Saturday, February 6:
Last night I dreamed of a separation from R., my return to Munich, and a reunion with the children. Boni was very affected, Loulou indifferent, and I felt I could not go on living. Floods of tears streamed from my eyes, and I asked all sorts of uncaring people how I could get to Paris, where Richard was staying.
Children, books, score, some letters: thus was the day filled, for R. as well as for me. A telegram brought news of Die Meistersinger’s great success in Karlsruhe! A correspondent in Cologne brought to our notice the report in the Kölnische Zeitung concerning the Dresden success, which, says this friendly correspondent, would make Hiller and his comrades turn green and yellow with rage, for this large newspaper is literally bribed either to avoid all mention of Wagner’s successes or to put a smear on them.
How strange and ugly seem even well-disposed notices from these spheres of the press, the theater, and the musical world of the present; how jarring in our solitude their screeching tones! To me it seems it is not power which makes an enemy worthy of respect, but his inner worth.
Walk in the evening, the stars twinkling down on me one after another above the withered branches like friendly greetings.