e about the young
composer, the secret of which no one knew, not even himself. Like one
caught in the whorls of some happy dream, who will not pause to ask,
"Whither?" he poured out before this child the half-revealed hopes
striving within him; an equal spell was woven about her ingenuous and
earnest heart, and their souls were joined in that purple morning; in
due time they were to be rather _clenched_, through pain. It was under
this baptismal touch of Love that Schumann wrote his first
sonata,--"Florestan and Eusebius." It gained him at once a fame with all
from whom fame was graceful.

In the light of this period of his life must be interpreted those
wonderful little "pieces" which mystify whilst they fascinate; without
it their meaning is as strange as their names. Often did he say,--"I can
write only where my life is in unison with my works." "Listen now to
these," said Florestan, as he opened an album and struck the piano;
"these are the voices of a new life." The "Alternatives," with song, "My
peace is o'er"; "Evening Thoughts"; "Impromptus," (whose first theme was
written by Clara): these; seemed like the emotion of some newly winged
aspirant released from its chrysalis, resting on its first flower. But
faster than planets through the abysses Love moves on. Florestan ceased,
and there was a long silence; and then he told the unspeakable portion
of his story by performing these two: "Sternenkranz," "Warum." Who has
ever scaled the rapture of the former, or fathomed the pathos of the
latter? Every summit implies its precipice; and the star-wreath that
crowned Love was snatched at by the Fate which soon burdened two hearts
with the terrible questioning, _Wherefore?_

Thus: before these two were fully conscious of the love they bore each
other, the shrewd eye of old Wieck had caught a glimpse of what was
coming to pass. He had educated this girl to be an artist to bring _him_
fame; alas, it must be confessed that he thought also of certain
prospective thalers. Willing as he was that all Leipsic should admire
his daughter, he did not like the enthusiasm of the "Zeitschrift." He
then began to warn Clara against "this Faust in modern garb, who, when
he had gained one finger, would soon have the whole hand, and finally
the poor soul into the bargain!" Stupid old schoolmaster, thou shouldst
have known that it is Mephistopheles, and not Faust, that women hate!

The old man, finding that his warnings were of no avail, f