Monday, August 9:
R. froze the whole night! We visit S[anta] M[aria] d[egli] A[ngeli]; the Carthusian monk sweeping there is a German, and he welcomes us as such. R. very tired in the church; we drive around a little, the new Rome beside the ruins very unpleasant; curious round trip with a Swiss coach driver; at last, 10:52, in our compartment, where we are alone again.
R. regains his spirits, we dine cheerfully, the Nierenstein wine from the Quirinal hotelkeeper has an agreeable effect. Tuscany, with all its flowers and cultivated fields, delights him. Nice memories of Naples, of which R. always says, “That is Africa, this is Italy, the southern tip of Europe.” At the railroad station in Florence, old Beppa recognizes us and overwhelms us with friendly attentions.
Between 8 and 9 in the evening arrive in heavy rain in dark Pistoia. A nice apartment in the Hotel London and a pleasant Italian supper. R. very tired, however, his head feels hot.