Saturday, December 25:
“Geschreibsel, Gebleibsel!” ... How to describe, how indeed to write? ... The children strike up their song after the first embraces and sing it splendidly, then they bring me “the locker,” and what things there are in it! The 9th Symphony, copied out by R. 50 years ago; he coaxed it out of Frl. Uhlig for me! Splendidly written, pleasing him, too, with its painstaking thoroughness, which, when I think of all the things that must have been going on in that 17-year-old head, seems incredible to me.
Then a lovely old necklace, which R. calls “Frau Vogl’s kiss,” because, when he was choosing it in the antiquarian’s shop, Frau Vogl rushed in and embraced him passionately. “You will never see anything like that again,” R. said to the dealer. “You should let me have it 100 marks cheaper.” “That’s true,” the man said, and R. remarks that much more and he would have given it to him for nothing. Then a gold heart, an old saltcellar, and many little things from the children, which I took one by one out of the drawers, with comments from R. and the children. In my room I discover a table carpentered for me by Fidi, and lovely sketches by Joukowsky, full of associations.
The morning passes in friendly felicitations, and R. says he would like to go on drinking without a break, he can do or write nothing. Since the King kindly remembers me in a telegram, R. thanks him, sending birthday bliss to the sun! At lunch R. proposes my health; I have difficulty in replying, for what exists between us cannot be expressed in words before others, not even those nearest to us. After lunch he says to me, “Forgive me for speaking like that.” Ah, he is well and in good spirits, how can I have any other feeling than overwhelming gratitude?
It snows in the afternoon, Frau Holle is congratulating me, says R. I go for a rest, R. too, but then he gets involved downstairs in a philosophical discussion with Rub., who wants to do away with the world! Our mealtime conversations are devoted to the difficulties connected with my surprise gifts: the nonarrival of the locker, the discovery that Frl. Uhlig had gone away, and much else.
In the evening the tableau vivant is repeated, and it moves R. to tears; the splendid “Geschreibsel, Gebleibsel” is also repeated. Then R. plays the Euryanthe Overture with Rub., and after playing it he embraces me, exclaiming, “Oh, Weber! I love him as much as I do you!” and then adds, “No, not quite as much.” He then becomes immersed in memories of W., whom the Dresdeners called “Humpelmarie,” he recalls his walk, his expression, somewhat weary, and attributes his earnest application to so neglected a genre as opera to forebodings of his early death. R. is moved as he expresses this thought, and it is very affecting.
Then he says to the children, “Now I am going to sing something for Mama,” and he sings the passage in the first act where Lysiart comes to fetch Eur[yanthe], turning to me on the words “When thou appearest.” Then we start discussing Fidelio, which R. describes as unworthy of the composer of the symphonies in spite of splendid individual passages, and the finale of Fidelio is played. Before supper R. had played through the C Major Overture and given it preference over the great Leonore Overture, which has more of an al fresco quality; but this C Major was not designed for the masses, he says. When Jouk. remarks that Beeth. and R. are the composers of joy, R. observes that he must be thinking of the finale to Lohengrin, but he has found little scope for it, for drama always introduces passion.
My health is repeatedly drunk, in both gay and solemn ways. Among jokes which since yesterday R. has frequently been telling is this one from the Fliegende Blätter: One lieutenant to another: “How many cows are there here, do you think?” “77.” “How do you know?” “Quite easy, I just counted their legs and divided by 4”; R. observes that all knowledge nowadays is something like that!
The evening ends. I kneel in prayer before Him whose blessing can alone make me worthy of him. And as we lie quietly in bed, I hear his voice softly saying, “I am happy, I am happy, now I could die, for it has all been fulfilled, what is still to come is a bonus.”