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Vienna, October 17, 1915
IX., Berggasse 19
Dear friend,
On Wednesday the 13th I was roused from sleep by a dark figure which proved to my awakened senses to be my son Martin. He looked very well, was a sergeant, wore the big medal for bravery on his muddy uniform, proudly showed where the bullet had entered and exited his cap, and was on the way to Innsbruck by way of Cholm-Lublin-Cracow to some kind of artillery position against Italy. In the afternoon he departed again. Basically he hasn't changed, rather more impudent and self-reliant, determined to get married as soon as he is able to return, without any worries about his future as a civilian. Of course, he has also had his difficulties; he doesn't get along without them. It was mentioned to him that his major elevated him, the only Jew in the regiment, to a “dirty Jew” [Saujude], and he didn't hesitate for a moment in reporting and challenging him through the proper channels. Some kind of agreement will probably be struck; I hope, as he himself does, that he will soon undergo a transfer, because for this superior the temptation is always very much there to do away with an uncomfortable subordinate by means of a suitable assignment. Getting killed is only a function of time, anyway.
Ernst has skillfully let us know that he is located in a village above Monfalcone.
On the same Wednesday we had our first Society evening with full participation.1 We have decided to meet every three weeks.
My practice fills the time from 4 to 7:30. Mornings are completely free. A young German, who had serious intentions, was snapped up by the last German call-up; my interesting Hungarian from your area (Herény bei