ile the musician Schumann was not arriving at understanding, the
critic Schumann was already famous for the swiftness of his discoveries
and the bravery of his proclamations of genius. As for Clara, though
already in her eighteenth year, she was one of the most famous pianists
in the world, and favourably compared, in many respects, especially in
point of poetical interpretation, with Liszt, Thalberg, Chopin, and
Europe's brilliantest virtuosos. But Schumann had delighted her heart
by writing: "I love you not because you are a great artist; no, I love
you because you are so good." That praise, she wrote him, had rejoiced
her infinitely, and that praise any one who knows her life can echo
with Schumann.

Such fame the love-affair of the Schumanns had gained that to the
musical world it was like following a serial romance in instalments.
Doctor Weber in Trieste offered to give Schumann ten thousand
thalers--an offer which could not of course be accepted. At Easter,
1838, Schumann received one thousand thalers (about $760) from his
brothers Eduard and Carl.

But the lovers had agreed to wait two years--until Easter, 1840, before
they should marry--and the two years were long and wearisome in the
prospect and in the endurance. As Clara wrote:

"My sole wish is--I wish it every morning--that I could sleep two
years; could over-sleep all the thousand tears that shall yet flow.
Foolish wish! I am sometimes such a silly child. Do you remember that
two years ago on Christmas Eve you gave me white pearls and mother said
then: 'Pearls mean tears'? She was right, they followed only too soon."

Schumann busied himself in so many ways that again for a little while
he somewhat melted Wieck's wrath, and Clara hoped that some day he
could again be received at home as a friend. She was made the court
pianist at this time, and it was a quaint whimsy of fate that, in
connection with the award, Schumann was asked to give her father a
"character." It need hardly be said that he gave him extra measure of
praise.

Clara's new dignity stirred Schumann to hunt some honour for himself.
Robert decided, that while he was content "to die an artist, it would
please a certain girl to see 'Dr.' before his name." He was willing to
become either a doctor of philosophy or of music. He began at once to
set both of these schemes to work.

Now old Wieck returned to his congenial state of wrath. He declared
that Clara was far too extravagant ever to li