Saturday, July 6:
A walk we took yesterday has given me a cold, in consequence of which I have entirely lost my voice. R. works.
Coach muddles; I drive alone with our friend and Fidi and Lusch to the opera house, which she thinks splendid. Fidi says, “Papa concert.” Then to the festival site; Fidi: “Fidi’s house.”
In the evening, conversation on various topics with both friends. The Emperor, on catching sight of the heavily compromised courtier: “Good morning, Duke of Strousberg, or, rather, Banker Ujest.”
R. plays us “Hagen’s Call” and the Rhinemaidens from Götterdämmerung. R. works.