They made me play after supper.  Actually Kloster brought out his Strad and said I should play on that.  It was evident he thought it important for me to play to these particular people, so though I was dreadfully taken aback and afraid I was going to disgrace my master, I was so much touched by this kindness and care for my future that I obeyed without a word.  I played the Kreutzer Sonata, and an officer played the accompaniment, a young man who looked so fearfully smart and correct and wooden that I wondered why he was there till he began to play, and then I knew; and as soon as I started I forgot the people sitting round so close to me, so awkwardly and embarrassingly near.  The Strad fascinated me.  It seemed to be playing by itself, singing to me, telling me strange and beautiful secrets.  I stood there just listening to it.

They were all very kind and enthusiastic, and talked eagerly to each other of a new star, a trouvaille.  Think of your Chris, only the other day being put in a corner by you in just expiation of her offensiveness—­it really feels as if it were yesterday—­think of her being a new, or anything else, star!  But I won’t be too proud, because people are always easily kind after supper, and besides they had been greatly stirred all the evening at the concert by Kloster’s playing.  He was pleased too, and said some encouraging and delightful things.  The Junker lady was very kind, and asked me to lunch with her, and I’m going tomorrow.  The young man who played the accompaniment bowed, clicked his heels together, caught up my hand, and kissed it.  He didn’t say anything.  Kloster says he is passionately devoted to music, and so good at it that he would easily have been a first-rate musician if he hadn’t happened to have been born a Junker, and therefore has to be an officer.  It’s a tragedy, apparently, for Kloster says he hates soldiering, and is ill if he is kept away long from music.  He went away soon after that.

Grafin Koseritz brought me back in her car and dropped me at Frau Berg’s on her way home.  She lives in the Sommerstrasse, next to the Brandenburger Thor, so she isn’t very far from me.  She shuddered when she looked up at Frau Berg’s house.  It did look very dismal.

  Bedtime.

I’m so sleepy, precious mother, so sleepy that I must go straight to bed.  I can’t hold my head up or my eyes open.  I think it’s the weather—­it was very hot today.  Good night and bless you, my sweetest mother.

  Your own Chris who loves you.

  Berlin, Sunday, June 28th.  Evening.

Beloved little mother,

I didn’t write this morning, but went for a whole day into the woods, because it was such a hot day and I longed to get away from Berlin.  I’ve been wandering about Potsdam.  It is only half an hour away in the train, and is full of woods and stretches of water, as well as palaces.  Palaces weren’t the mood I was in.  I wanted to walk and walk, and get some of the pavement stiffness out of my legs, and when I was tired sit down under a tree and eat the bread and chocolate I took with me and stare at the sky through leaves.  So I did.