Sunday, November 20:
Our first conversation concerns Shakespeare. R. observes that his heroes, “whom one can in fact hardly describe as heroes,” are a lot like the ancient Vikings, and they remind one of Egill; we go through the remarkable passage of Warwick’s flight and are astonished by the poetic richness with which Shakespeare has invested a subject so lacking in appeal.
R. intends to write a letter to the King but does not find time for it. At lunch R. interpellates Bonus and adds, “I know I can no longer fall from grace; and one can say that whoever falls from it was never in it.” He laughs at the idea of falling headlong from grace.
We talk of the Semites and the way they have always made common cause with the press. R. says not Rubinstein; when mention is made of the fact that he is always remarkably well informed, R. says: “Yes, it keeps dragging him back; he being bothered again by Trabacchio. It is things like this which have always attracted me to Hoffmann; he certainly didn’t invent them, but he described them.”
We visit the Palatina, which enchants R. After lunch R. has a long sleep; it is 5 o’clock when he awakes, so we do not go out again. We stroll on the terrace. One of the monkeys has died through the carelessness of a boy who gave it a cactus to eat; the other one is grieving for its companion. “What else can one expect from these creatures who go about on their two legs?” R. exclaims in disgust, and we leave the terrace, which has now been spoiled for us.
In the evening chat and enjoyment from the FI. Natter.