Thursday, March 7:
In the evening talked a lot about the Middle Ages, which - utterly dominated as they were by Catholic ecstasy - are almost as far away from us in spirit as the ancient world. R. works and is somewhat better, thank God. Outside the foehn is raging; we do not go out. Letters arrive, among others a very remarkable one from Josef Rubinstein, beginning “I am a Jew” and demanding salvation through participation in the production of the Nibelungen. R. sends him a very friendly reply. Also a telegram from Herr Hellmesberger in Vienna; he is successfully recruiting singers there. In the evening read Schopenhauer’s chapter on genius. Profound awareness of our love; my request to R. that he feel convinced that I have utterly no will of my own, and that my only happiness lies in understanding him in everything and standing by him. Oh, if I could really help him!
(In the afternoon he played passages from the first act of Götterdämmerung; in the morning he showed me Hagen’s laughter: “Fritz er nicht schmeckte, schmeckte doch Mime.”)