Thursday, March 30:
A restless night, but a bath does him good. At breakfast he talks about the half-light in the salon, which he finds productive - the penetration of light from outside is not beneficial to his inner world.
Around lunchtime I tell him about Garibaldi's arrival in Palermo, cries of rejoicing at first, then, when the people saw him, complete silence. This moves R., as it does me. The weather is bad, but in the evening we are able to take a little walk; we visit the monkeys and spend quite a time enjoying the sight. The violent movements which, without any reason, suddenly stop, give one the impression of a lack of purpose in Nature, and when I remark on this to R. in the evening, he replies: “Yes, storms, earthquakes - all these stirrings of the Will. A spirit such as Goethe's rebels against them and tries to discern and introduce a gentle kind of order!”
When we arrived home, he was vexed that his advertisement has not yet appeared, and he writes to Wolz. In the evening whist, and in between, Wilde Jagd.