Tuesday, November 16:
R. did not sleep well but has made a good recovery. From La Renaissance he tells me Michelangelo's remark about Leo X, that the Pope did not love art, only luxury. He drives to the photographer's with me. We see Lenbach for the first time since the explosion; I had also been avoiding him, but Lusch told us that he had been downright ill on account of it. R. explains his feelings to him, and we then drive with him to his studio, where quite an agreeable conversation develops.
At lunch R. is completely cheerful, and he says we do not admire him enough for having sacrificed Die Meistersinger, to which he had been particularly looking forward. And today I am able to tell him all my feelings about this divine work, and what a triumph of ideality I see in his ability, amid all the dreary realities of his situation at the time, to conjure up such a vision of a lovely reality and a noble fatherland. That he fled from disagreeableness into the worldlessness and night of Tristan seems to me less wonderful than this creation of a "daytime," and this affirmation amid the very worst of experiences.
He goes out, meets the whole world in the street, and is much fatigued. However, he is pleased by Herr v. Ziegler's visit; this influential man, whose task is to keep the King informed on all political matters, professes to be a grateful devotee of R.'s, intends to recommend everything, in the matter of the rail connection to Bayreuth, for instance, and, on leaving, kisses R.'s hand. In this place in which we previously experienced nothing but hostility, we now have two loyal and enthusiastic men.
Before supper R. goes through Lohengrin with the conductor, and at table he talks about the dismal influence of the Jews on our present conditions, and warns Levi against the implications for him, which Levi accepts good-humoredly but nevertheless with some melancholy. Added in margin: "A few days ago he told him that he fusses too much about his soul!" We also talk about Gedon and the lack of recognition for his talents, and finally Lenbach enlarges interestingly upon the state of technique in painting. R. had said to him that painters were lucky in comparison with composers: all they had to do was to create their works, then they were dependent on nobody. L. says that, on the contrary, technique in painting has got into such an appalling state and been passed down to them by such bad predecessors that there is still everything to search for.
Very friendly parting from this peculiar man, of great stature, certainly, but nervous and high-strung.