Thursday, March 2:
Paid and received calls, then at half past six Lohengrin. R.’s magical conducting works miracles: the orchestra plays the Prelude as I have never heard it played before, the chorus is magnificent, the individual singers unfortunately worse than mediocre, incorrect, voiceless, without style.
More and more I realize the impossibility of producing anything sublime in these established theaters. Alone with R. late in the evening; I am in melancholy spirits and tired to the point of exhaustion.