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"It seems so," Albrecht answered.
There was a shifting of glances and bodies.
"It's descent into madness—Hitler is exactly the maniac we've suspected!" Hans exclaimed, but no one paid attention. He was a sweet, foolish boy. There are thinkers and there are actors, Connie had once said. Hans is an actor. Albrecht had balked at this dichotomy, though—so black-and-white, so reductive and unforgiving. Action should follow thought and thought should include careful deliberation. But this was not Connie's way. He was more of an actor himself, and his views, while informed and considered, were rarely mulled over and always absolute.
"It means shame for Germany in the eyes of the world," Albrecht said.
There was a general swell of affirmation.
"And suffering," Connie said. "It means suffering for many, many people . . ."
Silence fell across the group as sounds of laughter and strains of the accordion filtered through the leaded windows.
"And it means reasonable citizens must take action," Connie continued. "We are not all thugs and villains. But we will become these, if we don't try to make change."
It was a bold statement, a challenge almost, and Marianne watched it register on the men's faces with varying results. Hans nodded dramatically, captivated. Eberhardt von Strallen, clearly disapproving of such rash talk, flicked at the lint on his lapel. Albrecht frowned thoughtfully.
"It is our duty," Connie said. "If we don't work actively to defeat Hitler, it will only get worse. This man—this zealot who calls himself our leader—will ruin everything we have achieved as a united nation." He continued, "If we don't begin to mobilize like-minded people against him, if we don't begin to actively enlist our contacts abroad—the English, the Americans, the French—he will draw us into a war, and worse. If you listen to the things this man says—if you really listen, and read—it's all there in that hideous book of his, Mein Kampf;his 'struggle' is to turn us all into animals! Read it, really read it, know thine enemies—his vision is medieval! Worse than medieval, anarchic! That life is nothing more than a fight for resources to be waged between the races—this 'Master Race' he likes to speak of and the racial profiles he has devised—these are the tools he will use to divide us and conquer."
Marianne had heard Connie's views before—how many times had they talked late into the night around the fire in Weisslau? Hitler was a madman and a thug, they were all in agreement. Ever since the Putschthis had been clear. Connie, as well as Albrecht, had spent a good portion of the last years assisting the victims of the National Socialists—Jews who wanted to emigrate, imprisoned Communists, artists whose works were banned. Without Law, Albrecht always said, we are no better than the apes. His work was as much to uphold and strengthen the law through practice as it was to win each individual battle.
But Connie had given up on the law, increasingly castrated as it was under the Nazis. He was a born dissenter and a believer in direct action. It was one of the things Marianne loved most about him—Connie, her childhood playmate, dearest friend, and the man she most admired, other than Albrecht, of course. He had always been an agitator, a passionate champion of what he felt was right. As children, he and Marianne had spent summers with their families at the Ostsee, and Connie had always led them on quests against injustice, plotting to reveal the hotel concierge's unkindness to dogs or some wrongheaded parental prejudice. And usually he prevailed, through sheer force of character or single-mindedness.
". . . We mustfind ways to work against him," Connie continued. "Not only to bring the attention of the world to his ugly aspirations, but to take action ourselves. If we sit by and judge from behind the safety of our desks, we will have only ourselves to blame. So I suggest we commit to active resistance from this day forward. To trying to steer our country from Hitler's destructive path."
Excerpted from The Women in the Castle by Jessica Shattuck. Copyright © 2017 by Jessica Shattuck. Excerpted by permission of William Morrow. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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