Sunday, February 6:
Snowfall: 'Winter learns in its old age to turn white,' R. says. He has a headache; I write letters to Prof. Lagarde, Mimi, who wants to arrange a performance of Tristan in support of our theater, etc. R. goes for a walk with the dogs, his only pleasure now in the outside world.
It is being said in Meiningen that Hans has bought a house there and intends to marry a beautiful Russian woman; how gladly I would believe this, but I have no hopes in this regard. I am having to struggle against an increasing melancholy!