It Cannot be Stormed

by Ernst von Salomon

  ‘In other words,’ said Hellwig, ‘if Communism in its attitude towards the farming community ceased to be Communism. . .’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Ive.

  He continued: ‘In Russia the proletariat has liberated the farming community; for the impulse to revolution came from the worker. But in Germany the impulse to revolution, as soon as we recognise that it is a national revolution, lies in the farming community, and it is the duty of the farming community to liberate the proletariat. It is the farming community and not the proletariat in Germany that holds the key position of the revolution. And if we recapitulate all the opportunities that Communism offers us, beginning with the destruction of capitalism, the immediate rupture of all associations with the Western world, the tearing up of the Treaty of Versailles, establishment of security in the rear through the East, the break-up and reorganisation of Central Europe, to the destruction of the individualistic point of view, to the winding-up of the period of intellectual history from the Renaissance to the world war, quite apart from the extermination of all those Powers, with whom it is hardly worth speaking except with machine-guns, from the confederation of the Danube to parliamentary democracy, then I cannot but admit that the decision in favour of Communism is not a decision. . .’

  ‘But?’ asked Hellwig.

  ‘A flight,’ said Ive.

  He continued: ‘For in the unique historical vacuum in which the world and we find ourselves today, our task is not to discover the most attractive and most tolerable escape.’

  ‘What then?’ asked Hellwig.

  ‘Our task,’ said Ive, ‘is to attain the fuller development of our own character.’

  ‘Those are mere words,’ said Hellwig.

  ‘They are certainly words,’ said Ive, ‘for which we have to find a meaning. And the way to set about it is, first of all, to leave off talking about all the illuminating examples of the world. We cannot state precisely what is the extent of German national power. Therefore we ascribe to it the greatest extent imaginable. The frontiers of a nation are at the points where it is held in check by opposing Powers. But how can we dare so to enrich foreign Powers as to turn them against ourselves? And if those foreign Powers turn against each other, are we not at the same time fighting against ourselves, here on our own soil, in our own breasts? We have put our own strength into the System, so much so that it seems almost impossible for us to destroy it, and in order to destroy it are we to begin putting as much, and as much again, into some foreign Power? To the devil with this method which allows us to let the centuries roll by while we puzzle our heads and waver, rubbing first one shoulder and then the other, reeling in every direction under the sun, feeding out of every trough; shitting in every corner, rushing, at every attack, into the arms of some newfound philanthropic brother and then, at every well-deserved kick, sitting down in astonishment on our bottoms and venting our anger in intellectual diarrhoea. To the devil with this method which allows more concessions to be granted to National Socialism at its outset than to Social-Democracy at its conclusion; which allows Chancellor Brüning, an industrious, clever and energetic man, to whom we could well give our confidence if he had not already the confidence of those whom we cannot trust, to reorganise the System, not with a view to destroying it but to supporting it; which allows Comrade Thälmann to announce his national programme, with socialism as its centre of gravity or not, as the case may be, at any rate on the basis of the precepts of Moscow, sometimes in favour of the civil war in Russia and sometimes against the imperialistic war in China, and allows Colleague Goebbels to advocate alliance with and support of first Italy, then England, and then America. What have we gained if we have only learned how to live in the shadow of others? If that is so, what difference is there between us and Bohemia, except the extent of our population? Thus, unless we want to exert ourselves for the benefit of others, there is nothing left for us to do except, in calm and modest meditation, to contemplate our navels. Perhaps if we dream the Reich like the Nirvana of the Fakirs, we shall reach consciousness of what the Reich is, and that would be a hypothesis to start from.’

  ‘And meanwhile,’ said Hellwig, ‘the farmer can go to the devil.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ive, ‘he’ll probably do that if he does not know where he is going, if he does not know what ought to be done now and in his position. If he still has any existence, it is in the consciousness of his profession. Therefore, he must act in the light of this consciousness. He must not declare for individualism, because his profession has obligations; he must not declare for collectivism, for that would destroy his profession. He must learn to see through every “ism” and recognise it for what it is, vain humbug and jugglery. He must realise that the soil has been given to him, to live on it and to die on it, has been given to him as a heritage which he must pass on, which he and his have to administer, that it has been given to him as the basis of all his labour, in fief, not as a commodity, that he is responsible to his profession and the profession to the whole community. Is that nothing but words? If so, they are comprehensive enough. They comprehend the inexorable and immediate war against the System; they comprehend giving up one’s sins and acknowledging one’s errors; they comprehend the obligation to put the farmer’s house in order, from top to bottom and from bottom to top, from the law of the individual farm to the law of the whole profession. And if the worthy and honourable Herr Itzenplitz wears a top hat because he has given up doing his duty for the benefit and honour of the profession, there is no good reason why the worthy and honourable Herr von Itzenplitz auf Itzensitz should not be deprived of his position of authority and be nominated as chairman of the association of Uckermark beekeepers, since he is no longer fit for his duties as a landowner, or for the profession which he served, or for the nation which the profession serves. And if the profession gave the blood of its sons for the sake of the nation there is no reason why it should not give the property of its masters for the sake of the nation. But the same discipline which the farmer demands of himself he must demand throughout the country in which and for which he lives. He must call upon everyone who wishes to have a voice in Germany’s future to take a part in his battle. He must see that the struggle for self-determination is carried on everywhere. He must welcome every independent claim to this same will to nationality, must make alliances now, form associations, give an example of devotion and set the standard of the will to responsibility. He must do all this, for otherwise he would not only be surrendering himself, he would be betraying the revolution, one of whose most essential claims is the liberation of the workers. Is this nothing but words? Is this mere windy enthusiasm? Is not that a new goal? Perhaps it is nothing but words. But those in whom they can touch a chord are the people that matter. Perhaps it is windy enthusiasm. But you, Farmer Hellwig, you, a tenant-farmer, are up to your neck in the seething waters of four dozen conferences, of nine-and-ninety departmental ministers. Your gorge, as well as mine, rises in disgust in front of four hundred thousand dreary saviours. What about the hotch-potch of pamphlets and leaflets and trade-supplements, right, left, and on every side. You, Hellwig, know as well as I do that it is time to be enthusiastic, to be burning with ardour, when everybody’s heart is as dry as rotting wood. Perhaps this is no new goal. It is an old goal, an eternal goal that has never been reached. All respect to you, Hellwig, if you feel you cannot embrace any but a new doctrine. But if this is not so, it does not matter at what camp-fire you warm your hands so long as you are prepared, at the given signal, to carry the torch into the old eternal Reich.’

  Ive had been speaking loudly, and Hinnerk woke up, blinked his eyes, and asked delightedly:

  ‘Into the Third Reich?’

  ‘You’re too fond of saying stupid things lately, Hinnerk,’ said Ive, getting up from his seat. ‘I liked you better when you were with the farmers.’

  And Hinnerk said ruefully: ‘I, too, liked you better then.’

  [1]Kirchweih is a German tradition celebrated locally, in connectio
n with the name day of the patron saint of the community church. Here the term is obviously used metaphorically.

  XIV

  Lieutenant Brodermann was in the habit of accounting to himself for his feelings and actions. He remembered Ive with an interest compounded of pain, astonishment and warm comradeship. As a young ordnance officer at the Headquarters of the Divisional Commander, it had been his duty to inform Corporal Iversen of the death of his father. Ive had looked at him out of a pale, thin, dirty face with bleared, unseeing eyes, had said: ‘Thank you, sir,’ and had pushed his way back through the heaps of orderlies sleeping the sleep of the dead.

  After this episode Brodermann never missed an opportunity on his rounds of making a detour to visit Ive’s company. Unfortunately Ive seemed to find it difficult to make friends with his fellow-officer, though he was only a few years older than himself. Shortly before Ive got his promotion, Brodermann had done him a small service. At a little celebration in the rest camp the chief staff officer found fault with Ive’s cap. Ive got up and left the mess without a word. Brodermann had put the matter right, but Ive never referred to the incident again and seemed to be angry with Brodermann because, since the reproof of the staff officer was deserved, he had probably made excuses for Ive on the grounds of his youth and his nerve-racking duties. Nevertheless, even after the shemozzle Brodermann and Ive stuck together in the silent association of the front, which took everything for granted and made the friendship of the men so natural and steady; and at the time of the Kapp-putsch they had been in the same machine-gun corps. Then they both made up their minds to the step which was the turning-point in their lives, leading them, however, in opposite directions.

  Ive felt that he could not swear allegiance to the Government, and, in spite of Brodermann’s earnest advice to the contrary, he embarked on the settlement adventure. But Brodermann was an officer, not an adventurer, and after mature consideration he decided to adapt himself to the changed conditions. Since he had come to regard his part in the Kapp-putsch as something to be ashamed of, particularly after events had proved how it had been engineered by the leaders, he decided when his troop was demobilised not to enlist in a regiment of the newly formed Defence Corps, but took service in the green-coated police force which was about to be formed at that time and which, it seemed, was to be completely non-political in its activities. He did not make this decision easily. He was, of course, a monarchist, but since by no fault of his own he was now absolved from his military oath, unless he wanted to stand aside from the reorganisation of the Reich, which he realised to be an absolute necessity, an aggrieved and futile grumbler, there was nothing else for him to do but to take the new oath, and to make up his mind to observe it with the same meticulous devotion with which he had observed his allegiance to the flag of the old Army. He did not spare himself. He deliberately strangled all the scruples which were apt to whisper in his ear, and, if he never succeeded in completely conquering the hydra-headed monster of doubts and temptations within him, at any rate, he got used to it and welcomed it, so to speak, as an antidote to his actions, as something essential to preserve the balance which was an indispensable necessity in his difficult calling. He had felt on entering the police force that in working for the good of the whole community he would find the task he wanted, a task that would tax a man’s strength to the utmost; he found it to a degree surpassing all his hopes. He had distinct talents as an organiser, and these were made good use of, but, after a few years of exacting office work, Brodermann himself applied for transfer to the outside service, since duties that he had become so familiar with did not give him the complete satisfaction of working at his full capacity, His colleagues probably put him down as a climber; he was merely a man completely absorbed in his work, respected, but not liked, strict with himself, with his subordinates and, indeed, with his superiors; for, even against his own interests, he always said what he thought if he felt that it was right, that is, in accordance with the dictates of duty. So, in spite of his brilliant abilities, his career was slow, and he often observed, though entirely without envy, that when advancement was in question he was passed over in favour of more smooth-tongued colleagues and friends.

  With his characteristic doggedness he never lost his interest in Ive. From time to time he gleaned information of his strange doings from the papers in short news paragraphs under the heading of ‘Home Politics,’ or in the police-court reports. He took the Iron Front and The Peasant, and read with a very solemn face the articles signed ‘-v-’ or ‘Ive.’ Once or twice he even wrote to Ive—brief, sincere letters, without a mention of politics—but he never had an answer. Later he read in The Peasant the injunction to boycott all representatives of the System, and he realised, without understanding, why it was he had not heard. He spent a good deal of time studying Ive’s ideas, with much headshaking. He fully understood the opinions and actions of the rebels, to whichever camp they belonged, and, man of order and duty though he was, he felt no resentment of any kind towards those he had to combat, and he combated them with stern professional zeal, doing everything that duty demanded of him, but no more. This does not mean that there was any point in which he could identify himself with them, or that he was mechanically doing his duty while his heart was on the side of those against whom he was acting. Nothing of the kind. In any case, he ruled everything personal out of his work, but this had only been possible because he was absolutely convinced of the rightness and necessity of his actions and because he identified himself to a hair’s breadth with a point of view which he would have represented even if he had not been an officer of the police force. He made no effort to accept the opinions of his superiors in the Service, but he was delighted to find that his own opinions were, in the widest sense, shared by his superiors; if this had not been the case he would have been obliged to take the consequences.

  Thus he was saddened rather than incensed by Ive’s activities, and, since he knew Ive, he respected his convictions, although he did not for a moment doubt that these convictions were wrong and must be combated. When Ive was arrested, and later, when he had met him on the street that night, it was, of course, impossible for Brodermann to succumb to his first impulse and enter into conversation with him straight away. At the encounter after the Unemployed Trial, however, Brodermann had seen clearly enough the conflict of feelings that Ive had suffered, and he knew that Ive was aware that his behaviour simply denoted incapacity to adopt an attitude or at any rate to adopt the right attitude. Far from being offended, Brodermann sought an opportunity to talk things over with Ive, but when he began to make enquiries, he discovered, to his horror, that Ive was not registered with the police. He was in some doubt as to whether it was his duty to report this; he did not report it, and he made no effort to come to any conclusion about his duty in this respect. But he was all the more eager to follow up the chance that took Dr. Schaffer and himself to the same party. He heard Schaffer mention Ive, and asked him if he could arrange for them to meet. Schaffer agreed to this. He embarked on a long discussion with Brodermann, delighted to have discovered in the flesh an important representative of the ‘System,’ a rare example of a species practically extinct in either cultured or uncultured circles, and whom he hoped to find stimulating, and he invited him to come to his evenings, which Ive had formed the habit of attending pretty regularly. Brodermann, it is true, had never had much time for what he called intellectual gymnastics, but the prospect of being able to get a serious word with Ive led him to take the very first opportunity of turning up at Schaffer’s.

  He soon realised that the setting was not exactly suited for a serious, personal conversation, but he comforted himself with the thought that he would probably have to take an unobtrusive part in the discussion and this would ease a situation which, considering the nature of their last meeting, could hardly fail to be painful at first. So he waited for Ive, and sat silently in a corner, very much as Ive had done on his first visit to the circle, examining the guests, and vainly endeavou
ring to establish the character and political leanings of the circle from the utterances of individual gentlemen. In the first place he could make nothing of Dr. Schaffer, and this very naturally annoyed him. He straightened his back and sat upright and armed as though instead of his hanger, which he had put down in the ante-room, he were pressing an invisible sword into the floor.