Saturday, August 2:
In the morning the dean brings his pretty verses, but R. cuts the first stanza, since he does not wish to be celebrated as the owner of a building, and instead writes about the German spirit; he also quickly drafts a poem, “On the Roof-Raising Ceremony.”
We set out at about 5 o’clock. Strange ascent right up onto the scaffolding, the most wonderful thoughts: for the first time a theater has been built for an idea and for a particular work, says my father. As the Tannhäuser March is played, and in place of the noble knights, or rather ignoble actors dressed up as noble knights, genuine working people appear with a simple greeting, and the last hammer blows are heard, I feel as if this March has received its true consecration.
The hymn danket alle Gott [“Now thank we all our God”] lifts up my heart as it is sung in the open air against a smiling landscape beneath a splendid blue sky, sung after this victory; as my nervousness of the scaffolding disappeared, so, too, my timorousness in face of this bold undertaking. Faith raises our wings and fills us with bliss! Our visit to the workers at the conclusion warms my heart. They know nothing, but they can feel it. What memories will it all bring back to the children?