Tuesday, July 1:
R. had a very bad night. He dreamed of a journey with his sister, during which the carriage fell into a chasm. Telling me this at table, he says he is convinced Schopenhauer is right in his assertion that one wakes to death from life as if from a frightening dream, and that the death agony resembles the struggle which the sleeper makes to keep himself from waking and through which he tries to retain possession of his bad dream.
Visit from friend Feustel, who expresses the dismal suspicion that the theatre director in Leipzig, who is now making an appeal against the judgment, will declare himself bankrupt and is now only trying to gain time in order to bring his property into safety, so that no final judgment can be expected for at least two years, if at all. Not pleasant news; but Feustel is always so friendly, so helpful in every way, that R. is always cheered by his company.
To the new house, sitting; the bust is beginning to look better, and the good sculptor touches me with his remark that Wagner now looks completely different and that he has never before seen him so cheerful and so well, and that one would previously never have been able to visualize him at the center of such a family life. He also tells us some nice things about Uhland and his unpretentious nature. R. said, “The good comes so slowly and, so long awaited, is constantly being impeded, but the bad bursts over one, unforeseen.”