ABSTRACT
I come to Vienna with fear. When I was twelve, I studied German as a “living language.” My lycée had found me a German-speaking correspondent who studied French. He was, at that time (1937) he could only be, Austrian. He was Viennese. A year later, our correspondence was interrupted: 99.73 percent of the vote in favor of the Anschluss. German became a dead language for me, spoken only by the men of death, the army and the police of the Third Reich.
