Wednesday, January 3:
R. had quite a good night, and he writes some letters — to Fritz Brandt and various singers; yesterday he wrote to Levi. Today he receives from the latter a deeply serious letter which makes the best of impressions on him. But unfortunately the impression my father makes on him when R. visits him in the mornings is a very bad one! And there is much confusion at lunch; my father also believes for a moment that we are smiling at his expense, which greatly pains me.
R. and I go out in the afternoon; he is worried about his health and that his spasms do not let up. Then we pay a call on our landlords (the Della Grazias), who look exactly like Styrian aristocrats; R. views this as proof that the aristocracy everywhere is of Germanic origin.
Chat in the evening; my father is not there, he joins us later, calls for beer [the last three words obliterated in ink by an unknown hand], and R.'s indignation over this leads, alas, to a little argument between us!