Tuesday, March 18:
I have some things to take care of, particularly to make some efforts with regard to the poor bookbinder’s assistant. Exchange of letters with Franziska Ritter. R. very busy with his books.
Fine spring weather, the children in the little garden. At lunch R. talks about the prudence and patience which are leading characteristics of great men; Morosini, Schulenburg against the Turks, William of Orange, above all Frederick the Great. Living long is also a part of it.
Admiration for Goethe’s depiction of the common people in Egmont; thus they are, not a whit better, but also not worse, one must just understand them.
R. gives Herr Zumpe directions about how he should behave as a conductor toward his people, friendly and precise, not rude and unclear, as usually happens; not “What are you doing?,” “What was that on the drum?,” etc., but “This was the mistake.”
R. discusses with the mayor the question of our tomb in the garden; the mayor is horrified, but R. explains to him that we look forward to our eternal rest with cheerful serenity. R. says one really ought to conform with the community, for what remains of us we have in common with everybody, but it is nice to imagine ourselves remaining united here below as well, in our earthly guise.
In the evening R. dictates five pages to me; he says it costs him a great effort to transport himself back to those trivial times, when he had no faith in anything and his best years were wasted in vain enterprises. “Oh, Germany!” he exclaims, and we come to the conclusion that his departure from Zurich was a real catastrophe, since it delivered him over once more to unrest, and the two women in their unconsidered emotionality committed a great crime.