Friday, November 10:
R. had a tolerable night, but in the morning he has a spasm in bed, and today he has 4 in all! We visit the island of Cimitero, where there is not much to delight us, though R. is attracted by a monument to Morosini, which fascinates R. on account of the vivid portrayal and the apparent good likeness of the face; the two busts of both the other Morosinis opposite also interest him. He comes to lunch late and leaves the table very shortly. He spends the afternoon at home, and so do I; in the evening, too, he appears only for a moment. A day for reflection and sorrow! The cup of tea he drinks does not taste good to him; he says tea is “nothingness made nervous” and is convinced that we are being supplied with tea already used, that is to say, the Chinese had already brewed their own tea with the leaves. He comes back to his idea of staging all his works in Bayreuth.