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Vienna, July 12, 18921
Dearest friend:
Yesterday afternoon, still tired from my Sunday mountain excursion, as I was contemplating how to get through the evening without moving (at least actively), your father kindly invited me to go with him to the Brühl.2 I do not need to tell you that I willingly
accepted. Everyone was again very cordial out there. I must say that I am really impressed with you, after having seen the choice you made. She is such a “merry hero” of a wife — but these are nice phrases that you do not require from me.
I shall now have more frequent opportunities to pass by the happy house because my prima donna3 has just moved to the Brühl. I am sure that I shall look in each time; it makes one feel so good.
Our conversations yesterday covered the same ground as your letter today. In August I shall be in Reichenau, only one and a half hours away from you on the same railroad line. Yesterday I requested, successfully, that the two of you spend at least one day in Reichenau. For the sake of my wife, who otherwise could not make Ida's acquaintance and who each time talks about it.
I am of course very much looking forward to the announcement of your book on the nose. I made this suggestion when I thought you badly needed a powerful diversion, but now I am not very happy to have helped you take on a new responsibility during this most turbulent of times. However, it has already happened.
My hysteria has, in Breuer's hands, become transformed, broadened, restricted, and in the process has partially evaporated. We are writing the thing jointly, each on his own working on several sections which he will sign, but still in complete agreement. No one can yet say how it will turn out. In the meantime, I am using a cerebrally dull period to read psychology.
Last week brought me a rare human pleasure: the opportunity to select from Meynert's library what suited me — somehow like a savage drinking mead from his enemy's skull.4
I would not have wanted to refrain from my que