Wednesday, December 24:
Much to do from early morning until five in the afternoon; the only interruption was at lunchtime, when our conversation brought us to Elective Affinities. Malwida expressed her dislike of Eduard, whom she finds spineless, whereupon R. gave her a very lively answer: “What makes people significant? That something takes possession of them which wipes out everything else. For a great man this is some idea; for a less gifted one it is love. Eduard tries everything: he goes to war to seek his death, survives, and sees in that a sign that he can win Ottilie after all; he tries it when the child dies, and now he wants only one thing, that the two of them, dying in silence, at least see each other; one might call these two people ascetics of love. And Goethe has shown us in detail the world they inhabit, Luciane, the Count, and the Baroness, etc., in order to show us the difference between them and these lovers. And how calmly he expresses it, how anecdotal the love scenes! A superficial person can perhaps scarcely realize how tragic the book is.”
During his discussion of the book I have to shed tears; our own fate flits past our eyes, and, embracing, we praise the Godhead that brought us together. “There a child died, here one has been born,” we tell each other happily. At 5:30 p.m. distribution of presents; to me, too, R. gives lovely gifts, some splendid Chaillou things to wear indoors, and he is pleased that they suit me and please me. The tree, tall and wide, stays long alight, and everyone is gay and happy; after it has been extinguished we read Hölderlin’s Hyperion—Malwida has given R. his works.
R. and I recognize with some concern the great influence this writer has had on Prof. Nietzsche; rhetorical extravagance, incorrect and clotted imagery (the north wind which scorches the blossoms, etc.), but a fine, noble intellect, though R. says he cannot really believe in such neo-Greeks—he is constantly expecting him to say suddenly: “I studied in Halberstadt,” etc. As we say good night, the consciousness of our happiness quite overwhelms me; R. and I must always praise the Fate that brought us together. I cannot fully grasp the miracle of being loved by him. My earlier existence seems to me like a desolate, empty, yet confused dream; now I have found everything, and even suffering is for me a sign of my happiness!