Tuesday, May 21:
When, as again today, R. calls me his “soul,” I feel like swooning, dying, or cherishing forever the blissful moment. But life rolls on, we are not permitted for long to dwell on the heights! To you, my Siegfried, I bequeath these moments: you will possess them fully, my bliss will be for you an experience free of all clouds, whereas I myself must still struggle with worries and fears!
The skies open over my little preparations, and just as I am about to write in this diary, R. comes in, saying he has had to break off; he finds his work too exhausting. Then, showing his leg to the barber, he catches sight of an inflamed spot on it: another carbuncle perhaps? Now I call on the divine countenance to appear to me, so that I may not complain, but bear it all serenely. Take my happiness, my darling child, and raise it high, you receive it freed of all care!
Dress rehearsal without Siegfried, since he is hoarse. In the evening Kenilworth. “You are everything to me,” R. whispers to me as I am going off to sleep; I am unable to reply, yet hear this blessing which accompanies me toward the night.