Saturday, May 1:
R. tells me of a bat which he yesterday chased out of his room; involuntary alarm at this omen. The day is fine, the witches on the Brocken have done their job properly, and R. observes that all Nature looks like a peasant bride with a wreath of myrtle.
Studied geography with Loulou; she has to take medicine. Then unfortunately the paperhangers arrive, which exhausts me and makes me sad; to end it all, Loldi unwell again. R. works, however; after lunch he plays what he has written, and I am transported into melancholy bliss. He gets up and shows me my picture, saying that this is what he had seen! Alas, if only life could remain on such heights! But that only death can bring us.
In town, ordered flowers for R.'s birthday and learned that his father's play is unfortunately no longer to be found. Home very weary, Loldi very unwell; put her to bed, then pepper and camphor for the winter things. Fell asleep after tea and slumbered a long time. Finally R. reads me a few more Fridericiana, glorious touches throughout.