Letter from Edward Renouf to Anny Schey von Koromla

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Calle Gral. Aureliano Rivera 17-B
Villa Obregon
Distrito Federal
Mexico

15 December 1946

My dearest Annerl!

How unspeakably happy I was when I got your address from Hanni Lintner and heard that you’re doing well – better even than before the war. It had been so long since I last heard anything from you that I often worried about you. Did you ever receive the two issues of the magazine DYN, where my articles were published? Probably not. You know, when my last two letters went unanswered I was so silly and sensitive, among other things, that I thought maybe you wanted to cut me off completely and forever. If such a thought ever did go through your head you should know that I wouldn’t allow it under any circumstances, for I shared such a large part of my life with you and your children that somehow we shall belong together until the ends of our lives. At some point our paths will surely cross again, and I hope you will find my more mature self more acceptable than the inordinately problematic youth. You and your home (for you always made everywhere feel like home, even if you were only there for a short time), the atmosphere among you and your children, your conversations, what you took and gave back to life – all that still constitutes a paradise on earth for me even now, a paradise of the purest and kindest humanity one could ever hope for. How fortunate I was, tormented and homeless vagabond that I was, to find my spiritual home with you. It’s been my refuge and orientation ever since!

In the summer of 1940 I moved to Mexico with my wife and the two older children. At that point Hester was three, Johanna only three months. Since then Edda Susan has been born here in Mexico, and she’s already three-and-a-half years old too. Hester will be turning ten on the nineteenth of this month. Outwardly I’m a strict father, but inwardly I’m still slow to anger, soft and sympathetic, so the three little girls know they can get away with quite a lot. All three of them are remarkably intelligent: Hester is always top of her class at school, just as Johanna is at hers. But Hester is naïve and very gullible; she’s easily fooled by her classmates and takes a long time to catch on to a joke, so her laugh is rather forced and awkward. So far she is the most beautiful of the children and looks like my mother. Johanna has large, deep-set eyes, her gaze is penetrating and compelling, so profoundly serious and thoughtful and fearless – her facial expressions also are less regular than those of the other two. She has an incredibly lucid, logical mind and understands jokes right away; her laughter is irresistible. Hester is impulsive and sensitive; Johanna thoughtful and controlled; Susie, the youngest, is a force to be reckoned with. She had tuberculosis when she was one, which worried us half to death, and she was spoilt rotten as a result. She tends to keep the whole family under her thumb, and I’m perhaps the only one who at least acts as though he’s not completely beholden to her every wish – though she must instinctively know that she actually has more power over me than the others. She’s completely over the tuberculosis, mainly thanks to vitamins, which we still give her every day. I’ll send you a picture of us all soon.

So your three dear, cheeky, wild, talented, charming children are all married already! And my young tutee has a child herself! I can hardly believe it. And what’s become of their various talents? Inge with her music? Beate with her painting? As for Clemens, I never had any idea what he would do. What’s he doing now? And are you still painting?

I paint, write and play a bit of music on the side. My wife plays viola and violin, and our friends play a lot too. Sitting on my hands and gawping from the sidelines became a dreadful bore after a while, and so a few years ago I started to learn the cello so I could play along a bit. Most of all I love early music (Johann Sebastian Bach remains my idol; we also play Henry Purcell, Telemann, the easier Haydn and Mozart trios, among others).

Among modern painters my favourites are Picasso, Braque, Paul Klee and their school, though I actually draw more inspiration from the art of the early Middle Ages (just as the music from that period seems to me the most beautiful and purely musical and touches and moves me more than Beethoven ever could); from the primitives (Africa, Pacific Islands, Mexico and so on); from Chinese painting and from all primitive folk art. I’m particularly passionate about the Romanesque wall painting of Spain, despite the fact that I know it mainly through reproductions. What a wonderful trip that would be, getting know the artistic treasures of Spain! I speak fluent Spanish – on account of being here in Mexico for six years, and through various friends and political refugees I’ve also learnt to appreciate the Spanish character. One of my favourite writers is Miguel de Unamuno, and I’m sure you’d love his works if indeed you don’t know and love them already.

You know, Annerl, I’m sitting here under a parasol on the flat roof of our house. In the house below it’s too cold to sit and work, though it’s perfectly comfortable if you’re moving about every now and then, as the children do constantly. On my head I’m wearing the green Tyrolean hat you bought me in Schwaz. My wallet is the same wallet you gave me in Paris, and it’s in the same impeccable condition, so I really believe I it will accompany me through my whole life. The maple cigarette case from Russia, which you bought me from the great arcades in Genoa, saved my life, so to speak, on one occasion. One day in 1934, when I was staying at the house of a particularly dear relative in Berlin, I walked into the living room and found the whole family gathered around a splendid cake with candles, which was standing on the table with all manner of gifts spread out around it. It was my relative’s birthday, and for some reason – a misguided sense of tact perhaps – no-one had told me about it in advance. And so I conjured my wonderful, beloved Russian maple etui from my pocket and placed it among the other gifts without anyone noticing, then acted as though I had known about the birthday of my venerated host all along. To this day, though, I have never forgiven those family members for so underhandedly forcing me to part with my etui – which was a painful, heartfelt wrench for me.

At the beginning of the war my mother died in Ernsdorf, Prien am Chiemsee. People have written to me saying it was a mercy that she didn’t live to see the war and present-day Germany. But it still hurts that she had to die without ever understanding or being fully reconciled to her children.

Merry Christmas, dear Annerl, to you and your children, and a truly happy new year.

Yours,

Edward

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