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Malwida von Meysenbug. From b/w photo, undated. Colorized and enhanced image The Nietzsche Channel. Rapallo, January 1, 1883: Highly esteemed friend I am just getting up from an extremely painful attack of my suffering, with which I was "celebrating the New Year": then I find your letter1 and your old kindness! Don't blame me for my recent sighing2 (and no one else needs to know about my distress). But a lot of things are coming together right now to bring me quite close to despair. I won't deny that underneath all of these things is my disappointment with L[ou] S[alomé]. A "wonderful saint" like me, who has added the burden of a voluntary asceticism (a difficult to understand asceticism of the spirit) to all his other burdens and forced renunciations, a person who has no confidant regarding the secret of his life's goal: such a person loses an indescribable amount if he loses hope that he has met a similar creature who is carrying around a similar tragedy and is looking for a similar solution. I have been completely alone for years now, and you will admit that I have put on a "good face" about it — the good face also belongs to the conditions of my asceticism. If I still have friends now, I have them — well, how should I put it? — despite what I am or want to become. So you have remained good to me, dear friend, and I hope with all my heart that for this I can once again offer you as thanks a fruit from my garden that is in accordance with your taste. — What you say about L[ou] S[alomé]'[s] character is true, as painful as it is for me to admit it. I have actually never found such a natural egoism, alive in the smallest detail, not broken by consciousness, such an animal-like egoism: and that is why I spoke of "naïveté,"3 as paradoxical as the word sounds when one remembers the sophisticated, resolving mind that L[ou] possesses. But it seems to me that there is even another possibility hidden in this character: at least this is the dream that has never completely left me. Precisely with such a nature an almost sudden change and shift of emphasis might be possible: what Christians call a "revival." The vehemence of their willpower, their "momentum" is extraordinary. Horrible mistakes must have been made in her upbringing — I have never met such a poorly educated girl. So as she appears at the moment, she is almost a caricature of what I admire as an ideal — and you know, one becomes most sensitively hurt by one's ideal. As for Rée, he seems to me more and more like someone whose life's flame is half-extinguished: no ideals, no goals, no duties, no instincts. It seems to be good for him to live close to L[ou] S[alomé] and to be useful (I might say, of service) to her. In this respect he is not like me. But I also want to be useful to Lou as much as I can: I promised her and myself that. Don't you believe me when I say "it's not even remotely a love affair"? You mentioned Nerina,4 and the thought occurred to me that I am perhaps a parallel to my friend G[ersdorff]? So much for this topic: it belongs to the wanderings of your friend Odysseus. Were I only a bit smarter! Or someone were to advise me better! But a half-blind person lives too much in his dreams, needs and — hopes. No reply is requested, my admirable friend. From the heart Your FN. 1. The letter is lost. So we can only guess as to some of the allusions Nietzsche is making. Meysenbug replied to this letter on 01-22-1883.
Rapallo, January 10, 1883: In the meantime, my dear Köselitz, I was lacking sanity — and so I was not able to answer your letter, not even to appreciate it properly. It seemed to me as if someone were speaking to me from a tremendously distant and strange land. The other day I was thinking about you a lot: I was considering the problem that has existed since Wagner1 and remains unsolved: how an entire act of opera can have a symphonic unity as an organism. In doing so, I came across many questions of praxis or "practice"; e.g., the musician would have to create such a complete movement from the most precise knowledge of the piece of drama that belongs to it (emotions, changes and struggle of emotions) and everything scenic must be present to him. But not the words! The actual text would only have to be composed after the music was finished, in a constant adaptation to the music: whereas until now it was the words that dragged the music along with it. This is one point: to compose the text according to the music! The other point is that the course of the emotions, the entire structure of the act, must have something of the pattern of the symphonic movement: certain responses and the like — so that the writer must immediately construct the act in response to the task, so that it can also become a symphonic whole as music. In short: the musician must lead the writer beforehand, and even more so afterwards, when the music is finished! — I really appreciate everything you write about your experiences.2 It's also in my own interest if you find a good tone for communication with Levi.3 As for his "joke,"4 I have also written a joke:
My regards to him [i.e., Hermann Levi], when it seems appropriate to you to send them. — At some point I will probably live in Munich. — Read the November issue of Schmeitzner's journal.5 There is an essay on the "Joyful Science" by a pen unknown to me.6 Not bad! For the first time in 6 years I read something about me without being disgusted. Apart from that, the paper stinks of Dühring7 and Jew-hatred.8 When I feel a little better (my health has really regressed!) I will also write to Mrs. Rothpletz,9 who wrote me an extremely tender New Year's letter.10 In the meantime, give her my heartfelt thanks. Adieu, dear friend! And forward, upward! The Earth and life can only be endured with this oblique upward direction. From the heart I will probably be back in Genoa at the beginning of February.11 1. With his opera, Lohengrin (wr. 1848; perf. 1850), Richard Wagner started a new method of opera composition that abandoned the standard design in numbers or separate scenes in favor of an overall infinite melody using the now proverbial leitmotif and conductive patterns.
Rapallo, January 20, 1883: Dear friend, It's not going well at all, and it would be best if I keep silent about it. At the beginning of February I want to move to Genoa — I will live in the same house where I lived last winter.1 I won't have a stove — I don't have one here either. I have frozen this winter like never before, and have never eaten so poorly. By the way, my health is in a bad state of decline. I now understand what the value of misanthropy has been for all hermits. Unfortunately I am of the opposite nature. I also wish I had a rock-solid belief in myself: but I'm even less built for that. I am already far too sick for that: and every change in the weather, every cloudy sky creates great anxiety in me. The weather last summer in Germany and here this winter were the worst physical tribulations I could face. Basically, "The Joyful Science" is just an exuberant way of rejoicing that one has had a month of pure sky above oneself.2 As a sufferer, one becomes very humble and inordinately grateful — which I have been far too much in regard to other things3 in the past year. The final result and "moral" of this [previous] nasty year is this: people forced me to swallow the selfsame poison hundreds of times and in the most diverse doses, the poison "contumely," from despicable indifference to profound contempt. That brought forth in me a condition like phosphorus poisoning: constant vomiting, headache, insomnia, etc. For years I haven't experienced anything from the outside: but in the past year, a great deal, unfortunately always the same thing. That's why it's so difficult to get rid of it. But I will not obtain the beneficium mortis4 for myself — I want something more from myself and cannot let bad weather or a bad reputation prevent me from doing so. Germany is now a bad place for me: I am extremely averse to the kind of people I respect there; and the Germans are so boorish with their aversions that they always become tactless and impolite. As a student, I was treated more respectfully than in the previous year. So then I don't know at all where any [clear skies are] and from where [clear skies come]. If only I knew someone who would accompany me to Spain! For the best possibilities in Europe for clear skies are there. (I am very well informed about the Mediterranean climate by a treatise in Perthes geogr[aphical] magazine.)5 Frau Rothpletz6 delighted me on New Year's with an extremely kind letter: she will make it possible for us all to find each other again in the summer — perhaps in Tyrol or southern Bavaria. But, as I said, I dread Germany. I will have some confidence in a sort of grandiose alpine wilderness: I must be encouraged. And I realize more and more that I no longer fit in with people — I produce nothing but follies (I am, said in confidence, 1) much too sincere and 2) good-natured to the point of excess, so that all injustice always remains with me — which in the long run gives a very bad result. Adieu, my dear friend, I will try to be benevolent and fair to all those who are not against me. The warmest greetings to your dear wife and best wishes to both of you. F.N. Köselitz's experiences have some parallels with mine. But he has an advantage over me: he is perfectly healthy. 1. Nietzsche stayed in Rapallo until 02-23-1883 at a house located at Salita delle Battestine 8.
Rapallo, February 1, 1883: Dear friend, I have not written to you for a long time, and that was a good thing. My health had once again become accustomed to conditions that I believed were behind me: it was a great torment of body and soul — and the current weather in Europe1 played no small part. In the meantime, however, there were only clear days again, and I immediately became master of myself again. In all this, it remains a blessing if one can cope with oneself in solitude: but how many are bound to and must doubly bear their misery in dealings with people! By the way, I have been freezing like never before, and I have also never eaten so poorly. A change in my location is now necessary: I had already rented the room again that I lived in last winter in Genoa — but the latest news is that the gentleman who now lives in it has changed his mind and wants to stay. Now my good old friend Meysenbug has invited me to Rome2 and has definitely promised me someone who will write for me for 2 hours a day. Since I urgently need someone for writing and dictation, I will move to Rome — even though, as you know, it is not the place of my choice. This willing "secretary" is Fräulein Cécile Horner, Brenner's relative (I have never seen her)[.]3 But perhaps you will enjoy hearing about what there was to write and get ready to print. It is a very small book4 — about a hundred printed pages. But it is my best, and as a result I have rolled a heavy stone off my soul. There is nothing by me more serious and also nothing more cheerful; I sincerely wish that this color — which does not even need to be a mixed color — will become more and more my "natural" color. The book shall be called Thus Spoke Zarathustra. With this book I have entered a new "ring" — from now on in Germany I will probably be counted among the crazy people. It's a strange kind of "moral sermon." My stay in Germany has brought me to the same point of view as you, dearest friend, yours — namely, that I no longer belong there. And now at least, after my "Zarathustra," I feel like you: this insight and "declaration" has encouraged me. Where do we belong now? — Let us be happy that we are even allowed to ask such a question! Our experiences were fairly similar: only you have a better temperament, a better, quieter, more secluded past — and the advantage of a better state of health than me. I am close to suffocating. So I will still be here until the 10th. Later Rome poste restante.5 Always very close to you in thoughts and wishes From the heart You have delighted the Overbecks!6 Just like me! 1. Cf. Rapallo, 02-19-1883: Letter to Heinrich Köselitz.
Rapallo, February 10, 1883: Dear friend The money1 is in my hands: and once again I thought about the unpleasant hardship I have been causing you all these years. Perhaps it will soon come to an end. I will not conceal it from you, I am in a bad way. Once again night surrounds me; I feel as if lightning had flashed — for a short time I was completely in my element and in my light. And now it's over. I think I will surely perish unless something happens — I have no idea what. Perhaps someone will drag me out of Europe — I, with my physical way of thinking, now see myself as the victim of a terrestrial-climatic disturbance to which Europe is exposed. How can I help it if I have an extra sense, and a new and terrible source of suffering! Even thinking this way is quite a relief — I do not need to accuse people of being the cause of my misery. Although I could do this! And all too often I do! In my letters to you, everything that I have alluded to is just the incidentals — I have to bear such a manifold burden of painful and horrible memories! Thus, for instance, it has not left my memory for even an hour that my mother called me a disgrace to the grave of my father.2 I will remain silent about other examples — but the barrel of a pistol is now a source of relatively pleasant thoughts for me. — My whole life has disintegrated before my eyes: this whole eerie, deliberately hidden life, which takes a step every six years and actually wants nothing more than this step, while everything else, all my human relationships, have to do with a mask of me, and I must perpetually be the victim of leading a totally hidden life. I have always been exposed to the cruelest coincidences — or rather: it is I who have turned all coincidences into cruelties. This book3 that I wrote to you about, a work of 10 days, now seems to me like my last will and testament. It contains an image of my very being4 in the sharpest focus, as it is, once I have cast off my entire burden. It is a literary work5 and not a collection of aphorisms. I am afraid of [going to] Rome6 and cannot decide. Who knows what torture is waiting for me there! So I have set about making myself my own copyist.7 What shall I do under this sky and changing weather! Ah this mental anguish! And at the same time I know that, relatively, it "is for the best" by the sea! With heartfelt thanks and wishing you and your dear wife all the best F.N. 1. Overbeck sent Nietzsche's pension.
Rapallo, February 13, 1883: Dear publisher, Your greeting,1 coincidentally, was the first sign of interest that I received in Genoa. Today, I have something good to report to you: I have made a decisive step — and I think, by the way, one which should be profitable for you as well. It concerns a small work2 (barely a hundred printed pages) whose title is
It is a "poetical work"3 or a fifth "gospel"4 or something for which there is still no name: by far the most serious and also most cheerful one of my creations and accessible to everyone. So I believe, then, that it will have an "immediate effect" — especially since now, judging from various signs, the slow and reluctant way of dealing with me has now reached a certain point[.] — Coincidentally, I found out from Vienna5 as well as Berlin that there is a lot of talk about me among "intelligent men." I draw your attention to Mr. Brandes, the cultural historian, who is now in Berlin: of the current Danes, he is the most brilliant. I found out that he has studied me in depth.6 Both of us are aware of our publication "conditions." Only this time I have to attach particular importance to two external formalities, because this book is supposed to appear as a peak of my previously published books. With exactly the same format and printing, I request that a black line border the text on each page: of which a poetical work is more worthy. And then: a stronger vellum! Please kindly inform me promptly as to whether I should send you the work. I am working with all my "strength" (oh my eyes!) on the transcription myself, and in the event that you agree, I want Teubner7 to complete these 6 sheets with the greatest alacrity! For me the time of "printing" is always an illness-phase. Therefore as soon as possible! With best wishes to you Santa Margherita Ligure, (Frankly, I am ashamed to speak of "immediate effect"; but I do it for your sake, who reasonably must have completely different estimations in mind than I do. Sorry!) 1. The letter is lost.
Rapallo, Mid-February 1883: You lived for one goal and made every sacrifice to him; beyond the man you felt the ideal of this one person, and to him, who does not die, you belong, your name belongs forever.1 and beyond the love of that man you grasped the highest thing that his love and his hope conceived: you served him, you and your name belong to him forever — that which does not die with a m[an], whether it was already born in him That is how I look upon you today, and, albeit from a great distance, the way I always looked upon you as upon the best-esteemed woman who is in my heart.2 Few people desire something like this: and of the few: who is able to desire it like you!
In the past you did not refuse to listen to my opinion in serious situations: and now that the first announcement has reached me, the fact that you have just experienced the most serious thing, I don't know how to pour out my feelings other than by addressing them entirely to you and only to you alone I don't know what else to do other than what I did before for the best-esteemed woman who is in my heart.3 We were never enemies in minor matters not what you lose, but what you now possess, stands before my soul: and there will be few p[eople] who say with such a deep feeling: it was all my duty — it was also my entire possessions — what I did was for this person, and nothing [— — —]
With all of this I think I speak of you, my esteemed woman? But with all of this I think I absolutely spoke of him. Indeed, it has now become difficult to talk about you alone. — I absolutely do not believe at all in any hidden worlds from which some consolation would be taken. Life is only as deep and serious as we know how to make it deep [and] serious: but there are some things which, due to a hundred terrible coincidences, are out of our hands; time and again to know how to establish reason and beauty by believing in r[eason] and b[eauty] — that is now the best good will and the best good strength, that was and is ultimately in your power. It is still a struggle; and the first bulwarks have yet to be stormed. Since the spectacle of life is harsh, horrible, — and when you see someone who, for the sake of new colors and tones, like a — — — In the past you did not refuse [to] listen to my opinion in serious situations: and now [that] news comes to me that you have been stricken by the most serious thing, I do not know what to do differently than I did before and ask you to do the same — I have no way of enduring my feelings that this news gives me other than by addressing them entirely to you and only to you alone. Not what you lose, but what you only now possess, should now stand before my soul: how you may now speak to yourself: ["]I have now accomplished this, thus what I did for this one person would be my duty, and everything I have done and offered and not spared myself, I was relentless, and where is the drop of blood that I kept for myself: a deep calm behind all pain: I feel it. And that's how I wanted it at that time."4 — until the last drop of blood is itself released and without sparing so — — — Beyond the love of that man I grasped the highest thing that his hope conceived: I served him, and this highest thing, that does not die, I and my name belong to forever. That is how I look upon you today, and, albeit from a great distance, the way [I] always looked upon you — as the best-esteemed woman who is in my heart.5 Few people desire something like this from themselves as you desire it: and of these few — who can then desire it the way you can and could! A struggle is ongoing, every great life first and last, and there would be reason upon reason if the spectacle of such a struggling life were always harsh and horrible. 1. Richard Wagner died on February 13, 1883. Nietzsche's actual letter of condolence is lost.
Rapallo, February 19, 1883: Dear friend, each of your recent letters1 was a blessing for me: I thank you with all my heart for them. This winter was the worst of my life, and I consider myself as the victim of a disturbance in nature. The old Europe of the Great Flood will kill me yet: but perhaps a person will come to my aid and drag me off to the high plateaus of Mexico.2 But I cannot undertake such journeys: my eyes and several other things forbid it. The enormous burden which lies upon me as a result of the weather (even old Aetna is beginning to belch!) has transformed itself into thoughts and feelings whose pressure in me was terrible, and from the sudden shedding of this burden as a result of 10 absolutely crisp and clear days that existed in January, my "Zarathustra" came into being, the most liberated of my productions. Teubner is already printing it;3 and I did the transcribing myself. Incidentally Schmeitzner reports that in the past year all my writings have sold better, and I am hearing all sorts of things about a growing interest. Even a member of the Reichstag and supporter of Bismarck (Delbrück)4 is said to have expressed his extreme displeasure about the fact that — I do not live in Berlin but in S[an]t[a]. Margherita!! Forgive this gossip, you know what else is on my mind and heart right now. I was violently ill for a few days and caused my landlords concern. I am now feeling better again, and I even believe that Wagner's death5 is the most substantial relief that could now be provided to me. For six long years, it was hard to have to be an opponent of the man whom one had most admired, and I am not built coarsely enough for that. Ultimately, it was the aging Wagner whom I had to defend myself against; as far as the real Wagner is concerned, I will to a good extent soon become his heir (as I have often said to Malvida). Last summer6 I felt that he had taken away from me all the people in Germany who it really could have made sense to influence, and had begun to draw them into the confused, desolate malignancy of his old age. Naturally, I have written to Cosima. Incidentally, old friend, for you too, the skies have brightened with this death. Various things are now possible, e.g. that we will sit in the "temple" of Bayreuth once again, in order to hear you. As for your words about Lou, I had to laugh a lot. Do you think then that my "taste" in this differs from yours? No, absolutely not! But in the instant case it has damned little to do with "charming or not charming," but rather about whether a great consequential man perishes or not. — So the corrections can go to you again, my old helpful friend? — Many thanks for everything. FN. 1. Cf. Venice, 02-03-1883 and 02-16-1883: Letters from Heinrich Köselitz to Nietzsche in Rapallo.
Genoa, around the 3rd-4th April 1883: Dear friend, In the meantime I have taken my decisive step, everything is in order.1 In order to give an idea of what it is about, I am enclosing a letter from my first "reader" — my excellent Venetian friend,2 who is once again my assistant with the printing. — I will leave Genoa as soon as I can and go into the mountains: I don't want to speak to anyone this year. Do you want a new name for me? The language of the church has one: I am — — — — — — — — the Antichrist.3 Let's not forget how to laugh! In all devotion, your Genoa, Salita della Battestine 8 (interno 4). 1. The publication of Also sprach Zarathustra, I.
Pressburg, April 17, 1883: Highly esteemed Herr professor! You made my day wonderful with your unexpected letter.2 Thus you also have to accept that I thank you for that, thank you quite sincerely. However, I find myself in no small embarrassment when I consider that it is now my turn, dear sir, to reply to your kind and honest words in the appropriate manner. But precisely because there are so many things running through my head and heart, I have simply decided to thank you for them. I was pleased to have come a single step closer personally to the man I have so greatly admired for years.3 It seemed to me that you had pressed my hand, not as someone with whom you could be contented, but certainly as someone who could not be counted among the worst. And now, after I have allowed myself this little joke, which you won't hold against me, I dare to approach you with a request. Ever since I have known your writings, that is for about half4 a decade, I have always had the feeling that I was in the company of a human being and not just a book. So you yourself are to blame for the fact that it is no longer possible for me to suppress the desire to finally see that man personally in front of me. I really do not know how I should express myself about this matter so as not to make it seem intrusive and rude. Should I tell you that I have never come to anyone with such a request and that I do not know anyone to whom I would make such a request. And then I think: how many people are there that you can and do see, at any hour of the day, because they live near you, and often just by chance. And what you cannot deny to so many, you will perhaps want to grant to one, namely me. I see that I have to speak half-jokingly just to get around to speaking at all. Since I have not been granted by fate to put on my seven-league boots5 and take a few mighty strides towards you; I thus beg you to send me your portrait.6 I really know no other means of achieving my goal; and as for the latter, you certainly cannot be angry about it. However, whatever your decision may be, allow me to confess at this point the love and admiration with which I look up to you. I have already forgotten, and often very quickly, many people who were close to me until their death: you, whom I have never seen, I will never, ever forget. And I shall always think of you with the same pleasure with which I now return your greetings and wishes. Your devoted 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 the 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).
"Erster Verlags-Bericht von Ernst Schmeitzner." Chemnitz, 1879.1 Enhanced image ©The Nietzsche Channel. Chemnitz, September 18, 1883: Esteemed Herr Publisher At the same time as sending the honorarium for the second Zarathustra, which I would now like to request, please also give me an exact account of the money I have entrusted to you (I still have not received such a statement for this year)[.] Please see to it that what is requested gets into my hands in the next 8 days;2 for I only have a short time left here in Naumburg.3 It would be very nice if you wanted to visit us here one day. Thank you very much for your last card.4 I sincerely hope that my Zarathustra sunshine that you are talking about will make sense to many people; but if it doesn't happen, at least it's not my fault. In dear Germany dark skies are seen everywhere: I want to see to it that I can save myself from this cloudy misery as soon as possible.5 With warm wishes I did not even get the "Joyful Science": please please request a copy!6 1. Ernst Schmeitzner Verlag: 1879 Book Catalog. Ernst Schmeitzner, Erster Verlags-Bericht von Ernst Schmeitzner, Verlagsbuchhandlung in Chemnitz. Chemnitz: Schmeitzner, 1879. |
