To Clara Wieck, Leipzig, 1834
My dear and revered Clara,
- There are haters of beauty, who maintain that swans were really geese of a larger kind - one might say with equal justification that distance is only a close-up that has been pushed apart. and so indeed it is, for I speak with you daily (yes, even more softly that I usually do), and yet I know that you understand me. In the beinning I had various plans with regard to our correspondence. I wanted, for instance, to start a public one with you int he music journal; then I wanted to fill my air-balloon (you know that I own one) with ideas for letters, and arrange an ascent in a favourable wind with a suitable destination...I wanted to catch butterflies as letter-carriers to you. I wanted to send my letters first to Paris, so that you should open them with great curiosity, and then, more than surprised, would believe me in Paris. In short, I had many witty dreams in my head, from which only today the horn of the postilion [postman] has awakened me. Postilions, my dear Clara, have by the way, as magical an effect on me as the most excellent champagne. One seems to have no head, one has such a dlightfully light heart, when on hears them trumpeting so jouously out into the world. They are real waltzes of yearning to me, these trumpet-blasts, which remind us something that we do no possess. As I said, the sposilion blem me out of my old dresams into new ones...
-A letter from composer, Robert Schumann (1810-1856) to his love, Clara.
*note: my Christmas stocking this year had the book, Love Letters of Great Men, and this is an excerpt from those pages. It reminded me of the three years that Tommy and I were long distance at the beginning of our relationship...and how precious the sweet love letters were. I kept every letter and every card, he ever sent me...and I never trashed an email either...they were just too pretty to discard. Do you keep the love letters from your sweetie?