Monday, July 29:
Storm in the night, with it much peasant song. At breakfast we recall a funny incident yesterday: Herr Rubinstein wished to sing us a song of his own and began on “I will plunge my soul into the lily’s cup!” His childish delivery, the text, and finally a break in his voice make all four of us break out into such uncontrollable laughter that it is just not possible to continue.
Letter from R.’s excellent publisher Fritzsch, who reports that the collected works are selling very well, which pleases R. all the more in view of the fact that the other publishers always claimed that there was no demand for any of these things.
R. is still correcting the biography; in the afternoon he takes Herr Diener in hand, gets him to sing Wolfram’s song slowly and softly, and is very happy with the way he manages it; less so with Herr Rubinstein, whose playing is still very undisciplined. They take up Die Walküre; tremendous impression on me, as if I did not know it at all.
In the morning R. prepared the text of the Ring for Herr Fritzsch and wrote in the final verses.
In the evening he is a little vexed over always having only immature people to deal with, and having to begin with them right from the start.