Wednesday, July 12:
Worry. Our conversation at breakfast revolves around Henry VIII, an incredibly noble work. In the morning we are told that our witness, Peter Menzig, is leaving next week; and so, if our case is not heard very soon, we are bound to lose it, says Jakob. Annoyance on R.’s part; he asks what we have a lawyer for.
He works; I tell him that in my eyes it is no accident that the completion of this work coincides with the founding of the German Empire, even if outwardly there is no connection between them. “And 21 years ago, during the first German Parliament, I planned the work.” Then came the subject of Eduard Devrient, his baseness. R. regrets that Devrient had turned the Grand Duke of Baden, whom he much respects, against him. “He probably described me as a daemonic character who spreads unrest wherever he goes, in other words, he alarmed the Grand Duke, who certainly liked me.”
Loldi reports with tears in her eyes that Grane can walk again and has today been pulling the carriage. While R. is working in my salon, he hears me moving around in the neighboring room. “What is rustling and bustling over there, could it be a rat?” I slip out and hide myself behind the portière of his bedroom; he searches for me, cannot find me, but when he wants to leave the door seems rather heavy and he discovers “the rascal.” Much merriment over this little joke, which I played on him really only to prevent his feeling he was being spied on. R. walks to town, returns tired.