Thursday, September 11:
Foolish letter from Gedon, the sculptor; silly communication from Herr Herrig, who has written a Barbarossa and an article on the theater. In this latter he makes proposals for a playhouse.
Arrival of the box containing the original scores of Lohengrin and Der Fliegende Holländer, the unpleasant feeling that my father has sent it without love. We had asked him for a copy of the parts not yet published; now he sends us the whole thing, and I know what comments others will make about this. Angry letter from Herr Bate, who says someone was about to form a W. Society in Frankfurt, but had been frightened off by the circular.
Oh, how happy we would be if R. could decide just to work, and not to worry about what becomes of his works!
In the afternoon a sitting in the house, which is also an object more of vexation than joy. It is said the Crown Prince is not coming. Our last evening with friend Schure, whom we now with a quiet conscience yield to France. When we were talking together about London, R. said, “In Paris everyone going out on business looks as if he is going for a walk, and in London everyone going for a walk as if he is on business.”