Saturday, January 9:
A bad night; violent headaches combined with nightmares, worry about the children, dismal thoughts about my mother and father, painful memories of the past, and apprehensions about the children’s future. My state of mind reaches the stage of blazing fear. “Oh, if only I had a sister!” I cry out in the silent darkness. Oh, my children, keep the ring of hearts intact! Only when joy and sorrow are sucked through the same root can trust and love emerge; the friendships which life brings in its course are all beset by humiliating doubts and misunderstandings. Unshakable, rewarding faith lies only in the love between sisters.
I rose, having slept little. The maid has gone for two days to visit her parents, and so I am now spending all my time in the children’s room. The children are good and well behaved; I can write and read in their presence; and Eva is now well again.
At midday Richard discussed with me the prospects for the immediate publication of the essay on the Jews; I told him I was incapable of saying anything at all about it, for, were one to tell me that it will cause him the greatest unpleasantness, or that it will be completely ignored or make a good impression, I should believe it all.
In connection with Fröbel’s article, Richard tells me he feels as if he had knocked with friendly intentions on the door of a house in which everything was as still as death, and all he heard in reply was the grunt of a pig. I feel very unwell, violent headache, but a walk in the fresh air does me good. Finished the Odyssey.