Chapter 2. How We Met.
Recently I found a handwritten letter of recommendation, signed Ludwig von Mises, which my husband had
written in 1943 on behalf of Fritz Kaufmann. Fritz Kaufmann was, about twenty years ago,
a student of mine at the University of Vienna, Austria. He has well succeeded in acquiring
a broad knowledge of economics, and especially of the problems of currency, banking and finance.
After his graduation, he worked as a journalist with various newspapers and periodicals in
Vienna and in Berlin. His editorials and articles were highly appreciated by the most competent
experts. It was with Dr. Fritz Kaufman at a dinner party in 1925 that I first met Ludwig
von Mises. Lena, Kaufman's wife, was the daughter of our beloved pediatrician, who
who, as long as Ferry was alive, used to come to the apartment every Saturday morning to
have a look at the children. These visits were the basis of a yearly honorarium, an arrangement
one could not even imagine today. There were six guests that evening. One of them, as mentioned
before, was Ludwig von Mises, a 44-year-old professor of economics, a bachelor who also
had a law degree from the University of Vienna. But that evening I had no idea who he was.
What impressed me about him were his beautiful clear blue eyes, always concentrated on the person to whom he talked, never shifting away.
His dark hair, already a little grayish at the sides, was parted, not one hair out of place.
I liked his hands, his long slim fingers, which clearly showed that he did not use them for manual work.
He was dressed with quiet elegance, a dark custom-made suit, a fitting silk necktie.
His posture indicated that he must have been a former army officer.
He sat next to me and the conversation was mostly about economics.
I did not add much to the discussion.
How could I?
I did not know anything about the subjects discussed.
After dinner he stayed at my side and we talked.
That is to say, he made me talk, listened attentively, and when we left he offered to
to take me home. But on the way he proposed to go to a bar opposite my house to have a
drink and dance. He did not dance well, so I preferred to sit and talk with him. The next
day when my host told me that he was considered to be the greatest living mind in Austria,
it gave me quite a shock. He seemed so unpretentious and simple, so easy to talk to. That day
he sent me a wonderful assortment of red roses, called me soon afterward and asked me to have
from then on we met frequently and it was not long before we were meeting almost daily
when he had no time to meet me he would always call
he met my children and tried to make friends with them
he never came without bringing them a little gift
mostly books that were carefully chosen
and one day he brought me a tiny flask of perfume also carefully chosen
but not at all to my taste
i soon felt he was in love with me
But within me there was no fire burning. I was interested, I liked his company, I was
flattered by his attention, but I did not love him. It took quite a while before I responded,
and it was a special event that made me realize I cared for him.
This was a time of political unrest in Vienna. Two socialists had been murdered by members
of the Nationalistic Party, and the killers were acquitted. This led to riots in the streets.
The Palace of Justice was burned down. Ludwig von Mises called me and warned me, don't let
the children grow out today, the streets are not safe. We lived at the center of the city,
as he did, a few steps away from Kartenerstrasse and Graben. It was this telephone call that
made it clear how important he was to me. He cared not only about me, he cared about
my children. He worried about them.
In 1926 he went for the first time to America as a representative of the Austrian Chamber
of Commerce, and as soon as he returned he asked me to marry him. I cannot describe what
I felt, but I know I was happy. From then on I always called him Lew, and this abbreviation
of his given name, which seemed to me much warmer and more affectionate, was something
quite new to him. He must never have been called by a pet name. When we came to the
In the States, and made new friends, they all very soon called him Lew. I think he liked it.
Shortly after his return from America, he got very sick. He had appendicitis and could not be operated on, as his appendix was already infected.
It took him weeks to recover, and since I did not know his mother, it was very difficult for me to get news about his condition.
I would have loved to know everything about him, starting with his childhood. But he did not talk much about himself. He remembered well his maternal grandfather and talked often about him. When Lew was two, his grandfather accidentally let him fall from his arms. As a consequence, Lew broke his collarbone and had to wear a neck brace for a long time. Lew spoke very little about his youth. Once, however, he told me that he had started reading newspapers at the age of seven and that
And at the age of ten he wanted to write a history of the Crimean War. He wrote one
page and then discovered in the newspaper that an English historian had published a
ten volume history. That was the end of that book.
Lew greatly admired his father, who had been a prominent railroad construction engineer
in the Austrian government and who died tragically after a gallbladder operation at the age of
The Early Loss of a Beloved Father was not the only sad blow Lew suffered. His youngest
brother died of scarlet fever at a very tender age when Lew was only 12 years old. It was
was a heavy blow for the whole family.
Lew as a grown-up still lives with his mother, whom I never met.
He rarely mentioned her and never said a word of criticism for her.
I soon realized that this silence was the result of a long and bitter struggle with
himself.
He must have suffered in his youth, though he never complained.
Three of the many letters he wrote to me around this time, which I have translated into English,
show how clearly lonely he was.
Vienna, July 29th, 1927. My dear sweet Greta, many, many thanks for your dear letter. Since
Tuesday I pondered much about you and your love. You have renewed in me what I lost a
long time ago, the belief in the possibility of happiness. Do you know how much I have
to thank you for, you, my beloved? I am sorry to say, I was so rushed the last days, from
Early Morning to Late at Night, that I could not carry out my wish to go to Middling to
look after the children. I would have wanted to send you their love and their greetings.
I have some egoistic reasons, too. I wanted to touch Gitta's hair and think of you. That
is all for today. I still have to do my packing and take care of various matters. I leave
tomorrow morning. I love you. I can't say more, and I believe it is the most important
thing, Thousand Kisses, Bad Gastein, July 31, 1927
My dear Greta, When I arrived here last night and found no letter of yours, when even today
there was nothing in the mail from you, I realized fully how much I miss you, and that
I cannot live any more without you. Now only do I know what longing really means, and that
That I have only one wish, one thought, you. I have gone through bad experiences and again
and again I suffered severe disappointments. Your hands tenderly touched my cheeks and
every remembrance of past harm has gone completely. I wish I could have had your slim hands here
to kiss them and hold them forever. Write to me again and again that you love me and
You want to give me happiness. I cannot hear and read it often enough. Are you thinking
of me sometimes in Hamburg? Can I win the battle with the remembrances of childhood
and home? Isn't it true that the one who is absent is the losing one? I promise you never
to be jealous. Now you can see the value of my promises. I am jealous even of the river
Don't forget me and do love me. I kiss your mouth and your hair.
Badgastein, August 14th, 1927. My dear Greta, many glowing thanks for your letter of August 11th and for your Sunday telegram. I found both when I came home from dinner.
I deserved your reproaches, but I cannot change the facts. I told you before, you know you have to change me to get me to be the one that you want to love.
It won't be easy. I would like to make a proposal. One always should start work as quickly as possible, and one should not delay the start.
What about leaving Nordrany two days earlier than planned, and this way come two days earlier to Bad Gastein? That means on the 26th.
We talk better face to face than by mail. We have to discuss a great many things. Please do say yes and come earlier than we originally planned.
I feel more for you than I can say in writing, and if you knew me better you might read behind my clumsy sentences the real meaning.
Please don't be angry, don't punish me by not writing and think of me without any anger or resentment. I believe in you and I love you.
You are now everything I have. I know how rich and happy you make me, but I don't know how to thank you. I will try to become more worthy of you than I am. Thousand kisses.
People who knew Lew's mother well told me she was a highly intelligent woman, but with the attitude of a general and a will of iron, showing little warmth or affection for anyone.
Professor Hayek told me that while he was attending Lew's seminar in Vienna, Lew sometimes invited him to his house for lunch or dinner. The long table was always set immaculately, Lew sitting at one side and opposite him Mrs. von Mises.
She never spoke a word, said Professor Hayek. She never participated in the conversation, but one always felt she was there. When the coffee was served, she quietly got up and left the dining room.
She must have been a woman of distinction, otherwise she could not have brought up two sons who were both distinguished scholars.
The only one for whom Lew's mother was said to have shown some affection was Richard, her second son.
This might explain partly why the two brothers were never really close to each other.
The situation changed, though, after Lew and I were married.
I met Richard in Geneva in 1939, and I liked him immediately.
There was a certain charm about him.
He had the same unpretentious manner of speech that Lew had.
When Lew and I came to the United States in 1940, Richard, who was then professor of aviation and mathematics at Harvard, immediately arranged a lecture for Lew, and never failed to come and see us whenever he was in New York, sometimes two or three times a month.
I saw him for the last time in 1953.
Lew was in California lecturing when Richard arrived from Zurich.
A friend of his, the famous professor Hermann Nissen of Zurich, had advised an immediate and urgent cancer operation.
But Richard refused to have it done, returned to the States, and a few weeks later died in Cambridge.
I never really understood why Lew stayed with his mother until he left for Geneva.
for Geneva. There was no financial reason for it. The only explanation I could find
was that his mother's household was running smoothly. Their two maids had been with them
for about twenty years, and Lew could come and go whenever it pleased him and could concentrate
on his work without being disturbed. There was certainly no inner need for him to stay
with her. The First World War, as much as he hated the loss of time, was a duty he had
to Fulfill, and not for a minute would he have ever disregarded it. On the first day
of the war he had to travel to Primitzel to join his regiment. He foresaw the consequences
of the war for Austria and for the world. He lost almost five years of his life and
his work, but he never complained. The last two years in the Carpathians, those icy winter
days, brought real suffering and hardship to everyone. Often they did not even have
For some time in the mountains, Lew had as comrade-in-arms his second cousin, Dr. Rudolf Streisauer, an army doctor, who also had the rank of captain. For a while they had their lodgings together.
One morning, when it was bitter cold, they peered through the ice-covered window and saw the ten-year-old daughter of the farmer's wife with whom they lived take a completely naked baby of perhaps one year outside and hold her up until she had relieved herself. Lew was horrified.
Louis was proud of his ability to provide for his men. By chance, a first-class cook from a good Austrian hotel had joined his company. This man was able to bake the famous Viennese pancakes. They are like the French crepes suzette, for all the men while the company was minding their own business.
Marching, and the kitchen, of course, was on the move too. He adored Lew and proved
this by always giving him an extra portion. But he was never satisfied with Lew's appetite.
The first lieutenant is eating like a woman in child-bed, he complained. To please Lew,
he also fed a little colt, which had been born during a battle and was loved by all
the men of the company. They often went without food for themselves, but they still fed the
Then one day the army took the colt away. They needed meat. That was a black day for all of Lew's men.
Lew got typhoid in 1917 and, after a few months, was called back to Vienna where he worked, still in uniform, with the general staff in the Ministry of War until the last day of the war.
In the first years of our relationship, Lew was almost an enigma to me. I never had seen such modesty in a man before.
He knew his value, but he never boasted. Different from all men I had met before, he felt deeply
without the need to talk about it all the time. I had never trusted the feelings of
actors. Men who love professionally every night, project their feelings constantly to
the outside, and have to tell the whole world about themselves, never seemed real men to
me. They're only steady love affairs with themselves. I think it was the extreme honesty
and Lose Feelings that attracted me so strongly to him. Those feelings were so overpowering
that he, who wrote thousands of pages about economics and money, could not find the words
to talk about himself and explain his feelings. Before we married, this love must have been
a very distressing factor in his life, so upsetting that he knew he could fight a battle
in the Carpathian Alps, but he could never win the battle against himself. He became
I became frightened. I was the only woman he wanted to marry from the first moment he met her. He never changed his feelings or his mind about this decision. I knew that there were many young women who were desperately in love with him. His private seminar in Vienna had several female participants who tried their best to get his attention. He was interested in their careers, in their intellectual development, but completely indifferent toward them as women.
If you would not have been, I could have married a very rich heiress.
Why didn't you, I asked him? We both would have lived very happily after.
He rejected both my flippancy and my proposal.
Another time I told him, do you know that people revealed to me that you at one time were engaged to marry Dr. Lina Leister, a former student at his seminar?
He laughed and said,
Did you really believe it?
Could you ever imagine me married to an economist?
I really could not,
though I know many happily married couples who have the same profession.
The wish to have me near him was constantly in him.
He knew I needed a father for my children.
He was aware of the fact that I gave them all the love and affection I was capable of.
But children need more than a loving and doting mother.
They need guidance and direction for their development, and I, as a mother alone, was well aware that I was not strong enough to give them what they deserved.
Lew thought of the task he had set himself, the tremendous work that was ahead of him, all the writing he wanted to do.
He bore the burden of making a frightening decision, the choice between his work and duty to his intellectual ideals on one hand, and a life of love and affection on the other.
Soon after we became engaged, he grew afraid of marriage, the bond it would mean, the change that the children would bring to a quiet home, and the responsibilities that might detract him from his work. So it was a stormy relationship, the old problem of Adam and Eve.
But we did not live in paradise, far from it. We never had a fight between us. Lew fought himself and then made me suffer. I was deeply in love with him now, a love so different from what I had ever felt before that I hardly knew myself anymore. Until then I had always taken, I had been spoiled. Now I only wanted to give, give, give, and I deeply felt it was exactly what he needed.
We spent most of our vacations together. I usually rented a cottage in the country for the children and my mother, and Lew and I went mountain climbing. Other sports did not mean much to him. He played tennis, always with a trainer, but without enthusiasm. Once I watched him, when the ball was easy for him to reach, he returned it, otherwise he did not bother. When I asked him, why don't you put a little more effort into your game, he replied, why should I?
He was a member of the Athletic Club in Vienna, and dutifully went fencing once a week, but
mountain climbing was the sport he really loved and excelled in. Before he went to Geneva,
he also did some skiing. He had grown up in the mountains, and he spent four long years
of war in the mountains, while I came from the sea. But I shared his love for hiking
and climbing, and we were never nearer to each other than when we stood together at
the top of a mountain. He had the correct training for climbing. Sometimes the sun would burn so hard that I would get tired and thirsty, but Lew allowed me no rest until we reached a certain goal, or even the top.
The beauty of the view, the wide open spaces that lay before our eyes, the difficulties of climbing we had overcome together, the loneliness around us that never seemed depressing when we were together, gave us both a deep inner feeling of completeness and happiness.
It was then, he told me later, that I first knew what a good comrade you would be, but he was still not able to set a date for our marriage.
Sometimes I did not see him for weeks, but I knew very well that he was in town. At least
twice daily the telephone rang, and when I answered there was a silence at the other
end of the line. Not a word was spoken. I knew it was Lew. He wanted to hear my voice.
I also knew I should not make the first move if I really wanted to help him. I longed for
him. His silence hurt me. I was miserable. But I did not call. And finally, after a while
Without any explanation, he came to see me again. I knew by then that if he could not decide, I had to take the initiative. I had to act since he could not. It was necessary also on account of the children. I was so tormented, so torn to pieces that the children must have felt it. I urgently needed to find work that would take my thoughts away from myself.
About this time, George Martin, the publisher, who was always interested in my work, I had done one or two translations for him, advised me to go to London for a while to get better acquainted with authors and writers, to get new plays for him, and to start translating as a career. At the same time, I could refresh my English. I followed his advice.
Martin got the necessary letters of introduction and in 1929 I sublet my apartment and left
Vienna. I took Gitta to Hamburg to stay with my mother and left Guido with a professor's
family in a suburb of Vienna. It was hard on the little boy and he suffered under the
separation as much as I did.
In London I lived all alone in a bleak second-rate boarding house which always smelled of food.
That winter I experienced for the first time what it meant to be hungry. Often I didn't
have the money for a sandwich or for a cup of tea for lunch. To save money I walked to
most of my appointments. Once I walked all the way from Bayswater to the Tower of London.
When it was cold I went to the National Gallery or into another museum to warm up. All the
time I met new people, was introduced to writers and publishers, and succeeded in laying the
and the Groundwork for a Future for the Children and Myself.
But I never succeeded in forgetting Lew.
I never wrote to him, but one day he came to London as the Austrian representative of the Chamber of Commerce
to open an exposition of graphic illustrations on the progress of production in Austria since 1922.
Lew himself had brought about this exhibition, and Hayek, as director of the Austrian Institute for Economic Research in Vienna,
Compile the Tables
How Lew found my address I never knew.
He immediately called me after his arrival and the same evening we met again.
From the first look, from the first moment, everything was as it had been before.
We both knew it never would change.
After a few months I went back to Vienna, relieved to have my children staying with
me again.
I found that the work, together with my children, filled my days so completely that I had very
little free time. I translated and adapted one or two plays a month. The work was always
terribly urgent, and afterwards the plays were shelved and the poor authors had to wait
for months, years sometimes, before the plays were produced. I had a contract with Martin
for every play, royalties in advance of production, and immediate cash for every rough translation
and I finished. I now needed a secretary to help me and things looked better for the children
and for me. Among the plays I translated were Mary of Scotland by Maxwell Anderson, Distaffside
by Van Druten and Rebound by Donald Ogden Stewart, which was produced by Reinhardt at
the Deutschtheater in Berlin and at the Vienna Akademie Theater. In 1932 I also wrote short
Report Stories for Newspapers, which were printed in der Weiner Tag.
Work was in every way a lifesaver for me.
This is a fact that I found to be true all through my life.
Now it helped me to take care of my children, it helped me to keep hold of myself, and it
helped me to regain my pride, which had suffered greatly during those years of uncertainty
in my relationship with Lew.
Maybe, once in a while, I should have refused to see him.
But what would this have changed?
My stay in London was proof enough that there was no way out for me.
I loved him, and the longing to be with him was so strong I could not fight myself anymore,
and I knew only too well that he needed me also, in the way that a man dying of thirst
needs a drink of water.
Not that I could not have married again.
There was Oskar Lovenstein, the always cheerful, elegant owner and publisher of the Neue Weine
Journal, whose sister-in-law was Gita's godmother and who was in love with me for years. There
was Sir Leonard Costello, then Chief of Justice in India, whom I had met in London and who
came to Vienna to see me as often as his time allowed, waiting only for my word to get a
divorce in spite of his high position. But I had told him how the situation was. He understood
and we stayed friends for life. After Lew and I were married, Sir Leonard flew from India
I went to Paris to meet Lew. Both men understood each other very well. Though I liked these
other men, there was nothing I could do. I just had to wait until Lew was ready. He had
given me his books Gemein Wirtstaff, later translated as Socialism, and Theore des Geldes
und der Umlaufsmitte, The Theory of Money and Credit, and I tried my best to get familiar
It was difficult for me. I had lived in another world. It took years and much reading and many tears, intermingled with feelings of inferiority, before I understood the meaning of his teaching and his writings.
But his most devoted students could not have been more convinced of the advantages of free enterprise and of freedom for the individual than I became.
In those years, Lew traveled a great deal to foreign countries as the representative of the Austrian Chamber of Commerce.
Never did he leave without first coming to see me and sending me the most beautiful arrangements of flowers.
And as soon as he returned, the first thing he did was to see me.
All those years he had held a secret superstition, which he later confessed to me.
He must see me, he must be with me on January 1st each year, for that gave him the assurance that he would not lose me that year.
Housing conditions in Vienna after the First World War, and even before, were especially unfavorable.
To help people who were looking for an apartment, they introduced a new law.
No family was to occupy more rooms than there were members of the family.
The kitchen was not counted. If the apartment was too large, people were forced to let some rooms. Therefore, we who owned a large apartment faced the danger of having people living with us, people whom we did not even know.
In my case, living alone and working at home, it would have been a special ordeal, but I was lucky.
A friend of mine, coming back by boat from a visit in the United States, met Myra Finn
with her little daughter Alice, age 11. Mrs. Finn had just been divorced from Oscar Hämischstein,
wanted to travel, and was looking for a suitable place in Vienna for Alice to stay and learn
German. My friend recommended me, and Mrs. Finn called on me. We liked each other, and
after a while she left Vienna and Alice stayed on with us for more than a year. Since she
When she was the same age as Gitta, I arranged for her to be in Gitta's class. The two girls became inseparable. A friendship developed that has lasted all through the years. Alice had suffered greatly from her mother's divorce. She adored her famous father, and it took all my love and care to make her smile again and relieve her from her depression.
The summer after Alice left to join her mother in Switzerland, I sent Gitta to England to a boarding school in Kent, where she stayed for almost 18 months.
When she came back, she wrote and spoke English as fluently as she wrote and spoke German.
At that time, Gitta could not know how important the knowledge of languages would be for her future.
One day, Lew told me that he had been offered a high position at the Creditanstalt, the foremost banking institution in Vienna,
When I asked him the reason for his refusal, he told me that a great crash would be coming, and that he did not want his name to be in any way connected with it.
He preferred to write and teach.
If you want a rich man, he told me, don't marry me, I am not interested in earning money.
I am writing about money, but will never have much of my own.
I did not need to answer, he knew how I felt.
I did not need to answer. He knew how I felt. It was only him who I wanted.
When the stock market crashed in New York in October of 1929, the effect was worldwide.
An international depression followed. World trade was seriously affected.
And in 1931, on May 11th, the Austrian credit unstalt went into bankruptcy,
exactly as Lew had told me beforehand.
before hand. The Austrian government tried to save the bank and appealed for help abroad.
France promised support but under impossible conditions. At the last moment England helped
Austria with a loan of 150 million Austrian shillings to the Austrian National Bank, but
the credit unstalled could not be saved. This newest crash led to a financial crisis and
and a panic in all Central Europe. It was the beginning of the end.
From then on there was hardly a quiet day in Vienna. Hitler had used the fear, the despair,
the insecurity in Germany to follow his own devilish purposes, and he succeeded so well
in his evil designs that in January 1933 he became Chancellor of Germany.
The consequence was a growing anti-government movement in Austria.
In March 1933, Engelbert Dolfuss, the Austrian Chancellor, whose government consisted of
a coalition of Christian socialists and agrarians, prohibited parades and assemblies and restricted
the freedom of the press.
In spite of this, the Austrian Nazis, who now, unsuppressed, dared to come out in the
open, staged a great riot in Vienna.
The city looked like a fortress. The streets were full of soldiers. Shops and schools were
closed. No one dared to go out. The entrance doors of all buildings had to be closed at
eight o'clock p.m. After that hour, no citizen was allowed in the streets. There was Standreich
in Vienna, which meant that the police had the power to shoot anyone who did not obey
orders. Lew was very concerned about us. He called three and four times daily and asked
He asked me not to go out, but he himself went out in spite of everything and came to see us.
I never knew how he found the time for all the work he was doing.
He was by then the full-time legal advisor and financial expert of the Chamber of Commerce.
He had his lectures at the University of Vienna, he had his seminar, he had conferences and luncheons with visiting authorities,
He had to travel, he did a tremendous amount of reading and writing, and he always had time for me.
He was so interested in my work, he read every play I was doing, constantly urging me to do some writing of my own, proposing one idea after the other.
In later years, when I attended his seminar at New York University, there was not a single meeting when he did not suggest to his students the title of a new paper or an idea for a thesis.
I remember I once advised Bettina Bien, take the titles down, they will make a book one day.
In Vienna he just poured out new ideas to me. He once told me to write a film of one of Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales.
Even today only one or two of these beautiful stories have been filmed, and they certainly would be a delight to children all over the world.
Early in July 1934, Lew went to Gastein, as he did every year, to take the baths.
Shortly after he left, a group of Nazis in Austrian uniforms seized the radio station in Vienna and forced the commentators to broadcast the resignation of Dolfus, which of course was a lie.
Then they entered the Chancellery, shot Dolfus, and refused medical help to him until he died.
Dolfus was immediately succeeded by Dr. Kurt von Schussnigg, who fervently tried to keep Austria independent.
Lew followed the political situation in Germany and Austria with passionate interest. He saw the slippery road the Austrian leaders were forced to take. He knew Hitler's rise to power would endanger Austria, and he knew exactly what the future would bring. Only the date was unknown to him.
Lew was a typical Austrian. He loved his native country, the mountains, the city of Vienna, the beauty of the old palaces, the crooked streets, the fountains, but this too was something so deeply embedded in his soul, he rarely would talk about it. But I knew how he felt and how deeply he was hurt.
In August 1934, I met Lew in Friliten, Tirol. From there we took excursions into the mountains.
One beautiful morning, it was August 23rd, 1934, we took the autobus into Hochmeis and
then climbed via the Tuschertorl up to Edelweisskopf, a mountain about 8,000 feet high. On top we
rested and enjoyed the beautiful view, the wide range of the Alps before our eyes and
and the peace and quiet around us. The sun was shining brightly, but we did not feel
any heat. The strong wind cooled us. I had trouble keeping my wide dirndl skirt from
blowing over my face and had to use both hands to keep it down. Lew laughed about my efforts.
Then suddenly he said, You asked me recently why I am working here so much, against my
habit of not working while on vacation. I want to tell you the reason. And he told me
It seemed to me that he would leave Vienna in the beginning of October, for he had received an invitation from Professor William Rappard to join the faculty of l'Institut des Autitudes, the Graduate Institute of International Studies in Geneva, Switzerland.
Since this meant a great opportunity for him, he had accepted the appointment. When I heard him say that, it seemed as if the sun had suddenly gone down. My hands dropped. I could not speak.
This was a blow that hit me harder than any chilling wind. I never thought he could leave like that. He took me in his arms, held me firmly and went on. I'll see you often. Give me time. Trust me. I love you. I love you so much. Stay as you are. I need you.
It took a long time before I could pull myself together. I felt the tears rushing to my eyes. I did not want to cry. I knew how unhappy it made him to see me crying.
For Lew this had been an unusually quick decision. He was usually so slow in deciding important
matters that I once jokingly called him Fabius Concutter. In taking leave of absence from
the Chamber of Commerce, the University and of me, he found the courage to tell me about
it only after he had decided. But I believed and trusted him as I always did. He had never
In Vienna we met every day until the day he left, October 3rd 1934. He wrote often from Geneva telling me about the new apartment he was going to build in Vienna.
The years went by. He came very often, sometimes in the middle of the week for only a day or two. It was a blessing for me that I had so much work to do.
Kurt Boas, the well-known Austrian actor, had acquired the rights for a play by Massingham, The Lake.
It was a blessing for me that I had so much work to do.
Kurt Boas, the well-known Austrian actor, had acquired the rights for a play by Massingham, The Lake.
He planned to produce the play himself and play the lead, and he asked me to do an adaptation for him.
He was very happy about my work.
Martin was also satisfied about another play that I had adapted from the French.
It was done from Sardou's play Dora, and I called it Diplomacy and Love.
It was accepted by the Akademietheater in Vienna and came out in a very good production with excellent reviews and, most pleasing for me, of course, commendations for the translator.
On April 18, 1937, Lew's mother died. Lew came for the funeral and left soon afterward.
That summer we spent again in the Austrian mountains. Everywhere we felt a change. When we were climbing a mountain near the German border, the villagers, who usually greeted us with Gruß Gott, may God be with you, now raised their arms and said Heil Hitler.
At the top of the mountain, Germans and Austrians would not dine in the same room of the restaurant. It was a frightening experience.
Earlier that summer, Lew had given me a wonderful birthday present, one that made me happy for the rest of my life.
He had arranged with an auto driver's school in Vienna for me to take a driving course, to get a driver's license, and he told me he had ordered a car.
That Christmas he spent with me, and the first night he was in town he took me to a very good restaurant for dinner.
Suddenly he reached over the table, took my hand, and said so softly I could hardly hear him.
I cannot go on further. I cannot live without you, darling. Let's get married.
At first I thought I was dreaming. I had waited so long for this moment. Now it had come. I could not believe it.
I remembered that in the other corner of the restaurant sat a couple, longtime friends of mine, who knew about Lew and me.
I felt like rushing over to them shouting what had happened, I felt like a child who longs for Christmas and finally sees the tree lighted, and then everything became very quiet within me, I felt very small, I could not say a word as usually happens to me when I am excited, I just sat and listened while he told me his plans, he set the wedding day in early April of the following year during the Easter recess of the Institute in Geneva so we could go on vacation together.
In February 1938 he came again to Vienna to arrange the bands, an old Austrian custom that requires every couple intending to marry have their names and the date of their wedding publicly announced for six weeks at the doors of City Hall.
But everything turned out differently than we had planned.
Shortly after Lew left, the situation in Austria worsened. Bombs in telephone booths and Nazi demonstrations in the streets, combined with violence, were daily events.
Schushnig made an appointment to see Hitler in Berchtesgaden, hoping to be able to arrange for better relations with Germany.
It was in vain. Hitler would not even listen to Shushnig. He shouted constantly and accused Austria and Shushnig of high treason. He put up a grand act. In the end, Shushnig was forced to sign an agreement, the famous Berchtesgaden Accord, which a few weeks later became the basis for the end of Austria as an independent nation.
To give every Austrian citizen the opportunity to decide for himself whether he wanted to
belong to Germany or keep his independence, Sushnik announced on March 9th a general plebiscite
for March 13th.
Hitler was afraid of the result and in order to prevent it, he sent German troops into Austria.
When the Germans marched into Vienna, I sent Lew a cryptic telegram.
Everything quiet here, no need to come.
I was afraid that Lew might not realize how dangerous the situation had become for him.
On the night the Nazis came to Vienna, they had rushed into the apartment where he had lived with his mother,
had taken his valuable library, his writings, his documents, and everything they found of importance,
packed it all into 38 cases, and drove away.
Worse still, Lew was also on the Russian blacklist.
Lew's writings were hated by socialists of every type, Nazis, communists, fascists, and, as I later found out, American socialists as well.
It would have been impossible for him to return to Vienna. He sent me a carefully worded telegram asking Gitta and me to come to Geneva as quickly as possible.
Cautiously I started my preparations. I told no one that I intended to leave, for I knew how dangerous even friends could become.
I packed as many of our belongings as possible. Before we left, I had to see the judge who took care of my children at the Court of Guardianship. I asked him to release as many of our funds as possible, which he did.
How I envy you that you can get away from here, he said, shaking my hand warmly as I departed. I never got back what was left of the money.
I never had a feeling of danger for Gitta and myself. Our Hungarian passport was still considered a good protection, but I realized that if anyone might have occasion to read the marriage ban for Lew and me, which according to the Austrian laws was publicly advertised, they might take more interest in Gitta and me than would be good for us, and we might have difficulties getting away.
It may sound like irony of fate that just then, shortly before the tragic events of the month of March 1938, the last play I had adapted from the French for the German stage was accepted by the Deutsch Volkstheater in Vienna. The play was Liberté by Denis Amiel. It was never produced.
I won't ever forget those last days in Vienna. The first day the Nazis marched into Vienna, they began tormenting and torturing their political enemies, as well as the Jews.
One day I walked along the Graben, one of the most elegant streets in Vienna. I saw how young people had climbed to the top of the Pestiole, a monument, to watch the Jews washing the streets.
Whenever a German soldier or officer passed, the poor people had to step down into the gutter, accompanied by howling, roaring laughter of the crowd.
Each day the situation in Vienna worsened. The Austrian Nazis, who before Hitler's appearance had not dared to show their sympathies openly, now proudly displayed their party badges.
In St. Stephen's Cathedral, a huge picture of Hitler was hung, and the Catholic Church, led by Cardinal Inniter, swore allegiance to the Nazis.
The Nazis, fearing the decision of the Austrian population, prevented the plebiscites scheduled for March 13th,
assembled German troops at the frontier, and Schuschnigg, unable to resist, had to resign.
to Resign. Seis Inkwart, a former Viennese lawyer, took over the government. He was ordered
by the Nazis to send a telegram to Berlin demanding the entrance of additional German
troops to prevent further riots. On March 14th, Hitler marched into Vienna, the city
where he had lived as a pauper in a flop house, painting and selling postcards. That night
That same night he made his first speech over the radio. His voice still rings in my ears. I shall never forget it. It was rough, throaty and vulgar, but it had an almost unbearable strength combined with a hypnotic power of persuasion. As much as his voice frightened me, I listened to the very end.
That same night, Chancellor Schushnig spoke for the last time to the Austrian people with a simple and touching broadcast, his voice trembling with unwept tears.
Tonight, he said, I take leave of the Austrian people with only a few words of farewell coming from the depth of my heart.
May God help and protect Austria.
The last visit I made in Vienna was to a friend of Lew's in mind, Dr. Weiss von Wallenstein, Secretary General of the Central Association of Austrian Industry.
I had known him and his beautiful elegant wife, who had died a few years before, since my first days in Vienna.
In spite of his great loss, Dr. von Wallenstein kept the household running as smoothly as before, for their three maids had been with them for years.
Though Lew and I had never met at their house, they had a very large social circle. Dr. von
Wallenstein knew about Lew and me, and I felt it my duty to bid farewell to him before parting.
He was very lonely at that time. People abstained from visiting each other, for they had to
avoid going into the streets. He was happy to see me and happy to hear about our forthcoming
marriage.
You are going to marry the greatest mind Austria has produced in this last century, he told me.
But I don't believe you are fully aware of the difficulties that lie ahead of you.
Ludwig von Mises is not easy to handle. He is obstinate, will never change his mind once he is convinced he is right.
And he will rather have an enemy than make concessions or deviate from his convictions.
Your life won't be easy. I do wish you luck.
Little did he know how much I already knew, and more.
A few days after Schuschnig's farewell, Himmler's SS troops and the Gestapo arrived, and a real holocaust started.
Communists, social democrats and liberals were arrested by the police and Gestapo agents, taken into prisons and police stations, tortured and often beaten to death.
Shushnig himself was put into prison and later sent to a concentration camp, where he was lucky enough to meet his future wife. He never went to trial. Years later, when he came to New York, he came to see us several times.
He taught for 20 years at an American college, St. Louis University, retired in 1968, settled
down in Innsbruck, Austria, and died in a small village, Mütters, near Innsbruck, on
November 18, 1977.
During all this turmoil, I had been in constant communication with Lew, who urged me to leave
as quickly as possible.
This was not as simple as we would have liked it to be.
Everyone who wanted to cross the border needed permission from the government. Austria was
always a bureaucratic country, but now the difficulties placed in the way of a would-be
traveler were unimaginable. Luckily, I managed to get all the necessary documents. When,
on March 26th, Gitta and I came to the Vienna of Bethvenhof and took our seats in the express
train for Zurich, I felt relieved as never before. Guido, my son, had been in an English
He went to a Polish boarding school for a year, always somewhat adventurous. He later went to Caracas, Venezuela, married and settled there. He would have been perfectly happy if it had not been for the separation from me.
But now I did not want to think of anything, though evidently the excitement was not over.
Police officers, Gestapo agents, SS men, one after the other, came into the compartments of our railway coach to inspect our passports and examine our documents.
When finally the wheels began to move, when the train left the station and gathered speed, I took a deep breath. We had made it. We were free.