Thursday, April 27:
Many visits, dinner with Frau von Schleinitz. Tausig so changed that we scarcely recognize him; amazement on my part at the tone in which Bismarck is talked about: “more luck than judgment, no character.” Saw Lothar Bucher again, much joy.
Johanna now the sentimental niece, after having at the height of her career behaved very badly indeed. Hotel du Parc, where we are staying, much besieged and noisy.
After the ministerial banquet, a walk through Berlin. We wish to visit our old friend Alwine Frommann in the palace; the guards are just closing the gates, but open them again for us. We wander through the courtyards, but no “academic artist” is to be found. We ask the Court apothecary, get lost several times, but at last find her.
We ring. Long silence, then at last: “Who is there?” in a complaining voice. Answer: “Wagner.” Long silence, then, pitiably: “Oh, dear!” I: “Can we come in?” “Alas, no; I am in bed.” “Will you have lunch with us tomorrow?” “Gladly.” “At 2 o’clock?” “I shall be in the palace then.” “At 3?” “People are coming to you then.” All this through the mailbox opening, as if it were coming from the cellar. R. and I are reminded of old Moor and feel like shuddering at this ghostly apparition.
Earlier something unbelievable, even more sinister, had already happened to us: as we leave Frau v. Schleinitz, my foot is hurting me, R. summons a hansom; behind him a powerful voice cries, “Cabby!” He turns; Dr. Julius Tang is standing there! It makes us feel dreadful, for we believed him to be in Pest. Has he turned up again to compromise R. here, as in Munich? What does it mean?
It results in a horrible night for me. I see nothing but Jesuit intrigues coiling themselves around R.; everything seems to point in that direction. I feel like waking him, begging him to go away tomorrow, but I am held back by the consideration that a moment’s sleep is more valuable than centuries of knowledge. Strange nightmares from which the morning at last frees me.