Sunday, July 3:
I am unwell; write to Lucca on R.’s behalf, R. himself writes Härtel’s a letter which I translate for Lucca. To town after family lunch. In the evening Macbeth, the impact of which is again a crushing one. “As with Antony, Hamlet, Othello, Shakespeare shows us in Macbeth a character entirely destroyed by Fate. Of the Macbeth as he is described to us and honored in the beginning there is no trace left, the demonic element takes control, and the individual ceases entirely to exist. That is the play’s greatness and tragedy.” At lunch during dessert Jakob brings us the silver laurel wreath from Weimar. It is truly handsome.
Letter from poor C. Frantz enclosing his Naturlehre des Staats; he had wanted to dedicate it to R. and asked if he might, but since R. did not reply he had not dared! The death of his son has robbed him forever of his joy in life.