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 July 1869 (31 total)

Date	Word Count	Subject	Content
July 1, 1869	334	Another sleepless night leaves Cosima weak enough to ask Richard for comfort, and he gives her reasons to continue hoping. Siegfried must be kept in darkness for his eye, but the arrival of Beethoven's copied portrait gives the household a friendlike presence and rare joy. Conversations on French and German culture, Goethe and Schiller, Richard's letter to the King, Oedipus, the garden children, and Eckermann all unfold under the shadow of Hans and the future.	Thursday, July 1: Another sleepless, thought-laden night! In the morning so weak that I ask R. to come up to me, and I tell him my worries; he talks splendidly and comfortingly to me; he is surely right! I shall continue to hope. At breakfast R. spoke of the inestimable boon which would come from a real fusion of the French and the Germans, though certainly the French should not go to Heine, Meyerbeer, and Kaulbach to find out about the German character. Siegfried has to be kept completely in the dark. A great worry. The joyful moment of the day was the arrival of Beethoven's portrait, which R. has had copied from the original in Härtel's possession. We receive the great man as a friend and benefactor, and R. says we have pleasures which no others have; we lead a life like few others. Previously all R.'s sublime impressions brought me closer to him; now, when we are united, they bring me the consciousness of my guilt. In the evening we spoke again about Goethe and Schiller, the princess in Tasso and the queen in Don Carlos. The queen has always been my ideal of womankind, the princess just a charming example of femininity. Coming back once more to the portrait of Beethoven, R. says to me: "This pleasure I also owe to you. Without you such an idea would never have occurred to me. I should just have remained excited and crazy." Seeing me still looking sad, he says: "I think only of the beings whose whole existence depends on you, who are nothing without you. There are six of us, and we are happy here." Yes, that we are, for we live in love; it is only the thought of Hans and glimpses into the children's future which fill me with sorrow. R. writes to the King. The eye specialist comes and finds Siegfried no worse. I visit the children in the garden and give Lusch her piano lesson. Read Oedipus by myself. In the evening, Eckermann.
July 2, 1869	229	Cosima accepts nights of suffering if her days can serve Richard and the children, and the doctor reassures her about Siegfried's eye. Villiers's article naming Richard prince of deep music, Oedipus, garden roses and cherries, and Richard's declaration that she is a manifestation of the divine all mark the day. Trouble with the nurse exposing the baby to light and the return of Nietzsche's poor Meistersinger essay give practical edges to an otherwise sustaining day.	Friday, July 2: Similar night. I gladly abandon my nights to worry and suffering, so long as I can devote my days to my beloved and to the children. Rose very early; practiced on the piano with Lusch. Had breakfast with R. The doctor with me, puts my mind at rest concerning Siegfried; in the middle of his visit R. comes up and announces himself as "Prince"; there is an article in La Liberté by Villiers de l'Isle-Adam with the dedication: "À Richard Wagner, Prince de la musique profonde." While the children are working I read Oedipus; at lunch, conversation with R. about it. "Why could not Tiresias solve the riddle of the Sphinx? It shows that a great human being is more than a prophet. But why all these terrible things piled on Oedipus? In order to make us aware of what life is and that happiness is just an illusion." Down to the children in the garden. Birds, roses, and cherries. There R. says he must tell me in all soberness that for him I am a manifestation of the divine. With what emotion I hear that, I, who am so miserably conscious of my paltriness! Trouble with Babli, Siegfried's nurse, who constantly takes the baby into the light. In the evening Eckermann again with R., much enjoyment. Wrote to Prof. Nietzsche and returned to him Lübke's wretched essay on Die Meistersinger.
July 3, 1869	485	Rain and Richard's need to rewrite Wotan's words frame a day of better medical news for Siegfried's eye and domestic time with the children. Richard reads Droysen and Schopenhauer under Cosima's protection, then discusses Greek history, music, Beethoven's restored primal language, and the musician's lack of place in society. The children's musical responsiveness, especially Lulu's, and Richard's belief that Siegfried's birth promises long life temper Cosima's plans for continued seclusion.	Saturday, July 3: Rainy day, and R. would have preferred sunshine for his work, because he has to rewrite Wotan's last words to Erda, which have turned out too "idyllic." The two doctors come and find things looking better; Siegfried's eye is improving. Spent the day with the children; R. stays indoors in good and cheerful spirits. In the evening he tells me: "How happy I was when today I really felt what I enjoy under your protection! I took out a volume of Droysen and read the death of Pyrrhus, then I opened Schopenhauer at the chapter on music and discovered that, if I am ever to carry out my projected writings, I must link them to this chapter." He added: "You never read the right things: you should read this history of Hellenism, which makes us aware of how at its dissolution this unique people was, as it were, returning to its heroic age; the things which occur in it could have come straight out of Homer. Everything so dramatic, so impassioned, so violent. And Sparta emerges again!" Against his reproach that I do not read what he recommends to me I have to say in my own defense that, since becoming a mother, I have really had no more time for reading, and today, while reading Oedipus, I literally reproached myself for not going yet again to see how the little ones were getting on. He reads me the death of Pyrrhus. We pass the evening in conversation; he is still delighted with the picture of Beethoven: "That is how he looked, this poor man who gave us back the language men spoke before they had ideas; it was to recover this language of the birds that Man created the divine art. But this is also the reason why a musician such as he is a being for whom there is absolutely no place in society." His other pleasure came from the children, for whom he played something and who played around him, Lulu already very earnestly fascinated by the music. I tell him how shattered I was by the passage in Oedipus in which Oe. says to his daughters that they will never marry; his shame would weigh on them, too. "It could be otherwise," R. replies. "Since you bore me a son I know that I must live to a ripe old age. The fact that I have won you shows me that Fate still has something extraordinary in store for me." I then tell him that I am resolved not to come out of my seclusion until it becomes necessary in order that the children may learn certain things. "Then we, too, shall enjoy the world," he said. You are happy now, my children; may God rain blessings on your more distant days! You, Lulu and Boni, will one day be to your father what I could never be; that is my comfort and my hope.
July 4, 1869	380	Cosima dreams of travels with Richard and George Sand's reproach, answering inwardly that her deeds were grave but not evil. Richard's composing opens in her the wordless realm of music until Richter arrives with dismal Munich news and memories of Tribschen that move everyone to tears. Tristan, letters, reports of Meistersinger hissing and applause, and late reflections on the sacredness of marriage leave the evening heavy but bound by Richard's devotion.	Sunday, July 4: A good night. Dreamed of distant travels with R.; I showed him some Raphael drawings, met G[eorge] Sand, who reproached me for my deeds. I listen to her humbly and say merely that what I did was grave, but in my heart not evil. Mounted a puppet show for the children, then down to R., and am writing this as he composes. The true nature of music, as he has explained it to me, reveals itself to me thereby; it is as if something opens within my soul which is otherwise always held captive, and my mind relapses into a dream state; reality vanishes completely, and love alone holds sway. "Diesen Kuss der ganzen Welt," "Seid umschlungen, Millionen": such things can really only be expressed in music; emotion has no place in the realm of words. As R. is playing me what he has written, Richter comes in, to our astonishment. Dismal news from Munich: the theater manager a coward, all the rest so crude that it defies description. Dear good Richter weeps as he recalls his happy days in Tribschen. I weep, too, and ask R. to play something from Tristan. Deep emotion, tears, relief. R. then goes out with Richter. I write to the cook in Munich, who has written to me; Hans stays silent. And to Mathilde. Only Lulu caused me pain at lunch today; I felt she was taking advantage of my momentary embarrassment to be impertinent to me! At tea discussed with Richter the wretchedness of German conductors: the great Munich Lachner fails to notice mistakes in Figaro, among other things! Regarding Mannheim, Richter relates that at the 4th performance the Jews had hissed Die Meistersinger, but at the 5th the audience did not allow itself to be taken unawares and applauded vigorously throughout; when a few of the people of Israel began to hiss, a Dr. Werther stood up and cried "hepp, hepp," whereupon the hissers went out. Late in the evening R. and I still lamenting our sorrows; I can feel in my indescribable suffering how sacred the bond of matrimony is, and how cautiously and reverently it should be tied. R. ever kind and lovingly concerned for me, showing me always that the world does not exist for him, that I am everything to him.
July 5, 1869	167	A dream of Jews, begging with Hans, and stones precedes a letter from Claire that brings Cosima and Richard to the question of divorce. Cosima proposes writing Hans to ask whether he truly wants her to return with the children or whether, for his own sake, he should consent to a divorce. Richard remains silent on the moral decision but writes about Hans's position, while the rest of the day passes quietly with children, boating, Countess Bassenheim, Richter, and a late letter to Claire.	Monday, July 5: Dream that I strayed with R. into a gathering of Jews and that I then went out begging with Hans, and stones were thrown at me. R. comes up. I show him the nice letter I received from Claire this morning; that brings us to the question of a divorce. I tell R. that I intend to write to Hans, asking if he wishes me to go to him, to give up everything here, to take just the four children with me, whether he really has the strength to be happy in view of all the stir our relationship has caused; if not, he should consent to a divorce, if only for his own sake. R. says that in this matter he must remain silent. He leaves me and writes to Düffl[ipp] about Hans's position. An atmosphere of stillness. After lunch, out in a boat with the children. Visited Countess Bassenheim, found her at home. In the evening with Richter. Wrote at a late hour to Claire.
July 6, 1869	375	Thunder, Richard's illness, and Cosima's depression lead to a grave conversation about whether sacrificing their life together could leave their love untouched. The discussion wounds Richard but ends in recognition that excessive love makes them vulnerable to each other. Mozart with Richter prompts Cosima's sweeping meditation on Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, and Wagner as stages in musical creation, before she returns to guilt, metempsychosis, and the longing for atonement.	Tuesday, July 6: Thunder in the air; R. unwell, cannot work, I depressed. Grave discussion with R. about what I told him yesterday. I try to make him understand how, in my sense, the sacrifice of our happiness, indeed even of our life together, could never affect our love. He feels deeply hurt, but as always we have to admit, amid smiles and tears, that it is only the excess of our love which makes us so susceptible. Played with the children; little work because of the sultriness. In the evening R. and Richter play Mozart's C Major Symphony as a piano duet, in the course of which R. gets very indignant about the faulty arrangement: "That is just like the Germans, always carrying on about Mozart, and then they produce such editions!" Listening to the Andante, I found myself thinking of Beethoven, and I felt as if one might say to him, "Alas, alas, you have destroyed it, this beautiful world." But in his heart he built it up again. The gods have ceased their sweet and blessed playing, and instead of Paradise we have life, with all its terrible agony and the salvation which flows from it. There is no returning to Paradise, though there is to Heaven, and Mendelssohn, who perhaps flattered himself that he could restore the original state, is merely childish. With Beethoven musical creation becomes human; Mozart is the world of animal, vegetable, and mineral, the innocent, naive world, unknowing both in gladness and sorrow; in the whole panoply Wagner appears as the revelation, as religion. In this history of creation the venerable Bach appears somewhat like the entire planetary system, before it separated itself from the sun. On such levels there is, however, no place for the gnat Mendelssohn to vaunt himself. Good night, my children; good night, Hans; a very good night, my Richard! Today I really came to understand the idea of metempsychosis. I felt the need for atonement; it was a kind of consolation to tell myself that I should one day have to atone for the suffering I have caused by other means than sympathy and mourning, and yet no atonement can weigh more heavily on me than the knowledge of my guilt and my powerlessness to redeem it.
July 7, 1869	159	Cosima's maternal work and Richard's composition proceed side by side, and he joyfully finds the conclusion for Wotan and Erda. A visit with Frau Am Rhyn and the children's play are followed by Mathilde's wounded discovery of the fifth child through Hornstein, which alarms Cosima because of the Munich connection. Richard reproaches her softness toward others, and she answers Mathilde calmly but with renewed worry.	Wednesday, July 7: Work everywhere: mine maternal, R.’s magnificent. At noon he calls out to me that he has found it, that is to say, the conclusion for Wotan and Erda. After lunch, as I give him my hand, he tells me that the slightest touch from me does him good, no more sympathetic creature exists, but that is also why nobody else can leave me alone! To Frau Am Rhyn, who then accompanies me back here. The children play merrily with the Am Rhyn children. In the evening R. brings me a letter from Mathilde; she has heard about my 5th child from Hornstein and cannot understand why I told her nothing about it!!! R. very annoyed with her, reproaches me for being too weak toward everybody. I reply to her late in the evening, calmly and shortly. But all the same it has again raised a great worry in my mind, since Baron Hornstein lives, of all places, in Munich!
July 8, 1869	403	Richter helps arrange the Munich furniture removal while Cosima and Richard discuss ways Hans might be given a more dignified musical position. Richard jokes darkly about enemies and friends, then listens as Cosima reads the Parzival draft to him and Richter, producing tears and purification. News that Siegfried's eye is improving brings sudden blessed relief, and the day closes with children, Richter's farewell, hopes for the future, and prayerful longing for reconciliation.	Thursday, July 8: In the morning settled the Munich furniture-removal arrangements with Richter; he will supervise the packing. At breakfast discussed possible ways of regularizing Hans’s position: he should take over the musical management, should no longer have such wretched men as Perfall over him. Then with the children, R. to his work. When I go to him, he says jokingly, “I love only my enemies, my friends I hate; that goes even beyond Christianity!” Wrote to Anna in Munich. At midday a letter from Dr. Lang; he again invites R. to write for the Norddeutsche Zeitung. After lunch R. wanted to play something from his sketches, but then did not feel in the mood. I suggested reading his Parsifal draft and did so, amid occasional tears. I could feel deep within myself the purifying and ennobling effect which such sublime things have on us. To R[ichter] it was all completely new, and he listened in great emotion. We were interrupted by a visit from the eye specialist, great happiness over his pleasure at the improvement of the trouble; like a lightning flash Fate has once more revealed to me the abyss on whose edge we are always so blindly standing. R. goes out with Richter in a fine mood of exhilaration; Loldi and Eva come toward us, the elder children are on the swing. “Bless you,” he calls out to me! I feel blessed, I am blessed. Oh, my children, if we still have much suffering to bear together, bear it bravely with me, and if Fate appears to deal more harshly with you because your mother broke with the world, be proudly glad that you can atone that one sin for her! To the children once more, supervised Lulu’s piano practice, then at 8 o’clock go to meet R. and Richter. In the evening said farewell to R[ichter]; he will resign his position if Hans really goes. Late, worrying thoughts about Hans. R. told me he had felt so happy today. I think with hope of later times, when the children will be grown up and perhaps will be able to compensate for many things, if only heavy blows do not fall in the meantime. Good night, you sublime, good, great being whom I love, whom I serve; good night, my children; good night, Hans, on whom I have brought so much sorrow. I dream of worlds in which we shall all come together and love one another!
July 9, 1869	324	Serov visits after seeing Tristan and Meistersinger in Munich, praises the performances, and calls Cosima heroic when Richard explains their situation. The children and Siegfried are well, Beethoven's portrait is framed, and Cosima thinks anxiously about Hans and financial provision for the children. Grimm, Oedipus at Colonus, starry garden wandering, and a reflection on woe and wakefulness reveal her fear of both living and dying.	Friday, July 9: Sultry. R. unwell. At breakfast he is given a card from Serov (the Russian R. Wagner!) and invites him to join us at table. (Footnote in the diary: “Serov has in consequence of his Russian national opera been appointed an active councilor of state and bears the title Excellency, about which R. good-humoredly teased him a lot.”) S[erov] has just seen Tristan and Die Meistersinger in Munich and is quite intoxicated by them and also very satisfied with the performances. Before I join them, R. tells him a little about what has happened to us and why he will not go to see Das Rheingold; when in the course of it my name is mentioned, Serov cries, “Quelle femme héroïque!” When R. tells me this, I am utterly astonished, so much have I got used to the thought of just being despised. The children all well, Siegfried fine; R. was pleased today when Eva brought him his snuffbox as he was composing: “When a child appears like that one has such an indescribable sense of the grace and sweetness of life.” Thought a lot and with much concern about Hans; then discussed with R. how best to save up my little income for the children. In the morning looked with R. through two newly ordered books (Art Treasures of Venice and The Viennese Collections). Beethoven has now been framed and is hanging on the wall. In the evening read Grimm’s fairy tales to the children. After dark wandered with R. in the garden under the silent blessing of the stars. When I learn (through Grimm) that ach wach means the same as O weh, I realize how related woe [das Weh] and wide-awakeness [das Wache] are. My heart is filled with such anxiety, I am afraid to live and do not wish to die. When I take precautionary measures for the children, I immediately tell myself, “Fate will frustrate it all.” Today began Oedipus at Colonus.
July 10, 1869	229	Despite a bad night, Richard feels happy and works hard while Cosima writes Mathilde that people should be told the truth about her. A visit to Countess Bassenheim brings Munich gossip and further concern for the children's future, which Richard tries to calm by wishing he could give her heaven on earth. Loldi's remarks suggest divorce as a possibility, but Cosima feels she can suffer rather than wound Hans further.	Saturday, July 10: R. had a very bad night, but he says in the morning, “Lord, how happy I am, in spite of all indispositions.” Worked with the children, then received a letter from Mathilde and answered it right away. She wants to know what to tell people when they ask about me. I: “The truth!” R. is working hard and is in good and cheerful spirits, though worn out. After lunch to Countess B. with the children. I tell her of the woman who bribed our stableboy to find out things; in reply she tells me of her Munich experience. In the evening told R. my concern for the children’s future and my intentions; he calms me down and ends with the words, “If I could only give you a heaven on earth!” Thus do I experience here the complete ideal of happiness. Some words of Loldi’s, of which I tell R., cause him to suggest that I demand a divorce from Hans, but I cannot now make demands on Hans; I have the strength to suffer, but no longer to wound. “Who never ate with tears his bread, who never through night’s heavy hours sat weeping on his lonely bed, he knows you not, ye heavenly powers!” I should like to have reached the point at which the children could gladden Hans’s heart and I show how I intended it all. Submissiveness—
July 11, 1869	241	Richard reads an article on Judaism in Music and is angered by the notion of a Jewish-Germanic culture, while also enjoying Serov's story of false Wagner verses in Finland. Family life brings berries, church, a meal, chocolate, Beethoven, and a walk, but Richard senses Cosima's unspoken grief over Hans. His memory of Hans striking her opens painful feelings before exhaustion overtakes her.	Sunday, July 11: R. yesterday brought home a newspaper (Dramaturgische Blätter?) in which there was an article about Judaism in Music. This morning R. tells me he has now read it and for the first time seen mention of a Jewish-Germanic culture in contrast to a Christian-Germanic one. “Such impudence! One sees one is dealing with people who have no idea at all what things are about.” Serov told us recently that beside a waterfall in Finland he had discovered some verses cut into the rock, signed “Richard Wagner.” Yet R. has never been there. R. goes to work despite the close atmosphere. I with the two younger girls to pick strawberries and raspberries, the elder ones to church. During the morning R. comes up to my room to see whether I am “still there.” “I always believe you will run away.” Then back to his work. The children play, then family meal, a telegram from Tichatschek, to whom R. had sent some musical quotations on his birthday. Chocolate for the children; I played a Beethoven quartet with R., afterward went for a walk with him. My grieving about Hans, never expressed aloud, R. guesses, and it makes him sad. He recalls scenes at which he was present, when Hans struck me, and says he was horrified at the calm indifference with which I had borne this. Very painful feelings. Back at home, so weary that I fell asleep on the sofa. To bed at midnight.
July 12, 1869	342	Judith Mendes announces a visit, Claire writes affectionately, and Richard dreams of flying with Cosima while working despite illness on the Wotan-Siegfried buffo duet. The Serovs arrive and disturb the household rhythm, though Mme Serov remarks on Cosima's complete devotion to her children. The day includes Richard's recollection of an abandoned Napoleon overture, reflections on the gong and musical restraint, time under the linden tree, Raphael illustrations, and great fatigue.	Monday, July 12: R. comes up with a letter; Judith Mendès announces a visit. For me a letter from Claire, good and affectionate. Work with the children. R. dreamed that he was flying with me. Telegram from Munich theater manager, asking whether it would be convenient to send his scene painter to see R. In spite of being very unwell R. works on his “buffo duet” (Wotan and Siegfried). Yesterday evening R. told me how, after writing his Columbus Overture, he wanted to do a Napoleon overture; he intended to depict his hero in all his glory up to the Russian campaign, from then on in his decadence. For the apex of the pyramid he needed a gong stroke, but began to doubt whether this was permissible in music, and asked somebody. Since he could not make up his mind to use the gong, he abandoned the whole thing. It struck him as ironic when, listening in Paris to Berlioz’s symphony for the victims of the July Revolution, he had found the gong being used frequently and very logically to a terrorizing point, whereas he himself as a young man could not make up his mind to use a single stroke! Music should be forceful, he said, we have the kettledrum and the trumpet, but the gong is barbarous; what is needed is something of that prudent quality the Greeks call sophrosyne, the gong stroke robs music of all ideality. In the afternoon, when we wanted to rest, the Serovs arrived with their son. Since the boy understands only Russian, Loldi declares, “He doesn’t know a thing.” R. says of the boy to his father: “Not a musician, but a councilor of state straight away—la mort sans phrase.” The visit was something of a burden to us, inasmuch as it disturbed the routine of our accustomed life. Mme Ser. told me she would never have imagined that I lived so entirely for my children. With the little ones until late in the evening beneath the blossoming linden tree. Later looked at Raphael illustrations. R. very worn out.
July 13, 1869	304	Richard imagines providing Siegfried with a modest secure income so he need not work for money, then discusses medieval poets and mastery. Cosima writes Claire about wanting divorce, plays Beethoven with Richard, drafts a reply to the English translator of Judaism in Music, and is deeply moved by a Bach motet. Schopenhauer on music and horror at Giordano Bruno's martyrdom lead Richard to condemn priestly brutality.	Tuesday, July 13: Supervised Lulu’s piano exercises, then to R., who tells me at breakfast he would like to be able to bequeath Siegfried a house and an income of 1,500 thalers, so that he would never have to work for money and thereby lose his freedom. But he would have to be modest in his wants. [In the margin: “In his will R. wants to stipulate that, if Siegf. works for money, he loses the income.”] Then he talks to me about Wolfram von Esch[enbach], Gottfried von Strass[burg], whom he calls great artists who attained great mastery. R. works, I with the children, studying, playing, bathing. Wrote to Claire, explained to her why I want the divorce. After lunch played the piano with R. (Beethoven quartet). He receives a letter from an English lady, who sends him her English translation of Judaism in Music and asks for permission to publish it. Great surprise. Then R. takes up the Bach motet Als Christus zum Jordan kam; it moves us deeply. “The main thing is to put people at ease, to bring religious meditation companionably close to the heart, and the artist then decorates it further with his skill.” This leads us to R.’s favorite idea of a school where things of this sort will be performed. “Perhaps I shall come to it yet, for after all my life is just beginning.” In the evening Schopenhauer’s chapter on music; so far as I can follow it, it seems to me to describe the nature of the divine art wonderfully well. A word by Schop. about Giordano Bruno and his martyrdom fills us with horror, when we think of the fate of this devotee of truth after he was delivered over to the brutal power of the priests. “They would still like to burn people,” R. says, “but it cannot be done.”
July 14, 1869	323	A severe headache yields to a day of Chandon's wine, Munich Rheingold scene sketches, and Richard's comic desire to live terribly long. Loulou's letter to Hans reopens Cosima's sorrow, and she weeps alone while feeling highest happiness and deepest grief together. Richard's return restores joy, after which they discuss Keller, Auerbach, Tieck, and Serov on Berlioz, but she ends with anxiety over fellow suffering rather than conscience.	Wednesday, July 14: Rose with such a headache that I could not supervise Loulou’s practice. Gradually got better. R. has had a nice letter from Chandon and with it a consignment of wine. After lunch the scene painter from Munich, Rheingold sketches! R. was jokingly indignant today about the summer, that it has already arrived: “I want to live terribly long.” Lulu dictated to me a letter to her father; it made my heart so heavy. In Paradise the serpent is concealed, it has settled in my heart, and all around is happiness, so beautiful and bright. Let us pray! . . . Thinking about my fate, I feel as if it is trying to make me recognize both deepest sorrow and highest happiness; my poor heart contains them both! Union with my beloved, unbounded happiness, grief over the suffering caused, inconsolable sorrow! While R. is taking his walk and the children are in bed, I abandon myself to my thoughts; weeping, I sing to a tune of my own, “Who never ate with tears his bread”; the light starts to fade, nearby I hear Siegfried give a hiccup! The doctor was here today and unfortunately could see the spot more clearly than recently; R. comes home, I wipe away my tears, joy returns with him! We talk about the stories of Gottfried Keller, how much more significant they are than Auerbach’s; of Tieck R. says that he lacked the painful concision which characterizes the great poet. After supper I read to R. Serov’s essays on Berlioz; they are very good. As I write this down I have a feeling of anxiety which seems to me like a death agony. How childish of my father to speak of “pangs of conscience”; how could I ever feel those? But fellow suffering, that is what oppresses my heart. I understand, too, how Parzival suffers and how he searches for Amfortas. Will I ever again be able to feel an unmixed pleasure?
July 15, 1869	138	Cosima drafts a letter to the translator of the Jewish pamphlet while Richard jokes that he has become only a composing machine. A picnic with the children and a visit to Serov leave Richard sad because Eva was left behind and because change unsettles him when Cosima is away. Their good night turns into a stark exchange about paradise, prior lives, and Richard's sense that without her everything is over.	Thursday, July 15: In the morning with the children and at the same time draft a letter to the translator of the Jewish pamphlet. R. laughs, approves it, and says there is nothing more he can do, all he is now is a composing machine. Afternoon picnic with the children on the Sonnenberg, visit Serov. Returning home, I find R. sad; he was sorry that Eva was left behind, also he feels in a bad mood when I am not there. “Anything but change,” he says. In the evening he says to me, “Good night, dream of paradises.” I: “I know what would be heaven for me: to live our life here without having had another beforehand.” R.: “I am freed of everything, not a soul has any claim on me, except you; when I imagine you gone, all is over.”
July 16, 1869	241	French unrest, Bavarian politics, and the coming Rheingold production make Richard reflect bitterly on the incapable King's fateful enthusiasm. Siegfried's nurse and eye trouble worry Cosima, though she still plays with the children before the Mendes couple and Villiers arrive. Judith Mendes's ungainly enthusiasm forces Richard into performing Walküre and Tristan, and afterward he contrasts their amusement with the way he and Cosima live the music as heart's blood.	Friday, July 16: In France they are having revolutions again. In contrast, the King of Bavaria once again does not open the exhibition. One sees the aim is to get rid of the young King. R. thought yesterday evening with great concern about the forthcoming production of Das Rheingold: yet again a vast amount of money expended and a pitiful, not to say ridiculous result! All the same, R. does not intend to bother himself about it. How curious the ways of Fate, which fills precisely this incapable King with enthusiasm for R.’s works, how curiously terrible! The morning taken up with Siegfried, vexation over the stupid willfulness of his nurse and worry about his eye. At midday great weariness, yet played in the afternoon with the children. In the evening the Mendès couple (M. Villiers is also with them). She is very remarkable, so lacking in manners that I find it downright embarrassing, yet at the same time good-natured and terribly full of enthusiasm. She literally forces Rich. to play and sing pieces from Die Walküre and Tristan. When they have gone, R. says to me: “There are no women left in France, just think of that! My God, what a spirit you are!” He had noticed that I had been weeping while listening to his recital: “Yes, for us that is life, we are rooted in it, it is our heart’s blood; the others amuse themselves with it, we live it.” Late to bed;
July 17, 1869	242	Richard praises Cosima as a mother while she supervises Lusch's practice, then helps correct her letter to the English translator of Judaism in Music. Boni's stubbornness worries her, and the Mendes couple return with noisy but kind enthusiasm, stories of Schott's Paris maneuvering, and news of Rienzi's success. Richard plays Wagner excerpts, jokes over their lack of supper, and calls Rheingold's waves the world's lullaby.	Saturday, July 17: “My God, Lusch, what a mother you have!” R. cries in the early morning when he finds me with my little girl, supervising her practice. Afterward he corrects my letter to the English translator. “How we really do work together!” he says. Boni’s stubbornness causes me great concern; I have to punish her. In the afternoon the Mendès couple; I must entertain them. How curious their noisy enthusiasm seems to me! The woman says out loud all the things I believe in my inmost heart; the fact that she can say them aloud makes her seem strange to me. He is highly cultured, and both of them thoroughly kind-hearted. They relate how R.’s publisher Schott advertised the translation of the Jewish pamphlet in Paris on the day of Rienzi’s first performance; Pasdeloup rushed out in alarm and, as he thought, bought up all the copies. Next day Schott offered him a thousand more copies, which he had in stock, at the same price! Who could believe that of a publisher? And again, who was behind it? The last performance of Rienzi is reported to have aroused incredible enthusiasm and much presentation of bouquets! R. plays Wotan’s farewell to Brünnhilde and several passages from Lohengrin. At eleven o’clock they tell us they have not eaten since lunch yesterday. We have nothing in the house; mood of gaiety. Of the movement of the waves in Das Rheingold R. says, “It is, so to speak, the world’s lullaby.”
July 18, 1869	133	Richard is tired from the previous day but works and sends Cosima completed sketches while she tends the youngest children. The Mendes couple spend the afternoon and evening with them, and Judith gives Cosima a precious Chinese-inscribed fan in exchange for a Wagner page whose personal worth makes it hard to surrender. Richard views the couple as an enrichment, though their delicate health concerns him.	Sunday, July 18: R. rose late, is tired from yesterday. But he works. The children to church. I with the youngest ones. R. sends me the sketches which he has completed. Bathing with the little ones, then from two till ten the Mendès couple. She gives me a fan which a Chinese, an academician, has inscribed for her and which in the eyes of the Chinese is worth 100,000 francs; in exchange I have to give her a page of R.’s, which has indeed for me a different worth. I found it hard to part with it, though I do not begrudge it to this remarkable woman. R. regards her and her husband as a real enrichment of our lives, and they are certainly an extraordinary, noble couple. Unfortunately both of them seem in delicate health.
July 19, 1869	65	Hans writes to Loulou that he may go to Italy with his mother, leaving Cosima melancholy and prayerful for him. The day includes the children, an excursion to the lion monument with their friends, and another evening of Richard playing from his works. Judith Mendes's account of her life opens a disturbing window onto Parisian conditions.	Monday, July 19: In the morning a letter from Hans to his daughter; he is probably going to Italy with his mother. Melancholy mood; may the gods protect him! With the children. In the afternoon to the Hünendenkmal with our friends. Then home; R. again plays from his works. Judith M. tells me about her life, giving me a curious and terrible glimpse into conditions in Paris.
July 20, 1869	54	Cosima spends the day mostly with the children, while the Mendes party arrives only late after visiting the riflemen's meeting in Zug. Richard is playing his newest music when they enter. Earlier, Cosima reads Villiers's work and finds it marked more by monstrosity than edification.	Tuesday, July 20: With the children; only late in the evening the Mendès people, who had been to the riflemen’s meeting in Zug. R. was just playing me the last thing he had written when they came in. In the morning I had read some pages of young Villiers’s books: little that is edifying, much monstrosity.
July 21, 1869	70	The children remain Cosima's center, though Siegfried, Eva, and Boni are all unwell and cause worry. The Mendes couple return for music and garden time, proving excellent people despite the inhibiting French element Cosima feels in them. Richard grows tired but writes kindly to the ill Esser and firmly to Schott about the Jewish pamphlet affair.	Wednesday, July 21: Still always the children; worry, because they are not well, Siegfried, Eva, and Boni. In the evening the Mendès people, music, and garden. They are excellent persons, but the French element is always something of a brake. R. already somewhat tired. He writes a friendly letter to Esser in Vienna, since I told him he was ill, then to Schott to tell him what he thinks about the Jewish-pamphlet affair.
July 22, 1869	137	Cosima rises before dawn for an excursion with Richard, Loulou, and their friends from Beckenried to Brunnen and the Axenstein. The fine day and moonlit evening contrast with her inward focus on the children's future and on Judith's unhappy family life, which clarifies her own duty to her children. She refuses to let happiness diminish the pain through which she believes she must atone.	Thursday, July 22: Up at four o’clock, to Beckenried in the carriage, from there with our friends and Loulou by steamer to Brunnen, then up the Axenstein. Fine day, splendid moonlit evening; spent the night in the Pension Aufdermauer. R. cheerful in spite of great fatigue. I deep in thought; the children’s future hovers before my eyes. Judith’s unfortunate family life makes me really feel what I am to the children and what I can yet become to them. It is as if I have had to suffer such woe in order to gain knowledge in their behalf. Not for a moment, however, do I seek to relieve my heart of the pain which is racking it; I am downright frightened of feeling it less in the emotion of great happiness. As long as I live I wish to atone.
July 23, 1869	71	An early sunrise with Lusch precedes a boat trip to the Rutli and a return home to find the children well. A wretched letter from Weissheimer upsets Richard, while Claire writes Cosima on business and Schure announces the start of his translation. The day ends early after a bath with Lusch.	Friday, July 23: Up with Lusch at four o’clock, splendid sunrise; at eight o’clock trip by boat to the Grütli, return journey at eleven o’clock. At home the children well. Letter to R. from Weissheimer; the bad impression left by this wretched letter causes a slight upset. A letter from Claire to me dealing with business matters. Early to bed after a bath with Lusch. Letter from Schuré, who is starting on the translation.
July 24, 1869	208	News of Professor Braun's death deeply upsets Cosima because he and his wife had been among her kindest Munich friends. Richard says Cosima alone holds him between earth and heaven, and her condolence letter leads to his darkly comic counsel about learning from possible impertinence. Visits from the Serovs and Mendes party, Wagner excerpts, and Richard's anger at German princes who neglect true German talent fill the evening.	Saturday, July 24: In the morning, while I am giving Lulu a piano lesson, R. comes up; he tells me that Prof. Braun has died. I am very upset by the news; of all people in Munich he and his wife were the friendliest toward me, and both were outstanding characters. R. is also affected by it and says that, if I were not there to hold him between Earth and Heaven, he would no longer be able to exist. He said yesterday that he could never for a moment forget how happy I had made him. His whole past life remains in his memory only as a state of weariness. Wrote to Rosalie Braun and showed the letter to R., asking him whether he can accuse me of an impertinence. R.: “All the better, then you will have learned something; it is like money which you have been swindled out of, that is a direct gain.” In the afternoon the Serovs and the Mendès people, till late in the evening. R. plays and sings from Die Meistersinger and Siegfried. Braun’s death causes in R. a violent outburst against the German princes who lend their support to nothing, to neither talent nor natural gifts; they let everything truly German die of neglect.
July 25, 1869	382	Cosima delights in Lulu's piano progress while Richard reflects critically on the Mendes couple and the French character, arguing that music alone might broaden French horizons. Villiers unexpectedly impresses them with a well-read play drawn from real conditions, and Richard contrasts French theatrical conditions with German disorder while explaining differences between symphony and music drama. Farewells to the Mendes couple, Cosima's refusal to go to Paris, thoughts of Hans, and Richter's request for dismissal close a difficult, revealing day.	Sunday, July 25: Delighted to observe Lulu’s progress in piano playing; R. interrupts our practice. Talk about the Mendès couple: she a child of Nature, he a highly cultured man, but unfortunately the French character is like a barrier; they put V. Hugo on the same level as Shakespeare. “The French lack poetic contemplation,” says R. “Either they resort to tirades with exaggerated gestures, or they are terribly dry. Utterly untalented as they are as regards art, they could acquire their arrogant sense of superiority only on account of the wretched state of their neighbors. They see themselves being imitated everywhere, and must consequently come to regard themselves as the one true model. Only music might perhaps be able to widen their horizons.” R. is very indignant that precisely at this point of time the newborn Saxon Prince has been given the Pope as his godfather, “whereas it is only the good nature of the people which allows its royal family to remain Catholics.” At noon the Mendès people; after lunch M. Villiers reads us his play. The same person in whom we could discern no talent has found in real life inspiration for a good play, which he read to us with marvelous skill. “There are at any rate established conditions there,” says R. “Bad as they are, they nevertheless provide a picture. We Germans have no established conditions.” At lunch R. explained how differently one must work in the symphony and in music drama, where all is permissible except stupidities, since the action explains everything. Beethoven, he said, had only once forsaken serenity in the symphony, and there, with his infinite art, he had resorted to words. Take leave of our excellent friends; when they invite me to come with R. to Paris, to Lohengrin, and try to press me, I explain to them that I must make sacrifices in order to prove to another being how earnestly I regard a life which has imposed on me the sad necessity of wounding him. Moved silence. Painful thoughts of Hans and his fate; difficulty in going to sleep. At dessert, introduction of the children, who were judged very pretty and good. In the morning a letter from Richter, who has requested his dismissal. He is being asked to stay on; R. answers that he should insist on his dismissal.
July 26, 1869	152	Rheingold costumes arrive and are judged silly and empty, while Esser is grateful for Richard's friendly letter. Richard tells Cosima he wants only to preserve his present happiness without change, as Lulu and Boni dictate letters to Hans and rain keeps the day subdued. Eva's illness, a walk to meet Richard, and Serov's comic jealous letter about Judith and the French provide the evening's mixture of worry and amusement.	Monday, July 26: Costumes for Das Rheingold arrived, very silly and unimaginative. Letter from the duped conductor Esser, very happy that R. wrote him a friendly letter. R. tells me it has occurred to him that he has now reached that state of happiness in which all he wants is to conserve it; he demands nothing more, no changes, just for it to endure. Lulu and Boni write to their father, dictating to me first. Rain. After lunch R. writes telling Munich the design of the costumes is as good as nonexistent. In the garden a little. Eva unwell. In the evening with the elder three to meet R. He has received a comical letter from Serov, whose wife seems to have taken umbrage at Judith; to state it briefly, he goes on at length about the French being unfitted to listen to R.’s works, whereas his wife, ah yes, his wife! Much amusement over this.
July 27, 1869	498	A terrifying dream of Richard aflame is followed by his report of heart pains, making Cosima's morning anxious. Their shared understanding, joy in the children, rumors that the King is at Tribschen, and a revelation that Richard and Mathilde have been corresponding without Cosima all unsettle her. She writes Claire with money for Loulou and reflects that renunciation remains hard even when she seeks no joy except Richard's health and the children's flourishing.	Tuesday, July 27: Awful dream that R. set his head on fire by carelessly turning a gas flame; after that a second, gentler, but all the same melancholy dream about R. In the morning constantly clutching my heart. R. comes up and tells me he had a very bad night with violent pains in the heart. At five o'clock he had written to Serov, telling him the French people who had so disturbed him had now left, and his music could now proceed as earnestly and gloomily as his wife could wish. We think with joy of our newly found friends, particularly of her. Then R. starts laughing at the fact that we always understand each other so well. “Oh, how happy we shall be; what is Goethe's happy old age compared with mine?” Then he says that he sometimes has the feeling that art is downright dangerous; it is as if, in this great enjoyment of observing, he is perhaps failing to recognize the presence of some hidden sorrow. Great pleasure in the children. Showed Lulu the Orbis Pictus, while Boni was copying out. Horrifying story of a nun in Cracow who went mad from being locked up. Eva having trouble with her teeth. R. at his work; in the afternoon Grimm's fairy tales. Then with Lusch to meet R. On the way we meet Colonel Am Rhyn, who tells us it is reported in the Luzerner Zeitung that the King of Bavaria is at Tribschen. In Berne everybody had asked him about it, and the chief of police in Lucerne had said to him on the train that he had a good nose: he knew the King was at Tribschen! R. vexed by this. Since I am surprised to have received no answer from M[athilde] M[aier], I ask R. whether he has withheld a letter from me; I then find out that a regular exchange of correspondence has been going on, and R. also thinks I was wrong not to have told her of the birth of Siegfried. This unfortunately hurt me deeply; with how much difficulty is self-will broken! When does a human being ever achieve complete renunciation? Recently R. told me that things had changed between us after all: I was now only earnestly companionable toward him. And yet nothing has changed except that I now want no other joy but to see him happy and in good health and the children flourishing. Years ago, when I received the gift of his love, I was in an ecstasy; I hailed the light as if raised from the dead, I forgot everything I knew and believed in happiness on earth, believed in it and demanded it. Now I know everything again and in consequence am content to go around just like a shadow. And yet, so weak am I, I was hurt today, when all suffering should be welcome to me! Wrote to Claire in the morning, sending her 1,000 francs to invest for Loulou. Eva somewhat better in the evening.
July 28, 1869	80	Lessons, Raphael pictures, Eva's illness, and Loulou's piano lesson fill the day while Cosima warns Countess Bassenheim that the doctor may be a spy because of Munich relatives. Colonel Am Rhyn reports that rumors of the Bavarian King's presence at Tribschen are now printed in Catholic papers. Cosima sees little of Richard and replies immediately to Judith in Munich.	Wednesday, July 28: Lessons with the children; showed them Raphael pictures. Eva still unwell. In the afternoon took Loulou to her piano lesson. Informed Countess Bassenheim of several things; warned her against our doctor as against a spy, since his relatives live in Munich. Colonel Am Rhyn reports that R. cannot deny the rumor of the King of Bavaria's presence, since this was printed in the Catholic newspaper! Saw little of R. today. Letter from Judith in Munich. I reply at once.
July 29, 1869	56	Eva remains ill, Boni goes to the dentist, Lusch studies Raphael, and Loldi picks currants while Siegfried is well except for the lingering white spot in his eye. The eye specialist's confident visit brings reassurance. The evening turns domestic and artistic with a magic lantern for the children and piano playing with Richard.	Thursday, July 29: Eva unwell. Boni to the dentist, R. at work; Lusch occupied with Raphael. Siegfried well, though still the little white spot; Loldi picking red currants. In the afternoon a visit from the eye specialist, a stout-hearted man. In the evening showed the children the magic lantern, and after tea played the piano with R.
July 30, 1869	426	Cosima is unsure whether Richard's kisses in the morning were dream or reality, and she prays that her silent presence may make him and the children happy. Humboldt celebrations, questions about youthful wildness, Joan of Arc, and Richard's wish that she too might be happy lead into a long meditation on simplicity, purity, endurance, and the futility of trying to master fate. A thunderstorm closes a day that becomes a lesson addressed to her children about bearing one's lot.	Friday, July 30: While I was asleep, R. came to me and gave me many kisses; I myself do not quite know yet whether this really happened or I just dreamed it. I have renounced all forms of personal joy; may God grant that my beloved and the children are made happy by my silent presence. At breakfast I read R. an account of the Humboldt celebrations. He says jokingly I will live to see his statue set up on his 100th birthday! I: “Siegfried might be there, not I.” R.: “Oh yes, you will. You will feel as if you have been swimming in a huge sea.” To me any thought of a triumph, success, is almost unbearable. Then I asked R. whether he thought every boy should lead a wild and dissolute life in his youth. He says: “Yes, if only for the sake of the salutary longing to return to one's senses. This is what always seemed to me questionable about Mendelssohn, that he never lost control of himself. Certainly this period does not need to be as petty as it was with me; it can be splendidly ennobled, as for example through wars in which one takes part, 1813, or through travels accompanied by personal hardships, in Norway or somewhere like that.” In the garden R. pays me a visit and says, “My happiness lacks but one happiness: that you may also be happy.” Finished reading the life of Joan of Arc; afterward lost in thought over how I might preserve the children's simplicity and purity. Simplicity and purity, those inscrutable guardians of peace. In the afternoon visit from Countess Bassenheim; telegram from Frau Laussot. Late in the evening: If I could only make my children realize what I have now come to realize with so much pain: that a mortal can be great only in bearing what comes to him. He can do nothing except endure, and only through that can he also make others happy. Woe to him who attempts to meddle with Fate and to control and improve things through his own strength. With what mockery does Fate answer him, and how painful is this mockery! But whatever may come to you, children, bear it in stillness and silence and, whatever you do, do not think that you can do otherwise. There is nothing we can do, and whoever cannot learn to bear his lot until death surrenders the only thing he has. Your mother tells you this with bleeding heart and weeping eyes; listen to her, children, listen to her! A thunderstorm in the night.
July 31, 1869	129	A melancholy morning is broken by news that Hans, through Hallwachs, has requested Cosima's legal authorization for divorce. The development solemnly satisfies her because it comes from Hans, though she fears he may have been driven to it brutally, while Richard appears happy. Nietzsche visits, Countess Bassenheim's piano lesson follows, the Serovs are at home, Eva remains in bed, and thunder mirrors Cosima's dark thoughts.	Saturday, July 31: Melancholy night, melancholy mood all morning. Lusch's practice dispels heavy thoughts. R. comes to us and reports that Hans has requested me, through Dr. Hallwachs, to sign a legal document enabling us to get a divorce. I find it good that it should happen in this way. But the thought that Hans has perhaps been brought to this point by acts of brutality disturbs me. The news appears to make R. happy, and so I, too, feel content, though very solemn. Visit from Professor Nietzsche, a well-formed and pleasant human being. After lunch to Countess B.'s for the piano lesson; a moment of expansion, worried contemplation of life. At home found the Serovs. Heavy rain. Eva still in bed, the doctor not worried. Raging thunderstorm and dismal thoughts.
No diary entries found.