“Schutter, of Galignani’s Messenger. Ah!” cried Schlesinger, “give me a box for your concert. He knows Miss Smithson, I will get him to persuade her to go.”
I trembled, but dared not refuse; so, running after M. Schutter, he explained matters and got his promise to do his best to induce Miss Smithson to go.
Now while I had been busy over my preparations the unfortunate actress had been also busy—in ruining herself.
She did not realise that Shakespeare was no longer new to the changeable, frivolous Parisian public and innocently counted on a reception such as she had had three years before.
The Romantic School was now on the rising tide and its apostles were not anxious that it should be stemmed by the colossus of dramatic poetry nor that their wholesale filchings from his works should be brought to light.
Hence, sparse audiences, mean receipts and considerable running expenses that swallowed up all the poor manageress’s savings.
Schutter, long afterwards, told me that he found Miss Smithson too dejected to accept his invitation; her sister, however, persuaded her that the change would be good and she at length allowed him to take her down to the carriage. On the way to the Conservatoire her eyes fell on the programme; even then, as she read my name (which they had taken care not to mention) she little knew that she was, herself, the heroine of my work. But, in her box, she could not help seeing that she was the subject of conversation in the hall and when Habeneck came on to conduct with me—gasping with excitement—behind him, she said to herself:
“It is indeed he—poor young man! But he will have forgotten me—at least—I hope so.”
The symphony made a tremendous sensation; that was the day of great enthusiasms and the hall of the Conservatoire (from which I am now shut out) echoed with the applause of that crowd of musicians. The success, the fiery motifs of my work, its cries of love and passion and the mere vibration of such a gigantic orchestra at close quarters, all worked upon Miss Smithson’s sensitive organisation, and in her heart of hearts she cried:
“Ah! If he but loved me now!—--”