Awoke well, R. related how he does not truly live when I am not present — how nothing holds meaning, how he would not even have the gas lit. I write some ten letters over the course of the day. R. receives many inquiries from the Americans and, in the end, counts on them to fill his theatre — no honour to the Germans.
In the evening, a few friends; “Le Bal” by Berlioz was taken up. The question of lodging will not leave my mind! … As the guests take their leave, R. remarks: with each one who comes, it seems to him utter folly to receive people at all.
Revised English translation by Jo Cousins.