How much time has passed since I last grabbed a pen just to entertain myself, I don’t even know myself. Ever since I can not count on your daily letters, my dear Friend, I have sentenced my desk and pens to loneliness. For a while, though, a strange thing caught my attention. Our garden, which has been quiet for so long and has almost been turned into a real wildlife, seems to be full of life again. At first I didn't pay much attention to it, but for a few months now, new figures have started to appear under the window of my room, almost daily, unknown figures, who scan and examine every little corner of our garden. And this curious and at the same time caring examination, which at first outraged and then annoyed me, slowly made me more curious rather than suspicious, and I decided to peek their intentions from the hideout of my room. Because a woman, no matter how liberal and experienced, can never be careful enough when strange men, especially without prior notice, start wandering around her garden.
I spent the last period with a quiet but curious contemplation. Oh, my dear friend, you wouldn't believe what changes have taken place in our beloved garden since we were last able to talk there. After many, many years of wild stillness, our garden comes to life again. I've already told you that for some time strange figures appeared under my window. And what they seem to be preparing, my God, I can hardly believe, it's no other, my dear friend, than a summer theater. With stage, lights, and even a backstage. And suddenly I am filled with a rush memories, so many wonderful melodies, adorned balconies, Viennese dinners and opera evenings, our beloved readings, the dramas we read together, your work sketches, the scenes you sent me to read and comment on. I hope that when the good weather arrives, there may be even performances here. Oh, my dear, dear friend, you wouldn't believe how much impatience, how much buzz I had from this realization. Our long-forgotten, doomed garden will be full again. There will be music, dance, song and joy. The joy of the actors and the spectators. If only it would. If only it would be, finally