Tuesday, November 2:
All Souls’ Day; I make the children pray for the dead, then speak to them earnestly and solemnly. R. in sad mood, has no desire to write another note of his Nibelungen; the newspaper says Die Walküre is being prepared for production in Munich. Much melancholy; in addition, Siegfried unwell.
To town with R.; Christmas preparations already. Fine evening, the mountains wonderful, but the walk does us no good. Siegfried ill, fears of diphtheria; the doctor summoned in the night, feelings of despair.
Oh, children, do not lay bold hands on Fate, not even to help others! Once it is done, gods, spirits, and mortals will turn their backs on the poor individual; worry will eat his heart as the eagle ate Prometheus’s, and no Hercules can free him, but only Death. Accept, children, accept; do not seek to relieve anything, seek no happiness for yourselves, but also do not seek it for others, and bear what you are given to bear without boldly imploring still further burdens! Content yourselves with carrying out what the gods have imposed on you; do not demand to recognize and interpret Fate itself; otherwise, children, peace will flee forever!
Siegfried somewhat better, no danger; the cries of desperation were premature. Thought of Hans, of our sad last days together; how content I am never to forget his suffering!