Sunday, December 30:
R. works. For me, much tidying up and letters. A thaw has set in, and R. goes walking in the palace gardens with the dogs.
In the evening the history of the Arabs, the Normans in the South, uncongenial people, lacking poetry and religion. After that the Divina commedia with ever-increasing delight. How truly observed it all is! One can understand the meaning of Michelangelo’s conceptions from this poem, which shows that it is not abstract thoughts, not emotions, which make a poet, but observation.
R. plays me his “March,” which now sounds overwhelmingly splendid!