Saturday, April 3:
R. slept well, but he dreamed about Meyerbeer, whom he met again in a theater and who said to him, “Yes, I know, my long nose,” as if R. had been poking fun at his nose, whereupon R. more or less apologized, and the audience applauded their reconciliation.
There is some dictation, although R. says at first that he is not enjoying it, but during work his spirits revive and he finds it pleasurable. A visit from the Liechtensteins in the afternoon vexes him, for he had just been sharply criticizing the character of the wife and the nature of the marriage, and insincere relationships are unbearable to him. A drive with the children to the Sejanus grotto; everything in bud, but it is still windy.
In the evening a merry meal and whist, during which R. quotes Hafiz’s line, “Sinning, to be a sinner,” and says how intoxicating the Anacreontic style becomes when transposed to the Orient. Its meaning, he says, can be both understood and defended, but it is not exactly a precept for young people.
He spoke at length yesterday about Goethe’s “The moment one starts to speak, one goes astray,” and says, quite rightly, that when one is speaking one is no longer thinking.