Friday, May 13:
Beethoven Committee in Vienna invites R. to conduct the 9th Symphony (Lachner Fidelio, my father the Missa Solemnis). R. does not want to: “When I at last have a home of my own, I shall conduct the Symphony for you, but I want nothing to do with all that rabble.” He is unfortunately not well. Marie Bassenheim with us for lunch.
In the evening R. wrapped himself in blankets to ward off a cold; I read him scenes from Wallenstein and we come to the conclusion that the play—particularly the relationship between Thekla and Max—is far too little appreciated. R. tells me how impressed he was, when he came to Würzburg, to be told by a man named Seiffert that as a poet Heine was much better than Schiller.
We talk about having the plays performed in Bayreuth, for the disgraceful way in which they are done spoils them for one—for example, Thekla is always shown as weak and tearful, whereas she possesses all the ruthlessness of true love. “There he is!” reminds us of Eva’s blissful cry in Die Meistersinger. “It is magnetism which contrives, for example, that the sheep finds in the wide world the grass which is good for it, all the rest is shadowy show. Thus a woman in love—the whole world consists of phantoms, but she knows where he is.”