Tuesday, September 2:
R. got up once, but he does not complain; our complete withdrawal into our tranquillity permits us to give rein to the humorous high spirits which are both his need and his most particular talent.
At lunch he tells me that he has gone back to work on his score; with facetious irritation he complains about the trouble transfigurations cause: it is always the same, he says, and one could leave it to others to do, then suddenly, “There have been very few comforters in the world - Beethoven, Mozart, Bach, Weber, the ones I call the original melodists.”
A French newspaper prints the article in full; it sounds quite absurd, and the picture of a woman dressed in the latest fashion brings home to us the utter wretchedness of la vie moderne.
In the evening friend Wolzogen; R. tells both him and me about Herr Haug's “crazy” book, full of the most curious things. R. says he cannot read much of it, but he intends to continue. He wants to write down again his ideas on religion.
Very nice letter from Lusch about the busy world, also a very cheerful one from Judith, and we in our love-enchanted haven of peace! …