Sacred and Profane Love | Page 7

evening, as I have felt sure since, that Chopin himself,
aristocrat of the soul as he was, would have received Diaz as an equal, might even have
acknowledged in him a superior. For Diaz had a physique, and he had a mastery, a
tyranny, of the keyboard that Chopin could not have possessed. Diaz had come to the
front in a generation of pianists who had lifted technique to a plane of which neither Liszt
nor Rubinstein dreamed. He had succeeded primarily by his gigantic and incredible
technique. And then, when his technique had astounded the world, he had invited the
world to forget it, as the glass is forgotten through which is seen beauty. And Diaz's gift
was now such that there appeared to intervene nothing between his conception of the
music and the strings of the piano, so perfected was the mechanism. Difficulties had
ceased to exist.
The performance of some pianists is so wonderful that it seems as if they were crossing
Niagara on a tight-rope, and you tremble lest they should fall off. It was not so with Diaz.
When Diaz played you experienced the pure emotions caused by the unblurred
contemplation of that beauty which the great masters had created, and which Diaz had
tinted with the rare dyes of his personality. You forgot all but beauty. The piano was not
a piano; it was an Arabian magic beyond physical laws, and it, too, had a soul.

So Diaz laid upon us the enchantment of Chopin and of himself. Mazurkas, nocturnes,
waltzes, scherzos, polonaises, preludes, he exhibited to us in groups those manifestations
of that supreme spirit--that spirit at once stern and tender, not more sad than joyous, and
always sane, always perfectly balanced, always preoccupied with beauty. The singular
myth of a Chopin decadent, weary, erratic, mournful, hysterical, at odds with fate, was
completely dissipated; and we perceived instead the grave artist nourished on Bach and
studious in form, and the strong soul that had dared to look on life as it is, and had found
beauty everywhere. Ah! how the air trembled and glittered with visions! How melody
and harmony filled every corner of the hall with the silver and gold of sound! How the
world was changed out of recognition! How that which had seemed unreal became real,
and that which had seemed real receded to a horizon remote and fantastic!...
He was playing the fifteenth Prelude in D flat now, and the water was dropping, dropping
ceaselessly on the dead body, and the beautiful calm song rose serenely in the dream, and
then lost itself amid the presaging chords of some sinister fate, and came again, exquisite
and fresh as ever, and then was interrupted by a high note like a clarion; and while Diaz
held that imperious, compelling note, he turned his face slightly from the piano and gazed
at me. Several times since the first time our eyes had met, by accident as I thought. But
this was a deliberate seeking on his part. Again I flushed hotly. Again I had the terrible
shudder of joy. I feared for a moment lest all the Five Towns was staring at me, thus
singled out by Diaz; but it was not so: I had the wit to perceive that no one could remark
me as the recipient of that hurried and burning glance. He had half a dozen bars to play,
yet his eyes did not leave mine, and I would not let mine leave his. He remained
moveless while the last chord expired, and then it seemed to me that his gaze had gone
further, had passed through me into some unknown. The applause startled him to his feet.
My thought was: 'What can he be thinking of me?... But hundreds of women must have
loved him!'
In the interval an attendant came on to the platform and altered the position of the piano.
Everybody asked: 'What's that for?' For the new position was quite an unusual one; it
brought the tail of the piano nearer to the audience, and gave a better view of the
keyboard to the occupants of the seats in the orchestra behind the platform. 'It's a question
of the acoustics, that's what it is,' observed a man near me, and a woman replied: 'Oh, I
see!'
When Diaz returned and seated himself to play the Berceuse, I saw that he could look at
me without turning his head. And now, instead of flushing, I went cold. My spine gave
way suddenly. I began to be afraid; but of what I was afraid I had not the least idea. I
fixed my eyes on my programme as he launched into the Berceuse. Twice I glanced up,
without, however, moving my head, and each time his burning blue