ROSA LUXEMBURG
7
Wronke, April 19, 1917.
I
WAS
very pleased by the greeting in your card of yesterday, though
it was sad. How I wish I could be near you now, to make you laugh
as I used to-you remember-after Karl's arrest, when we both rather
shocked the people in the Cafe Fiirstenhof with our untimely out–
bursts of laughter.
What good times those were in spite of everything! Our daily
automobile ride, every morning, Potsdamerplatz, then the trip to the
prison across the Tiergarten all in flower, down Lehrter street with
its tall trees, so peaceful; then on the way back the inevitable stop at
the Fiirstenhof and your equally inevitable visit to my house, at
Sudende, where the splendor of May was over everything; the in–
timate hours that we passed in my kitchen, where you and Mimi
waited patiently at the little white-covered table for the results of my
culinary art. (Do you remember the string beans
a
la Parisienne?
... )
And added to all this I remember a long series of warm and brilliant
days; it is really only in such weather that one feels the true joy of
Spring. Mterwards, in the evening, my regular visits in your little
room- I do so love to see you housekeeping; it suits you to perfection,
standing beside the table, with your young girl's figure, and pouring
tea. Finally toward midnight we took one another home, through the
dark sweet-smelling streets. Do you remember that magnificent moon–
lit night at Sudende when I was walking home with you, and the
gables of the houses, standing out in sharp angles against the infinitely
soft blue background of the sky, reminded us of fortresses?
Sonitschka, I would like always to be like that when I am near
you, to distract you, chatter or be silent with you, so that you wouldn't
fall back into your dark and desperate thoughts. In your card you
ask: "Why is everything like this?" Child that you are, it is life that
is "like this," and always has been, and it is all indivisible: the suf–
fering, the separations, the nostalgia. We must know how to take it as
a whole, leaving out nothing, and to find order and beauty in all that
it
offers. At least, that
is
what I do. And not because of any wisdom
that I might have acquired by reflection, but simply by virtue of my
nature itself. I feel instinctively that this is the only way of taking
life, and that is why I am truly happy, in any circumstances. I would
not wish for anything to be wiped out of my life, and would want
nothing of what is, or has been to be changed.
If
I could only bring
you too to this conception of life! ....
Yours,
ROSA
