Three happy years in Hermannstadt, interrupted by the outbreak of war. A regiment transferred as punishment brings excellent musicians to the town; chamber music is played weekly in the large music room. The birth of her daughter Moira and son Michael, her mother's death, and finally flight from the Romanian front.
Hermannstadt , with its old buildings, its friendly streets, and the ring of mostly snow‑covered mountains around it, made an exceedingly pleasant impression on me, and I spent three very happy years there, although two of them fell during the First World War. My mother and Teta (Marie Stika) soon came with the furniture. Before our arrival, the most absurd rumors had been circulating about me: that all my fingers were insured for millions, that I was bringing a Black servant and a parrot, and I don’t know what else. When a rather modest and simply dressed woman then appeared, it did nothing to diminish their fantasies — it only seemed more distinguished to them. Over time, we grew to know one another better, and I found many good and dear friends among them.
We also lived beautifully, in a villa somewhat outside the town. Never before nor since have I enjoyed such wonderful chamber music as I did in Hermannstadt .
In June 1914 my daughter Moira was born. Five weeks later came the tragedy in Sarajevo , and soon afterward the war. At first it seemed very far away from us; the only change was that a Brno regiment was transferred to Hermannstadt as punishment, which brought us a whole group of excellent musicians, among them the well‑known viola player Karl Doktor . We had a fine, very large music room with a Bechstein grand piano , and soon musicians and music lovers gathered around us.
One evening a week, anyone who wished could come to listen or to play. We could play string quartets and quintets to our hearts’ content, and there was also an excellent pianist, especially a fine Bach interpreter, the Romanian Anita Voileanu , and the already famous singer known as the “Nightingale of Transylvania,” Mrs. Triteanu , who had even sung in Bayreuth . There was also a musically appreciative audience — among them the commander of Transylvania , the elderly Princess Wittgenstein from Budapest , and her son, who was a pastor in Hermannstadt , as well as the mayor, doctors, and many other lovely people who valued and loved music. Those were truly beautiful moments that made us forget the terrible war.
Before the outbreak of the war, I had undertaken a concert tour through the towns of Transylvania with the German pianist Martha Schaarschmidt , a pupil of Fritz Steinbach in Cologne . We found all the cities very interesting, and the audiences extremely hungry for music and deeply appreciative. In Bistritz , my husband’s hometown, we played in a fairly large, though not beautiful hall, for an audience that was of course highly curious. (One may marvel!) We played the Kreutzer Sonata . One could not expect them to understand the music, but it impressed them. In the second movement of the glorious variations, a rat ran across the stage, which did not disturb us in the least.
Thus I came to know the country better.
In the summer of 1915 my dear mother died, which grieved me deeply. It comforted me that her last years with me had been happy and that her death had been peaceful. In February 1916 my son Michael was born — and again it was the 13th, a very lucky day.
But now things grew uncomfortable, so close to the Romanian border, and when my husband had to go to the front, we were urgently advised to pack up and leave Hermannstadt . As much as it grieved us, we saw clearly that the danger of a sudden Romanian attack was great, and with sincere regret we left that historic old city to face an uncertain future.
A little dramatic scene occurred before our departure. At the station I discovered that I had left my passport in the empty apartment. My friend Anita Voileanu rushed back in a carriage, and the good mayor held the express train for at least 15 minutes until she returned. Then we set off, with our Teta and the two little children — Michael only three months old — to my older sister in Brückenau (between Nuremberg and Frankfurt ). We lived quite well there, but it did not last long. A few months later my husband was sent back as an invalid — he had never been very robust — and we returned to Vienna . The conditions there were so poor that we could not adequately feed the children. So my husband insisted that we go to my other sister, who was married in Holland , and who had invited us warmly. I was reluctant to leave my husband, and they were to become very fateful years for me.
From “Mein Musikleben” by Mary Dickenson-Auner, 3 October 1963. The text follows the manuscript; the chapter numbering is that of the original.