My Brother, the Pope

by Georg Ratzinger

  The boy next door to us, whose name was Albert, was an HY leader. The neighbor lady was always telling our mother that Georg (meaning me) and Joseph should go to Albert’s HY meetings after all, and then they would have nothing to worry about. But our father did not want that, and of course we did not, either, although a tuition discount would have eased the family budget considerably. Then there was the mathematics teacher, who was temporarily the headmaster—as I mentioned, more or less a Nazi—and he, too, by all means wanted my brother to go to the HY meetings, because he would then get a tuition discount. In a way, it was actually well intentioned, I must say. But my brother told him quite clearly: “No, I will not do that.” Then the teacher, for all his Nazi views, somehow understood and just said, “Okay, then we will leave it at that.” So Joseph no longer had to go to the HY meetings.

  In an interview with Peter Seewald, the future Pope Benedict XVI explained: “As soon as I was out of the seminary, I never went back. And that was difficult, because the tuition reduction, which I really needed, was tied to proof of attendance at the HY. Thank goodness, there was a very understanding mathematics teacher. He himself was a Nazi but an honest man, who said to me, ‘Just go once and get the document so that we have it. . . .’ When he saw that I simply didn’t want to, he said, ‘I understand, I’ll take care of it’, and so I was able to stay free of it” (SE 52). The British press campaign about “Ratzinger the Hitler Youth” was sheer nonsense, as proved also by elderly residents of Traunstein who were tracked down by the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung [a daily newspaper in Frankfurt]. Joseph Friedrich Schmitt, for example, although he attended the modern secondary school, knew Joseph Ratzinger from elementary school; he remembers “that it was possible for the seminarians in Traunstein to be exempted from the service”. Generally the National Socialists were hostile toward candidates for the priesthood. Franz Mitterreiter, whose now-deceased brothers Alois and Ludwig attended the seminary together with the Ratzinger brothers, confirmed that they, too, did not have to go to HY functions more than once or twice. Besides, nobody would have wanted to have them around, because they were suspected of putting up resistance and undermining the faith of other Hitler Youths in the regime.

  While in the seminary, we also experienced the death of Pope Pius XI (1922-1939) and the election of Pius XII (1939-1958) as his successor. That was the first time in our life, for either me or Joseph, that a pontificate ended and a new one began, for Pius XI had been pope all through our childhood. I can still remember clearly how it was: early one Sunday morning a technically gifted prefect received on his private radio a rather long transmission from Rome about the new pope, which he then relayed to our study halls by means of the loudspeakers that were set up in them. Of course we were all very interested in this report and followed it quite attentively. Previously the rector of our seminary (Johann Evangelist Mair), who was a very venerable and intellectually distinguished priest, had told the local pastor by telephone that the Secretary of State, Cardinal Pacelli, would become the new pope. The local pastor could not or would not believe it, and so the two bet on it. Naturally our seminary rector won the bet, which increased our respect for him even more. He then explained to us that Pacelli was a very spiritual man of great intelligence and courage, which is why he welcomed his election. He probably knew him from the time when Pius XII, as he was now called, had been apostolic nuncio in Germany, first in Munich, then in Berlin. In any case, we had great respect for the new pope from the beginning and felt that he was the right man for the Petrine office.

  In September 1939 the seminary was requisitioned as an immediate consequence of the outbreak of war, so that at first we again went to school from home. I do not know, however, whether the wounded were really being transported to Traunstein already. At any rate, the house was released again by the military a few months later, and we were allowed to return to the seminary for the time being. Yet a little later it was requisitioned for the second time, and we were evacuated, some of us to Sparz to a house of the English Sisters, but also to other larger houses. Thus some of us—it may have been twenty boys—found accommodations with the pastor in Waging, who had a large rectory he did not need, where a community of priests had once lived. At that time more and more ecclesiastical buildings were being confiscated by the Nazis. It started very quietly, but soon their intention became obvious.

  In any case, Joseph and Georg Ratzinger lived in the English Sisters’ former institute for girls. It was vacant now, because the Nazis had closed the convent schools. For Joseph, the new boarding school had one distinct advantage: there was no athletic field. Instead, the students hiked in the afternoon in the extensive woods in that area or played beside a nearby mountain stream. There they built dams and caught fish, which was altogether to his taste. So during this time, he was reconciled with the seminary and had to admit that the give and take in a community did him good.

  Joseph then really began to cope well, because at the seminary he was able to make good friends with whom he liked to spend time together. Then everything was less upsetting, although boarding school life was naturally more difficult and demanding than life at home with parents.

  The brothers tried, at least, to make the best of the circumstances in that historical period. In early 1938, Hitler’s troops had marched into Austria, and, for the next seven years, the land on either side of the Danube belonged to the Reich. Although the borders had been closed after Hitler seized power, nothing stopped the brothers now from traveling to Salzburg. That led to a Mozart experience that left a lifelong impression on them both.

  Actually we became acquainted with Mozart quite late. He didn’t get to play a great part in our harmonium lessons or later in our piano lessons, because he did not compose for either of these instruments. Only when we attended the feast-day liturgies in Traunstein, at which Mozart Masses were also performed, did the name Mozart mean anything to us; of course, then we heard his works over the radio, too.

  But our real encounter with Mozart took place when we were able to travel to Austria again, in other words, after the “annexation”. We always liked to visit Salzburg. Together with our family, we used to travel up to Maria Plain to visit the miraculous image of “Mary, Comfort of the Afflicted”, and we usually stayed until the prayer service in the evening. Maria Plain was important because Mozart first performed there his famous Coronation Mass on the occasion of the crowning of the miraculous image. We heard our first Mozart concert in 1939 or 1940, when the Munich Cathedral Choir performed the Mozart Requiem in the Mozarteum in Salzburg. At that time, it was directed by the house conductor, Meinhard von Zallinger (1897-1990), who later played a role in Munich. It fascinated us enormously.

  In 1941, a Mozart Year was celebrated in Salzburg to commemorate the 150th anniversary of Mozart’s death. At that time I heard that the Regensburger Domspatzen were going to perform, who in those days were directed by Theobald Schrems. Of course I did not want to miss that. Generally the Domspatzen sang little by Mozart, because his works as a rule are accompanied by instruments, whereas the Domspatzen usually sing a capella. At any rate I rode over there on my bicycle and bought tickets for Joseph and me. When the time came, we two cycled to Salzburg and stayed overnight at the Tiger Inn for 3. 50 reichsmark, breakfast included. Today, prices like that are unimaginable, but at the time it was a lot of money for us. That is how we heard that wonderful concert by the Domspatzen. I still know most of the program by heart today. The choir was accompanied by several musicians from the Mozarteum and performed excerpts from Mozart’s Requiem. Some boys sang the “Bandel Trio”, with simplified coloratura, of course, since there are several really difficult passages in it. We were simply delighted with it, the music was so wonderful. Naturally, at that point in time there was no way I could have guessed that twenty-three years later I would direct that same magnificent choir as cathedral choirmaster, but that is precisely how it would happen.

  Another time we rode again to Salzburg to hear Mozart�
��s C-minor Mass in Saint Peter’s Church; I think that today it is still performed on one Saturday during the music festival. For us, it was like an excursion into an entirely new world that thrilled us and cast its spell over us. This music was completely new territory for us, because there were no concerts like that in Aschau or Traunstein. So for the first time in our lives, we had the privilege of attending a concert with top-quality interpretations of musical masterpieces that meant a lot to us. It left a deep impression on us. So Mozart, I think, is my brother’s favorite composer even today. Of course he likes other composers and their masterpieces, too, for instance the wonderful Bach Passions, the B-minor Mass by Bach, and Haydn, too, wrote very beautiful Masses. Still, I think that Mozart appeals to him the most.

  At around the same time, he began to take an interest in literature, also. In German class at the gymnasium, of course, the great literary masterpieces of past centuries were read, which he found very interesting. But besides this “required reading” for school, he enthusiastically read other things that were not part of the curriculum. He especially liked the little paperback reprints of famous works published by Reclam; the thinner ones used to cost 45 cents. One of his favorite authors at that time was Theodor Storm, but we all liked him a lot. He read, for instance, Pole Poppenspäler (Paul the Puppeteer), Der Schimmelreiter (The White Horseman), and many other fascinating works by Storm.2 In addition, Joseph liked Eduard Mörike’s Mozart auf der Reise nach Prag (Mozart on the Way to Prague). He did not like Schiller very much; he was a little too lofty for him. But he greatly esteemed Goethe. To be honest, I found out only later that he himself tried his hand at writing at that point in time.

  When Hitler celebrated his major triumphs in 1940, there was euphoria almost everywhere. Only Joseph Ratzinger, Sr., stubbornly refused to be swept up in it. A victory for Hitler, he explained, could never be a victory for Germany. It was only a victory of the Antichrist, which would necessarily bring about apocalyptic times for all believers and not only for them. One year later, while young Joseph Ratzinger’s class was on a boat ride on a nearby lake, the invasion of the Soviet Union was announced. It seemed as though a nightmare had come true. Now the youth, too, was sure that Hitler would inevitably fail in the endless expanses of Russia as Napoleon had once done.

  As far as our father was concerned, Hitler was the Antichrist, even though perhaps he did not use the term directly, at least not in my presence. And so the Führer’s initial triumphs caused Father some embarrassment, because he had not counted on that. And it was as though his worst fears had come true: that first Poland was conquered in just a few weeks and then early the next year France, too, of which our father had such a high opinion—he simply could not believe it. After all, France had established the Maginot Line after the First World War; that was supposed to be a very clever and impregnable defense, and for that reason alone the French felt safe from the Germans. But Hitler, who had no scruples, went around it by invading peaceful, neutral Belgium. Therefore we could not help but be afraid that Hitler might win the war, which of course could not be and, so, was simply unthinkable.

  The most vivid sign that we were at war was the fact that in the evening the windows had to be blacked out to protect against aerial attacks. There was an ordinance that no light was allowed to show outside. This was accomplished with black-out paper, which was fastened to each window with a small bar when evening came. The Nazis monitored compliance to make sure that indeed no light emerged from the house.

  Then food ration cards were distributed. You could no longer buy groceries whenever you needed them. Instead, each registered person received food ration cards, with which he was allowed to purchase only the quantity allotted to him, so many grams of lard, so many grams of meat, sugar, or baked goods. Then you had to see how you could get by with that amount. Fortunately, Father was well acquainted with several farmers in the area around Traunstein. He often cycled to their farms and purchased additional food for us, so we always had enough to eat.

  Meanwhile, the horrors of war moved closer and closer to the Salzach valley. With increasing frequency, transports with wounded servicemen from the front arrived in Traunstein, and a funeral service was held in the church for one of the fallen soldiers. Soon there were among them young men whom the Ratzinger brothers knew from the gymnasium. The military hospital had to be expanded, and finally all the seminarians again went back home. In the summer of 1942, Georg Ratzinger was first called up for the work service of the Reich.

  In the work service, fortunately, they did not know we were seminarians; we were simply considered to be “workmen”. Half of the team was made up of high school students and recent graduates from Upper Bavaria, and the other half, Slovenians. Only a few of the Slovanians spoke German at all. We were divided into sixteen troops, and to each troop was assigned one Slovenian who had some command of our language. Our deployment was in Wartenberg am Roll, which was located in the Sudetenland. Our first task was “with muscle power and spades” to lay out a sports field—of all things, a sports field!

  One particular exercise was the daily drill with the spades, the so-called “spade roll-call”. It was nothing short of a liturgy, a military exercise with an implement that was actually quite insignificant. Moreover, the spade had to be clean and polished; you had to be able to see your reflection in it, for if even a speck of dust or a clump of earth was left on the shovel or the handle, it was considered a serious offense that was punished with remedial exercises. Then the commands resounded over the field: “Attention! Invert spades! Lift spades! Shoulder spades! Port spades! Present spades! Order spades!” It was like a drill with weapons in the military. Everything had to take place precisely in tempo, simultaneously, as it were, so that the whole team looked as though one man were doing it all with that clean, polished spade. In order to make the exercises of this spade-worship look good, we were specially trained for them. Of course we had to perform the whole thing again and again whenever our division was visited, for it was a well-staged show, in which one or two hundred men shouldered their spades and put them down again in synchronized maneuvers, however idiotic and useless it all was.

  Deployment in the Sudetenland, however, was only the sad prelude to deployment in the war. Scarcely had I returned to Traunstein in November 1942 when I was drafted into the Wehrmacht after two weeks of leave. A bleak mood prevailed in our family. I was sad that I had to go away from home again, and my family was unhappy that I was going into the military. We all knew that that was a bad thing, that men in the service were ill-treated, but above all that I now had to serve a government we despised with all our hearts. First I was sent to Oberammergau, of which I had already heard because of the famous Passion play. There at least my father and my brother were able to visit me, and it was there that I had to shoot for the first time. Ironically, I was the best shot then, which gained for me a certain prestige. Actually, as it later appeared, I was a mediocre shot, but in those first attempts I was just fortunate.

  Then we were sent to Holland. There each one of us received a bicycle, and every day we had to ride out into the dunes to drill there. We wore boots that were full of sand afterward. Once I had to participate also in a horse transport, since my company had a lot of horses. It was, so to speak, a punitive expedition. At that time we always had to clean our weapons until they gleamed, and they checked this thoroughly: the tiniest grain of sand could not be left. I was with the machine gun division then, and one day, on the day before the Ascension of our Lord in 1943, our commanding officer was not satisfied with my cleaning skills. And so I, along with the others whose machine guns were not entirely clean, was sent off to a cavalry detachment. Early in the morning on the feast of the Ascension, we had to travel by train from Leiden to Alphen. There they brought us to a gigantic hall that served as a stable. Our Capo, our noncommissioned officer, then chose a few horses for us, and each one, myself included, had the reins of two horses pressed into his hand. I had a sickening feeling, because sh
ortly before that a neighbor’s son, who was one of my best friends, had been kicked by a horse and lost his life, and so I did not want to die that way. There were around thirty-five of us men, who were supposed to lead seventy horses, and we were told to march out, one after the other. My horses probably noticed quickly that they did not have an energetic leader, and they took advantage of the opportunity: again and again they tried to leave the street and go into the field, where fresh clover beckoned. When the noncommissioned officer noticed it, he vehemently reprimanded me. Shortly thereafter, he himself got kicked by a horse, which seemed to me not all that unjust. Finally we drew near to the city of Leiden. Apparently my horses got wind of the city air and were longing for a stall. At any rate, they began to run and overtook the other horses, while I ran behind them, and so we reached the barracks first, although to begin with we had been the last. Naturally that caused some laughter among my comrades.

  Then our unit was transferred to Italy, at first in the East, on the Ligurian Coast near La Spezia, and later to the vicinity of Monte Cassino, the site of the world-renowned Benedictine monastery. The Germans had set up their line of defense there and were exposed to constant, massive bombardments by the Americans and the British.

  On February 15, 1944, the Allies had bombed even the monastery on Monte Cassino, which had been established in A.D. 529, because they suspected a German emplacement behind its walls. That was a disastrous mistake, as it later turned out; the commander in chief of the German troops, General Field Marshall Albert Kesselring, had expressly declined to misuse this unique cultural monument for military purposes. In the bombardment, 250 people lost their lives, most of them monks and refugees who had sought refuge behind the monastery walls.