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The numerous letters that Stefan Zweig addressed to Lotte Altmann, his secretary and second wife at a subsequent stage (they got married on September 6, 1939), from 1934 to 1940, were compiled in 2013 by Olivier Matuschek, one of Zweig’s German biographers. The narrative of the letters, both highly knowledgeable and particularly accessible, makes the book “read somewhat like a novel,” as Brigitte Cain-Hérudent put it in a foreword to the French edition, as the biographical, cultural, historical, and political context illuminates in detail a decisive period in Zweig’s life without ever overwhelming the reader with erudition.

These letters to Lotte allow us to approach the personality of Zweig in light of the various relational and professional dimensions, as well as the everyday life of a great European intellectual of the first half of the 20th century. Chief among these is the I would like to think that you miss me a little.

Between 1934-1940, the letters written to Lotte show how Zweig constantly regretted not having enough time to “immerse himself deeply in his work;” as he complained that “too many things prevent the essence of my work from escaping me.” This correspondence also shed light on the socio-historical mechanisms of the relationship that developped between a famous writer and his educated secretary.

Zweig: A writer who always lacked time to write

Between 1934 and 1940, Zweig unquestionably wrote and published. In 1934, as his biography of Mary Stuart was released in bookstores, the writer accelerated his research on “the humanist Sebastian Castellio and his confrontation with the reformer John Calvin.” While considering a biography of the protuguese explorer Ferdinand Magellan, he also endeavored to make progress on his novel, Beware of Pity. Finally, in 1938, he informed Lotte of two projects: a biography of Balzac “for which I have been collecting documents for decades” and his autobiography, which he would title The World of Yesterday.

However, the letters to Lotte are permeated with his recurring dissatisfaction at not being able to write as he should. On multiple occasions, he expressed his “intention to become productive again [hoping] not to be disturbed” and his concern to “internally fully prepare oneself for work.” Between 1934 and 1940, Zweig turned out to be objectively faced with a bundle of difficulties that often diverted him from the core of his profession.

One of these difficulties is not new. Zweig wrote while practicing most of the professions associated with writing (translator, literary agent, biographer, editor, lecturer, etc.). Consequently, these activities took up a considerable amount of his writing time, as they generated an extensive correspondence and frequent travels to various European countries and the Americas. From the beginning of their collaboration, Zweig relied on Lotte to “completely relieve him of the burden of letters.” His multiple travels demanded, often at short notice, an organization for which the constant support of his secretary was indispensable. The correspondence presented for our reading is filled, at a breathtaking pace, with addresses and timing instructions given to Lotte for mail delivery. However, this mobility that Zweig deeply appreciated, being profoundly cosmopolitan, was burdened from the 1930s onwards by a latent anxiety instilled by “exhausting and meticulous border controls.” While he chose not to confront the rise of Nazism directly in the realm of public engagement, Zweig exhibited a premonitory foresight regarding his own near future: “By traveling, one becomes more detached from their ties and habits, houses and properties, all of which have become problematic and are hardly missed anymore.”

In addition to the concerns related to “the hunt for Jews” orchestrated by the Third Reich, which notably prevents Zweig from publishing in German, his writing time was reduced by the time he had to dedicate “to the regularization of my papers” (after multiple and painful processes initiated as early as 1933, he and Lotte obtained British naturalization on March 12, 1940). It was also reduced by his separation from Friderike Maria Zweig, his first wife. A significant part of the letters to Lotte discusses the subjective and objective problems and hesitations that this separation created, particularly regarding the sale of the house in Salzburg and the use of the London apartment. Zweig initially contemplated a separation without divorce, as was the common practice at the time (on May 14, 1937, Zweig and Friderike signed a separation agreement before a notary, according to which the latter would receive a considerable sum for her maintenance). Finally, with a sense of relief, Zweig resolved to proceed with the divorce, which was pronounced on November 8, 1938.

 Lotte: Secretary and then secretary and wife

While the letters from Lotte addressed to Zweig are yet to be found, the letters he wrote to her reveal nothing about the romantic relationship that presumably existed between them since 1935. Lotte became Zweig’s secretary in 1934, and he consistently praised her linguistic skills (she spoke fluent German, French, and English), her perfect command of typing and filing, which she had been trained to at the University of Frankfurt on the Main in order to become a librarian (in 1933, she had to leave the program without obtaining her diploma due to the expulsion of Jewish students from Reich’s universities). The writer constantly emphasized to what point he needed her collaboration: “My work – I’m ashamed to say – depends on your goodwill,” or “I long to have you at hand as soon as possible. It’s terrible how much I need you.” He expressed immense gratitude for her infinite patience while he “turned freshly typed manuscripts into battlefields.” It becomes apparent that Lotte was the person who managed to shield him “from the hyperactivity around me” and provide him with a sense of security that his hectic mobility, in an extreme anxiety-inducing geopolitical context, deeply destabilized.

In 1939, to officially solidify their union and ensure good working conditions for Zweig, the couple acquired a house in Bath, Somerset County. As suggested by the writer’s letters to Sarah Altmann (Lotte’s sister-in-law), this house symbolized the tranquility of the family life he now aspired to; he expressed great pleasure in welcoming Eva (Lotte’s niece) there, who, being schooled in Bath, was thus shielded from the bombings in London. This aspiration also led him to have rather conventional expectations of Lotte as a wife: “Lotte must now energetically ensure that the house functions without me noticing or hearing about it… Lotte must understand that this house is her responsibility.”

Symbolic of a time “so different from today” (Brigitte Cain-Hérudent), J’aimerais penser que je vous manque un peu : lettres à Lotte, 1934-1940  (I would like to think that you miss me a little. Letters to Lotte, 1934-1940) has the great merit of raising our awareness of the material and relational context with which the work of writing must contend, risking being often, “marginalized.” It also sheds light on the empowering aspect of secretarial work in relation to artistic creation, while not exempting the person performing it from being inevitably reminded of the domestic responsibilities that come with the status of a wife.

Stefan Zweig, J’aimerais penser que je vous manque un peu : lettres à Lotte, 1934-1940, Text established and presented by Oliver Matuschek – translated from German and foreword by Brigitte Cain-Hérudent Albin Michel, 01/18/2023, 1 volume (398 pages), €23.90

Columnist: Éliane Le Dantec

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