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Vienna IX, Berggasse 19
October 17, 1937
Dear Stefan Zweig
It is hard to say whether your welcome letter gave me more pain or pleasure. Like you I suffer from the times we live in, and like you I find comfort only in the feeling of solidarity with a few others in the assurance that the same things have remained precious to us, and that the same values appear to us incontestable.
But in all friendship I feel entitled to envy you for being able to offer resistance through your excellent work. May you succeed more and more! I am looking forward with pleasure to your Magellan.1
My work lies behind me, as you say yourself. No one can predict how posterity will assess it. I myself am not so certain; scientific research and doubt are inseparable, and I have surely not discovered more than a small fragment of truth. The immediate future looks grim, for psychoanalysis as well. In any case I am not likely to experience anything enjoyable during the weeks and months I may still have to live.
I have started complaining quite against my will. What I wanted was to come closer to you in a human way rather than be admired like a rock against which the waves break in vain. But even if my defiance remains silent, it remains defiance nevertheless and-impavidum ferient ruinae.2