(Karlsbad, end of August- 
beginning of September 1876] 

My Darling, 

I was delighted to see from your letters, one of which 
unfortunately went astray, that your health has improved and that 
Hastings is suiting the fine litthe chap* and that he already has a 
presence of his own. Macte puer vitute!? 

Here we jog along from day to day, as mindlessly as the cure 
demands if it is to be successful. Latterly we have virtually ceased 
our excursions into the mountain forests owing to the sharply 
changing weather,—now April showers, now a cloudburst, then 
sunshine again. But the cold that suddenly set in after the 
prolonged heat is now quite gone again. 

We have made many acquaintances of late—aside from a few 
Poles, mostly German university professors and doctors of other 
descriptions. 

Everywhere one goes one is plagued with the question: ‘What do 
you think of Wagner?’ It is highly typical of this latter-day 
Prusso-German imperial court musician that he, plus wife (the one 
who was divorced from Bülow), plus the cuckold Bülow, plus their 
mutual father-in-law Liszt, should all four be living together 
harmoniously in Bayreuth, cuddling, kissing and adoring one 
another, and generally enjoying themselves. If, moreover, one 
reflects that Liszt is a Roman monk and Madame Wagner (first 
name Cosima) his ‘natural’ daughter by Madame d’Agoult (Daniel 
Stern)—what better Offenbachian libretto could one_ possibly 
conceive than this family group with its patriarchal relationships? 
Or again, the goings-on of the said group might—like the 
Nibelungen '°——be made the theme of a tetralogy. 

I hope, dear child, that I shall find you well and happy. Give 
Longuet my best regards and my little grandson a dozen kisses 
from his cranny. 

Adio