Thursday, September 30:
In the night, before I dropped off to sleep, there came into my mind all my love for R. and what I owe to him. In the morning botany, then other work with the children. R. appears to be sketching out Götterdämmerung.
In the afternoon R. startles me by informing me that Kladderadatsch has now referred to me, too, and dealt with me in a vulgarly malicious way (“Cosima fan tutte”). I had always maintained to him that Kl. would pass over things in silence, since Dohm was a decent man. R. says I can now see how impossible it is for a person to remain decent when he happens to be a journalist.
In the evening a quartet. On going to bed, very dismal thoughts about Hans, deep melancholy. If people knew how I felt, would they have the heart to drag me through the mud?