Thursday, February 2:
Candlemas, moving today, packing amid many difficulties; it is reported that some English people in San Martino have been set upon and robbed, and we are advised to notify the prefect of our moving. Our final lunch goes off merrily, though what Lusch has told me about my father's condition and the torments he is having to undergo leaves me in a melancholy mood; he is being told that R. and I are complaining about his visits to us and that with R. he is exposed to ridicule! When I am alone with R. after lunch, I have to shed some bitter tears. A man of such talents and a life so miserably squandered, as if in the clutches of an evil witch! While we are talking with R. about it, we suddenly realize to what an extent his gift of virtuosity has condemned him to worldliness, and this is the dismal explanation for the whole thing. We resolve, when the moment seems right, to make a final onslaught on him, in an attempt to persuade him to make a complete break and remain with us.
I ask Lusch not to relate anything more of what she has heard about the people close to us, in order to spare the other children and allow them to keep their youthful bloom. We leave the room, remembering that here Parsifal was completed. R. says, “We are a large and very good family,” and in a rough wind we enter the carriage. “What will you pay me for leaving?” R. asks Herr Ragusa, who replies, “I'll pay you something to stay on.” Arrival at 3 o'clock, much confusion! But in the end a merry supper and a merry evening, for which Rub. joins us. A Fra Diavolo mood, since we are advised to keep our shutters in good order, but splendid moonlight. R. sends a copy of the Italian piano score to Prince Gangi with a little dedication. Downstairs in the salon, we recall the songs sung yesterday, and R. describes his move to the Rue de la Tonnellerie. The minuet from Mozart's E-flat Major Symph. was played yesterday on two pianos.