Sunday, October 30:
R. had a good night and spends the morning with Kant, also with letters. Brandt writes very nicely and takes on the management of the whole thing. A cold wind; R. attempts to go out, but soon returns home for fear of erysipelas. At lunch, 'Werbel and Swemel,' our two musicians. Herr Humperdinck shows us his neat copy of the score; R. looks at the die Klage, die furchtbare Klage passage and fears he may have orchestrated it too heavily, particularly in the wind instruments.
When I venture to remark that, since the actors would certainly not be able to convey the whole situation, it is a good thing for it to be carried by the orchestra, and that a powerful orchestra never disturbs but enhances it, as in the awakening of the Wala, he agrees with me and says, 'The cothurnus is a necessity.' He also says he was thinking of his theater.
We do not go for a drive, but stroll up and down in the salon, discussing domestic affairs. Then R. sits down at the piano and plays the 3rd act of Vars. - wonderfully! In the evening we have our friends from the management committee and the Jagers. R. has something from Euryanthe performed, from 'Unter blühenden Mandelbäumen' on, he himself singing Lysiart.
When the guests have left, he sends for Wolz., orders champagne, tries once more to persuade our friend to come to Palermo with us, then, turning to me with 'I did not tell you,' goes on: 'I recently saw quite clearly in my mind's eye Prince Hal's face, a blotchy, ravished face with bushy eyebrows, and eyes which can at times flash with anger. His humor comes from indulgence, and his indulgence is drink. The scene with Poins is repulsive, and the one with the King in which he puts on the crown, just affectation.'
I remark that it is a natural affectation; R. agrees with me, but not when I observe that awareness of his calling must also have been apparent in his face. However, he agrees again when I observe that all attempts at interpretation seem impossible, since, just as one is telling oneself that it must have been like that, it always turns into something different. 'An unfathomable being, this Shakespeare - he wants to glorify the national hero, but he cannot help himself, he must show him like this. In H. V - there he really expressed himself. Hamlet provides us with a commentary on this world. But one could spend a whole lifetime reflecting on this scene between father and son. He, H. V, is the setting star, the end of a heroic line. In H. VI the weakness is already apparent.'
When our friend leaves us, R. exclaims to himself, 'H. V - it looks like something, but is nothing,' in his bitterness at being unable to persuade our friend to go with us. Then, upstairs, he tells me something from his childhood which I have now forgotten.