Sunday, June 27:
The usual night thoughts. I was awakened abruptly by the appearance of Hans in a dream. During the day I had read his letter again, since I am determined never to conceal from myself the evil I have done, however unwillingly, but on the contrary to impress it ever more strongly on my mind, in order to repent and atone for it as best I can.
In the morning R. came up to my room with a letter from the King, addressed to Herr R. W., the immortal poet and composer, my great friend. "When I am feeling gay as I am today, I sing hymns to you, and yet I dreamed that you no longer loved me, and went away." I, too, had dreamed that I had gone away! I then read aloud the letter, which is very extravagant in tone.
A conversation about the Doré illustrations, which are at least an expression of their times, something which can never be said of a similar German work, leads us on to the splendid van Dycks we saw in Genoa, then to two large copies made by Countess Nákó, which R. had seen in her home in Vienna. R. praised the Hungarian Countess's house, the Count's fine character and enthusiasm for R. [Unreadable sentence omitted.] "If I had been there in my G[oethe] age," he added with a smile, "I should have been happy enough to stay there, but, restless as I was in Vienna, always worrying about how to make do with the little I had and in consequence exacting, I could not let anything make a friendly impact on me. I should never wish to give up Austria," R. continued. "Through its Slav inhabitants it possesses the poetry of reality we so much lack in Germany."
Then we considered what a different impression would have been created if we had presented the model productions of Tannhäuser, Lohengrin, Tristan und Isolde, and Die Meistersinger in Paris as in Munich, even in the German language; now everything has been more or less scattered to the winds.
"When I have finished the Nibelungen," R. also said, "I shall write some plays for the theater: Luther's marriage with C[atherine] v[on] Bora, Bernhard von Weimar, that would have to be set in a military camp, and also Barbarossa." "And Parzival?" I asked. "That will be done in my 80th year. I shall perhaps do Die Sieger as a play." [In the margin, in R. W.'s handwriting: "And in addition publish a newspaper in which I should reveal all, all, speak my mind freely!"] "But no more music. With my ten scores I should think I have done enough. I am presumptuous enough to believe that, in regard to musical richness and invention, there is little that can be compared, as far as diligence and wealth of detail is concerned, with Tristan and Die Meistersinger."
The King says he now wants to begin ruling! Siegfried is three weeks old today; he looks fine. R. says that since his birth, which for me was the reason for living my life, he has had an unbounded confidence in Fate. God bless you, my children; may you one day bless my peace, when my sufferings are at an end!
R. had told the Academy of his willingness to supply them, if they should wish, with reports on the state of dramatic art in Germany. At my request R. struck out this sentence, saying, "You are right; anything that looks like a hope is stupid." The children to town with R., ate ices. I am tired and go to bed early.