Tuesday, February 22:
We are surprised to have received no reviews from Vienna of Die Meistersinger (due to illness or malice?). In the morning R. says to me: “You poor creature, having to look after so many things! First come I, the composing machine — there you have to take care that it is properly oiled and doesn’t squeak — and then the dozen children, who all have to be trained.”
Lulu reads me Robinson Crusoe, and this excellent book reminds me once more of the fate of great men: Daniel Defoe in the pillory — how dreadful!
In the evening The Wasps by Aristophanes.