Cosima's Diaries

Diary Entry of July 22, 1872

Overview

The day revolved around the house, Fidi, and the completed sketch, which brought the writer to a profound emotional turning point. Richard was both proud and restless, joking about gods, ghosts, and the dead who had vanished from his life, while also quarreling over the pronunciation of Waltraute and criticizing modern composers. In the evening, despite his fragility and Rubinstein’s presence, they talked about opera and Richard especially admired Méhul’s Joseph.

Content

Monday, July 22:

“The house and Fidi, those are the positive joys; but alas, I now tell myself: A time comes when one wishes to enjoy the good things in peace, and it is the devil who is reminding me that what I have vowed means the exertion of all my strength, for when I move into the house, the devil will really make himself felt!”

Much amusement over the Homunculus’s precocious exclamation at the sight of Faust: “significant.” Arrival of the Vth volume of the collected writings; with it concern about our good Fritzsch, the publisher, who looked ill when he was here. “I feel like a god or a ghost,” says R. “How many people have died and disappeared on me!”

I do not have the strength to describe the emotion that gripped me when R. called me to say that he had completed his sketch. He plays the ending to me, and I do not know which stirred me more deeply, the noble sounds or the noble deed. I feel as if my goal has been reached and I can now close my eyes. I divulge my feelings to Marie Muchanoff, since she has proved herself a loyal and helpful friend to R.

In the evening R. is unfortunately not entirely well, and the presence of our good Rubinstein disturbs him and puts a strain on him. Concerning the faulty pronunciation of the word Walküre, R. grows heated and asks where people gain their knowledge of things; he has made Brünnhilde say “zur Walkür’ kor ich mir,” etc., and yet everyone pronounces the word in the French way.

A work of Herr Svendsen’s provokes R. into speaking about the atrocities of the new kind of composer: grimaces, bizarre expressions, no calm human countenance any more; strange rhythms are used to bring forth a theme which looks forceful, but whose melody does not stick in one’s mind. And everything goes beyond the bounds of instrumental music, for one is bound to ask oneself questions about the subject and the situation, in order to understand all the murders and killings.

In the evening we talked about operas, and R. particularly praised Méhul’s Joseph. Letter from Fritz, who is being transferred to Kiel.