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No 18                                      Vienna, 25 February 1940

My dear children!

I’m rubbing my eyes not because I’m tired and sleepy, but because I’m trying to figure out whether I’m dreaming or awake. Yesterday Germany was a winter fairy tale, today there’s summer sun shining and I even washed dishes with the window open. Our balcony no longer looks like the Adelsberger Grotto, the beauty ended overnight. I don’t believe that spring is here to last but is sending out a harbinger. But it’s beautiful music from the future that I’m experiencing. The day would have to last 48 hours for me to describe all that I plan to do. If I get mail from you tomorrow, then I will be really happy.

When Lisette’s [Istanbul sister or niece?] letter arrived, Papa wrote to Beppo and gave instructions on our paperwork. Let’s hope the thing will get rolling now. I would love to hear the train wheels rolling along. Geographically, I wouldn’t be any closer to you, but the waiting time would be shorter.

Vienna 1 March 1940

My dear, dear Vierel [Eva]. It took 73 days exactly for your 9 September letter to arrive, which told us what you were doing as a student. Since Everl [again, Eva] also told us in her letter from Istanbul that she is doing well in school, you can imagine how happy I am. It goes without saying that I am incredibly worried about you, and when I ask Papa the typical question at breakfast: “What are your children doing now?”, the answer is: “Oh, let them sleep.” A simple question-and-answer game repeats itself at all times of day and is how we entertain ourselves. Otherwise, nothing much is new.

The summer guest performance was no Fata Morgana, showing me by the way people who cross the street are acting. They dance like Lippizanner horses, turn around a few times on their own axis, and then they sit down by their 4 letters [?]. They are like Käthe Hye, touching their fingers to the ground and then stretching upwards to the sky. They do this exercise again and then their morning exercises are over, like they are practicing for summer. It does seem that the coldest weather has gone back to its home. I’m not superstitious, but in any case I’m going to knock on wood [in German: knock on the table]. The new world order seems to have a catarrh, the muscles we swallow it’s seem ill and our throats are turning to stone and there’s acute bronchitis. That does not stop us from saying “Hey Papa Cohen, when are we leaving?” Papa Cohen: “What’s Helen doing?”

I’m writing to you and figuring out when I might hear from you again. The roofs which were having avalanches yesterday now have new snow. I’m afraid that my assumption that winter left may have been wrong. Father just got his degree as an electrician. Our corridor worker had laryngitis probably because of Jo making so much noise and Papa helped her get that back together.

Something important I almost forgot. Please tell me the telegram address for the Zentners. Papa is letting telephone number 3151 and 3152. Then I have another request. About 2 years ago in a beekeeper newspaper there was a notice that California needed beekeepers. Please let us know if this is true and if the lack of beekeepers is still of current concern.

With hearty kisses,
Mutti

Today we are back in 1940, just a few months after her children have left Europe. Helen began the letter last month. Rather than sending such a short note, she continued the letter and filled up both sides of the half sheet, saving money on postage and paper. It is another vivid letter, rich in description and literary and cultural references. 

It is confusing that Helene refers to her daughter’s letter from Istanbul as if Eva still was in Turkey rather than in San Francisco. She must be referring to a letter Eva sent to the relatives in Istanbul which they sent on to Helene and Vitali in Vienna. Rather than writing the same information to everyone, family members seem to have shared letters and news far and wide. Much like forwarding an email today, but far less reliable or efficient!

I looked up Wintermärchen, and it has several meanings. Being more familiar now with Helene’s writing than I was three years ago when Roslyn translated this letter, I am guessing she is probably using most of them. The literal translation is “winter fairy tale.” There is a 1918 lithograph with that title by Richard Janthur, a German artist. There is a plant with this name, also known as Elephants Ears, which has colorful leaves in winter and produces bright flowers in early spring. Finally, it is the title of an 1844 satirical epic poem by Heinrich Heine.

According to Wikipedia, a Fata Morgana is a type of mirage seen in polar regions, “named after the Arthurian sorceress Morgan le Fay, from a belief that these mirages… were fairy castles in the air or false land created by her witchcraft to lure sailors to their deaths.”

Käthe Hye-Kerkdal was an Austrian enthnologist. I could find little in English except a journal article she wrote in 1955. There is a summary of her life and work in German in a book of biographies of important Austrian scientists

I assume that Helene is being tongue in cheek when saying that Vitali got a degree as an electrician – presumably she is referring to his helping their neighbor Jo when the person who did building repairs was ill.

Finally, they are trying to figure out how to make a living in the U.S. — If Vitali is not allowed to work in metaphysics, how will they support themselves? They’ve been doing what research they can manage in the days before the internet, recalling an article in an old beekeeper newspaper (!) about California recruiting beekeepers. Clearly, they were open to learning whatever trade might allow them to emigrate.