Monday, October 30:
In the morning we say goodbye to our children the Gravinas. In spite of the persistent rain R. is in good spirits. He gazes at the palaces opposite and exclaims, 'What things like that have to tell about history and events!' And later he returns to the theme, admiring the building of these massive, elegant things in the middle of the sea.
His work is soon finished; since I am not feeling very well, he goes out with Eva and is pleased to encounter the flower woman. Because Lusch is in bed, we have only the three children at table for lunch and supper. A large pile of newspapers has arrived; R. is pleased that Herr Herrig describes Siegfried and Die Meistersinger as the blossoms of R.'s spirit. R. shows me the new Dresden barracks in the III. Zeitung.... 'How should a city be built? - If anyone were to ask that: No city should ever be built,' he says.
Alone in the evening, we become involved in a deep and far-ranging conversation. I admit to him that, when I read books like the one about Buddha, I then find it difficult to recapture the right mood for Elective Affinities, which I have just taken up; though I find every feature of it masterly and admirable, I fail to be moved as before. R., though remarking that Eduard's letter, which he has just looked at, pleases him greatly, agrees with me; he says Goethe took refuge in things like that because of a deep ennui with his surroundings. When I say that his works and Shakespeare will always remain impressive, he replies, 'They are the exemplars,' as it were, of the doctrines, and he remarks that there was something in this portrayal of Buddha which had been new to him - his terrible strictness.
While we are engaged in this talk, a telegram arrives from Voltz, so pitiful and so curiously in line with our conversation that we burst out laughing. R. replies, 'Demand my money, infamously withheld; period.'