Loschwitz, January 15, 1902.
The Tisch is beginning to treat me like a person irresponsible for her doings. Sonnenstein is looming up anew. But I am going to fool her. As I will hold no more speech with her, there will be no occasion for turning my own words against me.
If I have to give a command, or answer a question, I ask Lucretia or Fräulein von Schoenberg to convey my orders.
Loschwitz, March 20, 1902.
An uneventful winter is drawing to a close. By banishing myself to this quiet place I raised a barrier against quarrels, against harsh orders, against humiliations. And the barrier also shuts out: love, happiness.
Sometimes, when the Tisch's hateful mouth spouts honeyed platitudes, I ask myself whether the affair with Henry wasn't, after all, a flower-covered pit dug for me by my enemies.
It was the Tisch who had Henry appointed Vortänzer.
Maybe, knowing my inflammable heart, she offered the tempting bait solely to the end of getting me into her power?