| 23 July 1856 (p. 138)1 | The telegram said: 'If you want to see your husband alive, come at once; the sight of him is horrifying!' |
| 27 July 1856 (p. 138-9) | I went and Brahms went with me. I saw him in the evening. He smiled, putting his arm about me but with great effort for he can no longer move his limbs. I shall never forget that embrace. It is impossible to understand his speech. |
| (p. 139) | Only once I understood the word 'my' but he couldn't add 'Clara' though he looked at me lovingly. Then he suddenly said 'I know you.' I wait by his side scarcely daring to breathe. |
| (p. 138) | It is nearly three years since Robert came to the asylum. Asylum! How bitter the word! Three long lonely years. It began just after he had written that strange letter to Joachim, |
| (p. 55) | the letter which ended: 'My music has become silent to the outside world. I must leave now, it is growing dark.' [The letter to Joachim is dated 6 Feb 1854.] |
| 10 Feb 1854 (p. 55-6) | On the night of February tenth, eighteen fifty-four, Robert suffered a violent affliction of hearing; he kept hearing the same note played over and over and sometimes another interval with it. The doctor says he can do absolutely nothing. My poor Robert suffers terribly ... one note over and over, over and over. |
| 17 Feb 1854 (p. 56) | Last night, after we had been in bed for some time, Robert suddenly asked me to listen. He said that angels were dictating music to him. He got up and wrote down the theme, then he came back to bed and lay gazing toward heav'n. He was convinced that angels were hov'ring around us revealing divine music. But with the morning came a terrible change. The angels turned into demons. They said they would cast him into hell! |
| 20 Feb 1854 | I watched him listening to the angels' voices; his eyes had an expression of beatitude. Sometimes he would write something down, not much, then he would listen again. |
| 1 Mar 1854 (p. 60) | The doctors will no longer allow Robert to get out of bed, nor will they allow others to go near him. I sent him a little bunch of violets; if only I could see him! |
| 26 Feb 1854 (p. 57) | Robert has put all his effects in order: pens, music paper, cigars. He insists that the doctors send him to an asylum for there alone he can recover. [Robert Schumann made his suicide attempt shortly after noon on Monday, 27 Feb 1854.] |
| 4 Mar 1854 (p. 60) | Saturday March the fourth: Oh God! The carriage stood at the door! Robert dressed quickly, got into the carriage, accompanied by the doctor. He didn't ask for me. I thought I would die! My wonderful Robert in an asylum; how can I bear it? |
| 29 July 1856 (p. 139) | 'I know you.' Those were the last words he spoke. His last hours were peaceful and he passed away in sleep. [Robert Schumann died in the afternoon; Brahms and Clara Schumann had gone to meet Joseph Joachim at the railway station in Bonn.] |
| 10 Feb 1854 (p. 55-6) | His head is beautiful, transparent, and slightly arched. I stand by the body of the man I had loved and am filled with wonder. I lay some flowers on his head and depart. I am all alone. |