Wednesday, December 28:
From my mother; still the same unwitting lies about the Germans’ execrable conduct of the war! Morning games with the children; R. with an effort writes his formal letter of gratitude to the King. News of a Prussian victory in the North, but our position is very serious. In the afternoon music from Tristan, played by Richter for me and Prof. Nietzsche. In the evening we finish H.’s Der goldene Topf, for which I place Hoffmann distinctly above Edgar [Allan] Poe, although the latter has more art, because H. is a poet. R. explains the profundity of his idea of looking upon the real world as a specter, while the world of fantasy is his true home. “Of course he does not succeed in making the latter plausible, because that is impossible. Cervantes set it to one side and in Don Quixote showed us only the negative aspect; for that reason his work is more perfect, but in outlook Hoffmann is related to him.”
(Yesterday visit from our good student, Schobinger, who comes from Basel and assures me he finds more pleasure in seeing me again than any of his relations. Prof. N. helped him to get his scholarship.)