Thursday, February 9:
I thank Frau W. for sending her book; I avoid praising the book itself, but speak earnestly and warmly about its subject. R., to whom I read my letter, is utterly against it and says to me, "What words are left for genuine things if we treat stupidities in this way?"
When I reply that I find it impossible not to treat seriously people who have shown friendship toward him and for whom he has felt sympathy, he replies: "If you did it only out of consideration for me, it makes me feel downright degraded. To guard against any sentimental mistakes, I sent this lady her letters back and had mine burned, for I do not want anything to remain which might suggest it was ever a serious relationship. The fact that I once spoke in tones such as you use in this letter is something for which I have already had to pay dearly enough."
Family lunch, at which I notice that R. is despondent; in reply to my question he tells me that our friend Serov has died, suddenly and in a manner as gentle as his soul! In him we have lost a good, true friend of our cause, with the goodness of a child, and we can say that with him his country has also died, whose best representative he was for us.
This news fills me with great melancholy. "How sad life is!" I say to R. My only help lies in the children; in order not to make them suffer for my melancholy I play with them as usual, and gradually I regain my normal appearance; what lies hidden beneath this outer guise is engaged in prayer.
We go into town, since the children want to see the Frenchmen. The behavior of the officers toward the ranks is hair-raising.
Splendid letter from Bismarck to Ollivier, who had written to King Wilhelm that, since he believed in God, he had also believed that He would save France: "Since you believe in God, the days of your life are not sufficient to beg forgiveness on your knees for the disaster you have brought on your fatherland."