Sunday, June 20:
Good awakening. R. tells me that he does not really live at all when I am not there; nothing has any meaning, he did not even have the gas lit.
I write the better part of 10 letters during the day; R. has many inquiries from Americans and is reckoning on these to fill his hall in the end. Nothing for the Germans to be proud of!
In the evening some friends, went through Berlioz’s Le bal. The guesthouse problem constantly in our minds. When our guests have left, R. says that, no matter what people come, it always seems to him absurd to receive them.