Monday, April 21:
R. had a somewhat restless night, but he seems to be well. Confusion everywhere; Wahnfried is to be spring-cleaned, and we begin with the salon. R. works, now in ink, in my room; his reading matter in between still Carlyle, who is becoming a real friend; he likes the study of Jean Paul, and quotes me bits from it. (Difficulties are arising about the concerts.)
Sat in the garden in the afternoon with friends Wolzogen and Jäger—only for a short while, but a beginning.
In the evening conclusion of Rameau’s Nephew, with increasing interest; admiration for Goethe’s translation.