Sacred and Profane Love | Page 9

concern of mankind; that if a thousand suffered in order to make him
happy for a moment, it mattered not; that laws were not for him; that if he sinned, his sin
must not be called a sin, and that he must be excused from remorse and from any manner
of woe.
The applauding multitude stood up, and moved slightly towards the exits, and then
stopped, as if ashamed of this readiness to desert the sacred temple. Diaz came forward
three times, and each time the applause increased to a tempest; but he only
smiled--smiled gravely. I could not see distinctly whether his eyes had sought mine, for
mine were full of tears. No persuasions could induce him to show himself a fourth time,
and at length a middle-aged man appeared and stated that Diaz was extremely gratified
by his reception, but that he was also extremely exhausted and had left the hall.
We departed, we mortals; and I was among the last to leave the auditorium. As I left the
lights were being extinguished over the platform, and an attendant was closing the piano.
The foyer was crowded with people waiting to get out. The word passed that it was
raining heavily. I wondered how I should find my cab. I felt very lonely and unknown; I
was overcome with sadness--with a sense of the futility and frustration of my life. Such is
the logic of the soul, and such the force of reaction. Gradually the foyer emptied.

III
'You think I am happy,' said Diaz, gazing at me with a smile suddenly grave; 'but I am
not. I seek something which I cannot find. And my playing is only a relief from the
fruitless search; only that. I am forlorn.'
'You!' I exclaimed, and my eyes rested on his, long.
Yes, we had met. Perhaps it had been inevitable since the beginning of time that we
should meet; but it was none the less amazing. Perhaps I had inwardly known that we
should meet; but, none the less, I was astounded when a coated and muffled figure came
up swiftly to me in the emptying foyer, and said: 'Ah! you are here! I cannot leave
without thanking you for your sympathy. I have never before felt such sympathy while
playing.' It was a golden voice, pitched low, and the words were uttered with a very slight
foreign accent, which gave them piquancy. I could not reply; something rose in my throat,
and the caressing voice continued: 'You are pale. Do you feel ill? What can I do? Come
with me to the artists' room; my secretary is there.' I put out a hand gropingly, for I could
not see clearly, and I thought I should reel and fall. It touched his shoulder. He took my
arm, and we went; no one had noticed us, and I had not spoken a word. In the room to
which he guided me, through a long and sombre corridor, there was no sign of a secretary.

I drank some water. 'There, you are better!' he cried. 'Thank you,' I said, but scarcely
whispering. 'How fortunate I ventured to come to you just at that moment! You might
have fallen'; and he smiled again. I shook my head. I said: 'It was your
coming--that--that--made me dizzy!' 'I profoundly regret--' he began. 'No, no,' I
interrupted him; and in that instant I knew I was about to say something which society
would, justifiably, deem unpardonable in a girl situated as I was. 'I am so glad you came';
and I smiled, courageous and encouraging. For once in my life--for the first time in my
adult life--I determined to be my honest self to another. 'Your voice is exquisitely
beautiful,' he murmured. I thrilled.
Of what use to chronicle the steps, now halting, now only too hasty, by which our
intimacy progressed in that gaunt and echoing room? He asked me no questions as to my
identity. He just said that he would like to play to me in private if that would give me
pleasure, and that possibly I could spare an hour and would go with him.... Afterwards his
brougham would be at my disposal. His tone was the perfection of deferential courtesy.
Once the secretary came in--a young man rather like himself--and they talked together in
a foreign language that was not French nor German; then the secretary bowed and
retired.... We were alone.... There can be no sort of doubt that unless I was prepared to
flout the wisdom of the ages, I ought to have refused his suggestion. But is not the
wisdom of the ages a medicine for majorities? And, indeed, I was prepared to flout it, as
in our highest and our lowest moments we often are. Moreover,