In anxiety we lie down, and in anxiety we rise again; recently R. made up the debit and credit of this year—how much wickedness, how little good: Fürstner, Voltz, Batz, the press after the rehearsals, Richter, the experiences in Vienna, Scaria, and now K. König![1]
Like a sword of Damocles (a renewed Schnorr-like experience![2]) the threat of these malevolent persons hangs over me; she only encounters the last scribbler among them, and he takes pleasure in stirring up dirt against us. It seems to be assumed that I am of value to R. and useful to him, and probably for that very reason they drag me into everything! For my own person I could bear it all easily, were it not that I feel everything is aimed solely at the Cause.
In the afternoon Herr Feustel comes to speak with me; he is in low spirits: the advance from the privy purse has not arrived, and he has been unable to pay Herr Brandt! A letter from Frau von Schl. makes it clear to me that R.’s letter to the Prince has remained wholly without effect. She and Bucher are thinking of the Reichstag! Alas! There rules Herr Lasker …
In the evening we read “As You Like It”, after I had spoken through all the grievous matters with R.; the darkest mood yields before the most divine humour.
[1] Käthchen König.
[2] After the death of the singer Ludwig Schnorr von Carolsfeld, the intrusiveness of his widow Malwine, who imagined that RW had to marry her, and who subsequently harassed RW with jealous intrigues in 1865, caused confusion and anger.