Friday, April 25:
R. tells me that at a quarter to six he went downstairs and altered a passage in his sketches: “I have got rid of those stupid syncopations.” He shows me the passage and tells me that while he was doing it, a bird tapped on the window and demanded to be let in. Hardly has he said this when Georg announces the sudden death of Herr v. Staff during a hunt in the forest. I take leave of R., look in on Fidi, who is still unwell, and then go to the poor wife.
When I return around noon, R. greets me with the news that Parsifal is finished, he has been working very strenuously! Though our conversation at lunch revolves around the sad blow in the neighboring house, it does not affect the mood arising from this event. And when, after lunch, R. sings to me Amfortas’s last lament and Parsifal’s words, and plays the ending, I once more feel that pain and mourning make the soul even more vulnerable to music—I breathe in this blessing deeply, and tears of joy follow on the tears of sympathy I shed in the morning like transfigured sisters. Bless you, dear heavens!
I spend the afternoon with my poor friend. Friend Wolzogen and Herr Rubinstein come to us in the evening. R. finishes reading the essay on Dr. Francia, to the enjoyment of all. He says that never before has he been permitted to work so uninterruptedly. I: “Oh, that I have lived to see it!”