Thursday, February 11:
Hangover, rumors of war, and gray skies. The first oppresses R., the second clouds the newspaper, and the last troubles me.
The children lively; Loldi, to whom I offer a doughnut, says she has already had one. On closer examination it turns out that she dreamed of a doughnut.
R. is unwell, but he is continuing to work, if with ever-increasing repugnance, on the Devrient article. I spend the whole morning with the children and am able in the course of it to finish Winckelmann’s Life.
Regarding my attitude toward the former, R. says I seem to have missed my vocation as a sister of mercy. He also thinks I am too good; but he should know that all the goodness he sees in me is only a reflection of his love.
Our conversation about the Dürer picture brings us on to Luther. He would still like to find time to write that comedy with Luther as hero, and he says that in his thoughts he always literally lives with him; he feels related to him in many ways.
In the afternoon a walk in the garden with R. and the children. The sun comes out, “more to listen than to shine,” and we see a beautiful rainbow.
Talked a lot about Calderón. R. stresses particularly how in the plays, after the characters have literally spent all their passion, the moment arrives when they experience a sudden reversal of will, and a mood of complete resignation diverts them from their violent misdeeds, making them appear magnanimous and noble. Thus Flerida in El secreto a voces, and the King almost throughout.
In the evening, dictation.