Tuesday, May 6:
In the early morning I went shopping with the children. I visited the dean, who told me that Prof. Ott, an expert, had praised our house highly, whereas a government official, always the hostile government, transferred here from Munich, had declared there was insufficient room in it. This statement reminds me of the question put by my father in Leipzig, as a result of Princess W.’s whispered promptings, whether we had sufficient room for the children! How woefully malicious people are!
Returning from my morning walk, I find R. in deep grief. He had received a letter from our friend Dr. Standhartner, had opened it with a smile, for the excellent man does not usually write to him, and discovered in it the news of the death of his eldest son, the sole aid of our dear friend! The same thing happened years ago, when, likewise after a long silence, he wrote to announce the death of his daughter. In his hour of sorrow he always thinks first of R. This man of few words feels the need to talk to him. We are deeply upset. I am reminded of the words R. once said to me: “The death of one of our children would mean my death.” On this day only genius Don Quixote and the frequently recurring phrase “Either I know nothing of adventures or” leave us able to laugh heartily over this pedantic preface. R. declares that nobody can laugh with him as I can, yet at the same time we are so sad, and my tears will not cease.
We walk to the theater with the children, and R. is vexed to hear that the stage will not be completed until the end of October, instead of the building’s being ready in September, when the patrons could have been invited to view it. In the evening the mayor, the dean, and friend Feustel come. There is first mention of the stork which has built its nest on a neighboring house, to the delight of us all. Then comes optimism and pessimism. Feustel opens with the statement that most people are good, and this annoys R., who falls into what he calls “one of his frenzies” and argues violently against it. Newspaper phrases and the French Revolution have made even these most sensible of people shallow. But it all ends in good humor.