Sunday, August 24:
The children were in church while I wrote some letters; R. drafted a circular to his patrons. After lunch he said: “My life has been like an orchestra player’s. I have worked my way up from the bottom. In Dresden I found it pleasant to consort with Frau Tichatschek; she was pretty and friendly. In Zurich, when the Wesendoncks arrived, they set up a nice home and did their utmost to make things pleasant for me. How I enjoyed visiting them!”
Then, with the children, I went to the new house and read them Der blonde Eckbert. In the evening I was alone with R. and read him Renan’s Antichrist; we laughed a great deal over his refined and distinguished Jesus and his obtuse Saint Paul. Everything is always cut to suit Parisian tastes.
For some days now the Moorish serenade from Mozart’s Entführung has been our favorite piece. I sing it to Fidi, and R. plays it, delighting in the tremendous genius of this little invention.