Wednesday, June 4:
R. had a dismal dream about Loldi; he sighed, 'Lost!' he cried, and woke up - but after that he had a good night.
Over breakfast we talk of the trials we have been through: my secret visit to him in Munich with Eva, my journey to southern France with my father - almost the hardest experience I ever went through. R. says, 'I believe that, if you had said to me, 'I love another,' I should have had the strength to remain silent; I should have suffered but said nothing.'
Dr. Schemann at lunch; when I come downstairs, I find R. again conversing about Schumann with the two gentlemen. R. had looked through the Symphony in C Major and was once again struck by its triviality and its rosalia devices. Dull weather, Fidi somewhat unwell.
In the evening R. reads to us from Carlyle, about the women's uprising led by Maillard. In this remarkable description R. once again points out that Carlyle never introduces his people with speeches or allows them to talk; he shows their acts, and in that way reveals their characters to us.