I love today’s 1941 letter from Helene to her son Harry in San Francisco, which was written a few days before the letters we saw yesterday. The beginning and ending are wonderful – a lavish, long, loving, lighthearted salutation and signing off with endless kisses. Her children could not have doubted her love, despite the miles between them.

I was struck by how visually appealing the letter is – although she used a typewriter, it’s laid out in an interesting way. Very different from the densely-packed letters we’ve seen with no white space or paragraph breaks. Here she puts to good use the lessons she learned as the daughter of a newspaper publisher.

Helene mentions how often she rereads the letters from her children, she no doubt knew most of them by heart. They are her greatest treasure. With little news of her own, she recalls events and conversations from when they were together in Vienna and throws in literary references. Although many references are classical and “serious,” she also enjoyed silly puns and verse.  

Finally, the silly verse she quotes is something from her own childhood in Bohemia. Eichler’s factory was located in Duchov/Dux which was just 6 miles from Bilin where my grandmother’s family lived.

Vienna, 3 February 1940 [actually 1941]

My praiseworthy dear Son in the flesh!

Lacking many new letters, I kept myself happy by reading your old letters again and again and then I observed that there were some questions I had not answered. Because today as hard as I try, I have nothing to really tell you, I want to use time, paper and postage to atone for my old sins of omission. Since a certain Harry once asked me if he had spelled the word “guitar” correctly, and I didn’t know why he wanted to know it for this word in particular, I left this question unanswered back then. In your last letter, you both make excuses for your poor spelling. For me it really was not meant as a rebuke or reprimand. I really meant it seriously when I wrote “I hope that your English knowledge is gaining as much as your German is being lost.” When I have on occasion met Germans in the past who had spent a lot of time in other countries and during our conversation they were looking for German expressions, I thought it was some sort of affectation. I couldn’t believe that adults could forget their native language after some years. But it does seem to be the case.

The same Harry asked us if we had heard of an old English poet named Chaucer or read anything of his. Not in the least. The old English people also had much to say about heroes and bravery [Rather than quoting Chaucer, she includes a quote from Nibelungenlied, “The Song of the Nibelungs,” written around 1200 which was the source for Wagner’s “Ring”]. Since we now seem to have arrived at the topic of classical literature, I ask you not to be mad at me if I express my opinion that I prefer your prose to your verse. First, well perhaps I do not have sufficient “convolution of the brain” to understand, I prefer to read prose rather than poetry. Especially I am rather spoiled.

When I was a kid, I knew a “poet” who wrote the following:

“Oh how it sparkles and flashes,
When a rider is sitting on his horse.” 

You will have to admit that you could not keep up with this genius. A second poem of his was original and wouldn’t have been overtaken by any of its brothers.

I know of a letter, his name is “F”...
I know a beer, its name is “FF”
After Edward comes Josef*

The last line is incomprehensible without commentary. (You can hardly read difficult works without commentary.) My classic author was named Edward Eichler. He was not only a divinely gifted poet, which certainly these small excerpts will convince you of, but a very successful producer of pottery** [or poetry: ton = sound and clay]. His company was named Edward and Josef Eichler, Dux [Royal Dux pottery]. With these poems he wanted to make his brothers eternal I believe and he almost succeeded. Father had the pleasure and honor of publishing poems in his shining chamber pot. And other poetry as well. They sold like hot cakes. Now you will understand why your elegiac complaint - yes, the greatest geniuses only get the laurel wreath after their death - why this really doesn’t have the desired effect when I read it. Maybe it’s just that in our times instead of putting a spruce wreath on the temples of our poets and singers, I’d rather put an extra sausage.

This would be your reward if you had written those poems when you were still living here in Seidlgasse. 

That’s enough for today!

Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisses…

Helene

*This poem is not just intelligent but it also has two meanings because Edward does come after Josef in the dictionary.

**Professor Freud is right about this. I thought about Tom the rhymer when I wrote the word “tom” instead of “ton”.

I looked through early editions of the Biela-Zeitung, but did not find any of Eichler’s poetry or ads for his pottery. I found an advertisement in the March 17, 1877 issue for a hotel and restaurant operated by the Eichler family. Edward Eichler’s name is mentioned in a news item in other issues. Presumably, the poetry and perhaps pottery showed up in later editions not available online. Here is the ad for Eichler’s inn, offering excellent beer, good cold cuisine, and prompt service: