Sunday, May 3:
The children in church. I read a few pages of my Woodstock in bed, still full of admiration for it.
R. is happy with the house and says: “If anybody had told me that I should one day possess so dear and noble a woman in these comfortable surroundings! But I could kick myself for not being 15 years younger!”
We make up for Loldi’s birthday, children are invited, I play charades with them, lively scenes in the garden.
A letter from Herr Muchanoff, who, in reply to my inquiry as to whether my friend would like me to visit her, advises me to come, upsets R. greatly, and I have to talk a long time with him in order to erase the impression.
In the evening read Julius Caesar again; we resolve in future to read only a little at a time of these divine things, so that we can pay attention to every word.