Wednesday, November 16:
At midnight I was startled by a dream. I felt as if Fidi had called me; we make our way, R. and I, along the lengthy corridors and see him sleeping very peacefully. Then we return, I very distressed at having disturbed R. by crying out.
At breakfast he talks about music and how strange it is, how impossible, to set something like Faust, for instance, to music. In my father’s Faust Symphony, when the chorus starts with “All things transitory,” etc., one feels, “Why didn’t he say that earlier?” whereas the Magnificat at the end of the Dante Symphony is quite different.
Then we talk about Henry VI, and R. remarks that in it the populace appears, at Gloucester’s death, demanding justice, for the first time in the manner it has since been so frequently used by V. Hugo, for instance. Then he speaks of how short the speeches are, so that one could in a certain sense set them to music.
Much walking again today, delight in the roses in our gardens. In the afternoon a walk to the marina, where we take much delight in the sea, the mountains, and the sunshine. Before supper our time is taken up in discussion of a letter from Herr Neumann and various things derived from it in connection with Paris and London. Difficulties appear to be arising.
In the evening the 4th act of Henry VI makes us forget all these troubles. Before that R. gaily recalled the saying, “The hand that wields the broom on Saturdays will best, on Sundays, fondle and caress,” and he read this nice scene from Faust to us.