Friday, November 28:
R. dreamed of Rus, how he lay there like a shadow, run over, dead, but began to move under R.’s caresses—would love succeed in reviving him? R. sends for a stretcher, a sedan chair is brought, but it is occupied by some women; R., furious, wants to throw them out, but then he hears the sound of cart wheels and a trotting horse—it was the oven roaring, and he woke up!
R. works; first lunchtime with our friend. Dull weather; at 3 o’clock, the arrival of the machinist and the painter—the latter has left his sketches (the main thing!) in Passau. Annoying accident, on top of the wretched weather. Our evening conversation: the possibility of keeping to our opening date in ’75! Herr Hoffmann’s peculiar obstinacy; we ask ourselves: Is he a very significant artist, or simply a blatherer? The sketches will provide the answer.