Sunday, June 20:
Since I was worried that no reply had come from Hans, R. tells me that a letter arrived yesterday. He gives it to me, saying it is very fine. Deep, inexpressible agitation. Probably more because of that than because of getting up, I again feel unwell and have to take to my bed.
In the evening the children back from the Seelisberg; they are well and lively. They take great delight in Siegfried, who is shown to them.
In spirit now at this performance of Tristan in Munich, this dreadful one! At lunch R. and I smiled, to think that poor Tristan, this night flower full of grace, has always been treated like a poisonous toadstool. R. is of the opinion that nobody wants tragedy; situations and feelings that cannot be changed or made better are anathema to all. Many tears shed today.
In connection with a saying by Goethe, R. declares that all poets seem to share the opinion that there is nothing at all for them in men, though they can make do with women in a pinch.