Wednesday, January 20:
R. wakes from a horrible dream: again I had left him after a quarrel and did not wish to return home, saying there was no place for me there; he met me with my mother in a hotel, wanted to take me home; my face and body were covered in boils, my eyes swollen, like a sort of plague which, so it seemed to him, I had deliberately contracted. While he was looking for me, he was jostled by people who wanted to attend the rehearsals and addressed him as “dear master”; at last he seizes hold of me, I stagger, throw him a questioning look, and collapse; he wakes up. Among the figures jostling him was Marr from Hamburg, whom he did not recognize, so grand had he become.
He falls asleep again in the morning and wakes up with an image of Rus having been run over. I dreamed, as I frequently do, of Marie M.
We read yesterday about the opening of the Opera in Paris: La Juive, Les Huguenots, Tell - how miserably low has this great nation fallen!
In the evening a ball at the district president’s house; he and his wife both paying very great attention to R. Home around 12 o’clock, R. and I, we sit down for a while and...