Sunday, February 18:
R. tells me that in a dream he saw me sobbing, my eyes quite white, as if blinded by tears! He frequently dreams of what I am thinking and feeling!
I rise in heavy spirits and write to my father, describing my emotions to him simply and truthfully. I wander around the garden, feeling somewhat restored. Lulu’s friend Ida Braun comes to our weekly readings; we take up Oedipus Rex, and its sublimity lifts me out of my sorrow.
Surely the salutariness of tragedy lies in the fact that in it an individual either perishes through his sufferings or atones for his guilt, whereas we poor mortals suffer and remain alive, wandering around as unredeemed sinners.
In the evening read with R. Thucydides’s description of the Syracusans’ decisive victory over the Athenians: what a tragedy, and what a description! Here, too, the voices of one’s own misery are silenced. Oh, the might of genius, that mild and gentle strength!