Monday, November 22:
R. slept well. He discusses several of his acquaintances with considerable equanimity: "There must be some such queer fishes about, I know," he exclaims, "but it is bad if they are all there is."
At midday I find him truly indignant over the biography of my father and the way all his relationships can be discussed like this during his lifetime. I continue arranging things, and he is pleased: the banner of love, or Isolde's seal, is now spread out above the door. R. says it is as if the whole of Naples were sailing toward him.
We dine merrily and seek the sun, lacking out of doors, in wine. R. then goes to Wolz.'s with Jouk., intended to go farther, but returns home on account of the bad weather.
In the evening Wolz. and Rub., the latter bringing good news of Boni. At table he spoke of our first journey to Italy, how he had wished to remain there with me, "for when a step is to be taken, better at once, without much talk. However, V. Colonna wanted to suffer in the correct manner," he says jokingly, "though Nature was on my side, the gods did not want us to return home, and the heavens were emptied upon us."