Monday, June 19:
R. in very good spirits after having sent everything off to Fritzsch. I write to thank Prof. N. In the afternoon I ask R. whether he knows for certain that we shall not be divided in death. “Yes, because we have no longings, because we find complete satisfaction in each other. If we did not, we should have to be born again. Your dear father, for instance, he will be born again.” A dream of roses.
“I am so happy,” R. tells me. “Now easily I could renounce the art of the future!” We go for a walk. During it I tell him how glad I am that through him Fidi will learn the right attitude toward everything: art, philosophy, Jews, religion, politics, so that he will be spared sterile misconceptions.
Military music is wafted across to us from Lucerne, and R. says, “Military music is the most unbearable thing I know, the epitome of the world’s vulgarity.” Letter from Alwine Frommann describing the tumult in Berlin, the ceremonial entry; everything one hears from there is exhilarating: Bismarck’s speeches, the words of the Emperor, who now always speaks of “the people,” which was never the case before.