Thursday, March 2:
Fidi had a better night. Lulu, on the other hand, much troubled by a cough. I am still apprehensive about the entry of the troops into Paris. R. does in fact want the war to continue, but I do not.
Prince Puckler has succeeded in having his body cremated, and his ashes will be preserved in an urn; I wish this also for R. and myself, and that is one reason why I want to become a Protestant, so that I can be cremated and buried with him.
After lunch R. reads Brunnhilde's last journey from the Edda, I think it was; I know it only through the Ring des Nibelungen, but the last verse makes an utterly overwhelming impression on me: "But I and Sigurd, we stay together!"
Today brought three letters from Russia: one from Karl Klindworth, another from an impudent Moscovite who claims it is R.'s duty to write something about Serov in the newspapers, and strangely enough one at the same time from Frl. v. Rhaden, lady in waiting to the Grand Duchess Helene, who thanks R. for the fine letter he wrote to the friend of Serov who informed him of his death. This brings R. to talk about his experiences in Russia.
In town, news of the acceptance of the peace by the Assembly and the undisturbed entry of our troops into Paris. Two officers whom we meet, and who recognize R., say in voices of forced loudness, "C'est une paix de dix ans!"
Lusch is coughing very hard, which alarms me; Fidi is somewhat better. Carlyle thoroughly vexes us with his disagreeable way of describing things.
In the evening we walk by moonlight in our beautiful Tribschen grounds. R. sends off his letter to the King and then writes to Prince Hohenlohe in Vienna in an effort to obtain royalties on his earlier works, Lohengrin and Tannhäuser.