Tuesday, April 8:
R. does not feel well; yesterday evening was a strain on him. He did some singing, too, and the tightness in his chest is worse. On top of that, raw weather! But he does some work and is very pleased with it.
In the evening we first of all play whist with the children, then we finish Carlyle’s “Voltaire” with great enjoyment; R. is very much taken with the remarks about Christianity and the summary of his whole personality in the words “highly accomplished trivialist”; I follow along, echoing his feelings.
Ch. K.’s book put me in a melancholy mood today, on account of the preface: so this unfortunate creature was also mauled by the outside world, and the publication of these pages I find so moving brought her only mockery and shame! One could almost say of books, too, when one considers their fate, better if they had never been born.
When I tell R. that I believe my inclinations would have been toward Schiller rather than Goethe, since Schiller appears to have been one of those beings who could never be brought into harmony with the world, whereas Goethe strove to achieve such harmony, R. says, “Yes, and from this there arises in Schiller a great need, whereas Goethe is all seduction.” He then recalls his own youth and the “pitiful social surroundings” in which he spent his whole life - “but I remember I was always very easygoing and dragged everyone along with me, like Apel, for instance.”