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Vienna, Monday
August 14, 1882
My sweet Marty
I found no leisure to write to you all day today, so this has to be once again a nocturne, anyhow it is quite a while since there has been one. As you know, the poor human being is always more affectionate in the evening than in the morning, because, because-well, there are so many reasons that I don't need to mention even one.
My precious darling, for the first time in ages we have been to the Prater1 again-we, the family, not the Bund.2 We were invited by our old man3 in order to make up for some less good days. When he isn't exactly grouchy, which alas is very often the case, he is the greatest optimist of all us young people. The day aroused memories pleasant in themselves, but melancholy in their recurrence. Here it was that we had been close to each other every day and every day had grown fonder of each other; here we had all eaten and drunk beer together and finally we had even pressed each other's hands and I had not been able to wait for the moment to get up, which would give me my girl again, and on the whole I had been so shy and had kissed my Marty so rarely because as