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Vienna, Friday
June 19, 1885
My beloved little woman
I have been yearning for you recently more than I ever have since that first time we were forced to separate. This is the result of your sweet, tender letter, which I carry with me wherever I go. I am so boundlessly happy about it, but I realize that such complete satisfaction renders one speechless. All I can tell you is that had it taken not three but seven years—according to our patriarch's custom—for my courting to succeed, I would have considered it neither too early nor too late. How silly that sounds, and how annoying it is when one is accustomed to be in command of the language and all of a sudden it refuses to obey. I have always respected you highly for the very reticence of which I have so often complained: I could never trust the love that readily responds to the first call and dismisses the right to grow and unfold with time and experience—no, I just cannot find the right words. I would rather dwell on how fast the next 21/2 months are going to pass, how happy we will be with one another then and how we shall work toward keeping the time we have set ourselves, or even curtail it. Then I will tell you everything and you will understand me better than I can hope at the moment. But I do hope that you doubt my love only very rarely, only in moments of great agitation. You know, after all, how from the moment I first saw you I was determined—no, I was compelled—to woo you, and how I persisted, despite all the warnings of common sense, and how immeasurably happy I have been ever since, how I regained all my confidence and so on—my beloved Marty.
Life in the sanatorium is far more pleasant than I dared to expect,