Thursday, April 17:
Sultry heat; all sorts of things to be seen to before our departure. My arrangements for R.'s birthday give me a lot to think about, and I fear nothing will come of them. R. visits the house and gives his orders. In the evening I resumed work on the biography, much to my joy.
Our conversation over coffee was about Cromwell, and I remarked to R. how stupidly and injudiciously we are taught in our childhood, for example, to hate this great man. R. describes as the most remarkable thing about him his high opinion of the advantage of birth, against which he could see no weapon except religious fanaticism.
When R. goes off for his afternoon rest he laughs at the way we once again got immersed in lively discussion. “We are a pair of enthusiasts,” he jokes.