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December 5, 1898
Dear Wilhelm,
That was a pleasant surprise, your reply crossing my letter. Of course, I'll be party to it. If only nothing turns up to prevent it. Then we will once again properly ventilate the inner man; in my case, he needs it; he is showing a few Knetscher.1 As for the rest, wherever you would like to go, as long as it's not the same place we have been before. I am not making any proposals today for the simple reason that I don't know of anything special.
I have a lot of work this month too, and it tires me just as much. All sorts of doubts about the “constitution,” which you also raised. In view of your illness I have also forgone, as you have noticed, our interchange of ideas into which so much has gone; a new piece of resignation. Occasionally I have longed for a strong and sweet drop of the juice of grapes — even if it cannot be a “punch made of Lethe”2 — but I was ashamed of acquiring a new vice.
The literature (on the dream) which I am now reading makes me completely stupid. A horrible punishment for those who write. In the process everything of one's own diffuses. I often cannot remember what I have found that is new, since everything about it is new. The reading stretches ahead, with no end in sight. Enough of that! I celebrated the release [demise] of our dear C. F. Meyer by