Thursday, November 30:
R. had a restless night, the V. and Batz affair torments him and causes him anxiety - for how long now? Years! But in bed in the morning he gives me instructions to prepare a nice Christmas for the children. Then he observes that my father was not looking well yesterday. I: "He isn't well." He wonders whether we should not consult a doctor. I say he has consulted Brehm and is living according to his instructions, whereupon R. disputes that very violently. When I tell him that I saw him drinking only Marsala and water, R. reproaches me for contradicting him; that arouses great annoyance in me, I angrily declare to R. that my entire efforts are always directed at not opposing him in anything, whereupon he jumps angrily out of bed with the remark that I obviously think I am virtue itself. Hardly has he gone when I sorrowfully tell myself that I should have kept silent after he contradicted my statement that my father is living according to doctor's orders; his remark about my opinion of myself seemed at first a bitter and painful punishment, but in the very next moment, though still in tears, I accept it with all my heart - if it is just, as a salutary punishment, if unjust (I am not aware of having any good opinion of myself, for I have never felt myself to be above anyone else), then as a blessing! May the blessings of suffering prevail! Certainly I have deserved my sorrow on account of my anger.
R. comes to breakfast; a nice letter has arrived from the King, we talk amicably about it. Before he goes, he tells me that it is unfair of him to talk to me so freely about my father, he realizes that and regrets it. Certainly it is not that; I keep silent, however, in the way I know he prefers when he has explained something, and I kiss him with a heart warmth that pains the violently trembling self within me; however, I have no love for this self, and I know that the present flood of tears will give way to happiness. (As I am writing this, still under the immediate influence of it all, the sun shines silver and gold and smiles on me for a moment; otherwise it is a gray day.) R. walks to the Church of I Gesuiti via S. Apostoli, guided by Siegf. Before lunch he reads to S. what the King says about him. At lunch he tells us his latest impressions of Goethe, saying that "in our threefold copy" of Faust he has been reading about the beating of the fur coat; he says such things can be compared with nothing else, they belong solely to Goethe. "This new creation delights me" - he laughs heartily over this. Yesterday it was the "grinning masks of life" which came into his mind in connection with Voltz and Batz. He invites me to go with him to Saint Mark's Square in spite of the gray weather; in the gondola he says how curious it is that with Caesar, Alexander, Cyrus, Napoleon, etc., the line dies out - it is as if Nature has no wish to have such excessive personalities. We stroll in Saint Mark's Square, then walk as far as the Rialto, R. in cheerful spirits throughout: "Palermo the finest climate, Venice the finest city."
In the evening he writes to Voltz; Eva copies it (as she so nicely copied out the exposé yesterday), I send it to friend Gross. Unfortunately this subject gives R. no respite. A telegram from Adolf Gross adds to the uneasiness. [Enclosed in the Diaries Gross's telegram, "Intend travel Sunday Munich Monday," and a remark on it in Wagner's handwriting: "Silly fellow!"] The only distraction is provided by Siegfried, who is writing a play, Catilina! Yesterday he delighted us with his first piano production (theme from the Andante of the A Major Symphony). The fact that the King wants to see Parsifal in Munich also disturbs R. ...