1843—1856.

We have seen how Schumann, after passing through the many and various difficulties that beset him at the beginning of his life, and again at the outset of his professional career, had at length attained to the fulfilment of all his desires. The art of composition had now been perfectly mastered. No longer do we hear of those early struggles to acquire the faculty of casting his musical ideas into perfect form. He had reached a point where composition came easily to him, and henceforth in all that he writes we trace that feeling of spontaneity which is the mark of all consummate achievements in art. His outward circumstances, as we have said, were entirely favourable to his creative activity, and fortune seemed once again to shine upon him. No doubt he would have been still happier than he was if he had met with a little more appreciation from his contemporaries and fellow-musicians, for whom he himself had always a word of praise whenever it could reasonably be bestowed. But this want is one which he shares with all the greatest men of the earth, or almost all. Since the day when Cimabue's Madonna was enthroned in the church of Santa Maria Novella amid the joyful acclamation of all Florence, it may be doubted whether any of the world's greatest men have ever received the universal homage of their contemporaries. This has been reserved for those of secondary achievement.