Baroness Elisabeth von und zu Guttenberg, 1932
I went slowly back in to the sickroom. I had to tell Enoch, for he had the right to know. God help me!…
“Dearest one…perhaps God wishes you to leave me….”
For a long time he seemed to be asleep. Never, for a moment, could I take my eyes from his face—praying for fortitude….
After a time he roused and spoke. “If it is His will, I am ready to go.”…He faced death with the same joy and dauntless courage with which he had always faced life. I knew, as I always did, what was in his mind. He was offering his life now for the redemption of his country.
Maria von Guttenberg, with her three children. Georg Enoch is to her right.
“Oh, how I feel the weight of Germany’s guilt upon me!”
“Enoch, darling,” I protested, “if there is a man alive who has no part in this guilt, it is you! Did you not just offer your life to God in reparation?”
“Yes…I feel this guilt now with awful clarity; everyone here in [Hitler’s] Germany has a part in it. Every one of us…even you and I. We have not done enough to fight the Evil; we have waited to see how things would turn out….”
Georg Enoch Freiherr von und zu Guttenberg
A sleigh, drawn by two black horses, brought Enoch’s body home to Guttenberg, up the long road to the castle, through the deep, silent snow. All along the way, the people of the countryside stood with bowed heads, the loyal men of Guttenberg following on foot in the wake of the sleigh. The great door of the castle opened, and a flood of light poured out upon the snow of the courtyard. In the Hall of Ancestors, two candlelit Christmas trees stood, one at each side of the coffin.
It was Christmas Eve.
Elisabeth von Guttenberg, Holding the Stirrup (Post Falls, Id.: Our Lady of Victory School, n.d.) 161-3.
Short Stories on Honor, Chivalry, and the World of Nobility—no. 528
