Monday, July 17:
R. talks almost without interruption throughout the night. I hear, among other things, “Adieu, children” — to whom could I speak my thoughts? Not thoughts, alas, but cries of fear heavy as lead: he, the children, the children, he! I see Siegfried's pleading look! ...
At 12 o'clock the oboist arrives, along with the conductor; very humorously R. says it sounded like a young cockerel who “suddenly feels the urge to say something.” Then he suddenly exclaims: “What is aristocracy? How does it reveal itself in a sound like that? By not saying anything stupid, and so I have advised the oboist to louden his tone at once, so that the trivial shall not last an eternity.” We have a bearer of the Grail, a squire, and Dr. Strecker and wife at lunch. At 3 o'clock a rehearsal (of the 3rd act, reading, with piano). R. is very thorough on the various points of significance, among them Parsifal's blissful smile, Gurnemanz's rapture, and his folk-like simplicity. The impossibility of his being understood causes great depression.
In silence we drive home by a roundabout route; the drive does R. good; now and again we exchange a word about the work. Arriving home, R. goes off to bed, and I receive Herr Neumann, whom R. sent for because of a letter from Herr Voltz received this morning, telling him that in spite of all R.'s concessions the court case in Leipzig is still proceeding. R. takes a bath and then some food, which is always connected with a certain amount of vexation. But I go to keep him company, leaving our circle to whist and conversation, and soon we are in lively, indeed almost heated conversation with each other over a glass of champagne. I only wish I could take him in my arms and carry him far, far away from it all!