Wednesday, November 1:
R. did not have a good night, and I am so low in energy that when he jokes somewhat dryly that I never find anything for him, I cannot restrain my tears! The little bell opposite also vexes him; but his work goes well, and he helps me in my own so sorrowful task.
We ride as far as the Miracoli and walk home from there. In the afternoon we meet in Saint Mark's Square, which is once again teeming with people. His chest spasm forces him to sit down again beneath the portal. We meet our old friend, who tells us very amusing things about Frau Lucca - how every month she falls in love with some young opera composer.
We sit with the children under the arcades and then have a lovely homeward journey beneath a starry sky. In the evening we discuss the Glasenapps' move to Bayreuth, which seems to us urgently necessary. Then R. talks about the first movement of Beethoven's E-flat Major Symphony, its perfection, and the fact that it never makes much of an impression on the audience. When he mentions the great difference between the Fourth Symphony and the Eroica, I tell him I have the feeling that the former was written before but did not appear until after the latter; he agrees with my hypothesis, saying the Fourth follows quite naturally from the Second Symphony. Lovely bells! And boats full of people sail past to the churchyard of S. Michele.