Wednesday, December 1:
R. tries to force himself into working, but it cannot be done; he is unwell, and on top of that we have to suffer the piano tuner. I with the children as usual. In the afternoon R. goes through the third act of Siegfried with Pohl. In the evening the biography.
Saying good night, I confess to R. that the presence of any other person makes me sad; everyone who is in touch with the world and brings news of it disturbs the quiet rhythm of our life here, or, rather, evokes a mood of melancholy in me.