nature, and she threw herself ardently into the task of
giving these works to the world. Her days were spent in winning fame for
him, or in shielding his sensitive and irritable nature from too rude
contact with the world. Now that his life was one of perfect
tranquillity, he withdrew more than ever from intercourse with
strangers, and became wholly absorbed in his domestic felicity and his
creative work. The complete happiness of his married life was bound to
produce its effect on his nature, and not only in the songs, but in the
larger works also, his most beautiful music is due to the inspiring
influences of this part of his life.

After a time his wife was able to entice him from the quiet home (first
in Leipsic, then Dresden, and finally Duesseldorf) that sheltered this
scene of domestic harmony. Sometimes her tours were taken alone, but at
last she was able to draw him with her into the world. In Germany, in
the Netherlands, in Austria, even in Russia, constant triumphs awaited
them. There were a few exceptions, chief among them being Vienna, the
city where Mozart struggled so long in vain, and where Gluck was unable
to produce more than a passing impression by his great operatic reforms.
But nearly all the places they visited offered admiration and incense to
the faithful pair of artists. Through Schumann's genius, that of his
wife was influenced, and Clara Schumann became far greater than Clara
Wieck had ever been. She became a true priestess of art. She did not
rest until she gave the world a clear understanding of the depth of
thought in his great works. She made her fame serve his, and considered
the recognition of his qualities her own reward. Yet it still happened
at times that this recognition came slowly, and in Vienna, as late as
1846, he was spoken of merely as the husband of Clara Wieck, and after
the court concert given by her, some one turned to him with the
question: "Are you musical, too?"

Gradually the perfect happiness was marred by the growing sickness of
Schumann. Always extremely nervous and excitable, he had on one or two
earlier occasions been forced to forego work. In 1851 the disease
became evident again. By degrees his conduct grew more and more
eccentric, and he became a victim of actual delusions. He often insisted
that he heard one particular note, or certain harmonies sounding, or
voices whispering messages of hope or of sorrow. One night the spirits
of Schubert and Mendelssohn seem