Viareggio, near Pisa, Italy
5 April 1903
You must forgive, my dear sir, that not until today could I gratefully turn my thoughts to your letter of February 24th. Until now I was not well, not exactly ill, but depressed by an influenza-type fatigue. I was incapable of doing anything. Finally, when my situation did not seem to improve, I came to this southern seashore where I had been coaxed into well-being once before. But I am not well yet. Writing is difficult for me; therefore you must take these few lines to be more than they are.
Of course, you must know that you shall always bring me joy with each of your letters. But please have forbearance with the answers, which may well often leave you empty-handed. We are unutterably alone, essentially, especially in the things most intimate and most important to us. In order for a person to advise, even to help another, a great deal must happen. Many different elements must coincide harmoniously; a whole constellation of things must come about for that to happen even once.
I wanted to tell you about two things today:
One is about irony: Do not allow it to control you, especially during uncreative moments. In creative moments allow it to serve you as another means to better understand life. If you use it with pure intent, then it is pure. One need not be ashamed of it. But beware of a viewpoint that is too consistently ironic; turn your attention to lofty and serious issues instead. In their presence irony will pale and become helpless. Scale the depths of things; irony will never descend there. And when you are exploring thus, and arrive at the brink of greatness, ask yourself whether this ironic attitude springs from a truly deep need of your being. For due to the impact of serious things, it will either fall away from you, if it is something merely incidental, or if it truly innately belongs to you, it will be strengthened to become an important tool, and take its place with all the other instruments with which you must build your own art.
The second thing that I wanted to tell you today is this:
Of all my books there are only a few that are indispensible to me. Two of them are constantly at my fingertips wherever I may be. They are here with me now: the Bible and the books of the great Danish writer, Jens Peter Jacobsen. I wonder whether you know his works. You can obtain them easily, for some of them are published in excellent translation. Do avail yourself of the small book, Six Stories, by J.P. Jacobsen and his novel, Niels Lyhne, and begin with the first story in the first set, called "Morgens." A whole world will envelop you--- the joy, the wealth, the incomprehensible greatness of a world! Live awhile within these books. Learn of them, whatever seems worth the learning, but above all, love them. For this love you shall be requited a thousand and a thousand times over, no matter what turn your life will take. This love, I am sure of it, will weave itself through the tapestry of your evolving being as one of the most important threads of your experiences, your disappointments, and your joys.
If I were obliged to tell you who taught me to experience something of the essence of creativity, the depth of it and its enduring quality, there are only two names that I can name: that of Jacobsen, the very greatest of writers, and Auguste Rodin, the sculptor. No one among all the artists living today compares with them.
Success in all your ways!
Rainer Maria Rilke