May, 1933
Germany
Ten-year-old Sean Hartmann locked his fingers around Albrecht’s hand. “I don’t feel comfortable with you going to Berlin, Papa. I feel like Herr Hitler is watching you whenever you set foot out of Tubingen.”
“I am not so important, son. No one is wasting time putting binoculars on me, I assure you. But I promise to watch what I say at the university. There will be no politics, no rants, no roars.”
“You roar like a lion at the dinner table.”
“The dinner table is a German man’s pulpit, podium, and lecture hall. But there the roaring stays. What I do at the table, I will not do at the university. Don’t fret. Instead pray and, of course, while I’m away you must take care of your mother and baby sister. Especially your sister. She is almost three and gets into everything. And she wanders off! Angelika will go out the door and walk all the way to Berlin to see the tigers at the zoo if you let her.”
Sean laughed. “I won’t let her, Papa. I’ll watch her like a hawk.”
“That’s my knight. What color is your horse today?”
“Still dapple gray.”
“A good color. Ride well. Make sure the sword is large enough. Nothing less than a two-handed broadsword will do.”
“That’s what I have. Don’t be afraid for your family, Papa.”
A cable arrived for Albrecht as he kissed Catherine and Angelika goodbye. He placed it in his coat pocket and pulled it out to read as the cab darted in and out of traffic on its way to the train station.
ALBRECHT
WHETHER YOU READ THIS OR NOT ONCE YOU SEE IT IS FROM ME I DO NOT KNOW. I IMPLORE YOU TO BE CAREFUL ABOUT WHAT YOU SAY AT HUMBOLDT UNIVERSITY. BERLIN IS BERLIN AND NOW THAT HITLER HAS COMPLETE POWER ARRESTS AND DEPORTATIONS OCCUR DAILY. THIS INCLUDES ACADEMICS SUCH AS YOURSELF. THEY KNOW WHO YOU ARE. THE GESTAPO WILL MOST CERTAINLY ATTEND EACH OF YOUR GUEST LECTURES. DO NOT GIVE THEM ANY EXCUSE TO REPORT YOU. THINK OF YOUR WIFE AND CHILDREN. STAY WITH TOPICS LIKE THE ATTRIBUTES OF GOD AND THE VIRTUES OF THE CHRISTIAN LIFE.
WHETHER YOU BELIEVE IT OR NOT I REMAIN YOUR FRIEND AND GUARDIAN. HEIL HITLER.
GERARD
On the train to Berlin, Albrecht opened a newspaper that summed up and praised the events of the twenty-third of March, the day the Reichstag passed the Enabling Act. It gave Hitler and his Nazi Party broad, sweeping powers. “All for the good,” the paper crowed. “Look at how well off the nation is six weeks after the fact.”
“So Goebbels, minister of propaganda,” murmured Albrecht so other passengers couldn’t hear him, “tell me why dictatorship is better than democracy.”
The article didn’t immediately weigh in on why a strong man at the top was the best form of government. Instead it printed parts of Hitler’s speech on the day the Act was passed and he became absolute ruler of Germany:
By its decision to carry out the political and moral cleansing of our public life, the Government is creating and securing the conditions for a really deep and inner religious life. The advantages for the individual that may be derived from compromises with atheistic organizations do not compare in any way with the consequences that are visible in the destruction of our common religious and ethical values.
My Government will treat all other denominations with objective and impartial justice. It cannot, however, tolerate allowing membership of a certain denomination or of a certain race being used as a release from all common legal obligations, or as a blank check for behavior that is difficult to punish, or for the toleration of crimes.
My Government will be concerned for the sincere cooperation between Church and State.
My struggle against materialistic ideology and for the erection of a true people’s community serves as much the interests of the German nation as of our Christian faith.
The national Government, seeing in Christianity the unshakable foundation of the moral and ethical life of our people, attaches utmost importance to the cultivation and maintenance of the friendliest relations with the Holy See.
The rights of the churches will not be curtailed; their position in relation to the State will not be changed.
Why, Herr Hitler, Albrecht thought as he folded the newspaper and put it away, “you have become a theologian.” He watched the trees and fields and towns slide past. We must meet and write a book together on the German Jesus. What would he look like, I wonder? Would he wear a swastika or a cross?
Albrecht always liked walking up to Humboldt University by crossing the large plaza to its front and taking in the stately buildings and columns and statues. But something had changed. He’d expected to see the Nazi flags with the swastika draped over government buildings around Berlin. He didn’t expect to see them flying from flagstaffs on the university campus. Nor did he expect to see students wearing swastika armbands or faculty members giving one another the stiff-armed Nazi salute. With a tightness in his stomach, he made his way to the office of the head of the Faculty of Theology.
“Dr. Mueller,” Albrecht said as he bowed his head and offered his hand, “it is good to see you again.”
“Ah, Professor Hartmann.” The large man, a head taller than Albrecht and twice as heavy, pushed himself away from his desk and rose to grip Albrecht’s hand. “I’m glad you arrived safely. How are you?”
“I’m very well, Herr Doktor. How is your wife?”
“Splendid. I trust your wife and children are in good health?”
“They are, thank you.” Albrecht set down his briefcase and unwound the red scarf from his neck. “I was surprised to see the university had become so…politicized.”
“Hmm? Oh, you mean the flags. There is a cultural event tonight. Goebbels is giving a talk as well. The student body is quite excited about it. So is the faculty, truth be told.”
“But these are Nazis, Dr. Mueller. They are not in support of free thought or free speech.”
“They are our legal government, professor.”
“Why the armbands? Why the Nazi salute?”
Dr. Mueller smiled. “You have been around students long enough to know how quickly they jump on bandwagons and rally around causes.”
“And their teachers?”
“The salute is Roman in origin. Jacques-Louis David’s Oath of the Horatii inspired it, I suppose, based on what he knew of Ancient Rome. No doubt that is why the Italians are so comfortable with it.”
“Excuse me, Herr Doktor, but few faculty members should be comfortable with that salute. Many of them have read Hitler’s Mein Kampf. You have read it. You told me when it came out that it was the worst thought the German mind could produce.”
Dr. Mueller’s face grew rigid. “I never said that.”
“I have it in a letter.”
“Then I ask you to destroy that letter. I was in error when I wrote it.”
“Dr. Mueller—”
“Professor Hartmann, the Nazi Party is our legal government. Adolph Hitler is our greatly esteemed leader. There will be cultural events at universities across the nation tonight that are inspired by good Nazi ideology and theology. I trust you will linger long enough after your evening lecture to take part in ours. Now, let me escort you to the lecture hall where you will be giving your first talk at the top of the hour. Heil, Hitler!”
“Hitler is a high school dropout, Herr Doktor. He has always despised deeper thought and intellectuals. And his stormtroopers are even worse. How many of them have had a university education? They scorn us.”
“Heil, Hitler!”
Albrecht retorted, “Hail, Caesar!”
“What!”
Albrecht hesitated and then responded in full. “Hail, Caesar, we who are about to die salute you.”
Mueller’s eyes almost spat fire.
Albrecht smiled. “Merely an academic exercise, Herr Doktor. Ave Caesar, morituri te salutamus. Weren’t you just talking to me about Ancient Rome?”
Mueller brushed past Albrecht on his way to the door and into the corridor. He marched ahead of his guest to the lecture hall. When they arrived, Mueller took Albrecht’s arm. Dozens of students were already seated and waiting. Two men in black leather coats sat at the back.
“You see the police are here, Albrecht. The Gestapo,” Mueller warned in a low voice nodding slightly toward the back row of seats. “Be careful what you say, professor, or you will find yourself arrested and taken somewhere far away. We’ve already lost several members of our teaching staff. Play the Nazi game, and you will weather the storm. If you remain ramrod straight and self-righteous, the winds of change will surely break you. I shall meet you for supper. Heil, Hitler.”
“Jewish professors, Herr Doktor? Jewish colleagues? Are they the ones the Nazis have purged from among you?”
“Heil, Hitler.”
“Friends like Mandelbaum in chemistry and Goldstein in physics? And you let them? You did nothing?”
“I say again, ‘Heil, Hitler.’ ”
Albrecht could not resist. “Hail, Mary.”
Mueller stared at him in shock.
Albrecht continued. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.”
Mueller snapped his head away. “We will skip the formal meal with the faculty. You can see yourself out after your last lecture this evening. Don’t expect any visits from the other professors. Associating with you puts us all at risk.” He turned and walked quickly from the room.
A spirit rose in Albrecht he refused to quell. He greeted the students as he arranged his notes at the podium by saying, “You know, I am going to change my lecture altogether. I have a sudden inspiration to forgo my scheduled talk on the historical Jesus and to examine the “Mary Prayer,” which I’m sure you are all well acquainted with. ‘Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.’ ”
He spoke for an hour, took the numerous questions that came his way, bowed when the students applauded, and remained at the podium for the next lecture as the first group of students left and a new class made their way in. He looked toward the back and noticed the police hadn’t moved. Both were still in their seats. The dark-haired one was scribbling rapidly in a black notebook.
His second lecture was on Paul’s letters to the Corinthians, and Albrecht emphasized the chapter on love. The third lecture Albrecht had entitled “The True Cross,” and it centered on the sacrifice of Jesus at Calvary. At the end of the lecture, he compared the broken cross of the swastika with the unbroken cross of Christ. By the time he gave his final talk, it was dark. He lectured on one line from the gospel of John: “He then having received the sop went out immediately. And it was night.”
The police left when the last few students finished speaking with Albrecht. They didn’t look his way or say a word.
The dining hall was deserted and there wasn’t much left to purchase when Albrecht arrived, but he was able to get a hot bowl of cabbage soup, a large portion of rye bread, and a wedge of hard cheese, along with a cup of coffee. Shouts and singing filtered into the hall from outside, and he asked a waiter what was happening.
“A cultural event, sir,” the waiter responded. “You would be most welcome to join in, I’m sure.”
Albrecht finished his meal and went out to the plaza. The first thing he saw was a bonfire in the middle of the large, open space. It was surrounded by thousands of students and stormtroopers singing Nazi marching songs. He spotted Mueller tugging a cartload of books from the direction of the library, laughing with two Gestapo who were helping him—the same men who had taken notes at the lectures. Albrecht thought they were going to set up a display in the plaza. To his horror, once the men reached the bonfire, students grabbed the books and hurled them into the flames. Mueller and the police officers helped them.
“You heard Reich Minister Goebbels!” Mueller shouted. “No to decadence and moral corruption! Yes to decency and morality in family and state!”
The students cheered and then began to chant. Albrecht saw a large microphone from a radio station being adjusted so listeners at home could hear the chant clearly. Trucks pulled up with cargoes of books that the students and professors took up by the armload and threw into the heart of the fire.
“Destroy the un-German spirit!”
“Cleanse the nation! Cleanse the universities! Cleanse our blood!”
Singing erupted again.
We will continue to march,
Even if everything shatters;
Because today Germany hears us,
And tomorrow, the whole World.
And the elders may chide,
So just let them scream and cry,
And if the World decides to fight us,
We will still be the victors.
They don’t want to understand this song,
They think of slavery and war.
Meanwhile our acres ripen,
Flag of freedom, fly!
We will continue to march,
Even if everything shatters;
Freedom arose in Germany,
And tomorrow the world belongs to it.
No sooner had one song finished before professors and students and stormtroopers began to thunder out another.
Germany awake from your nightmare!
Give Jews no place in your Empire!
We will fight for your resurgence!
Aryan blood shall never perish!
All these hypocrites we throw them out!
Judea leave our German house!
If the native soil is clean and pure
We united and happy will be!
To the swastika, devoted are we!
Hail our Leader, Hail Hitler to thee!
Students rushed by Albrecht loaded down with books. He grabbed one of them and shouted, “What are you doing? Think of what is happening here! This is a great university! Do not tear it down in one night!” Volumes spilled from the youth’s arms. Albrecht saw the names Helen Keller, Albert Einstein, and Victor Hugo on the spines.
The youth cursed and punched Albrecht in the face so hard he staggered backwards, clutching his briefcase. Then the student knelt, scooped up the books, and ran towards the fire.
“I will deal with this!” seethed Albrecht. He headed towards the blaze. “Before God, I will stop this!”
A young woman dressed completely in black seized his hand. “Do not fight them, Professor Hartmann. They are wild enough to throw you into the flames along with the books.”
He tried to shake his hand free, but she held it with a grip like iron.
“What are you doing?” Albrecht raged. “Let go of me! I do not fear them!”
“You should fear them. They are many, and you are but one.”
He looked at her gray eyes, blonde hair, and tense face. “I can make them listen.”
“No, you can’t. Not unless you are Goebbels or Himmler or Adolph Hitler himself. You have family, don’t you? A wife and children? Do you want them all to be picked up by the Gestapo? They have already done it to other teachers here in Berlin—and not all of them were Jews.”
She released his hand. He could still feel the pressure from her strong fingers.
“Write us another book instead,” she told him. “You will have to publish and distribute it in secret, but it will eventually find its way into all corners of Germany. People will read it. Fight the Nazis that way…and the professors who have forgotten what they represent.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Stefanie Brecht. Write the book for me, if for no one else.”
She vanished into the dark. He couldn’t tell which way she’d gone. He turned back to the fire. His mind much calmer, he walked towards the sheets of flame. Thousands were singing the Nazi songs now. The plaza was full.
“Our Father which art in heaven,” he prayed under his breath. The winds of the fire sent pages whirling into the night, along with ashes and sparks. One after another flew over Albrecht’s head or landed at his feet. He stopped and picked up several. He recognized names of American writers such as John Dos Passos, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Ernest Hemingway, along with British writers Rudyard Kipling, D.H. Lawrence, and H.G. Wells. There were German writers too—Erich Maria Remarque and his novel All Quiet on the Western Front, Bertolt Brecht and his Threepenny Opera, and the Austrian psychoanalyst Alfred Adler’s Understanding Human Nature. A page from Tolstoy’s War and Peace lay across his shoe.
The man next to Albrecht bent down for a sheet curled from the heat, muttering that he had his hands on a piece of Franz Kafka rubbish. Albrecht made a sudden decision to get away from the plaza. He kept his head down as he passed some SS officers whose eyes glittered like fire stones. A number of charred papers were scattered over a hedge, speared by the sharp points of the pruned branches. He plucked several free that were stuck together and glanced at them as he made his way through the crowds and off the campus.
“Heinrich Heine’s play Almansor,” he said out loud. Reading over the pages one after another in the streaks and flares of light, he dropped each on the pavement once he was finished. Near the bottom of the last page his eyes caught a phrase he went over twice. Three SS men hurried past him towards the bonfire, coming from the direction of a bookstore that had all its windows shattered. The men’s arms were crammed with books. Albrecht’s quick glimpse revealed that several of the volumes were titled Mein Geist. Albrecht saw a photograph of his face on the back cover of one and quickly looked away. He placed the charred sheet from Heine’s 1821 play into his coat pocket. The words he’d noticed ran through his mind like a line of fire as he made his way through traffic and across roadways, getting further and further from the red-and-black flames:
“Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.”
He wanted to remember to tell Catherine about this so he mentally translated the words, “That was only the beginning. Where they burn books, in the end they will burn people.”