Tuesday, October 17:
The weather is grayer than ever, and R. complains bitterly about the state of his health - also about the things which never cease to importune him, such as Frau Lucca. Regarding his present reading (The Pirate), he complains that one can easily see from its verbosity that it was written for the world of elegant ladies.
After looking at several things with Siegfried, at 12:30 I go to fetch R. for a gondola trip; he complains how difficult his morning was, how long and laborious his efforts to settle down, and he was unable to do any work. We ride along the Cannaregio and then down as far as the railroad station, where we get out to return home on foot. At lunch our conversation turns to the housekeeping, and R. cannot help being surprised by the total of our expenditures. (A delivery for Dan. from Milan contained, among other things, a green velvet jacket, called Rembrandt, which he put on and in which he looked exactly like Figaro.) In the afternoon, in pouring rain he goes to the bank.
But in the evening the 3rd act of Siegfried, very well played by Herr Rubinstein, pleases both him and us. “That is Gobineau music,” R. says as he comes in, “that is race. Where else will you find two beings who burst into rejoicing when merely looking at each other? The whole world exists just to ensure that two such beings look at each other!” “Here is just forest and rocks and water and nothing rotten in it.” “Here is a couple who rejoice in their happiness, immerse themselves in the happiness of being together - how different from Tristan!” He deplores the foolishness of the public, which cares only for Die Walküre, but praises Herr Neumann, who is disseminating the whole work abroad. “How curious that it should have to be a Jew!” he says.