Tuesday, August 20:
R. had a very bad night; I feel very sad!
Herr Hartmann writes angrily to me for returning his play to him without any great outpourings; he will not believe that R. has not read it.
R. drafts the dedication of Götterdämmerung to the King and also writes a few nice lines to Myrrha Wesendonck for her wedding. A quartet club calling itself the Richard Wagner Club writes from America.
R. works on his essay; Faust the truly representative German play.
In the afternoon Herr Niemann to study Siegmund; he does his best. But in the evening, when I try to talk to R. about it, he says, “Let’s not talk about it, you understand me anyway, we have nothing to tell each other. I feel like Wallenstein: as far as this affair is concerned, joy is past for me; I shall never see him again.” Schnorr.
Niemann has invited us and the children for tomorrow; when I tell R. that I found it difficult to accept and should like to make an excuse, he exclaims, “Well, remorse is the best sauce.”
R. was splendid today, both when he gave the note and when he demonstrated himself; all the others seem raw and flat compared with him.
Glorious moonlight.