My Years with Ludwig von Mises.pdf - The Ludwig von Mises Institute

me to send tea, coffee, or chocolate to their relatives and friends in
Austria and Germany. Sometimes we even sent hard-boiled eggs.
We helped whenever we could. Our living room looked like a
miniature Red Cross office. I was always writing, packing,
shipping.
In August we went on vacation, first to Plombieres in France, a
beautiful summer resort where Gitta stayed with us, then via
Nancy to Paris, where Lu had to attend a meeting. Lu drove all the
way, and as much as I love him and admire his genius, I must
confess I never felt safe with him in a car. He was not a good
driver. He was so tense at the wheel that a conversation was impossible.
His lips were firmly pressed together, as if he were about to
challenge the most dangerous obstacle. Heavy traffic made him
nervous, but he never would confess his difficulties or let me drive,
though he knew I had a license. Believe it or not, he loved to drive,
and I did not want to take this pleasure away from him, though
sometimes we were in real danger. I remember once when we went
up a narrow curving road to the top of a mountain; the car suddenly
was half hanging over a precipice, only the back part still on
firm ground. Trembling, we got out of the car. Other people had to
help us back up. We drove on. Lu never said a word about the
danger we had been in; neither did I.
On the trip through France everything went well. When we
came to Paris, Lu parked the car in the outskirts of town to avoid
the traffic. Here for the first time I met Dr. Lucy Friedmann, a
former professor of French in Vienna, who later became a very
close friend of mine and who-three years later-married Professor
Louis Rougier, an outstanding scholar and personality, one of
Lu's closest friends. Lucy is one of the most feminine women I
know. With clear blue eyes, her face bears the expression of a
naughty madonna. I had met Professor Rougier before, in Geneva,
and had "quietly" listened when he spoke to Lu about Benjamin
Constant and the book he was writing about him.
Lu had asked Lucy, who knew Paris almost better than she knew
Vienna, to reserve a room for us in a good hotel. She made a
reservation in a hotel the like of which I never thought existed. It
had a "bathroom," but it was not a real room with closed walls and
doors; it was only a tub and a toilet, separated by a thin partition,
with no ceiling above it. This was supposed to be our honeymoon
apartment in Paris! Even worse were the beds. I was frightened to
undress and lie down. After a sleepless night, we moved out at
nine the next morning and went to the Hotel Monsigny, where we
felt more comfortable. Lucy's explanation for recommending the
other hotel was that "with the view of the Palais Royal, with the
geraniums right before your eyes, history will come to life for you
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