Tuesday, January 24:
R. had a very disturbed night; he reads a lot! — In the morning I hear him playing the enclosed melody [four bars of music, inscribed by Wagner “melody comp. by Shakespeare”]: “This is by the descendant of Dürer and Shakespeare,” he says; yesterday he observed that he could not understand how someone in proper health could choose Hell as a subject. [Added in margin: “Otherwise our morning conversation is about the Fantaisie, which is being sold!”] He answers Herr Ragusa’s letter in person, and all is settled peacefully, R. as usual prepared to make payment in full. Now all our thoughts are directed toward the new house. Unfortunately R. does not feel well; we drive to the Favorita, get out in the Via della Libertà, and frequently have to sit down for a rest. He notices an old and ragged man dragging himself along laboriously with a rake and a spade: “Always the aged who have the hard work!” R. exclaims. I: “Let’s give him something.” R. approaches him with our gift, the old man at first regards him with solemn surprise, then understands him, smiles, and continues laboriously on his way. “The earnestness of that look!” R. exclaims. I had felt it, too - the withdrawal from everything, from the whole world, which was expressed in this look. — We return home slowly, and R. has much vexation with the proofs of the piano score. We have supper later than usual and spend the rest of the evening in cheerful chat. (Fritz Brandt writes very reassuringly.)