Goodbye, my friend,
Max
Eisenstein Galleries
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A.
NOVEMBER 5, 1933
Herrn Martin Schulse
c/o Deutsch-Voelkische Bank
und Handelsgesellschaft
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, (Adressat 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, Adressat 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 Handelsgesellschaft
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 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 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 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 coming on. God grant you can send me a word of relief.
Max
Deutsch-Bölkische Bank und Handelsgesellschaft,
MÜNCHEN
DECEMBER 8, 1933
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 stormtroopers right behind her. The house was very active – Elsa has not been well since little Adolf 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 stormtroopers 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 stormtroopers. 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 stormtroopers 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.
I must now demand you do not write again. Every word that comes to the house is now censored, and I cannot tell how soon they may start to open the mail to the bank. And I will no longer have any dealings with Jews, except for the receipt of money. It is not so good for me that a Jewess came here for refuge, and no further association can be tolerated.
A new Germany is being shaped here. We will soon show the world great things under our Glorious Leader.
Martin
Cablegram
MUNICH JANUARY 2 1934
MARTIN SCHULSE
YOUR TERMS ACCEPTED NOVEMBER TWELVE AUDIT SHOWS THIRTEEN PERCENT INCREASE FEBRUARY SECOND FOUR-FOLD ASSURED PAN EXHIBITION MAY FIRST PREPARE LEAVE FOR MOSCOW IF MARKET OPENS UNEXPECTEDLY FINANCIAL INSTRUCTIONS MAILED NEW ADDRESS
EISENSTEIN
Eisenstein Galleries
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A.
JANUARY 3, 1934
Herrn Martin Schulse
Schloss Rantzenburg
Munich, Germany
Our Dear Martin,
Don’t forget grandma’s birthday. She will be 64 on the 8th. American contributors will furnish 1,000 brushes for your German Young Painters’ League. Mandelberg has joined in supporting the league. You must send 11 Picasso reproductions, 20 by 90 to branch galleries on the 25th, no sooner. Reds and blues must predominate. We can allow you $8,000 on this transaction at present. Start new accounts book 2.
Our prayers follow you daily, dear brother,
Eisenstein
Eisenstein Galleries
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A.
JANUARY 17, 1934
Herrn Martin Schulse
Schloss Rantzenburg
Munich, Germany
Martin, Dear Brother,
Good news! Our stock reached 116 five days ago. The Fleishmans have advanced another $10,000. This will fill your Young Painters’ League quota for a month but let us know if opportunities increase. Swiss miniatures are having a vogue. You must watch the market and plan to be in Zurich after May first if any unexpected opportunities develop. Uncle Solomon will be glad to see you and I know you will rely heavily on his judgment.
The weather is clear and there is little danger of storms during the next two months. You will prepare for your students the following reproductions: Van Gogh 15 by 103, red; Poussin 20 by 90, blue and yellow; Vermeer 11 by 33, red and blue.
Our hopes will follow your new efforts.
Eisenstein
Eisenstein Galleries
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A.
JANUARY 29, 1934
Dear Martin,
Your last letter was delivered by mistake at 457 Geary St., Room 4. Aunt Rheba says tell Martin he must write more briefly and clearly so his friends can understand all that he says. I am sure everyone will be in readiness for your family reunion on the 15th. You will be tired after these festivities and may want to take your family with you on your trip to Zurich.
Before leaving however, procure the following reproductions for branches of German Young Painters’ League, looking forward to the joint exhibit in May or earlier: Picasso 17 by 81, red; Van Gogh 5 by 42, white; Rubens 15 by 204, blue and yellow.
Our prayers are with you.<
br />
Eisenstein
Schloss Rantzenburg
MUNICH, GERMANY
FEBRUARY 12, 1934
Mr Max Eisenstein
Eisenstein Galleries
San Francisco, California, U.S.A.
Max, My Old Friend,
My God, Max, do you know what you do? I shall have to try to smuggle this letter out with an American I have met here. I write an appeal from a despair you cannot imagine. This crazy cable! These letters you have sent. I am called in to account for them. The letters are not delivered, but they bring me in and show me letters from you and demand I give them the code. A code? And how can you, a friend of long years, do this to me?
Do you realize, have you any idea that you destroy me? Already the results of your madness are terrible. I am bluntly told I must resign my office. Heinrich is no longer in the boys’ corps. They tell him it will not be good for his health. God in heaven, Max, do you see what that means? And Elsa, to whom I dare not tell anything, comes in bewildered that the officials refuse her invitations and Baron Von Freische does not speak to her upon the street.
Yes, yes, I know why you do it – but do you not understand I could do nothing? What could I have done? I did not dare to try. I beg of you, not for myself, but for Elsa and the boys – think what it means to them if I am taken away and they do not know if I live or die. Do you know what it is to be taken to a concentration camp? Would you stand me against a wall and level the gun? I beg of you, stop. Stop now, while everything is not yet destroyed. I am in fear for my life, for my life, Max.
Is it you who does this? It cannot be you. I have loved you like a brother, my old Maxel. My God, have you no mercy? I beg you, Max, no more, no more! Stop while I can be saved. From a heart filled with old affection I ask it.
Martin
Eisenstein Galleries
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A.
FEBRUARY 15, 1934
Herrn Martin Schulse
Schloss Rantzenburg
Munich, Germany
Our Dear Martin,
Seven inches of rainfall here in 18 days. What a season! A shipment of 1,500 brushes should reach the Berlin branch for your painters by this weekend. This will allow time for practice before the big exhibition. American patrons will help with all the artists’ supplies that can be provided, but you must make the final arrangements. We are too far out of touch with the European market and you are in a position to gauge the extent of support such a showing would arouse in Germany. Prepare these for distribution by March 24th: Rubens 12 by 77, blue; Giotto 1 by 317, green and white; Poussin 20 by 90, red and white.
Young Blum left last Friday with the Picasso specifications. He will leave oils in Hamburg and Leipzig and will then place himself at your disposal.
Success to you!
Eisenstein
Eisenstein Galleries
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A.
MARCH 3, 1934
Martin Our Brother,
Cousin Julius has two nine-pound boys. The family is happy. We regard the success of your coming artists’ exhibition as assured. The last shipment of canvases was delayed due to difficulties of international exchange but will reach your Berlin associates in plenty of time. Consider reproduction collection complete. Your best support should come from Picasso enthusiasts but neglect no other lines.
We leave all final plans to your discretion but urge an early date for wholly successful exhibit.
The God of Moses be at your right hand.
Eisenstein
James Alexander, Jade Design
Afterword
When Address Unknown was first published in the United States, in Story magazine in September 1938, it caused an immediate sensation. Written as a series of letters between a Jewish American living in San Francisco and his former business partner, returned to Germany, the story, early on, exposed the poison of Nazism to the American public.
Within ten days of publication, the entire printing of that issue of Story was sold out, and enthusiastic readers were mimeographing copies of the story to send to friends. National radio commentator Walter Winchell heartily recommended the story as ‘the best piece of the month, something you shouldn’t miss’, and Reader’s Digest put aside its long-standing no-fiction rule to reprint the piece for its more than three million readers.
In 1939, Simon & Schuster published Address Unknown as a book and sold 50,000 copies – a huge number in those years. Hamish Hamilton followed suit in England with a British edition, and foreign translations were begun. But 1939 was also the year of Blitzkrieg; within months most of Europe was under the domination of Adolf Hitler, the Dutch translation disappeared, and the only other European appearance of Address Unknown was on the Reichskommissar’s list of banned books. So the story remained unknown on the Continent for the next sixty years, despite its great impact and success in the US and England.
Author Kathrine Kressmann Taylor, ‘the woman who jolted America’, was born Kathrine Kressmann in Portland, Oregon, in 1903. After graduating from the University of Oregon in 1924, she moved to San Francisco and worked as an advertising copywriter, in her spare time writing for some small literary journals. In 1928 the editors of the San Francisco Review, a magazine she particularly liked, invited her to a party where she met Elliott Taylor, the owner of his own advertising agency, and they were married within two weeks. When the Great Depression put an end to the advertising industry, the couple bought a small farm in Southern Oregon, where they literally ‘lived off the land’, growing their own food and panning gold, taking their two small children and adding a third in 1935.
In 1938 they moved to New York, where Elliott worked as an editor, and Kathrine finished writing Address Unknown. Elliott showed it to Story magazine editor Whit Burnett, who immediately wished to publish it. He and Elliott decided that the story was ‘too strong to appear under the name of a woman’, and assigned Kathrine the literary pseudonym ‘Kressmann Taylor’, a professional name she accepted and kept for the rest of her life, largely because of the success of Address Unknown. This is how she describes the original motivation for the story:
A short time before the war, some cultivated, intellectual, warm-hearted German friends of mine returned to Germany after living in the United States. In a very short time they turned into sworn Nazis. They refused to listen to the slightest criticism about Hitler. During a return visit to California, they met an old dear friend of theirs on the street, who had been very close to them and who was a Jew. They did not speak to him. They turned their backs on him when he held his hands out to embrace them. How can such a thing happen? I wondered. What changed their hearts so? What steps brought them to such cruelty?
These questions haunted me very much and I could not forget them. It was hard to believe that these people whom I knew and respected had fallen victim to the Nazi poison. I began researching Hitler and reading his speeches and the writings of his advisors. What I discovered was terrifying. What worried me most was that no one in America was aware of what was happening in Germany and they also did not care. In 1938, the isolationist movement in America was strong; the politicians said that affairs in Europe were none of our business and that Germany was fine. Even Charles Lindbergh came back from Germany saying how wonderful the people were. But there were some students who returned from studying in Germany, and they told the truth about the Nazi atrocities. When their fraternity brothers had thought it would be fun to send them letters making fun of Hitler, they had written back and said, ‘Stop it. We’re in danger. These people don’t fool around. You could murder one of these Nazis by writing letters to him.’
When that incident occurred, it made only a small article in the news, but it caught Elliott’s eye; he brought it home to Kathrine, and it gave rise to their joint idea of using a letter as a weapon. She took that idea and went to work on the story she wanted to write.
I wanted to write about what the Nazis were doing and show the American public what happens to r
eal, living people swept up in a warped ideology.
The result was Address Unknown, a great success about which the New York Times Book Review stated in 1939, ‘This modern story is perfection itself. It is the most effective indictment of Nazism to appear in fiction.’ That indictment continued in her next book, Until That Day, published in 1942, and reissued as Day of No Return in 2003.
Following the war, when any further indictment of the Nazis seemed no longer necessary, Address Unknown slipped from public notice and was largely forgotten, other than its inclusion in an occasional anthology. Elliott Taylor died in 1953, and Kathrine lived as a widow for the next fifteen years, continuing to write and to teach writing, journalism, and humanities at Gettysburg College, in Pennsylvania. Retiring in 1966, she moved to Florence, Italy, where she experienced the great flood of the Arno river in November of that year which inspired her third book, Diary of Florence in Flood, published to critical acclaim in both England and America the following spring.
Address Unknown Page 3
