Sunday, October 27:
R. had a good night. When I tell him how pleased I am, he says a stimulation such as he experienced last night did him good, and he would enjoy playing his works to us. “Now I want to come to grips with the prelude to the third act” is practically his first word today.
While we are still in bed he tells me of a conversation between Meyerbeer and Benedict in Boulogne; they had been talking about a “distinguished” talent, and when B. said that the gants jaunes had been active in support, M. observed that nowadays one ought really to say gants blancs, since yellow gloves were out of fashion. R. has never forgotten it. He comes back to the idea of taking the children to Munich to see Tannhäuser, but incognito; he thinks that nobody would recognize him anyway. I say, “Like in Zurich.” There, he feels, several generations have grown up since he last appeared publicly, it was only at the beginning of his time there that he used to see people. “Everywhere,” he says with a laugh, “my life has ended up in a dead end.” After embracing me, he leaves me with the words “Well, the semiquavers must be attended to.” “I go without emotion to my emotional sufferings.”
When I tell him how much I like the Gradus ad Parnassum, he says, “Yes, it is like strong coffee” (which he now prefers to tea in the morning), “and there is something about this continuity (like Bach’s C Major Prelude, for instance) which one never tires of pursuing, just as one can go on watching a river forever.” He laughs when I say, “On the other hand, a theme which advances on one like an individual and destroys the fundamental unity, if it is not in itself very significant - that is not at all pleasant.” He is amused by the word “pleasant.” We also talk of the chorale Herr Levi has sent us; it starts with a frightful dissonance, and R. says it reminds him of Duprez, to whom Berlioz once gave something quite horrible with the words “Cela doit vous plaire.” We spoke of the costumes in Kabale und Liebe (he recently read the “Put it with the others” scene, which he once saw played in mixed costumes, the President, Wurm, Ferdinand in modern dress. Marshal Kalb, Miller, and his wife in rococo dress), and of the difficulty of finding the proper costumes for nonhistorical dramas. We have outgrown this play, he says, for we are no longer stirred by patriotic feelings: “The Jew is an entirely new creature,” and he can no longer identify himself with it.
He works, but is unfortunately run down - that is to say, he looks run down when he comes to see me - for at lunch he is in the gayest of moods, bubbling over with scintillating wit. Friend Wolzogen visits us, and we discuss our Society’s affairs in great good humor. The wet weather and the complete lack of sunshine oppress him, and we feel like borrowing Die Zauberflöte’s sun! We spend the evening alone in conversation and, following our discussion, go through various passages in Beeth.’s last quartets. Beforehand we read a bit of Herr v.d. Straeten’s Voltaire musicien, but without much enjoyment. “By music they understand something completely different,” says R. (He has written to Prague, which also wants to do the Ring.)