Tuesday, February 6:
In spite of good nights, R. is always very tired in the morning. But he gradually livens up at breakfast. At the end of this he reads to me from the Berliner Tageblatt an account of Renan's lecture in which he denies the existence of a Jewish race. I go with Lusch and the conductor to see Moretto's picture; on our way home I hear amid all the crush and noise "Psst!" and I know at once that it is R.; I tell my companions, who look around, and true enough, there he is sitting on the bench beside the Doge's Palace and in very good spirits; the air is splendid, and he has been happily watching two lovely boys of 5 and 7 playing with sand on the bench; he put some money in the sand pit for them.
R. tells us this at lunch, then he talks about the Graphic, which he looked through with enjoyment yesterday; over coffee I read Tappert's very witty article on Hagen's book, which I saw yesterday. Toward evening R. reads to us two fine poems by Kant; and at around 9 o'clock we set out to the Square for the Shrovetide celebrations. R. does this to please the children, who reward him with their gaiety. The impression is mixed; R. finds something touching about the procession carrying Carnival to the grave, with its melody which he thinks to be an old one, but after going to the podium with the children, he returns to me in the Cappello Nero looking sad. He says poor artisans were hopping around there without really understanding why. But the midnight bells and the extinguishing of the flames produce another fine effect.
From the restaurant he gazed at the façade of the Procurators' Palace and said how boring, unimaginative, and uninventive he found it; in '58 he had told the painter Rahl the same thing, declaring what a different effect a Gothic cathedral had on him compared with this imitative monotony. At that time, he says, he had reflected on how enigmatic their relationship had been, completely Tristan-esque: "The work was predigested bread." We return home toward 1 o'clock. R. not entirely dissatisfied, but as I go to sleep, I hear him say, "I am like Othello, the long day's task is done." He asked me earlier whether I still care for him — he is so difficult!
At lunch we talked about Moretto's picture, R. praising it highly but finding the Christ too effeminate, too sorrowful; when Jouk. singles out the Christ of Leonardo da Vinci, R. agrees completely and says, "I can still see it."
Ash Wednesday, February 7: We get up late because of yesterday evening; R. has breakfast with Fidi, who worried me yesterday by suddenly disappearing, but R. was not disturbed by it even for a moment. Toward 1 o'clock we set out for S. Michele, but R. is not feeling well, and we return home immediately. He feels uncomfortable at lunch — he probably caught a cold yesterday. Around 5 o'clock he goes to bed and reads Suetonius's stories about the emperors; the doctor finds he has no temperature. While R. was lying in bed, I discussed the Gospel According to Saint Luke with him (in connection with the woman sinner in Moretto's picture).