My dear, strong, good, bravely beating sweetest of hearts, stay with me. May the Lord watch over you and us. J.
1 Jan 45
My love, I now wish you a blessed new year. I’ve just read Romans 10–12, our passage for today, and it contains several very lovely verses for us and for this year. So let us begin it with confidence and receive from God’s hand what He sends us, be it death or prison or freedom, be it hardship or a wild band of soldiers or destruction or dispersion or peace. The range of possibilities that this year is visibly spreading out before us is colossally large, and we can ask for only one thing, that we may continue to feel that we are in God’s hands and that He does not withdraw His grace, His succor from us.
Farewell, my love, may the Lord watch over you and us. J.
1. The three dates represent days of great suffering for Helmuth alone in his cell. The first was after the Gestapo advised him that they were going to try him as part of the Kiep treason trial that had caused his arrest. See Helmuth’s letter of March 26, 1944, in Helmuth James von Moltke, Im Land der Gottlosen: Tagebuch und Briefe aus der Haft 1944/45, edited by Günter Brakelmann (Munich: C. H. Beck), 2009, 224.
2. Helmuth here means October 11, 1944, when he had written his farewell letter to his sons; see his letter of October 12, 1944.
3. Helmuth again struggled mightily on November 13, 1944, after his first face-to-face meeting with Freya; see his letter of November 14, 1944.
HELMUTH JAMES TO FREYA, JANUARY 1–2, 19451
Tegel, 1 Jan 45
My dear, serious times are now quite palpably close again, and we have to come to terms with the fact that I may be killed in little more than a week.
We’ve said everything about the time after my death in matters both economic and noneconomic. I’m assuming that you either jotted it down or can reconstruct it, so I won’t go through that once again. I want to repeat only this: A dead hand cannot rule, that is, everything from me is only a suggestion, and you mustn’t feel duty bound to follow it.—As for Kreisau, I’m of the opinion that you ought to and will be able to defend the Berghaus resolutely, but that in all other matters preserving dignity is more important than the outcome; luckily you don’t depend on Kreisau for your material well-being;2 but I would defend your claims to Kreisau.—As soon as the opportunity arises, you should all do everything in your power to take full advantage of our deaths, politically, and, if there is a usurper in Kreisau, whoever that may be, economically as well.
If I’m sentenced to death and not executed right away, you should do everything that’s still possible, as we had agreed; the question of Hewel strikes me as especially acute, and the path to the SS, whether it be to Müller directly or by way of Kaltenbrunner. The best thing would be for you to talk that over with Dix in advance and let both Steengracht and Dix keep a time slot open for January 11th so that you can really launch things immediately. Clearly the chances will be no better than 1 in 100,000. But it should be tried even so. It remains to be considered, however, whether you ought to ask Carl Viggo [von Moltke] or Jowo [von Moltke] to come for the 11th in any case, because I always find that you are too much of an implicated party and that only the arguments regarding the Moltke family can hold sway,3 and you really can’t be the one to represent them.—In Plötzensee, all of you and Buchholz have to come up with a well-defined means of getting messages back and forth so that you can be informed by telephone about my execution; he can’t say it officially.
If I’m held at Prinz-Albrecht-Str. after the sentencing, you have to try, first by way of the prison, then via Lange, and finally via Müller’s front office, to get permission to exchange laundry. Maybe Hercher can help too. But there should always be very little laundry so that it’s soon needed again. And always bring me one of those little books published by Insel, and I’ll try to give you news by marking it up. To make sure it’s not too easy to decipher, let’s plan for me to mark up quite a number of pages, but only the even or only the odd ones count. You have to figure out which ones.—Give me an Insel book right away, but it can’t have any markings because I don’t have an eraser.
Can you imagine: When I was writing to you the other day, I actually forgot our cherished night on Arndtstr. last year, and our last unfettered walk on the train platform. At the same time, I recently found myself fondly reminiscing about that evening, as I have several times over these past months, and how we played Mozart’s Requiem, although not to the very end. And before that, we also played “Dans un coin de mon pays.”4 You surely recall that one quite well too. It was so lovely.
My love, do you have Lindi?5 I’m a bit unhappy that this is coming at a rough time for you. It is very important for me to feel that you feel totally safe and secure and that you are standing by me with your thoughts and prayers from your mighty fortress.6 The best part in that regard is the thorough preparation and the three days.7 If I can resolve the contradictions in my earlier statements in a reasonably persuasive manner, and I think that’s possible, thoroughness may afford me the chance I need. From the National Socialist point of view, I’m damnable on the surface and quite damnable in the true depths; but between those layers there is a thin—very thin—one in which I’m acceptable, or marginally acceptable. I think it’s out of the question for Freisler to get down into the true depths; he’ll get no more than a hint of what lies there, but if he does make it there, well, at least I’ll be dying for the right thing. It’s more likely that he only penetrates the surface, and it’s conceivable that I can make him see that the thin intermediate layer is plausible.—Incidentally, one thing is certain: It is better to be hanged by Hitler than to die from a bomb. It is more meaningful.
I hope, my dear, you notice that I am quite reassured. Of course the prospect of my turn coming up in a week from today isn’t a pleasant one, but no one is expecting me to feel that way. The trial is weighing on my mind with immense force, and in my head the difficult, sensitive points keep popping up, the ones that Freisler is sure to pick apart. In all the days ahead I will be dealing with that constantly, as you’ll notice in my letters as well. But you have to let me do this.
Now good night, my dear, may the Lord watch over you and us. J.
2 Jan 45
My dear, I was just at the doctor’s. He examined my back and determined that it is just the nerves that are causing the neuralgic symptoms. He wants to prescribe additional light baths and write me a doctor’s note stating that I’m unable to stand and will need to sit. That is quite reassuring as far as it goes, but it’s too little to effect a postponement of the trial. Still, you can try to make inroads, and no one can hold that against you; that is undoubtedly one of the privileges of being a wife.—In my view, the question of whether sitting is a clear advantage for me is too close to call. It is much harder to shout at a sitting man, who is better able to dodge the psychological pressure of these kinds of actions, and I can also keep refreshing my memory by glancing at my notes, which can be useful. In short, try to get a postponement, but if you can’t, it’s not so bad.
I’m doing well, my love. I’m quite confident and joyful, and fully aware that things will go according to God’s will. As long as I have no doubts on that score and don’t start to feel dependent on Herr Freisler or the executioner or Herr Müller or Heinrich Himmler, all is well. You have hard work ahead of you this week, my love. May the Lord watch over you and us. J.
1. This letter was accidentally left on Harald Poelchau’s desk in the Tegel prison for one night.
2. See Helmuth’s letter to Freya of January 10–11, 1945, for further detail.
3. On the status of the von Moltke family name in Germany, see the Editors’ Introduction.
4. A 1940 song sung by Jacques Pills.
5. The reference is to menstruation.
6. The word “fortress” is often used to refer to Freya’s body and its dependability.
7. The three days scheduled for the trial.
FREYA TO HELMUTH JAMES, JANUARY 2, 1945
My dear love, I’m writing in bed, because the temperature conditions have deteriorated dramatically at the friends’ house as a result of a lack of coke. Only in the evenings is the temperature bearable, and at night the heating stops again altogether. But this is why I’ve lived here most of the time since my return, and it has been quite delightful. A little bit of freezing can’t hurt. I keep going outdoors and walking to warm up. The friends are taking very good care of me, and I think they find my presence very natural and it doesn’t stand out, you might say. I really hope so.—My love, I got quite a lovely letter from you to launch the new year. Yes, that is how things are, my love. We’re such different people, and yet we’re so united and get to belong to each other so unreservedly. I love you so much, but I can see you with a certain degree of objectivity, and the way you appear to me then, my dearest, odd husband, makes me love you all the more.
Poelchau came to eat at 12, and we had a good lunch in hats and coats during an alarm. Dorothee [Poelchau] cooks well and quickly and full of variety. It was rather strange. When my dress was ready, I went to see Fräulein Schellhase, Dorothee went three-quarters of the way with me and we had very bad luck with public transportation. Sometimes the trip goes splendidly, and other times it takes twice as long. The attack the day before yesterday created minor disruptions everywhere. Today I’ll see about Husen, have lunch with Henssel, and go to see Dix at 4:30. I’ve already prepared almost everything I’ll need. I just have to type the written plea for Hercher.1 I think that Hercher will always be tough to influence. He does only what he wants. Old people are obstinate, no matter how willing they actually are. I won’t get to Steltzer until Thursday morning. I’ll speak to Haus today.—Meanwhile, the
[The rest of the letter appears to be lost.]
1. This refers to a supplement to Helmuth’s written defense.
FREYA TO HELMUTH JAMES, JANUARY 2, 1945
Tuesday evening
My Jäm, my dear love, my husband, and again my Jäm, my dearest, I have to write you all these names with joy, with gratitude and happiness, and with tender love, because I can’t write you many letters by Monday, my sweet, my beloved heart. In spite of everything, I can’t yet comprehend the possibility that today is Tuesday and you could already be dead in one week. I quite plainly don’t believe that this will happen. That has nothing to do with hoping, nor does it signal preparedness (or rather, a lack thereof); I don’t believe that they will kill you right away, even if they sentence you to death. Apart from that, I feel that it’s now coming, that we now have to be prepared, that we now have to rely on all that the past few months have given us. I know, my love, what my part will be. I’ll tell you again what you already know, that I will stay at home on both days, alone. You told me that I ought to be in a deep state of calm: may I be helped to do so by God, to whom I will pray for you. In the evenings I’ll go to the friends, but I’ll hardly be able to sleep there, because I can’t have Brigitte [Gerstenmaier] traveling home alone on those days. But that is immaterial, and also depends on the verdict.
It’s now 11, and the friends are already in bed and Brigitte went home. Poelchau seems to have left today’s letter on his desk and will pick it up tomorrow, so tomorrow you’ll get this little letter.
Now I want to write only about some concrete issues, the most important being Dix.
The discussion ended with Dix’s urgent, determined, detailed warning to you not to be too complicated. Just don’t raise any formal legal questions, or any issues of jurisprudence, or anything too intellectual! Don’t rub the fact that you’re a complex person in their faces, my dear love. It will be hard for you, but you have to make an effort. Yes, that was Dix.
You’re already sleeping, my dear love, and I will be sleeping soon too, at which point I’ll be close to you and in sleep united with you. I’m sending you a tender embrace! You know whose I am and whose I will remain.
HELMUTH JAMES TO FREYA, JANUARY 2, 1945
Tegel, 2 Jan 45
My dear, I’ve just read your letter again at the beginning of the evening; it stayed here because the orderly came to get me “for the light bath.” The remaining evenings are few now. Apart from today, there will be at most three more on which I will be able to put my conversation with you down on paper, and then begins the tightrope walk that is likely to culminate on the gallows in Plötzensee.
Sometimes I think about the fate of our long written conversations, and whether you and the little sons will find them worth reading after ten, twenty, or more years. They originated in a situation that most likely has rarely been captured in writing, because normally the contact winds up being ruptured or monitored. When this time is over, when true peace has been restored, what will people say about these kinds of reflections? Will they be understood? Will it be believed that these were extreme situations that made people hysterical, will people be able to grasp the notion that a human being, this curious animal, can grow accustomed even to being executed? I know that I didn’t understand when I first met Poelchau how he could stand to accompany many people to the scaffold, week after week. And now it no longer surprises me.
So, now I can come to the events of my day. (Right, another thing: Tomorrow we’ll begin with 1 Corinthians, won’t we?) The orderly, a guard named Mittelstädt, came to get me at 11 o’clock “for the light bath.” The doctor was away at the moment, and we went to the custody prison. Mittelstädt sat down on the doctor’s chair, invited me to have a seat, and then it started up: Why did the July 20th attempt have no follow-up, and wasn’t something new going to be formed soon, and the war was lost anyway, and it was crucial to realize that immediately and act accordingly, and the speech1 had been outrageous, not a word for the dead, and only the nation is suffering, but the gentlemen up there, they didn’t notice anything, well, if that were to change, there would be quite a rude awakening, and the fact that the old families had taken such a stand would not be forgotten, but the medical health officer hates us and thinks nothing is bad enough for us, and he doesn’t care in the slightest if I have something worse than neuralgia, he wouldn’t think of offering any real help, and Budapest2 and the air strikes and the many executions, etc. He told me that of course he could not say a word to the medical officer, and there are several 100-percenters3 among the guards as well, but most of them think the way he does. By 11:45, he had poured his heart out, and graciously returned me to the cell, letting me know he would come to get me after the meal for the light bath.
When he got me, he said he had grown tobacco but didn’t know how to ferment it, so I told him you could give him advice, and he should have Herr Gissel let him know when you’re here again. Then we headed to the sick bay.
There I was looked after by a trusty working as a health-care aide, who spoke to me in the same vein as Herr Mittelstädt and praised him to the skies too. He said, “Here we’re all of one mind; we just have to make sure that the medical health officer doesn’t notice.” I have to say that I have hardly ever witnessed such open, albeit self-interested, hostility, and I get the impression that the sick bay is a little collection of enemies of the state who, under the protection of the unsuspecting medical officer, feel quite safe and secure. It doesn’t appear to be difficult to trick him, and as long as that works, everything will be fine.
It was also nice that Herr Mittelstädt was disappointed to learn that I was insufficiently subversive: “Well, of course you now have to embellish your case, but if you pull through, maybe we can talk about it again.” Another lovely remark: “When the tide turns, there will be a massacre; there won’t even be anyone of the Brown- and Blackshirts4 left to mourn their pals. Do you believe that?”—He was saying all this to a man who may have been wearing an identification tag associating him with July 20th—which for Herr Mittelstädt was tantamount to a medal—but whom, before he got started, he had known all of ten minutes.
I see the days dwindling away. In one week, at this time, I could already be dead. W
hether Friday evening is still nice depends on whether Poelchau comes again on Saturday. But I’m not the least bit melancholy about it; I just note that this is the way things are. We have had our full measure of grace; we may pray for more, yet know how to be content if our prayer is not answered. If I die now, I’ll die with the feeling that my house is in good order, because the heart of my Pim is well equipped, because I am certain I’ll be able to continue to stand by her, because I have been able to bid farewell to everyone and everything, because I have completed all the tasks that have been assigned to me thus far. Should God wish to have me carry out a new task, I will accept it with gratitude, but I am not departing with a feeling of having left things unfinished. Somehow I am finished, at least in one chapter. I am very glad that you will not need to grapple with material difficulties, because I also believe that you would somehow be able to deal with them.—But if you should decide to remain in Kreisau, you will have to use all your might to try to stick to this decision and not to let either friend or foe drive you away. Together, Romai [Reichwein] and you would surely be quite a protective force.
So, my love, another evening has come to an end. Now there are three more at most.5 Farewell, my love. May the Lord watch over you and us. J.
1. This presumably refers to Hitler’s New Year’s speech.
2. Apparent reference to the Siege of Budapest, in which the Red Army encircled the city on December 25, 1944.
3. Guards who believed strongly in the Nazis in contrast to their colleagues.
4. Another way of saying “Nazi Party loyalists.”
5. Helmuth is counting the evenings before the expected transfer to Gestapo headquarters on Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse.
FREYA TO HELMUTH JAMES, JANUARY 3, 1945
Wednesday evening
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