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Vienna, December 13, 1929
IX., Berggasse 19
Dear friend,
This November I again heard my dear Yvette—you know we get along with each other very well—singing again with her incomparable intonation:
J'ai dit tout ca? C'est possible,mais—je ne m'en souviens pas.1
I am supposed to have said that you are looking prematurely senile? Really, I don't remember. To you yourself? Or to someone else who reported it to you? And to whom? At most, I could have said that you look older than I did at your time of life. But as always—if it had the result of having rekindled your activity and even had the further result of [having rekindled] your desire for correspondence with me, then I am glad if I said it.
For you have doubtless outwardly distanced yourself from me in the last few years. Inwardly, I hope, not so far that a step toward the creation of a new oppositional analysis might be expected from you, my paladin and secret