I hope and pray that it’s over. I’m writing this only because I believe and feel that it’s basically over. I can still feel my insides trembling, but I think that’s just a sign that it’s dying down and will soon be over.—My love, I’m also writing this to you because although I believe once again that God can preserve my life, I also know that I can’t count on that in either the human or the spiritual sense. And so I want you at least to share in the fruits of this struggle and it may be of help to you if you should face temptation. But I just believe that you, my love, have the very simplicity that I lack, that you can never have my haughtiness, but instead you give yourself over to God’s will with much greater humility. May God preserve you in this and spare you the trip into hell that I must take.
Will I be able to gain control over my haughtiness before I die? Do you see that the very act of posing this question is haughty? I’ll leave the question in place anyway, because you might as well know it, and the good Lord has to forgive me so much in this arena that He will forgive me this thought as well. Humility is now more important for me than faith, for in the state I’m in, my haughtiness can rob me of my faith. I have learned one thing: Hell is deeper than we think, and if I should come back out of it today, the next fall might become even steeper. Somewhere it says, “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling,” and in Psalm 51, “a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” My dear, bless your simplicity and pray for your husband. These are hours that make me long for the hangman, can you imagine that.
Poelchau told me this: No subjective remedy can help. We have to know, even if it is only with our reason, that objectively we have become God’s children through baptism, that objectively Christ died for us and that this is how it is, even if we don’t feel it, if we fail to detect the subjective presence of this insight, even if, for that matter, we deny it. He referred me to Isa. 43:1+2.2 He was right. But for a haughty soul it’s very little and very bitter because it means that I’m on the exact same level as Heinrich Himmler and Adolf Hitler, provided that they are baptized. What a humiliation! But he is right, and I have to learn it, and until I have taken this into myself completely, there are no more new heights ahead either. Pray for me, my love, that God in His grace and in His mercy grants me humility and that I don’t lose it again.
My love, it’s all well and good to say “if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there”3 as long as one isn’t there, or at least not deep within it. But if all faith and all certainty are taken away, it becomes very difficult to say: I may not notice it, nor can I believe it, but it is objectively the case.
So, my dear love, the letter is finished after all, and I’ve poured out my heart to you. My love, you see how great yesterday’s happiness was when I tell you that the gratitude for it and the happiness of seeing your image have repeatedly granted me the serenity that my “wisest” thoughts could not provide. The fifth stanza of “The Moon Has Risen” has that lovely line, “Let us become simple.” Imagine how nice it would have been if I hadn’t known the poem and had just come across it yesterday; but I did know it. I recited it to myself more than ten times, and it didn’t help, precisely because I knew it and recited it for the effect I was anticipating rather than in a simple manner. Gruppenführer Müller would call that a complicated man.
My love, what a world I’m leaving you to. The things you write me about Dieter [von Mirbach]4 and Hans-Heini Rittberg can make your heart freeze. What catastrophes must there be before this mentality is eradicated. Stay as you are in this world, my love, and don’t let your little sons get like that. I don’t want to be like the Pharisee in Luke 18:9–14, but I’d rather suffer any wounds than fall into the hard-heartedness of people like them; they will never understand 1 Corinthians 135 and will wind up as poor human beings, but we, my love, are rich, rich beyond their imagination. Keep up this capability in the little sons. I do think that they have it, unless their upbringing drives it out of them.—I don’t mean the way you bring them up. That’s why you should keep them away from technology, by which I don’t mean technological professions, although those are dangerous. But Dieter and Carl Viggo [von Moltke] are just as much technicians as a foreman is.—And, my love, for the hundredth time: Don’t let this throw you. We now know what is big and what is small, what is important and what is unimportant; stay with this gauge, and I hope, my dear, that everything we’ve been able to write each other over these weeks will help you to do so.
Until I see you again, my love, in this world or in the other. Help to believe that the Lord can also save my life if He wants to, and that if He doesn’t want to, it will be for the best. May the Lord watch over you and us. J.
1. The date in question is October 11, 1944; see Helmuth’s letter of October 12, 1944.
2. Isaiah 43:1–2: “Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”
3. From Psalm 139.
4. See Freya’s letter of November 3, 1944.
5. See Helmuth James’s letter of November 10, 1944, note 1.
FREYA TO HELMUTH JAMES, NOVEMBER 15–16, 1944
Wednesday noon
My dear, poor love, my Jäm, what a hefty price you had to pay for our beautiful time together, as that was clearly the trigger for this terrible fall. I’d been steeling myself for quite some time for the low that I feared would follow your radiant high. It would have come even without the visit, but not as abruptly and not—maybe not—as agonizingly. But it’s conceivable that it was also a source of consolation for you. My love, it’s not the case that I’ve been made unhappy by the conviction that I was the cause of this fall. I was able to squelch thoughts of that sort right away. I know too well that the visit was also a great source of happiness for us both, and will remain so, and I understand all too well the entire process within you. The toll it has taken was expressed in every word, and yet I can’t even begin to gauge it, my poor love. Suddenly, I can now understand what I hadn’t been able to grasp before: the scope of struggle and anguish experienced by our people of the greatest faith. My heart writhes when I picture it, yet it’s clear that our greatest minds have faced and had to endure the toughest battles, for the very reason that they are great minds and haven’t been able to be humble and simple before God, and they have to struggle terribly to achieve what Mamsell1 carries within herself all on her own. You poor souls! Mamsell needs to pray for you! So do I, my Jäm, so do I, with so much love, but this beautiful simplicity and especially humility aren’t very well developed in me—if anything, simplicity more than humility. The way of the world is that the highs and lows alternate. As long as we are in this world, we can’t step out of it anymore than we can step out of time. It is just as certain that a low is followed by (at least) a higher ground as the other way around. The only question is whether it goes like this: or this: . My love, all you need to believe is that God loves us and is merciful to us. He will hardly expect you to love Him as much while in your hole as you would at other times, in which case you would already be out, but if you are still able to believe while down there that His love is great and He is simply far greater than our own hearts, then Satan can go ahead and rage, but he can’t accomplish much of anything. He’s unable to do so anyway. Of course you know all this yourself, my love, and God willing, you are resting in His lap once again by now; you surely fear, though, that a low will hit you in the hours when you can’t afford to have it. But only trust in God helps against that fear. I, my love, cannot think that way. He can test you but not abandon you. Don’t forget the garden of Gethsemane2 or Christ’s last words on the cross.3 It isn’t easy, and it won’t get any easier, but you will triumph anyhow because God will not forsake you. This I firmly believe, my dear love. It is quite evident to me that this is all very difficult for you, my truly c
omplicated husband: We belong to the Pharisees, or at least to the wealthy, and so the way is especially difficult, because we have to divest ourselves of all our proud goods and burdens, which in many ways are the source of the sublimest earthly pleasure. Oh, my Jäm, I know! It’s quite clear to us that we are effectively on the very same level as Himmler, Hitler, and Freisler. I don’t dare to assess their functions and their weight on the scales of God. It cannot be so simple that God condemns the paths they take just as we do. This, at least, remains: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” It seems to me, my beloved heart, that I’m also quite the Pharisee, the way I’m talking to you even as I stand with you, hand in hand, and, like you, await our fate from His hand. I want to descend to hell with you and come out with you yet I’m not at all capable of that; I’m far too primitive and cannot feel such things as intensely as you can.4 All that truly remains in the end is just faith, love—and hope, my beloved Jäm.
Now, my Jäm, I need to write about practical matters.
The way I see it, the greatest danger in regard to the petition is that Hitler will have the wrong reaction because it will be coupled with July 20th, in which case Hitler will pay no attention to what it actually says. If Keitel doesn’t work out, as we certainly assume, then we’ll wait to see how the Steengracht–Hewel route goes. I think it’s a mistake to intervene and push that again now that it’s in motion and Freisler does know that it’s in motion, and I have the impression that you had an exaggerated view of it because of your depression. Your letter and petition to the SS Reich Leader are also now en route. Müller’s adjutant told me that Müller had forwarded the letter immediately and it would probably reach Himmler as early as today, or tomorrow at the latest. The egg has now been laid, and we have to put up with its scratches and splotches. A new petition would have new slipups. It is certainly favorable to our case that the cover letter to Himmler is better than the petition.
My love, all this doesn’t frighten me so much, even if you give me new tasks. I’ll do what I can and what I manage to accomplish with my limited strength and with the best possible guidance. Clearly my love and my threatened happiness are what spur me on.
Now I have to go to see Dix first. This is where things stand: Carl Viggo [von Moltke] saw Freisler today, and he will meet with me tomorrow at 8:30.—My beloved, now I have to hurry off to bed. Now where am I again!? My body is tired today and I’m glad I don’t have to travel any more. So I’ll leave from here to go to see Freisler. I’ll just quickly fill you in on a few more things. Freisler was very friendly to Carl Viggo but hadn’t read the files. Carl Viggo presented the petition, and Freisler said that the trial would be held no earlier than the week after next anyway. But of course he was aware of the overall situation. He wanted to have Carl Viggo come to the trial as well, but Lautz opposed that idea. He was very chilly, very reserved and dismissive, and wondered why the family would want to protect its black sheep. Quite the opposite of Freisler. On the subject of Kreisau, Freisler said he might not even declare that it be confiscated. So he was quite affable, but I don’t get the impression that Carl Viggo made much of an impression on him. Haubach’s fiancée, who went to see him this morning and wanted to have Dix, didn’t accomplish anything. He beat around the bush and wrapped things up quickly. I won’t accomplish anything either, but I’ll go there. I’m not afraid yet, but I probably will be.
Dix thought the petition wasn’t bad, and said it doesn’t contain anything that Hitler would object to hearing. He made the good suggestion to follow up the copy that the minister of justice has with another cover letter saying that it has been given to Hitler and Himmler and to please suspend the verdict (carrying out the sentence), so that in the event that nothing has been decided yet, it can be deferred until such time as there is a decision. He thought that in the end they would be afraid to enforce the verdict without notification.
I hope you’re already asleep, my dear, and that no Satan is tormenting my dear love. I’m going to sleep soon too. I’m wearily getting into my bed without hope and braced with many comforting truths. I belong to you, my love, and both of us belong to the Lord. Good night, my dearest. My will and the will for you to go on living are great—let us believe. I’m sending you an embrace, and I am and will remain your P.
Good morning, my love. I’m still eating breakfast, and then I’ll go. I don’t think it can help much, but it’s right for us to do everything. How glad I am that Poelchau is coming to you again today. But I’m confident that you’ve found your balance once more. In abiding love, your P.
1. Nickname for Ida Maerkert, the longtime cook at the Berghaus.
2. Matthew 26:39: “O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.”
3. Matthew 27:46: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Luke 23:46: “Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.”
4. Freya could also suffer profoundly; see her letter of January 13, 1945.
HELMUTH JAMES TO FREYA, NOVEMBER 15–16, 1944
Tegel, 15 Nov 44
My love, I’m praying to our Father for you to withstand the anguish I caused you last night, that it was not too awful, that you get a full experience of grace once again. Forgive me, my dear, but today we are more married than ever before in the past thirteen years, so I cannot spare you my pain. God grant that I may help to carry your pain in the times ahead, oh my dear.
I just want to continue my story so that you get to hear not only about the drowning part but also about the gradual return to dry land. I think it’s over, and He has once again sent me His grace. He didn’t make it too hard either, as He preserved in me the gratitude I have for you and your closeness in even the worst moments. Yes, I hope it’s over, I don’t yet dare to move on the solid ground I’ve regained, I fear for my own safety, and my heart is still quivering, but I think it’s over.
Last night, fearing I might make demands of some sort, I didn’t put my prayers into words, but instead hoped that the spirit would represent me “with groanings which cannot be uttered.”1
When I woke up in the morning and thought of my Pim, I felt better again, except that I couldn’t bear the wait to get up out of bed, seeing as I couldn’t bring myself to pray or read the Bible or hymnal, and then a little panic attack came over me about the petition for clemency. But it was merely a little—very little—rearguard action, and it struck me as more of a confirmation that He wished to let me feel my presence in His hand by showing me that I would be able to cope with it once again.
That’s where things now stand. I’ve thoroughly tidied up my room, and afterward we’ll be bathing. I won’t be doing any reading again in the morning but instead will quietly work away on my defense, and simply wait until He calls me again.
Does that all make sense, my love? Since we are as one, I want to leave you with the fruit of our torments. Farewell, my dear. J.
16 Nov 44
Your letter has since arrived, and it really gratified me. I agree completely with all the practical issues; when it comes to the petition for clemency, it’s basically the case that the less I know about it, the better. The only thing I want is for you, too, to feel as little stress about this as possible.
Now comes the interrogation I had today: I was taken to dictate my written defense, which was a very accommodating gesture on their part. I responded that the handwritten defense was now already on the way and that I didn’t have my draft with me. I’d thought I wouldn’t be questioned anymore.
Then an interrogation about Steengracht and Illemie [Steengracht]: odd and not an entirely pleasant line of questioning. Final question: Does Steengracht also belong to the Kreisau Circle and did he participate in the meetings?2 Considering that the questioner regards these meetings as high treason, it’s really a bit much to be asking something of this sort about an active secretary of state. The examining SS major, however, came across as rather foolish, and he was not well prepared. So it’s possible
that this was only an error in judgment and that they only wanted to clarify why Steengracht is speaking on my behalf.
The latter point is interesting, and then we got to the crux of the matter: Willo [von Moltke], Mami, connections with grandparents during the war, my intention of moving to England in the event of war. The latter particularly presumptuous in view of the fact that I’m here. I allegedly feel more like an Englishman than a German. The basis for that claim was the photocopy of a two-page typed letter, but they very carefully kept it away from me. One question led me to believe that the letter claimed Carl Bernd [von Moltke] was not dead but had defected to the British. I can think of only one source for this claim, and that is “Pension” Annie [von Moltke].3 What else would explain the snide remarks about Mami, alleging that we were brought up British by our mother? Since I was able to give convincing answers about everything and concede the black mark that is Willo,4 but said he was lost and written off as far as we were concerned, and we had only Red Cross correspondence with the grandparents, he wrapped up the matter without taking minutes and intends to work his way through the previously unknown personal details about me. I assume that I’ll be called in again. Nice, isn’t it? Luckily, I don’t care a bit about it.
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