Monday, January 17:
R. dreamed thoughts which had been much occupying my mind, and did not have a very good night. But he works. At lunch he tells us about the war against the Turkomans, another of the Count’s stories. My report of a visit to the Berrs’ and the growing insanity of the husband produces from R. the remark that everyone in the grip of passion is close to insanity, that is to say, clinging to one fixed idea and ignoring everything else. We talk about Othello and he recalls what “was not very long ago.”
In one’s memory, he says, names disappear first of all, since they are a convention which has nothing to do with the person, whom one can still see quite clearly. We read the Crown Prince’s words to Councilor Magnus, and when the question is raised what he can do now, R. says, “Keep his mouth shut.” When I observe that this aggressive attitude probably stems from fear, R. says, “Yes, and from the idea of being liberal, moving with the times, ideas which the Crown Princess brought with her.” He would never forget her “Oh, no, Fritz,” in connection with Bayreuth, he said recently.
In the morning a remark by an acquaintance brought into my mind the question of the confirmation of the two girls; I talk to R. about it, and as a result he decides to send the letter off to Herr Frege. When I come down to supper, after we parted very amicably on returning from our walk, I find him in a very agitated state of mind; bills, the eternal trouble with the new water supply, perhaps the dispatch of the letter as well, in short, he is in a very bad humor, and when some of our friends arrive, their presence does not help to dispel his gloom.
He tries Mozart’s E-flat Major Symphony with Humperdinck and talks of the difficulty of doing the Adagio properly, showing us how it is usually played at concerts. But then Rub. plays us the first part of the Opus 106 Sonata, and our delight is boundless! In fact, we cannot get over the impression it makes on us, and when we are alone, R. and I, so many words of liberation and happiness escape our lips that I shall have difficulty in remembering them. R.: “It is like being taken into the workshop of the Will, one sees everything moving and stirring as if in the bowels of the earth.” “Anyone who could translate this into words would have the key to the enigma of the world.” “Cries of passion to which the workshop opens its doors.” “Not even Shakespeare can be compared to it, for what he has created is too closely connected with the world’s misery.” “In the symphony Beeth. lets others play, here he himself is playing.” “And all that in the form of a sonata, what a sonata!”
We end this enchanted evening by recalling that we have now been living together for 17 years.