Thursday, December 28:
R. had a good night’s rest, but we rise late. Around lunchtime we stroll on the Piazzetta in the most glorious sunshine. R. is also in a particularly good mood, since he was able to begin his work - a report on the symphony. That always washes away all his irritation. Venice pleases him, and, thinking of his symphony, he goes on to his life, to our union, and he says with tremendous gaiety that we were quite right not to wait for the cotton gloves. (This reminds him of the bishop’s blessing which Ed. Devrient introduced into the second act of Lohengrin!)
At lunch my recollections of Mrs. Lewes (George Eliot) come up, and I relate that people said she looked like Savonarola; R. then starts to talk of the latter’s personality, recalls Gob.’s description and observes that if S. had been cleverer, he would have provided a subject for the fine arts, but through the influence he exerted one can see to what extent aesthetic considerations pale when the world of morals makes itself felt.
My second Christmas gown has arrived; I put it on in the evening for R. and the children. But the day ends dismally: R. tells me that he gave Georg 100 francs as a reward for six years in his service; since Christmas has just gone by and there seems no real justification for it, and also our expenses are not matched by our income, I am stupid enough to make a remark about it to R. This annoys him extremely, and it takes me a long time and many confessions of remorse to pacify him.