Sunday, January 11:
R. got up once; he fears dysentery, but in the morning he is feeling somewhat better. We listen with pleasure to a cock crowing. I sing Tristan, and he laughs and says, “We are a hardy lot.”
Much about Germany and Italy: “That woman’s letter yesterday did me a lot of good; we must hold on to this sense of the almost religious power of music. I have so few hopes of a German revival.” Whereupon I: “Yes, but one must do one’s work, and your mission in life is art.” He: “Yes, and in Germany there is so little art; it is as if Schiller and Goethe were, or might have been, something other than artists, philosophers, scholars, and so on, and then one day they asked themselves: might one perhaps also write poetry in the German language?” He praises the 18th century, Rousseau’s and Voltaire’s sympathy with animals, and he feels that our present age, with its vivisection, can only be described as barbarous in comparison. “But they knew nothing about Christianity; all they saw was the church, and they did not understand how that came about historically. Schopenhauer was the only one; and before him Kant, but in a foolish way.”
Then he observes that one cannot get into a gloomy state of mind in this place: “We should have built Wahnfried here. Though in time we should probably become sad at having no purpose in life, not even for the children.” Last night in bed he said, “I’ve just been thinking of the theme of the Andante in the C Minor Symphony; there is nothing else either composed or written to compare with it.” Around noon a visit from Dr. Schron, who speaks quite interestingly about the talent of the Italian people. R. agrees with him when he says that the Germans have never produced political martyrs like Poerio and others.
Toward evening R. feels so unwell that the gloomiest of pictures is imprinted on my mind; should I keep silent about it, or should I talk about it? I do not know. But I have nobody in whom I could confide except for this page, and I have the feeling that soon I shall have nothing more to say even to this page.