Monday, October 21:
Melancholy morning, farewells. My father is going to Regensburg to spend his birthday there, quiet and undisturbed. Nobody, and particularly not Princess W., knows where he will be spending tomorrow. At eleven o’clock he departs; he likes Bayreuth. We are left with sad thoughts. Everything he tells us about the outside world, to which he after all belongs, is horrible.
At lunch R. observes that my soul is divided. He says he finds himself in a position which is new to him: previously I had taken notice only of him, had hung entirely on him and his words, and that had borne him up, made him happy; now, he feels, it is different. He is profoundly wrong, but I cannot prove it to him and can only keep silent.
He has a conference with the management committee concerning the ordering of materials; the difficulty is that money is coming in very sparingly. We discuss the attitude of the princes toward the venture; all hostile. Will we perhaps be able to make some propaganda on our impending journey?
Emile Ollivier sends a book by himself, a dialogue on M. Angelo and Raphael. Amazing people, these Frenchmen. In the evening I read the pamphlet Actors and Singers. Walk with R. I write to Frau v. Meyendorff.