Monday, September 1:
R. has a headache and cannot work; he comes to sit with me and remembers how he first heard the news: “You have a son!” “One can’t believe in one’s good fortune. Oh, if only I could renounce all ideals and just enjoy what I have, relinquish control of my works, earn money with them, and not bother my head any more about German culture, how happy I should be! Now it’s only scoundrels who seek my favor, people like Herr Loser and the gentlemen from Vienna, whereas it should be Monsieur Bismarck.”
Sorrow and worry are consuming us, and perhaps only for chimeras will things one day be better for our son?
In the afternoon walked with R. to the theater; he strode out vigorously. Met Herr Koch, our patron from Nürnberg, and elaborated with him the idea of a subscription. In the evening began the Myth of Odin. Conversing a lot about the French, who are really very diverting at the moment.