Thursday, January 5:
R. had a good night and went to work early. I with the children. The bombardment of Paris has now begun in earnest.
Family lunch; afterward a visit from Countess B., who tells us to our great delight that the King has granted their fief. We accompany her home; on the return journey I make with R. through the deserted snow-covered fields, we find pleasure in what R. calls our "insane" life. Will the children ever be able to visualize it?
As we passed the Protestant church in the town, R. saluted it and said: "What a friendly wedding morn that was! One felt as if all one's cares were being smoothed away. All the people who took part in that ceremony are sacred to me."
In the evening Richter brings back a letter from a Herr Danger in Pest, on behalf of the management, offering him the conductor's post there. Richter will have to accept it, but for us it will be difficult to let him go; we look on him, after all, as our eldest son!
Talking again about E. T. A. Hoffmann, R. says he is always intrigued by the dilettantism in Germany, for to a certain extent all our greatest poets have been dilettantes, who produce sketches, in contrast to the Greeks, whose work always seems complete and assured.
This leads us on to Prof. N.'s work, and R. says, "He is the only living person, apart from Constantin Frantz, who has provided me with something, a positive enrichment of my outlook."