Wednesday, April 10:
Loldi’s birthday, but we postpone the celebrations. R. works. He receives a touching letter in Italian (from Rossano) written by the son of a man who had been here at the festival and who has now died. Fidi has a sore throat, I hope nothing serious.
In the evening my father plays us “Jeux d’eau” and “Anges gardiens.” R. says, “A dreamy, melancholy existence in the Villa d’Este, there he extols the cypresses, the angelus bells, the fountains—like that.”