Sunday, June 23:
[Incorrectly dated June 24. Added in margin: “Regarding Christ, for whom God was the positive element within the heart, while the intervening world was just the evil there, the conflict with God. R. writes to C. Frantz to thank him for his letter.”]
Midsummer Day, Meistersinger day! R. slept well, seven hours without interruption! In the palace gardens with children and dogs. Told me many amusing things about it. Discussion regarding Lusch; R. concerned that she make a good marriage; I tell him that I have no worries, whoever lives in his house is blessed by fortune, and the rest will turn out all right. Then he recalls our good Frau Materna and her “energy” — how, when she had to sing beside that “boy with a plum in his mouth” (in the third act of Siegfried), she did not allow herself to be led astray. We also talk about the fact that no rich man could be found to promote the festival performances; R. observes that they are all Jews, or, if they are not, they keep their distance, frightened off by the press. At lunch R. says, “To my sorrow I must state that the Bhagavad-Gita is becoming very childish; a downright grotesque hocus-pocus when, as Vishnu, he reveals himself as an être suprême [supreme being].” In the evening R. talks about the time of the awakening of sensual feelings in a youth, and how important it is then to guide him toward an ideal.
The Congress has begun by safeguarding the position of the Jews in Rumania, friend Wolzogen tells us. “I don’t want to hear anything more about that,” R. exclaims, and, when it is mentioned that the prospects look warlike, “Let them butcher one another, I thirst for downfall, destruction, anything but having to go through another pleasure like that of 1870.” R. says that the Pope has changed beyond all recognition and intends to abdicate. Thunderstorm; I write to Secretary B[urkel] regarding decorations, R. starts to read Le Lotus de la bonne Loi and, when I come downstairs, he tells me I should read just the first few pages: “Just like the Gospels, isn’t it?” he cries, as we laugh loudly together over the jumble of names, numbers, etc. A little Meistersinger, distress over Seidl, who is completely ignorant. “Always starting again from scratch,” R. exclaims. A walk in the garden. R. shows me how he takes his spa walk.