Thursday, January 8:
R. had a good night, and the erysipelas is disappearing; Eva is also somewhat better and much more lively. Sunshine in rain! In the afternoon I stroll for the first time in the garden, absorbed and oblivious, accompanied by the melody of the three graces from Tannhäuser, which R. described to me as “sensuousness transformed into beauty.”
R. is reading a book, Thalysia, by a French vegetarian, Gleizès, which has been sent to him; he likes it very much.
He cites to me the story of the two Arabs; one of them ate dates and scattered the stones around, the other ate a lamb and threw the bones away; through the one a palm grove sprang into existence, through the other decay was spread. “World history begins at the point where man became a beast of prey and killed the first animal.” R. somewhat disgruntled by his illness, his cotton-wool mask: “I know exactly when the weather will turn bad, when I am allowed to go out of doors again.”