Tuesday, April 18:
Terrible night of worry and alarm. R. wakes up suddenly with fits of shivering; I send for the doctor, who is pensive, wants to wait and see how it goes, but cannot help laughing and saying: “The things that can happen to one! Who could have told me that I should this night be making the acquaintance of R. Wagner?”
As he came in, he asked, “Are you the Richard Wagner, I mean the particular R. Wagner?” Whereupon R.: “If you mean the one who has written such pretty things, yes, I am he.”
R. gets somewhat better, but has to stay in bed. I read Goethe’s Italian Journey to him and receive a visit from Frau Raila, whose husband is a captain and was wounded at Sedan.