Tuesday, August 22:
Munich.
Crossing the Walchensee yesterday in the boat, I saw something beautiful.
The shallows: how clear, how light everything on the bottom; the water was merely glass: a beautiful white sandy bottom, each individual stone, there, there, here a plant, there a tree-trunk - all plain. Then came the deep abyss: the water dark, dark, all clarity gone, all hidden; but then, suddenly, the sky, the sun, the mountains — all tangibly bright and clear upon the mirror — — Shallow souls, deep souls! I have gazed to the bottom of many shallow souls: how few deep souls has the world reflected for me! —
En route I picked up your letter: it was the poem. That was beautiful! —
In the evening I found everything nice at home. I can’t help laughing at my smartened rooms: that lasts, or can at least be made to last. Beautiful weather, and whatever else swiftly and powerfully delights me, vanishes so swiftly, leaving such long bleak days behind. Strange how one helps oneself — or how the daemon helps us — to endure it. — Today your fat letter! — I can see it really will be a wonder if you return! —