Thursday, March 10:
All kinds of things, but nothing unpleasant, from Lusch. R. had a good night, I a bad one, in consequence of which I sleep through breakfast and R.'s rising. He comes in later and teases me, saying I sleep only when he is present, but after that I get up. He leaves me, and shortly afterward calls out, 'Now I can see it all,' and he plays to me his new incidental music.
(Yesterday, while he was sketching it out, I again lay down and went to sleep, and in my dream I heard him playing the scene from Tristan in which Isolde arrives, with so much passion that I cried out, 'He is calling me,' and then I woke up.)
Friend Feustel dines with us. R. again does not go out of doors, on account of the weather. He works in the evening, is somewhat out of humor, but speaks affectingly of his reading (Jacolliot's India). He is vexed that people are thinking of theater boxes in Berlin, when the whole of Berlin revolts him, but he is pleased about the Chileans, whom he has always liked.