Sunday, November 5:
Winter has come; the sea is driving its white horses along and the wind blows cold; we think of leaving. Malwida has lunch with us. We attempt an outing, but the wind drives us homeward. I write several letters. R. reads Sismondi, the children play, go for another swim, and take a long walk to Massa. We witness celebrations in the hotel and on the square over the election of a deputy.
In the evening, conversation with R., during which I try to talk about all sorts of strange things, but we always come back to the one dismal subject. R. says that his main feeling during the performances was, “Never again, never again!” He winced so much, he says, that the King asked him what was the matter, and then he had to restrain himself forcibly.