, and held with Schiller: Kannst du nicht allen gefallen durch deine That und dein Kunstwerk, Mach’ es wenigen recht; vielen gefallen ist schlimm.(326) Like every true artist, Bach worked to please himself in his own way, obeying the summons of his own genius, choosing his own subjects, and finding satisfaction only in the approval of his own judgment. He could count on the applause of all who understood good music, and never failed to receive it. Under what other conditions can sound works of art emerge? The composer who debases his muse to the popular mood either lacks real genius or, having it, abuses it. For to catch the ear of the public is not a difficult task and merely connotes an agreeable facility. Composers of that class are like artisans who frankly fashion their goods to suit their market. But Bach never condescended to such artifices. The artist, in his judgment, is the dictator of public taste, not its slave. If, as often happened, he was asked to write something simple for the Clavier he would answer, “I will do what I can.” He would choose an easy theme. But when he began to develop it he always found so much to say that the piece soon became anything but simple. If his attention was drawn to the fact, he would answer smilingly, “Practise it well and you will find it quite easy. You have as many good fingers on each hand as I have.” Nor was he prompted in this by mere contradictoriness, but exhibited the true artist spirit.