Monday, January 24:
I am still ill, the children well, however; R. works. Yesterday we felt some sort of comfort in reading that Hans had played several times to small gatherings in Florence. “[//] tempo e gentil uomd”—perhaps it will bring him some balm.
On his walk R. meets our lawyer, who tells him the priest is claiming Fidi for the Catholic church. We hope it will all turn out right eventually. In the evening The Arabian Nights with Lusch. (In the morning a retaliatory poem from Baron Werthern.) R. reads something to me, for we had a great fright. Fidi fell from the sofa with a loud bump. R. in great agitation; Boni, who was there, laughs; afterward I ask her why, she says the way he snatched his cap from his head (she shows how). We all laughed a lot, and R. pointed out to me that one must always be gentle with children, for they very seldom poke fun vindictively, but simply yield to immediate impressions.