Monday, December 19:
Lusch touches my heart by telling me she has dreamed of her father; he had been in a corner between R. and Richter and had been unable to get away. Letter to R. from an admirer of Schopenhauer in Pest, full of enthusiasm and veneration. R. works; I fully occupied with Christmas matters. The situation of our troops alarms me; a great mistake seems to have been made. R. says he would like to write a constitution for the German people—“to please you,” he says jokingly. In the evening Gibbon. (2nd edition of Beethoven?) Countess B. comes and says a rumor is going around that Trochu has broken through.
Today, as I am plaiting my hair in various ways and I tell R. I enjoy doing it, he replies: “When I first read about the Spartans, who plaited their hair before going thus adorned into battle, I got my first impression of life as a lovely game, in which people sacrifice themselves gladly and seek to approach the gods adorned in a worthy manner. That is the one world, and the world of Saint Francis of Assisi is the other.” Continued with Gibbon.