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[Genoa, January 8, 1881]: Dear dear friend, I have nothing to write about, but I was just thinking of you for quite some time; I was lying still by the sea again, like a lizard in the sun, the snow glistening for the first time on the distant mountain peaks (it has not yet come near).1 Your letter, as well as everything I have heard from you, shows me again that I am causing you more trouble than I would like. Let us put up with one another in silence! In later life, when we have grown closer and closer together like intertwined old trees, we shall laugh again about the early years of our companionship! Keep yourself close to me in the new decade too — I am afraid that at the end of the same I will be even more solitary than I am now (I am afraid and I am almost proud of it for the time being!) But you must stick with me, and I will stick with you! Loyally your friend F.N. 1. Cf. excerpt from Genoa, 01-08-1881: Postcard to Franziska Nietzsche und Elisabeth Nietzsche: "An den ferneren Bergen der Küste ist der Schnee auf den Spitzen. Wir hatten drei bis vier Tage Regenwetter (Novemberwetter) Wenn die Sonne scheint, gehe ich immer auf einen einsamen Felsen am Meer und liege dort im Freien unter meinem Sonnenschirm still, wie eine Eidechse; das hat mehrere Male meinem Kopfe wieder aufgeholfen. Meer und reiner Himmel! Was habe ich mich früher gequält! Täglich wasche ich den ganzen Körper und namentlich den ganzen Kopf, nebst starkem Frottiren." (The snow is on the peaks of the more distant mountains from the coast. We had three to four days of rainy weather (November weather). When the sun is shining, I always go to a solitary rock by the sea and lie there in the open under my parasol like a lizard; this has helped my head several times. Sea and pure sky! What have I tormented myself with in the past! Every day I wash my entire body and especially my entire head, along with vigorous toweling.) Cf. excerpt from Genoa, 01-08-1881: Postcard to Franz Overbeck: "Ich denke so oft an Dich und namentlich, wenn ich nach Mittag, fast Tag für Tag, auf meinem abgeschiedenen Felsen am Meere sitze oder liege, wie die Eidechse in der Sonne ruhe und mit den Gedanken auf Abenteuer des Geistes ausgehe. Meine Diät und Vertheilung des Tages sollte mir doch auf die Dauer gut thun! Meerluft und viel reiner Himmel — das sehe ich nun ein ist mir unentbehrlich!" (I think of you so often and especially when at noon, almost day after day, I sit or lie on my isolated rock by the sea, like the lizard resting in the sun and thinking about adventures of the spirit. My diet and arrangement of my day should be good for me in the long run! Sea air and a lot of pure sky — I now see that it is indispensable to me!)
[Genoa, January 25, 1881]: Dear friend, I will be launching my Genoese ship1 to you! The winter has become harsh, and since then my health has taken a turn for the worse — I am happy that I have nothing more to do with the manuscript.2 — Well, to say it again: "Friend, I commend my spirit into your hands!" And even more: "I commend my hands into your spirit!"3 I write too poorly and see everything distortedly. If you cannot guess what I am thinking, then the manuscript is indecipherable. (From your last two letters, however, I see with great delight how our thoughts are contiguous — unfortunately I cannot reply as I would like,4 forgive me!) — Now I want to see whether "life" can be recovered; I have solved my task and am thinking of what is to come with a good conscience — even how it will come! That so much pain will be bestowed upon me! Ridiculous economy of my body! May you be well in body and heart, my dear dear Köselitz! Faithfully F.N. Please reply: poste restante!
1. By "Genoese ship," Nietzsche is referring to his manuscript for Morgenröthe (Dawn).
[Genoa, January 29, 1881]: My dear good mother, Well, may the New Year put on a cheerful face for you!1 And if while doing so it reveals a face that is not too different from that of the Old Year, then let us be satisfied with it! Because basically, my dear mother, you have your tolerable and virtuous measure of material well-being, of which I convince myself with great pleasure with every visit. The fact that "happiness" with drums and trumpets is still to come one day, we all no longer really believe in that; everyone has his task and must hustle every day and see how it turns out — and if it turns out, then one is in good spirits; in the worst case one puts on a good face, as I now grin and bear the winter. Well, I'm going for a walk! For the room cannot be endured for long, and at present I still don't have a heated room to step into. Nevertheless, I'm not upset, although my health has definitely turned for the worse since the onset of the harsh winter. Hopefully it won't last too long. In such a state of health it takes such careful and painstaking deliberation to navigate all the cliffs every day that I am glad to do it alone, for it looks so finicky, even unmanly. But I have my bravery and masculinity in other things and I just have to struggle along in order to still achieve something reasonable in my way, despite every bad illness. I'm eating more meat this winter to keep warm and for easier digestion. On the other hand, I did not even dare to start eating eggs again: I still have the crushed sugar from Naumburg. For breakfast I eat stale white bread, with tea or coffee. I'm regular like a clock. I walk around for six to eight hours. Actually, I have the life I longed for earlier, when I dreamed of Rothenburg an der Tauber2 — remind our Lisbeth of it! — indeed, I have done it more thoroughly and more proficiently than I imagined back then (I was not yet independent enough in spirit, as I am now, and had not yet struggled through due to experience and suffering — because, my dear mother, whether you can tell it from me or not, I've experienced a lot in the last intractable 10 years.) And now once again! Peace and joy around thee! With devotion and love Your son F. 1. Franziska Nietzsche's upcoming 55th birthday was February 2. Every year from 1861-1887 (forgetting but later correcting his mistake in 1888), Nietzsche dutifully wrote her a letter for her birthday.
[Genoa, February 3, 1881]: Oh my dear friend, how well you know how to ease my conscience — for it was very difficult for me to make my request to you, on whom such great tasks rest.1 — We've had a winter of 30 days, assuming it's over. Since January 31st I've been lying in the sun every day and yesterday it was too hot for me. Venice has the flaw of not being a city for a walker — I need my 6-8 hours of walking in the great outdoors. Have you not thought of Bologna for the summer? Or Albano and Ariccia near Rome? I need you so much. Have you heard anything about the condition of Frau v. Wöhrmann?2 — Your duel story3 shows that you are very superior to me — I admire and laugh at that. In warm friendship, your F.N. 1. Nietzsche is referring to his manuscript for Morgenröthe (Dawn), which Köselitz was preparing for publication.
[Genoa, February 9, 1881]: Oh, what a surprise that was! To see the beauty and manly grace of this manuscript1 of yours — it is like the feeling after a Roman-Turkish bath, not only washed clean, but rejuvenated and improved. I read and walked for a few hours, full of heartfelt thoughts toward you and nature. It seems to me a book of substance: but it is difficult. In the early hours of this glorious February I made an addendum so that everything would come out quite unambiguously. — I think you will be satisfied with it. Can I send this addendum? — I also want to change the title;2 you gave me the idea of using as the motto the verse you wrote down fortuitously from the hymn to Varuna:3 shouldn't the book be called: "A Dawn.4 Thoughts on Moral Prejudices, etc." There are so many bright and especially red colors in it! Take this into consideration! (The title page, with simple, unadorned decorations, is also recommended to you, being to your taste and way of thinking!) The most grateful happy one. 1. Nietzsche is referring to his manuscript for Morgenröthe (Dawn), which Köselitz was preparing for publication.
[Genoa, February 12, 1881]: Dear poor friend, forgive me! The addendum to the manuscript1 has increased more than is fair for you! I implore you to help me this time and don't hold it against me for doing something that looks like gross impertinence! Make my business yours for once — more had to be put into the book, the horizon of the book was meant to be rounded, and I was in the right frame of mind during this glorious early springtime! So it happened, which in view of your friendship should perhaps have been omitted! But, as I said, take it as your business; having suffered, who knows if you might not at some point be found complicit in the making of this book — let's see that we both can still enjoy it together now. But for that a word of forgiveness is necessary! Just one word on a card, and, I implore you, no more than at the most three words!!!!! Only one word! But immediately, cherished poor friend! 1. Nietzsche is referring to additions to his manuscript for Morgenröthe (Dawn), which Köselitz was preparing for publication.
[Genoa, February 13, 1881]: My dears, I have such beautiful, detailed news from the two of you1 — and I myself keep waiting for news! Above all: we have the winter behind us! It lasted just 30 days. From January 31st it has been very pleasant; I lie by the sea for a few hours almost every day. I got news about Frau v. W[öhrmann]2 from Mr. Köselitz: she doesn't want to go to Corfu. Some say she suffers from a lung ailment, others call it another ailment. A painter3 I know is painting her little daughter.4 — How long will she be staying in Venice? Write to me about it. Prince Liechtenstein5 is there now, he also paid Mr. Köselitz a visit, and Gersdorff is still there. — Dear Lisbeth, for reading amongst company I recommend Voltaire's Mahomet, translated by Goethe (in all Goethe editions)[.]6 I was very pleased to hear that Frau von Sévigné had been chosen,7 indeed, I was waiting to hear it. Accept, my dearly beloved ones, my heartfelt and grateful greetings[.] Exact address, not like the last time! Your F. 1. In an unknown letter from them.
[Genoa, February 22, 1881]: Is it true, dear friend, that you have good confidence in the entire thing?1 Or did you just want to encourage me a bit? I am so broken by constant pain that I can no longer evaluate anything; I wonder if I am not finally allowed to cast off the entire burden; my father died when he was my age.2 — I should have responded to your penultimate card and I would have liked to — but I couldn't! it was inspired by a refined and friendly spirit; Madame de Sévigné3 would have complimented you on it. — Title! The second "A Dawn" is a degree too effusive, oriental and of less good taste: but that is outweighed by the advantage that people assume a more joyful tone in the book than with the other title, they read it in a different frame of mind; it stands the book in good stead, which, without that little glimpse of the morning, would really be too gloomy! — The other title also sounds presumptuous, oh, what does it even matter! A little pretension more or less in such a book!4 — The orthography and the grammatical correctness, dear friend, are your business again, I have no orthography other than the Köselitzian. Sometimes I make solecisms e. g. in the construction of the subjunctive: correct me in every detail without further ado! Behind this entire book I hear my music for Manfred5 — just imagine! — What is friend Widemann doing? From Dr. Rée I hear the saddest things: his father died in the aftermath of an operation, his mother gravely ill. Are you really still going to be in Venice this summer? Frau v. Wöhrmann6 is staying, so I hear. — And Mr. Racowitz [sic]?7 — Thank my old comrade Gersdorff most cordially for his greeting, nothing has changed between us.8 (If he only wanted to free himself! But he is so stubborn, especially in regard to others, e.g., his relatives! Imagine, G[ersdorff]'s father shot himself,9 something that I learned from a reliable source and that one shouldn't reveal.) Well, my dear sole reader and scribe, we must finish off well what we have undertaken, Mr. Schmeitzner and Oschatz must be prodded too.10 In the meantime there is no one whom I think of with such warm and grateful sentiments than you! Faithfully yours Do you know anyone in Bologna? But perhaps I'll get to Venice around the middle of April, I have to withdraw from myself, my thoughts are eating me up. I want to row — who has a boat? But alone. — And my apartment? — 1. Nietzsche is referring to his manuscript for Morgenröthe (Dawn), which Köselitz was preparing for publication.
[Genoa, February 22, 1881]: Yes, dear friend, I am still in Genoa, and hopefully I have the hardest part of the winter behind me. For the first time without a stove in the winter, often enough with frozen limbs. I am again suffering more than before Christmas, and I can hardly get rid of the headaches, sometimes I get very weary of all things. Please forward my next payment to Mr. Schmeitzner,1 likewise the 50 frcs you wrote about. Do not worry, compared to the previous winter, I am doing all right, and perhaps spring will do me good again. — My eyes are so rarely at my command! Forgive my appearance of ingratitude, dear good friend. Greeting you and your dear wife from the bottom of my heart F.N. 1. Nietzsche had allowed Schmeitzner to invest his money.
[Genoa, February 23, 1881]: Most worthy publisher I thank you most sincerely for all your arrangements,1 I believe in your sincere benevolence toward me and therefore I also believe in everything you do for me in things of which, as you know, I am inexperienced. As for money, I understand only one thing: to spend little and to save. Who is living as philosophically and as well (and yet by no means ascetically) as I am here in Genoa? And yet I don't need more than 60 marks each month for everything, that also includes the most incidental things.2 Therefore, because of my almost extinguished vision, I have no prospect of any source of support in my later life. So let's keep saving and accumulating! But right now this is only a minor matter. —3 I am inquiring whether you want to take on the publication of a new book,4 which lies before me transcribed by Mr. Köselitz. My conditions in regard to the layout and honorarium are the same as before. But this time I demand that Mr. Oschatz5 surpass himself in quality and punctuality — it has to be an exemplary book. The title is: A Dawn.6 "There are so many dawns This book is what one would call "a decisive step" — more a destiny than a book. Give me an answer to my request, here, to Genova (Italia) poste restante. Know that I always have the most sincere wishes for you and remain Your Dr F. Nietzsche. 1. Unknown reference.
[Genoa, February 24, 1881]: Today, one after the other, a strong laxative, a good day, and bright sun! I immediately arranged the entire thing1 (en masse) — it spread out easily and naturally in 4 piles,2 each with its basic color, and of similar size. The success cheered me up. When I saw the whole thing put together again, I had to laugh — it won't be a big book, but there aren't many books with so much content (am I now speaking as the father of the book? I don't think so)[.] It seems to me that my three Genoese patron saints, Columbus, Mazzini, and Paganini,3 had some hand in it. — In the autumn I despaired that I would ever find the mood and strength and passion for the entire thing again — it had flown through my head in Marienbad.4 And today! — Thanks to your great great kindness! F.N. 1. The manuscript for Morgenröthe (Dawn), which Köselitz had prepared for publication.
[Genoa, March 13, 1881]: That is not right, dear friend! You make me a confidante of your destitution — and such destitution! — after it's over! And this time I feel as I did in Marienbad2 — I feel as if you are fleeing from me and want to punish me for something. I am always ashamed to think about these concerns. Ah, a small card and a few words about it and a hundred fr[anc]s or more will fly to you. — Well, no offense! But you are too good to me. Your news about your work3 is very good. To me, Prince L[iechtenstein] has always been praised, according to a very credible and discerning opinion (Frau C[osima] Wagner), as a distinguished man, I am pleased that he also revealed a liking for you. For, dear friend, you are to be discovered.4 Today the m[anu]s[cript]5 shall be sent to Mr. Schmeitzner. What I have been through in the meantime for the sake of this book! After a brief, brief pleasure! Enough, I now feel upon open seas again, and the old bitter determination so well known to me has returned. — Ask my old comrade Gersdorff6 if he would like to go to Tunis with me for a year or two. Excellent climate, not too hot — very short crossing from Livorno via Cagliari, living there is cheap. I want to live a good while among Muslims, and namely in a place where their faith is now the strictest: this will certainly sharpen my judgment and my vision for everything European. I think such an evaluation is not beyond my life's work. — A German-Swiss trading company in Tunis will provide us with lodgings. But first the book has to be finished: I want a copy to be in your hands by the end of April. I ask you and Mr. G[ersdorff] to remain silent about my travel plans for the time being. — A painter of the genre will find his promised land in Tunis: only then will I make this proposal to my friend.7 Dear dear friend, why can't I hear your music! I need all kinds of healthiness — it went a bit too deep into my heart, this "heartbreaking nihilism"!8 Well, let's stay strong! Loyally F.N. 1. Robert Rascovich (1857-1905): Yugoslavian-born artist, who was a watercolorist while in Venice. A prize-winning artist, Rascovich emigrated to the United States, eventually settling in Chicago, where he died in 1905. View one of Rascovich's Venetian watercolors; and a photograph of Rascovich in his studio in Chicago. The watercolor is signed at bottom-right: "R. Rascovich," followed by his stylized monogram. Also see Note 7.
Genova March 13th 1881: Most worthy sir, Here is the manuscript2 — at the cost of a bitter decision to let it slip from my hands. — There will be around 16-18 sheets. After the title page is a page with the title: Book One. — There are five books. —3 I consider "Human All-Too-Human"4 as the norm for spacing. Don't make the printing so compressed! Already a flaw of the book is the fact that the most important ideas follow one another too closely. But hurry now! Hurry! Hurry! I want to leave Genoa as soon as I have finished the book, and I'll be on pins and needles until then. Please help! Prod Mr. Oschatz!5 Can't he give me a written guarantee that the book will be here in my hands by the end of April6. at the latest — finished and complete? — At the same time send a [proof-]sheet to Mr. Köselitz in Venice and a [proof-]sheet to me in Genova (poste restante). The [large] and small pages of the m[anu]s[cript] are numbered in red. The overleaf also has writing in four or five places. Dear Mr. Schmeitzner, we all want our job done as well as possible this time. The content of my book is so important! It is a question of honor to us not to let anything be done poorly, so that it comes into the world worthy and flawless. — I beseech you, for the sake of my name, to omit any advertising.7 And many other things are self-explanatory once you have read the book yourself. With the warmest wishes (but some palpitations) Yours most sincerely 1. View the book at HAAB: front cover; back cover.
[Genoa, March 14, 1881]: Here, dear friend, is the m[anu]s[cript].1 An attack of my headaches will make me "unfit for service" for a few days — and perhaps Gersdorff2 will help glue the pieces of paper together. Please ask him to do it on my behalf! (Make him aware that the overleaf also has writing in 5 or 6 places[.]) There are 5 books. After the title page is a page with the title: Book One (etc.)[.] I do not like symbols for the title page. Simple, strong and bold lines with text that is very readible! — Faithfully your friend 1. Morgenröthe (Dawn).
[Genoa, March 14, 1881]: My dear ones, thank you very much for the letters. I was not and still am not well. Bad weather. — Forgive me for having spoken of B[aden-]Baden — I wasn't thinking about it at all for myself!1 But only that our mom would have a pleasant, mild, entertaining, and idyllic place in her old age, so that she wouldn't be left alone in the dull, bureaucratic town of N[aumburg] (this N[aumburg] is abominable in winter and summer — I have never had a nostalgic feeling for it even when I really tried to put up with it there). I do not have any good news about the condition of Frau von W[öhrmann]2 in Venice. — Don't think that I'm writing in an angry mood. From the bottom of my heart I wish you well, and think a lot about what might delight you. Your F. 1. In an unknown letter from Nietzsche.
[Genoa, March 18, 1881]: Dear, dear friend, just a word today! There is something about which you must be the first to find out — a new manuscript1 of mine is in the works in Chemnitz. This is the book that will probably cling to my name. — What a burden I have had on my shoulders! And which I have only now put on myself! Now, forward and looking neither backward nor sideward! I am very moved and would like to be able to grasp your loyal hand. From now on, my few real friends will have to bear even more through life, I will cause trouble for them and you, but it's inevitable!2 Your friend from the heart. 1. Morgenröthe (Dawn).
[Genoa, March 19, 1881]: [+ + +] [th]e first book already [+ + +] fortunate too! — [+ + +], most worthy sir! [+ + +] books, namely:2 Lecky Geschichte des Ursprungs der Aufklärung. Deutsch.3 Always Genova, poste restante. Due to [the size of] the correction sheets, please review the Universal Postal Regulations again!6 Sincerely yours F. N. 1. View the original postcard at GSA 71/BW 306,3 Bl 37.
Genova March 20, 1881]: But, dear friend, your strict friendship will at least not be able to prevent me from paying off a debt: I think of the countless expenses for letters, corrections, parcel-postage, and paper et hoc genus omne and am trying to compensate you for some of them today.1 The moment seems to me well chosen, for this parcel gives me the satisfaction of a bit of mischief, considering that I answer your last letter precisely this way. So I will take pleasure in thinking that you will now be staying in Venice for a few weeks longer. I am in good spirits today, for the headache that lasted from Sunday2 afternoon until last night has gone again. Thank Gersdorff for the prospect which he has put forth.3 I like fixed dates: is it possible to regard September 15 as such? — Let's drop the title page affair!4 It's even something to laugh about! To wit: I only wanted to satisfy you, since the last time you were so outspoken with your anger about Mr. Schmeitzner's and Mr. Oschatz's5 bad taste — I myself wasn't that displeased and thought to myself: "Friend Köselitz understands this better[.]" Well, I think, let's restrict ourselves to letting Mr. Oschatz come up with a few more trial titles — and you choose the relatively most bearable one! — Moreover: we don't want to burden Mr. Schmeitzner with any more expenses — he will in the end be ruined by my unsaleable books.6 I would like to know how such a book will actually be received; I have the worst suspicion, when, e.g., making further asumptions after Rohde's letter,7 I think of the most unwilling reader — which basically, regarding the new book, everyone will be! On the other hand, of course, the author of Bismarck's Era [published by Schmeitzner]8 called me "the German Montaigne Pascal and Diderot." All at the same time! How little refinement is in such praise, thus: how little praise! — At least the book won't have a damaging effect — except that I'll have to atone for it myself! I give an opportunity not only to the highly moral, but to all decent and good people to enjoy their morality and bravery at my expense. I want to see how I get away with it; I know better than anyone can know that everything is still to be done, and that I myself only have for days or hours the character that is necessary to even ever think of another deed in this regard. Oh, friend, I am being vague because I am too busy with these necessities of myself and perceive too much in a single word. Tell me that you are okay with me, even in spite of today's maliciousness — but don't write it on stationery, but on a postcard so that it takes as little of your time as possible. Yours from the heart: Every title must above all be quotable: so we need to change it! Not "A Dawn," but just: Dawn. So it does not sound so pretentious.9 1. The expenses associated with Nietzsche's manuscript for Morgenröthe (Dawn), which Köselitz had prepared for publication since 01-25-1881.
[Genoa, March 21, 1881]: I am so happy, dear friend, to be able to send you herein a pair of little books1 that seem to have been written for you; at least I know of no one who could get more use out of them. It is the part of musical aesthetics that is now withheld from us in Germany. — And then: where can you find a second ear-witness who is at the same time so much an eyewitness and even more! — He knows old Haydn personally — and what he has to tell! A warm greeting and thanks to Gersdorff! Is he really thinking of accompanying me?2 — Mr. Oschatz3 shall make up a few more trial titles, and you will choose the most tolerable one — I don't require more. They were so annoying the last time and in more than bad taste (with the "Wanderer"): by suggesting this idea my only desire was to spare you trouble this time (I myself of course was not displeased: it was hilarious!) My headache lasted 6 days this time! — Faithfully your friend. 1. Stendhal (Henri Beyle, 1783-1842): Vie de Haydn, de Mozart et de Métastase. Paris: Lévy, 1854. Vie de Rossini. Paris: Lévy, 1854. For links, see the entry for Stendhal in Nietzsche's Library.
Berlin, March 22, 1881: Berlin, W. the 22nd of March 1881 Dear sir! Permit me to kindly turn to you in confidence on a matter that is very serious for me and my family. A brother of my wife, who is not only my brother-in-law but also my friend, has suffered severe strokes of fate for five years and has the misfortune of being almost completely deaf. His name is Otto Busse2 and you probably know him personally, but certainly from letters3 you exchanged with him. He has thrown himself into the study of philosophy for years, but more recently we have noticed very alarming signs of an incipient, indeed perhaps already very developed, megalomania. He regards himself as a prophet and destined reformer of the German nation, in whose spiritual and moral life he could and would cause a kind of revolution. I will spare you a verbatim reiteration of his hysterical monologues and I turn to you in my concern only because my brother-in-law follows you and your writings with a truly infatuated enthusiasm and reveres you as the inviolable authority over all authorities. You once made him very happy with a letter,4 or a number of letters. He stubbornly withholds your name from us; so far he has only shown trust in me, but with great reluctance, to reveal the books of the man he reveres and let me read them in his presence, though I was not allowed to read the titles of these books, and could not be told the name of their author. But I recognized you as the one, for there were, among other books, your "The Wanderer and His Shadow," "[Mixed] Opinions and Maxims" etc; I concealed my discovery from him. Busse now claims to have sent you the manuscript5 of one or several of his philosophical writings, which should not yet be published because the world is not yet ripe enough for them. In almost every one of your ingenious aphorisms, but in the above two writings in particular, he sees your direct response to his alleged works and ideas, associates everything in them on general ethical and aesthetic things that you express directly and distinctly yourself, as if those books were written just for him, addressed only to him. I certainly do not need to assure you that I do not even have the slightest doubt whether my brother-in-law's assertions could be based on more than morbid delusions. Given his great kindheartedness, his inherently profound modesty, moreover his very keen intellect in all routine matters, and with our sincere friendship, it is difficult for me to regard his firm assurance that you have a philosophical manuscript of his in your hands as an obvious lie. That is why I feel obliged to most respectfully inquire of you: do you really have a manuscript of his? and if so — does this have any scholarly value? By answering this question we would be united in sincere gratitude, so that we can come to a confident judgment about Busse's mental state and possibly still cure him of his lunatic delusions. This must be done with the greatest of caution and consideration and with the assistance of medical advice. That's why, dear Professor, I must urgently ask you for the strictest discretion, as I hereby firmly promise the same to you too. Without our prior agreement, Busse must not find out that I know your name, that I have written to you, etc.; but perhaps you yourself can contribute something beneficial to his mental health. With the request for a kind reply,6 I remain most sincerely Your entirely devoted 1. Julius Wolff (1836-1902): a Jewish orthopedic surgeon and professor in Berlin.
[Genoa, March 24, 1881]: So life now passes on and away, and the best friends hear and see nothing of each other!1 Yes, it is no small trick: to live and not to become discontented! How often do I find myself in a state in which I would like to get a loan from my old, robust, flourishing, and brave friend Rohde, when I am quite in need of a "transfusion" of strength, not of lamb's blood2 but of lion's blood — but there he is in Tübingen,3 among books and in wedlock,4 in every respect unattainable for me. Oh, friend, so I have to go on living off "my own fat": or, as everyone knows who has really ever tried this, to drink my own blood! It is then necessary both to not lose the thirst for oneself, and not to drink oneself dry. On the whole, however, I admit I am amazed by how many sources a man can set flowing in himself. Even a man like me, who is not one of the richest. I think that if I had the qualities in which you have the advantage over me, I would be arrogant and insufferable. Even now there are moments when I wander about on the heights above Genoa having glimpses and feelings just like the late Columbus,5 perhaps from right here, sent out across the sea and out into the future. Well, with these moments of courage and perhaps even of folly I must try to bring my ship of life back into balance. For you would not believe how many days, and how many hours — even on tolerable days — one has to survive, to say the least. As far as it is possible to alleviate and mitigate a difficult state of health with the "wisdom" of one's way of life, I am probably doing everything that can be done in my case — in this I am neither thoughtless nor uninventive — but I do not wish on anyone the fate to which I am beginning to grow accustomed, because I'm beginning to realize that I am equal to it. But you, my cherished dear friend, are not in such a tight spot where you have to make yourself thin just to wriggle through; nor is Overbeck; you do your fine work and, without talking much about it, perhaps without giving it much thought, you derive all the best from the midday of life — and a little sweat, too, I guess. How I would like to hear a few words about your plans, about your big plans — for, with a mind and heart like yours, behind all the daily and perhaps petty work, one carries around something ample and very large — what a great treat it would be if you found me not unworthy to be told! Friends like you must help me maintain faith in myself within myself; and you do that when you continue to confide in me about your best aims and hopes.6 — If beneath these words lies a hidden request for a letter, well then okay! dearest friend, I would gladly have something very, very personal from you in my hands again — so that I not only have heartfelt feelings for my former friend Rohde, but also the present one and — what is more — the one who is coming to be and willing to be: yes, the becoming and willing one! Cordially Say something to your wife in my favor; she should not be angry that she still does not know me; sometime, someday, I shall make it all up. Genova (Italia) 1. Their last correspondence was in December 1879 (12-22-1879 from Rohde; 12-28-1879 from Nietzsche).
[Genoa, March 28, 1881]: Dear sir, That is sad news — I had hoped that the mental health of Mr. O[tto] B[usse]2 would be better because I hadn't heard from him for a year! In the spring of 1880, when I was in Venice, I was, to tell the entire truth, harassed to a certain extent by his pompous missives3 that I had to put an end to them by force — in the only letter4 that I wrote to him, I told him the "truth," mind you, it goes without saying, as gently as a man of such noble and generous sentiments can expect from me. I advised him not to occupy himself with my ideas, tried to encourage him in regard to his erstwhile practical work, declared it a self-delusion if he believed that I had thought of him in any part of my writings, or even that my writings were caused by him — that was how far his delusion went — / finally: I expressed as strongly as possible my discomfort over the tone in which he had become accustomed to speaking with me. It was such a cold letter that the fervid enthusiasm of his missives made it necessary. Later I had a friend who is just as level-headed as he is trustworthy explain to him that I would no longer read any further writings — in fact the most extensive, almost a pamphlet, is unknown to me to this day. There can be no question of any value, let alone of scholarly value, in these bombastic and often quite incomprehensible writings. — Presumably that friend exchanged a few letters with Mr. O[tto] B[usse] about these matters — I didn't want to hear any more about any of this at the time and deliberately refrained from asking him. Perhaps you, dear sir, would like to have the address of this friend. Here it is: Signore H. Köselitz I remember that I once wrote a card5 to Mr. O[tto] B[usse] explaining that correspondence was impossible for me (because I am almost blind — sorry! This letter is also nothing but an exception. My only letter to Mr. O. B. was dictated to Mr. Köselitz.) With all my heart I wish that I can somehow contribute to the recovery of such a kind distinguished person. If only I were near him! — I wanted to dissuade him from believing in his and my "greatness"! But my health dictates that I live in the south, in a port of the Mediterranean Sea. Should a doctor find it advisable to move Mr. B. near me for a longer period of time: please let me know! I am said to have a calming effect on those around me; and my way of life is so simple and natural that Mr. O. B. would accept it easily. Enough: I just wanted to tell you how I would like to help! Yours respectfully Dr. F. Nietzsche 1. Julius Wolff (1836-1902): a Jewish orthopedic surgeon and professor in Berlin.
[Genoa, March 30, 1881]: But, dearest friend, that was a poisoning! You were probably given tainted wine to drink; think about where you might have gotten this poison in your body!1 — I have just read "Carnevale of Venice"2 in your notebook, for the first time in fact! Strange! the preconceived notion that there were a lot of my opinions in it had up to now prejudiced me against it. Now I am surprised in the most pleasant way: it is purus Köselitzius, pure, good, and unadulterated wine from your vineyard! All of it does me so much good; and I believe that there are very useful sentiments expressed in this notebook, which will seem useful and beneficial not only to me! E.g.: all these comments about A[dalbert] Stifter's Nachsommer!3 All of these could benefit many a writer, many a reader, and many others who are not yet both! I wish you would take a "vacation" in the midst of your work and rewrite this notebook, in comfort and without any consideration for what's "mine" and "yours" between the two of us — which, according to the ethics of the Pythagoreans,4 does not exist among friends! And that is how it is supposed to be! Speaking very confidentially and secretly: for whom did I write the last book5? For us: we have to gather a treasure trove of our own things, for our old age! Because memory isn't reliable; e.g., I have almost forgotten the content of my earlier writings, and find this very pleasant, in any case much better than if one always had all of one's previous thoughts in front of one and had to contend with it. If there is such a contention within me, well, it takes place in the "unconscious" like digestion in a healthy person! Enough: when I see my own writings, I feel as though I was listening to old adventures that I had forgotten. Let us see that we monumentalize our entire lives in this way for ourselves — it is quite indifferent to me and an empty echo in my ears if such a wish is called "vanity." Let us be vain for ourselves and as much as possible! The poor condition of my eyes is severe, e.g. after this winter's work I have to let many days go by without reading or writing a word; and I barely realize how I got this manuscript finished. Filled with the need to learn something and knowing quite well where what I have to learn is currently located, I have to let life slip by — as my miserable organs, head and eyes, demand! And it's not about getting better! It's getting more miserable and the darkness is growing! So, dear good friend, make a commemorative book of Venice, publish it anonymously (or with a new name) and think of how refreshing such a book with this content would have been to us if it too had reached the youths ensconced in our German nook when we were 20 years old! Now a word about our troubles! Mr. Otto Busse6 causes the greatest concern in his relatives and friends (— full of delusions of grandeur (in regard to himself and me!)) And they now turn to me!7 — thinking that I had put something into his head! I'm supposed to get rid of that! He considers himself the reformer of the Germans and me as the "authority on the authorities" — in short: Muhammad and Allah! He claims that "scholarly works" by him are in my hands! for which the Germans are not yet ripe! etc. Everything entrusted to you under seven seals! Then: Mr. Schmeitzner does not treat me courteously. 5 weeks ago he wrote me a card8 (with the all-too-Saxon expression, "But of course I'll publish your book!") Since then, deep silence, despite the fact that I sent 2 letters and 2 cards! He has no idea that it would be an honor for him if he is allowed to publish this book. Now I would like to travel a little, to take my mind off of things a bit and to go for a lot of walks — this is very necessary so that I am not consumed by my scruples! (Damned melancholy!) But proof sheets! I almost feel like taking this entire printing affair out of Mr. Schmeitzner's hands: I'm just waiting for him to give me a reason. Perhaps I would do him a great service with that: for who would like to represent such a book as a publisher! Frau von Wöhrmann9 has sent for her sons — so things are probably bad! — — Charron10 — excellent idea! It is the educational manual of the old French nobility!11 — Long live our Stendhal!12 Yes, the order of rank of the intellect has yet to be produced! — P[rosper] Mérimée13 is now the most reviled Frenchman among the French of all parties! Their first great storyteller of this century! Let's just keep going on our path! We will encounter all sorts of good things by doing so! — Heartfelt greetings Your F. N. 1. It's uncertain to what Nietzsche is referring, since Heinrich Köselitz's letters don't mention it.
Recoara, June 17, 1881: My congratulations on your finalissimo!1 And likewise to the end of our insufferable proofreading!2 (The m[anu]script of the final sheet was sent to me.) But the cover-title-page is your business3 — as I wrote to Teubner;4 I don't even want to see it. The copy for Frau v. W[öhrmann]5 goes to your address; Schm[eitzner] has been notified.6 — Meanwhile I was tired of life; the beautiful Recoaro7 has been a hell for me, I am always sick, and I don't know any place that had such an unfavorable effect on me with its constantly changing weather. Brentonico near Mori8 (we drove through it) is much too deep, and M[onte] Baldo9 is also a weather mountain, like Mount Pilatus:10 always cloudy! I rack my brain and find nothing other than to try the Engadine again: which shall happen in approximately 4 days.11 I am a tortured animal and long for some freedom from pain. In warm friendship FN. Pseudonymity and concealment impossible for you! Change of name is sufficient e.g. Coselli.12 1. A choral finale that Heinrich Köselitz added to his comic opera, Scherz List und Rache.
Sils-Maria, July 8, 1881: So let's just carry on!1 In the end, my dear brave friend, we're a pair of capable swimmers. All the world thinks we've already drowned, but we come to the surface again, and even bring something up from the depths, something which, in our opinion, is valuable and which for once, perhaps, other people will also find lustrous. I have just put a dangerous time behind me, and am back in the Engadine, my old haven of salvation:2 "still not bereft of the body,"3 and as for the soul, well, read the book that our publisher has sent you.4 Sometimes I feel as if I gaze upon things and people like someone long-dead — they move me, frighten and delight me, but I am quite remote from them. Eternally bereft and yet So close to you: — 1. Unknown reference, probably to a letter from Rée.
Sils Maria, July 19, 1881: Your book,2 dear sir, is so close to me and is so beneficial that I lose all right to praise it. Especially since I assume that you are doing the same as those older musicians who, just like the dawn, begin their cheerful, life-sparkling symphony with a serious, melancholy passage: — in that respect, they were pranksters. And perhaps you just wanted to give us a prelude to lead us slightly astray? Because in the end, dear sir, we both agree on this one point: that even now the bow of life can still be stretched so tightly that the string of desire sings and skirls? that even now we can live as proudly and as thoughtfully as that magnificent Roman emperor,3 in whose veneration we both are unanimous (as proof of this, read my just-published "Morgenröthe"4 — unfortunately I cannot send it to you)[.] Thank you[,] yours[,] F.N. 1. Ferdinand Laban (1856-1910): Hungarian-born German writer, librarian, and art historian. Laban was born in Pressburg on February 1, 1856. After completing his historical and literary studies at the universities of Vienna, Strasbourg and Cluj from 1874-1882 with his doctoral examination at the latter university, Laban moved to Berlin at the beginning of 1883, where he became a member of Paul Rée's and Lou Salomé's discussion group while they were staying in Schmargendorf near Berlin. Around 1884, Laban became the librarian of the Royal Museum in Berlin, and later in 1894, editor of the yearbook of the Royal Prussian Art Collections. Laban learned of Nietzsche's writings in 1874 while a student at the University of Vienna. There he was a member of the student organization "Leseverein der deutschen Studenten Wiens" (the group existed from 1872-1878), including the "Pernerstorfer circle," or the so-called "Nietzsche Society." Nietzsche and Laban never met, but Nietzsche heard about him from Heinrich von Stein, who was a close friend of Laban and who reviewed Laban's book in 1884. See Heinrich von Stein, "Ferdinand Laban: Dialogische Belustigungen. Pressburg und Leipzig, C. Stampfel 1883." In: Bayreuther Blätter. Jahrg. 7 (1884), 185-187. On 04-05-1883, Laban sent Nietzsche a dedicated copy of his book. Online at HAAB. Laban was also an admirer of Schopenhauer, and wrote a bibliography of works about Schopenhauer in which Nietzsche is mentioned several times. See Ferdinand Laban, Die Schopenhauer-Literatur. Versuch einer chronologischen Uebersicht derselben. Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1880. Nietzsche is mentioned on pages: 13, 18, 86, 88, 91, 92, 99, and 111. Furthermore, on 07-11-1881, Laban had sent Nietzsche a copy of his book. Auf der Haimburg: eine Dichtung. Wien: Konegen, 1881. In Nietzsche's copy, Laban's dedication: "Herrn Professor Dr. Friedrich Nietzsche als Zeichen aufrichtiger Hochachtung d. Verf. Preßburg in Ungarn 11. Juli 1881." (Herrn Professor Dr. Friedrich Nietzsche as a token of sincere esteem t[he] auth[or]. Preßburg in Hungary July 11, 1881." See the entry for Laban in Nietzsche's Library. Finally, in 1904, Laban reminisced about his dealings with Nietzsche: "Als ich Anno 1874 in Wien als ordentlicher Immatrikulierter der philosophischen Fakultät die jugendlich ungestüm herbeigesehnte, aber im philosophischen Hörsaal schmerzlich vermißte Sophie unordentlich genug auf eigene Faust extra muros suchen ging, fand ich neben dem bereits berühmten Schopenhauer auch den noch unberühmten Nietzsche. Die beiden ersten Bücher Nietzsches waren kurz vorher erschienen. Ich erkannte sofort, daß diese beiden Schriftsteller das Höchste seien, was die deutsche Geisteskultur des 19. Jahrhunderts ihren Jüngern zu bieten habe [....]. Mein Erlebnis war also, daß ich Nietzsche von seinem ersten Auftreten an aufmerksam verfolgte und seine Entwicklung miterlebte. Ich habe ihn persönlich nie kennen gelernt — obschon ich Briefe an ihn und er Briefe an mich absandte — , ich hatte damals auch nie etwas Intimeres über seine Lebensumstände erfahren. Doch schon 1881 fiel mir in seiner "Morgenröte" befremdend ein zuweilen durchbrechender boshafter Ton auf. Und als 1883 sein erstes Heftchen "Zarathustra" auf den Markt kam, da sagte ich schmerzlich betroffen zu mir und auch zu anderen: 'Dieser Geist ist in der Auflösung begriffen!' Ich glaube, ich habe während diesen zehn Jahren König Nietzsches Glück und Ende mit dem Enthusiasmus und mit der Spannung eines Premièrebesuchers miterlebt, habe die Funken am finsteren Nachthimmel des Lebens aus der Esse stieben gesehen, pulsierendes Herzblut gefühlt, wo heute ein Bücherbrett vollsteht. In den Gesichtskreis der großen Welt aber war Nietzsche noch immer nicht eingetreten, er, der Impressionist der Philosophie, der, die Atelier-Systemmacherei mißachtend, in pointillierender Weise einen Sentenzenwirbel mit kühner Hand aussäte und die Spekulation in den Farben des Lebens und der Wirklichkeit erstrahlen ließ, wie noch nie vordem." (When I went to Vienna in 1874, as a full-time student of the faculty of philosophy, to search for sophia on my own, in a disorderly way, extra muros, something I had longed for with youthful impetuousness but which I sorely missed in the philosophical lecture hall, I found alongside the already famous Schopenhauer the not-so-famous Nietzsche. Nietzsche's first two books had been published shortly beforehand. I immediately recognized that these two writers were the best that German intellectual culture of the 19th century had to offer its followers [....]. Hence my experience was that I followed Nietzsche closely from his first appearance and witnessed his development. I never got to know him personally — although I sent letters to him and he sent letters to me — I never learned anything more personal about the circumstances of his life back then. But as early as 1881 I was struck by the strange, sometimes malicious tone that broke through in his "Dawn." And when his first volume of "Zarathustra" was released in 1883, I said to myself then and also to others with great concern: "This mind is disturbed!" I believe that during these ten years I witnessed King Nietzsche's happiness and death with the enthusiasm and excitement of a person attending a première, saw the sparks fly out of the forge into the dark night-sky of life, felt pulsating life-blood where a bookshelf is now full. But Nietzsche had still not entered the wider world's sphere of vision, he, the impressionist of philosophy, who, disregarding the workshop of system-mongers, sowed a whirlwind of aphorisms in a pointed manner with a bold hand and allowed speculation to shine in the colors of life and reality as never before.) Excerpt from Ferdinand Laban, "Im zwanzigsten Jahre nach Manets Tode." In: Zeitschrift für bildende Kunst. N. F. Fünfzehnter Jahrgang. Leipzig: Seemann, 1904, 25-35 (25-26). Sils-Maria, 21. Juli 1881: It occurred to me, dear friend, that in my book1 the constant inner debate with Christianity must be foreign, indeed even embarrassing to you; but it is the best part of ideal life that I have really got to know; from childhood on I pursued it into many corners, and I believe I have never been mean toward it in my heart. Ultimately, I am the descendant of entire generations of Christian clergymen — forgive me this limitation! — Frau Lucca: a very good idea!2 She can speak and do comedy. She once delighted me too, 18 years ago. Would she be young enough? — I am full of silent respect for you and the way that you compose, and watch just like I watch a good goldsmith. Do not be mistaken about my feelings! Here, even here, I suffer; so far 4 severe two- or three-day attacks. The summer is too hot for the Engadine; I don't even dare to think of summer there in Venice. Mr. Schmeitzner forgot, to send me my book3; I am fed up with him. (But he has all of my savings!)4 In faithful memory of you 1. Morgenröte (Dawn).
Sils Maria, July 23, 1881: I am very pleased, my dear friend, that in this matter1 our friendship has stood firm as well, indeed has been re-sealed — I sometimes think with apprehension of all the trials by fire and ice that people dearest to me are exposed to because of my "frankness." As far as Christianity is concerned, you will probably believe me this one thing: I have never been mean to it in my heart, and from childhood on I have taken much inner pains for its ideals, ultimately, of course, always resulting in sheer impossibility. — Even here2 I have to suffer a lot; this time the summer is hotter and more saturated with electricity than usual, to my disadvantage. Nevertheless, I don't know anything more appropriate to my nature than this stretch of upper earth. — Frau Baumgartner wrote to me very nicely and cordially. — I myself do not yet have my book.3 — Hellwald received with thanks; it is a compendium of a group of opinions.4 With heartfelt affection to you and your dear wife I absolutely no longer know with which views I still do good, with which I hurt. 1. Nietzsche's concern about Overbeck's reaction to Morgenröte (Dawn) proved to be unfounded.
Sils Maria, July 30, 1881: I am really amazed, really delighted! I have a precursor and what a precursor! I hardly knew Spinoza:1 my desire for him now was an "act of instinct." Not only the fact that his overall tendency is the same as mine — to make knowledge the most powerful passion — I find myself again in five main points of his doctrine, this most abnormal and solitary thinker is closest to me precisely in these things: he denies free will —; purposivness —; the moral world order —; the nonegoistical —; evil —; when, of course, the differences are enormous, these lie more in the differences of time, culture, and science. In summa: my lonesomeness, which, as on very high mountains, often, often left me breathless and made my blood gush forth, is now at least a twosomeness. — Strange! Incidentally, my health is not at all according to my hopes. Exceptional weather here too! Constant change in the atmospheric conditions! — that will even drive me out of Europe! I must have clear skies for months at a time, otherwise I will get nowhere fast. Already 6 severe attacks lasting two to three days!! — With heartfelt love Your friend. 1. Benedictus de Spinoza (1632-1677): Dutch philosopher. Nietzsche was reading Geschichte der neuern Philosophie von Kuno Fischer. Erster Band. Descartes und seine Schule. Zweiter Theil. Descartes' Schule. Geulinx. Malebranche. Baruch Spinoza. Heidelberg: Bassermann, 1865. See the entry for Spinoza in Nietzsche's Library.
Sils Maria, August 14, 1881: Well my dear good friend! The August sun is above us, the year is running out, it's getting quieter and more peaceful on the mountains and in the forests. Thoughts have arisen on my horizon the like of which I have not yet seen — I do not want to reveal any of them, and will maintain an unflappable calm in myself.1 I will probably have to live a few more years! Oh, friend, sometimes the suspicion runs through my head that I am actually living an extremely dangerous life, for I belong to those machines that can explode! The intensities of my emotions make me shudder and laugh — already a couple of times I have been unable to leave my room for the ridiculous reason that my eyes were inflamed — from what? Each time I had wept too much on my wanderings the day before, and in fact not sentimental tears, but tears of exultation; during which I sang and talked nonsense, filled with a new vision, which I was the first to have had ahead of all men. Ultimately — if I could not draw my strength from within myself, if I had to wait for cheers of encouragement and comfort from outside, where would I be! what would I be! There were truly moments and entire periods in my life (e.g. the year 1878) when I would have felt an invigorating encouragement, an affirmative handshake like the comfort of all comforts — and it was precisely then that everyone on whom I thought I could rely, and who could have done me this good deed, left me in the lurch. Now I no longer expect it and only feel a certain gloomy astonishment when, e.g., I think of the letters I get now — everything is so insignificant, no one has experienced anything through me, no one has thought about me — what people say to me is respectable and benevolent, but distant, distant, distant. Even our dear Jacob Burckhardt wrote such a sheepish, disheartening little letter.2 On the other hand, I take it as a reward that the year showed me two things that belong to me and are intimately related to me — that is your music and this landscape. This is neither Switzerland nor Recoaro, something completely different, at any rate something much more southern — I would have to go to the plateaus of Mexico on the calm ocean to find something similar (e.g. Oaxaca) and there, however, with tropical vegetation. Well, I will try to keep this Sils Maria for myself. And I feel the same way about your music, but don't even know how to get hold of it! I had to discard reading music and playing the piano once and for all from my occupations. The purchase of a typewriter3 is on my mind, I am in contact with its inventor, a Dane from Copenhagen. What are you doing next winter? I assume that you will be in Vienna?4 But let's come up with a meeting for the following winter, if only a short one — for I now know that I am not suitable for your company and that you will be freer and more fruitful when I have flown away again. On the other hand, the ever-greater liberation of your feelings and the acquisition of an intimate and proud being-at-home, in summa your fortunate, all-too-fortunate work and maturation is so indescribably important to me that I will easily adapt myself to any situation which arises from the requirements of your nature. I never have any ugly feelings towards you, trust in that, dear friend! — Tell me, by the way, how one now sells German M[ark] paper money in Italy (for Ital[ian] paper), I mean what the rate is. I don't have the address of Fräulein von Meysenbug in my head either; now she will probably be sitting somewhere together with the Monods,5 I think Mr. Schm[eitzner] may send the copy6 to Paris. — With Mr. Schm[eitzner] everything has been very carefully smoothed over; I have made up my mind not to let him suffer for jumping to conclusions and expecting something from him that is not part of his nature.7 In heartfelt friendship and gratitude (I have often been ill.) 1. Cf. Nietzsche's notes for his discovery of the "Recurrence of the Same." Nachlass, Herbst 1881 11[141] (From Nietzsche's Notebooks, Fall 1881 11[141]).
Sils Maria, September 18, 1881: Thank your dear wife for her equally kind and exact information. No, such a pot is not suitable for my household: it has to be portable and transportable, just like myself (likewise as small as the typewriter I mentioned1) Forget about the newspapers! The sought-after essays are also in Liebmann's "Analysis."2 Ceterum, missis his jocis, dicam quod tacere velim, sed non jam tacere possum. Sum in puncto desperationis. Dolor vincit vitam voluntatemque. O quos menses, qualem aestatem habui! Tot expertus sum corporis cruciatus, quot in caelo vidi mutationes. In omni nube est aliquid fulminis instar, quod manibus me tangat subitis infelicemque penitus pessumdet. Quinquies mortem invocavi medicum, atque hesternum diem ultimum speravi fore — frustra speravi. Ubi est terrarum illud sempiternae serenitatis caelum, illud meum caelum? Vale amice.3 1. Nietzsche eventually received a typewriter. See his 03-21-1882 letter to Paul Rée.
Genoa, October 28, 1881:
Will you, dear friend, send me the following book in a postal wrapper (through your Leipzig bookseller, perhaps arranged so that I can contact him directly with my book orders, and that payments can be made at the same time as yours)? Foissac, Meteorologie, Deutsch von Emsmann. (It is due to the terrible effects of atmospheric electricity on me — they will yet drive me over the earth, there must be better living conditions for my nature. E.g. on the high plateaus of Mexico, on the Pacific Ocean side (Swiss colony "New Bern"). Very, very, very tormented, day after day. Your Fr. 1. Pierre Foissac (1801-1885), physician and natural scientist: Meteorologie mit Rücksicht auf die Lehre vom Kosmos und in ihren Beziehungen zur Medicin und allgemeinen Gesundheitslehre. Ein von dem Institute zu Paris gekröntes Werk von P. Foissac Professor der Medicin an der medicinischen Facultät zu Paris, Ritter etc. Mit Zustimmung des Verfassers deutsch bearbeitet und mit Anmerkungen versehen von Dr. A. H. Emsmann Professor in Stettin. Leipzig: O. Wigand, 1859. VIEW BOOK. Genoa, November 14, 1881:
My dear friend, what is this our life? A boat that swims in the sea, and all one knows for certain about it is that one day it will capsize. Here we are, two good old boats that have been faithful neighbors, and above all your hand has done its best to keep me from "capsizing"! Let us then continue our voyage — each for the other's sake, for a long time yet, a long time! — we should miss each other so much! Tolerably calm seas and good winds and above all sun — what I wish for myself, I wish for you, too; and am sorry that my gratitude can find expression only in such a wish and has no influence at all on wind or weather! Foissac1 arrived, fast and cheap, procured from your bookseller: this medical meteorology, although crowned by the academy, unfortunately is but a science in its infancy and for my personal affliction only a dozen questions more. Perhaps we know more now — I should have been at the electricity exhibition in Paris, partly to learn the latest findings, partly as an item of the exhibition: for as one who senses electrical changes and as a so-called weather prophet I am a match for the monkeys and am probably a "specialty." Could Hagenbach2 possibly tell us what clothing (or chains, rings, etc.) would be the best protection against these excessive effects? After all, I cannot always hang in a silken hammock! Better really hang oneself! And quite radically! When is the Gotthard tunnel going to be finished? When can it be used? It will bring me to you and to the doctors (ophthalmologists and dentists included); I have caught sight of a long consultation. (This tunnel is built at the gates of the Genoese, they are very grateful, indeed, they are now on that account courteous towards any Swiss.)3 My eyesight is failing more and more — the extraordinary painfulness of the briefest habits keeps me absolutely removed from scholarship (not to mention my severe weak-sightedness). For how long have I been unable to read! I have not read Romundt's book4 — but after a critical glance I think it is sneakiness5 on forbidden, forbidden to us, pathways — I don't like that! — Paesiello's masterpiece is the matrimonio segreto6: then came Cimarosa and once again he composed music for the same text, and behold! it was his masterpiece too.7 And now comes Köselitz and — this is the latest one — he composed music for it for the third time and is essentially finished. What the text deserves — that daring and boldness of thought — has given me pause. As well as I know K[öselitz], I am pleased with this character trait: presumptuousness and audacity are very foreign to him. — — "Nacht o holde" has affected you perhaps somewhat differently than me, judging by your words — and so it is natural.8 Enough, both times it was an impression, which ended in honor of the composer. — With a request from me to present your dear wife with the most heartfelt greetings, I remain your friend Friedr. Nietzsche. 1. Pierre Foissac, Meteorologie mit Rücksicht auf die Lehre vom Kosmos. Deutsch von A. H. Emsmann. Leipzig: Wigand, 1859. VIEW BOOK. Genoa, November 28, 1881: Hurray! Friend! Have again come to know something good, an opera by François Bizet (who is that?): Carmén.1 Sounded like a novella by [Prosper] Mérimée,2 witty, strong, here and there deeply moving. A genuinely French talent for comic opera, in no way disoriented by Wagner, but a real student of H[ector] Berlioz.3 I had [no] idea something like this was possible! It seems the French are on a better path in dramatic music; and they have a big lead over the Germans in one essential point: for them passion is not so far-fetched (as e.g. all Wagner's passions). A little sick today, due to bad weather, not bad music: perhaps I would be even sicker if I had not heard it. Good things are my medicine! That explains my love for you!! 1. Georges Bizet (1838-1875): French composer of the opera Carmen. On January 5, 1882, Nietzsche sent Köselitz a marked-up edition of Bizet's score, with 75 marginal notes in pencil. See "Nietzsche's Marginal Glosses to Georges Bizet's Carmen." In: Friedrich Nietzsche in Words and Pictures. Appendix 2. Chronology of Nietzsche's Music. The Nietzsche Channel, 2012, 121-141.
Genoa, December 8, 1881: At last it came to mind (my memory now and then is blocked) that there really is a novella "Carmen" by Mérimée,1 and that the schema and the concept and also the tragic conclusion of this artist still survives in the opera.2 (Even the libretto is admirably good[.]) I am almost inclined to think Carmen is the best opera that there is; and as long as we live, it will be in all the repertoires of Europe. Mr. O. Busse3 promises to publish his thoughts on "human reproduction" (oh I [am] the unfortunate one! —); for the time being he recommends in his missive4 the abandonment of children in the Spartan manner. I can't find the words and the feelings to answer him. A Latin treatise on Epicurus will be dedicated to me: bravo!5 I live bizarrely, as upon the wave peaks of existence — like a kind of flying fish.6 You are always in my thoughts, my dear friend! F.N. 1. Prosper Mérimée (1803-1870): French writer, archaeologist, historian, and the author of Carmen, on which Bizet's opera is based. Read the original in French; an English translation. It was translated into German as Carmen. Novelle. Deutsch von Rudolph Weiß. Berlin: Freund & Jeckel, 1882. See Mérimée's entry in Nietzsche's Library.
Baltimore, End 1881: 44 W. Madison Street Baltimore Esteemed Herr Doctor, It may be of little concern to you that 3 people here in America (Professor Fritz Fincke (Peabody Institute) — Mr. Charles Fischer,2 our friend and I) often sit together and are sincerely edified by Nietzsche's writings — but I do not see why we should not even tell you. It is a credit to the profundity of your thoughts and your perfect diction that we will no longer be able to read anything else and like it. We only have "Untimely Meditations," and I would now like to request, esteemed Herr Dr, that you specify on a card the name and title of the publisher of your other works. In a country where so little good German is spoken — your writings and thoughts and language should absolutely be obtained. Please kindly excuse the trouble and bother that I cause you and please fulfill my request. Accept the assurance of my deepest gratitude and greatest admiration, yours Elise Fincke, 1. Elise Fincke was the wife of Fritz Fincke (1836-1900). Fritz Fincke studied at the Leipzig Conservatory from 1851-53, and was a piano and violin virtuoso. He returned to his hometown of Wismar, Mecklenburg-Schwerin, where he was a director of a musical society, a violinist, and an organist at the St. Georg church. In 1880, Fincke was appointed a professor of vocal music at the Peabody Conservatory of Music in Baltimore, Maryland. There he led the Peabody Chorus, and conducted the Oratorio Society from 1882-94. According to an article in the Musical Courier, Fincke attended a performance of Richard Wagner's Parsifal in Bayreuth in 1891. Fincke's son, the physician Fred H. Fincke, resided in Baltimore at 37 W. Preston Street. He died of heart failure in Chicago in 1899 at the age of 30. An Elise Fincke, probably Fred H. Fincke's daughter, was the valedictorian of the 1890 class of Western Female High School in Baltimore. See Andrew S. Kerr, "Report of the Prinipal of Western Female High School." In: Sixty-second Annual Report of the Board of Commisioners of the Public Schools, to the Mayor and City Council of Baltimore, for the Year Ending December 31st, 1890. Baltimore: Cox, 1891, 158. |
