German Students' War Letters

INTRODUCTION

THE Letters contained in this volume have been selected from a larger collection published early in the present year by Professor Philipp Witkop of Freiburg-in-Baden, who had himself a choice of about 20,000 placed at his disposal by relatives and friends of the fallen, through the German Ministry of Education.

In his Foreword to the German edition Professor Witkop points out that already, only ten years after the end of the World War, the remembrance of those who made the Supreme Sacrifice is in danger of growing dim and of being soon confined to mere memorials in bronze and stone. As an antidote to this tendency to oblivion and as a reminder of the objects for which these young lives were offered up, Professor Witkop published the Letters.

The impression made upon the readers to whom they are now presented may be slightly different but perhaps even more desirable. Many English people have been accustomed to think of the German army as a horde, if not of actual barbarians, yet of primitive, unreasoning automatons, blindly obeying the orders of slave-drivers with whips and revolvers. Conscription did of course exist in pre-war Germany, but the better educated were able, by passing an examination, to reduce the period of service from three years to one, while students were often allowed to defer even this short period until after the completion of their University course. Thus many of those who volunteered during the War had altogether escaped the brutalizing influence of the ‘blood and iron’ militarism which prevailed under the old system. To this category the writers of these letters belong. They are all young University men, studying for every variety of profession—philosophy, theology, medicine, law, engineering, and so on. Thoughtful, poetic, romantic, religious youths for the most part, they hate war in itself and shrink from the bloodshed, the dirt, the terror and the privations; yet to not one of them is there ever any question of where their duty lies: the Fatherland has need of its sons, and as a matter of course they must answer the call.

To readers disgusted with the squalor of much recent War literature this book will come as a relief. Horrors are inevitable in any account of life in the trenches, but in the majority of these letters there is to be found at least an attempt to realize the meaning of it all, to rise above the mud and the blood, the hardships and dangers. The writers look forward to a regeneration of their country, and ultimately of the world, through their suffering. They willingly and gladly offer up their lives, and repeatedly declare that even defeat would be preferable to a victory which should fail to attain this object. Moreover the descriptions given and the sentiments expressed gain immensely in value from the fact that they were recorded at the very moment or immediately after they were experienced, and also without a thought of publication; while a pathetic interest is added by the knowledge that in every single case the writer was subsequently killed or died of wounds.

Professor Witkop expresses the hope that the Letters may form a living memorial by means of which these Sons of the Fatherland may survive in the remembrance of their fellow-countrymen as an example of devotion to duty, of self-sacrifice and patriotism, and as a spur towards the realization of the ideals which they cherished. Should they at the same time help towards the establishment of justice and a better understanding between nations, then indeed, in the words with which Professor Witkop ends his Introduction, the writers’ last will and testament will have been carried out and ‘their death will not have been in vain’.

A. F. WEDD

June 1929

GERMAN STUDENTS’ WAR LETTERS

WALTER LIMMER, Student of Law, Leipzig

Born August 22nd, 1890, at Thiergarten, near Plauen in Vogtland.

Died September 24th, 1914, of wounds received September 16th, near Chalons-sur-Marne.

Leipzig (still, I’m sorry to say), August 3rd, 1914.

HURRAH! at last I have got my orders: to report at a place here at eleven o’clock to-morrow. I have been hanging about here, waiting, from hour to hour. This morning I met a young lady I know, and I was almost ashamed to let her see me in civilian clothes. You too, my good Parents, you will agree that I am right in saying that I don’t belong in this peaceful Leipzig any more. Dear Mother, please, please, try to keep constantly before your mind what I have realized, in the midst of conflicting emotions, since I said good-bye to you yesterday, namely that if at this time we think of ourselves and those who belong to us, we shall be petty and weak. We must have a broad outlook and think of our nation, our Fatherland, of God—then we shall be brave and strong.

Leipzig, August 7th, 1914.

After all, I am glad that we have stopped here a few days longer. It has given me time to put my thoughts in order and get them thoroughly under control again. Every soldier must, to start with, be, as I was a week ago, oppressed by the first mental picture of horrors which are no longer mere possibilities, but actually approaching realities; and on the day of the first battle the feeling of dread is bound to try and get possession of one’s heart again, but now it won’t find us shaky or unprepared. I personally have entirely regained my self-possession. I have thought out my position as if I had already done with this world—as if I were certain of not coming home again; and that gives me peace and security. Dear Father, good Mother, beloved Brothers and Sisters, please, please don’t think me cruel for saying this, but it would be a good thing if already you too would, with brave hearts and firm self-control, get accustomed to the idea that you will not see me or any of my brothers again. Then if bad news does come, you will be able to receive it much more calmly. But if we all do come back, then we can accept that joy as an unexpected and all the more gracious and glorious gift of God. You will believe that I really mean this. The matter is much too sacred to me for me to be capable of merely making phrases in what I have just said.

In any case I mean to go into this business ‘like Blücher’. That is the simple duty of every one of us. And this feeling is universal among the soldiers, especially since the night when England’s declaration of war was announced in the barracks. We none of us got to sleep till three o’clock in the morning, we were so full of excitement, fury, and enthusiasm. It is a joy to go to the Front with such comrades. We are bound to be victorious! Nothing else is possible in the face of such determination to win. My dear ones, be proud that you live in such times and in such a nation, and that you too have the privilege of sending several of those you love into this glorious struggle.

In the train.

Our march to the station was a gripping and uplifting experience! Such a march is hallowed by its background of significance and danger. Both those who were leaving and those who remained behind were beset by the same thoughts and feelings. It seemed as if one lived through as much in that hour as ordinarily in months and years. Such enthusiasm!—the whole battalion with helmets and tunics decked with flowers—handkerchiefs waving untiringly—cheers on every side—and over and over again the ever-fresh and wonderful reassurance from the soldiers: ‘fest steht und treu die Wacht am Rhein!’ This hour is one such as seldom strikes in the life of a nation, and it is so marvellous and moving as to be in itself sufficient compensation for many sufferings and sacrifices.

South of Chalons, September 9th, 1914.

This ghastly battle is still raging—for the fourth day! Up till now, like most battles in this war, it has consisted almost entirely of an appalling artillery duel. I am writing this letter in a sort of grave-like hole which I dug for myself in the firing-line. The shells are falling so thick to-day, both before and behind us, that one may regard it as only thanks to the special mercy of God if one comes out of it safe and sound.

Attigny, September 20th, 1914.

MY DEAR, GOOD PARENTS AND BROTHERS AND SISTERS,—

Yes, I can hardly believe it myself, but it’s true: I am on my way to you and home. Oh, how happy I am to see a brighter world again, instead of that world of horror! At last I am free from that secret dread which always haunted me, that I should never see you and your world again, for Fate has presented me with the hope that, unless some unforeseen obstacle should arise, I shall look into your dear eyes once more.

[Four days later he died of tetanus in the Military Hospital at Luxemburg.]

BENNO ZIEGLER, Student of Medicine, Freiburg in Baden

Born May 29th, 1892, at Ueberlingen.

Killed October 8th, 1914, near Annay.

At the Front, September 14th, 1914.

IF only the hand of God, which up till now has graciously led me unscathed through all fatigues and dangers, continue to protect me, it shall not be my fault if I too am not a Man when I come home.

I am counting more than ever on that, for truly the war-horror seems to have reached its climax. 0 God! how many have those hours been when on every side gruesome Death was reaping his terrible harvest. One sees someone fall—forward on his face —one can’t immediately recognize who it is—one turns the blood-covered face up—O God! it’s you! Why had it to be just you! And how often that happened! At such moments I had but one picture before my mind’s eye. I saw you, my dear, good Father, as you laid your hand in blessing upon my head—beside your bed it was, on the morning when 1 thought I must go—and you prayed for God’s mercy on me. Father! your blessing has helped me! It was that which has made me strong, stronger than my comrades—for there have been times when I have been able to comfort and encourage them—I, the weakling!

Such a good comrade, one of them was—a head-teacher from Landeck. He went into action with us the very day he came out of hospital. As a Lance-Corporal he was allowed, for the first time, to lead a whole half-platoon, and he was so proud! ‘The second half-platoon will follow me. Forward!’ he cried. ‘Always forward!’ And at that very moment a shell-splinter carried away the lower part of his thigh. He lay there, on one side, for four hours, lay and nearly bled to death. At last somebody happened to notice him lying there. The battle was still going on. The enemy’s rifle-bullets were still whizzing from the edge of the wood. Nobody wanted to leave a position of safety to fetch him in. I dared to do it. The man who had found him went too, and we carried him on his coat into safety. I bound him up, and the same night four of us carried him six miles to the Field Hospital. He gave me a silk shirt and his favourite pipe as a thank-offering. Poor chap! he will probably have to have his leg amputated at the knee. Such isolated instances make more impression upon one than a fight against a whole French Army Corps.

WILLI BÖHNE, Student of Chemistry, Freiburg in Breisgau

Born April 11th, 1895, at Elberfeld.

Killed October 24th, 1914, near Lille.

October 16th, 1914.

DEAR PARENTS, BROTHERS AND SISTERS,—

At the moment I am lying in the straw, having just put away the tasty dinner provided by the field-kitchen, and am smoking one of some ‘Love-Gift ‘¹ cigars which have just been issued. But — —

October 20th.

Here is a long pause, by no means so insignificant, however, as those two dashes. What I was going to say was: but the dinner break is over and we must get back to work. Work ? Yes, if you could only see us at it! We are simply nothing but moles; for we are burrowing trenches so that the Herren Engländer shan’t break through here. One has to do all sorts of things like that, things one had no idea of before, but one doesn’t mind. We manage to make ourselves quite snug here, too. We have constructed dug-outs in which we can lay our weary heads at night and slip into to be out of the way of shrapnel. We also get a sip of wine now and then, for some of our patrols have brought quite a lot of bottles of red wine with them!—

[Below in a different hand.]

I take the liberty of completing this letter begun by your dear son and brother, who is unable to finish it himself, being wounded. In order to break the news to you I respectfully inform you of this. Be prepared for the worst. The bullet which struck this hero was aimed only too well, for it killed him. Comfort yourselves with the knowledge that he died the finest of all deaths—a hero’s death for the Fatherland.

With friendly greetings,

    A Comrade, who means this kindly.

¹ This was the name given to presents sent by anonymous donors in Germany for distribution among the troops at the Front.

MARTIN DRESCHER, Student of Philosophy, Berlin

Born June 22nd, 1893.

Died November 3rd, 1914, of wounds received at Cherburg.

THAT was a day which I shall never be able to think of without horror—the 21st of October. Our guns had not come up and we had to march against enemy artillery, infantry and machine-guns—no, not march, but advance by leaps and bounds. We never even had a chance to fire; it was a case of running the gauntlet. Then in the evening we had to dig ourselves in. The minutes mounted up to hours. A little remnant of our company got together. I had got shifted into another company. There was a deathly silence; burning villages all round; the groans of the slightly and dangerously wounded; and on top of that to have to dig a man-deep trench! At two o’clock I was still helping search for our badly-wounded