A complete hoarseness keeps me at home, partly in bed. — R. has two rehearsals of “Tannhäuser” at noon, and one for the “Lohengrin” decorations in the evening; he tells me curious things of the helplessness in all matters scenic — for the bells in the first act of “Tannhäuser”, a storm-peal; the flock of sheep represented by two little bells, and so forth. — — — The greatest joy is when we forget all this nonsense and occupy ourselves with the children (“the greatest gift you could have given me — the only way back to life!”), or speak of our readings. R. has given up the Breton legends and now reads with interest “The Moors in Spain” by Dozy.[1] I read the letters and diary of Dürer, sorrowfully realising how pitiful and base the world has ever shown itself towards genius; always, ever, it is a matter of those few hundred gulden. — I hear strange tidings of Marie Dönhoff. Late in the evening sat up with R., speaking of Blandine.
[1] “Histoire des Musulmans d’Espagne de 711-1110”, 1861, German 1873, by Reinhart Dozy, Dutch Orientalist.
Revised English translation by Jo Cousins.