Robert Schumann is most often remembered for the mental hardships he endured, which led him to live out his final years in a mental asylum. But much of his music expresses a heady, high joy that is hardly present in the work of any other composer. Much of that joy centered on the great love he shared with his wife Clara, as expressed in tender chamber music and remarkable love songs.

Few lives were lived at such heights and depths. Let’s visit with this great composer and learn more about him.

Ladies and gentlemen,

I am Robert Schumann, born in 1810 in the Saxon town of Zwickau. From the start I lived between two tempers—impetuous Florestan and inward Eusebius—and I let them both speak at the piano. I once dreamed of life as a virtuoso, but an injury to my hand turned me instead toward composing and writing. In that detour, I found my true voice.

I founded the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik to champion new art. I praised Chopin, admired Berlioz, and later welcomed a gifted young man named Johannes Brahms, declaring him one who would chart “new paths.” If I knew anything, it was how to listen for tomorrow.

The piano was my first diary—Carnaval, Kreisleriana, Kinderszenen. Then came my “year of song,” when lieder poured out of me, giving voice to Heine and Eichendorff. Later I wrote symphonies, chamber music, and a concerto that sought not rivalry but conversation between orchestra and soloist.

To speak of my life without Clara is impossible. She was already a celebrated pianist when we met. Her father opposed us, but love prevailed, and in 1840 we married. Clara carried my music to the world, and when my strength failed, she carried me as well. If my pages shine with any light, it is hers.

I was blessed with friends—Mendelssohn, who conducted my works with clarity; Joachim, whose violin spoke like a soul; and Brahms, who became family in spirit.

But shadows followed. Melancholy pressed hard, and in 1854, in despair, I turned toward the Rhine. I was rescued, but my last years were spent in an asylum near Bonn. In 1856, at forty-six, my voice fell silent. Yet Clara was there at the end.

If my music lives on, let it be heard not as lament, but as witness—that love, poetry, and friendship can be spoken through sound more truthfully than through words alone.

Thank you.

A Selection of Works by Robert Schumann Available for Listening on Classical Archives

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Piano Music

Chamber Music

Orchestral Music

Concertos

Song Cycles

Songs