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Vienna, [December 31,] 1874
¡Querido amigo!
Your birthday has passed without my having a chance to allow even a token of my friendly interest to flutter across to Leipzig. So please accept the good wishes that I owe you now, at the turn of the year, at a time when, more than any other, I am reminded of you, and when you, too, in new circumstances and a strange land, may
be thinking of me and my family. For we always used to spend Christmas and New Year's Eve together, when you not only dispelled my solitude but also relieved me of tasks to which I was not equal. Today my courage is failing me because I am on my own and am expected this evening, with my own resources, to entertain the youthful company that has gathered for my sister's birthday.1 Moreover, I curse the invention of postcards, which have been robbing me of a letter from you these past two weeks with their preliminary reports, amplification of which will be deferred for God alone knows how long—I don't. The world grows more prosaic with every new invention; in the end, letters will fall into disuse and be replaced by telegrams. Then we shall be able to correspond with a friend for a decade without so much as catching a glimpse of his handwriting.
Under separate cover, I am sending you the book you have chosen; I know perfectly well that a copy of Don Quixote would be worthier of the spirit of the A.E., but can no longer go back on the preference I have bestowed on a profane work. If you nevertheless wish to own a Don, I would offer you my own, for, alas, I am having less and less time for our noble Spanish. In fact, the only worthy presents to a friend are those books one has perused oneself and relinquishes for the sake of giving the other pleasure. For otherwise a present remains an insignificant object, something one could buy for oneself at small cost. I am seriously considering a proposal to regulate the exchange of presents within the A.E. by statutory means. If one is so certain that one's opposite