Saturday, October 29:
Boni in bed with a chill; I hope it will not lead to anything. Loulou works in my room. R. orchestrates. At lunch I define my feelings about the present war with the words, “For France the war is not a misfortune, but a disgrace.” R. agrees with this.
Our student takes his leave, he has overcome all obstacles and is now to devote himself to natural science; he is going to Basel. In the evening we get on to the subject of Tannhäuser, and as a result R. plays and sings me the second act, which affects me unutterably.
Biterolf (Moltke!), Wolfram, the Landgraf, they all move me to tears, but Elisabeth’s “for him, too” (in this “too” lies Christianity, says R.) moves me to the depths of my soul. R. is almost alarmed by my reaction and disapproves of my emotion, he makes a joke of it and says: “You are Elisabeth, Elsa, Isolde, Brünnhilde, Eva in one, and I have married you. So I know nothing of love’s tragedy, I care nothing for the world’s soul, all I want is to keep you and to live a very long time.”
I feel that such turmoil of the heart will be the death of me. At midday R. defended the libretto of Euryanthe against Richter: he says it is not really as bad as it is made out to be.