Monday, August 21:
R. had a good night. Otherwise we are living in a whirl of telegrams in both directions, since great misunderstandings still prevail. At lunch we have our dear Glasenapps. R. is also corresponding with Frl. Malten and Gudehus about appearing again; he sends her his photograph with an inscription, “So, too, thy tear became a dew of blessing”; to Frau Materna, “Kundry here, Brünnhilde there, the work’s bright jewel everywhere.” He strolls in the garden and is gratified by Marke’s affection toward him. Around 7 o’clock he comes to my room; he has just been reading the riddles in Calderon’s La sibila del oriente and feels great aversion toward it; he is disgusted by the hairsplitting, artificial playing with the cross. His mood is melancholy, the sky overcast; I feel that all that is left for us is to die together. And in the evening there is a reception, following which R. is feeling unwell!