youâre in Tübingen once again, and Iâm not there to greet you. And this time I would very much like to be there since you might well find my presence more agreeable and useful than usual! I think of you a lot and can more or less put myself in your situation. I always hated the thought of having to rest and not being able to move, and yet, when suffering from nervous problems, Iâve often longed for some rest, hoping to have nothing on my mind but my own condition and ways to get better. Maybe youâre going through something similar, in spite of all your misfortune; whatâs more, you do have your bride and thus you have other positive things to think about. All of us siblings are with you in spirit, but you already know that. I canât think of anything better than various bits and pieces about myself, some news from Basel, but you may find this more entertaining than a real exchange of ideas.
I like it hereâyou already know that. And you also know that Basel, even if it has no style of its own, has its own peculiar atmosphere. The city and its people possess a real treasure trove of solid traditionsâin the form of money, outward appearance, and, above all, education. Moreover, Iâm realizing that there is a decent amount of artistic soil amid these pious, almost puritanical people. In the interiors of these bourgeois homes, one gets to see objects that one only sees in museums or castles elsewhere. One of the most valuable things about the museum, as far as I can judge, is that it has been assembled through private donations and includes several large private collections. What one sees is not so much an assortment of individual pieces as a series of complete collections, and though the museum as a whole is one-sided, itâs also more unified than other medium-sized museums. The great cult of Böcklin during the last ten years or so is very much in evidence. The most recent acquisitions are two sculptures by Stauffer-Bern and a splendid picture by Thoma, first-rate things, in other words. As for older objects, with the exception of Holbein, there is more in private houses than in the museum, very many Italians, among them a Leonardo, some Cranachs, etc. There is a quite charming little Böcklin in the house of Wackernagel, the archivist. That house has almost become my home. I read books there with the archivist, look at pictures with his son, discuss everything freely with his wife, play games with his older daughter, and entertain these wonderful children, who are less inhibited by the niceties of a good upbringing than most Basel children and get up to pranks occasionally. I was also there for Christmas Eve.
Besides, Iâm sharing quarters with an artist, the architect Jennen, but we seldom chat about art, since he hates talking as much as he hates writing, hardly ever reads a book, and gazes at the world through charming, bright childlike eyes; I have never seen the likes of them. We have rented three rooms together for a few months. But I donât often see him at home; in the evenings he is always gallivanting about with company or else doing sketches. He is working on the new Gothic town hall.
When I walk through those very familiar streets in the Spalen district, I sometimes think of the way you used to stroll along there as a high school student, while I was still a cheeky kid in kindergarten. And you have now reached quite a ripe old age![ ⦠]
TO JOHANNES AND MARIE HESSE
Basel, July 10, 1900
My dearly beloved,
[ ⦠] My ultimate goal is beauty, or âart,â if you like; I donât believe my path is any different from yours until one gets to the decisive turning point toward a specifically Protestant form of Christianity. I can probably now accept some kind of belief in Godâi.e., a belief that there is positive order in the worldâbut from then on the form and purpose of religion seems to be either too murky or too ignoble.
I like it hereâyou already know that. And you also know that Basel, even if it has no style of its own, has its own peculiar atmosphere. The city and its people possess a real treasure trove of solid traditionsâin the form of money, outward appearance, and, above all, education. Moreover, Iâm realizing that there is a decent amount of artistic soil amid these pious, almost puritanical people. In the interiors of these bourgeois homes, one gets to see objects that one only sees in museums or castles elsewhere. One of the most valuable things about the museum, as far as I can judge, is that it has been assembled through private donations and includes several large private collections. What one sees is not so much an assortment of individual pieces as a series of complete collections, and though the museum as a whole is one-sided, itâs also more unified than other medium-sized museums. The great cult of Böcklin during the last ten years or so is very much in evidence. The most recent acquisitions are two sculptures by Stauffer-Bern and a splendid picture by Thoma, first-rate things, in other words. As for older objects, with the exception of Holbein, there is more in private houses than in the museum, very many Italians, among them a Leonardo, some Cranachs, etc. There is a quite charming little Böcklin in the house of Wackernagel, the archivist. That house has almost become my home. I read books there with the archivist, look at pictures with his son, discuss everything freely with his wife, play games with his older daughter, and entertain these wonderful children, who are less inhibited by the niceties of a good upbringing than most Basel children and get up to pranks occasionally. I was also there for Christmas Eve.
Besides, Iâm sharing quarters with an artist, the architect Jennen, but we seldom chat about art, since he hates talking as much as he hates writing, hardly ever reads a book, and gazes at the world through charming, bright childlike eyes; I have never seen the likes of them. We have rented three rooms together for a few months. But I donât often see him at home; in the evenings he is always gallivanting about with company or else doing sketches. He is working on the new Gothic town hall.
When I walk through those very familiar streets in the Spalen district, I sometimes think of the way you used to stroll along there as a high school student, while I was still a cheeky kid in kindergarten. And you have now reached quite a ripe old age![ ⦠]
TO JOHANNES AND MARIE HESSE
Basel, July 10, 1900
My dearly beloved,
[ ⦠] My ultimate goal is beauty, or âart,â if you like; I donât believe my path is any different from yours until one gets to the decisive turning point toward a specifically Protestant form of Christianity. I can probably now accept some kind of belief in Godâi.e., a belief that there is positive order in the worldâbut from then on the form and purpose of religion seems to be either too murky or too ignoble.
Similar Books
