Thursday, July 20:
R. had a good night's rest. Over breakfast in the turret we read the King's letter, which arrived yesterday and which R. put aside. The news of the wretched state of his health is all too easy to believe.
R. wanted to have lunch with us (me and 4 children, my father and Lusch invited out), but he got upset about something, and instead of broth he enjoyed Humperdinck, he says, then the ballet master, who did in fact put him in a good humor, but he is tired. He sleeps in the salon, and on awaking discovers me asleep in the hall; my watching over him amuses him greatly, he says I am turning him into the Emperor of Siam, who has a female bodyguard.
At 5 o'clock rehearsal of the 3rd act (orchestra, Winkelmann, Materna), R. is satisfied with the orchestra. We again drive home together. In the evening my father plays whist, and we chat with the conductor. At the rehearsal R. merely asked that people not start talking when he has something to say. We are pleased that the curtain now falls and no transformation scenery disturbs the music. [This last sentence obliterated in ink by an unknown hand]