Friday, April 16:
My melancholy refuses to budge. In the night I wake up with a start, and in the evening I wonder how things are now with poor Hans. I meant little enough to him, but how hard I find it to withdraw even this little!
In the morning R. greeted me by telling me he had come upstairs because he had suddenly wondered whether I might not be a traditional legend, and he wished to assure himself I was really there!
The weather is rough; we work and play, the children and I, in the children’s salon. Then, because they were good, they eat with us.
After lunch I finish reading Lewes, and, indication enough of the wretchedness of the book, afterward have to look up the dates he mentions in an encyclopedia.
In the evening Loulou dictates to me a nice letter to her father. After tea read some more of Frederick the Great’s letters, my mind not on it, thinking with concern and sorrow of Hans.
My heart, I know, will never be freed of this burden, and I know no aid but to bear it without complaint, and not let either the children or my beloved have any idea how clouded my soul sometimes is.
Newspapers. In the Revue des Deux Mondes a long article by Schuré about R. Wagner. The other papers, most of them favorable, confirm the success of Rienzi.