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Vienna, May 21, 1894
Dearest friend,
Dearest in truth, because I find it touching that you should so thoroughly go into my condition at a time when you are either very busy or not well or possibly both. There was a gap in your letters which had begun to look uncanny to me, and which almost induced me to write for information to a young lady in Berlin with whom I am acquainted1 and who, I hope, is on friendly terms with me as well. Then came your letter with the meticulous refutation of my fantasies that are typical of an intern and a dilettante, but not a word about your own health. I have noted for some time that you bear suffering better and with more dignity than I, who eternally vacillate in my moods.
I promise you a detailed report on my illness next time; I feel better, but far from well; at least I am working again. Today I shall allow myself a good hour and chat only about science with you. It is obviously no special favor of fate that I have approximately five hours a year to exchange ideas with you, when I can barely do without the other — and you are the only other, the alter.
Tomorrow I am sending the hen and the five little chicks to Reichenau, and during the sad loneliness that follows — my sister-in-law Minna, otherwise my closest confidante, will depart two weeks later — I shall more often carry out my resolution at least to write to you.
I put part of the neurosis story on paper for you when I was still in my worst period, but now I am stuck. I have a lot to do; in addition, the next installment of the Leçons du mardi; the last case history for Breuer; continuing my neurosis collection; thus, I am making no progress.