Sunday, November 13:
A good night for R., and the morning air quite glorious; we enjoy it by having breakfast on the staircase landing. Some roses the landlord brings me seem to R. to have a quite special fragrance; he observes that at home they would no longer give off scent. We then go for a walk and visit friend Rub., and R. writes half a page.
In the afternoon we drive to Punto Gallo and are enchanted by the homeward journey through the Favorita. R. completes his page, and in the evening he reads aloud the first act of Faust II, during which we ask ourselves in amazement how it is possible to be so entranced by such alien relationships, which leave us cold, and such unsympathetic characters; yet every word grips us, even the children.