in composing and writing music — all this, while no hint of love had yet appeared in their conversations. In September of the year 1833 Schumann was seized by a terrifying attack of neurasthenia. He recovers at the beginning of 1834 and becomes engaged to a beautiful, kind girl who loved Schumann with her whole being. But he broke off this engagement suddenly; Clara's womanhood had come into full flower, and the artist discovered in her what bound him once and for all in love of her, and he confessed his love to her at last. And how great was his joy when she answered him with acceptance!

But Father Wieck had ambitions other than these. He hastened to remove his daughter from his pupil. Then the artist's despair and his faith burst forth in his melodies: "the Third Sonata," "Passion," "the

Dances of the Companions of David," "la Phantasiastücke" —

all of them pages surging with overflowing love, with deep pain, with heartbreak and bitter resentment!

At that time he was writing to Clara:

"All this week I have been sitting at the piano, composing and writing, laughing and weeping at one and the same time. You will notice this in my great piece (Humoreske)."

In these days, painful and happy at once, Schumann sang like a goldfinch — sang and nearly died; and he composed the first Lieder, and "The Myrtles," which holds his sweetest and most delicate melodies, and "The Walnut Tree" and "The Wall," and finally "A Woman's Love and Her Life."

The great, beautiful dream of the

German poets opened out in its fullness in this wondrous flower.

At last, on September 21 of the year 1840, after five years of bitter struggle, Robert and Clara were married in the church of Schönefeld near Leipzig. They had many children, and a happiness unclouded by any care settled over their home.

Yet the nervous attacks returned upon the artist in the year 1845.

And on the twenty-ninth of July, 1855, Schumann closed his eyes forever, after a torment that had lasted two years...

... And then, in the paradise of musicians, where Mendelssohn and Chopin were awaiting him, he heard, no doubt, the awesome melody — the melody of the artist angels, playing a piece profound, human, harmonious, throbbing with beauty.