Tuesday, July 26:
We are greeted in the morning by military music; at first it gives us some pleasure, but then its vulgarity puts us off. “And only yesterday,” says R., recalling the chorus from Die Ruinen von Athen, “I was thinking lovingly of music as something far removed from the visual world, which rises up to say friendly things!”
At lunchtime Herr Brandt reports that we can now inspect the Magic Garden scenery. In tones both grave and gay we discuss Germany and its constitution, particularly its princes. “I can’t see myself bowing down before such people,” R. says, “with the exception of the King of Bavaria; this is a good relationship, he is my friend.” The fact that our worthy gardener’s assistant is being taken from his work to serve three years in the army, and will thus lose his eagerness to work and pleasure in working, arouses R.’s ire. The climate also disgusts him.
We set off for the theater, and a storm greets us before we have even got beyond the foot of the hill. Inside, everything is in darkness; rain is also falling on the stage. Much vexation, but we decide to wait. After a noon snack in the artists’ room, beer, rye bread, and butter are offered us by the friendly foreman, Kranich. R. is very mild and cheerful; he recalls our moods in the year 1876, and we feel a similar kind of enthusiasm. The children play tag with Marie Gross and Jouk. The sun shines, Kranich calls, the Magic Garden is set up, and the tom-toms are tried out; a fine bell-like sound. R. goes on stage, speaks the words “Thou know’st where thou again willst see me” and points to the spot: feelings of unreality, life a dream, happiness! We return home with the good mayor in very high spirits.
In the evening we try to read Calderon’s El mayor encanto amor but are downright repelled by its false, trivial spirit. R. observes that one must draw a sharp line between the mythological and the Spanish subjects in Calderon. This play reminds me of certain compositions by Tiepolo, pyramids in the air, etc.