Thursday, January 11:
I hear R. saying in his dreams: "If He created me, who asked Him to? And if I am made in His image, the question remains whether I am pleased about that."
Today R. finishes his letter to the King; I take our friend to the station. On my return home, I find R. very annoyed by news of a visit from friend Gross; he sends a telegram asking him to wait to see what effect his letter has. Lunch is lively and cheerful; among other things, we talk of Mme Viardot, and R. relates his experiences with this singer. R. has had a nice letter from Herr Siehr, to whom he sent the very understanding one from Herr Scaria. In the afternoon he pays a visit to my father, and proposes to him that he remain with us. There was a report in a newspaper to the effect that we were living in a sumptuously furnished first-floor apartment, whereas my father had only a modestly equipped one on the mezzanine floor; this annoys R.
In the evening we are alone, R. and I; before going off with the younger girls to Malipiero's, Siegfried reads to us the first scenes of his comedy, Die Lügner! We take delight in the boy, he is good-looking and talented, and R. observes that the Gotthard was good for him.
Talking of earlier attachments, R. says he is ashamed of them all. When I tell him that one should never be ashamed of such generous illusions, he says, "I seldom allowed any free speaking — if there had been free speaking, it would certainly not have been very nice." When we are alone together, we read Hamlet (the scene with Polonius, the King, and the Queen, then Hamlet and Ophelia, Hamlet with Guildenstern and Rosencrantz, etc., up to the players' prologue) with ever-increasing astonishment and emotion; we are indeed carried right out of ourselves, and I feel as if Richard, Hamlet, and Shakespeare have become one, as if I can comprehend the one only through the other, as if Hamlet could never be understood except with R.'s voice, R.'s character except with Shakespeare's genius, and neither except through this creation of Hamlet. The goodness of Hamlet's veracity — how could I feel this so deeply if I had not experienced it through R.?