Dresden
4 May 1849
Robert is working in the study today. He is setting Frederick Schiller’s poem “Senn’s Farewell” to music, and the children and I are listening. I am longing to play myself, and I would love to have some time to compose. We have two pianos, so I could, but Robert says he cannot stand to hear me play when he is composing. His delicate constitution must not be set off balance, after all, and I must keep the children from bothering him as well. And the new little one within me now kicks as if to remind me that he or she will be out and among the throng in about two months, joining Marie, Elise, Julie, and little Ludwig at play. The children can play, my husband can play. The irony that I, world-renowned pianist, Royal and Imperial Virtuosa, am the only one who can’t play d
