Monday, October 9:
Wet weather; the five constantly around me. R. works; around noon I hear him cry, “And if Cosima should fall begging at my feet, I shall not compose another note today.”
Everything now in the balance: foundation stone, domestic arrangements, relations with my father, Rothschild, Tristan manuscript, etc. R. writes to his brother-in-law Avenarius, who has lost his son Max. In the evening Carlyle.