Tuesday, January 28:
R. slept well, and he does some work; yesterday, he said, he had spent all his time working on a correction.
At two o’clock a “banquet” - that is to say, our neighbors the Staffs and their family, and ourselves, a total of 18 people; it is all very cheerful and friendly, except that, when the ball is mentioned, R. betrays his disgust for this type of entertainment, saying that he knows very well how the men speak about the women. Apart from that, he is very benevolent and witty, and it makes us laugh a lot when he remarks about the new general that he seems to be less general (pointing to his head) than corporal (pointing to his body)!
R. goes for a walk, then takes a little rest, and in the evening seems not at all fatigued by the children’s party - on the contrary, he speaks of it with pleasure, saying how pretty they all looked.
Later a nice letter from E. Nietzsche brings the conversation around to her brother’s dismal book, and R. remarks that, when respect vanishes, everything else vanishes, too; “That is the true definition of religion; unlike Jesus Christ, I cannot be without sin, but I can respect the sinless state, can beg pardon of my ideal when I am disloyal to it. But our times have no feeling for greatness, they cannot recognize a great character. There can be no bond with it.”
Then we take up Le nozze di Figaro again, from the beginning to the Countess’s first aria, which R. says is so beautiful because it does not go further than it should - an aristocratic lady at her toilette, looking at herself in the mirror and asking herself what is happening - melancholy elegance.
When today he fetched me for supper, he came through my gray room and stood still on the staircase, while I waited for him downstairs in my “Maharajah” dress. I: “You are standing there like Walther von Stolzing.” He: “You have guessed my feelings exactly.”