Cosima's Diaries

Diary Entry of December 31, 1872

Overview

The last day of the year was marked by illness, money troubles, and a heavy sense of foreboding, with R. wrapped in blankets and unwell for much of the day. Practical worries piled up through letters, telegrams, and reports, including Vienna’s news that Dr. Kafka had smallpox, mounting housekeeping expenses, and the absurd complications surrounding Bayreuth and Berlin. She moved between children’s tasks, correspondence, and domestic bookkeeping while R. struggled with exhaustion and the pressure of his commitments. As midnight approached, she faced the new year with little hope but with resigned faith, asking only for the grace to endure and do good.

Content

Tuesday, December 31:

R. not well, wraps himself in blankets; a dismal specter is hovering over us. Yesterday a huge spider crawled out of his bed, in the morning! Well, it cannot bring us more troubles; we already have them all. But it is curious how spiders are connected with R.’s fate; they often appeared to him when things were bad between him and the King!

R. gets up around eleven o’clock. I write to Malwida M. and go to the children; Fidi is buying lights for the tree with Babett. Friend Feustel sends me a report on my savings, of which I understand nothing. Telegram from Vienna that Dr. Kafka is in bed with smallpox; hence no money can be sent! On top of that, the absurdities of Loeser’s Society for Berlin and Bayreuth.

Marie M. writes sadly and ill-humoredly, Marie Schl. as friendly as ever. I write to Herr Dannreuther, saying we are willing to come to London if there is the prospect of large receipts. Reports from Graz.

R. very unwell, goes to bed early; I stay up to look through the housekeeping books, deplore the heavy expenditures. Sorted and prepared children’s clothing. R. gets up again: complaints! Worry is making him ill, he says. Alas, I can well believe it; what lies ahead of him, and what is giving him the strength to face it? Yesterday he wrote to Mme Lucca in an attempt to get out of his Milan commitment.

It is nearly twelve o’clock as I write this; this year is ending gloomily, and the new lies gloomily in front of us. R. is weary of life, and I can only follow behind him, suffer with him, not help him! Faith is all I have, hope hardly any; the world is not ours, it belongs to other powers. But I would gladly suffer until my dying day, and I prefer being sad to being happy, if I could be that only for myself. But we cannot choose, and we should not wish for things, just take what comes. So at this midnight hour let me humbly accept as deserved whatever the coming year may bring, however hard, and may God give me the grace to do good!