Sunday, January 22:
R. had a good night, and we discuss yesterday’s reading, the significance of the Arab people, and Gobineau’s overestimation of the Normans, who in fact simply took over the beautiful things they found in order to enjoy them; they created nothing themselves. He writes a letter to Rub.’s father, praising his son, and around midday goes for a walk in the garden opposite, where Prof. Salinas, who came to fetch Siegfried for an outing, finds him. In this otherwise cultured man he detects the same limited outlook common to all people who occupy themselves with art, and he is glad when I arrive, since he “chatters too much.” We accompany Jouk. to the ship and take leave of him there with much waving. At supper Fidi pleases us with his efforts to take over from our friend in our conversations; he talks about a conspiracy in Constantinople, mining disasters, etc. R. says, “He is saying, ‘Please put me in his place.’ ” — We play whist and Chopin! The latter pleases even R. with his melodic refinement, which is indeed downright astonishing in one who, as a virtuoso, as R. says, had to provide scope for rhetorical brilliance. When we are alone, he takes a friendly attitude toward me; we comment on the ability to say the most terrible things lightly, and we talk of Minna, too. When R. mentions that it was not until the year 1864 that he told me about her infidelity, I can reply to him that, when he told me about it in the garden at Starnberg, I had the feeling that only to me could he have said it; and the fact that he did say it left me with indescribable feelings. (The letter to Rub.’s father has put something of a strain on him, he complains about having things of this sort demanded of him, but, according to his account, he spoke very warmly of our friend.)