Thursday, August 28:
Night of thunderstorms; early in the morning the news that President von Lerchenfeld has died suddenly. The shock is a severe one—who can shut his eyes to the possibilities which lie ahead? The great closeness of the weather also has a numbing effect on our nerves; but R. works.
In the afternoon to the new house, which is making absolutely no progress. The granite stone has been laid, and, since this cost a great deal of effort, the people had to be given a tip, and R. jokes about a funeral feast.
In the evening The Myth of Thor. At lunch R. and I spoke of the prerequisites for a good German style, and how, with the degeneration that has now set in, one cannot be too simple or grammatically too strict.