Saturday, March 23:
R. had a good night; in the morning he thinks of Tristan und Isolde and says: “How did I ever achieve the rapture of the 2nd act? I know, it was through seeing Schröder-Devrient as Romeo, and it isn’t so silly to have a woman in that role, for these little men, and particularly tenors, can never do those lovely wild embraces; it would have to be a brother and sister, specially trained for it by their father, as the Marchisios were trained.”
Yesterday evening he said, “I had looked forward to my Flower Maidens, now they are proving difficult, too.” He asked me what they should wear on their first appearance: “Perhaps something suggesting flower stems, and then they might decorate themselves with petals.”
Snowfall. R. is very exasperated by the weather and these skies and tells me we really must always spend a part of the winter in Italy, where we should at least have an interesting city. But in the afternoon he goes through the 2nd act of Parsifal with friend S. Oh, what does one care then about the lack of sunshine, about difficulties and cares - how unimportant and petty they all seem!
I can scarcely express my emotion with an embrace - how, then, for you, my children, in words? The whole world of sin writhes and laments, sighs and laughs in these sounds, how frail Kundry’s resistance, her initial “I will not,” how frail even her rebellion, how overpowering her laugh of desire! And Parsifal’s appearance, childlike, heroic, victorious, radiantly pure and strong as steel as he resists all their pressure! “They could not catch him, unlike Siegfried,” says R., “the fly was too large.”
R. rests for a while, but he cannot sleep. He is also pleased with his work, which is unparalleled - even compared with Erda’s awakening, Alberich’s curse! ... In the evening the Schopenhauer biography; his sister’s letters very beautiful and tender, “perhaps rather too much preoccupation with herself,” R. feels. But Schopenhauer’s letters to the business manager in Danzig quite splendid, they thoroughly delight R. with their truthfulness, their acute understanding, their wit, and their passion. ... When our friends have left, we remain a little while together, R. and I. “Let us not forget the times when such things had their beginning,” R. replies to my stammering enthusiasm.