ween
their teeth, and carried me where I did not wish to go. This was
nothing but a disease of the will. But it is a feminine disease, not
a masculine one. Is it to be wondered at that I act as an hysterical
woman? It is a misfortune I brought with me into the world, to which
whole generations have contributed their share, as also the conditions
of life in which we exist.

The shaking myself thus free from all responsibility did not give me
any relief. When I arrived at Warsaw I intended to call upon Clara,
but was prevented by a severe headache; which got better towards
evening before my aunt came up.

She found me already dressed, and we drove together to the concert,
which was a great success. Clara's fame had attracted the whole
musical and intelligent world, and the charitable purpose the
aristocratic circles. I saw many people there I knew, among them
Sniatynski and his wife. The concert room was crowded. But I was out
of humor, and everything irritated me. I do not know why, but I felt
afraid Clara's performance would be a failure. When she appeared on
the platform a programme clung to the folds of her dress; I thought it
would make her appear ridiculous. She herself in full evening dress
seemed to me more like a stranger than a friend. I involuntarily asked
myself whether it was the same Clara I was so intimate with. When
the hearty applause had ceased she sat down to the piano, and I
acknowledged to myself that she had a noble and artistic presence,
full of simplicity and quite free of any affectation. On all
faces there was the concentrated attention of people who have no
understanding of art, but like to pass for connoisseurs and judges.
She played Mendelssohn's concerto, which I know by heart,--but whether
it was the thought that much was expected from her, or that the
unusually enthusiastic reception had moved her, she played worse
than I had ever heard her. I was sorry for it and looked at her with
astonishment; our eyes met for a moment. The expression of my face put
the final touch to her confusion, and I heard a few dim notes without
force or expression. I was quite sure now she would fail. Never had
the piano, with its lack of continuity, its sound smothered by the
acoustic properties of the room, seemed to me a more miserable
instrument. At times it seemed as if I heard the sharp, staccato
sounds of a harp. Presently Clara recovered her self-possession, but
upon the whole I thought she had played b