Sunday, March 27:
R. again at his work. I at my embroidery. Lunch with the children. Afterward R. talks about The Merchant. Shylock a completely axiomatic figure; the others under the influence of a single law and a harmony which is given expression in the 5th act, nocturnal atmosphere, the love of music. But what does Shylock care about music? No one in fact expresses this awareness, they are just immersed in it, and they forget Shylock as soon as he is overcome; but we see and feel it thus.
Lusch play-acts in front of us and in doing so mentions, to my consternation, “Prince Bonaparte, who murders people; that is French.” In the evening great weariness.
Monday, March 28:
I very tired, on the edge of tears, have to struggle hard to teach and embroider. Sorting out summer clothes. Bathed children. Wrote to Prof. Nietzsche. Yesterday evening, as we were reading the Iliad, R. said, “The fact that Alexander has found no poet to celebrate him shows the attitude of a poet toward experience—how for him everything is just intuition.” (Doris Brockhaus’s fiancé has died suddenly.)
In the evening R. gets very agitated, believing that I am being worn out by looking after the children so unremittingly. His habit of looking on the black side convinces him that I am trying to punish myself. “On the one hand the Nibelungen must be completed, on the other the children must be looked after by you alone. If you ruin yourself with it, you will say it was Fate.” This remark causes me much sorrow.