'Write to me soon—in words and in tones!
'R. Schu.'
It is sad to realize that the very day after sending this letter, so free from signs of depression, so bright and healthy in tone, Schumann wrote down his last musical thought, the now well-known Theme in E flat; and that three weeks later he was overtaken by the crisis of his terrible malady. Alarming symptoms declared themselves as the month went on; the master became a prey to attacks of mental agony, and was distressed by illusions, imagining that he constantly heard one or more notes from the impression of which he was unable to rid himself. In the intervals of relief from his sufferings he continued to compose, and wrote several variations on his theme, which he fancied had been brought to him in the night by the spirits of Schubert and Mendelssohn; but his condition gave rise to such grave apprehension that he was constantly watched by his wife in turn with one or another devoted friend. On February 27, however, he managed to leave his house unobserved, and a few moments afterwards had thrown himself into the Rhine. He was rescued by some sailors belonging to a steamboat near, and conveyed to his home in a carriage, but his state continued so distressing that Frau Schumann, herself needing care at the time, was not allowed by the doctors to see him, and he was taken, on March 4, to the private establishment of Dr. Richarz at Endenich, near Bonn.
It would be difficult to describe in exaggerated terms the consternation with which a great part of the musical world, and especially the friends of Schumann's immediate circle, became aware of these overwhelming occurrences. Sorrow for the great master, love for the indulgent friend, alarmed sympathy for the stricken wife, kept the younger of his disciples in a state of restless agitation, which seems to have found its principal relief in the writing of letters of excited inquiry to Dietrich, the only one of their number on the scene of the catastrophe.
'Never in my life has anything so moved and deeply shaken me,' wrote Theodor Kirchner, 'as the dreadful occurrence with our honoured, beloved Schumann.... We should all be terribly lonely without him, and as regards myself, all pleasure in my own endeavours would be gone.'
'Pray send me an exact description of the whole catastrophe as quickly as possible,' so ran Naumann's letter, 'especially if there is any hope of Schumann's complete restoration, how his unhappy wife has borne this cruel stroke of fate, and how you are yourself. I repeat my request for immediate news.'
To the friends in Hanover, who had so lately seen Schumann in apparent enjoyment of unwonted health both of body and mind, the tidings, of which they first became informed through a paragraph in the Cologne Gazette, seemed too sudden and tragic to be credible.
'Dear Dietrich—'Joachim dashed off—
'If you have any feeling of friendship for Brahms and me, relieve our anxiety, and write word instantly whether Schumann is really as ill as the paper says, and let us know at once of any change in his condition. It is too grievous to be in uncertainty about the life of someone to whom we are bound with our best powers. I can scarcely wait for the hour that will bring me tidings of him. I am quite beside myself with dread.
'Write soon.