Tuesday, September 13:
Still indisposed, but able to give the children their lessons. Prof. Nietzsche writes to R., he is back in Erlangen and is ill. I wrote to Rothschild for my money—God knows whether I shall still receive anything. R. works on his Beethoven—too much, in fact, for he gets floating specks before his eyes. Letter from M. Meysenbug, who regrets the bombardment of Paris, which annoys R. We agree that what happens there must happen, and that it is great foolishness to jabber about these things.