Wednesday, September 13:
Loulou still in bed, but getting better; I stay with her and write letters and read Greek legends to her. In the afternoon did some shopping for her birthday. R. is unwell and despondent. Letter from L. Bucher.
Duerer’s Albrecht Duerer gives us much joy, only R. is sad at seeing so little of him, he is full of cares. “People tell me, when they see Tribschen, ‘You are happy.’ But can I remain here? And my new establishment, with what troubles is that connected! I could almost wish that a doctor would forbid me ever again to write a note of music, and I could live with you somewhere on my pension. But how to demand of the King that he give up these things? And the King, who does so incomparably much for me, he must go and stage Rheingold and Walkuere without me! One is in a constant state of emotion and upset. Our earlier relationship, how that grieved us once; it has been smoothed out in the nicest way, but now apprehension about our very existence!” Thus he complains.