Thursday, December 18:
Our love grows ever deeper, ever greater; we ask ourselves how we could ever have lived without each other. Blissful thoughts of Tribschen, the mornings, the evenings there, the Robbers’ Park, the feeling of being away from the world, protected. Now indeed we are unprotected and very much exposed. Fidi’s birth, my arrival with the children, the moonlight on the lake. No one else will perhaps ever enjoy the peninsula with such deep inner feelings.
R. works. In the evening a letter arrives from the district president, telling R. that he has been asked to hand over the decoration to him. With some lack of tact, it seems to me, he invites R. to visit him tomorrow morning. R. finds this very repugnant; he says he does not know how he should come to be given instructions by anyone. I beg him not to let any vexations arise from this useless affair, but to suffer it in silence. Our evening is somewhat soured by this interlude.