Sunday, March 28:
R., coming to my room in the morning, says, “You have now been with me a whole winter, I can hardly believe it; you know nothing of me, have no idea how my heart rejoices when I think of it.” Yes, our love is a thing of truth in this world of lies and deception.
Yesterday we read together and were deeply moved by Shakespeare’s sonnet “’Tis better to be vile than vile esteem’d,” in which all the bitterness of a being who feels himself at odds with the world is so nobly expressed.
R. has a letter from Hans reporting on the impact of the pamphlet by Wilhelm Drach, and also further reactions to Judaism: the wealthy Jews in Munich are no longer so eager to see Wagner’s operas; the theater management in Breslau has asked Nachbaur to choose a role other than Lohengrin for his guest appearance, since this work cannot very well be played in Breslau just now on account of the pamphlet.
Then Hans relates that he visited Lachner with a deputation from the orchestra, requesting Lachner to conduct his latest suite (!) himself, in the Odeon concert; that is to take place this evening, and in all probability Lachner’s supporters will stage the most ridiculous demonstrations. I do wish that these intrigues against Hans would stop at last.
Was in the garden looking for eggs with the children; the morning was nice, but the afternoon brought snow. Richard was indisposed this morning and was unable to draw any “lines.”
In the afternoon I read the French translation of Tristan und Isolde. Spent the evening going again through the Schubert songs; how much sifting one must do with Schubert before one attains a pure artistic enjoyment!
In the night moonlight reflected in the snow; in the morning I heard the little finch singing, blackbirds came, too, to collect feathers from the hens, but now it will all stop, since more snow has been falling.
R. writes to his friend Fräulein Meysenbug and mentions me kindly and lovingly. How that touches me! I can hardly say good night to him without tears starting in my eyes; he says we are as happy as lambs; if only there were not those wolves outside!