Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood

Author:Christopher Isherwood [Isherwood, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Historical, Socological, Autobiographical
Publisher: epubqüest
Published: 1939-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

The Landauers

One night in October 1930, about a month after the Elections, there was a big row on the Leipzigerstrasse. Gangs of Nazi roughs turned out to demonstrate against the Jews. They manhandled some dark-haired, large-nosed pedestrians, and smashed the windows of all the Jewish shops. The incident was not, in itself, very remarkable; there were no deaths, very little shooting, not more than a couple of dozen arrests. I remember it only because it was my first introduction to Berlin politics.

Frl. Mayr, of course, was delighted:

—Serve them right! —she exclaimed—. This town is sick with Jews. Turn over any stone, and a couple of them will crawl out. They’re poisoning the very water we drink! They’re strangling us, they’re robbing us, they’re sucking our life-blood. Look at all the big department stores: Wertheim, K. D. W., Landauers’. Who owns them? Filthy thieving Jews!

—The Landauers are personal friends of mine —I retorted icily, and left the room before Frl. Mayr had time to think of a suitable reply.

This wasn’t strictly true. As a matter of fact, I had never met any member of the Landauer family in my life. But, before leaving England, i had been given a letter of introduction to them by a mutual friend. I mistrust letters of introduction, and should probably never have used this one, if it hadn’t been for Frl. Mayr’s remark. Now, perversely, I decided to write to Frau Landauer at once.

Natalia Landauer, as I saw her, for the first time, three days later, was a schoolgirl of eighteen. She had dark fluffy hair; far too much of it —it made her face, with its sparkling eyes, appear too long and too narrow. She reminded me of a young fox. She shook hands straight from the shoulder in the modern student manner.

—In here, please. —Her tone was peremptory and brisk.

The sitting-room was large and cheerful, pre-War in taste, a little over-furnished. Natalia had begun talking at once, with terrific animation, in eager stumbling English, showing me gramophone records, pictures, books. I wasn’t allowed to look at anything for more than a moment:

—You like Mozart? Yes? Oh, I also! Vairy much!… These picture is in the Kronprinz Palast. You have not seen it? I shall show you one day, yes?… You are fond of Heine? Say quite truthfully, please. —She looked up from the bookcase, smiling, but with a certain schoolmarm severity—: Read. It’s beautiful, I find.

I hadn’t been in the house for more than quarter of an hour before Natalia had put aside four books for me to take with me when I left —Tonio Kröger, Jacobsen’s stories, a volume of Stefan George, Goethe’s letters.

—You are to tell me your truthful opinion —she warned me.

Suddenly, a maid parted the sliding glass doors at the end of the room, and we found ourselves in the presence of Frau Landauer, a large, pale woman with a mole on her left cheek and her hair brushed back smooth into a knot, seated placidly at the dining-room table, filling glasses from a samovar with tea.

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