Friday, January 15:
R. declared yesterday that now, having acquired me after his “beggar’s life,” he knew for certain he would live to a ridiculously old age, and we would both die by euthanasia on the sofa in his room, which he had furnished for that purpose. Early in the morning, when I go to him in the salon, he exclaims: “To think that I was permitted to win you for myself! But you are the only woman who would ever be right for me; she had to be high-minded and childlike as you are; and now I mean to live ridiculously long.”
May Heaven bless him! He maintains that happiness like ours has never existed before and will not occur again. I believe that to the extent that he will never occur again! In the evening he sings “In mir gegrüßt” to me and declares it to be Schubert’s loveliest song as far as feeling and artistry are concerned; it moves us to tears; it is German, so pure and chaste, so heartfelt. R. recalls having first heard it sung by his sister Rosalie.
Read Gfrorer. When we are going to bed, R. sings “Mad Margaret” from La Dame Blanche and says: “That has always been a peculiarity of the French, such graceful resignation, such a way of sliding over the miseries of life with a charming formulation and a melancholy smile. Their tragic emotions are repellent.”