m^^ iiiiiiiM— r '^m :-^i\) J S ■^- ■:-■■ V T H E ■ :1.ETTERS: '^ :-Q F^ ■ V \..:^:'^^' iS i • i BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF 1891 -^.■.^iTn.s:.. T^sjiii roic — ' ... ,,_ Cornell University Library ML 410.S39A32 1907 The, letters of Robert Schumann / 3 1924 022 315 174 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022315174 THE LETTERS OF ROBERT SCHUMANN Si7Lary^ldi^.9'-f' cTo THE LETTERS OF ROBERT SCHUMANN SELECTED AND EDITED BY DR. KARL STORCK TRANSLATED BY HANNAH BRYANT NEW YORK E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY 1907 3> Pmuted in Great Britain CONTENTS Preface Biographical Note PAGE xi Introduction - BOOK I STURM UND DRANG PART I JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST 1. To Flechsig 2. To his Mother 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. IS. To G. Rosen - To his Mother To Theresa Sehumann To Rosalie Schumann To Friedrich Wieck To his Mother To Friedrich Wieck To his Mother March 17, 1828 - - 13 - April 28, 1828 - - 14 - May 21, 1828 - - 15 - June 13, 1828 - l6 - August 3, 1828 - - 17 - August 14, 1828 - 20 May 24, 1829 - 23 - July 17, 1829 - 30 - Atigust 3, 1829 - 33 August SI, 1829 - - 34 - September l6, 1829 37 October 5, 1829 - 39 November 6, 1829 - 41 February 24, 1830 45 July 1, 1830 - 49 - July 30, 1830 - - 50 - August 21, 1830 53 August 22, 1830 - 55 V VI CONTENTS PART II FLOllESTAN AND EUSEBIUS LETTER PAGE 19. To his Mother October Z5, 1830- 58 20. jj )) November 15, 1830 59 21. jj i> December 15, 1830 60 22. n tt May 15, 1831 - 63 23. To J. N. Hummel August 20, 1831 - 64 24. To Julius Schumann September 5, 1831 68 25. To his Mother September 21, 1831 69 26. To Friedrich Wieck January 11, 1832 70 27. To Clara Wieck - >) 33 71 28. To Heinrich Dorn - April 25, 1832 73 29. To his Mother May 8, 1832 74 30. >j ii August 9, 1832 - 78 31. >s » November 6, 1832 80 32. >1 It June 28, 1833 - 81 S3. To Clara Wieck August 2, 1 833 - 84 PART III THE ' DAVIDSBtJNDLEE ' 34. To Friedrich Wieck August 6, 1833 - 86 35. To Franz Otto August 9, 1833 - 89 36. To his Mother November 27, 1833 90 37. S3 13 January 4, 1834 - 91 38. 33 33 ~ " July 2, 1834 93 39. To Ernestine von Fricken July 28, 1834 - 95 40. To Henrietta Voigt Undated [Summer, 1834] 96 41. To Captain von Fricken - November 20, 1834 98 42. To Dr. Topken February 6, 1835 100 43. To Theresa Schumann Apnl 1, 1836 102 44. 33 33 November 15, 1836 104 45. To A. von Zuccalmaglio - January 31, 1837 106 46. 33 33 May 18, 1837 - 108 47. To J. Moscheles August 23, 1837 - 109 48. To Simonin de Sire February 8, 1838 111 49. To Eduard and Karl Schumann March 19, 1838 - 114 CONTENTS vii BTTEII 50. To Theresa Schumann - March 25, 1838 - FAOB - 116 51. To J. Fischhof - August 5, 1838 - - 119 52. To his Zwickau Relatives October 10, 1838 - - 122 53. To Theresa Schumann - December 18, 1838 - 124 54. To Simonin de Sire March 15, 1839 - 127 55. To A. von Zuccalmaglio - April 27, 1839 - - 130 56. To H. Dorn - - September 5, 1839 131 57. To Ernst A. Becker ■ December 11, 1839 133 58. To Keferstein January 31, 1840 - 134 59. It - February 8, 1840 136 60. i> February 19, 1840 139 61. it February 29, 1840 - 140 62. it - August 24, 1840 - 141 BOOK II THE FIGH'l' FOR CLARA Introduction _ . . . - 147 63. Robert to Clara February 13, 1836 - 154 64 /Robert to Clara \ Clara to Robert August 13, 1837 - - 156 \J'X$ August 15, 1837 - - 157 65. To Friedrich Wieck September 13, 1837 - 158 66. To Ernst A. Becker • September 14, 1837 - 161 67. Robert to Clara - - September 18, 1837 - 161 Clara to Robert 1837 - 165 68. Robert to Clara 1837 - 166 69. )i )) - October, 3, 1837 - 166 70. 33 33 November 8, 1837 - 167 71. 33 33 November Z9, 1837 - 169 72. 13 33 ■ December 22, 1837 - 173 73. 33 33 ' ' February 6, 1838 - 179 74. 33 33 ' ' February 11, 1838 - 182 75. 33 ■ ■ March 17, 1838 - 185 76. 33 ** ■ ■ April 14, 1838 - - 189 77. 33 33 " ' May 10, 1838 - - 190 78. 33 33 " " September 9, 1838 - 191 79. 33 33 ' ' October!, 1838 - 193 80. 33 33 ' ' December 3, 1838 - 195 81. Verses to Clara 1838 - 196 idii CONTENTS LETTER FAOG 82. Robert to Clara - December 18, 1838 200 83. ij » - December Z9, 1838 202 84. J7 tl - January 15, 1839 203 85. „ - April \0, •i%S9 - 204 86. 33 13 - May 4, 1839 205 87. 33 Jr May 18, 1839 - 206 88. 33 It - June 3, 1839 212 89. 33 ■ 33 June 22, 1839 - 214 -.90. To Advocate Einert - June 30, 1839 - 215 91. 3) 13 - July 3, 1839 219 92. Robert to Clara July 30, 1839 221 93. >3 If December 11, 1839 222 94. 33 13 - February 24, 1840 223 95. 33 %3 - March 18, 1840 - 224 96. 33 13 - March 20, 1840 - 225 97. 33 33 - May 10, 1840 - 226 98. 33 33 - May 15, 1840 - 227 99. 33 33 - May 31, 1840 - 228 100. To Ernst A. Becker - August 12, 1840 - 229 From Clara's Diary - September 12, 1840 230 BOOK III AT THE ZENITH Introduction . 233 101. To Camilla Stamaty - September 28, 1840 235 102. To C. Kossmaly - - May 9, 1841 236 103. 33 3i - September 1, 1842 237 104. To H. C. Andersen - October 1, 1842 - 237 105. To L. Spohr - November 23, 1842 238 106. To C. Kossmaly May 5, 1843 240 107. To Johannes Verhulst June 19, 1843 - 243 108. To Dr. E. Kruger - Undated [October, 1844] 246 109. To Mendelssohn - - Undated [Sept., 1845] - 248 110. 33 33 - October 2Z, 1845 249 111. To Ludwig Meinardus - September 3, 1846 251 112. To Friedrich Hebbel - May 14, 1847 254 113. To F. Brendel - August 8, 1847 256 114. To D. G. Otten - April 2, 1849 259 CONTENTS ix LETTER PAGE 115'. To Franz Liszt - May 31, 1849 - - 261 116. To F. Brendel September 18, 1849 - 263 117. To F. HUler - - November 19, 1849 - 265 118. fy is - December 3, 1849 - 267 119. To R. Pohl - - February 14, 1851 - 268 120. To Moritz Horn - Aprils, 1851 - - 270 121. To R. Pohl - May 13, 1851 - - 271 122. To J. N. September 22, 1851 - 272 123. To Franz Liszt December 25, 1851 - 274 124. To Friedrich Hebbel - March 14, 1853 - - 275 125, To H. Krigar - March 16, 1853 - - 276 126. To C. von Bruyck - - May 8, 1853 - 277 127. To Joachim - - June 8, 1853 - 278 128, s> - Octo6er8, 1853 - - 280 129. >t - October 13, 1853 - - 282 130. 33 ' ' - February 6, 1854- - 283 APPENDIX The Deepening Twilight - 131. To his Wife 132. „ „ - - 133. To Johannes Brahms September 14, 1854 September 18, 1854 November 27, 1854 285 288 290 293 Index 295 PREFACE ' There are many to proclaim Klopstock's fame ; There are fewer who could quote What he wrote. Such grandeur's little gain To attain ; For myself I choose instead To be read.' If Lessing's pessimistic epigram is justified with regard to poetry, it may with equal truth be applied to the indiiFerence commonly displayed towards the letters of eminent persons, and par- ticularly towards musicians' letters, which so seldom possess a purely literary interest. It was my conviction of this which led me to bring out the present selection of Schumann's letters, and the earlier volumes on Beethoven and Mozart. A man's letters undoubtedly form one of the best clues to his character ; but while the student will welcome almost any number of these documents in the hope of gaining insight into the writer's mind, there must be many music-lovers who have neither time nor opportunity for such researches, and it is for them, primarily, that this volume has been compiled. xii PREFACE There was little difficulty in making an attractive selection in Schumann's case, for his letters have a considerable literary value. I have, further, so arranged them as to form something of a biography, with the idea of providing a picture of Schumann's inner development, as well as of his outward career. To this picture the introductory chapters provide a frame, and some explanatory notes have been added. For this book I have drawn on the following sources : Jvgendhriefe von Robert Schumann, from originals provided by Clara Schumann (third edition. Leipzig, 1898). Robert Schumann's Briefe, new series, edited by F. G, Jansen (second enlarged edition. Leipzig, 1904). Jansen, Die Davidsbiindler (Leipzig, 1883). B. Litzmann, Clara Schumann (vols. i. and ii. Leipzig, 1903- 1905). BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE Robert Alexander, the youngest of the five children of Friedrich August Gottlob and Johanne Christiane Schumann, was born on June 8, 1810, at Zwickau, in Saxony. His father was a book- seller and something of an author. He took a keen interest in all literary and artistic matters, and encouraged similar tastes in his son. A great event in Robert's early life was a visit to Carlsbad, where he heard Moscheles, He was only nine years old, but the impression he received was so strong that he never lost the feeling of respect with which the great pianist inspired him. The only musical instruction he received at Zwickau was from Kuntzsch, the organist^ who gave him pianoforte lessons for some years, and eventually announced that his pupil, for whom he prophesied a brUMant future, might safely dispense with tuition. Schumann's studies for pedal pianoforte, Op. 56, are dedicated to his old master. When he was fourteen he wrote some of the musical biographies in a work compiled by his father — a picture- gallery of famous men of every age and race. In 1826 his father died. Two years later Schumann xiii xiv BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE left his quiet life at Zwickau, and went up to the University of Leipzig to study law, by his mother's wish. But he did not settle at Leipzig, and at Easter, 1829, removed to Heidelberg, attracted by the brilliant jurists attached to Heidelberg Uni- versity, and also by the romantic associations of the place. His intention was to return to Leipzig after two years, and take his degree there; but although jurisprudence was presented in a more attractive light by Thibaut at Heidelberg, Schu- mann devoted more attention to philosophy and music than to his professional studies. He made little effort to master his antipathy to law, which he did not openly abandon, however, until the autumn of 1830, when he at length decided to adopt music as his profession. His mother con- sidered music too precarious as a means of Uveli- hood, and was only induced to consent to the change of plan when Schumann secured the support of Thibaut and Wieck. His acquaintance with Wieck (afterwards his father-in-law) dated from 1828, and he returned to Leipzig in October, 1830, to study pianoforte under him. But Wieck no longer taught him on the same methodical lines as during his earlier stay at Leipzig, and in the follow- ing autumn Schumann became anxious to change. He wrote to Hummel to offer himself as a pupil, but this plan was not carried out, and in 1832 he lamed the middle finger of his right hand perman- ently. He was therefore driven to turn his atten- tion to composition and literary work. The winter BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE xv of 1832-1833 was spent with his family at Zwickau and Schneeberg. Returning to Leipzig in the spring, he conceived the idea of starting, together with Wieck and others, a weekly musical paper {Neue Zeitschrift filr Musik). The first number appeared on April 3, 1834, and was edited conjointly by Ludwig Schunke, Wieck, Julius Knorr, and Schu- mann. From 1835 to 1844 Schumann was sole editor. He was himself a large contributor, and mystified his pubhc by an imaginary society, the Davidshund. The original members of the Davids- bund were two, Florestan and Eusebius, fictitious personages evolved from Walt and Vult in Jean Paul Richter's Flegeljahre, who represented differing aspects of Schumann's own personahty. Florestan stood for the masculine, energetic side of his tem- perament ; Eusebius for its feminine, introspective tendencies. A third personage, Raro, represented a union of these two. Schumann's criticisms in the paper often took the form of imaginary conver- sations in which Florestan and Eusebius maintained opposite sides of the argument, Raro's judgment being invariably accepted as final. The further development of the Davidshund, in which he incor- porated many of his friends, is traced in Part III. of this book. Schumann's attachment to Ernestine von Fricken, a pupil of Wieck's, led to an engagement; but he soon realized that he had mistaken his own feelings, and it was broken off in January, 1836, by mutual consent. He had set his heart on marrying xvi BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE Wieck's daughter, Clara, the brilliant girl pianist, but Wieck persistently opposed a match which did not satisfy his ambitions for his daughter.^ Schumann spent the winter of 1838-1839 in Vienna, where he hoped to establish himself with Clara, but he was unable to cope with the intrigues which surrounded him on all sides, and returned to Leipzig in the spring of 1839. On February 24, 1840, he received the honorary degree of Dr. PhU. from the University of Jena. In despair of obtain- ing Wieck's consent to their marriage, the lovers were finally driven to appeal to a court of law for permission, and were married at Schonefeld, a village near Leipzig, on September 12, 1840. A statement of the difficulties they had encountered is given by Schumann in a letter (No. 90) to the lawyer entrusted with the case. In the spring of 1844 Schumann accompanied his wife to Russia on a concert tour. In October of the same year they left Leipzig, and by the doctor's advice went to live in Dresden. Schumann had been suffering from nervous depression, and it was hoped that he would gain some rest from music at Dresden, which was comparatively unimportant as a musical centre, In 1850 he accepted the post of conductor at Diisseldorf. This step seems to have been a fatal mistake. Schumann entirely failed as a conductor ; his temperament was peculiarly unsuited to a public position of this sort, and the strain probably aggravated the mental disorder of ' See Introduction to Book II. BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE xvii which he had shown signs even before his marriage. After the opening concert of the winter season in 1853 an attempt was made to lead him to resign, and from that time onwards both rehearsals and concerts were conducted by Tausch. An invitation to Schumann and his wife to give a number of concerts in Holland relieved them from the embar- rassment of staying in Diisseldorf, and they started on their tour^ in November, returning to Diisseldorf for Christmas. But Schumann's melancholy soon set in again, and in February, 1854, he attempted to take his life by throwing himself into the Rhine. He was removed to an asylum at Endenich, near Bonn, where he remained until his death on July 29, 1856. Schumann's greatest activity as a composer dates from the time of his marriage. He produced, in rapid succession, songs, symphonies, chamber-music, and large dramatic works for chorus and orchestra. Most of his compositions are well known in this country. It was one of his cherished plans to visit England with his wife, but he never realized it* It was left to Madame Schumann to make the English public famUiar with the beauties of her husband's pianoforte works after his death. His power as a critic was very great. He was fearlessly outspoken and absolutely free from professional jealousy. If he erred, it was on the side of over-appreciation. His enthusiastic recogni- ^ See Schumann's letter to his wife from Endenich, Sep- tember 14, 1854. xviii BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE tion of Chopin : ' Hats off, gentlemen ; a genius !' is an instance of his attitude to new composers, and his last literary effort was a glowing article in the Zeitschrift which established Brahms's claim to be numbered in the first rank of composers at the very outset of his career. The breadth of his artistic sympathies is amply demonstrated in his letters.] [Tr.] BOOK I STURM UND DRANG IDeite VOelt unb breites Ceben, £anger 3aB!re rebltd) StreSen, Stets geforfdjt unb ftets gegriinbet, tlte gefdjloffen, oft geriinbet, 2ilteftes bemaljrt mtt Creue, 5reunbltdi aufgefagtes tteue, ^ettern Sinn unb reine Sroeife — Hun — man fommt moijl eine Strecfe! 3X>olfgang (5oet£)e. (^Chosen as a motto by Schumann, in a letter to his mother of September 21, 1831.) ' Thus it is ever in life. The aims we once pursued no longer satisfy us ; we aim, we strive, we aspire, until sight fails, and mind and body find rest in the grave.' — To his Mother, April 28, 1828. 'There are strong souls on the borderland between genius and talent, who are equipped partly for action, partly for seeking the ideal. They are ambitious, intensely susceptible to the great and the beautiful — would give back their impressions to the world as their own creations ; yet they succeed but im- perfectly. Genius is one force tending to a centre of gravity, but these men are centres of gravity at which many forces meet and destroy one another. Thus they are poets, musicians, painters by turns. In youth they worship physical courage as the primary and direct expression of energy. Their delight in all great things comes from the hope of reproducing them, and it is turned to vexation of spirit when they fail. They ought to realize that it is they who have drawn the best prizes — if only they learn in time to curb their ambition — in that they possess varied and harmonious powers. They seem best fitted for full manhood by their enjoyment of the beautiful, in their moral com- pleteness, and the wisdom of their thought. . . .' — From Jean Paul Richter's Titan, (quoted by Schumann in a letter of December 4, 1829, to his mother, as coincident 'to a hair's breadth ' with his own case). INTRODUCTION Even Bohemianism is a vocation. In Schumann's case the ideas conjured up by the phrase ' artistic Bohemia ' do not respond to the reality ; the word Bohemian is, in fact, too foreign to describe him. On the other hand, he is the perfect type of the German romanticist, the very embodiment of the German romantic movement, if, indeed, man and artist are to be considered as an inseparable unity. Bbhemianism, with its winged enthusiasms, was certainly compatible in his case — in spite of his scorn of the Philistines — ^with the utmost respect- ability. It accommodated itself to the ' cloistered virtue' so characteristic of Schumann, a virtue based on the practice of limitation as one of the arts of life, not on the narrow principles which guide the crowd. Jean Paul thus formulated the rule of conduct which guided the German romanticists : 'I have never been able to discover more than 3 1—2 4 INTRODUCTION three ways of becoming, if not happy, at least happier. The first way of reaching the heights is to penetrate so far beyond the clouds of life that you see the wolves' dens, the charnel-houses and the lightning conductors far below you, diminished to the proportions of a miniature Dutch garden. The second is to fall right down into this garden, and there to nestle so cosily into a furrow that when you peer out of your warm lark's nest you see nothing of the dens, charnel-houses, and light- ning conductors, but only the ears of corn, each of which forms a tree for the nesting-bird, a shelter from the sun and rain. Finally, the third, which I think both the hardest and the wisest, is to practise the two methods alternately.' In this alternation, in fact, lies supreme wisdom. The alternation between the clouds and the nest in the narrow furrow was, indeed, the best result that our romanticists obtained. They generally began by trying to live their daily life in the cloudland which fostered their art. But life itself revolted against this misconception. The flight to the clouds resulted either in cowardly retreat from life or in that fundamentally barren and, moreover, hypo- critical ' romantic irony ' which gave way before the first attack. The younger members of the group came in INTRODUCTION 5 time to agree with their senior, Jean Paul. They were driven to accept the theory of alternation if they desired happiness. It is not to be denied that in many cases a degree of success in the art of living was attained, the tranquil beauty of which sometimes inspires us men of to-day with a feeling of irrepressible envy. As a matter of fact envy is rarely justifiable with regard to individual romanticists. Their idea of alternation was to practise their art in cloudland, and to live their practical life iu the furrow. For this reason the artistic production of the romanticists, especially their poetry, seems to us in most cases morbid or quite uninteresting, while the lives and in- tellectual development of the artists themselves strike us as being either contemptible or altogether unreal. It is quite otherwise with the generation immedi- ately following the romantic poets, with the painters and musicians of the romantic movement. Never since have the educated classes of Germany pro- duced so many men of rare talent as in the years between the war of liberation and the revolution of 1848, the brilUant age of our classic writers, of the romanticists, and — he must have separate men- tion — ^Jean Paul. Instances of surpassing genius there were none. Flights into cloudland were, in 6 INTRODUCTION art, kept within bounds, while the Hmits of hfe itself were considerably extended. Innumerable members of the learned and official classes were more than dilettanti in the modem sense. A study of the portraits of the time shows us how much harmony existed in individual cases. But such conditions easily breed complacent self-sufficiency, against which tendency the artists were again the first to struggle. ' Young Germany ' was not alone in trying to uproot these conditions, for even to the essentially conservative Platen there was a false ring in the dictum, 'The morning for the law- courts ; the evening for Helicon.' There is, however, a third way, which differs from Jean Paul's solution. It lies, not in the alternation, but in the union of the two 'ways' indicated by him. Goethe has shown us how these two conflicting elements in German character can be blended to a harmonious whole. He is also a true classic, in that his life-work possesses enduring value when applied to entirely diffisrent conditions. He wrote and lived in the only way that ensures that harmonious plan of life which alone justifies the epithet ' happy.' That is to say, his feet were firmly placed on the solid, enduring earth ; his fore- head touched the stars. In Goethe's idea art not only provides high aims in life, but helps in the INTRODUCTION 7 conduct of life by enabling us to turn our ex- perience to practical use, and to achieve emancipa- tion. Life not only appears valuable in itself, justifying its demand for men of action ; but the artist who realizes life in its completeness only needs to come to closer quarters with humanity to find a rich field for his art. These considerations on the nature of German romanticism are suggested by the study of Robert Schumann, because he was sensitive to the most varied influences. He was a true disciple of Jean Paul. Of all German musicians, or, we might almost say, of all German artists, none was so power- fully and permanently influenced by Jean Paul as Schumann, even though in later years his style did not betray its original model so clearly as in his youthful correspondence or in the early years of the Zeitschrift. This influence certainly was not confined to the form, but affected the innermost being of the man and the artist. He thought he had ' learnt more counterpoint from Jean Paul ' than from any one of his music-teachers, and un- doubtedly his moral outlook on life was derived from the same source, as his letters to his mother suffice to show. Evidently this kind, tender- hearted, beauty-loving, and impressionable woman was, like most German women, a devoted reader 8 INTRODUCTION of the strangely fascinating poet. Schumann him- self, as a young man, actually judged his fellows by their attitude towards Jean Paul. The fact that Schumann was a typical example of the romantic double personality contributed largely to the close relations existing between the musician and the poet, though it is difficult to dis- criminate between cause and effect throughout. However much his original disposition may have contributed to the result, it is certain that his in- dividual development in the direction of humorous melancholy — not melancholy humour — was en- couraged by his aU too early and too deep study of Jean Paul's writings. Schumann's readiness to accept the theory of double personality, which was the dominating con- ception of his master's artistic activity, is most clearly shown by his adoption of a double ideal in his own intellectual life. The two individual ten- dencies figure in his writings as Florestan and Eusebius. The hand of Goethe can also be traced here, for Schumann always aimed at blending the two characters in the loftier unity to which he gave the name Raro. This acknowledged ideal was, however, rarely attained. His dual nature emerges more clearly from a consideration of his personaUty as a whole. Titan's INTRODUCTION 9 cloudy flights are there, side by side with the idylUc simplicity of dominie Wuz, and the problematic Walt and Vult of Flegeljahre. Schumann's activity as editor and his fiction of the Damdsbundler show this double-sidedness — childlike idealism bound up with a commercial genius in the management, not of his own affairs indeed, but of artistic matters generally. His ideas and his exertions for the organization of the musical profession, for concert arrangements, for the publication and printing of music (for instance, the note of the date of pubHca- tion), have in many cases not yet been carried out, but are still desired by those who have the social improvement of the profession at heart. There were thus quite opposite forces at work in Schumann, as is indeed the case with most men of genius. In the history of music the untroubled, harmonious development of Mozart is an isolated phenomenon. But when we think of the great romanticist Beethoven, whose life and art were almost always in opposition, hke the double face of Janus, we soon realize what was lacking in Schu- mann. He also was Faust, but only Faust the seeker and idealist, consumed by his own desire; not Faust the man of action, to whom alone true happiness is revealed. Similarly the history of German romanticism contains many tragic con- 10 INTRODUCTION elusions following on fine beginnings, and the careers of the romanticists describe in nearly every case a descending curve after a splendid rise. Had the iron age of Napoleon exhausted the genius for action ? Nowhere are the ' limitations of humanity ' more pronounced than in the practice of art, that most difficult of problems. 'Should he be lifted Up till he touches The stars with his forehead. Nowhere to rest find The insecure feet. And he is plaything Of clouds and of winds. ' Stands he with strong-knit Marrowy bone On the deep-seated. Enduring earth, No farther he reaches Than but with the oak Or the slenderer vine Himself to compare.' ' Even so, Schumann's flight led but to the dark, storm-driven clouds ; his dreams ended in the impenetrable gloom of night. But, at least, his end was sleep — tranquil melan- choly — not the agony of terror. And it was 1 Goethe's Grenzen der Menschheit, a translation by Captain William Gibson {Poems of Goethe, London, 1883). INTRODUCTION 11 preceded by a delightful flight into cloudland — a bUssful dream of richly coloured fairy-pictures. As man and artist he remains worthy of the deepest affection. If his fate is a warning, his life has its lesson and its consolation in our own dull age. PART I 1828-1840 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST ' Jean Paul is still more to me than Schiller even ; Goethe I do not yet understand.' — To Flechsig, March 17, 1828. ' All the world would be better for reading Jean Paul, if also unhappier. He has often brought me to the verge of madness, but through a mist of tears shines the rainbow of peace and a hovering spirit of humanity, and the heart is marvellously up- lifted and gently illumined.' — To Gisbert Rosen, June 5, 1828. 'Yet, believe me, were I ever to accomplish anything, it would be in music, which has always attracted me ; and, without overestimating myself, I am conscious of possessing a certain creative faculty. But the study of jurisprudence, by which I must earn ray bread, has so withered and frozen the flowers of my fancy that they will never again seek the light.' — To his Mother, November 11, 1829. 1. To Flechsig^ at Leipzig. Zwickau, March 17, 1828. . . . School days are over ; the world hes before me. I could hardly keep back my tears as I came out of school for the last time, though I was reaUy 1 Emil Flechsig (1808-1878), a school friend of Schumann's, and a student of theology at Leipzig. 13 14 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST more glad than sorry. The time has come for me to show my mettle. Here I am, without guide, teacher, or father, flung helplessly into the darkness of hfe's unknown; and yet the world has never seemed fairer than at this moment, as I cheerfully face its storms. Flechsig, you must stand my friend in the whirl of hfe, and help me if I fall. Greek levity struck a happy mean between gay and grave in its outlook on life, and this is well enough in callow youth, but it must not degenerate into an unbalanced and inconsiderate frivolity. This is the time when a young man's soul glows with all things good and beautiful, and his ideals dwell with the gods of Greece in youth's bright Olympus. My friend, be my friend always, even should I prove unworthy of your friendship. Hold these lines before me as a warning, should I ever disgrace myself by not living up to what I have written here. . . . To his Mother^ at Zwickau. MoNHEiM^ NEAR NiJRNBERG, April 2,8, 1828. ... I often think of you, my dear good Mother, and of all the excellent maxims with which you 1 Schumann's mother, Johanne Christiane Schnabelj born November 28, 1771, was the daughter of a surgeon at Zeitz. She married August Schumann in 1795. Robert was the youngest of their five children. She died February 4, 1836. 2 Written during an expedition which Schumann made with his friend Rosen to Munich. They had taken this opportunity of making a pilgrimage to Jean Paul's home at Bayreuth. FIRST LETl^ER FROM LEIPZIG 15 armed me for the battle of life. . . . Dear Mother, how often have I offended you and misunderstood your wise intentions ! Forgive your son, who hopes to atone for the faults of his hot-headed youth by good deeds and virtuous hvirig. What a claim parents have on their child! Left fatherless, I have all the greater obligations towards you, dearest Mother. To you alone I owe my happy Ufe, my prospect of a cheerful and cloudless future. May your child prove himself worthy, and respond ever and always to his Mother's Ibve by leading a good life. But you must be, as always, my kind, forgiving Mother, and judge me leniently when I transgress, admonish me gently when my wildness plunges me too far into the dangerous labyrinth of life. Jean Paul says : ' Friendship and love traverse this globe closely veiled and with sealed lips, and no man speaks of his love to another, for the soul has no speech ; but children's love may go unveiled, tell aloud its devotion to the parent's heart, and return adoration for love. . . .' 3. To his Mother at Zwickau. Leipzig, May 21, 1828. Here is my first letter to you from Leipzig. Read, not only this one, but aU my letters, beloved Mother, with the same kind, loving eyes, unclouded by anger. I atrived here last Thursday, quite weU, though a little depressed, and took my position as a student 16 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST and a citizen in this big, spacious city, in the stir of life and the great world. After my few days here I still feel quite well, though not quite happy. My whole heart cries out for the quieter home where T was born and spent such happy days with Nature. How shall I come into touch with Nature here? Everything is distorted by art. There is neither vaUey, mountain, nor wood, where I can indulge in meditation, no spot where I can be alone, except this shut-up room, overlooking the noisy street. This is the bar to my satisfaction, besides which I am perplexed beyond measure by the choice of a study. Chilly jurisprudence, with its ice-cold definitions, would crush the life out of me from the start. Medicine I will not, theology 1 cannot study. Thus I struggle endlessly with myself, and look in vain for some one to tell me what to do. And yet — there is no help for it ; I must choose law. However cut and dried it may be, I will conquer, and where there's a will there's a way. I shall also make a point of studjdng philosophy and history. Well, it will aU come right. I will not look sadly into a future which may prove so happy if 1 stick to my purpose. . . . 4. To his Mother at Zwickau. Leipzig, June 13, 1828. ... As to my state of mind, it is neither worse nor better than before. I go regularly to lectures, practise two hours a day, read a few hours, or go UNIVERSITY ROUTINE 17 for a walk — ^my sole recreation. At Zweinaundorf, a village lying in the loveliest part of the country round here, I often spend whole days alone, work- ing, writing poetry, and so on. I have not cultivated the acquaintance of a single student so far. I go to the fencing-school, am sociable, and behave decently in every way, but am extremely cautious about becoming intimate with anyone. I find that, without being stand-offish, I can make these fellows keep their distance and not treat one as a freshman in the corps. Flechsig and SemmeP are the only two of whom I see much. In the law lectures I take notes mechanically, which is all I can do for the present. I should be very pleased if you would remember your kind promise about the riding-lessons. To his Mother. Leipzig, August 3, 1828. My best, best thanks, dearest Mother, for your pretty and elegant present. The students are all delighted with my magnificent stock, and admire your taste and your kind remembrances of your absent son. I often imagine myself back in the favourite old haunts at Carlsbad. What a happy child I was, and how little I realized it ! Ah, why do we only appreciate our happiness when it is ^ Moritz Semmel (1807-1874), brother of Schumann's sister- in-law Theresa. He studied law at Leipzig and Heidelberg, and became Geheimrat and magistrate at Gera. 2 18 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST past ? Why does every tear that we shed symbolize a past joy or a vanished happiness ? . . . It is a great comfort to me to hear that you are feeling so well, in spite of your isolation and your quiet spiritual life. How well I can see you, as you take your solitary walks, gazing sadly up to the sky and longing to ask the Judge who sits in judgment above the stars, the Controller of our fates: 'Why hast Thou deprived me of those things which no life, no future, can restore?' Then, as you glance down, smUing, at the unfail- ing beauties of lavish Nature, your pious heart whispers, 'God knows best'; and as you look around you, more reconciled, you are able to say : ' Life is indeed beautiful, and man himself a tear of joy from the Godhead.' Ah, Mother I Nature best teaches how to pray, and how to reverence all the gifts the Almighty has given us. She is like a vast outspread handkerchief, embroidered with God's eternal name, on which we may dry alike our tears of sorrow and of joy ; she turns weeping into ecstasy, and fills our hearts with speechless, quiet reverence and resignation. Why, in this hateful Leipzig, should every such higher enjo5mfient be denied? Why can I only attain the moments of my loftier happiness through sweet memories of what was once actual experi- ence ? But I have made my plans, and am only waiting to hear that you approve. As I must enter for my examination at Leipzig, and am bound to put in two years there, being a Saxon, I propose THE STUDY OF LAW 19 to go to Heidelberg next Easter, for the sake of hearing the most famous German jurists* Thibaut,^ Mittermaier,2 and others ; I should return the following Easter, to get used to Leipzig methods again. My reasons for wishing to go to another university are three : first, on my own account, because I am not well here, and am getting extremely rusty : second, to gain knowledge of the world ; and third, for the sake of my profession, because the most famous jurists are at Heidelberg. If I go at all, it must certainly be next Easter ; going later would mean taking my examination immediately on my return. I should then do very badly in Saxon law, and thus disappoint both you and myself. They examine chiefly in that subject here, and I should certainly have forgotten it in the meantime, as I have to take Roman law, the Pandects, etc., at Heidelberg. Please write and tell me what you think. We can talk it over later, as I am to spend the whole of the Michaelmas and Christmas vacations at Zwickau. 1 Anton Friedrich J. Thibaut (1772-1840), a famous lecturer on law at Heidelberg, rendered an important service by awaken- ing interest in old music. He wrote on this subject in his still readable book, Vber Meinheit der Tonhmst (1824). 2 K. J. A. Mittermaier (1787-1867) occupied the chair of Penal Law at Heidelberg. 2—2 20 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST To G. Bosen.^ Leipzig, August 14:, 1828. It must be a confoundedly queer pleasure to read my Sanskrit. I really will write quite beautifully to-day, and make a rule of the excep- tion, the ;rule being that poets and pianists all write a terrible fist, of which mine is tjrpical. The captatio benevolentice is over ; here begins the real letter. Oh, the good old times, when you were ' Baron ' Rosen, malgre vous ! Your descent from the baronial elevation marked the beginning of my noble career — in other words, my college days. But what a barren waste it is, with neither ' roses ' nor ' Rosen '! I indulge in a flight with Jean Paul or at the piano occasionally, thereby scandalizing these good Germans and Jahnians.^ The Icaruses and aeronauts of the imagination are to the stick- in-the-muds and scavengers as bees to human beings. On the wing they harm no one ; but try to touch them on a flower, and they sting. If I have not actually stung anyone, I kicked and struggled, hoping to send these intangible con- 1 Gisbert Rosen (1808-1876), of Gottingen, a school friend of Schumann's, became chief magistrate of Detmold. 2 F. L. Jahn was the founder of g)nmnastic schools the primary object of which was the encouragement of the military spirit. [Tr.] LEIPZIG FRIENDS 21 captions of people's rights, nationality, etc., to the right-about. Gotte^ is one of those strong characters who are now so rare ; he detests all poisonous lyricism and sentimentality, and com- bines heroism with common sense. I see him daily ; he is my only intimate acquaintance. None of the others interest me particularly. I might, perhaps, make friends with Schiitz and Giinther, were they less narrow-minded. There is talk of suspending the constitution — a very good thing, I should say; the lesser lights would be snufFed and then extinguished, and the greater trimmed and brightened. Semmel has withdrawn into his shell, and only indulges in occasional tirades, creating many enemies, whom he treats with the scorn they deserve. I am certainly coming to Heidelberg, but not until Easter, 1829, worse luck ! If only you were still there, to enjoy that paradise with me ! Many thanks for the charming little pictures, which lent wings to my dreams, and transported me instantly to my home by the Neckar. I have not been to a single lecture yet, but have been working at home — that is, played the piano and written a few letters and Jean-Pauliades. I have not much faith in you as a voluminous correspondent either, but don't forget any of your real friends — I mean myself. I am not intimate with any families yet. Indeed, I avoid my deplorable kind, I hardly know why, and very seldom go out. The puerilities of this 1 Wilhelm Gotte, of Brunswick, studied philology at Leipzig 22 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST selfish world appal me. Imagine a world without inhabitants : one vast cemetery, the dreamless sleep of death, Nature with no flowers, no spring, a broken peepshow without figures ; and yet, what is this inhabited world of ours ? The same : God's acre of buried dreams, the sleep of death troubled with visions of blood, a garden of cypress and weeping willow, a silent peepshow with sorrowing figures. Such it is, God knows 1 Whether we shall meet again, the fates alone can tell, but the world is not big enough, after all, to keep people apart, particularly real friends. Let us not bewail our losses, for fate has always sealed the mouths of men with her giant hand, though never their hearts. Love grows more intense, and esteem more sacred, through separation, because intercourse with an invisible friend is tinged with the spiritual or supernatural. . . . And now, farewell, Rosen. May your Ufe have no more clouds than go to a beautiful sunset, no more rain than makes the moon-rainbow that you see from the castle ruins, as you look over the fair valley in the starlight. Above all, don't forget your distant friend, who is so sore and unhappy, and wish me aU the things I wish you from afar. Let your gentle, humane spirit soar lightly above the mire, and be ever as you now are, and ever were, the most humane of men. . . . Farewell I Your Schumann. JOURNEY TO HEIDELBERG To his Mother. Heidelberg, May 24, 1829. Take up your spectacles, my beloved Mother, for postage is dear now, and I must write very, very small. You will gather from my tone that I am not unhappy. Indeed, no one could be unhappy in my princely room, facing the glorious old castle and the green oak forests, without sinning un- pardonably against his own soul. I think you will not be bored by extracts from my pocket-book about my little journey. The way from Leipzig to Frankfurt was hke a perpetual flight through spring skies, and a constant succession of pleasant and lively travelling com- panions made up to some extent for the unavoidable fatigue of the night journey. I soon made friends with WiUibald Alexis,^ and we were inseparable untU he branched off to the north, I to the south. There was a curious maU-coach passenger, named R , a Prussian secretary of embassy, on his way to the Federal Diet at Frankfurt. I had hardly exchanged two words with him when he began to describe ex ahrupto the perfections of his wife in Berlin, assuring me that his whole life and happi- ness were bound up with her. He recited poems in her praise, and showed me her portrait in miniature. I confess it was my first experience 1 The well-known historical novelist (1798-1871), whose real name was Haring. 24 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST of the sort, but I liked him, for he was evidently good and intelligent. Alexis amused himself by- putting him into his new novel there and then. My other travelling companions were a Frankfurt Jew trader, whose conversation was of leather and other dull matters ; a worthy old lady who was full of the Gotha theatre ; and two French Jews who drank an uncommon deal of wine, and talked nonsense all night. Please admire my wonderful gift of observation, as displayed in this description ! But now comes a change in the journey. We had barely arrived at Hanau when we turned round a corner to the right, towards Frankfurt. The whole sky changed with us, and became clear, blue and unclouded — like my eyes at this moment — main- taining this benevolent attitude the whole way. We were, indeed, in a new key. The lovely Main lay at our feet, with craft of aU sizes on its mirror- like surface, and accompanied us with its chattering as far as Frankfurt. All the trees were laden with blossom, the high corn waved in the breeze, with yellow charlock springing amongst it. The birds flew up, singing, from the fields, to welcome me to Frankfurt. But I cannot tell you all about Frank- furt to-day, or this letter would be the size of a folio volume. . . . I described a sentimental journey yesterday, but will now tell you of the interesting sights and antiquities I saw on the 14th. I was seized, first thing, by an irresistible desire to play the piano. So I walked coolly into the first piano-shop, repre- AT FRANKFURT 25 sented myself as the tutor of a young English lord, commissioned to buy a grand piano, and played for three whole hours, astonishing and delighting the natives. I promised to give them the supposed lord's decision in two days, but by that time I was safe in Riidesheim, drinking Riidesheimer. I love to explore the out-of-the-way nooks and alleys of old toAvns, and as Alexis has the same fad, we spent four hours in the quaintest parts of the city. How dull our modern architecture is, with its symmetrical streets, two miles long, compared to a place hke this, where every turn brings something new and interesting ! Legationsrat Georg Diiring had invited us to his house in the afternoon, where we saw his clever wife and Mrs. Ferdinand Ries,^ a perfectly lovely Englishwoman, Her Enghsh was like an angel's lisping. We talked French mostly, and as I quite outshone Alexis I felt grateful for once to Bodmer.^ We then went with During to the Stadel Museum, Goethe's house, and Bethmann's garden. Dan- necker's Ariadne ! Imagine the highest and love- liest type of womanhood, in the full pride of serene beauty, and a foaming panther, obedient to the touch of her light, triumphant fingers. Her steed, for all his restiveness, nuzzles her hand, and her 1 Wife of Ferdinand Ries (1784-1838), Beethoven's pupil, who had lived twelve years in England and married there. Schu- mann's strong partiality for Englishwomen found expression in a letter to his mother on September 27, 1830 : 'If ever I marry, it will be an Englishwoman.' 2 Schumann's teaCher at Zwickau. 26 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST head is proudly uplifted. Is it not a sublime picture of beauty's power to bind aU things, even brute strength, with a spell ? The marble is milky- blue, of the finest Carrara. It stands in a room shaded with many-coloured hangings. Through one of these, of burning red, the sun came, and the marble shone hke transparent snow flushed by the dawn. But no more ! Such things are beyond description. . . . On Saturday we looked round Wiesbaden. A letter of introduction from Rohde, the secretary of embassy, proved very useful. Wiesbaden is prettily situated, but its marble palaces and buildings bore me by their sameness. I really hate all these avenues, castles, and parks, and infinitely prefer the unpretentious streets and houses of Frankfurt and Niirnberg. We left Wiesbaden at nine. I had closed my eyes just before coming in sight of our majestic old Father Rhine, so as to enjoy to the full my first glimpse of his unruffled waters. There he lay, serene and proud as an old German god, sur- rounded by a paradise of mountain, vaUey, and glorious vineyard. Within six hours we passed through Hochheim, Erbach, Hattenheim, Marco- brunnen, Geisenheim, etc. . . . We arrived at Riidesheim at five. After some refreshment, both liquid and solid, we started frotn Assmannshausen for the Niederwald, for the sake of the finest view in the whole bewitching Rhine scenery. As for the old Rhine castles, the wonders of one's youth, it is the same with them as with THE RHINE 27 eveiything else. The first sends you into raptures, and you think you must dimb up to every one, but the novelty soon wears off. The fine ruin of Ehrenfels was the first I saw, and it looked down proudly enough on me and on the Mouse Tower in the Rhine. You know the legend. There wals a majestic sunset, and the dusk crept up slowly. On the Riidesheim shore boats, astir with life, were swinging at anchor ; old gaffers sat smoking their pipes outside the houses, and children playing on the banks made such a picture that we nearly missed the moonrise. The calm became deeper and deeper. I ordered a glass of Riidesheimer. An old boatman and his little girl took me on to their boat. There was not a ripple ; the sky was blue and clear, and the moonlit waters magically reflected Riidesheim with its dark Roman ruins. Above it all, on a high peak, stood the lovely Rochus Kapelle. I was filled with emotion as we rowed backwards and forwards. The fisherman's Pomeranian lay at his master's feet, wagging his tail, and I called his name to hear it echo. ' Anchor ! Anchor ! Anchor !' came back to me from the hills. Then I called ' Robert.' We landed, and in the silver moonlight the flowing tide lulled the wan- derer to sleep. . . . On Wednesday, May 20, I went gaUy on board the steamer Friedrich Wilhelm at 6 a.m. sharp. The company was fairly select ; but I took refuge from the commonplace chatter with some veteran Dutch soldiers in the third class, and made them 28 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST tell me of battles, particularly of Waterloo. The appointments of the steamer are truly princely, but the hubbub on deck amused me more than any- thing. I wish I could have sketched some of the groups: two old warriors sleeping on their knap- saqks in a corner ; two very fine students pacing up and down ; two ladies in fits of laughter ; sailors in red shirts stoking the furnace ; a spectacled artist making lightning sketches ; an Englishman grim- acing furiously as he pulls his choker over his ears ; a white-capped cook carrying raw steaks, and so busy that he hardly knows where to turn ; and myself as I sit writing poems and taking in every- thing at the same time. And see 1 the obsequious steward dashes in my direction with a glass of Riidesheimer, etc. The saloons are splendidly furnished with silk-covered divans, mahogany and bronze fittings, red silk curtains, large window-like mirrors, and are perfectly an-anged in every way. Excellent table d'h6te, the best wines, all the papers, chess, billiards even^for there was so little vibra- tion below that the balls lay quite motionless — everything, in a word, that body and soul could require. Need I say more ? Yet I longed to be on deck again. The whole afternoon I sat alone, bareheaded, right in the bows, drank coffee, smoked some good cigars given me by an Englishman, thoroughly enjoyed the tearing wind in my hair, and even composed an ode to the north-east wind which really isn't half bad. They all thought me very eccentric, and one of MAINZ TO MANNHEIM 29 the crew said I should make a splendid sailor, because I could face the blast bareheaded. We could see Mainz, with its glorious red towers and its array of boats, gleaming through the trees. We arrived at 7 p.m., and, for the first time in the whole journey, I made a most wretched meal, at the Three Imperial Crowns. Then I pottered about the streets and churches. At night I went over my accounts, and was not altogether surprised to find that I had literally only three florins left to count. So, when I went to bed, my meditations were not altogether pleasant. Next morning. May 21, I went for a drive in a wretched hired conveyance with a jovial major who might have walked out of Clauren,^ moustache and all. He had been aide-de-camp to Murat in Naples and Spain, and had been condemned to death with him, but subsequently acquitted. Naturally, I let him do the talking. I did not see one pretty face between Mainz and Heidelberg. At Worms we lunched, then saw the Cathedral and the Lutheran Church, in which Luther made his confession of faith. We asked the guide how old the church was. 'A hundred and twenty years,' was the answer. We laughed, but my laugh was none of the hghtest when I happened to touch my waistcoat pocket ! The gaUant major left me, unfortunately, before Mannheim, which I reached about 4 o'clock. Driving was out of the ques- tion, for obvious reasons ; but I was quite content 1 A sensational novelist of the period. [Tr.] 30 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST to walk, as I saw prospects of a stormy evening and a gorgeous sunset. So I did not stay in Mannheim, you see. On the way I passed the very signpost where Sand is standing, lost in thought, in the picture that hangs in our drawing- room. There was a splendid sky, and the sun went down majestically in a blaze of purple. About 9 o'clock I reached miy dear Heidelberg with strangely mingled emotions. And now, my dearest Mother, I will put this small, but very pleasant picture of a fragment of my life's journey in its frame, and close. You may expect in my next letter a detailed description of life in Heidelberg, to which my good friend Rosen is to introduce me. You will read this letter as I write it, in the spirit of affection. Your Robert. 8. To his Mother. Heidelberg, July 17, 1829. ... It is some consolation to hear that JuUus^ is a httle better. In every letter I open I shall hope 1 Julius, Schumann's youngest brother, died in 1833. Schu- mann always kept up a close intercourse with his brothers and sisters and relations, and was on the most affectionate terms with his sisters-in-law. The famUy consisted of: 1. Eduard (1797-1839), who married Theresa Semmel (1803-1887) of Gera. Theresa afterwards married the bookseller Fleischer, of Leipzig. 2. Karl (1801-1849), who married (1) Rosalie Ilhng (1808-1833), and (2) Pauline Colditz (1818-1879). 3. Julius (1805-1833), who married Emilia Lorenz (1810-1860). 4. Emiha (1807- HEIDELBERG UNIVERSITY 81 to find an advance towards 'quite well.' We are relatively more cast down by failure than uplifted by success, and our appreciation of health varies according to the amount of it we possess — in- versely. As for me, I am in excellent spirits, really happy by moments, and am working well and steadily. Thibaut and Mittermaier have given me a taste for law. I begin to realize its true value in furthering the highest interests of man- kind. And oh ! the difference between that Leipzig automaton, with one eye on a regular professorship, reading out his dull paragraphs phlegmatically, and Thibaut here, who, though twice his age, overflows with vivacity and intelli- gence, and can hardly find time or words to express aU his ideas. Everything here is on a smaller scale than in Leipzig, more provincial and less varied ; but I like it, though I often miss the many-sided interest of a large town. It is hard to say which is better for the student. The Heidelberg student is much misrepresented. He is very quiet, rather apt to stand upon ceremony and affect fine manners, because he is not yet sure of himself. His impor- tance in the town and' neighbourhood is unques- tioned, and it is not surprising that the natives show him exaggerated civility, for he makes the place. But I think it is a pity for a young man to come 1826), who drowned herself in an attack of fever. With the exception of this incident, there were no symptoms of mental disease in Robert's family, but none of his brothers and sisters lived to old age. 32 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST to a town where the student holds undisputed sway. A young man of any grit develops best under a system of repression, and this perpetual lounging with no one but students limits his mental outlook, and injures him incalculably for practical life. From this point of view large towns are preferable, and Leipzig is better than Heidel- berg. Fortunately, I am sufficiently sobered to value things at their proper worth. I should certainly let any son of mine study one year at Heidelberg and three at Leipzig. But Heidelberg has always this advantage, that its fine scenery does much to distract students from dissipation and drinking. They are far steadier here than at Leipzig. And yet, my gay Heidelberg, what sweet inno- cence, what idyllic charm is yours I If the Rhine with its mountains be a type of manly beauty, the Neckar may stand for female loveliness — the one massive and severe as old Teutonic harmonies, the other gentle as the melodies of Provence. The accompanying views will enable you to picture me in my favourite haunts, where I sit and dream of nothing, or of Zwickau and you, Julius, Eduard, and every one. . . . Music here is at a very low level. There is not a decent pianist in the place. My own playing is considered quite exceptipnal. I have not found my way into any families yet. Time enough for that in the winter, when I shall no doubt be glad to go out a good deal, as there are plenty of girls PROPOSED SWISS-ITALIAN TOUR 33 here to make love to 1 You meet dozens of students engaged— with the consent of the parents. The girls naturally lose their sentimental hearts to the only men they see, and, as they meet no one but students, engagements among them are the order of the day. But have no fear for me ; my very frankness should disarm you. I have been neglecting my piano badly, but hope to make up for it in the winter. Summer for play, winter for work ! . . . 9. To his Mother. Heidelberg, August 3, 1829. My dear, dearly-loved Mother, Your letter, which was brought to me a moment ago in bed, roused me effectually from my slumbers and dreams. I read and read, and could hardly believe it came from you, until I realized the motherly tenderness which prompted it all. The whole story is this : The holiday is none of my making, but the usual Michaelmas vacation, which is purposely fixed early by the Senate, so that students may see something of Switzerland and Northern Italy. At Leipzig they give six weeks, here eight ; so, you see, I don't miss a single lecture. You will by this have had another letter giving full explanations. I have been doing French and Italian with Semmel, and speak both fairly well ; but this trip would enable me to perfect myself in both languages, and would be infinitely cheaper 3 34 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST and more satisfactory than a whole year's lessons. Besides, no student spends the vacation at Heidel- berg. Switzerland is only twenty hours distant, and Italy not much farther. Think how many of the Leipzig students contrive to go without missing any lectures, and here am I, five times as near, with two months to spare — how could I help going? Who could resist such names as these : Domo d'Ossola, Arona, Lago Maggiore, Milano, Brescia, Verona, Padua, Venezia ? I am sure you will for- give me, and say : ' My dear Robert, a young man like yourself must travel, and clip his clumsy wings a little, so that he may learn to soar more hghtly. True, it is expensive, but you will see a new world and new people ; you will learn French and Italian, and, in fact, great results justify some outlay' etc. . . . Write again, if you can, my dearest Mother — another good, inspired letter like the last — and I should not object to a few ducats towards my travelling expenses ! Heaven and Eduard^ permit- ting, my next letter will be from Milan. You will receive whole volumes about my journey, which will amuse you in the long, dull wiater evenings. . . . 10. To Ms Mother. Berne, August 31, 1829. . . . You will have had my letter from Basle. If the world seemed a paradise then, I am now in 1 Eduard was to provide the money. [Tr.] IN SWITZERLAND 35 the ninety-ninth heaven. The poet sees better than other mortals. I do not see things as they are, but according to my own subjective impression, and this makes hfe easier and simpler. For the last few days, for instance, the weather has been vile, the Alps and glaciers all hidden by lowering clouds ; but the world only looms the more vividly in the imagination for being partially obscured, and I very likely pictured the shadowy Alps finer than they really are. Then, you may say, why not stay at home with your nose in a book, and leave the Alps to their own devices ? But I should argue in return that there is a charm in being so far away and in the presence of classic mountains, which awakens a hundred precious emotions, not to speak of the practical advantages of travel. After this somewhat learned dissertation I will continue my letter from Basle in Hogarthian, Titianesque touches 1 The Enghshmen on the coach rather wondered at my choosing the un- comfortable box-seat, as the morning air was fresh. But you will understand when I teU you that I was able, from my perch, to make flying remarks to a young widow from Havre de Grace sitting inside, who responded with glances that were any- thing but mournful. You see, I tell you all my little weaknesses. I can give you no idea of the fertility and beauty of the pastures and meadows. We drove along the banks of the Rhine. On the other side rose the young Alps in their green beauty, which makes them as bright, sturdy children 3—2 36 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST compared with the grand gray Alps which look doAvn benignly on us here. I spent the night at Baden (not Baden-Baden), a gay little Bad, and for once I met a good many Germans. There was music, and, of course, we danced, the mournful widow displaying as much sprightliness as if her husband had been living. . . . From Zurich I walked over the Albis to Zug. I should Hke you to read these letters map in hand, and so follow me in imagination. It was a glorious ramble, and not tiring, thanks to the constantly varying scenery. I tramped along in solitude, my knapsack on my ' hump,' swinging my alpenstock in the Alpine air, and stopping every few minutes to drink in some fresh aspect of this Swiss paradise. We are not, after aU, quite unhappy, if our hearts respond to the touch of Nature. I skipped down the Albis like a gazelle ; but the view of those wooded, ice-capped peaks with flocks on the slopes, the lakes, spreading hke peacocks, and the sound of village chimes and tinkling cow-bells from the heights, sobered me, and I walked slowly on with my eyes riveted on the mountains. Spare me to-day the description of my first climb on the Rigi, when I found myself at a vast height above the everyday world, and watched the sun set and rise again. Absolute strangers mixed together hke members of one family — I even soon succeeded in drawing pretty glances from a pretty Englishwoman I — and Switzerland lay before me in her primeval grandeur. . . . IN ITALY 87 Distance, which dulls the visual world, only- renders the world of memory more distinct. Enthusiasm is changed to glowing classic calm, and its expression is refined to a Goethe-like thoughtfulness. So tremble for the description to come, the labyrinth of words to be struggled through. To-morrow I leave for Lake Maggiore, by way of the Gemmi pass, and hope to reach Milan in five or six days. 11. To his Sister-in-law, Theresa Schumann. Brescia, September 16, 1829. I have just been reminded of you by a beautiful Italian woman, and thus it occurred to me to write, my dear Theresa. I wish 1 could give you a picture of it all : the deep blue skies of Italy ; the luxuriant grass springing at my feet ; groves of apricot and lemon trees, of flax, silk, and tobacco ; the flowery carpet ; the soft southern air astir with butterflies ; the distant, immovable Austrian Alps, sinewy and jagged ; the fine, flashing eyes of the Italian women, much like yours when you are enthusiastic about anything ; the whole intoxicating and spontaneous movement of life ; the poetry of the place, which almost makes me forget even the beloved Germany to which my whole nature clings ; and my truly German sentimental fashion of gazing around me at the abundant foliage, or at the setting sun, or at the Alps as they glow red 38 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST under the sun's parting kiss, and then become cold, monstrous, and lifeless. If I could depict all this for you, I should run to such volumes that you would have to pay double postage. . . . It was lovely weather yesterday when I left Milan, where I had loitered for six days, having meant to stay only two. I had many reasons for staying : first, the best possible, that I reaUy liked it ; second, the particular attractions, such as the cathedral, the Palazzo reale, the escalier conduisant du Belvedere in the Reichmann Hotel, and a beautiful Englishwoman, who seemed to have fallen in love, less with me than my piano-playing. Englishwomen are all like that ; they love with their intellects — that is, they love a Brutus, a Lord Byron, a Mozart, or a Raphael, and are not so much attracted by the physical beauty of an Apollo or an Adonis, unless it enshrines a beautiful mind. Italian women do the exact opposite, and love with their hearts only. German women love with both heart and intellect as a rule, unless they fall in love with a circus-rider, a dancer, or some Croesus ready to marry them on the spot. All this quite impersonally and sans comparaison, please. The third inducement to stay is offered by a certain Graf S., of Innsbruck, with whom I found I had intellectually much in common, despite the fact that he is fourteen years older than I. We found a great deal to tell each other, and joked and gossiped a ^reat deal, to our mutual satisfac- tion, as it seemed. He was a living proof that the EXPERIENCES AT MILAN 39 world is not composed of boors and apes, for all that he was rather deaf, stooped badly, and made terrible grimaces, not so much at the world generally as at individuals. I should not hear a note of decent music here, were not the whole Italian language in itself per- petual music. Graf S. calls it a long-sustained chord in A minor. . . . My Italian really serves me very weU, but it is practically the rule in Italy to fleece foreigners. I pose as a Prussian, because Prussians have the best name here. It is a useful and perfectly harmless wrinkle, though it is sad to have to deny one's fatherland. 12. To his Sister-in-law, Rosalie Schumann, at Schnee- berg. Milan, October 5, 1829. We are indeed the playthings of Fate, Rosalie. I wanted to be, and ought to have been, at Inns- bruck a week ago, yet here I am, stuck fast in Milan for the second time. I shall find it im- possible to write much to-day, having small desire to bore you and myself. Here, then, is my tale of woe, short and to the point, in seven chapters, beginning with my state of health in Venice, and ending to-day. You will, I hope, have received my letter to Emilia from there. Here goes, then : Chapter I. — A beautiful evening tempted me on to the water ; I took a gondola, and floated far, far 40 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST out. Heaven knows, I am quite at home in a boat, and yet I turned sea-sick on the way back. Chapter II. — Pains, aches, spasms, headache, diarrhoea, and nausea — a death in Ufe. Chapter III. — In my fright I put myself in the hands of a doctor, who really cured me as quickly as I could have done it myself — in three days ; but he demanded a napoleon for his trouble, which I was kind enough to pay him. Chapter IV. — After a careful search in my purse, it turned out to be impossible in this case (although, according to my favourite system, everything is possible) to get back to Germany. Consequent change of plans (see Chapter VI.). Chapter V. — On the top of these financial and other difficulties, I was the victim of a scandalous theft. A merchant with whom I had travelled from Brescia absconded with a napoleon of mine, leaving me barely enough to pay for my lodging in Venice. Chapter VI. — Tragic struggle between good and evU. Should I or should I not seU the watch my mother gave me ? Virtue won the day, and I decided I would far rather undertake the thirty miles journey. Chapter VII. (the last). — Finds me squeezed up in a corner of the coach, pondering with sad and stolid countenance the enviable fate of those students who are sitting snugly with their sisters- in-law. I was cursed, in fact, with a violent attack of home-sickness. Then I had a pretty vision of HOME-SICKNESS 41 Zwickau at sunset, when folk sit out on their benches, and children play or paddle in the rippling streams, just as I once did, and much besides. . . . These, my dear Rosalie, are the joys of travelling in Italy. You will easily believe how good it was to hear German again at the Reichmann Hotel in Milan. My first request in that town was for money. I went to Reichmann, who had offered to lend me some on my first visit, and he gave me sixteen napoleons on the spot, without inquiring into my circumstances or those of my family, and without charging any interest. A German of the right sort ! So here, dear people, you have, packed into one page, an account of all my woes, from the like of which Heaven deliver you. But don't be in the least worried about your depressed kinsman, even though he has to climb many awful mountains before seeing Germany again. 13. To Friedrich Wieck.^ Heidelberg, November 6, 1829. I have but just laid aside Hummel's concerto in A minor, my dear Master. It was the work of a moment to pull down my bUnd, light my cigar, pull 1 Friedrich Wieck (1785-1873) was one of the most famous German teachers of the pianoforte. Schumann had made his acquaintance shortly after his arrival in Leipzig, and himself reaped great advantage from the instruction given by Wieck to Clara, He could not then bring himself to regular study, and especially detested theory, which he considered superfluous. {Cf. the introduction to Part U.) 42 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST up the table, and bury my face in my hand, and in a flash I was transported to the corner of the Reichsstrasse,^ my music under my arm ready for my piano lesson. Ah I what possessed me to leave Leipzig ? There I had access to the Olympus of music, and you, its priest, at hand to hft the veil with gentle decision from the eyes of the dazzled novice. Here it is very much as I expected. There is on the whole a great love for music, but little talent. Here and there an antiquated critic or two, but little creative power. As you know, I have small taste for crude theory, and have been going my own way quietly, improvising a good deal, but playing very little from notes. I have begun several symphonies, but have finished nothing. Now and again I squeeze in a Schubert valse between Roman law and the Pandects, and the trio haunts my dreams, bringing back the heavenly hour when I first heard it at your house. I think I may say I have not lost much ground, neither have I made any appreciable progress — practically a standstill, I admit. StiU, I feel that my touch is much fuller in forte, more supple and responsive in piano, although I may have lost in fluency and precision. Without undue vanity, I cannot help feeling modestly conscious of my superiority over all the other Heidelberg pianists. . . . I am now working up the last movement of Hummel's F sharp minor sonata. It is truly a titanic work, epic in character, describing the '^ Wieck's house at Leipzig. ITALIAN MUSIC 43 mighty struggles of a giant mind and its eventual resignation. I shall play you only this at Easter, so you may make it a test of my progress. There is a strong party, in which I figure, now forming against Thibaut.i You would hardly be- lieve what delightful, refreshing hours 1 have spent with him, and yet how his one-sided and really pedantic views on music grieve me, knowing, as I do, his broad-mindedness in jurisprudence, and the irre- sistible power of his brilliant, dominating intellect. I returned from my tour in- Switzerland and Italy a fortnight ago, poorer by a few napoleons, but richer by my increased kndwledge of the world and a store of precious memories, I declare you can have no notion of Italian music until you have heard it under the Italian skies which called it into being. How often did I think of you in the Scala Theatre at Milan ! How charmed I was with Rossini, or rather with Pasta's^ interpretation. I leave her name unqualified to show my respect — I might say, my adoration. In the Leipzig concert- room I sometimes experienced a thrill of awe in the presence of the genius of music, but Italy has taught me to love it. Only once in my whole life have I had an impression of the actual presence of God, of gazing reverently and unrebuked into His face ; this was at Milan, as I listened to Pasta — 1 See, however, letter 14. [Tr.] 2 Italian opera should, indeed, never be judged by German representations. Pasta (1798-1865) not only sang, but acted brilliantly, especially in passionate parts. 44 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST and Rossini! Do not smile, dear Master, for I speak seriously. But this was my sole musical treat in Italy. Their music is, in the ordinary way, hardly fit to listen to. You have no conception of the sort of slapdash facility with which they reel off everything. . . . Schubert^ is still my 'one and only' love, the more so as he has ever5i;hing in common with my one and only Jean Paul. To play his composi- tions is with me like reading one of Jean Paul's novels. . . . There is no other music which pre- sents so bewildering a psychological problem in its train of ideas, its apparently abrupt transitions. It is rare to find a composer who can stamp his indi- viduahty plainly on such a heterogeneous collection of tone-pictures, and still rarer are those who write, as Schubert did, as their hearts prompt them. Schubert unburdened his heart on a sheet of music- paper, just as others leave the impression of passing moods in their journals. His soul was so steeped in music that he wrote notes where others use words — so, at least, I venture to think. Some years back I began a book on the aesthetics of sound, and made some way with it ; but I soon realized that I had neither enough ripe judgment nor a sufficiently objective attitude, consequently sometimes finding what others had missed and vice versa. But if you only knew my perpetual state of ferment ! Why, I might have arrived at Op. 100 1 Schumann was the first to recognize Schubert's full great- nesSj and did much to induce a juster estimate of his work. COMPOSITION 45 with my symphonies, had I written them out. I feel so entirely in my element with a fiiU orchestra ; even if my mortal enemies were marshalled before me, I could lead them, master them, surround them, or repulse them. Circumstances rather than principles keep me from undue presumption, though I occasionally take a high tone with people who provoke it. But there are times when my soul so overflows with melody that it is impossible to write anything down ; at such times I could laugh in the face of any art critic who should tell me that I had better write nothing, since I cannot excel, and boldly say he knew nothing about it. Forgive these wonderful revelations. And now for the favours I have to ask. The first and most pressing is — write to me ; the second — very soon. Your letters meaa positively as much to me here as the Leipzig concerts I have to miss. So you have had Paganini^ at Leipzig, and heard him four times ! ReaUy, that _/owr is too tantalizing. . . . 14. To his Mother. Heidelberg, February 24, 1830. . . . Thibaut is really divine ; my happiest hours are those I spend with him. Every Thursday a chorus of over seventy meets at his house to practise one of Handel's oratorios. He accom- ^ Schumann had heard Paganini at Frankfurt, and the fascination of his playing undoubtedly strengthened his own desire to become a virtuoso. 46 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST panics at the piano himself Uke one inspired. When it is over I see the tears come into those fine eyes of his, overshadowed by his sUvcry hair, and, when he comes up to me, grasping my hand speechless with delight, I wonder how a poor beggar like myscK comes to be honoured with an invitation to a house where I can hear such glorious music. You can have no idea of his wit, his acuteness of per- ception, his real feeling for art, his kindness, his tremendous eloquence, and unfailing tact. . . . You may judge from this, my dear Mother, that my stay in Heidelberg is pleasant, inspiring, gay and varied — adjectives that would have to be put in the superlative degree should I stay longer. This brings me to the reason of my long and timorous silence. Julius wrote to me, too, saying: 'You must on no account think of coming at Easter. Stay at Heidelberg till Michaelmas, at least. It is hardly worth while to make so considerable a journey for the sake of those few months' lectures. Think it over very carefully, for, once away, you may find it not so easy to return. Besides, you can undoubtedly pursue your law studies more profitably and pleasantly at Heidelberg than at Leipzig, which is so badly off for jurists.' So says dear old Julius. Please give him a brotherly greet- ing from me for the whole of his affectionate letter ; another to Emilia for her piquant French epistle. And now, in the fewest possible words, to my re- quest and my carefully considered reasons. Shall you be angry if I extend my term of absence from EXTENDS HIS STAY AT HEIDELBERG 47 a year to eighteen months? Please let me have your answer as soon as possible, for I have been secretly counting on your consent for a month past. Also, in the case of my return to Zwickau, I should have very httle time left, and much, very much, tt> do in the way of preparation and settling up accounts. The only argument against a longer stay in Heidel- berg is the everlasting, tiresome question of money. Indeed, it would cost me just as much again. And yet I am in the flush of youth, not quite poverty- stricken, with the prospect of many precious moments here. I have some splendid friends, fine feUows in themselves, and shall I really disturb aU this and wreck my hopes for the sake of 200 florins ? I speak as seriously as the matter deserves. If you have any proposals, dear Mother, do make them, and they are sure to meet with my accept- ance. However great my longing to see you all may be, who knows whether a longer separation might not rather heighten and purify it? The truest love lies more in the spirit and in the imagination than in externals. The best way of learning to love is to be sent away for ten years among strangers ; the result is a strong, undimmed affection. So do please write, dear Mother, or send me a word of loving consent — a ring to wed me to Heidelberg, no mourning ring this time. . . . Now comes a sore point — my finances,^ which 1 Schumann's frequent complaints of being pinched for money need not be taken too seriously. Very few of the great German artists started life in such comfortable circumstances. 48 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST are in a bad way, and Heaven knows I have debts too. I wish I could show you those precious docu- ments, my tailor's bill and my bootmaker's, to take only two. The tailor has had 90 florins from me since Easter, and I still owe him 55. My cloak was 85 florins, and two pairs of black trousers 36 florins. I have also had my blue dress-coat and my black coat turned, and had to have a tourist suit, to say nothing of other repairs. The bootmaker's case is not much better. In his biU a pair of Alpine boots looms large among various other pairs, and a pair of shoes among various repairs and re-solings — a melancholy array. Then I must eat, drink, play the piano, smoke, drive to Mannheim once in a way, go to lectures, buy books and music ; and all this is a sad expense. Then there are these con- founded dances (entailing fancy dress), tips, my subscription to the Museum, cigars (a serious item), the piano-tuner, the laundress, the shoe-black, candles and soap, also the drinks I occasionally have to stand — all these things would drive me to despair, if I were not desperate already. For a month I have not had a farthing in my pocket, and I receive plenty of discreet hints and meaning glances when I go out, although up to now I have only had one dun, and he was quite civil. I should not tell you aU this but for my cus- tomary frankness, and my inability to keep any- thing from you ; indeed, I should teU you the name of my sweetheart, if I had one. Therefore have no delusions about me, but love me none the less, my dear Mother. . . . ROUTINE AT HEIDELBERG 49 15. To his Mother. Heidelberg, July 1, 1830, 4 a.m. ... I expect you will like to have a little picture of my everyday life. Except for the touch of rime-frost with which jurisprudence sometimes chills my early morning, the days would be all sun- shine, fresh and radiant as dewy flowers. The divine enthusiasm of youth is a question of tem- perament, and not of age ; consequently, people of the right sort, like yourself and the poets, are always young. My own simple idyll is compounded of music, jurisprudence, and poetry ; poetry is to the prose of life as the shining gold setting to the hard, glittering diamond. I get up early, work from four to seven, sit at the piano from seven to nine, and am then off to Thibaut. The afternoon is divided between lectures and lessons or reading in English and Italian ; the evening I spend with friends or out of doors. There you have the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I feel sometimes that 1 am not a practical person, but Providence alone is responsible for that, since it endowed me with imagination to unravel and illuminate the tangled problems of the future. You may be sure I should like to be great in my profession, and I am really not wanting in good- will and energy. My failure to rise above the average will be no fault of mine, but of circumstances ; perhaps, also, 4 50 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST of my own heart, to which Latin has always been quite aUen. Chance alone, or some heaven-sent turn of fortune, may lift the dark curtain which veils my future. Thibaut, for instance, does not encourage me to pursue my law studies, because, as he says, I was ' not born a bureaucrat,' and real efficiency is unattainable without native inclination. No automatic, machine-made lawyer, therefore, can excel in his profession. I cannot withhold from you these, my real convictions. But do not be alarmed ; I have endless plans for the future, should this or that come to naught. . . . 16. To his Mother. Heidelberg, July 30, 1830, 5 a.m. Good Morning, Mamma 1 How shall I describe to you my bUss at this moment 1 The spirit-lamp is flaming and spluttering under the coffee-pot ; there is an adorably clear golden sky, and the spirit of the morning is abroad in all its freshness. Then your letter lies before me, revealing a perfect mine of affection, sagacity, and virtue ; my cigar has an excellent flavour ; and, in short, the world is very fair at times — at least, to early risers. My life here does not lack sunshine and blue sky, but I miss my cicerone, Rosen. The von H.'s, two brothers from Pomerania, whom I knew weU, left for Italy a week ago ; so I am left much to my own CHOICE OF A CAREER 51 devicesv— that is, I am very happy or very miserable, as the fit takes me. Then, too, I sometimes work myself into a fever as I think over my past. My life has been for twenty years one lojig struggle between poetry and prose, or, let us say, music and law. My aims were as high in practical life as in art. I hoped to find scope for my energies and my powers of overcoming difficulties in a wide sphere of work. But what prospects are there, particularly in Saxony, for an ordinary plebeian, who has neither interest nor fortune, nor any real love for pettifogging legal details ? At Leipzig I never troubled myself about my career, but dreamed and pottered away my time without any tangible results ; here I have worked better, but my stay in both places has only tended to strengthen my leaning towards art. Now I stand at the cross- roads, trembling before the question. Whither? My own instinct points to art, and I believe it to be the right road, but it has always seemed to me — you will not be hurt if I whisper it lovingly — that you rather barred my way in that direction. I quite see your excellent motherly reasons, known to both of us as ' a precarious future ' and ' an un- certain liveUhood.' But let us look a little further. A man can know no greater torment than to look forward to an unhappy, empty, and lifeless future of his own planning ; but neither is it easy for him to choose a profession directly opposed to that for which he was destined from his youth. Such a change means patience, confidence, and a rapid training. 4—2 52 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST My fancy is young, and sheds its halo over the artist-life ; I have also arrived at the certainty that, given a good teacher and six years' steady, hard work, I shall be able to hold my own against any pianist, for pianoforte-playing is merely a matter of mechanical perfection. I have, besides, an occa- sional flight of fancy, and what is perhaps a real inspiration to compose. This brings me to the question — which shall I choose ? I can only make my mark in one or the other. I tell myself that if I give my whole mind to a thing I am bound to succeed, dear Mother, in the end, through steady application. Thus the battle within rages more fiercely than ever. Sometimes I am foolhardy, and confident in my own tenacity ; at others, doubtful, when I think of the immense stretch of road before me which I might by this time have covered. As for Thibaut, he has long been advising me to take up music. I should be very glad if you would write to him, and 1 know he would be pleased. He went to Rome some time ago, so I shall not have another chance of seeing him. If I keep to law it certainly means spending another winter here to attend Thibaut's lectures on the Pandects, which no law student can afford to miss. If 1 decide on music, I must as certainly leave here and return to Leipzig. I should be quite glad to go under Wieck, who knows me, and can gauge my capabilities. Later on I should want a year in Vienna, and, if possible, lessons from Moscheles. And now, dear Mother, one SCHUMANN CONSULTS WIECK 53 request which you will perhaps be glad to fulfil. Will you write yourself to Wieck at Leipzig, and ask him plainly what he thinks of me and my scheme ?^ Please let me have a speedy reply, telling me your decision, so that I can hasten my departure from Heidelberg, loath as I am to leave this paradise, my many friends, and my bright dreams. Enclose this letter in your own to Wieck, if you like. In any case the matter must be settled by Michaelmas ; then I will work, vigorously and without regrets, at my chosen profession. You will admit that this is the most important letter I have ever written, or am likely to write. I hope you will not mind doing what I ask. Please answer as soon as possible; there is no time to be lost. Farewell, my dear Mother, and do not be anxious. It is a clear case of ' Heaven helps those who help themselves,' you see. 17. To Friedrieh Wieck. Heidelberg, August 21, 1830. My best of Masters, It has taken a long time for the tumult of my ideas to quiet down. What an upheaval the reading of those two letters caused ! I am just beginning to feel more collected. I at once took 1 His mother wrote to Wieck, who replied that he thought he could guarantee Schumann's success as a pianist, if he per- severed, practised sufficiently, and was willing to undergo a course of theoretical studiies. 54 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST courage on reading your letter, and concluded that Atlas was overthrown. In his place stood a child of the Sun, pointing to the east, saying, ' Beware of thwarting Nature, lest thy good genius take his flight for ever. The road to science hes over ice- clad mountains ; the road to art also lies over mountains, but they are tropical, set with flowers, hopes, and dreams.' Such was the state of my feelings on first reading your letter and my mother's, but I am much calmer now. . . . I choose art, and by this decision I wiU, can, and must abide. I can bid good-bye without a tear to a science which I do not love and barely respect ; but it is not without qualms that I look down the long vista leading to the goal I have set myself. I assure you I am modest, as, indeed, I have reason to be ; but I am also courageous, patient, trusting, and teachable. I put myself in your hands with entire confidence. Take me as I am, and be patient with me in everything. Reproaches shall not depress me, nor praise make me idle. A few bucketfuls of cold, real cold, theory wiU not hurt me, and I shall not dodge the wetting. I have carefully read and considered your five 'but's'; I have asked myself severely if I can satisfy them ; and in each case my reason and my inclination answer: 'Yes, without a doubt.' Take my hand and lead me, honoured Master, for I will follow you blindly ; and never shift the bandage from my eyes, lest they be dazzled by the splendour. If I could show you my inner self at this moment, you MUSIC OR LAW? 55 would see me at peace in a world bathed with the fragrance of the dawn. You may rely upon me. Your pupil shall be worthy of the name. Ah, Master, can you tell me why we are sometimes so blissfully happy in this world ? I know the secret ! . . . 18. To his Mother. Heidelberg, August 22, 1830. My adoked Mother, The 19th of August, which brought me letters from you all, -was a wonderful day. My inmost self was called upon to weigh my future in the balance and to choose the rising scale. But I did not find the choice difficult, in spite of the gravity of the decision on which my whole future, my fame, my happiness — and perhaps yours — depend. Believe me, I fully appreciate your loving tenderness, and was led by your doubts to probe deeper into myself than I otherwise should have done. But you may be sure I have passed my whole life in review during the last few days to help me in my decision. But whether I put the question to my head, heart, or reason, view it in the hght of past, present, or future, or according to my abilities, hopes, or prospects, everything from my child- hood onwards points to an artistic career. Ask 56 JEAN PAUL AND DRYASDUST yourself frankly, as you think over my childhood, boyhood, and early manhood, in what direction my instincts always led me. Remember how my father's clear-sighted intelligence destined me at that early age for art or music. . . . You yourself in the letter before this dwell on my devotion to poetry, nature, music, etc. Beware of thwart- ing nature and your own genius, lest you offend both irrevocably. . . . Let me draw you a parallel, and for the present leave everything to Wieck : you have reason to trust him. The signpost pointing towards Art says : ' If you are diligent you can reach your goal in three years.' Law says : ' In three years you may, perhaps, be an accessist earning sixteen groschen a year.' Art continues : ' I am free as air, and the whole world is my haven.' Law says with a shrug : ' My practice involves constant subordination at every step of the way, and immaculate dress.' Art goes on to say : ' Where I am, there is beauty ; I rule the heart, whose emotions I have called into being ; I am unshackled and infinite ; I compose and am immortal,' etc. Law says sternly : ' I have nothing to offer but musty deeds, village squabbles, or, with exceptional luck, the exciting mystery of a sudden death. I cannot consider editing new Pandects,' etc. . . . I will not turn the conversation on to baser considerations, such as the comparative lucrative- ness of the two professions, since the answer is self- evident. MUSIC OR LAW ? 57 Dearest Mother, I can only give you a slight and fleeting sketch of aU that I have thought out so thoroughly. I wish you were with me and could read my thoughts. I know you would say : ' Enter on your new career with courage, diligence and confidence, and you will not fall.' Give me your hands, dear people, and let me go my way. I assure you we have all more reason to face the future cheerfully now than we had before. Eduard's proposal is good and kind, but it wUl not do, for the loss of six months is far more serious to me in my art than in law, where I can so easily make it good. But Wieck's proposal is capital. He says : ' Let Robert come to me for six months on trial.' So be it. If Wieck gives a favourable report, then I may safely hope to make progress and win fame. On the other hand, if he has any shadow of doubt after those six months, there is still no harm done. I can study another year, take my examination, and shall even then only have studied four years. . . . PART II FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS ' Eusebius's mildness^ Florestan's ire — I can give thee, at will, my tears or my fire, For my soul by turns two spirits possess — The spirits of joy and of bitterness.' From Schumann's verses to Clara. ' Florestan and Eusebius form my dual nature ; I should like to melt them into the perfect man, Raro.' To Heinrich Dorn, September 14, 1836. 19. To his Mother. Leipzig, October 25, 1830. I should have written ages ago, but had literally neither pen nor paper. I have been homeless in Leipzig for a fortnight, and am in consequence too irritable and unsettled to collect my thoughts. If you only knew what your letters are to me, the last especially, in which I hardly know whether the human or the motherly element most moves my admiration. In the first flush of my delight I went to Wieck. ' How far superior is your Mother to your guardian !' he said ; and 1 repeated some 58 LIFE AT LEIPZIG 59 more to him. Continue to be gentle with me, dear Mother. . . . Will you send me, some time, all my letters to you ? They would be useful to me in some work I am doing. I should like to see, too, whether I have changed much in these two years and a half. Please send them. 20. To his Mother. Leipzig, Ncmemher 15, 1830. Three of your letters he before me unanswered. First of all, my beist thanks for everything — beds, linen, coffee, etc. The coffee in particular was a source of much simple idyUic pleasure. Flechsig always had his coffee sent in bottles from Zwickau, and this unromantic attention pleased me so much at the time that I thought I would write for some too. Julius i« right about the seahng-wax ; I did not think of it. You are perfectly right about the cigars, but I really think I smoke less than I used. I should not go so far as to call it a passion. Last time I travelled I did not smoke fifty, and had no great hankering after them. In other ways I am retrenching as far as I can, but one extravagance remains — I still bum two candles in the evening. I have been to see Barth,^ but have not yet paid my Sunday call. Sometimes I could sacrifice all considerations to my odious moodiness and mis- 1 J. A. Barth, a Leipzig bookseller and publisher. 60 FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS anthropic indifference. The Caruses^ insist on introducing me to numerous families, thinking it ' good for my career.' I am sure it would be, and yet I don't go ; indeed, I hardly leave my room. I am often heavy, dull, and disagreeable ; my laughter is of a sardonic order, and there is hardly a trace of my old heartiness and enthusiasm. You will not enjoy my company at Christmas. You say you were incapable of praying after you had read my letter, telling you of my decision. Can that be really true ? I shall not be much satisfac- tion to you as I am, but I vow that if I stuck to law I should shoot myself from sheer boredom when I became a junior barrister. . . . 21. To his Mother. Leipzig, December 15, 18S0. You write as youthfully as my own Jean Paul in this letter; every word is a flower. If the glorious time in which we live, in which even greybeards renew their youth, does not quite eclipse the star of art, I shall not be afraid of appearing in the encyclopaedias and ' Portraits of Celebrated Men,' or of seeing our whole El Dorado of letters in print. How we shall figure as son and mother I You don't know how such letters as yours refresh me, with what new strength and * E. A. Carus, M.D., a Leipzig professor, who knew Schu- mann's uncle at Zwickau. His wife was an admirable singer, from whom Schumann first heard Schubert's songs. LIFE AT LEIPZIG 61 energy they inspire me in the constant struggle towards my goal! Kindly encouragement gives me power of resistance, and new, far-reaching courage. 'You have your true love, your true friend, in joy or sorrow. Ah ! music bestows a sweet, soothing consolation which words cannot give. Do you in your turn be true to her whom you have chosen as the comrade of your earthly existence.' Words like these linger long in the memory, especially when they are the expression of a mother s emotion. But I shall be faithful, even should my mistress prove faithless. I could write a great deal more to-day, but my hand shakes, and I feel I must walk up and down the room, and think of the snowflakes which a breath of spring is scattering. The 15th, Evening. 1 sometimes feel quite well and happy. I work hard, and am getting on famously ; in three or four years I hope to be ready for Moscheles.^ Do you remember how we sat together at a concert at Carlsbad, and you whispered to me joyfully that Moscheles was sitting behind us, and then how every one made way for him, and how modestly he carried himself? I mean to take him for my model in everything. Believe me, dearest Mother, with patience and endurance I can accomplish much if I wiU. I sometimes lack confidence in public, although I am proud enough inwardly. I pray ^ Ignaz Moscheles (1794-1870), the pianist. He lived in London from 1821 onwards. 62 FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS God I may keep myself strong, modest, steady, and sober. The flame that is naturally clear always gives the most light and heat. If I could blend my talent for poetry and music into one, the light would burn stiU clearer, and I might go far. I cannot bear the idea now of dying in philis- tinism; I feel I must always have been destined for music. Do you know, I always stole the hours when you went to see Mrs. Ruppius for composing? Ah, those happy hours ! I shall have many more of them. Your indirect invitation for New Year's Eve is more inviting than any request or demand for my presence. This letter would be sufficient to bring me, were there no other inducement. I shaU perhaps fly over for a few minutes, and play you a few pranks, like a zephyr in winter. Until then, hang up this picture of me. But I must thank you, too, for the remittance. My indifference to money and my spendthrift ways are disgraceful. You have no idea how reckless I am; how often I practically throw money out of the window. I am always making good resolutions, but the next minute I forget and give the waiter eightpence. Living away from home and travelling have much to do with it, but I have to blame chiefly myself and my cursed recklessness. No cure for it, I'm afraid. It was only a joke about my looking pale and wretched. I am as blooming as a rose, and as healthy as a fish. I occasionally have toothache. LIFE AT LEIPZIG 63 See the portrait ! My Weimar scheme^ is grand. How, in Heaven's name, can you say it might be too expensive ? There is time enough, for I must at all costs finish my course with Wieck. The other day I threw out a careless hint about the Hummel plan, but he was offended, and asked if I mistrusted him, or whose doing it was. Was he not the best living teacher ? I showed my alarm at his sudden outburst, but we have made it up again, and he treats me like his own child. You have no conception of his enthusiasm, his critical judgment of art ; but where his own interests or Clara's are at stake, he is as savage and intractable as a boor. . . . 22. To Ms Mother. May 15, 1831. . . . All this long time I have not been able to collect my thoughts sufficiently to write you a long letter. It will not be of a rosy hue, either. I have kept my room almost entirely for six days. I have pain in my stomach, my heart, my head — oh, everywhere ! Otherwise I am in unusually good spirits. For three successive days I had to under- go a regime of perspiration, under the doctor's orders. My hand trembles as I write. I have a touch of cholera or something of that sort ; but I hope to be on my legs again, and with you, dear * Schumann had told his mother of his intention of going to Weimar, to become a pupil of Hummel (cf. Letter 23). He tried to persuade her to remove to Weimar also. 64 FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS Mother, by the 1st of June. Are you really as kind as ever ? Your last words at our leave-taking will ever live in my memory. When I say them over to myself, it is as if my good genius folded me in his arms. I have become so suspicious that I can hardly be too often assured of my friends' affection. . . . And so I potter along. Like aU young, impul- sive people, I make the mistake of trying to be everything at once, and this only complicates my work and unsettles my mind. But as I grow older I shall be calmer and more level-headed. There are but four courses open to me : conducting, teaching, playing, and composition. Hummel, of course, combines all four ; I shall probably turn to the two last. I must really give up dabbling in many things, and aim at excellence in one. My success depends chiefly on my power to live a persistently clean, sober, and reputable life. If I hold fast by this, my good genius, who fairly possesses me at times, wiU not desert me. . . . 23. To J. N. Hummel, at Weimar.^ Leipzig, August 20, 1831. Dear Sie, My intimate acquaintance with your com- positions, which is of many years' standing, must ^ Johann Nepomuk Hummel (1778-1837) had conducted the Weimar court orchestra since 1819, and was considered the first authority on pianoforte teaching. Schumann's estimate of his compositions was afterwards modified, but Hummel is certainly underrated in our day. SCHUMANN TO HUMMEL 65 be the excuse for this intrusive letter from a stranger. More than once, as I realized the full beauty of your tone-pictures, did the desire arise to know the man who has given to the world such exquisite moments, though I Mttle thought I should ever have an opportunity. But I am assurfed on all sides that a student may go to a great master for advice with no fear of a rebuff, and am therefore encouraged to approach you. Before venturing on a request, the fulfilment of which I leave entirely to your judgment, permit me, dear sir, to explain the object of this letter. From my earliest childhood I have had a passionate love for music, though the fact that I sat at the piano aU day and improvised proves nothing. My father, a bookseller in a provincial town and a man of unusual perspicacity, was perhaps quicker to perceive my musical bent than my mother, who, anxious as all mothers are, preferred a so-called bread-winning profession to the thorny path of art. It is true there was some question of my studying with Director von Weber,^ but a delay was caused by his absence in England up to the time when death deprived me of my father in 1826. I was thus left to follow my own instincts without guidance. There was no one I could take as my pattern in the small town, where, indeed, I possibly figured as such myself Three years ago I entered the university here, troubling myself but little as to my destiny or my future profession. I attended ^ Karl Maria von Weber. 66 FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS a few lectures, and also zealously pursued my studies in pianoforte-plajdng and composition under good masters. To give you an idea of the vigorous reforms my teacher had to institute, I must tell you that, although I could play any concerto at sight, I had to go back and learn the scale of C major. But my progress was encouraging, and I worked so hard that I was able, after a year, to play the A minor concerto (there is only one) with ease and certainty and with technical correctness. I even played it once or twice in public. At Easter, 1829, I went to Heidelberg, travelled subsequently for some time in Switzerland and Italy, and returned to Heidelberg at Easter, 1830. Then, all at once, the thought seized me : what are you going to make of your life? I had better say nothing of the struggle which followed. It lasted nearly six months, the outcome being my decision to devote myself to art. I requested my mother to write to Wieck at Leipzig, and ask him what he thought of my prospects as a musician. His answer was encouraging ; he pointed out that, as I was not quite without means, I had less need than some others to take into account the precariousness of an artist's livehhood. The step was taken, and I returned to Leipzig fired with enthusiasm and armed with the firmest resolves. But what a change did I find in my old master I Contrary to his former method of weigh- ing each note critically and studying each move- ment conscientiously page by page, he let me SCHUMANN TO HUMMEL 67 scramble through good and bad alike, neglecting both touch and fingering. His one idea was to secure a brilliant, Paganini-like performance, and I could hardly play splashily enough to please him. My master wished to rid me of a certain cautious, mechanical, studied manner of playing, and I can imagine that this method might succeed better with his daughter, who indeed shows wonder- ful promise, but I am not ripe for such bold treat- ment. I quite realize that this year at Leipzig has widened my views on execution, conception, and so on, but has advanced me very little in the direction of a real mastery of the art, I now appeal to the Master in the hope that he will allow me to profit by his teaching for a time. My dear mother, desirous of my success, joins me in this request. Her whole confidence goes out to one who is celebrated for his kindness to young artists. I venture to enclose the first solo of a concerto,^ which will indicate more clearly than any descrip- tion my present stage. I may explain that this bold attempt at writing in concerto form is not my first effort in composition ; I have tried my hand at great and small, and the concerto form seemed to me easier than that of the sonata, for instance, because of its greater license. I have written, dear Sir, freely, and asked much, for which I can only offer in return my poor thanks in anticipation. My long-cherished desire for your * For pianoforte in F. 5—2 68 FL0RESTAN AND EUSEBIUS acquaintance and my passionate devotion to music must supply the place of further excuses. If ever I closed a letter with a feeling of genuine respect, it is this.^ 24. To his Brother, Julius Schumann. Leipzig, September 5, 1831. My dear Brother, I must confess to you my painful, almost childish, dread of cholera, and my fear that a sudden seizure may put an end to my existence. The thought of dying now, at twenty, before I have done an5rthing except spend money, maddens me. I have been in a fever for days, making a thousand plans, only to dismiss and revive them alternately. In an epidemic I consider flight a duty, unless -ft causes too great a disturbance to our friends ; and as there is no danger of that in my case, I should very much like to be off to sunny Italy for six months or so, or to Augsburg for a time with Wieck (who is going on to Paris with * In reply Hummel wrote encouragingly about Schumann's compositions, although he evidently considered that he was in danger of sacrificing too much to originality. Schumann was afterwards advised on all sides not to study under Hummel, who was becoming old-fashioned ; but he was convinced that Hummel's reputation would be useful to him in Vienna, where he proposed to settle eventually. In a letter to his mother (May 5, 1832) he announces his intention of going to him at Michaelmas, but by that time he was obliged to give up the idea of being a pianist, on account of his lamed hand. [Tr.] ABEGG VARIATIONS 69 Probst^), or to Hummel at Weimar. On the other hand, I should really prefer staying here, as I don't want to travel, and am getting on with my music. Altogether, I am in such a desperate state of agitation and indecision that I almost feel hke putting a bullet through my head. . . . 25. To his Mother. Leipzig, September 21, 1831. ... I am not going to Weimar at present. The fact is, I shall shortly become the father of a fine, healthy infant, whom I should like to see christened before I leave Leipzig. The child will make its appearance at Probst's. How I hope you will understand its child's message of youth and life ! 2 If you did but know the first joys of author- ship I Being engaged can be nothing to it. What hopes and prophetic visions fill my soul's heaven ! The Doge of Venice, as he wedded the sea, was not prouder than I, as I celebrate my nuptials with the great world within whose vast range the artist may roam or rest at will. Is it not a consoling thought that this first leaf of my fancy which flutters into ether may find its way to some sore heart, bringing balm to soothe its pain and heal its wound ? . . . ^ Probst had a music-shop at Leipzig. 2 Variations on the name Abegg, Op. 1. 70 FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS 26. To Friedrich Wieck, at Frankfurt-am-Main. Leipzis, January 11, 1832. 1 might, my dear friend and Master, begin this letter as if it were a continuation, for I write to you every hour in spirit. To-day I at last sit down firmly determined not to lay aside my pen until the letter is done. First let me congratulate you warmly on Clara's success.^ Indeed, the public, which forgets so easily, seldom overlooks anything really remarkable, though I am sometimes tempted to compare it to a herd of cattle momentarily distracted by the lightning from its peaceful grazing. Schubert, Paganini, and Chopin have flashed across the horizon, and now comes — Clara. You cannot believe how I long to be back with you both ! I need to be with people who wiU draw me upward to a higher level. I am so apt to be proud and cynical with my equals or with people from whom I can admit no criticism. I shall never agree with Dorn,^ who is bent on persuading me ' Wieck had taken Clara on an extended concert tour, com- mencing on September 25. They had given successful concerts at Weimar (where they were received by Goethe), Erfurt, Gotha, Arnstadt, and Kassel, and were, at the time when Schumann wrote, in very low spirits, on account of their poor reception at Frankfurt. Their tour ended with Paris, where they stayed two months. 2 Heinrich Dorn (1804-1892) was at Leipzig from 1829 to 1832 in the course of his eventful career as a conductor, which closed with his summons to the Court Opera in Berlin (1849- 1869). SCHUMANN TO CLARA WIECK 71 that a fugue is the whole of music. How very differently people are constituted! Yet I admit that the theoretical studies have done me good ; for where I was once content to transfer to paper the impulse of the moment, I now stand critically aside to watch the play of my inspiration, pausing now and again to take my bearings. I wonder if you ever passed through this kind of a haze your- self. There are, as I think, some who, like Mozart, never experience it ; others, like Hummel, steer their way through ; others, again, like Schubert, never come out of it ; while some can even laugh at it with Beethoven. And now, how are you ? Do not be alarmed at a certain incoherence in this letter, for I have so much to teU you that I hardly know where to begin. Chopin's Op. 1 (which I firmly believe to be Op. 10 at least) lies before me. A lady might call it quite pretty and piquant, rather like Moscheles. But I think you will let Clara learn it, for it is fuU of inspiration, and presents few difficulties. I modestly maintain, however, that it is separated from Op. 2 by a period of two years and a score of other compositions. . . . 27. To Clara Wieck {enclosed in the above). My very dear Clara, I could hardly repress a smile yesterday when I read in the Didaskalia that ' Fraulein Clara 72 FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS Wieck' had beeri-Jliiyllig variationsTjyTierz, 'el© Forgive this leyity|'«rny .dear Fraulein, but surely the best title is^none at all. Who would say Herr Paganini of Herr Goeth©'? I know you are of a thoughtful turn, and understand your crazy old inventor of charades. You are to me, my dear Clara, not a sister or a girl friend, but the pilgrim's distant shrine. While you have been away I have been to Arabia for fairy tales likely to please you. There are six new ones of a man haunted by his double, a hundred and one charades, eight droll riddles, some delightfully creepy robber tales, and a white ghost story, which positively makes me shudder. Alwin^ has grown into quite a nice boy. His new blue overcoat and his leather cap, which is just like mine, suit him uncommonly well. There is no startling news of Gustav, except that he has grown so tremendously that you will hardly know him. . . . Clemens is the drollest little fellow, very lovable and very obstinate. He talks hke a book, and has the most sonorous voice. He has grown a good deal too. Alwin's violin will run away with him one of these days. . . . Have you been composing vigorously ? And if so, what ? In my dreams I sometimes hear music — it must be yours. 1 am now doing three-part fugue with Dorn, besides which I have finished a sonata in B minor * Alwin (1821-1885) was Clara's brother by Friedrich Wieck's first marriage, as was Gustav. Clemens was a son of Wieck's second marriage. The two latter died in childhood. THEORETICAL STUDIES 73 and a book of Papillons, which will appear within the next fortnight — in print ! Dorn is giving a concert a month from now. The Polish concert was so full that three hundred people had to be turned away.jS-' The weather is glorious to-day. How do apples taste at Frankfurt ? And how is the top F in that skipping variation of Chopin's ? My paper is coming to an end, like everything else except the friendship which preserves to Fraulein Clara Wieck Her Warmest Admirer. 28. To Heinrich Dorn. Leipzig, April 25, 1 832. Dear Herr Director, What can have induced you to break off our relations so suddenly ? I ought not to wonder that your patience gave way before my incessant pleas for- indulgence and forgiveness, yet I never thought that you would desert me so near the goal. It is only since I have helped two of my friends as far as syncopations that I realize the thoroughness and infallibility of your method. Some of the side- issues upon which you casually touched (intervals, for instance) seemed to me quite clear at the time, though I now see that I was far from understanding them. You must not think I have been stagnating Of idling since you left me, but it seems as if I could only assimilate ideas I evolve for myself, so strongly does my whole nature resent any outside 74 FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS stimulus. So I have been going cautiously forward from where we left off (using Marpurg), and have not, 1 confess, given up the hope of studying canon again with you some day. I now see the inestim- able value of theoretical studies ; it is only the abuse of them which is harmful. I have missed your help very much in adapting Paganini's Caprices for the pianoforte, as the basses were often doubt- ful, but I overcame the difficulty by choosing the simplest. Besides these, I have finished six inter- mezzi with trios and a prelude and fugue (a triple fugue, if you please !), which I should like to show you. And now, if I ask my conscience whom this letter was written to please, I am bound to reply : myself. Am I not an egoist ? But I hope, all the same, you will forgive and make excuses for Your Faithful Pupil. 29. To his Mother. Leipzig, May 8, 1832. I have just been reading over your last three letters, two of which date from January, to see if I had forgotten to answer anything in them. I should like to send you some extracts from my commonplace-book, which should both enlighten you as to my thoughts and doings during the past months and perhaps excuse my silence ; but the entries during this period are exceptionally scanty and unimportant. ' An artist must maintain a nice ART AND LIFE 75 adjustment in his relations with the outside world, otherwise he is bound to go under.' This is what I tried to do first of all. Consequently, my atten- tion has been turned inward in the absence of the distraction once offered by travelling and gayer surroundings. And, since your son is as incapable of moderation in right as in wrong doing, this self-observation or spying on my own sensations developed into a form of hypochondria, which pre- vented a clear conception of my future position, and was in itself depressing and unsettling. Then, too, keenly as I am attracted by art in its manifold expression and its unceasing endeavour, I was often vain enough to think that I did not play a suffi- ciently important part in practical everyday life. I retired still further into myself, examined my past life thoroughly, and vainly tried to arrive at some clear understanding of my aim and my scope, of what I had accomplished and of what I had become. But I soon decided that just as excess or misuse of the finest and noblest things produces satiety and indifference, so does intelligent, conscientious, per- severing work alone secure progress, and preserve the charm in any art, especially in music. The stronger the original impulse, the greater is the reaction. For another thing, I have long been dis- satisfied with my social life. Wieck, the one person whose company I sought and enjoyed, our interest being mutual, has been in Paris. Liihe^ 1 Willibald von der Liihe (born 1800)^ formerly an officer, was then living at Leipzig, where he wrote and published several works of reference. 76 FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS used to come every day, but his conventional views, clever as they are, prevented me from reaUy fraternizing with him. Moritz Semmel, whom I respect for his discernment, resolution, and devotion to his work, proved a pleasanter companion in brighter moods ; but the wide divergence of our individual aims led to a breach, the more inexphc- able as we could have supplied one another's deficiencies, I was thus left more and more alone, and reached, at times, a deadlock from which I was only set free by my innate aversion to every form oj idleness. Two of my compositions have just been published, and I missed Wieck, whose judgment is so rarely biased that I set great store by it in some respects. My theoretical studies with Dorn have been of great value in bringing my mind, through steady application, to a state of clearness, after which I have often dimly striven. My life has changed ; I am independent. Realizing my new responsibilities, I hesitated to part with the MS. Well, it is printed now, for all the world to see and judge. Some few criticisms have reached my ears, indulgent, appre- ciative, or censorious. . . . Many a sleepless night has brought before me a vision of my goal as a distant picture ; and, as I wrote the Papillons} I could feel the stirring of a certain independence, but this is precisely what most of the critics reject. As I watch my PapUhns fluttering in the spring air, as I see spring itself looking in at my door, a ^ Op. 2j dedicated to his three sisters-in-law. [Tr.] DAILY ROUTINE AT LEIPZIG 77 child with eyes of heaven's blue, I begin to compre- hend the meaning of my existence. The silence is broken ; my letter is in your hands. . . . To give you a faithful picture of my domestic life I should have to paint the morning in the Italian, the evening in the Dutch manner. My lodgings are respectable, roomy and comfortable. I spring out of bed, nimble as a deer, at about five o'clock, and devote myself to my accounts, my diary and my correspondence. Then I work, com- pose or read a little by turns, up to eleven, when Liihe appears with the utmost regularity. He is, indeed, a perfect model of order and punctuality. Then comes dinner, after which I read a little French or a newspaper. From three to six I generally take a solitary walk, usually the road to Connewitz. Its beauty leads me to ask myself and you : can we not have our heaven on earth if we take a simple, sober view of life, and are not un- reasonable in our demands ? I sometimes clap my hands for joy as I tell myself that I need not go to America to find true happiness. If I am home by six I improvise until nearly eight, then have supper with [Kompel] and Wolff as a rule, and come home again. But, as I wish to be perfectly open with you, dear Mother, I confess unblushingly that this routine was frequently upset during February and March ; interruptions became, indeed, rather the rule than the exception. You asked Rascher yourself whether I really drank much, and he, I believe, defended 78 FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS me. I could not have defended myself, for there was truth in the accusation. But as drinking Bavarian beer must be accounted a prosaic habit rather than a poetic passion, it was not easy to give it up, for it is infinitely simpler to cure a passion than an old habit. If you ask whether I have given it up, I can answer confidently in the affirma- tive. . . . 30. To his Mother. Leipzig, August 9, 1832. My whole house is turned into a chemist's shop. The fact is, I began to feel uneasy about my hand,^ though I assiduously avoided consulting a surgeon, for fear the dreaded blow should faU in his verdict : ' incurable.' I began to make aU sorts of plans for the future — decided to study theology in place of law, and even arrived at adorning my parsonage with living pictures of yourself and others ! In the end I went to Professor Kiihl, and asked him, on his honour, whether it would come right. After shaking his head a few times, he said : ' Yes, but not for some time — say six months.' Once I had this assurance, the weight fell from my heart, and I joyfully followed out aU his instructions. They were bad enough, for they spelt Tierbdder (let Schurig teU you what they are) — bathing my hand ^ Schumann had tried to obtain independent action of the fingers by fastening up the middle finger in a sling, and playing only with the other four. As a result, he lost the use of the finger completely. INJURY TO HIS HAND 79 constantly in warm brandy-and- water by day and poulticing it with herbs at night, and as little playing as possible. It is not the most charming of cures, and I fear something of the bovine element will pass into my temperament, though I confess the baths are very strengthening. Altogether, I feel so strong and fit that I have a healthy desire to thrash some one. But what nonsense I am talking ! Forgive me, dear Mother. I need hardly say that a journey to Zwickau is out of the question under these circumstances. But come and see whether your boy would receive you with open arms if you paid him a visit I You could not stay with me, as Eduard knows ; but why not go to the hotel ? You can have splendid rooms very cheaply by the month. It would certainly be the most comfortable arrangement, and I would see to everything for you. Would not EmUia^ come too, either to stay or simply to bear you company ? I really long to see her again. My journey to Vienna has to be postponed on the same account. If my cure succeeds, I shall go there, after paying you a visit. It is better not to go to Dresden until name and reputation are assured, for it is a hard matter to acquire them there. Reissiger^ does not attract me ; his way is so different from mine. Music is to me the per- fect expression of the soul, while to some it is a 1 His brother Julius's wife. 2 Karl Gottfried Reissiger (1798-1859) had been director of the German opera at Dresden since 1826. 80 FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS mere intoxication of the sense of hearing, and to others an arithmetical problem, and treated as such. You are quite right to insist that every man should aim at contributing to the common weal ; but, let me add, he must not sink to the common level. Climbing brings us to the top of the ladder. I have no desire to be understood by the common herd. . . . 31. To his Mother. Leipzig, November 6, 1 832, at 2 a.m. precisely. What a Ipt of pleasant thiogs I have to tell you to-day I First of all, we shall certainly meet within a fortnight. The thought of this has been keeping me so wide awake all night that I decided to get up and write or study. Then, Wieck is giving a concert at Zwickau with Clara, and, actually, a symphony movement of mine is to be included in the pro- gramme. You must let this account for my long silence, dear Mother. For the last fortnight I have worked incessantly, and am beginning to wonder if I shall really be ready in time. I have given up my rooms for two months (if you can do with me for so long), and have let my piano to Liihe for that time. Everything, in fact, is ready for the journey except the symphony. One thing dis- tresses me : I still owe about fifty talers, which I do not know how to raise. If you or my brothers could spare this amount just now, it would be a VISIT TO ZWICKAU 81 great relief to me. Please let me have an answer by return without fail. As for my hand, the doctor stm tries to console me ; hut I have quite given up hope, beUeving it to be incurable. At Zwickau I shall take up the violoncello again, for which I only need my left-hand fingers. It is most helpful, too, in symphony- writing. Meanwhile the right hand will have rest, which is the medicine it needs. My theological plan,^ by the way, was merely an idea which came to me in my momentary state of depression. The inclination no longer exists, I may say. I am really behaving quite nicely, and if my present steady working mood lasts, you need have 710 fear for the future. How I am looking forward to seeing you, dearest, best of Mothers ! One thing more — if I am silesnt at times, do not think me dis- satisfied or melancholy. I never talk much when I am really absorbed in my ideas, my book, or my emotions. I have received civilities, gratification, and encouragement from various quarters lately. Clara will give you much to think about. Wieck is, hke myself, counting upon Eduard's piano Please ask him and Theresa beforehand in my name and Wieck's. I owe him so much. Farewell, dearest Mother. 32. To his Mother. Leipzig, June 28, 1833. . . . And now, to tell you of myself. My life has not been without charm and interest since I * See Letter 30. 6 82 FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS wrote. I have taken my own little band of con- genial spirits, mostly music students, with me to swell Wieck's circle. We are principally concerned with a plan for bringing out a new musical paper,^ which Hofmeister is to publish. Prospectuses and notices will be out next month. The whole thing is to be fresher and more varied in tone than the existing papers, and we aim at avoiding the con- ventional routine at all costs. But 1 see little prospect of agreeing with Wieck's ideas on art, in spite of his daily increasing friendhness towards me. The more brains, the more ideas, even though they clash ! The directors are Ortlepp, Wieck, myself, and two other professors — nearly all fine players (except this poor nine -fingered creature), and this of itself stamps the thing as differing from the amateurishness of other musical papers. Among our other contributors I may mention Liihe, Councillor Wendt, Lyser (who is deaf), Reissiger and Kragen at Dresden, and Franz Otto^ in London. This undertaking may possibly give me the necessary basis for an assured social standing, which would be to my character what the frame is to the picture, or a vessel to its fluid ^ The Neue Zeitschrijlfur Musih. The first number appeared April 3, 18S4. Schumann's literary activity dates back to 1831, when his enthusiastic notice of Chopin's Don Juan variations appeared. He had already evolved the Eusebius - Florestan idea. 2 Wendt (1783-1836), Professor of Philosophy; J. P. Lyser (1803-1870); Karl Kragen (1797-1879), of Dresden; Franz Otto (1 809-1 84'2), a popular writer of part-songs for male voices. CLARA WIECK 83 contents. Like many another artist, I long to attain this, and have an instinctive distaste for an undefined position. I will say nothing of the eventual financial advantages, etc. . . . Eduard wiU probably have told you that I have seen a good deal of Kalkbrenner,^ that most court- eous and amiable of Frenchmen, whose vanity is his only fault. Now that I am acquainted with all the principal virtuosi except Hummel, I begin to reaUze that my own achievements were once considerable. These great people, instead of offering us some- thing new or original, as we expect, are too fond of giving us our own dear old errors under cover of fine names. I assure you, a name is half the battle. In my opinion none of these men will bear comparison with the two girl artists, Mile. Belleville^ and Clara. Clara^ who is as fond of me as ever, is the same wild and fanciful little person, skipping and tearing about like a child one moment, and full of serious sayings the next. It is 'a pleasure to watch the increasing rapidity with which she unfolds the treasures of her heart and mind, as a flower unfolds its petals. The other day as we came home from Connewitz together — we do a two or three hours' tramp nearly every day — I heard her say to herself, VOh, how happy, how happy I am I' Who does not love to hear that ? Along this same road there are some very unneces- * Friedrich Kalkbrenner (1 788-1 849). an eminent pianist. 2 Emilia von Belleville-Qury (1808-1 880); one of Czemy's best pupils. 6—2 84 FLORESTAN AND EUSEBIUS sary stones in the middle of the footpath. Now, I have a way of looking up, and not down, when I am talking, so she walks just behind me, and gently pulls my coat before every stone to keep me from falling, stumbling over them herself in between. . . . 33. To Clara Wieck. Leipzig, August 2, 1 833. Dear Clara, To anyone who is not a flatterer there can be few things more unpalatable than writing or acknowledging letters of dedication.^ The modesty, deprecation, and weight of gratitude one feels are indeed overwhelming. I should, for instance, in reply to anyone else, have to ask how I deserved such a distinction, and whether you had duly con- sidered it ; or I should resort to metaphor and say that the moon would be invisible to man did not the sun's rays illumine it at times ; or, see how the noble vine twines itself about the lowly elm, nourishing the barren tree with its sap. But, as it is you and none other, I will only proffer my warmest thanks. If you were present, I should squeeze your hand, and that without asking your 1 Clara Schumann gave proof, later in life, of her talent for composition. A pianoforte concerto (Op. 7) and several preludes arid fugues (Op. l6) figured on her concert programmes. She collaborated with Robert in ' Twelve Songs by Ruckert, com- posed by Robert and Clara Schumann' (Op. 12), providing, as her share, numbers 2, 4, and 1 1 . CLARA WIECK 85 father's permission! I might also express a hope that the union of our names on the title-page may be symbolic of a union of our thoughts and ideas in the future. This is all a poor beggar like myself can do. My work is probably doomed to remain a ruin, like many another, as the only progress I have made of late is in scratching out. But I am send- ing something else. Please say good morning to Kragen for me, and ask him if he will be godfather to the work ; that is, if I may dedicate it to him. As the weather is so very threatening to-day, I am afraid I must deny myself the pleasure of coming to you for music this evening. I have spun myself so snugly into my cocoon, too, that only the tips of my wings peep out, and they might so easily be bruised. In any case, I hope to see you again before you leave. PART III THE ' DAVIDSBUNDLER ' ' The Davidsbimd ^ is, as you will have gathered, a spiritual and romantic league. Mozart was as much a member of it as Berlioz now is, or as you now are, without being enrolled in due form.' — From a letter to Heinrich Dorn, September 14, 1836. 34. To Friedrich Wieck. Leipzig, August 6, 1 833. ... If I understood you aright, you said, ' Put all your heart into the matter, and I promise you my help, but if you grow lukewarm I . . .' I retire, were you going to say ? Are you not co-editor of the paper, and, as such, willing to take your share of weal or woe? If you indeed cast in your lot with us, as your interest in the affair led me to * The name ' Davidites ' was invented by Schumann to in- clude himself (in his various impersonations) and the friends whose sympathies were with him in his war against the Philistines, 'musical and otherwise.' Musical criticism, in par- ticular, was on a very low level at this period, and the existing musical papers were lifeless and conventional. Schu- mann's own criticisms were signed ' Eusebius,' ' Florestan,' or occasionally ' Raro.' Eusebius would be filled with gentle enthusiasm over some new composition, while Florestan would 86 ' NEUE ZEITSCHRIFT FUR MUSIK ' 87 believe, can a supposed coolness on my part be any excuse for your falling-ofF? Is your support really so half-hearted ? To anyone with whose manner of speech I am less familiar, I should have answered bluntly : 'Take all the honours yourself; aU I ask is that you apply the curb when my ardour runs away with me, while I, for my part, undertake to do the same by you. But it is only fair that you should lend me your spurs if I flag.' Am I, then, so greedy of fame, or so much in love with editorship — if, indeed, you dignify the charge of correspondence, etc., by that name ? If you do not consider this the greatest possible sacrifice on my side, I shall not, of course, be able to convince you. I only undertake it because I am best acquainted with the circum- stances, and because I am reluctant to give up an idea which is, I see, fraught with incalculable educational benefit both to mind and to heart. But as I may claim to know your way of talking, and am possibly taking you too seriously, I prefer to understand you as expressing some doubt as to my future perseverance, wh;ich I recognize as reason- ruthlessly reveal the faults which Eusebius had overlooked. Raro, with his sound judgment, was perhaps intended to personify Wieck. Schumann also provided his contributors with fanciful names when he enrolled them as Davidites. Thus, Julius was Knorr ; Jeanquirit, Stephen Heller ; Diamond or Wedel, Zuccal- maglio ; Chiara, Ckiarina or Zilia, Clara Wieck ; Jonathan, prob- ably Schunke. All these characters Schumann introduced at will in the imaginary conversations which he wrote for the Zdtschrift. [Tr.] 88 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' able. For who will guarantee me against unfore- seen changes and disturbances ? Did I not say 1 could only promise regular assistance for two years at most, which does not necessarily imply complete severance at the end of that period? Two years would be long enough for me to learn something of business routine, to gain strength and clearness, without pedantry, in my views on art, and that without endangering my enjoyment of art for its own sake. But I confess I should like your words modified somewhat. Let us work in concert, so that if one sleeps the other is up and doing; if one draws in his horns, the other thrusts his out. I claim your indulgence for my outspokenness, but, indeed, if our structure begins to shake in these early days of its foundation, the subsequent col- lapse is easy to foresee. If so complicated an undertaking is to be carried through at all, its promoters must give each other mutual and un- conditional support. If your own support is con- ditional, as your letter of yesterday would seem to indicate, the ftilfilment of the scheme must neces- sarily suffer. I am not so foohsh as to suppose that there is anything new to you in this letter, but I think you wiU hardly refuse my request to-day for an ex- planation of your attitude. 'NEUE ZEITSCHRIFT FUR MUSIK' 89 35. To Franz Otto. Leipzig, August 9, 1833. Dear old Fkanz Otto, What a tale I could unfold to you of sorrow and joy, lordly castles in the air, dreams of immor- tality and tears — of many things, in short I Your own unpleasant experiences do not seem to me so serious as your inability to derive pleasure and benefit from your stay. Well, you must now drink yourself strong again on German thought and the blood of the German eagle. Beheve me, the home-sickness which Germans suffer abroad is not merely physical. You must accept this letter, my dear fellow, as the beginning of a really connected correspondence, but for to-day I must be brief. May these lines herald a brighter future for music 1 We want a Hermann, with his Lessing under his arm, to make a way through the rabble. Do not flee the battle, but fight with us. Wieck has probably told you of the advent of a new musical periodical, which is to champion the cause of poetry by relentlessly attacking her present detractors. Your warm championship of truth and goodness, which I have long known and steadily recognized, induces me, in spite of my incomplete knowledge of your ideais, to ask you to put your hand to this work. You are already helping indirectly by your writings. But that is not enough. Direct criticism must step in to ensure the victory. 90 THE ' DAVIDSBUNDLER ' For the present, be as amusing as possible, and write English letters to brighten our first numbers, which are to make their trial appearance in October. So, my dear feUow, I hope you will find nothing more pressing to do, after reading these lines, than to sit down and mend a pen for these said English letters. I need not, of course, impress upon you how much depends on the first numbers, which, without promising too much, ought to make the public reahze that a perceptible gap has been filled. If you do not care about making an elaborate setting for your ideas, leave all that to me ; the original product shall shimmer through. As you are writing from a distance, the letter form is the liveliest and the most natural. You might address some imaginary person— a mistress, Vult Harnisch, Peter Schoppe.^ However, I leave all that to your intelligence. The importance of the matter and old friendly feeling will urge you to let me know without delay whether the editorial staff may count upon the English letter for the first number. If there are any profits, and you go on writing, they hope to be able to promise you a decent salary. . . . 36. To his Mother. Leipzig, November 27, 1833. . . . Not a word of these past weeks. ^ I was little better than a statue, feeling neither cold nor 1 Characters in Jean Paul. 2 Refers to the death of his brother Julius, on November 18, and of his sister-in-law, Rosalie, in October. MENTAL TROUBLE 91 heat, until, with strenuous work, some hfe came into me again. I am still so nervous and timid that I cannot sleep alone; but I have found a thoroughly good-natured companion, and the very- deficiencies of his education provide stimulus and distraction. Do you know, I had not the courage to travel to Zwickau alone for fear something mi^t happen to me ! Violent congestion, inexpressible terror, failure of breath, momentary unconscious- ness — these overtake me in quick succession, though I am better than I was. If you had any notion of the lethargy into which melanchoha has brought me you would forgive my not writing. One word more. Are you aware that a certain R. S. thinks of you hourly ? Write to him, please, very soon. Farewell ! Deep down in my heart lies something I would not lose at any price : the belief that there are some good people left — and a God. Am I not to be envied ? 37. To his Mother. Leipzig, January 4, 1834. I have only to-day read your letter. When I received it a week ago, and guessed the gloom of the whole from the first words, I had not the strength to read it through. As the mere thought of the troubles of others is so annihilating as to deprive me of all power of action, please spare me disturbing news, or I must give up your letters. Most particularly I beg you not to allude, either in 92 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' speech or writing, to Julius and Rosalie. I did not know what pain was. Now it has come ; and instead of my crushing it, it has crushed me a thousandfold. But in spite of this I have for some days felt fresher and better than for a long time past. Perhaps more cheerful ideas will gradually return, and then I will be so kind to every- body, as kind as they now are to me. You will find that hard to believe. But you are mistaken if you think that I am drawing more and more into myself Any kindly word makes me happy ; I should like to thank every one who addresses a word to me. I live quite simply. 1 have given up drinking any spirits, and walk a great deal every day with my good friend Ludwig Schunke, of whom' you will have read. I have also worked better than for weeks past. Do not miss the Davidsbundler in the Comet. They are mine, and are making quite a sensation. You ask if I have enough money. I must confess — no. The interest I draw and my earn- ings only amount for the present to 400 to 500 talers, and, unfortunately, I have never done with less than 600. But, believe me, these cares are inconsiderable compared with life's sufferings. Were they healed, happiness and energy would return and soon disperse the lighter troubles. Of this I am confident, and so must you be. The cloud -spots we think we see in the starlit sky are really radiant suns, iadistinguishable to our weak sight. Indeed, I realize the sadness of your solitude. WORK AT LEIPZIG 93 Will you not go to Eduard or Karl? You owe your children, who love you so dearly, the longest possible life, which they in their turn will do their utmost to brighten. I have wished so often and so ardently that you would come to Leipzig for a time, and in now asking you I have not failed to consider how little compensation I can offer for the many precious things you would leave behind. But I should be trying to atone for a fault for which I often reproach myself I do not act with sufficient consideration or gratitude towards you. I know, too, how hard it is for elderly people to reconcile themselves to entirely new circumstances, and how endlessly I should reproach myself if you were disappointed in the new circle. Think over all this, and let me know your opinion. I will not try to say how much pleasure it would give me if you agree to my honestly well-meant proposal. . . . 38. To his Mother. Leipzig, July 2, 1834. I am not dead, or it would certainly have been in our paper, which must, on the contrary, often have conveyed to you signs that I am working hard and enjoying life. This two months' interval has had its gay and its sad side, and some of its events may even influence my whole future. I wish I could sit facing youj confide everything, question you, speak to you. On the gay side I place first of all my new sphere, my pleasure in the work, and in its effect 94 THE 'DAVIDSBtTNDLER^ on the public, with the recognition and praise of my efforts from outsiders. Then, too, the work brings me closer relationships, the friendship and esteem of good and true men on every side, and an existence divided between physical and mental enjoyment. As for composing, it naturally proceeds more leisurely now, but you may see in the accompanying piece (a toccata) a proof of my uninterrupted efforts. You will hardly find anyone to play it in Zwickau. Just now I have to devote my whole energy to the paper. The others are not to be depended on. Wieck is constantly on tour ; Knorr ill ; Schunke has not much idea of wielding the pen ; and who is left ? Yet the paper is so extraordinarily successful that I go on working hard, but with satisfaction. Up to now three hundred orders have been received. In short, we are not stagnating. Added to this, two glorious women have entered our circle. I told you before of Emilia, the sixteen- year-old daughter of the American consul. List — an English girl through and through, with bright, shining eyes, dark hair, and a firm step, fuU of spirit, dignity and life. The other is Ernestine, daughter of a rich Bohemian, Baron von Fricken — her mother was a Grafin Zettwitz — a wonderfully pure, child- like character, delicate and thoughtful. She is really devoted to me, and cares for everji;hing artistic. She is remarkably musical — everything, in a word, that I might wish my wife to be. A whisper in my dearest mother's ear — if the future ERNESTINE VON FRICKEN 95 asked me whom 1 would choose, I would answer with decision, ' This one.' But how far ofF that is, and how readily do I give up the prospect of a closer tie, however light it might be ! Does my frankness displease you ? No, or I myself should. Clara is in Dresden, and her genius continues to develop. The letters she writes — some to me — are remarkably clever. . , . 39. To Ernestine von Fricken} Leipzig, July 28, 1834. If I might say what I would, I should begin by thanking the good genius who permitted me to make your acquaintance, my dear young lady, and utilized the happy occasion at our dear Wieck's^ to bring us into an outwardly closer relationship. I say ' outwardly,' for I am too modest to think that the belief in an inner, earlier artistic relation could give you pleasure. However that may be, I shall never be able to repay that good genius for a revelation of life deeper than any before, and for my admission to that circle of splendid men and * Ernestine von Fricken, an illegitimate daughter of Cdptain (Freiherr) von Fricken, was born on September 7, 1816, and was formally adopted in 1834. Her silence on this matter may have cast the first shadow on her relations with Schumann. In 1838 she married, and was left a widow in the following year. She died in 1844. In spite of the breaking oflF of her engage- ment, she remained a true friend to Robert and Clara. Schumann dedicated his Chamisso songs (Op. 31) to her. ^ They had stood sponsors to Wieck's daughter Cacilie. 96 THE ' DAVIDSBiJNDLER' women to whom you have so permanently endeared yourself. If ever I wished time would stand still, it is at this moment ; and if ever I closed a letter with heartfelt devotion, it is this one. 40. To Frau Henrietta Voigt} Undated [Summer, 1834]. Dear Lady, My behaviour — I don't know if that is the right word — I mean the way in which I have alternately accepted and rejected your manifold expression of interest in my unworthy self — is such a tangle of magnetic attraction and repulsion that I am anxious to justify my position in some par- ticulars. And yet there is such confusion in the constellations. My life is so variegated that I must owe you an explanation until the conditions become clearer and calmer. I say this to you, dear friend, and to you alone ; and if I might believe that you cared for this confession and the assurance of the deepest sympathy in all your affairs, it would be a comfort to me, though no excuse, for my way of showing sympathy seems to contradict itself. I beg you will be lenient in any case, if you still can. I am treasuring your last ^ Schumann's friend Schunke had introduced him to Henri- etta Voigt {nee Kuntze), 1809-1839, the cultured wife of a Leipzig merchant. She was the confidante in his relations with Ernestine von Fricken. 'PAPILLONS' 97 letter. I have read it repeatedly, and have rejoiced inwardly in the lecture I shall some day read you on it. I only wish Eusebius, whose promise, or rather duty, struck him as he read your lines, might be depended on to finish the essay he had begun upon Berger, to whom your reflections would be equally applicable. When Florestan read through the letter, he happened on a clever anagram. Where you wrote, ' Rochlitz,^ who for so many years has stood faith- fully by every strebenden (striving) artist,' etc., Florestan read, 'every sterbenden (dying) artist.' The description, I thought, applied to R., as the loving father who has closed the eyes of so many great people, and spoken over their graves. Florestan added that it reminded him of Lafayette watching a nation at its last gasp, and standing sentinel over the corpse. ' But where are you flying off to, Florestan V I asked. ' This wiU bring us to the butterfly metaphor, for we love to imagine a Psyche rising from the crumbhng dust.' I could give you more of this, but that Jean Paul would do it better. When you have a spare moment do, please, read the last^ chapter of Flegeljahre, where you wiU find it all written down in black and white, down to the giant's boot, in F sharp minor. The close of the Flegeljahre always aifects me in this ' Johann Friedrich Rochlitz (176^-1842), a well-known novelist and writer on music, and the first editor of the Allge- meine musikalische Zeitung. 2 The last but one. 7 98 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' way. The piece is indeed over, but the curtain does not fall. I should like to mention, too, that I fitted the words to the music, and not vice versa, else were it a 'mad beginning.' Only the last number — ^by a freak of fortune similar to the first — was inspired by Jean Paul. One more question: Do not the Papilhns explain themselves? It interests me to know. Give these few lines, which are but a feeble reflection of aU that I could say to you, the kind reception I can only wish they deserved. R. S. 41. To Captain von Fricken} Asch. [Zwickau], November 20, 1834. May the hand that opens this letter be stronger than the one that seals it ! Let my health account for my long silence — no great loss, indeed — and also for my flight to my native place, from which, my dear sir, I write you this letter. If Faust's cloak were mine I should certainly use it for a visit to your peaceful Asch, which I should, perhaps, find hghted for the evening. I should peep into your own room to see if you were keep- ing well, so you will know who it is if you see a flying figure. But imagination has its Faust-cloak, as I know only too well. ' Captain Ignaz Ferdinand, Freiherr von Fricken, father of Schumann's fianc6e, Ernestine, was musical, and even composed a little. He, too, remained friends with Schumann. 'ASHC 99 Another thing that helped to drive me from Leipzig^ was Schunke's illness ; its stealthy advance terrifies me. It means the death of a fine man. Frau von Fricken would wish to close the eyes of a friend such as he. I have hardly got the better of my own illness, a very depressing form of melanchoha. The word is easily written, but the thing itself is sometimes beyond human endurance. Forgive me if I complain of a matter of little interest to you. You wUl perhaps have more indulgence for a silence which it is seldom possible to break under the circumstances. Events took the course I predicted at Leipzig. I felt quite lost, for Schunke was confined to his room, and Wieck had gone north with Clara; so I came away, too, since those who were left were not likely to compensate for that lovely dream of spring. ... I am glad you have solved my riddle,^ though it was indeed no (Edipus puzzle. I had to laugh when I noticed next day that I had misspelt the name, and written 'Ashe' I had played it for weeks without noticing the error, although it only took me a minute to compose. 1 will spare myself a detailed reply until I send ' He had gone home on account of his health. [Tr.] 2 Schumann, who was fond of such devices, had written a composition on the name 'Asch/ the Fricken estate. It so happened that the four letters tallied with the only ' musical ' letters in ' Schumann/ S, C, H, A. (In German musical nota- tion S (es) stands for E flat, As for A flat, and H for B natural. The piece referred to is probably the Cm-naval, Op. 9, in which Schumann rings the changes on these notes.) [Tr.] 7—2 100 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' the Allegro,^ which will follow shortly. One phrase in your letter haunts me, where you say that your imagination lies buried in the Bay of Naples. Don't forget that the sea has its pearls, and that you have been compensated by the gods with a gift which you would hardly exchange for what you have lost. I am importunate enough to ask to be remembered to this 'gift of the gods,' though my last greeting remained unacknowledged. 42. To the Advocate Dr. Topken^ Bremen. Leipzig, February 6, 1835. . . . But why do you leave me so long without a letter ? In case you persist too long in your silence, I threaten to announce in one of the coming numbers that 'Herr T. Topken, Doktor, our Bremen correspondent, died on. . . .' I assure you, aU the subscribers are asking what has become of the Bremen correspondent. If good historical material is so scarce, you can always fill up with fine critical remarks. You know me well enough to be aware how little I care about artists, and how much about art. I mean that your copy can be as httle personal as you like if gossip is lacking. But as I have heard nothing but good of your concerts, you should be the more inspired to write inspiringly, especially as you must have a side- 1 Op. 8, dedicated to Ernestine von Fricken. 2 Theodor Topken, Dr. jur. (1807-1880), a friend of Schu- mann's from the Heidelberg days. DEATH OF SCHUNKE 101 interest in them. So, my dear good fellow, I count on hearing from you soon. I am now sole editor and proprietor. That is, I must put money into it for two years more, after which I hope for some return. How do you like the first numbers ? In the last quarter of last year there was not enough solid opinion and finished criticism. But there are to be many improvements now. You may count upon that, and recommend the paper wherever you can, always provided that it does not offend your convictions. . . . You know about Schunke?^ I am now at work on his obituary. Your messages to him stared at hie so pale and dumb from the paper. As man, as artist, and as friend, he had no equal. The Davidsbundler wiU tell you more of him. . . . How does my toccata displease you in its new form ? I compose diligently, in spite of my editorial work. Have you the Allegro ? It has little but good intention to recommend it. I wrote it four years ago, after my return from Heidelberg. You would deserve better letters if you answered them sooner. In conclusion, here is an old maxim from Jean Paul : ' There is no better way of answering a letter than immediately on receiving it.' If nothing arrives by the 28th of February, I carry out my threat. ' Ludwig Schunke (1810-1834), a musician of great talent. He was one of Schumann's intimates, but their acquaintance lasted only one year. Schunke died of consumption on Decem- ber 7, 1834. 102 THE ' DAVIDSBUNDLER 43. To his Sister-in-law, Theresa Schumann. Leipzig, April 1, 1836. I, too, have thought so much about you during the past weeks that it has seemed sometimes as though I might touch you by stretching out my hand. To know that you care for me gives me a feehng of shelter, of safety, of inexpressible happiness. That is because you have a great heart, and can give support, comfort and help. Only the most favourable prospects would induce me to leave this place. Eduard can only have been joking about Vienna ; he must be dreaming. In the first place, it is the haziest of plans, and could not be carried out before Christmas. Just think what I leave behind ! First and foremost, there is my home, to which, I pray, I may never be cold or indiiFerent ; then my family, and you yourself, who are within an hour's journey ; Leipzig itself, with its gay, stirring life ; then Clara ; Mendelssohn, who is coming back next winter ; and a hundred other considerations. If the change could really fix my future, I should not hesitate one second ; but I will undertake nothing rashly and without guarantees. I should never be able to recover lost ground. So you may count on having me for another year, and I you — a year which shall be turned to the happiest use for both. As regards the rest of my existence you would LEIPZIG FRIENDS 103 really be pleased with me. With my usual liking for the extraordinary, I am now one of the sHghtest smokers and 'Bavarians,' though I was once the most hardened offender. Four cigars a day, and for the last two months no beer at all. As a result everything goes hke clockwork, and I am really proud of myself You need not praise me, you see, for I do it sufficiently on my own account. Mendelssohn^ ... is a god among men, and you ought to know him. David,^ the leader of the orchestra, is another of my associates ; also a certain Dr. Schlemmer,^ the companion of young Rothschild ; and Rothschild himself. You will find these three in Leipzig when you come. The doctor wiU be quite one of your sort — a man of the world, every inch of him. Dr. Renter* and Ulex^ are, of course, Mends of old standing. We will talk about Wieck and Clara when we meet. My position with them is critical, and I am not yet sufficiently collected * Schumann always cherished the warmest admiration for Mendelssohn (1 809-1 847)j who possessed the qualities which he himself lacked : mastery of form, clearness of expression, and ability in practical life. It is now generally admitted that Schumann's nature was richer and intenser. Outwardly, Men- delssohn treated Schumann with affection and respect, but he never really appreciated the romanticist. 2 Ferdinand David (1810-1873), the famous violinist, leader of the Gewandhaus Orchestra at Leipzig, was one of Schumann's genuine admirers. 3 Friedrich Schlemmer, Dr. jur., came from Frankfurt. 4 M. E. Reuter (1802-1853), a doctor at Leipzig. 5 Wilhelm Ulex, a music-teacher; died at Hamburg, 1858, 104 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' or clear to see my way. But as things stand, I either never speak to her again or I make her my very own. You shall learn all when you come, and wiU do your best for me. . . . 44. To Theresa Schumann. L(eipzig), November 15, 1836. How often I see you in your cosy window-seat, your head resting on your hand, whUe you hum a song and wonder whether a certain ' Robert ' is worth aU the affection that is showered upon him ! I was prevented from coming or writing by a succession of visits from Chopin,^ Lipinski,^ Men- delssohn, Mme. Carl,^ Ludwig Berger,* and by a hundred other matters. How I should like to bring all these to you if you were here I You should see and make the acquaintance of people very different from the Zwickauites. There is a young fellow here now — Stamaty^ — who dropped on me from the clouds ; he is a clever, extremely handsome, well-bred, and thoroughly good creature. He was born in Rome of Greek parents, brought ' Schumann was among the pioneers of Chopin's music in Germany. 2 Karl Lipinski (1790-1861), 'first violin ' at Leipzig. 3 Henriette Carl (1815-1896), a singer who held an appoint- ment at the Prussian Court. * Ludwig Berger (1777-1839), of Berlin, a well-known com- poser for the pianoforte. He taught Mendelssohn. 5 Camille Stamaty (1811-1870), a well-known pianist, com- poser and teacher. Saint-Saens is one of his pupils. LEIPZIG FRIENDS 105 up in Paris, and is now here to finish his studies with Mendelssohn. You would like him very much. We had actually made up our minds to come to Zwickau for the musical festival ; the idea was dropped. Anyway, he will stay here until the spring, so you will see him in the fair- time, unless we come to see you in the interval. He is stiU very weak in German, which is good for my French. Then there is a young Englishman, William Bennett,^ among our daily intimates — an Englishman through and through. He is a splendid artist, a poetic, noble nature. Perhaps I shall bring him too. Mendelssohn is engaged, and this absorbing interest makes him kinder and greater than ever. Hardly a day passes without his producing at least one or two ideas worthy of a golden setting. His fiancee is CeciUa Jeanrenaud, daughter of a pastor of the Reformed Church, and cousin to Dr. Schlemmer. He is going to Frankfurt at Christmas to see her, and wiU take me — perhaps. Dr. Schlemmer has at length received a Hessian Order, which he will bear with credit ; I have long foreseen that he would be decorated before he died. He is with Rothschild at Heidelberg. David is to be married one of these days, but sticks to his post in spite of his wife's dowry of 100,000 talers. Besides these, my ^ Schumann was to the end a champion of William Stemdale Bennett (1816-1875). Even Clara's arguments failed to bring him to a more reasonable estimation of the composer who so closely resembled Mendelssohn. Bennett certainly rendered valuable service to the cause of music in England. 106 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' dining companions include Franck, a young man from Breslau — young, talented, and very rich ; also young Goethe,^ the old man's grandchild, whose character is as yet undeveloped. . . . For no eyes but yours I C[lara] loves me as much as ever, but I have quite given up hope. I often go to the Voigts. The old round ! . . . 45. To A. von Zuccalmaglio? Leipzig, January 31, 1837. My very dear Sir, First let me tell you that a few days ago I handed Mr. Mendelssohn, with whom I dine regularly, your essay, Erste Tone, to read. I watched from a distance to see how he would screw up his face when he came to that passage at the end, which, I confess, brought the tears to my eyes. He read it attentively, betraying, by the expression of his noble, unforgettable face, his increasing approval. Then came the particular passage. You should have seen him I ' Ah 1 what's this ? It is reaUy too much ; this gives me real pleasure. One gets praised in all sorts of ways, but this comes straight from the heart,' etc. You should have seen and heard him I ' Many, many ' Walther von Goethe (1817-1885), to whom Schumann dedicated the Davidsbilndlertanse. 2 Anton Wilhelm Florentin Zuccalmaglio (1803-1869), one of the best contributors to Schumann's paper. MENDELSSOHN 107 thanks to the writer I' And so he went on ; and then we plunged into champagne. But really I have been saying to myself for a long time that no one has ever written about music like Wedel.1 Every turn of thought is so artistic, every cadence so musical. It is hke readiag in Mendelssohn's face, which is so mobile as to reflect his own thoughts and his surroundings as well. But enough. Do you know his Saint Paul, which is a chain of beautiful thoughts. He is actually the first to give the graces a place in church music, and they really should not be forgotten, although up till now the ubiquitous fugue has barred the way. Do read Saint Paul, and the sooner the better. In spite of what people say, there is no trace of Handel or Bach in it beyond what is common to all church music. If I could but see you and talk to you in the summer ! I am sorry to say that you will probably not find Mendelssohn here, as he is to spend the summer with his fiancde in Frankfurt. His engagement makes a perfect child of him. Have you aily smaller poems, suitable for musical composition, for the paper ? I cannot help you with your tragedy. At the mere mention of the word ' tragedy,' Barth^ looked me up and down. But if you will arrange your ' Wedeliana,' I can, I hope, help you there. . . . ^ Zuccalmaglio's pen-name. 2 The publisher, J. A. Barth. 108 THE ' DAVIDSBUNDLER ' 46. To A. von Zuccalmaglio. Leipzig, May 18, 1837. . . . Mendelssohn possesses the only copy of Bach's D minor concerto, but as soon as he comes back from the Rhine — at the end of September — I will have a copy made for you, likewise one for myself, for I have always thought it one of the most admirable productions ever written. I am really sorry you are not coming, as there are various things I wanted to talk over with you, which I have no leisure to write. First, I have been thinking for some time of giving life to the Davidsbundler ; that is, of uniting through the bond of the pen like-minded people, whether they are musicians by profession or not. If academies with ignoramuses of presidents at their head elect their members, why should not we juniors elect each other? I am also simmering with another idea which might easily be combined with the first, but is of more general importance. It is the establish- ment of an agency for publishing the works of aU composers who conform to its rules, its object being to transfer to the composers the liberal profits which now go to the publishers. The only essential is a qualified agent to carry on the business. The com- posers would have to give security for the expenses of setting up their works, and would receive, say, half-yearly accounts of the sales and the distribu- tion of the surplus after deducting expenses. This THE SYMPHONIC STUDIES 109 much for the present I Think the matter over seriously, as it might be made a great benefit to all artists. Think it over, please, and write to me. . . . 47. 2 J. Moscheles, Fhttbeck, near Hamburg. Leipzig, August 23, 1837. 1 am again sending you, my very dear Sir, two compositions, different enough. The Maskentanz^ will be child's play to you. I need hardly tell you, perhaps, that the arrangement of the whole and the inscriptions over the separate pieces were added after the music was written. The Studies'^ I can present to you with more confidence. Some of them I stUl like — they are nearly three years old. You know what your opinion means to me. Send me a line or two, just for myself. I am like a child looking forward to Christmas at the prospect of seeing your Stiodies. I still fail to find any announcement of the Concerto pathdique. And now, just one favour. It con- cerns art as weU as my own interest. I have suc- ceeded in persuading the publishers of my paper to publish some considerable composition as a quarterly supplement. I hope to start many nice ideas in this way. It will make quite a stir among musicians. For instance, I mean to have the words of songs written out, and the most interesting printed side by side in one number, with probably ' The Camaval. ^ The Symphonic Studies. 110 THE ' DAVIDSBUNDLER ' a bad one thrown in to make it easier for the critic to point his moral, and for the reader to follow him music in hand. Particular attention will be devoted to the manuscripts of unknown musicians of genuine talent. They wiU see themselves famous all at once, for the paper has five hundred readers, to whom the compositions wiU be sent gratis. From time to time the supplement will consist of old pieces which only exist in manuscript, such as the Scarlatti fugues, or even a whole Bach concerto in the fuU score. Then I should hke to join with my friends in a cycle of smaller compositions. One would begin ; the next, after seeing what had been written, would add something, and so on, the idea being to give to the whole the unity which is so conspicuously absent from the ordinary album. In short, I am brimful of ideas. My immediate attention, however, is given to preparing four Studies of different masters, to form the New Year's number for 1838. Since I am so much interested in aU that concerns you, my very dear Sir, 1 naturally wondered whether you would spare us one of your Etudes from your second volume for our paper, before Kistner publishes them. A name like yours would immediately inspire confidence, and our first step would be a triumph. Chopin has promised me one too, and I have one by A. Henselt,^ the most briUiant of our younger composers — ^you wiU be delighted with ' Adolf Henselt (]814-1889)j pianist and composer, wrote many delightful pianoforte pieces and studies. ' NEUE ZEITSCHRIFT FUR MUSIK ' 111 him. As to the fourth, I am still hesitating whether I should approach Mendelssohn or some one else about it. 48. To Simonin de Sire, Dinant, Belgium.'^ Leipzig, February 8, 1838. Sir, The first thing I did on receiving your letter was to look up Dinant on the map, with the idea of dehvering my thanks for your kindness in person, if the place were not too far from Saxony. But even if I cannot fix a time for a meeting, tied as I am to the staff of a paper, I can spend many a free hour pleasurably and profitably in communing with a friend of art such as every line of your letter shows you to be. Rest assured that I shall do my part. Living as I do in a busy art centre, I can send you varied information which would otherwise reach you by roundabout ways, or perhaps, by ill chance, not at all. In a word, I will visit you sometimes as a faithful Mercury from the heaven of music. Our new paper will certainly give you the speediest and fullest account of everything, and the severity and high aim of its criticism should meet with your particular approval. You wiU easily believe that everjrthing relating to the pianoforte is given a certain preference. Need I apologize for writing *■ Simonin de Sire (1800-1872), a landowner of Dinant, Belgium, one of Schumann's earliest and most ardent admirers outside Germany. 112 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' in German? Really, my French wiU not do for anything beyond Herz and Hiinten.^ Beethoven demands my mother-tongue. But I hope this will not lower me in your esteem. With regard to my composition, I can hardly tell you how much good your sympathy does me. We welcome sympathy from any quarter, but how much more heartily from the genuine art-lover, who is, indeed, rare as the genuine artist himself! Then, too, I feel that my path is fairly solitary ; no acclaiming crowd inspires me to fresh eiFort, but I keep my eyes fixed on my great examples. Bach and Beethoven, whose far-oiF images give unfailing help and en- couragement. Indeed, I find few who understand me, but I have my compensation in the affection of three people — Liszt,^ Clara Wieck, and now yourself You will, I think, find more refinement and artistic merit in some of my other compositions than in the small pieces with which you are acquainted. I should like to draw your attention particularly to the sonatas ' Florestan ' and ' Eusebius,' the two books of Fantasiestucke and the Concert sans orchestre. 1 Herz (1803-1888) and Hunten (1793-1878), two successful writers of light music, to whom Schumann offered strong opposition on account of their baneful influence on the public taste. 2 We shall find frequent proof of Schumann's admiration for Liszt and Liszt's esteem for Schumann. But Schumann's quiet, reserved temperament led him to regard Liszt's methods with misgivings, which time and a keener insight into musical life only served to strengthen. Liszt remained faithful to his admiration for Schumann as man and as artist. TO SIMONIN DE SIRE 113 The human heart is often a strange spectacle in which sorrow and joy are strangely blended. You have still to expect my best work ; for I am conscious of a certain inward strength, and can even go so far as to say that I believe the science of sound, considered as the soul's speech, to be still in its infancy. May my good genius inspire me, and bring this undeveloped science to maturity. r have sent a list of my complete works to Messrs. Breitkopf and Hartel, who will supply you with everything. I miss from your Ubrary, of which you kindly sent me some account, the names of Franz Schubert, Mendelssohn, Bennett, Adolf Henselt, and Clara Wieck. Perhaps you would like me to send you the names of their principal works ? The first three contain more that is of interest to the musician than the pianist, it is true, but the two last named have reached the highest level in the art of playing, the level of Chopin and Liszt. I am exceedingly interested in your discovery. I have seriously thought over similar matters myself, as no single one of the existing pianoforte schools satisfies me. Be sure you write to me about it. I should also be glad to hear any details of the musical life in your neighbourhood, about which we hear so little. I could write much more, my dear sir, but will content myself for to-day with closing this letter with a greeting which, coming from the heart of an artist, wiU, I hope, strike an answering chord in your own I 8 1 1 4 THE ' DAVIDSBUNDLER ' 49. To Eduard and Karl Schumann. Leipzig, March 19, 1838. My dearest Brothers Eduard and Karl, I can write to you to-day with a lighter heart than for this long time past. You wiU know what that means. I have reason to know that ' Papa ' will gradually melt, and that one of the loveUest maidens the world ever brought forth will in time be my own. It is sad, on the other hand, that I may have to be separated from you for a long time. A large town is the only place for an artist of her calibre, and I, too, should like to change my sphere. We shall, therefore, probably move to Vienna. My future holds the fairest prospects, my paper goes with me ; Clara has a great name there, and can earn considerable sums by playing ; I myself am not unknown ; and Clara writes that there would be no difficulty about getting an appointment for her as professor at the Vienna Conservatoire, thanks to the Empress's personal liking for her. On reflection you will have to admit that everything favours the plan. If all goes smoothly — that is, if Friese^ wUl release me from my contract a year earher (I am reaUy bound till the end of 1840) — if I can, as I don't doubt, find a pubhsher in Vienna, and if I can obtain a license from the Government there for my paper, which cannot be refused me, the old man ^ Robert Friese (1805-1848) published Schumann's paper. PROSPECTS OF MARRIAGE 115 will give his consent. At Christmas, 1839, there- fore, I shall probably go straight to Vienna, set up house, and fetch my dear girl at Easter. Pray that Heaven may bless the enterprise. Of myself I can only say that I cannot look forward to this splendid prospect for sheer ecstasy. But there is a prosaic side to all the beautiful things in life, and from this you have to suffer. But you wUl see the importance of this matter, and must surely love your brother (of whom you are a little proud) too much to fail to assist him with your whole strength towards the desired goal. So talk it over with my dear Theresa, and decide how you can pay off gradually some of your debt to me. The removal and the start in housekeeping will be expensive, and it would never do to appear before Wieck empty-handpd. This is what I propose : That you pay me every Easter, beginning from this year, 600 talers each besides the interest, or, if possible, more; but I will be satisfied with that. In this way you wUl pay off your debt in six or seven years without feeling it so much, and I shall not receive it in driblets, which always run through one's fingers. I should then have 2,400 talers in hand for the first part of the time in Vienna (1840). I can leave it untouched until then, as I shaU have enough for ordinary purposes with the salary I receive from the paper, and the income from my compositions (the price of which steadily advances) is sufficiently assured. Remember that it concerns 8—2 116 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' the fate of the most glorious of girls, from whom I cannot be parted, who is also the greatest of artists. It concerns a connexion which will be the greatest adornment to our family, and a brilliant future which cannot fail to reflect favourably on your- selves. Later on I may, perhaps, be able to help you again, if you should be pressed ; but for the present you wUl have to bestir yourselves to give me what I ask ; you cannot think it anything but fair, and must on no account refuse compliance. I ask you particularly to preserve a strict silence on all these matters ; the old man must know nothing of our private correspondence, or he might cool off. Be equally discreet with every one about the idea of a move to Vienna, or you may spoil everything for me. 1 will say no more of my happiness in possessing a girl with whom I have grown to be one through art, intellectual affinities, the regular intercourse of years, and the deepest and holiest affection. My whole Hfe is one joyous activity. I hope you wiU sympathize in my happiness, and be ever the affectionate brothers you have always been. 50. To Theresa Schumann. Leipzig, March 25, 1838. If you had read my last letter to Clara, you would have understood why it is so hard for me to leave here. But Providence has guided the course CLARA WIECK 117 of events, and will continue to do so. I hope you mean to come with us to Vienna for the wedding, and then we can spend together a few weeks which will serve for a year or more of happy recollections. After all, the degree of distance does not matter much. Do we ever see one another oftener than once a year as it is ? I may surely still count on a yearly visit to you, especially as Clara's parents remain in Leipzig for the present. Courage, then, and we can write what we have not the opportunity of saying. Clara has often wished to write to you herself I told her she might call you sister, to which she replied : ' I should indeed hke to call her sister, but there is stiU one little word to add to sister, the same little word that has brought us so close together and made us so happy.' But she has really not had time to write, scarcely even to me, so you must not be angry with her. She will probably spend a few hours with you, however, on her return from Munich. I will let you know the exact date later, and you wiU give the noble girl the reception she deserves at your hands for my sake. I cannot tell you, Theresa, what a wonder- ful creature she is, what wonderful qualities she has, and how unworthy I am of her. But I mean to make her happy. Spare me any more words, for my emotion is too great. But call her ' sister ' when you see her, and think of me as you do so. Now for one more important affair in which I want your advice and assistance. Clara has been 118 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' raised to rather a high rank by her appointment as Court pianist. I have, of course, also my title, but it is not equal to hers. For myself I am content to die an artist, and recognize no superior but art ; but on account of her parents I should like to have my share of honours. You know Hartenstein well ; will you write to him or to Ida to this effect : That I (do as you like and as you think best about giving my name) am engaged to a girl of good social standing with the consent of her parents, to whom it would certainly be a gratifica- tion if I could write 'Doctor' before my name. The honour would hasten matters. Now, I should like to find out through Hartenstein's^ kindness if there would be much fuss about obtaining the degree from the faculty of philosophy. I should not have much time to give to it, as I am so pressed with all sorts of professional work. Ask him to teU you how I could set about it. I only want it for the sake of the title, and should then be leaving Leipzig for good. There is no great hurry, in any case, but once I had his opinion I could go into it further myself; Then you might ask him if the university of Leipzig will not create doctors of music. Lastly, I beg him and Ida to preserve strict silence about it, as it is to be a surprise. You women can do anything, so do whisper to Ida ^ Dr. Gustav Hartenstein (1808-1 890)j professor of philosophy at Leipzig. His wife came from Gera, and was thus acquainted with Schumann's sister-in-law, Theresa, REMOVAL TO VIENNA 119 that she might remember an old acquaintance. I want you to take the matter to heart. Do what you can, and write soon. . . . 51. To J. Fischhop Leipzig, August 5, 1838. My dear Friend, I received your kind letter just as I was thinking of sitting down to write to you about a very important matter, as it happens, in which I need the advice of a tried friend like yourself. You must not be surprised if within a few months my double — that is, myself — comes knocking at your door, and announces that he is going to spend the next few years in Vienna, and perhaps settle there for good. . . . More when I see you ; I cannot write it. It is settled that I must be in Vienna by October at the latest. And the paper ? you will ask. Of course, I am not giving it up. Oswald Lorenz is looking after it from October to December, and from January onwards it is to be printed in Vienna, where I need your kind help. We must, of course, have a license for it, which is, I suppose, to be obtained from the censor's office under Count Sedl- nitzky. I am convinced that they will not raise any great difficulties, as it is purely an art paper, and has from the first circulated in the Austrian States ; but, knowing from hearsay how cautious ^ Joseph Fischhof (1804-1857), had been professor of the pianoforte at the Vienna Conservatorium since 1833. 120 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' the authorities are, and how slowly such transactions are put through, I must set the matter in motion at once, and send in my request for permission to bring out the paper in Vienna immediately, if the first number of the new volume is to be distributed from Vienna in the middle of December. As I am entirely ignorant of the form and phrasing in which such a request should be couched for Austria, I beg you to come to the help of a poor artist who has had no experience of the administration and the censorship. I shall never forget any obligation to you in this matter. Would you, then, please ask your lawyer to whom the request should be addressed, and how it should be worded ? Perhaps you could ask him to draw up the actual petition by the aid of my sketch over the page, and send it on to me. I could then have a fair copy made, and perhaps send it to Sedlnitzky through our Ambassador, Prince Schon- burg, to whom I have an introduction. Then, can you tell me whether the Viennese authorities will require information relative to my previous occupa- tion, my financial position (my aiFairs are all in order), and so on, and if I ought to produce this with the petition ? Lastly, whom do you recom- mend as agent for Friese ? We have tried Haslinger and DiabeUi, but neither of them responds as we should have liked. I should prefer a bookseller in any case, as I should then have nothing to fear from possible interference on the part of publishers. Friese is still to be the publisher; I am the pro- THE ' NEUE ZEITSCHRIIT ' IN VIENNA 121 prietor. He really likes the idea of the change, as he only stands to gain by it. The paper would have on it the name of a Vienna firm, as well as his. I should have to begin a fresh sheet were I to tell you all the beautiful things I expect from the future : how the journal is to enlarge its range, to increase its influence, and form a bond between north and south. You are the only man I know in Vienna who is intelligent, as well as thorough and modest. You will not be disappointed in me, or lose your friendly feeling for me ? Do you not also look forward to much that is beautiful in the future, which will surely not deceive us ? I close my letter with unusual emotion, and with a grateful heart. Let me have your help, for my life's happiness depends partly on it ; I am no longer alone. All this is for your eyes only. . . . The petition to be turned into the proper legal hash : — the undersigned, a Saxon by birth, resident in Leipzig, musician, editor and proprietor of the new Zeitschriftftir Musik, purposes, from love of his art and from business considerations, to exchange his present place of abode, Leipzig, for Vienna. The journal, which has always been devoted exclu- sively to musical matters, has had, since its be- ginning in 1834, the approval of the highest officials in the kingdom, and has been much read. He asks for permission to publish it in Vienna from January 1, 1839 — that is, from the tenth volume — and will be happy to produce any necessary state- ments about his former circumstances. As he is 122 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' prevented by business from coming to Vienna be- fore the middle of October, he now sends in his petition with a request for consideration. (All this with the proper professions of humility.) TV" "TV- W "Tr I am better at composing, eh ? Well, thanks once more for your kind letters. . . . We shall soon meet. I smoke a great many cigars, and am getting a fine colour. What is the rent of a decent flat for a year, on the first floor, if possible ? — 100 to 120 talers ? Please help the stranger. Good-bye. 52. To his Relatives in Zwickau. Vienna, October 10, 1838. I am not calm enough at this moment to tell you all that has taken place with regard to myself and my circumstances since we parted. I had not been here two days before I received the most alarming news from Leipzig, which at once absorbed all my thoughts. The old , who has only been made more furious by our energetic action, has been storming at Clara again ; but she opposes him quietly and firmly. What has happened since I do not know, but I fear much. My request to Clara to leave her father at once and live with you for a time may have arrived too late. If she should come, you will, I know, treat her as a sister. I have not so far made much advance in my REMOVAL TO VIENNA 123 undertaking. The city is so large that everything takes double time. I have met with a friendly reception from every one, including the minister of police, with whom I had an audience the day before yesterday. He told me that there was no objection to my being here, and that I should experience no difficulties once I had found an Austrian publisher for the paper. Should I fail to find one, there might be difficulties for me as a foreigner. I am anxious to take the first steps before I see him again, and propose to go to Haslinger to-day or to-morrow. You would hardly believe what petty cliques and sets there are here. To obtain a firm footing one needs a good deal of the wisdom of the serpent, of which, I fear, I have little. But courage ! Our great hope lies in Frau von Cibbini,^ who is all-powerful. Clara has written her a splendid letter and told her everything. But she wiU not be back before the 24th. I am thirsting for news of you and Clara. It has been impossible to find a confidant in the short time, and consequently I am in a state of inward ferment. If my thoughts were not so much occu- pied, I might easily fall ill. I take a great pleasure in the really admirable performances at the operaj particularly in the chorus and orchestra, of which we in Leipzig have no notion. The ballet would ^ Katharina Cibbini, nee Kozeluch (1790-1858), lady-in-waiting to the Empress Maria Anna, was herself an excellent pianist and a composer. 124 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' amuse you, too. I have not yet been to the German theatre, which is acknowledged to be the first in Germany, or to the smaller variety theatres. . . . Clara was absolutely worshipped here, Where- ever I inquire they tell me so, and speak of her in the most aiFectionate terms. But, indeed, there can hardly be such another inspiring audience in the world ; it is even too enthusiastic, for you hear more clapping than music in the theatre. It is all very gay, but it irritates me sometimes. Well, our affair must be settled within the next few weeks. If I cannot stay here I am firmly resolved to go to Paris or to London. I will not return to Leipzig. Of course, it all has to be thought out, and you need not fear that I shall act in undue haste. As soon as I have anything certain to teU you I will write. Please answer immediately. Best love to aU. 53. To Theresa Schumann. Vienna, Wednesday, December 18, 1838. I could write you whole sheets and volumes, but have no time ; so here is just a greeting for Christ- mas Eve. You will probably spend it as I shall, your head on your hand, thinking of old times. I shall be with you in thought, with Clara, and shall watch you deck your Christmas-tree. Yes, there will come a beautiful time when we three spend IMPRESSIONS OF VIENNA 125 our Christmas together, sooner, perhaps, than we think. It is like a dream to think of you and the rest in Leipzig. I can well imagine how you feel sometimes. Clara has been in Dresden ; she is very sorry she has so little opportunity of answering you, but you will forgive her. You know her whole nature is made up of love and devotion and grati- tude. She makes me very happy in the midst of this material Viennese life. Do you know, Theresa, that if it depended on me, I would go back to Leipzig to-morrow. It is no such insignificant place as I thought it. Here people are as gossipy and provincial as in Zwickau. I have to be very careful as a public personage of some reputation ; they spy on me at every corner. I am also inclined to doubt whether there is anything more in the so-called good nature of the Viennese than a smiling face. I have not had any bad experiences myself, but I hear extraordinary things from and about other people. As for artists, I have sought them in vain ; by artists I mean not simply those who play one or two instruments passably, but good all-round people capable of understanding Shake- speare and Jean Paul. Well, the step is taken, as it had to be, though it is obvious the paper must lose by being published here. Once I have my wife, all that this affair has cost me in trouble and sleepless nights will be forgotten. I could tell you much of my acquaintance with great people : of the Empress, whom I have seen and fallen in love with (she is a real Spaniard) ; of 126 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' the Burg theatre, which is really excellent ; of Thalberg, with whom I am on friendly terms ; and of my paper, for which I have not yet received the desired license, so that it must continue to appear for another six months in Leipzig. Of myself I can say that I often feel well enough here, though oftener melancholy enough to shoot myself Miss Novello^ is engaged to one of my dearest friends, to my great delight. All these items should be dealt with at length, but the days fly so quickly. To think that I have been here twelve weeks to-day ! The post-time, which is four o'clock here, has come round again, so I will only add the most important things. Clara goes to Paris in the be- ginning of January, and later to London probably, so that we shall be far enough apart. You know the reason, however ; she wants to earn money, which we need badly. May Heaven keep watch over my dear, faithful girl ! I may perhaps go to Salzburg for a month in the spring, possibly to Leipzig also, should it be necessary to talk over things connected with the paper with Gerold^ and Friese. In any case, we shall live in Vienna for the first few years, unless difficulties are put in our way. I shall yet have to naturalize myself as an Austrian citizen. It is no hard matter to earn money here, ^ Clara Novello (6. 1818), daughter of the well-known English publisher, was an excellent oratorio- singer. Schumann had known her at Leipzig. Her engagement to Schumann's friend, Dr. F. Weber, was broken off, and she married Count Gigliucci in 1843. 2 Karl Gerold, a bookseller in Vienna. LIFE IN VIENNA J 27 for they need people with their wits about them. I am sure all will go well with us. Don't be afraid, dear Theresa. . . . 54. To Simonin de Sire. Vienna, March 15, 1839. It is a fortnight now since I received your treasured, long -looked -for letter, my very dear sir, but I have not had an hour in which to answer it as I should wish. I was beginning to think our acquaintance was a myth, and thought you had quite forgotten me. Your letter, however, is a charming proof to the contrary, and I thank you heartily for the upUfting, strengthening effect of your words. You will be surprised at my writing to you from Vienna. I have been here since October, on private business primarily, but secondarily for musical matters. I have not formed any deep attachments, but Vienna must always be a city of many and varied attractions and advantages to musicians. I have myself written some few things here, though not my best. Since you inquire with such interest for my new compositions, the following completed works have been published : Op. 15, Kinderszenen (Breitkopf and Hartel) ; Op. 16, KreisUriana (Haslinger, Vienna) ; and Op. 17, Phantasie, in three move- ments (Breitkopf and Hartel) ; and in four or five weeks' time, Mechetti of this city will publish : 128 'THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' Op. 18, Arabeske ; Op. 19, Blumenstilck ; Op. 20, Humoreske. Of all these, Kreisleriana is my favourite. The title conveys nothing to any but Germans. Kreisler is one of E. T. A. Hoffmann's creations, an eccentric, wild, and witty conductor. You will like some of it. The inscriptions over my pieces always occur to me after I have finished composing the music. Neither does Humoreske convey anything in French. It is a pity that no good and apt words exist in the French language for those two most characteristic and deeply rooted of German conceptions, Das GemutUche [Schwdr- merische) and Humor, the latter of which is a happy combination of Gemutlichkeit and wit. But this bears out the whole character of the two nations. You know our great author Jean Paul? I have learnt more counterpoint from him than from my music-teacher. How I wish I could talk over aU this with you some time, my dear sir, and hear your views. An evil fate has deprived me of the full use of my right hand, so that I am not able to play my compositions as I feel them. The trouble with my hand is that certain fingers have become so weak, probably through writing and playing too much at one time, that I can hardly use them. This has often depressed me, though Heaven from time to time sends me an inspira- tion which keeps me from thinking any more about it. I am glad to hear about your compositions, and shall order them from Schott at once. There is TO SIMONIN DE SIRE 129 nothing against your system of writing except that it is strange to the eye, and most people find it diflacult enough to take in two staves at once. Hiinten and Czernyi would be in despair if your system came in, as their own ideas barely fill one. Hearty thanks for your communication. I should hke sometime to use the theme myself, particu- larly the first half, which has such a singing character. You really must not neglect to pubUsh your letters on the new tendencies in pianoforte music. The time is just ripe ; something fresh will arise shortly, and lessen their effect. Schott would certainly be glad to pubhsh the pamphlet, and I would be answerable for a good German translation. Among the older composers who have exercised great influence on modern music I would draw your attention to Franz Schubert, in the first place, and also to Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia,^ two deeply poetical temperaments. You are, of course, acquainted with Schubert's songs ; but I place at least as high his compositions for the piano- forte, especially those for four hands. Of younger men I can only name to you Stephan HeUer^ and ' Karl Czemy (1791-1857), the famous composer of educa- tional pianoforte works. 2 Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia (1772-1806), nephew of Frederick the Great, was killed in the battle of Saalfeld. His compositions show great talent, and are obviously influenced by Beethoven, whose greatness he was one of the first to recognize. ^ Stephan Heller (1814-1888), a famous pianist and composer of great charm. 9 130 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' Ferdinand Hiller,^ both capable exponents of the new ideas. Clara Wieck, who is at this moment in Paris, has had eight compositions pubhshed so far, all of which you should try to get. She is an admirable artist, and a still more admirable girl. Mendelssohn I consider the first musician of the day ; I doflF my hat to him as my superior. He plays with everything, especially with the grouping of the instruments in the orchestra, but with such ease, delicacy and art, with such mastery through- out. Bennett follows in his steps. The two of them are like angels at the pianoforte, as unaffected as children. Thalberg is only important as a virtuoso. He has, in my opinion, no invention except in technique. But he is in the first rank of virtuosi, whether ' as an interpreter of his own works or of those of other composers. . . . 55. To A. von Zuccalmaglio. Leipzig, April 27, 1839. 1 think my respite from the joilrnal has been beneficial to me, for it has regained the youthful beauty it had for me when we founded it. Indeed, there is more need than ever of hard work and endurance. Our Stuttgart quack-doctor^ is begin- ^ Ferdinand Hiller (1811-1885), is now almost forgotten as a composer. Schumann succeeded him as Director at Diisseldorf, but was, in this capacity, no substitute for Hiller, who did so much for music in the Rhine country. 2 Gustav Schilling (1803-1881), first a theologian, then an only too prolific writer on music. His worthless character was LETTER TO DORN 131 ning to give himself airs, and, arch-braggart as he is, without, to my mind, the faintest conception of music, he knows how to use words and titles, and we must direct our energies against him. How those old gentlemen, Spohr, Schneider, and the rest, can permit such a boasting ignoramus to lead them by the nose passes my comprehension. Perhaps he will make you a correspondent, as he has done me without my knowledge. 56. To H. JDorn. Leipzig, September 5, 1839. My very dear, kind Friend, Your long-expected letter reached me late enough, only ten or twelve days ago. It must have lain by for some time at Konigsberg. I am sorry to have to do without your correspond- ence in the paper, though I see that is un- avoidable. Indeed, I do not know how I can expect anything more from you after your many tokens of interest and sympathy, for which I can make you so small a return. Yet, when I study your handwriting more closely, the old time comes back, bringing with it the half- warning, half-smiling, familiar face of my teacher, and I understand how it is that I am asking another favour. I should be very pleased if you could find room afterwards revealed to Schumann, or, rather, to Clara, who had experience of him as a wolf in sheep's clothing. He was forced to escape to America. {Cf. Litzmann, Clara Schumann, i. 276- 282, 286-289.) 9—2 132 THE ' DAVIDSBUNDLER ' for me in your gallery, for the world knows practi- cally nothing of me. You know why I ask ? We sometimes think we can do without this sort of thing, but in my heart of hearts I am inclined to agree with Jean Paul when he says that air and praise^ are the only things man can and should absorb incessantly. But I am far from complain- ing, for I am really happy in my art, and have set a long term of work before me. Then, too, I have some one — Clara — at my side to encourage and uplift me. I might call her my fiancee, but it is a hateful story, for, you know, we have had to bring an action against her father, because, I being neither a fool nor a miUionaire, he refuses his consent. We expect the permission before long from a court of law, in which case we may visit you in Riga. I am living on the edge of a volcano, as you may imagine, but I felt I could no longer leave Clara's old friend and mine in the dark now that the affair has become public. I count upon your sincere congratulations. My girl is one in a thousand ; her nature is noble through and through. Some traces of the battles I have had to fight on Clara's account may perhaps be discernible in my music, and you will not fail to comprehend them. The concerto, the sonata, the Davidshundler dances, the Kreisleriana, and the Novelettes, may be said to have been almost entirely inspired by her. I have seldom met with anjrthing so clumsy and commonplace as Rellstab's criticism of my 1 In Flegeljakre the passage runs, ' Praise is the only air which,' etc. SCHUBERT'S C MAJOR SYMPHONY 133 Kinderszenen. He seems to think I call up in my imagination a screaming child, and fit the notes to it. It is just the other way about, but I will not deny that a vision of children's heads haunted me as I wrote. The inscriptions arose, of course, afterwards, and are reaUy nothing more than tiny finger-posts to the interpretation and conception. But Rellstab, really, hardly goes beyond the ABC of music at times ; chords are the only thing he understands. Then I am far from considering Klein^ a great master. Berger was, in his small way, much more productive. Set my mind at rest with a few words on the subject, and tell me if I am right. I do not know whether it is advisable to have anything in my paper about myself Much would depend on the form it took ; it should also be pointed out that Fink has the best reasons for not entering on any such topic. I leave all this, in any case, to your judgment. . . . 57. To Ernst A. Becker? Leipzig, December 11, 1839. . . . Dear Becker, I heard parts of Franz Schu- bert's symphony^ at the rehearsal to-day, and it * Bernhard Klein (1793-1832), in his time an esteemed com- poser of the Berlin school. Posterity endorses Schumann's low opinion of him. 2 Ernst Adolf Becker (1798-1874), proved a true and self- sacrificing friend, particularly in Schumann's fight to win Clara. He was a government oflicial, also an excellent pianist. 3 The C major symphony, discovered by Schumann among the literary remains in the possession of Schubert's brother during his stay in Vienna. 134. THE ' DAVIDSBUNDLER ' realized all the ideals of my life. It is the greatest achievement in instrumental music since Beethoven, not excepting even Spohr and Mendelssohn, Do make a point of getting it for yourself at Freiberg. It is to be published very shortly by Breitkopf. It has made me tingle to be at work on a sym- phony, too, and I believe something will come of it, once I am happily married to Clara. . . . 58. To Keferstein^ Leipzig, January 31, 1840. My very deae Sir and Friend, Your kind letter with the interesting en- closure only reached me to-day. I have only had time to peep into the latter, but must write a few lines of thanks for the former without delay. There is a long interval between this letter and my last, also much joy and sorrow from the point of view of art and life. In the editorial hoUdays the composer is to the fore ; moreover, circum- stances of the most exciting nature have made great demands on my time and strength. I must beg you, therefore, to excuse my long silence. May I confess that I have often doubted whether you take the same interest in the efforts of young artists as of yore, and this doubt was strengthened 1 Dr. Gustav Adolf Keferstein (1799-1861), pastor, and a standard writer on music. He wrote under the names K. Stein (Schumann chose this name for the dedication of some songs), and Dr. Peregrinus Jocosus. THE INFLUENCE OF BACH 135 by a recent remark of yours in the Stuttgart paper. You said there that it was only by the study of Bach and Kuhnau^ that one could understand how Mozart and Haydn came by their music, and that it remains a mystery how the more modern composers came by theirs, or words to that effect. I cannot entirely agree with you. Mozart and Haydn only knew Bach through extracts. The effect he might have had on their productive power, had they known him in all his greatness, is inconceivable. On the other hand, modern music, with its intricacies, its poetry and humour, has its origin chiefly in Bach. Mendelssohn, Bennett, Chopin, HiUer, all the so-caUed Romanticists (speaking of Germans only), stand much nearer to Bach than to Mozart in their music. They know Bach thoroughly, one and all. I myself make my daily confession to this high-priest with a view to purifying and strengthening my musical nature. Then, again, Kuhnau must not be placed on a line with Bach, however estimable and delightful he may be. Had Bach written nothing but the Wohltemperirtes Klavier, he would still be worth a hundred of Kuhnau. In fact, I consider Bach to be quite unapproachable, immeasurable by ordinary standards.^ ^ Johann Kuhnau (l660-1722), Bach's predecessor as choir- master at the Thomas Kirche, Leipzig. He composed learned works for the pianoforte. 2 In the Neue Folge (p. 178) of Schumann's letters the passage reads : ' Had Kuhnau written nothing/ etc., an obvious mis- print, unless there is a slip of the pen in Schumann's original. 136 THE 'DAVIDSBtTNDLER' And now I have a great favour to ask, and can think of no one better able or more likely to help me than yourself. But promise me, my dear Keferstein, to let no third person into the secret. You wiU perhaps know of my engagement to Clara ; also, possibly, the means her father has employed to prevent our union. . . . Well, he may be able to delay it for a time, but it is not in his power to prevent it ultimately. Clara's very considerable position in the musical world has often given me cause to reflect on my own less established footing. Convinced as I am of her disinterestedness in loving me for my music and myself alone, I still think it would please her if I attained a higher social rank. This brings me to my inquiry. Can you tell me if it is difficult to take a doctor's degree at Jena ; what examination I should have to pass, if any ; and to whom I can apply for information 1 Would not my post as editor of an important paper of seven years' stand- ing, my position as a composer and the activity I have displayed in various undertakings, be of some account in the matter ? Tell me your real opinion, and please remember my request for strict sUence on the matter at present. . . . 59. To Keferstein. Leipzig, February 8, 1840. ... I should like to secure my doctor's degree on one of two conditions. I could qualify for it DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY 137 by writing a treatise, which would be an arduous task, or the diploma might be made out to me in recognition of my past services as composer and author, which would be by far the more pleasing and satisfactory way. Help me once more with your sage advice. I know very little Latin, but I think I should be equal to a solid German treatise. I am at present engaged in collecting material for an essay on Shakespeare in his relation to music. It is to deal with his allusions to it, his qualifying remarks, and his manner of introducing the subject in his dramas — a wide and fascinating study. This would, of course, take some time, as it would mean reading through the whole of his works. If you consider an essay unnecessary, or think this particular one unsuitable, you will perhaps be willing, out of sympathy for Clara and myself, to try and obtain the diploma for me on the grounds of my earlier writings. To this intent I make bold to send you a batch of articles, written either by myself or by others with reference to me, which I have selected at random in a great hurry. I also enclose some diplomas, and will send, if desired, a testimonial from the authorities here as to my character and the curriculum vitce, not forgetting the customary fees of which you reminded me. As a crowning favour you might, perhaps, go and see the deacon^ and put in a good word for me. You could then explain to him my position in the musical world, the relation in which I stand to 1 Reinhold. 138 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER' Clara — since it is no longer a secret — the suffering which her father has caused us, and the particular significance and value of the title to me at this moment, when people are saying the wildest things about us. In a word, I want not only to be able to say I have taken this and that degree, but to have my special claim to the honour stated in the diploma. I am told that a respected Leipzig theologian obtained a degree from your University in some such way — that is, without any disserta- tion, but by payment of the usual fees. Is this true? One more question. Will the degree be a musical one in either case ? I should prefer that, of course. I shall be glad if you can tell me what form the diploma will take. Let me thank you on Clara's behalf and my own. We may soon, I hope, be able to bring our thanks in person if you do not come and pay us a visit first. I shall be sending on your last letter, one of these days, to Clara., who is at present with her mother at Hamburg. She wiU probably write herself to thank you for your kind words to me about her. She is, indeed, aU that you paint her — a rare creature, comprising in herself innumerable fine quahties. The enclosed portrait is intended to freshen up your recollection of me. Please look on it kindly. It is not quite perfect as a likeness, though drawn by a great artist,^ a proof that even a master-hand ^ Kriehuber. COMPOSITION AND EDITORSHIP 139 is not infallible. Still, I think the general effect is good. Please do not hang me among a crowd of critical Leipzig and Stuttgart 'doctors,' but put me next to Sebastian Bach (what would I not give to hear him play the organ !), then I shall begin to improvise. . . . 60. To Keferstein. Leipzig, February IQ, 1840. . . . Do you know that I have written four hundred pages of music during the last two years ? Most of it is published, too. When I consider that my music has nothing mechanical about it, but makes inconceivable demands on my heart, it seems only natural that the heart should need rest after such exertions. My editorial duties can only fiU a secondary place, great as is my devotion to the paper. Is it not our most sacred duty to cultivate our talents ? I remember your writing to me some years ago to this effect, and have plodded on bravely ever since. This by way of justification, my dear friend, for your last hues contained a certain reflection, as I gathered, on the way in which I fulfil my editorial duties. I reaUy do not deserve this, for the very reason that I am so much occupied with other work, and because this other work is of greater importance, being, in fact, my life-work. Here I am at this moment, fresh from composing. I am 140 THE 'DAVIDSBUNDLER ' doing nothing but vocal music of all sorts just now, including some quartets for male voices, which I should like to dedicate to the "friend who reads these lines, if he will kindly promise to make no further attempt to distract me from composing. May I ? I can hardly describe to you the pleasure of vocal — as compared with instrumental — writing, and the tempest of ideas that surges within me as I sit at work. I have had some entirely new ideas, and am even meditating an opera, though that is impossible so long as I edit the paper. . . . 61. To Keferstein. Leipzig, February Z9, 1840. My satisfaction is now complete. The eulogy^ is so impressive that I suspect I have you to thank for it. It has given the greatest satisfaction to me and to my friends. A copy was sent first thing, of course, to a certain young lady who is still enough of a child to jump for joy at her new dignity in being betrothed to Dr. Schumann. She is sure to write and thank you herself, but you Avill have to wait until she goes to Berlin for the signed portrait. She keeps all her things there. The journey to Copenhagen, on which I was to have accompanied her and her mother, will prob- ably be given up, as she dreads the crossing so very much. There is still a possibility of it, how- ^ In the doctor's diploma. CLARA ON TOUR 141 ever. In any case, I shall soon see her, and I need hardly tell you what glorious times we shall have together at the piano and elsewhere. . . . 62. To Keferstein. Leipzig, August 24, 1840. My very dear Friend, Many thanks for your gratifying account,^ by which you enabled me to enjoy it aU at a distance. I always hoped I might be coming to Jena one of these days, but it is not to be. Clara has gone from Weimar to Bad Liebenstein, near Eisenach, to stay with her friend, Emilia List, who wrote to her unexpectedly from there. She is to stay there for the few weeks left before our wedding, and will not break her journey on the way back, so I have given up my plan of going to meet her at Weimar by way of Jena. There are now — God helping us— no further obstacles in the way of our wedding, as you feared. I had the bliss of hearing the second reading of our banns yesterday. Clara is also bhssfuUy happy, as you may imagine. The trials we underwent were really too humiliating. Clara wrote enthusiastic- ally of her stay with you at Jena, and I was hardly less dehghted at hearing of the way in which you f§ted her. Your article brings me a fresh proof of your kindly feeling, though parts of it, especially ' Of a concert given by Clara at Jena, on August 8. 142 THE 'DAVIDSBiJNDLER' those concerning me, seem to me — if you will not misunderstand the phrase — too enthusiastic. If it were signed by its kind author I should have no doubts about accepting it, but this, of course, I do not for a moment expect of you in your position. The public is always inchned to see a friend's services in any unsigned enthusiastic notice, and when their suspicions are correct (as in this case, for are you not our dear good friend ?) they like to have the friend's name as a guarantee of good faith. But, however that may be, your sympathy does my heart good. I hope my sub- sequent works will at least not tend to diminish it. If you really wish to honour Clara and myself with pubhc recognition, the Frankfurter Journal would be a good medium, though I fear the editors take but little interest in us foreigners. Try them, anyway, my dear friend ; if they refuse, I should suggest an evening or society paper. I am, I confess, too proud to make use of the Hartels to influence Fink. All ingenious attempts on the artist's part to stimulate public opinion are detestable to me. Good stuff wiU always make its way. Not that I am indifferent to thorough and inteUigent criticism, believe me ; but the artist is not the one to instigate it. Clara is like me in this, much as she delights in, and actually needs, encouragement. She is indeed subject to fits of depression, which are quite inexplicable to me. I have had to rally her about it more than once. CLARA WIECK 143 But enough of that. It is perhaps hardly neces- sary to add the assurance that I am enjoymg to the full my present happiness and my glorious expectations. I have had to make Clara a formal promise to accompany her to St. Petersburg, as she threatened to go alone if I refused. I believe she would really have done so, for she is quite indifferent to appearances. You wiU spare me the portrayal of my unwillingness to leave my quiet circle. I will only say that it distresses me greatly to think of it. Yet I must not let Clara see it. The change will be good for her from the physical point of view, for, slender as she is, she is very healthy, and has the endurance of a man. BOOK II THE FIGHT FOR CLARA (1836-1840) 10 ' I will say no more of my happiness in possessing a girl with whom I have grown to be one through art, intellectual affinities, the regular intercourse of years, and the deepest and holiest affection. My whole life is one joyous activity.' — To Eduard and Karl Schumann, March 19, 1838. 'No maiden, no angel from heaven, could be truer to me than you are ; you alone could love me thus with a love so inexpressibly noble. I have no words for you ; only a peep into my dreams could show you my thoughts of you. I hardly know what to say, but I have the beautiful consciousness of having been myself scrupulously true to you.' — To Clara, February 23, 1839. INTRODUCTION Since music has so often been praised as the herald of love, as its special art and language, is there any wonder that in the history of music, and still more in the biographies of musicians, the passion is dis- played under so many aspects ? Of all the stories and legends of love or marriage between musicians, whatever their human or their artistic interest, from J. S. Bach and his enthusiastic singer, Anna Mag- dalena, to Richard Wagner and Liszt's brUUant daughter Cosima — none offers so perfect a model as the union of Clara Wieck and Robert Schumann. I do not believe that a similarly perfect example is to be found in the whole annals of art. Not only was each the heart's choice of the other, not only was it on eit^ side the bitter-sweet love of, youth, which touches the extremes of joy and despair — but they fought a hard fight in evil days before their happiness was won. They were two noble souls, distinguished by fastidious purity and true excel- lence of character — two buoyant minds consecrated to the service of art. And, to fiU the measure of their happiness, they served the same art. Their marriage fairly symbolizes the union of the male and female elements in creative art. It is wonder- ful to observe how they adapted themselves one to the other ; how the man's artistic production was inspired and intensified by th« woman's presence, and how her reproductive art reached its supreme 147 10 — 2 148 INTRODUCTION excellence through his works. She was the ideal interpreter of her husband's music, and to her he entrusted his finest conceptions. May it not almost be called an actual marriage between the arts ? From Schumann's letters and those of his friends we gain a fair conception of their wedded happiness, but we find the real basis for our conclusions in the standard biography of Clara Schumann (Breitkopf and Hartel, Leipzig, 1903-1905), by Berthold Litz- mann, who is to be envied for his pleasant task. He may well say on his title-page, 'from diaries and letters,' for further reference was practically unnecessary. The diaries offer peculiarly interest- ing material in as great abundance as could be desired. There are in all forty -seven quarto volumes, which form an almost unbroken narrative of Clara Schumann's life, from her birth to the beginning of her last illness. True, her father made the greater proportion of the entries up to her nineteenth birthday (1838), but sufficient letters are available to give a vivid individual picture of her. Her father's collaboration throws some light on his own character, which, though insufficient to explain his strange subsequent behaviour, prevents us fi-om conceiving him to be merely a madman or a criminal. Although made up of genuine letters and diaries which chronicle experiences and emo- tions, this book has all the fascination of an exciting novel, in which the art of the story-teller makes the joys and sorrows of his characters seem part of our personal experience. The personages of the drama might have stepped out of a novel. Between the hero and the heroine stands the lady's father, hard as stone, inexorable. The unfortunate girl has to choose between her father, to whom she owes everything and for whom she has a deep fihal affection, and her lover, whom her father first rejects for no apparent reason, then repels with FRIEDRICH WIECK 149 violence, and finally treats as a deadly enemy. Always capricious, but otherwise a man of strong and upright character, her father descends to heartless tyranny, and even to slander, as he sees his daughter, after her first hesitation and doubt, become more and more confirmed in her devotion to her lover. The whole affair is a puzzle. Schu- mann had proved the steadfastness of his love ; his powers were gaining increasing recognition, and he was able to offer his wife an assured future. Why, then, did this estimable teacher persist in opposing his daughter's marriage with the composer ? The conclusion drawn from many passages in the letters is that the old man was actuated by sheer jealousy and avarice. Yet, if he had consistently encouraged rich or aristocratic suitors, he had also favoured the pretensions of an ordinary piano teacher. This embittered struggle, which eventually became a tragi-comedy to the onlookers, was a real tragedy to the father — a tragedy to the artist in him. Friedrich Wieck (1785-1873) remains one of the greatest pianoforte teachers of aU time. He was not only absolutely conscientious, but passionately attached to his calling. In presenting his daughter to the world as a finished artist, he was peculiarly conscious of achieving his masterpiece. Even before her birth he had determined that, if a girl, she should become a great pianist, and should receive the name Clara as a presage of her brilliant destiny. He witnessed the splendid accomplish- ment of his task. The whole world paid tribute to his child ; he saw in her neither a phenomenal talent, nor a prodigy of iron diligence, but his own handiwork. She was both daughter and pupil. Then he saw her growing love for Robert Schumann, who had also been his pupil, but had only used Wieck's school as a means to higher ends. Schu- mann's nature was inaccessible to pedagogic instruc- 150 INTRODUCTION tion. His creative genius and native superiority of talent was to Wieck, whose art was purely repro- ductive, a standing reminder of his own creative impotence. Wieck knew well enough that once Clara became Schumann's wife, she would no longer take her art from her father direct. Had Schumann's music resembled that of Kalkbren- ner, Herz, Hiinten, or others of their fellows — music which is only effective in the hands of virtuosi^ the case would have been diflerent. He, however, wrote music which offered httle scope for technical display but entirely captivated genuine artists. Wieck knew his daughter far too well not to foresee her whole-hearted enthusiasm for Schumann's music. He fought for the artist, not for the daughter. The artist was in a far higher degree his work ; his creative power found its fullest expression in her. Could he see his work, the product of his own art, lost under the influence of another's personality and cease to exist, except in interpreting the creations of another man? Such was the nature of this often misunderstood and misrepresented struggle. The artist Wieck fought to retain possession of his own masterpiece. We must forgive the artist the faults of the man and the father. The quarrel was fought out between these three principals. The others who were involved in it played no essential part, interesting as their r&les sometimes were. There was the gallery of the suitors whom the father inflicted on his daughter ; also a Dr. Schilling, a wolf in sheep's clothing, who insinuated himself into the unsuspecting maiden's confidence by a pretended sympathy. But there were true Mends who helped the lovers. The most touching figure is that of the elderly maid, Johanna Strobel, who was so taciturn that it was long before MARRIAGE 151 the girl ventured to confide in her, in spite of her constant and unmistakable love and fidelity to the motherless child. But the best part of the picture is formed by the lovers themselves, particularly by the woman, for in this union the woman had the stronger, one might almost say the more masculine soul. Clara was nine, when Schumann, at the age of eighteen (1828), became her father's pupU. The two soon became firm friends. He used to tell her fairy-tales ; even as a child she fascinated the artist in him, and her playing soon inspired him to compose. She quickly gained the fame which greets the virtuoso from aU sides, while he painfully struggled up the thorny path of creative art. He formed an earlier attachment which proved mistaken, before he recognized that he felt more than friendship for the child in Wieck's house ; while her girlish precocity enabled her to realize what she seemed to be losing. In November, 1835, they discovered their love for one another. Eventually they were able to marry on September 12, 1840, without the blessing of Clara's surly father, but with the full consent of her mother, who was separated from Wieck, and to whom the girl turned in her desolation. The lovers' correspondence during these five years is one of the prose poems of German literature. It contains all the sweetness of young love, the stolen meetings and greetings, kisses snatched on the threshold. Then came the bitter separation ; the father's veto soon fell. They were never to see one another again. Secret letters followed. Robert Schumann wrote on one occasion (Letter 84) : ' It gives me moral strength to see my dear girl so brave.' We may apply his words more generally. It really is inspiring to watch her fighting for her love, without sentimentalism or 152 INTRODUCTION femininity, but with the finest and purest womanly heroism. Her loyalty never wavered for a moment, but this was the lea,st of her virtues. She endured uncomplainingly the tortures which her father inflicted with — there is no other word for it — execrable mahce. She consoled her lover, who was often driven from his bliss to the blackest depths of despair and bitterness by their wretched position. But through her sorrows she ripened to magnificent womanhood, and became the in- comparable artist whose peculiar charm has been best celebrated by Franz GrUlparzer, after she had, at the age of nineteen, interpreted to the world the beauties of Beethoven's F minor sonata. ' A wizard, weary of the world and life. Locked up the treasures of his magic art Within a casket, strong and firmly sealed, Then threw the key upon the waves, and died. The smaller men bestirred themselves in vain. No tool was strong enough to force the seal. And master and enchantment slept alike. A shepherd maiden, playing by the sea. Looked on at the profane and eager search. With wise, unconscious eyes, as children do ; Dipped her white fingers in the flowing tide. Grasped something, raised it, and the key was found ! Then she sprang up, with wildly beating heart ; The casket glowed before her as with life. The key is in, and turned ; the lid flies open ; The imprisoned spirits, rising, owned her charm And innocence ; then moved obedient To the touch of her white fingers as she played.' Her love grew deeper as her artistic powers ripened. ' I feel more and more,' she wrote, ' that my life is for you only ; all else is indifferent to me except my art, which springs from you.' Indeed, although she at first seemed almost his superior, she rapidly recog- nized and did homage to his creative genius. ' I am astonished at your mind, at all the new treasures it contains — do you know, I am sometimes afraid LOVE LETTERS 153 of you, and wonder if it is really true that such a genius is to be my husband ? I am at times overtaken by the idea that I can never prove sufficient for you, though it is possible you may love me none the less for that.' She was, at the time of writing, an artist of world-wide fame, he an unknown musician. But she not only com- prehended his genius ; she was, in the best sense of the word, his muse. He often expressed himself in a similar way, as in the letter accompanjdng the Novelletten (1839): 'Dearest, in the Novelletten are my thoughts of you in every possible position and circumstance and all your irresistibleness 1 Yes, I mean it ! No one could have written the Novelletten unless he had gazed into such eyes and touched such lips as yours — in short, another may very well do better work, but nothing just like these.' We ourselves breathe more freely when the two are at last united. We know that Clara's married life has trouble in store, trouble of the worst kind — the loss of the loved husband in the most cruel circumstances, since intellectual death was to seize him before the dissolution of the bodily life. She bore this fate also in the spirit of the words she had written in her diary on her wedding day — words that form a fitting close to her girlhood : ' A period of my life ends here : if I have experi- enced trouble in my early years, there has been much happiness which I shall never forget. Now another life is beginning, life in him whom I love beyond all else and beyond my own self. But my responsibihties are heavy, too ; may Heaven give me strength to fulfil them as a good wife should. God has always been, and will continue to be, my helper. I have always had perfect trust in Him, which I shall ever preserve.' For the purpose of the present book this most emotional period of Schumann's life is seen from 154 INTRODUCTION his side only, mirrored in his soul. The line ' Himmelhoeh jauchzend, zum Tode betriibt ' is doubly comprehensible in the case of this suscep- tible nature. Even Clara, who was far more courageous in her attitude towards life, testifies in her letters to the terrible emotional storms through which the two had to pass. Attempts have often been made to present Wieck's behaviour in a better Ught.^ In particular, Wieck's surviving daughter, Marie, has aroused controversy with regard to Litzmann's book— quite unjustly, as, after a thorough examina- tion of all the circumstances, the eminent writer Gustav Jansen has shown in the preface to the second edition of the JBriefe Robert Schumanns (Leipzig, 1904). All this only serves to throw into relief the bright figures of the lovers. In these letters the principle of selection must be even more rigidly enforced than in the earlier extracts, if the main lines of Schumann's develop- ment are to remain clear, for many of the letters run to the length of a little book. 63. Robert to Clara. En route for Zwickau after 10 p.m., February ^S, 1836. I can hardly keep my eyes open. For the last two hours I have been waiting for the express mail-coach. The roads are so bad that it may be two o'clock before we get away. How vividly I can see you, my own beloved Clara. You seem so * Kohut, Fr. Wieck : Fin Lebens- und Kiinstlerbild, 1888 ; Joss, Fr. Wieck und sein Verhnlinis zu Schumann, 1900, SCHUMANN'S PROSPECTS 155 near that I imagine I could almost touch you. There was a time when I could express my attach- ment in pretty phrases ; but I can do so no longer. So, if you did not know it, I should never be able to teU you. You must love me a great deal, too, you know. I ask much, because I give much. To-day has been a day of varied emotions, bringing me, as it did, my mother's will, and accounts of her death. ^ But through the dark- ness I discern your fair image, and my burden is hghtened. I may as well teU you that my future is now on a much more certain footing. I must not, of course, sit down with folded hands, and have stiU much to accomplish if I would win the image you see in your mirror. You too, unlike Grafin B-ossi,^ will want to carry on your art, to share my work and my burdens, my joy and my sorrow. Write me your ideas on the matter. My first effort in Leipzig wiU be to bring order into my material affairs ; with myself 1 am at peace. Perhaps your father will, after all, not refuse his blessing when I ask it. There is a great deal to think over still, but meanwhile I trust in our good angel. Fate designed us for one another, as I have known for a long time, though I was not bold enough to speak to you sooner or to come to an understanding. I wiU give you a fuUer explanation later on of 1 Died February 4, 1836. 2 Henriette Sontag had married Graf Rossi in 1 828. 156 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA my rough jottings to-day, and if you cannot read it — why, then, at least be sure I love you more than I can say. It is getting very dark in this room, and my fellow-passengers are sleeping. Outside there is a snowstorm. For my part I shall take refuge in a corner, bury my head in a cushion, and think of nothing but you. Farewell, my own Clara. Your Robert. 64. To Clara Wieck. August 13, 1837. Are you loyal and true as ever ? My confidence in you is indeed unassailable, but the stoutest heart would be disconcerted when left without a word from the dearest thing in the world, which is what you are to me. I have turned the matter over in my mind a thousand times, and everything tells me that it must come to pass if we make up our minds to carry it through. Let me have just one word, 'yes,' from you if you are willing to hand your father a letter^ from me on your birthday (September 13). He is kindly disposed to me just now, and will not repulse me if you plead for me too. I write this just as the dawn is breaking. Would that there were only one more sunrise to part us ! Remember, above all, that it must come to pass if we make up our minds to carry it through. 1 See Letter 65. CLARA'S EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY 157 Say nothing of this letter to anyone ; it might spoil everything. And do not forget that 'yes.' I must have this assurance before I can think of anything further. All this comes straight from my heart, word for word, and here is my signature to it — Robert Schumann. Clara to Robert. Leipzig, August 15, 1837. So one little 'yes' is all you want? What an important little word it is 1 Surely a heart so full of inexpressible love as mine can utter it freely. I can indeed say it. My inmost soul whispers it unceasingly to you. Could I put into words my heart's anguish, my many tears? No, it is beyond my power. But the fates may permit us to meet before long, and then ! Your proposal seems daring to me, but love takes small heed of danger, and again I say 'yes.' Surely God will not turn my eighteenth birthday into a day of trouble ? He could not be so cruel. For a long time I have shared your conviction : 'it must come to pass.' Nothing shall make me waver. I wUl prove to my father that a youthful [heart] can be firm. In great haste. Your Clara. 158 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA 65. To F. Wieck {delivered September 13, 1837). What I have to say to you is so simple, and yet the right words may sometimes fail me. It is difficult to control a pen with so trembling a hand. 1 must therefore ask your indulgence for any possible negligence in style or expression. To-day is Clara's birthday, the day on which the dearest object my world holds saw the Ught, the day on which I have always indulged in retrospect since I felt myself so closely bound up with her. I confess that to-day I am able to face the future more calmly than ever before. I am assured — ^in all human probability — against want, full of pleasant projects, able to champion any noble cause with youthful enthusiasm, capable of work and conscious of glorious opportunities, strong in the hope of using my talents to the full, and rich in esteem and affection — surely these things might suffice ! But alas ! it is not so. What do aU these weigh against the pain of being separated from the one who provides the motive for all my activities, the one who so loyally reciprocates my love ! You, her happy father, know this incomparable girl weU enough. Read in her face the truth of my words. Your testing of me during the past eighteen months has been severe as the hand of fate itself. But how can I bear you ill-will 1 I offended you deeply, but my penance has been heavy too. Put SCHUMANN TO WIECK 159 me on my trial for as long again ; I may perhaps be able to meet your wishes and regain your con- fidence, if you do not ask impossibiUties. You know my power of endurance where great ends are in question. If, then, you are satisfied that I am a man to be trusted in every respect, wUl you not set the seal of your fatherly sanction upon our cove- nant, and thereby complete our happiness ? My feeling towards Clara, which thrills in every fibre of my being, is no passing desire, no violent emotion, no surface thing, but the deep-rooted conviction that everything augurs well for the happiness of our union — a conviction founded on Clara's power to secure happiness for us both. Does not her noble nature diffuse it everywhere ? If you admit this, you wiU surely promise me to arrange nothing definite as to Clara's future. I, for my part, give you my word not to communi- cate with her without your permission. I only ask that we may be allowed to write when you are away on long tours. Now that this vital question has found utterance I can again breathe freely, knowing myself to be full of good-wiU towards aU men. I lay my future confidently in your hands. You owe it to my position, my talent and my character to give me a considerate and decisive answer. It would be most satisfactory if we could talk it over. The moments which pass between now and then wiU be charged with the same emotion as that which thrills us when we listen for the thunderclap 160 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA after the flash, and tremble to know if it portends annihilation or a blessing. May your decision bring a blessing! I implore you, with a heart beating with love and fear, to renew your friend- ship with one of your oldest friends, and prove yourself the best possible father to the best of children. Robert Schumann. Enclosure to Frau Wieck. Let me, above all, enlist your sympathy, my dear lady, on behalf of our future. 1 know that there is nothing of the step-mother in your attitude. Your clear-sightedness and kindly disposition, your geniiine respect and love for Clara, will help you to find a way. We should all think it a calamity if the birthday of one who has contributed to the happiness of so many people should be turned into a day of sorrow. WUl you not try to avert it ? Yours sincerely, R. Schumann. Enclosure to Clara. After our most painful separation, dear Clara, you wUl, I know, support me lovingly in aU that I have said to your parents, and raise your voice where my words seem inadequate.^ Your R. S. ^ Wieck neither gave Clara these lines, nor showed her the other two letters. INTERVIEW WITH WIECK 161 66. To Ernst A. Becker. Leipzig, September 14, 1837. Dear Friend, W[ieck]'s answer was so confused, so perplexing a mixture of refusal and consent that I am at a loss — absolutely — to know what to do. If only you could have been here for a few minutes, or were here now, so that he could talk to some one who might succeed in overcoming his vanity (for such it seemed to me) on certain points. He seems bent on Clara's being a concert pianist aU her life. Naturally, he can produce no valid objection, and it was, as 1 say, impossible to find out his real meaning. I have had no chance of speaking to Clara ; rhy only hope is in her firmness. Will you not write a few lines to Wieck, making clear to him his great responsibility ? I should like to see the letter first — but do as you think best. Tell him I showed you my letter to him, etc. I am deeply depressed and incapable of thought. 67. Robert to Clara. September 18, 1837. My interview with your father was terrible. He was frigid, hostile, confused and contradictory at once. Truly his method of stabbing is original, for he drives in the hilt as well as the blade. . , . Well, and what now, my dear Clara? I am 11 J 62 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA at a loss — absolutely — to know what to do. My reasoning power is quite exhausted, and any display of feeling is worse than useless in dealing with your father. What in the world can we do? You must be particularly on your guard against any attempt he may make to sell you. ... 1 believe in you — God knows — with all my heart. This is, indeed, my chief support. But you will have more need of strength than you suspect. Did not your father give me the grim assurance to my face that he was ' not to be shaken ' ? You must be prepared for anything, for if he cannot succeed by force he will employ cunning. Be prepared for anything, I repeat. I feel so hfeless, so humiliated, to-day that I am incapable of a single fine thought. Even your picture is so blurred that I almost forget what your eyes are like. I am not so reduced in spirit as to think of giving you up, but so embittered by this outrage to my most sacred feehngs, by being treated like one of the common herd. If I could only have a word from you ! Tell me what I must do. If I do not hear from you, the mockery of the whole thing wiU drive me to flight. To think that I am not allowed to see you ! He will only allow it in some public place, where we should be a laughing-stock for everybody. What a cold sting there is in all this ! He further permits us to correspond when you are travelling, and that is the sum total of his concessions. ... I always con- sidered your father a good and humane person, but WIECK'S REFUSAL 163 I look in vain for anything that might excuse him, in vain for any nobler reason underlying his refusal, such as a fear that your artistic career might suffer through an early engagement, the plea that you are too young, or any similar objection. No sign of anything of the sort! Believe me, he will fling you at the first suitor who comes, provided he has money and titles enough. It is as if he could conceive of nothing higher than touring and concert- giving. To this end he would sacrifice your heart's blood and cripple my strength at the moment when I am striving to do great things in the world, over and above which he mocks at all your tears. Your ring is looking at me in such a charming way, as if it would chide me for reproaching my Clara's father. The word ' steadfast,' which you uttered three times the other day, seemed to come from the very depths of your soul. That day did so much for me, Clara ; don't be angry if I am weak to-day and have hurt your father's feelings. I have right on my side. Remember what is at stake. Exert yourself to the utmost, and if your gentleness fails, use your strength. Silence seems to be my only refuge, for every new attempt to persuade your father would provoke fresh insult. Do all you can to find a way out ; I will follow like a child. . . . How my poor head swims ! I could laugh for very anguish. This cannot go on much longer — my health will not stand it. . . . God preserve me from despair. My life is torn up by the roots. 11—2 164 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA (In the afternoon of the same day.), I think we have lost no ground, though we have gained Uttle enough. I am vexed now that I wrote, and wish I had waited eight or ten weeks. I can see the importance of advancing slowly and cautiously. He must, after all, one day give in to the idea of losing you. His obstinacy must give way before our love, my own Clara. We must win ! . . . You must disabuse your father of his various mistaken ideas. . , . He admitted that we should be the most blissful pair in the world when I put it to him, but farther than that he would not go. He went on to say that we should want much more money than we thought, and named an enormous sum, whereas we have precisely as much as a hundred of the most respected families here. Don't let him argue you out of that. Then he said you would often weep in secret if we did not give big receptions, and so on. Clara, is that true, or only a jest ? He had no valid objection to bring forward, and can have none, for right and reason are on our side. If he drives us to extremities by persisting in refusing his consent for a year and a half or two years more, we must take the law into our own hands. ... In that case a magistrate would marry us. Heaven send it may not come to that ! . . . Let me have a few soothing, kind words soon. My picture of you is much clearer and loveher now CLARA TO ROBERT 165 than when I wrote this morning, and your thrice repeated ' steadfast ' is a message from heaven's blue. Before I take leave of you to-day, my beloved, swear to me once more by your eternal happiness that you have courage to bear the trials laid upon us, even as I make the same vow at this moment, raising two fingers of my right hand. I will not give you up — trust me ! God help us ! Ever your own Robert. Send this back without delay, on your honour. Clara to Robert. Leipzig, 1837. (In Robert's writing : ' Read September 26, with indescribable delight.) Do you still doubt me? I must forgive you, for, of course, I am only a weak girl. Weak, yes ; but my soul is strong, and my heart steadfast and unchanging. Let this be enough to destroy all your doubts. I have been very unhappy up to now, but send me a few words of comfort under these lines, and I shall face the world serenely. I have promised Father to be happy, and to devote myself to my art and the public for some years more. You will hear all sorts of reports of me, and many a doubt will arise in your mind ; but when you hear this, that, or the other, say to yourself, ' She does it all 166 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA for me.' If you should ever waver, you would break the heart of one who loves once for aU. Clara. {Outside) Send me back these lines. Do it for my peace of mind. 68. Robert to Clara. Leipzig, 1837. Such heavenly words I cannot return. Besides, they are safe enough in my keeping. Not another word of the past, but let us keep our eyes fixed on our life's single aim. Trust me, my beloved Clara, and let the conviction of my strength strengthen you iQ all your trials. One last request before I let you go : Will you not venture on ' thee ' and ' thou ' when you write to me ? You must often have used them in thought.^ Are you not my passionately loved, affianced one, some day to be Well, just one kiss, and good-bye. Your ROBEBT. 69. Robert to Clara. Leipzig, October 3, 1837. ... It might happen that we heard nothing of one another for a time, that your father inter- ^ Schumann had used the intimate form of address for the first time in the end of the preceding letter. From this time onwards the lovers wrote 'thee' and 'thou.' [Tr.] TO CLARA 167 cepted our letters, or even that they blackened my character to you. If they should say I had for- gotten you or what not, never believe a word of it. It is a wicked world, but we must try to keep ourselves unsmirched. If I could count on a letter from you every two months, it would be a great comfort. Is that asking too much ? In three hours I shall see you, and I am in terror. It is the last time — perhaps for ever. . . . 70. Robert to Clara. Leipzig, November 8, 1837, early morning. So you only want one line I You shall have more, although I should like to be angry with you, as, indeed, you deserve. I never thought you could keep silence so long. I could not have done it in your place, for you can always convey letters to me, though I cannot to you. What I have suffered these last few days I will not say. Then, yesterday your letter came. It was as if I had escaped a great disaster. Short as it is, it comes from you, and is a message from your heart. Thank you, dear ! Your father has written to me to this effect : ' You are an excellent person, but not so excellent as some. I don't quite know what I mean to do with Clara, but — hearts I What do I care about hearts V etc. I will copy out two passages for you : ' Rather than see two such artists settle down to house- 168 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA keeping and petty anxieties, I would sacrifice my daughter alone in one way or another.' Then comes this magnificent sentence : ' If I have to marry my daughter without delay to some one else, you will only have yourself to thank.' This last, my dear Clara, is sufficiently final and decisive. What can I do with such a letter ? I must either leave it unanswered, or teU him the truth ; there can be no further relation between us. What have I to do with a man like that ? I admit it is serious, and I cannot think how it will aU end. Can you really hold out ? Shall you ever have a return of last Tuesday's mood ? You won't be angry, my dearest girl, but I can't help telling you that you said some things that evening which you ought not to have said, because it made you unhappy and me too. Are you not content to be mine ? Are you not convinced that you are going to be the happiest of wives ? If not, you had better break our bond now. I will give you back everjdhing — the ring too. But if you are happy in my love, if it fills your whole heart, and if you have weighed my faults and bad ways, and are content with the little I can offer you besides (which does not include pearls and diamonds), then we keep to the old love, my faithful Clara, then I shall never give you back anything, nor ever release you from your promise to me, insisting to the full on all the claims which your consent and your ring give me. Store this up in your heart. Doubt is in itself PLANS FOR THE FUTURE 169 faithlessness ; trust, the half of possession. We may leave the rest to our guardian angel, who destined us each for the other in our cradles. I ask you, further, to save all my letters, and to promise me on your honour never to show them (as in a weak moment at Dresden) to your father ; to remember always your duty to yourself as well as to your father, who has had so much pleasure through you, and has in return made the last years of your life wretched ; and, finally, never to forget me.^ Think of me always at nine o'clock in the even- ing, the hour when I am always with you. Farewell, my darling girl. Your Robert. 71. Robert to Clara. {November] 29. To think that the paltry 200 silver pieces of which our yearly income falls short should cause all this fuss ! They must be found, of course. You know what I have ; the half of it I need myself, and if the other half is not enough for you, you could always earn something extra. Of course, it all depends upon how we set up house- keeping, and I will tell you at once my ideas about it. I should like best to keep my present inde- pendent position for a time, with a pretty house not far out of town. Then, with you beside me, I 1 This paragraph is italicized in the original. 170 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA should work in bliss and peace. You would still practise your noble art, but less for the public and for the sake of gain than for the favoured few and for our own happiness — that is, if you are content. A life such as this would not mean any great outlay. Whether it would entirely satisfy you, and continue to do so, I know no more than you do yourself. We all change, and our plans are often wrecked by chance, fate, or outward inter- ference. But this is, as I say, the life I would choose. I might paint everything in still more alluring colours, so that you would fall on my neck and say, ' Yes, this is the life for us, Robert.' Do this for yourself, if you love me. It would be quite another thing if you were anxious to keep yourself before the public. I should stiU be content, but I should propose shut- ting up our house for three months in the year (I could get away for that length of time, even if I still edited the paper), and travelling [little or not at all in Germany], to Paris or London. Your name is known everywhere, while 1 have a crowd of friends and connexions, so you see we could not fail to reap laurels and earn money, and should return, laden with the spoil, to that house which is still in the clouds. Leipzig would be the best centre for the execution of either of these plans — for the brilliant sunlight of publicity or the gentle moonlight of home life. . . . Even suppos- ing this life failed to satisfy us, what should you say if, one morning, I announced to you, 'My ERNESTINE 171 dear wife, I have composed, unknown to you, ex- cellent symphonies and other important works, and am ready to fly to the uttermost ends of the earth. You seem greedy of honour and glory, too, so how would it be if we packed up our diamonds, and settled in Paris V You would say, ' Well, it's worth considering !' or, ' What an idea !' or, ' As you like '; or, perhaps, ' No, let us stay here ; I am so happy,' on hearing which I should turn back to my writing-table, and go on writing. May no one dispel these happy visions ! Ah, when shall I have you for my very own ! These nights of sleepless anguish, this tearless suflfering endured for your sake — surely a kind Providence will one day give me compensation 1 True, I have reckoned very much without my host — i. e. , your father — ^but there you must act. For the present I can do nothing. And this brings me to the point in my letter where I talked of insisting on my claims. You know, without being told, that I do not look upon our bond as a legal matter. Can you imagine I should hold you to it if you met another, luckier man, and loved him, with every prospect of being happy Avith him ? Never ! My love for you is too great, even should it mean my death-blow ; my pride too strong, as you have had opportunity to judge. . . . You say, rather unreasonably, that I jilted Ernestine. That is not true, for the bond was cancelled in due form by mutual consent. But some day I should like to tell you, in connexion with 172 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA this dark page of my life, the secret of a serious physical complaint I once had ; but this must wait for more leisure. It dates back to the summer of 1833, and you shall know it all some time. It is the key to aU my actions and my peculiarities of character. Meanwhile, let me quote you a sentence I read lately at the end of a fine book : ' He is a fool who trusts his own heart — but judge not !' . . . Once more, then, your consent, and your ring — the outward token of it — bind you undoubt- edly . . . but no one can force you — I least of all — to be true to me. But you are a God-fearing, right-minded girl, and know all this perfectly. It was your own inexplicable remark that put me on to it. . . . Oh, Clara, how sad it is that we are doomed to spend our best years apart. Wherever I go I hear nothing but praises of your beautiful self. I alone am debarred from talking to you, listening to you, while you have to exist on a few precious memories — such as our meeting on that first unforgettable evening in September — and little besides but trouble. You no longer delight in your ring, as you said on that hateful last page of your letter — the first of the kind, I admit ! It is difficult to believe it comes from the same hand. You are passionate and reasonable, suspicious and trustful, loving and angry, by turns ; in fact, you are the embodiment of Tuesday evening, with its moonlight, its tears of joy, and its surrender. Anyway, you have only to put on that cap of CLARA AND THE ' ZEITSCHRIFT ' 173 yours, and you can turn your weapon round and round in my heart, as you will — I shall not mind — while you wear the cap ! Put it on sometimes, and tell yourself, ' That is how he loves me best.' My child, you understand me, don't you ? It comes from my very heart, which is full of you. Your comment on your father's remark^ is very consoling. I always write your name in the journal unwillingly, and should like to add : ' This is my dear love, about whom there is nothing to be said. She is no concern of yours at all. . . .' Don't you want to hear me play again? You know what characteristic queer middle parts I used to put, and how you used to stand beside me, watching my hand, while 1 looked into your eyes. We were spoiled in those days ! 72. Robert to Clara. Leipzig, December 22, 1837. Do you hear, among the thousand happy voices calling you, one who whispers your name ? You look round and see me. ' You here, Robert V you exclaim. And why not ? I never leave you, but foUow everywhere, though unseen. The figure fades away, but love and faith are unchanging. ' Wieck had complained that Schumann so seldom mentioned Clara in his paper. 174 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA New Year's Eve, 1837, after 11 p.m. I have been sitting here a whole hour. Indeed, I meant to spend the whole evening writing to you, but no words would come. Sit down beside me now, slip your arm round me, and let us gaze peacefully, blissfully, into each other's eyes. This world holds two lovers. It is just striking the third quarter. They are singing a chorale in the distance. TeU me, do you know those two lovers ? How happy we are, Clara ! Let us kneel together, Clara, my Clara, so close that I can touch you, in this solemn hour. On the morning of the 1st, 1838. What a heavenly morning I All the bells are ringing ; the sky is so golden and blue and clear — and before me lies your letter. I send you my first kiss, beloved. The 9.nd. How happy your last letters have made me — those since Christmas Eve I I should like to call you by all the endearing epithets, and yet I can find no lovelier word than the simple word ' dear,' but there is a particular way of saying it. My dear one, then, I have wept for joy to think that you are mine, and often wonder if I deserve you. One would think that no one man's heart and brain could stand aU the things that are crowded into one day. Where do these thousands of thoughts, wishes, sorrows, joys and hopes, come from ? Day TO CLARA 175 in, day out, the procession goes on. But how light-hearted I was yesterday and the day before I There shone out of your letters so noble a spirit, such faith, such a wealth of love ! What would I not do for love of you, my own Clara ! The knights of old were better off; they could go through fire or slay dragons to win their ladies, but we of to-day have to content ourselves with more prosaic methods, such as smoldng fewer cigars, and the like. After all, though, we can love, knights or no knights ; and so, as ever, only the times change, not men's hearts. I have a hundred things to write to you, great and small, if only I could do it neatly, but my wi'iting grows more and more indistinct, a sign, I fear, of heart weakness. There are terrible hours when your image forsakes me, when I wonder anxiously whether I have ordered my Hfe as wisely as I might, whether I had any right to bind you to me, my angel, or can reaUy make you as happy as I should wish. These doubts aU arise, I am inclined to think, from your father's attitude towards me. It is so easy to accept other people's estimate of oneself. Your father's behaviour makes me ask myself if T am reaUy so bad — of such humble standing — as to invite such treatment from anyone. Accustomed to easy victory over difficulties, to the smiles of fortune, and to affection, I have been spoUed by having things made too easy for me, and now I have to face refusal, insult, and calumny. I have read of many such things in novels, but I 176 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA thought too highly of myself to imagine I could ever be the hero of a family tragedy of the Kotzebue sort myself. If I had ever done your father an injury, he might well hate me ; but I cannot see virhy he should despise me and, as you say, hate me without any reason. But my turn wiU come, and I will then show him how I love you and himself; for I will tell you, as a secret, that I really love and respect your father for his many great and fine qualities, as no one but yourself can do. I have a natural inborn devotion and reverence for him, as for aU strong characters, and it makes his antipathy for me doubly painful. Well, he may some time declare peace, and say to us, ' Take each other, then.' You cannot think how your letter has raised and strengthened me. . . . You are splendid, and I have much more reason to be proud of you than you of me. I have made up my mind, though, to read aU your wishes in your face. Then you will think, even though you don't say it, that your Robert is a reaUy good sort, that he is entirely yours, and loves you more than words can say. You shall indeed have cause to think so in the happy future. I still see you as you looked in your little cap that last evening. I still hear you call me du. Clara, I heard nothing of what you said but that du. Don't you remember ? But I see you in many another unforgettable guise. Once you were in a black dress, going to the theatre with EmiUa List ; it was during our 6°,y«.'«i^. t?*' S^.-^ijJaa,^ pi- ar= I S3 2 MEETINGS WITH CLARA 177 separation. I know you will not have forgotten ; it is vivid with me, Another time you were walking in the Thomasgasschen with an umbrella up, and you avoided me in desperation. And yet another time, as you were putting on your hat after a concert, our eyes happened to meet, and yours were full of the old unchanging love. I picture you in all sorts of ways, as I have seen you since, I did not look at you much, but you charmed me so immeasurably. . . , Ah, I can never praise you enough for yourself or for your love of me, which I don't reaUy deserve. Thursday, the Mh. Your words, ' We shall soon be in Leipzig,' almost frighten me. I reaUy dread seeing you both. Could you not arrange to stay in Dresden or somewhere ? Just think if we saw one another in the Rosental,^ you sitting at a table and I fifty paces away ! That would be past bearing. , . . Really, unless we meet on a different footing, there will be no pleasure for me in your coming. Of course I want to see you again ! You will have grown a few more inches, I suppose. You are my own beautiful girl, and I cannot really blame your father for putting a high valuation on you. And once you begin to speak I quite lose my head. . . . Now, I have a confession to make. After your father's attitude to me, it seemed to me it would be — what shall I say ? — importunate, servile almost, 1 A favourite walk outside I/cipzig. 12 178 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA if I tried to win his favour (which is not my object) by the frequent mention of your name.^ He would only rub his hands, and say, laughing, ' Is that how he hopes to win rfie over ?' Dear, dear Clara, I know best, but you too know my great admiration for you, and the great respect with which I have always spoken of you ; but I really cannot do this. Upon my word, I have no cause to do anything to please your father. Has he not ceased to show the smallest interest in me this long time past ? Has he not hunted out and displayed all my failings to lower me in your estimation, and refused to recog- nize in me the quaUties which he himself lacks ? I wiU not cringe or give way to him one inch, neither win I beg for you at his hands. A certain letter of his to me contains expressions which I should hesitate about forgiving, should the Almighty Him- self ask it of me. I was silent that once, remem- bering that he was your father ; but the humiliation of it ! I bore it once, but I could not do it again, even should it mean losing you. I assure you my disposition is towards gentleness and goodness, and my heart is still pure as it left the Creator'^ hands ; but there is a limit to my patience, and I may yet show my claws. Forgive me all this. You will not be hurt. You are mine for always, and I yours. . . . And my plight is not desperate, since I can find protection under your outspread wings, my angel. * In the Zeitscknft. CLARA AT THE IMPERIAL COURT 179 The 5th, evening. ... So the Kaiser has talked to you. Didn't he ask you : ' Do you know Signor Schumann ?' And you answered: 'A httle, your Majesty.' I wish I had been there. Will they make you an Imperial — Royal something or other ? Don't play quite so well, do you hear ? Their enthusiasm must be kept within bounds, for with every storm of applause your father pushes me a little farther from you, remember. But, indeed, I am the last to grudge you your laurel wreaths, though they are but poor things compared to the myrtle garland I shall one day lay on your beautiful black hair. . . . . . . The JDavidstdnze and the Phantasiestilcke will be fkiished in a week. I will send you them, if you like. There are many marriage motifs in the dances ; they were written in the ' finest fren2y ' in my experience. Some day I wiU explain them to you. . . . And now, after writing to you on six happy days in succession, I must return to quietness, loneliness, darkness. . . . 73. Robert to Clara. LeipziGj February 6, 1838. . . . All the papers are full of you, as I expected. I go to the museum every day and read the Vienna notices. You say I do not realize what you are as 12—2 180 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA an artist, and you are partly right, partly quite wrong. You may have strengthened your individu- ality, reached a higher stage of perfection, but I know my dear enthusiastic girl so weU of old that I could teU her playing miles away. Grillparzer's poem^ is the finest thing that has ever been written about you. I realized afresh the divine nature of the poet's art, which can say the right thing in so few words and for aU time. Mendelssohn happened to be with me when I received it, and he said the same. ' A shepherd maiden,' ' the touch of her white fingers as she played' — what dehcate lan- guage this is ! It gives a living picture of you. These few lines wiU be worth more to you jBrom the public point of view than all Wiest's^ articles, for even the common people look upon a poet with awe, . . . accept his dictum and venture no con- tradiction. In short, the poem has given me great pleasure ; and if your lover, or, indeed, any lover, could write poems, he could not do anything better than this. I am sorry to hear, however, that it is being set to music. That is unpoetical, and spoils the whole effect. A real composer would never have done it, though a girl Uke you might weU tempt one to sin against his conscience. But you would restore him to virtue by your own, my Clara — that virtue which has brought me back to life, and is a perpetual inspiration to greater purity. I was a poor, beaten wretch, who for eighteen ^ See introduction to this section. 2 A Vienna journalist. THE 'DAVIDSTANZE' 181 months could neither pray nor weep, for eye and heart were cold and hard as iron. And now, what a change ! Your love and loyalty have made me a new creature. ... I sometimes feel as if my heart were crossed by a thousand narrow intersecting paths, along which my thoughts and feelings race up and down, and in and out, Uke human beings, asking. Whither does this way lead ? and that ? and aU the ways ? And the answer is always the same : ' to Clara.' . . . Have you not received the Davidstdnze? . . . I sent them to you a week last Saturday. You will, I know, make a little place in your heart for them, because they are mine. . . . But my Clara will know how to find the real meaning of those dances, for they are dedicated to her in a quite special sense. The whole thing represents a Polterabend,^ and I leave you to fiU in the begin- ning and the end yourself I never spent happier moments at the piano than in composing these. . . . And now I have something to ask of you. Will you not pay a visit to our beloved Schubert and Beethoven ? Take with you some sprigs of myrtle, twine them together in twos, and lay them on the graves, if you can. Whisper your name and mine as you do it — ^not a word besides. You under- stand ? . . . ^ The evening before the wedding, when there is a party- given up to games and romps. [Tr.] 182 THE FIGHT FOR CLARA 74. Robert to Clara. Leipzig, February 11, 1838. Come and