it all will be a jolly wedding,' but towards the end, my sorrow
about you came over me again, so that wedding and funeral bells are
ringing together."

He plans how they shall write music together when they are married, and
says:

"When you are standing by me as I sit at the piano, then we shall both
cry like children--I know I shall be quite overcome. Then you must not
watch me too closely when I am composing; that would drive me to
desperation; and for my part, I promise you, too, only very seldom to
listen at your door. Well, we shall lead a life of poetry and blossoms,
and we shall play and compose together like angels, and bring gladness
to mankind."

He would have "a pretty cottage not far from town--you at my side--to
work--to live with me blissful and calm" (_selig und still_). And when
she wishes to tour: "We'll pack our diamonds together and go live in
Paris."

He writes her, complaining that her father called him phlegmatic, and
said that he had written nothing in the _Zeitschrift_ for six weeks. He
insists that he is leading a very serious life:

"I am a young man of twenty-eight with a very active mind, and an
artist, to boot; yet for eight years I have not been out of Saxony, and
have been sitting still, saving my money without a thought of spending
it on amusement or horses, and quietly going my own way as usual. And
do you mean to say that all my industry and simplicity, and all that I
have done are quite lost upon your father?"

Sometimes the strain under which the two lovers lived caused a little
rift within the lute. Poor Clara, forced to defend Robert against her
father's contempt, and her father against Robert's indignation,
preserved her double and contradictory dignity with remarkable skill,
with a fidelity to both that makes her in the last degree both
admirable and lovable. When she advised patience or postponement, the
impatient Robert saw her father's hand moving the pen, and complained;
but in his next letter he was sure to return to his attitude of
tenderness for her in her difficulties, and determination to yield
everything to circumstances except the final possession of the woman of
his heart.

Musicians seem to be naturally good writers of letters. In the first
place, those whose fingers grow tired of playing notes or writing them,
seem to find recreation in the reeling off of letters. They have
acquired an instinctive sense of form, and an instinct for smoothing
over its rough