Sunday, January 1:
R. dreamed that he was thrashing a boy, using a tallow candle, which proved to be unsuitable—too soft—for the task, whereupon he woke up! We both look cheerfully toward the approaching year, and evidence of his good mood is seen in his telegram to my father [in English]: “We belong, we belong to the temperance society!” ... He works but is still having trouble with the ink, feels like interrupting his work, which is tiring him, and comes to lunch looking tired. However, he soon recovers his spirits, and we are soon in lively conversation, mainly about what he is reading. We then drive with the children to the Tascas’ for a kind of New Year’s court, of which R. quickly becomes weary. We soon make our way home, where we are then obliged to receive the prefect and his wife, and are glad when we can sit down to a game of whist, after a lengthy talk about the world situation! ... After whist, memories of Munich and its former intrigues come into our minds!