Tuesday, March 5:
Letter from my father, short and unexpansive. On the other hand, M. M. writes that the fires of the south seem to have harmed our friend Schure, and we should help to deliver him. R. is not completely well; outside it is spring. R. said yesterday that, when he read Dellinger’s recent lecture, it had struck him that in the 18th century many people had gone back to the Catholic Church on account of the drying up of the Protestant church; it then occurred to him that, as the Lutheran hymn had rescued the soul of the Reformation from the dust of disputations, so, too, had Bach’s music in the 18th century.
We drive to Winkel, R. and I; in the carriage he waxes indignant against present-day writers, historians who will not acknowledge the full greatness of a man of destiny such as Gustavus Adolphus, for instance; instead, they talk of the state of things, politics, etc., whereas, but for his heroic faith, there would not be a Protestant left in Germany. We also speak of the Crown Prince of Prussia, who has suddenly become anti-Wagnerian through his wife and belongs to the Joachim clique. Unfortunately R. is not completely well; we go for a long walk, and in the evening we read Schopenhauer. Melancholy thoughts of my father.