Friday, September 9:
Very bad night with constant coughing. I overdid it yesterday after all. The reports, proclamations, etc., from Paris are utterly ridiculous and repugnant. How and when can the war end? R. tells me that in Paris they have reports from St. Louis (near Basel) that the defenders of Strassburg made a sortie in which 10,000 Prussians were captured, killed, and God knows what else. In Basel, however, no one has even heard of it, so it is just the same old lies again, one is getting really tired of it.
In the evening R. reads Die Aufgeregten to Richter and me; he recalls that Heine once recommended this play by Goethe to Frau Laube, who was complaining of sleepless nights. It is unbelievably dull. I am vexed with Countess B.; she asked that my children take part in some tableaux vivants of wounded soldiers; I consented. Then I fell ill and discovered that, whereas Marie was to portray a noblewoman and young Elizabeth, my children had to appear as beggar maids. It should not really matter, and, praise God, Boni and Loulou noticed nothing at all; but I understand what is meant by it, and I am sorry that maternal vanity should induce so magnanimous a woman as the Countess to act so inconsiderately. Even at the christening I noticed she was not at all pleased to see my children looking so pretty in their little curls. I resolve to tell her quite calmly what is in my mind.
I am very glad that Boni and Loulou noticed and understood nothing at all, but admired Marie’s make-up and her important roles, and were quite content to take part as poor children. “General Holz” is here again, attending to our fireplace in the upper salon.