Saturday, June 18:
R. tells me that in a dream I spoke aloud and demanded admittance to 'the place where nobody speaks.' R. says to me, 'You are right. One says useless things and hears stupid ones.'
In the morning and afternoon he continues his letter to the King. Over coffee our conversation brings us to the saints, and R. gets heated about the idea, so common nowadays, that they are virtuous in the hope, as it were, of future profit. We spend the afternoon with our friend Jouk. R. comes along after finishing his letter and brings a new portrait of himself, painted by the Spanish artist Egusquiza. It does not give much satisfaction, there is a feeling that nobody ever finds the right colors for him, but all portraits of him please me.
R. and I return home alone and sit down in the garden, delighting in the acacias; and it does us good to know the children are enjoying themselves, and we all alone. In the evening conversation with friend Wolz. about the Bahais in Persia. We go off peacefully to bed.