Cosima's Diaries

Recordings by Cosima Wagner between 1869 and 1883

Cosima Wagner’s diaries are one of the most extraordinary inner records of nineteenth-century artistic life: part household chronicle, part spiritual notebook, part Bayreuth archive, and part psychological portrait of Wagner’s final years. Across thousands of entries, we see the daily world behind the myth: children, servants, illness, money, visitors, letters, rehearsals, readings, quarrels, weather, politics, music, and moments of almost mystical illumination. The diaries follow Wagner from the intimate Tribschen years through the creation of Bayreuth, the triumph and crisis of the 1876 Ring Festival, the making of Parsifal, the rise and collapse of the Nietzsche relationship, and the darker ideological currents that increasingly gathered around Wahnfried, including Wagner and Cosima’s antisemitism. They are not a neutral record, nor always a comfortable one, but they are indispensable: a vast, intimate, often beautiful, often disturbing window into the household where Wagner’s final works, his self-mythology, and the Bayreuth idea took shape.

The diary entries gathered here cover the years from January 1869 to February 1883, carrying the reader from the last Tribschen years to Wagner’s final days in Venice. Their breadth is astonishing. They are at once a household record, an artistic logbook, a spiritual notebook, a political barometer, and the intimate chronicle of a private circle attempting to become a public institution. Cosima records children’s illnesses, lessons, servants, meals, letters, debts, travel, weather, music-making, rehearsals, guests, books, dreams, religious reflections, and Wagner’s daily moods. The sublime and the administrative are never far apart. A passage on Schopenhauer, Shakespeare, Calderón, Beethoven, or Christ may sit beside anxieties about singers, money, doctors, railway journeys, or household arrangements.

The early years, especially 1869 to 1871, still belong largely to the private world of Tribschen. They are filled with the pressures surrounding Cosima’s separation from Hans von Bülow, her union with Richard Wagner, the birth and childhood of Siegfried, and the intense domestic enclosure in which Wagner’s later work was nurtured. Yet the outside world continually enters: King Ludwig, Munich theatrical politics, the Franco-Prussian War, German nationalism, and the first sustained appearances of Friedrich Nietzsche. Wagner’s work on Siegfried and the wider Ring is recorded not as a distant masterpiece but as something happening in rooms, at the piano, amid children, letters, exhaustion, and sudden exaltation.

From 1871 onward, the diaries begin to turn toward Bayreuth. At first it appears as an idea, almost a visionary solution to the failures of ordinary theatres. Soon it becomes practical reality: sites, architects, patrons, Wagner societies, subscriptions, guarantees, construction, copyists, singers, scenery, and the immense labour of creating a theatre for one artistic purpose. The move to Bayreuth and the building of Wahnfried do not simplify life. They intensify it. The diaries show Bayreuth not merely as a shrine, but as a project beset by money, politics, vanity, devotion, incompetence, faith, and fatigue.

The approach to the 1876 Ring cycle dominates the middle years. The Festival is presented as the culmination of decades of artistic striving, but Cosima’s record makes clear how fragile the whole enterprise was. Every singer, rehearsal, costume, curtain, orchestral problem, and financial arrangement seems capable of threatening the ideal. After the Festival, the tone shifts sharply. The achievement has happened, but its aftermath is troubled by deficit, press hostility, uncertainty about future performances, the proposed Society of Patrons, the founding of the Bayreuther Blätter, and the London concerts undertaken to repair the damage. Bayreuth has succeeded as revelation, but it has also become a burden that must somehow survive in the world.

After 1876, Parsifal gradually becomes the spiritual centre of the diaries. The entries from 1877 to 1882 increasingly revolve around its poem, score, staging, rehearsals, religious atmosphere, and practical realization. The world of the Grail enters the daily life of Wahnfried: Gurnemanz, Kundry, Amfortas, Klingsor, the Flower Maidens, the Temple, the Communion imagery, the question of sacred drama, and the problem of presenting a work that seems to demand reverence from a public theatre. At the same time, Wagner’s health, his travels, his growing weariness, and the family’s movements through Italy and Venice give the later diaries a more autumnal character.

The diaries must also be read with full awareness of their antisemitism. This is not a marginal feature. In the early years, anti-Jewish remarks often cluster around the controversy of Wagner’s Judaism in Music, hostile critics, the press, Meyerbeer, musicians, theatre politics, and questions of assimilation. By the later 1870s and early 1880s, the tone changes. Antisemitism becomes more sweeping, more political, and more programmatic. The entries increasingly connect Jews with finance, journalism, liberalism, modernity, social decay, and Germany’s loss of spiritual identity. The diaries also record Wagner and Cosima reading or discussing figures such as Disraeli, Stoecker, Gobineau, and writings on the so-called Jewish question. By 1881, this hostility has hardened into open sympathy for anti-Jewish agitation and fantasies of expulsion, separation, or emigration. The development is ugly, historically important, and inseparable from the world these diaries disclose.

That ugliness is made more complex, not less, by the fact that Jewish individuals remain present in Wagner’s life and work: friends, patrons, musicians, correspondents, and, most famously in the late Bayreuth circle, Hermann Levi. The diaries therefore reveal not a simple contradiction but a deeper moral failure: Wagner and Cosima could depend on, admire, or work intimately with individual Jews while still interpreting Jewishness itself through hostile and dehumanizing abstractions. Any serious encounter with these diaries must resist both sanitizing this material and reducing the whole archive to it.

The Nietzsche story forms another major arc. In 1869, Nietzsche enters as a brilliant young philologist and soon becomes a cherished visitor, correspondent, and intellectual ally. The early diaries record excitement over his writings, especially the work that would become central to the Wagnerian cause, The Birth of Tragedy. During the Bayreuth years he appears as part of the wider hope for a new German culture, one that might unite art, philosophy, and spiritual renewal. Yet the relationship gradually frays. His ill health, his independence, the influence of Paul Rée, his rejection of Schopenhauer, and the publication of Human, All Too Human transform him in the Wagners’ eyes from disciple into apostate. By the later entries, Nietzsche is remembered with bitterness, as a figure of disappointment, ingratitude, and betrayal.

What makes these diaries invaluable is precisely their mixture of greatness and blindness. They reveal the daily climate in which Wagner’s late works were conceived, defended, mythologized, and institutionalized. They show Bayreuth being born out of metaphysical ambition and practical desperation. They show Parsifal emerging from religious longing, theatrical calculation, bodily decline, and cultural polemic. They show friendship turning into estrangement, devotion turning into dogma, and spiritual aspiration entangled with prejudice. To read Cosima’s diaries is to enter the workshop, chapel, battlefield, and household of Wagner’s final years.

Year

Month

1869• 1870• 1871• 1872• 1873• 1874• 1875• 1876• 1877• 1878• 1879• 1880• 1881• 1882• 1883

Jan• Feb• Mar• Apr• May• Jun• Jul• Aug• Sep• Oct• Nov• Dec

Showing entries for April 1869 (27 total)

Date	Word Count	Subject	Content
April 1, 1869	444	After troubled dreams and little sleep, Cosima writes letters and prepares to meet the children, while Richard reaches a summit in Siegfried and feels renewed confidence in his strength. Berlin's polite plans for Meistersinger productions bring welcome success mixed with contempt for theatrical opportunism. Redecorating fumes and a misunderstanding over her dizziness provoke Richard's anger, but he later comes to her and she calms him.	Thursday, April 1: Dreamed about the King, also of wild animals fighting with Russ; very little sleep. R. reports that he also did not sleep at all. But he goes off to his work and I to my letters, to J. Gerstenberg, who has asked me to sell a picture to the King; to Claire and to Hermine. Now I shall probably be going as far as Romanshorn to meet the children. Loldi is joyful, and even Eva, too. R. has now brought his Siegfried to the summit! I fear an interruption on account of the redecorating arrangements. After lunch we drive into town to make some purchases, a hat for Evchen, a dress for Loldi. At home, start of all the moving muddle; I lie down, since I cannot help, and read Lewes. R. cheerful, he tells me that at times he has an unbounded confidence in his strength. The wicked are always with us, but in fact they never triumph; all that is needed is for the right one to come along, example: Odysseus. He says in dreams he often has the sense of flying, and that sometimes comes to him when he is awake, too; at times he feels he would need only an effort of will to find himself hovering high over everything. We will not go under, he declares. This morning he had a letter from the Berlin Opera, which he did not immediately want to open, expecting something unpleasant as a consequence of his short note in the Jewish pamphlet. But, instead of that, Hülsen informs him very prettily of a production of Die Meistersinger in Berlin and Hanover. This is welcome, of course, but what miserable and pitiful creatures these people are! In the evening R. speaks to me about the Odyssey and the Iliad, smoking and drinking beer. Since the joiners had been varnishing in the next room, all these various smells combine, and I gradually begin to feel dizzy and my head starts to ache; it robs me entirely of my vision and finally of my hearing, too. When I told R. of my condition he became very angry, seeing a reproach in what was only an explanation. He then said many things it would have been better for him not to have said. I went up to my room where, feeling upset, I wept. Now I am wondering what would be the best thing to do: whether I should leave his temper to cool down or go to him, quietly explain again what had happened, and soothe him. Hardly had I written this when R. came in to wish me good night. I then went downstairs to him and calmed his fantasies.
April 2, 1869	155	Saint Francis's Day passes without its former meaning as furniture moving continues and Cosima helps with books before resting with Lewes's Goethe. Richard returns from town with a pleasing request from a Wagner committee about Rienzi, and Richter arrives late with Munich news. Reports of Lachner's intrigues, Hans's withdrawal from conducting, and hostile journalism distress Cosima because Hans's contentment had been one of her consolations.	Friday, April 2: For me this was previously always Saint Francis’s Day, now it just passes like all the others. The furniture moving continues, I help by beating and dusting the books. After lunch I take a rest and read Lewes’s Life of Goethe. Then in the garden with the children and R. after his return from town. There he had found a delightful letter from a Comité Wagnerien, asking him for his permission to attend the first performance of Rienzi. Late in the evening Richter arrives from Munich with news, much of which is amusing, but there are some unpleasant things, too. Lachner’s intrigues are still going on; and Hans has asked to be excused from conducting for several weeks. One miserable journalist completely dominates the Munich newspaper and denigrates everything that Hans does. The news tortures me; it was a great consolation for me to know that Hans was contented. But life is not interested in consolation.
April 3, 1869	43	Cosima embroiders while Richard takes Richter through Young Siegfried, and a family meal is followed by a walk in summery weather. Paris letters report that Judaism in Music has caused great indignation and may damage Rienzi. The brief entry captures a day of artistic work and family warmth shadowed by the pamphlet's public consequences.	Saturday, April 3: Embroidered in the morning, while R. took Richter through his Young Siegfried. Family meal and then a walk in summery weather. Letters from Paris: Nuitter reports that the Jewish pamphlet has stirred up great indignation, and that this will probably harm Rienzi.
April 4, 1869	176	Richard's illness convinces Cosima that even slight changes in their life or contact with the outside world harm him. The forced Munich production of Das Rheingold distresses him deeply, and she fears the struggle may destroy his will to continue the work. A day with the children, Goethe reading, town errands, and an impatient attempt to take up Rheingold ends with the absurdity of Catholic praise for both the Jewish pamphlet and the King's devotion to Wagner.	Sunday, April 4: R. unwell, which makes it increasingly clear to me that the smallest alteration in our way of life and the slightest contact with the outside world is now unbearable to him, physically as well as morally. The projected production of Das Rheingold in Munich also distresses him deeply; the means are not at hand, and now things will be forced, his great work cut to pieces. It is a great shame, and I am in deadly fear that dealing with it, even if only from here, will completely rob him of his will to continue his work. He looks bad and his whole nature is changed. Again a day with the children; after lunch I am tired and lie down with Lewes’s Life of Goethe; late in the evening to town. Then took up Das Rheingold, but R. becomes impatient and ill-humored. A Catholic paper praises the Jewish pamphlet and praises the young King who, like his ancestor who protected Orlando di Lasso, loves and honors R. Wagner, the composer of heroic song. Such is the world.
April 5, 1869	88	Nausea, redecorating worries, and the Rheingold problem keep Cosima on the sofa while Richard goes through the work with Richter. Both she and Richard are unwell, and she concludes that they can live only with and for one another because even friendly outside contact is damaging. A little Charmides and Richter's one o'clock departure close a strained, enclosed day.	Monday, April 5: Feelings of great nausea and worries about the redecorations. I spent the day on the sofa, listening to R. going through Das Rheingold with Richter, and embroidering. R. himself is very unwell; the trouble has so upset us both. I realize that we can indeed live only for and with each other; all contact with the outside world, however friendly the go-between, is harmful to us. In the evening read a little of Charmides, but did not get far. At 1 o’clock our good Richter made his departure.
April 6, 1869	80	Cosima remains unwell, unsettled by the impending arrival of the children and by Richard's depleted condition. She reads Lewes's Life of Goethe with irritation, walks, reads Charmides to Richard after his bath, and learns the children will arrive a day later than expected. Letters by her grandfather about Liszt's early successes move her amid the nervous waiting.	Tuesday, April 6: I am still unwell; the children’s arrival is upsetting me. R. writes letters, I embroider and read Lewes’s Goethe, a wretched book, but a noble subject. In the afternoon a long walk; in the evening R. takes a bath. He is very, very run down. I read to him the conclusion of Charmides. The children will not come tomorrow, but on Thursday. In the Propyläen I read letters by my grandfather about my father’s first successes, and feel much moved.
April 7, 1869	363	Both Cosima and Richard are exhausted, but telegrams from Paris announce Rienzi's great success and briefly brighten the day. Richard declines to write on Berlioz, visits acquaintances with Cosima, receives support from Marbach, and hears from Claire praising Hans's chivalry in sending the children. Hide-and-seek, violets, Plato, further success telegrams, Berlioz memories, and Lewes's treatment of Goethe's women lead Cosima to reflect uneasily on fame and women loved by great men.	Wednesday, April 7: Both R. and myself utterly run down; even being with the children I find difficult. I fight my weakness as much as I can and begin my letter to the King. Two telegrams arrive from Paris announcing the great success of Rienzi; yesterday was the first performance. R. was just then with me, to tell me that he is quite unable now to write about Berlioz. He would have liked to do it, and the impact of such an essay would perhaps have been good, but nobody should expect it of him. “Berlioz, the giant-sized pupil, too great to find himself a master.” At lunch a third telegram, from Pasdeloup with just the words: Grand succès! Paid visits: Frau Am Rhyn, Countess Bassenheim. There and back with R. In the post office he finds a nice letter from Dr. Marbach, who tells him that all understanding people are pleased about the pamphlet and reports on the performance of Hamlet by Ambroise Thomas in Laube’s theater!!! I found a letter from Claire, full of praise for Hans’s chivalry in sending the children to me. How willing I am to thank him for it! Played hide-and-seek with the little ones and discovered the first violets. In the evening read Plato’s Laches; while reading got a fourth telegram, this time from Tausig in Berlin. It reads: “Huge success of Lohengrin, all Jews reconciled, your devoted Karl.” In this way successes mean something. At supper R. again spoke of his memories of Berlioz and said he would now only praise him, pointing out that his failures were due to the badness of the prevailing musical conditions; yet they were also due to something in himself, his temperament. He had been constrained, and the constraint of his spirit had led gradually to a deterioration in his character. Read much of Lewes; the subject remains constantly absorbing. But how frightful that affairs of the heart are discussed; how terrible is fame to a woman! It seems strange to me, too, that women who are loved by great men do not feel that they are what they are because of these men and this love, and imagine they are something else besides in themselves.
April 8, 1869	152	Richard is ill and expecting Munich stage director Hallwachs while Cosima writes to the King and then leaves with a heavy heart to meet the children in Zurich. The reunion is joyful, though she sees that the older children look changed and unwell, and she returns to find Richard satisfied with his practical theatrical conference. News of Hans's illness and withdrawal, alongside confirmation of Rienzi's Paris success and Judith Mendes's article, mingles joy with worry.	Thursday, April 8: R., very unwell, has been told to expect the arrival of the stage director Hallwachs from Munich. I write to the King. At 12 o’clock lunch, and then departure with a heavy heart, since R. looks wretched. I feel more and more clearly how much a separation of even an hour upsets us both; it is really almost impossible. In Zurich met the children, an afternoon of joy. They are changed and look unwell, though not really ill. A cheerful journey home. R. still run down, though very satisfied with his conference; the machinist Brandt is understanding and inventive. Everyone to bed. Great concern over the note Hermine gave me: Hans is ill, for the most part through annoyance over the eternal torments. He no longer visits the school or conducts the orchestra. News from Paris; the success seems to have been great. Also Mme Mendès has written another very good article, “Richard Wagner—Liberté.”
April 9, 1869	203	Bad dreams of her parents and the children's altered condition make Cosima feel she must not leave them. Richard remains unwell, the family gathers, Paris reports a second successful Rienzi performance, and Loulou dictates a letter to Hans enclosing Claire's praise. A hostile article about the exhibition and Rheingold sends Richard into press response, while Cosima painfully sees how the older children's development has lacked her hand.	Friday, April 9: Disturbed night, bad dreams of Father and Mother; the young people well, however. I feel that I must not leave the children. Finished my letter to the King. R. continually unwell; he does not go to work. Family lunch; Boni very bright, but somewhat affected, Loulou seems nervous. A telegram brings news of the second performance of Rienzi in Paris; “tous nos amis heureux,” cable Flaxland and Nuitter. In the garden with the children, violets and primroses! Loulou dictates to me a letter to her father and I enclose with it Claire’s last letter praising Hans. Then received a few lines from Mathilde, with it an article from the Wiener Revue; reports that R. is to blame for the exhibition’s not taking place. Now that the King has had to give way, Das Rheingold will also not be staged!! R. sends this to Düfflipp and writes to the press. To town with the children, to the post office, the baker, then drove home. I find the sight of the elder children painful; first, they do not look as well as the younger ones, then I see that their development has lacked my hand. A dark premonition tells me that I shall come to grief on this feeling.
April 10, 1869	289	A sunny morning cannot keep Cosima from weeping over Hans's letter, which reveals his isolation amid Munich intrigues. Loldi receives birthday wishes and presents, Richard walks with Loulou, and Cosima writes a full account to the King while caring for the other children. Flaxland's warning about the Jewish pamphlet and Rienzi deepens her sense that the world has become paper rather than people, yet she resolves to live because the children need her.	Saturday, April 10: Woke up fresh after a good night; sunshine, birdsong, with this thoughts about the children. Overwhelming melancholy, but then the firm resolve to digest and overcome it all inwardly, so that R. does not suffer by it. At breakfast R. reads me a letter which he had just received from Hans, who is living there isolated in the midst of the most despicable intrigues. It broke my heart and I spent the whole morning weeping and sobbing and reflecting. In the afternoon I wrote a complete account of things to the King. At ten in the morning Loldi was wished many happy returns and given her presents. Then family lunch and afterward read some of the report by Frederick the Great’s doctor. Splendid impression. R. walks into town with Loulou; I stay behind with the three other children and play with them. There is a ton weight on my heart. From the town R. brings a letter from Mme Flaxland; in a very silly way she informs him that the Jewish pamphlet is detrimental to the success of Rienzi. There are no human beings left, just “pieces of paper”! In the evening read more of the little medical book, quite powerfully moved by several passages. I go to bed with most despondent thoughts. I feel as if I shall never be gay again; yet I do not wish for death, I see only too well how indispensable I am to the children, and perhaps life will show mercy on me after all, so that I can help! Good night, my children, good night, my beloved, good night, poor Hans. If tears are of any value to the gods, you must all be granted peace, since I have wept for you all most sorely.
April 11, 1869	163	Newspapers, Jewish controversy, and bad news from Hans darken a Sunday that also includes church, coffee with the children, a blossom tree, and a boat trip with Richard and the three little ones. Gossip from Paul von Pels and efforts in Paris to deny Rienzi's success add to the day's vexations. Cosima blesses all four sleeping children beneath a starry sky while feeling nature's laughter against her own weeping heart.	Sunday, April 11: In the morning a package of newspapers, forwarded by Mme Flaxland. Much nonsense and much Jewish stuff. R. writes to Hans, but does not show me his letter. The children to church with Hermine. Afterward coffee with the children, a letter from Hans reporting nothing but bad things from Munich; on top of that a letter from Paul von Pels, formerly Prince Taxis, who wants an appointment of some kind and, in order to secure it, tells us a lot of gossip! At three o’clock a boat trip with the three little ones and R., and on our return found a tree in full blossom. In the evening occupied ourselves with Frederick the Great. Before that a short talk with Hermine, who seems loyal and attached. Contemplated the four children as they slept and blessed them. A lovely starry night. Nature laughs; my heart weeps. “Fate is unmerciful, Man but little.” In Paris efforts are now being made to deny and thwart the success of Rienzi.
April 12, 1869	208	Cosima wakes from a musical dream linking her to Richard's Siegfried love themes and spends the day working with the children. A town walk becomes playful when Richard compares them to a field of flowers and himself to the happy husbandman, though the faces of convicts they pass disturb both of them. Letters, Protagoras, and Richard's first resumed work after interruption close a day of family warmth and unease.	Monday, April 12: Woke up early from a nice dream, in which R. sang to me the theme he recently played for me, “Sängst du mir,” and asked me to sing with it the second theme from the love scene between Siegfried and Brünnhilde, “’s ist mir ein und eigen,” which I did. Worked with the children in the morning and afternoon, and about six o’clock with them into town, where R. caught up with us. He says that from afar we look like a walking cornfield, the children being poppies and cornflowers, I the field. I asked him what he was. “The happy husbandman, my one and only,” he says. On the journey home we meet the convicts again, whose faces, in spite of their friendliness to us, frighten us; there is no hope in them. It is like a predestined leaning toward badness, and no compassionate excuses or well-meaning, reasonable considerations can prevail against the effect of such a physiognomy. From the post office R. brings back two letters, one of them from Champfleury. In the evening began Protagoras, in spite of R.’s weariness, which comes from the games he played unceasingly with the children during our walk. He also worked in the morning, for the first time since the interruption.
April 13, 1869	551	Fine weather and the children's improving health bring Cosima near happiness, though worry over Hans remains the dark spot inside the blooming flower. She teaches the children, reads Goethe, receives Munich belongings, and consoles herself that union with Richard may let her aid the children's inner development. The original row then moves into another day of letters, cuckoos, children's lessons, hostile Jewish press, Beethoven's joy theme played for the children, completion of Protagoras, and renewed maternal care.	Tuesday, April 13: Each day finer than the last. Nature is rejoicing and the children regaining their health. Worked with them in the morning, all four gathered around me; if I only knew Hans to be content, how happy I would be now! But we see the cloudless sky only in the world outside, not in our own souls, and we may not complain. When today I reflected with a sigh on my life, I told myself that I would erase none of it, except for my mistakes. Teaching the children all day, telling them the life of Saint Elizabeth, among other things. R. working. In the evening Protagoras; I by myself, while resting, read Goethe’s sonnets and his life. The absence of a reply to Beethoven’s letter hurts me as if Goethe were a brother or a close friend of mine. From Paris a newspaper clipping: Beckmann defends Wagner against the reproach of ingratitude toward the King of Saxony, which Charnacé (!!) made. In talking about this bit of grotesqueness R. soon becomes very bitter. Lovely, wonderful feeling between R. and me. I am reminded in connection with it of many a camellia flower I have seen unfold splendidly in spite of the evil worm, a black-and-yellow dot, lying in its heart. This black-and-yellow dot, my concern for Hans, is simply there, as much a part of Nature’s intention as the flowering of the plant itself! The things have arrived from Munich. In all my worries about the children I am upheld by the thought that, though their external life might perhaps be made more difficult on account of me, my union with R. allows me to help their inner development in a way I could not otherwise do; and since we can find happiness only within ourselves, this thought is a great consolation to me. Wednesday, April 14: Sun, buds, blossoms, for the first time the sound of cowbells. Rose at six, wrote letters for R. to Champfleury, then took a bath. Immediately after breakfast with the children in the garden, where I heard the cuckoo both yesterday and today. Spent the whole day with the good little ones; in the evening played with them at hoop bowling and skipping. Loulou and Boni are thoroughly good, willing, industrious, and gifted, too. In arithmetic today Lusch was more sure-footed than I! The mail brings an abusive article from Petersburg and an abusive pamphlet from Leipzig. All Jews. In the evening I am very languid and worn out, my head full of troublesome thoughts. How shall I ever achieve what my heart bids me? How easy it is to die for what one loves, how hard to live for it! A lovely moment of the day was that in which, after he had had the children dancing around, R. played them the “Freude, schöner Götterfunken” theme. What we poor mortals do not possess the genius gives us by lauding it in song: joy. “All wisdom, all art is forgotten,” says R., “in the divine nature of this naive theme, to which, through his noble bass voice, he imparts the whole force of human feeling. Here the naive and the emotional are combined.” We finish Protagoras, but I am preoccupied with my maternal cares. I went once more to look at the four sleeping little ones. In Mannheim Die Meistersinger has been hissed on account of the pamphlet.
April 15, 1869	139	A letter from Hans to Loulou brings Cosima to tears, prompting Richard to wonder whether she can bear her lot. She teaches the children in sultry weather and receives Countess Bassenheim, whose account of Bavarian conditions interests both her and Richard. The evening returns to the children and to Frederick the Great's letters as a gale suggests the end of spring.	Thursday, April 15: In the morning a letter from Hans for Loulou. I again had to weep. R. came, and said it looked as if I would not after all be able to bear my lot. In the garden then, teaching the children in sultry weather. In the afternoon a long visit by Countess Bassenheim, whom I introduce to R. and who deports herself very well. Learned much from her about conditions in Bavaria: the pitiable character of King Max, who was afraid of the mayor, and appointments as gentlemen in waiting to be had for 300 florins. R. looked curiously dignified and respectable during the conversation. In the evening with the children again, then together with R. read with much interest some letters of Frederick the Great to d’Argens. A great gale has arisen; it looks as if our spring has ended.
April 16, 1869	230	Cosima's melancholy persists as she worries over Hans and the pain of withdrawing even the small place she held in his life. Richard greets her with the fanciful fear that she might be only a legend, while rough weather keeps the day to work and play in the children's salon. Lewes's poor biography, Loulou's dictated letter to her father, Frederick's letters, and favorable Rienzi reports pass beneath her resolve to hide her clouded soul from Richard and the children.	Friday, April 16: My melancholy refuses to budge. In the night I wake up with a start, and in the evening I wonder how things are now with poor Hans. I meant little enough to him, but how hard I find it to withdraw even this little! In the morning R. greeted me by telling me he had come upstairs because he had suddenly wondered whether I might not be a traditional legend, and he wished to assure himself I was really there! The weather is rough; we work and play, the children and I, in the children’s salon. Then, because they were good, they eat with us. After lunch I finish reading Lewes, and, indication enough of the wretchedness of the book, afterward have to look up the dates he mentions in an encyclopedia. In the evening Loulou dictates to me a nice letter to her father. After tea read some more of Frederick the Great’s letters, my mind not on it, thinking with concern and sorrow of Hans. My heart, I know, will never be freed of this burden, and I know no aid but to bear it without complaint, and not let either the children or my beloved have any idea how clouded my soul sometimes is. Newspapers. In the Revue des Deux Mondes a long article by Schuré about R. Wagner. The other papers, most of them favorable, confirm the success of Rienzi.
April 17, 1869	95	A large packet of newspapers arrives while Cosima spends the morning with the children and later writes to Mathilde. Claire's news that Cosima's mother has been placed in a mental home makes the month feel especially hard. Gray weather and new green leaves give the day the look of children's sorrow.	Saturday, April 17: Je ne me plains plus de la fortune par ennui. Pour connaître mes secrets il faut commencer par me corrompre, et cela n’est pas facile. — Frederick the Great. In the morning, a large package of newspapers: Julius Lang, J. J. Weber. With the children as usual. After lunch they go to Countess Bassenheim’s. I write to Mathilde and then receive from Claire the news that Mother has been put in a mental home! A hard month, this. The weather is overcast; the trees producing their green against a gray sky. It is like children’s sorrow.
April 18, 1869	114	Cosima is very unwell but remains constantly with the children, teaching Lusch geography and enjoying a cheerful family lunch. Puppet theater, magic lantern slides, Schubert, and Plato fill the day, while news and letters register divided reactions to Judaism in Music. Frantz praises the pamphlet as timely truth, whereas Eckert publicly calls it regrettable.	Sunday, April 18: Very unwell, but constantly with the children; gave Lusch a lesson on the globe. Family lunch, cheerful and nice. Afterward puppet show and later magic lantern. Loldi plays Kasperl, and she and Eva rejoice over the slides. In the evening a little Schubert, without enjoyment, and a little Plato with R. Only he is tired and soon has to stop. Curious news that Hiller is giving up his position as general factotum in Cologne; Judaism in music? R. had a very nice letter from Constantin Frantz; he says the pamphlet “is a true word spoken at the right time.” Prof. Eckert in his lecture on R. Wagner in Berlin described the pamphlet as regrettable!
April 19, 1869	257	The children dominate the day while Richard works despite illness and returns worse from a walk in bad weather. Cosima writes to Claire and reads the children about birds' nests, prompting Richard to reflect on fearless fidelity to one's calling through Christ, Siegfried, and Tom Thumb. The sound of the children romping overhead delights him as something absolutely splendid.	Monday, April 19: Still mainly the children; R. does some work, although he is unwell. No letters, a Paris newspaper with a caricature and a very enthusiastic article. R. goes out in very bad weather and returns very unwell. He goes to bed early and is much run down. I write to Claire. I read to the children about the way in which various birds build their nests, and I told R. about this. He observed: If a human being were to act with the certainty of truth and to look neither to the right nor to the left, no one could really do anything to him, and he would be as safe from other men as the bird’s nest from the most violent gale. Christ’s words — “Fear not, for the Father, who clothes the lilies, who protects the sparrows on the roof, for whom the very hairs of your head are numbered, will also care for you” — are difficult to understand, R. said, but of profound truth; the human being who truly lives for his own calling alone has nothing to fear. This vision of an inwardly secure being has been perpetuated for mankind in the legend of Siegfried and the fairy tale of Tom Thumb. Today, as I was searching for a book in the library, R. came into the next room and I heard him say to himself, “It is absolutely splendid.” Later I asked him what was absolutely splendid. He said it was the sound of the children romping above, which he had just heard.
April 20, 1869	216	Cosima dreams of a magnificent Rheingold production while Richard dreams of her dead among the children, echoing her own recent thoughts of death. Richard discusses social reform, reads Schopenhauer on individual fate, and hears that Rienzi is thriving in Paris. Her weeping has left her with troubling ear noises, and furniture troubles again reveal Richard's disproportionate anger at practical irritations.	Tuesday, April 20: I dream about Das Rheingold and a wonderful production of it in Munich; R., on the other hand, sees me lying in my coffin surrounded by the children. This surprises me, inasmuch as yesterday evening I did succumb to melancholy thoughts of death, affected by R.’s state of suffering. Children’s day as usual. At lunch R. discusses the social problem with me and says he would gladly sacrifice all his art for a century to see the lower classes of society achieve a purification and reformation of the prevailing circumstances. The children in town, I at home with my embroidery. R. reads me Schopenhauer’s chapter on “The Purposeful in the Fate of the Individual.” A letter from Nuitter speaks of the sixth performance of Rienzi, “which is now being given there three times a week and will probably make its way into the provinces.” Le bien et le mal que l’on prévoit n’arrive point. — Frederick the Great. A disturbing or comforting saying, depending on how one looks at it. All my weeping has left me with a buzzing in my ears, which torments and also somewhat alarms me. R. had trouble with the furniture moving; I can never get over my surprise at how angry such admittedly irritating things make him, and yet he will persist with them.
April 21, 1869	130	Fine weather and household disturbances frame a day of letters, birthday preparations for Richard, and children released from lessons for play. A telegram and letter from Claire bring alarming but slightly hopeful news about Cosima's mother, who had been near death. The children behave well, Plato's Critias gives pleasure, and Richard manages some work despite the domestic disruption.	Wednesday, April 21: Said good night in the morning, since we did not take our leave of each other yesterday. Fine weather, but not warm enough to sit in the garden. I let the children off from their lessons so that they can run around a lot. I miss what has now become my habitual occupation; instead, wrote letters, preparations for R.’s birthday. Besides that, a lot of furnishing bothers and a new maidservant. In the afternoon a telegram from Claire, “Some hope. Mother better,” followed by a letter revealing that my mother had been on the brink of death. My thoughts weigh heavily. The children are good. In the evening finished Plato’s Critias, with much enjoyment. R. also worked a little in the morning in spite of all the disturbances in the house.
April 22, 1869	73	A beautiful spring day is darkened by Loldi's illness and continued uncertainty over Cosima's mother, though Claire reports slight improvement. Richard works a little while Cosima tends the invalid and Loulou and writes out a letter to Loulou's father. Frederick's letters fill the evening, and news arrives of Hans giving a concert for the Pope with Liszt present.	Thursday, April 22: Lovely day; outside the blossoms are opening, but Loldi ill; thus a worrying day for me. Claire writes that my mother is somewhat better, though not yet out of danger. R. manages some work. In the evening, letters of Frederick II; during the day with the invalid and Loulou. Wrote out a letter to her father. He has given a concert for the Pope in Regensburg; my father was present at it!
April 23, 1869	278	Splendid weather contrasts with wretched days as reports on Cosima's mother remain frightening and both Loldi and Lulu fall ill. Insults from Hans's mother and Richard's harsh accusation that she does not love Eva wound Cosima deeply, though she tries to accept reproach as part of deserved suffering. Loldi's improvement permits a short walk with Boni and Lusch before Cosima ends the day praying for peace in the house.	Friday, April 23: Wretched days in splendid weather. Reports concerning my mother continue to be uncertain and alarming. I am writing to Claire, and Lulu joins Loldi in sickness. On top of that, some hurt feelings, caused by people who do not matter, as well as by the only one who does matter. Hans’s mother has taken all sorts of silly precautions with regard to the children, as if I were not looking after them properly, and as if she herself had ever taken good care of her own children, either morally or physically! When Hermine told me about it, I felt like approaching Hans and repudiating her insults, but on reflection I came to the conclusion that, even if I did not deserve the reproaches in this form, I should bear them willingly in return for pain I myself am perhaps causing, however ignoble it may seem. That R. today dealt very harshly with me, when he more or less accused me of not loving Eva because I could not take her with me on a late walk, was indeed hard, and although many hours have since passed, I still have to weep bitterly as I write it down. But this, too, is surely deserved. Since at the end of the day Loldi is somewhat better, I go out for a while with Boni and Lusch. Splendid view of the mountains. From outside, a letter from Dr. Lang, not much in it. May everyone in the house now rest peacefully, the dear good children and my poor friend. I must calm down my heart, which is beating violently. My mother herself believes that she is about to die, and she will see nobody.
April 24, 1869	243	The doctor and Claire reassure Cosima about her mother, the children improve, and Richard revisits his anger from the previous day with remorse. He writes to Semper about the Munich theater affair, while Cosima teaches Loulou geography and botany. Richard's dog bite shocks the household but proves minor, and letters about Schure, Mathilde, Heim, and Semper's honors deepen his painful sense of the King's compromised enthusiasm.	Saturday, April 24: Asked the doctor about my mother and received comfort from him, which a letter in the evening from Claire confirmed. The children better. R. discusses with me the incident yesterday and feels that he was punished enough for his foolish anger by not going on the walk with me. Then he writes letters, among others to Semper, to let him know the truth concerning the Munich festival theater affair. Arrival of a pamphlet, R. W. — l’homme et le musicien; much of it good, much wretched, always the same old stories of ingratitude, etc. Gave Loulou a geography lesson and then showed her on a hazel twig how blossoms and fruit evolve. Thundery evening. R. returns from town, having been bitten by a dog! Terrible shock. However, the doctor says it is nothing serious. Letters from Mathilde, Schuré, nice and manly, and Heim, who describes all the honors now being heaped on Semper. Appointed principal architect for the building of the cathedral in Berlin, then commissioned by the Emperor of Austria as a “famous master” to carry out work on the Hofburg and other buildings! R. feels the rebuff to the King of Bavaria very deeply. He says he can imagine in what a curious light he must appear to people, since he is the only person to whom the King has behaved well. It would have to happen to him that a case of royal enthusiasm should turn out to be a case of monomania.
April 25, 1869	100	Richter's Munich news is unpleasant, but the children are healthy and Richard's dog bite is healing. Cosima, worn out from late embroidery, teaches Loulou a Grimm legend, rests, and then pours out her soul to Richard. Nuitter's news about the string quartet delights her, leading to banter over her correspondence with Richard's friend, followed by magic lantern entertainment and Seven Years' War reading.	Sunday, April 25: Letter from Richter full of Munich news, as always unpleasant. The children are healthy, R.’s bite is healing, though he walks with difficulty. I feel worn out, having embroidered long into the night. With the children up to lunchtime; read and explained a Grimm legend to Lulu. Rested after lunch, then poured out my soul to R. In the afternoon a letter from Nuitter announcing the agreement of the string quartet, much to my delight. R. surprised to see me in correspondence with his friend. Some bantering, some serious talk. Then magic lantern, at last something from the Seven Years’ War.
April 26, 1869	73	Newspapers reveal Hans did not conduct the latest Odeon concert, heightening Cosima's concern for Munich. Richard works a little, Cosima spends time with the children and the Bassenheims, and the evening brings Apel's Polyidos. She writes late about Richard while both suffer physically, he from a worsening bite and she from ear buzzing and back pain.	Monday, April 26: See from the newspapers that Hans did not conduct the last Odeon concert. So things look bad there! R. worked a little. I with the children in the morning, in the afternoon at the Bassenheims’. In the evening read Apel’s Polyidos with R. Till one-thirty in the morning writing a letter about Richard. R.’s bite has got worse, and I am suffering from a buzzing in the ears and pains in the back.
April 27, 1869	349	A splendid day with lively children and a little work from Richard is muddled by Count Bassenheim's visit, Nuitter's unpleasant money demand, and Cosima's physical pain. The original row then recounts a two-day outing to Brunnen, the Rutli, and Fluelen, where disturbed nights give way to idyllic weather and a renewed sense of belonging between Cosima and Richard. Returning home brings furniture trouble, news of her mother's partial recovery, Bavarian political frustration, and concern that Hans is not writing to the children.	Tuesday, April 27: Splendid day, the children lively. R. works a little; we decide on an outing to Fluelen for tomorrow. In the afternoon a visit by Count Bassenheim. Before that R. reads me the description of Katte's death, written in an incredible style, and after that the arrangements made by Friedrich Wilhelm I for his burial. Today was a muddled sort of day. From Nuitter I had a nasty letter; the gentlemen there are trying to swindle me and are demanding 2,000 francs! This I cannot pay and am despondent about it, on top of being in great pain. Good night, children. Mortals do not wish to die; that is their weakness, yet I must regard it as the rarest achievement of my soul that I no longer wish to die. Sent the letter to Mathilde to copy. Wednesday and Thursday, April 28 and 29: On Wednesday, despite dire prophecies concerning the weather, drove to Brunnen, there took a boat to the Grutli, and then arrived at Fluelen. A night quaintly disturbed by the night watchman, then by Boni's falling out of bed and Loldi's calling for me, finally by Kos's barking at the night watchman. On Thursday morning drove to Burklen; splendid weather, idyllic hours. In Fluelen R. had already told me during the evening how happy he was; on this morning, beneath crowns of blossoms against a cloudless sky and the overwhelming birdsong, we both feel how much we belong to each other. Via the Axenstrasse to Brunnen, then home by steamer. Here much trouble with the furniture, too crowded, as I feared. The disturbance in the house much greater than R. expected; he is vexed about it. Letter from Claire: Mama is recovering, but her mind still frenzied. Spoke much with R. about Munich; the political situation there is really too wretched. The School Law has been rejected by the Upper Chamber, and Prince Otto, who was for the first time entitled to vote, came down against it! I am concerned that Hans does not write to his children. Last night I dreamed I had gone to Munich in order to help him!
April 30, 1869	134	Hans writes to Loulou after illness, Countess Krockow seeks a visit, and Cosima embroiders while helping Lusch write to her father. Richard, in the midst of Siegfried's music to the mother, silently presses her hand with fervor. Concern over Loulou and Boni's lifeless appearance beside Loldi and Eva leads into lessons on biblical history, natural history, butterflies, and Frederick's letters.	Friday, April 30: A letter from Hans to Loulou; he has been unwell. Also from Countess Krockow, who wants to visit me. Lusch writes to her father. I sit beside her, embroidering. R. comes in and presses my hand fervently; he is in the midst of his work, "Heil der Mutter, die mich gebar" ["Hail to the mother who bore me"]. The doctor comes on account of Lulu; I am not happy with her appearance. She and Boni look lifeless beside Loldi and Eva. After lunch I sent them into town, then I work with Lusch, a little biblical history, then natural history, and I point out to her butterflies, swallowtail, orange-tip, peacock, which yesterday flew up in front of us. Then everyone to bed, and R. again read me some of Frederick the Great's letters.
No diary entries found.