Monday, January 10:
Our morning conversation concerns that disinherited part of humanity to which no ray of religion, let alone of art, can penetrate. We feel the irony of talking about Christian renunciation when all around us are hunger, need, oppression, apathy.
Molle arrives from Bremen, a good and handsome creature. Also a letter from Herr Neumann enclosing very large announcements. R. tells the children he would become so rich that he would have his trousers made with holes in them, so that money would spill out in all directions!
We go to Jouk.’s studio to look at the Magic Garden, which is still not quite right. R. feels rather run down; but over coffee we get immersed in a long discussion following what I have to say about Ottar Jarl. When I declare that Gobineau has vindicated medieval poetry’s claim to be regarded as original, R. disputes this view and says that it drew very largely on the Orient, and only the confused ancient heathen traditions were genuine; Wolfram’s Parzival is not genuine, and that is why it does not make much impression on one in spite of some very lovely features. “The first original work is my Ring des Nibelungen. The second part of the Nibelungenlied is original, too; the first part is a compilation.”
But he remarks on the Count’s sympathy for the heroes of the 11th century, who because of the vigor and independence of their characters were able, following their deeds of plunder and conquest, to bow down before holiness and become saints themselves. He continues, “It would be nice if we could also recognize some special qualities in the German character, some peculiar enlightenment, capable of absorbing quietly all that is foreign to it and reproducing it!”
We go for a walk in the palace gardens, watch the children skating, Fidi the Quaker, on account of his round hat. In the evening R. writes to Herr Neumann, complaining about all the business matters he now has to attend to.
Afterward our friends Schön, Heckel, Feustel. R. shows considerable composure, though he loses it when friend Feustel talks rather airily about the present prosperity and says that the farmers are pleased when they see some Jew who has come to buy their cattle. R. grows angry, regrets it, and says to me afterward that nothing upsets him more than having to listen to a string of platitudes and being provoked into making a reply which in any case will not be understood.
There is an amusing moment when Feustel, after observing that it is not only the Jews who are to blame for swindling the people, asks earnestly, “Who has the control over my purse?” “I,” says R.
Developments in France still continue to interest R. It is said that anti-Semitic demonstrations are assuming ever-increasing proportions!