Read Online Anne Morrow Lindbergh: Her Life by Susan Hertog - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan Hertog
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moved his and Helen’s base to Locarno, expecting to make a full retirement. But William Jovanovich, at Harcourt Brace, lured them back with an offer so attractive that they could not refuse. He suggested they become his co-publishers, retaining both the name and the prestige of their imprint and protected by the financial resources of a large concern. Happy to resume his beloved work, Kurt once again traveled throughout Europe, reestablishing old contacts, meeting new authors, and bringing manuscripts to Helen to have translated and edited for the American and European markets. Totally engaged, Kurt seemed rejuvenated. 7
On the afternoon of October 21, 1963, after their usual stop at the Bookfair in Frankfurt, Kurt and Helen took a detour through Marbach to visit the National Museum on their way to a meeting of Gruppe 47, a coterie of German-language poets, essayists, novelists, and dramatists who grappled with the social issues of Europe. Just seven kilometers from their destination, they stopped at a hotel in the small town of Ludwigsburg, and Kurt decided to take a walk. As he crossed a street,a tanker truck pulled into reverse. In his attempt to outrun it, Kurt was pinned by the force of its thrust. He died three hours later of massive internal injuries. 8 Those who knew him called his action thoughtless and impulsive, yet somehow consonant with his character. He died taking one more chance, believing his instincts would carry him through.
Helen received the news alone at the hotel. Three days later, surrounded by publishers and authors from all over the world, Helen buried Kurt in Marbach, home of the German Literary Archives, the largest collection of literature in Europe. His colleagues hailed him as “the most distinguished literary publisher of the twentieth century.” 9
To Anne, his sudden death must have seemed a familiar blow. Like the kidnapping of Charlie, the unexpected death of her father, and the disappearance of Saint-Exupéry, this death catapulted Anne from the lull of an ordinary day into the horror of loss. The man who had been a friend and a collaborator, who had loved her with “a purity” and a fullness of heart she had rarely known, was suddenly gone. As with Saint-Exupéry, when Anne wrote, she wrote for him. And once again, she had not had the chance to say good-bye.
The week before Christmas 1963, Anne Jr. married Julien Feydy, a young student she had met in Paris the year before. As usual, information was withheld from the press. It was a quiet service in the town hall of Dordogne, where the groom’s father, a university professor, owned a large manor house and estate. 10 Within the week, Anne and Charles returned from France with Helen Wolff to spend Christmas in Darien.
On Christmas day, Charles declared that “everything will be the same.” 11 Helen would edit, Anne would write, and he would ease their way. But as he watched the women grieve for Kurt, he must have wondered whether he could fill his place. Once again Anne’s grief had taken her to a place where Charles could not follow, and he must have known how she had changed. To Anne, heroism was no longer a physical act; it was a journey toward enlightenment and awareness. Anne’s magnificent “cathedral” of a husband, in spite of his noble intentions, was incapable of responding to her intellectual or emotional needs.
Nevertheless, in February 1964, Anne accompanied Charles to EastAfrica. She had long been a passive listener to his stories about a place that stirred him as nothing had since his early days of flying. Her visit did indeed convince her of Africa’s beauty—but she contracted viral pneumonia and had to remain in bed most of the spring.
By fall, Anne was hard at work again, reading and editing her letters and diaries. It was a project she had begun with Kurt, and now she was carrying it through, with the help of Helen. She wanted to shape a dramatic narrative, smooth enough for publication. Quite sure
On the afternoon of October 21, 1963, after their usual stop at the Bookfair in Frankfurt, Kurt and Helen took a detour through Marbach to visit the National Museum on their way to a meeting of Gruppe 47, a coterie of German-language poets, essayists, novelists, and dramatists who grappled with the social issues of Europe. Just seven kilometers from their destination, they stopped at a hotel in the small town of Ludwigsburg, and Kurt decided to take a walk. As he crossed a street,a tanker truck pulled into reverse. In his attempt to outrun it, Kurt was pinned by the force of its thrust. He died three hours later of massive internal injuries. 8 Those who knew him called his action thoughtless and impulsive, yet somehow consonant with his character. He died taking one more chance, believing his instincts would carry him through.
Helen received the news alone at the hotel. Three days later, surrounded by publishers and authors from all over the world, Helen buried Kurt in Marbach, home of the German Literary Archives, the largest collection of literature in Europe. His colleagues hailed him as “the most distinguished literary publisher of the twentieth century.” 9
To Anne, his sudden death must have seemed a familiar blow. Like the kidnapping of Charlie, the unexpected death of her father, and the disappearance of Saint-Exupéry, this death catapulted Anne from the lull of an ordinary day into the horror of loss. The man who had been a friend and a collaborator, who had loved her with “a purity” and a fullness of heart she had rarely known, was suddenly gone. As with Saint-Exupéry, when Anne wrote, she wrote for him. And once again, she had not had the chance to say good-bye.
The week before Christmas 1963, Anne Jr. married Julien Feydy, a young student she had met in Paris the year before. As usual, information was withheld from the press. It was a quiet service in the town hall of Dordogne, where the groom’s father, a university professor, owned a large manor house and estate. 10 Within the week, Anne and Charles returned from France with Helen Wolff to spend Christmas in Darien.
On Christmas day, Charles declared that “everything will be the same.” 11 Helen would edit, Anne would write, and he would ease their way. But as he watched the women grieve for Kurt, he must have wondered whether he could fill his place. Once again Anne’s grief had taken her to a place where Charles could not follow, and he must have known how she had changed. To Anne, heroism was no longer a physical act; it was a journey toward enlightenment and awareness. Anne’s magnificent “cathedral” of a husband, in spite of his noble intentions, was incapable of responding to her intellectual or emotional needs.
Nevertheless, in February 1964, Anne accompanied Charles to EastAfrica. She had long been a passive listener to his stories about a place that stirred him as nothing had since his early days of flying. Her visit did indeed convince her of Africa’s beauty—but she contracted viral pneumonia and had to remain in bed most of the spring.
By fall, Anne was hard at work again, reading and editing her letters and diaries. It was a project she had begun with Kurt, and now she was carrying it through, with the help of Helen. She wanted to shape a dramatic narrative, smooth enough for publication. Quite sure
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