Monday, September 20:
A good night for R. But a wet, cold day. This adds very much to our resolve to leave here. Discussion about my father; R. says, "He has been taught to distrust me; no one has ever been allowed to say even a single word against him." He rules lines industriously and ruminates on his American plan.
At lunch he calls my father to account in his cordial way, and the result of his truthfulness is a merry mood. My father has acquainted me with three Petrarch sonnets he set to music: "Pace non trovo," "Benedetto," and [left blank; see notes]. "Benedetto" in particular pleases me greatly; I tell R. about it, and he gets my father to play it to him; then he says to him with much warmth, "I am glad to see something of your worldly side once again."
In the evening R. and my father play so the children can dance; R. is delighted with the skill with which Siegfried dances, particularly the mazurka. After that whist, with many remarks on R.'s part; he keeps teasing me about Saint Catherine of Siena. At the end of the day he observes that such rainy days have their good side, providing an opportunity for more social pastimes.