Thursday, August 11:
Constant discussion of the situation, R. convinced that the Germans will win; I have the faith, but with it the apprehension. R. says: As the Indians believe that an unfulfilled wish is the reason for the life of another soul, so does the wish of all good people to see the German character flower at last lay the ground for our victory over this much-feared France and its unconvincing-looking organization.
Dissuading Richter the day before yesterday from joining in the war (on the grounds that it was useless), R. said to him: “It will turn you into an adventurer; for love of me you have given up your position, now hold out. When you were in Brussels, I received a letter, signed Les mânes de Meyerbeer et de Mendelssohn, in which I was told that now I once again had a loyal friend, I should make haste to get him married, so that I could seduce his wife after destroying his life.” I reflect on this slander: no blame falls on R.; if there is blame, it falls entirely on me; how I must atone for it is a matter between me and my God. But Richard is as innocent as a baby.
I write to Claire, then family lunch, later a drive in spite of very bad weather, R. to the parson, I to inspect the hanging lamp. No news, except that the Alsatians, turned by the Church into fanatics, are shooting at wounded Germans, while the women pour hot water on the heads of our soldiers; some doctors have also been killed by the French. In consequence of this the Germans have shot 26 peasants. (Count Bassenheim suddenly polite to Richard!)