Saturday, August 3:
R. had a good night; he goes off to his work. I busy myself with the children and various domestic matters. R., oppressed by the sultry weather, does so need a blue sky.
[Blackbird silence!]
In the afternoon he continues inking in. A young man in Freising writes suggesting that, in order to restore his reputation, R. give a concert for the starving people of China. He would like to see R. freed from slander, and not, like "the great Tilly," pursued by it after his death!
In the evening Baron Seydlitz, with wife and mother, the last of whom has not seen R. for 30 years and finds him looking healthier and younger! An indescribable pleasure for me. R. says, "I shall really live to be very old." When these people have gone, R. tells me that, as he walked past our grave, he imagined to himself how the other would feel when one of us died: to linger on alone for a long time would surely be impossible now. God, who has so far been so gracious to us, will surely remain gracious to us at the end! Thought of past times, of Hans! ...