Friday, August 15:
R. was up frequently during the night, and since my worry brings me close to the most extreme thoughts, I ask him if he really believes what he wrote at the conclusion of his program note on the Prelude to Tristan und Isolde - that one is never further away from the blessed region than when one attempts to enter it by force - should the loving woman outlive her lover. We decide to leave it all to Fate, and conclude the discussion with peals of laughter: a friend of mine writes about the remarriage of a Herr Harburger and adds that it is always the men who have loved their wives who remarry most quickly! So today R. is known as Herr Harburger!
Eva's condition causes no anxiety. We talk a lot about her; she always has a charming smile but at the same time is very deep and serious and full of wit. She is like R. I am pleased to find in her eyes the depth and sharpness of R.'s eyes, in Loldi's gaze their ecstasy, and in Fidi's their humor.
R., not well, undertakes the proofreading of Rubinstein's article reluctantly. We stick to our division of the children: he the healthy ones, I the sick one. In the evening we read Nohl's popular biography of Beethoven - curious ancestry! The journey to Berlin R. puts down to the restlessness of a genius, seeking something which he never finds, and the favors of the Viennese nobility to pangs of conscience over their neglect of Mozart.