Tuesday, March 9:
Dress rehearsal; an ugly hall, bad acoustics, insufficient preliminary rehearsals; my father absolutely overwhelms us with the way he plays the Beethoven Concerto, a tremendous impression! Magic without parallel. This is not playing, it is pure sound. R. says it annihilates everything else. We have a meal together in the Hotel Hungaria.
In the evening Der fliegende Holländer conducted by Richter; sung in Hungarian and Italian. Great disappointment! Nowhere else has so much been cut in the Holländer, and Richter has also introduced cymbals, etc. Astonishment over this Wagnerian par excellence!