Friday, July 13:
On the terrace R. shows me two doves sitting quietly on the edge and says, “Those are our souls, which have stayed here since our conversation yesterday evening.” I visit the castle with the children; then R. improvises a drive to Mannheim, where we are joined by our friends in the Pfälzer Hof. It seems that friend Heckel may really be appointed to the theater committee, which is significant insofar as the gentlemen of the school of malice have played the vilest tricks on him here in Mannheim and have almost completely destroyed his business, the conductor Frank, the theater committee, etc. He also tells us that, when he proposed the engagement of Hans as conductor here, the committee approached Herr von Perfall, who declared that Hans was impossible to work with. And with this wretched man we shall now have to negotiate in Munich!
As I was writing this page, R. came in to report another lucky omen; at the moment when he put his hand in his pocket and jingled his money, he had caught sight of the moon in the first quarter!
Evening on the terrace: one after another the lights come on in the city like huge glowworms. We feel ever better and more at home here, where no stupid tricks come between us. Even the worst possibilities of our life together, such as the journey to America, we can talk about gaily; R. says, “In order to keep down costs, I will ask your father to engage me for matinee performances and give concerts with me there, he will play, and I sing.” This proposed, we discuss all the details of the situation amid growing laughter, from the nursing of his voice and raw eggs to the embarrassed welcome, à la Beckmesser.
Postscript added after the July 14 entry: Our joking was interrupted for a moment by a child’s song; a girl, returning home in the evening, is singing in a voice which is loud, but very pure and clear, [Weber’s] I am lonely, not alone. She strolls about, accompanied by someone with a bright lantern; a very pretty impression.
I have the feeling that only the sounds of Weber could emerge from this beautiful, dense greenery: this is where his graceful spirit sits weaving.