The Pete Quiñones Show - Pete Reads 'Blockade' by Anna Eisenmenger Part 1

Episode Date: May 18, 2024

43 MinutesPG-13Pete begin a reading and lite commentary on "Blockade: The Diary of an Austrian Middle-Class Woman 1914-1924."FoxnSons Coffee - Promo code "peter" for 18% off - https://www.foxnsons.com/VIP Summit 3-Truth To Freedom - Autonomy w/ Richard GroveSupport Pete on His WebsitePete's PatreonPete's Substack Pete's SubscribestarPete's GUMROADPete's VenmoPete's Buy Me a CoffeePete on FacebookPete on TwitterBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-pete-quinones-show--6071361/support.

There's so much rugby on Sports Extra from Sky. They've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end. Here goes. This winter Sports Extra is jam-packed with rugby. For the first time we've got every Champions Cup match exclusively live, plus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup, and much more. Thus the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same place.

Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jampact with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby. Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra. New Sports Extra customers only. Standard Pressing applies after 12 months for the terms apply. Don't let foot pain or discomfort hold you back.

At foot Solutions, we specialize in high-quality supportive footwear. And use the latest scanning technology to custom-make orthotics, designed for your unique feet. If you want to free your feet in joints from pain, improve balance or correct alignment, book a free foot assessment at footsolutions.I.E or pop-in store today. Foot Solutions, the first step towards pain-free feet. On the many days of Christmas The Guinness Storehouse brings to thee A visit filled with festivity

Experience a story of Ireland's most iconic beer In a stunning Christmas setting at the Guinness Storehouse Enjoy seven floors of interactive exhibitions And finish your visit with breathtaking views of Dublin City from the home of Guinness Live entertainment, great memories and the Gravity Bar My goodness is Christmas at the Guinness Storehouse Book now at ginnestorehouse.com

Get the facts, be drink aware, visit Drink Away, I want to welcome everyone to the first reading of the next book. The book is called Lockheed, the diary of an Austrian middle-class woman, 1914 to 1924, by Anna Eisenmanger. This was first published in the States in 1932, and it was translated out of German by Winiford Ray, who did a lot. of translating back of the day. So this isn't an internet translation. What I will say is that it's, people ask what it was like immediately after World War. One, what the Treaty of Versailles caused German, Austrian life to be like. And my friend Mark sent me this years ago. and I finally got around to reading it,

and I think it paints a picture. It's not very long, and I think it's something that you can add to, like, the early Gerbils Diaries and other books about the time after the treaty and what the, you know, what we'll call the Allies did with the block Cade.

And, yeah, I'm just going to start this. And it has a preface where she talks a little bit. And the dedication is to all women in the world. And, yeah, this isn't a feminist screed, although maybe some feminists would take it that way. But the way we'll read it is how you would expect us to read it. So I'm going to start off here. Preface. Before me lies a collection of Little Black Diaries.

Each of them represents a year and together they cover the period from 1914 to 1924. They contain a space for each separate day, but some of the spaces are blank. Often for a whole week or more nothing had been written. Other pages are crammed with notes, scribbled with obvious haste and frequently illegible. Yet I have no trouble in deciphering them. Every word is burnt into my soul what letters. of fire. They tell of events and experiences during the World War and the post-war years, experiences which at that time gave an aim and a purpose to my life, the life of an Austrian

middle-class woman. They tell of my struggle against the wanton misery of the war and post-war years. During the first years, a struggle was waged mainly against the wanton misery of others. Later, ah, later, it became a desperate struggle against the poverty and distress which daily and hourly threatened to deprive me and all those dear to me, not only of all our material resources, but of life itself. Today I scan these bald sentences, which to me say so much. Memories become living again. Pictures rise up before my mind's eye. I feel my heart begins to throb. It is past. I tell myself, it can never happen again. Everyone who has survived the war must hate it and must foster this hate in others until all are at one in their abomination.

of war. And yet even now, the newspapers report the launching of battleships, the building of submarines, and the perfecting of military airplanes, bomb throwers, and new poison gases capable of killing every living thing over which stretches of territory, over wide stretches of territory. The states are arming again, and in their parliaments, the chosen representatives of these people deliver eloquent speeches extolling armed peace as the sole safeguard of a well-governed state. At the same time, the League of Nations, the Orchestra of Perpetual Peace, hopes to play war off the face of the earth. Will its harmonies ever be so potent as to drown all the war songs or transform them into anthems of peace? And if men honestly believe in this possibility, why do they guard peace with new armaments?

After my experience of World War, hundreds of doubts to sell my optimism and my belief in the intellectual and moral progress of man. hundreds of questions besiege me and remain unanswered. But nonetheless, with all my weak powers, I want to take my stand by the side of those who hate war and who are fighting against war. And therefore, I take my little notebooks in my hand and let them speak, even though they rend my heart with the memories they evoke. They shall speak to those who have preserved their humanity and to those who, inspired by personal party or national egoism, close their eyes and ears and harden their hearts that they may not see nor hear nor feel any of the agonizing distress that follows in the wake of war. Out of humanity and love toward my fellow men, my little notebook shall raise their voice. Out of that humanity and love which war must destroy with merciless consistency in order to be able to continue its baneful existence on earth.

Out of a love which bears on its banner the motto of sympathy with and forbearance toward the human, race and mutual protection between man and man. And now I address an ardent entreaty to all women in the world, to whom I dedicate these pages, to all women without distinction of racing or creed, of nationality or a party, to all women whom war would rob of one whom they love and cherish. Women of all nations gather together all your powers of resistance and set yourselves unitedly against all war. Implanting the hearts of the children entrusted to your care of the same hatred and loathing of war as to of all that human society terms crime.

Remember that neither to the victors nor the vanquish can medals for valor, monument to heroes, or pensions for the disabled, offer the smallest compensation for the endless flood of tears, and unspeakable suffering shed and endured by millions of women. Let the unreflecting remember that every advantage reaped on the field of battle contains within itself the seed of new conflicts. women of the world see to it that this seed which even now is more resting in a blood-drenched soil

is never allowed to mature set in its place to tree of human reconciliation which concedes to every dweller upon this earth that which is their due. The right to live in a place in the sun. There's so much rugby on sports extra from Sky they've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end.

Here goes. This winter sports extra is jam-backed with rugby. For the first time we've put every Champions Cup Exclusively Live, bus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup, and much more. Thus the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same place. Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jampack with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby.

Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra. New Sports Extra customers only. Standard pressing applies after 12 months further terms apply. Don't let foot pain or discomfort hold you back. At foot solutions, we specialize in high quality supportive footwear. And use the latest scanning technology to custom. make orthotics designed for your unique feet. If you want to free your feet in joints from pain,

improve balance or correct alignment, book a free foot assessment at footsolutions.i or pop in store today. Foot Solutions, the first step towards pain-free feet. On the many days of Christmas, the Guinness Storehouse brings to thee, a visit filled with festivity. Experience a story of Ireland's most iconic beer in a stunning Christmas setting at the Guinness Storehouse. Enjoy seven-free, floors of interactive exhibitions and finish your visit with brett taken views of Dublin City from the home of Guinness. Live entertainment, great memories and the gravity bur. My goodness is Christmas at the Guinness Storehouse. Book now at ginnestorehouse.com. Get the facts. Be Drinkaware. Visit drinkaware.com.

It's very easy to read those words and judge her as naive if you haven't lived what she went through. A retrospect. In the summer of 1914, our immediate family consisted of my husband, who was director of the department of a Vienna hospital, my eldest 22-year-old daughter, Lisebeth, married to Lieutenant Rudolph Stark, my one-year-old, my one-year-old grandson, Wolfgang, and my three sons of whom Carl 19 years old was in the first term of his medical studies, while Otto's 17 years old and Ernst 15 years old were still at school. My husband was not only a doctor, but had a wide general culture, such as is perhaps rarely found in a specialist. He was sensitive and unworldly by nature and was inspired by a lofty idealism

in his attitude towards his profession. Although an unselfish and devoted husband and father, he always refused to make more from the exercise of his medical calling than was required for what he considered to be our needs. He refused on principle, since the idea of making capital out of sickness and sufferings of others was repugnant to his strongly developed feelings of humanity. Lesbeth was only 18 years of age when she married Lieutenant Rudy Stark, and I had to exert all my influence to overcome my husband's objections to her marriage with an officer. My husband was always a convinced pacifist and his eyes an officer, and indeed the whole army was an utterly superfluous and barbarous public institution. He became reconciled to this marriage when he saw that Lisbeth was

really happy and consented, and that our son-in-law, after four years of wedded life, still did his utmost to be a good husband to Lisbeth and a good father. to his boy. My husband was a passionate lover of music and himself a fine pianist. Lysbeth, Carl, Otto, and Ernst were also very musical, and my husband had trained them to form an excellent string quartet. Carl played the viola, Lysbeth the first violin, Otto the second violin, and Ernst, the youngest and most gifted of all, the cello. The first breach in our musical and family harmony was caused by the marriage of my daughter Lysbeth, and we were overjoyed when three months later Rudy was sent to the military college, and in consequence, Lysbeth returned to Vienna and was once

more available as our first violinist. The state of things did not continue for long, however, for Lysbeth was expecting a child, and after the birth of Little Wolfgang, she was very weak for some time and had to be spared all unnecessary exertion. In April 1914, Vienna was visited by a very severe epidemic of influenza, and my husband was terribly overworked both at the hospital and his private practice. finally he contracted the disease himself, and when he was out of danger, I myself was obliged to take my bed with a severe attack of bronchitis. Then it was that my husband's eldest sister, Aunt Bertha, came to live with us in order to manage the house and nurse my husband and myself back to health. Aunt Bertha, despite her 60 years, was active and alert. She belonged to the category of ants who are beloved by all, because they are always ready with unselfish help and always good temper.

She had a deep sympathy with the weaknesses of her fellow man, but was mercilessly strict towards herself, and her sweet, sunny nature was the expression of an inward poise such as I had seldom found in anyone else. It was May 10th and my birthday. The evening was mild and very still. I leant against the railings of the large wooden balcony, and the strains of Mozart string quartet and C. Sharp were wafted

towards me through the open doors. As I listened to my children's four instruments, blending in Mozart's gracious harmonies, I was filled with an emotion such as I had never before experienced. Now I know that this emotion was born of a presentiment, something in me that hastened ahead of me and told me that this evening of chamber music was the last, that this peaceful family festival was also, though without our knowledge, a festival of farewell, a farewell to a quiet and unassuming life, but a life that was free from material class. and that would one day seem to one nurtured by destiny like some blissful dream of tranquil content.

I flung myself down on the basket chair and tried in vain to keep back my streaming tears. The notes of the finale died away, and Ernst Archerlis came out onto the balcony. He saw that I was wiping away my tears and hurried to my side. Mother darling, what's the matter? You're crying. His voice betrayed such unconcealed amazement and alarm that I quickly, recovered my composure. Hush, Ernie, don't get me away, and don't upset all my pedagogic theories. I know, Mother, and he quoted the rebuke. I had so often addressed to the children. Only babies and hysterical old women cry in public. Tears are too precious and sacred to be seen by any,

but the two eyes had shed them. And you're crying, Mother. My sense of mental mood had now quite disappeared. I had regained my self-control and could smile again. Yes, Ernie, but you must not rank me with the babies and hysterical women. You know that I despised tears seen by others. And you were not meant to see mine, you rascal. And I laughed and slapped his cheek. But what was the matter? He insisted. How can I explain it to you, my child? Papa's recovery, Mozart's Quartet, and C-Sharp. The Spring and I really don't know myself. But give me your hand and promise that no one else shall know our tear-stained secret. I held out my hand and he grasped it. But I saw his eyes rest wonderingly on my face several times that evening. We entered the music room. My husband was

seated in his comfortable armchair, enveloped in rugs, and was criticizing the children's playing. Children, I explained as I entered. You played wonderfully today. You all gave your best. Come, come, protested my husband. There was a good deal that could have been improved. Where is Ernst? Here, Papa Ernst called, and my husband beckoned him to his side. Come here. We all know that you are the greatest artists of us all. Where music was concerned, my husband was always rather more severe with Ernst than with the other children. Ernst had an undoubted talent for music. He was an artist through and through, and by reason of this, he often seemed unbalanced in comparison with his brother and sister. Yes, repeated my husband a little ironically. We all know that you are the greatest artist of us all,

but for the very reason, you ought not to go your own way in a quartet. In the second movement, your instrument was as self-assertive as if you had been playing a solo. Forgive me, Papa, said Ernst. But this passage is so heavenly. And he went to the piano and played his cello part from ear with an improvised piano accompaniment. My husband sighed and looked at me. He will soon outstrip us all. He is not meant for an ensemble player.

Let us thank God that he is an artist, I said. On May 18th, my husband went back to the hospital for the first time, but felt so listless and disposed for work that he yielded. to the persuasion of his assistant, Dr. Hoffman, and told us that he was going to take his summer holiday this year from May 30th to July 30th. We were very delighted at this decision and decided to go to Milstead yesterday for June and first half of July, and then to move on to Molvenosi near Tramped. In his capacity of physician, my husband had already several times been summoned to attend the heir to the throne. I, too, had opportunity to see.

and speak to the estes, as he was popular named, or Archduke France, as he himself liked to be called. The Archduke was very much beloved in our family, although Rudy and a good many military circles could not endure him. The Archduke was about to set out with his family for Schlossk-econis in Bohemia, and he wanted to see my husband before leaving. At the same time, I was invited to an audience of his consort, the Duchess of Hohenberg. It was, so we all imagine, to be farewell visit for the summer. When the Archduke, after his talk with my husband, came into the Duchess's salon to wish me a happy summer, he also mentioned his official journey to Sarajevo and said that he wished

he could have remained a connoopsis instead of going to Bosnia. I mentioned this particularly because after the tragedy at Sarajevo, I was frequently obliged to contradict assertions that the Archduke had specifically insisted on his fatal journey to Sarajevo after Aunt Bertha had mistaken had undertaken to look after our three sons, my husband, Lisbeth, Little Wolfgang, and I set out for Milstadt Amase, where we had engaged rooms at a hotel. The murder of Sarajevo. On June 29th, the Festival of St. Peter and Paul and Lysbeth's birthday, I got up earlier, than usual to decorate the breakfast table with flowers and to set in the places the little gifts

from myself and my husband. Suddenly I saw telegraph boy approaching our hotel. Ah, I thought, a birthday telegram from Rudy. And I went to meet the messenger in order that Lisbeth and my husband might not be awaked by his knock. An urgent royal telegram, said the messenger. This did not alarm me in the least, for royal telegrams were always urgent, even if they contained the most trivial messages. As I opened my husband's telegrams in order to see if they required his immediate attention, I tore open the envelope in red. Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and consort, Duchess of Hohenberg, shot at Sarajevo, office of the controller of the royal household.

I read it again and could not grasp what it meant. I could only think that the word Erscholson shot must be a mistake for something else. The telegram must be mutilated, but I decided to wake my husband. I stepped quietly into the bedroom and opening the shutters. I call my husband's name. It is nothing, I said soothingly, as he woke from a start. Only a mutilated royal telegram. My husband took the telegram out of my hand and read it, and I saw him turn pale.

Victor, you don't believe it. It is impossible. I exclaimed. Raising himself with a jerk, he said in a quite altered voice, it is possible. It is true. Terribly true. Half an hour later, the whole of Milestat was in an uproar. There was only one subject of conversation, the Archduke, the Duchess.

Many of the summer guests left. My husband was besieged with questions. Several times I heard him say, he died like a soldier at the place where his supreme warlord, the emperor, set him. And six weeks later, he added, he was the first soldier on our casualty list. And replied to a telegram from my husband to the controller of the royal household, he was informed that the murdered pair would be embalmed at Sarajevo and that his presence there was not necessary. A long letter from Rudy told us the details of the position in Vienna.

We learned that all officers had their leave canceled, so that Rudy was obliged for the time being to give up his plan of visiting us in Milstadt. Steve is passionate about good coffee. He founded Fox and Sons coffee in order to provide customers with the very best small batch, family farm-grown, organically roasted beans that he could find. He also chose the coffee business as a way to honor special times with his father, shared over breakfast and coffee, and to teach his sons about entrepreneurship. Fox and Sons coffee features five amazing blends from Peru. The dark roast was the first blend Steve introduced, and it's still my favorite. You can also order a variety of single source beans from all over the world.

Currently, you can order beans from Brazil, Tanzania, Guatemala, Mexico, and Ethiopia. And Steve is introducing four new roast this month, so be on the lookout for some special new options. Order online at fox and sons.com. That's F-O-X-N-S-O-N-S-O-N-S dot com and use discount code Peter. You'll get 18% off orders of $30 or more, and you'll get free shipping with all orders over 3799. Thank you. July 1914, Storm Clouds. After the murder of the Archdeaconess Consort had been excitedly discussed for a few days than the young Archduke Carl Franz Joseph had been obliged as heir to the throne to fill the gap so suddenly open. The summer guests began once more to engage in their holiday pursuits. On July 3rd, my three sons arrived. They had an opportunity of discussing the situation

with their brother-in-law in Vienna and were filled with thoughts of revenge against Serbia. Carl and Otto in particular were inflamed with chauvinistic sentiments. My husband tried to temper this thirst for vengeance as far as he was able, but the most he achieved was the subject was not discussed in his presence. For Papa is against war on principle, so it's no use talking to him. Ernst rarely took part in these heated debates between his brothers. He thought the outrage in Sarajevo abominable, but inwardly he shared Papa's opinion that it did not justify provoking a war, which might perhaps entail the sacrifice of thousands of lives. I, myself, as I now have to admit to my shame, at that time took the side rather of my two older sons. I was impulsive and energetic by nature,

and it seemed to me that any forbearance in connection with the Serbian dispute was extremely uncalled for. Lysbeth adopted a passive attitude towards the whole situation, but inwardly shared the views of her husband, the professional soldier. After the arrival of my sons, we only remained another eight days in Milstadt for the weather had changed for the worse. So we left from Alveno, hoping to find blue skies. again. On July 28th, the big industrialist who was staying in our hotel received news that war had been declared against Serbia. At once, the heated debates for and against war were silenced. Everyone thought only for himself or herself and how to safeguard his or her interests. Everyone hastily reflected what was the best course to take and almost all came to the same conclusion

to leave immediately. The hotel keeper wrung his hands. His season was ruined. Luggage was hurriedly packed, the telephone and telegraph offices were besieged, and every available vehicle was hired. For regular train service was suspended owing to the transport of troops. And the only thing left to do was to drive to the station of San Michelle, a three-hour's journey, on the chance of getting a passenger train there. Those who had sufficient money drove in their own motors were hired from Boson or Trent. The people of Moveno were already reaping a profit from the state of war. Rustic meal carts and donkey carts were lent out at fantastic prices.

We too, after a great deal of trouble and expense, secured one of these carts. Our hotel keeper had received news that a train would leave for Vienna on the 29th about noon. So we started at 6 o'clock in the morning, and as our hack broke all records and respect, both of obstinacy and slowness, we only arrived at the station just before the train was due to start. My sons had run on in front and managed to secure three seats. which we reached with difficulty, for the carriages were jammed to overflowing. The people were all in the highest spirits, and when a military train decorated with fur branches and crammed with soldiers pulled into the station, it was greeted with rousing cheers and shouts

of down with Serbia. My husband pointed to the noisy, yelling crowd. There you have it, he said, war psychosis. And he leant back his head against the cushion and closed his eyes. Lysbeth and I exchanged smiling glances. At the time, I did not realize that his brain had remained cool and clear in contrast to all those who were shouting and bawling around us, obsessed with by feverish enthusiasm for war. During the whole journey, Lisbeth was worrying whether Rudy might not have had to leave before her return, and she was overjoyed when she found him waiting to welcome her and Wolfie on the platform. This greeting was, however, also a farewell.

For the same evening, he had to leave with his headquarters staff for Bosnia, then followed the declarations of war one after the other, until we found ourselves allied with Germany, Bulgaria, and Turkey in a war against the whole world. The five men of my immediate family, my husband, my son-in-law, Rudy, and my three sons, were in the direct service of the war fury. Lisbeth and I, like all the women of the hinterland, who were not engaged in actual war work,

waged a desperate struggle for the alleviation of the terrible wartime distress around us. And now I shall skip over these interminable war years with their inhumanly destructive conflicts of nation against nation. I shall skip over the whole period from August 1st, 1914 to October 25th, 1918. At the latter date, our family consisted only of Carl, Ernie, Laspeth, Rudy, and little five-year-old Wolfie. My husband, after he had overworked himself unsparingly for three years and contracted acute gastric trouble, owing to insufficient nourishment, died of heart failure. Otto, after completing his military training,

volunteered for active service in the year 1915. His regiment was engaged in an attack on the Russian front, and after it, his name appeared in the casualty list as missing. The hope which we and others cherish that he was alive and would someday be restored to us dwindled month after month. He remained missing. As my son Carl was a medical student, he was assigned to an ambulance corps

and was twice decorated for his heroism and rescuing wounded under fire. A head wound, though it healed satisfactory. rendered him for a time unfit for active service. While he was in a hospital in Vienna, he became engaged to a young girl, the daughter of a colonel, who was acting as a voluntary nurse. She was a gentle, devoted creature and had the most salutary influence on Carl's impetuous disposition. Carl's character had, in fact, undergone a marked change since his head injury. He was often violent and impatient with no reason and unsparing in his criticism of those placed over him. Moreover, he engaged in political discussions in the course of which he expressed views that

filled me with unease, uneasiness, and alarm. Ernie, who only entered the army in 1917, was, through Rudy's influence, assigned to an artillery regiment. The danger in the artillery positions was certainly less, and I was infinitely grateful to Rudy. Ernie was now, Ernie was up to now unwounded and had developed remarkably well and gained strength during his period of active service. Although I am his mother, I have no hesitation in saying that he was a very beautiful boy. His expressive dark blue eyes gave to his face an extraordinarily sweet and sunny disposition. Up to the time when he left for the front, he had continued his musical studies with great enthusiasm and had every prospect of a brilliant future.

He will one day be a very great musician, one of the teachers assured me. See that he comes out of the war with the world. the whole skin. Yes, if I had the power. Up to now he was unwounded. God be thanked. My son-in-law, Rudy, who had meanwhile been promoted to the rank of major, had recently been awarded the Order of the Iron Crown for bravery. A clean shot through his right arm had healed up without any evil consequences, and even now, October, 1918, his optimism was still unimpaired. Although the central powers, as a result of the effectiveness of the blockade, were suffering every imaginable want, and the food and equipment of the armies was becoming steadily worse, Rudy, who was at the Italian front,

was convinced that in another month the Italians would be forced to capitulate. My daughter, Lisbeth, who had come to live with me since the death of my husband, in order to simplify the food question, which was already presenting serious problems in every household, had been ailing recently. The doctor diagnosed the trouble as pulmonary catar. As she was in her third month of pregnancy, I was seriously worried about her. Fulfi was pale and delicate, but always lively and cheerful, and often a welcome source of gaiety in our home. He was a devoted friend and playmate of Aunt Bertha, who could invariably find her ways to any child's heart. My own health at this time was still satisfactory.

My stomach could even tolerate the maize bread, which many found uneatable, and my loss of weight was not alarming. At this time, I did not guess what terrible times were awaiting us all, and that for the housewives in the hinterland war was really only just beginning. From now on, I shall let my diaries speak for me. October 25, 1918. Alarming news from the front, food situation increasingly difficult. At last, a letter from Carl, delivered to us by one of his comrades on the journey to the Western Front. The man told me that Carl had been transferred to the trenches as a result of a dispute with

his superior officer. He also brought a pamphlet, which had been dropped in large quantities over our positions by enemy airplanes. The Entente. the entente are trying to incite our troops to rebellion. They promise a favorable peace if our soldiers will go home. Does the intent need yet more weapons with which to fight against us? Carl's letter breathes the deepest depression.

He is stationed near set commune. They are standing up to their knees in water. He asked for shoes, as his own have rotted through being incessantly damp. The life here is unworthy of any human being. I ask myself again and again how the motley collection of older men and young boys in these front positions endure this life. Insufficient food, tattered shoes and uniforms. No possibility of keeping oneself clean.

Are our human sensibilities already utterly stupefied? Poor Carl. If I had any say in the matter, I should be in favor of concluding peace immediately. Wilson, with his 14 points, offered us a good, honorable peace. Why didn't we grasp at it? In a postscript, Carl writes,

I feel convinced that we can't go on like this. The war will end soon, one way or another. See that you get in food supplies, for Vienna will be eaten out of house and home by the soldiers when they come back. I too suffer from chronic hunger. I talked it over with Lysbeth. She thinks that Carl's letter is exaggerated, but Lysbeth Qatar is worse, and Wolfie is begging for milk. It is now a week since we had the quarter pints of milk due to us on our ration cards. I resolved to hamster, hoard food.

During my husband's lifetime, I dared not do this. When he was seriously ill, I did it without his knowledge. I did not feel that I was becoming demoralized. On the contrary, I might also say, have I not the right to guard and protect the life of my family? For all its rigorous organization, the state could not feed its citizens, and it cannot do so today. For a long time, we have only been getting a part of the food due to us on our ration cards. the doctors have discovered that, even if we got the whole of our ration, that would only be sufficient to meet one-fourth of the food requirements of an adult person weighing 11 stone. Aunt Bertha, out of an excessive and misguided conscientiousness, had insisted on living exclusively on the official food rations.

In consequence, she is now ill with softening of the bones, a striking proof that to obey the food laws is equivalent to suicide. Carl's letter proved to me that in spite of our privations in the hinterland, we are no longer in a position to feed our armies. If the war is to end soon, as Carl declares, and as I pray to God it may, I shall have to provide for another three hungry stomachs in addition to Wolfie and his ailing mother. Although I had now, and then had recourse to one of the much abused Schleichhandler smuggler in order to procure the necessary foodstuffs for. for our household, such as milk, eggs, butter, or fat. I was far from having accumulated any surplus stores. The foodstuffs distributed by the government were very dear, but the prices charged by the Schleckhandler were often five or six times as high.

Below are the official prices of some of the principal rationed foodstuffs, together with the prices of the same articles in the year 1914 before the war. The prices are, unless otherwise stated, the official wholesale prices per 100 kilo. So you get the retail prices, 20 to 25% should be added in each case. So wheat is tripled. Rye has a little more than tripled. Oats tripled.

Barley, more than tripled. Cooking peas five times. Lentils, four times. Beans, three and a half times. Potatoes, two and a half times. Sugar beet, six times. Cabbage is 12 times. Raw sugar, four times.

Refined sugar, it's a lot, six times. Malasses, seven times. Cattle is almost four times, about four times. Beef, 20 times. Lard, about seven or eight times. Eggs, five times. Butter or fat, about 12 times, even a little bit more. It will be seen from this table that the wholesale prices of the most important food

stuff had tripled or, quadruple during the four war years. At the present time, these foodstuffs are distributed by the food control authorities according to ration cards, but so irregularly and in such small quantities that, in order not to starve, one is forced to have recourse to the flourishing Schleich-Kandler, whose extortionate charges are a good 200 or 300% above the official prices, and are increased in proportion to the increased necessity of the buyer. So I decided to hamster. The little fortune which I had inherited from my father brings me in now with cautious investment, about 5,000 cronin, 200 pounds per annum. When my husband was still alive and our dear Austria was undisturbed by war,

I used the money for the purpose of improving my children's education and for our little excursions in summer holidays. The idea that I could be of some pecuniary assistance to my husband and had always afforded me immense satisfaction. Since my husband's death, or rather perhaps, since the outbreak of this unhappy war, intellectual interests have been forced into the background. Already in the year 1914, we housewives began to suffer from measures of economy,

which were not improved when the military authorities took over the control of supplies. We submitted uncomplainingly because we received news of victories both on the Western and the Eastern Fronts and of hundreds of thousands of prisoners. And each of these victories must be bringing blessed peace nearer to us. Now, at the end of the fourth year of war, when the central powers and their whole civilian population are like of a siege fortress cut off from all external supplies, and without any hope of breaking through the hunger blockade, I am no longer disposed to sacrifice any more members of my family to the mottok of war.

So she started off kind of flowery and poetic, even in her. even in her worry. But as we get into the diary, we see exactly what was being done, what was being done to them. October 26, 1918, I infringed the food laws by a successful hamstring expedition. Some farmers living on the outskirts of Vienna,

whose families have been professionally attended by my husband, had already, during my husband's lifetime, wanted to prove their affection and gratitude by little presence of food, us. My husband had flatly refused these tokens of appreciation. I now resolved to visit these people. Lysbeth was coughing a great deal, and in her condition, nourishing food was a vital necessity. I withdrew from my bank, 20,000 cron, about 833 pounds in cash. The bank clerk, who had attended to me and advised me for years, recommended me to convert the money into Swiss francs. When I objected that private dealings and foreign currencies were not allowed, he whispered to me that he would

manage it for me if I would authorize him to do so. The transaction must, of course, be affected secretly since it was forbidden by law. I had already resolved that day to infringe one law by the illicit purchase of supplies, but now I nervously rejected my advisor's offer. You will regret it. Only Switzerland and Holland will keep their currency stable. No, no, I prefer not. Financial transactions are beyond me. Today I traveled outside the boundaries of Vienna for the first time after a long interval. On the trams, there were only women conductors who did their work quietly and efficiently. I took a train on the Sudban, the Shudban, which had a connection with a train in Luxembourg. Apart from a few men on leave, my companions were mostly women, armed with rucksacks

and handbags. Hamstring is forbidden, but after all, it is only the primitive instinct of self-preservation. The second-class carriage in which I was seated had a strangely dilapidated appearance. The leather covers had great holes with pieces had obviously been hurriedly cut off or torn off. The leather straps were letting down the windows were also missing. Leather had become a rarity for civilians and inhabitants of the hinterland. New shoes are practically unobtainable. One sees fantastic substitutes for shoes with wooden soles and any sort of upper. people seize upon leather, nonetheless, wherever they can find it.

Our carriage had no window panes. One side of the openings was nailed up with boards. Only women were working in the fields except for a boy or an old man here and there, and sometimes a few Russian prisoners of war. A man home on leave was leading the conversation in our compartment. At the front, he said things were even worse than in the hinterland. No one had enough to eat there. The Hungarians were to blame for it all.

They had abundance of everything and fatten their pigs with maize, but they refused to give anything to us. No-no, said a woman who was carrying two empty rucksacks. It's to food controllers who are to blame for everything, and the schlike handler, who are all becoming millionaires. But if there were no food controllers, there would be no schlake handler. At Luxembourg, the scene was already more animated. Although Emperor Carl and his family had transferred the court from Luxembourg

to the military headquarters at Baden, a few officers of the royal household had remained, behind and a regiment of Hungarian artillery was quartered there. In order to reach my farmer acquaintances, I had to cross across the vast Luxembourg Park, famous for its magnificent stretches of forest and meadowland. The long spell of fine weather had left the trees in leaf and they burnt and glowed with every shade of autumn gold. The tender mauve of the meadow saffron contrasted with the now faded green of the wide stretches of pasture land, which were interspersed with groups of magnificent trees planted centuries ago, and disposed in such a way as to delight the eye with the most enchanting vistas.

A hot autumn sun was shining in a deep blue sky. I seated myself in the wide shade of a gnarled and stately oak, reveling in a contact with nature, which I had so long been denied. All around me was profound stillness and peace. I abandoned myself to this impression, which no a sensitive dweller in a great city can escape when he is transplanted from his surroundings. thanks to the great tranquillity of nature. I sat quite still, leaning against the huge oak stem, my eyelids half close. Peace was above me in the high treetops and above the treetops in the sunlit air. Peace lay before me on the pale green expanses of meadow and around me in the dark green of the bushes, and peace invaded my heart. The hoarse cry of a nutcracker as it flew past ended my dream of peace. There stood war again in all its might and brutality, and I stood in its shell.

Miserable and frightened. Yet how welcome was this respite? Even though it only lasted a few minutes. My watch pointed to 11. I should have to hurry. At noon, I found a farmer's wife at home. She was very kind and friendly, though she herself had plenty of troubles. Her husband has for weeks been lying wounded in a hospital at the front. Her eldest child is 10 years old. There are three younger ones, and another is on the way. She cannot cope with the work. The fields are untilled. there are no farm laborers, and the girls are all running off to munition factories. If only my husband were at home. She sympathized with my troubles and pitied me for, after all, she has more to eat than I have.

She packed bread, flour, beans, bacon, and honey into my handbasket as much as I could carry. The prices which she charged me were moderate. She advised me not to go through the town, but to take the path across to fields to the station in order to avoid the police. They are very down on the hamsters. Although I kept on repeating to myself all the way to the station that there was no harm in what I was doing, I stumbled anxiously and guilty to the station across turnip fields and plowed land. Unmolested, but exhausted by the weight of my load and the fear of my being discovered, I reached home.

The food I have secured today at the cost of a fairly large amount of money and a still larger amount of nervous strain has a piece value of not quite 10 cronin. October 27, 1918, Ernie wounded. Today a letter arrived signed by Ernie, but written in an unfamiliar hand. Ernie is lying wounded at Innsbruck. His life is in no danger. An injury to the eyes, which they hope is not serious. As soon as he is fit to be moved, he will come to Vienna. An injury to the eyes, which they hope is not serious. I felt a vague, terrible anxiety for Ernie's big blue childlike eyes. Lysbeth soothed me. We persuaded ourselves that we all ought to be glad and grateful when a slight wound brought our men into a hospital, and so for the time being into safety. How glad I was, said Lysbeth, when Rudy came to Vienna with his arm wound,

and now we shall soon have Ernie here and be able to nurse and spoil him. A surgeon-major general, who is a friend of ours, has promised me to expedite Ernie's transference to Vienna, so I have given up for the time being my plan of going to Innsbruck. and that's where I'll end it for right now. So she's painting a picture of what's happening. This is at the end of the war. She jumped from the beginning to the end, and you can see that she's already said that food is scarce,

but it's just a beginning. So in the next episodes, we will, as we finish this up, because it's not long, did the first 11 pages out of 94 now that you see that this you see where this is going and um yeah it's going to get a lot worse but we need to see this we need to know this informs its immediate future as she talked about in the beginning how they were getting mobilized for for more war at the time she decided to put this diary together and write that introduction you heard ads during this if you want to get the episodes all of my episodes early and ad free got a free man be on the wall dot com

forward slash support you can subscribe through a sub stack subscribe star gum road well it's my website right there patreon and you'll have access to all it's everything ad free and early and yeah that's it look for the second episode coming up in a couple days. All right. Thank you. See you soon.