Wednesday, May 18:
R. was up once during the night. In the morning he is amused by the peacock’s call; he says it sounds like the cry of a greatly astonished woman: “Herr Jesus!”
He finishes a letter to the King in which he defends the scene painters, whom the King has criticized harshly; R. laughs and says, “You can’t do that with me - I’m all for being just.”
We drive up to the theater with the Count. R. looks at it with cheerful pride; and in the evening, when he reads that many people in Berlin find the Nibelungen tiring, he is extremely glad to see this mentioned, because he thinks it is correct.
On coming down to supper, I find him in melancholy reflections, watching the last rays of the sunset; he is somewhat absent-minded toward me, and then he tells me that he has been writing a few words about Herr Heim, the musical director in Zurich, at the request of some friends. Undoubtedly he was thinking about his death as he looked out of the window.
In the evening a quarrel develops between the Count and him about the Irish, whom Gobineau declares to be incapable of working. R. becomes very angry, says he would not work under such conditions either, and he castigates the English aristocracy. The Count goes so far in his ideas as to reproach the Gospels for interceding on behalf of the poor. But it all ends very amicably; R. admits that he does not know the problem in detail, and the Count says to him, “Vous voyez la chose en philosophe et moi en homme d’affaires” [“You view the matter like a philosopher and I like a businessman”].