Friday, October 27:
R. slept well in spite of the black coffee, about which he is still complaining, since he drank it in the excitement of a lively conversation with our friend Mimi. At breakfast we discuss the idle way professors go on about a merciful or an unwilling God, while the Catholic church continues to exert its power as before. R. vehemently repeats that in these matters we are barbarians compared to the Indians.
He comes to my room to fetch his mail, receives some business letters, and, though they give him no satisfaction, remains cheerful, pulls a jokingly imposing face, as he often does. 'Moltke,' he says, 'the expression of a belligerent sheep.'
At one o'clock we go out together for a walk and get lost, which greatly amuses us, particularly when the Church of S. M. Miracoli suddenly appears in front of us - 'the jewel box,' as R. calls it. But at the start of our walk he complained about his work, saying that in fact he has no subject, nothing to say to anybody, and so it is all a form of vanity, though there is a certain artistic pleasure to be derived from the way one puts things.
The weather turns bad, but we ride to Saint Mark's Square all the same. R. strolls around in a disgruntled way. The only thing that pleases him is the lovely flower girl in her Roman costume; she is gracious and well mannered, and he would like to know something about her life - he feels she must have been an artist's model; and so she once was, as we discover at Lavena's. When we are again strolling beneath the arcades, we see her surrounded, perhaps inconvenienced: 'The thought of possibly hearing some vulgar joke being made there is heartbreaking,' says R. as we pass by. Pouring rain greets us as we ride home!
In the evening R. arranges a game of faro, which causes much excitement among the children. (In the morning he wrote to friend Gross.) He kisses and greets me tenderly as he goes to and fro, making me happy, since for me this is the cherished sign that he is not feeling too indisposed. Over coffee he talks about social problems of which he has heard something here and there, and he says that, were it not for all this absurd chatter, he would begin to feel the world had ceased to exist.