I saw to-day on an advertisement in big letters the name of Clara
Hilst. I now remembered that she had told me in her last letter that
she was going to Berlin. She is here, and she is going to give several
concerts. At the time, the news neither pleased nor displeased me.
Now, in proportion as my nervous restlessness increases, the sensation
grows more distinct, and takes a twofold shape: the thought that she
is near acts soothingly on me, but the thought is sufficient, and I
would rather not see her; and when I say to myself that I ought to
call on her it gives me an unpleasant sensation. Clara has that
inquisitive solicitude that wants to know everything and asks
questions. She has a strong leaning towards romantic situations, and
the firm belief that friendship is a remedy for all evils. For me to
make confidences is simply impossible. I often, lack the strength even
to think of what has happened.