Wednesday, October 23:
R. slept well, and so I myself feel all the better when he tells me over our after-lunch coffee that I will see how he continues to improve. In this connection I remark that he is the only person I know who is able to be happy desiring nothing, neither fame nor power, nothing from outside, he leads a completely inner life. “If you count yourself as part of this inner life, then you are right; Fate had to bring me this gift, and then I wanted nothing else.”
The promulgation of the socialism law for 25 years ensures that one no longer has any desire to look ahead. A socialist newspaper is printing some articles on Art and Revolution; R. says, “They come somewhat late.” The weather is very wet; the lemures are working here, that is to say, a canal is being dug around the house to dry it out; we think of Faust, the splendor of its poetry! A rainy day, no walk, R. just for a short while in the garden, drafts a telegram to Herr Jauner about Jager, writes to Herr Lesimple about performances in Brussels. We spend the evening in the gold chamber, since in the salon preparations are going on for autumn and winter; contemplation of the pictures, which have been taken down; R. finds mine too superficial, the soul is lacking.
Continued reading Luther; the quotation of his last word in the socialist newspaper, in combination with the newspaper’s narrow-minded judgment, its lack of understanding, exercises R.’s mind greatly: “It is like having cold water thrown over one,” he says, “it teaches one a lesson.”