Wednesday, January 10:
R. slept tolerably well and is very kind toward me; he thinks I am looking worn out and says it is impossible for me to regain my strength as long as he is the way he is. When I tell him that even to suffer with him is happiness, and that if in words and manners he prefers me to others, this is something I owe entirely to him — such lovely feelings take possession of us that they give me wings to surmount the day's troubles!
These troubles consist of R.'s health, his spasms, and his vexation — about the various things from which he has to dissuade the King, for instance; he says that in his rage he has added only one sentence to the letter during the whole afternoon. He is also oppressed by the smallness of the rooms; he misses books and music, but when I suggest we return to Wahnfried, he cannot make up his mind to do so.
Around 6 o'clock my father plays to us the Andante from the A Major Symphony and the Scherzo Allegretto from the F Major; twice during the latter R. comes in dancing, which makes Fidi laugh a great deal. At supper afterward he is in very good spirits, and when there is talk of Oberdank and bomb-throwing, he reproaches our friend with also having thrown bombs; when she protests, he says to her, "Oh, yes, you did, you are a bonbonnière!" Dr. Kurz, recommended by Jouk., comes in the evening; he describes R.'s complaint as a stomach neuralgia and says it is a good sign that his spasms take place mainly before and not after mealtimes.
When we are alone, R. criticizes the broad tempo in which my father took the Andante of the A Major; he calls this a failure to appreciate the character of the piece. He then tells me he has a number of themes and would like to write a symphony, but wonders how he will find the tranquillity for it. (A few evenings ago, while in bed, he sang to me the theme of a "vigorous and warlike funeral march.") Today we thought lovingly of Friederike Meyer.