Monday, September 4:
Yesterday I was stirred out of my dream. Mathilde Maier sent me the picture you had forwarded for me of your father, the latest photograph, in abbe costume, with unwrinkled face, youthful, defiant and bold. Do those things go together? More in keeping would have been a sword. Strange aberrations! You your father seems to like making old: his favourite way of arranging your hair makes you ugly and quite alien to me: it doesn’t suit you, — God knows why he likes it. To me you ought not to have sent this portrait. am leaving it in the Brown Book too. Of the portrait of your father M.M. wrote that this was the first thing she had not liked sending me. I sent it straight back.
Now I must try to lose myself in the dream again. Oblivion! — Perhaps Siegfried will help. —