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Authors: Hermann Hesse
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having to do any socializing at all. Iâm actually happiest when Iâm alone, looking at some piece by Goethe 28 ; those marbled sunrays and that sunraylike marble edify me. What makes Goethe so unique, the greatest of all, is his contribution to the solution of the puzzle confronting the modern age; fire and water have come together, by which I mean the Classical and Romantic elements in thought and poetry, Yes and No, Plato and Aristotle, thought and irony, Homer and Dante. For everybody other than Goethe, a yawning chasm exists between Iphigenia and Faust. He alone, among millions of thoughtful people born over the last hundred years, was completely unaffected by the French Revolution, because his vantage point was even loftier than that afforded by the great red sun of the modern era.
Forgive these literary and aesthetic excursions, but since my private studies overlap almost entirely with my profession (Iâm currently poring over Gottschall, 29 catalogues and journals), all of this thought and work is no longer sinful, mere skylarking, and has earned the rightâalso on external groundsâto lend fulfillment to my life. And thereâs still room enough in my heart to think of you with love and gratitude, to feel glad for Mother on each warm day, and to meditate for a little while in the study as Iâm preparing to mail the Calw papers. 30
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Friday
Another week will soon be over. On Sundays, Iâd really prefer to stay at home altogether, and indeed I never do go out until afternoon. Yet, despite my weak appetite, itâs too long from 1 to 6:30 or 7, and if Iâm not at Auntieâs, or, and this happens rarely enough, get to down some seminary coffee, I drink a glass of beer or wine. When away from Calw, what I always miss most of all is the afternoon coffee.
Kübelâs brand-new work Christian Ethics (two volumes) appeared today, and Iâve already mailed off more than ten copies. Tomorrow, Iâm going to the theological foundation to put a poster on the door, so that students get to hear about it too. Dozens of copies of Kübelâs Sermons have been sold, some to poor, humble tradesmen.
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Sunday
I should actually write some more today, since I donât know when I can get to it next week, with all the work. But itâs not possible. Iâm absolutely exhausted, even though weâre still at the very beginning. So this will have to do, kisses from your
TO ERNST KAPFF 31
Tübingen, February 7, 1896
Beatus ille, qui procul negotiis â! 32 My work load is almost excessive this week, and that will remain the case until the Easter fair. The work is interesting, but quite strenuous! During the inventory, hundreds of books, all new titles published in 1895, pass through my hands and, if I want to derive any real literary benefit from them, I have to make inordinate demands on my memory.[ ⦠]
Iâm producing very little, except for some poetic knickknacks and a few heartfelt sighs. I have mainly read Gottschallâs Nationalliteratur, which has left me little the wiser. He is best on Berlin Romanticism, Hegel, and perhaps Freytag as well, but I couldnât get myself to read everything he says about Gutzkow, Prutz, and Jordan. In general, Gottschall drenches the epigones of Young Germany with his vinegar-and-oil dressing, and, oddly enough, he is serious when he says by way of farewell: âCheers, enjoy the meal!â I donât know Gottschallâs own writings. If I dabbled in literary history, Iâd certainly approach it with a bit more cheekiness and boldness; I would, for instance, trace the malady of our literature, its paralyzed backbone, straight back to its only source, the Romantic element, Tieck and Brentano; that would certainly provide a regular framework, even though some things would get clipped at the edges. If I had time on my hands, if I were a person of independent means, and had no literary ambitions of
Forgive these literary and aesthetic excursions, but since my private studies overlap almost entirely with my profession (Iâm currently poring over Gottschall, 29 catalogues and journals), all of this thought and work is no longer sinful, mere skylarking, and has earned the rightâalso on external groundsâto lend fulfillment to my life. And thereâs still room enough in my heart to think of you with love and gratitude, to feel glad for Mother on each warm day, and to meditate for a little while in the study as Iâm preparing to mail the Calw papers. 30
Â
Friday
Another week will soon be over. On Sundays, Iâd really prefer to stay at home altogether, and indeed I never do go out until afternoon. Yet, despite my weak appetite, itâs too long from 1 to 6:30 or 7, and if Iâm not at Auntieâs, or, and this happens rarely enough, get to down some seminary coffee, I drink a glass of beer or wine. When away from Calw, what I always miss most of all is the afternoon coffee.
Kübelâs brand-new work Christian Ethics (two volumes) appeared today, and Iâve already mailed off more than ten copies. Tomorrow, Iâm going to the theological foundation to put a poster on the door, so that students get to hear about it too. Dozens of copies of Kübelâs Sermons have been sold, some to poor, humble tradesmen.
Â
Sunday
I should actually write some more today, since I donât know when I can get to it next week, with all the work. But itâs not possible. Iâm absolutely exhausted, even though weâre still at the very beginning. So this will have to do, kisses from your
TO ERNST KAPFF 31
Tübingen, February 7, 1896
Beatus ille, qui procul negotiis â! 32 My work load is almost excessive this week, and that will remain the case until the Easter fair. The work is interesting, but quite strenuous! During the inventory, hundreds of books, all new titles published in 1895, pass through my hands and, if I want to derive any real literary benefit from them, I have to make inordinate demands on my memory.[ ⦠]
Iâm producing very little, except for some poetic knickknacks and a few heartfelt sighs. I have mainly read Gottschallâs Nationalliteratur, which has left me little the wiser. He is best on Berlin Romanticism, Hegel, and perhaps Freytag as well, but I couldnât get myself to read everything he says about Gutzkow, Prutz, and Jordan. In general, Gottschall drenches the epigones of Young Germany with his vinegar-and-oil dressing, and, oddly enough, he is serious when he says by way of farewell: âCheers, enjoy the meal!â I donât know Gottschallâs own writings. If I dabbled in literary history, Iâd certainly approach it with a bit more cheekiness and boldness; I would, for instance, trace the malady of our literature, its paralyzed backbone, straight back to its only source, the Romantic element, Tieck and Brentano; that would certainly provide a regular framework, even though some things would get clipped at the edges. If I had time on my hands, if I were a person of independent means, and had no literary ambitions of
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