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Vienna IX, Berggasse 19
January 27, 1920
Dear Pfister
You have sent us a charming young lad, who introduced himself, moreover, with the traditional gifts. His voice sounded so much like yours on the telephone that for quite a while I couldn't believe he belongs to the second generation; and when he arrived for luncheon on Sunday he didn't look in the least unfamiliar; he also behaved so naturally that it was a delight to have him.
And yet we haven't seen him again since Sunday! That afternoon we received the news that our sweet Sophie in Hamburg had been snatched away by influenzal pneumonia, snatched away in the midst of glowing health, from a full and active life as a competent mother and loving wife, all in four or five days, as though she had never existed. Although we had been worried about her for a couple of days, we had nevertheless been hopeful; it is so difficult to judge from a distance. And this distance must remain distance; we were not able to travel at once, as we had intended, after the first alarming news; there was no train, not even for an emergency. The undisguised brutality of our time is weighing heavily upon us. Tomorrow she is to be cremated, our poor Sunday child! Our daughter Mathilde and her husband are leaving for Hamburg the day after tomorrow, thanks to an unexpected connection with an Entente train; at least our son-in-law was not alone; two of our sons who were in Berlin are already with him, and our friend Eitingon has gone with them.
Sophie leaves two sons, one of six, the other thirteen months, and