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Vienna, April 3, 1898
IX., Berggasse 19
Dear Wilhelm,
Desolate Easter! Nor can I think of coming to Berlin; for Ida's condition and the fact that your mother is occupying the guest room are not the only hindrances. My own mother is there now as well, with my sister, and I would of necessity have to devote a part of the already short time to her. I shall go somewhere, grumbling about it, perhaps with my brother-in-law, where I shall desperately long for greenery and flowers that do not yet exist, and I shall not be able to hear or to say what I wanted. After each of our congresses I was strengthened anew for weeks, ideas kept crowding in thereafter, the pleasure in hard work was reestablished, and the flickering hope that the way through the underbrush will be found burned quietly and radiantly for a while. Instructive it is not for me, this privation; I always knew what our meetings meant to me.
At odd hours1 I go on writing the dream book; another section dealing with the sources of dreams and typical dreams is nearly finished, but it is far less satisfactory than the first one and probably