Tuesday, March 4:
R. did not have a good night.
When I tell him how sad I am that he still feels so unwell here, when I had thought the climate in Lucerne had been much to blame, he says: “The climate is an inner one; it is constant worry which creates the bad atmosphere. Were I to hear now that somebody had died and left me £50,000, I know I should be restored to health, for the success of my undertaking would be assured and I should no longer have to worry about it constantly; I should be free.”
In the evening we resume work on the biography, to my very great joy. Wilhelmj has consented to play on R.’s birthday. Letter from a man in Munich, a self-confessed Jew, who begs R. to come to Munich, too, and conduct there. I read R.’s essay on the Ninth Symphony.