Monday, March 14:
More snow! Our poor little birds! We want to give them some bread, but they have all flown away. “One more striking proof of the ideality of time and space, that the birds live now here and now there.” In the Musikalische Zeitung there is a report on the performance of Die Meistersinger in Vienna. Among other things the J[ews] are spreading a story around that “Beckmesser’s Song” is an old Jewish song which R. was trying to ridicule. In consequence, some hissing in the second act and calls of “We don’t want to hear any more,” but complete victory for the Germans. R. says, “That is something none of our fine historians of culture notice: that things have reached the stage of Jews’ daring to say in the imperial theater, ‘We do not want this.’” The newspapers are saying that the Bey of Tunis sent R. a decoration in diamonds—thus is history written! Fidi unwell, he is having trouble with his teething. In the evening arrival of the Trois Mélodies, which contain to our amazement and displeasure a dedication to the Baronne de Caters, whom R. does not even know. He writes at once demanding the withdrawal of the dedication. In the evening read Tristan und Isolde, which makes me realize ever more clearly how great and unique R.’s conception of it is. My great melancholy persists; what would I not give to learn that Hans is contented and active! All the evils of the past have now vanished from my mind, and I see and feel only that I had to leave him. Could I but spare my children such suffering!