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Vienna, 23 May 1941
#100
My dear children! Since this is another anniversary letter, I would like to start this Friday ritual with a different introduction than that we still haven’t received any letters from you, but unfortunately that’s not possible. What is the silly goose dreaming of? The year 1941 had a bad harvest of corn, and geese like me should decide to dream about something else. We’ve had a dramatic pause in our matters. It would have been too good if things could have just stayed on track at the same pace. The next transport is going on July 4 and as they say, if the Lord God wills, even a broomstick can grow [a variation on a German saying - God can make impossible things happen.] Maybe he wants us to be among those who go, but in the meantime there is still a lot to do. It’s not really dependent on us, so all of our efforts are not going to help at all. Our fatalism has taught us that the stupidest thing you can do is to bang your head against the wall. All that gets you is a bump on your head on one side and damage to the wall on the other side, so nothing comes from that. My head can do without the decoration and the wall hasn’t really done anything to me so the most reasonable thing to do is to wait for Form #13 in all humility. In the meantime, it’s become summer in Vienna and a walk from Meidling to Hietzing has brought all sort of enthusiasm up in me. Papa cannot be moved into such a poetic mood as easily, and he looks at things with his sober eyes that I cluelessly ignore. It was beautiful in Schönbrunn. Everything was blooming. Chestnuts, lilacs, and tulips were shining in the most incredible colors. Clear blue sky covered this little spot of the world that looked like a paradise. With great majesty, the Gloriette towered above the carpet of flowers and like flowers which had escaped from their beds, a large number of children were darting about. In this environment I can forget the raw reality that we have to deal with. However, I didn’t have much patience for being outside so long because the “maybe the afternoon mail has brought a letter” did not leave me any peace. The possibility would have of course been possible, but there was no letter. My prayer with the rosary beads began again from the beginning. Papa says I am incurable and he says he really doesn’t understand me. Now that I have the possibility of picking up my letters myself, I cannot seem to get away from the obsession of waiting for the mail every single day.
I have some more writing to do for our matters and so I need to go now. Vitali is getting up from his sun worship and I must hurry. Greetings and kisses to all. I will answer Hilda very soon.
Kissing you and Paul most sincerely
Helen
Helene mentions that this is an anniversary letter — I assume that she is referring to her marriage to Vitali on May 18, 1920. Or is it that this is the 100th letter she has written to her children since they were separated almost 2 years earlier? At this point, Helene and Vitale are at a standstill and unable to do anything to further their cause and they have had no news from their children for awhile. In order to not think about their current difficulties, Helene takes us on a lovely springtime walk in Vienna. The walk they took was about 4 miles from their home, so they must have taken a bus or tram to get to Meidling.
It was approximately a two mile walk from Meidling to Hietzing.