Soul of the Age by Hermann Hesse Page B

I cannot believe that Luther, say, lived more nobly and died in a more blessed state than, e.g., the pagan Titian. Whereas Luther had a marvelous, hot-tempered but unpolished mind, Titian attained the kind of harmony and perfection of which the not so gentle reformer could scarcely dream.
    But we don’t want our words going round and round in circles again; we’re actually closer to one another than we realize [ … ]
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    [ Vitznau, mid-September 1900 ]
    Thanks a lot for Mama’s letter, which arrived yesterday! I have some free time to write today since I need a whole day’s rest, and cannot go hiking, etc. Yesterday, I treated myself to a ten-hour boat trip (8 to 6 o’clock) from here to Gersau, Treib, Brunnen, Rütli, Sisikon, and back again. Apart from a half-hour walk on the Rütli, I spent the entire ten hours all by myself in my boat, and so I could see the lake in every kind of light, etc. After rowing in the fog for the first half hour, the mountains started, coming into view, first the beautiful Oberbauen, which I really love, then Bürgenstock, Stanser, and Buochser Horn, then Frohnalpstock and shortly beyond Gersau the Mythen, from Brunnen past Urirotstock, the Gais Mountains, etc., between them in the distance Glärnisch, at the rear to the left Hohfluh, Vitznauer Stock, and Rigi. I took along a pair of extra oars, a small bottle of wine, and three breakfast rolls, and never left the boat all day. Everything went beautifully until Rütli, then (about 11:30 o’clock) one of the famous storms on Lake Urn caught me off guard. At first I thought it was fun, but got worried when my boat started bouncing about and confusing right side up with upside down. After the storm had seemingly reached its peak—by then I had lost an oar—I took a cue from Epicurus: Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we shall die. I used the last sip of wine to wash down the last half of a roll, then after vain attempts with countless matches, I finally lit a cigar and took my boots off so I could swim, if worse came to worst. Although that proved unnecessary, I drifted for about two, and a half hours until I finally took a few risks battling high waves and came ashore at Sisikon. So, unfortunately, I never got as far as Flüelen. In Sisikon, I waited for a half hour (in the boat), then fought my way slowly to Brunnen, and from there things went smoothly again. Aside from these emergencies, the trip was indescribably beautiful: I rowed into every attractive inlet that struck my fancy; sometimes the sun was beating down on me in the middle of the lake; at times I was shaded by oaks and beech trees beside the shore. I’d never have thought I could keep rowing for ten hours. Of course, I could hardly move a limb yesterday evening, but the only trace I feel today is a certain heaviness in my shoulders and hands. I’m off to Basel the day after tomorrow.
    The dining-room bell is ringing—an agreeable sound in hotels—and after the meal I shall be too tired to write—so adieu. I’m gazing out the window again; the lake is sunny, dark green with blue edges, and the mountains are all clear. I have to wash the blue ink from my fingers and go eat.
    TO RUDOLF WACKERNAGEL-BURCKHARDT 54
    Calw, October 19, 1902
    This is the first time in months that I have been allowed to write a letter and am up to it. My eyes have been giving me trouble since June, and I’ve been hanging around in Calw since late August, and have only recently been allowed to read and write a bit. Even though the fall was beautiful and I was quite active as a fisherman, I spent most of the time thinking things over. Illness and involuntary leisure are more conducive to thought than many a doctoral thesis.
    I also reviewed those years that I more or less squandered in Basel, and often thought of you. For your house was the only one in Basel that was something of a home away from home for me, where I enjoyed myself