Monday, February 19:
Part of the night I lay awake reflecting. Could I but pray through every mouth, beseech through every eye: help me, God, help! Gave lessons to the children and dealt with several things.
We are informed of a letter to Feustel from an impresario, Mr. Hodge, who promises R. huge success and unparalleled renown if he comes to England for a month. It is indeed strange how everything encouraging from the outside world now arouses the deepest melancholy within me - the question whether “he lay gently beneath his horse’s hoofs” is constantly in my mind, though with a meaning quite different from Thekla’s; I reflect how Hans lost all the fruits of his laborious work in the very same land which now promises us profit and glory!
A poor weaver begged me for alms. I am told he is a vagabond, but I can refuse nothing, seeing myself, as I do, as the poorest beggar for God’s grace - may my sympathy arouse compassion in the powers that rule! I wanted to pray with Siegfried for Hans, but I was fearful of the impression this might make on the child, who now so often looks at me deeply and reflectively, and embraces me very tenderly, as if he understands everything, and also understands that one must keep silent.
“The greatest of evils is guilt” - I accuse nothing and nobody, simply feel the unredeemable sin of having been born. Oh, if only I might hear before I die that Hans is prospering, that he is living in peace and good health - how I should rejoice! I exert myself to read during the evening, R. notices that my voice is lifeless and asks me if I should prefer each of us to pursue his own occupations; I accept gratefully and am writing these lines - but for whom am I writing them? For what purpose? If my dear Siegfried learns what I have suffered, must it not make him shudder? But he shall know that, through all my torments, I have blessed him and his father and have hated only myself, cursed only myself - no, not even that, but just suffered unutterably.