Sacred and Profane Love | Page 6

was guiltily alone. Every fibre of my
body throbbed with the daring and the danger and the romance of the adventure. The
horror of revealing the truth to Aunt Constance, as I was bound to do--of telling her that I
had lied, and that I had left my maiden's modesty behind in my bedroom, gripped me at
intervals like some appalling and exquisite instrument of torture. And yet, ere Diaz had
touched the piano with his broad white hand, I was content, I was rewarded, and I was
justified.
The programme began with Chopin's first Ballade.
There was an imperative summons, briefly sustained, which developed into an appeal and
an invocation, ascending, falling, and still higher ascending, till it faded and expired, and
then, after a little pause, was revived; then silence, and two chords, defining and
clarifying the vagueness of the appeal and the invocation. And then, almost before I was
aware of it, there stole forth from under the fingers of Diaz the song of the soul of man,
timid, questioning, plaintive, neither sad nor joyous, but simply human, seeking what it
might find on earth. The song changed subtly from mood to mood, expressing that which
nothing but itself could express; and presently there was a low and gentle menace, thrice
repeated under the melody of the song, and the reply of the song was a proud cry, a
haughty contempt of these furtive warnings, and a sudden winged leap into the empyrean
towards the Eternal Spirit. And then the melody was lost in a depth, and the song became
turgid and wild and wilder, hysteric, irresolute, frantically groping, until at last it found
its peace and its salvation. And the treasure was veiled in a mist of arpeggios, but one by
one these were torn away, and there was a hush, a pause, and a preparation; and the soul
of man broke into a new song of what it had found on earth--the magic of the tenderness
of love--an air so caressing and so sweet, so calmly happy and so mournfully sane, so
bereft of illusions and so naïve, that it seemed to reveal in a few miraculous phrases the
secret intentions of God. It was too beautiful; it told me too much about myself; it
vibrated my nerves to such an unbearable spasm of pleasure that I might have died had I
not willed to live.... It gave place momentarily to the song of the question and the search,

but only to return, and to return again, with a more thrilling and glorious assurance. It
was drowned in doubt, but it emerged triumphantly, covered with noble and delicious
ornaments, and swimming strongly on mysterious waves. And finally, with speed and
with fire, it was transformed and caught up into the last ecstasy, the ultimate passion. The
soul swept madly between earth and heaven, fell, rose; and there was a dreadful halt.
Then a loud blast, a distortion of the magic, an upward rush, another and a louder blast,
and a thunderous fall, followed by two massive and terrifying chords....
Diaz was standing up and bowing to his public. What did they understand? Did they
understand anything? I cannot tell. But I know that they felt. A shudder of feeling had
gone through the hall. It was in vain that people tried to emancipate themselves from the
spell by the violence of their applause. They could not. We were all together under the
enchantment. Some may have seen clearly, some darkly, but we were equal before the
throne of that mighty enchanter. And the enchanter bowed and bowed with a grave,
sympathetic smile, and then disappeared. I had not clapped my hands; I had not moved.
Only my full eyes had followed him as he left the platform; and when he
returned--because the applause would not cease--my eyes watched over him as he came
back to the centre of the platform. He stood directly in front of me, smiling more gaily
now. And suddenly our glances met! Yes; I could not be mistaken. They met, and mine
held his for several seconds.... Diaz had looked at me. Diaz had singled me out from the
crowd. I blushed hotly, and I was conscious of a surpassing joy. My spirit was
transfigured. I knew that such a man was above kings. I knew that the world and
everything of loveliness that it contained was his. I knew that he moved like a beautiful
god through the groves of delight, and that what he did was right, and whom he beckoned
came, and whom he touched was blessed. And my eyes had held his eyes for a little
space.
The enchantment deepened. I had read that the secret of playing Chopin had died with
Chopin; but I felt sure that