Sunday, November 7:
Only in the early hours does R. fall asleep, and he has a wild dream about Fidi falling in the water. We rouse ourselves to a sort of conversation about the previous evening: Bernays's absurdity, always as if bidden to lecture on everything noble, and a happy accident which resulted in young Muncker's hearing R. speak of his father in a very friendly way.
But the saddest of days, on which even what R. likes to call my beauty becomes a source of sorrow, for he tells me that I stand in the way of my children. Tristan in the evening, probably never before heard in such sorrow; R. very affected, tells us that he feels with every character, with Marke, with Kurwenal, he feels he is each one of them.
The orchestra very good. The second act the crowning glory.