You say we persecute men of liberal thought, we destroy libraries. You should wake from your musty sentimentalizing. Does the surgeon spare the cancer because he must cut to remove it? We are cruel. Of course we are cruel. As all birth is brutal, so is this new birth of ours. But we rejoice. Germany lifts high her head among the nations of the world. She follows her glorious Leader to triumph. What can you know of this, you who only sit and dream? You have never known a Hitler. He is a drawn sword. He is a white light, but hot as the sun of a new day.
I must insist that you write no further. We are no longer in sympathy, as now we must both realize.
MARTIN SCHULSE
EISENSTEIN GALLERIES
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A.
SEPTEMBER 5, 1933
Herrn Martin Schulse c/o Deutsch-Voelkische Bank und Handelsgeselschaft Munich, Germany
DEAR MARTIN :
Enclosed are your draft and the month’s accounts. It is of necessity that I send a brief message. Griselle has gone to Berlin. She is too daring. But she has waited so long for success she will not relinquish it, and laughs at my fears. She will be at the Koenig Theater. You are an official. For old friendship’s sake, I beg of you watch over her. Go to Berlin if you can and see whether she is in danger.
It will distress you to observe that I have been obliged to remove your name from the firm’s name. You know who our principal clients are, and they will touch nothing now from a firm with a German name.
Your new attitude I cannot discuss. But you must understand me. I did not expect you would take up arms for my people because they are my people, but because you were a man who loved justice.
I commend my rash Griselle to you. The child does not realize what a risk she is taking. I shall not write again.
Goodbye, my friend, MAX
EISENSTEIN GALLERIES
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A.
NOVEMBER 5, 1933
Herrn Martin Schulse c/o Deutsch-Voelkische Bank und Handelsgeselschaft Munich, Germany
MARTIN :
I write again because I must. A black foreboding has taken possession of me. I wrote Griselle as soon as I knew she was in Berlin and she answered briefly. Rehearsals were going brilliantly; the play would open shortly. My second letter was more encouragement than warning, and it has been returned to me, the envelope unopened, marked only addressee unknown, (Adressant Unbekannt). What a darkness those words carry! How can she be unknown? It is surely a message that she has come to harm. They know what has happened to her, those stamped letters say, but I am not to know. She has gone into some sort of void and it will be useless to seek her. All this they tell me in two words, Adressant Unbekannt.
Martin, need I ask you to find her, to succor her? You have known her graciousness, her beauty and sweetness. You have had her love, which she has given to no other man. Do not attempt to write to me. I know I need not even ask you to aid. It is enough to tell you that something has gone wrong, that she must be in danger.
I leave her in your hands, for I am helpless.
MAX
EISENSTEIN GALLERIES
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A.
NOVEMBER 23, 1933
Herrn Martin Schulse c/o Deutsch-Voelkische Bank und Handelsgeselschaft Munich, Germany
MARTIN :
I turn to you in despair. I could not wait for another month to pass so I am sending some information as to your investments. You may wish to make some changes and I can thus enclose my appeal with a bank letter.
It is Griselle. For two months there has been only silence from her, and now the rumors begin to come in to me. From Jewish mouth to Jewish mouth the tales slowly come back from Germany, tales so full of dread I would close my ears if I dared, but I cannot. I must know what has happened to her. I must be sure.
She appeared in the Berlin play for a week. Then she was jeered from the audience as a Jewess. She is so headstrong, so foolhardy, the splendid child! She threw the word back in their teeth. She told them proudly that she was a Jewess.
Some of the audience started after her. She ran backstage. Someone must have helped her for she got away with the whole pack at her heels and took refuge with a Jewish family in a cellar for several days. After that she changed her appearance as much as she could and started south, hoping to walk back to Vienna. She did not dare to try the railroads. She told those she left that she would be safe if she could reach friends in Munich. That is my hope, that she has gone to you, for she has never reached Vienna. Send me word, Martin, and if she has not yet come there make a quiet investigation if you can. My mind cannot rest. I torture myself by day and by night, seeing the brave little thing trudging all those long miles through hostile country, with winter corning on. God grant you can send me a word of relief.
MAX
Deutsch-Völkische Bank und Handelsgesellschaft.
München
AUGUST 18, 1933
Mr. Max Eisenstein Eisenstein Galleries San Francisco, California, U.S.A.
DEAR MAX:
Heil Hitler! I much regret that I have bad news for you. Your sister is dead. Unfortunately she was, as you have said, very much a fool. Not quite a week ago she came here, with a bunch of storm troopers almost right behind her. The house was very active — Elsa has not been well since little Adolph was born last month — the doctor was here, and two nurses, with all the servants and children scurrying around.
By luck I answer the door. At first I think it is an old woman and then I see the face, and then I see the storm troopers have turned in the park gates. Can I hide her? It is one chance in thousands. A servant will be on us at any minute. Can I endure to have my house ransacked with Elsa ill in bed and to risk being arrested for harboring a Jew and to lose all I have built up here? Of course as a German I have one plain duty. She has displayed her Jewish body on the stage before pure young German men. I should hold her and turn her over to the storm troopers. But this I cannot do.
“You will destroy us all, Griselle,” I tell her. “You must run back further in the park.” She looks at me and smiles (she was always a brave girl) and makes her own choice.
“I would not bring you harm, Martin,” she says, and she runs down the steps and out toward the trees. But she must be tired. She does not run very fast and the storm troopers have caught sight of her. I am helpless. I go in the house and in a few minutes she stops screaming, and in the morning I have the body sent down to the village for burial. She was a fool to come to Germany. Poor little Griselle. I grieve with you, but as you see, I was helpless to aid her.