Wednesday, January 19:
R. tells me that last night he dreamed he had been a minister at the court of Queen Anne of England and had quarreled with a Lord Evans. Aha, R. had thought to himself, he doesn't yet know who I am, he still thinks I am a musician! Much amusement from his description.
R. then tells me how happy he is with me, because of me. "Yes, if only I knew of just a single person who could be in the least compared with you, of whom I could say: 'Ah, that was the first draft, that has been brought to fruition in C.' The only things I fear are change and illness. I do not appreciate anywhere near enough how happy I am. I do not enjoy it nearly enough. I never want to leave this house again." How I thank God for this happiness! Who could estimate what such words do to my heart?
Letters arrive: from a man in Bremen, who thanks him for having so thoroughly drubbed the so-called conductors; from his friend Pusinelli; one from Claire, very nice. Lusch is driven to Countess Bassenheim's. R., accompanying her to the carriage, falls on the steps in front of the house, a great shock. Thank goodness he soon recovers and feels nothing but negligible pain.
In the evening, conclusion of Timon. In the afternoon the three children downstairs; Loldi says, "The wind talks so much."