I will probably be staying in the Hotel Siru in Brussels. It’s supposed to be one of the cheapest and best [?] there.
Even so: a telegram from you to here will follow me there by wire. You can—it would be nice if you did—write here if you don’t have my address in Brussels before your departure.
You’re much too worked up about Calvin. How is it that you, who especially in your books shows the superior calm of great men, get so worked up as soon as the slightest mishap befalls you?—My dear friend, there’s something not quite right there! You can’t be agitated, not after you’ve depicted so much really tragic agitation so classically and perfectly. What do you care about the delight of the Calvinists and the Morgensterns? Don’t you have to live, at least part way, like the characters you portray?—What is it that bothers you?—Please, keep your dignity.—In Holland, from what I hear, your book has been picked up very favorably and respectfully, certainly among the Catholics.—I beg you, please come here, here or to Belgium, and don’t leave me a single day without your address. And reply to me here! I am completely shattered again. Yet again.
I embrace you warmly,
your Joseph Roth
For Mme Friderike Maria Zweig:
My dear friend,
everything you write here will reach me. Mrs. M.B. hasn’t replied to another two telegrams I literally had to squeeze out of myself. I don’t even know where my—very important—correspondence and manuscripts—are. I don’t know what’s going on. So many years, and so much humanity in vain. I feel terribly sad that a person can drop me like unnecessary ballast. I feel terribly sad.
Sincerely,
your old J.R.
401. To Stefan Zweig
Eden Hotel
Amsterdam
2 July 1936
My dear good friend,
for certain reasons I couldn’t write before today, and I couldn’t go to Belgium before Monday. I got the visa yesterday (after appeals from the PEN Club in Brussels). As a result of the accompanying telegram, signed by Manga Bell’s daughter, probably without the mother’s knowing, I had to telephone my translator, and ask her to look and check, and then to call me back. This phoning back and forth cost me half my travel money, the money for my lecture doesn’t come till Monday, and then I’ll go straight to Brussels, Hotel Siru. The telegram was a crude shock tactic. It made me ill for 2 days. Awful. How bitterly one pays for any humanity and any human half-joy. Please write, so I’ll have word at the Siru on Tuesday, and won’t have to wire you too.
Sincerely,
your loyal old J.R.
P.S. It will be very embarrassing for me to run into Kesten and Kisch in Ostend—certainly not to be avoided. I can’t stand any more jokers.
402. Stefan Zweig to Joseph Roth
46 Promenade Albert 1er
Maison Florial
Joseph Roth, Amsterdam, Eden Hotel
[postmarked 4 July 1936]
Dear friend,
I’ve just come from Brussels, where I spoke to Huebsch on his way through. Brussels is impossible to work in, you’ll like Ostend better, there are hundreds of cheap hotels, and, as in the rest of Belgium, that for you very advantageous prohibition of spirits. We can help each other in our work, and I think could both use such help—let’s bring back the old days of Job! And don’t be upset about Ma. Be. It’s lucky when things come undone quickly like that, it’s better than a slow rending.1 I’m looking forward very much to seeing you, come straight on, and forget dull old Brussels,
warmly your St. Z.
1. a slow rending: spoken with feeling, in view of Zweig’s—on the face of it, mostly “amicable”—breakup with Friderike.
403. To Stefan Zweig
Saturday [July 1936]
My dear good friend,
I have to tell you in the manner of teenage girls1 or schoolboys how nice you were to me today, with the hotel and everything, and so I’ll say it to you the way I would have said it if I’d tried at age 18 to look you up in your apartment in Vienna. Thank you for a slice of youth and the sweet folly of saying it in writing, instead of speech,
your J.R.
1. JR’s note seems to be strangely colored by Zweig’s novella Letter from an Unknown Woman, which was often taken as being “about” Friderike, whose first approach took the form of an unsigned letter.
404. To Blanche Gidon
Hotel Siru
Brussels
8 July 1936
My dear kind friend,
forgive me for writing to you so late. Sorry too that I telephoned you on Sunday, and bothered you. I didn’t know what else I could do, after the alarming telegram from Mrs. Manga Bell’s daughter. It was signed by her, and she wrote: prière venir immédiatement. What else was I to think, other than that the very worst had befallen Mrs. M.B.? I spent the last 8 days lying down, unable to write. I had to have Zweig summoned on the telephone. He’s coming here, and will whisk me away to Ostend for a fortnight. I’m going tomorrow, as soon as he gets here. I won’t write any more now, but all my post will be forwarded to Ostend, from the Eden Hotel, Amsterdam; please write to me there. I’m very upset about Mrs. Manga Bell. Once I’ve said goodbye to Zweig—who’s going to South America, and will leave me money for 2 months—I can take her with me to Brussels, because it’s so cheap. I suggested it to her once. I’ll write to her again. If you want to do me another kind turn, please help her morally. The woman is in pieces. I have the feeling the children are trampling all over her. Their trying to frighten me is senseless. I can’t come. I spent half the travel money on telephone, telegram, and replies. The children still seem to think I can get by, even though I’ve been living off charity for the past 4 months. All I can do is work, and hope I’m offered a new contract in October. Hope!—And stay alive till then!—I’m feeling better, I’ve just arrived.—I’ll talk to St. Z. about alcohol withdrawal. Excuse the bluntness.—I am so tired, and so fizzing. Give my best to Mr. Gidon.—Thank you for your grand kind friendship.—I have no other way to thank you but saying so. It hurts me really.
Sincerely your
Joseph Roth
405. To Blanche Gidon
Ostend
Hotel de la Couronne
15 July 1936
Dear friend,
thank you so much for everything! The story is unfortunately sold, along with the English rights. But if you are able to sell it, and send the royalty to Querido Verlag, Landshoff, then 60% of it will make its way back to me. Any interested party should apply to: Querido Verlag, Amsterdam, 333 Keizersgracht.
I sent Mrs. Manga Bell 200 francs. At the beginning of August, Stefan Zweig is going to South America. I could spend August in Brussels with Mrs. Manga Bell on the money he’s leaving me. I put it to her, but she hasn’t replied. The money’s not enough for Paris. I have to work in peace and quiet, otherwise my life will be completely wrecked. I have endured a superhuman portion of work, of turbulence, of humiliation. Mrs. Manga Bell has steadily refused to adapt to the rules of my life. Her children were and are much more important to her than I am. I will not sacrifice myself to her children. The boy is old enough, and the girl could have the money that M.B.’s Swiss girlfriend unnecessarily sends the boy. They aren’t children any more at all, but two adults who call me boche, and poison Mrs. Manga Bell against me. I myself am the lost, sick child. I can keep Mrs. Manga Bell on her own, but I’ve had it with the children. I’m standing on the brink of the abyss. I can no longer bear the least psychological pressure, it would kill me. And I don’t want to die. And I don’t want anything more to do with people who call me boche. That sort of thanks is unbearable.
I’m having my feet treated. I’m not drinking any alcohol, and for the last week I’ve eaten once a day. Zweig is so sweet to me, he’s like a brother. Only I don’t know how I’m going to finish in October, when
I have money only through August. Zweig won’t be back till November.
I haven’t heard anything from Mr. Wasserbaeck. If you should happen to speak to him, please give him my address.
I hope you and Mr. Gidon have a good summer. Please drop me another line from Paris. No politics, afterward, from Austria! I’ll be at this hotel—vide supra—till 1 August. I’m going to Steenockerzeel1 for a couple of days. Keep quiet about this, but don’t spend longer than 4 weeks in Austria. End of August is the deadline, it now appears. The friendship with Germany isn’t real. Little Red Riding Hood is back to life as well.
I kiss your hand, and thank you for your friendship,
Your loyal
Joseph Roth
1. Steenockerzeel: where Archduke Otto von Habsburg and the loyalist court were based. See no. 454.
406. To Stefan Zweig
[Ostend] 8 August 1936
Dear friend,
thank you very much for the writing paper. I cadged a loan of this paper here,1 I hope you like it. I wanted to write you something cheerful, but unfortunately it’s going to be sad. Huebsch has dropped me. At a time when my reputation with the Amsterdam publisher could have been rescued only by interest from America. My book2 wasn’t that bad either. I’m sure Huebsch has been unjust to me, humanly, literarily, and in publishing terms.
I dog you with these things, you’re already in a different world, but whom else am I to tell it to? Can you think of any consolation? It’s set me back at least a fortnight in my writing. Landauer has written to tell me that even if I hand in the manuscript, I’m not getting any more money.
In sincere friendship,
All the best,
your Joseph Roth
1. this paper here: the letter paper is marked, “Bond Street Birch. A paper that is inexpensive but subdued in character. Smython of Bond Street.” The noted collector Zweig liked his paper, and JR—see no. 403—when not antagonizing his patron, went to considerable lengths to try and please him.
2. my book: presumably Confession of a Murderer (1936).
407. To Blanche Gidon (written in French)
[Ostend] 4 September 1936
Dear friend,
I was invited to Calais by my friend Wagner, who has left for London, which is why I didn’t get your last letter. I am awaiting the return of Mr. Zweig to see it. I am hard at work, my novel1 will be good, better than my life. I don’t want to list any of the sorry details.
But it’s important that you know I love you. Unhappy people have the right to remain silent. I am writing this in the tram. Excuse the shaky hand. My best wishes to Mr. Gidon.
Please continue to write to the Eden Hotel Amsterdam.
Your very true and old
Joseph Roth
1. my novel: Weights and Measures.
408. To Stefan Zweig
1 November 1936
Dear friend,
forgive me for not writing. I am in indescribable trouble. My health is shot. Please, if you would give me two weeks’ time.
Thanks for the book.1 Great delight to see again what in the “old,” early years gave me such pleasure. It’s still fresh. Your older things as much as the new ones.
Sincerest greetings,
your old Joseph Roth
1. the book: a second, expanded edition of Zweig’s Sternstunden der Menschheit, originally translated as Decisive Moments in History.
409. To Blanche Gidon
Vilnius, 28 February 1937
Dear dear friend,
I owe you a detailed letter, but I feel so wretched. I can’t say anything more than that I assure you of my loyalty. For months I’ve been eking out my paltry life with lectures in tiny places, an awful life. I have no idea how I’ll ever get back to western Europe. My life is appalling.1 I want to thank you for your first letter, and the second. You are more than kind: you are forgiving. Unless I die soon, I’ll find an opportunity to thank you most sincerely. I go from place to place like a traveling circus, every other evening in penguin suit, it’s terrible, every other evening the same talk. The PEN Club has fixed it for me,2 otherwise I’d have been dead long ago.
If you can, try and hold on to the first serial payment. Contractually, it’s mine. But I’ve quarreled with de Lange—I’ve taken an advance from him—and if it falls into his hands he will pocket it. If you can, try and prevent that happening—fast.
(My address till 15 March is: c/o Miss Paula Grübel, Lvov, Hofmana 7/1.)
Your letter about Mrs. Manga Bell and the children has followed me all the way here. Thank you for it. If she’d expended half her energy on the children while we were living together—and less on being malicious against me—we would never have gotten into that situation. If you see her still, please greet her from me. I’m sorry to say I have the feeling some mishap has befallen her, or threatens to. Those children will be the end of her.
I know that I owe you information about myself, and more than that.
But please, stay friends with me, even if I say nothing.
I’m coming from Warsaw, and writing this in Vilnius.
I’m going to the border towns.
I have 4 more talks to give.
(You perhaps saw in the paper that the royalty for my novel was stolen from an Amsterdam hotel room.) It’s the novel that the Gemeenschap is publishing.3 Then I got the invitation from the PEN Club. Hotel Bristol should be a safe address—even if by then I’ll be training elephants in Australia.
Give my best to Mr. Gidon. I’m sure he’s laughing at me. He’s right.
My only hope is Marlene Dietrich, who gave an entire interview4 about me. Perhaps she’ll buy one of my novels.
Write soon, but don’t be surprised if I don’t reply often.
I remain your old, true, and very grateful
Joseph Roth
1. My life is apalling: cf. Joseph Brodsky’s distich “My life’s grotesque / I sit at my desk.”
2. The PEN Club has fixed it for me: a lecture tour of cities in Poland and the East. JR was accompanied by Irmgard Keun (1905–1982), who left a fictionalized record of her experiences—the locations, and some of the ambience—in the novel Child of All Nations (1938).
3. the novel that the Gemeenschap is publishing: The Emperor’s Tomb, 1938.
4. an entire interview: not so, but as well as listing her favorite colors and prized attributes in men (sense of humor?), she did say that her favorite novel was Roth’s Job.
410. To Friderike Zweig
Lvov, 9 March 1937
Dear dear friend,
I wrote to you by registered mail from Warsaw or Vilnius.
I hope you got the letter.
I don’t dare write to Stefan.
I should be in Vienna on the 15th inst., please make life a little easier for me by asking Gabriel the porter at the Hotel Bristol whether I’ve gotten in yet.
Thank you very much for the invitation to Salzburg.
I don’t think it would be good if you took on new staff in the wake of your servant’s departure.
Of course I’ll speak in the Urania,1 if there’s some money in it.
For example, I could give my Catholic-conservative talk about faith and progress.
Thank you again, and I hope you got my first letter.
Give my best to the girls,2 always your
[Joseph Roth]
1. the Urania: a Viennese lecture club.
2. the girls: FZ’s two daughters from her first marriage.
411. To Blanche Gidon
Hotel Bristol
Vienna, 2 April 1937
Dear dear friend,
I enclose the carbon of the letter I’ve just sent to Landauer, and also the letter to Candide,1 which you should feel f
ree to use in the event that de Lange doesn’t pay me.
First serial rights are not covered in my contract with de Lange, so Candide had no right to send the royalty to the publisher.
I’d sooner the thing didn’t appear at all, than that the publisher gets the sizable royalty.
If the royalty isn’t paid to me, I can complain about the serialization, on the basis that the novel will appear in altered, abbreviated form.
Please write and tell me what you think, excuse typewriter, I promise I’ll write you a personal letter by hand soon.
Best wishes to you and Dr. Gidon, from your always loyal friend
Joseph Roth
1. Candide was a conservative literary-political weekly in Paris. Roth is exercised about the fee for the French translation and serial rights for Confession of a Murderer.
412. To Blanche Gidon
Salzburg, Hotel Stein
20 April 1937
Dear dear friend,
please excuse typewriter (I’m now in Salzburg, at the Hotel Stein). This is important to me: de Lange has agreed that I should get a quarter of the fee that Candide is paying him. If you could manage to see that the money is sent immediately, and tell me (because I don’t trust the publisher), I’d be very grateful for word at the Hotel Stein in Salzburg. I’ll write you a detailed letter by hand, tomorrow or the day after.
In any case, my dear friend, you see I was right, and that the serialization rights belonged to me. It’s a breach of contract to take them away from me (I didn’t have money for a lawyer to contest this). At least by issuing a threat, I managed to secure a quarter of the money.
In old fondness, I remain your own and Dr. Gidon’s old friend
Joseph Roth
413. To Stefan Zweig
Hotel Stein, Salzburg
[May? 1937]
Dear friend,
it’s quite extraordinary what you’re doing to me.
It’s your DUTY to accept me as your friend, whether I don’t write to you for ten or twenty or two hundred years; or whatever. You’re on closer terms with shits than you are with me. (As I happen to know.) Your wife has NOTHING to do with it. If that were so, I would tell you (and above all, tell HER). At once!
Joseph Roth- a Life in Letters Page 50
