Tuesday, June 25:
R. had a good night; he goes for a walk in the palace gardens with children and dogs and then takes a rest with Prof. Nietzsche’s book, the trivial contents of which thoroughly disgust him. He tells me of the insolent tone in which Disraeli is speaking in Berlin, and Germany has to put up with it! Outing to the Sophienberg, somewhat exhausting, but pleasant all the same; the hilly country like motionless waves before our eyes, and R. remarks how glad one is to be amid so much prettiness; a flock of geese looks from above like a “moving silver ribbon,” and the differing greens of meadow and valley are a feast to the eye. The absurd melody of the chorus from Tancredi, “Tancredi has gone,” accompanies our ascent (R. was reminded of it by W.’s remark that he had been reading the Voltaire-Goethe Tancredi); but no music on the descent, since we disperse across the meadows. “The wisest gives way,” says R., when two carriages meet, “but nobody is foolish enough to want to be the wisest.” Late arrival home.
(Over coffee in the summerhouse R. quotes “Nimm den Eid” [“Take my oath”] and recalls the feeling of satisfaction which then imbues Fricka with dignity; no one, he says, has ever said a word to him about Wotan’s inner resolve, and how this is brought about by his having to acknowledge that everything is his own work, all are his creatures, and he can no longer deceive himself about it.) [Added in margin: “During our drive Wolz. spoke about an article entitled ‘From Beethoven to Brahms’ and signed D. A. S. We wonder who this D. A. S. may be. ‘Da Dvam Asini’ says R. with a laugh.”]
In the evening, when we reflect that, though the world is becoming increasingly alien to us, we feel increasingly close to each other, our thoughts move to my father, who is also completely withdrawn from the world but has not consciously bid it farewell, whence his melancholy and our serenity!