When she left off playing she remained for a moment with uplifted head
and eyes, lips slightly parted, and face very pale. And it was not
a mere concert effect, it was real inspiration and forgetfulness of
self.
There was a great hush in that crowd, as if they expected something,
or were benumbed by sorrow, or tried to catch the last echo of sobbing
despair, carried away by a wind from the other world.
Presently there happened what probably never happened in a concert
room before. A great tumult arose, and such an outcry as if a
catastrophe were threatening the whole audience. Several musicians
and reporters approached the platform. I saw their heads bowed over
Clara's hands, she had tears on her eyelashes, her face looked still
inspired, but calm and serene. I went with the others to press her
hands.
From the first moment of our acquaintance Clara had always addressed
me in French; now for the first time, returning the pressure of my
hand, she said in German:
"Haben Sie mich verstanden?"
"Ja," I replied, "und ich war sehr ungluecklich!" And it was true.
The continuation of the concert was one great triumph. After the
performance Sniatynski and his wife carried Clara off to their house.
I had no wish to go there. When I reached home, I felt so tired that
without undressing I threw myself upon the sofa, and remained there an
hour without moving, yet not asleep.
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