1. He is referring to the document he was evidently unshackled to work on.
2. He had to anticipate abuses at Gestapo headquarters on Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse.
3. From the Bach cantata “Ach Gott, wie manches Herzeleid” (Ah, God, how much heartache).
FREYA TO HELMUTH JAMES, NOVEMBER 20, 1944
Kreisau, Monday afternoon
My dear, your thoughts must be seeking us out here so often. My dear love, you are so very here with all of us. Casparchen has kept discussing the question of whether you’d be let out by Christmas; everyone is thinking of you so full of love and full of hope. I found the reflection of my own good mood from when I was here the last time, now in everyone else. They all believe that things look better: Zeumer, Sister Ida [Hübner], Aunt Leno [Hülsen], Fräulein Hirsch, my—your—whole house was more lighthearted—for no reason, but it was still so very nice that they were all that way. How they are all thinking about you! How they love you, how they are praying for you! I so wish I could communicate that to you. My third thought when something nice happens is always: If only he could see it!—our Casparchen as he stood at the train on Saturday with his schoolbag, in his green loden coat and pointed cap, with a grubby mouth and mud-spattered legs, and how his face beamed when he saw me. We then headed home together, and the first thing he told me was that he had thought about bringing galoshes to school for me!! He has changed quite a bit again, not in his nature, which is wholly unchanged and very childlike, but he treats and regards school in a completely different way. He’s working much faster and more precisely and, as a matter of fact, quite well. He writes quickly and neatly and knows how to do his multiplication tables up to 4 quickly and well. He has now understood it; it’s working out. In the very same way that he used to think he couldn’t do much, he now thinks, objectively and calmly, that he’s able to do much more and has greatly improved his standing in his class. He also made sure to tell me that the soldiers are taking away Krause’s tractor, and he can now bring nothing but sugar beets to Weizenrodau, and all sorts of other things. He’s very grown-up in his heart, and a great, dear friend, and in all other respects still a playful toddler. He and Konrad sat on the floor in the living room yesterday after supper and played with old decks of cards. You know how and where. They were both engrossed in what they were doing and were talking eagerly at the same time. Then I thought again: If only he could see this! Konrad, the poor child, has poor man’s rash1 on his head and is wearing an odd hood. It doesn’t bother him too much, but it is quite distasteful, and instead of his nice curls he has greasy strands of hair on his head. It doesn’t disturb me. The little sons were the best part here. Apart from them I also felt at home and close to you, but nothing special was going on, yet I was feeling what the little sons mean to us in this menacing situation and was happy about them. They are also so overflowingly affectionate with me, neither wants to leave my side, and that is very comforting for me and quite pampering. Kaiser has now lost his fourth and last son. Isn’t that awful? His brother, who fled from Cologne, will move into 14 and 13 in the Schloss. Schmudke’s fourth son was also killed in the war; did I write that already? What suffering for all these people!—On Saturday afternoon I went right to visit Zeumer with Casparchen. He wasn’t doing badly, and he’s now driving his sugar beets to Weizenrodau because it’s impossible to get hold of any wagons. The potatoes are out and ready. He plowed quite a bit, but the beets aren’t all out yet—still, they’ll all come out this week. Seventeen more acres have to be harvested. Once again, the fall was too wet for the beet harvester. We’ll surely harvest a good eight tons of beets. Zeumer hasn’t yet calculated exactly how many potatoes there will be. It’s hard going with the constant rain, but in these two weeks he has managed to do quite a bit, and what is particularly pleasing
[The letter breaks off here.]
1. Impetigo, which is contracted mostly by children.
FREYA TO HELMUTH JAMES, NOVEMBER 21, 1944
Tuesday afternoon
My dear, yesterday afternoon I’d sat down to write with the serene feeling that I had a great deal of time ahead of me, but a leisurely letter of this kind takes up quite a bit of it, and before I knew it, there was Ulla [Oldenbourg], who now spends a lot of time living and sitting in my room, because Asta [Wendland] also sleeps in my bed, and shortly afterward high tea and Casparchen. But after eating, we had to head off right away, because there was singing at 5 in the Schloss at Aunt Leno [Hülsen]’s. While the children were singing, I left; but I did sing a couple of songs with them first and said to myself and felt that no matter what happened, the two of us would and could affirm the meaning of “Oh How Joyfully”1 together on Christmas just as we do today. So while I was singing and looking down at my happily stuttering Casparchen, I had one of those exhilarating moments in which I experienced everything the two of us have gone through as grace in all its grandeur, warmth, and ability to fulfill us completely. Do you know that feeling? I don’t even need to ask. I know that you know the feeling. Casparchen was a bit sad when I went. I had a quick visit with Sister Ida [Hübner], then left at 5:42 p.m. I’ve now given up traveling second class, even at night. I slept for a long time, and well. For the Poelchaus I brought a giant box with a goose, cake, flour, apples from farmer friends; for you, my dear love, I have all kinds of lovely things, and mountains of them. I hope you’ll get all of them. I brought them along full of happiness, and then I also got a lovely package from Davy [von Moltke]: orange marmalade, gingerbread of the finest sort, eggs, pears, and some quince bread.
It’s been so long since I’ve answered your letters that I have to say how grateful I am that you tell me about yourself in such detail. I also understand quite well what your poor soul has to suffer, and why, and when you describe it, I am nothing but glad that I can take part in it.
I’m happy that we’re also agreed about me on the day of the trial. Yes, I will stay at home quietly, and I’ll do everything to stand by you in a state of deep composure. My dear, my Jäm, my husband.
Yes, all three of us were in bed on Sunday, for a long time, too. It started relatively late—not until 7—with a shout from Casparchen, who wanted to keep Konrad, who was rushing forward, from waking me up, which happened quite late as a result. Then there was snuggling, reading, studying, and singing.
My love, that is quite right: it is getting harder and harder for you to prepare for dying. That is the burdensome part of this long waiting period. It has to be that way. The initial impact is far, far easier. You needn’t explain that to me at all, because I’m well aware of it. We humans cannot manage always to live at this kind of height or intensity. We keep sliding back down. I’ve also spoken to Poelchau about that. Question: Would you like to return to the world again to the extent that you read something else so as not to be constantly focused on death? I don’t know myself whether that is a piece of advice, but it strikes me as too great a strain to have to wait so long even though it is obvious that we are happy to wait for a long time, and that you should take it as easy as possible and relax. In stark contrast, Eugen [Gerstenmaier]’s optimistic calm is almost incomprehensible to us.
My Jäm, I’ll stop for now, write to Mütterchen Deichmann, and go to the friends.
1. The traditional German Christmas carol “Oh du fröhliche.”
HELMUTH JAMES TO FREYA, NOVEMBER 22, 1944
Tegel, 22 Nov 44
No, my dear, I don’t want to take my mind off things. I’m too afraid to miss out on precious time. Every hour is precious, and I have to use it a. to gird myself for my death and b. to reinforce my trust that God might preserve my life. It makes no difference whether that’s hard or easy; we are living here within the bounds of time, and I have to use it. I know that this is not an argument in the eyes of God and that I cannot earn His grace; that He is just as likely to grant it to me if I read Karl May1 as if I study the Bible and hymnal. But I want to think it over, even if I know that I can’t understand it. I also get the feeling that I’
m of more help to you that way, and I do enjoy every day in spite of the hardships.
My dear love, how wonderful that you’re getting pleasure from your little sons and that they are a help to you. My dear, dear love, I wonder if you’ll get permission for another face-to-face meeting. It’s really unlikely. Let’s never forget that parting on this earth is something quite concrete, so that we’re not taken by surprise. It’s a matter of “watch and pray.” And let us never forget that God can preserve my life in a hundred ways and that we have a right to ask Him to do so. And we give thanks for what we have had. Farewell, my love—pray for your husband. J.
1. Karl May was a popular German author of adventure stories set mostly in the American West.
HELMUTH JAMES TO FREYA, NOVEMBER 23, 1944
Tegel, 23 Nov 44
My dear love, your wonderful coffee and the Holy Spirit made for a lively and tasty afternoon for me. Rarely have I so enjoyed a cup of coffee. Even so, I hope it was less the coffee and more the Holy Spirit. In any case, I sat atop my table, read, and compared hymns and the Bible and delighted in the beautiful thoughts and feelings that seemed to surface at random.
My love, I paid for that tasty coffee with an inadequate night of sleep, but of the thirteen hours I spent in bed I surely slept eight: Only where I am does that seem inadequate; besides, I was very content in bed. But my lumbago is acting up like crazy, and I want to go to the doctor tomorrow. What a nuisance that I let it act up again after it was already subsiding. As long as nothing is demanded of me, it doesn’t matter, but if I need to move with a suitcase or stand for a long period of time during the trial, it would be quite bothersome. Maybe the doctor will give me something to rub on it.
Now a few more requests and suggestions:
Delp asks that, if possible, Sperr should be told that he, Sperr, did not tell him about his conversation with Stauffenberg until after July 20th.
Is anything known about Peters? Maybe Einsiedel can look for him: air force operational headquarters I c or in his apartment.
Any news about Husen?
The more I think about it, the more important it seems to me that I see Hercher before he studies the files so that we can discuss what he needs to focus on.
I want to write to Müller about the interrogations, and I’m enclosing the letter. Let me know.
My love, I have to finish up because they’re about to shackle me. Farewell, my dear, how precious is every day, every minute that I can still write, say, think this. My dear, I think I have the right to say to you: I will stay with you until you follow me. J.
I’ve just noticed that I’m acting as though I’m dying. I’m doing that with every letter because it can be the last one. But I’m very strong in the belief in my life. Stay strong too, my love. Let’s not have me flounder as I face these people, not for a second. But we don’t just want to surrender to God’s will, but instead greet it with a joyous “yes.” J.
FREYA TO HELMUTH JAMES, NOVEMBER 24, 1944
Thursday morning1
My dearest, now it’s finally the true hour for writing once again. It’s 6:15. I wonder whether you’re already awake. Certainly! And you’ve certainly already sent your loving thoughts to me. My love, how safe and secure I feel when I’m near and with you; it’s only on occasion that I become fully aware of that, because I usually take it for granted. I am in very safe hands with you. How is your lumbago, my love? All that comes from the cold. In such a wet autumn it’s inevitable. Just wrap yourself up really well. I’ll send you the black scarf if I’m able to. Wrap it around your lower back. I told Gissel right away to make sure you stay warm, and he said he was doing so, and that they were doing whatever they could, and things weren’t too bad there. I gave him another nice big piece of Kreisau sausage; I think that’s his favorite. He’s even more softhearted with Brigitte [Gerstenmaier], but he does do a great deal for us, and yesterday he accepted a virtual mountain of food from me. We’ve already agreed to meet next Wednesday, “so that I’m there too.”
My Jäm, once again you have written many lovely things. I can well understand that you were listless, and maybe still are. That’s sure to pass. I grew warm and happy when at the end of the rather sad letter I found the beautiful thing you wrote about your love and that you won’t leave me, dead or alive. My Jäm, please don’t ever spare me, and do go on writing me—as long as we still have the great good fortune of writing—exactly how things stand with you. I’d like to go on sharing the dark hours with you, since I’m also able to experience so much that is wonderful with you. But the passage in your letters that was most beneficial to me and greatly helped me along in my thoughts about you was your reference to how our waiting should be seen as a period of “watch and pray.” I was so worried about how you could endure this for so long, but that is the right way to look at it, because you’re saying that it is not only death that you need to focus on, nor is it just life, but rather you affirm the inevitable tension between the two poles and take it upon yourself and live within it as well as you can. That is quite beautiful and gives me great comfort! My Jäm, I’d like to write more, but I have to get going. I’m unable to finish a fully complete little letter in less than two hours, nor do I need to, and this evening I can deliver another one. I’ll be at the friends’ house again. For now I just want to say that I phoned Hercher yesterday. He was told: mid-December. But next week I’ll try to make sure that he comes to see you; this week he’s booked solid. I’ll wait for tomorrow to look into getting permission for a face-to-face meeting. I had to let some time pass first, because I’d said I wanted to go home again and for that reason wanted to have some idea of the trial date. I can come in again only if there is urgent business. I’m actually quite confident that I’ll get it. Today I’ll see Frau Reisert and Frl. Schellhase. They are very hardworking, and I’m hoping to get tips from them.
My dear, my love, my Jäm, my dearest, my part of who I am, I’m sending you a tender embrace, with love. Do you feel this love, my beloved, my husband? Oh, surely you do, for it is big and strong. May God help and protect us, you especially, my dear sweet husband. I’m P., yours alone, no one else’s in the world.
1. This should probably read “Friday morning.”
FREYA TO HELMUTH JAMES, NOVEMBER 24, 1944
Thursday afternoon1
My dear, you write that we’re more married than ever in the past thirteen years. How wonderful for me that you feel that way; how wonderful. It’s true that you tell me more about yourself than you ever have. I’ve sometimes wanted to know more! How happy and how deeply grateful I am for that. Never think that you could burden me with anything. You can only make me happy. The significant element is that for my part everything is as it has always been. My Jäm, I’ve already been loving you all these years with all the strength that is within me. Maybe the contents of my love, its prospects and its goals, have changed over the course of these precious weeks—yes, they have!—but not the intensity. Oh, my Jäm, it is so wonderful to be able to love this way. Little Schellhase told me today how much Haubach and she have grown to love each other over the course of these weeks, how her being there for him so completely and loving him so much brings happiness to Haubach, that he is amazed, to be experiencing it after forty-six years and in a situation like this, and she herself is amazed as well, for in spite of it all, she has never been so happy. I was also full of amazement about how much happiness these weeks hold for those two as well, and once again also abashed and full of gratitude about how good things have been for us over such a long, marvelous period of time.
I’m reading what you wrote about your faith, that you’re not entitled to the security and grace of faith, that you’re afraid about whether it will be preserved for you. My Jäm, I’d like to say something about that and don’t quite know myself what. I understand what you mean, and yet something is not right here. But what is it! It is unquestionably a great, the greatest possible grace, but I believe that God really likes to bestow it. He would much ra
ther give grace than not give grace. He does indeed love us, or rather, it is in love that He exists. He certainly does not want to abandon us. One is just often incapable of taking hold of grace. It is actually always there. It’s likely all due to the fact that your situation is far more complicated and difficult than mine and that you are now living in it far more consciously than I. You’re far more alert and pray much more; I let myself be cradled, which is much easier. But how would I fare if I were the one in the cell!! I don’t know. One thing is for sure: For these worries you really do need intercessory prayer, so that it can be light and bright and easy within you and you needn’t torment yourself.
My Jäm, today was one of those gray, gray days again, which means that it is dark in your cell, and that’s hard to take, my Jäm. I hope it wasn’t too hard to bear. November is in itself the most difficult month of the year. By the way, I was offered pills that have an energizing and invigorating effect, famous pills.2 Do you want to have four of them for the trial? They’re a kind of stimulant, like coffee or tea. Do you feel like having something like that? Or better not? I wasn’t entirely sure of how you’d react to this option. Please let me know about it.
Now you’re going to bed already, my love; it’s 6. I hope your heart is content and calm, you feel my tender thoughts, and your shackles don’t disturb you. Good night, my dearest love. I am and will remain your P.
1. This should probably read “Friday afternoon.”
2. Probably Pervitin, a psychotropic drug composed of the stimulant methamphetamine; see Helmuth’s letter of December 10–12, 1944.
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