Thursday, September 9:
R. is not very satisfied with his condition, but he is cheerful, and when he notices Fidi’s frequently open mouth, he says to him, “Beethoven would have composed much more if he had kept his mouth shut.” I speak to friend J. about the portrait of R. which I so much want to have; R. says, “It should have been done ten years ago, now there are too many signs of old age.”
R. rules lines in the morning. An attack of dizziness prevents me from going to lunch; in the afternoon R. comes to me, we read the poem An Werther, and R. laughs heartily over the line “A fearful death has brought thee fame.” But when I read to him the “Elegy,” he stops listening, saying it is conceivable that one might feel the need to define a serious relationship poetically, but such things one should then keep to oneself. He settles me down on the balcony after a thunderstorm has cleared and refreshed the air splendidly.
In the evening we read Werther to the end, I as far as Ossian and R. from there on, cutting short the embarrassing quotation, to the conclusion, all of us still greatly affected.