Tuesday, February 7:
R.'s day, which I cannot celebrate this time, like everything else!
Nice letter from his sister Ottilie, who sends us caviar; arrival of the church music from Regensburg, which gives us both much pleasure.
Fidi is sent to see the doctor, since his tummy looks rather swollen. As we cuddle and kiss him, I ask R. whether Fidi will not one day have to pay for having had such a coddled childhood; R. thinks he will be happy and will reap the benefits.
When we remark that he has a charming voice, Richter suggests he might one day become a tenor and sing his father's things. This alarms me terribly, and R. says: "I used to have the same ideas, that things in our theater should be as they were with the Greeks, when the noblest also took part; but we must give up the idea of the Greek world once and for all, it has gone forever, and the most we can do is to see to what extent our theatrical art can have an ennobling effect on the actors themselves. But I should also be horrified to see my Fidi beside Herr Betz putting on grease paint. I used to think, too, that I should have to play all my roles myself, otherwise they would never work!"
In the evening we read the play which the young poet Josef Hartmann sent to R.; it contains quite outstanding scenes and is delicate and witty. Its weaknesses are the young lovers and the five acts; I feel he would have done better to shorten the play into three.