Saturday, June 12:
After a good night R. expresses to me his delight in Naples and the pleasure he felt at Dreher’s, watching people and carriages passing by. Only one thing he noticed gives him a bitter feeling: that no beggar ever approaches a priest!
We spend the evening on the terrace, and R. recalls Venice, the light he saw shining in his palazzo when he returned home of an evening in a gondola, its magical effect, “and yet my whole life was trouble and strife, not the sufferings and preoccupations of love, but the difficulty of being left in peace long enough to write my score.” He then goes on to Paris and talks about Tannhäuser, also about Niemann and my father, who could have helped him then but did not, for which reason he, R., still harbors a certain bitterness.
After our friends have gone, Lulu brings me the domestic-accounts book; I exhort her to thriftiness, since her father has twice told me that the housekeeping is costing a lot of money. A violent outburst of anger from R. on this account, he completely misunderstands everything I say. The night begins for me in great sorrow. Was some god giving me warning? Was he punishing in sufficient strength, or was it just a demon tormenting me? I believe that R. was upset by his memories. However, he goes off to sleep.
While I am seeking and finding the reason for this trial, I hear a moaning sound; anxiety about Loldi, who is still occupying Lulu’s room; I rush to her side; but she is asleep; then I hear the sound again, it is coming from the sea, a musical instrument or a human voice; the lament fills the silence, and what my heart does not utter I hear sounding from outside!