Wednesday, October 20:
Letter from Herr Unger; he is nervous, anxious about his breach of contract. R. writes to calm him down. We decide to travel to Vienna via Munich, in order to discuss several things with Councilor Düfflipp, particularly, R. feels, the use of the palaces here for the various princes. Friend Feustel, whom I visited today, also feels there are other business matters to be put in order, the advance, and the declaration that Voltz and Batz are not entitled to proceeds from Munich.
After lunch, when we talk about people who for no particular moral or intellectual reason are congenial to us, R. says, “There are none; all I recognize is my relationship with you. This means so much to me that everything else either disturbs me or leaves me indifferent.” Fidi is beginning to read and shows pleasure in it.
In the evening a cello sonata, during which we become increasingly aware of what a bad mixture it is and what a debilitating effect it must have on the greatest of men during composition, and yet, even with these disadvantages, the adagio of Beethoven’s next-to-last sonata makes a very deep impression. Divine being, who can thank you enough? If remorse is the feeling that one would rather not have done something, then it is foreign to me; but if it is the feeling of bitter pain at having had to do whatever it is one has done, thereby producing very sorrowful emotions concerning the evils of one’s existence, then I am filled with it, now and forever. Thoughts of Hans, then, too, of my death, will that atone for everything?