Your letter is the fruit of a severe illness, from which you haven’t yet recovered, and this lends weight to the courageous statement of your beliefs. Like all who are enlightened, you accept the Buddha’s doctrine that suffering is a central part of life, but what you find lacking in him is any reference to the delicate effect of beauty and joy on the fabric of existence. Indian scholars of Buddhism would laugh at that idea, but I couldn’t agree with you more, since I’m of the same opinion myself: “One shouldn’t reject anything in life, even its delightful blessings.” We children like to hear that.
May you persevere, and may life shine on you again!
Ninon is spending fourteen days in Paris, and will be seeing Carlo Isenberg’s daughter, who is now a fine scholar in Romance languages.
GREETINGS TO A HESSE FESTIVAL IN PRETORIA498
[June 1961]
I haven’t been able to accede to Herr Etzel’s499 request for tape-recorded greetings addressed to the participants and audience at the Hesse Festival. One of the scourges afflicting me in old age is having to contend with a certain impediment in my voice and speaking ability. But I would certainly like to convey my heartfelt greetings to those present. What I find especially pleasing about the honor accorded me is the honor conferred thereby on the German language. The dear German language has been my fond comrade and solace in life, my greatest treasure, together with its great works, which range from the Song of the Nibelungs through Luther and Goethe to the present. As a language, it is rich, elastic, powerful, playful, moody, and frequently irregular; strongly musical, animated, and humorous. At any celebrations in honor of works or writers in this language, the language itself should get most of the credit. We writers are indeed helping to build up and refine the language, but even the contributions made by the greatest writers are as nothing when compared to what the language gives us and means to us. These words are intended as a reminder of this.
TO HIS SONS
June 1961
We had to renew my contract with Suhrkamp, which had expired, and have inserted a few minor changes. The following provision is important for you: After my death, Ninon will assume responsibility for negotiating with the publishers. She understands my thoughts and wishes regarding the future of my works, and will advise the publishers on such matters. My sons need only concern themselves with these matters after Ninon’s death. Since there are three of you and the publishers cannot discuss whatever controversial issues arise with each of you separately, you should assign the power of attorney to one of you for negotiations with the publishers.
Ninon will carry out my wishes as long as she is still alive. Rather than making any provision beyond that point, I wish to leave any eventual decisions up to you. For instance, I have never allowed any of my books to be turned into a film. If this question should ever arise again, you’re free to arrive at your own decision. Thus if somebody should come with a film offer when you’re experiencing financial difficulties, there isn’t any prohibition on my part. In that case, just do what you think is right; you can have total confidence in Dr. Unseld, Suhrkamp’s successor.
TO RUDOLF KAYSER
Sils Maria [August 12, 1961]
Thanks for your letter. I have had a lot of contact and correspondence with Israel, also with Buber. My relationship to Germany is similar to yours. In my case the “emigration” occurred before the first war, in 1912, and ever since then I have been living in Switzerland, which was my homeland as a child. I was last in Germany about twenty-six years ago. I would have liked to revisit the haunts of my childhood, but first the Nazis came along, and then bombs demolished almost everything that I cherished. I found Germany after 1945 far more alien and unappealing than the Germany of 1912, even with its Kaiser, generals, and gleaming weaponry.
TO ERIKA MANN
[October 4, 1961]
It’s been a few weeks since your kind letter, and I was reminded of this by Klaus’s anniversary500 and Kantorovicz’s radio program (Heinrich and Thomas).501 Many things came to mind as I was reading your father’s letters to Heinrich,502 especially those from his youth. I believe your father’s first visit to Florence coincided with mine; we must have strolled through the same Gothic alleys without having any idea of each other. I lived on the third floor above the Piazza Signoria, and could see the Loggia dei Lanzi503 and the place where Savonarola’s funeral pile had stood. I went carousing in Lapi’s tavern.
Kantorovicz seems a nice man; his account of the “brotherly row” speaks highly in his favor. He would like to call on me sometime, and I shall indeed see him, whereas I don’t regret not having received Becher,504 etc.
Tomorrow I’m expecting my Japanese cousin, whom you know from my circular letters. I am looking forward to a few evenings suffused with an Eastern atmosphere, Zen Buddhist discussions; that to me is like a bath or fresh air. My condition is seriously out of whack, but I have more of a right to be that way than you have, at merely fifty years of age. I’m greatly saddened to hear that you aren’t feeling well, but I have much faith in your nature; my wishes are with you.
December 1961
You already know what this letter is about: Volume One of the letters,505 of course, which I received a few days ago. I have been dipping into it several times a day, initially in a rather unsystematic manner. First I read your good, fine foreword, and thought about what you said. Had you devoted your eventful life solely to the cultivation of his memory, the world—and indeed posterity—would have reason to feel grateful to you.
I shall spend a lot more time with the book, and am glad to have lived to witness its appearance.
This first glance has confirmed many things that I have previously noted when comparing Th.M. and myself. The differences, indeed utter contrasts, are clear enough: northern and southern German, the urbanite and the man from the country, etc., etc. But, at present, I’m more conscious of the similarities and affinities, especially the gentleness, sensitivity, and feeling of being exposed to danger—those tendencies are present in both of us, but the evidence suggests that they diminished and eventually disappeared as we got older.
I discover with delight the sovereign, at times ceremonial, at times hidden, mocking politeness which served as his armor against the coarseness and crudity of the world. He is splendid at that, often very much the Royal Highness, often a rascal-like mocker, with his soul always covered and protected by means of roles and masks.
I am concerned about your well-being. Please convey best regards from both of us to your family, especially to your esteemed dear mother.
TO WERNER WEBER
December 19, 1961, at night
I’m fighting the flu, and am having some difficulty shaking it off, because something else is depriving me of my sleep. I’m referring to the review of Thomas Mann’s letters, which doesn’t reflect well on the newspaper or the reviewer.506 It isn’t all that difficult to ascertain what a fine, significant book it is and then do it justice. And the reviewer did just that. But then, instead of saying a word or two to thank the person without whom this book—which was assembled with uncommon devotion—wouldn’t even exist, he nags, abuses, even spits at the editor out of sheer personal animosity. It’s sad to see him mimick a sadistic teacher grilling a hated student and then come up with numerous farfetched reasons for his criticism, carping, and downgrading of the book. He even welcomes each missing comma—actually the responsibility of the publishers and editors—because that allows him to give the author’s daughter yet another slap in the face. His hatred is transparent, and the piece will prove more damaging to him than to the editor. Besides, it’s easy to disprove nine-tenths of his allegations against Erika Mann. Not a single accusation is truly significant.
It’s no secret that Erika Mann has a talent for behaving in a passionate, embattled manner that leaves her exposed to the enemies she creates so easily. But there is no trace of that in this work of devotion. And people in Zurich realize that, during the Pfeffermühle507 era, there was another very ac
tive opposing party,508 of which the reviewer was a loyal adherent. He hasn’t felt bound to revise his views over the decades nor has he learned how to control his hatred.
TO KURT KARL ROHBRA
[July 1962]
My dear assistant in Lübeck,
I owe you a short report on the festivities before sitting down with my wife to tackle the nine thousand or so letters and cables that my birthday has elicited.
Something else was going on besides my birthday: Montagnola made me an honorary citizen; two receptions were held, complete with music, speeches, food service, etc., which made us somewhat apprehensive, since we were both ill and accustomed to our peace and quiet. But the whole thing was very cheerful and went off nicely; the doctor assisted me with some shots, and my wife had a relative here for a few days to help out.
The musicians turned up on Saturday evening, a brass band of some twenty-two men; they stood in front of the house and played for about an hour, with a few interruptions for wine. The music was naïve, but the performance itself was impeccable. I listened to about half of it, spoke to some of the musicians, gave a little speech in Italian expressing my gratitude, and withdrew. There was a bench in the garage covered with glasses, which we had borrowed from the hotel, and many bottles of wine, though they barely sufficed. On Sunday morning the atmosphere was more formal: presentation of the scroll before the mayor, town council, representatives of various agencies, clubs, etc.; there were speeches, wine, and bread rolls in the library. Then, in the evening, the whole thing was repeated on the radio. And still missing is an account of July 2, which we celebrated in Faido with an opulent and festive meal provided by the proprietor of the castle, Max, but paper and time are running out—more anon!
TO GERTRUD VON LE FORT
[July/August 1962]
Very few of the almost one thousand letters in honor of this festive occasion were as delightful as yours. I listened with grateful pleasure as my wife read it aloud, and now I’m reading it myself.
It didn’t find me in the “good health” you had wished for; I was quite ill all winter, and have been very weak and anemic ever since, but usually in good spirits; I enjoy reading and music, and my eighty-fifth birthday party was a very wonderful, cheerful affair: a festive meal in Faido, with my two sons and their wives, the mistress of the hilltop, my doctor, and, above all, the proprietor of the castle, Max von Bremgarten, who hosted and organized the occasion, which included a Mozart performance by a good string quartet from Bern. We spent about five hours together, and then I drove home with Ninon and the other guests, northward over the Gotthard.
Since then, of course, I have had three blood transfusions, and spent as many hours as I could clearing away the mail; we aren’t yet done. There were many kind, wonderful letters, including two from maids in my first household, who were sending regards after fifty, sixty years.
I hope your condition has since improved. Brother Body can pester us like an irksome relative. Of course, “overcoming the world” is not a state, but a process, or struggle, and one doesn’t always emerge on top.
Notes
Correspondence: 1891–1962
1. Studied law; later served as mayor of Göppingen, but was deposed by the National Socialists in 1933.
2. Pastor in Stuttgart, later became a professor in Berlin.
3. Studied botany in Tübingen; eventually became a professor of botany in Hohenheim.
4. Teacher of classics at the Realgymnasium in Altenburg. In 1930, he began a lively correspondence with Hesse. It was he who translated the motto of The Glass Bead Game into Latin.
5. Teacher in Hamburg.
6. Studied ancient philology in Tübingen; subsequently taught at the seminaries of Maulbronn and Blaubeuren. Hesse describes a meeting with Häcker in his autobiographical sketch “Journey to Nürnberg.”
7. Became an agriculturalist.
8. Studied theology in Tübingen; served as an officer in the military and eventually became an engineer.
9. For having run away from school.
10. German revolutionary poet (1817–75).
11. Johannes Hesse, Das Spiel im häuslichen Kreise: Ein Ratgeber für die Familie (Games in the Family Circle: A Guide).
12. At Bad Boll, in June, Hesse had bought a revolver and tried to shoot himself.
13. This letter was probably written before June 5, 1894, when Hesse decided to enter Perrot’s workshop in Calw.
14. Hesse had run away from this apprentice position sometime between October 29 and November 4, 1893.
15. Wife of Samuel Gundert, the second-eldest son of Hesse’s grandfather.
16. German Romantic painter (1803–84).
17. Hesse’s younger sister.
18. Hesse’s half brother.
19. In October 1895, after his period as an apprentice in Perrot’s clock-repair shop in Calw, Hesse began a three-year apprenticeship in Heckenhauer’s bookstore in Tübingen (at first as a volunteer and after finishing his apprenticeship as a second assistant for inventory).
20. Proverbial name for a small town with petit bourgeois values.
21. Celebrated writer of German naturalism.
22. Goethe, Faust.
23. Berlin suburb favored by writers of German naturalism.
24. Probably Haydn’s oratorio The Seasons (1801).
25. Public prosecutor in Stuttgart, married to Marie Oehler, a lifelong friend of Marie Hesse’s.
26. Professor of theology in Tübingen and Ephor (Superintendent) at the Evangelical Foundation there.
27. Professor of theology, author of various theological treatises, member of the board of the Calw Publishing Association, and a friend of Hesse’s parents.
28. Cf. J. P. Eckermann, “Conversations with Goethe,” Part III, January 2, 1824.
29. Author of Die deutsche Nationalliteratur im 19. Jahrhundert (1855), a popular and frequently reprinted literary history.
30. Various missionary periodicals published in Calw.
31. Author of historical fiction and Hesse’s teacher and mentor at Cannstatt.
32. “Happy he who (lives) far from all duties,” Horace, Epodes.
33. Goethe, Faust.
34. From Hal Draper’s translation of The Complete Poems of Heinrich Heine (1982).
35. Edward Bellamy’s utopian welfare state, in his novel Looking Backward (1888).
36. Fabulous creatures in ancient Greek lore.
37. Goethe, Faust.
38. A third party who benefits from the disagreement or action of two others.
39. Head of a girls’ boarding school in Tübingen attended by Adele and Marulla Hesse.
40. Mother of Hermann Kieser, a roommate of Hesse’s at Maulbronn.
41. Theodor Häring, “δικαιοσύνη Θɛοῡ bei Paulus” (1896).
42. Hermann Gundert, cousin and brother-in-law of Hesse’s. He married Adele Hesse in 1906.
43. Two of the most distinguished German publishers.
44. From Macpherson’s famous forgery of a “Celtic” saga; quotation here is from the original English version, The Poems of Ossian, trans. James Macpherson.
45. The sentimental heroes of Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther (1774) and J. M. Müller’s Siegwart: A Monastic Tale (1776).
46. “Chopin” (1897), poem with sections entitled “Grande Valse” and “berceuse” (Gedichte, pp. 13–14).
47. Writer; married to publisher Eugen Diederichs.
48. Friedrich Schlegel (1772–1829), the Romantic critic; and Novalis’s (Friedrich von Hardenberg, 1772–1801) Hymns to Night (1800), a major text of German Romanticism.
49. Rhetorically powerful social poet.
50. Spanish violin virtuoso.
51. Hesse’s first volume of poetry, Romantische Lieder, appeared that autumn (dated Dresden, 1899).
52. Eine Stunde hinter Mitternacht (An Hour beyond Midnight), a collection of prose poems (Leipzig, 1899).
53. A whimsical novel (1879).
54. Archivist a
nd author of A History of the City of Basel.
55. Peter Camenzind, which first appeared in Die Neue Rundschau in 1903 and was then published by S. Fischer (Berlin, 1904).
56. Neue deutsche Lyriker: Gedichte von Hermann Hesse, the third volume in a series edited by Carl Busse and published by G. Grotesch (Berlin, 1902).
57. A reference to Hesse’s early novel, The Posthumous Writings and Poems of Hermann Lauscher (Basel, 1901).
58. Austrian writer noted for early Neoromantic poetry, Freudian fiction, and popular biographical essays.
59. Possibly Zweig’s first book, Silberne Saiten: Gedichte (1901).
60. A pacifist writer best known for Expressionist poems and plays.
61. Ludwig Finckh, Hesse’s boyhood friend, a physician and writer.
62. Maria Bernoulli, subsequently. Hesse’s wife, ran a portrait studio with her sister in the Bäumleingasse in Basel, where meetings of artists were often held.
63. Peter Camenzind.
64. In spite of the opposition of Maria Bernoulli’s father, Hesse became engaged, to her at Pentecost 1903. He gave up his job in the Wattenwyl secondhand bookstore and from October 5 on, he was in Calw again, where he started writing his story, Unterm Rad (Beneath the Wheel) (1906).
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