Thursday, October 2:
R. had a curious dream: Semper with a plaster mask, annoyed at being recognized; the Wesendoncks; I suddenly vanished, and after anxious searching, my voice, as clear as silver but frightened, is heard calling, “Richard.” He cannot reply, which surprises me, but at last, struggling to wake up, he calls out, “Here I am.”
I also had a wretched night. The desertion of R.’s relations hurt me more than I thought; it had been an article of faith, and it has now vanished. R. works, but he does not feel well; he badly needs a walk, but can walk only very little on account of his painful foot. He talks about being unable to envisage himself outliving the performances! What may not yet intervene?...
In the evening we read Uhland’s The Song of the Mill, a great and sublime impression. Afterward R. read us the story of the four deaf men from Rückert’s Indian sagas.