“Do you know what has become of Miss Smithson?”
“Why, monsieur, she is in Paris; she only left the rooms you are in a few days ago to go to the Rue de Rivoli. She is manageress of an English theatre that is to open in a few days.”
Dumfoundered, I felt that this was indeed the hand of fate. For more than two years I had heard no word of “fair Ophelia” and here I arrive in Paris at the very moment she returns from her tour in Northern Europe.
A mystic might well find arguments in defence of his cult in this strange coincidence. What I said was this:
“I have come to Paris to perform my monodrama. If I go to the theatre before the concert, I shall certainly have another attack of that delirium tremens; all volition will be taken from me; I shall be incapable of the thought and care essential to the success of my work. So first my concert, then I will see her if I die for it and will fight no more against this strange destiny.”
And, despite the Shakespearian names staring at me daily from all the walls in Paris, I kept sternly to my purpose.
The programme was to consist of the Symphonie Fantastique followed by Lelio, the monodrama which is the complement of the former and is the second part of my Episode in an Artist’s Life.
Now trace the extraordinary sequence.
Two days before the concert—which I felt would be my farewell to life and art—I was in Schlesinger’s music-shop, when an Englishman came in and went out almost at once.
“Who is that?” I asked, in idle curiosity.