Friday, February 9:
R. works. He also finishes Machiavelli's The Prince, which has given him very great pleasure; he often reads me sentences from it.
Nothing from outside, only rubbish - for instance, a Frau von R. wanting to know whether Prince Pettingen has died, as she knows of nobody else who could tell her! Also a Count La Rosie warns us against his daughter, whom we do not even know!
In the evening I feel unwell and cannot do any reading. R. plays for me, and I am much affected, as I was also much affected when today he told me how good I am.