Monday, October 14:
R. did not have a very good night; he got up once and read Lecky, on Marcus Aurelius. Departure of Malwida, who is going south!
In the morning R. plays Parsifal; he says that yesterday he played his thumbs sore for me! Outside everything is gray and yellow, start of the long winter. R. goes out and brings in the China rose, which he calls “the true German rose”: these obliging plants touch him very much with their constant blooming, “as long as the cold is not too intense.”
R. goes out of doors in the afternoon, laughs over the dogs, from whom he cannot get away either by cunning or by threats, but who suddenly forget him and leave him when they catch sight of a large cat, so he is able to get away alone.
In the evening I bring down Opera and Drama, which I want to continue, and the remark about the horse Xanthos leads R. to read aloud the passage in the Iliad. R. then observes that I am restoring his own appetite for his writings. Delight in our existence: “But we must not be disturbed when we are together.”