Monday, July 18:
The children arrived home at 11:30 last night. I welcomed them from the window of my dressing room. At 3 in the morning I hear R.’s voice raised in great alarm. From the bathroom he saw Krug allowing one of the puppies to fall unnoticed into the pit! He calls the gardener’s assistant, who drags the little creature out with a rake!
I read some things in the newspaper to R., including a quotation from Schopenhauer criticizing the Jews, and R. makes a joke about “one Jew too many.” He completes his letter to Feustel about the firm of Schott. Lunch with the Wolz.’s, the last before their departure, chatted about all sorts of things; R. talks about fjords and sailing into them, he praises Helsingør, saying he saw it from the sea and felt Shakespeare must have known it.
We talk about visiting Tribschen again some time, but R. feels it would make us melancholy. About a week ago he was singing the praises of this cherished spot and recalling all the things he wrote there; the children noted it and thought we wished to go back. He is very pleased with a turn of phrase in his letter about the stupid legacies of Schott of blessed memory, which occurred to him today! But he is unwell, the beer did not agree with him, and we retire early.