Thursday, July 15:
In the morning with the children and at the same time draft a letter to the translator of the Jewish pamphlet. R. laughs, approves it, and says there is nothing more he can do, all he is now is a composing machine.
Afternoon picnic with the children on the Sonnenberg, visit Serov. Returning home, I find R. sad; he was sorry that Eva was left behind, also he feels in a bad mood when I am not there. “Anything but change,” he says.
In the evening he says to me, “Good night, dream of paradises.” I: “I know what would be heaven for me: to live our life here without having had another beforehand.” R.: “I am freed of everything, not a soul has any claim on me, except you; when I imagine you gone, all is over.”