Thursday, January 6:
R. procured a better night for himself by taking medicine. He jokingly calls me the Napoleon of sleepers. Napoleon is now his main word for everything.
While still in bed, he says, “If you look after me well, clothe me well, feed me well, then I shall still compose Die Sieger.” “My difficulty there is the locality and the speech. Christianity is all noble simplicity, but in Buddhism there is so much education, and education is very inartistic.” We talk of the fact that in both, Parsifal and Sieger, more or less the same theme, the redemption of a woman, is treated. “It is impossible to judge what an effect the 3rd act of P. will have if it is well done.” Thus is why for Kundry he wants some other singer than Materna, whose face does not appeal to him, for she should be capable of deep and noble expressions.
“I wonder if some formula could be found,” he continues after a while, “for baptizing some such poor creature as Levi, I believe I could discover it.” And he expands on his idea concerning faith, love, and hope, as described in his most recent article. “One cannot speak too harshly against all the things that make up our modern culture. When I think that Bismarck has applied for the dismissal of Parson Stoecker, and when I think of our future with the Crown Prince, and particularly her! When I recall that women like her simply refuse to discuss certain subjects, such as vivisection!”
I say that the women cannot be held responsible for everything, but he exclaims: “Oh, yes, they can. The men are just wretched soldiers, the women are the only ones to whom one can turn in idealistic matters; and if all one finds there is leather, it really is appalling.” When, referring to religious statements, I say, “I hope for eternal peace after our death,” he replies, “Those are all secrets; we should not run around as we do with our five senses if we knew the answers.”
He orchestrates, asks me whether I like flageolets, and says I cannot know what it is like when a passage has to be reorchestrated three times. We go for a walk in the palace gardens, where Fidi is skating.
At lunch he comes back to Hoffmann’s story and says it is utterly unworthy of being read aloud to us; he is downright ashamed of having suggested it. Whereas he highly praises Gobineau’s stories.
Countess La Tour’s action in sending us the Count’s picture starts a discussion over coffee about relationships of this kind. When I say that the Countess would be very shocked if one were to assume anything beyond friendship, R. says: “But what is that, spending their evenings in intellectual conversations together? In such cases it always turns out that she is a goose and he a silly fool, for if one assumes that such contacts are not at the same time, how shall I put it, physically beneficial, then all this homage to Plato is ridiculous.”
He works in the afternoon, three bars cause him trouble, and he cites to me Helm’s article about the quartets, the freedom of the voice leading in the Opus 133 Fugue. He says that with him it was more or less the same, he felt this urge, and he promises to show me a subsidiary voice in Gurnemanz’s narration.
The question of costumes and decorations is discussed in the evening.
Added on a later page but referred back to this point: “R. shows us the article on the philosopher Hartmann in Spamer’s encyclopedia, and we are much amused by the expression ‘his cowardly personal renunciation.’ R. thinks these pieces are now all written by Jews.”
Friday, January 7:
R. had quite a tolerable night and works on his score in the morning. In the afternoon we go for a walk in the palace gardens, where R. finds the windless, mild cold very pleasant.
At lunch we had friend Heckel, who has come here for a conference. Nibelung reminiscences in plenty. R. works; it is still the three bars, “es neigten in heilig ernster Nacht,” which occupy him. He feels tired.
In the evening much about Count Gobineau, whose Ottar Jarl I find very gripping, and it leads to a discussion of old Nordic customs. A letter from Lusch delights us with its naturalness, and its discretion. R. expressed his antipathy for the English again today.