Monday, November 1:
Wretched night with Fidi. All Saints’ Day, or “the poor men,” as Loldi says after I have told her what All Saints’ Day means. R. comes to my bed in gloomy spirits and says that throughout the night he has been hearing songs for investiture and convent vows. I was also sad, treading once more the heavy path I trod last year at this time. Watched the sunrise with a crescent moon; such a sight always lifts my heart again.
At breakfast R. says: “How curious it is with nations; one sees how long it takes to produce fine blossoms. The Italians were marked out for something of which nobody in the Italy of ancient times had any idea. One can of course say that there was much mixing of blood, but I hold this to be far less important than the local factors. Out of this nation, which earlier seemed somewhat unproductive, suddenly there emerge from all directions beings who appear, every one of them, to be great, characteristic, and endowed with genius.” Further: “The two things which have enriched the world since the disappearance of the ancient world are Christianity and music.”
Then R. says he has decided to write to the King, saying he cannot write to him. He reads me his letter, which I should have liked to be severer still. During the day, great concern about Loulou and Boni, who have complained of my strictness. I feel shaken to my very soul: are my children really so estranged from me that they repay my love with resentment?
Gloomy night; “who never through night’s heavy hours.” But then the heavenly powers came to my aid; I know that I must bear everything, for my life is a sin.