Friday, July 2:
R. dreamed of an intimate meeting with N[apoleon] III and his consort, Eugenie, the latter very modestly dressed, the former speaking German (in exile). At 7 o'clock we are all gathered in the breakfast room, and at 8 o'clock we drive to the steamship for Sorrento. R. in very exuberant spirits. The boys who retrieve coins in the water enchant him, the human animal, he says, and though he finds the game an ugly one, he throws many sous, in order to watch them diving.
Lovely view of Naples; R. is attracted by a family which he takes to be North German but which is in fact Italian: "Those are the sort of people I should like to know, the older woman so motherly, the daughter serious but lively." Delight on our arrival in Sorrento; greeted by [name illegible], R. is pleased for Lusch, who was not with us on the previous occasion. While the children go for a walk on the road to Massa, we sit on the main loggia and rest. Then Rub. lightheartedly plays to us some passages from Hummel's septet, some Strauss waltzes. Lunch is a success; R. drinks meaningfully to Lusch's health, recalling to himself why she was not with us before, and how well things have now turned out.
He is pleased with the fine trees in the garden, and he draws my attention to the beautiful hanging lemons, which remind him of udders, an association which leads him to pleasant and solemn reflections. We go down; R. plays with Ercole (another old friend), he relates his dream and adds, "That is the way with princes - in spite of all their humanity and education they can only maintain their positions through murder and absurd behavior."
Return journey at 4 o'clock on the upper deck, the children and our guests in very merry mood, Vesuvius looks much lovelier from the vicinity of Naples, and to R. the city itself again seems uniquely sturdy and significant: "There it is idyllic, Hermann and Dorothea; here it is heroic, could be the Iliad."
{Added later in the Diaries but referred back to this point: "Speaking of Naples and the unique delight it gives us, R. says, 'And I am convinced that people despise us for our taste, since in Naples there is no art at all, nothing these people can understand!' When we are on the ship, he notes how the sail is hoisted and even the unpleasant wind put to some use: 'The sailboat, that was a true discovery, it speaks to me, whereas all these machines tell me nothing.'"}
And when we arrive back at the Villa d'Angri, we recall our previous visit to Sorrento and how much better things are now: "We are no longer deceiving ourselves." Spent the evening on the terrace talking of various things, particularly the coming times; R. recalls the industrialist in Virgin Soil and feels such a man could burst the bubble of state as if it were nothing, but it must be done in a religious spirit. In the morning he had already remarked that one can never get the better of things by delivering oneself over to them, and Gladstone, for example, would have been wiser to remain in opposition, and not to have become prime minister.