Wednesday, July 18:
At 10 o’clock we left the cozy spot where we have spent such lovely, quiet days. R. tells me he is always enraged that we did not discover each other 15 years earlier: “How much silly nonsense would I have been spared!”
Nice journey; in Freiburg a large crowd of Wagnerians, including Heckel and his wife, at the railroad station, flowers, beer, and toasts. In Oos friend Pohl told us that the Russians were now beyond the Balkan Mountains. R. laughs: “How silly of me to be glad! Both the Sultan and the Khedive bought certificates of patronage, but the Russians did nothing at all for me; people will think me very ungrateful.”
Yesterday we talked about the tragedy of life, about Hans! The nearer I come to the places I know in Switzerland, the more I feel as if someone were talking about my past life, with gentle melancholy; it has ceased to exist for me, yet the melancholy remains. Nice letter from the King about Parsifal. Also, before our departure, one from Loldi.
Arrived here (Lucerne) in the evening, to our great surprise Richter on the platform, then Countess Bassenheim, the Stocker family, in short, our whole past.
Unfortunately also a letter from Dr. Herz which dismays me: diphtheria has broken out in Altenburg. All the signs of ill omen come back to my mind — last night we were 13 at table, the three lights, the dead horse, the bloody star; we intend to travel on Friday; why is my mind so full of disaster?