detect in these dusky red lights any signs of a coming morning; all I see are the torches lighting up the wanton orgies of an age that has sunk low artistically. And, when all is said and done, none of the moderns has advanced any further in his very own genre than Goethe did in Werther and the Elective Affinities. Maybe the historians who see Faust as the finest blossom of the present age and of the coming era are right after all, even though I still find it hard to believe that the epigrammatic curse in Faust cannot be averted. 22 Or are we approaching an era in which art and poetry will lose their special status and end up as equal or perhaps even inferior âbranchesâ of the book trade? That almost seems likely, and the only way we literary people shall prevail is by keeping our faith against all odds and clinging to our idealistic tenets, no matter how bad the situation gets. If ordinary people would only remain pure, if the good old customs and songs were not being forgotten, were not being killed off by the air in the factories and the nonpoetry of the writers in Grünewald. 23
Youâre probably laughing at my excessive zeal; well, I have just reached the one area that really matters to me. No offense intended!
I hope to be able to write again when things are quieter and I would be delighted to hear from you. And now, God be with you, dear brother!
TO JOHANNES AND MARIE HESSE
[ Written between January 28 and February 2, 1896 ]
My dears,
My sincere thanks for the laundry, which was eagerly awaited, for Theodorâs balm, and, above all, for the kind letter from Mother.
You already know I was at a concert. 24 I was given a free ticket by a clerk in Osianderâs bookstore. The chorus and orchestra were quite remarkable. âFallâ and âWinterâ were virtually perfect. The singer was also fine, especially in âWinter,â and the chorus was most impressive there, too. Unfortunately, I was very tired from having to be on my feet continuously from one-thirty until 11 oâclock, first at my desk, then in the concert hall.
I had already become acquainted with several of the Tübingen Olympians by the time I called on the idol of the Law Faculty, the famous teacher of criminal law, Professor Hugo von Meyer, to discuss a business matter. A tall, splendid person with a wonderful, long beard and handsome features, an idealized version of Jakob Staudenmaier. He was utterly charming, honored me with a handshake, and even got absorbed in a conversation about the durability of a certain type of paper. Itâs fun getting such a close-up view of these gods; a few manage to retain their luster. Meyer, for instance. Yesterday, I spent some time with a person from Transylvania, and heard about the condition of secondary schools in his homeland; tomorrow, Iâm going to the Wingolf fraternity house on a delicate mission (debts). At least I shall get to see it that way. I hope to visit some other housesâe. g., the dueling fraternities. Today, I ran into Hermann Nestle, 25 who addressed me very formally, and didnât seem to have any use for me. He looks good, nice, very cleverâI occasionally see Herr Bucher, the Ephor; 26 he now knows me by name, but I donât know how he found out. Heâs the very soul of amiability, when he has time; heâs awfully busy.
I havenât yet paid any social calls; I usually spend Sunday afternoon at my dear auntâs, so I can listen to the piano. Iâve been suffering for weeks from a shyness bordering on anxiety whenever I have to face people, including social gatherings, and though there is probably something to be said for that, it also messes things up quite a bit. I donât ever feel timid, I just dislike the parties at Häringâs, 27 especially talk, so I just listen, quiet as a mouse. I donât know why Iâm so smitten with melancholia. I just feel despondent and utterly miserable at the thought of
Youâre probably laughing at my excessive zeal; well, I have just reached the one area that really matters to me. No offense intended!
I hope to be able to write again when things are quieter and I would be delighted to hear from you. And now, God be with you, dear brother!
TO JOHANNES AND MARIE HESSE
[ Written between January 28 and February 2, 1896 ]
My dears,
My sincere thanks for the laundry, which was eagerly awaited, for Theodorâs balm, and, above all, for the kind letter from Mother.
You already know I was at a concert. 24 I was given a free ticket by a clerk in Osianderâs bookstore. The chorus and orchestra were quite remarkable. âFallâ and âWinterâ were virtually perfect. The singer was also fine, especially in âWinter,â and the chorus was most impressive there, too. Unfortunately, I was very tired from having to be on my feet continuously from one-thirty until 11 oâclock, first at my desk, then in the concert hall.
I had already become acquainted with several of the Tübingen Olympians by the time I called on the idol of the Law Faculty, the famous teacher of criminal law, Professor Hugo von Meyer, to discuss a business matter. A tall, splendid person with a wonderful, long beard and handsome features, an idealized version of Jakob Staudenmaier. He was utterly charming, honored me with a handshake, and even got absorbed in a conversation about the durability of a certain type of paper. Itâs fun getting such a close-up view of these gods; a few manage to retain their luster. Meyer, for instance. Yesterday, I spent some time with a person from Transylvania, and heard about the condition of secondary schools in his homeland; tomorrow, Iâm going to the Wingolf fraternity house on a delicate mission (debts). At least I shall get to see it that way. I hope to visit some other housesâe. g., the dueling fraternities. Today, I ran into Hermann Nestle, 25 who addressed me very formally, and didnât seem to have any use for me. He looks good, nice, very cleverâI occasionally see Herr Bucher, the Ephor; 26 he now knows me by name, but I donât know how he found out. Heâs the very soul of amiability, when he has time; heâs awfully busy.
I havenât yet paid any social calls; I usually spend Sunday afternoon at my dear auntâs, so I can listen to the piano. Iâve been suffering for weeks from a shyness bordering on anxiety whenever I have to face people, including social gatherings, and though there is probably something to be said for that, it also messes things up quite a bit. I donât ever feel timid, I just dislike the parties at Häringâs, 27 especially talk, so I just listen, quiet as a mouse. I donât know why Iâm so smitten with melancholia. I just feel despondent and utterly miserable at the thought of
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