Wednesday, March 2:
R. slept well, though he talked a lot in his sleep. It is a bright day, the sun already bringing us warmth. R. works on his score; but his fingers are still tormenting him, and the doctor, who comes today, seems unable to help at all.
Lusch’s letter, in which she describes her presentation at Court in connection with the wedding celebrations, amuses R. and me, too. We speak of it during our walk in the palace gardens, which is more wading than walking.
Before supper R. comes upstairs to my room singing the C Minor Symphony, but unfortunately he is vexed by a lady visitor who happens to be with me, and he again feels pains in his chest. In the evening we read the first act of Calderón’s La dama duende. Afterward we look at Schlagintweit’s book on India.