Saturday, December 15:
R. had a good night, and he works; I am with the children. Short walk with R. in the palace gardens, since the damp air does not agree with him. I remain outside in the garden and, after a few turns in the gloom, am suddenly bathed in light: the moon is shining brightly down on me, and a star sends me a mild and friendly greeting. It is as if they have understood my thoughts and are blessing me, the one with courage, the other with comfort! With a full heart I go indoors, to find R. dissatisfied with an advertisement announcing “a sketch for a sonata.” He would like to see the work described as “a fantasy for an album,” thus explaining its “elegant triviality”; altogether he is displeased that it should have been published without his being sent a proof. In the evening the history of the Arabs again, and some passages from Die Meistersinger.