The Hartels sent me the bill of exchange yesterday; many thanks.
Cannot B. do the pianoforte arrangement?
He had only just begun the "Rhinegold," when I took the score away from him to send it to you. As soon as the copy at Dresden has been finished, he is to have it for the completion of the pianoforte arrangement; and after that, if you wish it, it is to be sent to you. Shall we see each other this year, perhaps on your return from Hungary? That would be something like it! Perhaps at that time I should have recovered my voice, which here has disappeared entirely.
Farewell, dearest friend. Patience—that is all that remains to us. Remember me to all at Altenburg. Much luck to your mass!
Farewell, dear, dear Franz.
184.
Klindworth has just played your great sonata to me.
We passed the day alone together; he dined with me, and after dinner I made him play. Dearest Franz, you were with me; the sonata is beautiful beyond anything, grand and sweet, deep and noble, sublime as you are yourself. It moved me most deeply, and the London misery was forgotten all at once. More I cannot say, not just after having heard it, but of what I say I am as full as man can be. Once more, you were with me! Ah, could you soon be with me wholly and bodily, then we might support life beautifully.
Klindworth astonished me by his playing; no lesser man could have ventured to play your work to me for the first time. He is worthy of you. Surely, surely, it was beautiful.
Good-night. Many thanks for this pleasure vouchsafed to me at last.
Your