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 May 1869 (23 total)

Date	Word Count	Subject	Content
May 1, 1869	185	A bat in Richard's room gives Cosima an ominous start, though May weather and Richard's image of nature as a peasant bride bring beauty. Lessons, medicine for Loulou, paper hangers, Loldi's renewed illness, and birthday preparations exhaust her, while Richard's new music transports her to melancholy bliss. Practical errands, weary domestic work, and more Frederick anecdotes pull the day back down from artistic heights.	Saturday, May 1: R. tells me of a bat which he yesterday chased out of his room; involuntary alarm at this omen. The day is fine, the witches on the Brocken have done their job properly, and R. observes that all Nature looks like a peasant bride with a wreath of myrtle. Studied geography with Loulou; she has to take medicine. Then unfortunately the paperhangers arrive, which exhausts me and makes me sad; to end it all, Loldi unwell again. R. works, however; after lunch he plays what he has written, and I am transported into melancholy bliss. He gets up and shows me my picture, saying that this is what he had seen! Alas, if only life could remain on such heights! But that only death can bring us. In town, ordered flowers for R.'s birthday and learned that his father's play is unfortunately no longer to be found. Home very weary, Loldi very unwell; put her to bed, then pepper and camphor for the winter things. Fell asleep after tea and slumbered a long time. Finally R. reads me a few more Fridericiana, glorious touches throughout.
May 2, 1869	291	May's beauty fills the outdoors while Cosima keeps three children at home and sends Boni to church. Loldi remains ill, Loulou is moved by Wilhelm Tell, and Richard defines a hero as one who knows no fear. A fair in town, Meysenbug's missing letters, Richard's surprising invitation for her to live at Tribschen, and the children's joy lead Cosima to see happiness only in the delight of loved beings.	Sunday, May 2: May delights out of doors! Got up early, sent Boni off to church with Hermine, I at home with the other three. The doctor finds Loldi indisposed and prescribes something for her. I tell Loulou about Saint Louis and read with her the scene in Wilhelm Tell in which the hero shoots the apple. She weeps, and I with her. At table R. asks her what a hero is; she does not know, whereupon he says: Someone who knows no fear. After lunch, with the two elder children and the little Am Rhyn girl to the fair in town: carrousel, menagerie, mines, panorama! R. had a letter from his friend Fraulein Meysenbug: she has received nothing, neither the Jewish pamphlet nor his letter of March 29. He replies to her; to my great astonishment he invites her to come here permanently. R. is also not quite well, but he goes into town with me. When I look at the children and feed on their joy I have to acknowledge how foolish it is to expect any personal joy in this world, to wish for something for oneself such as a house or wealth or power or some such thing, when the only true happiness is the gleam of joy in the eyes of a cherished being. While still in bed yesterday I read Der arme Heinrich; Goethe is said not to have liked it, which I can understand, even if there are many very moving features in it. "Wounded love has a friend in Heaven," a fine old saying which contains all the consolation of renunciation. In the menagerie R. and I had to laugh heartily when the man said about the hyena, "It murders not just for hunger, but also for lust."
May 3, 1869	218	A departing maid's vulgar abuse begins Cosima's Monday, but the evil omen gives way to Richard's cheerfulness and jokes about happiness making composition difficult. His new music before lunch creates a blissful hour that makes earthly miseries vanish. An outing with the older children and Richard leaves her weary but exalted.	Monday, May 3: My Monday began with a stream of vulgar abuse, which a bad maidservant, leaving our employment, flung at me while I was still in bed. Letting her talk, I reflected on the disparate nature of the world, in which the saint and the wise man put up with such curious surprises. At last she left, and I had paid my debt to the evil demon of the day. And indeed the day turned out to be a fine one. R. greeted me cheerfully; he said I was just a bundle of worry, and since in regard to him I had nothing more to worry about, knowing he was in good hands, I had no more thoughts for him. He also said he was too happy, he could no longer compose, he had everything he wanted, to which he added jokingly: when he now works, it is not for hunger, but lust! He is working now, while I teach the children. Before lunch he played me what he had written; blissful hour of happiness, forgetting all miseries on earth and torments of life! I must always burst into tears and am at a loss for words when I hear his music. Went out with the elder children, R. to town, then overtook me. Great weariness, but a mood of exaltation.
May 4, 1869	183	Cosima sends birthday-related letters widely while Richard rises late after a bad night and receives the King's telegram marking five years since his arrival in Munich. Loldi improves only slightly, and Cosima longs for a mother even as she wants always to be available to her children. Richard explains that composition requires restraint amid too many ideas, while May blossoms, Frederick anecdotes, and late embroidery fill the evening.	Tuesday, May 4: In the early morning sent off letters to all corners of the earth, since I am in trouble about R.'s birthday. R. up late; he had a bad night. Telegram from the King: five years ago today R. arrived in Munich! R. works a little in spite of being unwell. I with the children. Loldi is somewhat better, but still looks run down. Could the dear creatures but know how anxious and worried I am about them! May they always find me in their hour of need, as I should so dearly like to find a mother now! At lunch R. says that in creative work the difficulty is not discovering ideas, but holding oneself in check; all too many things fly into his mind, his agitation and restlessness come from arranging and selecting them. He goes into town, the elder children, too, I at home with Eva and Loldi. Lovely mild air in the evening, true May delights, earth and sky covered in blossom. In the evening letters of Frederick the Great and anecdotes of his life. During the night embroidered in bed.
May 5, 1869	76	Loldi's renewed illness casts Richard's gray veil over Cosima's day. She works with the healthy girls, tends the sick child, and notes Loulou's first piano lesson with Marie Bassenheim. Letters from Mathilde and Claire bring practical news and reassurance that Cosima's mother is improving.	Wednesday, May 5: Loldi ill! She caught cold again yesterday. In consequence, the gray veil, as R. calls it, overshadows my day. I work in the morning with the healthy girls and in the afternoon tend the sick one. Toward evening things get a little better. Loulou today has her first piano lesson together with Marie Bassenheim. A letter from Mathilde; she has copied out mine to Herr Drumont. Yesterday a letter from Claire: my mother is improving.
May 6, 1869	203	Ascension Day is spent gently because Loldi and Lusch are unwell, with the children mostly in the garden and Cosima embroidering beside them. Walks with Richard, birdsong, a Boston peace festival program featuring Tannhäuser, Flaxland's money, Frederick's letters, and Beethoven at the piano fill the day. Richard promises to conduct a Beethoven symphony for Cosima in the fall, giving the domestic day an artistic horizon.	Thursday, May 6: Loldi still unwell and Lusch also indisposed, which means that I do not make them work, but let them spend Ascension Day in the garden. I with the little ones, embroidering, more or less all day. Walked with R. in the garden morning and evening, splendid view of the fields and trees. He tells me he was listening to the birds in the early morning and had composed something based on them that he thought very beautiful, but now he sees it was nothing. A program arrived from Boston; in a grand musical festival to celebrate peace the Tannhäuser Overture is to be played, the "Pilgrims' Chorus" sung at the end! R. dreams of it and that I come to it with Eva, and he is beside himself at not having the appropriate dreams for my reception. A letter from Flaxland, the publisher, with 3,000 francs from Jenny. In the evening Frederick the Great again; recommending movement to d'Argens, he says, "La Nature parait nous avoir plutot destine au metier de postilion qu'a celui de philosopher." After lunch R. played me several passages from the Beethoven symphonies and promised to conduct one of them for me in the fall, either in Paris or in Milan.
May 7, 1869	920	Pasdeloup's telegram, spring greenery, Loldi's slow recovery, and Vreneli's pregnancy begin a period crowded with household and emotional disturbance. Richard's despondency over Loldi, conflict over Cosima's planned confinement, Loldi's relapse, errands for birthday costumes, Paris visitors, honorary news from Berlin, a sleepless embroidery vigil, Hans's depressing letters, Apel's Freischutz story, and unwanted approaches from admirers and opportunists fill the combined May 7-13 row. Through it all Cosima is stretched between children, secrecy, Richard's sensitivity, household upheaval, and the wish for only children, art, and a May morning.	Friday, May 7: Telegram from Pasdeloup that I shall at last receive the drawing of the heralds of peace; splendid weather, the "green-gold" of spring flourishing. The children outside, I with Loldi, embroidering; she is getting better, if not yet quite recovered. Vreneli comes to me to announce her second pregnancy, and she tells me she and her husband wish to open their business in the fall. It will cause a great upheaval in the house. After lunch R. fetches me my workbasket, sees Loldi, and becomes very despondent at the sight. His despondency becomes vehement, even harsh, because I asked him whether he was in a bad mood. I preserve silence, for what can I say? Was with the child, and at seven wandered around the garden a little by myself. Deep sorrow. Should I not give it all up and live just for the children? Returning from town in the evening, R. says he had told himself he would still believe in his happiness if I came to meet him; now he realizes he had sinned, for I had not come. On top of that he told me that Loldi's look and her eccentric nature had caused him alarm. I listen to him calmly; afterward he reads me some more passages from Frederick II. During the night embroidered in bed. Lusch dictated to me her letter to her father. Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, May 8-11: Have written nothing for four days, have scarcely the strength for it, nor the time, for I wanted to get on with my embroidery. All sorts of evil omens appeared; on Sunday morning R. saw a large spider, Vreneli broke a windowpane during a night tour, Hermine dreamed of pearls, and trouble has indeed not been lacking. On Sunday Loldi had a relapse; she is still in bed and looks dreadful! On Saturday I talk to Vreneli again about her affairs and we come to the conclusion that she should stay here a few more years. On Sunday morning a visit from Count Bassenheim, discussed many things concerning Munich. In the evening a gloomy talk with R. about my confinement. I want it to be far away from here and in secret, for the sake of the elder children; he sees this as a humiliation for him and becomes very bitter. I can understand him and feel painfully for him, and yet it seems to me that here I have a duty in the face of which other feelings must be silenced. On Monday morning into town to order the costumes for the heralds of peace. Spent the afternoon in deep distress at Loldi's bedside. In the evening a letter from Nuitter saying the people from Paris are coming. On Tuesday gave the elder children their lessons and embroidered, and also looked after Loldchen, who is still ill. After lunch R. goes out for a walk; I promise to go to meet him, which I do. Since I wanted an address from a gardener concerning palm branches, I tell R. that I must go into town; this surprises him, since I otherwise find difficulty in walking, and he misunderstands the reason for this exception. Big, thundery rainstorm. In the evening he again brings up the dismal theme we recently discussed. I am incapable of answering and can only weep. Oh, Star of Love, shine on me and illumine the heavy, dark paths for me! From outside a nice article by Mme Vallier in the Reveil and notification of honorary membership in the Berlin Academy. Tausig cables the news and begs R. "for the sake of the good cause" not to refuse it. What does Tausig call a good cause? Wednesday, May 12: Was up the whole night in order to get on with my embroidery, also because I am too agitated to sleep. At four o'clock heard the first bird and watched the sun rise, then wrote a greeting to R. and took it to his sitting room. To bed at five; at seven R. comes, writes something down for me, and wakes me up. Fine morning, splendid day, Loldi looking better. From Hans a letter to Loulou that deeply depresses me. After lunch to Countess Bassenheim with Loulou for her piano lesson. In the evening R. reads me Apel's story Der Freischutz. Much affected and stimulated by it. R. is fearful of putting out the lamps. I fall into a deep sleep. Thursday, May 13: Woke up early, refreshed; thundery atmosphere outside. Gave the children their lessons and sat by Loldi, who is still not allowed out. Hans's mood lies heavily on my heart. My inner happiness, however, is when R. is working. Among the letters one from Richter, whom I have invited for R.'s birthday, also a very ridiculous one to me from Leon Leroy, a friend of the deceased Gasperini. For the Wagner cause in Paris he offers a back-street journal, La France Musicale, which the King of Bavaria should purchase. How to make all these people understand that one wants nothing to do with any such things? For R. a letter from "A German" who, delighted with the Jewish pamphlet, informs him of a new bank project, Pronothon, to be put before the King. Then a recommendation from the Genelli estate; R. writes a couple of words to Duflipp about it. Hans writes to Loulou that he feels a great urge to go away. Long visit from Countess Bassenheim, who gives me a letter from Marie Muchanoff; she wants to come here in August! We have no use for anybody. Children, art, and a smiling May morning.
May 14, 1869	199	After embroidering until four in the morning, Cosima is exhausted while Loulou dictates to Hans and the children try on their herald costumes. Richard works but worries that Cosima is destroying herself with effort, and his evening piano playing overwhelms her into sobbing prayer for Hans, the children, and Richard himself. Letters from Heim and Pasdeloup, including interest in Lohengrin, close the day while Loldi remains unwell.	Friday, May 14: Since I had no time during the day, I embroidered at night till four in the morning. And I am also very tired on account of it. Loulou dictates to me a letter to her father. Then they go to try on their herald costumes. R. works, but says jokingly that he intends to write no more tragic things. He is concerned about me and feels I am attempting too much and destroying myself. When he plays the piano in the evening, I am so overcome that I have to sob and pray. A prayer for the man to whom I can be nothing and whose wretchedness arouses such deep pity in me, and for the children, who perhaps will never know how much I have suffered on their account. R. is annoyed with my embroidery; he believes it is a strain on me. May have to give it up! A letter from Heim in Zurich; Semper was pleased to have received R.'s letter. Letter from Pasdeloup, who now wants to do Lohengrin. "Apres cela j'aurai rendu service a mon pays, en lui prouvant la connaissance meme des etres privilegies qui font la gloire de l'humanite." Loldchen still indisposed.
May 15, 1869	113	Cosima takes a bath, teaches Lusch piano, and finds Richard kind and loving as he joins in. Birthday errands, a letter from Frau Wille about Tannhäuser, Marie Muchanoff's clumsy concern, the arrival of a Paris bronze, and Lusch's letter to Hans fill the day. Richard's composition remains Cosima's only joy, while grief for Hans persists beneath everything.	Saturday, May 15: Took a bath, then gave Lusch a piano lesson. R. joins in and is kind and loving in everything. He has a nice letter from Frau Wille in Hamburg, where she saw Tannhäuser. To town with Boni to try on the herald costume. On my return home, listen to R. A clumsy letter to me from Marie Muchanoff: “On m’a inquiétée sur votre compte, Dieu veille sur vous.” My only joy is R.’s composition. Took Lusch to her piano lesson. Home at five, met R.; delight in the May pride. Arrival of the Paris bronze for his birthday. Lusch writes to her father. He is the only living being about whom I grieve.
May 16, 1869	54	On Whitsunday, Loldi improves enough for the family to eat with the children. Prince Wallerstein visits and gives Cosima instructive views of Bavaria under three kings, while she studies geography with Lusch and Richard plays from Euryanthe. The day ends with late embroidery as birthday preparations continue.	Sunday, May 16: Whitsunday. Loldi somewhat better; we eat with the children. Afterward a visit from old Prince Wallerstein, who tells me many instructive things about Bavaria under three kings. In the morning studied geography with Lusch. In the evening R. plays parts of Euryanthe. Stayed up late in order to get on with my embroidery.
May 17, 1869	237	After little sleep, Cosima teaches the children and receives news from Dufflipp that Munich troubles may be repaired, while the King wishes to see Richard on his birthday. Nietzsche visits at lunch and proves a quiet, knowledgeable admirer, but Richard is preoccupied by dissatisfaction with his work. The combined row then moves to Cosima's renewed wish for a distant confinement, Richard's sadness, Lenbach's failure to send her portrait, and Cervantes in the evening.	Monday, May 17: To bed at four, up at eight, fairly fresh. Gave the children their lessons. R. has a letter from Düfflipp. He claims the evil things in Munich have been put right, God only knows! The King wishes to see R. on his birthday, but R. wants to stay here. At lunch a philologist, Professor Nietzsche, whom R. first met at the Brockhaus home and who knows R.’s works thoroughly and even quotes from Opera and Drama in his lectures. A quiet and pleasant visit. At four we drive through light rain into town. R. is preoccupied, since he is not satisfied with his work this morning. In the evening I tell him that I should like my confinement to be away from here. Great weariness, asleep from eight o’clock onward. Loldi causes us concern with her excessive, exclusive attachment to me. Tuesday, May 18: Rose early, wrote to Marie Muchanoff, declining her sympathy. R. still sad about our conversation yesterday; I tell him I will do what he thinks right. He writes to the King and says he will not come for his birthday. I embroider and work with the children. After lunch they go to Countess Bassenheim’s; only Eva and Loldi remain with me. In the evening R. brings me a letter from the painter Lenbach; since it transpires from this that he is not sending my portrait, R. is very dejected. In the evening several intermezzi by Cervantes.
May 19, 1869	160	Tired and worried, Cosima divides herself between children and embroidery until Richard plays new music whose themes connect the Starnberg days with the present score. The fusion of life and art fills her with joy, even as birthday work falls behind and the children try on herald costumes. Evening discussion returns to where the baby should be born, balancing consideration for Hans against Cosima's comfort, and to Jakob's possible priestly influence.	Wednesday, May 19: Up late, very tired and worried, occupied as usual with the children and the embroidery. Before lunch R. plays for me what he has written and is delighted that several themes which date from the “Starnberg days,” and which we had jokingly earmarked for quartets and symphonies, have now found their niche: “Ewig war ich, ewig bin ich.” Great surge of joy at this coming together of life and art. The children out trying on their herald costumes. I, alone in the house, realize with concern that my work will not be ready in time for the birthday. R. returns home late from his walk. In the evening again considered the question of the birth of the new baby and the presence of the older children; I put consideration for Hans in the forefront, R. consideration for my comfort and well-being. We also talk about our servant Jakob; R. fears he is too much in the hands of the priests.
May 20, 1869	153	Morning pains follow a restful night, but Richard has moved toward Cosima's view that the elder children should go to Claire in Versailles for the confinement. He works despite poor health, while news from Munich, Leroy's journal scheme, Nietzsche's birthday invitation, and Claire's report that Cosima's mother's insanity has lifted fill the day. Folk songs with Lusch and the beginning of Don Quixote give the evening a warmer domestic close.	Thursday, May 20: Cramp-like pains in the morning after a restful night. R. resumes our serious talk; during the night he has come closer to my view, and we agree to send the elder children to Claire in Versailles. R. is not well, but works all the same. From outside the news that the King has attended the performance of Tannhäuser. Apart from this, Düfflipp complains of his withdrawal from public life. Wrote to M. Leroy, to make clear to him that W.’s cause has no need of back-street journals! Then invited Professor Nietzsche for R.’s birthday. Afterward to town, and a fine May day with R. Found a letter from Claire at the post office; she has seen my mother. Sad description, but the insanity has disappeared. Much joy with the children on returning home; I have taught Lusch some folk songs, and she sings them prettily. In the evening R. and I begin Don Quixote.
May 21, 1869	210	Sultry weather and preparations for Richard's birthday bring Richter and the Paris quartet, with Cosima managing arrangements at the Hotel du Lac. The staged surprise of holly, herald children, and the King's supposed arrival confuses Richard, but conversation with Richter leaves Cosima deeply sad over Hans. She frames her course as governed by a divinity beyond choice, willing to bear public condemnation but not Hans's suffering.	Friday, May 21: Föhn wind, very sultry, with the children in the garden. Lusch writes to her father. R. works. The afternoon passes in the turmoil of preparations. Richter and the Paris quartet have arrived. I to the Hotel du Lac to discuss everything. Trouble keeping R. at home. The children having their hair done; suddenly R. comes in, sees “holly” everywhere, rushes out. I tell him the King is here and will be coming to Tribschen tomorrow. R. does not know whether it is serious or a joke. Yet the conversation with Richter has made me sad. Returning by boat in stormy weather, I admit to myself that, were death to come to me now, I should not grieve. That I had to leave Hans appears cruel to me, but then I have to ask myself on whose account this cruelty arose. Also I feel plainly how within me some divinity rules, which determined my course. I did not wish or choose. But I do not hold it against anybody who cannot see this as I see it, who does not have the faith that I have, and who condemns me. Willingly and lightly will I bear the world’s loathing; Hans’s suffering, however, robs me of all joy. Good night, my good children!
May 22, 1869	81	Richard's birthday unfolds as a carefully staged dream, beginning with his bust surrounded by flowers and Richter sounding Siegfried's call. The children appear as heralds of peace, the Paris quartet arrives, and Beethoven quartets fill the day. Richard is surprised and delighted, while Cosima feels mostly moved to tears amid telegrams from the King and Hungary.	Saturday, May 22: In the night set up R.’s bust, surrounded by flowers. Early in the morning Richter blew Siegfried’s call. Then the children were lined up as heralds of peace, and finally, at 10:30, the Paris quartet. R. very surprised and delighted. In the course of the day they play the B Minor, the A Minor, and the C-sharp Minor Quartets of Beethoven. I felt only like weeping. Telegrams from the King and from Hungary. The day goes by like a dream.
May 23, 1869	98	The Schures' visit disrupts the solitude Cosima needs, leaving Richard worn out and her thoughts elsewhere. Birthday letters arrive from Nohl, Lang, Nietzsche, Wickerle, and others, but many friends and relatives remain silent, which Cosima finds mean. By evening she feels melancholy and certain that solitude is all they require.	Sunday, May 23: Schuré day; all day long the Schurés, that is to say, disruption of my customary life. R. very worn out, I always with my thoughts elsewhere. I can no longer talk except with the children. R. had letters of birthday greetings from Nohl, Lang, who reports that Marie Muchanoff completely denies that the Jewish pamphlet has had an effect in Berlin; from the philologist Nietzsche, a very nice letter; and from the postmaster Wickerle in Schwerin. All remaining friends and relations have kept silent. How mean! In the evening I feel very melancholy. Solitude is all we need.
May 24, 1869	114	Weariness, Richard's illness, and paper hangers make the day trying, though Luise's sad but affectionate letter about the Jewish pamphlet arrives. Cosima plays and works with the children, supervises Lulu's piano, and hears from Marie Muchanoff in a more sensible tone after rumors about family quarrels. Richard is deeply concerned when he learns how many nights Cosima stayed awake finishing embroidery and reproaches her lack of self-care.	Monday, May 24: Great weariness, R. unwell, and on top of that much bother with the paper hangers. Nice letter from his sister Luise, who is, however, sad about the Jewish pamphlet. Played and worked with the children, supervised Lulu’s piano practice. R. writes to Mathilde and to the Hungarians who sent him the telegram. In the evening a letter from Marie Muchanoff; she has retracted her unsealed letter and writes sensibly. She had heard that I had quarreled with my father and Hans. When I tell R. in the evening that I had stayed awake several nights in order to finish my embroidery, he is very concerned and solemnly reproaches me for this lack of self-consideration.
May 25, 1869	85	A kind letter from the Schures cannot lift Cosima's melancholy while Richard remains unwell. She tells him plainly that her anxiety centers on the children and on whether his inability to economize will leave them unprovided for. Paper hangers, lessons with the children, an outing to inspect an old bureau, and Don Quixote make up the day's practical and literary frame.	Tuesday, May 25: Very nice letter from the two Schurés. R. unwell and I feeling rather melancholy. The reason for it, as I also tell R., is my concern for the children and my fear that R., through his inability to economize, will be unable to provide for them. I still have to keep an eye on the paper hangers, but manage nonetheless to work with the children. In the afternoon to town with R. to look at an old bureau. In the evening read Don Quixote.
May 26, 1869	223	With Hermine away, Cosima and Richard decide to keep the elder children with them despite possible reproaches, valuing stability and continued upbringing. Richard kneels before her in devotion, while she teaches, attends piano lessons, and discusses Bavarian and Paris elections with Bassenheim and Wallerstein. Political developments and the King's gratitude to clerical forces distress Richard deeply before Don Quixote and early sleep end the day.	Wednesday, May 26: Hermine off on a visit to her parents. I in earnest conclave with R. in the morning about what to do with the elder children in the coming days. Resolved to keep them with me and to put up with serious reproaches rather than interrupt their upbringing now and expose them to instability. R. kneels down before me and says he has no other thought but to make himself worthy of me! In the morning and afternoon instructed the children, also went with them to their piano lesson, when I saw Count B[assenheim] and old Prince Wallerstein. Discussed the elections in Bavaria; they have turned out in favor of the Catholics, and the party is utterly jubilant. The King has thanked them in writing for the loyal attitude they have shown! Quite definitely Bavaria's downfall is impending, and it is the result of an alliance, manipulated by the priests, between Austria, France, and South Germany against Prussia. In all truth a very wretched state of affairs. The elections in Paris have gone decisively in the direction of the radicals. Returning home with the children, I met R., who has written to the King. The news of the King's expression of gratitude grieves him deeply; it is too humiliating. In the evening Don Quixote. I, very tired, to bed at 9 o'clock, with the children.
May 27, 1869	294	Corpus Christi festivities bring cannon fire and a procession for the children, but Richard's illness turns their outing into a painful reproach that Cosima is losing herself entirely in motherhood. He later attributes the mood to illness, while she writes letters, reads him Uncle Adolph's Theater and Public, receives the King's flowers, and reads Merchant of Venice scenes. The day leaves her shaken by the need to satisfy both maternal duty and Richard's claims on her.	Thursday, May 27: Corpus Christi day, proclaimed by cannon shots. The children merry and lively, eager to watch the procession; I pack them off, but spare myself the sight. R. comes to me, looking unwell, and harshly voices his objection to the children's outing. I say nothing and remind him only later that I had sought his opinion the day before, when I told him the little ones wanted to see the procession. R. now goes further and makes the reproach that I am literally killing myself with looking after the children; I am now all mother, and he is losing me entirely. He had been so pleased that I was to occupy the room next to his, but now I have gone to sleep with the children. He cannot reproach me for this, he says, but he feels it painfully. Deeply shattered by his words, I do not know what to say; if he does not feel happy with me, then I deserve his reproaches, and yet I feel I cannot do otherwise; but I shall have to try to arrange things so that nobody will fall short. R. does indeed tell me later that he is very unwell and that this had given rise to his mood. I write to Claire and to Mme Lucca. The children return home very cheerful. R. goes to bed; I read him Uncle Adolph's pamphlet Theater and Public, a very significant little essay. Lunch at 4 o'clock; visit from Count Bassenheim, something of a nuisance. Arrival of flowers sent by the King. In the evening some scenes from The Merchant of Venice. R. also told me in the morning that it looked as if I were expecting to die and had no wish but to sacrifice myself in all directions.
May 28, 1869	424	Cosima tries to organize her twin duties so the children work while Richard composes, and the day includes letters, Haydn symphonies, Lusch's letter to Hans, and Richard's divine sketch. Stormy weather suits her worried heart, and Jakob's sick child is quieted by her touch, prompting Richard to praise her almost miraculous hand. The original row then turns to the next day: piano practice, punishment of Boni, Richard's exalted view of Cosima, Mozart duets, errands, Hans's discouraging letter, and disappointing Rienzi royalties.	Friday, May 28: Focused my attention on arranging my twin duties in a way to satisfy all. I hope I have succeeded. The children to be set to work while R. is composing. I also wrote to Marie Muchanoff. After lunch make music with R., playing Haydn symphonies. Then with the children to meet him as he returns from town, after Lusch has dictated to me her letter to her father. In the evening he plays me his divine sketch; these immortal works will give you the answer, my children, when you ask yourselves: What was it Mama loved, for whom did she live? The weather very close, with thunderstorms; it almost does me good; when one's heart is filled with worry, outward disturbances are not unwelcome. Up to my room at midnight, then Jakob calls me; his little son is ill and is screaming. I go in and place my hand on him, and the child quiets down. Jakob tells R. about it, and R. says he is familiar with my hand and knows I could restore anyone from death to life with my touch. Sleepless night, since everyone restless; Loldi is afraid, Kos howls and snores, with it all storm winds and moonlight. Saturday, May 29: Very tired in the morning. Supervised Loulou's piano practice, then lay down for a while. In the afternoon the children went for their piano lesson; I had to punish Boni and keep her at home, which gave R. cause for some remarks. As in distress I listened to him, he said I should realize that everything about me was precious and sacred to him, and, if he sometimes spoke in this way, it was for him much like the Saturnalia, when one is permitted to take liberties with the gods. As far as he was concerned I was already hovering in the empyrean. I had to weep terribly that he should say this to me, and I tried to think of other things, because I can neither grasp nor bear it that he should ascribe a value of any sort to me. After lunch played piano duets of Mozart symphonies. The weather very close. With R. did a little rearranging in the upper salon. In the morning came a letter from Hans to his daughter; he complains of his health and the lack of pleasant occupations. Late into town with R. and the children; they buy some oranges. In the evening an article by the "great" Riehl about Rheinberger's new opera. Blatant foolishness. A letter from Nuitter; the royalties from Rheingold will be small.
May 30, 1869	233	After an anxious night that feels almost like labor, Cosima spends a quiet day on lessons, piano, family lunch, Mozart duets, fairy tales, games, and magic lantern with the children. Richard's praise for her child-rearing gives her intense happiness, and he interprets the King's caution as providential. The children find two fallen robin chicks, which the household tries to nurse in cotton wool.	Sunday, May 30: Anxious night; I almost thought my time had come. The thunderstorm must have unsettled me. Quiet, fine day, with Lulu geography and piano practice. Family lunch after R. did some work. Played piano duets of Mozart symphonies with R., then, while he was writing letters, read the children some of Grimm's fairy tales, played lotto and dominoes with them, and finally showed them the magic lantern. As I find pleasure in some sign of good disposition and remark to R. that I really ought to see other children in order to appreciate the agreeable inclinations of my own, he says what strikes one in this connection is not the good disposition, but the good upbringing; anyone who saw me with the children would have to feel respect for me. How happy these words made me! Regarding the King, R. feels it is in all respects providential that he comports himself as he does; if he had been even a hair's breadth bolder in acceding to everything, he would certainly no longer be king. In the morning the children found two little birds, which they took for dead; but we soon saw that the little creatures were still alive and had probably been pitched out of their nest by some other bird. Now they are lying in cotton wool and being fed by us; whether we shall pull them through, God knows. They are robins.
May 31, 1869	129	A rainy indoor day begins with breakfast upstairs with Richard and lessons with the children while he sketches. A biography and portrait of Hans upset Cosima, though the household remains industrious and cheerful until the cat kills the rescued birds. Don Quixote and delight in Boni's improved meekness and modesty close the day on a note of maternal observation.	Monday, May 31: Day indoors; it is raining. Breakfasted with R. in the upper apartment. Then worked with the children. R. goes to his sketches. After lunch, the Illustrirte Zeitung has a biography of Hans with a portrait; the latter upsets me deeply. The rest of the day with R. and the children; we are all industrious and cheerful. But our little birds have been killed by the cat! In the evening Don Quixote, read by R. R. and I much delighted with the development of Boni's character. It is as if my absence had made a very great impression on her. The spitefulness, indeed maliciousness, which previously distressed me in her, has now given way to great meekness and modesty. Yet she is very lively and healthy and is very contented.
No diary entries found.