Thursday, March 9:
Days of silence. This evening an express letter came. I thought it was news from Paris, but it was only a notification from Philadelphia that R.’s terms had been accepted.
I wrote to the children. I am now writing again to Paris, that I may hear something. R. orchestrates and holds rehearsals. He is worn out, but soon recovers, spends the evening alone with me; The Gospel of Saint John, Theologia Germanica, I read it to him.
“Death is the deed and the deed is death.”