The girl who could not love. Or be loved.
January 1940.
Buckle up. The 28-month long Sophie Scholl roller coaster begins here.
Fritz Hartnagel had done as Sophie requested and postponed his application for furlough until February. He did not bother inquiring why she had not invited him to join her and her siblings over New Years. Fritz had learned not to ask questions.
His mind, however, was consumed by thoughts of their February ski trip. He needed a commitment from Sophie. Rumors of peace were giving way to rumbles of war, perhaps as early as the end of February. Any postponement would run the risk of jeopardizing the entire trip.
And he needed to know her preferences. A lieutenant in his squad was well-connected with the German Alpine Association and could book them whatever hut they wanted, if it were available. Time was of the essence!
Sophie’s apologetic letter arrived on January 4. After impatiently listening to his C.O. finish his orders for the day, and even more impatiently accompanying the C.O. on an afternoon drive, he was finally able to read it in peace and quiet.
Fritz was disappointed that his Christmas present for her had taken so long to get to Ulm. He had violated Army regulations and sent the package by regular mail (not Army post), assuming it would reach her faster.
With Fritz’s January 1 letter in hand, confirming receipt of all packages and letters, Sophie addressed the issue of their ski trip. She was already beginning to waffle. Maybe they could go between February 16 and March 1, because there supposedly would be a break between written and oral exams. She should be able to let him know soon. But perhaps he should just take his vacation now and spend the time in Ulm, since there were rumors that war would begin in earnest in March.
Sophie then itemized all their Christmas presents as Fritz had requested. And it is clear that the Scholls had a great deal of discretionary income! She received “complete ski gear, that is ski pants, coat, boots,” numerous books, a chest for letters, “and many other useful items,” including sheet music and song books (Händel, Brahms, and Bach). Her father mainly got books, while her mother was given a coat and a hand-embroidered tablecloth. “Inge also got jewelry, fabric, God only knows what all.”
They gave their leftover sweets and Christmas tree baked goods to the Geyer family, while Wilhelm Geyer presented them with an original painting. His children sang carols for the Scholl family.
And back to the ski trip, should they truly decide to go in February after all: Sophie had permission from her parents to go, but only if Lisl went along as chaperone. For Sophie, the main thing was skiing. (That had to have been a disappointment to Fritz.)
She finally turned to the things he had written her in all those December letters, plus the one from January 1. Why did he think it was good they were separate? She thought it was good too, but she wanted to know why he thought so.
“Perhaps we have already gotten everything from one another, everything we need,” she said, explaining why she thought their separation was good. “No, I believe that if I were to be near you all the time, it would make me weak. I would then forget that I want to be more than just a girl. If I were near you, I would want to be nothing more than a girl, to live today and to cease to be tomorrow. I know that is weakness, and if I were ever to give myself to you, you should know that in that moment I am weak, and no more or no less than the other girls that you and I do not think highly of.”
If she had stopped there, one would almost believe that she was mentally preparing herself for what would eventually become White Rose resistance. That she consciously adopted a celibate, monk-like existence so she could devote herself to matters of great weight and significance.
But her closing paragraph exposed her deep-seated insecurities, her inability to love and be loved—and that affected her relationship with herself and her family, her relationship with God, her relationship with Fritz more than any single factor. She was not building up to political resistance. She was heading towards personal isolation.
At the heart of her on-again-off-again relationship with Fritz lay her fear of giving in to his sexual desires. If she but once gave him what he wanted, she believed he would then no longer desire anything of her. Which would mean that he would no longer have any obligations to fulfill towards her. Not that he had any now, mind you!
“Perhaps it would even unburden you when”—not if, but when—“you are free of me, because sometimes I fear that I cannot give you that which is your due, or that which you desire. Perhaps it is only my imagination, but sometimes I believe that another girl would be more devoted to you than I.”
All of that being said, she begged him to please keep writing her. Often!
Once again, mail made it from Ulm to Düsseldorf almost overnight. Fritz responded post haste. On January 10, he agonized over what to write her, how to put on paper words that he felt he could only speak.
As to why he thought their separation was good, it was not at all for the same reasons she articulated. He deemed it beneficial because it gave them room to ensure that the “intoxication” of being together would stand the test of time. But he did not find it liberating, as she claimed it could be. Cathartic maybe, but not liberating.
Her January 5 letter confused him deeply. Why was she talking about weakness? Why did she think he had to have anything specific from her (or he would abandon her if she did not)? When had he ever placed demands on her? And if she meant everything she had said in her letter, then why prolong the agony? Why should they continue to write, and why should she want to hear what he was doing?
Fritz wisely deduced that Sophie was not telling him everything, that there was more going on than she would admit to him. “But perhaps I already know everything and simply do not wish to understand it. Please forgive me.” As usual, and as would be the case for the next four years, Fritz blamed himself for Sophie’s insecurities and low self-esteem.
Fritz had had to end his January 10 letter too quickly, since mail was going out. He had not had time to tell Sophie everything that was on his heart. He continued his letter—which was little more than a plea for her to change her mind and not walk away from him—on January 12.
Let us be merciful…
He swore to her that he wanted but little from her: He wished to sit next to her, to hold her hand, to lean his head on her shoulder, and to share in her thoughts, joys, and sorrows. And he wished that she wanted the same from him. He quoted her favorite poet (Hausmann): “Let us, no matter how good it is, no matter how bad it is all around us, let us be merciful to one another.” This would become Fritz’s mantra over the years to come. Watch for it.
Was the ski trip still on, he asked? He did not mind Lisl’s company. On the contrary, she would add joy to the journey. But Sophie needed to give him an exact date, and the sooner the better. He would put off his vacation request as long as possible. “I would rather completely forego my vacation than forego skiing with you.”
If she could quickly let him know her preferences, he would book the ski hut, especially whether she thought they should do their own cooking and be responsible for their own firewood. “I know that you have a lot of studying and little time to write, but can you understand that more than ever I would like to receive more than a couple of lines from you?”
Having been burned with her Advent letter, Sophie mailed Fritz’s birthday present two weeks ahead of time. On January 13, she told him how he was supposed to spend his February 4 birthday—outdoors, and buying himself some flowers, and throwing a party for himself alone—before acknowledging his January 10 letter.
It bothered her to have him write so frankly in response to her frank letter. “I cannot and would not like to write anything about it right now.” It was only important that he was still looking forward to the ski trip.
When she received his January 12 letter, she responded to it nearly immediately (on January 15). She referred to her “Leonberg” letter dated August 15, 1938, the first time that Sophie’s emotional yo-yo had become visible. Her January 15, 1940 letter was another such rollercoaster milestone.
This time, however, she permitted the tiniest of glimpses into her inner self, into the anxious young woman who badly needed help.
Fear to love and be loved
Sophie admitted that many times since the Leonberg letter, she had come close to fully breaking things off with Fritz. It was only her fear that kept from her doing so. “I was afraid of the emptiness that would follow. I was afraid to release warmth, which it would have meant for me. I was afraid also of you, because it was my fault that it ever got that far. I still am afraid.”
For all of Sophie’s bravado about her wonderful family, and all the care that Inge took after the war to describe them as picture perfect, the real picture is anything but perfect. It becomes easier to understand why Sophie would confess to Otl Aicher in less than a year that she hated her family, that she seriously contemplated suicide. All of that is hidden beneath Sophie’s superficial description of her fears when trying to explain their nonexistent relationship to Fritz Hartnagel.
“I believe you yourself do not know what I have withheld from you,” she wrote, confirming his suspicions. “I also do not believe that you can and wish to understand. Perhaps only when you get to know another girl. You understand, I have never liked”—not loved, just liked—“anyone as much as you, except (and this is probably expressed badly) for myself. I cannot give up myself for you.”
She insisted that she took more from Fritz than she gave him and feared—there was that word again—that one day he would realize this and be disappointed. “I would like to avoid that.”
And as to why she wanted him to keep writing, well, she wanted clarity between them and “it’s not necessary for us to become strangers for that to happen. Perhaps there would not be so much fear between us—fear that I always have—fear that I will awaken and nurture something in you that must later be destroyed.”
Sophie saw no reason why any of the above should preclude him from sitting next to her, holding her hand, or laying his head upon her shoulder.
Fritz received Sophie’s birthday present and the January 5 letter, but not her January 15 correspondence, when he sat down to answer her on January 20. He was in high spirits, believing that her unwillingness to reply to his melancholy “why” questions reflected great wisdom on her part. “As a girl, you once against instinctively reacted correctly. Let us remain that which we can be, what I mean to you, and you to me, dear Sofie.”
Believing that what they meant to one another was still something he would enjoy, Fritz allowed his good mood—two letters and a package in the day’s mail!—to bubble over to his note. He would do exactly as she said on his birthday, he said. “You are right—when one has the skies overhead and trees all around, everything is much freer and happier.” Although he could hardly stand the thought that he was turning twenty-three “and will count as an adult.”
Things had become more restricted for them as soldiers in Düsseldorf, he said. Many of the city’s bars, movie theaters, and cabarets were now off limits for them, so “going out” required taking along a list to ensure they did not violate regulations. It was easier not to go out, Fritz told her. So he ended up spending way too much time in the “casino.”
They had acquired a piano for that establishment, which brightened his days. He loved to go there alone to play for no audience whatever. His friend Lt. Pfeiffer had surprised him on one occasion by interrupting Fritz’s concert for an empty house so he could sing along with him. Doubly nice when Fritz discovered that the other lieutenant had also been in bündische youth (one usually did not say such things out loud) and knew some of the forbidden songs.
Pfeiffer’s friendship meant a lot to Fritz, because he could talk to him about substantial topics. When Pfeiffer got into a large group, he assumed a persona Fritz disliked—becoming arrogant and a braggart, forcing Fritz to respond cynically—but in private, he was a decent fellow. “With the other lieutenants, I cannot get past a superficially comradely relationship, since they all have other interests.”
Still on a high from Sophie’s January 5 letter, still not having received the correspondence from ten days later, Fritz penned another note to the love of his life on January 21. He had gotten to sleep late since it was Sunday, and that reminded him that when they went skiing, he would let her sleep as late as she liked. “And if I know you, you are surely amenable to that.”
It had been a great day for him, and he wanted to share it with her. He’d attended an ice skating exhibition, which he had thoroughly enjoyed, although it was outdoors and he froze to death.
That had been followed by a concert consisting of three of Bach’s Brandenburg concertos. “I like this music a lot,” he said. “It is so clear and simple, not problematic, and yet far above all earthly things.” That reminded him that he wanted to hear her play Bach on the piano next time he was in Ulm.
And then . . . He received her January 15 letter. On a less-happy Sunday, January 28, he sat for hours unable to respond, not knowing what he should say to her. On the one hand, he was glad she had been honest with him. “Even though it was very hard for me and I sensed a vast emptiness all around me, nevertheless I am happy for clarity. It is what I wished for, just as you do. Actually, I should have known all this long ago. You said as much in your letter from Leonberg and repeated it again last summer in Heiligenhafen.” Giving us our first indication that Sophie’s reluctance prior to the Worpswede-Heiligenhafen vacation, and her taking Inge (of all people) along, had roots far deeper than previously known.
Fritz admonished her not to speak of “guilt,” not to assign blame to one person or the other. He wished she could overcome her fear, so she could be free and lighthearted. He hoped she was sincere when she wrote that they should sit together and hold hands. “Only, may I also be a little warmth for you? Otherwise I will feel like a beggar.”
They needed to see one another soon, he wrote, not mentioning the ski trip. “Then everything would not be so hard.”
Sophie’s January 31 reply to Fritz’s happy-go-lucky and pained letters provided little more than cold comfort with her mixed messages and unwillingness to let go of a man she wanted to break up with. She told him she wished he were with her right then, because she would have plenty of time to spend with him. It had been so cold that winter, often down to -20 degrees Fahrenheit as the daytime high, that they attended class only two hours a day. She had even taken to skipping school so she could ski with Lisl—without having to go far afield, they had that much snow.
After ditching class, she had taken to bed with a headache and nosebleed, so now she had a great excuse to miss even more school. Halfway through her letter, she had not acknowledged the pain she inflicted on Fritz.
Finally she admitted they needed to talk “about the things that you think I am keeping silent about”—she conveniently forgot that she had confirmed his suspicions—“because they are not unimportant and it would be wrong not to articulate them.” And that was that. Conversation over.
She teased him about his false assumption that she had acted instinctively correctly because she was a girl. For one thing, instinctive was a vague term that men generally applied to women and animals or anything else they could not comprehend. “And well, I did not act instinctively correctly, because I did write you again. Please do not be mad at me.”
While not cancelling their ski trip—she neglected to give him final dates so he could book a ski hut—Sophie strongly urged him to take his vacation immediately and spend the time with his mother. She (Sophie) would be happy too to see him again.
The bolded headings—here, Let us be merciful and Fear to love and be loved—also serve as bookmarks. As I did in this post with Sophie’s Leonberg letter, I can link back to these bookmarks in future posts for your convenience.
Excerpted from White Rose History, Volume I. See below for copyright information. Please contact us for permission to quote.
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The above information is fully documented and footnoted in our White Rose histories. Please purchase them for access to that material! To order digital version of White Rose History, Volume I: Coming Together (January 1933-April 30, 1942), click here. To order digital version of White Rose History, Volume II, click here. WRH1 is © 2002, 2003, 2007 by Denise Elaine Heap. WRH2 is © 2002, 2007 by Denise Elaine Heap.
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