P.M., Feb. 13, 1836.

"Sleep has been weighing on my eyes. I have been waiting two hours for
the express coach. The roads are so bad that perhaps we shall not get
away till two o'clock. How you stand before me, my beloved Clara; ah,
so near you seem to me that I could almost seize you. Once I could put
everything daintily in words, telling how strongly I liked any one, but
now I cannot any more. And if you do not know, I cannot tell you. But
love me well; do you hear? ... I demand much since I give much. To-day
I have been excited by various feelings; the opening of mother's will;
hearing all about her death, etc. But your radiant image gleams through
all the darkness and helps me to bear everything better.... All I can
tell you now is, that the future is much more assured. Still I cannot
fold my hands in my lap. I must accomplish much to obtain that which
you see when by chance you walk past the mirror. In the meantime you
also remain an artist and not a Countess Rossi. You will help me; work
with me; and endure joy and sorrow with me.

"At Leipzig my first care shall be to put my worldly affairs in order.
I am quite clear about my heart. Perhaps your father will not refuse if
I ask him for his blessing. Of course there is much to be thought of
and arranged. But I put great trust in our guardian angel. Fate always
intended us for one another. I have known that a long time, but my
hopes were never strong enough to tell you and get your answer before.

"What I write to-day briefly and incompletely, I will later explain to
you, for probably you cannot read me at all. But simply realise, that I
love you quite unspeakably. The room is getting dark. Passengers near
me are going to sleep. It is sleeting and snowing outside. But I will
squeeze myself right into a corner, bury my face in the cushions, and
think only of you. Farewell, my Clara.

"Your ROBERT."

Close upon this letter, which must have been answered with no
hesitation and no inferiority of passion, came the summons to battle
for the prize. Wieck, who had been a cordial father, declined with
undue enthusiasm the role of father-in-law. He had viewed with hope
Robert's entrance into the career of music, had advised the mother to
let him make it his life; then the youth ruined his chances of earning
large moneys as a concert performer by practising until his right hand
was permanently injured and the third finger useless. As early as 1831
Wieck is quoted as obje