Three Lives: A Biography of Stefan Zweig (9 page)

In the spring of 1904 the date for Zweig’s final exams at the University was drawing inexorably closer. He studied day and night with his fellow student Erwin Guido Kolbenheyer. This man’s life story was to take a distinctly unpleasant turn later on, prompting Zweig to speculate at the start of the 1940s that “perhaps he doesn’t like to be reminded of it today,
since he has become one of the official writers and academics of Hitler’s Germany”.
²¹

After reading Zweig’s written work, Professors Friedrich Jodl and Laurenz Müllner submitted their “Report on the dissertation of Cand. Phil. Stefan Zweig”. They described the choice of topic as “very commendable”.
²²
Not only because hardly any attention had yet been paid, in the German-speaking world, to the philosophical ideas of Taine, who had died only eleven years previously, but also, and in particular, because the author of the dissertation had made an intensive study of the source material and secondary literature in the original French. After these words of praise, Zweig was even more relieved in the oral examination when the examiners chose not to take him into more difficult areas: “The kindly Professor [ … ] said to me [ … ] with a smile: ‘I dare say you’d rather not be tested in exact logic.’”
²³

So at the beginning of the summer holidays, on 19th July 1904, Zweig was able to send out specially printed cards to announce the news of his doctorate. And as if to reward him for all his hard work, the long-awaited volume of short stories
Die Liebe der Erika Ewald
was published less than a month later. Once again the critics recognised the author’s talent, and Hermann Hesse wrote in a review: “While not yet fully matured as a storyteller, Zweig is a singularly amiable personality, and that is worth more than all the technique in the world.”
²⁴
The reviewer could be sure of receiving the next samples of his work before very long, because later in the year Zweig compiled a brief biographical summary in which he wrote, of himself: “In addition to his critical writings he also worked on translations, mainly from the French. [ … ] Following a number of shorter essay-type pieces and introductions, he published a volume of short stories in 1904 under the title
Die Liebe der Erika Ewald,
which is to be followed very shortly by a new verse collection.”
²⁵

NOTES

1
Erinnerungen an Émile Verhaeren. In: Zweig GW Verhaeren, p 254.

2
Zweig GW Welt von Gestern, p 52.

3
Stefan Zweig, as quoted in: Maderno 1922, p 864.

4
Tielo 1901.

5
Adelt 1901.

6
Werner 1901.

7
Strauss 1901.

8
Theodor Herzl to Stefan Zweig, 2nd November 1903, JNUL Jerusalem.

9
Stefan Zweig to Leonhard Adelt, probably late November 1902. In: Briefe I, p 48 f.

10
Zweig GW Welt von Gestern, p 141 f.

11
Stefan Zweig to Hermann Hesse, 2nd March 1903. In: Briefe I, p 57.

12
Stefan Zweig to Georg Busse-Palma, probably mid-December 1903. In: Briefe I, p 68.

13
Salzburg 1961, Cat No 22.

14
Zweig GW Welt von Gestern, p 148.

15
Erinnerungen an Émile Verhaeren. In: Zweig GW Verhaeren, p 254 f.

16
Stefan Zweig to Leonhard Adelt, probably early December 1902. In: Briefe I, p 51.

17
Zweig GW Welt von Gestern, p 119.

18
Stefan Zweig to Victor Fleischer, 2nd August 1903. In: Briefe I, p 59.

19
Brod 1968, p 81.

20
Stefan Zweig: Foreword. In: Brod 1927, p 5 f.

21
Zweig GW Welt von Gestern, p 150.

22
Zweig 2005, no page reference.

23
Zweig GW Welt von Gestern, p 150 f.

24
Hesse 1904.

25
SBB, Brümmer literary estate, Biographies, Series II: Zweig, Stefan.

A ‘while-you-wait’ photograph taken at the Wurstelprater amusement park, probably in the spring of 1906. Back row left is Alfred Zweig, back row right, the writer Robert Müller; front row left, the engineer Robert Goldmann (a friend of the Zweigs), front row right, Stefan Zweig. The names of the lady and the man in the middle are not known.

The Observer

When I think back to the years between the ages of eighteen and thirty and try to remember what I was doing back then, it seems to me that all I did during these years was to travel around the world, sit in cafés and go around with women. Try as I might, I cannot remember ever doing any work or ever learning anything. But the facts tell me otherwise.
¹

Autobiographical note 1922

“I
TOO AM DOING MY
best to avoid literature here. I think—or so it seemed to me in Berlin—that the foreign view of Viennese literary life is a big café table with all of us sitting around it, day in, day out. Well, I for one am not intimately acquainted with Schnitzler or Bahr or Hofmannsthal or Altenberg, and the first three I don’t actually know at all.”
²
This last point would soon cease to apply, for after Zweig had written this in a letter to Hermann Hesse at the start of 1903 his future plans had become clearer. His friendly relations with Verhaeren and the success of his most recent publications had for the moment banished his most serious doubts about writing as a career choice. Moreover the anthology of Verlaine adaptations he had put together sold well, partly on the strength of the contributors, partly because of its low price—which all added to Zweig’s growing reputation.

Now the time had come to extend his circle of largely contemporary literary acquaintances and get to know some older and more established writers. Little by little Zweig came into contact with Rainer Maria Rilke, Hermann Bahr and Arthur Schnitzler. Sending a copy of his latest book with a friendly note enclosed as an opening gambit nearly always achieved the desired result, and formed a good basis for an initial exchange of ideas. After a few letters had passed back and forth, an invitation to a meeting was usually forthcoming. Rilke saw Zweig a number of times in Paris, Bahr and Schnitzler both lived in Vienna, so it was easy to arrange to meet up in a café or have dinner together at short notice. Zweig now felt a real need to spend time with these celebrated and admired colleagues. Every time they met there was much to observe and much to learn, both about writing and about life in general; and of course these occasions were also an opportunity to share the latest news and gossip from the literary world.
After Zweig’s first visit Schnitzler wrote in his diary: “Met Dr Stefan Zweig, a very agreeable and clever young writer.” In the course of the evening Zweig had also got onto the subject of his manuscript collection, one of his favourite topics of conversation. He had an ulterior motive, of course: “He asked if I had any manuscripts, and seemed very put out that I had burned some only recently”, recorded Schnitzler, who was very open to the idea of collecting manuscripts of literary works, but had reservations about acquiring other people’s letters, especially when it came to his own letters to third parties. And so his diary entry on Zweig’s visit ends on a somewhat tart note: “Not long ago he purchased a very private letter of mine. Hugo’s [Hugo von Hofmannsthal] and my letters are currently selling for 3–4
kronen
.”
³
Nevertheless he agreed to reserve the transcript of his next major work for Zweig, and in the end gave him the manuscript of his play
Der Ruf des Lebens
. Zweig responded with almost excessive generosity by giving Schnitzler a Goethe autograph that he had bought for him at an auction.

At all events, asking other authors for transcripts of their works proved to be another way of making contact—and a profitable one at that. Now that Zweig’s name, as a published author himself, was known to most of the recipients of these requests, the resulting haul reached sizeable proportions (even without return postage—which of course he had long since ceased to enclose). And so sooner or later nearly every reasonably well-known writer of the day received a letter with a request for a few manuscript pages. To Emil Ludwig Zweig wrote as follows: “If you possess a handwritten draft of one of your plays or other works, and don’t much mind about keeping it for yourself, I should treasure it as a gift. You may recall that I collect manuscripts by writers that I like, keeping them bound in white vellum and locked in a safe. Would you care to add to my collection, I wonder?”
⁴

Zweig had long since adopted a more systematic approach to enlarging his collection. During his stays in Berlin and Paris he had established important connections with the local antiquarian booksellers, checking back with them on every visit to find out if they had anything new for him. The jewel in the crown of his collection, which he acquired during these years, was a clean copy of the poem
Im May
in Goethe’s own hand. He framed the page with the opening lines of the poem “Zwischen Waizen und Korn” and hung it in a prominent position in his room.

The long-planned new verse collection was due to be published in the autumn of 1906. Initially Zweig had thought of calling the volume
Wege
[
Ways or Paths
], but in the end decided on the title
Die frühen Kränze
[
Early Wreaths
]. It was over five years now since the publication of
Silberne Saiten
, and in the meantime he had gathered together a lot of new material. The book is divided into various sections, each one consisting of a number of poems on a particular theme. There are sections entitled
Die Lieder des Abends
[
Songs of the Evening
] and
Sinnende Stunde
[
Time of Meditation
], as well as
Fahrten
[
Journeys
], which includes poems such as
Stille Insel (Bretagne)
and Brügge, recalling the travels of recent years. Naturally there was a section devoted to women—
Frauen
—and doubtless the writing was informed by rather more experience than in the poems of earlier years:

As I lie half-asleep

The darkness sits light upon me.

As in some soft cradle

I am lulled by the old dream,

The dream of beautiful women,

That comforts every man.
⁵

Once again the volume was a critical success: but it made Zweig realise that he should not confine himself too much to his own lyrical works, whose enduring appeal was doubtful.

He had chosen a different publisher for the new book, which was not unusual in itself. His first book and the adaptations of Verhaeren had been published by Schuster & Loeffler, while
Die Liebe der Erika Ewald
had appeared under the imprint of Egon Fleischel in Berlin, after he had scrapped plans to send the manuscript to S Fischer Verlag.
Die frühen Kränze
, however, was printed by Insel Verlag in Leipzig, the first in what was to be a long line of works by Zweig published by this house. After some internal wrangling over the literary journal
Die Insel
the Insel publishing house had emerged from the Schuster & Loeffler company. Under the direction of Rudolf von Poellnitz the new company went on to build a catalogue that embraced both classical authors and contemporary works. The commitment to quality writing remained unchanged, as did the importance attached to modern graphic design and beautifully produced books. The name and the distinctive signet—a ship under full sail, riding the billowing waves—had been taken over from the journal, and over the coming years the Insel ship would establish itself as a potent brand, a guarantee of quality instantly recognised by every reader. When von Poellnitz, who
had displayed little business acumen, died at the beginning of 1905 after a serious illness, aged only forty, the printer Carl Ernst Poeschel took over the reins temporarily. In the summer of that year Anton Kippenberg from Bremen joined the management team, and shortly afterwards became sole director of the company.