Joseph Roth- a Life in Letters
Page 38
Nice, 2 August 1934
Dear friend,
I beseech you urgently, because the publisher is pressing, please give me a few apt lines from your work for my Antichrist. I don’t have your books to hand. Or kindly write me something new.
Kesten got the 10 pounds. He gave me none of it. I am torn, so to speak, between shirts and a suit. I’m thinking a shroud would be a useful acquisition.
Unless Huebsch gives me something, I won’t get through September. He’s offering 250 dollars for the American rights, 500 for English and American.
I’m left with 40% of that, i.e., 1,500 or 3,300 French francs, respectively.
Huebsch deducts another 20% from the English rights.
(Gollancz would have given me 100 pounds for the English rights, as you know, but for the Huebsch-Heinemann mess-up. Please don’t call me a complainer again now.)
I’m reconciled to it now, by the way, I’m happy to atone for the mistakes of others—if only I knew how I’m supposed to write the novel. Of course you’re right, I mustn’t write so quickly, especially not now, when I’m so exhausted.
But what else can I do?
I have another 6,000 francs to come from de Lange.
Even without a family, I couldn’t possibly stretch such a sum so that I could write a novel on it, in the requisite peace and quiet.
Reece has been frightened off, and he wanted to pay me for a year. He has gone to Berlin, by the way, and doesn’t write me from there, only briefly, to say that he begs your pardon. He had had to leave suddenly, and hadn’t been able to visit you.
Well, what do I do?
You’re right in everything you say about me.
But that applies to my general errors, and not my specific plight during these hours. Even if we assume I could correct my general errors constitutionally, so to speak, then I can’t do it now, not when I don’t know what next week will bring: bread or dead.
There’s no sense in thinking about generalities when the particular situation is as acute as mine is now.
You’re thinking strategically, like a general, I’m thinking tactically, like a lieutenant. You’re right, like a good general. And, like any good general, you don’t pay any attention to the tactical details, any one of which could make the difference between life and death for me.
I hope this letter still reaches you in London. You won’t be going to S.1 now.
I implore you urgently for a reply. (NB please note first sentence.)
Sincerely,
your Joseph Roth
1. S.: Salzburg.
293. Stefan Zweig to Joseph Roth
[postmarked: London, 4 August 1934]
Dear friend,
just got your letter. Please inquire, Erasmus should have arrived at the Foyot long ago, everyone else has gotten it and confirmed. Huebsch will do his best for you, I can only repeat that the prospects in America are not so good as they were two years ago. Today I am leaving for Switzerland, where I will see if I’ll have to go to Salzburg for a day or two at most, I’m engaged in breaking up the household. I have another three months’ work on a book. Huebsch will visit you in Nice! Or meet him in Sanary!1 I’m off in half an hour. Greetings from your fully packed
St. Z.
Write to Salzburg—everything will be forwarded from there.
1. Sanary-sur-Mer, a fishing village near Bandol and Toulon in the south of France, was to become the headquarters, so to speak, of the German literary exiles, who remained a riven bunch. W. H. Auden, the son-in-law of one of them, Thomas Mann, speaks of “‘the malicious village of exile.’”
294. To Stefan Zweig
10 August 1934
Dear friend,
excuse the paper, I’m writing in a boutique.
The Erasmus finally came, and I read it right away.
It’s the noblest book you’ve ever written. It’s the biography of your mirror image—and I must congratulate you on your mirror image. It’s wonderful when I think that one and the same person has written on Fouché and Erasmus!
Very noble. The style “sobre,” as simply and precisely as you’ve ever written.
Very clever and deft, your opposition of Luther and Erasmus.
Clever the way the bulk of history is left in the background, and so to speak the aroma of events alone is described.
Spiritualized history.
Very moving, the ending quite shattering, the handling of the last 3 pages exemplary.
When I saw that you wouldn’t get my letter in London any more, I copied out a few quotations from Erasmus for my Antichrist.
If you want to give me more lines besides, please send them directly to de Lange.
It’s very urgent.
(Damrak 62, Amsterdam.)
No sign of Mr. Huebsch.
He’s no good to me anyway. I won’t be able to finish the novel.
I’ll say no more at this point.
Please confirm safe arrival of letter.
God knows whether it’ll get to you.
Warm embrace and congratulations.
Your old J.R.
295. To Carl Seelig
c/o Hermann Kesten
119 Promenade des Anglais
Nice
11 August 1934
Dear Mr. Carl Seelig,
I’m very late in replying to your letter, please excuse me! I don’t even have any particular grounds: it’s just that having been one of the most punctual of men, I have become dilatory. I’m in a bad phase, demoralized by poverty, I have no strength left, I am rebelling against myself, my skepticism is stronger than my faith, I’m, so to speak, in no good skin. You wrote far too kindly about my Tarabas. Thank you. Any praise I get is more like an advance to me than a royalty. And following ancient habits, I rate advances more than I do royalty payers.
Did you get my Antichrist yet?
Your rather reduced, but very grateful
Joseph Roth
296. To Blanche Gidon (written in French)
Nice
20 August 1934
Madam and dear friend,
thank you for your postcard! I have no news, just the perceived impossibility of writing. Austria is deeply worrying to me. I am now brouillé1 with the Austrian monarchists. They are happy to let time go by, keep the emperor at a distance—me, I am his only subject. You must recall the poor young man in King in Exile by Daudet?2—And apart from that? My finances are going from bad to worse. Those Kiepenheuer fellows have tricked me and fleeced me. I can’t burden you with these difficult and disgusting things. In a word: they’ve cost me almost 18,000 francs. They bought up my rights from Kiepenheuer for 5,000 marks. My American publisher paid them directly. I have no say whatever. Then there were the other publishers: the English, the Hungarian, the Italian, etc. In the end I decided there’s no point in hopeless court actions. At least I am free at the present moment. But how do I finish a book by the 1 October? I’m in need of a miracle. And I’m too much a believer not to know there are no miracles in these matters. Write to me, my dear, Mr. Kesten is leaving, and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stay here. How is Mr. Gidon? Is he with you? Have you seen Mr. Poupet? Mr. Zweig has written to tell me he saw a full account of Radetzky in the Matin, did you know that? And the Antichrist? Did you get a proof copy?
Your friend, the old
Joseph Roth
Give me the dates of your return to Paris, if you will.
c/o Kesten, 119 Promenade des Anglais.
1. brouillé: (French) literally “scrambled”—oeufs brouillés are “scrambled eggs”—but here used in the sense of “through” or “on the outs with.”
2. Daudet: Alphonse Daudet (1840–1897).
297. Stefan Zweig to Joseph Roth
/>
[end of August 1934?]
Dear friend,
yes, friend, thank you so much! It was a clever essay and not malicious in its technical observations, but what happens to these things is best shown by the enclosed: the local Nazi rag grinning under its ban, and endlessly happy at the way that in 1934 the Jews are still beating each other up. If only the émigré press would finally understand that if it hails the Reichswehr as a potential savior (two months ago), it kills it as a real factor. If it so much as suggests Schleicher as successor, it murders him. If it attacks an intellectual ally, even from the highest or deepest standpoint, it paves the way for Blut und Boden1 literature. But it was ever thus. I personally have reached my personal limit: to be attacked from left and right at once, just like Erasmus. Don’t believe I was so stupid as not to realize that in advance: that’s precisely where the courage of such a book lies. I’m not surprised, just irked. I understand Marcuse2 completely, just from the tactical point of view, I wish he hadn’t.
Did you read the wonderful story about the police chief of Berlin confiscating the “Burning Secret” (apparently by Stefan Zweig)? Of course not my novella,3 but some Communist leaflet that was sold under the same title.
I have a lot to report to you, but as soon as I have a hand to write with, I’ll be off to Salzburg tomorrow, we’re expecting Toscanini,4 and then on. On 10 September I’ll be in London.
Sincerely your
St. Z.
Till soon!
1. Blut und Boden: literally “blood and soil”—the sort of violently patriotic writing that was acceptable to the Nazis.
2. Ludwig Marcuse had reviewed Zweig’s Erasmus on 18 August in the Neues Tagebuch, and accused Zweig of urging the exiles to remain neutral in their writings.
3. my novella: Burning Secret, an old story by Zweig, published as Erstes Erlebnis, 1914.
4. Toscanini: Arturo Toscanini (1867–1957), the Italian conductor, who was vehement in his opposition to Fascism, chose exile in London and New York, in contrast to other prominent Italian musicians, like Victor de Sabata, the conductor of La Scala, who chose to remain in Italy despite being half Jewish.
298. To Stefan Zweig
[Nice] 26 August 1934
Dear friend,
from my enclosed reply to M.1 you will glean more or less what he replied to my first letter.
Oh, I know the whole thing isn’t that important! But there are times when I take it seriously, and think it may even prove decisive.
Maybe those times are right.
Then I can get rather beastly—and I’m not sorry for instance that Ossietzky is in a concentration camp. Think of the damage he would do if he were still at large!
I hate those types. And if I have some feelings for the odd one among them, as with Marcuse, I never trust them.
My grandfather—and every other Jew—used to say: if a fool throws a stone into a garden, a thousand wise men will be unable to remove it.
Be careful, my dear friend, in friendly conversations. It might be good to be a little standoffish, just out of caution—next time. As an individual, Marcuse is fine. As a type he’s unbearable. As an individual, he has a thousand virtues, as a type: jealousy, [. . .] etc.
Write soon! Huebsch hasn’t written, I don’t know where to reach him, I’m desperate.
Sincerely,
your old loyal Joseph Roth
I kiss your wife’s hand. (It may be she is very unhappy herself—she appears so to me.) Forgive me.
1. M.: Marcuse.
299. To Ludwig Marcuse
26 August 1934
Dear Marcuse,
here in black and white are the consequences of your cleverness: the Austrian press is having a field day with your article on Zweig. I quote, under the title “A Traitor” the following: “Stephan Zweig is an epicure——The Jewish émigrés take no pleasure in Zweig’s Erasmus. Their spokesman is Ludwig Marcuse, who in the latest number of the Tagebuch, lays into Zweig———It’s possible to understand the émigrés’ rancor against Zweig——perhaps Marcuse and his party are even prepared to believe the rumor according to which Zweig shows his manuscripts to a professor, and has him improve his German for him . . . Sic transit Gloria mundi.”
I’m just quoting a couple of sentences. Now, think of the damage you’re doing! What it means for Zweig, to have that appear in Austria, in cozy little Salzburg, where he has so many enemies among the German Aryans! Think of what you’ve done to yourself! The spokesman for the Jewish émigrés. Querido is mentioned in the German article. Imagine Landshoff’s embarrassment! Imagine the harm to yourself! Then tell me again that I’m just sensitive, and write pretty sentences, and I’m the one who’s doing the damage. Come on, Marcuse, admit it, in this world, you’d have done better to listen to me. In the other, you could be right, if God is as intransigent as you are. There’s no disgrace in being stupid now and again. You know how often I am. You know a lot about me. Now admit that in these matters, I’m cleverer than you!
In your article, which I have in front of me, I read: “. . . just as Christianity averts its gaze from the world . . .” and you write to me: “Where did I say that Christianity averts its gaze from the world?” Have you lost your marbles? Can you no longer remember today what you wrote yesterday?
Are you a writer or aren’t you?—If you tell me I write “pretty sentences” and am a stickler for good grammar, then you must know that these qualities are a direct expression of reason, perhaps the only reason in the world!
Dear Marcuse, I know you have accumulated much wisdom, and you have a lot of character, but you direct your gifts against the world, and against yourself, like weapons. They bring you no profit. I tell you again you are the eternal Protestant, just as there is an eternal Jew. You refuse to bow to the laws of the world, you are like a guest behaving badly in the house of his host. You are subject to bad influences, without knowing it. Believe me, I can feel it.
The fact that Strauss’s operetta1 was banned you take as proof that Zweig couldn’t have been published by Insel. And you even say “even.” What use to you is all your philosophy if you can’t get your head around simple logic: Strauss is the president of the Musikkammer. His operetta therefore has official status in the Third Reich—a book by Zweig is not “official.” And you say: how can Zweig appear in the Insel when EVEN Strauss isn’t performed! Oh, the logic of it!
(Furthermore, I know that Strauss personally struck Goebbels as suspiciously Jewish. He is said to have Jewish relations.)2
What to do now, I mean, in practical terms? Will you write to the Tagebuch, to tell them I will write a reply to your article? Is it right to expose Zweig to attack from the nationalist press? Undefended? Betrayed? Do I reply to you in another paper, and thus give the Nats even more ammunition? Are we to fall out over this? Zweig’s house, family, descent, and passport, are all Austrian. Am I to abandon him to his vilifiers there? Or do you want to take issue with these anti-Semitic attacks? Then you will have to say clearly that you have been misunderstood. I don’t know which is most sensible:
a. either I defend you and Zweig together against the Aryans. Or
b. you admit your words lent themselves to misinterpretation. All I want is for our enemies to have least occasion to crow.
Don’t underestimate them. They are concerned with everything that happens in our camp:
Only we, unfortunately, underestimate our camp.
Write me a reply—or else come here!
Your old
Joseph Roth
1. Strauss’s operetta: Richard Strauss’s Die schweigsame Frau, libretto by Stefan Zweig.
2. In fact, Strauss was not Jewish, but he did have a Jewish daughter-in-law, whose family he was instrumental in saving during World War II. Toscanini questioned Strauss’s principles, remarking in 1933, “
To Strauss the composer I take off my hat, to Strauss the man I put it back on again.”
300. To René Schickele
[September 1934?]
Dear esteemed René Schickele,
we always see each other in the company of many others, and so there are things I’m unable to tell you that I think would interest you. This table where we sit together so often is like an orchestra, in which every musician plays a different tune, or seeks to play, or MUST play. (Perhaps we could meet at quieter times, if it suited you. Mornings in the Monod,1 perhaps.)
What I have to say to you is that the Habsburgs will be coming to Vienna soon, and that the Wittelsbachs are closely involved with them. The Catholic clergy in Germany, at least in Bavaria, is informed. The Protestants in Austria have swung around from supporting the National Socialists to supporting Austria. Evangelical pastors in Austria have even switched sides. Perhaps our pessimism is premature, Germany can still be saved by Christ—almost directly—a new wonder for another 1,000 years. Marcu2 is mistaken, like many students of history. A further war is not inevitable.
Sincerely,
Wednesday
Your J.R.
1. Monod: The Café Monnot on the Place Masséna in Nice.
2. Marcu: Valeriu Marcu (1899 Bucharest–1942 New York), Jewish Communist writer.
301. To René Schickele
8 September 1934
Dear René Schickele,
thank you.
“Old Germania” was evidently a hope. Not even Heine was free of that optimism.
In the latest issue of the Sammlung another scandalous piece on the majesty of Russia. Criminal stupidity!
It makes me sick with fury.
Sincerely
Joseph Roth
302. To Stefan Zweig
Nice, 9 September 1934
Dear friend,
not a squeak from Huebsch. He swore he wasn’t going to drop me.
Now he has dropped me. As of 15 September, I will be without means.
He didn’t reply to my registered letter.
The Antichrist has appeared. With crude misprints.
I don’t know, I don’t know what to do.
You are not such a complete friend either, my friend. I have to tell you that.