Saturday, August 5:
Fritz, our excellent nephew, who has been very pleasant company, makes his departure. A chance visit to the loft brings to light a letter from Frau Serov: it had been dropped by the maid who took the picture from its wrappings. Thus, fourteen days late, I see that she also sent me a copy of R.’s letter of condolence. I thank her at once, also write to E. Schuré and to Ottilie.
Yesterday R. caused me sorrow; Prof. Nietzsche had asked me for the Idyll, so that he could read it. After asking R., I lent it to him, requesting him on his departure to return it to me, but he forgot. After his departure R. asked about it; our absent-minded friend had left the little work lying on the piano, and R., assuming that I had been negligent, had taken it to his room in vexation. This pained me deeply, for my only mistake had been in assuming that Prof. N. had done as I asked and put the manuscript back in its place, which he knows. But the slight ill feeling is soon overcome.
We stay quietly at home and in the evening take up Carlyle again.