Tuesday, August 5:
R. had a good night; our morning conversation is devoted to England, R. says he would like to read a witty writer’s precise description of that curious country, of which Carlyle had given him some glimpses.
A volume of V. Hugo (dramas) with illustrations brings this gaudy and already so outmoded world very close to us, and the sight fills us with astonishment for its talents, and with repugnance. At lunch reminiscences of R.’s sisters; he describes them to our children, telling them they were much more efficient than his brothers; touching memories of Klara Wolfram, how beautifully she sang to him the Siegfried theme, which he had just written down to remind himself; poor, lost creature.
Over coffee he tells me the story of Marie Tudor and also of Angelo, in which Minna had been very touching. He finishes his article today. Supper in the open. [Added later: “Very merry. R. said, ‘I want nothing else but the children, have no desire to modulate, am content with C major.’ ”] Then fireworks - somewhat unsuccessful, but fun all the same.
A long evening; R. reads his article aloud and then shows us some passages from Templer und Jüdin, the loveliest of all: Bois-Guilbert’s whisper to Rebecca in the final act and his reply to the Grand Master. But as the evening ends he talks without joy about his article: “I feel I am being a fool - it won’t do any good at all.”