Thursday, December 3:
Since that day I have been unable to write in my diary; I was too upset.
In the evening, after I had written down those lines, R. came to me, embraced me, and said that we loved each other too intensely; this was the cause of our suffering. We had to go to a party at Herr Gross’s, and my face was completely tear-stained.
On Sunday the 22nd we celebrated the completion of the work, but then R. had many business letters to attend to. On Monday the 23rd I made Christmas purchases in the morning and afternoon. In the evening we read about the Battle of St. Privat. On Tuesday the 24th R. wrote letters to Voltz and Batz, etc., and I received one from my father, who said he was quite willing to take part in the concert in Pest.
On Wednesday the 25th there were preparations for a very large party, which we more or less owe to our Bayreuth acquaintances. In the evening we made music with good Josef Rubinstein, playing Beethoven’s last Bagatelles. An experience with Fidi affected his father very much: he had been naughty toward his father and was for that reason sent upstairs without his supper; he wanted to beg pardon through his nurse and at the same time ask for some food, but the girl stupidly went straight to the manservant, who said he had received no orders; without saying a word or making any sort of murmur, the little fellow went off to sleep, which caused his father a very restless and worried night. Next morning the boy seemed to have forgotten all about it, but one could see in his behavior toward his father remorse and resolve.
Wednesday the 25th and Thursday the 26th passed in preparations for the party, which took place in our house on Friday the 27th: some 50 people of all classes in Bayreuth enjoyed Wahnfried. Frau Grün, coming from Coburg, sang, and everybody seemed happy.
On Saturday the 28th we celebrated our first union, 11 years ago! On Sunday the 29th there was a musical evening; Rubinstein spoke glowingly of the Harfenquartett, which he had heard Hellmesberger play in Vienna; we went through it and, except in the scherzo, did not recognize our Beethoven. R. remarked to me how Jews have no folk feelings and in consequence can neither recognize nor love that quality in Beethoven.
On Monday the 30th there were preparations for a journey to Coburg, which we decided on as a result of a telegram from Herr Brandt. In the evening, at Baron Reitzenstein’s, we made the acquaintance of the president of the diet, Baron Rotenhan, a noble representative of the German aristocracy. For me it is always a curious sight to see R. in society.
At 10 o’clock on Tuesday we departed for Coburg, having chosen the one rainy day of the whole season. We saw the mountain ridge backdrop at the Bruckners’, in gigantic proportions; R. says it really made him aware of his foolhardiness. In the evening we went to the theater with the five children, Der Registrator auf Reisen, quite amusing except for the couplets, the vulgarity of which forced us to abandon the play in the middle.
On Wednesday the 2nd we visited the castle in very bad weather, but it made a good impression. “This is German,” says R. in one of the rooms, paneled in 1616 during the Thirty Years’ War by a master artist. Fine portrait by van Dyck of Christian IV of Denmark. The castle pleases us better than the Wartburg. Home at 4 o’clock, and in the evening music: Beethoven’s Variations!
Today R. read me a fine letter from Haydn, refusing a request for a comic opera from the director in Prague and referring him in splendid style to Mozart. In the evening there were some guests in our home (Baron Reitzenstein, Baron Künsberg, Baron Staff, Herr v. Braun, with their wives).