III.
Berlin, 30th March, 1829.
After long residence in the north, I arrived here at half-past eight in the evening.
“What is there at the theatre to-night?” said I to the butler.
“Nothing of consequence. But you should go to the concert, mein Herr. A violin player—”
“I have had enough of violin players.”
“But this one is a wonder. The critic, Rellstab, writes his pen to the stump in praises of him. Look here, in the paper.”
“Very well. What is the name of the wonderful performer so praised by the critic?”
“His name? I will tell you in a moment. It has just escaped me. An Italian—”
“An Italian?”
“Yes. It begins with a P.”
“A P? I must go instantly to the concert. Where will I find a ticket?”
“Over the way. I do not think you can procure any now elsewhere.”
I hastened to get one.
The concert hall was so crowded that I could not get in, but was forced to remain outside with many others. The tutti of the last composition was ended; the solo—a pollacca—began.
“’Tis he, or none!” cried I. “I have heard those tones before; they are unforgotten, deep in my heart. But what a miracle! Do two play, or three? That I have never heard. I will not trust my ear. If I might but see him—only one look! In vain: the crowd presses the door too closely. I will, at least, lose not one note.”
The performer ceased. A thunderburst of applause shook the building. I pressed forward and strove to get a sight of him; others, equally eager, pushed before me: I was again disappointed. What thoughts swelled in my heart! I waited with impatience to hear him begin once more. At last——. “Now he plays on the G string,” said some one near me. He began. Is it possible? That was the very melody I heard in prison! Those were the self-same tones that once—calming, elevating, faith-inspiring, as if sent down from heaven—shed light into my gloomy soul!
I forced my way forward through the multitude. I saw once more the pale, melancholy brow, the sunken eyes, the long dark hair, the same feeble aspect of the whole person. It was HE! The mystery of nineteen years was at length solved. The stranger who had filled my youthful breast with feelings wonderful, unutterable, who had ceaselessly accompanied me since, like a veiled apparition, familiar, yet from which I could not tear the covering, stood before me. I heard, I saw——Paganini!