Saturday, April 23:
R. slept well, and his work gives him pleasure; there are many jokes arising from the fact that his bust has been placed beside Benedix’s. Less innocent are the remaining events, and in the evening he has several business letters to write, to Voltz and Batz, and to Dr. Strecker regarding London. Merry lunch beforehand with the Wolzogens; conversation about the climate, which is still very cold. We go for a walk, but only for a short while.
A letter from Loulou tells us that my father is leaving on the very day of our arrival. That ferments inside R., and he writes to my father with utter frankness. I tell him I myself would not write this letter; he keeps it back, then demands it again from me and sends it off. He is so indignant over my father’s passing us by. He keeps talking about it all evening, but without anger, because there is nobody to contradict him, and he goes to bed pacified. (Over coffee he thought of the Giorgione in Brunswick; he says the Adam looks melancholy, as if Maya were holding a veil in front of him.) Also some words about Charlotte Kalb; to my delight R. finds what I show him beautiful.