Friday, March 10:
"Do you believe in the reversibilite des merites?" R. asks me. I had told him that Princess Wittgenstein, who always regards Tannhäuser through Catholic eyes, had put forward with matchless volubility la reversibilite des merites, that article of faith of the Catholic church, as the true explanation of it. R. goes on, "I believe in it, for it is your merits which have sanctified me."
I am much out of sorts, owing to worry about Lulu. The Arabian Nights, which I read to Lulu, restores me a little.
R. orchestrates his march. We go for a drive. Letter from A. Frommann, somewhat trivial.
In the evening we hear that some Frenchmen forced their way into the Zurich celebrations and a fight ensued, which ended with the death of a French officer. "They have won equality, in fact to such an extent that freedom has become out of the question," R. says.
I stay beside Lulu's bed until late in the evening; she is still coughing violently.