Tuesday, March 30:
Thick snow everywhere; it dazzles my eyes, which are very weak. Munich is still wrapped in silence. Instead, R. brings a letter from one of the editors of the monarchical Wiener Zeitung, Dr. Leutner: he speaks enthusiastically of the Jewish pamphlet; its “contemplative calm” and the “disregard for the comforts and trials of life” propounded in it fill him with admiration.
An article in a newspaper, I do not know which one, calls R. the Hamann of the 19th century. R. tells me he recently read somewhere that he had written his Judaism because he envied Mendelssohn his genius and Meyerbeer his success; this made him ask himself: What, not Hiller his wife? For he could envy Hiller neither for his genius nor for his success.
R. is rather unwell, but he is working, and that puts him in good spirits. The weather clears up and I walk with him into town; glorious sunset, the whole of Tribschen transformed on our return. Was with R. at the antiquarian’s, then at the post office found a letter from Hermine. In a week I shall see the children again!
In the evening R. unwell, so I contain my joy inside myself.
I had a terrible shock during our walk; not far from the railroad R. was reading out loud to me a letter from Pohl, “This letter resembles not exactly a bad apple, but at any rate a baked one,” said R.; suddenly we see Kos in the middle of the track fighting with another dog, the train almost on top of him! R. seemed to shoot off like an arrow, and through his running and shouting he rescues Kos, himself escaping only by a miracle; but the sight!
In the evening finished reading Alcibiades.