elation. Her body is an exasperation to the tribe
of Worth, but it houses a soul that has lived every life, died every
death, known every sorrow, tasted every joy, and been one with the
outcast, the despised, the forsaken; and has stood, too, clothed in
shining raiment by the side of the great, the noble, the powerful.
Knowing all, she forgives all. And across the face and out of the eyes,
and even from her silence, come messages of sympathy--messages of
strength, messages of a faith that is dauntless. Great people are simply
those who have sympathy plus. Clara Schumann knew the excellence of her
chosen mate, and through her sympathy made it possible for him to
express himself at his highest and best. She also guessed his
limitations and sought to hold him 'gainst the calamity she saw looming
on the horizon, no bigger than a man's hand.

When he was moody and there came times of melancholy, she invited young
people to the house; and so Robert mingled his life with theirs, and in
their aspirations he shook off the demons of doubt.

It was in this way that he became interested in various rising stars,
and although in some instances we are aware that his prophecies went
astray, we know that he hailed Chopin and Brahms long before they had
come within the ken of the musical world, that so often looks through
the large end of the telescope. And this kindly encouragement, this
fostering welcome that the Schumanns gave to all aspiring young artists,
is not the least of their virtues. We love them because they were kind.

* * * * *

Clara Schumann was wise beyond the lot of woman. She knew this fact
which very few mortals ever realize: The triumphs of yesterday belong to
yesterday, with all of yesterday's defeats and sorrows--the day is Here,
the time is Now. She did not drag her troubles behind her with a rope,
nor wax vain over achievements done. When the light of her husband's
intellect went out in darkness and he lived for a space a lingering
death, she faced the dawn each morning, resolved to do her work and do
it the best she could.

When death came to Robert's relief, her one ambition, like that of Mary
Shelley, was to write her husband's name indelibly on history's page.

The professedly and professionally cheerful person is very depressing.
The pessimist always has wit, for wit reveals itself in the knowledge of
values. And the individual who accepts what Fate sends, and undoes
Cala