I threw the letter to the floor. How could he not come to Kać and see his daughter? More disturbingly, how could he dream of asking me to leave Lieserl just for the sake of convenient visits to him? Why had our marriage required a job, and why must the job require relinquishment of my child? Were his parents behind this? I knew that they were still adamantly opposed to our union, Lieserl or not. I had resigned myself to the surrender of my career and honor, but my consolation had been Lieserl. I couldn’t stand the thought of not being by her side for an indeterminate period of time.
I lay down on the old sofa, and my body curled around itself as if I were an infant myself. I gave in to the tears building within me.
The stairs to the bell tower creaked with Mama’s slow, heavy step. I felt her sit down next to me on the ancient sofa and wrap her arms around me. “What did he say, Mitza?”
Trying to talk between my heaving sobs, I told her. Saying the words aloud made them sound even more outrageous. How could Albert ask me to give up my beautiful child? For several months at least, but quite possibly for an unknown amount of time? Albert had never even seen her; he didn’t know what it would be to miss her sweet smell, her clear blue eyes, her gurgles, and most of all, her smile. And he had speculated wrongly in a past letter that Lieserl must be incapable of laughter. Her laugh was like the ringing of the clearest bells.
“Albert mentions nothing of marriage and offers no plans for Lieserl. He just wants me to relocate—alone—to a convenient base from which he can summon me when it suits him.” As I spoke the words, even though they were even more horrible spoken aloud than existing as mere thoughts in my head, my crying lessened, and my breathing slowed. An alternative path for my life illuminated before me—a life with Lieserl but without the physics I used to hold so dear and without Albert. I needed to become strong to face it. “We will just stay here in Kać, Mama. Me and Lieserl. This will become our home.”
As Mama wiped the final tears away, she said, “Listen to me, Mitza. Do you remember our conversation about making a proper family for Lieserl?”
I nodded. That discussion had guided my actions toward Albert ever since. It had even resuscitated some feelings for him as well. But I wasn’t so sure I wanted to continue down that path, not now.
“You must go to Zürich; this is the only way to keep your marriage plans in motion. I know you don’t like what you are learning about Albert—his reluctance to see Lieserl, his selfishness in wanting you near but not setting a firm date for your wedding, his lack of courage with his family—but you aren’t doing this for you. You are going to Zürich for Lieserl.”
I knew she was right, even though I didn’t want to listen to her or accept her words. But I also knew how mercurial Albert was.
“But, Mama, what if I make that sacrifice and go to Zürich as Albert wants, and he still refuses to allow Lieserl to live with us? You know that he has agreed with Papa’s position on adoption in several of his earlier letters. Marriage isn’t worth that to me. I will never give up Lieserl.”
Mama’s eyes narrowed, and her nostrils flared. She looked like a bull in a matador’s ring. “I will not let that happen, Mitza. Have I not defied your father’s wishes to send her away to some remote family member for a secret adoption? Have I not insisted that we keep her here with us in Kać?”
Mama had indeed risen up with a ferocity I didn’t think she possessed. I’d been wrong about her my whole life. Her quietude was not weakness; it was an ardent watchfulness that would be replaced by a roar when required. Single-handedly, she fought Papa for my right to keep Lieserl with me in seclusion at the Spire, with only Mama and a maid for company.
“Yes, Mama.”
“So can you believe me when I tell you that I will love and protect your daughter here until you return for her as a married woman? And that I promise we will find a way for Lieserl to live with you then?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Good. Then you will go to Zürich as Albert requested. The rest will fall into place. I will make sure of it.”
Chapter 22
January 6, 1903
Bern, Switzerland
My right hand interlaced with Albert’s left, we stood before the officious Civil Registrar Gauchat. In my left hand, I clutched a bouquet of dried alpine flowers thoughtfully selected for the occasion by Albert as a nod to our holiday in Lake Como. Some of the buds even matched the vivid blue dress I’d selected. Today was the day for which I’d prayed and waited for years, the day of our wedding. What I once wanted for myself, however, I now needed desperately for another. For Lieserl.
The registrar was so heavily bespectacled and mustachioed that Albert and I nearly laughed when he entered the room. He shot us a look of such stiff Swiss respectability that we quickly collected ourselves and assumed our place before him. Registrar Gauchat took a long minute to center himself on the dais. After making certain he stood framed by the imposing backdrop of the Alps, he began a speech carefully crafted to convey the solemnity of the occasion.
Our witnesses—Maurice Solovine, a Bern University student who came to Albert for tutoring but became a friend instead, and Conrad Habicht, a friend of Albert’s from Schaffhausen who had recently moved to Bern—marched into their positions on the registrar’s signal. We hadn’t dared include our families; Albert’s mother’s objections were still too vociferous, and my parents had Lieserl in their charge.
“It seems all your paperwork is in order, Mr. Einstein and Miss Marić,” the registrar said.
“Thank you, sir,” Albert responded.
“Are you ready for your vows?”
“Yes, sir,” we answered together, and I felt Mr. Solovine and Mr. Habicht draw nearer to us.
“Then let us begin.” The registrar cleared his throat and then bellowed, “Will you, Albert Einstein, take this woman, Mileva Marić, to be your wife?”
“I will,” Albert answered as he fumbled for the simple silver band in his pocket. Hands shaking, he slid the band onto my ring finger.
The registrar turned to me and asked, “Will you, Mileva Marić, take this man, Albert Einstein, to be your husband?”
Time slowed, and I stared into Albert’s deep brown eyes. Eyes that I once trusted implicitly and now had no choice but to rely on entirely. I had once longed for this moment with an almost painful urgency, and indeed, Mama and Helene assured me that this was the right thing to do—the only thing, for Lieserl’s sake—but I wondered what the future as Mrs. Einstein held for me. Since our student days had ended, trouble had reigned over our relationship, and Albert had disappointed me mightily with his mercurial treatment, with the endless waiting, and with his recalcitrance over Lieserl.
“Mileva?” Albert asked as I hesitated. “Are you all right?”
“I’m perfectly fine, just overwhelmed with the momentousness of this day.” The registrar nodded approvingly at my serious reaction to the vows. “Of course I will marry you, Albert Einstein.”
He grinned at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way I once adored. Part of me still loved him, despite all I’d suffered. With steady hands, I slid a silver band, identical to mine, on his finger.
The registrar handed us our certificate. It listed us as Mr. and Mrs. Albert Einstein. No children. My heart lurched at the absence of Lieserl’s name. I painted a smile on my conflicted face and clutched Albert’s hand tightly, and we turned to our witnesses for their congratulations.
Directed by the registrar to sign the certificate, we paused our merriment to finalize the ceremony. As I watched, Albert received good-natured chuffs on the shoulder from Mr. Solovine and Mr. Habicht. I knew that I should have been happy, but a sadness gnawed at me. At what cost had I secured this marriage?
As we left the civil registrar’s office and walked down the stairs of the imposing governmental building, our wedding bands glistened in the weak winter sun. Bern was picturesque e
ven in winter; encircled by the Aare River and surrounded by cliffs, the city perched on a dramatic promontory. The city itself was prettily decorated with red tile roofs, medieval buildings, cobblestone streets, and gurgling fountains. While it might have been more charming than Zürich, it lacked the capital’s cerebral energy and, to use a favorite word of Albert’s, bohemian spirit. Respectability ruled the day.
Albert grabbed my hand as we strolled down Bern’s uneven cobblestone streets, and I tried not to think of the moment I handed Lieserl to Mama and left her behind for Zürich. I attempted to banish from my mind the four months after that I spent alone in Zürich at the Engelbrecht Pension, wandering aimlessly during the day and crying myself to sleep every night while I waited in vain for Albert to visit or summon me because he was too busy on hikes and sails with his new friends in the hours he had free from the patent office. I squirreled away the painful memories of my move to Bern one month ago into the Herbst Pension on Thunstrasse, then the Suter Pension on Falkenplatz, and finally Schneider Pension on Bubenbergstrasse, where my empty arms ached to be filled by my warm plump Lieserl. I tried to bury my anger that it took the October deathbed permission of Albert’s father to finally make Albert move forward with our marriage plans. Instead, I forced myself to think about the union Albert and I had just formed and the promise it held of reuniting us as a whole family with Lieserl. My mood lightened.
“Let’s toast the newlyweds at Café im Kornhauskeller!” Mr. Habicht cried out.
Albert and I hadn’t planned any particular celebration to follow the ceremony; we had no family to laud the occasion with us, and I didn’t know Mr. Solovine and Mr. Habicht well. Both dark-haired, mustachioed, and dark-complected, on first glance, they looked alike, with the primary distinction between the two men consisting of Mr. Habicht’s glasses. They were Albert’s friends, the ones who had kept him well entertained in Bern while I languished in Zürich. Still, I was determined to make this day a fresh and happy beginning for us, so I called out, “Excellent idea, Mr. Habicht!”
Mr. Solovine held the door open for me as I entered the famous old Bern café. The establishment was surprisingly noisy and crowded given the midafternoon hour, but Albert and Mr. Habicht were able to secure a table from some older gentlemen about to depart. As Messrs. Habicht and Solovine excused themselves to purchase a bottle of wine for our foursome, Albert and I settled into two of the chairs. He leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, “Congratulations, Mrs. Einstein. We are now Ein Stein, one stone. I am looking forward to carrying you over the threshold.”
Blushing, I smiled at his sweet use of my new marital name, although in truth, it still reminded me of his mother, Pauline, the original Mrs. Einstein. I shivered at the thought of her. She had continued her strident opposition to our marriage, despite Albert’s father’s deathbed approval, and even sent a damning missive as recently as this morning.
But when Messrs. Solovine and Habicht returned to the table with bottle and glasses in hand, I banished the image of Albert’s mother from my mind and reached for a glass. Holding it out for Mr. Habicht to fill, I smiled and said, “Thank you for keeping Albert such good company for me.”
As Mr. Habicht poured the glimmering, rich red wine into my glass, a few drops spilled on the white tablecloth in the process. I stopped short for a moment; the droplets reminded me of blood.
Mr. Habicht set the bottle down, and he said, “Thank you for loaning him to us. We wouldn’t have the Olympia Academy without him.”
“Hear! Hear!” The three men clinked glasses at the mention of the Olympia Academy. Together with Albert, they shared a restless quest to understand the world, and they had formed their “academy” to pursue this mission. Parsing through books by mathematicians, scientists, philosophers, and even Charles Dickens, they held lively debates; most recently, the men read Karl Pearson’s The Grammar of Science.
Mr. Solovine raised a glass in the direction of Albert and me and said, “To the newlyweds.”
As we sipped our wine and kissed lightly at their insistence, Mr. Habicht then stood and raised his glass. This time, he toasted me alone. “To Mrs. Einstein, a beautiful and brilliant lady. We can’t imagine what Albert did to deserve you, but we would like to make you an honorary member of the Olympia Academy.”
I laughed out loud. I’d been convinced that lively discussions about science and the nature of our world of the sort I’d grown used to at Café Metropole would be out of my reach, and I was delighted at the inclusion. For a fleeting minute, I felt like a Polytechnic student again, brimming with hope and wonder at the universe’s mysteries. Not at all like the grown woman who’d failed her physics exams and spilled her blood in the birth of her child.
“I would be honored,” I said with a nod of my head. “I welcome a vigorous discussion with Academy members on your latest reading, Pearson’s The Grammar of Science. I wonder if you all agree with his statement that it’s impossible to separate science from philosophy.”
Messrs. Solovine and Habicht looked over at me, surprised and impressed. What a relief. I’d been quiet around them until now, having grown rusty in thought and speech after months spent solely with Lieserl and her simple routines and then mostly alone in Bern and Zürich while I awaited Albert’s summoning.
“Brilliant idea,” Albert concurred. “Wish I’d thought of it myself.”
So do I, I thought ruefully. I buried this sentiment deep within myself and instead said brightly, “I insist that the Olympia Academy meet at our apartment from now on. Dinner, drinks, discussion.”
Albert beamed at my invitation, proud of the bright, bohemian wife who sat next to him. The woman he’d always wanted me to be. I smiled back and continued in this lighthearted way for the rest of the day. I kept my step light even when we said farewell to Messrs. Solovine and Habicht, and Albert led me by the hand down the cobblestone streets of Bern to the red-tiled roof of our new apartment on Tillierstrasse, high over the winding Aare River. Because every step brought us closer to Lieserl.
Chapter 23
August 26, 1903
Bern, Switzerland
The bell downstairs rang. Glancing up at the clock from the floor I was scrubbing, I saw that it was nearly four o’clock. The postman must have rung. Individual delivery notification wasn’t his normal practice, but I’d begged him to signal me whenever he had a delivery for us, and he’d begrudgingly agreed. I didn’t want to wait a single moment to read Mama’s letters about Lieserl.
Placing my scrub brush in the bucket, I wiped my hands on the apron I wore over my flowered housedress and raced down the stairs as quickly as I could. My mobility and speed had diminished since Lieserl’s birth. The damage that labor did to my hips would probably not heal, the midwife admitted, but I learned to adjust. I’d never been quick, after all. I felt dizzy as I descended; maybe I stood up too quickly in this August heat.
In the eight months since our wedding, I put to use all the skills I’d learned from Mama in our time alone at the Spire. Cooking, cleaning, shopping, and mending filled my days, the work Papa had barricaded me from as he urged me toward a life of the mind. I’d become the embodiment of an old Serbian phrase, Kuća ne leži na zemlji nego na ženi; the house doesn’t rest on the earth but on the woman. I tried to tell myself that I enjoyed taking care of Albert in the way Mama took care of Papa. I even wrote to Helene that Albert and I were more blissful as a married couple than as university students. Was I trying to convince myself with those words? Because in my honest moments, I found the work of caring for Albert and our home mind-numbing.
Fortunately, the nights kept my brain engaged. After dinner or sometimes during, Conrad and Maurice arrived, and with them, the self-dubbed Olympia Academy was convened. Honorary member that I was, I sat in the background, knitting, listening, and occasionally chiming in when my natural reticence allowed. But once the Olympia Academy left, I really came alive. Returning to our original sh
ared passion and my secret quest—discovering where God’s secrets are hidden in the language of math and science—Albert and I researched the nature of light, the existence of atoms, and most of all, the notion of relativity. In those moments, late at night huddled together over our kitchen table with cups of coffee in our hands, despite my doubts and my suffering, I allowed myself to fall in love with Albert all over again. He had promised that he wouldn’t allow me to fall away from science, and he had delivered. Together, he said, “we would unlock the secrets of the universe,” and I believed him.
Since she was never far from my thoughts, sometimes I mentioned Lieserl. Albert never initiated conversations about her. He would quietly listen while I recounted Mama’s letters. But he always changed the subject when I raised the specific question of bringing Lieserl to Bern, muttering “later” if I dared ask him when we might fetch her. And he would shake his head at any construct I fashioned—a cousin’s daughter, an adopted child—to explain Lieserl’s existence.
Still, I hadn’t entirely given up hope. In my last letter, I’d asked Mama to have a formal portrait done of Lieserl and send it to us. I was certain that if Albert saw his beautiful daughter, he couldn’t resist my pleas to have Lieserl live with us. Surely, we could come up with some excuse that would appease the Swiss authorities and any inquisitive friends. I prayed this postal delivery would contain the photograph.
The Other Einstein Page 16