Monday, January 24:
Not an entirely good night for R., or for me.
The morning somewhat affected by this, and also R. has business troubles with Leipzig, which, it seems, has not shown the number of performances correctly; I admire R.'s astonishing memory, even for things of this sort. Severe cold — I do not go for a walk with R., since today everything is causing me excessive difficulty.
In the evening we read in Herr Glagau's newspaper, Der Kulturkdmpfer, a good article criticizing natural science today. R. says he is carrying all kinds of literary ideas around with him. His finger is now cured.
Yesterday, when we were talking about Lenbach and various immature things were said about him, R. stated his own opinion with his usual prudence, saying: “Very well, he does not reproduce the Moltke you all know, in a wig and an assumed pose: it is not this he sees; what he sees and depicts is the idea of Moltke, at times exaggerated. What people call his prattling comes from the false position which this man of the people, not highly educated but now famous, occupies in society. And if the reproach can be made that he speaks slightingly of all other painters, that is softened by the fact that he does not value his own painting a whit higher.”