The precaution was unnecessary; for he says in a letter to Hugo
Faisst, written in the same month:
"There is no need for you to trouble yourself or fear that I shall
overdo things. A real distaste for work has taken possession of me,
and I believe I shall never write another note. My unfinished opera
has no more interest for me, and music altogether is hateful. You
see what my kind friends have done for me! I cannot think how I
shall be able to exist in this state.... Ah, happy Swabians! one
may well envy you. Greet your beautiful country for me, and be
warmly greeted yourself by your unhappy and worn-out friend, Hugo
Wolf."
When he returned to Vienna, however, he seemed to be a little better,
and had apparently regained his health and cheerfulness. But to his own
astonishment he had become, as he says in a letter to Faisst, a quiet,
sedate, and silent man, who wished more and more to be alone. He did not
compose anything fresh, but revised his Michelangelo _Lieder_, and had
them published. He made plans for the winter, and rejoiced in the
thought of passing it in the country near Gmunden, "in perfect quiet,
undisturbed, and living only for art.
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