R. dreamed of an audience with the King of Hanover, during which one of the King’s dogs constantly got in the way of his feet and snapped at him when he tried to remove it, though the King kept assuring him, “He won’t hurt you.”
Today he writes the 399th page and hopes to be finished before the week ends. I am very sad about being unable to give him a present to mark the occasion— but I cannot permit myself to. The children drive me around in the sleigh. Worked in the morning with Loldi, in the afternoon with Lusch.
In the evening R. gets into a rage over my father, who really seems to have believed what the newspapers say—that we wished him to play the piano at this concert. At least this is what Frau v. M[eyendorff] tells me. — Visit from Herr and Frau v. Künsberg.