the course of the Tiber, or more exactly, went upstream. Just before the last bridge were anchored steamers and sailboats that had been dragged this far. The nearness of the sea. Near the appealing temple of Vesta an old man fell down with a large basket of oranges and lay there, looking at the rolling fruits. But already a number of children had come running to the rescue and filled up the basket again with great speed. First I had let myself be contaminated by Haller’s unquenchable laughter, but later we thought about the nice traits of these people. Triglie are quite delicious fish (reddish). Eating and drinking. Thinking as little as possible whilst doing so, as if one were somewhere in Corsica or in Sardinia. And when, besides, a green salad, unimaginably delicate, happens to be served! O this South!
December 2nd. Today they took my cat away from me and I had to look on whilst it disappeared in a sack. I understood at last what words had not succeeded in making clear to me. It was a cat that had been borrowed to catch mice for a period of time. And I had already given away my heart.
3.12.1901. Friendship with Haller not always untroubled. Incentive to rivalry in art. Recognition that he is more advanced in the domain of colour. Realisation that a long struggle lies in store for me in this field. “But in drawing, I correct him.”
7.12.1901. Two letters and two postcards travel northward, they entail no answer. I want to know that most of the threads that bind me to the past are severed. Perhaps these are the symptoms of incipient mastery. I take leave from those who taught me. Ungratefulness to school! What is left for me now? Only the future. I violently prepare myself for it. I did not have many friends; when I ask for spiritual friendship, I am almost forsaken. I still have confidence in Bloesch, Lotmar has great possibilities, but my relationship with Haller is strange. We don’t fit together. We’ll probably always trust each other to display a certain honourable tactfulness of behaviour. But we have no closer ties, and perhaps never had. He’s a rather primitive fellow, is able to concentrate easily and be all of a piece. Can be measured. Not I. With such great differences we would never have joined had it not been for our common course of study. I’ve known him since he was six, and yet we made use of each other only when, two or three years before his graduation, he decided to become a painter. At that time he approached me and joined me in hunting for landscape motifs. Brack is valuable, and yet there are barriers between us. Unfortunately one always has to take into account the moods and manias of this eccentric. I’ll willingly renounce many perfectly good friends. My teacher Jahn is of a more paternal character. I want to have nothing more to do with feminine friendships.
15.12.1901. Rome’s youngest museum, the National Museum in Diocletian’s Thermae. Part of it is housed in Michelangelo’s great cloister. Simply to walk here is beautiful enough. An orange grove with hundreds of fruits. The arrangement of the works of art is nowhere so carefully planned as here; they are enjoyed andante. The statues are not treated like propped-up bowling pins. Each piece occupies its proper place. My feeling for bronzes is growing. Ancient sculpture at the Vatican. I found myself more mature in my growing admiration for the Apollo Belvedere. I already loved the Muses clearly. No feeling for the Laocöon group (the thorax of one of the boys is said to be uniquely beautiful). New understanding for the Cnidian Venus. Here, in agreement with Burckhardt. I own a series of the most beautiful photos of ancient statuary… I never tire of spreading them out before me. It purifies me of certain desires. I flirt (with Muses) and I am the better for it. I no longer believe in the banishment from paradise.
Where?, 1920. Oil and pencil on paper on cardboard, 23.5 × 29.5 cm. Pinacoteca Comunale Casa Rusca, Locarno.
The Golden Fish, 1925. Oil and watercolour on paper on carton, 49.6 × 69.2 cm. Kunsthalle, Hamburg.
Florentine Villa District, 1926. Oil on cardboard, 49.5 × 36.5 cm. Centre Georges Pompidou, Musée national d’art moderne, Paris.
In January I’ll join the Association of German Artists in order to get back to drawing from nature. When I am back in Bern next winter I’ll have time and opportunity to learn anatomy very thoroughly, like a medical student. Once I know that, I’ll know everything. To be independent of these horrible models! For satirists too like to be free and independent. Now, thunder is rumbling again, most strangely, as if below the ground, faintly and intensely, making everything tremble. And this at Christmas! Earthquake atmosphere.
Schiwago is a serious person, I don’t know why a certain tension existed between us. Wassiliew had more talent. She also made good drawings and expressive caricatures. An extremely attractive personality but, unfortunately, as poor as a church mouse. It puts a certain pressure on her. Last winter, I am told, she suffered from her breakup with Haller. She couldn’t be to him what he, as an uncomplicated person, demanded of the woman he loved. For this she still lacked the courage, which only a certain maturity provides. She had tried to be friends. But of course that never works once Eros has made his appearance, even though it is unconsummated. He wants to grow to the point where he will have his way once and for all. And so they parted (as Haller tells it).
29.12.1901. Today I informed Haller that I had dreamt about Fräulein Wassiliew, whereupon he claimed that he had dreamt about “You”. A funny moment, provided he was not just parrying. After that, he remained silent for some time; evidently he was still preoccupied, not by this incident, but by the affair it alluded to. In the Palazzo degli Conservatori he noted that he was not sufficiently receptive. Whilst we ate he spoke again of Wassiliew and confided in me in a way he never had before. He too had already known her in Bern (I, since childhood); they painted landscapes together in the neighbouring countryside. In Munich he brought her to Knirr’s and followed her everywhere. For a time they both lived in the same boarding house, until it went broke; that is probably where they saw the most of each other. Occasionally they also came to my studio on Amalienstrasse; I was the right person to play the third man because I was having an affair, and indeed it was always very cosy and pleasant. Later Schiwago joined us and the four of us were often together, and a fine clearness and candour reigned among us. But only temporarily. Haller became secretive and sullen. The cause of it, I suppose, is to be found in the confession he made to me today. During the summer of 1900 he wrote passionate letters to Wassiliew, then in Basel. One of them went: “If you wish to remain a virgin, you must not see me any more”. She was such a good daughter that she asked Father Wassiliew for advice! Naturally he didn’t want to send her back to Munich. But then she promised not to see Haller anymore and was allowed to return to Munich. An attempt in Munich to be “friends” failed of course, and now Wassiliew herself asked that they separate, because of her promise. Haller now moved closer to Schiwago. Probably Wassiliew had told her about their anguish, and Schiwago felt called upon to act the motherly adviser; such a role surely appealed to her great goodness. This got her quite intimately acquainted with Haller. Perhaps he hoped to find a substitute in her. At any rate, he withdrew from us in the process and also drew Schiwago away from me. Without causing me harm, for I myself was going my own separate way. Only Brack was terribly furious about the stealthy ways of his friend Mändu.
Today Haller claims that he had no love relationship with Schiwago but only friendship, or at most a love relationship without any sensuality. Because Schiwago, he says, has no sensual leanings whatsoever. Can such a thing be? Now his hopes are fixed on Wassiliew again, because Schiwago has returned to Russia. I believe he would be capable of marrying Wassiliew if he could afford to. In short, the prospect for him is not really very splendid. Haller drew closer to me in the last year of high school and I responded. At that time I was richer and more mature. In Munich I still was, at first. That kept him in check and made him respect me. But suddenly he became a man; he managed it abruptly and joltingly, because he had to conquer his difficult nature. A sharp mind helped him in the process. I remained copious and confused, which created disharmony. He became impossible in a hundred little ways and upset many good elements in our friendship. I still want to do my best for him, as long as it is within my own interests. However, the sharp eye that watches over the limits of these interests
