Tuesday, March 14:
[Enclosed in the diary: a peacock feather wrapped in a sheet of paper bearing the inscription: “A feather found a few days ago by R. on the steps from the salon to the garden and presented to me!”]
But R. gets up in cheerful spirits, and our breakfast on the terrace passes off very harmoniously. Only the three of us at lunch, since the girls have gone on an outing to Pellegrino with Count T. He reads the text of Die Meistersinger in his collected writings, is pleased with it, and says this is really his masterpiece. Yesterday he expressed pleasure over his prefaces, but his criticisms in Opera and Drama he now finds immature and erroneous as a concept, as an idea.
A letter from Levi brings all the difficulty with singers before his eyes; he replies in humorous vein, but he is not satisfied with our conductor’s methods, he thinks of Richter’s practical ways. Wolzogen’s clinging to Jäger also arouses his displeasure. And I fear the whole thing is becoming a burden to him. (Packing for Acireale.)