Monday, May 5:
R. dreamed twice about my father, saw him in a brocade cloak, was annoyed by Lusch, who was being deliberately tiresome with her piano playing, woke up twice in agitation, had to get up, and then read Carlyle. “I know what it was - how childish one is!” And he reminds me that yesterday he wanted, against my advice, to eat some of the only dessert (whipped cream) he really enjoys. “That’s what we’re all like,” he sighs.
He says of a book about Helene Donniges and Lassalle, “The surprising thing about it is its nakedness, everyone mentioned by name, everything cynically open - another Frau v. Kalb,” he jokes, thus making me really conscious of the difference between that time and this. In the evening a slight argument with friend Rubinstein, revealing once more the unbridgeable gulf between people of his kind and ourselves. R. is uniquely kind and friendly, so touching in all the ways he tries to inspire trust in this poor distrustful man.
Whist and even lansquenet, both without money! In the afternoon we went out with the children and the dogs; a lot of wind and dust.