Sunday, October 9:
[C. IV. originally wrote “10,” afterward corrected it.] Seventeen years ago today I saw Richard for the first time! (Mistook the date—the anniversary is tomorrow.) Cheerful morning with R. and Fidi in spite of the violent storm outside; toward noon, thunder and lightning. Family lunch in almost total darkness, but cheerful and gay. In the afternoon, just as R. completes a page of instrumentation, I see, exactly between the two poplars on the terrace in front of the house, a wonderful rainbow. I call out to R.: a perfect triumphal arch! Rheingold, I say; Bayreuth, says R.; and at that very moment Prell, the bookseller, comes in to give us his notes on Bayreuth. A good omen, R. exclaims. Herr Prell tells us that it will be very easy for us to find a house in Bayreuth, and he commends the location of the town. He was also in Strassburg and entertains us with sundry details: how, for example, in a beer hall he came across some Bavarian soldiers who soon began singing songs about “Napoleon, the cobbler’s apprentice,” etc.
Yesterday R. was admiring a picture of General Moltke, and he said, “I should like to meet him and Bismarck, but without their knowing who I am; I should like to see and observe them as a secretary, a completely obscure underling.” He says one can see something of Frederick the Great in the face of General Moltke, the deep solicitude, prudence, concentration.