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Vienna, September 9, 1875
iQuerido Berganza!
Two mornings ago I returned to dear old Vienna after my seven-and-a-half weeks' travels, have made use of the first two days to wean myself from English habits, and now that my little room looks
comfortable once again, all my treasures have been stowed away and my mind is settled, I am sitting by the light of a miserable, eye-destroying paraffin lamp (in England, evey beggar uses gas) in order to reply to your letter, which reached me in Manchester while I was in the middle of preparations for my return home. The reason why I am not writing in Spanish is because of a resolution I have made. Since I am heartily ashamed of not owning a diccionario, I have decided to purchase one. Once I have one, things will be much easier and I shall write frequently in Spanish—therefore, why write in Spanish today when I have not yet acquired the dictionary? As you can see, this is sound idler's logic. I am delighted that you recently had occasion to use the noble lengua castellana [Spanish language] and once again managed to exercise your verbal skills at some length, and I am longing for the hours and walks next year during which, after a twelve months' separation interrupted by a three days' meeting, we shall be able to exchange words for words and, God willing, thoughts for thoughts as well: I really believe that we shall never be rid of each other; though we became friends from free choice, we are as attached to one another as if nature had put [us] on this earth as blood relations; I believe that we have come so far that the one loves the very person of the other and not, as before, merely his good qualities, and I am afraid that were you, by an unworthy act, to prove quite different tomorrow from the image I keep of you, I could still not cease to wish you well. That is a weakness, and I have taken myself to task for it several times.
You will, no doubt, wish to know about my relatives in England and about my attitude toward them. I