Tuesday, March 25:
R. complains of tightness in the chest, and the weather is cold. He works, but nothing comes to him, he says, except a few bits and pieces, among them a scherzo theme for a symphony. He goes out in the afternoon, discovers that the Bayreuther Blätter has arrived, and when I come down to supper, he embraces me in great excitement; Glasenapp’s article and the reports of the growth of the Society have moved him greatly and instilled in him a sense of obligation, since nothing like this has ever happened before.
He remains in this state of excitement all evening and is also preoccupied with his composing. I do not know how he suddenly comes to the idea—though of course in a joking way—that Fidi may turn out to be a practical man of the world, who will find his papa and his mama terribly old-fashioned. If that were to be the case, all the papers would have to be left to one of the girls.
But R. adds that it is a good thing Fidi has not yet betrayed any signs of knowing what sort of person his father really is.