Cosima's Diaries

Diary Entry of February 4, 1881

Overview

Richard worked contentedly on his article while the household buzzed with the milestones of the children—Boni's first ball, the girls preparing for confirmation, Lusch sending melancholy dispatches from the wider world. An evening attempt at "La Vestale" gave way to Beethoven's last quartet, which left the assembled friends in reverent silence and Richard reaching for words, settling on "stupidity" before crossing it out for "isolation." Afterward, over champagne, he reflected on how a nature like Beethoven's could never have been domesticated, yet in dreams had always appeared to him as gently consoling.

Content

Friday, February 4:

R. slept well; he works with pleasure on his article. He no longer intends to reply to letters from Herr N[eumann] about rights in Paris.

At lunch there is conversation with the two candidates for confirmation about the prophets, both major and minor, and memories of Michelangelo’s figures, whom R. sees as figures grieving over decadence. Jokingly R. adds, “About Michelangelo I feel like Spontini about tubas: ‘Je ne veux pas bannir cet instrument de l’orchestre.’” Boni at her first ball yesterday, the two girls preparing themselves for confirmation, Lusch out in the wide world, sending us melancholy reports. Fidi, the only one still displaying childhood in all its innocence.

Fine weather. “The starlings win.” We go for a walk, R. and I, and meet Dean C[aselmann]. “You in place of Dittmar!” R. exclaims, astonishing me with his memory; he recalls what I told him about the dean’s first visit, how he had asked to be accepted as a substitute for Dittmar, even in our game of whist. This last request stuck in his mind as typical. Returning home, we hear the soft chirping of a little bird: “He is saying, ‘I want to be brought into the world like the Homunculus,’” R. observes.

At supper we joke with Loldi about the major and minor prophets and with Boni about her experiences at the ball. After that, our friends gather; an attempt with La Vestale miscarries somewhat, but then Beethoven’s last quartet, ours! R. summarizes our feelings during the playing thus: “It seems something like an act of grace that one is allowed in one’s stupidity to listen to such a being.” [The word “stupidity” was subsequently written over and changed to “isolation” in an unknown hand.] When all have gone, we wash down the evening with champagne, R. and I, and talk of Beethoven: “If only one had known, had seen a being like that! He would not have put up with us, but what tremendous outbursts there would have been cries of bliss and ecstasy! He would then have gone his own way, rather like your father. It is quite unimaginable. I have seen both him and Shakespeare in my dreams, toward me always gently consoling.” Today in the palace gardens we wondered whether any more great men might...