<< Continued from page 2 

My [Christmas] will be a sad one this year. I shall hum many a melody, and go to the window every now and then to look up at the glittering stars. In spirit I shall spend the whole evening with you ... my strength always fails me when I am left long without a sign from you. Depression sets in, and I feel as if I were being swathed in endless black fabrics and garments, and stowed away - an indescribable sensation

... If I come at Christmas I must implore you not to make any presents. I would do so willingly but I really haven't time to look about and choose ...

The coming festival always seems to me a time when our lords and masters hold universal audience, when those, who might otherwise doubt their right to do so, may dare to draw nigh. So in company with many others let me tell you how much I am thinking of you, and above all hoping that through your complete restoration to health these days may indeed become a festival. During the last few weeks nobody has been more in my thoughts than you. Why this should be so, I hope others have told you. I could not very well have talked to you about it, neither would you have been in the mood to listen. Of your interest in my music and sympathy with it I feel I can always rest assured. But the artist cannot and should not be separated from the man. And in me it happens that the artist is not so arrogant and sensitive as the man, and the latter has but small consolation if the work of the former is not allowed to expiate his sins. But today I am thinking not of myself and still less of my music, but am only hoping with the most heartfelt sincerity that everything will go ever better and better with you ... As ever, Your wholly devoted JB