R. again dreamed that I left him—he declares that the expression on my face when I said “The moon is my friend” had made him jealous and caused the dream, in which I stole away from him in fine clothes, only to be with him again, dressed in a gray woolen jacket! —
He writes to the King, who has asked for a detailed report on everything. — “They’ve made a new dragon,” our servant informs us regarding the sgraffito. A letter from painter Hoffmann (woeful friend, breaking wanly through the painted panes, R. exclaims, 79° laughing!), which causes me to write to the Bruckner brothers. R. reads me parts of a 15th-century folk song which enchants us (“To My Loved One”): “The chaste glance which troubles the heart!” —
Today is my name day—my father does not write, which somewhat troubles me. In the evening we read with much emotion the story of Krespel in [E. T. A. Hoffmann’s] Serapionsbrüder. A remark by the professor surprises us with its great perspicacity; curious the sense of what the ridiculous can at times imply.