Prepping for Russia
The medical students of the Second Student Company in Munich entered Summer 1942 unaware they would soon be on the Russian front. Yet everything they did readied them for the horrors they'd soon see.
Willi Graf may have left the Russian front in April 1942, but he could not shake the nightmares. He would go for a walk in Munich’s English Gardens, yet where others saw flowers and trees and happy people out for a Sunday stroll, he could only see “his” village burning.
Worse yet, the friends in Munich he’d thought would understand? They ignored his words. His first week “home,” he couldn’t have felt more lost. Willi tried to spend time with Fritz Leist and Emil Martin in their small room on Siegfriedstraβe. But this residence that had enveloped him with so much love and affection before he went to Russia now felt empty. Fritz and Emil liked to talk religion, as they always had, but they did not wish to hear about the things that Willi Graf had witnessed. When he went there, looking for a place to unburden himself, he was rebuffed.
That first Sunday home, he told his diary that he felt “superfluous” among his old friends. “Why do I keep going back?” he wrote. “Nevertheless, I keep being drawn back there.” He felt like he’d never find anyone who understood.
Susanne Hirzel’s younger brother Peter served on the Russian front even as Willi was back in Munich to study medicine. Peter kept his family apprised of conditions, fueling Susanne and Hans Hirzel’s sense that Germany was in the wrong.
Peter had wintered in foxholes on the front. Conditions did not improve once spring spread across the land. As flowers bloomed, Peter understood that he and his comrades were fighting a “war of conquest,” one that had no basis in justice. He further understood that his country had all but lost the war. He told his family that he and his buddies quietly wished that Germany would agree to a cease-fire before the USSR conquered them, even while recognizing that Allied forces would never agree to such a cease-fire.
Fritz Hartnagel would also soon return to the Russian front, this time in charge of a signal corps unit, not second in command. His new position granted him a bit more time to see Sophie Scholl before he boarded the train headed East.
He was distraught when he celebrated Sophie’s birthday with her in Munich a week early on May 2, 1942. Sophie still did not have a room in town, so she stayed with Carl Muth at his home in Solln. She had just arrived the day before, was not even properly settled in.
Instead of being pleased to see Fritz, she presented him with a piece of paper. It was a military requisition form, already completed. For a duplicating machine. She only needed his signature and company seal.
They argued, Fritz demanding to know why she needed a duplicating machine. She lied (badly) and said it was for Windlicht, their little newsletter with circulation of eight. He pressed her, knowing that a duplicating machine was unnecessary for that project, which they had abandoned anyway. Sophie finally admitted that she wanted a duplicating machine because “they” planned to distribute leaflets. Fritz didn’t want to know anything else and refused.
He explained that although he commanded his unit, he was not authorized to use the purchase order stamp. Only his company sergeant could do so. That would mean that an outsider would know what he had ordered, and everything would be traced back to him if… “At the time, I was not ready for that,” Fritz Hartnagel said in April 1995.
Fritz said he often thought of that May 2, 1942, that balmy Saturday following the freakishly snowy Friday. “When I think back to that day, I sometimes think it is possible that everything, but especially the leaflets, was completely Sophie’s idea.”
When Sophie failed in that quest, she then pleaded with Fritz to give her 1,000 Marks ($8,000). She refused to say it would not be used for a duplicating machine. Fritz relented somewhat and gave Sophie 200 Marks ‘to use as she wished.’
Fritz Hartnagel left Munich that day, convinced he would never see Sophie again. He believed that he would die on the Russian front.
Fritz Hartnagel had one more too-short day with Sophie in Munich. It must have been another unpleasant day, like the ones they’d had in Freiburg a few months before. Fritz always had to tiptoe around Sophie. May 20 (or 21) surely was another of those days. It earned the barest of mentions in their correspondence.
Four days later, Hans and Sophie joined the rest of the Scholl family for their traditional Pentecost get-together. Even youngest sibling Werner was there, with the grim news that he was headed to the Russian front. One last weekend with family in Ulm. One last hike to Geislingen for all four siblings. One last time for Sophie to remember why it was so hard to be around Inge, why their dysfunctional family meant so much. Now the Scholls worried about two “sons” headed to the Russian front. They could not be sure they would ever see Fritz or Werner again.
The same weekend, Willi Graf used a letter from a friend still on the Russian front to analyze and digest the things he had witnessed in Poland, Belarus, and the USSR. His translated those jumbled thoughts into a letter for Marita Herfeldt, a Russian scholar and close friend in Bonn. Since he still had no one in Munich he could talk to, his “conversation” with Marita documented his thoughts.
Marita had told him he was too “sensitive” about Fritz and Emil’s lack of interest in his experiences. Willi acknowledged that her assessment was correct, but argued that he had been forced to become more “sensitive” in order to cope with the “horrid memories” he could not escape. He explained that his recent case of thin skin was accompanied by an indestructibility he had had to cultivate – that was the only thing that allowed him to endure some of the images he was dealing with, memories of atrocities that haunted him.
Marita had also expressed concern that Willi was succumbing to resignation. He confirmed her suspicions. This was a point he urgently needed to discuss with someone, and she had given him the perfect opening.
He laid out the two sides of his Russian experience: The beauty and wonder of people and country on the one hand, those inescapable memories on the other. It was a “comfortless land that nevertheless can ensnare one.” Add an altered Germany into the mix, a Germany where he no longer belonged, and (he told her) he was confused. He explained it by comparing it to the way children mature. When a person is around them all the time, the metamorphosis is imperceptible. Go away for a while, and the change astounds. He found himself unable to cite specifics that bothered him.
And – more important yet – he knew that he had changed. Her letter had forced him to look inside himself, to concede that he was not fighting changes in the city landscape or in attitudes within the Second Student Company. Rather, he recognized that all the things he had seen and heard and stumbled upon – good and bad – had made him a different person.
Meanwhile, the student-soldiers of the Second Student Company, plus Christoph Probst, Sophie Scholl, Traute Lafrenz, and Katharina Schüddekopf, lived life aware of rumored atrocities committed in the name of the German people, yet with no firsthand accounts of actual events. Once Willi Graf joined the circle in early June 1942, that changed.
Not only did Willi finally land in a place where his words hit their mark, but he also joined a circle that valued literature, faith (even though none but Katharina shared his religious beliefs), and ethics. When he told them of the barbarism he had seen with his own eyes, these people did not hide behind Bible verses or liturgical prayers. No! They got it!
When Willi sparred with Christl at Master Knapen’s, it was far more than great fencing that motivated him. Christl’s insights moved Willi out of his comfort zone, made him think. And Willi and Alex! How quickly that friendship blossomed! If anyone understood Willi’s newfound love for Russia, it would be Alex. Willi was inspired to start learning the Russian language. To be able to read Dostoevsky in the original!
Willi even liked Hans Scholl, sort of. Their initial conversation was long and enjoyable. But Willi apparently exercised caution in his dealings with Hans. Still, Hans was better than Fritz and Emil, because he listened to Willi’s nightmares about life on the Russian front.
June and early July 1942 – for six short weeks these friends had no idea that the medical students of the Second Student Company would be sent to the Russian front before summer’s end. And yet everything they did prepared them for the morning of July 23, 1942.
If Sophie’s letters to Fritz had been opaque in the past, she all but shut him out after Pentecost 1942. Not only could she not tell him about their leaflet operation, she blocked him from knowing about the conversations they had or the people they associated with. No mention that the camping trip to Passau was with Hans and Alex, or that the Wieskirche excursion assuredly included Hans, Alex, and Christl (as it was Christoph Probst’s favorite sanctuary), or that evening hours spent around the samovar almost always incorporated Alex – Schurik! – and probably Christl too.
That summer, Sophie’s schoolgirl – and unrequited – crush – on Alexander Schmorell never made it onto the pages of her letters to Fritz Hartnagel. Fritz would never again receive letters from her that spoke happily and candidly about the fun things she did.
By mid-July, the last of the leaflets had been mimeographed and mailed. (It’s unclear whether they knew that would be the last leaflet of the summer.) July 14, Willi Graf had allowed himself to absolutely, irrevocably fall in love. Maybe the upcoming wedding of his sister Mathilde had gotten under his skin. Whatever the reason, after a few perfunctory visits (and class?) during the day, Willi stayed up late into the early morning hours writing a letter to Marianne Thoeren, his best girl. It is entirely possible that that night’s letter was supposed to have been his ultimate declaration of love, because his diary entry said he wrote “the” letter to Marianne, not “a” letter as was usually the case.
The next morning, a rainy Wednesday, the medical students of the Second Student Company were hit with the worst news possible. Their Famulatur or medical internship (clinical rotation) would not be served in local hospitals as in years past. Instead, they were being shipped… to the Russian front.
The students were not told exactly when they would be leaving, only that it would be soon. Willi’s diary records anxiety over the uncertainty – but not over the return to Russia. The military was not giving them enough time to find storage for their “things” – almost all students maintained a private Bude or room. Especially those in the White Rose circle of friends could not afford the risk of leaving their banned books and ‘treasonous’ correspondence unsecured during their absence.
That same week, Sophie received a puzzling, unflattering letter from Fritz. “It is so odd and comforting when I can turn to you. It’s like a clear, starry night over a village destroyed by gunfire.”
He likely meant it as a compliment, but few beloveds would appreciate the comparison to a starry night over a village destroyed by gunfire. Sophie ignored the comment.
Before long, their C.O. advised the medical students of the Second Student Company that they would be leaving for the Russian front on July 22. One week.
Focus shifted to shutting down operations, final conversations, and laying groundwork for their engagement when the tour of duty in Russia was behind them. They included Willi in the July 16 reading of Claudel’s Satin Slipper, an event he savored even as he tried to adapt to blunt speech in open company. [We] talked long into the night. I sensed once again that I am unaccustomed to such things. It will take a while before I feel at home in such situations.
The group had grown by more than Willi that evening. Otmar Hammerstein joined them too. Hans Scholl may have seen Claudel’s play as “the greatest occurrence [Ereignis] of modern European literature,” but to someone like Willi who had been intensely involved with Renouveau Catholique since he was a teenager, Claudel’s work held deep theological significance. If Christl was present that night (and he likely was), Willi would have been doubly pleased, as Christl’s father-in-law Harald Dohrn was an expert on Claudel, having staged a production of one of his plays at the theater Dohrn had managed in Hellerau.
Alex’s brother Erich Schmorell underscored the importance of including Christl in the “genesis” of the leaflets. He noted that any time Christl was in Munich, he spent it with Alex (and Hans), staying informed and part of the work. Erich Schmorell insisted that White Rose histories restore Christl to his rightful place among the friends, no longer relegating him to the background.
A letter from Christoph Probst to his half-brother Dieter Sasse on July 16, 1942 demonstrates both points – that Christl was an integral part of the circle of friends in Munich (and their work), and that he was happier away from that stress.
He had sent his younger brother a copy of the Berdyaev book he had recommended to Angelika. Dieter had responded positively, telling Christoph that the book meant a great deal to him. In his reply, Christoph mused that in those days, people seemed to get concerned over inconsequential matters. “Everything seems important to them – only the most important question, namely the meaning of life, is not! Sad irony.”
Christl’s cheeriest words that July 16 were reserved for the description of the previous Sunday in Zell. The entire Probst family had gone berry picking.
Imagine Mischa looking for berries. A nimble little point in the region. He enthusiastically clambered over all the tree stumps and now and then brought us a half-eaten berry. “One,” he would say, and throw it into the bucket, and then he would take out a handful to nibble on.
When he couldn’t find any berries, he would shout, “Huhu, come here little raspberries!” As if all the berries would come directly to him, the center of the universe – which he rightly felt himself to be. It was too funny.
Vincent has turned into a precious little boy. He is now much stronger, always merry and sunny. I delight in spending time with him. One never gets tired of doing so. Herta is doing well. She also takes a lot of joy in her little rascals.
Nevertheless, it always came back to Munich, and the work they had undertaken. The circle of friends planned to spend their final weekend together with Christl’s family in Zell. The Russian front loomed for everyone but him.
July 17, Willi Graf could not stop thinking about his elder sister’s upcoming wedding. She would exchange vows on the same day he was scheduled to leave for the Russian front. Should he make a whirlwind trip to Saarbrücken to say goodbye and wish her well? Spontaneity was not in Willi Graf’s genes. It took him a full day to decide to be spontaneous.
But on July 18, he left for home. The pull was too great. Besides, too many comrades were not returning from the Russian front.
He barely had twenty-four hours with his family, with those parents who adhered to NSDAP ideology, with two sisters who refused to rock the boat. Family he did not understand. Family who did not understand him. But family.
While Willi enjoyed a too-short day with family, the rest of the White Rose circle said a proper good-bye to Christl. Alex, Hans, Sophie, and most likely Traute – were invited to spend the day with the Probst family in Zell. They recognized the possibility that this could be a final farewell, the last time they could be together. Christl later told his brother Dieter that Alex and Hans already knew they would be sent to a field hospital on the Russian front. He could only assume he would still be assigned to Munich.
The evening of July 19, Ossy Baez and Mathilde Graf walked Willi to the train station. Headed back to Munich, Willi now faced the unknown, undistracted by worries of where he would live when he returned from Russia.
On the overnight train to Munich, Willi tackled a book that seems odd for him: Richard Benz’s Lösung und Bindung: Probleme der Kulturen (Unraveling and Binding Up: The Problems of the Cultures). Perhaps it was assigned reading for a course he was taking. It does not fit his usual reading list. Benz was one of those Nazi philosophers who swathed his vitriol in beautiful language.
For example, Richard Benz argued that the measures taken against Jewish Germans were not their (Jewish Germans’) fault. Rather, Germans now had to act so harshly because they (the Germans) had failed in their duties in prior decades by not assuming leadership roles in academia and the sciences. Now therefore when Germany sought to give Germany back to the Germans, the actions necessitated hurt the Jews, but Germans bore the ultimate blame for having to take those steps in the first place.
Benz’s book would have been unsettling under normal conditions, but mere days before leaving for the Russian front, the effect had to have been profound. Willi said it was hard to get his bearings back in Munich. After slogging through the rain to the barracks, the medical students of the Second Student Company learned they would not be leaving until Thursday, July 23.
Perhaps due to the long night on the train, perhaps due to Benz’s sophisticated Nazi words, perhaps due to the surprising realization that he was sorry he could not be there for Mathilde’s wedding, perhaps due to a combination of all these things – Willi’s Monday seemed to move in slow motion. I participate, but only against my will.
He compensated by spending the evening with Adalbert Grundel. Even with Bertl’s mother in the room, the two young men managed to talk about “things that moved” them. Mrs. Grundel must have agreed with her son’s assessment of matters, because Willi did not note that they had to speak obliquely. It was late when Willi went home. Bertl and Hubert Furtwängler – two of those Black Forest friends who made life bearable.
One happy result of the late-night conversation: Bertl agreed to store Willi’s books while he was in Russia. Tuesday July 21, Willi carried his treasures to Adalbert’s room, later visiting with those Catholic friends who understood his faith, but refused to hear his nightmares. Tonight, he had to say good-bye, an act he found uncommonly difficult. The leave-taking was made even more awkward because of Willi’s rational rejection of the requisite clinical rotation on the Russian front.
Hans Scholl and Alexander Schmorell likewise prepared for their imminent exodus, though not nearly as thoroughly as Willi. The beehive of activity prevented Hans from thinking through their next phase of operations.
To their credit, Hans and Alex removed most traces of their leaflet activity before leaving Munich. But not all. Hans took the Greif duplicating machine back to the store from which they had purchased it, and received 15 or 20 Marks ($120-160) for the machine. Alex gave the Remington typewriter back to his unsuspecting neighbor. The return of the duplicating machine likely confirmed Hans Scholl’s later statement that they doubted the White Rose leaflets were the right way to proceed.
Russia had many faces. Depending on one’s particular military engagement and state of mind, Russia could be perceived so differently that a person had to wonder how such diverse experiences were possible.
Peter Hirzel (Hans Hirzel’s older brother) later reported that after the fall of Rostov as his tank division traveled south to the Caucasus Mountains to join the oilfield wars, they were astounded that many Georgians voluntarily joined their unit. “Stalin no good, Hitler no good, you and me home to Mama,” one such defector told Peter in broken German.
“Russia” was something Wilhelm Geyer could not bring himself to talk about. Likely out of revenge for his loud anti-Nazi sentiments, the Wehrmacht had drafted him – a forty-two-year-old man with a large family! – and sent him to the Russian front. He served as a sharpshooter. Later during his interrogations when that service would have stood him well, he simply wouldn’t speak about it.
Wilhelm Geyer was there, Peter Hirzel was there, many of Willi Graf’s close friends were there, there on the Russian front, as the medical students of the Second Student Company prepared to leave Munich. For the unknown. For a place they thought they knew, thanks to Willi’s horror stories, Alex’s Russian friends, and hushed rumors from others who made it home safely.
Safely – but scarred.
For Shoah scholars reading this, a few notes:
This post is an excerpted summary of the first nine chapters of White Rose History, Volume II. There’s much more information about their activities from May 1, 1942 through July 22, 1942 in that volume.
If all you know of White Rose is Scholl-centric, the part about Fritz’s visit with Sophie in Munich on May 2, 1942 may come as a surprise. When we interviewed them in April 1995, both Fritz and Elisabeth Hartnagel expressed deep anger at Inge Scholl for refusing to correct her White Rose books. They said they had fought quietly, behind the scenes, with Inge since the 1950s, but she simply would not listen. What angered them: They were there, Inge was not. But she had an agenda, and she would not stray from it. Elisabeth later would repeat their statements in subsequent interviews.
Please keep context in mind when thinking about White Rose or other resistance. These friends did not exist in a vacuum. There were many people around them, some trustworthy, many more not. They were there when Hitler and Goebbels visited Munich for the annual art exhibit in July 1942. They were there when the Freikorps monument was dedicated. They were there when the former popular anti-Nazi magazine Simplicissimus aligned and began mocking anti-Nazis. I try to preserve context, as should our readers and fellow scholars.
This post © 2023. Parts excerpted from White Rose History, Volume II © 2002, 2005, 2007. Please contact us for permission to quote.