Cosima's Diaries

Diary Entry of July 8, 1872

Overview

I accompanied our friend to the station, and although she seemed content with her visit and the children had behaved well, her presence left me with a heavy sadness. Her account of the world around her was so bleak and joyless that it felt like a tragedy stripped of dignity, and our farewell was emotional. The heat and interruptions kept R. from working, though the children and a walk in the park offered brief relief. Later there were small matters of house and theater business, a telegram about a possible Lohengrin engagement in Milan, and R.’s amused but serious reflections on reading Die Ahnfrau.

Content

Monday, July 8:

I accompany our friend to the railroad station. She seems content with her stay here; the children behaved very well. Yesterday, among other things, when the atmosphere became sultry because of Herr Krebs, I hoarsely instructed them to talk about something, and Lusch and Boni at once began to speak about the little Svendsen, how he fell into the water, etc.

Though we ourselves got great pleasure from her visit, it has nevertheless left behind a melancholy impression; the restless and joyless life of this outstanding woman, and particularly what she relates of the outside world, is so gloomy and sad, tragedy without dignity, as Schopenhauer says, that we always avert our eyes in disgust. Emotional parting from her.

R. was unable to work today; there has been too much distraction around him. It is very hot. In the evening we take the children to look for glowworms in the park. Meeting with the Duke, a fight between our dogs, but the Duke extremely friendly.

In the afternoon I drafted a letter to Baroness von Meyendorff and was glad that preoccupation with form, that is to say, the attempt to express myself well, made me forget entirely the reason for my letter; even the most trivial exercise of art brings salvation.

R. is very pleased with a little notice in the newspaper that the town council is to permit the sale of sausages on the festival site. Regarding the building of the theater, R. says, “It is curious, I never really think about it; when I see the people working, it all seems quite natural to me; and if nothing were to come of it, I would still have the feeling that something different and greater would take its place.”

Telegram from the Luccas, the day before yesterday, asking whether R. could go to Milan next February for Lohengrin and offering 9,000 francs. R. replies yes, if Lohengrin is done according to his wishes.

Today R. set about reading Die Ahnfrau, in order to revive childhood memories; he was not shocked by the work’s monstrosities, but he certainly was by the silliness of its language.