and remembers that Wagner wrote several of his best music
dramas among the mountains of Switzerland, years before he could dream
of ever hearing the countless new harmonies and orchestral tone-colors
which he had discovered, can deny, I think, that I was right in
maintaining that the composing of an opera is the most wonderful
achievement of human genius.

III

SCHUMANN

AS MIRRORED IN HIS LETTERS

Clara Schumann, the most gifted woman that has ever chosen music as a
profession, and who, at the age of sixty-nine, still continues to be
among the most fascinating of pianists, placed the musical world under
additional obligations when she issued three years ago the collection
of private letters, written by Schumann between the ages of eighteen
and thirty (1827-40), partly to her, partly to his mother, and other
relatives, friends, and business associates. She was prompted to this
act not only by the consciousness that there are many literary gems in
the correspondence which should not be lost to the world, but by the
thought that more is generally known of Schumann's eccentricities than
of his real traits of character. Inasmuch as a wretched script was one
of the most conspicuous of these eccentricities, it is fortunate that
his wife lived to edit his letters; but even she, though familiar with
his handwriting during many years of courtship and marriage, was not
infrequently obliged to interpolate a conjectural word. Schumann had
a genuine vein of humor, which he reveals in his correspondence as in
his compositions and criticisms. He was aware that his manuscript was
not a model of caligraphy, but, on being remonstrated with, he
passionately declared he could not do any better, promising, however,
sarcastically that, as a predestined diplomat, he would keep an
amanuensis in future. And on page 245 begins a long letter to Clara
which presents a curious appearance. Every twentieth word or so is
placed between two vertical lines, regarding which the reader is kept
in the dark until he comes to this postscript: "In great haste, owing
to business affairs, I add a sort of lexicon of indistinctly written
words, which I have placed within brackets. This will probably make
the letter appear very picturesque and piquant. The idea is not so
bad. Adio, clarissima Cara, cara Clarissima." Then follows the
"lexicon" of twenty words, including his own signature.

Although, in a semi-humorous vein, Schumann repeatedly alludes