Friday, November 24:
The night was good, and breakfast passes merrily with Lusch's accounts of the previous evening. Then, since the sun does not come out, R. proposes a visit to the Palazzo Giustiniani, to show it to the children, and this we do. It brings back memories of the dismal years, "when I was standing still."
In the gondola he asks what day it is, then says, "On the 26th something stupid happened, then afterward something strange." He remembers how at that time he was just living from day to day, as if he had only a few more years to live, "and I could think of nothing at all which would not lead to some horrible disappointment."
In the afternoon we walk to Saint Mark's Square, which R. enjoys. At around 7 o'clock my father plays various things to us, the E Major Sonata and Schubert's Ständchen, the latter so wonderfully that it affords R. the very greatest delight. In the evening we play whist, and during a pause R., who has the dummy hand, plays his "Porrazzi Melody"; after only the first two bars my father stops to listen and says, "That is beautiful." This so surprises R. that he feels I must already have acquainted my father with it. When we deny it, he is very pleased and praises my father's acuteness of perception.