a
conspirator sooner than their shotguns.”
Elsa could not have been pleased with the news of her husband’s English idyll, but
it is unlikely she was surprised. Married fourteen years, she and Einstein had begun
their affair in 1912, when he was still married to his first wife, Mileva Marić. When
Marić separated from Einstein in 1914, after he had accepted a professorship in Berlin,
he noted, “I am extremely happy with the separation, even though I rarely hear from
my boys. The peace and quiet feel enormously good, as does the really nice affair
with my cousin.”
Three years Einstein’s elder, Elsa was his cousin on both sides of his family. The
daughter of his mother’s sister and of his father’s brother, she had been born an
Einstein, became a Loewenthal when she married her first husband, and took back the
surname Einstein once again when she married Albert in 1919. She and little “Albertle”
had played together as children. She was well aware of his wry wit and the devastating
effect his intelligence and fame had upon women.
“Marriage is the unsuccessful attempt to make something lasting out of an incident,”
Einstein once said. Although Elsa usually traveled with her husband and kept a stern
eye on him, she soon experienced the same heartache as Mileva had. In 1923, four years
into their marriage, Einstein fell in love with his twenty-three-year-old secretary,
Betty Neumann. Elsa knew about it, but it was nearly two years before she convinced
her husband to break it off. Even so, she could not banish the feelings Einstein had
for Neumann. Einstein wrote Neumann, “I will have to look to the stars for what is
denied me on earth.” Elsa didn’t doubt that there had been others. Locker-Lampson’s
assistants were only a distraction. She would say nothing and focus on her preparations
for their imminent departure.
The steamship Westmoreland left Antwerp with Elsa aboard in early October 1933. It stopped in Southampton to
pick up Einstein and his assistant, Walther Mayer, on October 7, before making its
way across the Atlantic to New York. To avoid publicity, Flexner arranged for a tugboat
to meet the ship when it cleared customs at Ellis Island. The tug transferred the
Einstein party to a car for the short drive to Princeton. For the time being, Einstein
was officially a man without a country. He was among the first of roughly two thousand
Jewish scientists, mathematicians, and developers of technology—including fourteen
Nobel Prize recipients—who would find themselves dismissed from their jobs, unable
to support their families, and threatened with deportation to the Nazi death mills
that would soon spring up across Europe.
In recalling the many years of strife with his longtime foe, Philipp Lenard cited
Einstein as “the most important example of the dangerous influence of the Jewish circles
on the study of nature.” A month later, any remaining controversy over Einstein’s
resignation from the Prussian Academy became moot. On the heels of the Third Reich
barring Jews teaching in German universities, it also made any person of Jewish descent
ineligible for membership in the Academy. Lenard saw his opportunity to further cement
his status with the Nazi hierarchy. Noting, “We must recognize that it is unworthy
of a German to be the intellectual follower of a Jew,” Lenard partnered with his like-minded
colleague, Johannes Stark, to vigorously enforce a series of laws calling for the
dismissal of Jewish academics from their university employment.
Max Planck tried to head off the carnage by appealing directly to the Fuehrer, Adolf
Hitler. It was to no avail. “Our national policies will not be revoked or modified,
even for scientists,” Hitler told him in no uncertain terms. “If the dismissal of
Jewish scientists means the annihilation of German science, then we shall do without
science for a few