Sunday, March 26:
A disturbed night, and I myself feel so run down that I believe I shall have to remain in bed, until, knowing him to be alone for breakfast, I feel there is nothing wrong with me and leap out of bed, to the great amusement of us both.
We come to the subject of etymology, led to it, I think, by an investigation of the word “hold,” the mythological origin of which R. discovers in Balder; when I tell R. that I feel greatly drawn to etymology, he says: “Yes, it provides everyone with his family tree, as it were, when one can explain to oneself where one comes from by understanding what one is saying. And in a certain sense it raises the lower orders above the aristocracy, to whom, as conquerors, the native language is foreign.”
That brings us to the theme of original inhabitants; though I share the opinion that the various civilizations were founded by predatory people, I still am not quite convinced that the original inhabitants were necessarily good. R. says, “Yes, they were, because they cultivated the land, and Humboldt is right in maintaining that the human being who invented language must have been of a gentle disposition.”
R. plans the outing to Taormina but then abandons it, since he has taken medicine; in the evening he humorously confesses all the things he took in the morning, and says it was discomfort which led him to plan an outing. R. very kindly writes to Prince Scalea in Gravina’s behalf. Then he reads a little of The Tempest, but the clown scenes with Trinculo bore him. He plays the great march sequence from the Eroica and takes delight in it.
At lunch we talk about the Russian character, and R. says drolly that they sent Jouk. to Europe to find favor, to make people think they are all like that. Of the wife of the Grand Duke’s heir and the Grand Duke [Konstantin] he says, “Paltry and arrogant.” We drive out to Belvedere, having heard that Garibaldi is expected today, but he does not arrive.
In the evening, as he is having his cigarette lit, he tells Semper’s English anecdote, “I am a gentleman, but not your slave,” and also the anecdote of the courtier who at Louis XIV’s behest entered the carriage ahead of the King, taking the view that every word of a monarch is a command; R. says this made a great impression on him. While the children are playing, R. talks to me about The Tempest; during the afternoon he had already expressed his astonishment and admiration for Prospero’s words as he breaks his magic staff. “He gives up everything, the miracle of knowledge - I have the feeling that I can understand that to mean the achievements of our modern world - for music!” Then he reads to me what Gonzalo has to say about the natural condition when he sees the island, views which lead to his being scoffed at by the shallow nobleman - but what he says is exactly what R. himself also believes.