Saturday, December 2:
Bad weather again, wind and snow. But R. slept well, and at breakfast we talk gaily of Fidi's Catilina, his inclinations toward the theater. Then he tells me about an article in the newspaper concerning a complete production of Goethe's Faust in Paris - a French actor wanted to attempt it, but it proved impossible. R. says that he remembers having once, in his youth in Dresden, seen Mephisto played very impressively by an actor named Pauli. He feels that, even when one is just reading it, one must take the greatest care to avoid any hint of declamation, and just allow the thoughts to make their effect by speaking them simply.
He begins his work, is somewhat annoyed by interruptions of various sorts. At lunch he displays a mixture of amiability and uneasiness. Fidi tells us about the play Hannibal which he saw yesterday. R. again expresses his antipathy toward the Romans, "who introduced no new principles to the world." (At lunch yesterday he told Fidi about Alexander's storming of a wall and quoted the soldier in Aeschylus: "Oh, King, he who acts must suffer.") We do not go out, and today it is somewhat cold, even in the house. All the same, we have a peaceful evening, and the whist game becomes quite merry (R., Loldi, Father, and I). (Before supper R. went through a little composition in my father's Weihnachtsbaum, and when I ask him to address his remarks about it to my father himself, he says, "That would be cruel.")