Wednesday, July 9:
R. had a good night. He continues reading C. Frantz, still with great pleasure. When I say at lunch how glad I am that yesterday evening did not harm him, whereas Parsifal on May 23 had been bad for him, he says: “Oh, that is completely different, when there are other people there. But when I see your face, ennobled by pain, I find it all quite easy.”
Have I the temerity to write this down? For you, my Siegfried, for you alone, and not to vaunt myself before you, but just so that you may know how we were permitted to live our lives, we who feel so homeless. Over coffee R. once again told me that he is thinking of America, whether to take the children; if leaving them behind, then I to stay with them. I: “On no account. I go with you, I can make arrangements for the children.” R.: “For me there isn’t a glimmer of hope anywhere, nothing to which I could pin my hopes. What I am living on is due to the popularity of works of mine from which I now turn away in disgust.” [Added at bottom of page: “Yesterday he received his royalties from Vienna, which still show that Lohengrin possesses the greatest drawing power.”] “This is terrible, and if I continue to put up with it, it is my personal happiness which is to blame, my life with you.”
The question whether to return or not. The children not with us, so that all would not be lost in case of a catastrophe. To earn enough to pay off the deficit and to be able to set something aside, so as not to have anything more to do with the outside world. Despite the gloom, we part in cheerful spirits! We take a walk, though the weather is unfortunately very windy; then R. goes to Angermann’s with Siegfried. In the evening we are visited by Herr Huth, the clarinetist (he took part in our festival and also played under R. in Moscow!). After he has gone, a game of whist with the two girls, and after their departure R. reads to me Frantz’s excellent character studies of Bismarck and Fr[iedrich] W[ilhelm] IV.