Longing and passion are intertwined in this biographical novel of Robert Schumann and Clara Wieck-Schumann. Longing is a recurrent theme, and the word ‘longing’ appears many times. Robert, Clara and their friends passionately compose and perform their music, and passion extends itself to passion of the flesh.
From the moment that eight year old Robert hears Ignaz Moscheles perform Clementi’s Sonata in B-flat he forgets about his fascination with the pianist’s hair, and simply shuts his eyes and listens. “It was a new language, being spoken by a new being, being performed in a new world, being heard by a new boy who felt he was hearing it in confidence. He was destroyed by it, and what a luxury that was.”
Little child prodigy Clara Wieck learns to play music before she can speak. She is to become one of the greatest pianists of the Romantic era.
Robert and Clara’s paths first cross when she hears him play Schubert’s ‘Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel’:
“But it was not Agnes accompanying herself on the piano now. Clara could hear as much before she saw what she saw. This was a far more adventuresome pianist. As Gretchen sits with her wheel spinning and her head spinning, the former with cloth and the latter with covetous images of the very flesh and touch of the man who has taken her innocence, the pianist, like a lover, virtually infiltrates her song. He wraps his notes around her words and enfolds her thoughts within his music, which wanders key to key in endless speculation like the girl herself, who wonders if her lover will return, embracing death if he will not. The piano spins the agony of her desire.” It is a moment later that she sees him and is introduced. It is a coup de foudre for the little girl.
Intense piano playing, intense composing, intense relationships between various people. Passion and longing are the order of the day.
The story of Robert, Clara and their musician friends unfolds against the backdrop of the political events of that time. In fact, Robert is born to the sound of the roaring crowds as the Emperor Napoleon and his bride Marie Luise of Austria ride through the streets of Zwickau. Mr Landiss creates wonderful portraits not only of Robert, Clara and Friedrich Wieck, but also of Paganini, Liszt, Chopin, Mendelsohn, Wagner, and of course their great friend Johannes Brahms. There are also cameos of opera stars Pauline Viardot and Jenny Lind.
The author loves to play with words and also allows his characters to play with words to their hearts’ content. At times the beautiful prose meanders like Robert Schumann’s mind. The Prologue takes plays at the asylum known as Endenich where Robert Schumann spent his final days. The novel ends with a section called The Breakdown Dialogues. Even at the mental asylum Robert and the doctor indulge in word play.
This novel is a treat for music lovers.
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Quotes:
“What was it with mothers? A genius emerged from the womb, and the mother feared he would suffer more from lack of funds than from the stifling of his art.”
“Improvisation was, for him, the writing of his autobiography upon the parchment of the air. But it was not merely the story of what he had become; it was also the story of what he was becoming. To make music was to give birth to oneself. You were, at the same time, naked, in terrible pain, dissevered, ecstatic.”
“To write for an orchestra was like throwing stars into an empty sky. And then to write, and play, a solo part was to fly among those stars in danger and delight.”
“He went back to his seat by the window and wrote songs in his head to Goethe’s words and wondered if one makes art to shut out the world or one shuts out the world to make art.”
“Music, in the meantime, obliterated words, thoughts, meaning itself. It rolled through one’s blood and brain with an ecstatic pitilessness.”
“A painter can learn color from a Beethoven symphony, and a musician can learn rhythm from a Goethe poem.”
“Literature interprets us, but music defines us.”
“Man without his politicians and police was at worst man disorganized; man without his artists was man erased.”
“One might come away whistling from an Italian opera; from a German opera one must emerge reborn, into both the silence of awe and the thunder of creation.”
“All one can express at any moment is himself. What if the self is shattered? What if the self has ceased to exist, long before life has ended? What if I have merely suffered as an artist but, in the end, produced nothing that might be called art?”
““Who you are not? My goodness, that’s a metaphysical subject of the first order. Think of who I am not. I’m not Schubert, alas. I’m not Frédéric Chopin. I’m not Shakespeare or Hoffmann. I am not, as the saying goes, myself sometimes. By which I mean, sometimes I feel I’ve lost my mind. And when the mind is lost, its possessor is, ipso facto, not who he is.””
“Such is the madness of madness.”
“Author’s Note
The epigraphs are archival. The characters are historical. The dates of events and correspondence are, when verifiable, authentic. The rest is fiction masquerading as fact, and the reverse.”