Saturday, June 24:
In the morning R. says to me, “Whoever possesses you becomes very poor, for he loses everything, wants nothing but you!” He is dating his pencil sketches from today, the true Midsummer Day. He has already half forgotten the Meser affair of yesterday. Only Brandt continues to cause both him and me concern.
Fearful thunderstorm and furious rain; in the morning I teach the children, in the afternoon copy for the King. We are expecting bad experiences with our Bayreuth venture, but at least it will show us where we stand.
“Previously,” says R., “after we had given each other up, we were dependent on great artistic successes; we had to submerge the sacrifice we had made in some great outward activity. That is why, when we did not achieve our aim, I was in fact inwardly glad; I felt it would bring us together. But things are different now. If this venture does not succeed, well, we still have each other, and we have the work of art, too. But it would certainly be bad if I had to yield up the last two parts of the work as well to the King in order to keep going; I could not do that.” In the evening, a letter from Prof. Nietzsche.