Thursday, December 14:
R. slept well, and we are soon in conversation about a wide variety of subjects. Among other things, he says he will never again speak about religion, explain his ideas, for instance, regarding the blood of Christ; these are things one all of a sudden grasps - let those who can understand them, one cannot explain them.
Suddenly he smiles to himself, and I ask why; he feels he should not tell me, but then he talks about the little grace note my father occasionally adds, on the same note, to make the melody sound more expressive; he says this reminds him of the wrong way certain singers sing. Then he criticizes the playing of the minuet from Don Giovanni yesterday and the lack of simplicity in the barcarolle. I tell him that my father spoke favorably of La Muette; it is only “Amour sacré de la patrie” which he does not like; whereupon R. says: “That is unjust, for then he is condemning a whole branch of literature, of which that is by no means the worst example. Rossini used it often enough, and one must take the duet as a whole, not just these isolated passages.”
We continue talking about interpretation, how in the first act of La Juive Duprez did not sing Eleazar’s and Recha’s cries at the end in strict tempo, but shouted them with broad pathos directly to the audience. R. says he saw Halévy in the wings, giving instructions for it himself, and when R. remarked on it to him, he said, “The singers want it like that, and it does make an effect.” Coming back to La Muette and to Th. Gautier’s book on Italy, in which at my recommendation he read the description of Saint Mark’s and enjoyed it, he says: Italy had a good effect on the French - they found in it all the things they themselves had been looking for in vain.
Unfortunately our lunch is somewhat delayed by my father, R. very vexed about it, since he had promised to go with my father to the Liceo. At supper he tells me that he had some spasms there. But when he says he must go again tomorrow, since they have no conductor, and notes my slight surprise, it bursts out of him that on my birthday he is going to play his symphony to me! Great laughter from Loldi and Fidi (Eva in bed, Lusch with her grandpa at Princess Hatzfeldt’s). He tells me all the difficulties he has been having at rehearsals, with missing parts, with Seidl’s absence; now he has sent a telegram to Humperdinck in Paris, hoping to get him here for the occasion. It moves me to complete silence! We spend a quiet evening by ourselves; he plays to me something from Siegfried. I then read to him from the sonnets of Michelangelo, which impress him.
Luther’s letter about floods in Halle a/Saale [clipping from the Bayreuther Tagblatt containing the letter enclosed] pleases us greatly with its humor and vigorous high spirits. (To his inquiry about the money, R. has received from Herr Neumann the reply “Within a month,” which makes R. suspect things are in a bad way.) But, on the other hand, news that a copy of the contract is now available has an agreeable effect [a telegram from Gross in Bayreuth announcing this enclosed]; R. observes jokingly that I am easily pleased; hearing such things is not enough to restore him. As he goes off to bed, he says: “Oh, if only all these aches would go away! This constant joking is an ache, the muscles of my face are always aching!”