Isolde Kurz, Becca Menon, Translator
Witness the paroxysm of enthusiasm she (Isolde Kurz) let stand in her late, 1938 Pilgrimage: “Who could have told me then that a day would arrive when Olympiad would come to Berlin, a day on which a new German Reich – not one that was rich and triumphant, but one that was maimed and bled dry and could hardly raise itself up out of the most terrible of all crushing defeats – would, through the mouth of its Führer, give its promise freely through its own sacrifices to lay bare the sacred Olympic relics, and that the promise would directly become deed!” Good sense lay prostrate, and down with it toppled her “fine sense of style.”
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