re 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. Fetis
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
intere