Wednesday, January 7:
R. had a good night, but the erysipelas is spreading, and Eva has severe pain in her knee. Nothing to do but be patient!
R. reads The Conversations of Goethe and Chancellor Müller and enjoys many things in it; he mentions the “consolidation of errors” and says that in Egmont Goethe went against his own nature, which was one of lofty forbearance; this could sometimes look like coldness, but great benevolence was in fact at the root of it. The remark about newspapers delights R.: “I shall even stop reading the Tagblatt.”
In the evening he gets me to read the book aloud right to the end, and all he regrets is that G. never managed to rid himself of the idea of God as a part of Nature concealed by Nature, whom one should not seek, although He is there; in consequence of this, one is obliged to look upon Christ, God’s son, as a problematical being. “It would be well worth the trouble to define what we mean by God, but who can do that?”
R. is much amused by the idea of finding world history on the Seifengasse. Otherwise, however, he is vexed with the ill luck that prevents him from enjoying this magnificent spot in all its glorious light. He explains the mysterious figure of Dr. Schrön by saying that the Germans are such donkeys: in foreign lands they set store by pretending to elegance. “They want to be like the others, but remain stuck in their shabby ways.”