Wednesday, July 26:
R. had a restless night. I hear him saying, softly satisfied with the turn the toasts took yesterday, and, on top of that, has forgotten everything he himself said; he does not recognize it in the newspaper reports.
We leave home at half past three; the weather is unfortunately not good. The first act goes more or less according to his wishes; it is just the large amount of “play-acting” he finds displeasing. When, after the second act, there is much noise and calling, R. comes to the balustrade and says that, though the applause is very welcome to his artists and to himself, they had agreed, in order not to impinge on the impression, not to take a bow, so that there would be no “curtain calls.” After our meal R. and I are together in our box. Great emotion overwhelms us. But at the end R. is vexed by the silent audience, which has misunderstood him; he once again addresses it from the gallery, and when the applause then breaks out and there are continual calls, R. appears in front of the curtain and says that he tried to assemble his artists, but they were by now half undressed. The journey home, taken up with this subject, is a vexed one. Once we are home, it takes a very long time to calm R. down, since a host of different impressions are mixed up inside him. Even the fact that Schnapp. talks to him of Dr. von Liszt annoys him. At last I am able to hand over my little gift, a cushion, and gradually his thoughts are diverted; at twenty to one we go off to bed.