Tuesday, June 14:
R. slept well, and after his reading he goes to his work. The weather is improving, and after coffee we walk up to the tower, where we have a long rest. Before that we strolled in the garden, inspecting our animal stock. Comparing the white peacocks to the colored ones, which represent life, R. says, “They are more sublime beings, like the ghost of Hamlet’s father.”
We are amused by the little puppies; the children have already given them names. When R. is about to return to his score, after having received and answered a long and tiresome business letter from Herr Batz, I beg him to take advantage of the comparatively fine day and stay in the garden. He does so, and we spend quite a long time chatting with friend Wolzogen.
In the evening, too, when R., talking of his childhood, relates how at the age of five he was thrown out of the carriage against a steep bank on a journey from Dresden to Meissen, but was uninjured. Still much about the Count and his works; a telegram from him gives us pleasant news of his arrival in Auvergne.