Sunday, February 3:
I write to the King to thank him. For some time now R. has been reading with great enjoyment Turgenev's Sportsman's Sketches, which I recommended to him, and he tells us about them at lunch. His foot is paining him, which distresses me deeply. In the evening we finish The Heart of Midlothian with great satisfaction. "A great writer, the crown of a civilized period, a great master," says R.
Before that he played me the scene between Gurnemanz and the squires, the entrance of Amfortas, his words to Kundry, oh, how beautiful it all is, how singularly moving! All sorts of silly things are being said about Parsifal, I gather from H. v. W.; someone thinks it is like an oratorio, other Christian people deplore Klingsor's maidens, many are shocked by the "gooseherd" oh, dear! . . .