Stefan Zweig: Farewell to Europe Page #5

if I'd ever see you again.

- Yes, I do know that.

No, you don't know, Stefan.

You don't know what it's like to be

on the quay in Marseille with 2000 people

and to be on Eleanor Roosevelt's list,

thanks to you. Among the chosen few.

Julien and Lucienne waved from afar.

God only knows where they are now.

I couldn't even say goodbye.

It was too crowded.

Please, calm down.

The train station in Paris was so crowded,

you couldn't even

put your bag on the ground.

Alix wanted to return to Rue de Grenelle.

We were a hair's breadth from going back.

And that very evening, the Gestapo came by.

Not in Croissy, on Rue de Grenelle.

We saved our skin, time and again.

And then this elevator at the embassy opens

and there you are.

By coincidence,

in the middle of New York,

one of seven million people...

You, of all people.

And you tell me...

I shouldn't see you for a week,

so you can recover from South America.

And I accept it.

I wait until yesterday to call you.

But these letters

from people asking for your help,

I can't spare you those.

They were sent to me

because nobody has your address.

If you want to rid yourself of them,

you'll have to do it yourself.

Fritzi...

That'll be Lotte.

Oh yes, of course.

Then open it yourself.

You have to press the buzzer.

Schuschu!

He made it all the way to New York.

Alix.

- The keys are in my pocket, but...

We'll catch our death out here.

Come, Schuschu.

So good to see you again,

safe and sound.

Yes.

Alix!

Coming!

I couldn't find Marillenschnaps, Mom.

I even went to the Essex Street Market.

You're crazy.

Want some coffee?

It's so slippery out there, Mom.

Come, Schuschu.

My God, there's still more.

Give them to me...

Alix, you're like my father.

Someone asks for a pound of apples

and you bring a crate.

Want to give him this?

- What is it?

What's this? Schuschu, what's this?

Sausage.

And where is Madame?

She's looking after her little niece.

She'll be here shortly.

If the trains are still running.

Well?

What do I have here?

I'm going to pick up Herbert.

You're going to Columbia in this weather?

You shouldn't be running after him.

I'm picking up my husband from work.

See you around.

Oh, yes.

You're married ladies now.

Yes, just before Herbert and Karl

went to military camp.

I hope I'll get to meet him.

Certainly.

Without you he wouldn't even be here.

None of us would.

Who can be sure?

Besides, you know Herbert

from when he was this big.

I know Alix's husband

from when he was this big?

Yes, of course. Herbert.

Schuschu!

- Get away!

I wrote to you about him.

The son of the Stoercks

who died in that avalanche.

He lived with us for half a year,

don't you remember?

That wild boy who kept hurting himself?

- Exactly.

All right...

Go in there.

Down.

I'll take a piece for Herbert.

Wrap it up. There's paper in the kitchen.

Still like when she was 15.

You underestimate her, Stefan.

You've always underestimated my daughters.

You did it before we married,

and still do after our divorce.

When it was clear that Suse and I

couldn't return from France,

Alix cleared out the Salzburg house

in no time.

She packed everything up

and stored it away.

The first editions you dedicated to me,

your letters, photographs.

Without Alix,

absolutely nothing would have been saved.

And then she packed

my favorite things in her backpack.

Nobody was allowed to help her carry it.

Quite the opposite.

For the wailing Alma Werfel

she lugged a suitcase of Mahler's music.

Are you even listening?

Are you worried?

Worried about what?

Lotte.

No.

Then what's wrong?

I keep thinking about Julien and Lucienne.

The nightmare you described.

All those people...

Why weren't they on the list?

We don't know for certain.

I see them in their summer house.

Our last outing to Picpus.

To the evil nuns.

They weren't evil.

We disturbed them on a Sunday.

They treated us like a pack of thieves.

Those two...

Then I see them

in that crush of people in Marseille,

like two lost children.

I'm sorry, Stefan,

I just blurted it out...

- No, no.

On the contrary.

It's just...

this magnitude...

this horrific magnitude.

I think of Roth often now.

So do I.

Scheyer is probably on the other side, too.

Rieger, Victor...

Maybe they're all dead.

Sometimes I envy them.

Can I do anything for you?

It is so good to see you.

Would you like some coffee?

My liver is black enough for today.

Cake?

I'd love a little chamber.

A table for writing.

I won't come out,

and you won't let anyone in.

Let me in, Schuschu.

There, there.

Hi there, mother-in-law.

- Hello, Karl.

Look, Mom. We met at the front door.

Hello, Mrs. Zweig.

Hello...

Mrs. Zweig.

Hello, Lotte. Nice to meet you.

- Nice to meet you, too. - Come in.

These are for you.

Dr. Zweig, Karl Hoeller.

It is an honor.

- Not so formal. Nice to meet you.

In this cold weather...

...a bit of color always helps.

How's your little niece?

The home is run with loving care.

- Nice to hear that.

The Schaeffers' home is a godsend.

They're educated, upstanding people.

Yes, they...

- Schuschu, it's your own fault.

Off you go.

The Schaeffers are doing their best.

- But?

And they're Lutherans!

- That's a godsend?

They left Germany out of protest,

not necessity.

Coffee, everyone?

- Yes. Add some hot water.

Eva is homesick.

She's only 11 and hardly eats a thing.

Or tea, perhaps?

- Make her a fennel tea.

Tea with rum, that would be perfect now.

Karl!

You can't just...

Excuse me, the place looks terrible.

- Don't be silly.

It's how a "honeymoon suite" should look.

- Yes.

Our honeymoon suite...

We didn't think we would find

anything suitable in New York.

But when we saw this place...

- To heck with the Waldorf Astoria.

"On one of the coldest nights of the year.

Our European air is not just turning cold,

but also suffocating,

and I'd like nothing better

than to up sticks tomorrow.

But, may the miller's joy be wandering,

what if there's no place for him to go?"

I didn't want to interrupt.

- You didn't.

"Pure necessity seizes us by the collar.

And now that it's tugging

at that notorious last shirt on my back,

I catch myself thinking

that there might be a reason

for all that has happened to us.

Then we could call it fate

and surrender to it,

we could place our hands on our laps

or above our heads,

and accept what comes,

and the whole struggle

would come to an end.

Even if I try..."

I'll get it.

"I am unable to recognize

the slightest reason for any of this

on the political horizon.

So I must continue the unequal battle

against our persecutors,

against poverty, neglect

and, most difficult of all,

against my pride and my self-esteem.

Thus, I stand before you as a beggar,

asking for help.

Ehrenstein."

You're right, Fritzi.

What is my work,

what is anything compared to this reality?

Who is Ehrenstein?

An old friend.

Give that to me.

I didn't congratulate you on your marriage.

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