Emil Molt: The Father of the Waldorf School

Sophia Christine grew up in the anthroposophical

community “Threefold Farm” in New York, with two
years’ matriculating at the Stuttgart Waldorf School,
founded by her grandfather, Emil Molt. She went The Father of the
on to study at Oxford and attended teacher training
at the Goetheanum in Dornach, Switzerland. She Waldorf School
returned to New York with her husband, Finbarr Murphy, to take
over her father’s business. Together they managed Weleda USA The Multifaceted Life of Emil Molt
for 30 years. In 1995, she founded the magazine Lilipoh. She is
currently living in Dingle, Ireland.
Other books compiled by Sophia Christine are Cancer,
a Mandate to Humanity (Mercury Press), The Vaccination
DIlemma, Practical Home Care Medicine, and Iscador–Mistletoe
and Center Therapy (all Lantern Books).

Sophia Christine Murphy

Entrepreneur, Political Visionary
and Seeker for the Spirit

Sophia Christine Murphy

Waldorf Publications

ISBN 978-1- 888365-52-8

38 Main Street
Chatham, NY 12037 9 781888 365528
2
 The Father of the
Waldorf School
The Multifaceted Life of Emil Molt
Entrepreneur, Political Visionary
and Seeker for the Spirit

by Sophia Christine Murphy

3
 Printed with support from the Waldorf Curriculum Fund

Published by:
Waldorf Publications at the
Research Institute for Waldorf Education
38 Main Street
Chatham, NY 12037

Title: The Father of the Waldorf School

The Multifaceted Life of Emil Molt
Author: Sophia Christine Murphy
Editor: David Mitchell
Copy Editor and Proofreader: Ann Erwin
Second Proofreader: Suzanne Mays
Cover and Photo Enhancement: David Mitchell
© 2012 by AWSNA and Sophia Christine Murphy
ISBN # 978-1-936367-21-4
Second edition (retitled) 2014
ISBN # 978-1-936367-52-8

First printing McNaughton & Gunn

Saline, MI 48176 USA

4
 Table of Contents

Preface: How I Came to Write the Story . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7

Chapter One: 1876–1897 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

Chapter Two: 1898–1909 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43

Chapter Three: 1909–1917 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84

Chapter Four: 1918–1919 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121

Chapter Five: 1919–1921 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151

Chapter Six: 1922–1924 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187

Chapter Seven: 1925–1932 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230

Chapter Eight: 1933–1948 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273

Postscripts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 330

Endnotes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 337

Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 338

Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 341

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6
 Preface
How I Came to Write the Story

In 1936 drums rolled in Germany, soldiers marched in parade and a demonic

little man had begun to destroy the world when my mother, with me in her arms,
boarded a boat, crying bitterly as she waved goodbye to her parents on the pier. She
felt sure she would never see them again, and she was right. I was ten weeks old,
rocked for ten days in a hammock next to my mother’s bunk. She was seasick and
heartsick until the boat landed in New York, where my father waited; he had left
Germany three months earlier.

Waving goodbye at the pier

One of my early memories was of a Christmas tree with candles, unusual in

America where most trees had electric lights. My sister Ursula and I had to wait at the
head of the stairs until we heard a chiming bell. Then, hearts almost stopped and eyes
wide, we were brought into the warm and fragrant living room, lit only by candles on
the mysterious tree. My parents sang “Silent Night” in German … ‘Stille Nacht, heilige
Nacht’ … and other songs. There was a manger with wooden figures carved by my
father and there were presents. We understood the Christ Child had brought them.

7
 Later, I remember the word ‘WAR’ and not
being able to comfort my sobbing mother, lying on
her bed with a black-rimmed letter with German
stamps in her hand. We were living in rural America
but we had air raid drills … a siren blaring would
mean dropping everything, closing padded curtains
tightly and turning off lights while military planes
flew overhead. By this time I had learned that
‘German’ was a bad word, not to be mentioned
Branch from Christmas tree in school. I made a point of telling no one where I
came from.
In 1953, when I was sixteen, my parents decided that my sister Ursula and I
should spend two years in the school that Emil Molt, my grandfather, had founded
in Stuttgart, Germany. We arrived in spring (in those days the new school year in
Germany started after the Easter break). Initially I was treated somewhat like a
celebrity: Teachers saw my grandfather in me, and my fellow classmates the cool
American in jeans, but that impression soon wore off.

Myself with classmates

I loved the school and thought it heaven—compared to what I’d experienced in

1950s America. The boys and girls in my class actually talked together, gladly learned
together, played, danced and hiked together. I was in love with them all, in love with
the feeling of comradeship. I also saw the aftermath of the war: bombed-out buildings
and a mountain in the making, built with truckloads of rubble. They called it Shard
Mountain, ‘Scherbenberg,’ or, more affectionately ‘Monte Scherbelino.’

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 Although the war had been over only eight years, for me it was remote. My
grandfather had been dead seventeen years, but that seemed like ancient history
because it was before I was born. To this day I do not understand why I never asked
about any of it. It simply didn’t occur to me.
Much later, in the 1980s, I woke up one day feeling the urgent presence of my
grandfather, whose story had been obscured by the passage of time. I rang my mother
where she was living in the Italian part of Switzerland and asked for any documents
she might have. She told me most things had been lost in the war; the rest she’d given
away. She did have some old diaries, but felt them to be too painfully private and said
she had firmly decided to burn them: The past should be laid to rest. That didn’t sit
right with me.
One day I boarded a plane with a half-empty suitcase and went to visit her. She
showed me the diaries, tucked away in an old, rather moldy chest in a back storage
room. At the end of my visit, somehow in the middle of the night, the diaries found
their way into my suitcase and, after a few days, to America.
When I looked at the diaries, I was overwhelmed by their intensity and had to
put them aside. Instead, I translated and edited the memoirs my grandfather had
dictated on his sickbed and, in 1991, published a partial biography that dealt with the
years up to the founding of the Waldorf School. I knew a sequel would be needed.
So, after moving to Ireland, I tackled that tiny script, those sparse notes in the diaries,
and spent two years transcribing them. After that, I started researching and writing,
going to sleep every night thinking of my grandfather, Emil, having questions, waking
up every morning with one, or at best two answers connecting dots, living through
that life intensely while putting mine on hold, always believing I was doing this for the
present and the future. – Christine Murphy

A diary page

9
 Schwäbisch Gmünd

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 Chapter One

The place of my antecedents

Schwäbisch Gmünd (pronounced Shvaybish Gmint and simply called ‘Gmünd’)
is a flourishing Württemberg town situated east of Stuttgart, the capital. Württemberg
(meaning ‘the host by the hill’) is a smallish region in the southwest part of Germany.
It has rich soil, pleasant rivers and scenic rolling hills that, one hundred years ago, still
abounded in ancient legends and romantic hidden corners. Its people, now called
Swabians or “Schwaben,” traditionally considered themselves an ethnic rather than
a political group. They prided themselves on their native characteristics: frugality,
warmth, an earthy humor and a rough yet sweet dialect so different that a person
from the north would hardly understand it. They were farmers and merchants, home
bodies and travelers, freedom lovers, philosophers, poets, musicians and storytellers.
The Swabians were descended from two main streams. The Celts came first, in
pre-Christian times, arriving from the east along the Danube. Place names like Barr
(top) in the Alsace and Danube (from Danu) speak of these people whose remains
were not really discovered until after World War II when extensive rubble had to
be removed. The Alemanni, the second main stream, distinct from other Germanic
tribes, migrated from
the north. These people
gradually displaced what
was left of the Roman
Empire in these parts; they
spread as far as German-
speaking Switzerland and
the French Alsace. They
received instruction from
Irish missionary monks,
such as St. Gallus, who
taught a fine and free
brand of Christianity, often
building monasteries on Emil Molt’s birth house
the ruins of Roman forts.

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 Around 1878, at an intersection in the center of town, a wood paneled bakery
stood with gleaming counters and alcove windows. One alcove held a display of fine
breads and biscuits, the other a frail boy munching on a sugar bun and holding a
little wooden horse. His mother, lunchtime break over, was opening the door with its
tinkling bell, welcoming customers into her warm and fragrant shop. She was a thin
energetic woman of perhaps 37 years with a white cap over frizzy hair and an apron
covering her dress from buttoned-up collar to ankle-length hem. Her customers were
dressed more stylishly, corseted with hats and gloves. These ladies were regulars. They
lived for their afternoon tea, and the adventure of the day was going to see what new
delights the baker had invented for them. “Good afternoon, Frau Molt,” they would
say. “And how is your little boy today?”
The boy knew that this idyllic setting was not all that it seemed. He heard his
mother anxiously cajoling his sleeping father in the early darkness, summer and
winter, to get up and start his work day: breads for the morning and cakes for the
afternoons, every day the same, even Sundays when churchgoers wanted their warm
sweet rolls with their leisurely Milchkaffee. The boy was used to frequent outbursts
in the back bakery when his father’s fingers got scorched or an ingredient was missing
for his latest creation. But by the time the customers arrived, the offerings were in
place and the portly, choleric baker was resting in the flat above, recovering from his
impatient battles with dough. His name was Conrad Molt, his wife was Marie and the
little boy was Emil Hugo.
The name ‘Molt’ is hardly ever found in Germany and isn’t especially illustrious.
Its origins seem to be the Irish language. Although ‘moltach’ means ‘praiseworthy,’
‘molt’ is translated as ‘morose,’ ‘sulky’ or even ‘wether’ (a castrated sheep). Aillil Molt
was an Irish king of the West who lived around 450 AD. Some say he suffered the fate
of the wether for being unfaithful to his queen, which certainly would have made
him sulky and morose. The English derivative also conveys deprivation; molt is what
chickens do when they shed their feathers.
Conrad Molt was born in March 1840, the offspring of teachers in Obergröningen,
a remote but close-knit little town northeast of Gmünd. His father died when he was
eight so his uncles helped his mother bring him up. Conrad, although bright enough,
could not compete with his classmates in sports and on the playground because of
a congenital heart defect. As a consequence he suffered the jeers of his more robust
classmates, the dismay of his elders and a temper based on a severely diminished sense
of self.

12
 His mates, like all schoolboys of the time, dreamt of a military career with its
fanfare and color, and to them physical prowess was as important as reading and
writing.
It was, after all, a highly charged time. The German States saw revolution in 1848,
Prussia waged several wars in the 1860s and then, in 1870, France declared war against
Germany and was defeated under Helmuth von Moltke at the decisive battle of
Sedan in the Alsace. After that, with Bismarck’s leadership, Württemberg and other
independent German kingdoms, some more enthusiastically than others, joined
Prussia to form the German Empire with a government in Berlin. This empire was to
last less than half a century, but for the time being everyone was flush with a sense of
triumph.
Conrad had one nonjudgmental friend, the kindly local baker who let him help
out after school for pocket money. Conrad loved this warm and comforting place.
He had talent and was proud of his part in the finished
breads. After graduation, his classmates rushed to sign
up for the military. Conrad alone was found physically
unfit. His parents said he would make a fine teacher but
the thought of facing more jeering children terrified him
and he insisted he wanted nothing but to be a baker. This
caused an earthquake in his house.
His uncle, head of the household and a teacher,
said manual labor was not in the Molt tradition and
was below their station in life, reminding Conrad, while
pointing to the framed coat of arms hanging on the wall,
that his illustrious ancestor Joseph held an honorary Molt coat of arms
lifetime title as Württemberg Schoolmaster to the
Nobility. Conrad, who liked history and had done his share of research into the family,
replied that Joseph’s son, while teaching, had also been a weaver, and the weaver’s son
Georg (Conrad’s great-grandfather) had been a shoemaker, and that artisanship was
just as much in his own blood as teaching. This earned him chastisement and house
arrest. A few months later, while everyone else was asleep, Conrad packed a satchel and
some food from the larder, put his savings in his pocket and climbed out of his lace-
curtained window into the night, knowing he could never return. In that parochial
time, when people knew their place and sons continued their fathers’ professions and
married within a radius of ten miles, his behavior would have brought shame upon
the family.

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 Meanwhile from Waldenburg, another small Württemberg town south of
Obergröningen, Marie, the headstrong unmarried daughter of a well-respected
Protestant pastor named Johann Peter Ludwig Goeller, moved to Schwäbisch Gmünd,
where she managed the boarding house of a distant aunt. Late one rainy night Marie
heard a loud knock at the door. She wrapped her plain dressing gown over her flannel
nightgown, straightened her nightcap and looked out the window. Conrad Molt
stood outside in the rain looking half-drowned. “Do you still have a room?” he asked.
Marie took pity on him. She let him into the kitchen, dried him off, warmed up a
bowl of soup and packed him off to a spare room.
Conrad proceeded to suffer chills and fever for a week. He was nursed by Marie
and soon regaled her with embellished stories of travel and adventure in Germany
and in France, boasting that he had learned the art of pastry-making “with the
greatest chefs of Paris.” He prided himself on his smattering of French and told her
his motto was ‘toujours travailler’ (always work). True to that, he offered to repay
her kindness by baking for her customers. When she asked about his own home and
found out he could not return, she was flooded by sympathy that soon blossomed
into affection made more desirous by the sweet morning aromas from the kitchen.
Conrad, recovered but still pale and unfit, responded but, on the question of marriage
said he couldn’t possibly wed without a post. Then the entrepreneurial spirit took
hold of Marie. Deciding to leave her aunt’s employment, she offered her small savings
to help set Conrad up in his own bakery. Both were at this time pushing thirty and
were pleased at the mutual solution of their destinies.
They found the perfect spot with a bakery downstairs and apartment upstairs
and were just installed when the short war with France broke out. It was lucky they
had each other, and Marie was glad enough that Conrad would not be obliged to fight.
But both were ‘foreigners’ in this town without extended family. Marie, the devout
Protestant, compensated by regularly going to church and by exchanging gossip with
her customers. She also kept in close contact with her family. Conrad, however, was
still estranged from his clan and did not make friends easily. He withdrew into his
bakery. They both dearly wished for offspring, but Marie, overworked and no longer
very young, suffered several miscarriages.

Emil’s first seven years: April 1876-1883

On Good Friday, April 14, 1876, she finally gave birth to a very frail and asthmatic
son. He was so ill that Marie begged Conrad to run for the pastor who hurried to the
house and baptized the baby, naming him Emil Hugo according to the parents’ wishes.

14
 Conrad, who had hoped for a strong little warrior unlike himself, fell into a black
mood, afraid of what the next hours might bring, but the child survived. The doctor
arrived next and prescribed regular doses of Malaga wine which Marie religiously
administered. Her full powers of motherhood awakened, she kept her little son close
by in the shop, first in a basket and then on the window ledge from where he looked
out at the world and she at him, all the while lavishing bits of sweet bread and cake on
him. The Malaga cure was medieval, the sugar diet more modern, but both seemed to
prove that infants get their main nourishment not from food but from their mothers’
love.
The couple’s relationship was not particularly inspired or romantic; the practical
requirements of the business formed the main content of their days. Often the
bakery stayed open late. Family outings were rare. Although Marie spoiled her
son, his upbringing was like that of most nineteenth century children: prosaic and
authoritarian. There were no fairy tales, but prayers, said morning and evening
and at the beginning and end of meals. Conrad was very strict; Emil was expected
to be seen and not heard. When he made a mistake and spilled his milk or broke
a cup, his father’s anger was terrifying.
Punishments included confinement in a
dark storage closet for what seemed like
hours, or banishment to bed with the door
locked and windowblinds drawn which
turned daylight into witching shadows.
A more robust lad would have withstood
such usage, but young Emil was frail and
unusually sensitive. These recurring events Conrad’s snuffbox
gave him nightmares for years to come.
On better days, Conrad’s outbursts were mitigated by kindness. He sometimes
took Emil to feed his tame pigeons under the roof and taught him to play the drum.
Once he brought home a child’s fiddle which Emil doted on until he carelessly left it
lying on a sofa and a portly visitor sat on it by mistake. Whenever Conrad heard the
sounds of a military band, he would snatch his son up on his shoulders and run down
the street to watch the dragoons marching by in pomp and full dress uniform. How
Conrad yearned to be one of them!
Emil grew and eventually left his windowseat and ventured out to join the
neighboring children, accompanied by his little dog Assorle. He was a pale, wheezing
blonde boy, but unlike his father, the frail child in Obergröningen, Emil held a trump

15
card: a never-ending supply of warm sweet ‘seconds’ from Conrad’s kitchen for which
he was much in favor with the other children. He loved exploring this medieval town,
known for its gold- and silversmiths that added impressive patina to the streets. The
urchins (boys only, girls stayed at home) played in squares and alleys fronting stately
gabled houses, safe because the only traffic was horse and carriage, or they ran down
winding cobbled streets to an old Roman border wall that had never kept anyone out
and was therefore called ‘gaudium mundi’ (the joke of the world). On Sundays, Emil
delivered breakfast rolls to some of the larger houses in town, after which his mother
packed up some pastries as an extra treat for his friends.
Almost all of Emil’s playfellows were Catholic, and it seemed natural for him to
follow them when they went to Mass in their rich and mysterious church with its
ornate statues and heady aroma of incense, so different from his mother’s plain and
sparsely furnished Protestant church. He never stayed long—he harbored a secret
dread of being made an altar boy like them.

The second seven years: Mercury, 1883-1890 Alfdorf, Stuttgart

In the summer of Emil’s seventh year, his 43-year-old father, heated up from the
oven and an unexpected rush order, ran out into a rainstorm for butter and came
back feeling chilled. Perhaps his heart wasn’t up to the strain; perhaps his frustration
got the better of him. He came down with pneumonia, and within days he was
dead, an event that made a lasting impression on Emil. It seemed to be a new form of
punishment, and Emil racked his brain as to which of his many little sins had caused
this great catastrophe. Marie was devastated. Relatives came to help with the burial,
and, since Marie didn’t feel up to running the shop on her own, she sold the business
and, with Emil, found refuge with her brother Gustav, a pastor in the highlands
near Gmünd. They left in a hired carriage piled high with belongings, and the child,
hugging his dog Assorle, looked back towards the town he had loved which now
seemed darkened and made strange by the tragedy. Arriving in the evening, they were
greeted by Uncle Gustav’s wife and her youngest, Hermann, a boy just slightly older
than Emil. It was late and so both boys were bundled straight to bed, Emil sharing
Hermann’s room.
The village of Alfdorf nestled on top of a high plateau, its houses flanking a road
that meandered and then disappeared into the surrounding farmlands with a vista to
faroff mountains. Shops were few: a potter, a bookbinder and a carpenter (specializing
in spinning wheels) had their workshops next to a general store, a butcher and a
baker. Several taverns enlivened the landscape. A little Gothic castle, home to Baron

16
von Holtz of minor nobility, was the jewel of the place, his family lending flair and
endless occasions for gossip to the locals. Through a gate in the hedge, the pastor
and his family had access to the beautiful old church (they called it the ‘Sanctuary’),
which, together with the town hall, post office and primary school, all in one large
building across the road, formed the geographic center of the village. The pastor, the
teacher and the mayor were its leading lights.

The Goellers
The right reverend Gustav Goeller, pastor of Alfdorf, was an imposing figure,
portly and dignified in contrast to his rather thin and humble sister. He and his family
inhabited one of those large old houses in the center of town that could accommodate
any number of people and events. Indestructible, it stood next to the church and
behind an old linden tree surrounded by a circular bench that stands there to this day.
His wife, the gentle Friederike,
was highly intelligent. She
was related to the famous
physicist Julius Robert Mayer
[1814–1878] and in modern
times would have had a third
level education but then was
simply the pastor’s spouse,
mother to his children and
hostess to the many people
who either boarded in the
house or came through by
inclination or need. The cook The Rectory (church in rear)
presided in the cavernous
kitchen below the main reception rooms, and Uncle Gustav had his study on the top
floor, which allowed him oversight of the comings and goings in the village.
From the intensity and chaos of the bakery, Emil’s life now took on a strict order.
Meals were served at the same time every day, and every hour had its assigned task.
The Goellers had four children, two of them grown. The only daughter, Adelheid,
helped her mother in the household and looked after the various boarders living
there.
Sunday mornings everyone went to church. It had a lovely rococo interior with
two rows of benches and individual chairs for the town dignitaries. The organ was

17
over the entrance. The pastor’s family sat in their own section on the balcony; the
baronial family’s section was to their right with a separate entrance. The latter were
always mentioned in the closing prayers. In wintertime the church was so cold that
the congregation had to bring along foot warmers and candles. Every year the victory
over the French at Sedan [1871] and the creation of the Empire were celebrated with
great pomp and feeling with a service in the church and village festivities.

First schooling
Within days of his arrival, Emil, the boy who had spent his time running around
town, found himself tethered to a school bench with the other boys, separated by a
center aisle from the girls who seemed to him to occupy a different universe. Later
he would complain that he never had a proper education. What he meant is that he
never went to university, a requirement for achieving middle-class status in those
days. Yet learn he did, local history and geography with the teacher (he was less
enthusiastic about arithmetic), and because he and Hermann were the pastor’s boys,
they were treated with great leniency.

Townhall and school

Twice a week Uncle Gustav gave them Latin lessons. At a certain hour, Emil and
Hermann had to climb the stairs to the top floor, always knocking and waiting to
be invited in, then presenting themselves in Uncle’s study. Pastor Goeller, imposing
in a tasseled house cap and wreathed in pipe smoke, sternly instructed them while
seated at his mahogany desk surrounded by his favorite potted plants. Emil hated
these lessons, looking longingly out at the blue sky beyond the windows, and the ink
stains in his copy book betrayed his impatience. Once his uncle even put him over his

18
knee which he never forgave him for, but he was taught so well that he had no trouble
later being accepted into secondary school. He resumed his fiddle playing and after a
while could accompany the children’s morning choral singing.
Sometimes in the evenings Aunt Friederike took over, and her brand of teaching
was enjoyable, reading aloud from her large library of historical books and novels,
many of which romanticized brave deeds, courtly knights and pure and noble
damsels—all of which wove itself into Emil’s soul. She excelled at hosting festivals,
especially Christmas, when relatives descended on the night-lit parish through the
snow for feasts, music and parlor games that really were factual mind-teasers, warmed
by a roaring fire and a laden sideboard.
Emil’s favorite time was the afternoon when the boys were allowed to play, and
he chafed when studious Hermann sat in his room, delaying over his homework. Once
he even attacked him, but being still quite frail, his cousin easily fought him off. Then,
indeed, they played in the meadows or, when it rained, in the unused barn behind
the house. They produced plays and puppet shows with stick puppets, performing
for an entrance fee. Once Hermann tried making an organ out of some old organ pipes
they found in the loft. Emil, the early businessman, sold advance tickets to the show,
but Hermann’s pipes refused to play. Their audience was kind enough not to laugh at
them, probably admiring them for their initiative. They always played together and
never with the village boys; Hermann probably felt himself superior to the farmer
boys, and Emil was too shy to make separate acquaintances.
Some Sunday afternoons, the pastor took his family out into the countryside to
prune the trees in his orchard or to gather fruit. Other times he had his horse and trap
hitched up, driving to places with no church and holding services there. Or, weather
permitting, he would walk, taking the children along through pristine woods and
drowsy wheat fields. Often on the way back, they stopped for refreshments at one of
the farmhouses belonging to the Baron. If it was sunny, they sat outside gazing over
the high ridge they had travelled, with its view to the rounded hills beyond.
Uncle Gustav knew the name and the story of every hill, many of them crowned
by the ruins of an old castle. Emil loved these walks and thought this landscape with
its soft colors and fragrances to be the most beautiful in the world. One time was
different. Relatives had come to visit and they all went climbing to the ruins of the
old Stauffen castle. It was dark as they came back down, and Emil found it hard not
to appear weak, for the forest with its rustlings and ghostly shadows filled him with
foreboding and dread, reminiscent of the dark room in Gmünd with its witching
shadows.

19
 Some evenings the Goellers would go to the ‘Rose’ pub, meeting villagers over a
glass of beer and an occasional game of ninepins but not before the mailman with his
post horn (who doubled as a night watchman with halberd and lantern) had come
by, passing out letters from his pouch. The children, allowed to watch this fascinating
ritual, would then go up to bed from where they would hear him calling out the hour.
Uncle Gustav, the schoolmaster and the mayor were all political conservatives
and admirers of Bismarck who gave them their unified Germany in 1871. In those
days being conservative meant preserving tradition in the form of State, Society and
Church. All of them abhorred liberal ‘Democrats’ with their revolutionary principles
and commitment to gymnastics. Perhaps Uncle Gustav was biased: In 1848, grievances
and a series of harvest failures had brought on some serious uprisings in Europe, and
his father, the pastor of Waldenburg, was forced to flee angry revolutionary peasants
rebelling against the well-fed ‘gentry.’
After a year Emil’s mother found an apartment on the outskirts of town, bordering
the farmlands. Again, Emil’s life changed. Although still attending the village school,
he felt freed of constraints and started spending time with his new neighbors—farm
boys, whose threshing machines, stables and haylofts fascinated him. He went along
for the plowing and haying and on butchering day was given a bowl of hearty broth.
Almost all the boys had their own workbenches, and they were good at carving sabers,
lances, bows and arrows. Their favorite occupation was ringing the four church bells
hanging in the tower. It took one boy to ring the smallest bell, four to ring the large
one, and it was great fun being pulled right up into the old belfry with its owls and
bats.
During the dark winter evenings farmers sat together spinning ghost stories. One
said he had seen lights on a fresh grave, another a spirit haunting a remote corner.
Their tales were so real that, for a time, Emil needed his entire courage to walk home
alone in the dark. Still, in that setting he became stronger and happier, and his asthma
disappeared completely. He became wilder and undisciplined, often skipping school
and coming home with bruises and torn clothing. He also started disobeying his
mother, running out when she wanted him in and laughing at her when she tried to
chastise him. She, still in mourning, did not have the strength to manage him: She was
lonely and often felt unwell. When Emil was nine, her doctor diagnosed a heart valve
defect, and Emil understood he must control his behavior and be kinder and gentler
for her sake.

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Leaving Alfdorf
At eleven, Emil completed the country school, and Marie decided to move to
Stuttgart because schools were better in Württemberg’s capital. Her married sister,
living in Stuttgart, encouraged her to open a specialty shop selling products from
Alfdorf: milk and beer from the baronial estate, sausages and meat from the local
butcher, as well as cheese and her own homemade noodles.
In April 1887 they found the ideal location, a vacant shop and apartment within
easy walking distance of Emil’s new school, the Realgymnasium, as such secondary
schools are called. Marie, back among townspeople, was happy to indulge her flair
for business, and she was as successful here as she had been in Alfdorf, although she
needed her entire strength for it. Emil helped her with chores, such as turning the
handle of the heavy noodle machine, but he was left far too much to his own devices.
He found school in Stuttgart to be an even worse prison with its dull routine taught
by tired, frustrated, elderly teachers whose only exercise was applying the strap.
Lessons followed each other at 45-minute intervals without a break which meant
that no sooner were the boys finished in one class than the bell rang for the next.
Field trips and museum visits were not included in the curriculum, and even during
holidays most children had to cram for tests.

Stuttgart

The best thing about school was that it ended at midday. Then Emil ran out
of there and, with his friends, supplemented his education with life in the streets
of Stuttgart. They perfected the art of ringing doorbells and blasting windows and

21
keyholes with peashooters without getting caught. They placed pennies or fire
crackers on the rails of the quaint old streetcars pulled by horses that reared wildly
when the crackers exploded. Once Emil caught his foot between rails and freed
himself just seconds before the streetcar was on top of him.
He and his friends lurked in shadowy alleyways smoking cigarettes made of
chestnut leaves or, if they were lucky, collected tobacco dregs which Old Man Hunnius
discarded outside his tobacco shop. Hunnius made zesty cigarettes with black paper
and gold mouthpieces for Russians living in Stuttgart.
In the 1880s the lovely city of Stuttgart, with its winding Neckar River, was still
relatively small. It was a contented town of about 85,000 inhabitants, surrounded
by vineyard covered hills. There wasn’t much poverty in Stuttgart nor much stark
ambition. The King of Württemberg, Karl I, and his lovely Russian-born Queen Olga
were part of the daily scene. Their palace stood in the park-like center of town where
the King often took unaccompanied evening strolls, being greeted casually with, “How
are you today, Herr Koenig (Mr. King)?” by other strollers. When Olga married Karl
and moved to Stuttgart from St. Petersburg, she brought along a retinue of well-to-do
Russians who gave the city much glamour and excitement.
The King was a jovial and sociable monarch, who found frequent cause for public
celebrations with parades and fireworks. One time he came riding through town
flanked by Chancellor Bismarck and General von Moltke. The boys, seeing them in
all their pomp, were stage-struck. They bought old bayonets and fitted them into
makeshift wooden hilts; they adorned themselves with ribbons and buckles and
marched in their own parades, because, for them, war meant pageantry and romance.
Emil was their natural captain, not because he was the strongest or the oldest—he
was still quite small—but because he observed the soldiers most closely. Once, while
waiting for the changing of the guard, he had a flash of insight. He realized: ‘I have
relatives, I have a mother, but I am a self, separate and unique.’ This thought was so
vivid that years later he could still picture himself as a twelve-year-old boy, standing
alone among the many people, with this insight.

The orphan
In September 1889, after a summer holiday spent visiting his mother’s relatives in
her home town of Waldenburg, Emil returned to Stuttgart to find Marie bedridden
and in extreme pain. She was completely dependent on care, and her doctor held no
hope of recovery. Emil walked into her sick room, and when he saw her suffering, he
was completely overcome. Marie put her arms around him and broke into tears at the

22
thought of leaving him. Over the next days her condition worsened and Emil was not
allowed into her room, seeing her again only on the evening of her death. The boy sat
by her bed in a state of utter despair while the relatives from Stuttgart and Alfdorf
made funeral arrangements. Pastor Goeller and the others tried to comfort him, but
he hardly heard them.
Marie was buried in the family grave in Schwäbisch Gmünd a few days later. Emil
stood there conscious that now, at thirteen and a half, he was truly alone.
The family discussed who should take on the troublesome boy. His uncle and
aunt in Stuttgart, the Jaegers, offered to keep him for a couple of years against room
and board, to finish school. Their invalid son, Oskar, as old as Emil, was confined to a
wheelchair and needed a companion, and they hoped Emil could make himself useful
while they were at work. Portly Herr Jaeger was curator in a nature museum; portlier
Frau Jaeger ran a boarding house and planned to continue Marie’s shop. Perhaps they
meant well but they were stern and unapproachable.
The morning after the funeral Emil came downstairs to his uncle, holding out
his hand. “Good morning,” he said, as taught by his mother. Uncle Jaeger answered
by saying, “Shaking hands is unnecessary in this household, and you should avoid
it in future.” This was like a cold shower and made Emil extremely uncertain. He
missed his freedom. His afternoon duties were laid out for him with his cousin Oskar
whom he wheeled out every day and sometimes let fly down the hill in his chair.
Once a neighbor came rushing in to his aunt: Oskar and Emil were seen on the roof.
Surprisingly, Oskar actually improved over time to the point that he no longer needed
his wheelchair, but the Jaegers certainly did not attribute this to Emil.
School was a further misery. For the most part the teachers favored a few ‘good’
students and barely tolerated the rest. They routinely punished their pupils with
beatings, humiliation and extra work. Coming home from school Emil often had
swollen hands from the teacher’s switch, and each morning, on the way there, he
imagined the terrors the day would bring. That, together with the state of mourning
he was in, thwarted any inclination to learn. He also languished physically; the Jaeger’s
evening meal of bread, sausages and beer did not agree with him.

A way out
Early in the new year Emil decided he could bear it no longer. He remembered
the advice of a friend: “If you keep staring at your nose for a long time you can make
yourself throw up.” One afternoon Emil tried this during an especially hateful lesson
and it worked. The teacher sent him home immediately and the Jaegers called for

23
a doctor who diagnosed mild hepatitis. Emil was delighted to stay in bed for a few
weeks, but by then he was so far behind in school that he had no hope of catching up.
The Jaegers called an emergency conference with Pastor Goeller and his family
to which Emil, naturally, was not invited. The Jaegers said they no longer wanted him
in their house but did not know what to do with him. The Goellers could not take
him back because there was no secondary school in Alfdorf. Somebody remembered
a small institute in Calw, in the Black Forest, specializing in the education of difficult
boys. Everyone agreed that Emil must be sent there, financed by his legacy from the
sale of the Gmünd shop. Shortly before Easter Pastor Goeller came to Stuttgart to
collect Emil and helped him pack his few belongings. Emil said farewell to Oskar
whom he had grown quite fond of. At the door Herr Jaeger finally shook his hand,
limply, and wished him well. Frau Jaeger patted him on the shoulders and hid her
relief behind her handkerchief.
His confirmation with his cousin Hermann in Alfdorf was the final rite of passage
during this sorry time in Emil’s life. Vulnerable in front of the altar in full puberty and
with a breaking voice, the eyes of the entire congregation on his back, he forgot half
the Bible verse he was supposed to recite. His embarrassment was so great that the
festive meal following the ceremony and the rest of the week until his departure were
torture. Emil decided the adults were right to consider him a hopeless case.

Emil’s third seven years: 1890-1897

Emil’s fourteenth birthday, April 14, 1890, dawned bright and sunny. He rose
early, ready and packed, eager to set off on the next stage of his life. This first train
trip was the best birthday present, made even better because his favorite cousin
Adelheid came with him. A carriage took them to Gmünd where they boarded the
train. Adelheid, Hermann’s older sister, had become a lovely gentle young woman
with large dark eyes and a bright smile which caused a great and tender feeling in
Emil. The cousins sat opposite each other with their refreshments, she laughing and
chattering, commenting on the changing landscape. Sleepy little villages took turns
with large tracts of grain and cabbage fields peppered with the odd horse in harness
which eventually gave way to dark pine-covered slopes as they entered the silent
Black Forest. Then suddenly, too soon almost, the medieval town of Calw appeared
below them as the train wound its way down to the station.
They asked the stationmaster for directions to the Lyceum and, having found
it, were sent directly in to the headmaster, Herr Professor Weizsäcker. This dignified
personage had corresponded with Pastor Goeller and was expecting them. He fixed

24
Emil with an appraising yet kindly look, suggesting he secure lodgings before returning
the next day for an entrance exam and recommended the house of Professor Kies and
his wife located near the school. Frau Kies was housemother to seven boys and had
room for one more. For that first night, however, the cousins stayed at a thatch-roofed
inn, dining together and exploring the town in the evening light. Next morning
Adelheid assured Emil that he would do well and then waited while he, nervous and
unsure, sat the exam. He passed, barely, and Adelheid, much relieved, helped him
unpack in the room he now shared with two other boys, hugged him and left for
home.

The Lyceum
Emil settled into his new environment surprisingly quickly. The other boys, used
to students coming and going, accepted him easily. The school was clearly different
from the one in Stuttgart with airy rooms and a pervasive atmosphere of learning.
In his very first class, old Professor Staudenmeyer asked Emil’s neighbor a question
he could not answer whereupon the other students whispered it across to him fairly
loudly. Emil was thunderstruck at this bold behavior until he realized the professor
was stone deaf. Yet the students respected their teacher and learned well from him as
they did from the other teachers, all gifted educators who expected discipline without
the need for corporal punishment. Emil thrived in this atmosphere, discovering that
all it takes to learn is enthusiasm for the subject.
In the afternoons the boys went out walking, cocky in their white Lyceum caps.
Their favorite destination was the train station where (with no one watching) they
treated themselves to a secret glass of beer or a piece of chocolate from the bakery
and watched the girls. Emil admired them from afar, with diffuse yearning, imagining
them as the romantic lofty beings of Friederike Goeller’s historic novels, but never
really meeting up with them. Sometimes they wandered further, through gardens
and meadows to the dusky hills, past the ‘enchanted well’ and the old gallows which
afforded them many pleasant shivers. They enjoyed the liberal school schedule,
having enough free time before the few hours of homework. In the evenings they
studied together, overseen by the head student. They never copied notes and always
encouraged each other in their work.
In the fall of 1890, Emil began seventh class, the highest in the school. In this class
the teachers treated the boys more as equals. In the spring final exams arrived and
Emil worked hard to prepare. He got up early in the morning, focusing every waking
minute on the tests. The big day arrived and, although nervous, he felt he had done

25
quite well. When the grades were finally announced Emil was speechless, His results,
including math, his weakest subject, were better than he could have hoped for. After
his mother’s death and the confirmation disaster, he had given up on religion, but he
now felt her presence strongly and sent a prayer to heaven for her. He had transformed
himself completely in just over a year.
At the end of school Emil’s class performed a play, Goethe’s “Götz von Berlichingen.”
The costumes came from a theatre company in Nuremberg. Emil was chosen for the
part of Götz’s sister, Maria, proof of how slender and delicate he still was. He acted
so convincingly in his powdered curls and frilly dress that a lieutenant of the local
platoon mistakenly paid him court after the performance. Two of the other players,
still in costume, borrowed a couple of horses and galloped whooping through town
waving their bayonets.
Then it was time to say goodbye to teachers, landlady and schoolmates, most of
whom were traveling back to their own homes. They promised each other to stay in
touch, but Emil lost contact with all of them except for two and those two remained
his friends for life: the famous writer Hermann Hesse, who was sent to the Lyceum
after running away from a priest seminary in Maulbronn, and August Rentschler, who
later joined Emil in his business.
Emil stayed on in Calw for a few days waiting to hear from his Stuttgart relatives
what his next steps should be. His uncles and aunts, while surprised at his good
grades, did not want him back. They decided that the sooner he stood on his own two
feet the better. His best course, they decided, lay in business, a career people choose
(they said privately to each other) who are unable to do anything else. Why even
travel to Stuttgart at all? The Georgii company in Calw, they heard, was looking for an
apprentice: Emil should apply there; they would write a letter to Georgii. Although
Emil had no choice in the matter, he was not too much put out since a friend told him
that business was the best way to get rich fast.
The Georgii establishment was the favorite shopping emporium in town and an
early prototype of the modern supermarket. It stood in the central square, with an
imposing front and outbuildings in the back. Lyceum students loved its variety—
you could find almost anything there from walking shoes to novels—and they often
came in, browsing among the many tempting foreign products, then buying a penny
notepad which made the purchase of cigarettes more discreet. They would banter
with the servant girls on an errand for coffee or sugar and tease them when they
lingered over the purchase of a romantic postcard for their sweethearts in the army.

26
 The proprietor, Emil Georgii, a muscular giant of a man with a full head of white
hair, well into his sixties but looking ten years younger, had prominence in town as
assistant mayor, voluntary fire chief and ardent supporter of the local gymnastics club.
It cost Emil a great deal of courage to present himself to this man, but he brushed his
jacket, smoothed down his hair and went. In the store Georgii’s wife Pauline smiled
at him kindly. “Hello Emil,” she said. “My husband is expecting you,” and took him to
the back where Georgii, sitting at his accounts, listened to Emil’s awkward speech and
liked what he saw. He questioned him thoroughly, then told him to go home and wait
for a reply. Two suspenseful weeks passed during which time Georgii made extensive
inquiries; then he invited Emil back and told him he had the position.

The apprentice
In those days (1890) apprenticeship was like an
indenture. The apprentice belonged body and soul to
the master and his establishment, paying 600 Marks up
front for three years of food and lodgings and obliging
the apprentice to sign a statement of confidentiality
and loyalty.
On the first day the two other apprentices,
Oskar and Emil, introduced themselves to Emil and Emil the apprentice
immediately knocked him to the floor as a kind of
crude initiation into their world. They quickly decided to call him by his middle
name, Hugo (which he hated), since the house already had too many Emils. Oskar, the
older of the two, a short stubby fellow, took Emil under his wing like a rough nanny
pointing out the rules with punches rather than words. They all shared a room just
big enough for three beds, three washstands and three washbasins whose water froze
in winter. Candles provided light after sundown. It was not a place for weaklings.
The work day began at seven in the morning and ended at eight at night. One
apprentice would tiptoe to the master’s open bedroom door to get the warehouse
keys and then all three went down, opened the shop shutters and sorted, swept and
cleaned, well aware the master’s wife would find the one overlooked, dusty corner
later on. If, by mischance, the master was up first and the apprentices heard him
winding his old wall clock and bounding downstairs two at a time, they would throw
on their clothes without washing and without their removable collars and rush down
after him.

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The shop
Breakfast was plain: rolls and coffee in a bowl with two handles, prepared by
Katherina the cook, who also gave them their lunch and dinner. Emil soon learned to
supplement breakfast by pocketing a slice of bread and later dipping it into the sugar
sack in the wholesale warehouse behind the shop. This warehouse stored building
supplies and farm implements, and tradesmen and farmers brought their horse-
drawn carts in through a back carriage entrance to be served directly. There Emil
learned to weigh grain, wood and other supplies on a primitive scale hung from a high
beam with stones as counterweights. Each day he helped stock shelves, fetching beer,
wine and champagne from the large cool cellar that contained rows of barrels and
hundreds of bottles. A deep dark secret of that cellar was the cup hidden behind one
of the barrels that allowed the apprentices to ‘test’ the quality of the wine.
Hunting and fishing equipment was displayed behind glass, and gunpowder,
stored in sacks almost too heavy for one person, was stored in a warehouse on a hill
outside town. The two husky apprentices, smirking, put it to Emil that the newest
apprentice must fetch the gunpowder, and they were sure his narrow shoulders would
find it an impossible task. That’s where Emil discovered the virtue of brain over brawn.
He found a small wagon, pulled it up the hill and, sitting on the gunpowder sack,
sailed back down as fast as the wind. In those days risk did not seem a consideration,
and he was rewarded with a small tip for his prompt delivery. With that first tip
he went straight to the store’s book section and bought the first book of his later
extensive literature collection, a small collection of wandering songs, Wanderlieder
by Scheffel.
At first Emil found serving customers in the shop a hard task; he was very shy
with young women but terrified when faced with an elderly lady staring at him
over rimless glasses. Georgii’s wife Pauline noticed his awkwardness. She taught him
tricks for memorizing names and the art of polite inquiry and conversation, while
the master taught him method and thrift, being almost pedantic in his demand for
recycling. Georgii turned every incoming envelope inside out and reused it, saved
every string and pulled and straightened every nail. The secret of his success was his
attention to detail while never losing sight of the whole and his absolute devotion to
work. As an important member of the community, he had to put in an appearance at
every social event in town. If, on his way back late at night, he found Emil still working,
he would not say, “It’s late, run along to bed,” but rather, “Oh, you’re still here, too!”

28
Gymnastics
On Saturdays and Sundays there was more work: books and magazines to be
unpacked, invoices to be entered and a thousand other odd jobs. In spite of the lack
of free time, Georgii insisted that his apprentices learn French and English and go
to gymnastic classes because he felt these skills to be essential for the well-being
of the new Empire. Of course he also knew, the wise fox, that gymnastics for post-
pubescent boys diverted their other urges as much as convention and hard work
did. Sometimes Emil was so tired he crawled into bed without undressing, but his
loyalty and admiration for his fatherly master was so strong it kept him going. One
day he discovered to his surprise that Georgii belonged to the Liberal Democrats,
the very party hated by Uncle Goeller, and even more surprised to find this political
philosophy rather refreshing. He loved the gymnastics; they made him agile and
strong and he eventually profited greatly from the language lessons. Otherwise he
had little social life other than a visit to the local pub for a glass of beer. The only
excitement was provided by the occasional fire. Georgii, as fire chief, expected his
apprentices to help, and they outdid each other in racing to the scene and proving
their bravery and daring.
Georgii and his wife had two sons, both working with them. Paul, the younger
one, rather plain but dependable, was his trusted helper, overseeing all purchases and
accounts and running the firm’s own bank. The older son Emil, extremely handsome
and charismatic, recently returned from Greece, had plans to develop a branch of
the business making cigarettes with imported tobacco. Our Emil, who only knew a
small part of southern Germany, was much taken by the young Georgii’s apparent
worldliness and elegant demeanor.

Gaining experience
At the end of the first year, the oldest apprentice left, replaced by a new one
whom Emil initiated more gently than he had been by his predecessor. Emil himself
moved into the office of his master’s younger son Paul, learning the basics of
bookkeeping and inventory, buying and selling and balancing accounts. He also taught
himself stenography and a careful style of handwriting for letter writing and ledger
entry. His mentor Paul was an excellent example of a person who loved his work for
its own sake rather than for profit. His methods became a model for Emil, who soon
learned that hidden behind every number is a living transaction representing a living
person. The numbers showing gain or loss are symbols for successful or unsuccessful

29
deeds. That knowledge made what was formerly his worst subject, arithmetic, come
to life for him and it gained him confidence.
In his third year, Emil became his master’s right hand, helping him run the
business. He did most of the correspondence, standing at an upright desk, translating
his stenographic notes into handwritten, presentable letters. As carbon paper had
not yet been invented, every letter was hand-copied for the company records. An
accidental ink stain on the original meant the whole thing had to be redone. Soon
Emil had an excellent understanding of the entire business, and as he acquired
competence his assurance grew. Looking back over his apprenticeship he noted that
the first year was a hard ‘I must,’ the second year ‘I should’ and the third year ‘I can,’
and so his will was formed.
During his last month Georgii approached Emil with an unexpected offer: Would
he consider staying on for an additional year as a paid employee of the firm? Emil,
who had no idea what he would be doing next, accepted gladly. His boss gave him a
room of his own, a key to the front door and a salary. Otherwise his tasks remained
the same, with the exception that Sundays were now free, an opportunity to go
‘wandering’ and exploring in the countryside. At eighteen, he knew many people in
Calw by sight, but he was still unsure of himself and, lacking a family environment,
was mostly quite lonely.

Berta
That was soon to change. In the autumn of his
eighteenth year, the rifle association held its annual
fair, one of the big social events in Calw with prizes for
marksmanship, relay races and rum-ta-ta music. Emil
went there with some lads from gymnastics class, and
they soon joined up with a group of girls. Two of the
best looking, dressed in identical dark blue skirts, plaid
blouses and fur-trimmed boleros and obviously sisters, Berta Heldmaier
stood chatting and laughing with friends. The older one
was striking and fiery, the younger one pale and quiet with large dark eyes and thick
dark hair tied back in Greek style. At first Emil was drawn to the lively one, but then
he suddenly saw only her sister, the delicate girl with the gentle look. Her name was
Berta Heldmaier. She had come with her older sister Emma, and to Emil she looked
like one of those exotic and unattainable princesses featured in the Goellers’ novels.

30
Berta, her family and her background
Berta’s mother, Pauline Staudenmeyer, was born in 1840, the daughter of a
master plasterer in Calw. Hunger years followed her birth when even bread was
barely affordable. For a time the child Pauline did piecework for a match factory.
In 1865, she went to Frankfurt as a lady’s maid and was there when war broke out
between Austria and Prussia. The Prussians marched into Frankfurt after the battle
of Tauberbischofsheim—to the horror of the townspeople. Pauline’s employers like
other citizens fled the city, leaving her and the cook to mind the house. Pauline lost
her taste for living ‘abroad’ and, returning to the safety of Calw eventually married a
young master locksmith named Georg Heldmaier. They had three daughters: Emma,
born in 1873, Berta, born in 1876 (just a few months after Emil) and Pauline (called
Paule), born in 1885.
When Berta was three years old, a healthy and happy little girl, she was given a
tuberculosis vaccination. She suffered a severe reaction and for seven winters in a
row was bedridden with a kind of lung catarrh that kept her from school and drove
her mother to distraction. Sensing this, Berta became quiet and withdrawn, but her
dreams were the more intense, so much so that one morning, believing she was flying
over the world, she went to the top of the stairs in her nightgown and launched
herself with outspread arms. By chance or intuition her
father, walking by on his way to breakfast, managed to catch
her as she came sailing down.
Too often she watched longingly from her window
as her schoolmates skated on the river or sledded in the
snow. Luckily she had an excellent teacher who helped
her catch up with her schoolwork after every absence.
Eventually, when she was sixteen she graduated with her
class but for the rest of her life was to remain physically frail
Berta’s teacher
and often ailing.

The Heldmaiers
Berta’s father Georg was a master craftsman and
inventor who owned various patents for stoves, baking
molds and other metal objects. Like Georgii he was a
devoted Democrat and therefore a devoted gymnast. He
was also well-known in town for his beautiful daughters.
Berta’s father Georg

31
 Berta’s mother, no less gifted, had a sense of style
and a liking for financial independence. She learned the
art of hat-making and her reputation for fashionable and
inventive hats brought her an ever-growing clientele.
Soon she had so many orders that she needed the help
of her daughters. Berta, who longed to go to college, was
obliged to stay at home with her older sister Emma. The
work, always demanding, became especially so around
Berta’s mother Pauline Easter and in the autumn when the new season began.
Then the sisters often sat from early morning until into
the night stitching and shaping while their mother struggled with her accounts. Only
ten-year-old Paule was exempt from this work because of her age.
On fine summer days the girls sometimes relaxed in their mother’s garden above
the town. As a gift for his wife, their father had built a metal gazebo there with a trellis.
In the colder winter months, Emma, with her
mother’s enthusiastic support, often invited
friends to their house for social evenings
and parlor games. Berta liked these social
affairs but being shy, preferred exploring the
world through books. Emma had plenty of
admirers, but Berta, although she considered
herself plain, had her share too. One was
young Hermann Hesse, the future author of
Steppenwolf, who professed ‘undying love’
for her. The other was her cousin Gustav
Rau. To both their sorrows, she was always
attentive and friendly but never flirtatious
with them.
Berta and Emma as children
The ugly duckling
Berta wrote in her diary: “My sister Emma was known for her beauty, and she had
many admirers. My little sister Paule was strikingly pretty too. I myself was frail and
pale, often tired and lacking energy, and it depressed me dreadfully that I had two
such lovely sisters, the talk of the town, while I was regarded with pity. Once I told a
friend: ‘Why did God make me so ugly that my mother can’t love me?’ Later when I
learned how to read the story of the ugly duckling, I thought it was my own life.”

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 After Berta met Emil she had no idea how she might go about meeting him again.
The constraint of the times seemed like an impenetrable barrier built on the rules
of propriety, and, while she knew that Emil worked at Georgii’s, she couldn’t simply
go there and ask for him. She dreaded meeting him by chance in the street. Emil also
agonized over that dilemma. He realized he had never seen Berta in town, and what
excuse could he possibly give for knocking on her door?
Berta became even paler and more withdrawn, and her mother finally noticed
and asked what ailed her to which Berta replied, “I’m all right, Mother, don’t worry.”
Pauline, remembering Berta’s illnesses and annoyed at the lack of communication,
talked with her husband who suggested asking Emma to investigate. Emma took
Berta on a long walk, cajoling her until Berta confessed she had fallen in love at the
fair. She then begged Emma not to tell her parents; they would never approve of
her interest in a complete stranger. Emma, surprised and then delighted by this new
game, immediately set her mind to finding ways for the two to meet. When the girls
returned from their walk, Pauline was astonished to see Berta looking happy and the
picture of rosy health. Emma told her mother that the walk and the fresh air had
done Berta a great deal of good.

Intrigue
One day Emma happened to be browsing through the Georgii establishment
and to her satisfaction found Emil busy behind the banking counter. She told him
she would like to come back next day with her
savings book to make a deposit and asked when
would be the best time. He gave her a look and
then said between one and two, the time he knew
the Georgiis happened to be at lunch. Next day
Emma showed up with her sister. Both Berta and
Emil were extremely formal and constrained, and
she, red-faced and stuttering, barely raised her
eyes to him. A few days later, Emma was back,
saying she wanted to open a savings account for
their little sister Paule. She had a small box of
biscuits for him, baked by Berta. Next, Emma
decided to have Emil meet the family. She asked
his friend, her cousin Gustav Rau, to invite him to
his father’s tavern for the annual New Year’s Eve
party. Young Berta in traditional dress

33
 Berta wrote: “I met my husband when I was 18, having first seen him at a festival
but never having really talked with him. On December 31, 1894, my sisters and I went
to my Uncle Rau’s pub to wish the family Happy New Year. There we met Emil who
complained that all his friends had gone away to celebrate whereas he had to stay
and mind the Georgii shop. My sister Emma invited him to our house for the evening.
When he arrived, I shook hands with him and felt an electric shock, right down to my
feet. I was shattered without knowing why and sat down behind the Christmas tree
to hide my tears.”
Emil later wrote in his diary: “From the first moment it was no common
flirtation, being too elemental and, in spite of some detours, too assured. Later we
both remembered a feeling of absolute recognition. How else would it have been
possible that two such young people, without prospects, knew with such certainty
they were destined for one another? One day I want to write the story of our love.
At the moment it seems too profane to commit this most intimate affair of the heart
onto paper. …”
Emil prepared himself for the visit by asking Gustav Rau about the Heldmaiers,
finding out there might be music and what songs the girls liked to sing. He brought
along his fiddle and was the life of the party, chatting enthusiastically on the topic
of gymnastics with Father Heldmaier and, after complimenting Mother Pauline on
her hats, offering to help with her bookkeeping. Soon he was a welcome guest in the
house, coming in after work and staying late, lending a hand with various odd jobs.
This new world of women thrilled and fascinated him, and he completely immersed
himself in it. The house was an irresistible magnet, and the girls, lacking a brother,
lavished affection on him. Early in the morning he would walk up a hill from where
he had a view of it and, on his way back, detour past it, whistling the first four notes
of a hunting tune as a signal. His reward? Waves and smiles from all three out of the
upstairs window. On the side, he taught Berta stenography as a kind of secret language
between the two of them. They still kept their love a secret from her parents.
Old Georgii, curious where his employee might be spending his evenings and
knowing it was not in the pubs, went on the lookout and, passing the Heldmaier
house with its brightly lit windows and fiddle playing, was astute enough to figure it
out. He probably put in a good word for Emil with his fellow Democrat Heldmaier.
Berta’s parents were glad to offer the orphan from Stuttgart some family life. Emil
appeared on equally friendly terms with each of them, and Berta was able to keep
her secret with Emma’s help. Only Gustav Rau divined what was really going on and
withdrew in defeat, not without bitterness.

34
Emma’s engagement
In May 1895 Emma became engaged to Karl Hofstetter, a handsome young
traveling salesman with an elegant black moustache. Hofstetter took Emma to
Reutlingen to formally present her to his mother, and Berta was invited along as
chaperone. Since she should not travel without an escort, the Heldmaiers were
grateful when Emil offered to take on this task. What a wonderful two days the
young people spent, far from the prying eyes of Calw, including a tour through the
dusky corridors of Lichtenstein Castle and a romantic evening walk by a moonlit lake,
serenaded by frogs.
Such freedom was not possible in Calw. Once Emil and Berta planned to meet
discreetly in the little garden at six in the morning, ostensibly to harvest fruit. She
never showed up. Later Emil found out why: Her father noticed had her getting ready
to leave and when he heard she was going to meet Emil alone, he begged her not to do
so because of what people might think.
Emil seethed, finding such old-fashioned behavior intolerable, but eventually
his moment arrived. On the anniversary of Sedan, when all Germany celebrated the
founding of the Empire, Berta went to the garden to harvest fruit, accompanied as
usual by her little ‘watch dog’ Paule. Emil ‘happened’ to meet them there. He pulled
some coins out of his pocket, offering them to Paule and suggesting she go into town
to buy fireworks. Paule could not resist this temptation. She ran off, thrilled, and at
last Emil and Berta had an hour to themselves. He asked her to marry him and she
said she would, and they sealed the promise with their first kiss. Emil had found his
soul mate, and his one desire was to make a home for her. Berta still held her secret
close, telling no one except Emma.

Military service
Meanwhile, Emil had to serve his obligatory year in the army. He packed his
belongings and said goodbye to the Georgii family, all on hand to wish him well
except his old master. ‘Does he not care that I am leaving?’ he wondered, but then
Paul Georgii handed him a letter from his father. It said: “Dear Hugo-Emil: I don’t
like saying goodbye, so I am writing you. You have done well and I wish you much
luck. Be good as ever and continue your gymnastics; then you will remain healthy in
body and soul. If you need advice or help, come see me. I especially appreciate that
you stayed with us for this additional year. Farewell, I remain your well-intentioned
master, E. Georgii.” Naturally, this document was written on the back of a packing slip
and delivered in a recycled envelope together with the following reference:

35
 I hereby declare that Emil Molt, son of the master baker Molt of Gmünd
(deceased), has completed his apprentice training in my establishment
and worked for an additional year as an employee to my full satisfaction.
I recommend him highly as a capable, hard working, reliable and honest
young man. Emil Georgii

11 September 1895
Emil spent the following year in the garrison of
Neu Ulm. It was home to a Bavarian regiment which
he chose, having heard that military life in Bavaria
was not as harsh as in Württemberg or Prussia
and that it came with extra holidays since Bavaria
was predominantly Catholic. Army discipline was
easy after the rigorous apprenticeship, and Emil’s
youthful vanity delighted in his sharp uniform with
Emil Molt in uniform
its blue jacket and tight white trousers (the Greek
colors, worn because this regiment once accompanied the Bavarian Prince Otto to
Greece to be crowned king there). Emil, having arrived very fit from Calw, enjoyed
the training sessions and the marches. He was good at target practice too, as long as his
superior did not roar at him, which made him lose his aim. Because of his excellent
penmanship, company headquarters soon co-opted him as secretary which absolved
him from some of the rougher duties.
The whole town centered on the garrison, with restaurants, boarding houses
and entertainment provided in abundance. Emil observed that the army discipline
of daylight hours was mightily undone by nighttime revelry, consumption of large
amounts of alcohol and sexual excess. Emil’s shyness and the thought of his ‘good
angel’ Berta kept him from the mischief of his comrades, and frequent visits to Calw
were enough to remind him of his ideals. Another interest keeping him focused was
a cousin, Paula Sepp, who lived nearby and was married to a man ten years her senior,
he a born Catholic and she a Protestant, which did not in the least impede their
relationship.

The world of science

This childless couple introduced Emil to science, an absorbing topic to
progressive minds in those times of new research and widening religious doubt. The
Sepps discarded everything traditional, which at first frightened and then intrigued

36
Emil. He admired their capacity for clear and unimpeded views. Eugen, the husband,
studied nature as his hobby. He took Emil on walking tours, describing every plant
and every bug they saw. Both Sepps were music and theatre lovers and often invited
Emil to performances. He never saw them anxious or melancholy and regarded them
as wonderful masters in the art of life.
In January 1896, halfway through his military time, Emil enrolled in an officers’
training program. Had he continued through the summer he would have become
a reserve officer, but he decided instead to spend the time with Berta. Later Emil
pondered whether he had made the right decision, but in the end was glad because
duties as an officer would have stood in the way of his marriage and his career.
That summer, August 8, 1896, Emma married Karl Hofstetter. Emil in his blue
and white dress uniform was best man. An announcement in the paper invited the
entire town to the evening reception. It was an opportunity for Emil to try out his
skills on the dance floor with Berta, but they were both shocked at the innuendoes
and the crude jokes aimed at the new couple as the evening wore on and the wine
flowed. Emma and Karl were obliged to remain, hosting the entire evening as well as
a wedding breakfast next morning. Berta and Emil promised each other quietly never
to subject themselves to such an ordeal.
Shortly afterward, Emil’s future was decided. On Georgii’s recommendation
he applied for a job at the firm of Hamburger and Co. in Patras, Greece, the same
company for which Georgii’s son Emil worked. The firm soon wrote back offering him
a position. Emil was delighted by this good news, knowing how much he would learn
by going abroad, although unhappy at parting from Berta.
Here now is a young man, disciplined and mature for his age, ready to take on the
world. Forced to stand on his own feet and measure himself against challenges, he has
acquired skill and confidence in his own abilities.

Greece
On October 8, 1896, a small procession made its way toward the train station in
Calw. All five Heldmaiers, the ladies in their newest hats and the father consulting his
pocket watch, accompanied the young man on his way to foreign lands. Assisting them
were two apprentices carrying suitcases and bags, one containing enough food for
several days lovingly prepared by the ladies. At the station the usual crowd gathered;
it was quite a sendoff. Amid numerous last-minute instructions: ‘Be sure to wear your
hat in the sun’ and ‘Don’t forget to write,’ the train moved off in a southerly direction.
Emil sat glued to the window until the last of the waving handkerchiefs disappeared,

37
then watched the changing landscape until he was joined by an acquaintance, also
on his way to Zurich. When they arrived, the two young men took a room at an inn,
then ate supper and attended a concert with music so romantic that Emil’s heart
overflowed for the love left behind in Calw.
The next morning he continued his own journey over the spectacular Swiss
mountains to Milan, where the son of a Georgii employee met him. He gave him a tour
of the city and its newest buildings but omitted to show him any of the cultural sights
such as Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper. Altogether Emil passed through this ancient
and classic country completely innocent of its historic and artistic treasures. Instead
he was on a constant quest for picture postcards to send back to his sweetheart.
At Ancona Emil had his first sight of the Adriatic Sea, and at Brindisi he boarded
an overnight steamer. He did not spend much time in his bunk, preferring to stand
on deck, watching the waves, silvery in the moonlight, and thinking about Berta.
Next morning, the boat landed in Corfu, where Emil spent a few hours waiting for his
further connection. He strolled the narrow lanes wrapped in the comforting warmth
of the place, watching artisans stitching leather and shaping earthenware in front of
their doors. A small ferry took him the last leg, to the great commercial town of Patras.
The harbor, packed with ships of all sizes loading and unloading merchandise, ebbed
and flowed with milling crowds of busy people. It was not what Emil had expected.
He had imagined quaint little buildings surrounded by palm trees and tropical
vegetation. Instead the town was large, prosaic and businesslike.
Hamburger & Co., Patras, was housed in an imposing, modern harbor building
opposite the elegant Hotel Angleterre. It was the most important import and export
company in Greece, with its own ships and several hundred employees. Everyone
knew the owners, brothers Franz and Albert Hamburger. The family dominated the
social scene and was extremely active in the affairs of the town. They were among the
large German diaspora, assimilating easily and contributing to their chosen society.
The company exported raisins and wine and imported merchandise from Germany,
England, France and Italy.

Starting again
Emil was introduced into the main office and put straight to work at a standing
desk. His first task was translating a letter into French, which he did badly. Confident
that he was coming to Greece with skills, he now saw that he had to practically start
again, overcoming his old insecurity and exerting his will. Ordering food in a restaurant
was an adventure too; the dishes were as strange as their names, prepared in oil and

38
lacking the vegetables his Swabian stomach craved. It rebelled and Emil was sick for a
week. His wine researches in Georgii’s cellar were not much use to him either; he was
baffled by the offerings in Patras. The first time he drank ouzo, he was with a gang of
coworkers who nearly collapsed laughing when the fiery liquid connected with his
throat. That didn’t sit well with him. He laughed and took another swallow, knowing
he would be obliged to learn fast and hide his insecurities. Because he was young and
determined, he did learn. Studying Greek by night and observing his surroundings
closely, he got used to them and began to enjoy his new situation immensely.
The extended Hamburger families were impressed by his energy and invited him
to their cocktail parties and dinners. They were all very musical and pressed him to
take violin lessons, which he did for a while but then gave up because learning to
sight-read was too arduous. Indeed, he soon became bored by ‘society life,’ preferring
to go out on the town with less high-powered friends his own age. He loved the
promenades in the cool of the evening along the harbor, where the whole town
seemed to stroll, the haunting music and the dancing. Sometimes late at night, having
become extremely merry, the friends would leapfrog through the streets without
anyone taking any notice. ‘I can overcome all obstacles,’ Emil thought while doing
this, and he found the easy freedom of life delightful compared to the constraints of
Germany.
On his rare day off, Emil went further afield, exploring the countryside, alone or
with companions. Wherever he went, he found hospitality. Once, passing through a
village, he was given an escort of two soldiers because the mayor suspected robbers
in the area. From the Hamburgers’ library he borrowed books on ancient Greece
and found reading them made history come to life. Once he traveled to Athens and
was astonished to feel an intense familiarity with the town and its landscape. ‘It is as
though I’ve been here before,’ he mused, as he found his way easily past squares and
buildings, up to the Acropolis and back down, steeped in a white and blue dream of
ancient times.
On another magical day, he and his friends hired sturdy mountain ponies and
rode high up to a monastery perched in the rocks. Singing and confident, they
climbed past treacherous precipices, with no thought that their ponies might lose
their footing. A friendly monk greeted them and took them in, past the gardens and
the wine press, to the cool kitchen for refreshment, then to the chapel nestling like a
bird’s nest in a breach of the rock. The friends were astonished by the treasures inside,
brought there to safety long ago, away from the Turks invading the old Byzantium.
The sun was still high when they left, and it beat down on Emil’s uncovered head; he

39
had forgotten Berta’s warning to always wear a hat and would, one day, regretfully
trace his early baldness back to the burning Greek sun.
Emil enjoyed his work in the midst of his multicultural colleagues. He learned
the rules of the import and export business and of diplomacy and negotiation.
He evaluated products and equivalencies in foreign currency and was constantly
impressed by the scope of the business, so much greater than the local business in
Calw. He loved the warmth of the land and the warmth of the people and began to
feel so much at home that he imagined bringing Berta over to live with him in Patras.
His employers liked his work and increased his salary. They promised him a rising
career, and he signed a contract for four years.

Sudden conflict
Then an event took place that cast a severe shadow. In 1897, war broke out
between Turkey and Greece, initially on the island of Crete. In a letter Emil described
the crisis to Berta:

Here is what I’ve been told: This ancient island, Crete, is controlled by the
Ottoman Empire [Turkey] but largely populated by Greeks. The Islamic
Turks and the Christian Greeks do not get on well, and spring is always
a time of unrest in the Balkans. This year the Greeks revolted, perhaps
sanctioned by Athens, perhaps prodded by an interfering larger power.
They marched and Athens sent ships and troops to help them. At this
critical moment England, Austria, Germany, France, Italy and Russia,
stepped in, blockading the island. In Chania, the Turkish army, trained
by the German Baron von der Goltz Pascha, shot at the insurgents and
unfortunately a vessel built by Germany, the ‘Augusta Viktoria,’ got
involved too.

Emil and his friends suddenly found themselves less welcome than before, and
they followed developments with some trepidation. Mainland citizens demanded
that their sovereign support the Greeks on the island. They massed, shooting and
demonstrating, in front of the foreign embassies. The monarch, originally Danish of
German stock and with close family ties to the crowned heads of Europe, was faced
with an uncomfortable choice between a revolution that might end up deposing him
or an ultimatum delivered to the blockading powers—his kin. He knew very well
that the Turks had the advantage of a fully-equipped army and that the Greeks, with
their outdated armaments, were not prepared for modern warfare.

40
 Meanwhile the great powers bartered endlessly among themselves. Because of
their interest in the Suez Canal, Great Britain wanted Crete as an eastern equivalent of
Malta. Italy had its sights set on this strategically-important island because of Tripoli
and the Dodecanese. Germany was known for its friendship with Turkey. Russia,
Turkey’s archenemy, patronized orthodox Greece and wanted free passage through
the Dardanelles. Finally, Austria followed along with her allies, hoping somehow to
obtain a harbor in Salonica. The Greek citizenry did not much care for international
machinations. They rioted and, because popular international sympathy was largely
with them, the harbors, including Patras, soon saw young volunteers pouring in from
all over Europe to help them.
The day war was declared, Easter Sunday 1897, Emil and his friends were hiking
and happened to be sitting on top of Mount Omblo looking down on Patras when
they saw the battleship ‘Spezia’ pull out of the harbor. They had been given a tour of
that very ship just two days before.
The kingdom of Greece was small. Turkey, occupying Albania and parts of
Thessalia, Macedonia and Thrace, easily routed its army. Soon the citizens saw large
numbers of wounded arriving back in dreadful shape. At that point their courage
turned to panic. They blamed their king, and it was lucky for him the war ended,
having lasted only thirty days. This war was a prime example of financial and political
interests’ manipulating seeds of discord and hatred that would eventually lead from
one war to the next.
Emil’s reports to Calw were addressed to Berta but meant for the whole family,
while a second sheet, intimate and written in shorthand, was for her alone. Each day
he waited anxiously for a letter from her and was rarely disappointed. It troubled
him greatly that she was still working late into the night, missing out on sleep, and he
longed to take her away from Calw. In their letters they both discussed their future,
wondering whether that would include Patras because Emil was so happy there. He
began sending her lessons in basic Greek.
Then one day a letter arrived from Georgii’s charismatic older son Emil. He
wrote that he had relocated in Stuttgart with a jewel of a little cigarette factory his
father had helped him buy. “It’s a partnership and it is perfect,” he wrote. “I oversee
manufacturing and sales, and my partner Harr, who lives in Greece, buys and ships
the tobacco. Please join me,” he urged. “The prospects are excellent because cigarettes
are relatively new here and becoming fashionable very fast, with only a handful
of companies producing them. I urgently need a good sales manager.” Emil spent a
few days pondering. Should he leave his promising new life in Greece for a fledgling

41
venture that could profit from his skills? He finally opted for the challenge of a new
enterprise, expecting the Hamburgers to oppose his decision, which they did, saying
he had an obligation to them. “I will find a replacement for you and train him to your
satisfaction,” he told them. They offered him a generous salary increase, enough to
start a household as a married man in Patras. He thanked them profusely but said, “I
am beholden to my old master, Georgii, and his son needs my help.” To this there was
no further argument.
He wrote to Georgii Sr., who soon found a good replacement whom Emil
trained thoroughly over the next months, creating a seamless transition that left the
Hamburgers satisfied. Before leaving Patras, he sent a formal letter to Berta’s parents,
asking for her hand in marriage. Feeling himself on the way to financial security, he
wanted his intentions to be clear. To his delight, both parents answered, welcoming
him into their family. He also introduced himself to Georgii’s partner, Harr, who
bought and shipped tobacco to Georgii in Stuttgart.
Parting from Patras was painful because Greece had thoroughly won his heart. He
was now fluent enough in the language to be able to communicate with producers
and distributors, and he had acquired basic conversation in Italian, French and English.
His dealings with people of different nations made him feel like a citizen of the world
and prepared him for his own future tobacco business. He had gained familiarity
with international trade and social economics, and the war had taught him the tragic
consequences arising when political agendas and passions rule. He promised himself
that he would return often and not lose touch with his friends and employers.
Looking back in later years, he saw just how wisely he was guided. Had he stayed
on in Patras with Berta, they would have been ruined just like the Hamburgers and
all the other Germans who had their businesses expropriated during the World War I.

42
 Chapter Two
A thought about tobacco (nicotiana tabacum)
Once upon a time the gods created an incense-
like plant and named it tobacco. They gave it to their
children, the Native Americans, for their benefit. Unlike
incense (olibanum) which when inhaled loosens
the soul and carries it upward in devotion, tobacco
heightens consciousness. Tribal elders meeting in their
circle passed the tobacco-filled pipe while coming to
decisions; self-interest turned to benevolence with the
ritual of the peace pipe. Columbus brought the first
tobacco leaves to Europe at the end of the fifteenth
century, coinciding with the new consciousness of Tobacco plant
Copernicus and Luther. Could England have planned its world dominion without
the smoking rooms of its clubs? Once the demand for tobacco was there, farmers of
the Near East found they could supply it; their warm sun and soil were suitable for
cultivating these aromatic plants.

Emil’s fourth (three times seven) life period,1898-1919: Georgii and Harr
On a Saturday afternoon in March 1898, shortly before his twenty-second
birthday, Emil arrived in Stuttgart, a mature and worldly young man, aware of his own
capabilities and with a grasp of business practices
that far exceeded the Georgii establishment in
Calw. He had assumed significant responsibilities
at a young age, and now the careful prudent side
of his Swabian nature was tempered by those
other Swabian attributes: adventurous ambition
and a willingness to take risks. Eagerly he set off
to meet his new boss. It was a fine day on the edge
of spring. His light Greek suit wasn’t quite warm
enough, but he felt exhilarated by the cool air and
the charm of this city which somehow seemed Emil returns to Stuttgart

43
smaller and more provincial than he remembered. Emil Georgii’s cigarette factory
was a small three-story building in the Furtbachstrasse across from St. Mary’s Church.
Georgii and Emil greeted one another as old friends and chatted for a while. Then
Emil left his suitcases and returned to the station with just a knapsack on his back,
boarding the next train to Calw. Berta, waiting at the station with her little sister, was
delighted and surprised to see her fiancé looking tall, tanned and worldly, while he
was surprised to see Berta looking even lovelier than he remembered and Paule, no
longer a child but a budding teenager with flashing black eyes.
It was a great homecoming. The Heldmaiers besieged him with questions while
he unpacked small presents and mementos, each one with a story, telling them more
presents were on the way (he had spent most of the money he had saved in Patras
on presents). Late in the evening he left that warm and cozy house, stopping briefly
at the local pub to see his former drinking mates, but not staying long because he felt
somewhat estranged from them. He spent the night at the Georgiis’ where he was
welcomed and questioned again. Georgii, the old master, seemed delighted for Emil
to be working with his son who, he said, could benefit from some good influence. This
statement amused Emil—it was a typical father’s remark, he thought, as though the
son still needed looking after.
Next morning Emil went to church with the Heldmaiers and then walked along
his favorite woodland path above the town, in the sunshine, with the three sisters
laughing and talking around him. Every minute was sweet and he felt himself the
happiest man in the world. In the evening he returned to Stuttgart and settled into a
room in the house of relatives, a temporary lodging while looking for an apartment.
Monday morning early he presented himself at the factory for his first day at
work and was shown around by his new boss.
Unlike today’s mass-produced and mass-marketed products, cigarettes in those
days were still made by hand. Though generally produced in quantities aimed at a

Cigarettes

44
larger market, it was also possible to make small batches for special purposes. Tobacco
was imported largely from Greece or Turkey, categorized by different grades, carefully
sorted, packaged in distinctive boxes and sold at varying prices. On the whole, the
cigarettes were for connoisseurs who valued aroma and taste. No one at the time was
aware of or concerned about tobacco’s addictive qualities or effects on health. Emil
was new to the industry, having been chosen for his commercial experience and skills,
not for his knowledge of tobacco.
The plant included forty people, hierarchically divided into salaried employees
and hourly workers who cut, sorted and filled tobacco into paper cigarette cylinders,
supervised by pretty Sophie Wiedman who was to be Emil’s right hand for many years.
Dominating the room was Georgii’s source of pride, a large and rather ponderous
packaging machine run by six young women. At the best of times this machine was
slow and in damp weather it refused to work completely, but Georgii assured Emil he
was working on improvements, and it would soon replace all hand labor. It was the
right idea but ahead of its time.
Several offices adjoined the production space: an office for Emil, another for
a bookkeeper named Karrer. Stairs and a large industrial lift led to the first floor
comprising warehousing, packing and shipping and a room for specialty workers
proficient in fitting the thin gold-leaf mouthpieces. Karamousas, the tobacco
master, had an apartment on the top floor. His job was buying, checking and mixing
tobacco.
After his move to Stuttgart, Georgii had introduced a number of changes which
he maintained were necessary to meet the tastes of the town. None of the brands Emil
had been familiar with in Calw existed any longer; everything was redone and novelty
cigarettes added including black and gold ‘Russian’ cigarettes. “Isn’t old Hunnius
supplying those?” asked Emil, recalling that firm from his youth. “No, Hunnius is
retired now, and we’ve taken them over although there is not much demand for them
anymore.”
This was typical Emil Georgii, handsome and elegant, light as a butterfly, brimming
over with ideas. He described everything with an artist’s enthusiasm, especially
dwelling on his dream of the perfect machine that was to revolutionize production.
He did not seem concerned about capital, and when Emil asked him how he meant to
finance his machines, he said airily that his wife’s family had plenty of money and was
eager to help. In fact, he had hired Emil as his general manager so he could be free to
pursue his innovations. After this introduction, he clapped Emil jovially on the back,
wished him well and went off traveling.

45
Diplomacy
Again Emil was faced with new territory: manufacturing. Although his main
brief was selling, he realized he could not do so without understanding the products
and the business. His first step was to look at sales and client files. Walking in to the
secretaries’ office, most of them older than himself, he was horrified to see them all
taking their ease now that their boss was gone. He told them he would be supervising
them and planned to introduce a quota system, paying in future only for work done.
This news earned him some scornful looks, and then he was pointedly ignored. Seeing
his authority challenged on the very first day, he countered by addressing them with
exaggerated politeness, which made them laugh and relent. From then on and forever,
they regarded him as their boss.
Emil’s next hurdle was the bookkeeper Karrer, a charming man at least ten years
his senior. Although very friendly, he became defensive when Emil asked to see the
books, saying he could not do that because the previous year’s still needed work. Emil
decided to try a different approach. He invited him out for a glass of wine to get to
know him better. Karrer chatted freely, saying he hated doing the books and much
preferred spending time with clients, even laughing that if the client happened to be
a woman, he loved the easy flirtation that went with the sale. Emil soon realized their
roles should be reversed, that Karrer should do the sales and let him run the internal
affairs of the company. They talked it over and agreed to try it. At that point Karrer’s
wife joined them; she was an impressive and temperamental opera singer and the
most independent woman Emil had ever met, pursuing her own career with a sense
of humor and a great deal of freedom. ‘Aha,’ thought Emil, ‘that probably gives Karrer
license for a bit of freedom as well,’ while recognizing how fond of each other this
unlikely pair was.
Emil’s third hurdle was Karamousas, the pompous tobacco master, whose feathers
Emil ruffled by showing up in the stockroom, looking into bins and asking questions.
He darkly suspected him of spying and reported back to Georgii Jr., who was not at
all pleased at hearing of Emil’s venturing into what he considered his own and his
tobacco master’s private domain. That did not stop Emil, whose persistence and will
were finely honed since his apprenticeship.
For the next few weeks Emil immersed himself in the details of the business.
When Georgii returned to Stuttgart, he called on him at home, telling him with
forceful statements, mellowed by generous libations of good Greek wine, that he
needed complete freedom of movement. Much later that night, convivial and jolly,
Georgii toasted Emil for doing a fine job and saying he trusted him completely. Next

46
morning he showed up unexpectedly at 7am, obviously hoping to catch Emil out.
Emil, who had a gut feeling this might happen, arrived at six. Surprised and impressed
to find him busy at work, Georgii offered Emil a modest raise as well as the free use
of the upstairs apartment that the tobacco master Karamousas would shortly be
vacating for a more spacious one in town.

Engagement
Emil now felt financially secure enough to plan his engagement with Berta. He
wrote her a letter, then impulsively rushed to the nearest tailor to order a tuxedo,
only balking when told he would also need a top hat. On July 13 he arrived in Calw
with a huge bouquet of flowers. He placed an announcement in the local paper and
took Berta to the jeweler for a ring. They also paid a visit to a recently-established
photographer to have their pictures taken. Emil’s packages had arrived from Greece
and he insisted they be photographed in the full traditional Greek costumes he
had sent. Berta wanted a more conventional photograph, but then, overcoming her
shyness, she laughed and wore the costume for another shot. For months afterward
these pictures were the central adornment in the photographer’s shop window, the
subject of endless local commentary. The engagement was celebrated in great style
the following day (Berta’s birthday) with a festive dinner, music and dance. Then,
their relationship properly established according to all rules of society, the couple was
finally allowed to appear arm in arm in public without causing a scandal.

Berta and Emil , engagement pictures in Greek costume

47
 When Emil had first returned to Stuttgart, Georgii had encouraged him to invest
what was left of his small inheritance in the firm. Emil, trusting Georgii, did so. To
his horror, after finally deciphering and balancing the company books, he discovered
significant losses and saw that the investments by Georgii’s relatives, as well as his own,
were in serious jeopardy. Georgii, confronted by this surprising news, looked pained.
He said he wanted a few days to think things over. When he came back, he was beaming.
His plan: a second, shareholding, company of which Georgii and Harr would be a part.
Again he was ahead of his time, and decades on would no doubt have done well
with his novel idea, which was nothing less than private label manufacturing. On
paper it looked perfect: a central organization producing cigarettes for participating
shareholder firms who wouldn’t have to worry about equipment, labor or packaging.
Georgii’s soon-to-be patented machines were part of the business plan; he envisaged
them selling well in Germany and abroad. His plan was tempting, and he could have
gone to the top, but unfortunately he worked without a system, wanting everything
but achieving nothing.
Nobody noticed the inherent flaw in his plan: If shareholders purchased their
cigarettes at a generous discount from their own company, they thereby minimized
the return on their own investment. Later Emil wondered why he didn’t notice this at
the outset. It was his first taste of what happens when conflicting expectations drain
the life out of an organization, but so far his experience had not taught him anything
about financial mechanisms.
Georgii spent the entire summer preparing and looking for investors. On October
1, 1898, the new company, United Cigarette Works, was launched with a capital
investment of 450,000 Marks. The main investors, besides Georgii, his wife and his
brother-in-law Ostermeyer, were fourteen of the most respected cigar manufacturers
in Germany. Georgii drew up a generous ten-year contract for himself as general
manager with a handsome annual salary. Emil, who would be running both companies,
was not mentioned in the contract at all.
Next Georgii bought a commercial building on the east side of town, an old
framework house needing expensive renovation. He equipped it generously. Months
went by before everything was up and running, The shareholders’ new brands needed
planning and design and required a large inventory of boxes, labels and cigarette
papers. Emil had to coordinate the lot while Georgii spent most of his time and his
capital improving his machine. It was not the first time innovative ideas were born in
Germany, in this case a machine and a business model, but they would be perfected to
their full commercial potential only later in pragmatic America. Tragically, by

48
dreaming the future, Georgii overlooked the present. If only a fraction of the money
spent on creating the machine had gone to promotion, the firm could have enjoyed
many golden years.
Emil was constantly kept busy by the needs of the moment. Doing Georgii’s work
and having to hunt him down to answer questions, he usually did not get his own
work done until everyone else had gone home for the night. For lunch he sometimes
went to a local restaurant, phoning in his order ahead to save time. A group of young
architects enjoyed meeting there, and he got to know them well, especially yet another
Emil (“I shall start an Emil club soon,” said Emil to his new friend, Emil Weippert). At
night when he got hungry he would run next door to the little grocery at the corner
for a sandwich, then work on till well past midnight. Once the motherly shopkeeper
said to him: “I saw your light on late again—and when I woke up this morning, you
were still at work. You must be earning a pile of money.” Emil answered: “If I got paid
for all my work, that much money wouldn’t even exist!” He was voicing a fledgling
instinct which he only fully understood many years later, that work and pay were
separate, work being done for its own sake and for its own satisfaction, accumulating
ownership of gathered experience and unaffected by inflation. The money needed for
external existence is never a measure of the quality of work done. Emil could not have
created his own firm later on without the foundation of his earlier intensive work.

Big plans
In 1899 Georgii and his wife decided to move from the west of the city to the east
to be closer to the firm. They bought a piece of land and, while their villa was being
built, lived nearby in a new development with charming houses. One day in April,
Emil confronted Georgii with his worries about massive expenses exceeding income.
“Every beginning has outlays,” Georgii answered cheerfully. “You shouldn’t worry so
much; the sales will soon justify them. Why don’t you come and spend the evening
with us and take your mind off the business.” Emil arrived and promptly fell in love
with the area they were living in. He asked his friend Weippert to see if apartments
might be available there. A few days later Weippert brought him the keys to a little
two-bedroom ground floor flat with a glass veranda in front and a porch with garden
in back. It was an enchanted dollhouse with climbing roses and an open view to both
sides, over vineyards to the west and distant hills in the east. The road was unpaved
and gas and electricity had not yet been laid. In spite of that, or perhaps because it was
so unspoiled and inexpensive, Emil leased it.

49
 Whitsun 1899 was a special day for Emil and Berta. She was allowed a rare holiday
and, at age 23, given permission to travel alone for the first time ever. Emil and the
Sepps met her in Goeppingen. The day started out rainy but they were in the best of
spirits. They rented a carriage and drove up to the Hohenstaufen Castle. Then, the sun
coming out, they walked to the Rechberg Mountain and from there to Schwäbisch
Gmünd. It was his first time back in the picturesque town, and it had grown. Berta
loved it. The four of them visited the house where Emil was born, then the graves of
his parents. They toured the town, admiring the old Roman wall, and stared through
the windows of the jewelers’ shops, then lunched in the Hotel Rath. Afterwards
they strolled along the little river while he reminisced until it was time to part. The
Sepps went home, and Emil took Berta back to Calw, but first they made a detour to
Stuttgart where to her great surprise and delight he showed her the little house.
Since he and Berta were formally engaged, he was allowed to stay with the
Heldmaiers, sleeping in Berta’s room under the eaves while she slept with her sister.
Hers was a simple enough little room but it was paradise for someone as much in love
as he.

Berta and Emil’s wedding July 15, 1899
The great day finally arrived. Emil asked Georgii for time off. “How long can I
take?” he asked. “That is for you to decide!” was the laconic answer. As a result Emil
took just one week. The evening before, the Heldmaiers organized a ‘bachelor party’
a lively, carefree affair. The next morning the couple went to the registry office, Berta
wearing a silk dress in blue and white, the Greek colors—Emil’s gift—and a little blue
hat with an ostrich feather made by her mother. She looked stunning. After lunch, at
one o’clock they met at the church, and now Berta was dressed in white. Looking at
her, Emil felt his breath taken away. He was sure Calw had never seen a bride so lovely
and so pure. The town minister officiated with solemn and kindly words; the church
choir, of which Berta had been a member, sang for her wedding and for her farewell.
Afterwards there was a long procession on foot (a novel innovation in Calw) past
the Heldmaier house and over the bridge to the Democrats’ favorite Badische Hof
restaurant for the wedding feast. The weather was beautiful and spirits were high—
in spite of some old aunts who shed obligatory tears as was proper on such happy
occasions. Emil splurged and bought champagne all round, and coffee was served in
the sunlit garden. At this point, Emil almost had a serious falling out with his father-
in-law; the storm had been brewing all week. Emil wanted to leave right after the
meal; Heldmaier insisted they stay out of courtesy to their guests, just as Emma and

50
 Wedding menu

her husband had done (the entire town again being invited to the evening reception).
Emil, determined to have his way, had prepared himself for a showdown, but luckily
he thought of asking the elder Georgii and his uncle Staudenmayer for help. These
two gentlemen took Heldmaier aside and the latter suddenly gave way, twinkling and
beaming, saying he would probably have done exactly the same thing.
A carriage was ordered and, after bidding their closest friends farewell, the
couple slipped away, past a horrified sister Emma. They went home, changed into
traveling clothes and drove to the station—an extraordinary sensation, just the two
of them—to meet with Berta’s best friend, Berta Stroh and her new husband, Adolf
Schmid, married one hour after them but with a reception at the traditional and
elegant Waldhorn Restaurant, home of the Conservatives of Calw. Berta Stroh’s father
was a Calw ‘millionaire’ and an ardent member of the Conservative Party. The two
couples were so fond of each other that they had decided to spend their honeymoon
together.
For their wedding night, the Schmids decided to stay in Horb and got off the
train a few stops down the line. Emil and Berta continued on to Stuttgart to the
Marquardt—the best hotel in town. He wanted royal treatment for his bride. The
train ride was unforgettably poignant for him. Berta was full of trust and devotion,
but the weeks before the wedding had tired her so much that, after a while, she fell
asleep with her head on his shoulder. ‘How glad I am,’ he thought, ‘that I’ve taken her
away from her exhausting life.’ They arrived at the hotel and were shown into a truly
splendid room, where they felt like the proverbial fairy tale prince and princess.

51
High spirits
Next day they met up with the Schmids and traveled to Zurich. All four were
exceedingly merry. They found rooms in a small hotel at the center of town and stayed
for a few days, climbing the smallest Swiss mountain they could find, breakfasting in
a restaurant that they soon nicknamed ‘Hungry Monkey.’ They took a ferry ride on
the lake and attended a concert. Emil thought that since honeymoons are unique
events, they had the right to splurge, so, just once, they ate at the exclusive Baur au
Lac, haunt of the rich and famous. They even managed a straight face when they saw
the substantial service charge as first item on the bill.
Emil was determined never to appear the penniless husband. He considered it his
duty to introduce the delights of the world to his adorable young bride, previously so
tied to her home. She, for her part, longed to see and experience what she had only
read about. Destiny was kind. Despite their modest beginnings, many of her dreams
became reality, as in later years the couple had the means and the time to explore the
world.
They took their ease for three more exquisite days. Then they returned to
Stuttgart, where they found their little house littered with crates and boxes of
furniture and utensils, donated by parents and relatives. They were grateful, but it
was a rude awakening back into practical life. Poor Berta: Next morning her husband
went off to work and she was left to unpack and sort, a task that took a long time
because Emil was free only on Sundays and preferred spending that precious time
with his wife rather than with furnishings. They ate out, walked in the hills but mainly
lounged at home, absorbed in each other.

Life together
The next few years, 1900 and 1901, brought joys and some sorrows. The young
couple still felt like newlyweds. Everything was savored, together or with friends.
They often visited Berta’s family in Calw, but always came back at night. Each day Berta
went to the local market or to town looking for unusual specialties with which to
create a special meal for her husband. Having subsisted on sandwiches and restaurant
fare before his marriage, Emil loved the home-cooked food, and the more he praised
her, the more inventive she became. Sometimes they strolled out in the moonlight
after supper, entertaining each other with news of the day. Evening was their favorite
time, their life felt warm and secure and larger political or world events interested
them not at all.

52
 In the summer of 1900, Berta’s father, Georg Heldmaier, died suddenly. The family,
including Berta had to help put his affairs in order and comfort the bereaved Pauline.
At the end of the summer, Berta became pregnant and was a proud and happy
mother-to-be. She visited her friend Berta Schmid, already an experienced parent of
a little girl and received much good advice. Then she felt unwell and eventually
suffered a miscarriage. The loss affected her greatly and, never robust in the best of
times, she remained ill for months. The doctors they consulted were not able to help
her since they examined only her body and did not know how to treat her soul.
Finally a young naturopath, adept at an inclusive approach to healing, took over her
care and helped her back on her feet, but for a long time she mourned her lost child
and each month, at the beginning of her period, she was bedridden for a day or two.

Financial worries
Meanwhile Emil’s worries at work grew: Georgii was still spending too much and
not focusing on the business. By 1901, some United Cigarette Works shareholders
became suspicious that the venture was built on sand. They had not received any
dividends and, although experts in the cigar trade, their cigarette sales were slow
because they were inexperienced at marketing them. The sales manager Karrer
recognized the problem and tried to alleviate it by starting a cigarette trade association
as a center for information and assistance. He asked Emil to be its treasurer, which
Emil was glad to do since it allowed him to network with like-minded people.
One day, Emil sat down with his wife to look over their personal finances and
found that they were living beyond their means. In almost four years working for
Georgii, Emil had not received a salary increase, and now he was providing for two.
Assured that Georgii valued his competence as the firm’s manager, Emil handed him
a list of his income and expenses and requested a raise. Georgii said, “I surely can’t tell
the Board you’re starving.” His answer appalled Emil and made him realize his future
with the company was as shaky as the shareholders’ dividends.
At the end of 1901, Emil presented a financial report to the Board of Directors.
They were livid. The chairman, Ostermeyer, demanded that Georgii, his brother-in-
law, resign. “Henceforth he can do what he likes with his life and his machines,” he
stormed. Emil was worried about his own small share in the business, but when he
was told, “It’s your own fault for investing in this company,” it infuriated him and he
applied moral pressure. “You’re a millionaire” he said, “and I am a young beginner.”
Then Ostermeyer promised to pay him back his shares, adding that Emil would
shortly be answerable to a new director. On sudden impulse, Emil said, “That may

53
not be necessary. I know this company inside and out. Try me; you have nothing to
lose—and for the beginning I won’t even ask for a raise.” The proposition appealed to
Ostermeyer and the Board agreed. That was how Emil, at 25, obtained the freedom of
action he so badly wanted.
Georgii could not bear the thought of his erstwhile employee and his father’s
former apprentice replacing him. To salvage his dignity, he took his own firm, Georgii
and Harr, as well as the sales representative Karrer, out of the United Cigarette Works,
remaining as an independent client with major concessions.

Inner sustenance
Berta and Emil were always looking for the meaning of life. In her diary she
wrote: “During my childhood, I had a personal relationship with the Redeemer and
promised to be faithful to Him, but during confirmation class I struggled with doubt,
wishing the priest could prove the existence of God although I didn’t dare ask him.
At communion I became very unsure. I couldn’t understand the sacrificial death of
Christ and the words: ‘He who is unworthy but eats and drinks (of the sacrament)
will be judged.’ I felt myself to be so unworthy. I battled with myself, listening to
sermons which seemed full of contradiction. Once I mentioned this to my sister and
she called me godless. She said one must just believe, but I kept asking myself, Why
has God given me reason if I can’t use it? Religion should be able to tolerate someone
thinking about it.”
While Berta tried to maintain the faith of her childhood in spite of doubts,
Emil had completely discarded traditional religion, though for a time he went to
church with her on Sundays and discussed the merits and weaknesses of the sermon
afterwards. Once married, they both stopped going. They were so absorbed in each
other during their long honeymoon that they felt no need for spiritual guidance.

Theosophy
For many people in Germany, science was the new religion. Educated society
loved discussing Haeckel, Darwin and the achievements of modern experimentation
but blushed when the word ‘spirit’ or ‘soul’ was mentioned. Emil’s association with
the Sepps had opened his mind to the wonders and riddles of the natural world, but
he had existential questions that he felt could not be explained by science alone. In
the spring of 1902, during the time of Berta’s convalescence and when the business was
at its shakiest, Emil read a news article about a lecture to be given in town, offering
to “achieve success through mind control.” “That might be the thing for me,” he said,

54
half in jest. “I could use a little control and success.” He went to the lecture and heard
about a method of focusing thought through concentration but was taken aback to
find out that the speaker was a theosophist (theosophy being a religious sect as far as
he was concerned). “If I had known that,” he told Berta afterward, “I would not have
gone.” Still, the lecture was interesting and he was animated, recounting it to her in
detail. Then he decided to put what he had heard to the test. “I’ve had a difficult letter
on my desk for a week,” he said. “Let’s see if the theory works.” He concentrated his
thoughts on the letter and, sure enough, after a few days the best way of dealing with
it emerged. He was not a dabbler and engaged in no more of such experiments, but it
convinced him that thoughts have power and can be schooled.
Berta was curious to know more about theosophy. Emil did some research and
came up with a succinct definition: “Theosophy means ‘Wisdom of God’ and it was
started in New York in 1875. It is said to be an esoteric philosophy of life rather than a
sect and has branches in most European countries.” “Interesting,” said Berta.

Saving the business (at friendship’s cost)

Emil, meanwhile, had his mind on other matters. He was taking drastic steps to
put the business on a solid footing. He fired Karamousas and hired a younger tobacco
master. Next he eliminated the still imperfect and unpredictable machines, replacing
them with less expensive and more efficient hand labor. As a further measure he
asked Berta to help him with the bookkeeping. She was delighted to do so, feeling
lonely and childless at home. For her excellent part-time work and to supplement
their income, her boss (Emil) paid her a very modest salary. Finally he wrote off and
discarded thousands of unused labels, engraved cigarette papers, cartons and stale
cigarettes, making a clean sweep of the warehouse.
Georgii complained so bitterly about these radical measures that the Board
hired a consultant for an unbiased evaluation. The man they chose was the respected
Herr Mandelbaum of the firm Manoli in Berlin. His analysis of the previous state of
the company’s affairs was devastating but full of praise for Emil and his courageous
decisions. “Come and visit me in my firm any time if you need advice,” he told him
cordially, and Emil was glad to do so some months later. Buoyed by this endorsement
he slowly developed a healthy working basis for the firm. The Board members were
pleased and in December invited him to join them, granting him an annual salary of
4000 Marks, which was raised to 4800 Marks a year later.
Berta, now a colleague, became involved in finding ways to improve the business.
It was her idea that Emil visit each of the shareholding companies at least twice a

55
 Berta and Emil working together
year to form a closer working relationship with them and to advise them on sales.
Emil began enjoying these outings and was welcomed wherever he went. Often he
took the night train; in those days sleeping compartments were cozy and affordable
and he always brought light reading along. His favorite novel featured Constantinople
(Istanbul), much of the plot taking place in the elegant Pera Palace Hotel. It was a
fantasy world, a story of the ‘upper classes’ in an exotic setting, and Emil would never
have believed that, several times in his life, he himself would be an honored guest in
that establishment.
Emil was always on the search for experienced employees. Once, a Berlin client
told him about a local colony of Jewish immigrants from Galicia. “They are the best
workers,” he said. “You can rely on them.” Emil paid the colony a visit and looked up
the responsible person, an elderly rabbi. Soon they were sitting together at tea, with
Emil extolling the virtues of southern Germany. He had to be persistent; the potential
workers were not thrilled at the idea of leaving Berlin for the ‘provinces.’ He made
them a good offer and promised to pay their fare. When the first lot arrived, he met
them at the station and took them to their lodgings. Then he took them on a walk
through town, introduced them to the local rabbi and invited them to a meal with
him to make them feel at home. The newcomers settled in well, enjoyed their work
and reported back to their friends in Berlin, many of whom later were glad to follow.
Emil became friendly with the local rabbi and, if ever there was a problem with one
of the men, they solved it together.
Visitors to the company, even competitors, always found a welcoming open door.
Emil freely showed them through the firm without worrying about competition.

56
One of these visitors was a brash little American named Gutschow, sent on a fact-
finding mission to Germany by J.B. Duke’s American Tobacco Company. He seemed
harmless enough although padded with expense dollars. After making the rounds,
he bought the Jasmatzi Company in Dresden, merchandising their cigarettes in grand
American style with collectible coupons and a catalog of prizes ranging from baby
carriages to gold watches. After the United States entered World War I, the firm was
requisitioned and ‘nationalized.’ Gutschow, however, stayed on in Germany and
eventually transferred his interest to the newly-formed Reemtsma company which
later played a crucial role in Emil’s destiny.

Dividends
Emil’s great achievement at the end of 1902 was a dividend of 5% paid out to
United Cigarette Works shareholders. It did not endear him to Georgii who, although
independent, was still a shareholder. He became so antagonistic that it made Emil
uneasy. “I believe eventually Ostermeyer will want me out because, after all, he is
Georgii’s brother-in-law,” he said to Berta. “Do your best,” she advised, “and keep your
eyes open for another opportunity.”
For the next few years Emil went after new business relentlessly, pursuing
potential contacts until they agreed to buy from him. One client remarked with a
sheepish grin that the only reason he started dealing with UCW was to stop getting
calls from Emil. He was just as persistent with his suppliers, traveling to Dresden, the
tobacco capital of Germany, for the best deals. He looked for quality and chose the
most reputable tobacco importers, invariably making friends with them. His favorites
were the four Enfiezioglou brothers, gentlemanly and trustworthy Greeks who loved
their tobacco. They demanded a high price but their quality was uniformly the best
and, once they completed the deal, Emil was confident that what he would receive in
Stuttgart would be what he selected. At the end of a day of sampling and bartering,
they always got together for a friendly meal, usually in the ‘English Garden.’
Aware he could never master all there was to know about tobacco, Emil became
an expert by honing his senses: feeling its crispness, looking at its color, smelling its
aroma and tasting it. A session evaluating fifty to seventy samples per day was not
unusual for him. The nicotine kept him highly alert but it ruined his health. Once,
suffering acute nicotine poisoning, he had to travel to Rotterdam and felt so sick
he begged Berta to come along as his ‘nurse.’ Another time, during a holiday, while
climbing a hill he suffered a severe fainting spell. Overwork and cigarettes were
beginning to strain his heart.

57
Rudolf Steiner
Another theosophist speaker, Jaskowsky, came to Stuttgart, and both Emil and
Berta went to hear him. “He mentioned soul and spirit,” said Berta as they were leaving,
“and no one blushed! I had no idea so many people take an interest in such things.”
Outside, Emil suddenly said, “Look, there’s my business associate Jose del Monte.
He makes boxes for our cigarettes. Let’s say hello.” Berta smiled at the energetic little
man walking towards them. While not particularly handsome, his open face exuded
honest kindness.
“Were you just at Jaskowsky’s lecture?” he asked in surprise, adding, “If you’re
interested in that kind of thing, you should hear the philosopher and theosophist, Dr.
Steiner. I’ll send you an invitation when he comes to Stuttgart.”
Some time thereafter, in 1904, he sent them the promised tickets. They went
and found the large lecture hall full of an interesting array of people; all seats were
taken and several stood at the back. Del Monte, looking expectant, sat next to them.
The murmur of conversation suddenly died down as an elegant slender man with
black hair and dressed in black, walked lightly down the corridor and stepped onto
the podium. The lecturer, Rudolf Steiner surveyed his audience for a moment and
then began to speak, surprisingly with a slight Austrian accent. He was animated and
cordial, presenting his material in an imaginative, yet authoritative way. Only once did
doubt assail Emil. When Steiner mentioned the St. John Gospel, he frowned. ‘Now
this man, whom I was just beginning to admire, brings in the Gospels which I gave up
on long ago,’ he thought to himself.
But then he listened with growing animation. Steiner talked about the origins of
the world and the solar system, not as a random sudden explosion but as a gradual
evolution under the wise guidance of spiritual beings. He said that the visible world
and the cosmos were equally imbued with spirit and that anyone could grasp these
ideas by means of clear thinking. He praised natural science as a great achievement but
said that in the end it would lead nowhere unless coupled with a study of the spiritual
laws underlying physical phenomena. He did not proselytize or use worn phrases. He
was warm and courteous and perfectly matter-of-fact. This had nothing to do with
dogma, Emil felt; this man was quite obviously talking out of direct experience.
The Molts were spellbound. When it was over, they looked at each other and
knew:‘This is what we have been looking for.’ They walked to the door with their
friend del Monte and thanked him profusely for having invited them. He was happy
too since no one else in his circle of business acquaintances was in the least inclined

58
towards philosophical conversation. The three walked through town for a while,
talking. Emil realized that what he had previously rejected had more to do with out-
dated church traditions than with the truths underlying them. Berta felt she had
come home.
“How can we find out more about this man?” asked Emil. “My uncle, Adolf
Arenson, knows all about him,” replied del Monte. “I’ll be seeing him on Sunday for
afternoon coffee. If you’d like to come along, I’m sure you’d be most welcome.” The
Molts were delighted, also because they wanted to get to know this kind business
associate with the unusual Spanish-sounding name and Hamburg accent.

An unusual dinner
Adolf Arenson lived in Bad Cannstatt, a spa town on the outskirts of Stuttgart.
When the Molts reached the house with del Monte, they heard a piano accompanying
an exquisite song issuing from the open window. They stopped and listened and only
when it ended, rang the bell. A graceful woman, the singer, greeted them and invited
them in to the sitting room. Of early middle age, with a warm and charming face and
lively eyes, she introduced herself as Deborah Arenson. Sitting at the piano was her
husband Adolf, older than herself, modest yet immensely compelling and with the
wisest face they had ever seen. He rose and shook their hands, then introduced them
to his two teenage daughters and his young friend Carl Unger, all three sitting on the
couch. His third child, a little boy, sat under the piano on the floor, holding a pet cat.
The Molts were drawn out of their shy reserve. Deborah bustled away to the kitchen
to ask for fresh tea and coffee, and meanwhile del Monte broke the ice by introducing
the various people. Over the next hours, this is what the Molts learned:
Adolf Arenson, a native of Hamburg, was born in 1855 into a family of former
Sephardic Jews, whose ancestors were cast out of Spain in the 1700s. He studied
economics and then went to Santiago de Chile where he built up a successful business.
In 1882, his fortune made, he returned to Hamburg, married his 19-year-old cousin
Deborah Piza, and, because business was not really his passion, began a second career
in music, composing and writing several operas. Eventually the couple moved to
Cannstatt and because of their philosophical interests joined the Theosophical Society.
Carl Unger, born near Stuttgart, was Arenson’s junior by 23 years and his future
son-in-law. His grandfather was the noted mathematician Ephraim Salomon Unger,
and his father was a banker. At fourteen Unger, an agnostic and a lover of natural
science, came to study music with Adolf Arenson and they became friends. Arenson,
who was interested in reincarnation, mentioned this to Carl, who accepted the idea

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only after months of reflection, concluding that it in no way negated his understanding
of natural science.
“Carl is a medical miracle,” said del Monte. “He carries a bullet right next to his
heart.” Unger laughed and explained, “A comrade mistakenly shot me while we were
both in military service.” “Yes.” said Arenson. “He thought he was about to die and
decided it would give him a chance to test his views about life after death. But luckily
for us, he survived!”
Unger continued the narrative: “I started a company making precision instruments
with the goal of becoming financially stable enough to pursue my philosophical
interests. Both Arenson and I became active in the Theosophical Society and started
a study group.” “And,” added Arenson, “shortly after that, we met Rudolf Steiner, and
from then on have preoccupied ourselves with his ideas.”
“And, friend del Monte, how do you fit into this story?” asked Berta. “I was also
born in Hamburg,” he said, “But spent most of my life in Chile, only coming here in
’98, encouraged by Uncle Adolf. He helped me start my box company and I have had
great luck with it, not least because of my best customer, the United Cigarette Works. I
enjoy living here near my family and enjoy the stimulating new ideas that have found
such receptive ground in Stuttgart.” The Molts, amazed at the interesting lives people
led, had plenty of questions and so the conversation continued.

Steiner’s story
“Let us pause for supper,” suggested Deborah, “And afterwards we will tell you
about Rudolf Steiner.” “Are you sure we’re not overstaying our welcome?” asked Berta,
not wanting for a minute to leave. She was assured the cook had made a hearty soup,
enough for everyone. After the meal Deborah asked the girls to put their brother to
bed, and the adults moved back to the sitting room.
Adolf Arenson began: “Our friend and mentor Rudolf Steiner was born in
German-speaking Kraljevec, Hungary, then a part of the Austrian Empire, in 1861. His
father was a railroad employee and the family lived an extremely frugal life. From a
very young age Steiner was able to see into the nonmaterial world and was astonished
at first that not everyone could do so. He was a very apt student in school and his
teachers helped him go on to higher education. Becoming fascinated by geometry and
physics, he realized they were outer expressions of the spiritual forces he experienced
and, to ground himself further in the physical, scientific world, he attended technical
college in Vienna. After graduating, he edited Goethe’s scientific works in Weimar.

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 Rudolf Steiner

(Most people know Goethe as a poet and writer, but, like Leonardo, he was also a keen
scientific observer of nature and an inventor.) In 1891 Steiner earned his doctorate in
philosophy at the University of Rostock. He went on to write and teach students and
adults, slowly developing a following. Eventually he moved to Berlin and continued
lecturing and writing. Annie Besant, head of the Theosophical Society, discovered him
and asked him to head its German section. He accepted because he said that this
Society had a basis in spiritual research and its members were open to the ideas he
was presenting.
“One of his early books, entitled Knowledge of Higher Worlds and Its
Attainment, is an esoteric self-development handbook. Another, Christianity as
Mystical Fact describes the evolution of the ancient Mysteries to the Mystery of
Golgotha (the death and resurrection of Christ). Steiner has given us a counterbalance
to the materialism of our time with ever-widening descriptions of the cosmos and
humanity’s role in the world. We do what we can to support his teachings.”
It was late by the time del Monte and the Molts left. In those few hours everything
had gained new depth and meaning, but Emil also felt small, realizing how deficient
he was in philosophy and a classical education. How he respected his new friends,
believing them enlightened far beyond what he could ever hope to achieve. ‘I can
read to try and lessen my learning deficit,’ he thought, ‘but I can never catch up with
them.’ Berta joined Unger and Arenson’s introductory study meetings, making careful
notes to share with Emil who would rush out next day to purchase the relevant
background materials.

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 Initially, neither of them felt inclined to join the Theosophical Society. Perhaps
they were put off by some of the members, mostly mature and exalted ladies with
exaggerated gestures, flowing garments and strange hairstyles, occupying the front
rows at lectures. Steiner, who started visiting Stuttgart more frequently, began to
stake out his own position, using the terms ‘Spiritual Science’ and ‘Anthroposophy’
(human wisdom), rather than the term ‘Theosophy’ (divine wisdom), for what he
was presenting. Often he introduced his lectures by saying that in previous times,
esoteric knowledge was secret and restricted to only those who were adequately
prepared. It was a means of exerting influence on political and social institutions, but
only indirectly, through its fruits, including religion. The invention of the printing
press brought what was previously hidden into the public domain. It opened up
philosophical discussions of existential questions such as where does humanity come
from, what is its goal, what lies hidden behind visible forms and what happens after
death? Steiner talked about karma and reincarnation and how, after death, the soul
prepares for the next birth, framing the results of its previous lifetimes into its future
destiny. Today such precepts are slowly spreading in the Western world (they are
common in the East), although to some they are still alien and even heretical. They
were much more so during an era vacillating between natural science and traditional
beliefs.

John Jacob Astor

Emil’s inner expansion was mirrored by an expansion of his external life. In 1905
the prestigious cigar wholesalers, W. Mueller in Hamburg, became interested in the
cigarette market, and Emil was able to win over the owners, Ludwig Mueller and his
brother-in-law Max Marx, as customers and shareholders of the United Cigarette
Works. Together they searched for a suitable brand-name for their new line. Emil
went to Hamburg several times with suggestions but nothing
caught their fancy. Then one day they sent word that they’d
bought the brand ‘Waldorf Astoria’ with its wreath-and-
crown logo.
The name ‘Waldorf Astoria’ originated with John Jacob
Astor (Johann Jakob Astor), a native of a small town south of Waldorf Astoria logo
Stuttgart called Waldorf. As a 17-year-old Astor emigrated to
the United States and made a fortune in the fur trade. His wife, wealthy in her own
right, was from North Carolina; her dowry may have included a tobacco plantation. In
the 1850s, the Astors’ house was the most elegant in New York City and descendants

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built the famous Waldorf Astoria Hotel to commemorate John Jacob. The family’s
Waldorf Astoria Cigar Store Company expanded into cigarettes and later tried to sell
the cigarettes in Germany. For whatever reason, perhaps because the principal players
did not understand the German market, the company did not thrive and was put up
for sale.
Emil loved the logo and the cigarettes. The American style was bold and
contemporary; the cigarettes had names like ‘Chicago’ ‘New York,’ ‘Boston’ and
‘Washington,’ so different from European cigarettes whose artwork featured oriental
themes. Emil was convinced that the American look would be popular and, combined
with the Mueller and Marx sales expertise, easy to promote. It was a windfall for the
United Cigarette Works. Emil leased a second production facility and trained new
staff under the tutelage of the lovely Sophie Wiedman, now named Kaiser since her
marriage. She loved the challenge. In the shortest time the first shipments were on
their way to Hamburg: hand-rolled cigarettes with cork tips.

The mountains of Austria and a mountain of work

Once everything was up and running, the Molts celebrated by packing their
knapsacks and traveling to the mountains of Austria to hike for three weeks. They had
a wonderful time walking the hills, discovering edelweiss and other flowers, exploring
hidden valleys, with none but whistling groundhogs for company and staying in
rustic inns and parish hostels. They had gone hiking in the beauty of nature before,
but this time they found an added dimension because of their new understanding
of cosmic forces underlying this living natural tapestry. This walking tour stretched
their physical limits, especially Berta’s, and when they arrived back home they were fit
and as though new-born. Before the vacation Emil had been in medical care because
of heart and liver ailments; now he was pronounced completely well. Berta’s health
was so improved that she became pregnant after her return. She continued her part-
time work in the company for some months and Emil had a telephone installed in
the house so she could call at any time. Gas and electricity lines had been laid in their
street a year or so previously; the telephone lines were brand new.
Emil found a mountain of work waiting for him. Orders from Hamburg were
pouring in, often delivered personally by Max Marx, who enjoyed coming to Stuttgart.
A cordial relationship developed between the two men, the Southerner and the
Northerner. They were very different and yet alike: both shared courage, enthusiasm
and a zest for life, with a love of Germany and a bit of brashness that probably hid an
underlying reserve. Both were ambitious. Emil often brought Marx home for dinner.

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Once, sitting over a glass of wine, Marx mentioned how nice it would be to own one’s
own manufacturing facility. Emil agreed; there was so much more he could do if he
were not serving so many bosses. They promised that if such a thing ever seemed
likely, they’d let each other know. It happened sooner than either of them imagined.

Karrer’s request
One day Georgii’s salesman Karrer came to Emil on a confidential mission. He
had found a new client for Georgii: the prestigious firm of Abraham, importers and
exporters in Hamburg. Emil was impressed. He knew of the Abraham brothers,
Richard the cigar specialist and Emil the cigarette specialist. They were much talked
about in the industry as being very wealthy, living in the most exclusive section of
town, importing Havana cigars and Egyptian Dimitrino cigarettes.
The German government was planning to impose a stiff tariff on imported cigars
and cigarettes as a means of supporting domestic production, and the Abrahams,
concerned about the impact this would have on their business, began discussing
either manufacturing cigarettes themselves or entering into a partnership with an
existing firm. They asked Karrer for advice. He immediately saw an opportunity for
his boss Georgii, thinking that the latter might be delighted to sell or merge Georgii
and Harr with the cash-rich Abrahams.
He could not figure out, because of his feud with Emil, whether Georgii would
be willing to include the manufacturer of his cigarettes, the United Cigarette Works,
in such a bargain. He paid a visit to Emil. “What do you think I should do?” he asked.
Emil told Karrer he should simply inform Georgii of the opportunity and let him deal
with it in any way he wanted. He hoped, he said, that Georgii would not drop the
United Cigarette Works, since he was still a major shareholder, but if he did, it could
not be helped.
Georgii, whose business had not improved, recognized the opportunity. He
proposed the sale of his company, but greatly overvalued it, insisting on a price that
Karrer knew would not be acceptable. He tried to reason but Georgii refused to
budge and ordered Karrer to present his offer in Hamburg. Karrer, now extremely
embarrassed, went back to Emil and begged him to accompany him to Hamburg
for support, which left Emil more than a little concerned. He thought that if the
negotiation turned sour, it could easily work against him and his company as well as
against Georgii. Finally he agreed to go but asked Karrer merely to introduce him as a
friend and advisor.

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 As expected, the Abraham brothers rejected the Georgii proposal out of hand. At
that instant Emil recalled his conversation with Max Marx, realizing that, between
his expertise and Marx’s Waldorf Astoria brand, they had exactly what the Abrahams
were looking for. Thinking quickly, he decided to bring the two competitors together.
Emil had often observed Marx’s business technique. Now he took his cue from it. He
rang him, saying he ‘happened’ to be in Hamburg and would like to pay him a brief
visit. That was enough to pique Marx’s curiosity. The more evasive Emil became, the
more Marx wanted to know. They met and after Marx was thoroughly primed, Emil
hinted at the Abrahams’ plans. Marx knew and respected the Abrahams, having done
business with them in the past. Emil carefully developed the idea of a collaborative
venture and met with no opposition.
Emil then went back to the Abrahams and they too were interested. Now
there was the delicate matter of bringing the two parties together, it being beneath
the dignity of the great Abrahams to seek out the more modest offices of Mueller
and Marx, while Marx saw no reason to run to the Abrahams since he owned the
trademark. Richard Abraham found the solution: He invited Herr Marx to join them
for Sunday lunch at his brother’s opulent villa.

Confidence and daring
The setting was perfect, a covered veranda at the back of the mansion, overlooking
a manicured garden. Emil and Karrer were impressed and so indeed was Marx.
The Abrahams were gracious hosts and the negotiations went smoothly since, as
experienced businessmen, they came straight to the point, discussing details without
wasting time. Emil was able to demonstrate the viability of the undertaking with
a financial outline. Towards the end Karrer, who by this time was interested in the
project himself, began to worry that Emil may have given away too much information
and that the Hamburg gentlemen would sideline them. Emil, however, was convinced
that this would not happen.
Eventually they reached an agreement: Marx and the Abrahams would start a
new company with cigarettes manufactured by Emil. Then Emil said: “I will participate
only if I have a stake in the company.” The others were astonished. Marx asked: “What
share do you want in the business then?” For a moment, Emil was at a loss but then
his good angel came to his assistance with a bold and simple answer: “Exactly as much
as you!” He knew he would have trouble raising the money, yet, to his own surprise,
remained completely calm. It was the only possible answer and it impressed the
negotiators.

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 Each of the three Hamburg gentlemen agreed to invest 20,000 Marks, and so did
Emil. Karrer then offered 5000 which brought the startup capital to 85,000 Marks.
They appointed Emil as general manager of the new company (Marx vouching for
him) at a salary of 6000 Marks per annum and 15% of net profit. Karrer was retained
as sales manager with a salary of 7000 Marks per annum and 4% of net profit. Emil
insisted that he wanted to manufacture in Stuttgart, where he had all his contacts.
The head office as well as sales and marketing were to be in Hamburg, with Emil
traveling there frequently.

The Waldorf Astoria Cigarette Company

After all this was agreed to, including the name, The Waldorf Astoria Cigarette
Company, Hamburg/Stuttgart, the men adjourned to the dining room for a ‘simple’
but very elegant formal champagne luncheon. Emil was elated. He telephoned Berta
when he could, describing the extraordinary turn of events. He talked about the wise
guidance that brought him there at the right moment and for the first time voiced
the maxim that was to stay with him to the end of his life: “Alone I can do nothing. I
can only be productive working together with others.” Berta was impressed, knowing
it was just what he needed but then asked, “How are you going to raise the funds?”
On the train back to Stuttgart, Emil decided to ask his bank manager for a loan,
but did not believe he would receive more than 10,000 Marks. Berta, meanwhile,
knowing that her father had left her mother a modest legacy, invited her to a day of
shopping in Stuttgart. Over tea, she told her what Emil had done in Hamburg and
asked whether she would be willing to give them a loan. A miracle happened. Her
formerly unbending mother smiled at her radiant pregnant daughter and said she
would be glad to help. ‘This gift is better than any I could have had in my childhood,’
thought Berta. The bank manager, seeing the merit in the plan, promised Emil the rest.
By the time the payment to Hamburg was due, he was able to send the full amount
to his new colleagues.
Next Emil had to present his resignation to his bosses. First he asked for a
meeting with Herr von Eicken, the current chairman of the Board of Directors at
United Cigarette Works, and broke the news that he would be leaving the company
in January, but would find and train a good replacement for himself. Von Eicken was
astonished. He admired Emil’s courage for trying to start a new company just when
taxes were about to be imposed. “It is the perfect time,” said Emil, and indeed it was.
In times of price increases, the public is always more trusting of newcomers than of
established firms because a new company has no history.

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 Then Karrer and Emil went to Emil Georgii with heavy hearts, presenting him
with their news. It was too much for poor Georgii, having his proposal to the Abrahams
turned down and Emil, of all people, negotiating a different outcome. Besides, he
said, a manager for the United Cigarette Works could be replaced, but losing his best
traveling salesman was a calamity. Emil felt terrible for his former friend and for the
disappointment it would cause the family Georgii in Calw. He promised to help in
whatever way he could, but it was cold comfort. Karrer resigned from Georgii and
Harr immediately to look for a new building to prepare for the startup. By chance he
found a suitable location right next to Jose del Monte’s box factory. When it came
time for Emil to leave the United Cigarette Works, he was surprised. Sixty of his best
workers decided to go with him.
The year 1906 marked the midpoint of Emil’s life. He was 30 years old and in his
prime. His new business, the Waldorf Astoria, took off like a bird out of a cage, and he
and his workers scrambled to keep up with production. Soon the one building was
too small; another premises was taken, then a third. Overnight, Stuttgart acquired
a reputation as the cigarette capital of Germany, and the firm became a magnet
for people from far away places looking for work. Ishirian, one of Emil’s Armenian
employees, sent for ten of his compatriots who arrived smiling but without a word of
German. Mytilencos the Greek showed up from Zurich. His specialty was hand-filling
up to 3000 cigarettes a day. The highly efficient orthodox Rossbach took work home

Production

67
on Sundays to celebrate Shabbat on Saturdays (in those days the work week was six
days, with only Sundays off).
To Emil, tobacco was like fine wine—an exquisite treasure of nature, from the
most classic regions of the earth. His favorite was tobacco from the classic Xanthi
region; he called it the crown of tobacco creation in both taste and aroma. (How far
removed are the cigarettes of today and how debased.)
Waldorf Astoria cigarettes had their own character. The tobacco master was
required to match the various batches for consistency because every harvest, every
district and every season was different. The art consisted in blending tobaccos:
Macedonia (for body), Smyrna (for aroma) and Samsun (for balance and strength).
Emil personally traveled to Dresden with his tobacco master, spending a day smoking,
evaluating and writing comparisons, until the choices were made. They were well-
known there. As soon as they stepped off the train, the grapevine announced their
arrival and they were inundated with samples and offers when they arrived at their
hotel.
When the new shipment arrived in Stuttgart, the Waldorf Astoria spirit was
at its liveliest. Bales were stacked and stored at just the right humidity. A group of
women sorted and mixed the leaves according to various formulas, aerating them
and stacking them ready for the cut. One man was expert at sharpening knives, done
on French sandstone. He always knew, by the ‘ftt ftt’ sound of the cut, when a knife
needed resharpening. After cutting, the tobacco was lifted and shaken to achieve the
right ‘woolly’ consistency, retaining the glorious color and aroma that made it special.
The dust was vacuumed away; at the end of the year there was always a mountain of
it; they called it ‘Turkish earth’ and used it for compost.
By instinct and by training, Emil insisted that only top-grade tobacco be offered
for the high end of the market. Often he argued with his Hamburg associates because
their preference was always a quick sale at discount prices. Emil gave in only once,
briefly. Encouraged by his Munich distributor, he brought out a line of two-penny
cigarettes in competition with the popular Bavarian brand ‘Sport.’ Very soon however,
he realized the impossibility of having an exclusive brand while selling cut-rate on
the side and discontinued the practice. He explained to his partners how the United
Cigarette shareholders had demanded cheap cigarettes for themselves and how
badly it had affected their return on investment. That was logic which Marx and the
Abrahams understood well. With the company riding a wave of increasing demand,
Emil was able to show them a healthy profit without compromise, but he knew that
in a downturn they would come back with the same demands.

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Walter
Berta stopped doing the books for the firm in preparation for her confinement,
but she retained her interest in the business, and Emil found in her a wonderful
levelheaded advisor. He trained a new person to take his place visiting clients so he
could be nearby. Berta wanted a home birth but was rushed to hospital on May 5th
because of complications. There she suffered terribly again: It was a breach birth with
enormous loss of blood. The child was frail with a tenuous hold on life, just as his
father and grandfather before him. Berta remained in recovery for a long time. She
couldn’t nurse her child and she never conceived again.

Baby Walter
It took a while for the baby, baptized Walter Georg Conrad, to become used
to a world that offered him such difficult entry. He did not tolerate cow’s milk and
the beef bouillon the doctor prescribed gave him a rash. The baby got weaker and
the mother distracted with anxiety. One day, in desperation, she called Emil home
because her child was so ill. The doctor had recommended clearing the baby’s nasal
passages by blowing out his nose with a balloon syringe. Berta hesitated and so the
doctor did the procedure himself, bursting several blood vessels in little Walter’s
forehead. When Emil asked why the baby’s forehead was so blue, the doctor claimed
that Berta must have put a blue cap on him, before being thrown out the door by
Emil. That was the final straw for Berta. Without consulting her husband, she called
in a homeopath specializing in childhood illnesses, recommended by her upstairs
neighbor. Dr. Stiegele calmed her nerves and gave the baby remedies that helped
immediately. When she told Emil, previously a skeptic, how their son improved, he
became an instant supporter because he saw the treatment worked.

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 Three months later, with Walter over the worst of his illnesses but still wakeful
and cranky, Berta heard that Steiner was coming to Stuttgart to give a series of evening
lectures. Hungry for mental stimulation, she asked her mother to stay with them
for two weeks to tend the baby while she and Emil went to the talks. The lonely
widow, Pauline, came and, for those two weeks Walter was a model child, settling
in at night and contented during the day. Berta wondered how this was possible,
when she was having so much trouble with him and Pauline told her: “It is always the
way with grandparents—my mother was able to do the same when your sister was
small.” Mother and daughter treasured these two weeks. It gave them a whole new
relationship with each other.

German politics
As manufacturers, Emil and del Monte participated in the extraordinary
expansion Germany was going through. The country was upbeat with a ‘can do’
attitude, and consumers enjoyed life with a sense of stability, innovation and plenty.
John Maynard Keynes in his Economic Consequences of the Peace wrote:

Round Germany as a central support, the rest of the European economic

system grouped itself, and on the prosperity and enterprise of Germany, the
prosperity of the rest of the Continent mainly depended. The increasing
pace of Germany gave her neighbors an outlet for their products, in
exchange for which the enterprise of the German merchant supplied
them with their chief requirements at a low price. … Germany was the
best customer of Russia, Norway, Holland, Belgium, Switzerland, Italy
and Austria-Hungary; she was the second-best customer of Great Britain,
Sweden and Denmark; and the third-best customer of France. She was the
largest source of supply to Russia, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Holland,
Switzerland, Italy, Austria-Hungary, Rumania and Bulgaria; and the
second largest source of supply to Great Britain, Belgium and France. …
Germany not only furnished these countries with trade but, in the case
of some of them, supplied a great part of the capital needed for their own
development. Of Germany’s prewar foreign investments, amounting in all
to about £1250 million, not far short of £500 million was invested in Russia,
Austria-Hungary, Bulgaria, Rumania and Turkey.

The commercial growth and expansion in Germany strained government coffers,

and taxes were increased. In the summer of 1906, a domestic cigarette tax was

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mandated. Emil, given advance notice through his trade association, made the most
of the challenge by launching a new premium line. It included ‘Victoria Cup’ in a tin
and ‘Bridge,’ whose 24-carat gold mouthpieces were so precious that the cigarettes
were later requisitioned as currency when the war broke out.
When the tax legislation was adopted, every package of existing stock needed
a tax band glued on, and, because of the deadline, everyone in Waldorf, including
Emil, sat down one night after work to complete the project. No one worried about
overtime; it was a kind of party with tea, biscuits and much singing. Suddenly there
was a heavy knock at the door: The police had noticed the lights and deduced illegal
after-hours labor. They were invited to stay for tea but served Emil with a summons
for disobeying trade laws. Next morning he had to go to court like a common criminal.
They wanted him to sit in the dock but he refused, preferring to stand with what was
left of his dignity. Defiance did not help his case. He was pronounced guilty and had
to pay a hefty fine. Worse still, his name appeared in the official offenders’ book. Years
later, as an appointed commercial judge he asked to have that ‘old blemish’ removed
from the book so he could hold his head up in society again.

Tax Sticker

This misdemeanor did not dampen enthusiasm or prevent festivities in the

Waldorf Astoria. There was always a reason to celebrate. At Christmas everyone
gathered for a grand feast: managers, workers and invited guests, all toasted the
company’s success. Life was good.

A riot and a promise

People at the Waldorf Astoria factory were generally a happy and contented lot;
otherwise the company could not have expanded as well as it did. Emil chose his
supervisors for their social as well as their technical skills. Besides that, he employed

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an old friend, Wally Almendinger, as ombudswoman for any questions or problems
arising with staff. Still, once he had to suffer a strike when a group of foreign tobacco
fillers simply stopped working. The strike was ‘wildcat’ and the supervisor could
neither explain nor resolve it. Management was in a predicament with orders pouring
in and not getting filled.
“Berta,” said Emil belligerently, “I can’t let them get away with this. I’m going to
Patras to get us some new workers.” Berta pointed out the difficulty of the undertaking
and the uncertainty of its outcome, so he promised himself he would focus entirely
on his task and not fall prey to distractions. Off he went, denying himself a window
seat on the train to avoid getting carried away by the scenery. ‘If I’m successful,’ he said
to himself, ‘I will join the Theosophical Society.’
In Milan Emil bought a ticket for Brindisi, then decided to check in at the post
office for mail. He found a telegram: “Return to Stuttgart. Strike over.” Although a
little disappointed, he was also impressed: For the second time an exercise in thought
concentration seemed to bring results. He returned to Stuttgart to find everyone
amazed and relieved at the resolution, with things back to normal. Emil fired the
supervisor and hired a new one, the wise and competent Karschinierow, who
understood his workers well.
After his trip to Milan, Emil paid a visit to Adolf Arenson and joined the
Theosophical Society, albeit as an associate member because he thought he would
not be able to attend regular meetings. Berta had already joined the Society and was
taking an introductory course in esoteric studies with Arenson and Unger. The study
sessions were the highlight of her week.
At Easter, Emil took a week off and, with his friend Weippert, traveled to Ticino,
the Italian part of Switzerland. It was the first of many trips there. He fell in love
with the southerly landscape, its mimosas and magnolias and the lovely lake, the Lago
Maggiore, with its head in Switzerland and the length of its body in Italy. Berta stayed
in Stuttgart this time because young Walter had the chicken pox.
The next time Steiner was in Stuttgart, Arenson introduced the new members
Berta and Emil to him. He was very cordial, welcomed them and remarked that he
had noticed them at his lectures. They requested a personal interview and he invited
them to come to the Hotel Marquardt, where he was staying. They prepared carefully
for their visit out of respect for the man, knocked on his door with beating hearts
and were warmly received. Emil told him how he experienced his lectures as lifting
him out of the mundane and said he wanted to preserve that mood on a continual
basis. Berta mentioned the study evenings and how helpful they were in her daily life.

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Rudolf Steiner looked pleased and suggested some meditative exercises with a verse
for the morning and one for the evening as preparation for the transition between
waking and sleep. He also encouraged Emil to join the Society as a full member; it
would give him more strength for his work. Berta, her social sense overcoming her
shyness, told Steiner he would be welcome to dine with them when in Stuttgart, as
a break from hotel food. He was extremely grateful for the offer and shook her hand
warmly.
At Whitsun, the Molts traveled with friends to Munich for the first Theosophical
Congress to be held in that town. The occasion was festive. Steiner had become
interested in adding an artistic component to the usually rather sober society. Under
his guidance, the local study group decorated the lecture hall in vibrant colors and
symbols reflecting the themes of the conference and created backdrops for a play
about Demeter and Persephone called “The Mystery of Eleusis” by the French author
Edouard Schuré. Unger gave the opening address—his first speech in a public hall—
and Annie Besant, president of the international Theosophical Society, spoke a few
words of welcome.
The Molts stayed in Stuttgart for the rest of the summer and for recreation bought
a small garden together with their friend Weippert, easily accessible from their house,
and a fine playground for Walter. One Sunday while they were in the garden enjoying
a picnic, the sky announced a summer thunderstorm. The parents did not want their
delicate little boy to get wet so Emil put him in the stroller and raced home through
the streets, swerving around impediments while Berta gathered up the lunch. In those
days men simply did not push strollers. Emil found it dreadful. Grinding his teeth he
said, “Never again will I have anything to do with that hateful piece of equipment.”
Walter thought it great fun, laughing all the way home.
Most Sunday afternoons the Molts went to Cannstatt. Arenson and his wife
Deborah kept a weekly open house, a kind of literary salon with refreshments. Families
came bringing their children; young adults and older people hardly ever missed it. It
was light-hearted and exciting and unusual for those times. “What did you discover
this week?” one would ask the other, “What are your new ideas?” They talked about
theosophy, literature and music. It was a rich source of inspiration, especially for Emil,
used as he was to business conversations. Traveling back from Hamburg by train as
from a foreign country, he always seemed to notice a geographical ‘border,’ after which
he felt himself back in the ‘heart zone’ of these gatherings.
In time, Emil became more active in the local branch of the Theosophical
Society, and he and Berta were invited to the more intimate esoteric classes given by

73
Steiner. At the same time they were pleased to see Steiner’s public lectures drawing
an ever-greater audience. At one such lecture, Emil met a sympathetic young artist
by the name of Hilde Hamburger. He asked her whether by chance she knew the
Hamburgers of Patras and she answered: “Of course I do, they’re my uncles!” The Molts
were often surprised by such ‘random’ meetings with strangers who seemed familiar
or connected to them in some way. It was a topic for Sundays at the Arensons and
given the name ‘a timeless circulation of friends.’

Giving up meat and wine

One morning, over breakfast, the Molts decided it was time to give up alcohol
and meat because it no longer felt right going to a lecture after a meal of sausages and
beer. All his life, Emil had loved his twice-daily chop without which he would not
have felt like a ‘real man.’ Having schooled his nose and palate to the quality of tobacco
allowed him to become a connoisseur of fine wine, much admired by his business
associates. Yet now he felt, and Berta agreed, that their heads should be as clear and
their stomachs as light as possible to take in the refined and esoteric ideas they were
being offered. Ordinarily, it would have been hard to give all this up without a relapse
or two, but the couple encouraged and monitored each other, convinced that this
step was important for their spiritual development.
The hardest part was withstanding mockery, especially by the Hamburg
colleagues, and the dreadfully inadequate menus in the restaurants they frequented.
Ordering mineral water instead of wine was an ordeal. In 1907, vegetarians did exist,
but Emil always considered them strange and now he tried at all costs to avoid being
classed as such. After a while things got better. Meatless cuisine became more popular
and almost fashionable. When in July Emil and Berta leased a larger apartment,
suitable for entertaining, Berta hired an inventive cook. Together they created menus
so luscious that people found excuses to come over for lunch or dinner. Over the
years, the brightest and best were to meet at the Molts’ elegant table.
Walter still needed a great deal of attention. At night he woke up so frequently
that Berta kept his cot next to her bed to comfort him without disturbing his father.
For months she walked up and down with him, feeling inadequate. Walter, the rascal,
thoroughly enjoyed these nightly diversions. Every time he woke up he would call
energetically: “Mutterle, Mutterle, händele halten” (Mama, Mama, hold my little
hand). Finally Dr. Stiegele told her: “You should put an end to this. Take the cot into
another room, as far away from your bedroom as possible.” This worked. The boy slept
and the parents finally had some peace.

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 When Walter was about three years old, their nights were made anxious again
by recurring nightmares he suffered that would turn him stiff followed by a high
fever. He dreamt of a demon chasing him, threatening to crush him. The next time
Steiner came to supper Berta brought Walter in to him
and asked for his help. Steiner looked at the boy kindly,
saying: “You are quite a strong little man, aren’t you? If
that bad demon comes back again, just tell him: ‘I am
much stronger than you!’ ” Whenever the nightmare
returned Walter only needed reminding and then
would shout: “I-am-much-stronger-than-you!” The
demon vanished and the cramp loosened. In time the
nightmare disappeared altogether.
Otherwise Walter was a sunny child, smiling at
everyone he met in the street. Once he said, “Papa
macht sein Gsäft [Geschäft] immer grösser, aber wart’
nur, wenn ich gross bin mach ich’s Gsäftele wieder
kleiner” (Papa is making his business bigger and bigger. Little Walter
But just wait, when I’m grown up, I’ll make it smaller
again). Around that time his father once walked into Walter’s nursery. The boy was so
engrossed in what he was doing that he ignored his dad. Emil said: “Walter, you must
greet me when I come in.” Walter gave him a long look and replied, “Papa, ‘must’ is a
hard word; if you said ‘please’ it would be much easier.” Here, one might say, history
repeated itself. Emil, too frail for his own father’s liking as a boy, now looked at his
own delicate son as at a stranger, partly in wonder, partly in incomprehension. He was
so unused to the world of the very young child that he took refuge behind the mask
of the serious adult and in doing so unconsciously emulated his Uncle Gustav Goeller
in Alfdorf. Father and son were to suffer years of edgy misunderstanding until finally,
when it was almost too late, they came to cherish a close relationship. Before that
Berta had to step in many times to mediate between her menfolk.

The elegant Greek tobacco master
Emil’s tobacco master retired and before long the tobacco grapevine sent
him another. Young Ethiokles Sterghiades arrived for a formal interview one day,
accompanied by his older brother. He presented himself in traditional Greek style,
clad in top hat and cutaway. Emil, suppressing a smile, felt warmed by the eager face
and hired him. “From now on you can leave your outfit in your wardrobe,” he said.

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“We’re quite informal here.” The rather shy newcomer eventually justified his attire by
turning into a well-to-do gentleman. He knew his trade like no other.
In the fall the Molts traveled to Berlin for the General Assembly of the
Theosophical Society, Steiner presiding. During the afternoon break, Steiner was
the gracious host with an Austrian flair, welcoming newcomers and helping them
circulate among older members while Eliza von Moltke served tea in heirloom china.
Eliza was the wife of General Helmuth von Moltke, nephew of the victor of Sedan
and, as head of the German General Staff, one of the Kaiser’s closest advisors. The
Molts enjoyed meeting her; she was warm and intelligent. It interested them that
their unusual names had the same root. She told them that her husband was away
but invited them to have supper at her house. There she shared insights gained by
her husband, who was in close touch with political events, such as the war between
Russia and Japan. She thought a new era of peace and spirituality had begun, but her
husband was not convinced, telling her, “The bloody events in Russia [the war with
Japan and the revolution following it] are like a torch illuminating a dark future.” “He
believes,” she said, “that peace is still far off.” On the other hand they were astonished
to hear that von Moltke had frequent conversations about spirituality with the
Kaiser and that the latter believed firmly in reincarnation. This conversation caused
the Molts to become attentive to world trends and developments where before they
had focused mostly on business growth and inner growth.
Although he enjoyed the Theosophical meeting in Berlin, Emil’s original feelings
about the Theosophical Society were not entirely misplaced. It had to do with two
definite philosophical streams increasingly at odds with each other. One was the more
mystical Eastern theosophical movement with its center in Adyar, India. The other
was Rudolf Steiner’s Western Christian approach that Emil and Berta were drawn to.
Steiner began to separate from the Theosophical Society and its leaders, Annie
Besant and Colonel C.W. Leadbeater following Leadbeater’s discovery of a boy in
Adyar, whom he believed to be the reincarnated Maitreya Buddha. Soon theosophists
were told that through him the Christ would manifest for his second coming. This
child was Krishnamurti who, many years later, renounced that claim. From the outset
Steiner called it an absurdity; the physical incarnation of Christ was a one-time event,
he said and although many people would perceive Him in future, it would not be in
a physical body.

A trip to the East

To strengthen his position with his partners and complete his tobacco education,
Emil decided a trip to the tobacco lands was warranted. When he announced his
76
intention in Hamburg, Max Marx immediately begged to come along. They planned
to travel in the spring of 1908, but were delayed because of a revolt in Turkey. By
June, they were ready. One Saturday morning, they boarded the Orient Express to
Constanza via Munich, Vienna, Budapest and Bucharest, taking their ease for forty
hours while passing mountains, the Danube and the forests around Vienna, dining
well and retiring in their sleeping compartments.
During the first night something happened that nearly put an end to their
adventure and possibly their lives. The train had just passed Budapest. Emil was
asleep in his bunk, dreaming of Rudolf Steiner. Suddenly he was rudely awakened
and nearly catapulted to the floor by a terrific screeching of brakes and a jolting stop.
Just after Budapest, the train had gotten onto the wrong track. An oncoming train
barreled towards it at top speed. At the very last moment both engineers were able to
brake. Oddly, Steiner was in Budapest that very night preparing a lecture called “Man
between Death and Rebirth” for a meeting of the Theosophical Congress with Annie
Besant. It was to be Steiner’s final meeting with her.
Next day, none the worse for their experience, the partners arrived at the Black
Sea port of Constanza in Rumania, where they found a graceful steamer waiting for
them. It was one of a fleet financed by German Lloyd at the request of its eastern host
countries (to the dismay of Britain which feared the competition) and Russia (fearing
restriction of its expansion). The ship was not full. Marx and Emil were served fine
food and offered a spacious stateroom each. Next morning Emil, rising at dawn, went
up on deck. He found himself in the middle of the Black Sea, the boat swathed in a
ghostly and slightly somber mist which seemed to confirm the designation ‘Black.’
Before long the sun came out and, as they sailed into the Bosporus, Emil was
overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the scenery. He saw Europe on his right and his
first glimpse of Asia on the left with the old watchtowers Anatoli-Hissar and Rumeli-
Hissar. ‘How fine it is,’ he thought, ‘that my product, which I consider less a commodity
and more as something poetic, takes me to the most beautiful and important cultural
and historic parts of the world!’
Turkey then was a mighty empire including the main tobacco districts of Thrace,
Macedonia, Thessaly, up to Ueskueb and towards Albania and down to Preveza and
Arta. Unfortunately that did not protect it from imminent major amputation. In
the war with Italy over Tripoli, which in turn triggered the wars of 1911, 1912 and
1913, Turkey was pulled and dragged between Greece, Bulgaria, Serbia and Austria-
Hungary, with Britain and Russia manipulating in the background. In the end Turkish
tobacco farmers had to relocate while Greeks took over their holdings.

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Istanbul­- Constantinople - Byzantium
For now, however, all was well. The ship arrived in the harbor of Constantinople
the triple city, consisting of Stambul with the Hagia Sofia towering above it; Galata,
built by the Genoese; and above it, the modern European city of Pera with its German,
British, French, Russian and Italian embassies, each with its own post office and stamps
and each with its own ships in the harbor. On the Asian side, Emil glimpsed Haider-
Pascha with Skutari and its gleaming new German-built train station.
For a moment he stood lost in the past, imagining the Argonauts and Alexander
the Great on his expedition into Asia. He thought of the ancient Greeks building
Byzantium, the Romans conquering them, and Constantine breaking with Rome
and establishing the Eastern Church which later became a mosque. He imagined the
Crusaders, the Venetians, the Genoese and finally the Turks who took the city in 1450
and from there marched out to Greece, the various Balkan States, to Hungary and as
far as Vienna until they gradually lost their strength and concession after concession
was surrendered to the Great Powers.
He was pulled from his reverie by a shout and a wave from quayside: his tobacco
master Ethiokles Sterghiades, waiting with his uncle Tassoudis from Xanthi. Marx
and Emil disembarked. They slipped some baksheesh to customs officials who waved
them through without checking their bags. Lucky for them—there were strict laws
against importing books, cameras and cigars, and between them they had all three.
From the outset Emil felt a curious affinity with the Turks and enjoyed the noisy
teeming quayside which reminded him of Patras.
Their friends had a carriage waiting to drive up to, of all places, the Pera Palace
Hotel of Emil’s favorite train novel. Surprisingly, he told them, “I shall go up on foot
to get an idea of the city.” “You don’t even know where the hotel is,” said Sterghiades.
“Oh, I do,” replied Emil. “It’s there,” and waved his hand in the general direction. Was it
a strange instinct—or something more? After climbing through steep winding alleys,
he arrived at the hotel, hidden by buildings in front but completely open to the
mountains in the back.
He walked past the doorman, a mighty Albanian in traditional dress with a rifle
held across his chest, into a huge hall, decorated in Moorish style. It was like a dream,
being in the hotel that to him seemed so unattainable. He heard Turkish, Greek and
German spoken and knew that he would have no trouble communicating. Marx
was slightly less comfortable in the strange setting. He insisted on sharing a room
with Emil because he ‘didn’t trust the foreigners.’ A hydraulic lift carried them up to

78
their spacious accommodation on the third floor; the view was spectacular with the
Golden Horn in the distance.
After settling in they went exploring in the teeming city. Officers in uniform,
some quite old, hurried by as did men wearing the fez and veiled women. There
were no cars and only one tram, but the foot traffic was enormous in this city of one
million people. The bridge from Galata to Stambul continuously trembled under the
undulating human burden. Countless nationalities, all in their native dress, passed
by: Europeans, every type of Asian, Turkmenians, Armenians, Greeks, Albanians, Jews,
Arabs, Indians, all conversing in their own language, mingled easily. Eventually the
colleagues relished lunch in a Greek garden restaurant on the Pera Road. Emil had no
trouble finding a vegetarian meal then or later while Marx, the meat eater, soon tired
of the constant mutton.
They observed a remarkable feature of the city: packs of dogs whose job it was to
clean up the garbage that people simply threw out the window. The dogs were well-
organized among themselves, their territories clear. Any dog venturing into another’s
domain was fiercely attacked, to the point of bloodshed. In subsequent years, the
State did away with this hygiene-police, banning them by gender, on two separate
islands where they eventually died out.
Emil wanted to visit historic sites, but Marx preferred seeing the modern side of
town. So they went to the new train station designed by a Swabian, Otto Kapp von
Gültstein, and financed by a German syndicate. The station was impressive with a
new train getting final touchups from a dozen workers wearing the fez. Suddenly Emil
heard the unmistakable idiom of Württemberg: “Do guck na, do isch au no net frisch

Constantinople train station

79
ang’striche!” (Hey look, that side isn’t painted yet!). It gave him goose bumps, hearing
it right in the middle of Asia. Of course he went over and learned that these men
had been working for the Eastern Railway for twenty years. They had even helped
build the line from Katakolon to Patras and Athens during Emil’s time in Greece.
They offered their countrymen a test run on the new train, but Marx declined: It
would take too long. Emil was proud of ‘his’ people, realizing again how cosmopolitan
Swabians were, while never losing their funny dialect.

A note about Emil’s countrymen and women, the Swabians

Today the gulf between Prussia and Württemberg is less, but back in the early
twentieth century it was wide and uncomplimentary. Prussians thought Swabians
(Schwaben) were peasants at best and cockroaches (Schaben) at worst. Swabians
compared Prussians to pigs, or rather sows, ‘Sau-Preuss.’ The Prussian language is
precisely enunciated while words in the Swabian dialect are capable of the most
extraordinary transformation often having to do with the diminutive suffix “-le.” The
sow or ‘Sau’ (saow with emphasis on the sibilant S) can easily diminish in size and
weight into ‘Saeule’ (soy-le), an endearing term for a messy little child. The dignified
‘Mann’ (munn) with his leather briefcase might be reduced to a ‘Maennle’ (man-
le) when he comes home, and the victorious, masculine ‘Kuss’ (kooss) becomes the
yearning intimate little ‘Kuessle’ (kiss-le). It was a resonating aspect of Emil’s soul.
The British and French did not like this railway because, once completed, it
would give Germany direct access to the Persian Gulf and Iraq where England and
France controlled the oil fields. It was to be one of the triggers of the Great War.
The next day the two friends took a carriage up to Bulgurlu and the palace of the
presumptive heir to the throne. They had lunch in a little café sitting next to some
distinguished-looking Turks in formal attire. Emil offered them a round of Turkish
coffee which started polite conversation. The men belonged to the retinue of the
Prince and were about to drive out with him. Before leaving, they invited Marx and
Emil to look around the palace grounds. The view over the Bosporus was stunning
and the gardens exquisite. Strolling paths bordered by hedges opened up to a view or
gave privacy to sitting areas. A discrete door led to the women’s quarters, the harem,
which Marx tried to get into but was energetically barred from by a hefty black
eunuch.
In the afternoon, they packed up, taking the night train with Sterghi and Tassoudis
to Xanthi, the latter’s home and that of the Enfiezioglou family. In the morning they
passed Dedeagatsch and a large number of tobacco fields. To his disgrace Emil did not

80
recognize them as such at first, wondering out loud if what they were seeing might
be lettuce. His Greek friends were forbidden on pain of death to ever to tell anyone
that story.
Sterghi’s brother Constantine met them at the train and brought them to his
family home, where they were warmly welcomed. Marx was put up there; Emil stayed
with Tassoudis and Sterghi at his mother’s house. The accommodations were simple
but clean with great hospitality extended. The entire family mobilized to look after
Emil’s every need. Xanthi (Yenidje in Turkish) was the center of the finest tobacco
cultivation in the East, and Emil’s hosts hastened to offer him an exquisite, freshly-cut
and rolled sample. His heart soared as he slowly savored it and afterwards admired
the aroma that lingered in the room like a fine perfume.
Next his friends took Marx and himself to a tobacco farmer, Omer Aga, an old
friend of the Enfiezioglou, who invited his visitors into his best salon and offered them
seats on two low divans by the wall. He served them Turkish coffee and sweets and
had samples laid out of his best tobacco, cut and ready to be rolled into cigarettes. A
lively conversation ensued with Constantine interpreting for the farmer who sat, with
crossed legs and bright eyes full of animation. He showed the group his beautifully
laid-out plantation, which was large enough, but no larger than his herd of sheep
could fertilize once a year, which they did by walking over it before the crop. At the
end of the visit, this splendid Turk presented Marx with a side of roasted mutton and,
knowing his preferences, Emil with a bottle of sheep yoghurt.
The next day was dedicated to the wedding of Sterghi to Rhodia Duka, whose
father Emil had met in Berlin. Sterghi’s mother hosted the event, the couple was
married in her parlor by a venerable bearded Orthodox priest with a melodious
voice. They planned the wedding to coincide with Emil’s visit, and he was honored
and delighted to say a few words in Greek. After the ceremony, guests adjourned to
laden tables in the garden. The solemn atmosphere gave way to high spirits, wine and
dance. Emil was in his element, and even Marx took a few turns in the circle dance.
Again they travelled, to Cavalla with horse and carriage in the heat of the sun,
eagles circling above and turtles crawling in the dust, passing close by the fabled
island of Samothrace. At the Karasu River they boarded a ferry steered by two giant
Africans. Cavalla was dominated by an old Venetian fortress and a Roman aqueduct
and tidy villas nestled in the hills surrounding the town. The main tobacco companies
were all represented there. The group toured warehouses and visited the manager
of the German bank. In every place they were offered coffee in brass pots by the
‘cafetschis,’ or coffee men. This fine oriental custom had great social value. While

81
chatting over coffee, business people
got to know each other and had time to
ponder their strategy instead of rushing
in to do trade. Marx, always impatient,
could not understand the purpose of this
custom, and Emil was hard put to prevent
him from embarrassing them both by
cutting it short.

The plant and its culture Copper coffee dispenser with hundred-
Emil came to learn directly how year-old hand-rolled cigarettes
tobacco was cultivated in that area. In
spring the farmers set the seedlings in their gardens, transplanting them into the
tobacco fields when they were hardy enough. Depending on the heat, harvesting
began at the end of August or beginning of September. Before the harvest the tips
of the leaves were cropped to keep the plant from shooting too high and thus losing
its strength and quality. This was done before sunrise to prevent damage. After the
harvest, the leaves were sorted according to size: the prime tip, outsch; the secondary
tip, outsch alti; and then trita mana, deftera mana, proto mana (the lowest and largest
leaf ).
The sorted leaves were bundled and hung, first in the air, then in a loft. There
the leaf ripened and changed color. At the end of this process, around February or
March, the leaves were packed in bales and brought to the dealer. Farmer and dealer
had a relationship of trust and knew each other well. The dealers, sitting cross-legged
on the ground, usually with an apprentice by their side, sorted the leaves and entered
their details in a ledger. The still-moist leaves were then pressed in wood frames and
packed in jute, after which fermentation began, the leaves getting warm and even
beginning to ‘cook.’ The curing process was carefully supervised and the frames were
turned from side to side. This work was usually done by early summer. After the
fermentation the town mayor himself inspected the tobacco. Then it was classified
and given quality numbers and by September or October shipped to Dresden.
This was the zenith of pure tobacco. Later it became almost impossible to
find unadulterated Xanthi, and the unusually high tax and other tariffs made it a
prohibitive luxury. Emil would see the industry move into rapid mass-production
with hundreds of workers replaced by a few technicians. Still later, when cigarettes
were standardized with the addition of aromas and addictive substances, their

82
consumption increased while the price and the quality went down. Contemplative
cigarette connoisseurs gave way to mundane chain smokers. “Sic transit gloria
mundi—et Xanthiae!” Emil would then muse with regret.
The friends went on to Saloniki, past the ruins of Philippi and the spot where the
Apostle Paul was held prisoner, past the region that was to play a major role in the
Great War. The trip was hot and they were glad to arrive at their destination. Saloniki
was an intellectual center, small and predominantly Turkish. Here is where the Young
Turks started their revolt. It was home also to some 40,000 Jews who, centuries earlier,
had been driven out of Spain. Some of them converted to Islam, others remained
Orthodox. The former were business people, financiers and dignitaries of the town,
the latter downtrodden, working at the most menial of jobs.
A bazaar filled the main street in the town center. There the friends bargained
for silk shawls and other souvenirs to bring home. In the evening, after the market
stalls closed, the cafés on either side of the street moved their tables and chairs into
the space, merging in the middle. That’s where Emil and Marx sat on their last evening
with a view to Mount Olympus, home of the gods, bathed in the light of the evening
sun.
The train took them to Budapest where they planned to spend the night. When
Marx found out from the hotel porter that there was still a late connection to Berlin,
he insisted on taking it. Emil for his part felt compelled to go along. Thus their trip
ended, but the memory of it remained vivid for months, adding romance to the work
routine. The trip gave Emil authority over his Hamburg colleagues; they now gave him
freedom in his decision-making and, except for Marx, became silent partners.

Souvenir tray

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 Chapter Three
Refinement
The desire for quality in everything that
touched their lives became a preoccupation of
the Molts. At home, they discarded sentimental
knickknacks, replacing them with art objects and
elegant furnishings. They changed their wardrobes to
reflect quality and style. Previously, Emil appeared at
Board meetings in Hamburg in sturdy South German
loden gear, hoping to exert a reforming influence
on his ‘soft’ Northern colleagues and their refined
ways. In time he realized that they looked down
on him as provincial. The really painful awakening Emil in hat
came during one visit when Marx unexpectedly
invited him to his birthday party. Emil sat, mortified, a country boy in his woolen
broadcloth, surrounded by elegant ladies and gentlemen in formal dress. First thing
next day he went to town and bought the long-overdue top hat, and back in Stuttgart
a fashionable tailor measured him for every kind of morning, afternoon and evening
wear. Now he felt equal to the best of them and literally better able to discuss quality.
It gave him tremendous satisfaction later on to learn that the always elegant Steiner
gave his first lectures in tails to live up to his audiences’ expectations!
In the early 1900s women’s fashions changed. The rigid Victorian bustles and
corsets were gradually abandoned and hemlines inched higher. Berta who always
detested corsets and being slim did not need them, had an inborn sense of flair, and
she began designing her own clothes in a more classical flowing style with fine white
silks and beautiful colors.
The company benefited from the quest for beauty and elegance too. Emil
organized a poster competition, offering 3000 Marks as first prize to an array of well-
known painters. Even the judges were leading artists. The entries were exhibited in
a Hamburg hall open to the public. A poster fetched first prize but the third prize
went to some excellent sketches, more suitable for packaging, by a Professor Kusche
from Karlsruhe. Emil was impressed by his work and hired him immediately for the

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company’s graphic needs. Kusche’s wreath design became the classic look for Waldorf
Astoria cigarettes.

The German Bulldog

In fairness, the image of Emil must be rounded out to display a latent fire of short
temper that rarely erupted, but when it did had no regard for top hats and gold
tips. In the spring the Molts took a friend, Clara Rettich, on a short break to Italy. On
their way back, they stopped in Genoa where Clara was to catch her train. Being early
they hired a boat for a quick harbor tour. The Italian boatman, aware of their time
constraint, rowed out to a fair distance and then told Emil he would have to pay him
extra to get back in time. The bulldog in Emil woke up. He grabbed the oars from the
Italian’s hands, rowed back himself and marched the ladies to the station. The Italian
ran after them, yelling until Emil threw him a few coins (while Berta was dying a
thousand deaths with embarrassment).

Munich
The Stuttgart group of the Theosophical Society needed an adequate hall for
their meetings and longed for a permanent space, big enough for lectures and other
activities. Emil, now treasurer of the Society, received the welcome news from Arenson
that a friend, the pharmacist Heim in Basel, had donated 50,000 Marks towards the
purchase of a meetinghouse in Stuttgart. As soon as he returned home, he met with
Arenson, Unger, del Monte, the architect Schmidt Curtius and the builder Aisenpreis.
They chose a spot close to the Molts’ apartment on the Landhausstrasse and made
plans for a three-storied building which would include an apartment for Dr. Steiner
on the top floor.
That summer 1909, the Society met again in Munich, this time for a summer
festival featuring a production of Edouard Schuré’s allegorical play “The Children of
Lucifer” at the Munich State Theatre. It was beautifully cast and performed, directed
by Steiner, with music by Adolf Arenson. Edouard Schuré, the elderly French author
of the play, came especially to see his work performed and was full of praise. This
significant writer had studied philosophy in Germany as a young man and joined
the Theosophical Society early on. He was responsible for introducing Marie von
Sivers (later Marie Steiner) and Rudolf Steiner to the Theosophical Society. A bond
of friendship and admiration united the three of them until, during the war, Schuré’s
nationalist feelings caused a rift for a time. Later, he wrote a book called The Great
Initiates, saying that he had been preoccupied with the initiates of antiquity and
then, one day, found himself in front of a living one—Steiner.

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 Scene from a Mystery Drama

Four times more these Munich summer festivals took place and for these Steiner
produced his own plays, the “Mystery Dramas.” They were esoteric plays in a new
style, merging outer events with inner conflicts and resolutions made visible. They
showed relationships evolving over lifetimes and portrayed heavenly beings standing
behind the human protagonists trying to gain knowledge of higher worlds and bring
it into practical life.
The group around Steiner consolidated; the traditional theosophists became
more critical of his approach. In time Steiner found himself excluded from the
Theosophical Society and continued on his way with anthroposophy, ‘wisdom of the
human being.’ Berta and Emil approved of the transition. They felt they were now
among the group to whom they related.
In 1913 the plays were further enhanced by eurythmy, a form of movement also
developed by Steiner and described as ‘visible speech and visible sound.’ These events
were unique, their only drawback being the setting, an inadequate public theatre
that did not measure up to the grandeur of the performances. The Munich friends
began to long for a hall of their own, a ‘kind of Bayreuth’ according to Steiner, to be
named “Johannesbau” after the Johannes Thomasius character of the Mystery Plays
and likewise after Saint John. A group of people formed the Johannesbau Building
Association to make this hope a reality.
Both Molts felt privileged to be at the vanguard of such an extraordinary
movement. The more they learned, the more absorbed they became with Steiner’s
world view. The path of inner development constituted the central aspect of their
lives and because of it, Emil’s attitude towards his workers, his colleagues and even
the work itself changed. Surprisingly, he now found he had time for these pursuits

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without compromising his business. Actually, he ended the year with a very good
balance sheet indeed. He was on top of the world.

When sales become playful

In the beginning of 1911, on the occasion of the Württemberg King’s birthday,
the Waldorf Astoria was appointed royal supplier to His Majesty’s Court. This is how
it came about: Count Stauffenberg, a friend of Emil’s, asked him why his firm never
delivered cigarettes to the Court. Emil answered: “We can easily remedy that if the King
so wishes.” Although the firm was now producing in large batches, it was still flexible
enough to create small special editions. In fact the workers loved these diversions. In
no time the designers and the tobacco master produced an elegant cigarette with a
long gold mouthpiece, packed in a box labeled “King of Württemberg.” They were
sent to court and were a big hit. Other appointments followed to the courts of Hesse,
Anhalt, Greece and Sweden. They kept the factory buzzing and added to its prestige.

King of Württemberg carton

In the summer, Waldorf Astoria exhibited at the great East Prussian trade show
and won a gold medal for excellence. Emil took the occasion to visit cities in this
northeast corner of Germany, which to him was almost like a foreign country.
After his return he helped the city of Stuttgart plan the visit of a hundred Turkish
politicians, professors and students on a study holiday. They were well-hosted and
celebrated and all the local government ministers turned up for a banquet in their
honor. Emil sent individual sampler cases of Waldorf cigarettes, decorated with the
Turkish crest, to the dinner guests. They caused a sensation: Nobody, not even the
Prime Minister, left without his little case under his arm. The next day the guests got
a tour of the Waldorf factory. Emil, feeling himself as a representative of the city and
of Germany, was delighted to show the Turkish delegation the manufacturing end of
Turkish tobacco, glad to reciprocate as host for the magical time he had spent in their
country. They were overjoyed and exuberant in their praise. “May we long be able to

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combine efforts,” they said, and he answered, “Yes, nothing promotes prosperity and
understanding better than working together. May we long continue our beneficial
relationship.”

Crumbling political relations

The comment reflected an anxiety born out of newspaper reports of continual
incendiary flare-ups between countries, especially those linking him with the Orient
and its tobacco fields. “Why is everything so unstable?” he asked a government
acquaintance. “It sounds as though a mere match could cause a total explosion.” “Rest
assured,” said his contact, totally unaware of the larger territorial ambitions behind
the scenes, “there will always be flare-ups, for these are volatile people, but they pass.
Do not worry, Germany will never get involved. Your fields will always remain open
to you. Those countries need your money.”
He was wrong. When a rebellion broke out in Morocco against the Sultan,
Abdelhafid, France used the opportunity to dispatch troops. That, in turn caused
Germany to order the battleship ‘Panther’ to Agadir on the pretext that German
citizens in Morocco might be in danger but in fact to demonstrate its power and
secure its African colonies. At this point Britain put pressure on Germany to back off,
which it did, to avoid an escalation into conflict.
Over breakfast, reading the news, including critical comments on the withdrawal,
Emil asked, “Why do we fall into the trap of expansion like the others? Aren’t we
happy and prosperous enough in our own country?” Berta answered thoughtfully
while pouring milk for Walter: “We don’t want expansion but we don’t run the
country. It’s the politicians and military men in Prussia who overestimate their
strength and think they have to compete with their neighbors. When an army is built,
it eventually wants to fight instead of parading down streets and playing war games in
which the Kaiser’s side always wins.” He showed her a statement he had come across
in a new book on Britain’s expansionist history. In 1893 Lord Rosebery, then British
Foreign Secretary, wrote: “It is said that our Empire is large enough and that we possess
sufficient territories. … We must, however, examine not only what we need today but
also what we shall need in the future. … We must not forget that it is a part of our
duty and our heritage to ensure that the world bears the stamp of our people and
not that of any other.” ‘Is everyone else going to think the same?’ Emil wondered. And
indeed, things never calmed down again until the start of the Great War.
The Italian-Turkish clash (September 1911–October 18, 1912) preoccupied
everyone in Germany. The trouble started when Italy took over Tripoli. When it

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routed Turkey, the Balkan countries, encouraged by Russia, created a League of Balkan
States and made an alliance with Greece. France, worried about Slav dominance,
issued a warning to the Balkan States. Emil wrote: “Turkey emerged from the conflict
much weakened. That encouraged the allied three states, Serbia, Bulgaria and Greece,
to successfully invade it. King Ferdinand of Bulgaria had already ordered a royal
mantle made for him, to wear in conquered Constantinople when the Turks rallied
again and prevented the further penetration of the enemy by building defensive
trenches—the forerunners of World War I trenches. Meanwhile Greece snapped up
Saloniki under the noses of the advancing Bulgarians, ending a beautiful friendship
and leading eventually to a defeat for Bulgaria at the hands of the Greeks and the
Serbs.”
Subsequent divisiveness between the members caused the Second Balkan War,
with former allies fighting one another. They were the first wars using air power with
an Italian plane dropping a bomb on Turkish troops.
Emil was significantly affected by these wars since they jeopardized his tobacco
supplies and their quality. When Greece gained control of the Macedonian and
Thracian tobacco lands including Xanthi and Cavalla, Turkey was severely reduced
as a European tobacco region. Its traditional growers were displaced and resettled
elsewhere. Luckily, the Enfiezioglou family was allowed to remain as consultants and
interpreters and Emil relied on them for information. Old Omer Aga, the farmer he
had visited, did not fare as well; his beautiful plantation was expropriated, and he was
displaced.
The German Kaiser, while helping negotiate a peace settlement, felt himself
compelled to insure that tobacco lands remained in the hands of Greece, under
the rule of his brother-in-law King Constantine. He may have thought he was doing
domestic companies a favor, but it was not good news for Waldorf Astoria. The new
Greek owners of the fields knew little of tobacco cultivation and quality suffered. To
make the best of a bad situation and to bring attention to tobacco, Emil produced
a quantity of Xanthi and Cavalla cigarettes called “King of Greece” and had them
delivered to King Constantine when he came to Germany on holiday. Later, in the
middle of the war, he was much surprised to receive a certificate from Athens: “Royal
Purveyor to His Majesty.”
The animosities between countries got worse. Harold Nicolson wrote: “Europe
now found herself faced with the very crisis she had for years been dreading. It
seemed inevitable that the hour had struck when Russia and Austria would decide
their age-long conflict for supremacy. Austria was mobilizing to push Russia’s ally

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Serbia back from reaching the Adriatic. The German Emperor intervened, warning
that it could mean a European war and ultimately a life and death struggle against
three great powers. ‘I think you are rattling my saber a little too loudly,’ he told the
Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria.”
Foreign turmoil did not, however, impede the Waldorf Astoria’s continuing
evolution into one of the most substantial enterprises in Stuttgart. Emil had enough
access to tobacco to keep increasing amounts of raw material coming, and his
warehouses were constantly packed. He leased buildings around the town but worried
about the company becoming fragmented. By so-called chance, he met the owner
of a large building firm responsible for some of the finest private and commercial
properties in Stuttgart. The elderly owner, Herr Hausser, a wise old city councillor
with great instinct and a well-developed sense of humor, realized the potential of
the cigarette trade and offered to build a factory complex to Emil’s specifications at
his own expense and on his own land in the nearby Hackstrasse. In return he wanted
a ten-year lease amounting to a 5% interest on invested capital. Marx was dead-set
against spending money on any kind of extension. His lifestyle and that of the partners
Abraham had become seriously opulent.
Hauser came up with a plan. The wily old man had a deep understanding of
human nature. Next time Marx came to Stuttgart, Emil picked him up at the train
and took him to a restaurant. ‘By chance’ Hausser happened by. Marx knew and liked
him (they were both members of the same club) and was pleased when Emil asked
him to join them. A relaxed conversation ensued. Delicately, Hausser mentioned
the need for expansion. As previously arranged, Emil voiced strong objections. That
caused Marx, always contrary and needing to be first with an idea, to argue. By dessert
he had the satisfaction of convincing himself and the others that expansion was
absolutely necessary. That was on a Saturday. The following Monday Hausser died of
a heart attack. Luckily his son promised to honor his father’s wishes for the project
even though there had not been time for a written agreement. Lucky, too, that they
built when they did. Once war broke out it would have been impossible to build,
given the sharply reduced supply of labor and building materials.
In 1913 the Munich Johannesbau Building Committee regretfully gave up on
the idea of a cultural hall in that city. Both their prospective location and their
architectural plans were contested by the Catholic Church which was philosophically
opposed to Steiner and his teachings. Likewise, the members of the City Council were
highly critical of plans that would put an unorthodox edifice with intersecting domes
in a square ringed with traditional buildings. Building permits were delayed and then

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denied in spite of concessions by the group, who even offered to put the building
largely underground.
As luck would have it, a group of Swiss friends donated a large tract of land above
the village of Dornach in the foothills of the Jura Mountains just outside the city of
Basel. Steiner’s friends gave up on Munich and set their sights on Switzerland. Destiny
dealt wisely with them. When the war started, it became obvious they had been
provided with a safe location, out of harm’s way. Strangely, at about the same time the
anthroposophists decided to leave Munich, Hitler made it his new home.
Steiner made an outline of the building and the foundation was soon to begin.
Emil went to Switzerland to look at the land; it was beautiful, a green hill below
higher hills, well protected. Friends bought up small plots around the site, discreetly,
after their Munich experience, to not disturb the sensibilities of the locals nor the
wealthy Basel families who claimed the area as their own scenic retreat. Emil bought a
plot as well, but he sold it again later when the new building needed funds.

A landmark
In 1913 the large extension to Emil’s factory was completed with no expense
spared. The grand opening was like an artistic unveiling, presenting a new Stuttgart
landmark, combining aesthetics with efficiency. Business colleagues, government
officials and members of the public were astonished and impressed from the moment
they left the street and entered through fine handmade wrought iron gates into a
wood and marble hall which led to a reception room such as had hardly ever been
seen in a German business establishment. Every detail was tastefully done: the doors
lined in black leather, tables and chairs likewise black except for two large divans
and two comfortable chairs upholstered in blue-green. The walls were covered in
burgundy sacking. A large glass display cabinet inlaid in gold stood in one corner, two
small consoles likewise inlaid in another and two gold-framed mirrors hung on the
walls.
Emil’s office was airy, with oak paneling and oak furniture throughout, dignified
yet comfortable. The work rooms were clean and bright, each in a different color.
The Molts and Hausser’s son stood at the entrance, receiving their guests, including
members of the royal family and partners Abraham and Max Marx from Hamburg.
Berta, who had overseen the decor, was stunning in a sea-green silk dress, charming and
warm. Emil, in grey flannel, was in top form, engaging in conversation with the many
people he knew and making those he did not, feel welcome. They were both 37 years
old and they shone. Visitors strolled admiringly through offices and work stations,

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 Waldorf Astoria workers and their new building
accepting a cigarette or pastry as they went, the staff from the different departments
on hand to guide them and answer questions. Everything was on display. It was a
festive, proud day for the company, for the builders and for the city of Stuttgart.
The new building doubled the previous space of the factory and increased the
rent significantly and, whereas the plans seemed ambitious at first, the new plant
very quickly became filled—just in time. During the war, the space would be urgently
needed.
The only part of the extension not yet finished was the lower basement. At the
end of the long day Emil, wanting to make a last round, proceeded to pace off the
entire building, savoring the day that had been. Finally he went down to the basement.
It was dark and he felt his way along, trying to find a light. Suddenly he stepped into
the void, lost his balance and fell down two meters into the open lift shaft, one leg
bent under him. Shocked and in pain he panicked and the fright of his childhood,
locked into the pitch dark storage closet, overwhelmed him. But then, astonished
that such elemental fears lurked so close to the surface, he forced himself to be calm,
with the strong sensation that he must lie still and wait. After a while Berta missed
him and sent Sterghiades to look for him. He came with a torch and quickly fetched
a ladder, helping Emil climb out, but he shivered to see where he had lain: The shaft
floor was strewn with boards covered in eight-inch-long rusty nails, facing upwards
like spears. Emil’s fall would have ended in catastrophe had his guardian angel been

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busy elsewhere, but by ‘chance’ he managed to fall into the one small space without
spiked boards. He escaped with a slight shock and a sprained foot and was back at
work next day, but to the end of his life, Emil experienced a feeling of horror in the
pit of his stomach whenever he recalled that fall.
With the building project finished, Emil focused on shifting the entire
organization—offices, sales and marketing—from Hamburg to Stuttgart. He felt sure
he could convince his partners that it would make sense not to work at opposite
ends of Germany, presenting
his case including the financial
advantages. They were quite
happy to let him manage the
business as long as they had
their steady income. Again
it was just in time. Had the
company been managed in
two separate locations during
the war, the logistics as well
as the social innovations Emil
envisaged would not have been
possible. Waldorf Astoria managers
At home, Berta was having trouble hiring help to free her for the many social
functions she was required to attend with Emil as representative figures in town. One
evening, going down to the kitchen for a glass of water, she found her new housekeeper
unconscious on the floor with the gas turned on. She revived her and had to listen to
a tale of unrequited love. The replacement housekeeper started singing and praying
at the top of her voice one night, having failed to mention her recent dismissal from
a psychiatric institution. Then Berta found Maria Voegele, a lovely and bright young
woman who turned out to be the perfect all-round helper in the house and nanny
for Walter.
Walter started school that September. He did well for a few years and was given
good reports. Then something happened to him; he seemed to suffer from a lack of
confidence and persistence. Although given extra lessons, teachers called him ‘lazy.’
He had the most varied talents, but sitting on a school bench was not one of them.
‘Perhaps,’ thought Emil later, ‘Walter should have had a private tutor who could
also have been a friend to him.’ He felt Walter might be suffering as an only child. It
never occurred to him that perhaps Walter lacked self-confidence because he was

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 Walter, schoolboy (top, 3rd from left)
somewhat of a ‘conference orphan’ whose parents frequently left him in the charge
of elderly ‘anthroposophical aunts’ not able to help him with his homework. Walter’s
larger-than-life father might have done well to remember his own school days.
Towards the end of September, Steiner laid the foundation stone for the Dornach
building—an impressive celebration, as Dr. Unger later reported. Why did Emil not
attend? He was in the same train as Dr. Unger, traveling south to a business meeting. A
quick decision and he could have changed his plans but business seemed more urgent
at the moment. “Why,” he would later ask himself in moments of low self-esteem,
“was I not aware of the importance of this event?”
Later in the year, Berta felt poorly and went to a spa in the Black Forest. Lonely
in the house without his wife, Emil decided to use the time to travel to Belgium and
Holland with Marx. The morning of his departure, he suddenly came down with a
severe throat infection. Dr. Stiegele prescribed bedrest, a blow for Emil who always
looked forward to his travels. He did not want to worry Berta so he did not call
her, rather allowing Maria Voegele to look after him. Two days later, Berta suddenly
appeared at his bedside just as Maria was administering tea to the patient. Berta’s
well-developed sixth sense, or perhaps the sudden lack of communication, made her
feel something was amiss and directed her to Stuttgart. Her heart knotted when she
saw someone else at Emil’s side where she felt she should be. “Thank you, Maria dear,”
she said rather briskly. “I’ll take care of him now.” Maria looked wide-eyed and left
the room. Emil (who had rather enjoyed Maria’s attentions) was furious. “What was
that about?” he asked, glaring. “Don’t you trust me?” She immediately felt guilty. “And
besides, lying in bed with a sore throat is not very romantic,” he added. “Who else was

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going to take care of me when you were away?” She felt terrible, went to Maria and
apologized, saying she was not aware he was ill and it had shocked and surprised her
to find him so.
Still, a few days later she packed him up and took him back with her to the spa in
the Black Forest where the resident physician who was either a sadist or the greatest
pessimist in the world berated Berta for leaving the spa, saying her state of health was
so bad that she could never again expect an active life. Emil comforted her. “Don’t
worry,” he said. “Ask Dr. Steiner next time he’s in Stuttgart. He’ll know what to do.”
Meanwhile he entertained her by reading and drawing and, when they were both
a little stronger, taking her on an evening jaunt to Stuttgart to hear Caruso sing. All
Württemberg seemed in attendance for the concert of this famous tenor, at the newly
opened Royal Theatre. The Molts had heard that Caruso was impossible to work with,
but his voice was divine; it streamed from him faultlessly and effortlessly.
Next time Steiner came to Stuttgart, Berta told him the spa doctor’s diagnosis.
Steiner said she was suffering a pinched intestine, but by following a careful diet and
lifestyle, she should have no cause for worry. “In fact,” he predicted, “You will still be
a very active woman.”

The clouds of war

Whether it was aspirations of global supremacy—the ‘gloire de France,’ ‘the
Empire where the sun never sets’—or the pretensions and last vestiges of the Holy
Roman Empire in Austria, Europe’s leaders wanted to retain and enhance their power,
zealously safeguarded by military might. Prussian Germany was right in there, with an
inflated sense of invincibility. Little did they think that by fighting each other, the old
order would forever be undone.
One person, quoted by Steiner, who predicted the coming catastrophe as early
as 1888 was the famous author, Hermann Grimm: “Whoever follows European
history can easily believe that what the immediate future has in store is a general
mass slaughter. The thought that true goodness can provide strength and a sense
of human dignity does not seem to coincide with our own and our neighbors’
enormous military preparations; it is one which I, nevertheless, believe in and which
must enlighten us, unless we prefer simply to do away with human life by common
consent and designate an official suicide day.” [Hermann Grimm, Fifteen Essays: The
Last Five Years, 1886]
The seven hills surrounding Stuttgart are ‘just like Rome,’ as the inhabitants like
to say. Paths meander through the woods—the perfect recreation for strollers. One

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Sunday afternoon in late June, the Molts were on their way home from a long walk
through these woods. Having left in fine weather in the morning, they picnicked at
a spot with a splendid view over the city. Their goal was the old forest cemetery, the
Waldfriedhof, but as they got there the weather suddenly changed. It became dark,
humid and oppressive with thunder in the air, so they turned and hurried towards
home.
Halfway there an acquaintance stopped them, telling them the news of the
assassination in Sarajevo. The Molts were shocked; they were certain this was a staged
event on a grand political scale and would have dreadful consequences. They knew
that Europe had been volatile and often on the verge of explosion, vying for territories
and markets. Now the fuse was lit, unexpectedly for most German leaders. “This time
Austria will not hold back,” said Emil, “and it will mean war for Germany.” “It is unreal
and perhaps it will pass,” said Berta, her voice lacking conviction. “Why would a world
that’s doing so well want to ruin itself?”
Continuing home they recalled the first half of the year. Life had seemed to take its
normal course. In the spring of 1914, Mr. Kuhlen, the Waldorf Astoria representative
in Belgium, had visited Stuttgart. The Molts hosted him and took him on a tour of
the city including the newly built military barracks in Cannstatt, unaware of how
soon soldiers would be sent out from there, heading towards Brussels. On May 1,
the Waldorf Astoria company had exhibited at the large Baltic trade show in Malmo,
Sweden. Russians and Germans met each other as cordial traders and peaceful
competitors. Three months later they were enemies. Marx and Emil had planned a
trip to Russia for the summer. An army officer and member of the Supreme Command
jokingly offered to come along as Emil’s manservant.
The idea that catastrophe might be looming was far from most people’s mind,
furthest of all perhaps from the minds of diplomats and politicians who held that peace
in Europe was secure thanks to their efforts. Few people had any idea of the tragedy
facing them, both politically and financially. Steiner’s warning voice speaking about
market control and an economic ‘social cancer’ in April was heard in only the smallest
circles: “Today products are manufactured without considering consumption,” he had
said. “They are massed in warehouses or money markets in expectation of future sales.
This tendency will increase until … it self-destructs because this way of production in
the global body social is like cancer in the individual body. It is a cancerous growth,
a cultural cancer! Whoever views social life from a spiritual perspective sees terrible
tendencies of malignant growths cropping up within the social fabric.”

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 The government in Berlin discussed the ‘right relationship with France’ only a few
days before declaring war, and the military was complacent in the thought that it was
ready for any eventuality. Steiner described the main international figures responsible
as suffering from a kind of ‘darkened consciousness.’
For a while it seemed the conflict between Austria and Serbia might be settled.
The Molts decided to risk their customary July holiday. They took Walter, their eight-
year-old niece, Lisa Dreher, Maria Voegele and their cook to a picturesque village called
Schwaz in the Austrian foothills, renting a lovely large old country house at the edge
of a mile-long forest. The village lay hidden behind rolling fields, and a lone neighbor
lived in a half-abandoned castle over the next rise. The peace and quiet was complete,
broken only by the song of woodland birds. The group felt happy and secure. For a
few days Maria’s brother Wilhelm joined them from Dornach where he was one of
the many volunteers working on the new building. (The Voegele siblings had become
ardent students of Steiner’s ideas.) All were delighted to see him, unaware that four
weeks later this gifted handsome young man would become one of the first casualties
of the war.
In Berlin, meanwhile, General von Moltke set out his thoughts on the situation
in a military memorandum dated July 28. Emil received a copy through his Berlin-
Stuttgart network:
“It is without question,” Moltke wrote, “no European State would regard the
conflict between Austria and Serbia with anything but human interest if it were not
for the danger of a general political entanglement threatening a world war. For over
five years, Serbia has caused tensions in Europe. …Austria, with tolerance bordering
on weakness, has borne the continuing provocations aimed at undermining her. …
Now she intends to lance the noxious abscess. One might have imagined that every
European would be grateful for this effort to restore order in the Balkans, but Russia
has taken sides with the renegade country and so the Austro-Serbian affair has
become a storm cloud that could, at any moment, burst over Europe.
“Austria has declared that it makes no territorial or other claims on Serbia. It
merely wishes to compel the unruly neighbor to accept the conditions that it feels
are necessary for future cooperation, which Serbia historically has never honored
in spite of solemn promises. … The Austro-Serbian affair would have been a purely
private matter, in no way threatening European peace but rather strengthening it, had
Russia not stepped in. This alone has made the situation so dangerous. … Austria has
mobilized only a part of its force against Serbia, just enough to provide punishment.

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Russia, on the other hand, has mobilized on a much larger scale, near the German
border and the Baltic Sea. It declares that it wants to prevent the destruction of Serbia
through Austria, although Austria declares it has no such intention.
“Russia assures it will not move against Germany, but knows very well that
Germany cannot stay idle if Russia clashes with its ally. Germany will be forced to
mobilize and then Russia can, again, tell the world: ‘I did not want war, but Germany
caused it.’ This is what will happen unless a last-minute miracle occurs to prevent a
war that will annihilate the culture of almost all of Europe for decades to come.”
(Von Moltke wrote this in the context of the terms of the Triple Alliance, forged
by Bismarck in 1882 between Germany, Italy and Austria-Hungary, which mandated
that if the latter were attacked, Germany would come to its aid. An attack by Russia
would, therefore, bring Germany into the war. Meanwhile, England had forged
alliances with Russia and her erstwhile enemy France.)
The village of Schwaz was an Austrian garrison town with a strategic railway line.
At the end of July, on his way to do some shopping, Emil observed a sudden commotion
in town. The local soldiers had obviously begun to muster and were assembling at the
train station. Highly disturbed, Emil cabled his office, announcing that he intended
to return home with his family. Benkendoerfer, his comptroller, cabled back—
he couldn’t understand Emil’s apprehension and advised against interrupting the
vacation. The postmaster was also full of assurance and superior knowledge. “Routine
maneuvers” he said, adding, “Marianne (France) has no boots and the Bear (Russia)
has no teeth!” This did not reassure Emil. He went straight home and began packing
with Berta. When a messenger arrived very late the following evening with a dispatch
advising departure, they were ready. It was Friday, July 30.
On Saturday morning, they boarded the last scheduled civilian train, taking them
as far as Munich. Once there, they found themselves among crowds of milling and
confused vacationers and other travelers, vying for space on any train that might
take them home. Most had to leave their luggage behind. Emil, willful as usual, went
running for a porter and, tipping him handsomely, hung on to him until their baggage
was safely on board the final train, miraculously scheduled for Stuttgart.
It was an eerie trip. The adults sat close together, the children on their laps. Every
seat was taken, with many fellow travelers standing in the aisles. Tension marked each
face, anxiety of what the next hours might bring. The air was laden with a terrible
premonition hanging over a fatefully entangled little community of people, who
visibly became more selfless, helpful and social due to the feeling of inescapable
catastrophe. At every station freight cars were being emptied. “Look,” said Emil

98
pointing out the window when they reached Neu Ulm. “It’s my old garrison town,
and I can see people making preparations at the artillery depot.” Indeed, shortly after
the family arrived in Stuttgart, war was declared and mobilization began.
It was very fast. Emil, who had gone directly to his factory from the station, found
many of his key workers called up and waiting for him. Comptroller Benkendoerfer,
no longer calm and collected, was among the first to be called. So were the head
bookkeeper Braun and a large number of others from crucial positions in the office
and on the floor. The only person left to Emil was his personal secretary, Otto Wagner.
Emil sent them all home to prepare, but asked them to return to the factory next
day (Monday), before reporting to their stations. Still on that Sunday, Emil prepared
the salaries of his recruited workers, in gold coin. On Monday they assembled, their
wives and children with them. He handed them their salaries, warmly bidding them
farewell, wishing them a safe and speedy return, and he promised to continue their
salary for the duration of the war. To his astonishment and relief, their wives offered
to stand in for their husbands at work. That day, he watched the first battalion march
singing out of the local barracks, and his heart was pierced by the profoundly serious
look on the commander’s face. ‘How fine and courageous they look,’ he thought sadly,
‘as though setting out on an adventure. How often has Germany’s army set out only
to return unharmed because tragedy was avoided at the last minute. This time is
different. How many will return unscathed?’ But even he would not have believed
how quickly the war would escalate and how long it would last. More shocking it was
that his friend, General von Moltke, would soon be discredited and deposed for his
part in it.
Then Emil was alone in a factory classed as ‘vital to the war.’ Lucky for him that
he had a large contingent of skilled foreigners. For the rest he employed women
eager to work. He arranged extra training for them and soon found them acquitting
themselves very well and enjoying it too. One of them, Friedel Reik, wrote about her
experiences years later:

When war broke out in August of 1914, I lost my office job. The shoe
factory I was working in had to close since half of its employees were gone.
Mrs. Berta Moser, a supervisor at the Waldorf Astoria factory, said, “Why
don’t you come to us; we always need help and right now there is a great
demand for cigarettes!” I answered, “What? To you, with all those Turks,
Russians and Poles, and what else do you have?” “Ha, ha, Stuttgart girl,”
she said. “Just come. It’s really nice.” So in October I came to the Waldorf
into the handwork hall, working under the care of Miss Allmendinger for

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 the first five years, through the war and beyond. The atmosphere there
appealed to me immediately. I heard the word ‘anthroposophy’ for the first
time and soon pricked my ears whenever Miss Allmendinger talked about
it. Until then I had been very religious—youth circle and choir—and yet
the outbreak of war shattered me inwardly. I didn’t want to go to church
anymore because the minister was more soldier than priest. There was no
talk of all people being children of God and I wanted to hear the priests of
every country say: “Love thine enemies.” I was still young, full of illusions
and was drawn to the universal and world wide aspect of anthroposophy.

Emil himself had not been called up yet, but he belonged to a civil defense unit
and was sure he would be needed before long. To stay close to his business rather than
report to the more distant barracks he was assigned to, he went to the local military
base to offer his services. There he was told they could not accept him because the base
belonged to Commando II, reserved for people living outside city limits. Undeterred
by such a minor detail, he collected Otto Wagner and drove to Echterdingen, the
closest village on his side of town beyond town limits, where he rented a furnished
room and got his new address validated in writing by the mayor.
In spite of the gravity of the situation, there was a bit of involuntary Swabian
comedy involved. Fearful of ‘espionage’ the mayor of Echterdingen had posted an
armed guard at the entrance of this tiny town in the shape of the local vicar, dressed in
morning coat and holding an ancient hunting flintlock. Emil and Wagner showed him
identification and he graciously allowed them to pass. In the town hall they found the
mayor strutting up and down, armed with a saber and a revolver, rather suspecting the
enemy in every stranger. On their way back the vicar was gone, replaced by another
civilian who shouted, “Halt” and raised his flintlock in a threatening manner. Emil
rebuked him sharply, telling him to put his rifle down to which the good man replied,
“Kei Sorg’ es isch jo net glade!” (Don’t worry, Sir, it ain’t loaded).
War psychosis was pervasive in those first days. People suspected spies at every
corner. A guard at the Stuttgart train station shot at some clouds, mistaking them for
enemy craft. A rumor went about that a plane had crashed whose pilot was cutting
wires on the main telegraph mast. An elderly anthroposophical acquaintance swore
she had witnessed this. In a streetcar passengers attacked a reputable actor because
he looked French. Such scenes were not infrequent and perhaps understandable
considering the general hysteria, the light of reason having fled.
Back at the local military unit with his new certificate of residence, Emil had to
undergo a medical examination. Who can describe his horror when the examining

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doctor pronounced his general condition, and in particular his heart, so poor that
he was written off as unfit for service and advised to avoid exertion, alcohol and,
above all, cigarettes. Devastated, he crawled home to Berta, imagining both of them
henceforth no better than invalids. Berta, of course, was happy enough about his
rejection. She consoled him, saying that he would be of much more use to society
as head of a company vital to the war than as a frail mortal with a shooting stick in
his hand. Indeed, after moping for several days, Emil got bored and took off again,
developing remarkable initiative and achieving great things in those four and a half
years of strife.
For a start, acting on Berta’s suggestion and with her help, they opened a small
infirmary in one of the unused halls of the factory. They did this in collaboration with
the local hospital, and Berta co-opted friends with any kind of medical or nursing
experience. A large cigarette delivery truck was fitted out with mattresses and an
orderly accompanied the driver, sales representative Hoerr. The first wounded arrived
at the Waldorf infirmary on Sunday, August 8, following the Battle of Mulhouse, and
more soon followed. The truck became popular with the military authorities who, as
a unique exception, gave Hoerr petrol free of charge in exchange for his aid and his
liberal gifts of cigarettes. No road was ever barred when that truck arrived.
The Waldorf Astoria continually sent soldiers gifts of cigarettes. Sometimes Emil’s
employees collected money and then met up in one of the halls of an evening to
send packs to friends and relations at the front. They called it their ‘Soldiers’ Delight’
station. Cigarettes were always wanted and cost them only one Mark for a hundred
‘seconds.’ Emil sent gifts of cigarettes to commanding officers in the allied countries:
Austria, Bulgaria and Turkey. By the end of the war he had a stack of thank-you letters
and military decorations in his office including a red garnet-encrusted half moon
from the Turkish Sultan.
Once the mobile war turned stationary, Emil arranged for Waldorf shops to be
opened in occupied towns such as Lille and Charleville. Wagonloads of cigarettes
were delivered to these shops for the various regiments. Often enlisted Waldorf
employees did the purchasing for their comrades, delighted to be able to stop in to
‘their’ Waldorf outlet. The Waldorf Astoria ‘Blaupunkt’ and ‘Walasco’ became the
favorite army cigarettes, loved and serenaded by soldiers in their dreadful trenches.
Many a trying march or night patrol was eased with the help of a Waldorf cigarette.
An officer even composed an elegy of how, at Verdun, a friend went to the canteen
to buy Walascos for his mates and how he died in a gun burst on his way back, the
cigarettes in his hands.

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 A widow had a lively trade going on out of her shop in Zabern. Each day she
phoned in a substantial order until suddenly one day the orders stopped. The French
had taken over the town. Some time later, military police turned up at the factory in
Stuttgart. They had intercepted a large order from the widow in Zabern and were
suspicious that the 1000 ‘Hockey’ and 500 ‘Chicago’ might be code for ‘infantry’
and ‘artillery.’ They had to be shown the price list to prove that these were indeed
legitimate cigarette brand names.

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The demand for Waldorf Astoria cigarettes showed Emil that securing supplies
would be his most pressing task, and his instinct told him raw materials are worth far
more than cash in wartime. At the beginning of September he made a trip to Dresden
with Marx. Surprisingly, trains were running normally. In Dresden they found deep
gloom among tobacco people. Nobody was buying and their warehouses were full.
Dealers were delighted to see their respected friends Marx and Emil, who purchased
extravagantly, ordering hundreds of thousands of kilos of Samsun and Trapezunt
at excellent prices and lenient payment terms. This foresight allowed Emil to sell
cigarettes made with pure oriental tobacco for the entire duration of the war when
other companies had to resort to ‘meadow-grass.’
In October Emil took Arenson to visit a group of Waldorf employees fighting in the
Vosges Mountains, starting in Sennheim where Arenson’s son-in-law Benkendoerfer
happened to be stationed. They were equipped with passes and surprised at the
ease at which they got through the fortifications at Strassburg. Emil, Arenson and
Benkendoerfer went to the outermost trenches just a hundred meters away from
the French, chatting with the soldiers trapped in those narrow holes, passing out

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cigarettes and taking photographs. This was almost unbelievable; later civilians
were no longer allowed anywhere near the battle lines. Eight days afterwards Emil
telephoned an acquaintance, Colonel Sproesser, stationed in a village down the road
from Colmar, who invited him to come and visit his regiment which included a few
Waldorf people. He even gave Emil’s coworkers Braun and Gutbrod leave for a few
hours so that he could take them to lunch at the famous Drei Aehren resort.
After things settled down a little, Berta and Emil decided to go to Dornach for
respite and to see how the building was progressing. Steiner had been traveling in
Germany and joined them for the trip. On this occasion Emil mentioned his ‘heart
defect.’ Dr. Steiner said that Emil’s etheric body was much larger than his physical
body. By that he meant the organization of vital forces, which in Emil’s case were
‘bursting out of his skin.’ Napoleon, he said, had had a similar constitution, being a
large person compressed into a small body. He suggested a calming meditation and
a few remedies which, he said, would do wonders. Subsequently Emil no longer felt
oppressed and his heart became so strong that, at the end of his life, it withstood the
severe fever bouts of his last illness.
Emil soon left Dornach to return to Stuttgart, but Berta stayed on for another
few weeks, carving the wooden interior of the hall with volunteers from seventeen
nations who worked together peaceably while their countries clashed. She sent a
postcard to Emil on November 6: “My heart’s love! Thank you for your dear letter
which brought me a bit of home because it allowed me to participate in everything
you are experiencing. … I sorrow that Maria’s dear good brother succumbed to his
wounds. My darling, we will think of him often, won’t we … ?”

The Trenches in 1915

The German spirit has not yet achieved

The task the evolving universe has given it.
With hope it lives in future care,
Replete with life it hopes for future deeds
Deep in its being feeling strongly
What, hidden, ripening still, will one day active be.
How can the enemy, uncomprehending,
Wish for its downfall
As long as there is life in it,
That keeps it active in its depths.
– R Steiner, January 1915 in Berlin

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Providing light
The war dragged on and expectations that it would be short faded. In the West
there was stalemate—both sides bogged down in trench warfare. By the end of 1915
neither side had gained any advantage. There were some initial military victories in
the east with German-Austrian forces pushing forward and Russia in retreat. The
Italians entered the war but not on the side of its allies. The Serbian army was pushed
to the south and would have capitulated had the allies not gathered at Corfu to back
them up, which tragically destroyed an early initiative by both sides for a separate
peace.
Württembergers often found themselves at the front lines and wounded soldiers
brought to the Waldorf infirmary vividly described what it felt like to be condemned
to long days of inaction in dismal surroundings. They were emotionally shattered
and needed comfort as much as medical care. Berta tended them and brought them
books. “What a shame,” she said. “Their comrades in the field have nothing worthwhile
to read.”
“Yes, they would need mental stimulation,” said Emil. “Cigarettes are not enough.”
Because he was naturally proactive and open to new ideas, a solution presented itself
forthwith. While visiting the company’s book
bindery, he noticed some miniature advertising
booklets just off the press lying on a table. “Herr
Schmid,” he asked the stoop-shouldered elderly
binder, “can you do booklets like that for us,
about ten or fifteen pages, thin enough to fit into
cigarette boxes? I want something for our lads in
the field: poems and stories and the like.”
Waldorf booklet
The binder, brought out of retirement
because of staff shortage, beamed. “Of course,” he said, overjoyed. “We have small fonts
and good cutting machines, and I’d be honored to help with that.”
Emil imagined doing classical literature but Berta recommended contemporary
material. “German poets and writers are suffering hardship too,” she said. “No one
considers them an ‘industry vital to the war.’ And it should be entertaining as well as
inspirational.” ‘Perhaps,’ he thought, ‘we can do this on a grand scale. If other companies
join forces with us, we can create a writers’ fund.’ He duly sketched out a proposal and
brought it to the next Chamber of Commerce meeting. The members there found the
idea interesting but it was vetoed by the chairman who said such a project should be
organized by the Chamber itself and not by one company. It never happened.

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 Emil realized he would have to manage it alone. He asked his secretary to locate
as many authors as possible and draft a cover letter to each describing the project and
asking for submissions of their best poems or short stories against an honorarium.
One such request went to his old school friend Hermann Hesse, now an established
author living in Switzerland. Hesse replied cordially, enclosing some of his pieces and
ending with: “Your letter is signed by E Molt. If this is my old schoolmate from Calw,
please give him my regards.” A short while later he turned up in Stuttgart. He and
Emil had not seen each other in twenty years, and their reunion was delightful. Hesse
promised writing and editing help and he personally oversaw the first lot.
The booklets were a stunning success. They became a trademark of Waldorf
Astoria cigarettes, instant collectors’ items, and their publication continued beyond
the war. Each one had a theme: classics, adventure, poetry, ghost tales, romance—
three or four short stories at a time, on thin paper, illustrated and with different
colored covers. They were points of light in the bleak time. Eventually they included
material by Steiner: his Calendar of the Soul and more.
Paper was becoming scarce, either requisitioned by the army or simply unavailable.
Del Monte was an exception. He still had access to carton material since he was
supplying ‘industries vital to the war.’ While the printer managed the tiny booklets,
very few regular-size books were being published. One day while checking inventory
in his storehouse, Emil
discovered reams of
unused paper, mostly
obsolete advertisements
or uncut brochures
printed on just one side.
“Put them to use,” said
Berta. “Raise them to
lofty heights by printing
Steiner lectures on their
blank side.” “Won’t some Newsprint binding for Steiner’s lectures on
of our more devoted the Matthew Gospel
members be shocked,
seeing Steiner’s words next to Charlie Chaplin and boot polish ads?” asked Emil and
they both started laughing. “They will say that you’re just a crass businessman, but
they’ll devour the material,” she said. He found it delightful that he was the only one
privileged to see the frivolous and roguish side of Berta.

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 The printer assembled a large number of these books and sold them quickly with
the proceeds going directly to Steiner. When Emil met him in Berlin in early 1918 to
discuss a reprint of his groundbreaking book The Philosophy of Freedom, Steiner
thought a thousand copies would be more than enough. “No one will read it,” he said,
but his librarian and Emil insisted on a run of four thousand, and these quickly sold
out. This work was later translated into many languages and has become a classic.
Looking back, Emil realized how lucky he was, having the means to initiate projects
like that.

Prayer of protection
With casualties rising on all sides, Steiner started to preface his lectures with a
supplication for those in danger: “May our first thought be directed to those dear
friends who were with us and are now called to the battlefield where human destinies
and the destinies of nations are being fought for.” He called on the guardian spirits,
that their wings might bring the love of those present at his lecture to the human
beings in their care, “that, combined with your might, our helping plea ray forth to
the souls it seeks in love.” And a similar plea went to those who had already passed
through the gate of death:

Active guardian spirits of your souls,

May your wings bring our souls’ beseeching love
To those in your care now in heavenly spheres
That, combined with your might,
Our helping plea ray forth
To the souls it seeks in love.

Maria Voegele’s second brother Theo died. He was barely eighteen when he
enlisted and as handsome a boy as ever lived. The Molts knew him well since he had
often spent his vacations with them, a lively happy youth loving sports and games.
He was unafraid and soon promoted to the rank of officer, deployed both in the
East and in the West. Twice he was wounded but kept returning to the front until,
after foreseeing his own death, he was fatally shot in the head. Maria, mourning both
brothers, had become attached to anthroposophy and Steiner’s verse, and the thought
that a young life lost might soon return to earth with unspent vigor sustained her.

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The building
Because of his connections to the military, Emil had easy access to travel passes.
He traveled frequently to Dornach with Berta to follow the progress of the edifice.
The Munich group had been right with their dream of an appropriate meeting place,
but this building surpassed all expectations. When Steiner spread out his drawings for
Berta and Emil, they realized they were looking at a modern mystery center like the
ones of old but shaped in a way never before seen.
The activity was ceaseless. Draft horses pulled cartloads of wood through
Dornach and up the hill to the building site while groups of volunteers from thirteen
nations carved and chiseled the columns for the interior. Anyone too old to carve
contributed by sharpening knives. Berta was given a white smock and joined in. The
sounds of hammering metal and wood carried for several miles like the percussion
section in an orchestra.
Steiner’s plans called for a base consisting of two bisecting circles, covered by a
double dome. This was no easy task for the man supervising construction, a seasoned
building engineer from Basel. He had to invent as he went. Once the concrete
foundation was poured, Steiner told him to find a way to anchor the two unequal
domes so they could support each other at their intersection (over the stage). The
engineer calculated and said it was impossible. “It isn’t,” insisted Steiner and made a
few sketches for him. A few days later the engineer solved the problem and raised the
double roof.
Before, the Molts had known Steiner only as a lecturer. Now they were impressed
watching him at work. He was at once chief architect and technical consultant, forming
clay models and working out structural details, inventing a casein paste and plant colors
for his ceiling frescos as well as an etching machine for the stained glass windows. He
designed the pillars for the great hall and began carving a colossal statue as centerpiece
for the stage which he called “Representative of Humanity.” Every day he walked from

Arch Scaffolding

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 Cupola Roof-raising celebration

group to group in his work boots, encouraging and animating volunteers and builders
while artillery thundered and aircraft droned endlessly at the German-French
border nearby. “A strange juxtaposition,” said Emil. “Ideal future hope, harmony and
construction on one side and a ‘real’ present war, hatred and destruction on the other.”

Inner scaffolding Interior

Steiner with his model Completed Goetheanum

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Strife and jealousy
Yet, not all was perfect harmony. The Whitsun conference held in the woodwork
shop was particularly trying for the Germans, who regarded Italy’s declaration of war
against Austria a betrayal by their erstwhile ally. Italians marched into Austria after
England cajoled and then threatened attacks on Italian harbors if they didn’t join the
Allies. They did not yet dare attack Germany; that came a year later causing further
encirclement. Emil himself was bitterly upset, and Steiner had to intervene when
Italian and German friends found it hard not to express animosity. Tensions rose
further as men were called away from Dornach to serve in the army; they always
heeded the call but knew that they might be fighting against the very friends they had
been working with a short while before.

International volunteers and workers in Dornach

Inevitably, as in every group, there were jealousies. Berta, alone in Dornach,

witnessed an unusual meeting, called by Steiner. He and Marie von Sivers had gotten
married the previous Christmas, and this seemed to greatly upset a number of devoted
ladies in his entourage who fantasized about being indispensable (or perhaps more)
to Herr Doktor. There was ongoing nasty gossip, mostly critical of Marie. Finally,
Steiner called a meeting in the woodwork shop. He insisted on airing all the gossip,
with Marie, haughty and regal, at his side. It was a dreadful session and went on for
two days. At the end Steiner forbade any further interference in his personal life.
Everyone was shaken but then he cracked a joke and told them all to lighten up. Berta,
who hated small-mindedness, saved up her report in all its hilarious detail for Emil
back at home.

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 She was upset for other reasons. She found living in whatever lodgings were
available very hard. One time she rented rooms from a house-proud Dornach lady
and brought Walter and Maria Voegele along. The landlady refused to allow a ‘messy
child’ which forced Berta to find other accommodations. Impatient, she insisted to
Emil that they build or buy an apartment of their own in Dornach to avoid such
unpleasantness. He agreed but kept putting it off; his visits were always too short and
other things seemed to take precedence.
Finally Berta wrote, asking his permission to buy a place: “My darling, … coming
back to the question of the apartment in Dornach, I think it would be important for
Walter to spend all his vacations here. I feel he needs it. We should have something so
we don’t always have to search, and it is tiresome to be so dependent on others. If you
would allow me, my heart, to take matters into my own hands, you would be satisfied
with me. I would really like for you not even to be involved and would definitely act
in your best interest. So please give me free rein. … A thousand greetings and kisses,
my love …”
It was a gentle attempt at gender independence but she was way ahead of her
time. In spite of all the love and trust, Emil could not bring himself to let her proceed
and nothing came of it.

The war continues

In early autumn Emil fell ill again, this time with an intestinal infection that kept
him at home for quite a while. His soul was suffering the strain of the war but his body
told him: “You can’t fix everything. Slow down!” When he got a bit better, Berta rented
a garden on the crest of the nearby Uhlandshöhe hill overlooking Stuttgart where he
could relax with his eleven-year-old son and the big black German shepherd dog
Carex.
This dog, named after a prickly wild sedge, was one of a kind, pedigreed, beautiful
and affectionate, a gift for Walter from a business associate. When Emil packed his bag
for a trip, the dog would lie down next to it looking mournful, and his joy knew no
bounds when Emil returned. One time Emil’s secretary Otto Wagner came to collect
him at the train station with Carex, who pulled free and jumped over the turnstile
to meet his master on the platform. He was both guardian and companion, and the
family always took him along on their holidays.
By now Emil was a man well-known in Stuttgart and trusted for his opinion. In
this second year of the war, when most Germans and their leaders still believed in
imminent victory (which they did until the very end), a few Stuttgart industrialists

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got together to draft negotiating points for the peace treaty they were expecting and
took these to their king. He, beset by doubts and aware that the delegation came
without Emil, asked several of his cabinet ministers to get his opinion. Emil told
them firmly that such plans were premature; the outcome of the war was still quite
uncertain. Although they kept a diplomatic silence during the interview, Emil later
learned that they had agreed with him and the subject was closed.

A voice of reason ignored

By reading and rereading Steiner’s printed material and attending his lectures
whenever they could, Berta and Emil kept discovering elements that seemed to relate
to current issues. This gave them strength and hope for the future. Not so the daily
news. Each day a stack of papers arrived at Emil’s office, and each day the news drove
him to distraction. At Verdun General Falkenhayn, replacing the deposed General
von Moltke, refused to stand his army back, and thousands of men died on both sides.
The English at the Somme caused many casualties without success gained. Continuous
battles were fought in the East but without finality. Altogether the German army was
terribly scattered, not least because of the need to shore up the Austrian army, with
some troops in Macedonia, some at the Dardanelles and Gallipoli, even as far away as
Syria and the Suez Canal. Still, nobody called a stop.
The only voice that made sense to Emil in this useless purgatory seemed to be his
friend, the one no longer in charge, General von Moltke, whose letter to the editor
appeared in the newspaper Die Tat, on January 1, 1916:

…I was convinced that we (the German people) needed a renewal of our

spiritual life long before … this war began, hoping with all my soul that we
would be able for this. …Only with spiritual weapons can the future be
won. The souls of our people were so full of ideals … long suppressed by
material life … but so divided by class and party that we hardly knew each
other before the war. …We wanted to take down the barriers that egotism
had erected between us; bringing individuals together. … (Now) it will
depend on caring for the tiny plant trying to grow over the past few years
and not to despair. If we fail this time, future generations will need to take
up the ideas again. We must work for the future. We will soon be gone, but
the people of the coming centuries should live upward (so that) every seed
planted now can one day blossom. This is my hope and trust and belief in
the mission of our people.

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 ‘Why are good people shunted aside and incapable ones put in charge?’ Emil
thought after reading his friend’s article. ‘Does no one hear what he is saying?’ That
thought kept him awake with indigestion again, sorrowful for his friend.
Indeed, General von Moltke did not survive his dismissal for long. He died that
year in Berlin of a ‘broken heart’ (his widow said), having just given a eulogy at the
funeral of his old friend, General von der Goltz Pascha, the former instructor at the
Turkish military school. Steiner spoke at the funeral, praising von Moltke’s character
and honesty, saying that in future years the world would recognize how faithfully
he had carried out his obligation to his country in spite of the scorn piled on him.
(Rumor had it that not only his own incompetence, but his association with Rudolf
Steiner was the cause of the Marne disaster.) Emil happened to be in Berlin and was
able to attend.

Obtaining supplies
One day Emil heard a knock on his office door. His old friend from Patras,
Friedrich Bauer, came in, looking for work. He described how, after Greece got drawn
into siding with the Allies, he and the rest of the Germans were forced to leave, each
person allowed to take along just one suitcase. Emil did not hesitate. “Stay with me,”
he said. “I don’t know what you can do yet, but opportunities will arise. Meanwhile I
shall pay you as much as you need to live.” A short while later, the Germans and their
Bulgarian allies occupied Cavalla, where, since the previous year, the Waldorf Astoria
warehoused 100,000 kilos of the finest Xanthi tobacco. This was Bauer’s opportunity.
“For you,” he said in Greek, using the familiar form of address, “I will go.” He did it on
trust, simply and without negotiation, rescuing the invaluable merchandise … and
not without danger, for typhoid fever raged among the beleaguered townspeople.
Emil travelled often to Berlin because the government had taken control of
the entire business sector, thereby creating a vast bureaucracy. Businessmen spent
endless hours going from one government agency to another seeking the necessary
permissions to operate. One of these agencies, the ‘Zitag,’ was in control of tobacco. Its
main remit consisted in requisitioning the surplus tobacco of one company and giving
it to another with too little. In other words, whoever planned badly or skimped in
the belief the war would soon end was rewarded for his lack of foresight by having a
more circumspect competitor obliged to share with him.
This government agency was financed by the banks, whose people, unencumbered
by any knowledge of the industry, made up its administration. A few tobacco dealers
and industrialists, among them Emil, were appointed to the Board, mainly for window

112
dressing. Others, drone ‘consultants,’ wormed their way into the organization, where
they were liberally compensated with substantial salaries.
Every tobacco company had to present its tobacco inventory and submit
to adjustments. Eventually Emil’s turn came and they ordered him to hand over
his significant surplus. He resisted strenuously, not only because of the loss to the
company but also because, as he said, the proceedings smacked of ‘incompetence and
communism.’
Finally, he persuaded the agency not to seize his tobacco stocks in Germany in
return offering them a future supply of the 200,000 kilos still warehoused in Smyrna.
A clever move: The war rendered the tobacco inaccessible but it reduced the Waldorf
Astoria’s inventory on paper, and both the bureaucrats and the competitors were
well-satisfied. Luckily, by the time Bauer brought home this second lot of tobacco
after the war, the benighted agency had ceased to exist. This episode taught Emil that
centralized power is a disaster.

Avoiding aerial attacks

Enemy aircraft started to bomb Stuttgart. Emil was on his way back from
Switzerland when he heard the news. It filled him with dread for his home and his
workers: his house being on the crest of a hill and his factory a large and conspicuous
building. Luckily, neither suffered damage. Once Berta lay ill in bed, unable to get
into the cellar. Maria ran downstairs with Walter; Emil stayed behind with Berta,
expecting the worst; they remained unharmed. The following Sunday while on the
way to visit Berta’s mother and sister Paula in Weilimdorf, low-flying craft started
strafing the road. They speeded up, arriving just in time to see a live shell fall to the
ground barely missing Berta’s mother who was walking out to meet them. They
scooped her up and fled into the village.
Such aerial raids on Württemberg became more frequent as the war went on.
Once planes attacked three nights in a row, obliging people to seek shelter; it was
especially hard on children’s nerves. Being ripped out of sleep with the sound of
aircraft and howling sirens in the stillness of the night remained etched in their
memory. (Twenty years later many of these children would flock to Hitler as to a
pied piper of security.)
In spite of this, or perhaps because of it, the Molts took a June vacation in the
Black Forest with Walter, Maria Voegele and the dog Carex. Emil brought along his
secretary and worked for part of each day. Their house was on the edge of ancient

113
pine woods with shadowed walks and fresh, fragrant air, but this time Emil felt no
benefit from his stay. The dark trees and lack of view oppressed him. They returned
home on August 1, the day Italy and Rumania declared war on Germany. That upset
Emil so much he had to take to his bed again. He really was not physically robust; it
was his energy and enthusiasm that clothed him with strength and usually kept him
well.

A war effort
One day the Ministry of War invited Emil to a meeting in Berlin. The politicians
and military officers sitting around the table knew of his international connections
and trips to neutral countries and asked him to provide them with information.
They promised that he would not be compromised; “You won’t be required to spy
but simply to report what is common knowledge abroad,” was how they put it. Emil
agreed, aware they would like more than that but saw it as an opportunity to be an
ambassador towards peaceful relationships.
An unlikely person desiring to help the country was the old painter and
theosophist Stockmaier, a friend of the Molts from Malsch. Although long past
military age he insisted on joining the army as an artillery
captain in Karlsruhe. After fighting in the Alsace, he achieved
a promotion to the rank of Major. During one leave, he came
to Stuttgart, stayed with the Molts and in a few days had
painted Berta, Walter and Emil in oil. During World War II
these pictures were stored in the basement of the Molt house
in Stuttgart. The house was bombed and burned to the
ground and only one, shortened, a portrait of Berta, survived.
By October 1916, what with the Battle of Verdun, trench Painting of Berta
warfare, mounting casualties and serious food rationing,
German enthusiasm for the war had dropped dramatically. It gave the Molts a surge of
hope when, in December, they heard Kaiser Wilhelm issue a peace proposal directed
at the warring powers. He hoped President Woodrow Wilson, whose pro-peace
campaign had recently gotten him re-elected, would help him broker the matter
with the Entente powers. Moderate German newspapers were full of expectation.
The Allies, who claimed the proposal an ill-disguised effort to reach a separate peace
with some of them to free up forces for action against others, quickly rejected it and
nothing changed. The failure of their peace initiatives was dreadfully disappointing
and led Germany to declare unlimited submarine warfare in February 1917. President

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Wilson, although he berated the European nations’ continuation of the war in a speech
entitled ‘Peace without Victory’ ( January 22, 1917), authorized America’s entry into
the war following the attack on the ‘Lusitania,’ even though the ship was allegedly
carrying arms to Europe.
To build support for the war in a highly reluctant nation, the American President
signed off on a propaganda vehicle, the Committee on Public Information, which
portrayed Germans as barbarians and killing beasts. Soon this material appeared in
the German news, further demoralizing and confusing people already bombarded by
propaganda from their own censored press which portrayed their husbands and sons
as almighty German heroes vanquishing the dreaded foe.

The Karma of Untruthfulness

For a long time Rudolf Steiner focused his attention on his building. However, as
the war continued, the people he worked with became ever more troubled and upset.
They begged him to explain what was happening. He did a prodigious amount of
research leading him to spot numerous threads connecting seemingly disparate world
events. In December 1916 and into January 1917, he gave a series of lectures (“The
Karma of Untruthfulness”) to a small, intimate circle of friends at the Goetheanum.
Today, these lectures read like a detective story with an account of international
behind-the-scenes intrigue and power groups planning what might be called ‘a new
world order’ or at least a reconfiguration of Europe. He described some of the triggers
of the war and predicted great future harm unless the killing stopped:

People say that murders will not cease until there is a prospect of eternal
peace. It is virtually impossible to imagine anything crazier than the
notion that murder must continue until, through murder, a situation has
been created in which there will be no more war. It is hardly necessary to
have knowledge of spiritual matters today to know that, once this war in
Europe has ceased, only a few years will pass before a far more furious and
devastating war will shake the earth.

In Stuttgart, the Molts, still in poor health, decided to leave their smoothly-
running Waldorf Astoria for an extended stay in the high Alps of Switzerland. By now
Emil was a wealthy man who could well-afford such a luxury. His salary had increased
considerably over the years, but it was the 15% of net profit that he first negotiated
with the Abrahams and Marx which gave him his wealth. The 4% allocated to his

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associate Karrer likewise accrued to him since Karrer had meanwhile died. Booking
rooms for three months in the Chanterella, an elegant Swiss resort above St. Moritz,
and enrolling Walter in a nearby boarding school presented no problem at all. Emil’s
attitude was rather that of enjoying the rare moment because it would not last.
Walter loved his Swiss school in the brisk mountain air and his parents were
happy to see him on weekends. Otherwise they relaxed, surrounded by comfort and
the glory of spectacular frozen nature. Their rooms faced south with a balcony that
allowed almost continuous sun, surprisingly warm on wind-still days. The perfect ice
on the lake gave them exercise with Berta very agile on skates swirling and looping
around her slower husband. The village lay a short distance down the hill but the
hotel had plenty of entertainment including a large library and all the food they
needed, a tailor and a messenger boy. They mostly stayed in, reading, talking, recalling
their unusual lives. “Can you believe,” said Emil, “that it’s twenty years since I went to
Greece and a moon node ago that I started with Georgii? I wonder how he is getting
on … so much has happened since then.”
Soon company arrived. An anthroposophical friend, Camilla Wandrey, visited
from Dornach. She brought her extensive notes of “The Karma of Untruthfulness”
lectures. (“We weren’t supposed to take notes, you know … but I did,” she confided.)
The Molts spent long evenings going over these notes and they were astonished
at the fine detail of the content. The lectures included a history of intrigue but
also presented the larger spiritual causes behind events. The notes made sense of
inexplicable happenings, but they seemed dangerous. Emil frightened the women by
saying brashly, “The world should be presented with this material!” Berta disagreed. “If
this comes out, Steiner could be in great peril. I hope it stays among ourselves.” Camilla
Wandrey had doubts too. “Nobody would believe it and it would soon be refuted.”
Emil, however, decided he would at least try to persuade Steiner to let him share the
parts relevant to the war with leading military circles.
It would break the boundaries of this story to describe the material Steiner
gathered; after years under wraps the lectures are now in print.

Hermann Hesse and a distinction for Emil

Hermann Hesse was the Molts’ guest after Camilla Wandrey’s stay until they left
at the end of March. Hesse fluctuated, an excellent companion when in a good mood,
full of humor and energy, racing across the lake on skates, climbing and skiing, but often
irritable and moody, exhausted by the war and terrified he might still be drafted. He

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whose writings were to influence generations
suffered writer’s block at the time and so, to
calm his nerves and help his insomnia, he
started taking painting lessons from the painter
Ernst Kreidolf who lived down the road. The
Molts found Hesse’s presence enriching, but
his frequent depressions were a trial, especially
for his former flame, Berta, while Emil found
the only effective remedy was reminiscing
about their youth in Calw.
One day a dispatch arrived for Emil,
embossed with the seal of the King of In St. Moritz with Hermann Hesse
Württemberg who made a practice of handing
out awards to his worthiest subjects on the occasion of his birthday. Emil was
surprised to find he had been awarded the title ‘Kommerzienrat: Royal Württemberg
Councillor of Commerce,’ a title usually reserved for outstanding businessmen in their
later dotage. It had not been easy for the King to do this. His interior minister in
charge of such matters reminded him
that a number of older candidates
had precedence over Herr Molt. The
monarch, not to be put off, sent his
chief of staff and Emil’s friend Baron
von Neurath to the interior minister
to persuade him. The Baron told the
minister, “It is the King’s personal wish
and, besides, officers in the military
don’t get promoted according to age
either.” Emil was among the last to get
Painting: Hermann Hesse such a title, for they were abolished
after the war.
At first he was embarrassed and did not want to talk about his elevation because
at dinner the evening before a group of Swiss hotel guests had made fun of the German
penchant for titles, especially ridiculing the title of Kommerzienrat. For a while he
kept it a secret, hiding the dispatch in his pocket, not even sharing it with his wife.
But eventually he became ‘resigned’ to the honor, merely begging his acquaintances
not to address him by it.

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 Emil enjoyed his long convalescence. He stopped smoking, took his time eating
and, for the first time in years, let go of preoccupations to the point where he put his
daily mail unopened in a drawer until he returned to Stuttgart (where he found most
issues taken care of by his well-trained staff). Shutting out the specter of war was
harder, especially after reading about the submarine warfare.

Off to the south

Towards the end of March, the snow began melting and, virtually overnight,
the Molts had had enough of their isolated mountain perch. While not yet ready to
return home, they longed for spring, deciding to visit the glorious Italian-speaking
canton Ticino in Switzerland’s south as after-therapy. They collected Walter and, with
Hesse, spent a day in Zurich, hating the unaccustomed noise, then sped away on the
train, zigzagging higher and higher towards the great Gotthard tunnel. The Gotthard
mountain range allows for a spectacular change in climate. On the north side snow
often lies thick, with avalanches cutting into its perfection, while the sun shines bright
and warm on the south side. Down in the flatland of Ascona, bordering the Lago
Maggiore, the Molts found exuberant spring.
Berta stayed until after Easter, returning to Stuttgart with Walter for the new
school year. Emil rented a cozy little garden house from some anthroposophist
friends and remained for a few more leisurely weeks. Each day he absorbed himself in
Steiner’s book The Philosophy of Freedom and at mealtimes enjoyed the company
of interesting guests. On Sundays he and others went exploring to give the landlady
a rest from the kitchen. They scaled rocks by mountain streams in picturesque side
valleys and lunched and lounged in the courtyards of rustic ristoranti. Once they took
a boat to Brissago to eat specially-prepared spaghetti; another time they climbed the
Monte Veritá.
In those days, Ascona was a very small village although its scenic setting made
it a tourist destination. The colorful buildings, nestling above and beside each other
along flagstone alleys graced with azaleas and palm trees, were an artist’s dream
and indeed Ascona was home to an artistic crowd that included ‘mystics’ and what
might be called early hippies. The Monte Veritá, high above Ascona, was home to
dedicated ‘vegetarian theosophists’ strolling about in scanty clothing and long hair.
Other lifestyles were represented too. Gusto Graeser, a well-known eccentric loner
in buckskin attire, preferred living in a wigwam pitched near the mountain’s summit.
The war seemed far away in that idyllic neutral corner of Europe although
Emil spotted fortifications on the hills across the lake at the Italian border of Luino-

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Cannero (most of Lago Maggiore is in Italy), and he occasionally heard the rat-tat-tat
of artillery practice. Ascona hosted brigades of German-speaking Swiss militia, while
the local Ticinese militia got stationed in the north near Dornach and Arlesheim.
Locals said that in spite of Switzerland’s tiny size, many northern German Swiss and
southern Italian Swiss got to know each other for the very first time because of these
cross-postings.
The Ticinese worried that one fine day the Italians would invade and force a
passage through their land. Happily that never happened. Weapon-smuggling,
however, did flourish on the steep wild paths of the uninhabited hills high above the
lake and its border. If a border patrol came too close to the smugglers, they would
cleverly heave their contraband into one of the ravines, avoiding the cascading
streams, to be collected next morning in the grey predawn.

The Swiss Waldorf Astoria

At the beginning of summer Emil returned to Stuttgart briefly to see to business.
Perceiving what he considered a continuing downward trend in Germany, he thought
it wise to start a separate and independent branch in neutral Switzerland. He
traveled to Zurich and, together with a number of business acquaintances, set about
incorporating a Swiss Waldorf Astoria subsidiary and appointing Sophie Kaiser, his
skilled assistant since the days at Georgii, as personnel manager.
This maneuver made much possible that Emil could not otherwise have
achieved. He was able to buy tobacco (unavailable in Germany) freely and borrow
money from solid Swiss banks. After a while, Zurich even became the new center
for the international tobacco trade, while nearby Romanshorn and Geneva served as
stockpile hubs. In Zurich the Café Huguenin blossomed as a meeting place for Turkish
tobacco dealers, and Emil loved the atmosphere there with its strong coffee, wreaths
of smoke and lively bartering.
He returned to Ascona one last time after seeing a specialist in Basel who
recommended he continue his rest and recovery for a while longer. Berta, Walter
and his cousin Lisa joined him during their summer holidays. It was lucky they had
the respite because the following years brought more than their share of personal
adversity. When they finally returned to Stuttgart, Emil felt renewed and resumed his
tasks with vigor. In the factory nobody begrudged him his leave because, with its good
organization, the business was doing fine.

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Beginning political work
Once fully back, he prepared a summary of Steiner’s “The Karma of Untruthfulness,”
and when Steiner came to Stuttgart, Emil explained that he would like to pass this
material on to influential people in the military. “I have an army contact who can
pass it on to the highest military circles,” he said, expecting Steiner to be opposed.
Yet Steiner spontaneously replied: “Yes, that is just what I want.” Emil asked, “Shall we
also make it available to politicians?” and was surprised when Steiner replied, “‘No,
… as long as the current regime is in power there is nothing we can do.” The next
day proved him right. The mayor of Stuttgart summoned Emil to his office to revisit
the idea of building warehouses for the reparations streaming in from a defeated foe.
“When we have won the war,” this prominent official asserted, “we will need plenty of
space to store the goods.” Emil asked, “Are we quite sure of victory and of merchandise
streaming in?” This question astonished the mayor and rendered him speechless.
Emil knew that sending “The Karma of Untruthfulness” material to the military
could open Steiner to attack but he also knew Steiner wanted it done. He gave several
copies to Major Fessman, an acquaintance of his at the Stuttgart War Ministry, who
promised to forward the manuscript to the General Staff in Berlin. Emil stopped by
a few days later to see if there had been any interest. Fessman shook his head. “I’m
sorry,” he said. “The gentlemen would have preferred reading a document about the
movement of troops. They showed no interest in larger connections.”
However, the material was circulated. One copy came back to Fessman from
General Headquarters shortly after this meeting, surprising Hans Kuehn, a committed
young anthroposophist and intern in Fessman’s office. The document, annotated by
Richard von Kühlmann, the German Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, also went
along to renewed peace negotiations in Brest Litowsk but did not gain mention.
Another copy reached the Austrian Emperor’s Chef de Cabinet, Count Arthur Polzer
Hoditz, through his brother Ludwig, a close adherent of Steiner’s, who had insisted
it be delivered personally into the Emperor’s hands. The brothers were impressed by
the content and amazed to see it sent through official channels but could not deliver
it because protocol required that every communication addressed to the Emperor
had to be read and approved by his cabinet first. The short-lived Brest Litowsk treaty
which Austria, Germany, Russia and the Ottoman Empire negotiated and signed
as a peace agreement on December 22, 1917, also failed to bring resolution except
that Russia left the war in defeat while England and America, sure of their military
advantage, continued fighting.

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 Chapter Four
Emil’s Fifth Seven-year Period Begins, 42-49

Strength in a shattered land

In 1918 Emil was 42 years old. On the front a certain quiet prevailed during
the early part of the year. The military leadership looked forward with hope to a
big spring offensive to follow the cessation of war with Russia. On January 7 His
Excellence Hans-Adolf von Moltke, nephew of General Helmuth von Moltke,
arranged a meeting between Steiner and Prince Max of Baden in Karlsruhe. The
purpose was to acquaint this political aristocrat with certain spiritual insights into the
catastrophic world situation and suggest possibilities for its resolution. Prince Max, a
liberal, seemed open to spiritual matters, perhaps because of his former relationship
with Hans Adolf ’s uncle, the late General. In any case, his speeches in Parliament were
unusual. Dr. Steiner revised his lecture cycle “Mission of the Folk Souls” with a special
foreword and presented it to him during an hour-long conversation. Disappointingly,
Prince Max did not take his suggestions further.
In June the long-expected offensive began. Battles raged on the western front.
There were a few successes at the Somme but nothing decisive. In spite of the obvious
failures, the German public remained optimistic. Meanwhile, fighting also continued
in the Baltic countries and Finland. At the Black and Caspian Seas, battles continued
with soldiers from Württemberg, some of whom only found their way home in the
spring of 1919. In August, official reports were still favorable, claiming a slow retreat
but continuing German freedom of movement. In reality, the Allies were victors all
along the line.
As the year progressed people heard disquieting rumors of a new poison gas
being used and gas protection courses were offered. In the fall an Austrian corporal by
the name of Adolf Hitler was temporarily blinded by a British gas attack in Flanders.
Having suffered the agonies of gas first-hand, his fear of this weapon would prevent
him from using it on the battlefield during World War II. But he had no qualms about
using it in extermination camps.

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Making do
Week by week food became scarcer and less palatable, especially in the north.
Homemakers were inventive with substitutes, mainly root vegetables. ‘Marmalade,’
‘milk’ and ‘eggs’ were cobbled together from beets. Bread was scarce and sometimes
unsafe. The best hotels were not exempt, since the bulk of available food was
requisitioned by the troops. Early on, all kitchen and domestic utensils were
surrendered to the army because imports had ceased. They were replaced by ‘ersatz’
or substitute materials. Bicycles got wooden wheels, clothing was made of paper.
The remaining men were drafted. Women replaced them in hard labor jobs as field
workers and machinists, as well as streetcar conductors, taxi drivers and barbershop
staff.
A number of the younger workers began suffering from malnutrition and
ailments such as bronchial catarrh. Emil realized he would have to supplement their
diet in some way. The factory had free warehouse space and on impulse he bought a
couple of cows and hired a milkmaid, providing enough milk for the duration of the
war. He also kept an open account with his homeopathic doctor friend Stiegele for
those who really needed him.
Berta had trouble digesting the food, although she tried to be careful with her
shopping. In August, she decided to go to the country with the children—Walter, a
friend, his and her sister Paula’s daughters, Lisa and Dora—to the Bavarian resort town
of Garmisch Partenkirchen, in a region relatively untouched by war. She thought Emil
would not be able to join them, but he said he could; he would simply bring along his
secretary, Rosalie Schollian. Rosalie, he said, was too thin and too pale and the air and
fresh vegetables would do her good.
Did they always travel with such a retinue? Yes, but it was no different from their
house in Stuttgart. Dora Dreher Kimmich recalled that trip: “In the summer of 1918,
Uncle Emil and Aunt Berta took Lisa and me on a family vacation—our first time in
the Alps. It was wonderful, playing barefoot in the grass, wading in the stream and
Uncle reading to us. That was in the last months before the collapse of Germany.”

The garden
When Berta returned home she was greatly improved but now she found their
apartment too noisy because the street they lived on had become a thoroughfare.
For years she had longed for a house and garden of their own. By and by such a
garden became available next to their friend del Monte in the Spittlerstrasse. Berta

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 and Emil bought the garden and moved into an apartment
in del Monte’s house. It was a beautiful apartment with
seven rooms, a glass veranda and modern heating, with an
unobstructed view over the city. The location was ideal:
near the Society’s headquarters on Landhausstrasse and
a short walk away from the factory. Steiner and others
were frequent guests there. For a while Walter waged a
small war with the energetic Frau del Monte, but he loved
the garden with its jungle gym and rotating swing. Berta
hired a gardener and soon the family had abundant fresh
vegetables and fruit with some to spare for friends and
factory workers.
When school started again the Molts made room for
Walter in the garden Lisa and Dora to stay with them, and they took in a nine-
year-old boy, Felix Goll, as a foster brother and companion
to Walter. Felix, a difficult child, was the son of a well-known widowed artist. The
father had not been able to care for his children and all had been put into foster
homes. Felix spent his early childhood in several of these; he was probably beaten
and certainly not loved. Walter immediately accepted him into his family and Berta
lavished affection on him. Over time her care transformed the boy completely. He
was very devoted to his new family and eventually became a fine artist in his own
right.

The Goetheanum Trust

Large gifts and loans from friends and supporters financed the Dornach building
project, the money flowing in through the Johannes Building Society. Steiner was
concerned that the people administering this fund were untrained volunteers. One
day, he asked Emil to examine the handling of the funds, and Emil quickly spotted
vulnerabilities. Worried about record-keeping and lenders who might suddenly call
in their loans or bequeath them to people unrelated to anthroposophy, he suggested
turning it into a trust, which he offered to organize and run with his Stuttgart business
friends and with a parallel Swiss branch. He also suggested changing the name of the
building from Johannesbau to Goetheanum—a name Steiner himself sometimes
used—because it would lend added prestige.
Rudolf Steiner accepted both suggestions. Not so the friends in Dornach. They
were fond of their St. John name and upset that a mere businessman, and a German

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at that, wished to change it and take over the building’s financial management. Steiner
tried to appease the critics with his endorsement:

It gives me great joy to support Herr Molt’s initiative, the Goetheanum

Trust … which will give the building project a strong practical
administration. Combining idealism and practical life is often difficult. …
I find it especially important that personalities active in the world are also
able to find a social working space within our Society. An initiative such
as the Johannesbau will thrive only if it is placed fully in the world and
not bashfully concealed, as some of our friends do with their affiliation
to us. … They enjoy coming to lectures but hide their involvement in
the Anthroposophical Society from their work colleagues. …There are
practical reasons for the name ‘Goetheanum’ instead of the more biblical
‘Johannesbau.’ …This is particularly important now since we are entering a
time of extreme chaos. …

His words were conciliatory but the transaction probably bore the first seeds of
discord between Dornach and Stuttgart, which was to last for many years. The new
trust, however, fulfilled its function well and gave Emil frequent reason to travel to
Dornach and work with Steiner.

Defeat
In September Emil heard rumors that Austria was falling. There was talk of a
separate peace, and Bulgaria deserted the alliance. From then on, events took a rapid
course. In October, Prince Max of Baden was appointed Chancellor of Germany and
given the task of forming a new government. The Austrian Emperor Karl, recognizing
imminent defeat, wished Steiner to come to present his ideas again, but Steiner
refused. He deemed it too late to change the course of events. Under pressure from
General Hindenburg and his sidekick General Ludendorff, Prince Max dispatched a
request to President Wilson for armistice negotiation which, sadly, did not include
any of Steiner’s suggestions, a great disappointment to the friends in Stuttgart. Kaiser
Wilhelm went into exile in the Netherlands. The military relinquished its authority.
On November 11, civilian representatives of the newly-formed government signed
the armistice with the Allies that ended World War I. The terms were felt by Germans
to be very hard.
One thing Emil never understood was the widespread belief in the legend of the
‘stab in the back’ which persisted for years and helped Hitler’s ascendency. Right-wing

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conservative papers and politicians made much of it: the notion that the German
army had not lost the war but had been betrayed by civilians at home, especially
socialists and republicans, who overthrew the monarchy and negotiated with the
enemy for their own personal gain. This legend was endorsed publicly by Hindenburg
and later used as propaganda by Ludendorff and Hitler. Emil wrote in his memoirs:

How was it in reality? On one side, a coalition with hundreds of thousands

of fresh, well-nourished and well-equipped American soldiers. They
possessed every conceivable source of raw material and supplies and had
access to munitions factories of nearly the entire world. On the other side,
an incredibly brave but weary and undernourished army with worn-out
equipment. The civilian population, emaciated after four years of being
sealed in, suffered mentally as well as physically. And finally, Germany’s
allies no longer could, or would, help.
All this went beyond what a people could bear, mentally and
physically. Surely, it wasn’t dishonorable to admit this to the world, which
could see the unprecedented effort with which the army and the people
had waged this unequal battle for so long. Should it not have been possible
for a judicious, prudent political leadership to come to an honorable peace?
The idea that something was already rotten in Germany, so that it needed
only a storm to blow away old forms, seems justified. Yet, from beginning to
end, it was less a question of guilt than of tragic destiny. If only the world,
and especially leading Germans, had opened their eyes, but Germany’s true
purpose in the world was not recognized, not then and not later. Rudolf
Steiner certainly provided them with materials to refute the accusation
that Germany was solely responsible for the war, and these materials could
have been used at the deliberations in Paris to clarify Germany’s position.
Alas, because nobody dared to present these materials, Germany forfeited
everything and now it has to be said, her real mission has not been fulfilled.

On November 8 the Germans were presented with the harsh terms of the
armistice—occupation by the Allies and the United States, thousands of planes,
trains, trucks and stores of coal relinquished, reparations for all damage, borders
closed, merchant ships blockaded and renunciation of the treaty of Brest Litovsk.
Whatever was left seemed threatened with requisition and although German
negotiators protested, they signed it two days later. The population was outraged and
large numbers of people started rioting.

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Revolution
On Saturday, November 9, while on business in Zurich, Emil heard the news
bursting into the streets: Revolution in Germany! Kings and princes deposed! One
ruler after another, even the popular Württemberg monarch, had to abdicate, and a
republic was declared. Emil could not believe his ears. Who would ever have believed
that possible? Zurich, a town full of socialist radicals and foreigners, caught the
revolution fever. Bank buildings had to be secured by machine gun-wielding guards,
while armed police patrolled public gathering places.
Emil immediately packed to go home, but then he decided to get Steiner’s view
on the situation, so he took the next available train to Dornach and arrived in time
for the evening lecture in which Steiner, interrupting his regular series, talked about
social renewal as a way out of the crisis. Emil listened intently, wondering, ‘What can
I do,’ and, as if in response, Steiner said, “And if someone were to ask me what to do
now, I would advise being alert to what the situation demands.” ‘Yes,’ thought Emil,
‘I will take these thoughts on social renewal back to Stuttgart and see what I can do
to implement them.’ It seemed to him as if his destiny had brought him there at a
decisive moment.
After the lecture, Steiner greeted him warmly and wished him well for his trip
home. Emil returned to Basel from Dornach, spending the night near the railway
station. Early next morning, Sunday, he heard the rat-tat-tat of drums and, going out,
saw Swiss guards marching to contain what was by now an uprising in Switzerland
as well. Although the train station was about to close, Emil caught the last train to
Zurich. While he was on board, the government declared a general strike, including
all public transportation.
Emil became agitated, thinking his trip to Dornach may have prevented his return
to Germany. But in Zurich his friend and Waldorf Astoria manager Roemer located
a man with a car willing to drive him as far as Lake Constance. In the Swiss town of
Winterthur, they encountered crowds massed in the streets. The driver managed to
get through but, when they arrived at Lake Constance, Emil learned that all ferries
had been cancelled. “You won’t get across into Germany before Monday afternoon
at the earliest,” he was told. “A train to Constance on the Swiss side of the lake is
uncertain too, and besides, that town is in flames.”
Emil, definitely not one to remain passive, managed to get himself on the one
train to Constance. He climbed aboard, almost the only passenger, and arrived at
midnight. The town lay peacefully asleep without a hint of flames. He asked to be

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taken to the stationmaster since his pass was for Friedrichshafen and not Constance.
As soon as the latter saw the name on the passport, he asked very cordially, “Are you
Mr. Molt of the Waldorf Astoria?” When Emil said yes, the stationmaster told him
he was engaged to one of the secretaries in Emil’s office. Then, calming him down
and encouraging him not to worry, he arranged for a hotel room and gave him a
soldier as escort and to carry his luggage. Emil, considerably heartened, relaxed into
an undisturbed sleep. The next morning, November 11, he boarded the ferry for
Friedrichshafen and on deck was amused to observe his first revolutionary soldier: a
florid and freckled country boy with red hair and a red armband—harmless, but very
much admired by the other passengers.
Arriving in Stuttgart, Emil was met by his porter Gutbrod, who assured him
that family and factory were fine but urged him to come to the town hall where
Mayor Lautenschlager was presiding over an emergency meeting with industrialists.
Walking the short distance from the station towards the town hall, they passed
milling, angry rioters. Emil was glad to have Gutbrod with him. “What has happened
to my Stuttgart?” he asked. Then he became distressed walking past the barricaded
and forlorn-looking palace. “Where is the King?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Gutbrod answered. “It began as a peaceful workers’ demonstration,
organized by the Social Democrats. They marched past the palace. Suddenly a group
of radical left-wing sailors from Kiel took over the march and attacked the palace.
The palace guards had strict orders to avoid bloodshed and so, in spite of their
resistance, the rowdies broke in and demanded the King’s sword. For a short time,
they succeeded hoisting a red flag. The King took it so much to heart that he left
Stuttgart, never to return. They say he even stipulated that, in case of his death, his
funeral cortege should not go through the city.”
Now Emil deeply regretted that his destiny had placed him far away at the time
of this uprising; he felt sure he could have done something, or at the very least taken
his leave properly of the King. Then he was appalled at seeing a group of young boys
attacking two passing officers and pulling epaulettes and medals off their uniforms.
The officers seemed lamed; they made no resistance—unbelievable in people who
had faced the enemy for so long. Emil, furious at this disgraceful behavior and in utter
disregard for his own safety, stormed in brandishing his umbrella. He demanded the
medals back and threatened the youths who were instantly cowed by the force of his
authority. It gave him a small measure of satisfaction, as though by doing that he had
avenged the deposed monarch.

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 Arrived at the town hall, he found the civic leaders had no idea how to bring
order into the chaos, especially considering the hordes of famished and desperate
soldiers streaming back into the city from the front. Emil suggested the soldiers not
be allowed into town but be disarmed and given money to return directly to their
own homes, where they were urgently needed. Nobody listened to him. The meeting
ended abruptly when news came through that the onerous armistice had been
ratified. Once again Emil realized that, if he wanted to be effective, he would have to
act independently. He went home, relieved to be in that sanctuary on the hill.

The threadbare minister

A few days later, he went to the War Ministry to make a sizeable donation in
support of returning soldiers, but learned that such a donation required the approval
of the Württemberg Minister of War. So he went to the Ministry and found it in the
hands of revolutionaries.
A wispy-looking young soldier in shabby uniform presented himself and went
hunting for the Minister, who was nowhere to be found. The soldier then informed
Emil that he was the ‘deputy Minister of War,’ so Emil negotiated the donation with
him. At the end of the interview and because the ‘deputy Minister’ looked so very
threadbare, Emil, acting on impulse, invited him to his house where he offered him
a pair of new grey trousers, a jacket and a pair of good boots. Everything fit perfectly.
The soldier insisted on wearing the clothes, asking only for some wrapping paper for
his old uniform. Thrilled and with this package under his arm, he departed.
Next, one of the better men’s clothing shops in Stuttgart sent Emil a bill for a
gentleman’s overcoat. It seems his acquaintance had decided that a good suit needed a
matching coat. Emil paid the bill and luckily he never heard or saw the fellow again; he
probably rather quickly reached the end of his career as ‘deputy Minister of War’ after
Emil reported the little scam to his friend Hans Kuehn in the Ministry. Kuehn was
high in Emil’s estimation for having freed a large number of French prisoners. After
wiring Berlin asking for instructions on what to do with them and receiving no reply,
he had simply sent them home.
The revolutionaries caused further havoc, and chaos prevailed for a while longer.
Then two Stuttgart regiments, back from the battlefield, marched into town in perfect
formation and restored order. Soon the government adopted a constitution for
Württemberg, drafted by Wilhelm von Blume, a professor of civil law from Tübingen,
sympathetic to Steiner’s world view.

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 One always hopes that a revolution, even a minor one, will bring real innovation.
For the most part the revolutionaries were students and dissatisfied workers. They
confused great slogans with reality, acting out of an elemental force born of anger. The
more moderate among them, wishing to avoid complete chaos, concluded an alliance
with the old Imperial order in favor of a republic and parliamentary democracy.
Practically from one day to the next, new heads of government were installed, but
the lower echelon bureaucracy, administering and basically running the country,
remained, with all their old ideas and set-in ways. So, instead of a fresh new wind and
a clear direction, things remained the same, and these revolutionary social democrats
quickly transformed themselves into comfortable middle-class folk, thanks to their
new-found positions in life.
During the first days of the new government, Emil, looking for ways to propagate
Steiner’s social ideas, introduced himself to the new Minister of Commerce, Dr. Hugo
Lindemann. “I assume,” he said politely, “that you will be looking for experienced
business advisors and am placing myself at your service.” Dr. Lindemann gazed at him
uncomprehendingly, with no idea why he had come, but just then Emil’s colleague,
Julius Baumann, the new Minister for Food and former secretary of the Württemberg
tobacco association, walked in. “You see, Herr Baumann,” remarked Emil, “what a hard
time I have, offering my services here.” “Just come with me, Herr Kommerzienrat,”
answered Baumann. “I always need people like you,” and gave him an office and a
young staff member.
While in that office, Emil took on four projects: (1) an attempt to start a
Württemberg Industrial Credit Union, (2) purchasing food in Switzerland, (3)
introducing Dr. Steiner’s social and political views to leading government personalities,
and (4) working in the Commission for Social Reform. Two of these projects failed,
two were moderately successful.

The credit union

Initially, he tried to encourage all Württemberg industries to pool their money
in one trust to facilitate capital needs and help the transition from wartime to
peacetime production. He hoped to (a) protect struggling companies from being
taken over by the Entente, (b) protect financially-needy members from the usury
of capitalist banks and (c) provide a social framework in which stronger and weaker
companies could work together in the interest of the total economy. The plan found
a cordial reception in the Ministry of Commerce. The finance minister was inclined
to authorize State funding and the central bank was willing to invest providing the

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industrialists endorsed the plan. Ministerial Councillor Dr. Wilhelm Schall called a
gathering of leading industrialists, presenting them with the project in great detail.
Disappointingly, they did not endorse it. In spite of the revolution, they were not
ready for such a scheme and the project collapsed.
At that same time, in Ireland, Horace Plunkett and the poet George Russell (AE)
created a successful farmers’ cooperative to help that industry survive and grow in
the bitter aftermath of the Irish revolt against the British. It marked the beginning
of the Irish Credit Union. But in conservative Germany, even the simplest social
reform found resistance. Later Emil had occasion to meet with Dr. Schall, who told
him confidentially, “Your plan was really good and it is a pity it wasn’t implemented.
But you committed the gravest error by involving so many of your fellow ‘believers.’”
Steiner had clearly made his mark by lecturing in Stuttgart and, as he pointed out
to Emil at the time of the memorandum to the military, his ideas would have been
totally incomprehensible and probably quite suspect in existing political circles.

Food ambassador
The next project involved obtaining food for Germany from Switzerland. Emil
asked the banks to begin stockpiling 1000-Mark bank notes, as these were still traded
at a fair exchange. He then traveled to see Swiss president, Felix Calonder, who said
food was in short supply in his country too. The
only thing he could offer was chestnut meal,
stockpiled in Swiss army mountain recesses,
but that turned out so worm-ridden as to be
unusable. A short while later, Emil succeeded in
buying a freight carload of Tobler chocolate at
a cost of 1.2 million francs. He stuffed a suitcase
with 1000-Mark bills and took a train to Zurich,
accompanied and protected by his muscular Freedom to Cross Borders Pass
machinist, Herr Schoeller. Traveling across
borders with so much cash was a highly risky undertaking in those days, but they
safely brought back a heavenly treat instead of a basic food staple. After four and a half
years of privation, nobody complained.
Another time, he traveled to Switzerland with Herr von Thuena, the director
of Daimler Aerospace, in an official capacity and in a military car. The German
government, concerned that it might be obliged to turn over its airplanes to the
Entente, was interested in selling or leasing them abroad. Emil introduced von Thuena

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to his friend, Dr. Frey-Zamboni, and the famous pilot, Alfred Comte. The Swiss,
planning to launch a national airline company of their own, were interested. Emil did
not return for further meetings, but the Ad Astra Aero company, later Swissair, was
founded several months later and began with German Junker planes.

Peace negotiations and war guilt

On most of these trips Emil made a side visit to Dornach for a Steiner lecture or
a meeting of the Goetheanum Trust. Steiner always had time for him, often inviting
him to dinner at his house. He was glad to get news and each, the savant and the
businessman, gained stimulation from the other, perhaps just because they were so
different. Steiner constantly talked about rebutting the Entente’s claim that Germany
bore sole responsibility for the war. He pointed repeatedly to the Kaiser’s last-minute
efforts to prevent war and wanted the international community to know what had
actually taken place during those fateful days. Emil begged him to write something
for distribution to every member of the German delegation at the peace treaty
negotiations in Paris.

Von Moltke’s memorandum

An opportunity presented itself. Eliza von Moltke’s late husband, General von
Moltke, kept a diary and his notes of the events leading up to the war were extensive.
In preparing a brochure that would argue the case against German sole culpability to
the Versailles Treaty delegation, Steiner, with Eliza von Moltke’s permission, drew on
material from these diaries.
For some time von Moltke had anticipated hostilities and unlike many of his
contemporaries, did not believe his army to be invincible. Building on a strategy for
a war on two fronts devised by his predecessor Alfred von Schlieffen, von Moltke,
convinced that France would join Russia against Germany, was determined to insure
as quick and painless an outcome as possible. He placed his army in a defensive
position in the East. In the West, instead of risking a frontal engagement he planned
to use the element of surprise, moving against France’s flank before it had time to
fully mobilize. In order to do this, however he had to transport his troops through
Belgium, a neutral country. Von Moltke reckoned that he could negotiate with the
Belgians, promising a quick transfer and indemnifying them for any damage caused.
On the eve of war, Kaiser Wilhelm was in furious correspondence with his royal
cousins, Tsar Nicholas and King George V, trying to preserve peace, even after the
Russian army mobilized. France’s armies were readied as well. General von Moltke

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began moving units of the German army both to the East and to the West. Late in the
afternoon of August 1, he was summoned to a meeting with the Kaiser, his Chancellor,
the Minister of War and several others. All were elated. The German Foreign Office
had received a telegram from its ambassador in London, reporting on information
said to have come from the British Foreign Secretary, Lord Grey, that seemed to
hold out hope for British neutrality and its ability to curb the French in the event of
war. The Kaiser, who had signed the mobilization order earlier, demanded a halt to
deployment in the West and a shift of troops to the East: “Now our whole army can
march against Russia,” he said.
Von Moltke was horrified at this ill-judged order. He did not believe the
ambassador’s report; the winds of war had been blowing for too long. To shift troops
and leave Germany’s western border unprotected was, to him, unbearable. However,
the Kaiser insisted, becoming short-tempered and dismissing him to return home in
a state of shock. Shortly before midnight that day, he was again summoned to court.
The Kaiser was in his pajamas, having already gone to bed. He handed von Moltke a
telegram from the King of England who said he knew nothing of a British guarantee
preventing French entry into war. The Kaiser was extremely upset, telling von Moltke:
“Now you can do as you please.” He reverted to plan, but this double reversal caused
confusion and delay and the march through Belgium did not go smoothly. It would
ultimately lead to Germany’s being landed with the sole blame for the war.
This obvious lack of understanding by the country’s leaders led von Moltke to
lose confidence in their judgment and the clash with the Kaiser, with whom he had
been close, made him unwell. He was reassigned to a humiliating position overseeing
the home guard and reserves.

Versailles
In Stuttgart, the von Moltke brochure prepared for the German delegation was
printed but kept from distribution at the last moment by von Moltke’s nephew, acting
on behalf of the Foreign Ministry, which did not want the information to see the light
of day. Why? It would have compromised the Ministry’s own carefully crafted version
of events and laid blame for the outbreak of war on the government. The pamphlets
were destroyed, the costs defrayed by the family.
For Emil this meant a tragic opportunity lost for he was sure it would have made
a difference to the outcome of the peace negotiations. He did send a salvaged copy
to Paris to the representative from Württemberg, but to no effect. Normally, after a

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war, victor and vanquished sit down together to negotiate a settlement, but in this
case the German delegation was barred from the negotiating table. At the very end
it was presented with a treaty so outrageous that the economist and member of the
British delegation John Maynard Keynes resigned in protest and wrote his book The
Economic Consequences of the Peace. A few years later the von Moltke diaries
were published in book form, including the events of the days leading up to the war,
but by then no one was interested anymore; it was old history. Much later again
there were allegations that Emil precipitated the pamphlet’s demise by prematurely
bringing it to von Moltke’s nephew; there is no support for this in his own diaries and
certainly the family would have been aware of the project.

Socialization commission
An early catchword of that first post-war time was: ‘socialization of business.’
Nobody knew exactly what it meant or how to implement it but it was understood
as State ownership of business. In Berlin a socialization commission was formed and
other German regions followed. In Stuttgart Dr. Lindemann and the attorney Dr.
Fritz Elsas (chief legal advisor to the Waldorf Astoria) headed such a group, consisting
mostly of industrialists and their representatives, among them Emil. The first project
was to nationalize the mining industry; electricity was next. After several meetings it
turned out nothing more would come of it. Industrialists refused to go along because
they saw no advantage to giving their businesses over to the State.
When, during one of his November visits to Dornach, Emil asked Steiner what his
views were on socialization, Steiner gave him a short written treatise of a ‘threefold
social order,’ reinterpreting and revitalizing the French revolutionary principles of
liberty, equality and fraternity. He paired liberty with free cultural/spiritual life,
equality with human rights, and fraternity with economic life and sketched out how
to activate their cooperation in society. It made immediate sense to Emil, but when
he took it to the socialization commission, he was met with total incomprehension
and a refusal to even discuss it.
On January, 9, 1919, there was another flare-up of social unrest in Stuttgart led by
a few radical, hot-blooded youths. The government fled into the train station tower.
From there, Minister Baumann of the socialization commission, rang Emil. Would he
please come and explain Steiner’s threefold idea? In their confinement, the gentlemen
had become somewhat more attentive, yet when the riots were over after a few days
their interest evaporated.

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The Waldorf workers’ council
The new government in Württemberg also tried to meet protesters’ demands
by creating ‘workers’ councils.’ These were loosely modeled along Bolshevik lines but
had neither form nor content. Emil realized that such ‘councils’ could have potential
in a company if they collaborated with management on basic issues and needs. “The
task of the employer, with his experience and knowledge,” he mused over dinner,
“is to share as much as possible of his own experience with his employees. Through
such a council, workers could actually become coworkers, promoted for their skills
and working not only for pay but out of an understanding of the larger whole.” Berta,
who knew the Waldorf workers well and also knew the traditional chasm in business
between workers and management, loved the idea, far ahead of its time, and was sure
it would succeed.
Next day Emil called an all-factory meeting and presented the idea of a Waldorf
workers’ council, inviting his employees to choose representatives who would meet
regularly with management representatives. “I will teach you everything I know,” he
offered. The plan was enthusiastically endorsed and Emil was chosen as chairman. The
‘Waldorf ’ was the only company in Württemberg to have such a council in which all
matters concerning the firm were discussed and resolved, and it remained an island
of tranquility in the charged atmosphere of the day.
True to form, Emil had again moved impulsively and without a model. It was
natural for him to trust his intuition, taking action first and developing the idea as he
went along. Berta laughed when he told her what he had done. “You don’t hang about
when you get an idea,” she said. Emil replied peevishly: “Business people, when asked
how they decide on something, will answer, ‘We just tried it and it worked.’ After all,
God did his creating in the first six days and only contemplated it on the seventh.”
Berta laughed again. “Yes, my darling, that’s all very fine for God.”
At this point, motivated by his employees, a significant shift took place in Emil.
He became an educator. His former workers were filtering home, many wounded and
severely demoralized. At the start of the war Emil had promised to keep their jobs
open for them—now suddenly he had many double placements. For many it meant
just half a day’s work, but he refused to fire anyone.

Education in the factory

To facilitate a return to normal life and because workers had time on their hands,
he decided to launch an educational program at the factory. For this purpose, he
installed a works library and hired Dr. Herbert Hahn, a highly talented secondary

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school teacher with an interest in anthroposophy, to coordinate the program.
Hahn developed courses in history, language, painting and geography, including an
introductory conversation course on the broader questions of life.
Every week, a guest speaker gave a special lecture on business and current issues
in one of the work halls, and groups from the various departments visited each other,
describing their work. It gave them all a picture of the whole. For example, the women
sorting tobacco soon began to learn about processes in the machine hall. Emil lectured
on tobacco cultivation, its purchase and sales and advertising. Rudolf Steiner became
a frequent and welcome guest. For the time being, to insure everyone’s participation
in the educational activities, they were held within paid working hours.
The results were significant. Workers regained interest in life. Their many
questions were considered and their comments often poignant. One handworker told
Emil: “Your tobacco is good, Herr Molt, but for the cigarettes to taste really special,
more is needed. They have to be made with love and we supply that.”

Vacation places
With Berta’s help Emil looked for recreational possibilities as a means of helping
workers and especially their children, recover from the war. Taking advantage of
a depressed real estate market he bought a large property in Schorndorf, an older
building, called ‘Villa Sunshine.’ Standing in a beautiful park, with a little dairy
attached, it provided milk for the guests and for the factory in Stuttgart. Emil had the
main building refurbished into a cozy and popular retreat, run by a manager whose
wife did the cooking. Employees contributed a very modest sum towards room and
board. They loved the place and used it for years. Later Waldorf teachers and their
families enjoyed staying there too.

Workers’ holiday

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 The Molts stayed at Villa Sunshine only once, taking Walter, Felix and two of their
friends along. They drove through the clean and peaceful small town of Schorndorf
with its picturesque houses. The villa was surrounded by tall trees, meadows and
orchards. A vacationer sunning himself on an upstairs balcony welcomed the Molt
party and told them to be sure to read both signs before going in.
The one:
Villa Sunshine welcomes you;
Forget your cares, your troubles too;
Take your ease, your soul renew
With apple cake and coffee brew.
The other:
Terms and conditions:
“Whoever talks of business here will be thrown out the door.”

Frau Pelargus offered her guests an excellent afternoon coffee with fresh milk and
generous portions of whipped cream, currant cake and cheesecake. The house itself
was tastefully furnished; the architect had turned a prosaic interior into a modern
and pleasant surrounding. Each room had its own color scheme with arrangements
of fresh-cut flowers; it didn’t seem like a strange house but like ‘home.’ The well-
appointed kitchen offered five meals a day, announced by a gong. Mrs. Pelargus was
the expert, cooking tasty and abundant dishes in spite of the shortage of available
supplies. Lucky for her, there were cows in the barn, chickens in the yard and a large
vegetable garden out back. The Molts were delighted and promised to come back
often which, sadly, they never were able to do.
Because of the number of requests for respite, Emil bought another vacation
place: a medieval monastery-turned-spa resort with its own medicinal spring near

Outing to Rietenau

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Rietenau in the foothills of the Löwenstein Mountains. It
included a bath house with eight cabins in a little wood.
Emil also initiated an in-company savings bank, returning
5% interest, and a factory canteen.
Right about then, Emil’s workers started calling him
‘Vater Molt’ (Father)— behind his back. He had become
bald and wore a little mustache, and he was always attired
in formal clothes. Yes, although he felt young and energetic,
he had slipped into a somewhat patriarchal role at only
43 years of age. However, in hindsight, the connotation
of ‘father’ takes on an additional dimension. Workers’ The ‘Father’
councils, in-house education, leisure amenities and more are now accepted business
adjuncts, described in most business books. They did not exist in Emil’s environment.
As part of the educational effort, Emil suggested the company publish a bimonthly
in-house journal, the Waldorf News, initially intended as an employee newsletter,
soon it enjoyed a much wider appeal. Employees and salesmen received Waldorf
News free of charge. Doctors’ and lawyers’ offices as well as hotel lobbies and public
libraries subscribed to it. It was a showcase for the factory but also a pacesetter for
anthroposophy because it contained articles by Steiner and others.
Visitors to the factory often remarked on the bright look and positive demeanor
of the workers in contrast to those in other enterprises. When Emil told them about
the educational activities, the visitors understood what they were seeing.

The idea of the school

One day towards the end of the year Mr. Speidel, a mechanic in the factory, came
into Emil’s office and mentioned that one of his sons had been recommended for
higher education by his teacher, based on his excellent grades. Emil saw the pride in
the father’s face and, moreover, saw what it meant for a worker’s child to be offered
such an opportunity and for the family not to be able to afford it. He felt the tragedy
of the working class­—to be held back from sharing the education of the middle
classes—and he had a sense of what it could mean to social progress if an enterprise
could support a primary school.
At that moment the idea of a school for his workers’ children flashed through
Emil’s mind, and he realized that he could create such an initiative without any
outside help. The thought fired his heart so completely that he left his office and

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rushed home to Berta with shining eyes, giving her a hug. “What is that for?” she asked.
“A school! Will you help me start a beautiful school?” he asked, describing his vision.
But for once he held back, sharing it only with her; giving the idea time to mature.

“The Kingdom”
A short essay by Hermann Hesse appeared in the second
issue of Waldorf News, January 15, 1919:
Once there was a large and beautiful land
inhabited by a modest yet strong people content with
their lot though not all that rich or opulent or elegant.
Wealthier neighbors sometimes looked on them with
disdain, or at least pity tinged with mockery. All that
ceased in the great war that so dreadfully devastated
Waldorf News
the world and in whose ruins we still stand, deafened
by its sound, embittered by its senselessness and ill from the rivers of blood
that run through our dreams.
The war ended and this young, blossoming realm, whose sons had
gone to battle with such high spirits, collapsed. It was terribly defeated. The
conquerors demanded a heavy tribute even before there was talk of peace,
so day after day the soldiers streaming back were met by long trainloads
of goods, symbols of their possessions, on their way out to the victorious
enemy.
Meanwhile, in their moment of greatest need, the people took stock
and felt they had come of age. They chased away their rulers and royalty
and formed councils, proclaiming their willingness to deal with their own
misfortune.
These people, though matured by heavy trial, do not yet know where
their way will lead and who will be their helper, but the hosts in heaven
know. They know why they sent the sorrow of this war over the people
and the entire world and have provided a shining way out of the darkness
that this conquered folk must go.
It cannot return to childhood. It cannot just give away its cannons, its
machines and its money and start making poems and playing sonatas in its
peaceful little towns again. But it can walk the path that every individual
takes when his life has led him into error and deepest pain.

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 It can remember its heritage and childhood, its growing, its brightness and
its decline and, by remembering, find the strength at its core. It must turn
inward to find its own being and when it does so, this being will accept its
destiny willingly, saying yes to it and beginning anew.
If this beaten folk can accept the path of its destiny and walk it with
assurance, some of what once was will renew itself like a steady stream and
flow out into the world. Then those who now are still its enemies will hear
this quiet stream and be moved by it.

The revolutionary year 1919 seemed to promise a more liberal and democratic
future, and Emil and his friends longed for another opportunity to bring Steiner’s
ideas to the public before that mood evaporated. When the new government in
Stuttgart established a cultural workers council (as distinct from the workers councils)
several anthroposophists joined and began influencing its direction. As a businessman
Emil could not join, but after every meeting the group adjourned to the Molt house
to plan their course of action. Eventually they helped publish a cultural council
pamphlet entitled “Fundamental Principles for a Rational Political Reconstruction”
which included some of Steiner’s social ideas.

The appeal
On January 25, 1919, Emil, Hans Kuehn and Roman Boos (a Swiss anthroposophist
in Stuttgart for work experience) traveled to Dornach with the pamphlet and
presented it to Steiner, wanting guidelines for what was starting to have political
potential. He told them, “We need something completely new, something that can
stand on its own. I will give you a proclamation. Look it over and, if you approve, ask
at least a hundred publicly-known personalities to endorse it with their signatures.
If you can get their support, I will have a mandate and will begin holding a series of
lectures in Zurich which should reach a wider public there and abroad even if the
content is not officially recognized.”
On February 2, 1919, he presented the friends with “An Appeal to the German
Nation and to the Civilized World,” beautifully handwritten on a few sheets. In concise
words with a classical cadence and rhythm reminiscent of the German literary greats
(which a translation cannot come close to), Steiner described German trust in their
Empire but their lack of a higher goal for it beyond material achievement. He further
laid out what he had developed over the preceding months and years as the idea
of a new, tripartite body social, warning that, if things continued as before, “…what

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was unleashed by this disaster will continue and proliferate into the boundless.” This
paper (text printed in the ‘Postscripts’ chapter of this book) marked the birth of the
Threefold Movement for Social Renewal.
The friends were moved by the “Appeal” and promised to do their best to
get signatures. Roman Boos set out to canvass in Switzerland, Hans Kuehn and
Emil undertook Germany. For Austria, Steiner suggested a young Viennese, Walter
Johannes Stein. “He is sitting around in Dornach, waiting for something to do,” he
said. Emil went to see Stein, finding a person almost bursting with intensity. Stein
immediately declared himself willing to go. Emil waited while he threw a toothbrush
and a shirt into an ancient knapsack, then drove him to the train in Basel sticking an
extra 100 Swiss francs in his pocket because of his rather threadbare appearance.
In Germany the friends created an action committee including Dr. Unger and
Professor von Blume of Tübingen, who had helped draft the new Württemberg
constitution. They decided to memorize and absorb the contents of the “Appeal” the
better to become its public proponents. One of the first signatures Emil obtained was
that of Dr. Lautenschlager, the mayor of Stuttgart. Then he traveled to Munich and
other cities, successfully collecting signatures.
One person who failed to get the signatures allocated him by Dornach was a
certain Emil Leinhas, an intense but somewhat melancholy businessman totally
devoted to Steiner. Leinhas received copies of the “Appeal” and Steiner’s suggestions
for people to ask but was unable to grasp its content at such short notice and so could
not speak convincingly to the people he was to solicit. However, he steeped himself
in the ideas and soon wished nothing more fervently than to become active in the
Threefold Movement.
Within the shortest time 250 significant signatures were collected, and Emil
brought them to Steiner who was lecturing in Zurich. Far from being idle in his spare
time, the latter had written a book in his hotel room containing the essential concepts
of the proposed new social form. Emil took the manuscript to a typesetter in Zurich
and carried the typeset sheets back to Stuttgart to be printed there.

The Threefold Commonwealth

On the train, he began devouring the text which at first seemed like the
proverbial book of seven seals (in terms of political science Emil and his friends were
complete novices, having hardly even read the basic Marx, Engels or Lassalle). With
every reading he understood these practical suggestions better and the book became
his constant companion. The Goetheanum Trust published Die Kernpunkte der

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Sozialen Frage (Threefold Social Question) on February
12, 1919, and distributed 50,000 copies in the first year. This
was a sign for how widespread interest in these new ideas
had become not just in Germany but abroad, even as far
away as India.
Every major German newspaper published the “Appeal”
and most of them included a copy of all the signatures. The
Waldorf Astoria workers noticed Emil’s signature in the
papers and wanted to know more. As well as he was able,
“Kernpunkte” book
he presented them with his first lecture on the topic. They
had no trouble understanding the ideas, and from then on the Waldorf Astoria crew
became a kind of vanguard for the Threefold Movement.

Leinhas
Meanwhile, Emil needed a new comptroller. Benkendoerfer, Arenson’s son-in-law,
abruptly decided to leave Waldorf Astoria to work part-time for Arenson’s nephew,
del Monte, and to concentrate on developing the Threefold Association work. Never
really a numbers person, he also wouldn’t have enjoyed being subordinate to Emil, his
friend. When del Monte’s partner Schrack came to negotiate for Benkendoerfer and
asked Emil how soon he could spare him, Emil, who felt annoyed that he had chosen to
leave at such a critical time answered brusquely, “This afternoon at 2.” This infuriated
Benkendoerfer and upset del Monte so much he became ill. Emil’s preferred choice
as a replacement was a young man of his acquaintance who, however, could not join
him because of a prior work commitment. Next he considered Emil Leinhas, whom
he knew from occasional anthroposophical gatherings. He remembered someone
describing him as a “business powerhouse, experienced at organizing a sales force and
marketing branded products.”
Emil thought it would be fine to employ that rare combination, a dedicated
anthroposophist and seasoned businessman, but he had some doubts. He wrote
Steiner, telling him of his need for a comptroller and asking for a reference on Leinhas.
On February 16 Steiner wrote back with a positive/negative recommendation:

My dear Herr Molt! I was sorry to receive the news of our dear del Monte’s
illness and send him my good wishes. Regarding your question about
Leinhas, I believe him to be astute and a talented initiator and think he
would suit your business needs well. I am less able to judge how Leinhas

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 would behave humanly in such a setting, which is also an important factor.
You will understand that I have less opportunity to say something in that
direction, since people dealing with me don’t always act the way they
would in other circumstances. However, given this caution, I would still
expect the very best of Herr Leinhas and would say he is a good acquisition
in every way. The fact that we need him here is balanced by the thought
that it will be good for you to have him in Stuttgart. …

In Steiner’s opinion, the success of the appointment depended on how long Leinhas
would accept Emil as his boss. Emil on the other hand, took Steiner’s words as positive
and without further inquiry offered Leinhas the job, engaging him at a salary close to
his own.
In his memoir, Leinhas wrote: “When I arrived in Stuttgart in mid-April, Mr. Molt
was away, having gone to Dornach to collect Rudolf Steiner. I had a few days to orient
myself as to the conditions in Stuttgart and the Waldorf Astoria. Actually I had no
great inclination to join the management of a cigarette factory. As a non-smoker I
had no relationship to that branch of industry and conditions in the firm seemed to
me, in contrast to my previous sphere of activity, somewhat narrow and patriarchal.
… I very much wished on the other hand to connect myself to the Threefold work
and for that reason finally decided to accept the offered position. …” Again, the man
who could not understand the “Appeal” when it was first sent to him, wrote: “Molt
relates to Threefold through his feelings; he isn’t so concerned about understanding
it conceptually.”
At first Emil experienced Leinhas as a great relief. After a time it became a soul
burden because Leinhas put himself on a par with Emil, or perhaps spiritually above
him, also where it concerned the business. All signs pointed towards a difficult
relationship. Leinhas’s low opinion of ‘products’ and ‘business’ as opposed to the
high aspirations of ‘lecturer’ and ‘author’ started to become operative. Later, a similar
mood spread throughout the whole Anthroposophical Society, which perhaps
contributed to the eventual failure to develop the economic and social-political side
of anthroposophy as equal parts of a working threefold movement.
On March 23, 1919, representatives of the Threefold initiative addressed a
packed audience in one of the largest halls in Stuttgart. It caused a sensation. Requests
for lectures poured in from across the country. Emil, realizing they would all have
to run to keep up, went shopping for additional transportation. The Daimler Motor
Corporation had a number of almost-new limousines that had been used by upper
echelon military during the war. The cars were in top condition and available at

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bargain prices. Emil bought several. One, an eight-passenger Mercedes, the best in
its range, came with a chauffeur—Herr Stahl. This car, fast for its time at 100 kmh
was mostly reserved for trips with Steiner. It served Emil well for years in spite of a
number of breakdowns, par for the course then.
The country was still volatile with continuing civil unrest. On March 31 radical
right-wing rowdies forced a general strike in Württemberg which lasted until April
7. Factories closed, mail remained undelivered, trains stopped running and street
lighting failed. In the dark of night wild shooting broke out between citizens and
radicals especially in the Molts’ section of town, with bullets flying over their house.
For some mad reason Emil’s hot-headed young friend Hans Kuehn contacted the
leader of the ‘Radikalinskis.’ Emil heard about it only after the fact. Kuehn went with
the best intentions, thinking to appease the protesters by instructing them in Rudolf
Steiner’s social ideas. He was convinced his intervention had helped diffuse the crisis,
but his friends and Steiner shook their heads at his escapade.

The Threefold Association

When Rudolf Steiner arrived in Stuttgart on Easter Sunday, April 20, Emil
presented him with copies of the printed book Threefold Commonwealth. At this
stage, everyone was flying on the wings of public success.
Two mornings later, April 22, a committee of twelve people including Emil
met with Steiner and discussed formally organizing the threefold initiative into an
international association spanning Germany, Austria and Switzerland. In the evening,
in one of the largest Stuttgart halls, Steiner lectured on the theme to a full house. A
question and answer period followed and copies of the book and the “Appeal” were
given out.

Birth of the Waldorf school model

April 23 marked another significant event: unveiling the school idea. Emil invited
Steiner to speak about the threefold idea to his 1200 Waldorf Astoria employees. They
liked him and he liked them. His words touched their hearts and they applauded
warmly. Afterwards Emil introduced him to the members of his workers’ council and
they discussed ways of developing the threefold model within the factory. In this
small circle and for the first time, Emil shyly presented the idea he and Berta had
been living with all winter, namely, his desire to create a school for the children of his
workers. The council members showed surprise but Steiner’s face lit up; he had been
hoping for this.

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 Emil, delighted, asked Steiner whether he would consider overseeing such a school
and was overwhelmed when he agreed. Emil immediately went over to practicalities.
“I have planned for this project,” he said confidently, “and set aside 100,000 Marks
from the profits of last year. It should be more than enough.” He was somewhat taken
aback when Steiner remarked, “That’s quite a nice sum for the beginning.” “Berta,” Emil
exclaimed when he got home, “this is the best day of my life. We may not be able to
change politicians, but our children will one day change the world. Yet why does he
need so much money for a little factory school?” “Perhaps,” said Berta the Wise, “he
has a larger vision and foresees a proper school in its own building.” She was right. The
next weeks found the ‘project’ expanding like bread in an oven.
Two days later, on April 25, Steiner and Emil met with two teachers, the Waldorf
Astoria employee Herbert Hahn and Ernst August Karl Stockmeyer, the handsome
young son of Emil’s artist friend Karl Stockmeier (the elderly man who had enlisted
in the army) in what constituted the first Waldorf teachers’ conference. Steiner
suggested guidelines for the form and management of the school. For children up
to 16 years of age he recommended a curriculum including German up to business
correspondence level. After a general education in history, he said, local history
should be taught and likewise after general geography the local area was to be studied.
He emphasized foreign languages, especially English, and mathematics and physics
with special emphasis on mechanics, natural history, drawing and especially painting,
singing and gymnastics. Latin he dismissed as a mere remnant of convent schools,
saying Greek would be preferable. These guidelines were modified later.
In a conversation with Emil a few weeks later, he developed the curriculum
further, talking about the eight primary classes. Every three to four days, he said,
the morning should start with singing, otherwise with drawing. Sums and other
main subjects should be taught in blocks of three weeks, two hours every morning,
followed by religion. School was not to begin before 8 in the morning, nor go beyond
12 noon. The upper grades should have fewer classroom lessons and more practical
and field work.
Later Berta worried about those children whose families did not attend any
church but who, she felt, needed to experience a measure of devotion. She asked
Steiner about a ‘free’ children’s service not bound by any one religion. He came back
with a beautiful short service that teachers or parents themselves could hold. Both
Molts found these services a strength-giving gift and attended whenever they could.
Stockmeyer traveled here and there looking for suitable teachers and, by
August, had assembled a provisional faculty, in time for Steiner’s pedagogical course.

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Meanwhile, mindful of the necessary State approvals, Emil, Stockmeyer and Steiner
went to see the Minister of Culture who turned out to be an angel by the name of
Berthold Heymann. This official, a Social Democrat, was delighted that an industrialist
—in other words, a capitalist—had in mind to found a school accessible to all. He
gave his formal consent, promising his support in every way, especially in the matter
of allowing teachers to retain full autonomy over the curriculum. The only thing he
wished to keep control of was the ‘hygienic facilities.’ Emil went away with a signed
permit mandating a new form of ‘free’ school.
In April there was still so much public excitement in Stuttgart around the idea
of the Threefold Commonwealth, that the organizers thought it would be established
by the time school started in September. They imagined the new school as a perfect
representative of the ‘cultural realm’ and it gave them added impetus.
They needed it. With Steiner in Stuttgart, the days passed in a whirlwind. In the
mornings and afternoons, Emil brought him to a succession of large companies, where
he talked to the workers. Venues included the Dinkelacker brewery, del Monte’s box
factory, the Robert Bosch Works, Daimler Works, Werner and Pfleiderer, workers at the
zoo, railway workers and the Union Hall. Emil lectured as well—at the Walter Rau soap
factory, at Eckhardt, Lauser, Staehl and Friedel, to the Stuttgart streetcar employees and,
further afield in Heilbronn and in Ulm, to insurance agents and others.
Copies of the book always came along and every listener received a copy of the
“Appeal.” As surprising as this may seem in retrospect, the Threefold group never
noticed that a large segment of the population was uninvolved at best and deeply
resistant at worst to their ideas, including the broader middle class, politicians and
government officials and those generally on the conservative right. Having lost their
Kaiser and their honor in defeat, they feared communism and mistook ‘social order’
for ‘socialism.’
And indeed socialists and communists were looking for converts among the very
workers Steiner and his friends addressed. On one memorable occasion, Emil spoke
to a workers’ group on the subject of workers’ councils. He was one of three speakers
and after a while he noticed his fellow lecturers turning the event into a kind of
election campaign for the German Socialist Party. When it came his turn, he spoke to
his theme and the audience loved it. Thereupon the organizers shook comrade Molt’s
hand and begged him to come back the next day for another rally; but he declined
politely, indicating that ‘comrade Molt’ was not of their persuasion.
Resistance among contemporaries and a lack of understanding proved far
stronger than anyone anticipated and in the end they failed. The tasks they set

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themselves were too large. Nobody, neither the audiences nor they themselves, had
the energy to see Steiner’s threefold principles through to their practical application.
Lectures continued, but in time listeners became bored and when the general political
situation stabilized, workers were drawn back into the union fold with bosses who
looked to bread-and-butter issues, not spiritual sustenance.
May marked the month in which Emil decided on a building for his school.
Initially he thought of renting a public facility. When that failed he realized he would
have to buy a property with his own money, since such a burden could not be put
on the company. One day a realtor showed him a site near his house and below the
Uhlandshöhe where he and Berta had once rented a garden. It was a former hunting
lodge with a red sandstone cliff behind and a view of the city lying below it in front.
Initially, Emil ruled it out because of its price, 450,000 Marks, which seemed an
impossible amount. Yet the property intrigued him.
“In the Middle Ages this small mountain was a strategic pass with a gallows at its
crest. In my childhood, salutes were fired from there whenever a new little prince or
princess was born to the royal house. The restaurant was a favorite destination for
hikers walking up through the vineyards.” - Walter Rau
On a beautiful summery May Day, a group of Waldorf employees went up to
the hunting lodge to celebrate their day off. They brought their teacher, Dr. Hahn,
along—he wanted to give a little lecture on the poet Uhland but didn’t get a chance
because everyone was too busy dancing and singing. Late that evening the group
walked, arm-in-arm, past the Molts’ house. The gentlemen wanted to serenade them,
but the ladies were shy, so it became a `pianissimo serenade.’
Next day Emil asked who the singers were and where they had been. He was
regaled with enthusiastic reports of the fantastic lodge with its large hall so suited for
dancing and the splendid view over Stuttgart. Emil closed his eyes for a moment, then
said it would be an ideal place for a school. The youngest employee looked at him in
surprise and said quite boldly, “Oh no, we want to go up there often to dance!” Her
colleagues gave her reproving looks, but at that moment Emil decided, “I will take it
further.”
On May 30 he viewed the site with Steiner who, seemingly untroubled by money
considerations, pronounced it quite adequate. The impossible happened: A few days
later, Emil closed the deal with the owner. It was a lucky move. Two years later, the
other sites he looked at would have been too small for the rapidly-growing school.
The Uhlandshöhe surroundings allowed for all kinds of expansion.

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 The Uhlandshöhe Restaurant

Next he called for an assembly of all his workers in the tobacco hall. First Steiner
gave a lecture about what could be learned at a Waldorf school. Then Emil said he
would be pleased for parents to entrust their children to him; they would learn the
same as his own son, Walter. There would be no slapping children in the Waldorf
school; other pedagogical means would be employed. Finally he said, “Of course, there
is a young lady present who would rather dance in the place we have in mind, but I
especially invite her to come to the Waldorf school often.”

Forging a space
The news of the purchase hit Stuttgart like a bombshell, more so after Emil
described in a news article what was to happen at that site and who was responsible
for its direction. Those with misgivings about the Threefold Commonwealth found
the idea of a ‘free’ school for workers children highly dangerous in a society where
everyone should know their station in life. The worst direct confrontation happened
with the local diocesan priest. He informed the Catholic workers that their children
would not receive communion if they attended the Waldorf school. Two Waldorf
parents, both Catholic, requested an interview with him to hear his reasons for this
decision. They brought Emil along. At first the priest tried to label the school sectarian.
Emil opposed this energetically, saying that every religious denomination would be
represented in the school by its own priest. At last, after many arguments, all of which
the Waldorf parents countered, they said firmly: “We will send our children to the

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Waldorf school even if the Bishop denies them communion and you can just go and
tell him that.” As a result permission was granted for the Catholic children to attend.
By June 1919 Steiner and his friends were forced to acknowledge that the
Threefold Social Order ideas were not being accepted by the larger public and that
their initiatives would be limited to what their small group could achieve within the
cultural-educational domain. This was a significant shift. No longer could the planned
school hope for a comprehensive social organism to carry it; rather it would have to
exist in an environment of old educational and legal forms, possibly having to fight for
its rights and for its existence.

Training teachers
Every effort during the summer months went into preparation. Emil’s architect
friend Weippert remodeled the building, working closely with Steiner who frequently
came, driven in the Waldorf Astoria car. On the first of these trips, August 7, Emil took
Steiner and his wife back to Switzerland, taking Walter and Felix along. They took a
route through some of Emil’s favorite landscapes, but he wasn’t sure what to expect of
his revered fellow travelers. Were they in a hurry? Would they like to stop for a rest at
a scenic spot or have a bite to eat? Whenever he asked, Steiner would answer calmly:
“As you wish.” Poor Emil thought this meant he should get them to Dornach as quickly
as possible. He drove nonstop to the border, where they were obliged to wait for what
seemed like hours, arriving at their destination exhausted and hungry and Walter
sick with a fever. Later Emil realized that especially Marie Steiner loved sight-seeing
and he scolded himself for having been a simpleton. He also discovered that liberal
cigarette offerings opened most border gates.
On August 10 Emil met Steiner and the members of the Swiss Goetheanum Trust
in Dornach, leaving Walter and Felix in the care of their landlady. Steiner showed off
his building; the small cupola was almost finished and the large cupola only needed
its supports removed. The books revealed expenditures to date totaling one million
Swiss francs with at least another 450,000-500,000 estimated for completion.
Everything was constructed to last, and each item came with a price tag of
thousands. A few examples in Swiss francs:

Flooring and under-floor heating, auditorium: 40,000

Colored windows 17,600
Organ installation 5200
Podium with lowering mechanism 12,000

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 Stage heating 8000
Stage lighting 14,400
Curtain 10,000
Basement 21,600
Actors’ dressing room 25,000
Toilets 9000
Those figures didn’t even begin to include the actual building, the roofing tiles
from Norway and the fine wood. A contrast was the very modest labor fee of 35,000
Marks over six months. It showed just how much volunteer work was rendered.
Of course in Emil’s eyes these were huge sums for a non-income-producing
project, and the sudden outlays both in Germany and Switzerland worried him
greatly. He did not doubt that the Movement’s potential justified the elegant building
which would, over time, pay for itself through public events.
Emil spent the next ten days looking for additional responsible people for the
Goetheanum Board. He had the balance sheet audited and organized a regular
newsletter and donation appeal to members and friends. Walter recovered from his
fever and Emil put both boys to good use helping the building’s workers but leaving
them enough free time to explore the hills and their limestone caves.
On August 19 Emil took the boys and the Steiners back to Stuttgart, this time
driving the scenic route, with rest stops along the way. Later, he often had the good
fortune to take this route with Steiner but he never again experienced him as light-
hearted as he was on this trip, with his palpable happiness at the impending school
inauguration. On the evening of his arrival, he gave a welcoming address to everyone
invited to the pedagogical conference.
On Thursday, August 21, 1919, at nine in the morning, the teachers and guests
gathered for Steiner’s opening address in which he called the creation of the school
“Ein Festes-Akt der Weltenordnung” (a festive act of world significance). Clearly it was
an auspicious beginning, allowing the school to be founded in that very brief moment
of tranquility before the consequences of the peace treaty became truly felt.
The course, held over three weeks, consisted of three parts:
9am – Study of the Human Being (published as Study of Man)
11am – Practical Advice for Teachers (now also available in book form)
Afternoon – Various workshops
Evenings – Work on Seminar problems

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 Both Molts were there from beginning to end and it was an amazing time of
learning for them. Repeatedly, they marveled at Steiner’s universal knowledge:
philology, natural science, mathematics, history—he was at home in each. The
teachers in his audience were well-versed in their own fields, yet he seemed to surpass
them all. It was a compressed, strenuous time.
On the morning of September 9, the last day of the course, everyone noticed
two of the teachers, Paul Baumann and Elisabeth Dollfuss looking mysterious. Around
11am they disappeared only to reappear an hour later as a married couple. Everyone
was delighted and lunch turned into a celebratory wedding reception. That afternoon,
Steiner chose the teachers of special subjects and appointed class teachers.

Financial worries
When Emil saw how many teachers Steiner reckoned with, he again became
apprehensive, considering how quickly the 100,000 Marks he had put aside were
spent. Eventually he managed, which proved to him how important it is for someone
starting a grand initiative to be led one step at a time in order not to become frightened
of his own daring. “That is the nature of the will,” said Berta. “Only the smallest part is
foreseen and we can only reflect afterwards on what has been accomplished.”
Emil had the task of working out teachers’ contracts and salaries because during
this first year they were still employees of the Waldorf Astoria Company. His partners
in Hamburg did not even know about the school until they were invited to the
opening. That showed how much freedom Emil had in the administration of the
business.

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 Chapter Five

A beacon of light

Waldorf School Morning Verse:

“At the Ringing of the Bells”

To wonder at beauty
Stand guard over truth
Look up to the noble
Decide for the good
This leads humankind
To purpose in living
To right in doing
To peace in feeling
To light in thinking
And teaches trust
In the working of God
In all that there is
In the widths of the world
In the depths of the soul.
– Rudolf Steiner

Inauguration
On Sunday, September 7, a beautiful sunlit day, the festive inauguration of the
Waldorf School took place in the large auditorium of the municipal park. Steiner
would have liked to draw attention to the importance of the event by having teachers,
parents and children walk through the city in a long procession. That was not possible
but the event itself caused enough of a stir with over a thousand people packing
the hall. Emil greeted them. He mentioned anthroposophy as the spirit imbuing the
school, the responsibility towards it and the joys awaiting the children. “We ourselves

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were not able to enjoy the blessings (of this education) and thank our destiny that
we can make it available for others today.” Steiner gave the keynote address. He talked
about three essential goals of the new school: science made alive, religion made alive,
art made alive. “That is the essence of education,” he said, “…and isn’t the service of
education a consecration in the highest sense, helping develop the divine-spiritual
that lives in every child?” Stockmeyer spoke for the teachers and Herr Saria, a workers’
council member, spoke for the Waldorf Astoria factory. The children gave a little
eurythmy performance including Walter Molt who did his part very solemnly while
the other young performers held in their laughter. They were all dressed in loose-
fitting white shifts but Walter’s had an extra pocket, sewn on by him. An attentive
observer might have noticed the pocket moving because Walter had brought along
his pet mouse.
It was a glorious day for the Molts and the high point of their lives. After the
ceremony, Berta and Emil invited the Steiners and the teachers to their house for a
gala lunch which doubled as a celebration for the Baumann newlyweds. Concerned
that he might be obliged to make a speech, Emil consulted his friend, the physician
Dr. Noll who said no, he would not have to make a speech; their circle was not so
bourgeois. Yet, right after the soup Steiner became thoughtful, tapped on his glass
and gave a wonderful speech. He spoke of Emil and Berta, “that here warmth is added
to light,” and raised his glass to their good health. That meant, of course, that Emil,
unprepared as he was, had to reciprocate and express his gratitude. The young ones,
Walter, Felix, Lisa and Dora, with the dog Carex at their side, watched the proceedings
from their table in the side room and were delighted when Steiner, in exceedingly
good humor, brought over two apples. They looked whole, but he had cleverly cut
them into a puzzle form. With a flourish and a small twist, he opened them into four
perfect halves, presenting each youngster with one. (Much later, Aunt Lisa showed
my sister Ursula and me this trick and others which Steiner had shown them when
he came to dinner.) Emil, looking over from the main table, smiled, thinking back to
his own 13-year-old self and how incredibly fortunate his son was.
In the afternoon, the Molts hosted parents and children in the school garden.
There was much lively activity. Each teacher gathered his or her class and played
games with them. Every child received a box of chocolates with the words: “Welcome
to the Waldorf School” printed on the lid. For many of these postwar children it was
their first taste of chocolate. A new spirit had entered the Uhlandshöhe, a spirit of
trust and love, and the parents and children were given a foretaste of it on that first
afternoon.

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 To end this most festive of days, the Molts invited the Steiners and the teachers to
a performance of Mozart’s Magic Flute in the opera house. It was a new production,
very fine. So the day ended as worthily as it began.
The next day should have been the first school day, but the renovations were not
yet complete. Eight days later, the children entered their school and, from that time
on, the otherwise peaceful Kanonenweg street became populated with flocks of lively
children.

The first teachers’ group

The teachers and staff on opening day were: Rudolf Steiner, Director; Marie
Steiner, Director of Eurythmy; Emil Molt, School Protector; Berta Molt, School
Mother. In the Collegium were Leonie von Mirbach, Johannes Geyer, Hannah Lang,
Hertha Koegel, Caroline von Heydebrand, Friedrich Oehlschlegel, Rudolf Treichler,
Walter Johannes Stein, E.A. Karl Stockmeyer, Herbert Hahn and Paul and Elisabeth
Baumann. Joining shortly thereafter were Helene Rommel, Nora Stein, Eugen Kolisko,
Karl Schubert, Elisabeth von Grunelius and Edith Roehrle.
News of the school quickly spread abroad, among educators and parents involved
with anthroposophy who wanted their children to have the benefit of such a school.
The French Ministry for Culture sent students to the school at State expense and
courses for parents and educators became popular. Emil and Berta saw the significance
of the school as a transforming cultural element and imagined it spreading across the
world.

Emil and Berta Molt and the teachers

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 Berta discovered her vocation as a teacher
and began giving handwork lessons, applying
her needlework and felting skills. She worked
with Helene Rommel, the sister of Erwin
Rommel, who would later be known as the
notorious ‘Desert Fox,’ and with Olga Leinhas,
the wife of Emil’s complex comptroller. She
was glad of the growing relationship with
Olga, who seemed rather unhappy.
Both Molts continued to attend the
teachers’ conferences whenever Steiner was
in town. They felt privileged, like students
in a very unusual university. Steiner was at
his best during these sessions, relaxed and
entertaining. He seemed to know all the
children, describing their individual needs Berta and Emil with schoolchildren
with uncanny precision. Emil loved to
accompany him on his classroom visits and it thrilled him, when Steiner asked the
pupils, “Do you love your teachers?” to hear them shout in unison, “Yeeeeessss.”
One day a reversion to old habits happened. At a Waldorf Astoria assembly
Emil addressed the workers: “My dear Waldorf people, I promised you too much
when I said there would be no corporal punishment in the Waldorf School. Blows
have been administered—(shouts of ‘hear, hear’ and ‘let ’em have it’)—and here is
what happened. A group of boys insisted on playing catch right under the teachers’
meeting room windows. One of the teachers came out and asked them to stop but
they ignored him. He asked again then finally grabbed the nearest boy, put him over
his knee and spanked him. When he set him back on his feet again, rather ungently,
he saw that it was … Walter Molt!” A thousand voices roared at this news—it was a
regular orchestra of laughter—and Emil laughed as well, but then he said firmly, “We
have talked about this and it will not happen again.”

A strange turn of events

Emil’s friend, Ludwig Noll, was a physician and longtime follower of Steiner. His
particular strength was inventing remedies, initially prepared for individual patients.
Noll and Emil liked each other well; in some ways they were alike. Both were balding
gentlemen of similar build, with frank, open faces and questioning eyes, although

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Emil’s’ were more hesitant, Noll’s more penetrating. Noll stayed with the Molts for
three months during the preparation for the school and the teachers’ course, and
he was present at the festive opening. At the end of September 1919, Emil and Noll
went to Dornach for a Michaelmas conference. During the trip the two friends talked
about the Threefold Movement and how sad it was that it had lost momentum. “We
can’t let it die,” said Emil. “It should be possible to spread these ideas internationally.
I could imagine people in America and England finding them of interest since both
countries are more advanced than we are.”
Noll agreed. “Roman Boos wants to launch a newspaper in Zurich called ‘The
Social Future.’ It could be translated into English.” “That is a fine idea,” said Emil who,
as usual, immediately visualized the newspaper in every English-speaking newsstand,
“but, impossible. We don’t even have the funds to finish the Goetheanum.” Still, his
inner clock was wound up and ticking.
“One thing’s a real pity,” said Noll over lunch at an inn in the Black Forest. “We
only write and talk about threefold but haven’t applied it anywhere ourselves. The
English and the Americans need practical examples.” “We do have one example,”
replied Emil, “It is well developed in the Waldorf Astoria factory. The rights realm is
represented by the workers’ council; the cultural realm by the educational initiatives,
and we are after all a business, we work in association with other firms and are fired
by a love of the product.” “Everything we do,” Noll remarked, “should be arranged like
that. I have been asked to direct a clinic and research center and I can imagine it being
threefolded. My remedies can be the economic branch with the proceeds of their
sales supporting the clinic and perhaps the Goetheanum too.” Emil agreed; the idea
that the medicines and the publishing company could help finance the Goetheanum
had already been floated during the August finance meeting. He looked out of the
restaurant window at the autumn woods. “Still, the question remains: Where will the
rest of the money come from for everything we envision? We need as much as there
are needles on that tree.” Their discussion continued for the remainder of the trip.

Building castles
The two friends arrived in Dornach and went to their respective lodgings. Then
they met again and, climbing the hill to the Goetheanum with other conference-
goers, chatted along the way. The unfinished building was in front of them, slates
shimmering in the late afternoon sun. The lecture was held in the wood workshop
behind it. As always, Emil felt Steiner’s discussions had a direct relevance to his
preoccupations; he seemed to be discussing the very topic he and Noll talked over
on the way.

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 After the lecture, Emil stepped before the audience and pointed out the necessity
of completing the Goetheanum and the serious lack of funds. “Individual donations
are not enough,” he said. “And there is no help from the State. Perhaps proceeds
from various ventures working together could cover the shortfall.” He mentioned
the medical work and the publishing company as examples. Leinhas, Unger and an
engineer from Stockholm named Ruths found this idea interesting and decided to
pursue it further. They invited Emil and Noll to join them.
On October 3 the discussion continued with Steiner. The idea now expanded
to include lectures and books to spread the idea of threefolding abroad to an
international audience. Emil was keen to continue, but his own question—how to
threefold the existing enterprises—was never addressed again. This is an important
point because, when Steiner was asked later about his biggest contribution to society,
he said without hesitation: The Threefold Social Order.
Emil returned to Stuttgart but Leinhas, Unger, Noll and Ruths remained and
continued their discussion. They wanted everything: an international translating
and publishing house to disseminate sociopolitical treatises and spiritual scientific
writings abroad, a research institute, completion of the Goetheanum by the end of
the year and the ability to raise further funds. How were they going to do all this?
Creating a community bank and harnessing businesses, they thought, would allow
them to initially raise at least two to three million Swiss francs.
Strange how ideas become grandiose so quickly. Perhaps the group got carried
away by a remark Steiner made to the effect that all wealth would be lost if not
put to use right away because of the devaluation he foresaw. “One would need to
do something real with the remaining capital,” he said. They asked Steiner to write a
flyer describing their vision: a banking institution fed by businesses that would offer
investment opportunities to anthroposophical society members. Steiner voiced a
reservation: “Where will you find the capable people to run this?” Then, never one to
block other people’s initiatives, he obliged them with the following memorandum:

On Founding a Bank-like Institution (abbreviated)

A bank-like institution is necessary to serve economic and cultural
enterprises. It will be oriented, in its goals and way of working, to
promoting anthroposophical ideas. It will be different from usual banking
institutions in that it will serve not just financial needs but advise the
initiatives it supports. Thus the banker is less an outside lender and more a
businessman fully versed in the conditions and needs of the enterprise to

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 be financed. Preferred businesses will be those able to work associatively,
allowing people with legitimate talents to find their optimum positions. It
will be essential to sign successful businesses that are able to help fledgling
initiatives whose efforts are to bear fruit at a later date. The bank personnel
must be able to insure that the anthroposophical view of life can translate
into healthy productivity.
In our case anthroposophical initiatives are to be supported, such as
the Goetheanum building which cannot yet support itself but will produce
a good income stream in times to come. Initiatives endowed with healthy
thinking and social sensitivity, able to cooperate in a really fruitful way
within their community, are those our bank will support. …
Looking after one’s money today means supporting enterprises
oriented to the future since these alone can withstand the devastating
forces of the times. … The future depends on a new spirit carrying a variety
of ventures.

By October 15 a group of five people including Leinhas, Boos and Noll, had a
business plan describing a banking trust that would buy up established businesses,
compensating their owners with shares, and paying them salaries as managers of their
former firms under the bank’s Board of Directors. Additional financing would be
obtained by issuing bank shares to individuals and, yes, (somebody will have lobbied
for this), bringing the fundraising Goetheanum Trust back into the Dornach fold,
away from its control in Stuttgart. As managing director, the group hoped to co-opt
a Berne banker named Hirter. Steiner suggested a name for the enterprise, Futurum,
and its projects were listed as follows:
* Completion of the Goetheanum by the end of December
* An international publishing house
* A scientific research institute
* Widespread advertisements for threefold on an international basis
* Acquiring existing businesses able to support Futurum’s aims out of their surplus.

What is a business?
In his memorandum Steiner didn’t exactly say that the bank should acquire
existing businesses. He merely talked about association. The planning group, however,
made two wrong assumptions that have continued to this day. They assumed that
private ownership must be eliminated to ‘neutralize capital’ and thought businesses
should exist to provide funds for cultural endeavors.

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The project has a life of its own
The group began by going abroad to win support and shares for their new
project. They co-opted a willing Emil to help raise money. He did not question them
and, assuming Steiner sanctioned the idea, traveled extensively in the last months
of 1919 to promote it. Later he would ask bitterly: “Why was I so carried away? Why
didn’t I advise him better, given the circumstances and the people involved? I read
his memorandum on founding a bank-like institution and it made perfect sense to
me, but I didn’t stop to examine the group’s interpretation of it, simply assuming
his approval.” Berta said, “You were under pressure to find money and you weren’t
present at the planning.”
When Steiner was asked later why he did not veto the undertaking at the start,
he said one might then have accused him of suppressing a good idea which could
have worked out under better circumstances and whose negative conclusion was not
obvious. He always held Emil responsible, however, even though others developed
the project. Perhaps they were not ideally suited: Unger who distanced himself from
his company in order to teach, Leinhas disliking business, Ruths an engineer, Noll a
physician. Emil recalled Steiner telling him about blind spots in one’s consciousness
and he felt he had succumbed to one of those.
All those morose thoughts came later. For the moment he was riding high on
the success of the school and eager to take on a new project for Steiner and the
Goetheanum.
On December 14 Steiner gave a prophetic talk in which he stated again, “If people
continue thinking in the same way … if they cannot become aware of the relationship
between this world and the spiritual world, we will, within thirty years, have a
devastated Europe. If people can’t relearn and rethink, a moral Noah’s Flood will come
over Europe. …”

A fateful decision
On New Year’s Eve, 1919, at a late night meeting, a group including Emil met with
Steiner in Stuttgart to discuss the formation of a German banking trust, similar to the
one planned in Dornach. Steiner seemed favorable and even suggested a name for it:
the “Kommende Tag Aktiengesellschaft zur Förderung Wirtschaftlicher und Geistiger
Werte” (The Coming Day Shareholding Company for the Promotion of Economic and
Spiritual Values). It was to be a beacon for the future. Emil asked Steiner whether he
would consider heading this venture as Chairman of the Board. The story goes that,

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as Steiner gave his assent, the New Year’s bells began to ring. Emil was emotional; he
even shed a tear. Everyone else was in a celebratory mood, but Steiner remained quiet
and serious.

Three supports lost

In 1920 Emil’s life became harder. He was 44 years old, a time often associated with
midlife crisis, when youthful forces wane and demand transformation. Symbolically,
he lost three of his staunchest supporters under tragic circumstances, each while he
was away. The three represented the threefold pillars of his business—production,
administration and legal/rights.
On July 21 Emil’s foreman, the machinist Hermann Schoeller, who once
accompanied Emil and the suitcase containing a million Marks, was fatally struck
by a train while crossing the tracks on his motorcycle. One hour earlier, Emil had
passed him on the road. He wanted to stop and greet him, but only waved because
his chauffeur was in a hurry. Later he grieved at the thought that, had he stopped, it
might have made all the difference—the train would have been gone.
Later that summer, Maria Kraus, Emil’s personal secretary, died of complications
following a ruptured appendix. August Rentschler rushed her to hospital during
another general strike; there was no electricity and the doctors had to operate
by candlelight. She would have needed ice packs but none was available. “If Herr
Molt were here, he could have gotten some,” she said. Later, her mother mentioned
how conscious Maria was at the moment of death, speaking with awe of the great
experience awaiting her. Emil meanwhile was stuck in Switzerland because of a strike.
He was devastated.
In October, the Waldorf attorney, Dr. Hugo Elsas, suffered a fatal stroke after
chairing a meeting of the Goethe Association. Emil and Marx were in Freiburg at the
time, on their way back to Stuttgart; both men were close friends of his. Elsas had
served the company since its founding as shareholder and member of the Board. He
had wit, was a skilled negotiator and shrewd problem solver and knew Waldorf legal
requirements inside and out.

Building a collegium
In 1920, new teachers joined the school, three of the most gifted coming from
Vienna. Dr. Eugen Kolisko was a young medical doctor with a flair for art and science.
Dr. Karl Schubert, who studied literature, philosophy and languages at the Sorbonne

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in Paris, came to Stuttgart as a language teacher but Steiner soon asked him to take on
the extra lesson work for slow learners. Alexander Strakosch, a philosophy and classical
Greek scholar, was a railway engineer. He became friends with the artist Kandinsky,
then discovered anthroposophy. Strakosch and his wife moved to Stuttgart and he
became a class teacher.

Attacks
The Threefold Association continued its weekly newspaper, the Threefold
Commonwealth, and the public lectures, although now on a more intimate level
with a focus on anthroposophical scientific and philosophical themes rather than
political and economic issues. They hoped thereby to avoid the verbal and written
abuses of 1919, but the strategy didn’t work. Once unleashed, the critics continued,
reaching a crescendo under the Nazis. Why? Who was afraid?
Nobody applauds a prophet in his own land. The politicians did not like Steiner’s
ideas because they threatened their power and the next election. The churches, both
Protestant and Catholic, condemned any talk of a spiritual world that didn’t come
from them. Corporations opposed ideas that might give workers rights and limit
stockholder authority. They hated Steiner’s statements that a person who works solely
for money is no better than a commodity to be bought and sold and that everyone
should have the right to advance in a company.
Other factors might have been rank materialism and retaliation by the power
brokers behind the new world order. Steiner described this in his 1917 “Karma of
Untruthfulness.” Add the agnostic left wing and the nationalist right wing and you
had a fair assortment of slings and arrows, sometimes frightening, sometimes bizarre
and often clumsy. Here are just two examples that included growing postwar
antisemitism:
From Hitler’s stronghold in Munich: (printed in the Münchener Beobachter
newspaper): “This person (Steiner) is still considered the great man in Württemberg
where his friend Hyman (Heymann who facilitated the school) is Minister of the
Interior and his blood relation, Hieber, is Minister of Culture. His associates Unger
and Arenson are preparing the great Hosanna in Stuttgart with which they want to
greet this Jewish neo-Cagliostro. Supported by Jewish professors he portrays himself
as Germany’s savior. … Millions of Marks have already flowed into his bottomless
pockets. …”
From North Germany: “The well-known theosophist charlatan, Dr. Rudolf
Steiner, who has a following of millions of men and women, founded an Association

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for Threefold in the spring of 1919. This was first meant only for a religious-socialist
community but has widened out to include political connections with Bolsheviks
and Communists. … We have it on good authority that the Association has compiled
a list of ‘reactionary’ military officers to be dealt with by the Entente. Mr. Steiner
and cohorts are not averse to spreading lies, emphasizing, however, that one should
refrain from calling the officers thieves, since that could be easily disproved and avoid
accusations such as the maiming of children, which people might find hard to believe.”
Is it better to confront lies or to ignore them? That was
the question then and is now, since Waldorf schools and
anthroposophical medicine are still criticized and still fight
for their existence after nearly a century of beneficial service.
Steiner did not fight back, but his friends did. One young
man, Sigismund von Gleich, even felt compelled to issue a
pamphlet (“Truth and Untruth”) refuting his own father’s
attacks on Steiner.
On January 31 Emil lectured in Stuttgart’s State museum,
refuting slander point for point. He was heckled by a female “Truth and Untruth”
politician, Mathilde Planck, a member of the Württemberg
Assembly and daughter of the noted philosopher Karl Christian Planck. She railed
against Steiner who, for his part, had once mentioned her father in a very positive
light when the latter had fallen into obscurity.

Trips
In 1920 Emil counted 115 days spent in Dornach. The Waldorf limousine with
the chauffeur Herr Stahl provided transportation for himself, the Steiners and many
others. Occasionally the overused car went on strike. February 27 was one of the
more memorable trips. The day began with a festive birthday breakfast for Steiner
in his house. That afternoon, Emil learned his car needed repairs, but del Monte’s
car, parked in Zurich, was available. Emil sent his chauffeur, Herr Stahl, to bring it
to Dornach. Stahl returned late in the afternoon and was rather put out when he
learned he was to drive straight on to Stuttgart. Shortly after leaving Switzerland, in
the middle of nowhere in the gathering dusk, this car broke down too. Emil, worried
because of the Steiners, his passengers. He looked in vain for the problem with the
help of a dim streetlight.
After two hours he found a mechanic able to get the car running again and they
moved on. Then, still on a country road outside their destination, Freiburg, they

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found themselves in a wild snowstorm, with Stahl dodging broken telephone poles
and wires draped over the dark road. It was midnight by the time they finally reached
their hotel. Next day, the car stopped again. This time it was out of petrol, which
Stahl had failed to notice. Emil trudged to the nearest village through the snow in his
new shoes and returned with a petrol can and a runny nose. They eventually arrived
in Stuttgart, barely in time for Steiner’s evening lecture, the first of a two-week series.

Every last ounce of strength

These lectures and meetings saw Emil and friends working sometimes from six
in the morning until three the next morning, which they could have never managed
without Steiner’s example. He never seemed to need more than three or four hours
of sleep. Of course there was a cost: frayed tempers and emotions over issues which,
at more leisure, could have been dealt with easily. “Human life does take its course in
polarities,” Emil told himself, “and where there is so much positive, the negative will
lurk as well.”
Compared with the intensity of a constantly charged atmosphere, Emil’s duty as
commercial judge for Stuttgart was a breeze. His appointment to this post came as a
result of the time spent in the Department of Enterprise, where he was known for his
integrity. The court sessions were infrequent, but each one required at least a day of
preparation and one for the hearings. He enjoyed the job: finding solutions to tangled
personal and business situations.

The Coming Day

The particularly hectic two-week conference mentioned above was Steiner’s
Second Natural Scientific Course, also called the “Warmth Course,” a remarkable
series of lectures providing a different perspective on physics, including ingenious
experiments for teachers and their pupils. The first of these, the “Light Course,” had
been held in late 1919.
A few weeks before, the Coming Day Trust obtained legal status, and on February
13 Emil and Steiner registered the name in Stuttgart. The Board of Directors consisted
of Steiner as Chairman and Emil as Vice Chairman. Leinhas was chosen Secretary, and
Jose del Monte and Carl Unger completed the circle.
The Coming Day was to be a beacon for social initiatives, but getting it off the
ground proved extremely difficult. Preliminary work included interviewing staff and
reviewing prospective companies and planning projects. There was no shortage of
initiatives needing support.

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 Steiner wanted a clinic where doctors and therapists could treat patients
according to anthroposophical medical insights. Emil, Steiner and some of the
physicians looked at potential places in outlying areas: a sanatorium, several resorts,
even a castle near Ludwigsburg. They finally settled on a building complex with
enough space for a clinic and a laboratory in a scenic location in Stuttgart named
Wildermuth.
Next, on a field trip to his birth town, Schwäbisch Gmünd, Emil and his group
found a former mill next to a stream, suitable for producing larger quantities of Noll’s
medicines and personal care products and with plenty of land for growing medicinal
plants. They bought this site at the favorable price of 43,000 Marks. This complex, on
the Möhlerstrasse, later became the Weleda company.
Steiner suggested a scientific research laboratory and a publishing house (he
kept talking about needing a newspaper or ‘organ of communication’). Wolfgang
Wachsmuth undertook to set up the former, while Lily Kolisko, whose husband
taught at the Waldorf School, agreed to run the laboratory. One of her interesting
ideas was developing radiation-resistant cloth by weaving peat moss fibers into
cotton or wool thread. Another was a veterinary preparation made from a coffee
extract for treating bovine hoof and mouth disease. A Darmstadt bank manager,
a dedicated ‘Threefolder,’ offered to manage the fledgling bank. All these ventures
required massive capital investment and organization.

Waldorf Astoria projects

While Emil’s attention was on these new ventures, the Waldorf factory continued
to function fairly efficiently—thanks to the social groundwork he had laid. The
employees were engaged and the various sections interacted well with each other.
Questions such as salary were solved without union intervention. People classed
themselves as work implementers (Arbeitsleister) and work managers (Arbeitsleiter)
not because it was ‘fashionable’ but out of personal initiative. Emil invited students
and professors from the University in Tübingen and elsewhere to seminars at the
Waldorf Astoria. He lectured in his warm and lively manner, describing the ways of
working at the factory and its connection to the school.

Misadventure in Holland
Emil was aware of the deteriorating economic climate with supplies hard to
get and imports and exports threatened by the beginnings of a galloping inflation.
Cigarette sales were down, partly because of Germany’s reduced size—it had forfeited

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significant territories to the Allies—partly because of the rupture in international
relations. At a certain point, Emil made several costly trips to Holland, thinking to
open branches there, but to no avail. There was too much antipathy towards Germany.
He also traveled to Copenhagen with his partner Marx to gauge opportunities there.
Before the war, Waldorf cigarettes were popular in Denmark; now the prospects were
too uncertain and the costs too high.
On his last foray to Holland, Emil thought he had found an agent willing to
distribute Waldorf cigarettes—as long as they originated in neutral Switzerland. For
a while, sales seemed to be going well. Then he noticed the man was paying Swiss
invoices with increasingly devalued German currency. He immediately traveled to
Holland, where he discovered his agent conducting a thriving black market business,
smuggling cigarettes back into Germany at cut-rate prices through a border house
with the front door on the Dutch side and a back door in Germany. This meant, of
course, that Waldorf cigarettes were competing with themselves. Emil put a stop to it,
but had to sell off the large stock at reduced prices.
These visits abroad did have a benefit in that Emil made friends with leading
industrialists and other individuals interested in anthroposophy and the threefold idea.
Among them were directors of the fuel works in Delft, the Verkade biscuit factory,
Hengel’s cotton mill in Utrecht, De Mouchy, the machine factory Storck and the
Twende industrial center. The Haarlem printing press Ensched excited him more than
all the rest. This old publishing house had a wonderful collection of first editions, and
Emil indulged his passion for acquiring rare books.
Emil’s son suffered his long absences from home. At 14, Walter, a slender, gangling
youth, found life as the son of the founder in the new school hard, and listening
to ongoing anthroposophical talk at the dinner table made him rebellious. He often
vacillated between withdrawing and getting into scrapes. Berta, always lenient,
insisted Emil take his son hiking or to the new rollerskating rink whenever possible
and when Walter pleaded with his father to be allowed driving lessons, she supported
that too.

First shocks
During May, something happened which, even in later years, made Emil shudder:
his battle with the teachers. One of them, Herr Stockmeyer, delivered a memorandum
to Steiner from the school Collegium. It recommended certain changes in the school’s
organization and included Emil’s position. The teachers, as bearers of the free spiritual
life, no longer wished to be regarded as employees of a cigarette factory and they

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did not think that Emil, as a non-teacher, should be in their Collegium. Emil was in
Dornach at the time; he actually saw and greeted Stockmeyer, who mentioned not a
word of this to him.
Just before Emil left, Steiner handed him the memorandum. Emil read it; he was
indignant and hurt but erred in not stopping to talk it over with Steiner. Instead, he
traveled back to Stuttgart. ‘Why did I not know about this?’ he asked himself in the
car. ‘Does Berta know? Why did they do this behind my back?’ Over the next hours he
struggled with himself. ‘Take hold, practice equanimity,’ he told himself, and the more
he tried, the less he was able to do it. Stahl, the chauffeur, knew something was amiss
but couldn’t engage Emil in conversation. By the time he reached Stuttgart he was
fuming and emotional. He asked Stahl to drive him straight to the school and walked
into the teachers’ meeting, putting the letter on the table and demanding answers.
The teachers looked flustered and embarrassed. Hahn, Emil’s former Waldorf Astoria
educational coordinator, withdrew into himself. Stockmeyer got up and escorted
Emil out. “Could you not have included me in this?” asked Emil, angrily. “I thought we
were colleagues. I have a good mind to fire the lot of you and I certainly won’t attend
your meetings anymore.” With that he stormed away home, leaving the teachers in a
state of panic.
Berta was horrified. “Did you know this?” asked Emil. “I found out yesterday
through Olga Leinhas,” she answered. “The Collegium called in her husband for
a financial meeting and the discussion turned to the appropriateness of a school
dependent on a cigarette factory.” “Why didn’t they have the common decency to
discuss this with me?” he asked. “They didn’t know how to talk to you,” she said.
“They really like and admire you, but perhaps they feel your problem-solving style
is too businesslike. After all, my darling, they are members of the cultural sphere,
which, as Steiner says, needs autonomy over its own affairs.” By now Emil was crushed.
He enjoyed being with the teachers and, by acting irrationally, had jeopardized his
relations with them. Berta tried to ease his distress. “You don’t really want to be seen
as their boss. Try to find a way to move the finances out of your domain and give them
what they want.” “I will talk it over with Leinhas,” said Emil, still feeling ashamed, “but
I wish he had warned me. And I will ask Steiner for help. He is, after all, the director
of the school.”
Of course, in an ideal world, the Threefold Association should have been the place
where teachers, representing the cultural life, could have met Emil, the representative
of the economic domain, with someone representing the rights sphere in the middle,
resolving the issue, but the Association had itself moved entirely into the cultural

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sphere. The internal political/rights domain was dormant, actually never developed
and could not serve as mediator of that little community, so Emil had to work it out
for himself.

The Waldorf School Association

As usual, Berta took on the role of mediator, looking at both sides and calming the
waters. She allowed Emil, in thinking it over, to understand that the school was asking
for a new constitution. He knew his company would not be able to carry the robustly
expanding school’s financial burden much longer, especially since children from
outside already far outnumbered the ‘Waldorf ’ children. Emil relented, apologized to
the teachers for his behavior and urged the creation of a Waldorf School Association,
composed of parents, teachers and friends, to oversee and protect the school, care
for its finances and help spread its educational ideas. Although he would miss them,
he said, he relinquished his claim on attending Collegium meetings. They in turn
assured him that both he and Berta were the true patrons of the school and that he
should continue accompanying Steiner on his rounds through the classrooms. Steiner
further helped heal the wound by his continuing warm recognition of Emil’s founding
impulse. After that and until the end of his life, Emil and the teachers developed an
abiding relationship of friendship and trust, free of the legal and economic bonds.
The first Waldorf School Association meeting took place on May 19, 1920, and it
became vital to the school’s future. The relationship between the Waldorf factory and
the school was put on a new footing. In a five-year contract, the factory committed
itself to paying full tuition for all factory workers’ children and children of the workers’
relatives. After every school year, another class was added, up to the twelfth grade,
peaking at 1100 children and over 60 teachers. The teachers settled in to a familiarity
with their task (always, of course, under the guidance of Steiner), and some of them
travelled out to advise parent communities in other cities on how to start a school.
New schools opened in Berlin, Hamburg, Hannover, Kassel, Breslau and Dresden and
further afield in Switzerland, Holland, England, Norway and the United States.
Although Emil resolved his struggle with the teachers, his self-confidence had
suffered a blow. Soon he found himself in a second quandary.

A circle of responsible people

Steiner became concerned that, with all the energy going into practical ventures,
the central spiritual-philosophical focus might get lost. He suggested creating a circle
of representatives from the various institutions to nurture commonality through

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anthroposophical ideas and to prevent groups from becoming estranged from one
another. Immediately people became split as to what the focus of this circle should be.
Some teachers wanted to study educational issues. The ‘young’ crowd, including a few
doctors, wanted dynamic and experiential gatherings and considered the old ‘official’
Arenson-Unger group too intellectual and theoretical.
Leinhas put himself in the middle, trying to be a mediator. One day, he brought
the Swiss Ernst Uehli, editor of the Stuttgart newsletter Threefold Social Order to
Emil. Although Uehli was a year older than Emil, he supported
the ‘young’ crowd’s complaints about the stodgy Arenson-
Unger branch and their desire for a livelier format, asking
for Emil’s endorsement. Emil’s affinity with members of the
‘young’ crowd was increasing, yet he said he and Berta had
derived benefit from the Arenson-Unger group and he would
never want to cross them. Knowing Emil was about to drive
to Dornach, Uehli then asked whether he might take a letter
Ernst Uehli from the ‘young’ group to Steiner. Emil reluctantly agreed to
be mailman but said he would not take sides. Unfortunately, both Unger and the
rather hot-headed young Dr. Otto Palmer asked for a lift to Dornach. So here was
Emil, sitting in the car, the letter burning in his pocket, not knowing what to say (he
had become cautious in the aftermath of the encounter with the teachers). In the end
he said nothing. Three times unwise: for not refusing the letter, for not taking Unger
aside and alerting him and for not leaving the letter in Steiner’s letter box. They
arrived in Dornach and dropped off Unger. Emil introduced Dr. Palmer to Steiner and
handed over the letter. Next day Steiner called him in to a meeting with a very upset
Unger, who felt betrayed by his friend, thinking him one of the party opposed to his
methods. Emil tried to explain, but could not undo the clumsy situation.
When Steiner and the new circle of representatives finally met, Emil went gladly,
believing everyone would meet on an elevated plane, resolving issues and seeing each
other’s good intentions. He was dreadfully taken aback when the combined family
Arenson-Benkendoerfer-Unger literally rose against him, accusing him of having
incited the teachers and younger group, particularly Dr. Palmer, against them. Uehli
and Leinhas, who could have defended him, let it happen and said nothing. Emil was
unable to stay to the end. He left the meeting, shocked and upset.

A defining moment
When Emil saw him again, Steiner rebuked him for his emotional reaction at
the meeting. He said Emil should become more sensitive to other people’s feelings

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and that in the case of Unger and Arenson, antagonisms remained from a previous
lifetime. Since they were on the topic, Emil asked about Leinhas. Between Leinhas
and Emil, said Steiner, there was no past karma. “Well, there is now,” remarked Emil.
“It’s hard working with him, although the finances have never been in better shape.”
“Trust, trust, trust,” said Steiner. “More warmth, more temperament, more humor,”
sighed Emil wistfully. Then Steiner began to talk to Emil in a very intimate fashion,
sketching out past lives with achievements, trials and debts carried over into this
incarnation.
At this personally significant and intimate interview with Steiner, which took
place on two beautiful June days in Dornach, Emil, for whom this was a defining
moment in his life, realized how much he still had to learn. Steiner gave him an
exercise to help overcome his feelings of constraint and gave him a task which he
hoped would help the struggling threefold idea, so dear to Emil’s heart. He appointed
him “Curator” of the Threefold Association, telling Emil how, once, years before, he
had given Marie Steiner the same designation, hoping she and a few others in his
esoteric class would become custodians for new art forms. It was a designation more
suited to an art exhibit, but Emil understood that he was meant to open as many
hearts as possible for a masterpiece: fostering interest for threefold in the world. This
meeting was a great comfort to Emil, who felt highly honored and as though treading
on sacred ground.
On returning to Stuttgart, he described his unusual visit to Berta. She understood
the curator ‘title,’ but he was unable to explain it to anyone else. In fact, it provoked
feelings of jealousy. The new director of the Threefold Association, Walter Kuehne,
later wrote in his memoirs that he went to Leinhas, asking him to explain this
‘elevation.’ Leinhas, instead of supporting his Waldorf boss and Threefold Board
colleague, said, “I suppose it means that there is now a curator and we are two sub-
curators standing half a step below him.” Such remarks must have made it difficult for
Emil to work productively within the Association.

Emil as curator, making links

He turned his attention to leading personalities, business people and politicians,
not campaigning any more but rather explaining nuances and attributes of the
threefold idea in various social settings. He had tea with Baron Neurath, former Chief
of Staff to the king who had facilitated Emil’s “Kommerzienrat,” and Neurath became
an interested supporter. He also met with the German Foreign Minister, Walther
Simons. Dr. Simons was familiar with threefold, having heard from a French journalist

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that there would be order in the world only when Rudolf Steiner’s threefold ideas
were implemented. A warm friendship developed between the two.
Not long afterwards and as a result of this first meeting, Dr. Simons gave a great
political speech in Stuttgart, outlining the moderate suggestions he planned to bring
to the coming reparation negotiations in London which everyone was dreading. After
his speech, he had lunch with the Molts, meeting Steiner at their house and visiting
the school. The next day the local left-wing newspaper ran a malicious article about
the ‘opulent meal’ which the diplomat had enjoyed in the house of the capitalist.

Finding strength within

Emil’s trouble with his friends made him extremely nervous. When asked to give
a presentation at the anthroposophical circle of responsible people, he was petrified.
He, who had no trouble outwitting tobacco adversaries, felt exceedingly vulnerable
faced with his own anthroposophical group. For hours he worked on his presentation.
On the day, which was also Berta’s birthday, he got palpitations, especially since she
would not be coming with him (being sick in bed). He lay down in the afternoon
with a cramp in his heart because of the fear of failure, of being criticized. Then he
suddenly remembered the terror of his confirmation, how he, as a fourteen-year-old
boy, got stuck facing the congregation. He began to appeal to his higher self and to his
angel and became calmer. Then, again, he was despondent, feeling everything he ever
learned to be forgotten. Berta said gently, “It’s not lost, it’s in you. Take a walk in the
evening air and you’ll find it again.” He went out along the Kanonenweg, trying to look
at himself objectively. He wondered if antipathies were affecting him but wanted to
prove that not only Unger and Leinhas had thoughts. “It is a service to Dr. Steiner,” he
said to himself. Then he stopped at the parapet, looking down over the city and was
calm again, willing his fearful heart to be strong. Suddenly he felt, standing behind
or beside him, a spiritual being, instructing him, and that evening he was successful.
His presentation went well and the applause was overwhelming. Unger said it was
first-rate and Uehli was exceedingly cordial. Stockmeyer thought the lecture should
be published.
Emil went home walking on air. It had been a magical day and he wanted to share
the end of it with Berta. “You are my helper and guardian angel,” he told her, “with
whom I shall be united beyond all graves. Without you, I could not have done this
tonight.” His birthday gift to her was a promise of more time together and everlasting
love and gratitude for her support.

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The Swiss Futurum
On May 16, 1920, a small group launched the Swiss holding company Futurum
with a capital of 650,000 Swiss francs. The Board included Dr. Steiner, the Swiss banker
Hirter, whose wife was on the Goetheanum Trust committee, and a few others. It
was a troubled venture from the start. The first hurdle was finding a general manager,
but no one was prepared to take on the job until Steiner’s personal assistant, Roman
Boos, agreed to it although he was an attorney by training and had no prior business
experience.
Futurum was based on the abstract notion that businesses bought on the open
market could become income sources. Among these businesses were some that
came without directors; others had directors suspicious of or opposed to Futurum
principles. A successful knitwear factory in Basel was purchased from an elderly
owner glad to be rid of it. That meant Futurum had a factory without someone to
run it. Then it acquired a Zurich fruit company that did have a director but he was
incompetent, causing major losses due to spoilage. Near Interlaken, a small cane and
pipe factory came available and a small glue factory joined where Dr. Lagoutte made
Steiner’s paste that formed the base for the Goetheanum’s cupola paintings.
One of the ventures needing Futurum’s support was Dr. Ita Wegman’s clinic
and laboratory in Arlesheim near Dornach. Steiner, very involved with this medical
work, designed logos and packaging for the products made in the laboratory by the
pharmacist, Dr. Oskar Schmiedel.

The Coming Day

The Coming Day developed organically, with businesses and farms run by
anthroposophical friends eager to work together. The preparations took longer than
expected—before the war everything would have been easier. Emil sometimes lost
heart seeing people taxed beyond their ability, especially when reality fell short of the
ideal. Steiner pushed them hard. ‘He is probably aware of urgencies we know nothing
about,’ thought Emil who wrote in his diary: “Not just Kuehn and Leinhas, we all are
at the end of our strength. We wanted to get up early today but couldn’t manage
it, while Dr. Steiner was up and doing some of our work as well as his own. What
enormous energy he has—it can only come from spiritual sources.”
The official inauguration took place on September 16, 1920, with Steiner as
Chairman of the Board, Emil as Vice Chairman, and former ministerial assistant Hans
Kuehn as General Director. Participating business owners willingly exchanged their

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private shares for shares in the trust, receiving salaries instead of dividends. They were
trying to avoid conventional capitalistic practices and to create a model for what
Steiner described as the future age of brotherhood. It was an untried paradigm, run
by a very small group and crammed into approximately 36 months in the middle of
the worst social and financial upheaval in the history of the country.
Dr. Rudolf Maier and his brothers joined with their flour mill and lumber
company; Carl Unger brought in his factory of precision instruments. The former
wanted to increase the scope of their business, the latter to free himself from financial
concerns in order to devote more time to anthroposophical pursuits. Jose del Monte
joined with his box factory. The young doctors Palmer and Wallach and Ernst Uehli,
publisher of Threefold Commonwealth, became involved. Stock in the holding
company was sold only to members and friends of the Anthroposophical Society.
Within an incredibly short time, one million Marks had been raised—people were
delighted to invest in such a worthwhile cause.
The Stuttgart Waldorf School outgrew its premises in the first year and Emil
managed, through Coming Day, to buy a large adjacent piece of land costing 500,000
Marks. It was an old quarry that had to be filled in. A smaller piece of land on the
school’s southwest border came up for sale, and Emil purchased that with his own
money. Later, he gifted it to the school.
It is now possible to look back with sympathetic appreciation at the courageous
attempts of these pioneers and how hard it was for them. Afterwards they felt
inadequate and were at odds with each other because they felt they had failed. But in
fact, seen from our perspective now, they were quite successful, during that worst of
economic times, because what they initiated flourished later.

Steiner has a headache

Once, while in Dornach, Marie Steiner wanted a break and asked Emil to drive her
and her friend Miss Waller to a scenic area of Switzerland for a few days. Emil booked
the Grand Hotel at Lucerne, from where they made excursions in the mountains,
looking down between pine trees to the winding lake where William Tell confronted
his Austrian oppressor Gessler. After a few days, Steiner joined them and they drove
to Interlaken and Bern, visiting the Futurum cane factory in Boeningen. Marie found
Boeningen charming and later, as a widow, withdrew there. In Bern, the government
and administrative center of Switzerland, they transacted some Futurum business.
Before returning to Dornach, Emil had a glimpse of Steiner the human being, instead
of Steiner the invincible. During a tea break, he caught him whispering to Marie that

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he had a terrible headache. ‘How strange,’ thought Emil. ‘No one ever wonders how
Steiner is feeling and always assumes him to be perfectly well.’

A grand festival
On September 26,1920, the Goetheanum building opened for use. Two weeks
of celebrations, lectures, presentations and performances by the brightest and most
erudite members of the Movement were held in the great hall of columns and
etched windows. The only thing missing was the centerpiece, Steiner’s still-unfinished
sculpture. Emil was in awe of the atmosphere and the international personalities
gathered there. He was familiar with every detail and marveled at how much had
been achieved. Steiner asked him at the last minute whether he wouldn’t mind giving
three lectures; someone had canceled at the last minute. He suggested speaking about
the entrepreneur in the past, present and future. Emil couldn’t say no but felt he
had neither the time nor the source material to acquit himself properly. He managed
the first two sessions well enough, but at the end of his last presentation, Steiner
commented in a way that seemed to make what Emil said sound absurd but kindly
added that the subject was a difficult one and he would have needed more time to
prepare.
A number of listeners, especially young ones, warmly applauded Emil, but
afterwards in the canteen, his former comptroller Benkendoerfer criticized him and,
when Emil flushed, loudly called over to him, “Don’t be so emotional.” That was a trial
made even worse when Emil happened to hear that Unger was preparing a world
economic congress in Vienna without inviting or consulting him. How odd that the
one who administered the money for the building was made to feel so small in it.

Goetheanum opening

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 Emil was relieved to return to Stuttgart and to Berta, although in a fractured
state. “Don’t be so upset,“ said Berta. “What do they matter?” “I think they just see me
as a despicable capitalist” he replied. “Do I have to give over the Waldorf Astoria and
become a teacher to be on a par with them?” She told him he was overstrained, that
Steiner would never wish to hurt him. He agreed that his basic weakness was taking
offense at perceived slights, then letting it eat at him and exploding instead of sorting
it out in a reasonable way. “It will take time,” he said. “What we are doing is so intense
that emotions will flare up. I must learn to reflect more and move on.”
Easier said than done. Having already given away much of his self-determination
and being in service to a greater authority were bound to make him vulnerable. In his
quest for equality with the others and figuring that he would always be an outsider
unless he gave his company into the Coming Day Trust, he set off to convince his
partners. He started with Marx, who was having the time of his life in the lovely spa
town of Baden Baden. Marx, ever the pragmatist, told him he was crazy and that
he would not hear of such a thing. Emil gritted his teeth and vowed to pursue it. He
regaled Marx with glory tales of the wonderful Coming Day enterprises that were
thriving in spite of the worsening economy. These were the ventures in the Coming
Day by the end of the year:

The head office, Champignystrasse 17

The Publishing Division
The Book Sales Mail Order Division
Press and Offset Press
Dr. Unger Machine Factory in Hedelfingen
Slate Manufacturing in Sondelfingen
del Monte Box Factory, Stuttgart, with branches in Zuffenhausen and
Weilimdorf
Ruethling Boarding House, Stuttgart
Coming Day Branch, Hamburg
Guldesmühle Grain Mill, Saw Mill and Agricultural Estate in Dischingen
Five further large agricultural estates in different townships
Clinic Therapeutic Institute
Clinic Therapeutic Institute Production, Schwäbisch Gemünd (later
Weleda)
Scientific Research Institute, Stuttgart
Scientific Research Institute, Biological Division, Stuttgart

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More were to join the following year. Regarding the farming initiatives, the Coming
Day prospectus said the following:

… In future … people will have to learn to care for the earth again, with
intuition based on a love of nature and its vital forces, and not just strive for
the highest yield. … People today are not even aware of the great dangers
facing farming. The instinctive ability to care for the life of the land is being
lost as the older generation dies out; animals and plants are becoming
weaker. Modern methods based on the materialistic model cannot counter
this degeneration.

The attempt to bring Threefold to Upper Silesia

One time more the threefold idea was presented to the public, this time in Upper
Silesia, a resource-rich area in eastern Germany. The Entente had debated whether it
should remain in Germany or be given to Poland.
Upper Silesia was populated by a mix of Germans and Poles. Given the area’s
contested status after the war, the two ethnic groups were at each other’s throats.
The Entente powers agreed to settle the ownership question by a plebiscite but the
likelihood was that, whatever the outcome, conflict would continue since neither
group was willing to be subjugated by the other.
In November 1920, an anthroposophist named Moritz Bartsch from Breslau,
the main city of Silesia, asked Steiner what he thought about trying to implement
the Threefold Commonwealth in that region. Success would give the two groups the
possibility of coexistence independent of ties to either Poland or Germany. With
Steiner’s consent, a tremendous effort was made to realize this goal by friends in
eastern Germany and by the Association. The majority of the population voted in
favor of it, but the Entente moved ahead nonetheless, split the region and awarded
most of the coal-rich territory to Poland. The animosity between the two ethnic groups
continued but, what was worse, now Steiner was branded a traitor by conservative
Germans for plotting to make Upper Silesia independent.

1921, the troubled year

The Coming Day spent its startup money in less than a year. Emil found it hard to
contend with its sheer diversity. The Waldorf School was expanding fast and needed
a building, the Guldesmühle had unsold wood, Dr. Husemann had to find doctors
and staff for his new clinic and how would Noll’s remedies be sold? The Threefold

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Association still drew a surprising number of people to its lectures. It needed cash
infusions for the publishing company, for an offset press, a prospectus and Marie
Steiner’s lending library for the books from Steiner’s old headquarters in Berlin. Sales
in Unger’s machine factory were down due to the recession and probably his absence.
Creative projects, born of Steiner’s ideas, vied for attention. Dr. Lili Kolisko’s foot-
and-mouth remedy, tested on infected animals on one particular farm, restored them
all to health. (This project was stifled before it could be introduced on the market—a
new federal law mandated compulsory slaughter of all infected animals.) Her other
projects were ambitious. She and her colleagues dreamed of an international academy
for experimental scientific work including sections for chemistry, geology, astronomy,
embryology, botany, meteorology and zoology. There was talk of new light-resistant
plant colors and a machine to activate forces similar to magnetism and electricity.
This, Steiner predicted, if successful, would surpass Einstein’s discoveries.
All this, while wonderful and inspiring, was completely unwieldy and made Emil
feel uncharacteristically depressed. Perhaps influenced by Leinhas, Steiner himself
was critical of what he termed ‘the Stuttgart System,’ the bureaucracy put in place by
office staff lacking expertise trying to oversee everything, yet getting bogged down in
detail and ‘morning mail conferences.’ The Administrative Council (Steiner, Leinhas,
del Monte and Unger) often appointed Emil to the unenviable task of chastising or
firing people. In early 1921, a hapless manager, the second in a year, was let go. ‘How
long will it take until these new initiatives pay for themselves?’ Emil worried, thinking
back to how long it took to build his own company in the best of times. “A mill, a
machine company and a box company can’t finance them all. … I feel beaten,” he said
despondently, “with no peace, no rest and twenty-four hour days.”
“I must say,” said Berta, “you brought it on yourself. You didn’t allow time to
recover between the effort of the school founding and the next big venture.” “What
could I do?” he asked. “The money question was too urgent.” “You could have let
others take it further,” she said. “But that would have been against your nature. I tell
you what, let’s talk to our friend del Monte. It may help you to see more clearly.” Their
neighbor was glad to oblige. They tallied up the positives: terrific people such as Dr.
Werr, the veterinarian, and the Maiers with their firm. The projects were good and
bound to yield results over time. The group of entrepreneurs consisted mostly of old
friends, dedicated to their ideals. On the negative side, financial conditions in the
country were deteriorating and none of them thought they had the means necessary
to carry the projects through. They decided that adding the Waldorf Astoria company
to Coming Day would solve most of their problems.

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Attempts to bring Waldorf Astoria into the fold
Emil worried about the possible destabilization such a transfer might cause, but
desperately wanted his business to be truly representative of anthroposophy. Berta
said it would be a good thing for the firm to be sheltered under Coming Day leadership
and for him to move on to new projects, such as developing Noll’s medicines. She
believed if Waldorf Astoria joined Coming Day, it would allow her husband to breathe
again. The thought was amazing to him … no longer bound to tobacco and the whole
circle he had been traveling in for so long.
Emil put renewed effort into the transfer of his company. At the end of January, he
traveled to Hamburg to talk with Marx and the Abraham brothers. Marx’s son Hans
came to meet him at the train, looking dapper in tweeds. Hans had long wanted to
join Waldorf Astoria, and Emil had promised but procrastinated; he may have wanted
his own son to take over from him, which now he was sure wouldn’t happen. Emil
told Hans about the planned merger with a Trust holding future promise and then,
taking Hans to sit in on the meeting with his father and the Abrahams, described in
detail some of the interesting projects of the Coming Day, all having the potential to
stand against a fluctuating market. He brought gifts—samples of hair lotion from the
laboratory, small knife sharpeners from Unger’s factory and cheese from the farm.
His partners listened with interest but said they preferred the Waldorf Astoria
to stay as it was. “It is doing well,” they said, and besides they did not believe in any
long-range problem with the economy. Emil argued, frustrated, wondering how
astute business people could have such unreal hopes of peace and prosperity. Then he
stopped, deciding to continue another time, and joined the Abrahams for dinner in
their villa, helping them celebrate a children’s birthday ball.

Foreign Minister Simons

Still in January he met with his friend, the Foreign Minister Simons, bringing him
a prospectus of the Coming Day. Simons wanted to know how the project was coming
along since their last conversation. Emil said it had great potential although at present
it was hard-pressed for capital. Simons asked how much Steiner was involved in the
project. He described his impression of him as a deeply thoughtful and knowledgeable
man of high morals and a love of humanity. “I wonder if he’s quite consequent though,”
he said. “Oh he’s consequent enough,” answered Emil. “If someone asks him a question,
he’ll do the research and come back on it almost immediately. He just does things
differently. Look how practical his suggestions were for Upper Silesia.”

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 Simons read the flyer Emil handed him and nodded. “That country will indeed
only work if the political, economic and cultural aspects are treated separately.
Otherwise I foresee a period of bloodshed,” he said, adding that he had suggested a
similar solution for Upper Silesia to the government in Berlin but found absolutely no
interest. “The social question is dead and buried there. They talk only about economy
and what matters to them is competition. In a few days I’m off to London for the
final reparation negotiations, but I wonder whether I even belong in those circles
anymore.” He promised his assistance and took his leave of Emil.
Later, Emil came home furious, with a newspaper under his arm. He showed
Berta a scathing article by the rabble-rouser Adolf Hitler regarding Simons and his
negotiations in England. Hitler wrote, “Simons, the intimate friend of Rudolf Steiner,
spokesman for the Threefold Commonwealth…,” describing it as a “Jewish method of
destroying peoples’ normal state of mind” and continuing: “What is the driving force
behind all this? The Jews, friends of Dr. Rudolf Steiner, who is a friend of the mindless
Simons.”

A Holland excursion
“We need a break,” said Berta. “Why don’t we join Dr. Steiner on his lecture
tour to Holland? You’ve been instrumental in promoting him to your Netherlands
friends, you will be a good help.” Emil was glad to get away. He was pleased to meet his
industrialist colleagues in Amsterdam and Utrecht, and Berta, in great form, charmed
everyone. Steiner lectured in The Hague, in Utrecht and to students and professors
at Delft. They went to Leyden and Rotterdam. Emil intended returning home but
everyone, including Steiner, begged them to stay and they were glad to do so. Emil
promoted the Waldorf School, talking about expansion plans and the need for an
international Waldorf School Association independent of state and business control.
A group from The Hague distributed leaflets put out by the Stuttgart Waldorf School
Association and within two years had their own school up and running.
Berta, meanwhile, mentioned Steiner’s 60th birthday to a few of the ladies and
together they organized a splendid celebration for him. Steiner reciprocated with
an extra lecture, describing spiritual research as an extension of modern science. He
discussed education as a field of research, as art and as a moral force. Then, perhaps
because he was among the internationally-minded Dutch, he dwelled on the necessity
of an international school association, expanding on Emil’s theme, saying that true
spiritual life needs society and can be created only by people interested in community.
“Let us move toward the future,” he said, “… where freedom in education is striven

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for, … in which the powers of the State are limited to what lies within the scope of
responsibility of each person of voting age, a future in which economic life is structured
according to the principles of association … freedom, equality, brotherhood. … The
source of misunderstanding is the tacit assumption that the State must be given sole
determination in matters pertaining to all three spheres of society. … ” Much lively
discussion followed his talk, both how to start an international association and how
to develop a training for teachers. Emil and Berta were animated and happy.

Still negotiating the transfer

Early in March, Marx came down from Hamburg. Steiner was in Stuttgart, staying
at the anthroposophical branch house which Olga Leinhas ran. Emil invited Steiner
and Marx to lunch to discuss the possible transfer of Waldorf Astoria shares to the
Trust. At first, Steiner was rather stiff in the company of this Hamburg businessman,
but after an excellent soup served by Berta, he warmed to the theme and to Marx‘s
good nature. He said it would be fine if the Waldorf Astoria were in the Coming Day
although he feared the Coming Day would not be able to hold it for very long. He
spoke of the necessity of having one’s money in a stable situation independent of
market fluctuations and of enterprises working together, that a group of companies
could achieve much more than a single venture. To Emil, this was Georgii’s idea of the
United Cigarette Works taken to a higher level. Marx looked thoughtful and was not
opposed. When they parted, he shook Steiner’s hand warmly and sent greetings to
his wife.
However, when Emil went to Hamburg a few weeks later to again broach the
topic with Marx and the Abrahams, he achieved nothing except for a pleasant social
evening. He talked with young Hans Marx about his future position at the Waldorf
Astoria and invited him to come back with him and spend the Easter holiday in
Stuttgart. Hans was delighted. They enjoyed a pleasant train ride together. Emil told
him, “When your father and the others decide on the transfer, you can come and join
us. I’ll take you on a tour of the Coming Day enterprises, to put you in the picture.”
Hans said he could not wait to get involved. Arriving in Stuttgart, they were met
by not-quite-fifteen-year-old Walter who, to impress Hans, drove the family car to
the station. “Does your mother know about this?” Emil asked severely. Of course she
did not and Emil, vexed, almost walked home. Walter, looking sheepish, cajoled and
pleaded, saying his driving instructor was very happy with him, allowing him to take
the car all over town, and in the end he drove them flawlessly up the winding road to
Spittlerstrasse, making his father grin in spite of himself.

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 Easter that year was an extended family affair. Walter and his cousin, Lisa, went to
the youth service in the morning. Lisa’s grandmother came for lunch. Berta organized
an Easter egg hunt in the garden for the neighbor’s children; Lisa, Hans Marx and
Walter hid the eggs, with the dog Carex on sentry watch. The next afternoon they all
went to a matinee of Wagner’s Parsifal, except for Hans who, during breakfast had a
letter delivered to him from Frankfurt (obviously from a young lady) that transformed
him entirely. “I won’t be able to stay for the tour,” he told Emil. “I’m urgently needed
in Frankfurt, but I promise to come back soon.” Walter teased him unmercifully, but
Hans could not be deterred. He thanked everyone and dashed off on the next train.
A few days later, Emil took Walter with him on a business trip to Dresden and
Leipzig. After their return to Stuttgart, Marx phoned, saying he and the Abrahams
talked things over and were ready to negotiate the transfer of their shares to the
Coming Day.
Heartened by this development, Emil redoubled his efforts to win financial
support for the Coming Day and the school. He went to the annual Frankfurt trade
show with pamphlets and was on the program with a presentation and a short
film. Back in Stuttgart, he took an important visiting official from the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs around the factory, saying it would soon be part of an exciting new
consortium. He met with the Minister for Food, Herr Schall, concerning the Coming
Day farms and, together with Professor Blume, renegotiated loans with the banks.
Then he and Berta went back to Holland where he gave a lecture about Coming Day
to the Industry Club in Amsterdam, later meeting with various potential investors,
hoping to find someone willing to make a one-time donation of 500,000 Marks. This
time they spent a few days enjoying museums and other sights and spent a leisurely
afternoon on the windy beach at Scheveningen.
Back in Stuttgart, he found Leinhas poring over the Coming Day books. He sat
down with him and worked on the numbers until three in the morning, factoring in the
future contributions of Waldorf Astoria. Compounding his worries, Benkendoerfer,
the new Coming Day general manager, came to him privately, telling of his difficulty
with its complexities—could Emil possibly help? Emil, not one to hold a grudge,
arranged a meeting for him with Unger, del Monte, Leinhas and himself. The group
agreed to support and regularly advise Benkendoerfer in his decision-making. Emil in
particular worked at organizing his office more efficiently.

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The sacrifice
May 18, the Executive Council of Coming Day—Emil, Benkendoerfer and
Leinhas—met with Marx, the Abrahams and their associates Stern and Asten to
negotiate the transfer of Waldorf Astoria shares into Coming Day. The bargaining was
critical, with both sides giving up several times until they finally agreed. It was a simple
exchange: Waldorf shares for Coming Day shares with Marx as a new member of the
Board. They also resolved on a further large-share offering. After that they adjourned,
in heavy rain, to the Marquardt Hotel, that favorite place for celebrating successful
transactions, followed by a tour of the school for the benefit of Stern and Asten.
Emil was happy that Marx would now be supervising the factory, but disappointed
because Leinhas was opposed to taking Hans Marx into the company. “I don’t know
how to face him,’ sighed Emil. “I promised him the job after keeping him waiting for
so long and it was probably his doing that his father and the others decided on the
transaction.” “You’re not the decision-maker anymore,” said Berta. “Let his father work
it out.”
With Coming Day stable for the moment, Emil turned his sights to Switzerland
to help the Futurum group and to facilitate a replacement for the Futurum director
and editor Roman Boos who was suffering a nervous breakdown due to strain. Emil
ordered a passport for Mrs. Boos (the niece of his former Patras bosses Hamburger)
and drove them both to the Waldorf Astoria spa at Rietenau where they settled
the patient and got him medical care. He also found a double replacement for his
editing work: two dynamic people, Willy Storrer and Edgar Duerler, both in their
mid-twenties. Storrer, a former editor of a Stuttgart daily paper had a large circle of
friends, artists Willy Baumeister and Oskar Schlemmer of Bauhaus fame among them.
The new editors set up office and living quarters at the ‘Friedwart’ a charming
chalet in anthroposophical style, halfway up the Goetheanum hill, and it became a
social magnet. The Friedwart still exists and is now a bed and breakfast for visitors to
the Goetheanum. It has an inimitable mystique.

Walter
In July 1921 during a Sunday walk through the fields east of Stuttgart, Walter told
his father that he did not want to continue school. “It’s too difficult,” he said, “and
besides, you left school at fourteen and I’m already fifteen.” At first, Emil would not
hear of it. “I did not leave school at fourteen. I left Stuttgart at fourteen and went to
the Lyceum in Calw, the best schooling I ever had.” His son drove the bargain harder.
“It’s not that I’ve given up on school,” he said. “I am willing to go back, but now I want

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a break and I’d rather be working with you. You don’t have to pay me. But if I do
well, perhaps you can buy me a car. Wouldn’t it be nice,” he added quickly, “if we had
our own family car, since yours is mostly gone with Herr Stahl?” ‘Oh, the blackguard,’
thought Emil. ‘I wonder how often I’d get to see that car. …’ He told Walter he would
think about this during the holidays. That Sunday walk was a rare occasion. For once,
Emil had no meetings or obligations. He spent a quiet evening with Berta. “I love our
busy life and the tasks we are given, but sometimes,” alluding to his conversation with
Walter, “I wish we could run off and sell Dr. Noll’s flu medicine in America!” “So does
Walter,” she said, thinking how often he had been asked to ‘be good,’ and how good
he really was. “He’s a late developer, but now he’s in the middle of puberty and needs
his father.”
That summer temperatures were unusually high in Stuttgart and Emil was happy
to spend the days in his cool office with Walter. After work, they often collected Berta
and Felix for a walk in the woods or by the river. When even the evenings became
intolerable, the Molts decided to go to the mountains for a few weeks. Emil drove
Steiner with Dr. Palmer to visit Boos, who still needed care. Then, after dropping
Steiner off at the train station in Freiburg, he met Berta, Walter and Felix, who arrived
in the Hanomag car, Walter driving. Wait …, was Emil so taken by Walter’s proposal
that he could not even wait until Christmas to buy him the latest thing? Hanomag
automobiles did not survive for many years, but they were lovely, small and affordable
and nicknamed ‘bread loaf ’ because of their shape.
They drove through Munich to the scenic Tegernsee, a lake nestled in a ring of
mountains. Walter and Felix explored on bicycles, their parents in the open car. At
one point, a Russian intelligence agent tracked down Emil in his search for a Citizen
Molt, who had gone missing. He believed Emil to be a relative, knowing him as a
follower of Steiner and therefore probably a Communist. Emil told him roundly to
get lost; he was clear regarding his stand on Bolshevism. Except for that, the Molts
remained unrecognized and undisturbed, enjoying a relaxed holiday. They attended
a rural theatre followed by a village dance and savored freshly-harvested fruits and
vegetables. Berta especially loved visiting with other families vacationing there. They
played parlor games in the evening, took moonlit boat rides on the lake and one rosy
morning, climbed a hill to watch the sun rise. Walter promised Emil he would go back
and complete school in a year.

Promotions
A fortnight later, Emil returned to Stuttgart alone, leaving the others to enjoy
themselves for a few days more. On September 4, during an evening lecture by

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Steiner, he was surprised to learn that Leinhas had been appointed as Co-Chairman
of the Board of the German Anthroposophical Society, joining Unger and Uehli in
that position. At supper with Steiner, discussing the appointment, Emil once again
mentioned his own difficulty working with Leinhas, who by now was openly critical
of him. Steiner told him again to trust the man’s sorely-needed abilities. “Remember
his saying: ‘I go where I am asked’ and I do need him,” he said. “The leadership of the
Anthroposophical Society is being taken out of my hands.” ‘Of course,’ thought Emil,
‘I must not fault his apparent coldness. Even if our methods differ, our ventures are
as one and I must learn to cherish his abilities.’ But he doubted whether bringing in
Leinhas would be enough to hold the Society together.
A short time afterward, Benkendoerfer asked Emil to accompany him to a
meeting with Steiner. As it turned out, Steiner had decided that Benkendoerfer’s job as
Coming Day general manager should be taken over by Leinhas if Emil was prepared to
release the latter from his position at Waldorf Astoria. Both Emil and Benkendoerfer
were unprepared for the news. Emil, sure that Leinhas had initiated this plan and
was not simply ’going where he was asked,’ wished he had discussed it with him first.
He regretted the time spent training him, but realized the work experience would
help him and knew that now he was where he had wanted to be all along. “Of course
I’ll release him from the factory” he said, concerned about Benkendoerfer and the
suddenness of the transition. He offered to assist him with his next steps and advised
taking a short vacation to clear his head.
On September 22, 11 o’clock in the morning, Steiner solemnly appointed Leinhas
as managing director of Coming Day, saying to the coworkers, “Have trust in one
another, trust, trust, trust and recognize one another’s worth, otherwise the work will
fail. Don’t ask yourselves whether your coworker has trust in you but rather whether
you have trust in him.” He then praised Leinhas as the one who could make Coming
Day work. Then Emil spoke: “Releasing Herr Leinhas from the Waldorf to the Coming
Day was not easy. Herr Leinhas has won hearts in the firm as a business person and as
a human being. Besides, I was looking forward to stepping back a bit, but in difficult
times, personal wishes should not play a role; it is more important to work for the
larger whole.” He wished Leinhas well in his new position, then spoke of his trust in
Steiner and thanked him.
The reaction by Coming Day coworkers to this sudden news was mixed.
They complained to Emil that, once again, the regular flow of the work would be
interrupted with a new manager taking over and said they had been happy having
Emil, del Monte and Unger guiding their affairs with Benkendoerfer. Emil assured

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them he and his colleagues would continue to help and that Leinhas would ensure a
smooth transition.
By taking over Coming Day, Leinhas became Emil’s boss. He also took on some of
Emil’s tasks, including traveling to anthroposophical and school meetings, but leaving
him the tobacco meetings and negotiations. The post Leinhas vacated at Waldorf
Astoria was soon filled. Emil promoted his old school friend, August Rentschler, to be
his second in command. The two understood and trusted each other and Emil felt he
now had three protectors: Berta, August and his trusted secretary, Otto Wagner—and
it made all the difference. He called a meeting of Waldorf employees, telling them of
the changes and introducing Rentschler in his new position. They were both warmly
applauded.
Leinhas worked hard to prove himself, and Waldorf Astoria reserves allowed him
to be liberal with the projects he knew to be close to Steiner’s heart—the laboratory
and clinic, the agricultural and publishing work. It was good he did this, because
even a year later inflation would have prevented their completion. The factory in
Schwäbisch Gmünd began producing larger quantities of remedies and on September
2, 1921, the Board decided to reorganize production into a semi-independent venture
called International Laboratories, AG. The venture had a new director: Leinhas.
This was the beginning of the German Weleda company. The two labs, Schwäbisch
Gmünd and Arlesheim, initially went under different names but in the end they were
combined and Steiner chose a name for them: ‘Weleda,’ a title given Celtic-Germanic
priestesses of healing (Weleda = veledz = filidh or poet/seer/wise one).
The latter part of the year continued as before, with trips, some with and
some without Steiner, back and forth between Dornach, Zurich and Stuttgart. Emil
continued to go to his tobacco meetings and there he was the authoritative, calm and
cool mediator while others fought. Whenever possible, he took Walter on his trips
and sometimes Berta; with the assurance of August Rentschler looking after things, he
was certain that he could begin to relax. He made a point of going out in the evenings
with his family and business associates to concerts, operas and plays and, although he
still attended the various anthroposophical groups, he avoided late-night meetings.
Walter learned quickly and loved being with his father. He also paid serious
attention to the enjoyment of life, packing as much fun as he could into his days. The
car was the fifteen-year-old teenager’s ticket to freedom and a great advantage over
his peers. He wasn’t at all averse to showing off in it and although it worried his father,
he let it be.

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Crisis time for Futurum
On November 14 Emil was urgently called to Basel for a crisis meeting of Futurum.
Arriving at his hotel, he found a delegation of the Executive Committee waiting for
him. They handed him the balance sheet as of October and the following official
letter:

Dear Herr Kommerzienrat:

The Executive of Futurum AG Dornach requests that you take over
management of Futurum with the initiatives which are in its domain. We
ask you especially to put the office and finances in order. We also ask you to
take whatever steps necessary for the day-to-day running of the business. If
you are willing to comply with this request, we ask that you sign your name
to this letter.
– Dr. Rudolf Steiner and Ernst Gimmi

Emil was stunned. He asked for an hour’s adjournment and disappeared into his
room. Had there been any hair left on his head, he would have torn it out. He called
for a pot of coffee, momentarily regretting it was not Schnapps. ‘Is there no one in all
Switzerland able to deal with this?’ he thought. ‘Do I have to worry about Coming
Day and my factory and the under-financed school and the Goetheanum and now
Futurum too? I can advise them, but how do they expect me to take over Futurum
without moving here?’ He was in full revolt. Then he rang Berta. “I don’t want to,” he
said. She sighed, “You know you’re part of this for better or worse. It was your question
that started the whole project.” “How can I do this?” he said. “The Board might want
me but the managers won’t like my interference.” “Look,” she replied, “Dr. Steiner
needs it. The main thing is to find a solution. You can’t be expected to run Futurum
in the long term. Why don’t you write them a response with your conditions, then
perhaps it can be managed. I will help you do it.” So he drafted a letter, read it to her
for her comments and, when the hour was up, he brought it back to the others.

Declaration: To the Chairman of the Executive of Futurum AG Basel

The current condition of Futurum seems to be untenable and catastrophic.

The various enterprises, with a few exceptions, are in a very unfavorable
state. The finances of the organization must be considered as desperate.
The October balance sheet is incomplete and not transparent. To achieve
improvement will require an energetic, goal-oriented management. New

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 persons cannot be found because of the urgency. I have been asked to
attempt improvement. I will attempt this gigantic task, but state definitely
that I cannot be held responsible for past actions of the managers, nor for
the current balance sheet. Whatever I can do, I will, but I give no guarantee
for success. I ask for unreserved trust and support from the managers and
directors. Emil Molt.

Financial straits
On December 1, 1921 (“Black Thursday”), the American dollar dropped from
290 to 190 Marks. In the next two days there were terrible losses on the American
stock market. Several days later, Emil had to rush to Berlin to get some direction
from the government. On the train, he bought a paper and was interested to read the
only positive news amid the gloom—an article about Ireland’s obtaining the status
of free state, like Canada. He could not help wishing that the same, or even better,
independence could have been achieved in Upper Silesia. Five days later he was back
in Stuttgart for a day, looking in on Rentschler and his secretary Wagner, reporting on
measures decided in Berlin and approving purchases. He and Berta met briefly with
his architect friend Weippert to inspect the school’s new building site, and he even
had ten minutes to chastise Walter for wasting time and money.
Rising early on the 15th, Emil went to the Annual General Meeting of the
Coming Day, had lunch with Steiner and others, then sat with the Executive Council
to review finances, enduring a great deal of criticism for his tobacco purchases and hotel
and meal expenses. After supper, the meeting continued until 2:30 in the morning,
during which time a decision was made to discontinue Emil‘s beloved Waldorf News
as a cost-saving measure. Leinhas found its artwork inartistic, not in ‘Dornach’ style
and questioned the magazine‘s effectiveness. Marx agreed with him. Emil could have
argued but he did not want to fight his colleagues. He found the whole thing an ordeal,
painfully aware of the extent to which he had given away his power. He feared that his
boss, Leinhas, would use him to justify his own outlays because, instead of pulling in
and belt-tightening, the Coming Day continued spending. After the meeting, unable
to sleep, Emil paced the wintry streets until 4 in the morning.

The cornerstone
On Friday 16 he was a little pale because of the sleepless night, but he bathed and
dressed his best. With Berta he then went to the festive cornerstone celebration at
the new Waldorf School site, signing the document containing Steiner’s dedication,

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which was then cemented into concrete. He was cheered by Steiner’s speech which
mentioned him, smiling and shaking hands afterwards.
Before the end of the year, Emil and Steiner met the Futurum directors for a
review and evaluation. Steiner looked at the expenses and said much of the money
had been frivolously wasted. Emil floated the dread word ‘liquidation’ for the first
time, saying that under no circumstances should the Goetheanum be endangered
by loss-producing businesses. He suggested, “Why not keep the successful ones and
sell the rest? You certainly won’t come away with a huge profit, but you’ll stop the
losses.” Privately, he thought, ‘What a pity the Goetheanum Trust did not remain
in Stuttgart, where it functioned well.’ Arnold Ith, one of the young directors, said,
“I don’t want to give up yet. With more capital, we might still be able to rescue all
the existing ventures.” Someone else added, “I think we can find enough investors
in Switzerland to get us through. People here believe in us.” He mentioned several
names: an insurance director and a philanthropist in Zurich among others. Emil left,
reluctant and doubtful; he had to rush to an emergency survival meeting of German
tobacco companies—they were stretched to the limit because of inflation—but he
promised to return in January for an intensive review of Futurum and how to save it.

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 Chapter Six

The fateful year 1922

John Maynard Keynes wrote that Lenin is said to have declared that the best way
to destroy the capitalist system is to debauch the currency. By a continuing process
of inflation, governments can confiscate, secretly and unobserved, an important
part of the wealth of their citizens. By this method they not only confiscate, but
they confiscate arbitrarily, and while the process impoverishes many, it actually
enriches some. The sight of this arbitrary rearrangement of riches strikes not only at
security, but at confidence in the equity of the existing distribution of wealth. Those
to whom the system brings windfalls, beyond their just deserts and even beyond
their expectations or desires, become ‘profiteers,’ who are the object of hatred of the
bourgeoisie, whom the inflationism has impoverished, no less than the proletariat.
As the inflation proceeds and the real value of the currency fluctuates wildly from
month to month, all permanent relations between debtors and creditors, which
form the ultimate foundation of capitalism, become so utterly disordered as to be
almost meaningless. … Lenin was certainly right. There is no subtler, no surer means
of overturning the existing basis of society than to debauch the currency. The process
engages all the hidden forces of economic law on the side of destruction and does it
in a manner which not one man in a million is able to diagnose.
Inflation worsened in Germany, making some of the economic situations Keynes
described a reality. Foreign companies bought up German companies and speculation
flourished, creating some of the conditions Emil had feared when he attempted to set
up the Stuttgart Credit Union in 1918. Personally, this year was to bring him the most
profound reversal of his working life.

10,000 Mark note

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Downfall
Emil spent most of January in Switzerland with Futurum, time away from the
Waldorf Astoria, which needed him too. Some things went well. He was able to co-
opt Edgar Duerler for outreach and marketing. Dr. Schmiedel’s laboratory adjoining
Dr. Ita Wegman’s clinic produced a broad spectrum of successful innovative remedies:
Cardiodoron for the heart; Biodoron, a headache remedy; and Infludoron for the
flu. Emil wanted to introduce them to the two thousand physicians practicing in
Switzerland. He even entered into discussion (the dreams were always large) with
several people about possible sales to England and America. Berta cheered her husband
on by sending him encouraging messages from home. She avoided mentioning the
financial stress in the Waldorf Astoria factory, with money flowing out for the Coming
Day. In the second half of the month, Steiner left Switzerland for Stuttgart and then
Dresden to hold lectures. Towards the end of January, Emil returned to Stuttgart too,
believing progress had been made.
January 28, the evening before his own trip to Dresden on tobacco business,
Leinhas came by with a memorandum which he should have sent Emil a week before.
While Emil was in Switzerland, the Coming Day Board had met with Steiner, reporting
a deficit and discussing the difficulty of securing further financing. They decided the
only solution was selling Waldorf Astoria. ‘You are relieved, I’m sure,’ Emil thought, ‘to
get rid of the hated enterprise,’ but he didn’t say it, rather asking, “Does Marx know?”
“Not yet,” replied Leinhas. “What will happen to my people if it’s sold?” was Emil’s next
question. “We will ensure that they are taken care of,” Leinhas replied. Emil showed
Berta the memorandum. “Look,” he said, “they’ve taken what they could and now
they’re throwing the company away.” Berta was shocked but philosophical as usual.
She said, “You have been hard-pressed trying to do everything. The sooner you can
gracefully let go, the better. Besides,” she said, “they’ve done some very good things
with the money.”
He did not want to give up so easily. ‘If it is sold, what will happen to the income
for the school?’ He thought, ‘Perhaps there is an alternative,’ and he promised himself
not to be hasty. “I will try to arrange a meeting to discuss the issue with Steiner and,
although it is short notice, I will invite some of our friends from up north to attend. I
promise to abide by any decisions they make.” Berta thought it a very good idea to be
in a neutral place, removed from Stuttgart, for a more objective view.
Emil made some phone calls and arranged a meeting. On January 30 Emil met
Steiner in Dresden and they traveled to Breslau. Count Carl von Keyserlingk and
Rector Bartsch, the fiery proponent of Upper Silesia, met them at the station and

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conveyed them to the Bellevue Hotel, where they arranged a conference room and
a meal. Ambassador von Moltke and the Countess Petusi von Moltke joined them
there. Marie Steiner arrived shortly afterward.
It was a cordial gathering and, more than that, an unusual one. In conformity with
that age, anthroposophical boards and committees were made up almost exclusively
of men, although women numbered more than half the Society’s membership. This
particular meeting included two worldly, strong and practical women. There was
no competition or posturing there, just tactful willingness to find positive solutions.
The group considered every aspect of Coming Day: the people running it, its various
companies, the political climate and the finances. Projects were placed in order of
importance. By the end of the day, Emil realized that, for the sake of Coming Day, his
company would have to be sold. He insisted however that the sale include tuition
guarantees for the Waldorf Astoria children and pension security for his employees.
“Of course,” said the others, “we must find suitable buyers who will honor this.”
Emil mentioned that a friend had recently recommended a reputable banker in
Berlin and said he would make contact with him. Then they enjoyed an early supper
together, discussing agriculture and the farms of Coming Day. Count Keyserlingk
and his wife Johanna had a large farming estate near Breslau. They were extremely
interested in Steiner’s ideas on soil improvement and animal husbandry and wanted
him to come and give an agricultural conference at their place. In the evening Steiner
and Emil returned to Dresden.

Negotiations
The following day Emil took an early train to Berlin and introduced himself
to Dr. Gustav Nollstadt, Director at the Darmstädter Bank, a well-established bank
with branches throughout Germany, dealing with a number of tobacco firms. An
urbane gentleman with a keen eye and lively face, Nollstadt was very aware of the
Waldorf Astoria as a respected, successful company which, he noted, had recently
been mentioned less frequently in the news. He was intrigued to learn of Emil’s social
reforms in the company and of its patronage of a school. Emil described the difficulty
of the large Waldorf company’s joining Coming Day; he had hoped its addition would
lend stability and opportunity to that venture, but it proved to be a burden. Nollstadt
immediately spotted the conflict of interest and the necessity of pulling it back out.
He said he could envisage Waldorf Astoria’s joining a consortium composed of banks
and tobacco interests and offered to talk with some contacts to see what they might
come up with. He thought a transfer to such a consortium could be in place by May.

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 Emil thought he had found the ideal solution. On February 3 he returned to
Dresden, picked up Steiner and his wife and, after driving back to Stuttgart, described
the fortuitous meeting at Darmstädter Bank to the Coming Day Board. “He would like
to come to Stuttgart to view the factory and talk to the Board,” he said. Leinhas did
not seem happy that Emil had taken this initiative. He remarked that in future Emil
should consult him before taking any steps. “Very well,” said Emil, ”but I hope you
don’t mind my following up on the consortium idea by talking to another potential
investor, Herr Georg Warburg, who is currently living in St. Moritz.” Leinhas was
skeptical but the others said Emil should go ahead.
February 8 Emil met with Warburg, a member of the wealthy banking family that
helped make Hamburg into a shipping center and had extensive links to America. He
presented Warburg with the idea of a consortium and gave him some background on
Steiner, the Waldorf Astoria, the school and Coming Day. Warburg was an engaged
listener and seemed intrigued. They parted cordially, with Emil sure they would be
able to work together. He promised to introduce him to Steiner.
Next he swung round to Bern to visit Dr. Wilhelm Muehlon, author of The Vandal
of Europe and the friend who had recommended both Nollstadt and Warburg to
him. Muehlon was pessimistic about the future of the German Mark amid an ever-
increasing cost of living. He liked the idea of a consortium for Waldorf Astoria and
provided some insight into Warburg, saying that he had ties to Prince Max of Baden
and was financing a committee for refuting the German war-guilt propaganda. “He
probably has closer links to anthroposophy than anyone is aware of and certainly
is the man for such a consortium,” said Muehlon. Then he mentioned the defunct
Waldorf News, saying what an interesting journal it had been, better than any
other anthroposophical publication. He named friends in leading positions who had
subscribed to it and were sorry it was gone. ‘It wasn’t the daily newspaper Steiner
wanted,’ Emil thought, ‘but why couldn’t it have been his “organ for communication”?’
On February 20, Emil’s last day in Switzerland, he met with Steiner and the
Futurum Board. Significant new investors had not been found. Steiner mentioned
that Dr. Wegman wanted to pull her clinic and Schmiedel’s laboratory out of Futurum
because they heard it was in jeopardy and didn’t want their work at risk. Emil looked
at Steiner and saw fatigue and distress in his face. ‘What have I done?’ thought Emil,
‘All along I assumed I was doing what Steiner wanted. I relied on him and he relied on
me, but he is not the businessman, I am.’ He took a deep breath and said: “Let us end
this meeting now. I will take a few days to contemplate our next course of action and
will come back with suggestions.” Later, in bed, after recording the sequence of the day

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in his diary, he pondered the comparative ease of working with people like Nollstadt,
Muehlon and Warburg compared to the difficulties of something as uncharted as
Futurum and Coming Day.
Next day after breakfast with Steiner, he traveled back to Stuttgart. He was happy
to be home and desperately craved some rest. Instead he asked Walter to join him in
his office so they could work on the Futurum problem. Walter was very attentive.
They spent the rest of the afternoon writing extensive notes on the potential of each
company and ended by drafting a practical set of suggestions. In the evening the three
Molts and Felix went to a eurythmy performance at the school, Walter’s cousin Lisa
performing.

Money spent
The next day Emil went to the Coming Day Board meeting with Leinhas
presiding. The group was surprised and happy to see modest overall gains, including
the publishing company, del Monte, Unger’s factory and the medicine production
in Schwäbisch Gmünd. Waldorf Astoria sales were up too. On the other hand the
financial needs for the coming year were estimated at 20 million Marks, far beyond
what the combined enterprises could produce. Unger said: “We must sell Waldorf
Astoria as quickly as possible.”
Berta had not been to Dornach for a while and for his next visit Emil offered to
take her along. The weather was glorious. Frl. Dr. Roeschl, a young language teacher,
came with them. Arriving in the early afternoon, they knocked on Steiner’s door. Emil
brought him a birthday letter from Marie Steiner, in Stuttgart with her eurythmy
troupe. Steiner greeted them and escorted them to his studio. He showed them the
progress of his sculpture, then Berta took Dr. Roeschl on a tour of the Goetheanum
and its surroundings while Emil and Steiner met with the Futurum Board. This time
complaints and indiscreet behavior were on the agenda, one director writing a critical
letter about another, even about Emil. By lunchtime he had lost his appetite.
He waited for pause during coffee before opening his briefcase and presented
the memorandum he had worked on with Walter as a kind of birthday present,
explaining, in essence, “while the simplest thing is liquidation, I believe there is
another possibility. We can turn Futurum into a shareholding company with just
one manager and one employee, keeping only the successful enterprises and making
them self-administering. A manager needs a degree of freedom and autonomy. We
now have capable managers in the various enterprises, but they lack initiative. I
believe it is because their companies’ income belongs to Futurum and most of the

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decision-making too. They are not free to use the money they generate to build their
businesses because it is needed for cultural initiatives. I would like to propose a new
form: Futurum as shareholder in the ventures, the dividends supporting cultural
initiatives. As long as the ventures are successful, their managing directors have the
authority to run them. If their businesses fail, it is at their own risk. This plan will also
give the Clinic and the laboratory their independence. The Board can remain as it is.”
He emphasized that he was in no way criticizing past problems but would help with
this change if they wanted him to.
With this plan he thought to have fulfilled his obligation, as advised by Berta, to
set Futurum on the road to health, but it seems there were no shouts of eureka or
warm shaking of hands following this proposal. Steiner looked relieved but some of
the others seemed to consider the plan a danger to Futurum’s governance and income
stream.

The consortium
On February 28 Berta and Emil returned to Stuttgart with Steiner, staying
overnight at their favorite inn in Freiburg. At home Emil grabbed the replacement
overnight bag always at the ready with pressed shirts and ties, cuff links and
handkerchiefs. After a few hours in his office, he and Steiner boarded the night train
going north; Emil booked adjoining sleeping suites. They retired after a brief chat
and in the morning parted ways at Corbetha, Emil on his way to continue talks with
Nollstadt, Steiner going on to Leipzig.
Over the next two days Emil met with various people interested in the consortium:
Privy Councillor Frisch of the Dresdner Bank, Nollstadt of the Darmstädter Bank and
representatives of the tobacco companies Laurens, Garbathy and Neuerburg and
the tobacco importer Kiazim Emin through his man Dr. Kahn. All were ready and
willing to participate. “How interesting,” he told Berta on the phone. “Four years ago
in Stuttgart, I tried to get a business consortium going; now it’s being realized. Waldorf
School funds and pensions will be guaranteed and the Waldorf News continued.”
Then Emil rang Leinhas and August Rentschler, asking them join the negotiations.

Emil’s business card

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Rentschler arrived on the afternoon of March 3, Leinhas that evening. Emil said to
himself: ‘If this big Waldorf transaction happens, it will have been because of two
things: the anthroposophic movement through which I was led to Muehlon and
through him to Warburg, Nollstadt and Dresdner Bank and my personal credibility.’
On Saturday, March 4, Emil, Rentschler and Leinhas met with Nollstadt who
said, “Your organization is exemplary, but the Waldorf company needs a larger
setting.” He laid out his plan of the consortium including his own bank, the Dresdner
Bank, Warburg and selected tobacco companies. “It is a new model” he said, “but sure
to succeed. A great deal of advertising is key as a link to consumers, especially for the
sake of the Waldorf School. The school is vital and Waldorf Astoria must support it
even if it costs a million Marks.” He suggested an advertising campaign in the main
Frankfurt financial paper. “This project is ahead of its time,” he said, envisaging a 15%
dividend instead of 12% and sales to Russia and the border lands. He saw no problem
with Coming Day still being involved.
Leinhas spoke for the first time: “Let me be clear,” he said. “If a bank consortium
joins, Coming Day will pull out because that would be diametrically opposed to its
principles. Either one is pure or one is not. The consortium might provide Molt with
shares,” he continued, “but Coming Day would not take it lightly that Molt chose
opportunity over principle. Still,” he added, “I, Leinhas, am willing to negotiate.” Emil
was embarrassed and thought, ‘He thinks I’m just doing this for my own personal gain.’
Nollstadt seemed taken aback but the meeting continued and ended on a positive
note with August Rentschler going back to Stuttgart in an upbeat mood.

Wooing Leinhas
Emil, thinking about what Leinhas had said, wanted to give him a better
impression of the people they were dealing with. “Come to Hamburg with me,” he
offered. “Herr Warburg is there this weekend. You will enjoy him. He’s very open
to anthroposophical ideas. We can meet with Marx and the Abrahams too.” Leinhas
came along, but he remained dour on the train to the point that Emil, looking back
at the meeting they had just had, realized how engaged and forceful he had been and
how little space he left Leinhas.
Genuinely sorry and blaming himself for insensitivity (he was desperately trying
to see the best in Leinhas), he decided to make an effort to meet him on a personal
level. He booked them into the Vier Jahreszeiten (Four Seasons), one of the best
and most comfortable hotels in Hamburg. (‘Can we really afford this?’ was written
on Leinhas’s brow. ‘Yes. It’s my treat,’ nodded Emil.) He recommended they leave all

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business aside and enjoy Hamburg on a Sunday; he invited him to lunch and to the
theatre.
How futile; Emil could never win Leinhas over like that and might have done
better holding back and discussing his actions with him before taking them. While
reviewing the day he tried to place himself into this complex personality’s shoes and
promised himself from now on to step back and let Leinhas shine more. Then he
thought about Marx’s son Hans, how much he wanted to join Waldorf Astoria and
how Leinhas had opposed employing him when the firm was transferred to Coming
Day. He thought that now, with the new situation, Hans would have an easy entry.
That brought him to his partner Marx who had always wanted his son to take over
the firm. Suddenly Emil was worried: ‘I am faced with an unfamiliar consortium. Can
I suggest Marx as a Board member? Will he side with me or with them on crucial
issues? I do need an ally.’ Then he realized he would be entering a high-stakes situation
that could end up completely out of his hands. With that worry he fell into a restless
sleep.
On Monday, March 6, Emil introduced Leinhas to Warburg at M.M. Warburg
& Co. and met his 19-year-old son Siegmund (who would go on to found a major
investment bank in London). They were very cordial and discussed Waldorf Astoria
shares and the possibility of expansion into America. Warburg and his son were about
to return to St. Moritz but said a representative of the firm, Dr. Ernst Spiegelberg,
would continue the negotiations. The meeting took longer than expected, so without
seeing Marx and the Abrahams, Emil and Leinhas travelled back to Berlin where Emil
sent Marx a telegram: “Am in Hamburg on Monday. Please telegraph if you are there.
Greetings, Molt.” He knew Marx had heard about the negotiations and was eager to
connect. That night he and Leinhas had dinner together and all seemed well. .
On March 11 Emil attended a major meeting of the tobacco industry. Stressful
times were turning colleagues into competitors. One accused the other of undercutting,
another of anarchy. Emil, looking to the outcome of his own negotiations, faced with
the continuing tobacco treadmill, realizing that his ideal of bringing his unique
Waldorf Astoria into an anthroposophical setting was almost over, suddenly lost his
courage.
The final Darmstädter Bank meeting with Leinhas, Nollstadt and Spiegelberg
took place that afternoon. Nollstadt talked about increasing Waldorf Astoria shares
by 10 to 20 million, the consortium taking responsibility for new shares. They spoke of
a merger with the cigarette companies Turmac and Laurens. All details, including the
purchase price, were settled. Emil, as an employee of the consortium, would continue

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managing Waldorf Astoria. It remained for the contract to be written up and sent to
Coming Day for signing. They shook hands on the deal and parted.

A letter to Steiner
Leinhas left for Hamburg to arrange a meeting with Marx; Emil stayed behind
for Steiner’s evening lecture. He was depressed, feeling himself at the end of his hopes.
After the lecture he remained in his seat, a wave of sorrow washing over him, while
the animated crowd dispersed. Then he rushed out, looking for Steiner, looking also
for words of comfort, but Steiner was gone. Emil returned to his hotel room.
Many years before, after his successful negotiation with the Abraham brothers
and Marx, he couldn’t wait to ring Berta. Now he sat at his desk and didn’t know
what to say. ‘The direction of my life, our life together, has suffered a setback,’ he
thought. ‘Berta can still work within her ideals at the school, but where will it lead me?
I thought I could embark on something new, more in keeping with our philosophy. At
least I’ll still have the Waldorf News.’ Eventually he took hotel stationery and a pen
and wrote, not to Berta, but to Steiner, delivering it early the following morning to the
hall where Steiner was to lecture.

March 11, Most respected Doctor:

I would have wanted to say good-bye to you and Frau Doctor this
evening, since I travel tomorrow to Hamburg and Stuttgart; unfortunately
you had already gone. I must now take my leave in writing, while venturing
to express a few words concerning the thoughts and feelings which moved
me on this day in which I saw my fondest hopes, and with them a fair
portion of myself, carried to the grave.
One year ago I returned from Hamburg to Coming Day with the bill
of sale for the Waldorf Astoria. One year later it has to be sold again and I
am forced to serve the powers I have fought till now. A sad destiny—after
the hopeful spring of 1919. Then and now! As matters stand I even had
to propose the sale to the banks myself, to unburden Coming Day. In the
present state of its finances it would not have survived. And apart from me
there is now no one able to direct the Waldorf school. So I have to return to
the path of capitalism—if Coming Day is to be preserved from harm.
Certainly, on the whole, ‘circumstances’ are to blame—but I am
nonetheless not quite able to get over the self-reproach that I failed in
the task set me and which you honored me with. Had I faithfully and

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 energetically followed everything you recommended in June 1920, after our
arrival in Dornach, perhaps I would not have failed so badly. On the other
hand I also felt I was very much left in the lurch with efforts at fundraising,
even by the management of Coming Day, especially earlier on and I have the
feeling that all the many “digs” from friends weren’t especially helpful.
It does seem paradoxical that the Waldorf News has a better prospect
of being continued under “capitalism” than under our anthroposophical
management. …
And so I now go, heavy of heart, into a new period, with the sincere
and heartfelt plea to you, most respected Herr Doctor, to hold your
protecting hand over me and not to let the ‘thread’ connecting me to
the Society break. How much remains for me in the way of work for the
Threefold Social Order, Coming Day and Futurum—perhaps even the
Waldorf School? I will be taking on a quite new, extensive round of duties
for these banks.
Please do not lose sight of me altogether! I shall try to help with
Futurum; then I must proceed to my new tasks in the service of high
finance.
In heartfelt and sincere esteem, your most humble, Emil Molt

What must Steiner have thought of such an abject letter coming from the previously
ebullient and self-confident factory owner? We don’t know since there is no record
of a response.

Hans Marx
Emil’s secretary Wagner came to Berlin and Emil went over the details of the
consortium transaction with him. Then he took a noon train to Hamburg to see
Marx, expecting to find him waiting at the station as usual. Instead Leinhas met him,
telling him to prepare himself for a shock—Marx had gone to Frankfurt because his
son Hans had committed suicide.
Hans Marx had fallen in love with a Christian girl and she with him. He proposed
to her but she had to reject him—her father forbade the union because Hans was
Jewish. This was grievous, and what, thought Emil, could he possibly have done to
prevent it? Had he and Leinhas gone straight to Marx, as he had intended, instead of
going to see Warburg, he might have talked with Hans and then perhaps he would not

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have traveled to Frankfurt but straight to Stuttgart. Strange, while Emil was writing
the letter to Steiner in his hotel room in Berlin and thinking about Marx and Hans,
the latter, in Frankfurt, ended his life with a bullet.
On March 14 Leinhas and Emil left Berlin together. Leinhas got out of the train
in Mannheim, his hometown, saying he wanted to visit a banker he knew there. Emil
continued to Stuttgart and went straight home, exhausted and burdened.
On March 15 (the Ides), Steiner arrived in Stuttgart from Berlin in the early
morning and Emil invited him in for coffee. While sitting together in the breakfast
room, Leinhas appeared, telling Emil the bank manager he visited in Mannheim
was interested in the transaction and would like to see a Waldorf balance sheet. He
urged Emil to come along to meet him. Emil, still exhausted and recovering from the
shock of Hans, did not want to go away again, saying that they both had a 10 o’clock
appointment with the Commerzbank in Stuttgart, but Leinhas insisted. They could
go to Mannheim in the afternoon; he wanted particularly to do this before the Board
meeting next day.
Berta, in her mild way, looked disapproving. In mid-afternoon they met up again.
Emil had August Rentschler with him and Walter and Lisa came along for the ride. In
Mannheim, Emil, Rentschler and Leinhas met with Director Weil and the gentlemen
of the Süddeutsche Diskonto Bank, a small subprime local lender. Emil spent a little
time describing the Waldorf Astoria and the negotiations in the North, then gave
them the balance sheet. He understood them to be interested in consortium and had
significant funds at their disposal.
At the Coming Day Board meeting the next day, Dr. Steiner was surprised to hear
Leinhas say that, in spite of the Board directive of February 25, Emil had again taken
it upon himself to negotiate the sale of the company in the name of Coming Day until
he, Leinhas, was finally called in. He emphasized that Coming Day didn’t have the
means to hold on to Waldorf Astoria and that it would have to go quickly and at the
most favorable price to avoid a reduction of programs. Emil did not respond to this
since he did indeed act unilaterally. Leinhas also said he had taken up contact with
a bank in Mannheim; that bank had inquired about an option on Waldorf Astoria
shares.

A surprise visit
On March 17 Marie Steiner arrived in Stuttgart from a eurythmy tour. Emil
picked her up and took her to his house to meet her husband. In the afternoon,
Wagner drove them both to Dornach. Emil spent the day in the factory, preparing

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for his own departure next morning. He wanted to conclude the Futurum matter
and this time begged Berta to come with him. They were just about to leave when he
heard that Director Weil and two other gentlemen from the Süddeutsche Diskonto
Bank were on their way, coming to inspect the factory. Naturally, he felt he should be
there in person to give them a tour, which he did, inviting them to lunch afterward at
the Marquardt, including Berta and, of course, Leinhas. The conversation was polite
but mundane. After lunch he excused himself, leaving the gentlemen with Leinhas
and traveled to Basel with Berta.
The Molts spent the next morning with Steiner, having lunch with him and
Marie. In the afternoon, Steiner and Emil went to a Futurum Board meeting at the
Friedwart. Instead of resolution, they were met with the assumption that within
three months Futurum would cease to exist. Steiner asked, “Doesn’t anyone have
ways and means for continuing?” One manager thought it could if Switzerland didn’t
collapse economically and if a new Board could be created. The pervasive negativity
and the failure of the group to act on his recommendations annoyed Emil to the
point of indigestion. “My problem,” he said to Berta afterwards, “is soul and spirit. I
have recently discovered the difference between the two in myself, relying too much
on the soul which often shows up as instinct. I am often determined by sympathy or
antipathy, anger, annoyance and offense. All this must be brought under strict control.
Then one can speak about soul-spirit.”

Arnold Ith’s suggestion

Later that day, at another Futurum meeting, differences within the Board
surfaced. Arnold Ith, the youngest member of the management team, was a good
man with good ideas and no identity crisis, but he felt criticized and his suggestions
ignored, causing him to resign from the Board:

To the president of the Board of Directors of Futurum:

The writer regrets to tender his resignation as director of Futurum.
I pointed out that we couldn’t realize our goal of associative working
among the companies bought in the first year. This was supposed to be our
primary remit. In social life there are situations that prevent people from
working together because of incompatible differences. Swiss law recognizes
such cases. The present situation makes it impossible for me to be part of
the management group of Futurum. …One would have to find a different
group of directors, capable of liquidating the old Futurum AG and starting

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 a new one in the spirit of association. If the present group is convinced that
a new Board can solve this task, I see it as my duty to make room for such
personalities. …
He warmly recommended asking Edgar Duerler to head Futurum, believing he would
be the most able to lead and to communicate with all concerned. Ith himself went on
to do well in life, later becoming a close friend of the Molts.
As a last effort Steiner went to Bern with the Molts to ask the banker Hirter to
join the Board of Futurum. They spent the afternoon with him, Steiner even gave a
lecture to the local study group. They then returned by car, getting lost on the way in
very bad weather. The Molts drove Steiner home to Dornach and returned late to the
Hotel Euler in Basel.
Emil, exhausted, woke next day much later than usual. He spent the morning
writing. In the early afternoon he was told there were gentlemen waiting in the foyer.
He went down and saw the two publishers, Duerler and his friend Storrer, looking
uneasy but determined and formal. Storrer said they had talked things over and
formed an action committee willing to take on the responsibility for Futurum. Emil
was courteous, saying he thought their initiative was very fine. They then relaxed and
Storrer elaborated a little, saying they intended to follow some of Emil’s suggestions,
to raise money, build the group and find new delegates. They seemed to take it for
granted that Emil would not to be part of this and he was relieved that a natural
conclusion had come about, believing destiny had resolved something with Futurum
so he could concentrate fully on the Waldorf Astoria transfer. He went back to his
room and said to Berta, “It’s actually a miracle just at the moment when Waldorf
Astoria is being sold. I only hope they know what they’re doing.” His mind already
turned towards Germany, he wrote:

To the Futurum Board:

Since my task has been superseded by the formation of the new
responsible body, I ask you cordially to relieve me of my post as delegate
to Futurum. I would have stayed for your next meeting, but must go to
Hamburg in connection with my own firm.

Steiner was on his way back from a lecture on the morning of March 22. Emil met
him at the train station; they drove out to Dornach with Berta. Emil described what
had taken place. Steiner was surprised at the sudden decision and sorry that Emil was
not staying for the meeting but decided that, in view of the pending negotiations in

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Germany, he should go back. He and Berta then left with Wagner driving, and they
got through the Black Forest without mishap in spite of severe snowfall.

Outdone and outfoxed

On March 23 in Stuttgart, Leinhas arranged another meeting with the discount
bank in Mannheim to discuss, as Emil still thought, joining the consortium. When they
arrived at the bank, Leinhas asked Emil to wait while he went into the Boardroom to
the assembled bank gentlemen. After a time Leinhas brought Emil in and introduced
him around. A conversation ensued. Director Weil said he looked forward to meeting
Warburg and collaborating with Nollstadt, who had once been his financial advisor.
Marx, he said, could participate with a small share offering as a member of the
managing committee. He was aware Leinhas had not mentioned the discount bank to
the others and said it would have been fair of him to do so. Altogether Emil had the
impression that Weil was being conciliatory. Then Leinhas again asked Emil to wait
outside. An hour passed. As Emil learned later, Leinhas signed a sales contract with
minor revisions. He later claimed he showed the contract to Emil “who didn’t find the
time to read it.” Nollstadt had told Emil the consortium transaction could be in place
by May, which seemed a very optimistic and speedy undertaking. Leinhas, within ten
days of bringing Emil to the discount bank, signed away the Waldorf Astoria in the
name of Coming Day, after which he coolly traveled back to Stuttgart with Emil.
Later, meeting with Rentschler in Emil’s office, Leinhas admitted he had sold the
company and Emil with it. He had no sense whatsoever that the consortium should
have been included or given a chance. He admitted that Emil had requested approval
by the Coming Day Board before any action or decision was taken, but claimed that
had not been possible. Besides, the Board had agreed to the sale and there was nothing
more to be done. Of course, the simple motive was that the Mannheim bank offered
a better price and a faster resolution.
Emil felt totally humiliated. There he was, trusting Leinhas, purposely wanting to
hold back and not take the lead over him, not awake, not wanting to harm Coming
Day or Steiner, going along like a lamb and being thoroughly outwitted. How could
he meet the gentlemen in Hamburg and Berlin? What could he say to Warburg and
Nollstadt? He asked himself, what he could have done differently since Leinhas had
the ultimate power. The sad answer was: probably nothing.
Emil thought: ‘For people like Warburg, it is not just business but a strong human-
personal interest. He found it satisfying to believe in people like Leinhas and myself.
At the conversation we had in St. Moritz, he gained respect for us, seeing that we

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functioned not just as anthroposophists but as practical business people. His faith in
the underlying philosophy will be shattered.’

Apologies
In any case, having been outmaneuvered, Emil had no choice but to apologize.
March 24 he traveled to Hamburg to meet Marx for the first time since his son’s
death. On the way he stopped in Frankfurt where Warburg’s man Spiegelberg was
waiting. Emil expected him to be aware of the new situation, but Spiegelberg knew
from Nollstadt only that Leinhas had sent a message saying the transaction was in
question. He was shocked when he heard the company had been sold, saying that in a
business sense and in a human sense he couldn’t understand Leinhas, noting that the
sale had been agreed to verbally and all that remained had been to put it in writing.
Emil said as a member of the Board he couldn’t comment, but he was upset by the
whole thing to the point of resigning, whereupon Spiegelberg replied he shouldn’t do
that, since he seemed to have been more of an object than a subject. He also said Emil
should not underestimate himself. They parted on cordial terms.
Warburg wrote Emil a letter. He had already arranged sales in America for over a
million dollars and was outraged that ‘such a little bank’ could have won out over a
major consortium. Deeply disturbed, Emil considered the consequences of what had
happened. “What did Leinhas hope to achieve?” he sighed. “He calculates but does not
see what harm it does.”
The next day, March 25, brought a reprieve. Emil went to Hamburg to apprise
his partners of the new development. Marx met him at the train with great warmth,
and Emil, for the first and last time in that era of formality, gave him a hug that
brought tears to Marx’s eyes. They went to a quiet place and reminisced, recalling
the beginnings of the extraordinary road they had travelled together. They mourned
Hans and mourned the path the Waldorf school had taken, feeling closer to each
other and more compatible than ever before. They visited Hans’ grave and then Stern
and the Abrahams, who, although disconcerted, hoped that all would be well. Emil
felt decidedly under the weather so they adjourned to the Marx house where Mrs.
Marx, in mourning attire, provided them with comfort and nourishing food. Emil
traveled on to Berlin, to apologize to Nollstadt.
Telegram from Emil to Leinhas in Mannheim: “Spoke with Spiegelberg. He is
professionally and humanly shattered and feels dealings to be an insult to the house
of Warburg. Please implore Weil to do everything possible to include Warburg and
Nollstadt. Greetings, Molt”

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 On March 28 he took the train back to Stuttgart and, although now feeling really
ill, put on his best face for a gala State dinner with dignitaries and ambassadors and
the German President himself. All the papers were full of the news that Coming
Day had sold the Waldorf Astoria to a discount bank and he was bombarded with
questions, barely making it home, assisted by Berta and creeping into bed. When
Dr. Noll examined Emil the following afternoon, he diagnosed an enlargement, not
surprisingly, of the spleen.
On March 30 Nollstadt arrived in Stuttgart with Siegmund Warburg for a
personal discussion. Emil told him: “I am so deeply sorry for the way things have gone,
especially since you put so much effort into the merger. I can’t discuss what happened
but hope we still have a future together.” Nollstadt replied: “I can only negotiate for the
future if I am assured that you were not part of the Diskonto decision.” Emil answered:
“Please allow me to remain silent. I cannot discuss anything that would be harmful
to Coming Day. The personalities involved are connected by a common philosophy
and I can in no way go against them. But I can say that my trip to Mannheim was to
support Leinhas.”
He sat at home in the evening, staring at an abyss,
shocked at the turn his life had taken in a short few
months, not knowing the way forward. He wrote in
his diary, illustrating it with a drawing: “I perceive
a pressure from the abdomen pressing against my
head; the brain is pressed and I can’t think until the
pressure subsides. Question: can this pressure not be
arrested in the rhythmic sphere to prevent it from
rising up? Lhs [Leinhas] has unusually …” the rest is
shorthand. And that was the end of Emil’s Ides of
March.
Emil’s sketch
Mending, tearing, mending
On April 3 in the evening, he went to visit Emil Georgii Jr., finding him in good
health, still handsome and debonair. “We have not really talked since I left Georgii
and Harr,” said Emil. “I never had the courage to call on you because of the way our
friendship ended.” “As time went on,” replied Georgii cordially, “I saw how right you
were and how far we could have gone together had I not been so sidetracked. I never
did get to perfect my machine and others soon overtook me. Of course I was young
and impulsive and had to learn the hard way. But now,” he continued, “you’re the

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one suffering—all Stuttgart is talking about it. Did your business instinct desert
you because of your association with the theosophists?” “It’s anthroposophy, not
theosophy,” replied Emil. “And, yes, I guess you might say so. But it is part of my life and
what I want and if there are consequences, I will bear them.” “Well,” Georgii smiled,
“that school of yours is certainly astonishing.” “I’d love to show it to you,” Emil replied.
“And I’d love to invite you both to our house for dinner. You’ve not seen Berta in such
a long time and we have so much to catch up on.”
‘The Georgii circle is closed and the wound is healed,’ Emil thought gratefully
next afternoon, sitting in the train to Mannheim where he pleaded, unsuccessfully,
with Weil at the Diskonto Bank to include Darmstädter Bank and other members of
the consortium in its plans.
On April 5 Warburg came to visit him and, wonderful to relate, the link with
him was not torn. Together they traveled overnight to Hamburg. Emil spent several
hours with Marx, then went to see Spiegelberg who told him that Max Warburg (the
senior partner) was very put out and considering a lawsuit. “I traveled with Georg
Warburg last night and hope that he will put things right,” said Emil. Spiegelberg
mentioned how much he would have enjoyed working with Emil to get to know his
philosophical background better. Altogether Emil was grateful to know the personal
connection was unbroken. However when he reported to the combined Board of
Asten and Abraham, he was sharply reprimanded about the course of events and how
it would impact them. The meeting ended on a dissonant note.
Emil was sick, hurt and at odds with himself. When, on Saturday, April 7, a
telegram arrived that Duerler and another Futurum manager, needing advice, were on
their way to discuss Futurum with him, Emil did not feel up to seeing them and asked
Wagner to make his excuses. Wagner told them, rather clumsily, that Emil was ‘in a
meeting.’ When they asked when he would be available, Wagner said he didn’t know;
they should ring in the evening and he would have an answer. They left, frustrated,
saying they would draw the consequences of his action and marched straight across to
the Coming Day offices where they found a willing ear in Leinhas. When they told him
how they had been turned away, he shook his head sadly and said they were better
off not working with Emil. He looked at the proposal Emil had written up and called
it rather simplistic. “I‘m sure there are other solutions,” he sighed, “and I suppose I shall
have to take this on as well.”
“Truly,” said Berta to Emil, “you are not yourself. This is the second time you have
aborted a meeting with Futurum.” Emil would, in time, regret this omission more
than any other, because of the burden it placed on Steiner.

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 Berta, often frail and suffering the intensities around her, now began to assert
herself. Where before she kept her fiery nature hidden, now she led her husband. He
was downcast and in crisis, she was upright and determined. “This is probably your
life’s biggest lesson,” she said. “Leinhas, Steiner, Duerler, what are they teaching you?
You have become vulnerable and now you are open. You have always followed your
own ways; now you are placed in the way of following others. It’s the Easter week
and Friday is your birthday. You have already gone through your Good Friday. Let
us go into the mountains and see whether we can truly find our Easter Sunday and
the further path you are to follow.” She booked a hotel in Berchtesgaden and they
traveled, with the solicitous Wagner taking them to their destination, a spot high up,
glorious, with a wide, panoramic view capable of inducing hearts to soar. The air was
clear and warm. It was a healing place, with no trace of the shadow to befall it when,
later, Hitler built his eagle’s nest there.
April 14 Emil wrote: “My birthday. Hopefully there will be a change for the better.”
Early that morning, he and Walter went out walking and suddenly Emil looked at his
sixteen-year-old son and thought, ‘Where have I been, that I have not really looked at
this, my dearest boy? Why have I only noticed his weaknesses, his difficulties in school,
his spending? Who is he, what are his thoughts? What are his ideals?’ With a pang he
realized how often he and Berta had left Walter in the care first of Maria and then of
various others while they traveled with Rudolf Steiner to Holland and Switzerland.
Up there in the fresh, sweet air, he asked and probed and listened to him. Walter had
thought of going to England to learn English, but hadn’t the courage to discuss it with
his father considering what the latter was going through. Now Emil understood and,
thinking back, realized how at Walter’s age he had been out of school and challenged
as an apprentice. They came back to a lovely breakfast on the terrace with Berta. This
was Emil’s Easter experience: meeting his son.
After a week they returned to Stuttgart refreshed and happier as a family than
they had been for a long time. Slowly Emil got back on his feet, slowly he took up his
duties although he still needed compresses on his spleen almost every day. He walked
with Berta and went to the theatre with Walter. He visited a number of old friends,
invited the Georgiis to dinner and went to the School Board meeting.

Betrayal
On April 27 before the next Coming Day Board meeting, Berta cautioned him
not to get drawn into an argument with Leinhas; it would only harm himself and the
already fragile Coming Day. Emil went; Steiner was present as well. As usual, there

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were problems but there was good news too. The sawmill had improved and the
laboratory had successfully introduced the hayfever remedy (Gencydo) and Noll’s
migraine remedy (Biodoron) to the market. But the meeting couldn’t end without
Leinhas once again justifying his actions with the sale while seeming to accuse Emil
of dishonesty. For a while Emil refused to comment but eventually became red-hot
furious and got up to leave, asking if this was a tribunal. Steiner gently told him he
must stay and not take things so personally; after all he had responsibilities as founder
of Coming Day.
Later that evening, at the anthroposophical representatives’ meeting, which Emil
dreaded more than any other, Steiner seemed very dejected, saying he felt betrayed
by everything that had happened, that the efforts of the various initiatives were
nothing but illusion. He also claimed that nothing had changed: People still talked
about bringing new ideas into business when in fact they were employing the same
old economic practices. ‘Oh,’ thought Emil, his doubts growing, ‘his aspirations are so
high and the little group’s ability to fulfill them so inadequate. Doesn’t he see how
hard everyone is trying?’ Before the evening was over, Benkendoerfer handed out the
minutes of the day’s Coming Day Supervisory Board meeting to everyone. In them
Emil was described as a person manipulating the truth and doing what he pleased.
The minutes were cosigned by Steiner.

Mr. Leinhas gave a report of events since the last meeting, of Molt trying
to obtain permission from the Discount Bank to involve the Darmstädter
Bank and Warburg. This attempt failed. … Herr Leinhas reported he had
to conclude, because of the actions of Darmstädter Bank, including a
threatened lawsuit, that there was a negative view of Coming Day and
himself, Leinhas. He therefore wrote a personal letter to his acquaintance,
Dr. Spiegelberg, describing in detail the course of events including the
actions of Herr Molt. Dr. Spiegelberg … wrote back, saying Herr Molt had
made him believe that he was as surprised about the conclusion with the
Discount Bank as Spiegelberg himself, Molt stating he did not participate
in the negotiations but was in Switzerland. … He accused Herr Molt
of untruthfulness. Leinhas answered the next letter in detail, … saying
Herr Molt could not have said what he did. He has not heard back from
Spiegelberg yet.
A long debate followed between Dr. Unger, Benkendoerfer, Leinhas
and Molt. Herr Molt did not want to comment; he said it was his personal
affair and he would not defend himself, rather take the consequences.

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 He had acted in a correct way and in the interest of Coming Day. This
statement was refuted by the others so that Herr Molt got up to leave. Herr
Dr. Steiner protested that Herr Molt was responsible for founding Coming
Day; he shouldn’t ignore this responsibility and when Herr Molt said it was
a tribunal, Herr Dr. Steiner said, no, Herr Molt should just adopt a different
tone; it only matters that the things are described in the right way and not
to take things personally.
Herr Molt sat down again and the discussion continued. It became
clear that Herr Molt wants the right when opportune to him to say
things that might be formally true but practically untrue. In terms of Dr.
Spiegelberger, it was a crude attack on the interests of the Coming Day. At
the end Herr Molt was willing to take the correspondence between Leinhas
and Spiegelberger and to answer Spiegelberg (directly). Leinhas handed
over the whole correspondence.

Emil came home distraught. “They have practically called me a liar,” he told Berta.
“When have I ever told them a lie?” She asked him what had happened and he replied
that he had simply refused to engage in an argument with Leinhas. He was incredibly
hurt. Berta chided him gently, saying there must be a reason which he would have
to discover. He said it mainly had to do with the Diskonto delegation coming to
negotiate with Leinhas: “Do you remember? We took them to lunch and then left
for Switzerland while they stayed to meet.” “Yes,” she said, “but not contesting the
minutes has damaged you. You have long had trouble with Benkendoerfer and
Leinhas, but you don’t confront them, out of loyalty to Steiner.” “If, after all the time
we’ve worked together, they don’t believe me, it’s a shame,” he said, and she answered,
“Perhaps your true relationship with them is more for the future and now, for a while,
you are meant to step back. Try to look at yourself objectively. Haven’t we learned
that we choose our so-called adversaries as medicine for ourselves, and if we succeed
in working with them, something new can be gained?”
Emil took paper and pen and wrote the following observations about his current
state of mind: “When my thinking is lazy, it likes to postpone. This causes a lack of will.
The lack of will becomes a lack of goal. I need independence without pressure from
outside. I must not take on more than I can manage, but when I do take on a task, I
must complete it. I will work more consciously.”
That night he read (in the Steiner lecture “Christ and the Human Soul,” given
in Norrköpping in 1914): “Those who make Theosophy their own in true spirit, not

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just externally, will most certainly become their own confessor. Certainly they will
get to know the Christ so intimately that they will feel His immediate presence. And
they will quietly confess to Him and trust Him as the cosmic principle, asking Him
for the forgiveness of sins in their silent meditation. Human beings will become ever
more free spiritually and their relationship with Christ will become more and more
immediate.”
The following day he took the sheaf of Leinhas’s correspondence with Dr.
Spiegelberg and read through it carefully. He was horrified by the content. Leinhas
justified himself with many words, while casting Emil in a very poor light. He wrote of
“the pleasant relations I was able to establish with you.” Spiegelberg wrote back that his
opinion was unchanged. “As I’ve already told Herr Molt, it is not the disappointment
over the lost business, because in this transaction we did not do it for mere gain but
rather because the perspective it offered seemed interesting and because we felt
trust in you and in Herr Molt.” He expressed surprise that Emil should not have been
honest with him. Leinhas responded, and there is no point boring the reader with
his justifications and ‘reasonable’ words. Suffice it to say that Spiegelberg got tired of
Leinhas’ long letters and stopped writing.
Emil showed the correspondence to Berta who read it with blazing eyes and
compressed lips. She never forgave Leinhas. Emil on the other hand reflected and saw
how Leinhas would have seen the quick financial advantage to Coming Day of the
discount bank over the consortium’s slower buildup, but would have been unable
to share that. He saw himself, how he went to Munich and allowed himself to wait
outside instead of requesting to be included in the final negotiations and how Leinhas
would have been convinced that everything had been discussed. ‘I had my blind
spots, but Leinhas will have had his as well,’ thought Emil. ‘He is not fundamentally
dishonest, but he certainly finds it difficult being open and at ease with me.’ Then and
there he decided to remain silent and never to defend himself vis-à-vis Steiner and
the group.
He tried once more to put things right with Spiegelberg, but because he
protected Coming Day and Leinhas, he was successful only in achieving a ceasefire and
abandonment of the lawsuit with the House of Warburg. He never saw Spiegelberg,
Warburg or Nollstadt again and his name in Dornach, and for some in Stuttgart,
remained stained.

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Withdrawal for a time
Now Emil did something he would regret forever. He shut down, temporarily
losing confidence in the whole complex of people and institutions, even doubting
Steiner’s ability as a leader. He couldn’t face the school, actually dreading chance
confrontations or even glances. He spent long hours at the factory, but stopped going
to meetings and lectures, and to Dornach, and he was tired all the time. “How could I
have been so led astray?” he wrote later in a terribly shaky handwriting. “We tried to
make a leader of Steiner in the outward sense, the ‘Führer’ all Germans crave, whom
we could follow blindly, when instead he simply led by example and always left us
free.”
Otherwise he spent as much free time with Walter as he could. Walter joined
the fire brigade and was learning office procedure at Waldorf Astoria. After work,
they dug up the garden, planted bushes and flowers and went to the observatory on
the Uhlandshöhe to look at Saturn and Jupiter. They visited art exhibits and helped
prepare Wagner’s wedding. Walter still had time for girlfriends and developed a
carefree social life.
In May Emil donated his 10,200-square-meter property adjoining the school for
a kindergarten space as a kind of atonement.

Backlash
On May 22 Steiner was nearly lynched in Munich. Hans Kuehn described how
he traveled through Germany, always lecturing, always aware of the risk. Munich was
by now the center of the national socialistic movement with General Ludendorff
as one of its spokespersons and Hitler pulling strings in the background. A local
anthroposophist heard that an attack on Steiner was planned and took him to police
headquarters to ask for extra protection. A group of young friends pledged to stand
guard in the hall. In the middle of the lecture the light suddenly went out. Steiner
continued speaking seriously and calmly until the light came back on while the
students hired for the riot remained practically glued to their seats. When he finished
his lecture the students made a rush for the podium and were blocked by Steiner’s
friends while the police stood by and did nothing. Steiner left the theatre through a
side door and took an earlier train away, never to return to Munich. He canceled the
rest of his public speaking engagements in Germany.
He did come to Stuttgart, however, to give a private lecture and to sit with
the ‘circle of responsible people’ to discuss the threats. Because they felt the name

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“Threefold” too controversial in the light of events, they decided to change the name
of their publication to “Anthroposophy” letting “Threefold” fade away. This was
heartbreaking to Emil.
A new person came to stay with the Molts. His name was Rudolf Grosse, a
seventeen-year-old Swiss, who, on his own initiative, came to the school from Zurich.
In order to help pay for his tuition, he worked in the Waldorf Astoria factory during
vacations. Emil noticed him there and was impressed. When he discovered that he
was short of money, he invited him to live in their house free of charge, hoping he
would be a companion to Walter and Felix. The young men got on well together and
soon became best friends.
Emil had withdrawn but hoped in his heart that one of his former colleagues
would call him back. Nobody did. He complained a bit that all his anthroposophical
friends had forsaken him, even though it was he who had dropped out. In June, he
wrote: “Nobody cares for us. I had hoped someone would come by after the Waldorf
Astoria was taken out of Coming Day, with questions or for support. No one came
except Uehli on the evening the sale was finalized, but neither he nor Unger has
shown the least understanding or love.” The teachers had no idea what had happened,
hearing only vague, negative rumors. Because it was the summer holidays, Berta
wasn’t in school and the rest kept their distance, but when Rudolf Steiner reopened
the school in September, she insisted on Emil’s attending. He was terrified of being
asked to speak, then mortified because he was not asked to speak. He was in a lonely
no-man’s land, emptied out, sick at heart, and after a while he fell physically ill. Then
at least he had a daily visitor, the physician Dr. Noll, who came to care for him and
helped him pull himself back together. He began to look back on the events and on
himself and he saw what he might have done differently. “Leinhas is Leinhas and the
others are who they are,” he said to Berta. “I am the one who has to change.”
Later in September, at her suggestion, he ventured to Dornach for the first time
since the previous spring. He heard a Steiner lecture which he called ‘grandiose’ and
met with him afterward. Steiner advised him to heal his relationships, be truthful to
himself, open and clear and to rely on Berta. He warned of causing ruptures: “Even
though they can be repaired, some dross always remains.” Emil, still feeling guilty
about abandoning Futurum, asked him, “Do you think I am able for such a large task?”
Steiner smiled. Emil, glad to have breathed the Dornach air and for the time spent in
‘his’ beautiful Goetheanum, told Berta he would try to win his colleagues back.
In October Steiner came to Stuttgart to lecture. Having pondered well the issues
presented by the ‘young crowd’ in 1920 and aware they still wanted separation from

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the main German Society, despite the best efforts of the three chairmen, he responded
with a set of social lectures called “The Younger Generation: Educational and Spiritual
Impulses for Life in the Twentieth Century.”

Waldorf Astoria sold again

On November 13 Emil was having a leisurely breakfast with Mueller, his former
partner, visiting from Hamburg. The daily newspaper arrived. “Here,“ said Emil, passing
it to him. “You can read about local Stuttgart gossip while I fetch more tea.” Mueller
leafed through the paper and gasped. He showed Emil the news that Waldorf Astoria
had been sold to speculators by the discount bank. They immediately ordered the car
round and drove to Mannheim to face down Weil. He confirmed that the tobacco
importer Kiazim Emin had bought the majority of the shares. Weil claimed his bank
couldn’t discuss the negotiation in advance; otherwise a hostile firm would have
forced a sale. This way, he said they still had an interest in the business and would
keep Emil on as a traveling representative. “What about the agreement to support
the school and the workers?” was Emil‘s first question. “That stays in place,” promised
Weil. Emil’s secretary Otto Wagner wrote:

In 1922, with inflation and speculation rampant, cigarette companies such

as the Waldorf Astoria were forced to import tobacco at foreign rates and
then sell their cigarettes at a greatly weakened Mark. Many couldn’t survive
this situation and were bought out by foreign investors. Thus it happened
that very soon after the sale to the discount bank, the majority of Waldorf
shares came into the hands of a Greek tobacco supplier Kiazim Emin. His
firm was looking to invest in cigarette companies as a means of ensuring a
market for his tobacco. The transfer of ownership took place during the
latter part of 1922.

Berta, sick in bed, on hearing this news wondered where it would end and
thought her husband should get out. “The Waldorf Astoria is no longer the same,”
she said. “Tobacco is no longer the same. You need to do something you can put your
heart into.” Emil said it would be his greatest wish, but he worried that the workers’
contracts and the school payments would be dropped if he left. “If the school fails
it will destroy us both and Steiner too,” he said. Berta sighed, convinced that her
husband was caught in something no longer part of him, and she longed for him to
be free.

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Hope in flames
“Come,” said Emil, “we can be free. Let’s go to Vienna, go to an opera, visit friends.”
They did so for a few days, but her anxiety didn’t lift. She desired so desperately for
him to reconsider and she wanted their old life back. When they returned home they
found Walter sick in bed. The strain in the house was palpable. Christmas Eve arrived
and, although they did not feel much like celebrating, they trimmed the tree and
lit the candles, read the nativity passages in the Saint Luke Gospel and opened their
presents. One lone visitor, del Monte, came and offered them his friendship and his
sympathy.
Then, wanting spiritual comfort, they decided to pack up and go to Dornach for
the Christmas conference. Walter felt improved but stayed at home. The drive was
hazardous, with harsh weather, but they arrived safely on the evening of December 30.
Next day they walked from their hotel in Arlesheim to the Goetheanum, breathing
deeply of the bracing air. They paid a visit to Steiner, who sat chatting with Mr. Joseph
van Leer from Holland. Van Leer was larger than life, well-off financially and full of
energy and drive. He admired Noll’s line of products. Having recently returned from
America, he wished to promote them there. “America is the land of opportunity,” he
said with a noticeable twang, “and they’ll sell like hotcakes.” Again Emil imagined what
an adventure it would be to represent Weleda in the land he had always wanted to
visit. The man’s energy rubbed off on him.
Walking over to the Goetheanum, Berta and Emil met up with their niece, Lisa.
She was happy, doing her eurythmy training in Dornach. She introduced them to
her teacher and invited them to an afternoon performance in the large hall. They
stayed together until it was time for Steiner’s evening lecture. At ten o’clock, after
wishing everyone a happy New Year, they started back towards Arlesheim through
the woods but did not get far before they heard sirens and saw an awful orange glow
in the sky. Retracing their steps they were confronted by an inferno—the beautiful
handcrafted Goetheanum with its molded carvings and paintings was in flames. It
looked as though raging demons out of the underworld had been let loose, with
hissing and cracking and tongues of colored fire devouring and melting the stained-
glass windows. If 1922 was a year of suffering for Emil, nothing he ever experienced
came close to the horror and pain of seeing Steiner watch that incredible monument
to peace and learning destroyed by fire and no one being able to save it.
Emil joined Lisa and others who were risking their lives trying to salvage books
and whatever else they could. He hurt his arm on a burning beam, then sat on a cold
stone, physically frozen and frozen in spirit, with every ounce of strength drained

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away, looking for reasons why destiny could be so cruel. He thought of the millions in
currency of all nations, from a child’s saved allowance to a wealthy widow’s bequest,
that had flowed through the Goetheanum Trust under his supervision and how he
had followed every detail of thoughtful construction and artistic finishing.
He realized it was arson, but the culprit could have been sent by any number of
enemies. Why? Whom had the anthroposophists attacked? Who was being coerced?
Was the idea of a spiritual world so dreadful that someone would try to burn it away?
Emil was plagued by unanswerable questions: If the statue had been finished and in
its place on the stage, would it have shielded the building? Or would it have burned
as well? If everyone hadn’t burdened Steiner so much, would he have been able to
prevent it? Where were the guards whose job it was to watch? Why did we not notice
anything? Why was there no premonition? Berta finally came and gently pulled Emil
off his cold stone. “You will catch your death sitting there,” she said. “Come home to
bed. Tomorrow we will help.” He went home reluctantly but he couldn’t get warm
again. The shock was too great, the only consolation that the statue, “Representative
of Humanity,” survived. It was still in the studio, awaiting the final touches.
In later years Emil would write in his diary: “On Michaelmas 1913 the building’s
foundation stone was laid. Seven years later, Michaelmas 1920, the Goetheanum was
festively opened. Just two and one quarter years later, on New Year’s Eve 1922, it was
destroyed. Is it right to say that Steiner lost a part of himself in that dreadful fire and
that his grief surely was the deeper cause of his later illness? For another two and one
quarter years he worked and wrote, more than one could have possibly imagined.”
The fire had started behind the stage, in hollow partitions between the walls. The
arsonist was never found.

Inflation
The Weimar Republic, after borrowing heavily to pay off war debt with a
devalued Mark, found itself in an increasing deficit situation which, in the summer
of 1922 started to spin out of control, causing galloping inflation. Prices increased by
700% percent, and over the next fifteen months hyperinflation took over. Printing
presses were kept going day and night churning out almost worthless paper money.
By mid-1923 shops were empty because shopkeepers could not buy fast enough to
avoid selling at a loss. People sold furniture, clothing, jewelry and works of art to buy
food. It was a speculator’s dream buying and selling goods and real estate. Companies,
including Waldorf Astoria, printed their own scrip, a form of internally circulating
credit instead of money.

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 Waldorf Astoria credit notes

Finally in November the government stepped in and stabilized the currency

overnight with the ‘Rentenmark’ but it was too late for many people. They looked
for comfort in the teachings not of anthroposophy but of Communism and, later, of
the National Socialist Party.
In Emil’s diary for New Year’s Day 1923:

Cowardly thinking, fearful and shrinking,

Womanish faintness, abject complaint
Won’t prevent sorrow, keeps thee unfree.
Defying all powers with strength never ending,
Holding thy courage when knees might be bending
Calls on the arms of the Gods to shield thee.
– Goethe

Living with loss

In Dornach, for the first few days after the fire, with all other problems forgotten,
everybody worked together clearing, cleaning, comforting each other. Steiner insisted
that conference plans not be changed or postponed. He gave courageous lectures and
was firm and eloquent. The traditional “Three Kings Play” was performed in one of the
studios. Walter and Wagner arrived from Stuttgart to lend a hand. The Goetheanum
Trust met in the “Glass House,” the studio where the windows had been carved, to
discuss immediate rebuilding (in concrete this time). They asked Rudolf Steiner to
oversee the initiative. Berta left on January 3 with Wagner to prepare for school.
Walter and Emil stayed on for the rest of the week, Walter working with a young
group of volunteers and Emil, his arm still bandaged, helping as much possible. He
wrote Berta: “I am thinking clearly again, without the emotional baggage that weighed
me down. … ” The pain gave him a sense of perspective so that when attending a
planning meeting with Uehli, Unger and Leinhas, he was calm in the face of some

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old criticisms, especially when they began digging at him about the perceived failures
of 1919.
Such words, he thought, were just expressions of grief and feelings of bitter
inadequacy. He was convinced that the 1919 projects were done because they
were necessary. Of course there were repercussions; what they did was risky and if
Steiner reprimanded them for not understanding or not getting the work done, it
was certainly because he was frustrated himself at not being able to realize his ideal
vision. After all, he was responsible for doctors, teachers, children, workers as well as,
in some measure, heaven and earth and Germany. What fears and worries he must
have endured, as events initiated through him took their uncertain course.
Emil fell asleep at five in the morning and got up again at eleven. He went to see
Leinhas, sharing some of his thoughts of the night and thought he could sense a new
connection between them. Then he went to the afternoon eurythmy performance
and lecture, went to bed early and left the next morning at five to catch the train for
Stuttgart. Berta met him at the station and took him straight to their garden in the
Spittlerstrasse. There a large project was underway: the Molts were finally building
their own house, and the walls were up.
Over the next weeks Emil traveled again; there was much to do for the business.
Meanwhile Walter took his cousins Dora and Lisa and various girlfriends for wild
spins in his car. Once, with Dora and Emil, he chased a train Emil wanted to catch and
caught up with it at the top of a steep hill. Dora, full of admiration for her dashing
cousin described him: “His hands are slim yet strong and dexterous. He plays piano
well and has a wonderful sense of style. He is very discerning, able to judge people
well and give practical answers. He has a very quick wit.”
At the beginning of February Emil’s health broke down again, due to the
prolonged emotional stress. He would never be quite well again. At first his hurt
arm became inflamed and painfully swollen, causing him to cut short a meeting in
Zurich. He spent the next two weeks at home in bed feverish and with a urinary
tract infection. Both disabilities seemed caused by the night of the fire: the shock, the
burnt beam and the cold stone. Berta asked for a leave of absence from teaching to
nurse him. Dr. Noll prescribed homeopathic medications and strict bedrest. Each day
Wagner brought work from the office.

A split among the like-minded

On February 25 anthroposophical delegates from all over Germany gathered in
Stuttgart to discuss the disputes between ‘old’ and ‘young’ members of the Society,

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with Steiner present. The ‘older group’ were people who grew up before the war in an
atmosphere of order and tradition, with a veneration for Steiner’s words bordering on
religion. They could not understand the ‘younger crowd,’ people who grew up during
the war when everything was changed. The latter wanted new experiences and they
called anthroposophy ‘spiritual sport.’ The older ones saw them as frivolous but were
seen by their juniors as unbearably heavy. Perhaps one might remember that Steiner
himself was of the ‘older’ generation and a child of his time, the 19th century, and his
place, central Europe, in spite of the width of his vision.
Emil was out of bed by this time, but his doctor told him to stay away from
these meetings. Berta disagreed. She encouraged him to go with her saying that, with
friends on both sides of the divide, he might be able to help. Hoping to mend his own
relationship with the Society, he went. After a presentation by Dr. Unger, Emil was
invited to speak. He began by begging pardon for having been too sensitive in the past,
saying nothing in his life was more important to him than anthroposophy and that
he would work for it to his dying day, together, he hoped, with all of them. He was
warmly applauded. “Now perhaps I can begin again,” he said under his breath to Berta.
In spite of the best intentions it was clear that neither Uehli nor Unger, nor
Leinhas could hold the German Society together and that became another source of
distress for Steiner. One might have thought he would impose his will on them, but
he never did. Rather, at the close of the meeting he shocked everyone by announcing
he would withdraw from his posts in Stuttgart, the Society, the Waldorf School
Association, even Coming Day, to concentrate on his own spiritual research and his
teaching work. Rightly so; he was never a manager or director. He was a teacher and
his new decision must have been a wonderful relief to him. He blossomed with a
creativity that surpassed everything that came before.

Wisdom arising
Back at home Emil wrote: “Requirements for anthroposophical life: Strength for
life is gained through experience. Memory is deeper than speech and binds people to
each other, not through thoughts but through shared experience. Community is the
key element. We might receive ever such wonderful ideas from the spiritual world,
but we won’t understand anthroposophy until we understand the soul of the other
person.” He underlined: “There should be no divorce (two Societies) but rather union
through differentiation—two groups of the one Society!” He continued by reminding
himself: “Practice inner tolerance. Accept in equanimity even the most contradictory
utterance as being a justified remark. Souls should not be expected to have to change

215
themselves. The adversary knows what is needed to practice spiritual research, and he
tries to prevent it by making us focus on controversy instead of having the time and
peace needed for work.” His two new favorite mottos were one from Steiner: ”Live
in the love of the deed. Let live in the understanding of the other’s deed. This is the
motto of the free human being,” and one from Goethe: “To understand the world,
look into your own soul. To understand yourself, look into the world.”
February 27, 1923, was Steiner’s birthday, and he was still in Stuttgart. Emil and
Berta went to see him and pledged their support but it was a poignant meeting,
knowing Steiner would henceforth be a rare guest in Stuttgart. Emil’s fever returned
and he had to go back to bed instead of attending the teachers’ conference with
Steiner. He berated himself again: “I shouldn’t be so lazy. I don’t want to miss this.
Lying in bed just makes me slow. It takes me three times as long to do anything and
then I go to sleep trying to read The Philosophy of Freedom. How can I pull myself
together?”
He worked a bit and rested, with hot compresses on his abdomen. Berta read to
him and he dictated letters to his niece Dora, who by now had become the helpful
and loving daughter they never had.
Leading up to Easter Emil got a letter from Marx, begging him to take it easy
and look after himself. Then he did get out of bed for an hour to entertain Philip
Reemtsma, a rising star in the tobacco industry who turned up to tour the Waldorf
School and the factory. While he was in the factory, Emil asked his secretary, Wagner,
to send cigarettes to Marie Steiner, then hosting a conference: “March 7, Dear Mrs.
Steiner, We are honored to send you 500 cigarettes for distribution as you think best
and allow ourselves to add respectful greetings from Kommerzienrat Molt. G. Wagner.”

Negotiating the way

He got up a second time to negotiate his contract with his new boss. Kiazim Emin,
the current owner of Waldorf Astoria factory, was a complex mixture: a converted
Muslim of Sephardic Jewish origin, a lover of women and shrewd speculator with a
great deal of ambition and a self-made fortune. He flattered Emil, saying he admired
him for his knowledge and asserted they would do great things together. He made
it sound very tempting. On May 10, following an intense and tricky negotiation, he
renewed Emil’s contract for six years. Emil had to promise to run the company as
general manager, overseeing finance, marketing and personnel, but not interfering in
purchases or technical matters. In return Kiazim promised to uphold the Waldorf
Astoria tradition of quality and to support the school.

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 That contribution was crucial. The Waldorf School had grown from 250 to
700 children, not counting the new kindergarten, with hundreds of parents on the
waiting list. Still, as a private school it suffered financially, surviving on the donations
of the cigarette factory and friends both at home and abroad. The Molts continued
contributing out of their personal funds and helped at finding ‘Waldorf godparents,’
people with no child in the school, yet willing to underwrite the tuition for a pupil.
On August 1 the family ventured forth for a holiday. Their destination was
Austria. By now, due to the devaluation of the Mark, their stay cost them two
million Marks each, but Emil will probably have paid in Swiss francs. He took it very
easy, reading and writing. On one very hot and murky day, the family paid a visit to
Berchtesgaden and found it much changed. The rowdy and boisterous ‘Hitler people,’
as Emil called them, had arrived at the local dance hall. Walter and Felix were both
fascinated and repulsed by their visceral self-confidence and some of it rubbed off.
Walter smirked at remarks made at table, defied his father and was curt with a hotel
guest. Emil decided that Walter would soon have to be cut loose. Berta, of course,
good mother that she was, spoke softly to her son and brought him round. That
crowd certainly infected the atmosphere in the place and the weather mimicked the
mood, changing from beautiful to rain and mist, heat and thunder. They traveled back
by way of Munich and Nuremberg, where a meeting that Emil was supposed to attend
had to be cancelled because of a massive National Socialist rally.

The barter
On September 19 Emil met with Kiazim who promised him great transactions.
He conjured forth an image of Italy swimming in British pounds and France on the
brink of extreme wealth. Waldorf cigarettes would fly in both countries, he said, and
Emil could sell them in exchange for stable currency. Start-up money, he promised,
was no problem—Emil could have whatever he needed. Emil calculated and came
back to him next morning, saying he would need 20,000 Francs to finance the new
sales. “Impossible,” said Kiazim, thinking to play Emil, but he found himself matched
in Levantine bargaining craft. “How unfortunate,” answered Emil, “I didn’t know
you were so short of cash.” Kiazim immediately protested. “It‘s just a joke,” he said.
“Everything is flexible and we’re just starting to negotiate,” mentioning, as an aside,
that he could, if he wanted to, destroy Waldorf Astoria since he now owned the
competing company Turmac. “Perhaps, two businesses are one too many for you,”
Emil replied, beginning to enjoy himself, “but that is not my problem. … ”

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 In time Emil found out that the only reason Kiazim had bought German
companies was to have outlets for his own low-end tobacco. Once Emil knew this he
realized he was a potential thorn in Kiazim’s side because of his insistence on quality.
Yet for the moment Kiazim needed him and so, instead of letting go, Emil found
himself more enmeshed than ever.

Inner development
Michaelmas arrived, the feast of St. Michael, ruler of the present age and
conqueror of summer’s sulphuric Dragon—Michael who sends iron down as meteor
showers to give us courage. On September 27, Steiner was to give the first lecture of
a Michaelmas series in Vienna. Emil made the long trip because he found Steiner an
even more powerful and poignant speaker since the fire. On his way from the station
to the lecture hall, the taxi stopped. Hitler’s ‘swastika people’ were marching and they
looked intimidating. “I wouldn’t want to cross them,” said the driver. ‘Is this what we’re
facing?’ asked Emil to himself. The hall was quiet and peaceful. Steiner talked about
courage and about the spiritual powers waiting for human activity. “Failure should
never prevent us from having an indestructible trust in the power of the spiritual
world,” he said.
The following morning Emil sat in the front row listening about ancient druid
priests and their education of the heart relative to the cosmos, with the celebrations
of solstice and equinox (Michaelmas being at the time of the fall equinox). Steiner
described the cromlechs as receivers of the changing light over the course of seasons
and what part this played in druid ceremonies. A beautiful eurythmy performance
followed, then Emil lunched with Count Polzer and Count Lerchenfeld in the
Grand Hotel. Afterwards he rested and read, then visited his former Patras boss,
Albert Hamburger and his wife. Their company, Hamburger & Co., taken from
them by Greece due to the war, this couple resettled in Vienna and joined the
Anthroposophical Society. They lived a quiet life, content and glad to be home. ‘How
courageous they are,’ thought Emil, ‘to start life all over in a country that is becoming
increasingly antisemitic.’
Together they went to Steiner’s late evening lecture. Perhaps because of the
ungodly marching outside he talked about prayer and said, “If someone learns to fold
his hands in devotion in childhood, he will be able to bless people in old age. Devotion
in childhood and goodness in age allow the possibility of bringing peace into a room
full of fighting, restless adults.” Again he spoke of developing an active inner life rather

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than losing oneself in the external world and of educating the heart to be a barometer
of the cosmos. “That,” he said, “is how to prepare for a true Michaelmas.”
Later that night Emil sat at the desk in his hotel room. He contemplated the
events of the day. Then he wrote: “When someone lectures as Steiner does, there is
truth living in it. In my imagination I literally saw the druid ceremonies as he spoke
and was able to follow his research. I know it to be true. Tonight I make note of this
inner experience while fully conscious. It is like a new life beginning and forces being
awakened. I am standing before major decisions, but in one respect I am different
to the person I was before: I am clear and have the will to walk the path of destiny
further, with courage, because I know it is the only way forward. I am sure I will be
beset by darkness again—Dragons will approach me. It is in my nature to counter
these with emotion. But I shall never again lose my trust in the spiritual world, nor
trust in Steiner, nor trust in my own spiritual self. I write this in case doubts arise, it
is a marker, as proof of the truth of these experiences. I pledge faithfulness to Steiner
and love for my wife as deterrents to these adversarial powers.”

The tobacco bank

He went on to think about how to safeguard the tobacco industry in the
continuing instability and decided to try, once more, to create a cooperative structure
in the form of a tobacco bank, should his business colleagues be willing. He envisaged
it as underwritten by a financial institution and owned by the participants with their
own currency, based on their combined tobacco holdings. Kiazim was in Vienna. Emil
rang him and described his idea and Kiazim was immediately in favor.
On September 29 Emil visited the Bank of Vienna and its director, his friend
General Consul Fanta, who saw merit in the idea but said Austrian banks were afraid of
doing business with Germany; they didn’t want to be seen as traitors in their country.
“It needs further discussion,” he said. “Let us continue over lunch.” Emil replied, “I will
ask Kiazim to join us.” By the end of the meal they had Fanta‘s commitment. Happy
with the morning’s efforts, Emil joined friends for the grand finale of Steiner’s lectures.
The hall was packed. Then, too quickly, the whole thing was over.
On impulse, Emil decided to travel back with Steiner on the Orient Express. The
Koliskos, Unger and Joseph van Leer were among the passengers, an animated group,
chatting and discussing the impressions of the past days. At one point, the conductor
recognized Steiner from photographs and told the group proudly that he had a son
in the local Waldorf school.

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 Berta met Emil in Munich. She travelled there to make sure his health was
holding up. He assured her he was fine and took her along with Kiazim’s man Herbst
to obtain approval for the tobacco bank from State Commissioner, Gustav von Kahr.
After signing off on the bank plan, von Kahr subjected them to some garbled National
Socialist diatribe, clearly feeling compelled to demonstrate his allegiance to Hitler:

He is a good person who wants a strong Germany. The thing about the Jews
is not meant badly. Nobody is thinking of being a Jew murderer, but their
power has to be broken. Didn’t Hitler manage to bring many communists
and socialists under his wing with the German idea? Of course I support
the monarchy, but there is no thought of separation from the North, half
of Bavaria is against it. One only wants to cleanse Berlin of bad elements.
… The main hatred is against France. We have to arm, maybe sacrifice 10
million people to free Germany. We have to forcibly throw the occupying
French out of the Ruhr, which will cause some devastation, but France will
accommodate, then there will probably be a French revolution. England is
behind us as an ally; it is only waiting for a strong Germany and will send us
arms and munitions. Italy is behind us too. We have enough money for war.

Emil backed out of there; he didn’t even want to touch the signed approval, leaving
Herbst to complete the negotiations.
On October 30 the South German Tobacco Union was established with a
nominal capital of 10 million paper Marks. The Board included some of the most
powerful industrialists who understood the benefit, not just to manufacturers but
to wholesalers and retailers and through them the consumer. They issued scrip, stable
credit notes. The practice was not unusual in those times; there was even a ‘boot’
currency, i.e., the value of a boot!
Emil went to the Finance Ministry in Berlin for permission to borrow gold for the
500 million Marks almost entirely signed by the participants of the tobacco bank. The
official at the Ministry told him to just go ahead; there no longer seemed to be any
authority. So they did; they created their own system. In Stuttgart:

Credit Note: In the value of 1/4 dollar (Gold mark - fr 1.25).

This note can be redeemed in most cigar stores until December 31, 1924,
and is guaranteed by the STK AG. Stuttgart, Nov. 1923.

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The attempted putsch
On November 8, while Emil was still in Berlin, the Nazis felt the time was ripe to
make their move. Their base, Bavaria, was a hotbed of various groups opposed to the
republican government. By November 1923 they demanded action, backed by 55,000
followers, by far the biggest and best organized political group in Germany. Hitler
knew he had to move or risk losing the leadership of his Party.
He hatched a plot to kidnap the leaders of the Bavarian government and force
them at gunpoint to accept him as their leader. Then, according to their plan, with
the aid of the infamous General Ludendorff, they intended to co-opt the German
army and to proclaim a nationwide revolt which would bring down the government
in Berlin. Hitler, Goering, Ludendorff and Himmler marched on the central beer
hall where a large number of politicians and businessmen were convening. They
intimidated the leaders but were themselves outwitted. Hitler was thrown in jail and
while there he wrote Mein Kampf.
Emil was glad to read about that outcome and hoped it would end Hitler’s
movement. His state of health having become a barometer of outer circumstances,
he felt like himself again. He enjoyed organizing the tobacco union and turned his
attention to the school, helping with its administration and correspondence in his
spare time. This was his recreation, working with the teachers whom he liked and
admired. On December 17 Steiner arrived to conduct another teachers’ conference.
He invited Emil to attend this and all future teachers’ meetings. ‘I can hardly believe
this,’ thought Emil. ‘It is an honor and a reprieve.’
During the conference the children demonstrated their skills in various subjects—
music, languages, recitation—in an assembly and the teachers performed the annual
medieval “Oberufer Nativity” play, many guests streaming to see it through the newly-
fallen snow. The Waldorf Astoria factory celebrated as well with a Christmas party.
Then Emil organized a meeting of business friends to guarantee the school’s financial
shortfall. They found two hundred ‘godparents,’ each supporting one child, two
hundred business donors and a number of individual gift givers, more than enough to
see the school through for another year.
On December 23 Emil traveled to Dornach to attend the Christmas conference,
where Steiner completely restructured the Anthroposophical Society. He appointed
a Board of people he felt combined public skills with true and deep vision, their
work to be centered in Dornach. The members of the Board were Marie Steiner,
custodian of the books, eurythmy and speech; the physician Dr. Ita Wegman; the

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 December 1924 diary entry

researcher Elizabeth Vreede; the author and secretary of the organization Guenther
Wachsmuth and the Swiss poet Albert Steffen. Contrary to his former decision to
remain independent of organizations and to devote himself to teaching and writing,
Steiner put himself at the head of the Board as Chairman, a decision that cost him
much deliberation, but which he felt was essential. He emphasized the importance
of the new Society as a world society, vital in all realms of life, and he said the times
demanded complete transparency, books and lectures to be made available to the
public: “It is to be a society of like-minded people and not a society of statutes.”
Emil went alone, because Berta and Walter were both sick at home, but Berta
agreed it was important for him to be there although he knew he could stay only a few
days. Lisa organized quarters for him. She mentioned she’d be in one of the eurythmy
performances and told him how impressed she was by the many guests from abroad,
especially mentioning a suave American, Henry B. Monges who complimented her
on her performance. Seeing Monges at lunch, she ventured to introduce him to Emil,
who liked his easy American style. He could not have imagined that one day the shy
Lisa would marry this man, move to America and settle up the hill from Walter, start a
eurythmy school and bring her mother Paula and her widowed sister Dora, with her
son Christoph, over from postwar Germany.
The following mantram is from the Foundation Stone, which Steiner gave at the
Christmas Conference 1924–1925 in Dornach:

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 At the turning point of time
The Spirit-Light of the World
Entered the stream of Earthly Being.
Darkness of Night
Had held its sway.
Day-radiant Light
Poured in the souls of men;
Light that gives Warmth
To simple Shepherds’ Hearts,
Light that enlightens
The wise Head of Kings.
O Light Divine,
O Sun of Christ!
Warm Thou
Our Hearts,
Enlighten Thou
Our Heads,
That good may become
What from our Hearts
We would found
And from our Heads direct
With single purpose.
– Rudolf Steiner, 13 January 1924

Emil did not stay for the whole conference because he had to help Berta move
into their new house. He found her feeling improved and eager to hear his report.
They sat on the sunporch of their old apartment for the last time, looking over the
city lights in a darkening sky. “It’s all new,” he said, telling Berta about the esoteric
school forming in Dornach and that, before leaving, he had penned a request to
Steiner to join it:

Letter to Dr. Steiner, January 2.

Esteemed Dr. : Please accept me in your high school for spiritual science, in
whatever class you think I am ready for. At this point I want to reiterate my
promise to work for our sacred enterprise with my best forces. Heartfelt
thanks for the rich spiritual treasures you have given us. In deepest
devotion, E. Molt

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 House plaque

On January 4 the Molts moved into their lovely new home, designed by his
friend Weippert. Walter had gone off skiing with his friends, and Emil was annoyed
with him for leaving just when he needed him. Of course, his son came back in time to
help with the main move, but then Emil was annoyed with him again because Walter
said he was still not ready to go back to school.
The house was stunningly beautiful, sitting on its quiet street and sheltered by the
large garden behind. It contained rooms for at least three students, a suite of rooms
for meetings and study work, a large room each for Emil and Berta and a library for
the books Emil had acquired, including a Tauler Bible and an ancient Merian. The
centerpiece in Emil’s study was a St. Francis fountain, made for him by a sculptor
friend. How well Weippert had managed to create everything they had imagined!

The house
This house was bombed to the ground during World War II, but the basement
was partially intact. My godfather, Walter Rau, stored the books and the diaries there.
By the time my mother, my sister Ursula and I came to Stuttgart, eight years after the

The house

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war, the house had been rebuilt into apartments for Waldorf School teachers. My
mother added a little annex to the back, facing the garden. It had a tiny bathroom, a
tiny kitchen, one sitting-dining room and a narrow little bedroom just large enough
for two single beds. We slept in the bedroom, my mother on a pullout couch in the
living room, and a coal stove (a novelty for us) provided heat. It was a sparrows’
nest, five minutes’ walk from ‘our’ school. Endless friends of my parents from other
generations and many schoolmates lingered there.
Though he had been to Vienna and Dornach, Emil found he no longer had the
stamina to follow Steiner on his many intense lecture tours. Neither his health nor
his business allowed it. But Steiner still came to Stuttgart occasionally, and meetings
with him were very intimate, with friends and close associates, in the protection of
the new house. Berta tended to the visitors and to the students living there. Her
application letter soon followed Emil’s:

Stuttgart, February 11, 1924

Esteemed Dr., May I request participation in the high school in Dornach?
As a teacher in the Waldorf school, I would like to participate in everything
related to education. With greetings and thanks, Berta Molt

Another letter from Berta indicated her feelings of inadequacy:

Stuttgart, February 20, 1924

Esteemed Dr., When you visited (for which I thank you both from my
heart) the words I wanted to say to you stuck in my throat. I wanted to
ask you for your blessing for the work I shall be doing in the new house
and which I don’t feel equal to without your inner support. Because of our
position in life, our main task is to forge connecting links between the large
world and anthroposophy, but it is most difficult to fulfill this duty and still
bring up the necessary time and energy for the esoteric work. …Berta Molt

Emil’s health remained unstable. He continued with compresses to his stomach,

which gave him an excuse to withdraw for a while each day, using the time to read
Steiner’s basic text, The Philosophy of Freedom, a study which he would continue
to the end of his life.
On March 27 Steiner visited a teachers’ conference. He worried about the
new children being born, saying they would mature too soon and that it would be

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especially hard for an initiate to incarnate if he had to go through a regular schooling,
which ‘stuffed brains with prosaic facts.’ “It is shocking to see how old children are,” he
said. “We should give them back their childhood—youth should be silly—the mantle
of cleverness doesn’t sit well on their shoulders.” (I would have liked to ask Emil: “Was
Walter allowed to be silly too, or was he always expected to be serious?”)

The graduating class

Four of Walter’s friends, Rudolf Grosse, Karl Nunhoefer, Ulrich Schickler and
Adalbert von Keyserlingk, were about to become the first graduates of the Waldorf
School. They all knew Steiner well and read his books with enthusiasm. They worried
about the likelihood of harder times ahead and how to meet them, especially wanting
a dynamic Waldorf-style college to prepare them for life in the best way. They called
themselves the ‘Pentagram’ and often met at Walter’s house, glad to have Emil sit in
as their mentor. After many discussions, they penned a resolution and presented it to
Steiner:

Resolution
At Easter 1924 the first Waldorf class will graduate. These days a final exam
is required for college. The Abitur (German leaving certificate) is arduous
and contrary to Waldorf principles because this one-time test will decide
the whole future of a developing soul. We have to pass it to get into college.
From everything we hear, the sciences are no longer taught in a living way,
comprehensive of the whole human being. They are abstract and designed
to serve economic interests. We want a university that allows talents and
qualities slumbering in the human being to fully blossom and not just be
a place for learning a trade. We want a free college that finds its task in
fostering the anthroposophical understanding of the world so that the
abilities we have gained in the Waldorf School can develop and become
fruitful wherever they are needed.

Steiner was pleased by the letter, read it aloud to the next group he talked to, while
aware that such a wish could not be fulfilled easily.
Graduation just before Easter meant Walter’s best friends would be leaving
Stuttgart. Rudolf Grosse went to Arlesheim to work with a special-needs boy, later
rejoining the Waldorf School as a teacher. Karl Nunhoefer studied medicine and went
on to a successful career as an anthroposophical family doctor in London. Adalbert
von Keyserlingk walked in his family’s footsteps, promoting biodynamic agriculture,

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and Ulrich Schickler became a scientist. Walter, who hadn’t been in school and
couldn’t see going back yet without his friends, successfully negotiated with his father
to let him have one more year out. Emil agreed, on condition that he go to England
to perfect himself in the language and learn British business practice. Through Emil’s
connections, Walter was given a post at a firm in Ilkley and then Beckhamsted in
England’s north, then a bleak place with a depressed economy, but he learned the
language quickly which stood him in good stead later on.
Berta continued teaching handwork and bookbinding with Olga Leinhas. Emil
set up a bookbinding workshop for them in the basement of the house which allowed
the two women to master the craft. The main workshop was in school and after many
smaller projects the children were skilled enough to bind the four Mystery Dramas
in leather as a birthday present for Steiner. Berta felt sorry for Olga because everyone
knew her husband was seeing another woman. “I heard he met her at the Christmas
meeting,” confided Olga. “Do you know her?” asked Berta. “No, but I know that she
is younger and her name is, of all things, Flossie. How unserious is that?” “I have met
her,” replied Berta compassionately. “Her family name is von Sonklar.” “Well,” said Olga
bitterly, “youth and a ‘von’. How can I compete with that?” “Wait and see,” said Berta.
“Maybe he’ll come back.”
On May 7 Steiner asked Emil to chair a meeting of parents and friends of the
Waldorf School Association, to give an introduction and a financial report. As in
former times, in those circles, Emil initially felt trepidation, with a band-like pressure
around his head, and he began in a rather mechanical way, but then Steiner’s nearness
gave him confidence and he suddenly broke through his anxiety. The meeting turned
out warm and upbeat, with lively contributions.
This was the catharsis which finally laid to rest the residue of his earlier inhibitions.
Yet this 48-year-old businessman, used to conversing on equal terms with heads of
State, knew he would always have to be extra vigilant to keep an objective middle
ground between fearful doubt and over-assertiveness.
Anyway, this test met, Emil turned his attention to a very special occasion. Shortly,
he and Berta would celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary, and he wanted to
honor it with a carefully-planned festival. First he ordered two rings from a goldsmith
in Dornach, a master at fashioning jewelry with anthroposophical motifs. Steiner
designed them personally.
On May 10 industry colleagues met for a Board meeting of the Tobacco Trust.
Inflation was the topic and their shared work. “Leave old ways behind,” they agreed.
“Let us overcome animosities and apathy and combine purchases and advertising;

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otherwise how will our businesses bring up the money to pay the country the taxes it
needs?” The meeting ended cordially—Emil had again achieved the remarkable social
feat of bringing disparate businessmen together in an atmosphere of cooperation. He
also managed to obtain an agreement from the Minister for Finance and Industry to
let the Trust self-regulate rather than be dictated to by the State. “You see,” Emil said
later to Berta, “I must continue for a while.”
Poor Berta didn’t agree; she only saw him deluding himself, expending energy,
endlessly running after a dream. I think it was an important time for him, rehearsing,
as it were by trial and error and against all odds, for a future time when, according
to Steiner, business life would be defined by selflessness. According to his sure belief,
Emil was bringing his tobacco colleagues with him.
As a counterpoint to the general malaise in the country, the mood in the school
was positive with happy children, protected and animated by dedicated and creative
teachers, and these, although working hard and paid little, were animated by the
bright and eager young faces before them. The school was an island surrounded by
supportive parents, many of them still workers at Waldorf Astoria. While the factory,
under its new owner, didn’t subsidize educational activities for workers, the school
provided them and their friends with more than enough cultural participation.
An example: The teacher Stockmeyer gave a lecture on how to teach spatial
orientation in the upper grades using the example of sacred architecture. He described
sundials as relating the cosmos to the earth and sketched pre-Christian temples with
entrances in the east and the holy of holies in the west. He contrasted them to three-
dimensional Christian churches with entrances in the west, altars in the east and a
focus towards heaven through their spires. The focus of the mosques of Islam, often
with cosmic domes, all rayed towards one point on earth, Mecca.
The Coming Day Board met. Leinhas admitted that he failed with Coming Day
and could see no alternative to liquidation although some members felt it might still
be saved. He reported that Steiner had suggested a Supervisory Board, to implement
a quick reform following the sale of everything nonessential, having told him: “Buying
and selling should not be done by one person; it should be shared.” Emil thought:
‘That is a truth hard come by,’ feeling sorry it had not been implemented sooner.
The Supervisory Board initiated the sale or liquidation of major holdings, paying
back whoever they could while keeping only those ventures involved in cultural
activities. Del Monte took his factory out; it was to struggle for another six or seven
years and then fail. Miraculously, in Switzerland, the Goetheanum project survived
the failing Futurum. So did Ita Wegman’s clinic and the laboratory. Edgar Duerler

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was the driving force behind the latter; he managed to consolidate them with the
Schwäbisch Gmünd laboratory, under the name Weleda, becoming the managing
director for many years. Under his chairmanship, Weleda took on the burden of
Futurum debt, repaying shareholders over decades, an enormous source of relief for
Emil, whose admiration for Duerler and for Weleda grew.
On July 14, 1924, Emil and Berta Molt celebrated their silver wedding anniversary
in the flower-filled chapel room of the Waldorf School. Walter came from England
and many invited guests attended from Dornach and elsewhere. The ceremony was
conducted by Dr. Rittelmeyer, priest of the new Christian Community. Berta, always
slim, looked like a young girl in white and Emil felt happy and devotional. Walter
stood next to them with the rings. Steiner sat with his wife, watching the ceremony
with kindly attention. As it turned out, this was to be his last visit to Stuttgart.
Afterwards there was a reception with music at the Molt house. School children
brought flowers and sang and the Dreher siblings, Dora and Siegfried, helped Walter
and Felix serve guests. It was a memorable day. Emil gave a short speech, recalling the
past 25 years. Then the couple moved from one friend to the next, their eyes shining.
A group of theologians, looking for a renewal of religious life, had established
the Christian Community, another offshoot of anthroposophy, in 1921. On September
20, 1924, while lecturing to theologians in Dornach, Rudolf Steiner said, “Before the
etheric Christ can be understood in the right way, humanity will have to deal with
confronting the Beast (of the Apocalypse) which will rise up in 1933.” Nine days later,
on September 29, his strength was exhausted. News arrived in Stuttgart that he had
collapsed during an address and was seriously ill.
Berta and Emil followed reports of Steiner’s illness with anxiety. They fully
understood how worn out he was with the intensity of reforming the Society and
constantly traveling from one place to another initiating projects, advising, pouring
himself out. They held themselves back and, with the others in Stuttgart, tried to care
for the anthroposophical work without troubling him. They missed him terribly. On
New Year’s Eve, mindful of the events of the past years, the fire and the important
Christmas foundation meeting in Dornach of the year before, the Molts traveled
there to lend what support they could.

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 Chapter Seven
Endurance: Emil’s Next Seven Years (Jupiter Period), 1925–1932

He is 49
Once Emil said to Steiner, “The question most people ask me when confronted
with the term ‘anthroposophy’ is: ‘Can you describe it in three words?’ What would
you say?” Steiner’s answer was: “Doing your duty/selflessness/contentment with
destiny.” “And what,” asked Emil further, “are the three things that most harm a
person?” Steiner replied, “Untruthfulness/vanity/ambition.”
Steiner said, “If I want to communicate a feeling for the immortality of the human
soul to my students, I can, for instance, talk of what happens when a butterfly emerges
from its chrysalis. I can compare this event, this image, with what happens when a
person dies. Then I can say, ‘Just as the butterfly flies out of the chrysalis, so, after
death, the immortal soul leaves the physical body.’ … It is not I who create this picture
out of my reasoning; rather, it is the world itself that reveals the processes of nature.
… I believe with every fiber of my soul that it represents a truth placed by the Gods
themselves before our very eyes.” – Spoken in The Hague, February 27, 1921.

Leaving this world

On New Year’s Day the Molts first went to the studio where Steiner had his bed,
lying at the foot of his statue, too sick for visitors. Drs. Wegman and Noll were with
him day and night. The Molts were not allowed to see him, but their warm-hearted
friend Noll comforted them, assuring them that Steiner was slowly improving but still
needed seclusion and rest. Noll described Steiner’s daily activities and how well Ita
Wegman was caring for him while others looked after her clinic. “She and Dr. Steiner
are writing a book on medicine together,” he said, “and it will be a great work when
it’s done.” Berta asked Noll to give Steiner drawings and handcrafts from the children
in her class and along with the gifts they wrote him of their love and devotion. Noll,
a twinkle in his eye, told Berta and Emil not to worry, the love they brought was the
best medicine, which he would gladly administer to his patient.
Then Berta and Emil visited Marie Steiner and found her dauntless as ever, willing
to continue her travels and work for eurythmy, because her husband asked her to.

230
She would, she said, be his representative in the world during his illness. The Molts
promised their help and support.
The third port of call was the Sonnenhof, an annex of Ita Wegman’s clinic, where
their young friend Rudolf Grosse lay recuperating. Called to Dornach by Steiner to
look after a special-needs child, he had fallen seriously ill on the way and arrived only
to learn that Steiner himself was ill. Berta and Emil brought him news of his friends
in Stuttgart and wished him well for the new year and for his work. They admired
the healing atmosphere in the clinic, the caring staff, the colors on the walls, the fine
linens and, underlying it, the ‘Weleda’ fragrances. “You’re in quite a hotel here,” said
Emil to Rudolf.
In the afternoon they attended a performance of the Oberufer “Three Kings
Play” and, in the evening, a reading by Marie Steiner and a presentation by Albert
Steffen, afterwards writing Walter in England and sending greetings to his landlady,
Mrs. Lubbock.
At the beginning of 1925, cigarette sales throughout Germany were stagnant
and banks were not lending. Emil had to implement drastic cost-saving measures
mandated by his boss. Older workers were sent into early retirement, others simply
dismissed. Then, toward summer, as a result of his extreme sales efforts, orders began
to flow in, but they couldn’t be filled now because of the lack of staff. Emil felt like
a janitor, keeping a building clean after its occupants were gone home, dealing with
complaints and complications, banks and especially the volatile Kiazim. He was able
to maintain himself only because he knew he was needed and because his boss knew
he would resign if pushed too far.
At one stage wanting to be free, he sold his remaining shares to the Kiazim
corporation. His attitude of no compromise usually won him respect even in the least
savory and most adverse conditions, but it was at a cost of compromising himself to
remain in that situation. He was like St. George and the Dragon, the knight standing
tall in his stirrups, spear in hand, while the multi-headed company twisted and
turned, changing, attacking and withdrawing while grasping for illusory riches. In this
version of the story the knight did not kill the dragon. He even won him over while
losing the battle and a part of himself.
When principals of the company came to Stuttgart, Emil showed them the
school, let them speak to the teachers and observe the children and took them home
to dinner with Berta. His enthusiasm was so infectious that subsequent meetings
couldn’t be completely cold and formal, even if their demands flew at him. Many
decisions were not to his liking. Competition, called ‘tobacco politics,’ was a constant

231
theme. Emil said, “Let’s stay away from power politics; almost everything can be
achieved by agreement.” He said it, but wondered if it was heard.
On Shrove Tuesday Berta attended the annual carnival fancy-dress ball at the
home of one of the teachers while Emil was away. She enjoyed it, going dressed up as
her son ‘Walter.’ The carnival tradition in Stuttgart is lovely to this day. Private houses
are transformed into the land under the sea or an enchanted forest, whatever the
chosen theme might be, and everyone arrives in costume and mask for an all-night
revelry.
On February 26, anxious about Steiner, the Molts again drove to Dornach, taking
Olga Leinhas and Waldorf teacher Helene Rommel (the sister of the later ‘Desert Fox’)
along. They stayed at the Ochsen Inn. There was a birthday celebration in Steiner’s
honor, though in his absence; this time the Molts brought him the leather-bound
Mystery Dramas, made by the children. They hoped to visit him but heard his state of
health was still too unsettled. The birthday celebration took place in the evening with
a rather somber address by Steffen followed by a poignant rendering by Lili Kolisko of
one of Steiner’s verses, “Springing from Powers of the Sun.”
The prevailing mood there was too much for Berta. She became agitated and
fearful and felt so poorly that they cut their stay short and drove back to Stuttgart. She
went to bed straightaway with stomach cramps and Emil canceled all appointments
because he didn’t feel too well either. Dr. Kolisko came to see Berta and she was
comforted, speaking to him and talking admiringly of his gifted wife Lili the scientist,
who had recited so beautifully in Dornach.
Ambassador Simons and his wife visited one evening. They had just been to Italy
and recommended a trip to the sun. They praised Sicily saying they’d been to many
beautiful spots in Italy but never any as interesting as the country’s foot and the island
it was kicking. Emil said he’d always been curious about Sicily because of Frederick
II of Stauffen, the monarch whose castle ruins he once climbed from Alfdorf and
who had reigned in Sicily as well. But, he remarked, he also had a strange dread of
the place because of another castle, Kalot Enbolot, mentioned in the Grail legend
“Parzifal.” “The story goes,” he said, “that Klingsor, a magician from Capua, seduced
the wife of King Ibert of Sicily at Kalot Enbolot. The King, finding the two in bed,
castrated Klingsor which caused in the latter a hatred of humanity and made him an
opponent of everything good and true. He is said to have brought great harm to the
people of the Grail.” “We saw nothing evil there,” laughed Simons. “Sicily was beautiful
and bright, no darkness at all.” “Well, I do love Italy,” replied Emil, “and Easter holidays
are coming up. Berta, shall we go?”

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 On March 3 Emil made up his mind during the morning. He tidied his office and
went home. “We’re leaving,” he said. “Where to?” asked Berta. “I don’t really care,” he
answered. “Easter will bring a new beginning wherever we go.” It was snowing and
he was in a hurry; he couldn’t wait to get away. Berta was still weak so he packed for
them both, throwing things together in a fairly random way. He helped her to the
train and bedded her down in a first class carriage, then, feeling ill himself, agreed to
stop for a few days in a Zurich spa where they had an account. This time their favorite
Swiss town was depressing, the weather cold and unfriendly and, instead of enjoying
Zurich, they sat in their room, exhausted. Berta said, “Why don’t we go to Dornach
for Easter?” to which he replied, “Our last visit there made us ill. We’ll go on the way
back when we’re stronger.”

Trial by fire
On March 4 they looked out the window at the snow and decided to move on
and headed for the train station. After finding a seat for Berta in the waiting room,
Emil went to the counter to buy tickets but when he looked through his wallet he
realized that in his hurry he had forgotten to take enough money for the trip. He
rang Bruckhausen, the manager at the Zurich Waldorf Astoria factory, who, rushing
to the station with minutes to spare, brought him some cash. They traveled to Genoa,
booked themselves into a hotel, the Miramar, then took a short evening stroll through
the bustling town. Here the weather was mild and clear. Hearing sirens in the distance
they inquired and were told their steamer had caught fire and wouldn’t be available
for several days.
Emil didn’t mind the wait. Berta went on a clothes-shopping spree since the things
Emil had packed in such a hurry were completely inappropriate for the country and
its climate. His yellow woolly suit, loden coat and oldest hat were only outdone by her
garden hat, English tweed coat and heavy boots. “What a fright we look,” said Berta.
She was an astute shopper, innately elegant but without being a spendthrift. Italian
fashion had a great allure. She came back looking chic and wonderfully improved.
Finally, on the 10th they were able to board a steamer with a dining room and
festival hall and enjoyed their trip to Spezia, past Elba and Corsica, arriving in the
morning at Naples. They went ashore and booked a dayroom at the Hotel Continental
with a view to the sea, then went out visiting San Elmo and sighting Mount Vesuvius
and the islands of Ischia and Capri from afar. In the afternoon, after a walk to Castel
Nuovo, they booked a sleeping compartment on an overnight train. They had decided
on Sicily.

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 As long as the light held they admired the changing landscape, then settled into
their bunks. Next morning they crossed by boat to the island and from there to their
destination, the tourist resort of Taormina. Their lodgings were spectacular: a suite
overlooking the old ‘Tauromenion’ as it was called, with the expanse of sea beyond.
In the afternoon they explored. Most buildings seemed built in Norman times, but
Greeks, Romans, Saracens, French and Spaniards had all come through there at one
point or another, leaving traces of themselves. The German King Frederick II had ruled
the island from his castello amidst cactuses, figs and lemon groves, flowers and palms
that hadn’t changed much since his reign. Looking up at the steeply rising hills, the
Molts saw sure-footed donkeys and goats climbing among the rocks and high villages
built to avoid the swamp fever of the plains. Above all they admired the local people,
finding them beautiful and graceful with a noble bearing. They thought of Pyrrhos
and Garibaldi, both landing here, and caught a glimpse of the brightness Simons had
spoken of, but too soon it seemed an illusion.
The next day all they could see from their balcony was rain turning to sleet as the
temperature dropped. Mount Aetna was blanketed in snow far down its sides. They
were trapped indoors waiting for better weather. When it didn’t arrive they ventured
up to the lava beds in the Alkenera Valley below the recently-erupted volcano. The
scene they met was one of unbelievable chaos with hot air hissing and steaming over
an area of approximately 30 square kilometers. The further road was completely
blocked by hardened lava and sulphur salts, and fissures up to 20 meters deep lined
the verge. Legend says Hephaestus, the smith of the gods, had his workshop here, and
underneath him the giant Typhon lay in restless slumber. While the Molts watched,
more snow flurries began a surreal play, mingling hot and cold, black and white. One
brief break in the weather revealed a long mountain range and barren vastness and
then that glimpse disappeared again. Now Berta was glad of her warm tweed coat and
heavy boots; her thin little Italian outfits were of no use to her at all.
They spent the next few days in the hotel because of the relentless weather. The
locals couldn’t explain its intensity and persistence. The grand finale, on the 20th, was
a dreadful storm with rain, thunder and lightning no one ever remembered having
seen before. Nature had gone mad in a frighteningly eerie way. The Molts asked each
other, why these unleashed forces? They had enough and wanted to get away from
that strange place but they were trapped—no boats venturing out on the wild seas.
On the 22nd they moved to Palermo to be closer to whatever ferry might be
leaving, going out briefly for some sightseeing but without great gusto; they were
weary and demoralized. Finally, on the 27th, they boarded a steamer and endured
a stormy, sleepless passage to Naples, arriving there at 8 in the morning of the 28th.
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 The weather was still cold and rainy, so they went straight on to Rome, passing
through yet another thunderstorm, stopping at the Hotel Eden and eating in their
room, uneasy, wondering what fate was trying to tell them. Hoping for a last good
end of the vacation, they decided to spend one more day in Rome, but with the
weather still inclement, went indoors to the Villa Borghese and underground to the
catacombs, the city of the dead, with the leaden weight of the world on them.

The unexpected telegram

On Monday, the 30th they left for Milan in bad weather, arriving late at the Hotel
Pellera. A telegram from Emil’s business associate in Rome awaited them: “March 30,
11:20 pm: Just received following telegram from Stuttgart: Doctor Steiner passed away
this morning 10 am. Walter informs that he is in Basel. Waldorf car brought Frau
Doctor to Dornach. Greetings Wagner.”
Their revered teacher and beloved friend, Rudolf Steiner, had died that morning
in Dornach and they weren’t there. Thinking about the cataclysmic weather they had
endured in Sicily, they wondered, ‘He who was so much attacked, did we at least
divert some of the fury away from him so he could pass in peace?’ It would have been
a small comfort to think so.
Next morning they took the first train to Basel. The weather, especially north
of the Alps, was now serene and clear. Walter met them at the station and together
they went to Dornach and to the studio where Steiner lay, surrounded by flowers,
looking fragile. ‘Forgive us,’ all three of them thought in their own way. ‘We weren’t
supportive enough. We didn’t help you enough. We were preoccupied by other
things. How can we bear to be without you?’ Walter, introspective yet highly sensitive
to his surroundings, was overwhelmed, not knowing how to digest what he had
seen. He was anxious for his parents and didn’t have the heart to go back to England.
Emil observed him and thought, ‘He will need much love,’ himself dealing with the
shock differently. He looked for something to do, checking with the kitchens about
providing food for the people streaming in and assisting in whatever practical thing
needed attending, but he felt as if stabbed in his vital organs. Berta went to their
room in the house of Mrs. Frey because she couldn’t bear the bustle. She sat by the
window, unmoving, immensely sorrowful, remembering Steiner and wondering how
the people close to him would manage.
The death of the great man came as a surprise to most people even though he
had been ill for so long. Even his wife, Marie, still in Stuttgart with her eurythmy
group, was informed of Steiner’s deteriorating condition only the evening before. The

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Molts being away and the factory closed for the weekend, she couldn’t access the car
that was always at her disposal. She tried phoning Leinhas in his lodgings, but he was
out, so she left him a message which he failed to see when he returned. At six the
next morning, she rang him again, desperate to get back to Switzerland. Leinhas got
in touch with the Waldorf Astoria chauffeur and drove with Marie, but they only
arrived two hours after Steiner’s death.
Time stood still. The Stuttgart school closed and sent its teachers to Dornach
to participate in a memorial gathering organized by Albert Steffen. A Christian
Community priest held the funeral service, and the Molts attended the cremation,
after which they returned to Stuttgart to another memorial held at the school for
parents and children. The Stuttgart eurythmists performed, feeling support for Marie
Steiner, who, they knew, was suffering the pangs of the living.

Where is protection?
Emil was sick for most of April and always tired. He knew he was going through a
major change, but not sure whether it was physical or psychological. He couldn’t bear
to go to his office and worked at home with August Rentschler. Dr. Kolisko came and
prescribed an iron remedy to balance what he characterized as ‘too much sulphur.’
He told him not to give in to his lethargy but to get up at six as always, also not to
withdraw from his work at Waldorf Astoria. “You will only improve,” he said, “if you
are among people.” Emil prepared a Steiner retrospective and invited the office staff
with Dr. and Mrs. Hahn to his house for a commemorative evening.
On April 26 he ventured out to vote for the next German president and was
disgusted when old General Hindenburg won, although by a fairly small margin.
‘Where will that take this country?’ he thought. He didn’t have to wait long. The
radical right was beginning to assert itself over the large socialist left.
Almost immediately the Waldorf School was under threat. For six years it had
been allowed to develop in freedom. Now an old federal school law was invoked
stipulating a maximum of seven years for ‘experimental, independent schools’ after
which they were gradually closed. The Waldorf teachers were notified that from 1926
on, the first grade would be forbidden and thereafter additional grades closed each
year. Emil suspected the Waldorf School was being singled out. He visited Herr Niefer
of the School Board with his attorney, Dr. Lenkner, citing other independent schools
in operation far longer than seven years. He learned that this law had never been
enforced. Niefer advised him to wait and lie low, meanwhile working towards State

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accreditation. “The school has enough friends who will stand by it if necessary,” said
Lenkner.
Coming Day was an ongoing nightmare as Emil, watching helplessly from the
sidelines, saw it take its plunge towards final liquidation. The director, Leinhas,
claimed the world failed to understand Coming Day which therefore could not
expand enough to realize its original idea when actually it probably expanded too fast
and too much in a rapidly changing world his associates did not understand. After
the collapse, only the Waldorf School remained. (Weleda had become independent.)
Leinhas changed the Coming Day company name to ‘Uhlandshöhe Corporation’ and
continued as the financial administrator for the school—not an easy outcome for
him. He had placed himself as point man into all the main positions; now he had to
endure the criticisms directed at him, and he would feel lonely and misunderstood
for the rest of his life.
After things settled down a little, Walter wanted to leave home again. Emil got him
a post at his Roman friend’s bank and gave him pocket money, but imposed certain
conditions on his going. He asked him to 1. answer letters, 2. keep them informed
about his health, 3. report on his work, 4. describe his cultural-artistic activities, 5.
report on letters by others, 6. remember birthdays and inquire about people at home,
and 7. send economic reports, 8. political reports, 9. books and articles he read and
10. meetings he attended. Poor Walter! He promised, then vented his frustration by
questioning Emil’s expenditures in the face of his decision to let Hilde, his mother’s
live-in housemaid go because they couldn’t afford her anymore.
For a while he wrote, then the letters from Rome stopped. Emil hounded Walter,
wanting news. Finally, in the beginning of August, Walter rang asking for money. He
claimed he hadn’t written because he had been unwell. He should have known better.
Against Berta’s advice, Emil hopped the next train to Rome. Walter, who met him at
the station, was not too thrilled to see his father but assured him he was indeed now
fine. At the bank, Walter’s manager said how sorry he felt for Walter, so often sick and
having to mind his bed. Emil noticed a dreamy aspect in Walter he hadn’t noticed
before. He found it quite charming and invited him over to his hotel for meals to
build up his strength. On the last day, after a late supper, he insisted on seeing Walter’s
quarters, probably imagining that Walter hadn’t taken him there because his rooms
were too shabby. His son gave him a long look and then, with a wicked gleam in the
eye, said, “All right then, come along.” He took him up to the top floor of an apartment
complex, opened the door and … introduced him to Alma, a beautiful young Roman
actress who had been taking good care of him.

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 Emil came back home to Berta who, really angry with him for the first time, said,
“Why can’t you mind your own business. You are impossible. You have no trust in
your son and, in fact, no trust in me. I had to let Hilde go, although she was well
within my budget, because you kept talking about our finances. You spend money
going on useless trips and expect me to make do. I don’t even want to go on summer
holidays with you now and certainly not to Italy again. Why don’t you just go with
Dora.” It took Emil a while to calm her down. He pleaded with her. “I’m not tolerant
enough. I see that now. Please come with me. We’ll take Dora and we’ll take it easy,
because the memory of Sicily shouldn’t color our love of Italy.”
She gave in at last and they went to Innsbruck, then visited Venice, staying nearby,
in Riva. Dora was with them. They invited Walter up and he invited his friend Rudolf
Grosse. Rowing out on the lake in the evening under the full moon, father and son
had a long talk. Emil apologized for his behavior. He promised to learn to understand
him better. Walter told him about his life in Rome and about his girlfriend, whom
he admired. Then he said he wanted to return to school to prepare for final exams,
realizing that he needed a certificate to get on in life. Being two years older than the
others was irrelevant and, besides, his cousin Dora would be in the same class. They
rowed to shore in the best frame of mind. Dora enjoyed herself hugely, happy the
boys were there to chaperone her; they went dancing until late and afterwards often
swam in the moonlight under the stars.

Restless activity
From August through December Emil achieved incredible sales. Much of this was
due to reorganization and a new advertising campaign. “Go for luxury, choose quality
in tobacco,” he insisted to his boss, “and don’t spend too much on packaging; we are a
cigarette factory and not a packaging company.”
He still kept traveling since most tobacco and legal meetings took place outside
Stuttgart. It was an effort for him but he knew the juggernaut would spin away from
him if he didn’t go. So he spent time in trains, too often sitting with his briefcase on his
knee and his overnight case in the rack above. He read his Steiner lectures, chatted with
fellow passengers and had his portable anthroposophical medicine kit along. The Noll
heart and circulation remedy Cardiodoron in particular was an indispensable ally. He
tried to compensate for the tedium by enjoying expensive meals in fancy hotels with
people he invited and by visiting museums and theatres, but when he got back home
he had to face Berta who disapproved of the company he kept and of his lifestyle.
She told him he had put their own future on hold and too many pounds on himself,

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 “… And you are not the picture of health,” she said. “Well, I am
doing too much,” he admitted, “but then, you are too. Why do
you stay at school meetings until one in the morning?”
Kiazim entered into an alliance with Reemtsma through
their representative, the American Gutschow. The Reemtsma
company, headed by two brothers and with a large interest in
New York, was already a power in the industry. They wanted
the emphasis taken away from the Orient, featuring American
Emil holding on tobacco instead. Kiazim told Emil about plans for consolidating
Waldorf Astoria, Reemtsma, Manoli, Zuban and Karnistri into
one central firm with combined bookkeeping and billing, a single storage facility and
manufacture. It centered on Waldorf Astoria’s spectacular increase in sales and public
respect. “Reemtsma seems worried about me and doesn’t really trust me,” said Kiazim.
“Don’t worry,” answered Emil, for once in total misjudgment of a situation. “Philipp
Reemtsma has big plans, but he will not have sufficient overview in the long run.”
He rather liked Reemtsma and was grateful to him because the latter insisted that
the merger, including bookkeeping, warehousing and sales organization, would be
headquartered in Stuttgart.

Kiazim’s maneuver
Towards the end of the year there was trouble at Waldorf Astoria. Apparently
Kiazim had overspent and sent the company into debt. A number of investors were
after him. One of them, while traveling on the train with Emil, pulled a pistol out of
his pocket, telling him he was so furious, he had almost shot Kiazim. “Are you mad?”
asked Emil. “Take that thing home and lock it away.” Kiazim, under stress, became
abusive, accusing Emil of being responsible for losing the company money. Emil called
Kiazim’s bluff, saying he would be quite willing to resign and make room for a different
director if Kiazim didn’t trust him. The latter appeared horrified at the idea. “Nothing
has changed,” he said, “and there is absolutely no need to bring in someone new.”
Emil said he was willing to work with him but wanted assurance of his trust;
otherwise he should release him from his contract. He said, “You won’t make me
the scapegoat for your dispositions. You must accept responsibility and you shouldn’t
play your employees like chess figures.” His advice was to deal in a more social way and
not always appear so unpredictable. This seemed to have an effect. Kiazim, chagrined,
said he had nothing any more, was dependent on banks and would rather be in Emil’s
place, whom he treasured like a father. “Don’t be so sensitive” he said. “I have big plans
and you are going to play a major role in them.”

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 Emil went home smiling but dead-tired, knowing talk is air, and indeed, within
weeks, Kiazim, suspicious of his sparring partner, hired another director, a man
named Weikl who didn’t understand the first thing about tobacco but hounded Emil
unmercifully.
“You see,” Emil told Berta, “that is why I haven’t left Waldorf Astoria. Without me
the company would probably be bankrupt by now and all contracts void. Without
its support the school would be closed in a month. What would you have me do?”
“Sell the company of course,” she said, “and give half to the school. That will keep them
going.” “I can’t sell the company,” answered Emil. “It’s not mine anymore. I don’t even
have shares. All I have now is my salary,” and he explained why he had sold the shares.
This gave Berta a huge fright. “Don’t worry,” said Emil. “We still have our savings and a
pension, which will keep us going after I retire, with enough for medical expenses and
vacations, and I will work as long as I can.” Berta found this unbearable. She looked
grey and said her heart was giving her trouble. “You need rest,” said Emil. “Take a leave
of absence from the school.” He booked her into the clinic in St. Moritz. “Stay as long
as it takes to get well,” he said. “Better a few months’ temporary separation than a
permanent one. I couldn’t survive without you.” “Winter has always been the worst
time for me,” she said gratefully. “Since we can still afford it, I will go and leave you to
it.” She made all the arrangements for the household, then with her friend Alwine,
spent three long months in St. Moritz.

Dispute with Dornach

In 1926 the international Waldorf School Association project got underway,
initiated by Dr. Willem Zeylmans van Emmichoven in Holland, together with some
of the main teachers at the Stuttgart school and presided over by Emil. They planned
it for parents, friends and teachers around the world, as a network and means of
collaboration, financing and support. The Association was to assist startup schools
and be their public proponent. Anyone could become a member by paying a modest
annual fee. They discussed a Board appointed by the Society, thus linking the
Association with the Goetheanum. Dr. Zeylmans believed Holland to be well-suited
as a base for this venture as opposed to Germany with its negative image.
Their timing was unfortunate because there was strife in Dornach. Four members
of the Goetheanum Board, Marie Steiner, Albert Steffen, Ita Wegman and Elizabeth
Vreede, were in conflict with each other, like a family disputing a legacy. The fifth
member, Dr. Wachsmuth, Secretary-Treasurer of the Board and a quiet organizer
trained in law, stayed in the background.

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 The dispute began under the understandable emotion following Steiner’s death.
Although Marie Steiner kept courses, conferences and her eurythmy work going
during his illness, she was deeply chagrined that she had not been present at his passing.
She now stated that Steiner’s writings were all they had left and that his work should
be guarded by the Goetheanum. Ita Wegman asserted that spiritual scientific research
must be allowed to continue and develop, even without the teacher and should not
be confined to one place. Albert Steffen sided with Marie Steiner, Elizabeth Vreede
with Ita Wegman.
This five-member Goetheanum Board should have provided international width
and wisdom, combining the air of Russia (Marie grew up there), Java in Indonesia
(Ita was born there), Holland (Elizabeth), Germany (Guenther) and Switzerland
(Albert). It linked the performing arts, medicine, science, law and literature, but it
couldn’t link hearts and heads. When Zeylmans reported to Vreede about the idea of
the Waldorf School Association, he believed he was reporting to the Dornach Board,
but Marie Steiner, at odds with Vreede, was not informed. It upset her that something
of that magnitude could be planned independently of them and she feared Steiner’s
ideas would be diluted or misinterpreted.
For Vreede it was self-evident: New initiatives should start in other parts of the
world, and she perfectly trusted anthroposophical colleagues to do a good job without
losing the link to the Goetheanum. The more conservative Steffen insisted all major
ventures should be under the guidance and supervision of the Goetheanum, while
some Stuttgart teachers, although they approved of the connection with Dornach,
felt education should fall under the supervision of those responsible for the schools.
It should have been possible to contain and resolve this issue but feelings ran high
and it escalated. People in Stuttgart, already divided, now became more so, some siding
with Marie Steiner and Steffen, others with Wegman and Vreede. Emil found himself
in the middle. Leinhas traveled between Dornach and Stuttgart trying to mediate,
but couldn’t resolve it and sometimes stepped on toes. (He was a little affronted at
not being invited to be treasurer of the proposed association.) He reported that Marie
Steiner and Steffen would remain opposed to the plan until everyone acknowledged
Dornach’s supervision. Steffen wrote: “I will fight to the end to prevent outsiders
into an international association,” and then he threw a barb at the poor mediator:
“Leinhas, for example, is to blame that Coming Day fell apart.” Kolisko suggested: Why
don’t we have the spiritual center in Dornach, the educational center in Stuttgart and
the practical initiative center in The Hague? Even this proposal wasn’t accepted. The
project was given up and never attempted again.

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 To alleviate stress and strengthen the link to Dornach, the German Waldorf School
Association asked Steffen to become its new Chair. He accepted, although he very
rarely came to meetings, leaving the Vice Chair, Emil, to preside. Emil was concerned
that Steffen would be too removed and on one occasion traveled to Dornach to discuss
ongoing issues with him. He found things terribly changed. Marie Steiner and Steffen
were no longer as accessible as they had been before, and when Emil did meet with
Steffen, the latter gave him to understand that, yes, every proposed public activity in
Stuttgart would need approval from Dornach (the very opposite of what Steiner had
envisaged). Ironically, if Steffen had approved the international association, he could
have enjoyed knowing it would carry all financial responsibility. Instead, he had to
personally sign off on a fundraising plea to Stuttgart parents:

We are worried about the financial situation of our school which is

particularly acute just at a time when the school is enjoying growth and
approval in wide circles. … Financial health can only come from you.
We won’t refuse any child as long as there are places, but we must ask
all parents paying a reduced fee to find other persons who can cover the
deficit. …If relatives cannot afford it, then the parents might describe the
Waldorf school to a friend able to help. …

The school wasn’t the only thing wearing on Emil. He was tired of trying to
maintain himself under Weikl, the director imposed on him, knowing it was ruining
his already unstable health. He reminded himself, ‘You have tried to practice tolerance
when others make mistakes. but take care that you don’t become liable for what they
do. There are limits beyond which you will not go,’ and he went on the attack.

Memorandum and ultimatum to the Board of Directors:

Stuttgart, October 13, 1926
Six months ago Herr Weikl began his work at the Waldorf Astoria. He
never criticized me in any of my actions. Quite the opposite, he emphasized
repeatedly how pleasant it was to work with me and Herr Rentschler.
I say this before describing Herr Weikl’s conduct. Although organizing
the sales force was my specific task, Herr Weikl took that side of the
business out of my hands. He hired new salespeople without informing me,
shifted the sales areas, negotiated salaries. Over time the loyalty of the sales
force was affected, and I was brought into an increasingly difficult situation.

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 Another serious case: After his return from Berlin, Weikl announced
we were going to sell to discounters, at 1% more than the legal discount.
Our trade association has been fighting discounting. We had just told them
we would never discount. This is the kind of humbug our honorable firm is
subjected to and which could get us fined and subjected to loss of prestige.
I no longer have confidence in Herr Weikl’s abilities and good will and
find I do not wish to even visit my office because this situation is unworthy
of someone of my capabilities. My best capital: my initiative and drive, my
decision-making ability and devotion to the work will atrophy. In terms of
the business, it is impossible to be responsible for the deeds of others while
being sidelined. …If my collaboration is valued, I will have to be restored
into my earlier position. My contract calls for freedom of action with full
responsibility. If the directors deny me this, I will ask them to free me from
the contract. My concern for myself, my family and my business reputation
compels me not to tolerate a shadow existence any longer.

Emil’s letter allowed Kiazim’s partner Herbst to see the danger such mismanagement
brought to the company. Trusting Emil’s judgment, he told the Board to fire Weikl and
suggested Kiazim should reduce his participation in the management. Firing Weikl
was an expensive matter at the time; he demanded and got 10,000 Marks separation.
The attorney cost another 2000 Marks, but Emil was able to breathe again.
In the morning on December 17, 1926, Adolf Arenson, founding father of
anthroposophy in Stuttgart, died in Bad Cannstatt.

Ordinary people suffer

In 1927 Fritz Lange released the movie Metropolis about the struggle between
rich and poor and the mechanization of humanity, a vision of the future set in the
year 2000.
Apathy, lack of trust in government and anger were undercurrents during this
time in Germany. When faith and hope wane, charity will follow. Hated by their
neighbors, hating them in turn, reviled and caricatured in the international press, it
would not take long for the abused to become abusers. Anthroposophy could have
been a beacon, but anthroposophists, while inwardly nourished through those bleak
times, felt helpless, suffering all the more by seeing how far their country had been
driven from its true course, and they were not immune to the general malaise because
they were divided among themselves.

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 Winter that year was exceptionally cold with much snow and disruption of
transportation. Emil missed Berta who was still recovering in St. Moritz, and he
worried about her too. He tried to keep in touch by phone but lines were often
down. In early February, he traveled to St. Moritz and found her improved but still
weak. She reassured him her care was in excellent hands. “Don’t try to phone,” she
said. “We’ll write each other while this weather lasts. You don’t look in the best of
health either,” she added. She knew he should be staying and getting treatment but
had given up trying to influence him.
His next destination was a tobacco trust meeting in Berlin where he saw the
same malaise as that gripping the country. The members could not begin to gauge the
future. They said interest in the organization was less and nonmember competition
fiercer. Clearly the glow of togetherness had weakened. Reemtsma urged changes to
their remit and others agreed. They talked of temporary price cuts to survive against a
competition not bound by rules. Emil pleaded against reneging on their own policies,
but they scolded him for not going along with the times.

Loyalty
He was glad to get back to Stuttgart, but after a few days in that lonely house
decided to go to Dornach for nourishment and for the commemoration of Steiner’s
birthday, looking forward to seeing his niece Lisa there. Arriving the morning of
February 27, 1927, he attended Ita Wegman’s esoteric lesson and was the only one
there. At the birthday celebration that evening, Marie Steiner recited and Lisa
performed with the eurythmy group. Later, Emil met with Steffen. The next day he
offered to chauffeur Marie and her friend Lydia Barrato to Stuttgart. He admired
the brave widow’s strength as she told of carrying on the work of editing books and
preparing for the new building’s grand opening in the fall with a revival of Steiner’s
Mystery Dramas. Then, as she started talking about some of the difficulties, Lydia
Barrato collapsed with heart cramps which ended all further conversation. The driver
put his mind to getting them to their destination while Emil and Marie tended to her
friend. Upon arrival they took her to Dr. Palmer and she recovered. In spite of this
mishap, Emil felt it a fine destiny to be able to participate in Steiner’s birthday, where
all groups met. He wrote to Berta, “We must be faithful to Marie. Hadn’t Dr. Steiner
ask for that?” Then he drafted a letter to the parents of the school, much more upbeat
than the previous one:
Here, again, is an appeal to broaden the financial base of the Waldorf
School. It has grown from 250 children to 1005 in over eight years, funded

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 by members of the Association in Germany and friends abroad. The fact
that the contributions are less now is partly because some funding is going
to a number of new Waldorf schools.
Our critics say Waldorf schools are removed from the realities of life
and that children won’t be able to adjust to the ‘real world’ when they
graduate. As anyone going out into nature knows, the world itself is real
and good. What people do in it is another story, but if children are imbued
with the certainty of the goodness of the world and its truth and beauty,
they will later develop those principles a step further. How harsh is a child’s
life if deprived of such teachings. Where will his model, his inspiration be?
Obviously the school cannot exist on tuition alone. Recently the
Stuttgart town council approved a loan and a grant for an annex to the
main building to alleviate the overcrowding, but the running costs remain
high and the school is dependent on gifts. …

The Swiss Waldorf Astoria sold

Around March Kiazim sold half his Waldorf shares to the Banque Belge in Paris
and sold the Swiss Waldorf Astoria outright. He said he had to sell because he had
incurred too many debts. Emil went to Zurich to supervise the transition and found
it hard to say goodbye to people, some of whom, like Sophia Kaiser, he’d worked with
for years. Wanting solace he ate at the Baur au Lac, remembering the day when two
newlywed couples lunched there, struggling to be nonchalant while marveling at the
‘service charge.’ He rang Berta to tell her about his lunch and the sale. “I don’t care
who buys the shares anymore,” he said. “It’s a game that’s out of my hands. I still have
my contract, and it’s more important to me who I work with on a day-to-day basis.”
“This is cause for celebration,” she said. “Come to St. Moritz, just for the weekend!
The weather is perfect and I’d love to see you. Shall I meet you in Chur?” He was happy
as a boy going to meet his sweetheart. Arriving in Chur he found Berta waiting for
him looking beautiful and confident in ski pants and a leather jacket. “I feel so well,”
she said as they drove off. Everything was nostalgia for him: the long road through the
woods and the stretch over the pass to the upper world of St. Moritz. They visited
the Chantarella which, unaffected by downturns and upheavals, stood as solid as a
castle above its frozen lake, crystalline mountains framing it. Emil took a pair of skates,
delighted that he still managed to cut a good figure after ten years, and Berta skated
even better than before.

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 Berta and Emil skating
At the end of the weekend she accompanied him back to Chur and they stayed
the night in the same hotel they had found on their honeymoon. Nothing had
changed. Strolling through town they enjoyed every detail, watching shops close their
shutters and restaurants open their doors for dinner. After lengthy debate they chose
one for their evening meal. It was late by the time they got back to the hotel and they
didn’t rush in the morning. At the train they parted reluctantly. Berta returned to St.
Moritz while Emil went on to Zurich and business life. Their parting was not for long;
he planned to travel to Trieste, and they agreed to meet in Venice in time to celebrate
his birthday.

About truth
At the next tobacco trust meeting, Reemtsma became more dominant and Emil
admired him for his success, but the meeting itself was the kind Emil had come to
loathe: burdensome discussions of tax and tobacco price increases, petty suspicions
and competition. To the best of his ability Emil applied his moderating skills, fully
understanding how long it takes for people’s thinking to change and hoping that, in
that group at least, some social progress had been made. Wistfully he remembered
Steiner saying: “The important thing is to get new ideas into as many heads as possible,”
meaning that they might have an effect only in a future life.
On the way back to Stuttgart he read Steiner’s lecture “Truth, Beauty and
Goodness” … “We destroy a connection with pre-earthly existence when we live an
untruth.” The trip seemed endless and it took him several days to get his energy back
for meetings. One meeting was with a wealthy American lady, Mrs. Olin Wannamaker,
whose daughter attended the Stuttgart Waldorf School and who wanted advice on
how to involve herself in an anthroposophical activity in the States. Emil, who still had
dreams about America, took her on a tour of the various initiatives, which filled the
lady with such enthusiasm that she and her husband soon started the first Waldorf
school in New York City.

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The shining school
In those days the school year still ended before Easter and began again after
the holidays. The school always presented the work of the pupils in a final assembly.
Afterwards Emil wrote:

Easter 1927, Personal Impressions of the Waldorf School

Burdened by business cares, I attended the school closing assembly. The
pupils were expectant. Class teachers stepped to the podium one after
another, describing the past year and talking about plans for the coming
one. Their pupils were attentive and applauded enthusiastically after each
speech. I had the impression of teachers and students as one integral whole.
An invisible web of belonging filled the room and in this atmosphere my
clouds of worry dissipated and a sunny wave of joy broke through in an
elemental way. I returned to my work renewed.
We live in an unhappy time. Economic uncertainty and a terrible
pessimism pervades. Everyone experiences this on a daily basis and it
weakens our courage and our will. Our former remedies for overcoming
problems are ineffectual now. We are going through the darkest period of
materialism. The longing for inner life fills our heart, but it keeps getting
harder to find it in our outer life.
This is why I experience the school as so important and it is not the
first time I’ve experienced it. Every assembly, every demonstration, whether
eurythmy, gymnastics or music, brings a transformation of mood. The
shadows recede, the light breaks through.
What is the element that creates this miracle, this real and not
imagined medicine for the illness of our times that we all suffer from? My
observation teaches me: It is the power of love which conquers the powers
of darkness. It arises out of the hearts of Waldorf teachers and penetrates
the children’s souls. Admiration for the teacher opens their hearts and
allows them to receive their teaching. Not with dry intellect alone but with
the organ of total life, the heart, do the children take up their lessons. It
makes them happy, it makes them delight in their school.

Venice and Munich

Soon he was on the road again. After a short stop in Munich, Emil traveled
to Trieste in northeastern Italy, now the most important tobacco gateway to the

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East. Business soon done he went on, meeting Berta in Riva on the Lake Garda, at
Signora Zantini’s cozy hotel. They ordered lunch and he got a surprise birthday cake
for dessert. Afterward they strolled along the lake, and the beautiful weather was
another birthday present. Berta, fit and ready for the next part of the celebration,
booked a three-day trip to Venice but Emil needed rest. They spent an extra quiet day
in Riva and by Saturday Emil declared himself ready for the excursion. Over two days
they did everything tourists do: a gondola ride to the Rialto with Berta’s choice of the
best looking gondolier singing away. They admired San Marco inside and out, sat in
a café listening to music and throwing crumbs to the pigeons, visited a museum and
two churches. They took a boat down the Canale Grande to the Lido and watched
glass blown in Murano. In the evenings they lingered in a bistro and caught a moonlit
gondola back to the hotel. It was a fairytale.
Then both traveled back to Munich. Again Emil faced a change in the ownership
of the Waldorf Astoria. The Dresdner Bank was back in the picture with a 500
million Mark guarantee. His old banking friend Fanta and his associate Dewez were
new shareholders. Emil visited Kiazim in his office and his heart went out to him;
his dreams seemed shattered. He said the sale of the Swiss Waldorf Astoria had not
been enough to bail him out. Emil felt sorry for this adventuresome spirit up against
hard times and promised to stay in touch. ‘If not in this life, we’ll definitely meet up
again the next time round,’ he thought. And that was the underlying reason why both
colleagues and adversaries in the tobacco industry found Emil so different—he acted
according to his understanding of the laws of karma: Once a relationship is formed
with another person, threads are woven that have an effect into the future.
When he heard Kiazim still had a large amount of tobacco lying in the warehouse,
he decided to help him and persuaded Fanta and Dewez to credit him for the stock.
They came up with a settlement through his bank:
23 April 1927
Contract between Banque Belge pour l’Etranger in Brussels and
Waldorf-Astoria, Cigarette Factory in Stuttgart.
Based on discussions with General Consul Fanta and Director Dewez, with
the agreement of Mr. Kiazim Emin, the balance for 1926 is so reckoned that
a net profit of RM 500,000 will be apportioned, in a separate account and
listed as: Banque Belge for Kiazim Emin. …This agreement with Banque
Belge has the approval of the Board of Waldorf-Astoria Cigarette Factory
AG Stuttgart. Signed E. Molt; cosigned: Dewez, Fanta, Kiazim Emin.

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 ‘Emil and Emin,’ thought Emil. ‘We’re just one little letter apart but that makes all
the difference.’ (He longed for another sight of the East.)

Reemtsma
Shortly thereafter the American Gutschow turned up again at a tobacco gathering
in Dresden. The nervous sales representative of years past now wore a comfortable
potbelly and a self-satisfied air. He invited Emil to lunch and related how he had
almost failed in Germany until he connected with Reemtsma and persuaded him to
amalgamate with Gutschow’s American sponsors. “It’s been a hayride ever since,” he
said. When Emil said he’d be in Hamburg and would like to visit the Reemtsma factory,
Gutschow was delighted. He arranged for Emil and Marx to meet Philip Reemtsma,
who took them around the plant. Emil found it fascinating, modern and efficient. He
admired the large mixing funnels and the ventilation that sucked tobacco dust away
and pulled fresh oxygen into the room where 300 women worked. He also loved the
efficient packaging methods. The Reemtsma brothers, Philipp, 33, and Hermann, 34,
were young, dynamic and clearly rising. They chatted about connections abroad and
business associations in German industry until late and Emil enjoyed it although tired
and suffering from catarrh.

Off into the heat

Emil came home with news: “Saloniki is hosting the biggest ever tobacco
convention and I want to go.” “Your health is shaky,” said Berta. “Such a trip is too
strenuous. Let Sterghi go, or your new man, Edib.” “Much is changed there … large-
scale displacements and new growers. If we are to keep our quality, we must know
first-hand what is going on. Nobody can give a proper report. I want to see what effect
the war and the occupation have had,” he answered. “I won’t go alone; I’ll take Edib. He
can make all the arrangements and I’ll have a leisurely time. We’ll take the southern
route, through Athens. Besides,” he added nostalgically, “it’s nineteen years since my
last visit to Constantinople and lifetimes longer away from Greece. I do long for the
East.” “Well, go along then, you old Greek,” said Berta. What else could she do? She
packed his compress cloths, his medicines and a sun hat. “At least,” she said, “it won’t
be unbearably hot this time of year, but you will wear your hat.”
Edib did indeed take care of everything except that Emil’s luggage, sent ahead
from Stuttgart, hadn’t arrived when they reached Venice. They ran around to shipping
offices and filled out forwarding forms. “It will be in Athens in two days at most,” the
clerk said. They boarded a ship for Greece; passing Patras Emil noticed it had become

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an industrial city. They saw the Acropolis from afar and his heart leaped. Edib had
business in Athens while Emil took advantage of the delay to make a pilgrimage to his
favorite classical places: the Areopagus, the Temple of Theseus, the Parthenon, larger
and more imposing than his memory of it. He didn’t even consider going to back to
Patras; his old acquaintances were long gone. He offered Edib a tour through Athens
and the countryside in a rented a car, astonished at Athens’ enormous growth and
aghast at the many shantytowns of displaced and poverty-stricken persons.
In late afternoon they arrived at Phaleron Bay where they spent the night in a
small guesthouse by a lake. Emil, loving the fragrant landscape, basked in the warm
setting sun, glad to speak Greek again. Next morning they drove up over a high pass
through the Cithaeron Mountains, flanked on one side by a dense wall of trees and on
the other a drop into the valley with superb views. Back in the lowlands they noticed
fields and, “No,” said Emil, “they’re not salad; they’re tobacco,” telling Edib about his
first sight of similar fields. Their goal was Thebes, the ancient town of many legends
which Alexander once came conquering. Later they returned to Athens but left the
next day still without the suitcase, redirecting it to Constantinople. They took the
Thessaly train to Saloniki where Dewez met them for tobacco discussions until late. In
the morning Kiazim’s brother Mechmed joined them and, together, they converged
on the main object of their trip: the tobacco convention.
The weather was unseasonably hot and the hall boiling. Emil, without the
stamina of former years, got feverish and had to rest in bed. His suitcase finally arrived
with surcharges on everything, even on his books. He paid unwillingly but then sent
a grateful thought to Berta for the medicines she had packed. Another day and they
were ready to move on. The hotel fleeced Emil too: “Convention prices,” they said,
and he was glad to leave. With Edib he followed the usual route: Drama, Philippi to
Cavalla, absorbed in memories. Of course he found a great deal changed.
He wrote Berta: “The West has influenced the originality and artistry of the East
in a way that is not always to its advantage. Much that was delightful and beautiful
is gone, but it is no longer sleepy. Business is flourishing and, in contrast to most
countries, Turkey welcomes and respects German visitors.” Toward the end of the
trip Emil became exhausted. They boarded a train for Constantinople but didn’t get
far; the train derailed and they spent a sticky and uncomfortable night on board.
In the morning the replacement train arrived, and in his hurry Emil grabbed his
belongings, missed his step and fell down the stairs, injuring his shin. Finally arriving
in Constantinople, he was taken to the Palace Pera Hotel where a doctor looked at his
leg and again ordered bedrest.

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 He didn’t follow orders because he wanted to go sightseeing, although for the rest
of the trip this seasoned traveller hobbled about on a crutch. He retraced his steps in
the town that he loved and which was made more festive by the commemoration of
the Turkish Day of Freedom. He visited the Hagia Sophia and the train station that
caused so much Allied ire, also the military museum. He went to Therapia by taxi
in a downpour to visit Adolf von Moltke, now councillor in the German Embassy,
and in the evening negotiated shipments and warehousing with a group of colleagues.
Then, because his leg was so swollen, he called for the physician again at 11 o’clock.
Next day, Edib, impatient to be done with the responsibility of looking after his boss,
booked them on a train which then left without them, delayed by Customs, checking
every item in Emil’s suitcase twice. Finally they got to Budapest where Edib delivered
him into the hands of his worried wife come to meet and fetch him home.
“Well,” she said, “you’ve had quite a time of it, haven’t you, old man?” “What do
you mean?” he asked. “I loved every minute of it and want to go back again with you
and Walter.” A few days later he gave an enthusiastic travel report to the assembled
staff with slides and mementos. A man from the local paper attended the lecture and
wrote up a report:

A visit to tobacco fields in Eastern lands is a significant and important event

in the life of a cigarette manufacturer. How fortunate the idea of sharing
his recollections with the many workers at the Waldorf Astoria factory. As
though from a bird’s eye view the enthralled listeners were able to follow
his descriptions of the exotic trip, …etc.

In reality Emil was unwell for the rest of the year. He reduced the time spent
at work, having to rely on others. He made just a few trips to visit Waldorf schools,
but never alone, always with someone along. During Christmas vacation the three of
them, Walter, Berta and Emil, went back to the therapeutic atmosphere of St. Moritz.

1928, the year of the void

In The San Francisco Examiner, August 26, 1928, Henry Ford was quoted: “I
adopted the theory of reincarnation when I was twenty-six. Religion offered nothing
to the point. Even work could not give me complete satisfaction. Work is futile if we
cannot utilize the experience we collect in one life in the next. When I discovered
reincarnation, it was as if I had found a universal plan. I realized that there was a
chance to work out my ideas. Time was no longer limited. I was no longer a slave to

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the hands of the clock. Genius is experience. Some seem to think that it is a gift or
talent, but it is the fruit of long experience in many lives. Some are older souls than
others and so they know more. The discovery of reincarnation put my mind at ease.”
The family was hardly back in Stuttgart when aggravation began. Sterghi, tobacco
master, was in hospital. He drove too fast and smashed the company car. A warehouse
inventory revealed large amounts of unregistered and now useless tobacco. As always
the finances were in a critical state. Emil no longer had the energy to supervise as he
had previously and he thought, ‘Why did I not let go?’ He spent most evenings at home,
writing. His latest appeal letter brought in enough money to cover the school deficit.
There were more ‘school godparents’ than ever and, more especially, his industrialist
friend, Hanns Voith in Heidenheim donated 28,000 Marks. He thought relations with
Dornach were improving too. Marie Steiner and Steffen came to visit. Steffen met
with the teachers and attended an evening school performance of Goethe’s “Green
Snake and the Beautiful Lily.”
By now Emil realized he felt most unwell in Germany. Suddenly a childhood
memory surfaced: He was standing on tiptoe, looking one last time at the still, strange
face of his father in his coffin, knowing he would be leaving the comfort and familiarity
of his life. ‘I am bereft,’ he now thought. ‘I have lost my fair and precious country, or
rather it has lost me because I don’t understand it anymore. I long to travel abroad
because I feel helpless to change the dark cloud hanging over it.’ The cloud included
Waldorf Astoria too. Through sheer will force Emil had kept it together but it had
sustained too many shocks. His own malaise now keeping him away, the company
weakness became apparent in a downturn in sales.
In March Walter and Dora took their final exams.
The written tests went on for four days followed by
oral exams. Then everyone held their breath. They took
walks, played music and read to pass the time. Philosophy,
French, Physics, English, History—a marathon and no
one had great expectations. “Should you pass,” said Emil
to Walter, “I will treat you to a trip to the East, to all my
favorite places.” Then they received the results: Walter
and Dora both passed. A miracle. “A gift from the spiritual
world,” said Emil, relieved, as they attended a concert in
the school. Walter Molt, graduation
Walter decided he wanted to go to university in Berlin. His father took him there
for an interview, but the university did not accept him. When Emil found out, he

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was outraged. “Who do they think they are,” he snorted. “There are plenty of other
universities,” and he wanted to get in the car with Walter to tour them. But Walter
told him, “The deadline is past for this semester and I’ve decided my next step. I have
business experience. Perhaps I can find something in the medical field” (this again
with his parents in mind).
That left Emil thinking of a trip to the Orient with Walter and Berta: Where
would they go and what could he show them? For once Berta was supportive of his
travel plans; she felt sorry for his loss of spirit and would go anywhere with him to
find it again. Besides, she was curious to see the lands he praised so much. On March
23 the three of them took a train to Munich, then Agra and from there a sleeping train
through Serbia to Saloniki. The town was nearly unrecognizable because of a recent
fire which had almost gutted it. They traveled first to tobacco markets, Emil always
doing a little tobacco business on the side. He found this part of the trip a strain with
his family along; they didn’t understand Greek and couldn’t go off by themselves, but
after the last transaction, he became their tour guide and they visited classical places
and landscapes with wandering shepherds. The warm traditional hospitality was
unchanged, but Emil was impressed to find that many people had acquired running
water and modern sanitation, some with imported German appliances.
The Enfizioglou family hosted them in the beautiful coastal town of Cavalla and
Berta gained a great liking for their mother who spoke some German. Leaving them
together to explore the town for a day or two, Emil and Walter took a side trip further
east along the coast to Drama where the swamps had been drained and converted
into fine tobacco fields. Then as a crowning glory he brought both of them to Athens,
showing them the Acropolis and Piraeus. On April 7, in rainy weather, they boarded
the ship ‘Cleopatra’ to Brindisi and Venice, then took the train to Trieste. By this time,
it was Walter who, overwhelmed by the exotic world, came down with a fever. They
took him home and he spent Easter Sunday in bed.
On the occasion of Emil’s 52nd birthday, his sister-in-law Paula and her husband
brought Berta’s mother to celebrate, and Felix and Walter played music. In the end,
Berta’s mother stayed because she needed care and had become too frail to live alone.
She would remain with the Molts until her death.
In spite of the shaky economic climate, Emil planned another trip with his wife
and son, probably in the expectation that Walter’s time with them was limited. “After
all,” he said, “had you been accepted in the Berlin university, you would not have had
the leisure to travel. I go to Paris frequently, but you and Berta have never seen this
fairest of all cities. As always I will combine business with pleasure, and while I’m busy

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you can enjoy yourselves.” So, while he spent time at the
Paris branch of Banque Belge, Berta and her darling son
savored the romance of the boulevards with their cafés,
the museums and the parks; they even went to Chartres.
For Berta this was exquisite and she was tireless.
Later, in July, Emil chose the Swiss Alpine resort
Mürren. They went by way of Dornach because Emil
wanted to see Steffen and bring him up to date on the
school. Steffen seemed burdened by his responsibilities
and asked whether he shouldn’t step down as Association
Chair. Emil thought it would be a shame to lose this
important link with Dornach. “Besides,” he said, “coming
from Switzerland you have a more objective view. We are Mother and son
going to Mürren—come and spend a few days with us.
We’ll have more time to talk.”
The Molts traveled on over the Brünig Pass to their hotel In Mürren, a glorious
resort perched on an enormous cliff with views to the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau
mountain peaks and a reputable sanatorium. Emil, still constantly tired and with
blood pressure as high as 180, was prescribed a rigorous schedule of treatments and
sent to bed. He spent his time there reading about Frederick the Second, the one who
had reigned in Sicily. Berta and Walter hiked through mountain meadows and to the
Rhone glacier. Walter was glad to be escorting his mother, but he felt like a fish caught
in a net while not wanting to spoil her holiday. Soon he too was in bed with a fever
and Berta was tending her two men.
After a week or so Steffen and his wife arrived. The women spent time together
while the men reviewed the school. Steffen was still in Mürren when Emil received
a letter requesting his presence at an award ceremony at the university in Tübingen.
This was the town where, nine years before,
he had lectured to the student body about
the Threefold Commonwealth. Now he was
surprised and moved that the university
wished to present him with an honorary
doctorate.
Emil was now “Dr. Molt.” Walter
congratulated him, but was secretly sad, his
Doctoral award own hopes for academic glory having been

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dashed. How often he tried to start a life of his own but always found himself coming
back because he felt his parents, particularly his father, needed him. Indeed he was his
parents’ caretaker because he understood their frailties, yet he was frail too. Strangely,
his name ‘Walter,’ given him by Steiner, meant just that in German. Walter, ‘Verwalter’
means ‘caretaker.’ Meanwhile Dora, Walter’s cousin, pursued her own university studies
in London and Emil paid for her expenses.
In September, back in Stuttgart, Emil’s former employee Leinhas offered his
services again. He joined the school association and wanted to take over as its treasurer.
Emil was not opposed; he was rather glad to see him doing work that he himself didn’t
feel up to anymore.
Once again a large amount of Waldorf Astoria shares changed hands. The
Reemtsma conglomerate bought out the other shareholders, thereby becoming
majority owner. It worried August Rentschler.
On September 29, Michaelmas, after being built in record time with the insurance
money from the fire, the new Goetheanum in Dornach was inaugurated. Guenther
Wachsmuth, the quiet, socially-aware member of the Goetheanum Board, was the
one who had brought it about. It was an enormous achievement, a powerful building
with Steiner’s design, made to last in solid concrete interspersed with stained glass
windows and a huge hall. The festivities began with Steiner’s Mystery Drama “Portal
of Initiation,” and teachers and physicians, poets and philosophers spoke from the
large stage. The Goetheanum Board—Marie Steiner, Ita Wegman, Albert Steffen,
Elizabeth Vreede and Guenther Wachsmuth—all contributed, working together
perhaps for the last time. Themes included the Gospels, medicine, art, natural science
and much more.
The Molts came, meeting friends, impressed by this new headquarters of the
world wide Anthroposophical Society. Carl Unger attended and in that celebratory
atmosphere, he and Emil found their old rift quite healed.
In Stuttgart again, Emil attended a conference of people promoting a united
European Union, initiated by Count Richard Coudenhove-Kalergi, an Austrian
aristocrat and political activist. Some of the principles were interesting: They
supported abolition of national borders and facilitation of international business.
Emil had concerns that it might create giant conglomerates and a stifling of politics
and culture.
Then the hammer fell on Waldorf Astoria. August Rentschler’s worries proved
well-founded. Just before Christmas Emil and the other managers were notified
that the factory would be shut down in the coming months and, as a consolidation

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measure, the workers let go by the Reemtsma conglomerate. No amount of meetings
and arguments on Emil’s part made the slightest bit of difference.
During the initial shock, Emil agonized. ‘This would never have happened under
the consortium,’ he thought and he imagined how different his path could have been,
working with Nollstadt and Warburg and Muehlon, people he admired. He imagined
large exports of Waldorf cigarettes and himself traveling, not merely around Europe
but around America and the world, meeting businessmen and heads of state at their
level, perhaps promoting Steiner’s ideas. ‘I could have done so much for the Waldorf
School and I wouldn’t have been sick,’ he told himself. ‘Instead I was forced into a
shaky discount bank.’ Then “Stop it!” he said. “Your destiny is your chosen path.” But
Christmas was a gloomy and sorrowful event.
Rudolf Steiner: “The greatest divine revelation is the developing human being.”

Liquidation
The year 1929 began with a second shock, Carl Unger’s death. Unger went
to Nuremburg to give a lecture called “What Is Anthroposophy?” Before he had a
chance to speak, he was shot by Wilhelm Krieger, a mentally-disturbed man. ‘What
a strange destiny,’ thought Berta sadly, ‘to be shot twice in one lifetime.’ (The bullet
from that first ‘friendly fire’ was never extracted because it was too close to his
heart.) On January 7, Arenson’s son Hans brought back Unger’s ashes to the Society’s
headquarters in Stuttgart. Marie Steiner, Steffen, Boos and all the Stuttgart friends
attended the funeral amid a veritable forest of flowers. Marie Steiner spoke of Unger’s
amazing clarity of thought and integrity; Emil spoke of his warm heart and gentle
ways behind his reserved exterior.

Trial by water
On March 7 Emil received personal notice: His contract was to terminate as of the
end of the year. The liquidation began and, seven years after the sale of the company
to the banks, it was the Ides of March and Emil was about to lose his factory again, this
time for good and including his workers.

April 6, 1929
The Management of the Waldorf Astoria Cigarette Factory to its sales people:
We are obliged to give you notice of the following: The main shareholder of
the Waldorf Astoria, citing the difficult situation of the tobacco industry,

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 took advantage of the opportunity to sell a large part of his shares to the
Reemtsma company. The latter does not wish to continue production in
Stuttgart; the plant will therefore be closed. … We will do what we can to
delay the closing and will keep you informed, asking you meanwhile to
please continue to sell and do all you can in the interest of the company.
With best regards, E. Molt

Emil was unable to influence the intention of the new owners and turned to his
friend, Dr. Lautenschlager, the Mayor of Stuttgart, who was dismayed to hear the
news. “Maybe you can sway them,” Emil told him. “If not, we must a least make sure
they will take care of the workers. I have already negotiated continuing the payments
to the school.” Mayor Lautenschlager promised to accompany Emil to Hamburg in
order to do what he could. On April 11 they traveled together, alerting Marx as to
what was happening and negotiated with Reemtsma.

Stuttgart Press Release

Last Thursday the Mayor of Stuttgart, Dr. Lautenschlager, met with Mr.
Philipp Reemtsma in Altona, in the presence of Dr. Emil Molt regarding
the continuation of the Waldorf Astoria firm. Reemtsma outlined the
reasons preventing this in spite of his best intentions. Upon intervention
of the Mayor, the Reemtsma Concern (which had already promised
support for the school over a period of ten years) obligated itself, also for a
period of ten years, not to plan another cigarette firm in Stuttgart without
notifying the city council … besides, Reemtsma obligated itself to keeping
the Waldorf suppliers as far as feasible, to make available a large sum to
be paid to laid-off employees and to pay the city a significant amount to
alleviate the financial difficulties of the firm’s older workers. As hard as it is
for all those concerned and for the city of Stuttgart, that a company such as
Waldorf Astoria should cease to be, there is grateful acknowledgment, that
in view of events, immediate suffering can be avoided.

‘In economic life,’ thought Emil, ‘the fate of thousands is decided by one person buying
and selling shares. Can that be right?’
April 14 was Emil’s birthday. It was Sunday early morning and the bells were
ringing in town. The weather was strikingly beautiful. Berta and Emil hoped that this
would a good omen as they walked in the budding woods together, thinking of the

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changes ahead for Emil and his workers and wondering about the future. They were
both 53, but their life had been so intense that the time seemed much longer. Only
five years since Steiner died, ten years since the school began, fifteen years since the
war began, twenty years since Emil’s first trip to the East with Marx and twenty-
five years since finding anthroposophy. After their walk they went to the Sunday
children’s service where they were kindly met by Dr. Kolisko. Later Dora helped Emil
sort through cabinets full of Waldorf Astoria documents. August Rentschler joined
the family for an evening celebration. Berta’s sister Paula and her family arrived in
time for the birthday supper which included Dr. Palmer and a few other friends,
after which business took over again, namely a discussion of press releases to the
newspapers.
On April 22 Emil, accompanied by Berta, went to Berlin for further negotiations.
Truly Waldorf Astoria had a thousand threads which had to be carefully cut and
tied elsewhere. Friend Marx was in Berlin, standing at Emil’s side, he who was still
dealing with his loss and whose own threads in Germany were being torn apart
because of his Jewish background. The Molts and Marx went to the opera in the
Charlottenburg Theatre. It seemed a gesture from the artistic hand of Fate that the
program was Mozart’s Magic Flute, that epic of trials overcome and longings fulfilled
which marked the Waldorf School’s festive opening and has been an inspiration in our
family every since. In 1922, Emil had gone through his trial by fire and now, in 1929,
he was to submit to the water trial, both so beautifully depicted in the opera. For the
first trial he had not been prepared. Now he was. Before, he had fumed and blazed;
now he went with the event, swimming through it as best he could. Before he had
felt forsaken. Now he had the warmth of friends: Palmer, Kolisko, Rentschler, Mayor
Lautenschlager and Marx.

Marie Steiner sent her sincere condolences

On April 23 Emil met with Marx, Rentschler and Privy Councillor Fischer. They
planned the closing, agreeing that liquidation was to be accepted gracefully but
without compromise. In the evening they decided to go out together to a comedy
show to put things in perspective. The title was, appropriately: “When will we see each
other again?” in Berlin’s Fürstenhof. Emil’s longstanding employee Friedel Reik wrote:

From 1920 on I worked in the payroll office and we sometimes stayed

longer, with those cleaning up. On one of the last days I visited Herr Meyer
in the machine room. His job was to supervise the running of the large

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 machines, which were now going to be destroyed. I found him sitting
on a crate with dirty hands, crying. He was suffering pangs of the heart.
“I myself have to smash what I’ve tended for years. Sometimes I spent
hours under these machines when something needed fixing. Oh, I just
can’t, I can’t go on!” I could do nothing but sit down beside him and cry as
well—it was wretched. Herr Meyer later got a position as supervisor in a
cigarette factory in Holland. As a farewell he brought me chocolates, saying,
“Nothing consoled me as much as you did when you sat down beside me
on that crate.”
Once I saw Herr Molt again at a school assembly and later still I wrote
him. One day I happened upon an old tobacco-woman who told me that
several of them still got together every week to pray for Herr Molt. Hearing
this, Frl. Allmendinger said to me, “Write him that. He’ll be pleased. He
always asks after you when I visit.” When I did this, he sent me a few lines.

Stuttgart, 29 April 1929

To the workers and staff of the Waldorf Astoria!
The administration would like to give you all one more view of the fruits of
Waldorf education by inviting you to the hall of the school, Kanonenweg
44, on May 4, 8pm to a public assembly. Please bring your relatives along.
There is no cost but you must pick up admission cards by next Tuesday. If
the numbers are too great, we will look for an alternate venue.
It would be lovely for many of you to avail yourselves of this last
opportunity (as Waldorf coworkers) to participate in this event. With
friendly greetings, E. Molt.

Emil spent time orienting parents and teachers. He assured them that Reemtsma
would continue the school subsidies. Then on Friday, May 24, the formal closing
gathering took place in the large hall of the Wulle beer factory because of the large
numbers attending. Emil’s Wulle speech:

My dear Waldorf people!

It was the heartfelt wish of Herr Rentschler and myself that we meet once
more in the closed circle of the ‘Waldorf work community.’ It is deeply
satisfying that we can be together.

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 Strange to say, our very first Waldorf gathering was in this very
hall about twenty years ago. Looking through the hall at so many dear
coworkers we deeply feel the calamity that has broken over us and we
cannot quite take in that we are really to part from what has united us
for so long. I believe it will take many weeks until we fully realize what it
means to no longer come into our—I would like to say beloved—Waldorf,
greeting each other, exchanging a word or two.
I’d like to take a look at what we have become. According to modern
views a company consists merely of a thousand people and a certain quota
of production, while we had a completely different background, people
who were connected: their destinies, their joys and their sorrows. I believe,
my dear Waldorf people, it created a spirit that bound us together and
only now, when we are to be dispersed in all directions, will we see what it
means to have been such a community within an economic venture.
Some of you will have heard stories from the older ones of how we
began with 60 people in 1906, how we all stuck on tax labels after a day
of work and how Waldorf Astoria grew like a strong young child. After
just one year we moved to the Staffelstrasse where the two shops are now.
All work was done by hand. Hundreds of people were involved with us,
working at home, delivering in the evening. After a year we opened in
Cannstatt, then Zuffenhausen and the Waldorf Astoria spirit grew. In that
year we were lucky to have a branch in Königsberg, in far off East Prussia,
with just a few people. Finally, in 1908 we started with a very small filling
machine.
The war came and production took off and we had to change over to
semi-automation. Waldorf Astoria workers were in the field of battle, some
from the first day to the last, and we had luck again, that many of those
people came back to us. For that we are still grateful. Then came the year
1922. Before that, during the time of the revolution, we tried to initiate
change, When the old social order broke apart, we were looking for new
forms, trying to initiate a new era. Waldorf Astoria was very involved in
this, trying to find practical ways to achieve it. My dear Waldorf people, if
we did not succeed it was not because our own forces were not enough,
but that the world resisted.
I have to be faithful to history in telling about this to those of you who
were not there, because I believe if our efforts had succeeded we would

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not be standing in the face of the present calamity. I must say that unless
business people change their thinking and find new forms, we will not see
an end to difficulties.
Waldorf Astoria will not be forgotten. I must emphasize that, because
the Waldorf School remains. I know, even in our circles people may think
as they like, but believe me, the times demand new forms. We who are
grown up and already old at 40, know that change will only come from
youth; they can bring new ideas if they are allowed to develop towards a
future that is different to the one we experienced. We were young in a time
when ideals still existed, and with peace and a certain security we were
able to pursue our dreams. Now we have behind us a lost war and inflation,
brought about by the impoverishment of the whole German Empire. I
will say, the more we pull back, making do with less, the more we will
march towards proletarianism and the less chance we will have to keep our
cultural gifts.
As long as we function within these business forms, this multinational
mega-capitalism, we simply must align ourselves. I speak freely to you, since
I am suffering with you in this case. If we admit to ourselves that our whole
nation is in a state of extreme straits, we will understand that the more
we reduce and close enterprises, the more the population will become
impoverished, and it is all the more important that we remember this so
that eventually change can come, brought about by the maturing younger
generation.
This is what I wanted to say, my dear Waldorf Astoria people, on this
evening, with a breaking heart. I need not say what a grievous loss it is and
how much it means for Herr Rentschler and for me to be with you all one
last time.
One last request: On going out into the world, you are truly cast abroad
as once the nation Israel was after the destruction of Jerusalem, but please
be assured: We had a work community that was built on human inclination
and feeling. Carry this spirit of Waldorf Astoria with you to your new
places of work and show how exemplary this spirit is. Then good will come
about out of what seems so hard now, in the knowledge that we are merely
seeds in a new social order, in a new way of thinking and feeling. Then you
will be aware, even if we are physically apart, that we still have an inner
connection. Be assured, Herr Rentschler and I will never forget a single one

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 of you. The image of each one, the face, the gestures, the way of working,
often the fingers, this we will carry into the future and we don’t yet know
what it will bring.
And now I will hopefully have the opportunity of talking with each
one of you before this evening is ended and I want to wish you good luck
from my innermost heart, in spite of the sorrow of today. In this vein I say:
Be well and happy in your future.

Herr Rentschler spoke, followed by Herr Zillmann, foreman, who said:

Dear Friends, I believe I speak in everyone’s name in thanking Herr

Molt and Herr Rentschler for their words and the review of the history of
Waldorf Astoria, also for today’s invitation. What brings us together here
does not make for light hearts because it means saying farewell to a place
that gave us work and bread and which we all held dear and precious.
Its management always endeavored to minimize social differences, and
problems were always solved by understanding the needs and wishes
of the staff. There was always the consciousness that people are to be
valued as creative, thinking and feeling human beings, as valued links in
a large economic process. For this we want to give great thanks to the
management.
And now, my dear ladies and gentlemen, no words can sweep away
the misery and trouble many will experience because the employment
market is unfavorable for workers as for managers. Our mood cannot be
light because so many decisions are facing us. But nevertheless we will carry
hope in us that the unwritten law, here in this case moral obligation will
be valued higher than any other law. The highest law for us in this situation
will be to keep a cool head because only thus can we master the difficulties
which face us in the immediate future.
Today’s event would serve us poorly, ladies and gentlemen, if we let
ourselves be swayed by the worries of a grey tomorrow, so I ask you all to
enjoy the festivity and happiness of tonight, and we won’t forget the words
on Goethe’s gravestone: “He was a man and that means he was a fighter.”

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 May 1929 Letter from Kommerzienrat Dr.h.c. Emil Molt, W-A:

To my esteemed coworkers of the Waldorf Astoria sales force:

The moment has come where through the will of the majority
shareholders, Waldorf Astoria will be liquidated and my work comes to an
end. From small beginnings our enterprise grew to its present significant
size with an unusually honorable reputation.
We find it impossibly hard that our collaboration as a work
community, built on rare human trust, is over but we cannot change the
harsh reality. We are victims of a modern phenomenon and that is the
nature of business today.
Now I am obliged to personally take my leave from you and to thank
you for your efforts and your trust. I have had a personal relationship with
many of you as it was always my endeavor to combine social interaction
with business. I deeply regret the cessation of these connections. Our years
of work together will be indelibly inscribed in your lives and mine, and I
hope that for the future you will keep in good memory the work and its
cofounder as I will you.
Heartfelt wishes for your further path in life and everything that’s
good. I remain with best wishes your humble, E. Molt

Between May 25 and May 30 Emil suffered intestinal cramps. Despite that, he
helped friends start a small Waldorf toy company. On October 17, 1929, the newspaper
Stuttgarter Neues Tagblatt published an article by Emil about the school, its origins
and current standing. Excerpt:

The school is small compared to outer circumstances. It was formed

in times of revolution to help heal the social organism. Rudolf Steiner said
then: “We often speak of a social future. Why are things so hard when we
attempt to bring about such a future? Because mankind’s social wishes,
particularly in our time, are opposed by antisocial strivings and instincts.”
Have things improved since then? We need only look at our whole
public life for the answer. The political domain is filled with such party-
egotism that the large goals which might bring Germany respect cannot
prevail. What Steiner said in 1919 is still valid now: “We will have to admit,
party opinions are wandering around us like judgment mummies, rejected

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 by developing realities.” The best among us are kept at a distance, cannot
become active in political life, not to speak of the youth who cannot find
any relationship to these circumstances. In the economic domain naked
egotism is rife too, as never before. Americanization under the motto
‘rationalization’ has moved in, which has fostered the battle of all against
all. The more foreign capital is pumped into the empty blood vessels
of our economic body, the more we forget our main German task, to
manage business in such a way that it creates social fairness and a basis for
our cultural offerings. How far we are removed from that is shown by a
common phrase in large corporations: Eat or be eaten. Waldorf Astoria
has been sacrificed to this principle without any fault of its own and the
Waldorf School has become endangered and deprived of its protective
sheath.
Our cultural life is in decline right now instead of serving growth.
All we have to do is read our newspapers carefully. It will improve only
when the spirit living in the Waldorf School and cared for by the teachers’
collegium, flows into all parts of our social life just as it awakens and makes
strong the young souls in the school. If it can fructify our cultural life as
well as the other two domains so that the life of rights brings to birth
true rights and our economic life provides a true service, then the social
question will go towards its solution. To form this future in the right way is
the noblest task of today’s youth. Our time is short, we cannot wait. A real
awakening out of the daze which has caught hold of all of us will show that
the reprieve our Western peoples are still enjoying will be over. …

The article was followed by ads: Waldorf Toys and Publishing Gmbh Stuttgart,
Journal for the Christian Community Stuttgart, Waldorf School, Public Lectures,
Eurythmy School, Goetheanum Book Room, Clinic Therapeutic Institute Stuttgart
(Dr. Palmer), Jose del Monte Boxes, Eurythmy Shoes for Sale, Everon and Weleda.
On October 24, 1929, a Thursday, the stock market crashed in New York. It
followed a period called the Roaring Twenties, although up to sixty percent of the
American population lived close to or below the poverty line. Some people speculated
heavily on Wall Street and bought and sold company shares at ever-rising prices. When
the Crash came, it was so unexpected nobody wanted to believe it, but catastrophe
followed, the worst being “Black Tuesday,” the 29th October. Banks and businesses
went bankrupt, unemployment rose, as did the suicide rate. Of course it affected
Europe; many American companies called in their overseas loans and European banks

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failed too. In Germany, the economic downturn had begun in the middle of 1928, first
in agriculture, which suffered from overproduction, then extending to industry with
concomitant unemployment. The recession turned into a depression with a world-
wide economic collapse.
For the second time in that decade, the German people lost their meager savings
and their confidence. Angry voices rose again. “Bring back the old ways,” called
the monarchists. “Down with capitalism,” shouted the communists and, sharply
persuasive, the National Socialist voice sounded, “Germans, be proud and fight back.”
Again there was hunger and instability throughout Germany. Everyone longed for
strong leadership, some joined the Communist Party, but others believed Hitler’s
words and hailed his siren call—to the distress of most anthroposophists who saw in
him Steiner’s warnings fulfilled. Kolisko talked about demonic forces snaring people
in a spider’s web.
“For this at least I am thankful,” said Berta, “that you are no longer responsible for
the company and that all contracts with Reemtsma were made before the Crash. This
present stroke of fate you could not have survived.”
“Berta,” said Emil, “Walter has moved out, you are often away and I don’t have
the strength to work in our lovely large garden. Let’s plant vegetables for teachers and
others, as a kind of ‘Liberty Garden’ during this depression.” Berta agreed and soon
found a helper, a gifted gardener named Hauck. That summer, the Molts spent much
time admiring the burgeoning vegetables and watching children play beside the rows.
One child was six-year-old Werner, son of Marie Kübler, Berta’s cook. Can you imagine
my surprise when, in 2008, I met Werner Kübler, now venerable and still very fit and
living in Stuttgart? He and his wife invited me to lunch near his home, told me stories
of the school and gave me some of his precious photographs.

1930–1931
It is said that when a strong leader dies, the loss is so great that the organization
around him either splits or disintegrates. In the case of the Anthroposophical Society,
the disarray following Steiner’s death could not have been greater. Where previously
criticism came from the outside, now it wormed its way into the souls of those left
behind through the open door of sorrow. Fear of not doing the ‘right’ thing loomed,
illusion clouded the views. Certainly there was a bit of jockeying for power and,
as always, the allocation of money played in. Steffen wanted all funds going to the
Goetheanum and not to new ventures elsewhere, not considering that new ventures
would also be a source of new income for the Goetheanum. He complained of

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suffering writer’s block at one stage, but published his own works, book by book,
in the Goetheanum press. Elizabeth Vreede gave a lecture in Stuttgart refuting the
circulating rumor that Steiner might have been the Bodhisattva. She did not want
the same illusion perpetrated as with theosophists who claimed Krishnamurti to be
the reincarnated Christ, but she was severely criticized. Somehow, documents came
out purporting Steiner’s previous close karmic connections with Ita Wegman; it must
have been a severe trial for Marie Steiner whose world, as she said, was dead.
In Stuttgart, people continued divided, not able to meet and because of that
matters were often not discussed.

Letter from Leinhas to Günther Wachsmuth, Dornach March 6, 1931:

I understand the Board has voted Dr. Kreutzer, Dr. Fraenkel and Aisenpreis
into the finance committee without consulting the finance committee
itself. I find this proceeding impossible and am forced to tender my
resignation because I cannot belong to an institution at the Goetheanum
without the ability to share in the decision making.

Emil and Berta were among the few to bridge the two sides. Emil had a deep
feeling of responsibility toward the Goetheanum and Marie Steiner, and he admired
Steffen who was then still the Chairman of the Board of the Waldorf School. Likewise,
he and Berta felt deeply connected to Ita Wegman, her clinic and the medical work,
to the teachers and to the doctors. There was not much they could do except witness
what was going on, participating in meetings in Dornach and Stuttgart, hoping for
resolution and keeping their house open for whoever needed to come and unburden
themselves. Often they were not able to help except by storing everything in the safe
deposit boxes of their hearts.
At this painful stage many people left the Society. Some emigrated and some, like
Noll and others, simply left by quitting this world.
Emil’s favorite Steiner motto, “Live in the love of the deed; let live in the
understanding of the other’s deed,” would have provided, back then as now, a safeguard
against ‘splits,’ criticisms, rejections’ and, as Emil called them ‘anthroposophical
wounds.’
What gave the Molts their strength were the school, the Sunday service and their
new house, an oasis as safe and nourishing as a trip away. Emil wondered about his
next task. He recognized that his moment for joining Weleda was lost, what with

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Duerler in Switzerland, Leinhas in Schwäbisch Gmünd, van Leer in Austria and
Madame Gracia Ricardo in America (she the impressive opera singer, born Grace
Richards, who decided her task in life was bringing Weleda to the promised land).
He questioned whether his entrepreneurial days were over, and although financially
fairly secure because of his pension and some savings, he realized the days of large
spending and donations were past. Meanwhile, he encouraged Walter to seek work
at the soap factory of his friend Walter Rau. Walter applied and was accepted, first as
an apprentice and, beginning in 1934, as financial comptroller. In the beginning and
for a while Emil became involved in the soap business himself, accompanying Walter
on sales trips.
One day, Emil received a job offer. Phillipp Reemtsma came to Stuttgart. He
wanted to justify the sequence of events leading to Waldorf Astoria’s being scrapped.
He said he had always wanted to work with Emil, ever since they met in 1925, but had
stayed away since he didn’t like Kiazim. Because of the many players and companies
in the Reemtsma fold—United British American, Garbathy, Massary and others—
there wasn’t enough business left when Waldorf had been finally brought in. He
should have liked it to continue, but when sales fell below the 80 million threshold,
he couldn’t justify it to the other shareholders, especially considering the antiquated
plant. “I would love to work with you still,” said Reemtsma. “Your talents are those of
a general businessman and we need specialists right now. But would you be interested
in participating in a cooperative, or perhaps a small factory of your own? With your
knowledge and speaking ability, you could also represent the tobacco industry in the
government.” Emil, sincerely pleased, thanked Reemtsma for the suggestions. “I will
consider it and let you know,” he said cordially, but privately he knew that he could
not go back into that life.
Instead his focus now was on some of the newer Waldorf schools. He advised
them on building plans, teacher’s salaries and fundraising. He spoke of Steiner’s social
ideas and suggested ways out of the pervasive malaise. In Stuttgart he advocated
opening a second school because he felt sorry for parents turned away from the first.
Emil and Berta both visited school conferences in various communities and met
interesting people like Carl Unger’s sister and Mrs. Rohr, a friend of Philipp Reemtsma
—threads on a circular or, perhaps, spiraling path. Somebody read a letter from a Dr.
Mehta in India describing a new Waldorf school initiative there, “frequented by the
highest aristocracy.” He said they were exhibiting Waldorf toys and handwork and
he called it an ‘educational revolution.’ Emil also met regularly with economists and
business people, engaging them as potential school supporters.

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The Grail story
On a summer’s day in the year following the liquidation, Emil was invited to
Dornach to give an account of the circumstances surrounding the demise of his firm.
In essence, it was to be a lecture about destiny. In preparation Emil contemplated St.
Luke (12:12): “For the holy ghost will teach you in the same hour what ye are to say.”
Opening Steiner’s Anthroposophical Leading Thoughts on the morning of the talk,
he found the meditation (Nr 90): “In dreamless sleep-consciousness man experiences,
all unconsciously, his own being permeated with the results of past earthly lives. The
inspired and intuitive consciousness penetrates to a clear vision of these results and
sees the working of former earthly lives in the destined course—the karma—of the
present.”
On his way to give his lecture, he paused at the studio where Rudolf Steiner
had created his great sculpture, where he had died and where, in the summer of
1920, just ten years before, he had asked Emil to assume responsibility (he named
it ‘curating’) for the Threefold Movement. Emil then proceeded to give his lecture
based on the Leading Thought and it was well-received. Afterwards, he contemplated
the descriptive images he had used, how, after a burgeoning, blossoming life, a deathly
quiet had entered Waldorf Astoria and how it became like a cemetery within the
space of six weeks. It suddenly reminded him of Klingsor’s garden in the medieval
romance Parzifal by Wolfram of Eschenbach, a story all Waldorf high school students
get to read. Klingsor’s beautiful magic garden disappeared after Parzifal redeemed the
spear and brought it to the Grail castle. In the same manner, Emil said to himself,
the Waldorf spirit was brought to the Uhlandshöhe—to the school. He knew then
that for a time he still was in thrall to something that didn’t really exist anymore and
realized that the liquidation occurred exactly ten years after Steiner and his factory
council laid the spiritual foundation for the school, April 23, 1919. ‘Now I am sure,’ he
thought. ‘I was not meant to continue as a pawn in big business. Had I been traveling
over the world, I would have lost myself. Instead, I can serve the offspring of the
company, the school, and serve anthroposophy through these difficult times.’
On September 28 a mystery letter arrived for Emil, very intriguing but strangely
not mentioned anywhere else that I could find:

Dear Dr. Molt, We have been working with a Steiner indication in our
laboratory and think we are able to create a modification of radio and
telephone through the use of tones and speech. This work has progressed
so far that it seems possible to market it. Neither the Goetheanum nor the

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 Natural Scientific Section are interested in this project ‘out of principle’—
they want nothing to do with economic ventures. We could patent it to
the Goetheanum without engaging it in any direct business dealings or
responsibilities. For this reason we would be delighted to have advice.
I would like to invite you to meet with us for a discussion on Sunday,
October 4th, in the laboratory of the Goetheanum. Kreutzer

Why did this project go nowhere? We don’t know. There is no further mention of it.
During the latter part of that year, the teachers of the Stuttgart school hosted a
Waldorf alumni reunion, which included students from Holland. Emil joined them
and was happy to see the development of the ones he knew, impressed by how easily
these young people were able to converse. Carl Unger’s son Georg said: “There is an
inseparable bond uniting us, a seed sown in the school.” ‘Oh,’ thought Emil, ‘this is the
new generation that will heal disharmony.’ He may have been right about his young
Waldorf School friends, but regarding Germany his hope was unfulfilled.
October 13, 1930, Kristallnacht happened. Hitler’s young Brown Shirts smashed
the windows of Jewish-owned shops in the Potsdamer Platz, Berlin. Hitler insinuated
hatred into the will of growing masses of people, stunning them with evocative
images and pounding music. Waldorf School teachers stepped up their efforts to
warn parents about the danger confronting the nation. Walter Johannes Stein talked
about the need to foster eternal truths.
The Goetheanum suffered financially with former large donors no longer able
to contribute due to the 1929 crash, although many small donations still flowed in.

1932: Edith
Edith Emma Elisabeth Lichtenberg, born 1910,
was the daughter of the popular Stuttgart physician
Friedrich “Fritz” Lichtenberg, a freemason. She had an
older brother, a younger sister and a very gentle, ladylike
mother who forgave her husband his sometimes
wandering ways. Edith at 22 was Fritz’s favorite and his
office assistant in the medical practice. She was a fearless
‘modern’ flirt in short curls and short skirts.
Walter met Edith while bringing a mutual friend to
the train. He was taken by her style and asked if she’d
like to have supper with him; he was going to meet his Edith

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father at his ‘local,’ the Hotel Marquardt. She didn’t hesitate, intrigued to meet the
famous father although she was not too impressed by the son. Emil, sitting quietly
at his usual table, suddenly found a whirlwind upon him—an unusually animated
Walter and a freckled redhead.
Edith remembers: “We walked into the dining room and met an energetic small
man with a round, bald head and penetrating blue eyes, sitting alone at a corner
table. He was obviously a powerful personality, with much warmth and humor. I
immediately felt drawn to him.”
Emil, with the skill some parents have for eliminating anyone threatening to run
off with their offspring, jovially began interrogating Edith, testing her mental capacity.
This strategy normally worked; it sometimes even reduced Walter’s girlfriends to
tears. Edith was different. She boldly gave back as good as she got and soon had Emil
laughing. By the end of the meal, he invited her to a concert at his house and she
promised to come, eager to see this fascinating man again.
On the night of the concert, she was astonished. The house was more luxurious
than any she’d ever seen. The maid said, “Dr. Molt is expecting you,” and led her past
three elegant reception rooms and two grand pianos to his study, a smallish place
with a working fountain and a hand-carved desk. Three walls contained floor to
ceiling shelves with books, some burnished with age, some with linen covers and gold
lettering. “Do you like my fountain?” Emil asked. “It is St. Francis preaching to the
fishes and was made specially for this room.” “I am very impressed by your fountain,”
she answered, “but even more astonished at your library.” She saw an endlessly rich
variety: classics, novels, history, religion, a special shelf with books marked Rudolf
Steiner. “They are gathered over a lifetime, and I have read every single one,” he
answered.
He told her to find a seat near the entrance hall from where she’d have a good
view of both pianists. She did and was amused when Walter suddenly appeared,
dragging a chair and setting it up to face her instead of the pianos. ‘Just you stare; one
day you’ll marry me,’ the thought flashed through her mind, and she immediately
dismissed it since she loved her freedom and had no intention of getting married.
After the excellent concert, Walter was busy greeting people and offering them
refreshments. Edith mingled with the crowd, wondering at the absence of the lady
of the house. Someone told her Berta had poor health and often stayed in clinics in
the mountains. Before Edith left, Walter shook her hand and asked to see her again.
She said yes.

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A fresh breeze
Their friendship grew and she often came
to the house, although she rarely saw ‘Father
Molt’ who was busy on so many levels that
she believed his lifestyle would soon lead to
collapse. She also noticed that this family
was never alone: “There are always guests at
their table,” she reported back home, “even
when both Molts are away. Some of them
don’t seem to deserve it but take this horn
of plenty for granted. I know Walter suffers
it.” “Don’t be too critical,” answered her father.
“Be helpful and enjoy it.” Although she had
heard of anthroposophy and as a child played
with children going to the Waldorf School, it
was new territory for her, and she became an Edith, her mother and brother
acute observer and listener. With a measure
of wry humor, Walter, having grown up in this setting, was her interpreter and she
herself felt intrigued.
Berta, when Edith finally met her, was taken aback by her temperament and
familiarity. “Who is this person?” she asked. “She is,” answered Emil, “a serious and
strong-willed girl who hides her light under a flippant exterior.”
Fragile, serious Berta, who subsisted on a restrictive diet and needed her quiet
time, worried that Edith was too much of a free spirit who could burn her sensitive
son and then drop him. She tried to warn him but he was finally learning to fly on his
own, savoring his freedom. He moved out of the house to a bachelor pad near Walter
Rau’s soap factory, and to Berta’s dismay, often went away with Edith on hiking or
skiing trips. She still had Felix in the house but suffered Walter’s absences, regretting
his preference for brash Edith instead of some gentle young eurythmist or other
eligible anthroposophist.

Drama at the school

One day Walter Johannes Stein, now a devoted and talented teacher with a great
sense of independence, got himself in trouble with a parent by having his pupils draw
a diagram of the heavenly hierarchies (angels, archangels, etc.) in their notebooks.
Most children were fine with this, but one little girl’s mother complained that it was

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inappropriate, bringing religion into the classroom. The matter escalated and shock
waves went all the way to the Annual General Meeting of the Society in Dornach,
with admonishments flowing back. As so often in those days, people took passionate
sides. “Ideally,” said Caroline von Heydebrand, “our school should be independent,
otherwise we won’t be free to work with each other. Everyone should find their own
personal relationship to Dornach.” Stein said he was well within the curriculum’s
remit and surely it wouldn’t have been an issue before the ‘split.’ Now, he claimed, his
freedom as a teacher was at stake, and he would no longer stay in Germany. Indeed,
he had already explored a move to England.
Emil met with him and tried to mediate but without success. In spite of their
long and cordial relationship, Stein felt he couldn’t trust Emil anymore because of his
support of Dornach. “After all, weren’t you the one who proposed Steffen as school
Chairman?” he asked. Emil said, “It is a school matter, it is not a question of deference
to Dornach”, but had to admit there was pressure from there. Herr Baumann said:
“What happened to Stein could happen to any of us tomorrow.” Some parents rallied
behind Stein because he was such a brilliant teacher, but eventually he left, and Emil
was unhappy because he wasn’t able to fix the matter and because of the loss to the
school. ‘The problems of the Society are problems of mutual understanding and
tolerance,’ Emil thought and, doodling in his notebook, imagined the Stein event as
a play:
Drama Stein
Act 1: Dornach Annual General Meeting
Act 2: Stuttgart Teachers’ College, Parents, Pupils
Cast:
- Marie Steiner: confronted by the school notebook
- Mother of a ninth grader, presenter of the notebook at the meeting
- Dr. W.J. Stein: History teacher makes a diagram of the hierarchies
- Other teachers and members of the management board in serious debate
- Representatives of Dornach: Dr. Wachsmuth, Chairman of the General Meeting
- Members of the Society
- Dr. Kolisko, Dr. v Heydebrand, Stein supporters in the school
- Dr. Schubert, Wolffhuegel, Dr. Schickler, Dr. von D, Prof. von Eiff:
Fighters for a spiritual life independent of Dornach
- Letter writers
- Alumni
Thus a smallish event mushrooms.

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 Chapter Eight

Nazi takeover
Propaganda against Germany started in World War I and became a self-fulfilling
prophecy in 1933. “The Kaiser, Beast of Berlin” was fiction but “Hitler, the Beast of
Munich” was not.
Looking back at Hitler is to see a demonic counterpoint to everything Steiner
stood for. Hitler was well aware of Steiner and his teachings but, like Klingsor, he
worked out of hate, with distorted visions fueled, as has been claimed now, by drugs
and magical practices in his youth. He distorted words such as ‘folk spirit,’ ‘destiny’
and ‘Aryan’ into evil and abiding caricatures.
On January 28 Germany’s president, General Hindenburg, advised by a coterie
of conservative politicians, appointed Hitler to the post of Chancellor after the
incumbent, Kurt von Schleicher, was forced to step down. “How did that happen?”
the Molts asked themselves. “Isn’t Hitler an Austrian citizen?”
In February 1933 Edith Lichtenberg, with a biting sarcasm, wrote her brother
Werner in America: “Well, now Hitler, that monkey, has managed to become
Chancellor. What a beastly sideshow, you can’t imagine! First the Nazis blamed
Hindenburg for the war, now they raise him to high heaven as the ‘brave Field
Marshall.’ On the night of the inauguration they gave their ‘Führer’ a torch-lit parade.
We heard a report of it on the radio. Such manure, I never heard the like.”
Hitler pushed all the buttons—a strong Fatherland, strong family, full
employment, livelihood for farmers, responsibility and stability instead of chaos.
Who paid for his army, his uniforms, his guns, parades and flags and manipulative
propaganda? He had his bankers and his businessmen and even more important,
thousands of small donors who saw his storm troops as a sign of his strength.
Looking back to the Great War, only fifteen short years before, the Molts dreaded
the beginning of a greater nightmare. Steiner’s prediction in Stockholm in 1910,
speaking of windows into the spiritual world beginning to open for people in the 1930s
and warning that if that didn’t happen, there would be confusion and the shadow of
evil, was clear in their minds. “Why could it not have been prevented?” they asked

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themselves. They considered moving to Dornach. Then, minding Steiner’s message to
be awake and aware and to guard beauty, truth and goodness, they confirmed their
resolve to stay in Germany with their friends. “We must support, in particular, those
with a Jewish background,” said Emil, crying out in his soul, because he had never
classified his Jewish and Muslim friends by race or religion.
He felt tired, had pains in his bladder and thought he’d caught a chill. At the end
of January he went to Zurich to give a lecture at the university. In the morning, in
his hotel, at the moment Hitler took over in Berlin, Emil discovered a large amount
of blood in his urine and, frightened, went to a Swiss specialist. The diagnosis was
unclear. He was advised to cancel his lectures, go home and rest; the test results would
be sent on to Stuttgart. Arriving home he went to bed with a fever. A few days later Dr.
Palmer brought him the test results. The kidneys were clear but there was a suspicion
of stones or ‘sand’ in the bladder. “Don’t worry,” Palmer reassured him. “Such stones
normally pass by themselves and if not, a surgical procedure will get rid of them.”
Emil remained in bed and was there the night of February 1st when he heard
Goebbels and Hitler on the radio (it seemed the Nazis were at their best after
sundown). Exactly fourteen years after Steiner’s “Appeal to the German Nation,” Hitler
delivered his own horrible parody of the same, also calling it ‘Appeal to the German
Nation.’ Dreadfully shocked, Emil was sick for a month, only slowly getting back on his
feet but always tired. Berta tended him and Walter visited often with Edith, but Emil
now found the young couple tedious; he couldn’t listen to their chatter.

A painful sequence
On the evening of February 27, one month after Hitler’s inauguration, the
Parliament building in Berlin was set on fire. It seemed very staged. Goering, followed
shortly by Hitler and Goebbels, appeared on the scene, with Goering claiming: “It is
arson and the beginning of the Communist revolution. Not a moment to lose. Soon
they will strike in force.” Hitler added, “All Communist leaders ought to be hanged
this very night.” He had been instilling a fear of communist terrorists for a long time
and now used the event for a wholesale arrest of left-wing politicians and activists,
based merely on the claim that they were fomenting revolt.
On March 1, Dr. Palmer took Emil to see a urologist at the Wilhelma Hospital.
The specialist, an irascible man, examined Emil extensively and painfully, finding an
infection and bladder stones. He recommended a surgical procedure and suggested a
date. It took Emil days to recover from the examination. Dr. Palmer came every day,
clearly concerned. He wanted his patient fit in time for the hospital. Berta worried

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too; she remembered her own episode with a trigger-happy surgeon. “Where is Dr.
Steiner now?” she thought sadly. March 4 Emil, feverish, went through his desk and
tidied it with Walter’s help.
In Wolfram von Eschenbach’s epic Parzifal, the Grail King Amfortas lies with a
wound that does not heal, inflicted by the spear of the magician Klingsor. Emil’s illness
began with the advent of Hitler in power and worsened at every stage of political
repression. No matter how much the doctors medicated, the infection remained
and spread. Indeed it seemed a reflection of the wound inflicted on Emil’s land and
people. And because Emil had depleted himself in the years before, he no longer had
the strength to overcome it.
Parliamentary elections were held on March 5, and now the Nazis were in a
majority, winning because 81 Communist deputies had been arrested or had taken
flight before the vote and a number of opposition politicians were likewise in prison.
Emil spent a few sunny days in the garden, checked into the hospital on March
7 and, five days later, underwent a lithotripsy (once again near his Ides of March) to
remove the stones. Nowadays this procedure is done by laser, but back then it was a
crude surgical intervention. Emil stayed in hospital for ten more days and then was
sent home to recuperate.

Freedoms lost
March 23 the Reichstag passed the Enabling Act, ‘For the Protection of People and
State,’ thereby effectively voting itself out of existence and allowing Hitler’s regime to
act with impunity. It was to be the basis of the Nazi dictatorship and began with the
destruction of political parties. The German Communist party was banned first and
all trade unions dissolved. The Enabling Act rendered invalid many previous laws and
suspended rights guaranteed by the Weimar Constitution—freedom of speech and
association, of the press and privacy of mail, telegram and telephone communications.
It authorized house searches and seizures and paved the way for the arrest of opposing
candidates. Berta and Emil were shocked at the speed with which this was happening;
obviously well-planned in advance, in contrast to Hitler’s first attempt in the Munich
beer hall.
On April 1 the Nazis declared a general boycott of Jews. ‘What will our friends do
now?’ thought Emil, concerned particularly for his Hamburg associates, and again he
suffered a relapse with infection, fever and pain. Berta took him to the specialist who
was in a hurry to go on vacation. He admitted there might be some stones remaining.
Berta joined her voice to Emil’s, insisting he take care of his patient before leaving. On

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April 3 he operated again, this time with a general anesthetic and removed seven or
eight splinters. Whether his mind was already on a mountain resort or whether he
disliked the troublesome patient, his instrument went astray and inflicted a wound
that was never to heal. For six weeks, Emil lay in hospital after the procedure. Edith
sent her father to look in on him. He was dismayed by the medical report. “You must
see an expert,” he said. “I know the best man in the field. Dr. Kielleuthner has a practice
in Munich and can surely help you. I will refer you, but go as soon as you possibly can.”
“I will,” said Emil. “But I have to improve first.” He couldn’t bear the thought of another
examination.
April 14, Good Friday, he celebrated his birthday in hospital, with the nurses
singing to him, after which he received a procession of visitors. His son sat by his bed
for a long time, reading from a new book by the poet Christian Morgenstern. That
night, Emil dreamed of Rudolf Steiner.
On Easter Sunday he was allowed home for a few hours. The trees were in bloom
and the weather beautiful. The cook prepared his favorite dish with vegetables from
the garden, and visitors came, although he also spent some time alone with Berta. His
two physician friends, Palmer and Kolisko, came and found him in good form. “Be
patient,” they said. On the 20th an auxiliary physician discharged him; he never saw
his surgeon again. Six weeks passed for what was to have been a routine procedure
but he was grateful for the nurses’ care and full of hope for complete recovery. “May
the gift of time be granted me, to make use of what I learned through this illness,” he
said. “Perhaps I can still make a difference, only not in the old ways!”

Reconfiguring daily life

For one year he remained at home and often in bed. His illness put a ring
around his world, limiting it to his house, his garden and a few short strolls in the
neighborhood. He had his Steiner books and biographies and the days took on a
comforting rhythm, sheltered from the madness outside. No more rushing off to city
after city, he had time to think.
In August he needed constant care. A male nurse looked after him at night. His
niece Dora attended him during the day, and her brother Siegfried, who later became
a physician in Mannheim, helped with kitchen duty. Drs. Palmer and Kolisko both
came until the beginning of September when Kolisko and his wife Lili took their
leave. They were bound for England, both having been chastised in Dornach for their
affiliation with Dr. Wegman. It was a sad loss for Stuttgart.

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 In another development, Leinhas stepped down as director of the German
Weleda.
For most of September Emil was confined to a reclining chair in his room or
in the upstairs conservatory, but a great number of people came to visit him. Then
Walter and Edith came by one day, announcing their intention to get married. “When
did this happen?” asked Berta with a pang in her heart. “Oh,” replied Edith, “it was
nothing formal. Walter and some friends brought me home one night. He lingered in
the courtyard after I went in. I saw him from my window, opened it and called out
‘good night.’ He walked away, then turned and said in an off-hand kind of way, ‘I don’t
suppose you’d want to marry me,’ and I said ‘Yes I would’ and that was that. He got in
his car and drove off.”

Walter and Edith engaged

In October they celebrated their engagement in a glorious summit restaurant on
Rotenberg, the ‘Red Mountain,’ beyond the city. Emil was able to attend and told
the story of Berta and himself meeting and falling in love. Now that Edith was an
official member of the family, Berta softened towards her. Emil also got to know her
better. She often stayed to read to him before his bedtime and, saying he had done
enough serious reading in his life, brought him light literature to brighten the hours.
They laughed together; he called her his ‘sleep angel” and had a more peaceful night
afterwards.
Later in the month he was worse again, worse
tempered too, because Berta was frequently out
with Edith’s mother Friedel. The ladies enjoyed
being together, exploring areas of the city they
didn’t know. They looked at potential apartments
for the couple and things for their household.
Walter was still working in Walter Rau’s soap factory
in Moehringen, a town set among cabbage fields on
the outskirts of the city.
To everyone’s delight, Dora also found a partner,
Max Emil Kimmich, whom she met in college. They
were both studying to be Waldorf teachers. She
Walter, Dora and Max Emil
introduced him to the Molts one lunchtime and
they took Emil out for a short walk. Kimmich was a quiet, charming, soulful man;
Dora and he were made for each other.

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 November 12 Emil got up to vote. The election was rigged, but a consensus
among historians is that it was also a positive referendum for the Nazi regime. Walter
and Edith drove Emil downtown. Stuttgart was not as extreme as Berlin, but when he
saw swastikas floating above the polling station and was required to fill out long forms
with personal details, handed him by guards in uniform, he almost exploded. By the
time he got home, he was pale and tottering and suspicious that his ballot might not
be secret at all and would be used inappropriately. The teacher of the special class, Dr.
Schubert, was waiting with a letter from Albert Steffen, who announced he wanted
to resign as head of the Waldorf School Association Board because of a perceived
affront. He would, however, still expect accountability. Emil, discouraged, said he’d
reply to him.

Dear Herr Steffen:

In the name of the College of Teachers and Waldorf School Association,
I beg you to give us your trust and reconsider your position as Chairman
of the Board. My own illness doesn’t permit me to come to you personally
and this letter is a poor substitute. I know there are issues, but the teachers
are in a tragic situation, they should not have to get involved in the Society
split. You do have support. It just takes time, and I beg you in the name of
the Waldorf School to wait with patience for things to resolve themselves.
We, who have made this our task, promise you that we will not rest until
we achieve what is in the best interest of the larger whole.

December. The illness decided to make its permanent home in Emil’s organism.
Sometimes he gave in, sometimes he rebelled. The first Sunday in Advent was
celebrated on Saturday with Walter and Edith, because the next day they’d be away
skiing. Berta lit the first of the four candles on the Christmas wreath. Walter was
impatient; he pulled things out of cupboards looking for his ski boots and sticks,
saying the housekeeper must have put them away somewhere. “What’s the matter
with this household?” he asked; when Edith was along, it seemed he couldn’t tolerate
the stillness of the place. Berta waited until next morning when she and Emil were
alone to read the Steiner Christmas lecture she had planned for the night before. At
noon she invited him to her room (they each had spacious upstairs rooms in which
the bed was just a part and the rest was a cozy retreat). Emil reclined in a lounge chair
while she served up an elegant little lunch. Later, after his nap, she read him of the life
of Alexander the Great.

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A generation gap
That evening Walter and Edith, glowing from their day, dropped the ski
paraphernalia back; he didn’t have room for it in his own flat. They were excited
about the apartment they had found; it would have more space than Walter had
now. Edith hinted that she had found a couch set she loved but they couldn’t afford
it. Walter complained about his boss, Rau. There had been trouble, Walter said. Rau
wasn’t interested in his sales suggestions and didn’t give him enough space. “Call
Lola Rau tomorrow,” Emil told Berta irritably. “Find out what’s going on, woman to
woman—and if Edith thinks she can make eyes at me and get whatever she wants,
well, she’s wrong. Anyway, we shouldn’t be buying couches; we’re not rich anymore.”
Next day, Berta talked to Lola who sighed and said Walter was like a race horse
at the plough. He often arrived late and disappeared without leaving his whereabouts
known. “He feels that he should determine when he does what and is often moody
and unapproachable,” said Lola. “He does his job well, but I don’t know if we can keep
him—it’s not good for the other employees.” Berta promised to see what she could do.
Emil was ashamed of his son. “His problem is
that he never went through the discipline I did and
all his jobs whether in Italy, England or Germany were
bent to suit his lifestyle.” He summoned Walter, Edith
came along and he was tough. “No more playboy,” he
said. “The Raus are giving you another chance. Don’t
embarrass me.” To Edith he said, “The gay twenties are
over. Give him boundaries; otherwise what kind of life
will you have once there’s a family?” She looked startled
but clearly understood him. “How am I ever supposed
to get well?” he complained to Berta once they were
alone. At noon Dora came over with her fiancé. Berta
served them tea and couldn’t help thinking how easy
Dora was compared to Edith. In the evening Dora’s Edith’s ‘bad influence’
parents, Gotthilf and Paula, came to supper and after
that Emil’s secretary Otto Wagner rang with a long list of questions. Emil was still in
a dark mood and felt unwell. Berta realized she would have to cancel visitors and
unplug the phone for a while. The days before Christmas shouldn’t be stressful.
Three weeks later Berta had a tree brought up to Emil’s room and she decorated it
with candles, red paper roses and golden planetary symbols. The tree, fresh-cut, filled
the room with its fragrance. “There,” she said, “almost like the mountain air we love.”

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Then she took Edith’s parents over crunching and sparkling snow on the short walk
to the school for the traditional medieval nativity play, performed by the teachers
for their pupils. Fritz and Friedel enjoyed the simple beauty of it and even the Nazi
surveillance officer at the rear forgot himself and shouted with laughter when the
shepherds in the field slipped and fell on the ‘ice.’
Berta prepared a large basket of presents for her friends and for some needy
acquaintances. When Walter and Edith came around, they offered to deliver the
presents, glad to go out again. Later Emil got up and she bundled him into a comfortable
chair in the living room downstairs, wondering what was keeping Walter and Edith.
Eventually they celebrated Christmas Eve with Dora and her fiancé, Edith’s parents, the
Lichtenbergs, and Felix with his friend Christa. Fritz Lichtenberg asked Emil whether
he had consulted the physician he had recommended and looked serious when Emil
said he hadn’t. Late at night when all was over and Emil in bed, Walter and Edith
returned with the empty basket, drenched and shivering from their deliveries. “Oh,
my poor dears,” said Berta chagrined. “You should have left the rest for tomorrow.” She
served them a little midnight snack by the warm fire and gave them their present, a
gift voucher for their couch set. She was rewarded with a grateful smile from Walter
and a hug from Edith. Then they toasted the first minutes of Christmas Day with a hot
toddy of elderberry juice.

Threats to the school

January 14, 1934, Emil had a dream. He saw Rudolf Steiner who asked him very
kindly, “Are you still depressed?” He woke up and felt comforted.
In February Berta took Emil to a sanatorium above St. Moritz. Dr. Palmer
accompanied them on the train, Emil lying down for most of the trip. The sanatorium
was not the elegant one of affluent earlier years but the resident physician, Dr. Zambail,
was glad to consult with Dr. Palmer, who in turn was glad to know his patient was in
good hands. Emil was given a raw food diet and daily sitzbaths, otherwise spending
the days ensconced on a glassed-in terrace. Eight days later, Berta received a letter
from the school:

Stuttgart, February 12
Dear Frau Molt!
I am sending you my memorandum of the State’s intention to close
the school, not knowing whether Dr. Molt’s health is strong enough

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 to bear this news. I leave it up to you. Could you forward my enclosed
memorandum to Herr Steffen soon and say we are doing everything
possible to stay calm. We have informed only a few parents. … Sending
greetings and best wishes for Herr Molt’s health.
Yours, Paul Baumann

Memorandum, February 9th.

At a meeting with Cultural Minister Christian Mergenthaler, he told me he
intends to close the school as soon as possible. Taking effect immediately
there will be no new admissions. He says it’s not the method nor the
inadequate treatment of certain subjects (both criticisms made during a
recent inspection) but the underlying world view. “Rudolf Steiner and
the Steinerians follow hazy pacifistic internationalist ideals,” he claimed.
My counter arguments were brushed aside as personal conviction and
not reality. In his opinion, the fact that all the teachers work out of
anthroposophy makes it impossible for the school to align itself with the
National Socialist State.

“Prepare yourself for a shock,” said Berta. “You will want to see this.” “How can we
deal with this additional stroke of fate?” asked Emil. Then out of ancient depths he
raised a war cry: “Don’t let difficulties weaken us!!! Tell them,” he said, “to plan every
move carefully and keep us informed. Tell them to be strong. We will be back soon.”
More news arrived. At an emergency teachers’ conference, chaired by Karl Ege,
Baumann requested the attendance of a Nazi advisor who, he thought, was favorably
inclined toward the school. Some teachers had reservations, because this man was
not trained in the Waldorf method, but they agreed because they wanted to be
conciliatory. The advisor told them clearly that the school would have to be re-
formed to meet the conditions of the times and that they should appoint a Nazi
party ‘commissar’ to facilitate this.
Several teachers suggested parents with family members or friends in the Party
who might be suitable. Others thought it might be wise for them to join the Party.
“We can just go along while keeping our thoughts to ourselves,” they said. Yet others
wanted to create a circle of parents with links to the Party who could become
‘guarantors’ for the school. The faculty member Ernst Lehrs said all of this was a direct
attack on anthroposophy and Dr. Steiner. “The present parent body,” he said, “is the
only one responsible and anything else is a compromise.”

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 The threats didn’t stop. “Let us see what we can do,” said the parents. One knew
someone with ties to Hitler. Another suggested that teachers Ege and Boy drive to
Munich to talk with Rudolf Hess, known to be interested in biodynamics. Or, perhaps,
said a third, approach René Maikowsky, a teacher at the Berlin school. Maikowsky
was opposed to Hitler but his brother Hans had been claimed by the Nazis as one of
their ‘martyrs,’ having died a ‘glorious death for National Socialism’ (shot in a street
brawl, January 1933).
The teacher Baumann was still negotiating with Minister
Mergenthaler and described the latter’s disapproval of Karl
Schubert’s (Jewish background) teaching the free religion
class. He said the Nazis would not change their demands until
the question of ‘non-Aryan’ teachers was resolved. Someone
reported that a Nazi official, friendly towards the school,
asked why it couldn’t align itself with the times by temporarily
suspending Drs. Friedrich Hiebel and Alexander Strakosch. Karl Schubert
Strakosch declared he did not want to be a hindrance. Dr. Ernst
Lehrs, also Jewish, said he would step down immediately, as did Karl Schubert and
Hiebel. These four were among the most gifted and inspired teachers of the school.
Baumann felt it shouldn’t be decided unilaterally: “All means at our disposal must be
exhausted before we send anyone away.”

Some of the best teachers go

Karl Ege reported that the Department of Education wanted to install its own
director and said, if that happened, he wouldn’t want anything more to do with the
school. Predictably, their Nazi advisor quit. The Austrian-born Strakosch said, “From
the time I was a child I wanted to be German. Now I beg you to relieve me of my school
duties. I beg it.” Hiebel and Lehrs agreed, and all three left the country. Baumann said,
“The decision of these gentlemen is a heavy sacrifice,” but their decision saved them,
giving them a lifetime of work for Waldorf schools. Strakosch went to Switzerland,
Lehrs to England and Hiebel to America. Karl Schubert alone decided to stay and by
a miracle was left unharmed. The Ministry of Education allowed him to continue his
special classes within the rooms of the school during the long course of the war.
Emil in Switzerland, feeling better, was drinking tea in the hotel lounge when the
radio announced a speech by Rudolf Hess in Munich. Emil stayed to listen. ‘Perhaps,’
he thought, ‘Hess will be reasonable,’ but he was not. He fulminated, ending with,
“Through our pledge we bind our life anew to one man through whom higher powers

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of destiny are at work.” Emil’s gorge rose and his tea tasted bitter. “Spiritual perversion,”
he said and, not surprisingly, got cramps. “It’s a year since my operation and my
condition is worse than ever. How hopeless I feel. If only Dr. Noll were still alive;
he could have cured me.” Berta now became frightened. She said, “The mountains have
not helped you. We must seek out the physician Fritz Lichtenberg recommended.” She
rang this physician citing Dr. Lichtenberg and begging for an emergency appointment.
Then she packed their belonging and booked tickets for Munich. Emil said, “I am
anxious to get back to the school and feel I’ve been away too long.”
He was right. They were none too soon returning because Leinhas, still overseeing
the finances for the physical plant of the school through the Uhlandshöhe Corporation,
had sent Emil a letter saying that Nazi Party members were being co-opted into the
Collegium and would try to take over the school. He was worried about Steffen’s
presidency not being resolved and asked to receive a signed affidavit, in duplicate,
from Emil, the vice president, deputizing him, Leinhas, to act as Chairman in Steffen’s
behalf. Emil didn’t receive this letter until after he returned home.

Incurable
On March 15 Dr. Lichtenberg’s colleague Dr. L. Kielleuthner, examined Emil. He
shook his head. “You are too late,” he said. “Your illness has progressed too far. The
urinary tract and the kidneys are damaged beyond repair through chronic infection.
Your prostate is enlarged and your pancreas is not functioning well. Nine months
ago I could have helped you, I don’t know what to do now.” Berta and Emil were
devastated; it seemed like a death sentence.

Emil and Berta after doctor’s visit

They arrived back in Stuttgart shaken. Walter met them at the station and, in the
midst of his wedding preparations, had to bear the weight of his parents’ despair. One
week later, on March 24, Walter and Edith were married in the Christian Community
church, Dr. Rittelmeyer officiating. It turned out that Edith had been going to see

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him for religious instruction which suited her
better than anthroposophical meetings. The day was
marked by joy; the bride was beautiful, the groom
stood tall, the large Lichtenberg clan all showed up
as did Heldmaiers, Georgiis, Raus, and many more.
Afterwards there was a meal for just the family
at the home of the Lichtenbergs. Oh, and may I
mention that 30 years later, in 1964 (and again I’m
only aware of the link now) my Irish husband Finbarr
and I came to Stuttgart to be married in that same
church, with Murphys and Molts, my godfather
Walter Rau and his wife Lola, some Lichtenbergs
and many more who bridged the gap of time to Walter and Edith
recall that other wedding, and with a festive meal at their wedding
afterwards on the summit of the Red Mountain.
The festivities over, Emil and Berta went home, Emil longing to be back in his own
room and his cozy bed. The weather was warm and the garden full of flowers, more
beautiful than ever. Emil sunned himself on the balcony, loving the springtime after
the cold of St. Moritz.
During the next days Walter and Edith went on their honeymoon and the teachers
came to report. Some showed themselves extraordinarily courageous, notably one,
Christoph Boy, who, while seriously ill, was fighting for the survival of the school. Emil
told him he was worthy of great thanks. Leinhas, as usual, was in the midst of things.
He described the attempts at changing the school’s governance by Party member
parents who were chosen as a friendly oversight board of the school. He thought
the anthroposophical industrialist Mahle, who had a fast-growing business making
pistons for the automotive industry, could be helpful because he knew a number
of influential people. Emil suggested he bring him over, which Leinhas did, and they
discussed the school and how to keep its principles intact. Mahle agreed to ‘manage’
the oversight board and Emil felt relieved. One day he asked a distant relative of his,
an attorney, to come and help him write his will.

Steffen resigns
On May 6 Mahle rang. There had been progress with the parent group in the
Association and the teachers were more confident. Then on May 14, the Collegium
sent a letter to members of the Waldorf School Association:

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 We wish to inform you that Mr. Albert Steffen has resigned his role as
Chairman, feeling it to better that a German and not a foreigner occupy
this post. We know that he remains deeply connected with the spirit of
Waldorf and thank him for all his kindness and help. The Board meanwhile
has looked for a replacement and has decided unanimously to propose the
current Vice Chairman Dr. E. Molt for this post, asking him as well to direct
the activities of the Waldorf School Association.

On May 14 Emil wrote the Collegium:

Previously I rejected as impossible the idea that I could occupy a post
once held by Dr. Steiner himself and since his death by Albert Steffen. I
begged the latter to reconsider his resignation, at least for the duration of
my illness. However, since the external situation of the school has become
so very difficult, I place myself at your service, but only if I can remain in
closest spiritual connection with the Goetheanum and its leadership.
The hard tasks of the present and future can only be undertaken if
every member carries the school in his or her heart and if complete trust
is given to people in managing positions. The Waldorf School must be kept
alive. It was created by Dr. Steiner not just for us but for everyone. Young
people will go forth from it, able to work forcefully towards a renewal of
the State, healthy in body and soul. If we can maintain the old Waldorf
School spirit, then in spite of all difficulties we can look to the future with
joy and hope. Dr. E. Molt

June 3. Although the weather was hot and muggy, the Annual General Meeting of
the Waldorf School Association was harmonious and positive. Emil was confirmed as
Chairman. He thought it a gift of the spiritual world and felt much love and good will
offered him by the attendees. Suddenly optimistic, he expressed his joy that, in spite
of his illness, he could take on this task, giving thanks to the previous chairman and
saying, “Even though he was not often present he helped with advice. Everyone knows
how great his interest and love is for the school.” He then mentioned the challenges
they were facing.
(Meanwhile their adversary Mergenthaler was in Nürtingen giving a speech: “We
are National and Social without differentiation of rank or religion. We place public
welfare above personal welfare. Being German means doing something for its own
sake, with modesty. We say yes to the State Adolf Hitler.”)

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The school wrote a review for the Association:
Financial report (January 1, 1933, to Easter 1934)
This time is among the most difficult the school has ever experienced. We
miss our founder Rudolf Steiner whose concern from the beginning was
how to carry this art of education forward and bring healing into social life,
how to prevail against the hindering forces of a materialistic time. This year
we are faced with a new and serious worry. The opponents of the work of
Rudolf Steiner have managed to label the Waldorf School as harmful and
conflicting with the new State and its goals. The authorities believe that
anthroposophy makes it impossible for teachers to work constructively
within the new German State.
The Württemberg Cultural Ministry has forbidden new students by
closing the first grade and even declared that the entire school must be
dismantled …
… Nine teachers will leave at the end of the year, four of the best
because of their non-Aryan background. Other teachers are forced to go
because of the school’s reduced size. The remaining teachers feel deeply
connected with those who have left, some who have been with it since the
beginning. They know how much they owe them and what they are losing.”

Protectors
Mahle reported on parent affiliations: “53 are now Nazi Party members belonging
to 22 patriot clubs.” He asked, “How can we overcome the paralysis in the school? How
can we build further? Perhaps an expanded newsletter could offer another view?”
Soon there was another State inspection. Inspector Bauser found arithmetic,
spelling and dictation lacking, but he admitted essays to be much better for content
and liveliness than in State schools. He praised music and technology lessons and
found oral presentations better than average, especially in the choice of words. He
did not approve of foreign language studies but said that, while reading skills were
behind in the lower classes, the upper classes did very well. Gymnastics was good,
but he recommended separating the sexes. He found the Collegium faithful and hard
working, making the best impression. In spite of all the ‘dogma,’ he saw serious striving,
deserving praise and admiration. “It is an interesting pedagogical experiment,” he
wrote.

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 The school had two new industrialist backers, both in the automotive industry.
Hanns Voith’s factory made drive shafts in Heidenheim, and Hermann Mahle’s
factory produced (and still produces) pistons in Stuttgart. Emil paid Mahle a visit in
his impressive factory to talk about the school and its precarious situation. Mahle,
with his many connections, suggested he be invited to sit on the school Board to
insure its proper direction. Emil, recalling his own ‘expulsion’ as a non-teacher years
before, wondered whether the teachers would be open to that. He knew, however,
what a dangerous game the school was playing by asserting its independence and that
it might need a powerful ally.

The Motta
Berta, acutely aware of Emil’s declining strength and seeing how each new
crisis weakened him more, looked for a place to take him away from Germany for
a while. Their budget was tight (she was no longer working), but they sold a good
part of their back garden and so had some discretionary funds. She counted out
St. Moritz as a bad memory and thought of the Motta in Brissago, a modest guest
house owned by the Dohmanns, two German anthroposophists. Brissago was and is
a picturesque village on the west side of Lake Maggiore, several villages down from
Ascona. Inquiring at the Motta, Berta learned they had rooms available at a price
reasonable enough to allow her to bring her housekeeper. In preparation for the trip,
Walter took Emil to town to his accountant, a young woman named Miss Federer.
She was a reliable person and very dedicated to Emil, taking care of all his official
business, even keeping his stationery and signing
it “Dr. Emil Molt, Secretariat.” He affectionately
called her ‘Federlein’ (little feather). Knowing
that he was worried about the large amount of
daily mail and dispatches, she offered to come
along with them at no extra cost, to take care of
his correspondence, saying she needed a holiday
and loved the Italian part of Switzerland.
The Molts had just arrived when they
received a surprise message: Leinhas was in
Ascona; he wanted to come and see them. The
carrier pigeons had obviously been busy. “Oh,
dear,” said Berta, “even here … Can we put it off
for a while?” At the Motta

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 Emil’s first excursion that afternoon was to a forgotten mill with a stream bubbling
out of a spring. Lizards lounged on the warm rocks, ready to duck into crevasses. Emil
washed his face and drank the water and because he was happy, he felt better.
Back on his veranda, he sat for a long time looking at the majestic lake and across
it to the other shore and the mountains of Gambarogno with their forests of pine and
chestnut trees. He spotted a tiny church on the outcropping of a hill, unaware that
years later his son and Edith would be drawn back to Ticino. They would rebuild a
four-hundred-year-old farmhouse in the village behind that church and eventually
retire there, often looking across the lake with nostalgia, to Brissago, where Emil was
sitting now.
The day waned but Emil lingered, breathing and expanding into the landscape
that became even more magical when the moon rose. Finally he went in, put on his
jacket and took a last short walk with Berta, through a vineyard above the romantic
village. “In the end,” he said, “Edith is right. We mustn’t be too serious. Happiness cures
all.”
Then the weather changed with thunderstorms and long days of rain. Letters from
Frau Klein, one of the advisors on the Association Board, and Mahle were conflicting,
one sober the other full of optimistic statements, both reporting that a meeting
between them and the State schools official had brought even more restrictions.
“I have to go back to Stuttgart,” Emil said anxiously, but his physician in Ascona,
Dr. Anna Zehnder, told him he must stay. “You have made progress,” she said, “but
you mustn’t risk traveling.” “I think the school needs me,” he answered. “Make up your
mind,” she said. “There you will be sick again. Here you have a chance to be productive.
Have your colleagues come and visit you; it’s not so far away.” Berta agreed completely.
Not having to face the journey was a relief. Emil had a long conversation with his
landlord, Dohmann, who told him, “Regard this as a safe house. Let people come to
you. You and all the rest are under surveillance in Stuttgart; here you are free to speak.
They all need respite.”
In September Albert Steffen visited with his partner Elisabeth Stückgold. Steffen,
the poet once happy as a Swiss recluse, had taken on an alien task out of faithfulness
to Steiner. He didn’t have the social skills of a Board Chairman and his travails with
the Society were written on his face. When, earlier, he was of almost unearthly beauty,
sojourning in heights like a Swiss mountain, lately he had more the look of an earth
spirit of that same mountain, a deeply furrowed face with a hidden look and timid
smile lurking between two pointed, elemental ears. Emil was glad to see him, and

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Herr Dohmann invited them to tea while they discussed the situation in Germany.
Previously, as head of the Waldorf School Association, Steffen had seemed remote;
now he was very attentive and serious.
On September 12 another letter came from Hermann Mahle: “Please send good
thoughts; I will be meeting with the State schools official again.” On September 24
Mahle reported the meeting had not gone well. Emil replied, “Do you want me
to come back?” He sent a copy of his letter to the school and received word from
Baumann: “Wait; perhaps we can handle this.”
Leinhas, accompanied by his new wife, came back at Michaelmas. Berta set out
tea and pastries under the fig trees in the garden. Melancholy Leinhas gave such a
uniformly negative report of happenings in Stuttgart that Emil thought, ‘I couldn’t
have survived.’ To change the mood, Berta invited the couple to stay for a reading of
Steiner’s Michaelmas Imagination, thinking thereby to bring warmth and courage to
the afternoon. It worked, lifting the thoughts beyond Stuttgart. Later she said to Emil,
“He is really drawn to you and wants to do the right thing. Take him as he is and be
kind to him.”
On October 10 Hermann Mahle sent Emil an extensive report of a meeting with
Dr. Drueck (whose name means ‘pressure’), another official in the educational system.
He insisted that an older ‘objective’ non-parent Nazi be added to the Association
and likewise wanted the Collegium to hire an ‘objective’ older Party teacher. This was
to be accomplished by January 1935 at the latest; otherwise the reopening of a first
grade would not be permitted. Furthermore all lessons were to be based completely
on natural scientific principles and not on ‘unproven fantasies.’ The Board of the
Association agreed to add a certain Mr. and Mrs. Link to the Collegium for Nazi
oversight.

At the Goetheanum
Early in December Emil’s doctor said, “Time to go to Zurich to the specialist to
have yourself checked out.” Emil told her, “Yes, but I want to go to Dornach first.” He
took a bath, had his hair cut and chose his travel gear. Next day he and Berta took the
train in Bellinzona. By chance they met their old friend Hesse there. The trip through
the Gotthard and past Lucerne to Basel was relaxed and easy with a pleasant meal in
the dining car. In Basel, Professor Tuch met them with a bunch of flowers from Steffen
and drove them to his beautiful house in Dornach where his wife had supper waiting.
On the 8th Berta stayed with Frau Tuch while Emil met with Mahle, Baumann and
Steffen. The difficult question was how to proceed. How much would one have to

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compromise to preserve the school? Mahle thought they might still have political
recourse, and Baumann thought the new Nazi representatives in the Association
could be convinced of the school’s ethos.
They did report of relentless and increasing restrictions being placed on the
passive population, which seemed not to oppose anything. All State school children
were pressured to join Nazi youth groups and everyone was watched by their
neighbors for proofs of loyalty to their country, including hanging a Nazi banner out
their windows. The Waldorf School was supposed to start the day by saluting Hitler
in parody of their morning verse and enjoined to sing the required patriotic songs.
There was a pervasive fear of not complying. “Our constant task is fighting fear,” they
said, glad of the chance to talk openly on the neutral ground of Switzerland.
In the evening they all went to see Steffen’s drama “The Fall of the Antichrist.”
How appropriate it was, written in 1928 and absolutely prophetic both in terms of
the current German regime and the split in the Society. Three dissenters to the regime,
a technician, a priest and an artist, are thrown in jail. The Regent describes how he has
freed the world, previously always at war, with a peace treaty and a Union of States,
which is, in fact a single state and an international security network. He promises
to release them, his only remaining opponents, if the technician will build him a
spacecraft to free the world from dependence on the upper gods and if the priest will
turn stones into bread to free the world of dependence on the lower gods. Those two
say, Yes, they will try. He then asks the artist whether he will glorify his works with
his poetry. The artist remains silent … It was a powerful production ending with the
annihilation of the Regent.

The caretakers
Many German guests attended and it was a joy to see them all again, although they
knew care needed to be taken even here because of the long arms of the Nazi network.
Emil fully recognized the importance of this building and its location: again a neutral
meeting place to preserve anthroposophy. With its massive concrete it would stand
through chaos and devastation and survive. He saw Steffen holding the organization
together but especially Wachsmuth, the gentle, quiet, social studier of stars, who had
seen the second Goetheanum through to its completion and gave it duration.
Then he thought of Marie Steiner safeguarding art and the books, Ita Wegman
safeguarding the medical movement and Elizabeth Vreede maintaining science:
bringing astrology, astronomy and anthroposophy together. All five very different,

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 New Goetheanum

misunderstanding each other, but in the end Steiner had chosen his Board for
strength and duration too. And to play with names: Marie Steiner the rock holding
the memory of her husband and his literature secure, Wegman leading the way,
Vreede the freedom and the truth in her research, Steffen the one stepping carefully,
and Wachsmuth, the ‘growing courage’ who brought Steiner’s building to completion:
all likewise a living mystery drama.

Duerler’s feat
The next day Emil met Edgar Duerler, the director of Weleda. They recalled
the traumatic year of 1922. Emil said how haunted he was by the thought that he
had refused to meet with him that time in Stuttgart and subsequently felt he had
let Steiner down with Futurum. “I was so tired,” he said, “and I thought it was more
important to save Waldorf Astoria, when in fact it was already gone.” Duerler replied,
“It wasn’t. You didn’t save the factory but you saved the financing for the school; that
was your task and your gift. Besides,” he said, “I was able to take over from you with
Futurum and your written suggestions made it easier.” Then he told what a challenge
it had been, holding those disparate companies and their employees together until
they were sold or officially closed. He was fortunate, he said, that he had Steiner’s total
support, who told him to call up at any time of day or night if necessary and who also
predicted an easier future for him. “And,” said Duerler, “I had an additional helper:
my close friend Knopfli who joined me and stood by me with unflagging enthusiasm
and a clear head. Once Futurum was finally sorted in 1931, my next step was Weleda.”

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 “How did the German and the Swiss Weledas become
merged?” asked Emil. “You remember the Basel office furniture
company that Futurum owned,” said Duerler. “One of its
registered trademarks was ‘Orga.’ I happened to know that the
large German firm Orga Berlin was interested in acquiring the
Swiss trademark. I negotiated a good price with the German
Orga director and then drove to Stuttgart, presenting Steiner
and Leinhas with a draft sales contract. They discussed the
matter, then Steiner suggested that Futurum buy the German
Weleda with the proceeds of the trademark sale. Financially, it
came to pretty much the same amount and it made the merger Weleda preparation
possible.” “I am astonished at your creative thinking,” said Emil,
“and I’m impressed what you have done with Weleda. As a matter of fact, I’m a little
jealous because I had a secret desire to work for Weleda myself.”
They parted cordially after Emil invited him to Ticino. Emil and Berta returned
to Brissago. On the train he told her of his conversations. He will perhaps also have
pondered the complexities of his various relationships. With Steffen and Marie
Steiner, it was one of responsibility and admiration. With the people involved in
healing, like Ita Wegman, it was closer and more dynamic. After all, he was probably
one of the star customers of Weleda medicines and receiving the constant benefit
of anthroposophical medical care. “Regarding that,” said Berta, who had also been
talking with friends in Dornach, “it’s curious that Ita Wegman followed almost
exactly in your footsteps. In 1932 she too fell ill as a result of her difficulties with her
colleagues. To recuperate she took a trip to the Middle East, visiting Saloniki where
she imagined Alexander with his helmet just as you did. She went to Drama and the
ruins of Philippi, then Cavalla with its tobacco, then Samothrace and Ephesus, then
Athens and later Constantinople. She was more interested in the ancient mystery
centers while you were more interested in the trade, but you both had a longing for
the same places and, like the staff of Mercury, you both followed a straight path with
your intersecting curves.”
For ten days Emil lay in bed recovering from his trip. Then he prepared for the
next trip to Zurich.
On December 19 they traveled up, finding Zurich noisy but their rooms in the
Hotel Glockenhof comfortable. Emil visited his lawyer Dr. Jenny and checked in to
Dr. Zbinden’s clinic, where he was pushed and prodded and found to be somewhat
improved. Then, gratefully, back to Brissago for Christmas. Walter and Edith arrived

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 Molts in Ticino

and, surprise again, Leinhas and his wife happened to be in Ascona and showed up
for tea. Leinhas wanted to talk about the school, but really about the donation Emil
always gave the Uhlandshöhe AG around this time toward the school’s rent. Emil
could hardly afford it anymore, but felt he couldn’t say no, so he wrote a check and
wished Leinhas a happy Christmas.
Later that day the tall and awkwardly lanky teacher Karl Ege showed up with his
terrific sense of humor. They told jokes until suppertime—anthroposophical jokes,
Stuttgart jokes and irreverent jokes about Nazis, Walter and Edith joining in, until
they were all breathless with laughter.
On the last day of the year they all went to Locarno, Walter driving; then across
to Montagnola over Lake Lugano to visit Hermann Hesse in his rustic hillside retreat.
They ate together by the stone fireplace, simply enjoying each other’s company and
then drove back in the early evening without any ill effect to Emil.

Money worries in 1935

Emil wrote the teacher Max Wolffhuegel: “My illness and the double household
costs have swallowed a huge amount of money. I don’t know when I’ll be able to earn
again; it depends on my regaining health and strength. Since I need my secretary here,
we’ve had to send our housekeeper back to Stuttgart. We couldn’t manage the extra
expense. From April 1st we will have to take serious measures so I don’t go broke too
soon. It’s time for Felix to get a job and his own accommodation, because we have to
rent out our upstairs rooms. If you can help in this we’d be grateful. I must be free of
constant money worries, otherwise I’ll not get well.”

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 Hitler introduced universal conscription and Walter, back in Stuttgart, received
a notice to register for military service. It put him in a terrible quandary. How could
he join something he didn’t believe in? Luckily, when presenting himself he found out
that unmarried young men were taken first while married men would be deferred
for a short while. Men with children were even lower on the active duty list. Here, I
suppose, is where I, watching in the pre-birth wings, started to take notice. Soon I’d be
knocking on Walter and Edith’s door.
All Emil needed to fall apart again was Walter’s phone call to tell him he might
have to soldier in the Nazi army. For the next six days Emil didn’t sleep. On the
seventh day he had a visitor who wanted him to facilitate a position for his son-in-
law at Weleda. Emil called Duerler, who was glad to spend a few days in Ticino. After
meeting with the man, he and Emil walked and talked. Emil was astonished to hear
that Weleda was paying off the entire remaining Futurum debt. Then Duerler showed
him a copy of the quarterly publication Weleda News that he had launched. Emil
found it delightful and considered it as an improved version of his former Waldorf
News. He told Duerler the story of that journal’s popularity and its downfall through
Coming Day. “One thing I have always struggled to understand,” said Emil, “is why Dr.
Steiner was so angry at Stuttgart. We made mistakes and Coming Day failed, but then
so did Futurum and many initiatives actually did not fail. Was it something about us
Swabians?” “It may partly have had something to do with your emissary to Dornach,”
said Duerler. “Leinhas was overly critical of all of you. But then, he’s been critical of
me as well, as his boss. He’s resigned from the German Weleda, you know.” “Leinhas
has played a very interesting role in my life,” said Emil. “When he looks at me, I see all
my own failings but I have come to appreciate his unerring service to anthroposophy.
He keeps coming to visit me down here, you know.” Dohmann invited them to tea
with another visitor, the physician Ita Wegman. At one point Dohmann said he did
not want to keep the Motta as a guest house; he wanted to do something more
worthwhile with it. One possibility, suggested Dr. Wegman, would be a curative
home for children with special needs and that is what it eventually became.
On January 25 Mr. and Mrs. Link came down to see Emil and Berta. They were
indeed the new link to the Nazi establishment. Their attendance in the Association
allowed the school to open an additional first grade, but in terms of Waldorf ethos
the Links seemed clearly out of their depth. They talked and talked, round and round
over two days, about how to fit the school into the ‘system.’
On February 6 a letter arrived from the teacher Ernst Bindel: “Having heard
from Herr Wolffhuegel that your foster son Felix Goll needs a position, I was able to

294
recommend him to Countess Maria Agnes von Erbach-Fürstenau, whom I met years
ago on a trip for the Association. I suggested that Felix present himself to her. The
result is that Felix has received an invitation to visit her this Saturday. Regarding the
school: The joy over the approval for grade one is mixed with a bitter drop in that
suddenly we are allowed only 40 pupils even though we already have 58 applications.”
On February 12 Emil was bound to his bed, reading about Frederick II of Stauffen.
He wrote Ernst Uehli: “Your article in the ‘Goetheanum’ about Genghis Khan was
very interesting. Did you know that Kantorowicz mentions Frederick’s contact with
the great Mongol leader, even receiving a white elephant from him? Also, Uhland
in his book, to which Dr. Steiner wrote the introduction, points to the connection
between Genghis Khan and the Priest King John. In that book Genghis Khan doesn’t
come away as well as he probably deserves.”
On March 1 the sun was followed by a gentle morning rain. Emil felt he had
come through a catharsis. He was sleeping at night and had energy for long dictations.
After the rain stopped he walked in the garden with Berta and had his tea there.
Later his doctor visited. When the evening paper arrived he read about an armed
uprising in Greece led by Venizelos and recalled his time in Patras and the uprising on
Crete. Thinking about Patras started Emil dictating his memoirs. Dora was visiting and
offered to be his scribe. They were often interrupted by teachers and others arriving
from Stuttgart, reporting, then taking messages and instructions back with them. It
had become a game of chess with the authorities.
March 9 was carnival day in Brissago with public helpings of risotto. Emil got a
plate too. In the evening his secretary Miss Federer went dancing on the arm of an
admirer.
On April 6 Emil wrote the teacher Erich Schwebsch: “Are you going to the Annual
General Meeting in Dornach and would it then be possible to sneak down here from
there? This time of year there are probably cheap train tickets available. I would ask
God if he could send an Easter bunny to lay an egg, even if it was just a little pigeon
egg, for a hard working Waldorf teacher.”

Birthday
Emil’s birthday on Palm Sunday, April 14, was quiet and pleasant. He received
many cards and letters, especially from Walter and Edith. Berta organized a birthday
tea party for him with visiting friends including Uehli and the teacher Bindel. In the
evening all went out to a restaurant in the village for a quiet and harmonious dinner.

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 This was a contrast to what happened at the annual general meeting in Dornach
on the same day. The split in the Society was sealed by a shocking majority members’
vote, excluding Ita Wegman and Elizabeth Vreede from the Board and thereby from
the Society. Countless members of international ‘free anthroposophical groups,’
sympathizers of these two individuals, resigned or were excluded as well. Albert
Steffen, once praised by Steiner for his work (‘with warmest spiritual joy we call him
our own’) had not been able to provide the needed oversight. No palm branch was
handed out there. To my chagrin, my uncle by marriage, the natty Henry B. Monges,
head of the Society in America (and future husband of Lisa Dreher) voted in favor of
exclusion. Emil thanked his illness for preventing his participation in this dismal low
point of the Society.
Letter from the teacher Fritz von Kügelgen: “For the moment the teachers seem
reassured. The new first graders have been welcomed into their class and there is a
good mood among the parents. There is much work now, many negotiations, which
we hope you will be able to join soon. However, the teachers also know there will
be more struggles and hope you will be well enough to lead them. Just now the
authorities have attacked our second class again … we are certainly in transition. … ”
In the beginning of May, the Molts packed up and traveled back to Stuttgart. Emil
was glad to be home but tired and finding it hard to adjust. Walter’s birthday was two
days later; he and Edith came over for coffee and they enjoyed being together.

Maneuvers
Emil immediately threw himself into confrontation with Party member/parents.
They professed being faithful to Steiner’s ideas but quarreled among themselves for
control. Herr Link stated he was now the only official voice for the school, but there
was another, Schickler. Emil met with him and heard: “The children should participate
in parades, should be given fifes and drums and allowed to salute the flag. It is not
good for them to go to the cinema and not raise their arms to the Führer at the end
of the film. The non-Aryan teachers should have been sent away immediately, before
State intervention became necessary. You are too bound up with Dornach and the
hidden undercurrent of anthroposophy. Teachers shouldn’t keep running to the
authorities. They should leave it up to me.” Emil was aware of Schickler’s maneuvering
to get him off the Board.
Then Emil had another discussion with Mr. and Mrs. Link. She said, “It is known
to the Nazis that many anthroposophists are rebelling and therefore one will have
to reckon with the Society being banned in Germany. The school can’t be drawn

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into this. Everything must be done so the State will allow it to survive.” She said she
didn’t want to camouflage anthroposophy but the education must be saved. One way,
she thought, was taking in more teachers with Party membership, insofar as those
persons were interested in the method. The teachers who were known not to be
Party-friendly should remain discreet. Emil said the best teachers were already taken
from the school; did she want to eliminate Schwebsch, Gabert and Baravalle as well?
“Certainly not” she said, “but those teachers are a hindrance. That was proven by their
lack of attendance when the school inspector came and did an efficiency study.” When
Emil mentioned that Steiner had wanted community notices of high school courses
and educational conferences posted in town, the Links said he wouldn’t want that
anymore now. They both saw themselves as a government liaison, but Mr. Link said
he would prefer to be collaborating with just two people in the school. It was clear
to Emil that they were avoiding the central issue. “Your problem,” he said, “is that you
don’t want to deal with me.” Link admitted it indirectly, saying he had noticed when
they were in Brissago that Emil hadn’t quite given the new times their due. “Your
generation has prepared the way for the younger ones,” he said. “You didn’t quite
succeed. You have a ‘patriarchal’ relationship with the teachers and that is no longer
appropriate.” Emil heard them out and thanked them for their thoughts that, he said,
he would discuss with the Collegium.
Of course the Nazis wanted to eliminate Emil as Chairman of the Association
because they knew he was the main block preventing the absorption of the school
into the regime. Not being successful through their representatives, they tried another
tack. “Perhaps,” they said, “he is of Jewish background. He’s certainly a sympathizer.
Hasn’t he been working with Jews all his life?” They demanded verification. Emil
had all his parents’ and grandparents’ records except for his grandmother on his
father’s side. Gnashing his teeth he asked his secretary “Federlein” in Stuttgart
to make inquiries in his grandparents’ home town. The certificate came back. His
grandmother, a Protestant, was Christine Henrike Molt, born Pfeiffer. (I never knew
my great, great grandmother was a Christine too!). The Jewish ploy having failed, Emil
and Berta were hounded in other ways. Gestapo performed house searches several
times, even rummaging in the sick room, looking for anything incriminating. They also
had a tap on the Molts’ phone. They saw all the anthroposophical and other esoteric
books but couldn’t confiscate them, because Emil and Berta were too well-known
and respected in the city.
The summer was unbearably hot and humid with frequent thunderstorms. Emil
found venturing out to Uhlandshöhe almost impossible. His teeth started to give him
trouble, always a sure sign of fatigue, and his nights were troubled. One humid day in

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early July an earthquake shook the town. Emil woke up with chills and fever. He spent
the day in bed and was treated by his doctor, but afterwards had no recollection of
it. He was sick and mostly bedridden through December. He bore his illness patiently,
submitting to it and never complaining. At worst he was sometimes irritable.
Once Mahle came to his house telling him: “The ‘orthodox’ versus the ‘liberal’ school
leadership must be decided soon,” and was brushed off by Emil. Sometimes his ebullient
daughter-in-law bothered him. “Edith should keep her nose out of sales questions and
not think she has to contribute to every business conversation,” he said once, “and not
feel so sorry for her ‘poor Walter.’ ” “Come on,” said Berta, “you know she’s the only one
who can make you laugh and besides, her father treated her like a partner.” Here are
Edith’s recollections:

The invalid has not lost his sense of humor. even though we are all
under surveillance by the Nazis. They suspect Father Molt and the other
anthroposophists of being enemies of the Third Reich. They are very
suspicious of Waldorf education and believe that we are perhaps involved
in surreptitious political agitation. Whenever Father Molt rings us, we hear
a little click on the line and know that we are being listened to.
One day Walter and I went to a fair and came home with two ugly
dolls Walter won at the rifle range. We showed them to Father Molt; he
was amused and gave them the names Hansel and Gretel. Soon afterwards,
Father Molt rang me and we heard the click. During the conversation
he asked me how the children were doing. Since we had no children at
that time I knew he meant Hansel and Gretel. I told him they were very
naughty and I’d gotten so mad at the little boy that I throttled him and
he was now dead. Father Molt played along beautifully, recommending I
bury the child in the trash bin. Then he asked when I intended murdering
Gretel. We discussed various ways of doing this until we heard a heavy
intake of breath at the other end of the line. Then we knew that we had
won and had managed to shock our spy.

1936
O Spirit of God,
Fill my soul.
My soul lend me strength
Also for my heart
My heart seeks Thee

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 With deepest longing,
Longing for health,
For health and power of courage,
Courage streaming in my limbs,
Streaming like a noble gift
A noble gift from Thee, o Spirit of God.
O Spirit of God fill me.
– R. Steiner, Meditation for a severely ill person
in 1924, GA 268, p. 181

Emil’s life settled into a routine. Each morning he read in The Philosophy of
Freedom and worked on the story of his life. Weather permitting he would take a
walk with Berta, sometimes with Felix, or Dora and her fiancé, or one of the teachers,
to the knoll above the school. Occasionally a former City Mayor named Hartmann, an
incorruptible old-school type, joined him. Emil loved testing his own views and ideas
on Hartmann. In the late mornings Emil often joined the teachers in a meeting. The
school was very vulnerable now, each day bringing a short reprieve or new difficulties.
After lunch he slept and in the afternoon had tea with visitors. In the evenings a
male nurse came and performed an uncomfortable procedure of rinsing the bladder
followed by a bath. Then Berta would bundle him to bed and read to him, often
something historical or a biography. Very occasionally they went to a school event or,
even more rarely, to a concert or a play.

The Baravalle dilemma

The continuing Nazi pressure made Waldorf School Association members very
unsure. Some said: “We must be courageous and stand against the dictates of the
regime.” Others advocated caution and diplomacy with concessions if necessary. One
of the teachers, Hermann von Baravalle, a brilliant mathematician, agreed to be the
keynote speaker at a science conference sponsored by the Natural Science Section in
Dornach. In Stuttgart, the teachers’ collegium was uneasy about this because of the
Nazis’ recent ban of the Anthroposophical Society in Germany and their surveillance
of activities even as far away as Dornach. They asked Emil to intervene. Emil invited
Baravalle to his house and asked him whether he would consider canceling the talks.
Baravalle flared up; he saw no reason to curtail his activities. “Before the Society was
banned,” he said, “Frau Link sent a letter to the Cultural Ministry asserting that no
teacher would lecture, not even in Dornach. She had no right to do so, but nobody
disputed it. After the Society was banned, Mahle declared, ‘Now the school will be

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left in peace,’ and nobody disputed that
either. I do not wish to be restricted.” Emil
said he might once have felt the same way
but with the Society banned, the school
was next on their list. “We must stand by
our claim that organizationally the school
and the Society are not one and the same,”
he said. “That is a compromise,” replied
Baravalle and continued to argue until
Emil said: “We shouldn’t split hairs,” which
caused a terrible explosion. Shouting, Anthroposophical Society banned
Baravalle left the room and bounded
downstairs past Berta standing at the door. He said: “I’ll not step into this house
again unless I’m invited and then only with witnesses!” Before too long and with the
same fire, Baravalle left the Germany he despised and went to America where, in an
atmosphere of freedom, he achieved great things for Waldorf education.
“What caused that outburst?” asked Berta. “I said we shouldn’t split hairs,” Emil
replied, reflecting sadly on his own failure to resolve the conversation. “Split,” said
Berta “is an unfortunate word in our circles.” “Yes,” answered Emil, describing what
had been said, “but, in fact, I think he was right. Basically, the Society and the school
are one and the same.”
Emil slept badly that night. He drafted several versions of a conciliatory letter,
but nobody he showed them to thought them good enough, so in the end nothing
was sent. A few days later a message came from Dornach that Baravalle’s lectures were
cancelled and that in future Stuttgart should keep out of Goetheanum affairs!

A final visit to Dornach

Count Fritz von Bothmer was now one of Emil’s most important supporters and
a personal friend. A former military officer and long time anthroposophist, he joined
the school years before and introduced a method of modern gymnastics for Waldorf
children. Emil talked over his Baravalle dilemma with Bothmer who suggested he
chat with an acquaintance of his, Ministerial Director Dill, about whether lecturing
abroad could jeopardize the school. Dill, he said, was kindly inclined towards the
school. Late one evening (to avoid spying eyes) they visited Dill. Emil told him, “I
am responsible for the Waldorf School Association and need this question resolved,
otherwise we will have continuing conflict.” Dr. Dill said, “There is no final decision

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about this. It ought to be a harmless matter, but right now we don’t want to risk a
negative outcome for the school. These things are decided in Berlin. Did you know,”
he added, “when the order came down from Berlin to dissolve the Anthroposophical
Society, the head of the political police in Stuttgart procrastinated because he didn’t
want to do it. Eventually he was severely reprimanded and I had to cover for him.
Your people in Switzerland don’t understand the gravity of the situation here; they
think it is a matter of rights when, in fact, it is political intent. Be happy your school
is still open and people are able to keep their Steiner writings in spite of the ban.” To
double check, he phoned a colleague and found his caution confirmed except that
the colleague added, “Such lectures here or abroad could easily be classified as treason
against the State.” “Don’t repeat that, please,” said Dill. “It could give the impression of
intolerance and we must avoid that at all costs.”
Bothmer and Emil decided to go to Dornach to put things right. Bothmer left
first to organize lodgings for the Molts who followed a day later. He took them to
the Hotel Baslerhof and then to Dornach, where they met with Marie Steiner and
Steffen. Once again the outcome was not satisfactory. Marie Steiner was quite aloof
and Steffen remained stern. Emil experienced a renewed lack of understanding
between Dornach and Stuttgart. Where before it had been between business people
and philosophers, traditionalists and innovators, now it was between a center in a free
country and a school under a dangerous dictatorship.
Wachsmuth, the third member of the Council in Dornach, was not present at
this talk but Emil, who always liked and admired him, insisted on seeking him out.
The conversation with Wachsmuth was conciliatory and understanding and he
promised to mediate if he was kept informed. Before they left, he gave them a copy
of his popular newest book, Reincarnation, saying it was already being translated in
America and that Lisa’s friend Henry Monges was designing the cover.
In the afternoon, Berta took Emil for treatment to Ita Wegman’s clinic in
Arlesheim, where he was warmed through and refreshed.
On the last day, Emil had himself examined by Professor Suter in his Basel clinic.
The prognosis was not good. The illness had progressed and was causing greater
damage to the kidneys.
On the morning of their departure, a warm and spring-like day, the Molts
breakfasted in their hotel in Basel. Bothmer joined them. “Are you up for a short visit
to the museum?” he asked. “There’s a wonderful Holbein and Böcklin exhibit and
they have wheelchairs available. I’ll push you.” Emil was delighted at the opportunity.
It was an unexpected pleasure and for a while they absorbed themselves in art. Then

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they boarded the train for Stuttgart and Emil noticed how much more acute his
perceptions had become—the landscape from the train window, happiness at seeing
Walter, Edith and Felix who met them at the station—everything was intensified, not,
as in childhood, with the wonder of seeing for the first time, but savoring, with the
gratitude of a lifetime that was coming to a close.
The chemist Otto Eckstein visited from Dornach. Originally from Stuttgart, he
worked at the Swiss Weleda and was one of the coordinators of the science conference.
He wanted to discuss Emil’s problem with Baravalle and said he thought Emil had
overreacted. “Actually,” he said, “the Goetheanum was delighted because 50 Germans
came to the conference, which seems to prove that the situation here in Germany
is not as dire as you said.” “It doesn’t take great courage,” responded Emil, “to cross
the border as an individual. But Baravalle is a known representative of the school
community. You’ve no idea what’s going on here; you’ve been away from Germany too
long. The Gestapo have been placed in all government branches and their tentacles
reach everywhere. We are under surveillance. Besides,” he said more forcefully, “it’s
ridiculous always to be talking about ‘the Goetheanum’ or ‘the Goetheanum says’
when we are dealing with two Board members who put us under moral pressure not
to act as our conscience dictates. It is the worst ‘Rome’ politics … ‘the Pope is always
right.’ There is no mention of inner independence. There! I have spoken openly with
you as a fellow Stuttgarter.” Eckstein said, “I am so sorry … I had no idea.”
Berta wrote her niece Dora, who was now teaching in the north of Germany:
Stuttgart, January 31
My dear Dora!
I am sending you good wishes for your birthday and for the coming year
which will usher you into the “rose garden of marriage,” as Rittelmeyer said
at Walter and Edith’s wedding. He said marriage should always be a rose
garden if people only understood it right, and you both have what it takes.
We have had many events at the school which made a visit to Dornach
necessary. It was risky and managed only by keeping to an absolute
minimum. Your uncle came back exhausted but going was a joy, even being
on the train and having tea in the dining car was a treat. I do think we need
such outings from time to time. Professor Suter in Basel says it can’t just be
the bladder, there’s too much infection. The kidneys are involved as well.
Uncle is still very down because of this news.
I am very worried by his new frailty. He can hardly sit up without help
and gets tired much more often than previously.

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 We haven’t made great headway with the life story because of all the
meetings and that must not be. I want to make myself completely free of
the household and start putting together the first decades. I think that will
give Uncle further impetus. We will set aside a few hours each day for this
work. …
More and more we appreciate the value of the school and beg the
spiritual world to guard and maintain this gem. The decision by the State
will fall in the next few weeks. Today religious instruction was banned, a
painful loss but we hope that this too can be solved if there is a positive
outcome. Send us your most helpful thoughts for the school, dear Dora, we
need it!
We will celebrate your birthday here with a fine cake. Walter and Edith
send you good wishes and Felix will offer a bit of music.

Pressure and response

On February 4 Mrs. Link submitted her proposal to save the school. She asked to
be made school director, have Mahle replace Emil as Association Chair and separate
the school away from the Waldorf School Association. She insisted that Mr. Toelke,
a school parent and another Nazi liaison, wanted the same. It had the makings of a
coup.
Emil told the Collegium to stand strong and not give in; he would meet with
Toelke face to face since he was obviously the driving force. The meeting took place
that evening with Count Bothmer in attendance as representative for the teachers.
He took notes:

February 4, 1936
Minutes of Meeting between Emil Molt, Chairman of the Board of the Association,
and Leo Toelke, speaker of the National Socialist Waldorf parent group, an extended
arm of the Württemberg Cultural Ministry under the leadership of Minister Dr.
Drueck. Molt welcomes Toelke and thanks him for coming.
Toelke: Are you aware of the big picture?
Molt: I believe I am.
Toelke: I’m not concerned with the educational aspects, but the school cannot
continue as a private school.

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 Molt: We have been waiting for the decision from Berlin for a long time. It should
be arriving shortly.
Toelke: The law gives guidelines; the local authorities are free to decide. It is
absolutely necessary to change the Waldorf School Association and the Board because
it is impossible that so many former members of the Anthroposophical Society are
connected with it.
Molt: What is your view, your intention?
Toelke: I want to see the school continue as an experimental State school with
Dr. Steiner’s pedagogy.
Molt: Why can’t it exist as it has?
Toelke: The government expects more accommodation, more alignment with
general methods. We, myself especially, are extremely grateful to you for everything
you have done. Now, however, you have the opportunity to make us even more
grateful by resigning your post.
Molt: I would like to say, in the words of Friedrich Schiller’s poem “The Glove”:
“Lady, I don’t desire that thanks.” For me the decisive thing is my responsibility to
Dr. Steiner and the spiritual world. Of course I don’t reckon with thanks. I can in no
way decide this question now. I can only say that I will act as my conscience dictates.
I want to be able to step before Rudolf Steiner in such a way that there are no failings
on my part. The College of Teachers must play a decisive role too. Reorganizing the
Association doesn’t really change anything.
Toelke: The government has to see that the people around the school will want
what they have not wanted before. Then the decision in Berlin will be different. But
if they don’t see any accommodation on the part of the Waldorf School—Dr. Drueck
specifically told me this—“then we will just close the enterprise.”
Molt: So, in your opinion, there is a definite intention?
Toelke: Yes.
Molt: I have the feeling the school needs respite for a while to work properly.
Toelke: You will have that if you allow those changes to take place. I can imagine
an ideal that would do justice to Rudolf Steiner’s pedagogy and at the same time to
the State.
Molt: In what way have we not done justice to the State?

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 Toelke: There is much to criticize. The government needs to sees change: a
restructured Board, teachers and pupils that connect with the life of the State to form
a real people’s community (Volksgemeinschaft) …
Molt: I thought the Waldorf School was an exemplary part of the community,
even from its beginnings in 1919. Can I have been so wrong? What you are saying is a
question for the teachers. The Association is concerned with the finances and, I think,
hasn’t done a bad job.
Toelke: In its present configuration the Board of the Association is perceived as
an ideological club.
Molt: You can’t say that. If the political police thought so, they would have banned
the Association together with the Anthroposophical Society. One can’t separate the
method from anthroposophy!
Toelke: It is just a method that stems from anthroposophy. Do you believe that
one has to be an anthroposophist to teach this method?
Molt: Do you believe one can practice this method without being an
anthroposophist? You can’t just copy the pedagogy. It can only be practiced properly
if one is an anthroposophical teacher.
Toelke: The State isn’t at all against anthroposophy. It is just against the
Anthroposophical Society.
Molt: If the State has nothing against anthroposophy, then it can’t have anything
against the few mannikins sitting in the Association. Mahle, for example, is a member
of the Christian Community which also grew out of anthroposophy.
Toelke: But he is a member of the Party.
Molt: Should that be the defining point? One can’t hold it against me that I am
not a member of the Party. Are you a member of the Party?
Toelke: No, not yet. I was invited three months ago and was even asked as far back
as 1926.
Molt: I feel myself to be fundamentally German and would find it impossible if
my being German was dependent on being a member of the Party.
Toelke: All of that wouldn’t be necessary if the Waldorf School immediately
became a State school.
Molt: But if the teachers are not willing? If they can’t go that route?

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 Toelke: The teachers will go that route if they love the children. I would show the
government what the method is, to make them interested in it, perhaps with some
restrictions, for example without eurythmy, etc.
Molt: Can’t the government interest itself in the school today? For a complete
pedagogy without restriction?
Toelke: I don’t know if that is possible. But I would apply every effort so that it
does interest itself.
Molt: I will decide the point concerning me together with the Collegium. It
would not be a sacrifice for me to resign; it is a sacrifice remaining in the Association.
Toelke: In the eyes of others it would be a great sacrifice of you if you resigned.
Then the School could remain in existence.
Molt: What is your opinion, Count Bothmer?
Bothmer: We can’t fall prey to the illusion that the Collegium will submit to any
given Board. It won’t work with a Board which it doesn’t find suited to represent the
spiritual interests of the school. The question is only justified in as far as it addresses
Dr. Molt as member of the Board and of the Collegium.
Toelke: Mr. Molt, I have turned to you as a human being and you have to decide
as a human being.
Molt: I would find it practical if the report of your discussion is not transmitted to
the Collegium verbally, or with Count Bothmer’s notes. I know from experience that
many errors are possible, so you must give me your suggestions in writing. Nothing
can happen from this private discussion. What you present is so new and unexpected
that I must have the opportunity to sleep on it once or twice. By the way, does all
of this arise with you personally, or have you discussed the matter with Mahle and
Leinhas? Or with Dr. Schwebsch?
Toelke: I haven’t seen Mahle for a long time, but I have been in touch with Leinhas.
I have a circle of National Socialistic parents behind me whom I have promised to do
everything to preserve the school with its pedagogy as a State school.
Molt: Isn’t that a contradiction: State school and Rudolf Steiner’s pedagogy?
Toelke answered that he would submit his written suggestions within a few days.
On February 6 Emil rose early and prepared to join the teachers’ conference for
the first time in a while. It was an important meeting since it would decide the further
existence of the school. As was their custom, first they discussed a pedagogical theme
together. Then they plunged into the Link and Toelke demands. Painfully, Emil found

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that one or two of the more fearful teachers were inclined to go along with these
demands. “Shouldn’t we follow their recommendations?” they asked. “Shouldn’t we
put ourselves under the strong protection of Mahle and is it not better to discontinue
some subjects like art, eurythmy and main lessons?” They thought it would appease
the supervisors and keep the school. Didn’t Toelke promise that? They didn’t
understand the tactics of dictatorship: to cut away at the support for something until
all parties are beaten down by threats and compromise. The goal would be attained
and appearances saved.
Emil carried their arguments to their conclusion. In response to one teacher’s
question whether either Mahle or Frau Link should be Chairperson, Emil asked,
“Is this a pedagogical question? Would you be asking it in normal times or if these
people weren’t Party members? If not, the only motivation is political/tactical. Is
that compatible with a truly free spiritual life? Must we not regard this demand as
corrupted? The Power behind the politics will allow no freedom of speech in the
conference. If you think you want them to restructure the Board you must go ahead,
but then in the full awareness that it will mean the beginning of the end of free
spiritual life and of the conference as well. What would Rudolf Steiner have said to
this demand?” Due to his own struggles and because he was already distancing himself
from life, Emil was able to be persuasive and determined at once, as with Toelke. He
managed to turn the few dissenters into a committed part of the whole and achieved
a consensus that school ideals would prevail no matter what the outcome.

Emil has the teachers with him

The Collegium reconfirmed Emil as Chairman of the Board and a member of
their circle, and Emil was thankful that his physical and mental strength was enough
to have seen this crisis through. Then he went home destroyed, leaning heavily on
Bothmer’s arm. That evening he recounted the day’s events to Walter and Edith but it
was Felix’s birthday and they put shop talk aside and celebrated, looking at slides of
past holidays instead.
On the 7th, he and Berta had to go to town for glasses and to sign a notarized
statement that Emil was not conspiring against the State. Toelke sent his written
memorandum the next day, but his demands were not fulfilled by the school.
February 9 was a Sunday and, because the Sunday service was now also banned,
Emil and Berta were given a copy of the ritual to read in the privacy of their home.
Emil remained quiet for a few days reading and writing. He and Berta started on the
book Reincarnation by Wachsmuth. One night Walter and Edith noticed it lying

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on the side table and were intrigued. Emil suggested reading it together whenever
they came visiting and they enjoyed the shared interest. That didn’t prevent an
altercation with Walter. Emil couldn’t understand why Walter didn’t want to become
a partner in Rau’s firm. He thought, ‘He is not connecting himself enough, not taking
on responsibility,’ and he worried about it at night. Walter couldn’t tell him that he
didn’t see a future for himself in Germany.
On February 14 the school advisory group gathered at the Molts’ house to put the
Toelke/Link issue to rest. Present were Emil’s attorney, Leinhas, Bothmer, Sandkuehler,
Bindel, Stockmeyer, Frau Link, Mahle, Schickler, Kuehn, Emil and Berta. Missing were
Rittelmeyer, Voith, former Mayor Hartmann and Killian.
Frau Link reiterated that the school should be run by Party members but said,
“Even if my suggestions are not accepted, I won’t leave.” She believed she had been
brought to the school by destiny and that a school without spirit was of no interest
to her. As a matter of fact, she said, some teachers had been coming to her house and
instructing her in basic anthroposophy. Mahle emphasized that nobody wanted to
put themselves in opposition to Emil or the Collegium and since there were doubts
about himself personally he shouldn’t even be considered as a replacement for Emil.
The situation with the Links had only come about because the Collegium asked the
parents to create a firewall around the school. Everyone assured Mahle that he was an
integral part of that firewall and they needed him.
After a bad night on the 19th, Emil suddenly started shaking with chills and fever,
a delayed reaction to the meetings. He stayed in bed for several days attended by his
doctor. It was carnival time again and Walter, Edith and Berta went out in costumes
to a concert ball at the school. They came home elated; the evening had been artistic
and full of humor. ‘And that,’ thought Emil, ‘the government can’t destroy.’ He would
have loved to have gone along.
A week later the weather was sunny and beautiful and Emil started eating again,
savoring a light breakfast in the terrace room with Berta. Afterwards, they went to the
school where the teachers and the pupils quietly celebrated Steiner’s birthday with a
festive assembly. Two days later in the evening, a good crowd gathered at the Molts’
house, some from far away, to commemorate Rudolf Steiner. Several teachers spoke,
and one read a section from Steiner’s lecture to teachers given September 7, 1919,
describing them as pioneers.
During the previous days, Emil had attempted preparing a presentation as well,
but after a while gave up because he felt uninspired and stuck on various ideas. He

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decided to remain quiet and be open to whatever the spirit might inspire him with.
At the end of the reading the thought suddenly occurred to him to commemorate
each of those pioneers. He spoke in a wonderfully warm and animated way, without
any self-consciousness, and his talk was warmly applauded.
Sunday, March 1, was a sunny day with crocuses blooming in the garden. The
Molts went to the Waldorf School to meet with representatives of the now banned
anthroposophical study groups around the country. The teachers prepared the school
with an exhibit of student works. At 5 o’clock each class performed in a fine assembly.
Much later, the adults sat together and shared experiences. One described hearing of a
Waldorf class outing in the country. They had stopped off at a restaurant where Hitler
youth were dancing. The Waldorf girls were asked to dance as well, but when the
‘Hitlers’ started singing their ‘Horst Wessel’ theme song, one girl made fun of it. “Das
ist ja Quatsch,” (That’s nonsense) she said, and the class had to beat a hasty retreat.

An effort in Berlin
Emil went back to Dr. Dill with Berta. There was still no decision coming down
from Berlin regarding the imminent school closing, Emil said, and the suspense
was nerve-wracking for the teachers. He felt one more attempt should be made in
a personal way; he would be willing to undertake the trip to Berlin. Dill looked at
him with sympathy and gave him recommendations for whom to see. Then, with a
superhuman effort and much planning, Berta and Emil boarded the night train for
the North, Count Bothmer and the teacher, Dr. Erich Schwebsch, joining them. They
expected to be back home within two days.

Day One, Saturday, March 7

They arrived at the Anhalter Station and booked themselves into Emil’s favorite
hotel, the Habsburger Hof. Emil was in a wheelchair. At 10 am they went to the
Foreign Ministry to see their acquaintance, Foreign Minister Baron von Neurath, who,
however, was out of the office. Consul Walter Hinrichs, who received them briefly,
said Baron Neurath would be unavailable for a few days. Hinrichs himself was in a
great hurry, saying their timing was unfortunate since Hitler was about to address the
nation. They should come back and see him on Monday. The Stuttgart party returned
to their hotel in time for Adolf Hitler’s noontime address to his parliament. Over the
hotel loudspeaker, they listened to Hitler’s grating voice announcing that German
troops had entered the previously demilitarized Rhineland, in contravention of the
Treaty of Versailles and the Locarno Pact.

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 Day Two, Sunday, March 8
Since government offices were closed, the four Stuttgarters visited with
representatives of the Berlin and Altona Waldorf schools. The representatives said they
expected their schools to be shut down soon because they refused to compromise
with the regime.

Day Three, Monday, March 9

The weather was fresh and friendly. The Molts breakfasted with Dr. Schwebsch
who had to travel back to Stuttgart, task unfulfilled. Bothmer went alone to meet with
Consul Hinrichs at the Ministry in Neurath’s absence. The meeting was cordial but
inconclusive. However Hinrichs suggested Bothmer present his case to the Cultural
Ministry and he made an appointment for the following morning.

Day Four, Tuesday, March 10

The weather was dull and rainy. Although Emil was very tired, he insisted on
coming with Bothmer to meet Director Fahlen of the Cultural Ministry. To refresh
him, Berta first wheeled him to the barber for a shave and haircut and to a shop
for some smart new shirts. In Fahlen’s office all three waited in vain; eventually they
were told he was in session. While they waited they talked to the staff about the
Waldorf School and their concerns. They were so sincere and Emil looked so frail in
his wheelchair that they couldn’t help provoking compassion and warmth. In the end,
they were told Fahlen was not the one to help them; they should go to Ministerial
Director of Education Helmut Bojunga, who however would not be back in town
before next morning. That meant staying another night. “You’ll be called the minute
he gets in,” said the secretary. “We will go to the cinema,” suggested Berta and they
did, seeing “The Abduction of the Sabine Women,” an escape into the other times of
ancient Rome.

Day Five, Wednesday, March 11

Berta and Emil went out early to order flowers to be sent to Hinrichs because he
had, after all, been helpful. At 11 o’clock they received a phone call saying Bojunga
was not the right person to see and they would be referred to another department.
They waited and waited by the phone in the hotel. By now of course they realized
they were being given a run-around and took it in their stride. Finally at 5:30 they
were told they had an appointment for the following morning, 10 am, with Federal
Councillor Thies in the Department of Education. This meant yet another night in

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Berlin, but they refused to give up. They went to a concert: Erna Sark was the soloist
and it was first rate.

Day Six, Thursday, March 12

This was the very day Education Minister Bernhard Rust ordered a ban on
admission to all Waldorf school first grades. However Bothmer and the Molts did not
learn of this until later. They strolled in the park, then took a taxi to the Education
Ministry and were actually able to meet with Education Councillor Thies. He granted
them an entire hour and they felt the outcome was favorable, certainly on a personal
level. Then they went back to the Foreign Ministry and visited Privy Councillor
Boehner, a former Waldorf student who promised to do his best to keep Waldorf
schools untouched. They knew they had done as much as they could. They adjourned
to the Café Europahaus where they met Mrs. Klein and it seems, but I can’t be sure,
that there she introduced Berta to Ilse, the wife of Rudolf Hess.
They had spoken to many people over the six days and left their mark of decency
and humanity. In the end, they achieved a victory. It was not a great victory and only
bought the school another two years, but, for now, it was left in peace.

Day Seven, Friday, March 13

Relieved to depart from Berlin with its uniformed guards and militant music,
they returned to Stuttgart via Leipzig and Erfurt; it was a fairly comfortable trip.

The teachers sent out a mailing to parents and friends of the Association:
March 1936
Dear Friends, The school will celebrate its 18th birthday in April. We
owe its existence to the prescient initiative of the former director of the
Waldorf Astoria Cigarette Factory, Councillor of Commerce, Dr. Emil Molt.
For all the years of its life the Waldorf School has enjoyed the fatherly
care of its founder. Today he still holds the responsible post of President of
the School Association.
April 14th will be his birthday. The best gift we can give him on this
special day is the joy of knowing that we will actively and faithfully stand as
one at the beginning of the new school year.
As long as the significance of Rudolf Steiner’s art of education hasn’t
been generally recognized, it will always be necessary for us to be an
advance guard with all of our force and devotion.
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 Today we call on members of the Association to donate a one-time
amount, the sum of which will be given Dr. Molt to apply as he finds best.
We are sure we will find open hearts and, finances permitting, open pockets
too.
Karl Braun, Schorndorf/Wttb,
Chr Conrad, Ulm,
Frau Rose Dannenberg, Stuttgart,
E.v. Houwald, Stuttgart,
Dr. J Kalkhof, Freiburg/Brsg,
Dr. V Reuss, Geislingen

On March 15 the Molts attended a performance of Else Klink’s eurythmy students

in the gymnasium.
Emil was quite unwell now but continued to meet with teachers, often in houses
where they felt safe. They arranged meetings by word of mouth rather than by phone
or mail, since their phones were still tapped and their letters censored. Once Arthur
von Zabern of Weleda came by with Hanns Voith. Arthur told of the tiny Weleda
in New York and how when he was utterly lost in the big city he stumbled upon
it ‘by chance’ and was employed. Back in Europe he was now directing Weleda in
Schwäbisch Gmünd. In later years his son Bertram would go back to America,
practicing medicine in Vermont.
On sunny days, Berta and Emil went walking together, just as far as he was able.
Sometimes they drove through town or to their favorite scenic places: Geroksruhe,
Frauenkopf, the woods above Stuttgart, the hills. Once they watched the great
Zeppelin ‘L127’ come floating by overhead. Early spring and warm weather had
brought blossoms to the garden; nature in Stuttgart was giving Emil a farewell present.
They spent time with their children too and attended school events when Emil had
the strength. On the 20th of March, they saw the upper school play about the Battle
of Leipzig in 1813, when Germans defeated the French armies under Napoleon. It was
a very good production.
As Emil’s health declined, everything became review. His secretary, Federer,
helped him complete his testament and sort his papers. Berta prepared to take him
back to Brissago where Emil felt best. He looked forward to what he hoped would be
a short break away from Germany.
On Friday, March 27, at 9 in the morning the school gathered for its closing
assembly before Easter. Berta and Emil sat in the audience and were presented with

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flowers. On Saturday, 28th, Berta and Emil visited Hermann Mahle in his factory in
Cannstatt to thank him and to say goodbye. They were enormously grateful to him
for what he had done for the school, which they knew was at risk to himself. Looking
back they said that everything had been done in the best way it could have been.
Emil met once more with each teacher, wishing them courage, hope and faith. He
said he would just be a phone call and a short journey away if they needed him. On
the 30th he met with Bothmer, then with Leinhas for last discussions. In the evening
Dr. Schubert came by and the Molts postponed packing to be with him. They loved
this kindly man and admired him because, although Jewish, he elected to stay in
Stuttgart, looking after his special-needs class. He was the gentlest of all the teachers
but his will was made of pure courage.
On the 31st Berta and Emil sat in their garden. The day was sunny, the peach
trees in blossom. The teacher Bindel stopped by, Miss Federer came and took a last
dictation. Walter helped Berta pack until late.
On April 1, very early, Emil took his favorite walk to the woods near his house,
accompanied by Berta, Walter, Edith, Felix and Dora’s fiancé Kimmich, back from
visiting schools around the country. They breakfasted together, then loaded the cases
in the car and drove to the station where Miss Federer met them to assist them onto
the train. Walter helped his father into the carriage and arranged the compartment
with pillows and blankets.
The train left at 7:58. It was an easy trip via Zurich to Goeschenen and the Gotthard
tunnel. Surprisingly they saw no snow on the north side of the mountain but when
they emerged on the south side, everything was covered in white. Even Locarno, with
its blooming mimosas and camellias, had a layer of snow. Arriving in Brissago they
were warmly welcomed by the new managers of the Motta, but found the place
somewhat run-down since their last visit. Soon the old routine took over. Emil read
The Philosophy of Freedom and a historical series on the Stauffer dynasty. They
took walks and he dictated the story of his life to Berta. Emil found himself struggling
with the extensive material of 1920 and wanted to be done with it! Visitors came. Lola
Rau and the teacher Miss Hauck were in Brissago. Count Bothmer arrived the evening
of April 8. Berta ordered a room for him near the lake in the Hotel Miralago.
On April 10, Good Friday, the weather cleared and the sun came out, showing
Brissago and the lake at their best. The Molts read an Easter lecture with Bothmer,
then he and Emil took a leisurely walk over to the next village, Ronco, where they
met, of all people—Leinhas! Emil, who at this point had come to accept Leinhas
and appreciate that he would never be far away, greeted him in friendly fashion and

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invited him to join them at tea on his
birthday. They walked on, both smiling,
stopping at the Café Mimosa, then took
the bus to Monte Bré, a scenic spot.
Emil had regained his appetite slightly
and enjoyed the outing. The next day
they ventured on a much longer trip
along the lake and to an island with
Mrs. Rau, Miss Wanner, Bothmer, Berta
and himself. The weather was cold and
at one point the others left Emil in Berta smiles at Emil
the warmth of a restaurant where he
napped while they explored. They were not back in Brissago until 6:30 in the evening.
Easter Sunday the weather was cold and Emil stayed in all day, reading and resting.
April 14 was Emil’s 60th birthday. Letters and telegrams poured in from all over,
expressions of love and devotion. A special letter arrived from Walter and Edith.
Bothmer and Lola Rau joined the Molts for lunch. In the afternoon Leinhas, Lola
Rau and Dr. Zehnder joined them at tea. Uehli came to visit, Hesse wrote. Bothmer
traveled back in the morning to attend to the school.

Emil’s last birthday

314
One more celebration
Emil answered Walter and Edith’s letter.
Brissago 16/4/36
My dear children, my first thank-you letter is for you. I was given a stream
of good will and love, so much that I cannot even do justice to it. I feel I
have to earn this anew each time. I consider your letter a document which
extends beyond the present moment, as something lasting and developing
into the far future and am happy and thankful in my heart that our
relationship has become what it is over the last year. A relationship never
goes in a straight line, but always in dips, which we experienced twice
during the past year. That didn’t hinder us but spurred us on, a true proof
of the strength of our bond which now is based not on tradition but built
in freedom and personal insight. When we are able to be amazed, as Plato
says, have the reverence Goethe mentions and the devotion Steiner tells us
of, we begin to ascend to true life. That you have found that way, my dear
Walter and that I was able to help you a little, as you say, moves me deeply.
My wishes for your joy in life will always accompany you. Thank you both
for your greetings to Mother. Every letter that arrived mentions her in a
loving way. It proves once again that ‘we two’ are experienced as one.
Our small room was filled with flowers. Count Bothmer was the first
with greetings from all the teachers, then Frau Rau came with lilacs and
Leinhas with carnations.
Leinhas told me that a collection was made at the school in my name.
It hasn’t arrived yet; he was supposed to bring the letter along. By the way,
he said he had ‘business’ in Brissago and has traveled back to Stuttgart with
Bothmer.
The weather is still cold and rainy with snow on the mountains, but if
the old rule applies, we should soon have a change for the better.
Crisis at the Motta: Yesterday the new manager was chased away after
four days here. At the moment there is no one. Maria brought us the keys
yesterday and said ‘addio’! There is rumor of a sale, perhaps to the Clinic in
Arlesheim. It’s a little unsettling. Did you read in the news that Hesse has
won the Gottfried Keller award? We are very happy for him; he’s been so
depressed.

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 That a pile of mail arrived at home is interesting. Could you ask
Federlein to write thank-you cards with a text I’ll send her? Then you can
perhaps sign them to keep it personal. It will be a little time-consuming but
one expression of love deserves another. For those less close she could write
and sign as my secretary. I have to be careful not to overexert myself.
By the way, August Rentschler celebrated his 60th birthday on April
12th. I wrote him on the 10th but he hasn’t received it. Did it get lost?
Could you check? Weleda sent a lovely note. That is all for now. All the best
to you, my dear ones and heartfelt thanks. Your faithful father, E.M.

And from Berta:

We had a lovely festive day in spite of grey skies and rain. All the
expressions of love floating in to us made us feel warm and bright. …
The new Uehli book (about Art in Atlantis) arrived and is wonderful.
Dr. Zehnder brought flowers out of her own garden and was charming.
Miss Mauer had knitted a sock, the second is still to come and she baked
a fine cake. … In the evening we walked on the heights with Lola Rau and
Count Bothmer. Yesterday Papa Uehli himself suddenly appeared. He felt so
well after his visit last year that he wanted to rest his weary limbs again in
Brissago. The Motta is impossibly chaotic. It doesn’t really affect us. We have
made our little apartment cozy, but a guest on their own would be lost.
Heartfelt greetings, dear children, your Mother.

The weather continued cold and wet for days and the Molts spent much time
indoors. Emil’s health, buoyed by the birthday, declined again although he still took
walks: Nevedone, Monte Sacro and the old Roman road to Ascona.
In May Emil read news releases about the outcome of the Italo-Abyssinian war,
the shameful invasion of Ethiopia that started the year before because Mussolini
wanted to match the imperialist expansions of France and England. “After a long
resistance,” he told Berta, “Mussolini sanctioned the use of poison gas. The country
was destroyed with people fleeing for their lives. Now Mussolini gloats that Italians
have their empire.” “What happened to Haile Selassie?” asked Berta. “In order to stop
the killing, Haile Selassie, the real Emperor, went into exile. He gave an impassioned
speech at the League of Nations, where Abyssinia (Ethiopia) is a member but has been
unable to get justice. He ended his speech with the words: ‘It is us today, it will be you
tomorrow.’”

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 Emil saw in that incursion a repeat of the hostilities that had occurred in Greece,
better known as the Balkan Wars, as a forerunner to World War I. Amid worries
about what the next years would bring, he promptly suffered a relapse including
severe stomach and bowel pains. He was nauseous and unable to eat and his nights
were sleepless. He tried to ring Walter but couldn’t reach him. His doctor came from
Ascona and suggested he travel to Bern to see a specialist as soon as possible.

The beginning of the end

On May 5, Walter’s birthday, Emil’s pain became unbearable. His entire metabolic
and alimentary systems were now involved. His doctor gave him a sedative injection
but it had the opposite effect; his heart began racing and he stayed wide awake,
battling against his own anxieties. The next morning he was still uneasy, with pains
and cramps and exhaustion. Dr. Zehnder injected him with mistletoe which gave
him a fever; the pain receded and he slept. The next days he remained in bed. Leinhas
was back from Stuttgart and came by with the Association donation. Emil asked him
to create a vacation fund for teachers with it.
Walter had planned to help his father travel to Bern but he came down with a
fever himself and had to postpone his trip. At this point Emil was catheterized. He
was very weak and not always conscious. Once, Berta found him lying beside his bed.
On May 14 she washed him in the tub for the last time and, wrapping him in a white
towel, told him how much she loved him.
Finally, on May 16 Walter arrived and the trip was organized. Emil was taken by
ambulance to Locarno and from there, in a special railway car, to Bern where, again,
an ambulance was waiting. Dr. Zehnder accompanied him as did Berta, Walter and
Miss Wanner.
Walter left for Germany but returned with Edith on May 31st. They came to give
Emil special news but he was asleep, so they sat by his bed, waiting for him to wake up.
Then they told him: Edith was pregnant and he was to be a grandfather.
Edith wrote: “In the hospital he is cared for well. When he asks the doctor what
his prognosis is, the latter says quite honestly that his days are numbered so his family
decides to bring him home. Because of Hitler’s restrictions against taking money out
of the country they have very little left so Berta goes to the German consulate to
request a loan to pay for a private rail car. The Consul, Freiherr von Weizsäcker, says,
“Even if it were my own mother I couldn’t help her.” He is afraid of Hitler. When the
doctor, Prof. Wildholz, hears this he is so outraged that he lends Berta the money with
hospital funds under his personal guarantee. June 5th, Walter, Felix and Dora travel to
Bern to bring Emil home.
317
 Arnold Ith, the former Futurum Board member whom Emil was so fond of, heard
the news and arrived to offer his assistance. He was just in time to help a medic gently
carry Emil to the ambulance which drove slowly to the station and then directly
onto the platform. There Emil was quickly transferred to a bed in the special hospital
compartment. Ith bought roses and set them up in a vase by the bedside, then he
and Walter took their leave. Walter flew back to prepare the house for the arrival
of the patient. In Stuttgart Edith, Miss Federer and six medics were waiting. “I will
never forget,” said Edith, “the sensation his arrival caused. Masses of people were at the
station and I was glad when we had him home and in bed.”

Last days
Berta cared for him in remarkable fashion, almost day and night. She was relieved
at night by the orderly, Brother Klaiber, but did not sleep much, mostly staying by
Emil’s side and greeting his friends when they came.
Edith still had the ability to make him laugh and his face lit up when he saw her.
She read him a comical book about life in Berlin written by a housewife. The stories
were really funny and she read them with great pathos. Soon, however, the time came
when there was no more laughter and he was only able to whisper. Dora understood
him better than anyone else and took notes of what he said. At one point he told her:
“Dr. Molt—testament, Walter—notices, Walter—Weleda.” Felix and the Christian
Community priest Hans Thielemann began keeping vigil at night, alternating with
Walter and Dora. Towards the last days, Emil said, “It is so hard to have to lay down
my work so soon; it is so hard.” On June 14 Walter and Edith were there all day while
Emil rested. He was surprised and joyful when he was told that it was Sunday and
said, “That is a great responsibility.” Hans Thielemann performed the Sunday service
in the house. Count Bothmer came in the afternoon to tell Emil how the Association
donation had been allocated. In the evening the Gospel of St. John was read aloud.
Monday, June 15, Emil’s appetite suddenly came back and he enjoyed a meal. On
that day Edith almost lost her child—me—and had to be rushed home to her parents
to be taken care of. She was to be in bed for a week while I decided whether I wanted
to be born into that world or whether I would prefer to turn around and follow my
grandfather to his new home. Oftentimes I’ve thought that we met, me going down,
he going up, me saying, I’m coming with you and him telling me in no uncertain terms
to keep going.
Next day, June 16 around noon Emil died. Berta and Dora were with him. Walter
was away fetching the doctor; Felix was asleep. Dora wrote: “Almost imperceptibly

318
and without complaint Emil separated himself, following the call into the spiritual
world.”
During the next days Bothmer, Leinhas, Friedel Reik, Walter, Felix, Dora and
twelve of the teachers took turns sitting with Emil who lay, looking youthful and full
of light, with a half-smile on his face.

Emil on his deathbed

Early on the 19th the priests, teachers and many friends gathered for the funeral.
People came from all over. It was a major event in Stuttgart. The entire school, all the
Waldorf children, accompanied the flower-laden casket through the parklike avenue
of the Prag cemetery in something of a royal procession. They were dressed in white,
a contrast to the khaki outfits of the Hitler youth. Berta in black veils was led by her
son Walter. The weather was warm and sunny with bright clouds in the sky. Birds
flew overhead as the many former Waldorf Astoria workers assembled with friends
and representatives from the city and the Anthroposophical Society. Over a thousand
people attended. Since the crematorium chapel was too small to hold the crowds, the
casket was placed on the steps in front of the entrance.
Berta’s sister Paula wrote: “The girls’ choir, standing inside, sang Mozart’s “Ave
Verum,” and three Christian Community priests celebrated the funeral Mass. Count
Bothmer was the first to speak. He described Emil’s social deed as Waldorf School
founder and quoted Uehli saying that no one who participated in or even saw the
funeral procession would ever forget it, because, truly it contained future in it.”
Emil Leinhas spoke of Emil’s faithfulness that remained strong through the most
difficult trials. He emphasized that Emil never held a grudge and always courageously
stood by his convictions. Herr Maikowski gave thanks in the name of the other
schools. Herr Schmid, a former Waldorf student, laid a wreath on the coffin in
gratitude for the content and goals given them by Emil through the school. August
Rentschler spoke of his true friendship and deplored the destruction of his life’s work.

319
A former machinist, Herr Neumeister called Emil the father of his workers. Two men
from industry praised Emil as an exemplary coworker and Board member, and Otto
Eckstein of the Weleda in Arlesheim brought greetings from friends in Dornach. He
said that Emil, having found his teacher, had seen the spiritual world in every aspect
of life and worked accordingly. He said he and his friends would continue to send
their love to him in the spiritual world into which he had now entered. As the organ
sounded the coffin was taken in and given to the flames.
“We, his family,” Paula said at the end, “will keep faith with him, feeling connected
with him in love, and we will model ourselves on him as example and guide until we
meet again.”
After the funeral Edgar Duerler, who had come with Eckstein, paid a visit to
Walter asking him whether he would be willing to manage the Austrian Weleda.
Walter, recalling Emil’s comment to Dora, said he’d love to work for Weleda, but had
no inclination to stay in a National Socialist country, upon which Duerler mentioned
the tiny Weleda in New York needed a director. Walter thanked him and said he’d talk
it over with his wife, his mother and his boss, Walter Rau, and let him know.
Edith insisted he must accept this passport to freedom. Berta, sensing the
inevitability of war, told him to go; he must protect his family. When he begged her to
come along, she refused, saying she still had a task in Germany and her health would
not permit such a trip. Walter Rau generously said Walter was free to leave provided
he could train someone into his position. Then Walter called Duerler to accept as long
as it could be delayed until after the birth of his child. Meanwhile he wrapped up his
own affairs and helped his mother over the first months, staying with Walter Rau’s
firm until the end of August.
In the first days of January 1937, when I was just ten days old, Walter crossed the
Swiss border on the pretext that he had accounts to settle for his father. From there
he went to France and boarded a ship for America. He was now classed a traitor to his

Christine, Edith, nurse and mother

320
country and for years had nightmares of the Gestapo following him and bringing him
back a prisoner to Germany. For three months my mother, now classed as the wife of
a deserter, tried in vain to obtain a visa. She was lucky. One day her search took her
to an official whose child’s life had been saved by her father.
Out of gratitude and against all protocol, this man handed
her an exit visa.
Berta published Emil’s diaries in three slim booklets
that included the early years up to the school founding, and
she battled for the continuation of the school. On March
11, 1938, the decree finally came down to close the Waldorf
School. Still not giving up, she wrote:

Stuttgart, March 14, 1938 The widow

To the Right Honorable Minister President and
Cultural Minister.

Right Honorable Sir,

You have closed the Waldorf School by your decree of March 11.
As wife of the school’s founder, I now owe it to the memory of my late
husband to defend one of the greatest social creations of the post-war era.
The Waldorf School was born out of an exact insight into prevailing social
conditions, out of a pure heart and a patriotic will.
For the past 18 years, the school’s methodology, given to us by Rudolf
Steiner—arising from his comprehensive knowledge of the human being—
has amply proven its soundness and capacity to develop further. It imparts
to each age what is appropriate to it, neither too soon for the child’s
forces, nor too late for the malleable organism. Through coherence, the
composition of its faculty and the constant exchange of views by teachers
concerning the children, potential problems are recognized, deficiencies
remedied. Handwork, crafts, gardening and the arts are cultivated in well-
considered rotation with scientific subjects. The learning of practical skills
extends even to bookbinding.
A general liveliness and cheerfulness prevails, combined with golden
humor. This is the atmosphere in which Waldorf School children grow
up—to become vigorous, life-affirming individuals filled with enthusiasm
for what is beautiful and good.

321
 All over the world today, there are questions concerning methods of
education. In the Waldorf School, such questions have been answered in
the most far-reaching way. Over the past 15 years, teachers of other schools
have come from home and abroad seeking new guidelines for their work.
The Stuttgart Waldorf School has an advantage over the remaining
sister schools in the country in being the oldest, the Mother School,
where everything of a pedagogical nature has been most developed. It
possesses an exemplary speech formation class, an orchestra recognized as
accomplished and—in spite of the frightful restrictions of recent years—a
faculty comprised of the finest human beings. This faculty, in spite of the
almost unbearable pressures weighing upon the school, has achieved many
valuable things in every field and the teachers have stood firm with courage
and loyalty in a way that I have always considered a quiet heroism. It has
been my hope that this would be noticed and recognized in influential
places.
It appears that the Württemberg Cultural Ministry has passed over all
this heedlessly. We have only been saddled with further cares and worries
by means of retroactive taxation and the like.
I would long ago have expressed my opinion to you personally, Right
Honorable Sir, about all this and more, but you were, after all, never
available to anyone directly connected with the Waldorf School. Count
Bothmer, our faculty chairman, repeatedly sought a personal interview

School in 1938

322
 with you, but was always referred to one of your staff. I neither wanted
nor felt able to risk exposing myself to such a refusal. Today, serious illness
ties me to my bed; otherwise, nothing in the world would prevent me
from obtaining the desired exchange with you in place of my husband
who, unfortunately, can no longer intercede for his life’s work. You know
our Stuttgart Waldorf School mainly from distorted and false reports by
enemies of the School, Right Honorable Sir. I daresay some parents have
spoken for us, but questions of education can, after all, be answered only by
an appointed representative of the School.
There has never been a lack of invitations on the part of the School
to our exemplary school events, but neither you, Right Honorable Sir,
nor any of your closer associates has ever accepted. I cannot conceive that
the highest representative of the Württemberg Cultural Ministry now
condemns what he has not expressly made himself familiar with in all its
phases. That may not and cannot be what the Chancellor intends!
My personal request to you, justified by my bond of destiny with the
School, is now as follows:
Allow the Stuttgart Waldorf School to remain in existence for another
two years under the existing preconditions, as regards curriculum, etc.
Suspend enrollment restrictions. You will discover this educational system
to be a work of art which stands unique in the world and for which
Germany will be envied. You will discover that our children do their share
of physical exercise, that nowhere else are such exact gymnastics pursued.
You will discover that our eurythmy is a most valuable factor for enlivening
all other subjects. At no other school will you be greeted by such bright
eyes, by such harmonious children’s faces.
History will thank you, Right Honorable Sir, if you prevent the
destruction of such a cultural factor within Germany, through a scrupulous,
impartial appraisal of the Waldorf School idea and its achievements. I know
that thousands of parents and pupils of the Waldorf School stand behind
every one of my words.
Respectfully yours,
Berta Molt

There is no record of a reply.

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School closing
The teachers remained faithful to their vow of no compromise and so, on March
31, 1938, the doors were finally closed. At the final assemblies in the last days class
teachers addressed their children with words of hope and love. Walter’s friend Georg
Hartmann, seventh grade teacher, told them the following:

Dear Children of Class 7a:

You have been in the school for seven years. During the last year we learned
about health and how a person’s body renews itself completely every seven
years. You will now be carrying a different body out of the school than the
one you came with. But some things have not changed. Your name is the
same, because your name is not formed of material substance, but is a mark
of your spirit living in your body. Some of you even have names given you
by Rudolf Steiner. Look, dear children, we must have reverence for names.
You will find people who want to revile the name of the Waldorf School,
who would like the name of Emil Molt, our founder, to be forgotten. Don’t
forget him! There will be people who will try to tell you untruths about
Rudolf Steiner. You will, however, prove yourselves worthy of these names.
Be thankful for those seven years that you had the privilege of being in the
school, founded by Rudolf Steiner and Emil Molt. And this is my parting
greeting to you, my dear children of Class 7a: Never allow your hearts to
forget the three names: Waldorf School, Emil Molt and Rudolf Steiner.

Waldorf students 1938

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 The following verse by Albert Steffen was found among Emil Molt’s papers.
It seems a fitting conclusion:

A call from yonder sounds to me: Von Drueben toent ein Ruf zu mir:
Of love and light the enemy Dem Feind der Liebe und des Lichts
His eye now gaze upon— Ins Auge schauen! Weiter nichts
No more the angel asks of thee. Verlangt der Engel jetzt von Dir!

Just that thou as a mirror be Nur dass du wie ein Spiegel wirst,
In which the demon sees himself reflected, worin der Daemon sich erkennt,
And, burning in your clarity, in deier Laeuterung verbrennt,
His evil shatters inwardly. das Boese in sich selbst zerbirst.

The Lord of Destiny does not demand Der Herr des Schicksals fordert nicht,
That you as judge must raise your hand, dass du die Hand als Richter hebst,
Just that you live within the truth. nur dass du in der Wahrheit lebst:
Spirit itself will judgment stand. Der Geist is selber das Gericht.

Teachers at closing

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 Berta did not survive her husband for long. She died three years later on August
20, 1939. One might assume that she completed the seven-year cycle of Emil’s Saturn
period, begun in 1932. Dora wrote:

Berta survived her husband for three years. She suffered the closing of the
school through the Nazis but her trust in the future strength of the school
was unbroken and she remained in contact with the teachers. In October
1938, I saw my aunt. She had just returned from a difficult trip. It was the
usual picture: After lying sick for weeks she pulled herself together to take
care of what she needed to do. Here she was, lovely as ever, but very weak.
In the summer of 1939, just before the war began, her illness took its final
course. I saw her again on July 16. Her mood was free, almost happy, with
a loving interest in everything. She told us of Walter and his family and
showed me their pictures. I sensed a longing and a desire for the child.
Once we brought her our own baby Christoph. She said gently: “I see him,
he is a good one.” Shortly after this visit she lost her clarity of thought.
She remained in this condition, with the soul no longer completely in
the suffering body, for 14 days. Miss Lüchauer slept in the next room
from where she could be called if necessary. On August 16 I sat with her.
There was a letter from Walter. I read it to her and saw the attempt at
comprehension. She seemed to be reliving youthful experiences. On August
17, I came again with Emil [Dora’s husband Kimmich], who waited in the
next room, chatting to someone. She listened with a questioning look. I
said, “It’s Emil.” A joyful expression spread over her face and she tried to get
out of bed. On August 20 my mother was with her and called us early from
Stuttgart, saying death was imminent. Emil and I drove in and found Graf
Bothmer in attendance. It was a beautiful summer’s day. Toward noon her
breathing stopped. Unlike Uncle’s listening, smiling expression in death,
hers was rather stern, but wonderfully expressive. Many came to the house,
many roses were sent. Felix and Hans Thielemann came and helped. She
died without being touched by the developing catastrophe.

On the day of the funeral Berta’s older sister Emma died. It was the day in which
the first soldiers were mobilized in Stuttgart. Dora’s husband Emil died a few years
later on the front; Edith’s parents did not survive the war.
Emil Leinhas, who took care of the school’s finances until its closing, died many
years later in the Molts’ beloved Ascona. After the war the Mahle company created a
foundation for the support of Waldorf schools which exists to this day.

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This poem is from Emil’s good friend, Hermann Hesse:

Stages

As every flower fades and as all youth

Departs, so life at every stage,
So every virtue, so our grasp of truth
Blooms in its day and may not last forever.
The heart must be prepared at every stage
of life to say farewell and to begin anew,
Create new bonds with courage, not in grief.
For magic lives in every new beginning
Protecting us and helping us to live.
Serenely let us walk from space to space
And not make any like a home.
The Cosmic Spirit seeks not to restrain us
But lifts us stage by stage to wider spaces.
No sooner comfortable in one circle
We’re faced with slackening.
He only who is packed and ready for new journeys
Can free himself from laming habit
And maybe even in the hour of death
New youthful vistas will come towards us..
The call of life will never cease for us …
Take courage, heart, say farewell and be well.

Stufen

Wie jede Blüte welkt und jede Jugend

Dem Alter weicht, blüht jede Lebensstufe,
Blüht jede Weisheit auch und jede Tugend
Zu ihrer Zeit und darf nicht ewig dauern.
Es muß das Herz bei jedem Lebensrufe
Bereit zum Abschied sein und Neubeginne,
Um sich in Tapferkeit und ohne Trauern
In andere, neue Bindungen zu geben.
Und jedem Anfang wohnt ein Zauber inne,
Der uns beschützt und der uns hilft, zu leben.

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 Wir sollen heiter Raum um Raum durchschreiten,
An keinem wie an einer Heimat hängen,
Der Weltgeist will nicht fesseln uns und engen,
Er will uns Stuf ’ um Stufe heben, weiten.
Kaum sind wir heimisch einem Lebenskreise
Und traulich eingewohnt, so droht Erschlaffen,
Nur wer bereit zu Aufbruch ist und Reise,
Mag lähmender Gewöhnung sich entraffen.
Es wird vielleicht auch noch die Todesstunde
Uns neuen Räumen jung entgegen senden,
Des Lebens Ruf an uns wird niemals enden …
Wohlan denn, Herz, nimm Abschied und gesunde!
4.5.1941

In America my parents were classed as enemy aliens for the duration of the war
but for the most part were not harassed. They found sponsorship and a safe haven
in a community of anthroposophists in Spring Valley, New York, where Cousin Lisa
also settled. As a stamp across the generations, the community was named ‘Threefold
Farm’ and as a further link my father realized Emil’s dream of managing Weleda in
America, which he did with two refugee pharmacists who fled Austria. My sister
Ursula and I had the incredible good fortune to grow up in peace.
When the war finally ended, all of Europe was on its knees, large areas and the
means of livelihood annihilated, cities like Dresden the fiery graveyard of millions.
Once again the victor countries were bickering over what reparations should be
coming to them from Germany and tension had already flared between Communist
Russia and the West. Then General George Marshall came along. He saw the suffering
and starvation and recommended massive financial support from America for Europe.
The Marshall Plan (1948) was as much about securing Western Europe against the
Soviet Union as it was about rebuilding it, but Germans put their minds and all their
energy into the rebuilding.
Friends, parents and teachers returned, cleaning up the rubble that had been
their school. It reopened within months of the end of the war in provisional army
barracks with many of the old teachers.
From that time on anthroposophy and its endeavors spread quietly but steadily.
Today the Waldorf school movement is by far the largest non-denominational

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 At the beach

private school in the world, represented in almost all countries. Biodynamic farms
are replenishing depleted or arid soil, the Goetheanum is a hub of activity. Publishing
houses, clinics and community centers are all models for the art of healing and living.
There are anthroposophical ethical banks, new ideas on taxation and local currencies,
chain stores selling the ever-more popular Weleda products. In fact by now the list
of ways anthroposophical ideas contribute to every aspect of society has grown too
long for this page. What was conceived and prepared within the shortest possible
time went underground during the storm and then took root and blossomed forth,
hopefully to be recognized for the benefit it brings into an as yet troubled world.
The social, political and economic initiatives that Emil Molt and the others
began were ahead of their time and they too are not in vain. The seeds once planted
will eventually come to fruition. It is for us to take up and rethink what was started so
energetically to fit present needs.

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 Postscripts

Walter Rau: Saving the legacy

Walter Rau was my godfather. He was a gentlemanly person with a kind attentive
face and a luminous smile. He discovered a rare little medicinal mountain flower
called valeriana celtica (Speick) and made it the central
ingredient of his range of products. He was interested in
the stars, in Celtic history and mythology and minerals.
After I came to Stuttgart, he would pick me up in his
chauffeur-driven car and take me to an elegant coffee
house, where we ate fine cakes and chatted. He ran his
company well, gave talks and attended anthroposophical
lectures with his wife Lola writing in his hand with her
finger. I learned sign language for him because he was
stone deaf. He wrote about Emil:
Walter Rau
Emil Molt, businessman
Emil Molt was a phenomenon. He knew what he wanted, he forged his
own way, he was an entrepreneur.
In the last third of the 19th and first third of the 20th century there
were numerous such entrepreneurs in Germany. The industrial growth and
development depended on them. The danger for some entrepreneurs was
becoming one-sided. Technology caused people to submerge themselves
in work and into the material world. Spiritual and social values were often
pushed aside. The result was an accumulation of sometimes huge assets and
a failure of spiritual and social relationships.
Emil Molt was different. His path was from outside in but his venture
had to have spiritual relevance; only then was it justified. In his time this
was a rare phenomenon.
He had two virtues which are rarely combined: the ability to grasp
ideas and the will to realize them. His rise was predicated on them. When
he began, he was in a dependent position but he never was satisfied until

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he became in charge of the whole. He did it according to his own principles
and the business rapidly became imbued with his essence.
Initially his superiors tried to mollify him with small favors but he
surprised them by saying: ‘Take me along or I’ll go elsewhere.’ Yet he never
harmed other people’s interests on purpose.
As a businessman he knew the rules. He knew that consistent, good
quality is the prerequisite of a brand and he was one of the creators of
the modern branded product. He knew that profits come from astute
purchasing and not in discounting products. He knew that it was just as
important to purchase at the right time as to save money.
A businessman must be able to calculate; this belongs to his cool
head; he must know where he stands. If he calculates too much, however,
he becomes a dried-up numbers person because a purely quantitative
approach kills life. If he does not calculate enough, consciousness is lacking
and there can be nasty surprises. It is the art of the businessman to have
numbers at his fingertips but not to give them sole precedence, rather
deciding in freedom according to the situation.
A businessman’s understanding can never be too clear and his freedom
of decision never too great. The two working together are proof of the
master. And Emil Molt was such a master.
He had more: he had courage. He had courage to jump into something
and he dared much where others were afraid. If it failed, he found a way to
come through and many such experiences made him a master.
Generosity was one of his hallmarks. He did not conserve, didn’t
allow accumulation of unused materials in his storerooms. He was able to
consciously discard huge amounts. He threw many thousand of Marks’
worth of packaging into the fire and again and always dared to gamble. Not
everyone found it easy to follow him on these paths.
Money per se meant nothing to him. He enjoyed it, but it was just a
means to an end. What end? At first it was to build his work, then ever
more, to help the school. And here is where Emil Molt the businessman
began to stand back behind Emil Molt the school father.
This may have been part of his basic inclination, not working with
physical substances but rather working in the social domain. The more his
inner nature worked itself out, the more the horizon was transformed.

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 It was a kind of self-direction which went beyond business. Often it is
difficult to recognize such a development in a person and he often received
criticism for not living just for his firm. But he broke old molds like a shell
and left them behind. For some companions along his way this must have
been painful.
How did he present himself as a businessman? He had an obvious gift
for bringing people together. His way of looking a person in the eye and of
speaking was pleasant. He understood how to put thoughts into words.
Had he wished, he could have pulled people into his orbit, but he did not
want this, at least not in later years. He did not want to curtail the freedom
of others. Bringing people together was a need for him, even though that
might place him in the background. He enjoyed creating such connections.
As a businessman he was always subject, never object. Do it yourself!
Help yourself! That was his right as a leading personality, the hallmark of
the trailblazer. He was a difficult partner and a dangerous adversary, able
to surprise the opponent and thus to vanquish him. He reflected for a long
time and then acted quickly, appropriate to the situation.
Where he found resistance which was objectively justified and had
substance, he often held back, allowing space for things to emerge and
develop. Justified initiatives he respected and even admired. He was never
a tyrant.
He honed himself on resistance, he demanded the best of everyone,
but let it grow out of them. The other person saw himself obliged to reflect
on his actions. He taught less through rules, more through example and he
did not spare himself in that.
Emil Molt had the great ability of adaptation and transformation, but
never without reason. His transformations were full of character. Often he
had to let something go in order to start something new. He lived for the
future and his whole life long he learned. Only thus can we understand
why he sacrificed his entrepreneurial life work and stood without external
success at the end of his life.
He was transformed. The older he became, the more he wanted what
he did to be a blessing. That was spiritual substance which he created
and this earned him the love of many people. This transformative power

332
 allowed him to say, when he lost the factory and when, during his last year,
the Waldorf School was endangered too:
The end of the Waldorf factory was a sacrifice for the school. Now it
looks as though that too was in vain. And yet, there is something that exists
and works on. It is like a seed.
Thus the businessman became the spiritual man.
– Walter Rau, June 20, 1937

A strange occurrence
My father’s cousin, Lisa, lived up the hill from us with her architect husband,
Harry Monges, in the first anthroposophical-styled house built in America. One
day after the death of my father, in the mid-seventies, she took me aside in a very
mysterious way. She told me (although she never mentioned the source) that Steiner
had identified one of Emil’s former incarnations as none other than Charlemagne.
Much later this came back to me again, this time while reading notes by Steiner’s pupil,
Walter Johannes Stein in “Der Europäer” of September 2008. I treated this revelation
with skepticism; people are linked in many ways, whether by birth, inclination or
purpose, even if they are lifetimes apart.
Charlemagne and Emil did have interesting aspects in common. Both were born
in April, close to Easter. Their physical descriptions are similar and both were strong-
willed initiators. Charlemagne’s mother and daughter were named Bertha. Emil called
his son Walter. Charlemagne was tutored by Alcuin of York, but his spiritual teacher
and that of his son, was Waldo (or Walto) of Reichenau, a fact overlooked by his
secretary and chronicler, the Roman monk, Einhard, who also omitted a mention of
Hugo, the name of Charlemagne’s son by a concubine and of Charlemagne’s faithful
friend, Hugo of Tours, whom he once almost executed. Hugo was Emil’s middle name.
Like the zealous Einhard, Leinhas became a chronicler and a kind of authority, who
survived most of those he wrote about. Charlemagne and Emil both had a relationship
with Constantinople. Neither of them had a higher education, but both founded a
school. Charlemagne turned from the free Irish-Scots Christianity then prevalent
in France and Germany to the more institutionalized Church of Rome. In a reverse
impulse, Emil facilitated free religious instruction in the school, perhaps reflecting
the older, Celtic stream. Both men suffered from recurring fevers in the years before
their deaths.

333
“An Appeal to the German Nation and to the Civilized World”
Firmly established for boundless time was—in the minds of Germans—their
Empire, built by them half a century before. In August of 1914, they believed it could
safely withstand the war at whose forefront it had been placed. Today they can but
gaze upon its ruins. Self-appraisal must follow such an experience that has shown the
opinions of half a century and, especially the prevailing ideas of the war years, to be
tragically wrong.
Wherein lie the causes of this monumental deception? This question must
drive self-reflection into the souls of the German people. Their very survival and
future depend upon whether they now have the strength to truly ask of themselves,
“How did I fall into error?” If Germans can ask themselves this question today, then
knowledge will dawn on them that a task arising out of the inner substance of their
country was neglected in the founding of the Empire.
The Empire was founded. Initially, efforts were made to bring order to its vital
inner structure in line with the demands of old tradition and newer needs. Later,
emphasis shifted to consolidating and increasing Germany’s position of external
power, based on material resources. Some measures were also taken to meet the social
demands born out of the new era. While they met certain necessities of the day, they
lacked a larger goal that should have emerged out of a knowledge of the evolutionary
forces that guide modern humanity.
Thus, the Empire was placed into the fabric of the world without an inner goal
to justify its existence. The course of its catastrophic war has revealed this clearly.
Nothing in the Empire’s actions would have led non-German nations to believe that
Germany’s trustees were fulfilling a mission of historic importance that should not be
swept away. For those with insight, it is clear that this deficiency was the true cause
of Germany’s downfall.
Immeasurably much now depends on whether the German people can evaluate
their situation with unbiased judgment. The insight they lacked during the past fifty
years must be sparked through this misfortune. In place of the petty thoughts in
circulation today, an overall philosophy is needed in which the German people strive
to understand the forces that influence the development of modern humanity with
strong thinking and strong will.
A stop would have to be put to the small-minded urge which strives to dismiss,
as impractical dreamers, all those who would turn their gaze toward these forces of
evolution. A stop would have to be put to the haughtiness and false pride of those

334
who believe themselves to be realists, who have hastened their country’s downfall in
a way that their narrow minds mask as practicality. Consideration would have to be
given to what those mocked as idealists—who are the true realists—have to say about
the needs of the new age. The “realists” on all sides have long seen the rise of quite
new demands by humanity. They wish to meet these within a traditional framework
and institutions. All recent initiatives that have risen in answer to humanity’s needs
have a common basis: socialization of private ownership, without understanding that
this has nothing to do with what people want. Unions also are created without an
understanding of what is needed, but rather as a result of inherited habits of thought
and old structures.
The truth is that a society built on old habits of thought cannot deal with
these issues. The times require a social structure based on entirely different values
from those commonly held today. Until now, communities were, for the most part,
formed by social instinct. To grasp the hidden underpinning of social life with full
consciousness is the task of our time.
The body social has individual members, just like the physical body. Just as the
physical body must take care of thinking with the head and not with the lungs, so the
social body must be ‘membered’ into systems, none of which can take over the task of
the other—yet each working with the other while maintaining its own independence.
Economic life will thrive only if it can create itself out of its own forces and laws as
an independent member of the social organism. It will thrive only if it avoids bringing
confusion into its structure by allowing itself to be sucked into another member,
namely the political one.
This politically-active member must exist side-by-side with the economic one, in
complete independence, just as the breathing system in the physical organism exists
beside the head system. Their healthy cooperation cannot be achieved if they are
both regulated by a single governing organ. Each one must have its own system of
laws and regulations, because the political system would annihilate business were it
to take complete control, while the economic system loses its vitality if it seeks to
become political.
To these two members of the social organism, a third, fully independent, member
must be added—created out of its own inner potential—namely through what is
produced as culture by the human spirit and to which the spiritual aspects of the first
two members belong. This cultural member is given appropriate legal administration,
but may on no account be ruled or influenced other than by laws governing the
coexistence of member organisms within the physical organism as a whole.

335
 Everything outlined here as a necessity for the social organism may be elaborated
in detail and on a fully scientific basis. This essay is simply a guide for those who wish
to pursue this outline.
The German Empire was founded at a time when such issues became questions for
a modernizing humanity. The Empire’s administrators however did not understand
them. Had they dealt with these necessities, an inner structure could have been given,
as well as a justifiable direction in outer political life and with such a political life the
German people could well have co-existed with non-German nations.
Now, insight must ripen through misfortune. One must develop the will to create
a feasible social organism. The world should not be confronted by a Germany that no
longer exists.
One can easily hear the “realists” say that this is all too complicated. It would
make them uncomfortable even to think about the interaction of the three social
bodies, because they do not wish to know anything about the real demands of life.
They prefer to mold everything according to the comfortable dictates of their own
thinking. They must be clear about this, however: Either they will have to make the
effort to face reality, or they will have learned nothing from the misfortune. Then what
was unleashed by this disaster will continue and will proliferate into the boundless.

336
 Endnotes

I have stayed away from footnotes and endnotes, since almost all references are
available on the Internet.
All photographs with the exception of those given me by Werner Kübler were
in my parents’ possession. A few have the photo studio listed, the rest I am grateful
for but do not know who took them. A good reference for photos and biographies of
the main personalities is the German website http://biographien.kulturimpuls.org.

337
 Bibliography

Websites
http://www.firstworldwar.com/source/belgianreportongermanultimatum.htm.
Muehlon, Wilhelm, The Vandal of Europe, http://www.archive.org/stream/
cu31924027829740#page/n357/mode/2up.

Pamphlets
Berichte an die Mitglieder des Vereins für ein Freies Schulwesen, Stuttgart:
Nr. 9, 1932 und Nr. 12, 1934.
Die Freie Waldorfschule, Prospekt vom Februar 1921.
Leinhas, Emil, Artikel über das Assoziative Prinzip in der Wirtschaft, Die Drei,
Zeitschrift zur Erneuerung von Wissenschaft Kunst und sozialem Leben, 19.
Jahrgang, Heft 1, Januar–Februar 1949.
Molt, Kommerzienrat Emil, Vortrag, Stuttgart: Bund für der eigliederung des
sozialen Organismus, Nr 8 und 9, 2. Januar 1920.
Waldorf-Nachrichten Jahrgang 11, 15. August 1920, Stuttgart: Waldorf Astoria
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Parents and Teachers 1919–1924, Hudson, New York: Anthroposophic Press.
Schoeffler, Heinz Herbert and Guenther Wachsmuth, Ein Lebensbild, Dornach:
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Stein, Walter Johannes, The Ninth Century and the Holy Grail, Forest Row, East
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339
Steiner, Rudolf and Marie von Sivers Steiner, Correspondence and Documents
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Steiner, Rudolf and Ita Wegman, Fundamentals of Therapy, Spring Valley, NY:
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Steiner, Rudolf, The Gospel of St. John, 10 lectures given in Stockholm 1910, New
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______, Study of Man, London: Rudolf Steiner Press, 1966.
______, The Tension between East and West, Warwick Square, London: Hodder
and Stoughton, 1963.
______, Towards Social Renewal, Spring Valley, New York: Anthroposophic Press,
1985.
Tautz, Johannes, editor, Emil Molt: Entwurf Meiner Lebensbeschreibung,
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Von Plato, Bodo, Anthroposophie im 20. Jahrhundert, Ein Kulturimpuls in
Biografischen Porträts, Dornach: Verlag am Goetheanum.
Vreede, Elizabeth, Anthroposophy and Astrology: The Astronomical Letters of
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Goetheanum/Natura Verlag.

340
 Acknowledgments

This book is a compilation of material from Emil Molt’s diary notes, historical
research and my interpretation of both. My almost daily morning ‘conversations,’ in
other words, waking up with another piece of the puzzle, provided body and soul
to the book. Thanks to my sister, Ursula Schmidt Molt; my cousin Christoph, Dora
Kimmich’s son; my husband Finbarr, my son Kieran and daughter Deirdre Goodman.
Author Brenda ní Shúlleabháin lent me a retreat in which to write. Rainer
Kral gave the initial impetus. Thanks to the Stuttgart Waldorf School archives, the
Goetheanum archives and the RS Nachlassverwaltung, Patricia Lichtenberg, Erdmuthe
Rau Teuffel, Werner Kübler, Thomas Meyer, Sandra Landers and Paul O’Leary. Thanks
to David Mitchell of AWSNA for editing and publishing the book, and finally thanks
to the writers’ haven that is the Dingle Peninsula.

341
 Emil Molt: The Father of the Waldorf School
Sophia Christine grew up in the anthroposophical
community “Threefold Farm” in New York, with two
years’ matriculating at the Stuttgart Waldorf School,
founded by her grandfather, Emil Molt. She went The Father of the
on to study at Oxford and attended teacher training
at the Goetheanum in Dornach, Switzerland. She Waldorf School
returned to New York with her husband, Finbarr Murphy, to take
over her father’s business. Together they managed Weleda USA The Multifaceted Life of Emil Molt
for 30 years. In 1995, she founded the magazine Lilipoh. She is
currently living in Dingle, Ireland.
Other books compiled by Sophia Christine are Cancer,
a Mandate to Humanity (Mercury Press), The Vaccination
DIlemma, Practical Home Care Medicine, and Iscador–Mistletoe
and Center Therapy (all Lantern Books).

Sophia Christine Murphy

Entrepreneur, Political Visionary
and Seeker for the Spirit

Sophia Christine Murphy

Waldorf Publications

ISBN 978-1- 888365-52-8

38 Main Street
Chatham, NY 12037 9 781888 365528