Woman's Work in Music

by Arthur Elson

In 1829 he left his teacher, and made a final effort to prepare for the legal career that his mother had planned for him. It was of little avail, however, for in the next year we find him writing home that his entire life had been "but a twenty years' strife between poetry and prose,—or music and law,—and it must now cease." So earnestly did he plead his case that his mother at last yielded to his wishes, though with fear and trembling, and the final decision was referred to Wieck. That artist, who had by this time fully recognized Schumann's great gifts, gave his decision in favour of music, and the young enthusiast, after having his affairs duly settled, returned to Leipsic and devoted himself altogether to art.

It is probable that he would have given himself wholly to the career of a successful pianist, but for an accident. After a year of painstaking practice, he invented a contrivance by which the weaker fingers were allowed to gain strength by usage, while the third finger was held back. This mechanism was altogether too successful, for, after using it some time, he found his third finger so badly crippled that he was forced to give up hope of ever winning fame on the concert stage. What seemed a catastrophe to him has proven a blessing to the world, for, if he had spent his life in executing the works of others, he would never have had the leisure to create his own immortal compositions.

Meanwhile Clara was steadily improving her already remarkable powers. Besides keeping up her playing, she now began regular study in composition. In later life the two were to labour together in many pieces, but even at this time Schumann's interest in her work was great, and in one of his early compositions (Impromptu, Op. 5) we find him using a theme of hers as the basis of his own piece.

The eleven-year-old girl was now started upon a series of tours by her father, who wished to give her some idea of the world, and to let the world gain some knowledge of her attainments. From Dresden he writes home joyfully to his wife: "It is impossible to describe the sensation that your two little monkeys from the Leipsic menagerie have made here." But the fatherly care and wisdom were not lacking, for he continues: "I am anxious lest the honours and distinctions should have a bad influence upon Clara. If I notice anything of the sort, then I shall travel further at once, for I am too proud of her modesty, and would not exchange it for any decoration in the world." In the next year the triumphs were continued at Weimar, Cassel, and Frankfurt. After winning the approval of Spohr and other competent judges who were above all envy, she proceeded to Paris, where her father had the proud privilege of exhibiting her talents to Chopin. In Weimar, Goethe took a deep interest in the wonderful child, and sent his picture to the "Richly endowed (Kunstreichen) Clara Wieck," as a token of the pleasure her playing had given him.

As the result of her Parisian meeting with Chopin, she became one of the best interpreters of that master's works, and gave them to the world in much the same manner that she did those of Schumann soon afterward. Usually her work in educating the public was successful. But critics are not all safe guides, and even to-day we find many unmusical men in responsible newspaper positions, so it is not surprising to find an occasional misunderstanding occur. In Vienna, for instance, we find the influential but self-important Rellstab writing that it is "a shame that she is in the hands of a father who allows such nonsense as Chopin's to be played." These strictures did not extend to the performance, however, and the writer does not fail to acknowledge her marked talent. Fétis bears witness to the "lively sensation" she created on the banks of the Seine, while along the Danube she won victory on victory. The aristocracy were eager to admit her to their circle, and the Austrian Empress named her court virtuoso, an honour never before bestowed on a foreigner.

Some time before this, she had won the attention and interest of the young Schumann, if nothing more. He had been at work on a symphony in G minor (which, by the way, proved a failure and was never published), and the performance of the first movement in his native Zwickau took place at a concert given there by Clara, then only thirteen. Even then her performance was astonishing, and, as Schumann put it, "Zwickau was fired with enthusiasm for the first time in its life." Schumann was no less excited than the rest of the town. His letters of that time are full of expressions that seem to betray a deeper feeling, though he himself did not become conscious of it until later. "Call her perfection," he writes to a friend, "and I will agree to it." In a Leipsic tribute, he inquires: "Is it the gifted child of genius (Wunderkind), at whose stretch of a tenth people shake their heads, but admire? Is it the hardest of difficulties, which she throws off to the public as if they were wreaths of flowers? Is it perhaps mere pride, with which the city looks upon its daughter; or is it because she gives us the most interesting things of the most recent times with the least delay? I do not know; but I do feel, simply, that she has the spirit that compels admiration."

The great poets, too, gave her their tributes of praise. "They recognized in this inspiring vision," says Liszt, "a true daughter of their fatherland. They strewed their pearls of song before her, and glorified this Benjamin of their race, who, gazing about with inspired glances and wondrous smiles, seemed like a silent Naiad, who felt herself a stranger in the land of prose."

Meanwhile the love that had been growing in silence between her and Schumann began to take tangible form. His unspoken passion found expression in the written rhapsodies addressed to "Chiarina" in his new music journal, the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik. In a more purely musical manner, his feelings took shape in such works as his "Daidsbündler" Dances, the "Chiarina" of the Carnival, the F-Sharp Minor Sonata, the Kreisleriana, the Humoreske, the Novelettes, and the Nocturnes,—truly an offering of rare beauty, and well worthy to express the feelings of the inspired lover. They bore witness of his adoration to all who knew him, and all who were able to listen with understanding ears. And Clara, too, in spite of high honours and higher friendships, had already given her heart to the silent man endowed with the deep spirit of romance and poetry. She was his, in spite of the opposition of her father, who guarded his treasure with a jealous eye, and would hear of no marriage unless in the distant future.

It was in 1836 that the two lovers came to an understanding. In the next summer Schumann made formal mention of his suit to her father. Wieck's refusal may have been due to his entertaining higher hopes for his now famous daughter, but at any rate the father found an adequate reason in the vague and unsubstantial prospects of the young composer. This was a sad blow, but Schumann tacitly acknowledged its justice, for he soon began making efforts to better his condition, instead of working only for the glory of art. Although he tried to resign himself to give Clara up, he could not do so, and with her consent he left for Vienna in hopes of giving his music journal a broader field. The effort was not a success; Schumann found Vienna no less trivial in its tastes than many other places, and wrote home that people could "gabble and gossip quite as much as in Zwickau." His sojourn there had one important result in his discovery of Schubert's beautiful C major Symphony, which he sent to Mendelssohn for performance at the Leipsic Gewandhaus.

Disappointed in material prospects, he tried to obtain a more honourable position by getting a Doctor's degree from the University of Jena. "You know, perhaps, that Clara is my betrothed," he writes to an influential friend. "Her high rank as an artist has often led me to consider my own humble position, and, although I know how modest she is, and that she loves me simply as a man and a musician, still I think it would please her to have me seek a higher position in the civic sense of the word. Let me ask you: Is it very hard to get a Doctor's degree at Jena?" Apparently it was not hard when a man of Schumann's fame applied, for in another letter he writes: "Everything combined to fill the measure of my joy. The eulogy is so glorious that I certainly owe you a large share of thanks for it. It gave me and my friends most sincere pleasure. The first thing I did was, of course, to send a copy into the north to a girl who is still a child, and who will dance with glee at the idea that she is engaged to a Doctor."