Sunday, January 7:
In the morning we come — I cannot remember how — to the subject of Gambetta; we recall Die Kapitulation and the fact that Nietzsche, for instance, had no understanding of it at all. R. says it is a complete lack of imagination which hinders understanding. Lusch comes to breakfast and tells us about the soirée.
Around lunchtime I go with R. to Reithmeyer's bank, where R. happily collects some money from his Königsberg royalties. Our friend Marie eats with us; R. is more taciturn than otherwise and in the afternoon in an ill-humour. But by the evening he is cheerful again, bubbling over with wit; when someone mentions the Jews, he says, "Oh, yes, our German culture would be completely icebound if it were not for this Schmierocco!" And many similar things. Since my father goes out, we decide on a reading, and R. reads Twelfth Night to us in his splendid manner.