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Vienna, Friday evening
January 18, 1884
My sweet girl
I wish I could have any number of days like today, distinguished by small success in work and such affectionate love.
Your letter and your parcel have made me unspeakably happy. My precious Marty, you are so good and sweet, even when you don't give presents, but you know how to give so charmingly. The buttons I shall always treasure; I am going to put them on at once, although they don't show off to advantage under my high waistcoat. On the other hand, just last week I ordered an open waistcoat -but a moment ago I put them on after all, and they are magnificent. The tie produces for me the hitherto unheard-of luxury of a change of ties, for I still possess another decent one. The cigars are excellent; my friend Teych1 is quite right, they are better than those I used to buy from him and I intend to buy from him in the summer. Schonberg, much as I like him, won't get one, my reason being that he shouldn't smoke. But the truth is: I give nothing away that comes from you.-Incidentally, there is a brief review of his Hitopedescha2 in the evening edition of the Neue Freie Presse, well-meaning but polemic and therefore almost certain to have been written by Prof. Müller.3 I expect he will send you and Minna a copy.-But the nicest thing of all is your letter, dearer and sweeter than any chocolate, and now, my darling Marty, I am once more your debtor. I should have led a less luxurious life, and saved something for you. I would never have believed that so much money can disappear so fast.
Now as to why I am in good spirits-because your letter made me happy, not just good-humored. Today at last I started working on nervous disorders; I hope I have found the material for my first small clinical publication.4 For yesterday a poor tailor's apprentice