Monday, December 9:
My concern was not mistaken, he did not have a good night. We change our daily routine so that R. can go out for a while before lunch.
In the morning R. comes to the subject of original sin, saying, with reference to Nietzsche’s assertion that all are innocent, that this is correct as regards operare, but the sin lies in existence itself, the will to live, and the God without sin is the one for whom life is a sacrifice, and his life in consequence becomes a revelation.
Arrival of blankets from Vienna! Ordered by R. as a “belated gift for November 28.” I, touched and overemotional, succumb to indescribable sadness when I am alone and gaze out on the snow-covered earth. Lusch is ill, Fidi again unwell, sleepless nights, worrisome thoughts, and now a joy! The poor spirit breaks down and cries out for peace. But the cry is choked back, and when R. remarks at lunchtime that I am not looking well, control is restored.
Of Busch’s book R. says he would be ashamed to show it to foreigners. He talks about his “friend” Schmitt, saying the latter is now attacking him in the newspapers! “I have had fine friends” (thinking of K. Ritter, Nietzsche, etc.), “and one is always aware that the external enemies see through the hollowness of such relationships, however glowing at the outset, and rejoice.”
From L.’s indisposition R. comes to talk about the girls and says how greatly he was touched, back in the summer, when he had been cross with the children and Loldi, lying in her bed, had pressed him to her; he had felt her little breasts against him, and this revelation of maidenliness had touched him like an intimation of Fate.