Thursday, June 13:
R. was restless and had to get up again at 1 a.m. He is continuing with his cure and talks much with me about the divinity within us. We go for a walk together as far as the Students’ Wood, taking pleasure in each other and in Nature: “A wood like this, however small, lies somehow outside the world - it is as if one has come to a border.” The pale-pink roses in our garden also delighted him with their “suppressed fire.” And on our homeward journey we are accompanied intoxicatingly by larksong.
Our splendid friend Glasenapp has procured for me the score of the Egmont music written in R.’s hand; it arrived today. The death of the King of Hanover produces from R. the joke: “The King of Prussia is shot and the King of Hanover dies - that is a qui pro quo.”
The little ones are rather naughty. R., very solemn, not to say strict, gives Fidi his first box on the ear; Loldi is quite beside herself. Tender reconciliation!