Friday, June 27:
R. dreamed of some danger to which Fidi was exposed, on the edge of a terrace, and it woke him up. Close, stormy weather; at about twelve o’clock I see R. strolling in the garden, fear that he is feeling unwell or vexed, go down, and find him cheerful, already back at his desk, writing something down; he says he intends to give his article a different ending: “My one and only!” he calls out to me gaily; and, relieved, blissful, I return to my work, to life!
The promised heat does in fact arrive; coffee in the summerhouse, friend W. joins us, and, speaking of his article, R. says he is going to write once more about religion, and he develops his idea that the new religion will one day evolve from the workingman, from an industrialist who loves his workers. Around 6 o’clock we set off with the children for Angermann’s cellars, or rather gardens; a very merry stop there, return via the lovely village of Altstadt, across the meadow, great delight in places new to us, and in the gathering dusk the solemn palace gardens provide us with a lovely entrance to Wahnfried. A blissful day, in which all jarring notes are banished by the power of our love and our star.
[Added at bottom of page: “I had to write to Mr. Cusinah (?), who had asked R. to compose a song, offering 630 marks for it; since R., as I believe, could do with the money, he gives me a smile and says, ‘But the humiliation of it!’ ”]