This morning the battery was photographed, after much gesticulation, by a couple of bewhiskered artists.
Jull, who leaves for England tomorrow, joined me, and we walked to the Opernhaus where they were repeating Cavaleria Rusticana and Bajazzo. We resorted to the now familiar expedient of gilding the janitor’s palm. After farewells, I returned to the old prison-house to warming up the curry and rise I did not eat for tea.
Walk March 