Friedrich Munch, and his sister, Elizabeth.
A herd of horses broke out of the enclosure.
Two friends went for a morning ride.
“Devils, save me from this benightedness!” shouted an old merchant who had wearily lain down on the sofa in the evening and now, in the night, got up with difficulty
only by calling upon all his strength. There was a hollow knock at the door. “Come in, come in, everything that is outside!” he shouted.
15 October. Perhaps I have caught hold of myself again, perhaps I secretly took the shorter way again, and now I, who already despair in loneliness, have pulled myself
up again. But the headaches, the sleeplessness! Well, it is worth the struggle, or rather, I have no choice.
The stay in Riva was very important to me. For the first time I understood a Christian girl and lived almost entirely within the sphere of her influence. I am incapable of
writing down the important things that I need to remember. This weakness of mine makes my dull head clear and empty only in order to preserve itself, but only insofar
as the confusion lets itself be crowded off to the periphery. But I almost prefer this condition to the merely dull and indefinite pressure the uncertain release from which
first would require a hammer to crush me.
Unsuccessful attempt to write to E. Weiss. And yesterday, in bed, the letter was boiling in my head.
To sit in the corner of a tram, your coat wrapped around you.
Prof. G. on the trip from Riva. His German-Bohemian nose reminding one of death, swollen, flushed, pimpled cheeks set on the bloodless leanness of his face, the blond,
full beard around it. Possessed by a voracious appetite and thirst. The gulping down of the hot soup, the biting into and at the same time the licking of the unskinned
heel of salami, the solemn gulps of the beer grown warm, the sweat breaking out around his nose. A loathsomeness that cannot be savored to the full even by the
greediest staring and sniffing.
The house was already locked up. There was light in two windows on the second floor, and in one window on the fourth floor as well. A carriage stopped before the
house. A young man stepped to the lighted window on the fourth floor, opened it, and looked down into the street. In the moonlight.
It was already late in the evening. The student had lost all desire to continue working. Nor was it at all necessary, he had really made great progress the last few
weeks, he could probably relax a little and reduce the amount of work he did at night. He closed his books and notebooks, arranged everything on his little table, and
was about to undress and go to sleep. By accident, however, he looked towards the window, and when he saw the bright full moon it occurred to him that he might still
take a short walk in the beautiful autumn night and somewhere or other, perhaps, refresh himself with a cup of black coffee. He turned out the lamp, took his hat, and
opened the door to the kitchen. Usually it did not matter to him at all that he always had to go through the kitchen, this inconvenience also considerably reduced the rent
of his room, but now and then, when there was an unusual amount of noise in the kitchen, or when, as today, he wanted to go out late in the evening, it was annoying.
In despair. Today, in the half-asleep during the afternoon: in the end the pain will really burst my head. And at the temples. What I saw when I pictured this to myself
was really a gunshot wound, but around the hole the jagged edges were bent straight back, as in the case of a tin can violently torn open.
Don’t forget Kropotkin!
20 October. The unimaginable sadness in the morning. In the evening read Jacobsohn’s Der Fall Jacobsohn. This strength to live, to make decisions, joyfully to set
one’s foot in the right place. He sits in himself the way a practiced rower sits in his boat and would sit in any boat. I wanted to write to him.