Tuesday, August 30:
R. had a good night and, after the rug has been hung up, he goes to his work, which he then reads to me. Friend Marianne Brandt enlivens the house with solfeggios and the sounds of Kundry, which at times get on R.’s nerves. But he goes to his score after writing a friendly but determined letter to Dr. Strecker on the question of publication.
He was somewhat out of spirits in the evening, but he soon recovers and gives us dramatic accounts of theatrical experiences from his youth, including Fortunatus' Abenteuer in Vienna, splendidly imitating the Viennese accent. To me he is extravagantly kind; when I come downstairs in the afternoon, he says he is quite beside himself at the thought that he has been unfriendly toward me. And in the evening: “The fact that I have put up with all the vexations and the difficulties shows what a good life I have, but if I am not in harmony with you, then it all comes to a halt.”
“In music lies hopeful resignation,” R. says today. [A sentence based on untranslatable wordplay omitted.]