Friday, February 21:
R. had a good night, and around noon I see him radiating happiness — he has found it, he says, and he sings me Gurnemanz’s words. He is taking a long time over it, he adds, and that gives him pleasure.
After lunch he talked about the bad times in Vienna and said, “Nothing of all that was really necessary.” He recalled how he had always been forced to break off his work — Tannhäuser, for example, and others.
My wish to give him my picture for his birthday coincides with earache and toothache; I ask to be allowed to go to Munich. He wants to come, too; my anxiety about his health does not permit it. A sad evening — disconsolate mood —