“I’m coming with you,” said Mildred, quickly following.
As they threw clothing and money and ration cards into their suitcases, Arvid explained that an hour ago, his sister Inge had called him at his office to give him the terrible news. She was waiting outside with her husband’s car. Falk was already en route from Weimar.
Inge, pale and trembling, slid over to let Arvid take the wheel as he and Mildred loaded their suitcases in the trunk and took their seats. As they sped southwest from Berlin, she explained what had happened. That morning, Mutti Clara had been out for her daily walk when she passed a park where several children were playing. When she overheard them singing songs from the Hitler Youth and Jungmädelbund, she asked if they knew that there were better songs to sing—German Volkslieder, for example. As the children eagerly gathered around so she could teach them a traditional tune about a little bluebird, an outraged passerby stormed off to report her to the Gestapo.
“What has this world come to that an elderly woman can be thrown into prison for teaching children an innocent song?” said Inge, fighting back tears.
When they reached the Gestapo’s main office in Thuringia, they found Falk speaking with a disgruntled, impatient officer, arguing and cajoling by turns for his mother’s release. With tangible relief, he let his older brother take over. Arvid quickly assessed the facts of the case, the charges against his mother, and the evidence, which seemed to consist solely of the informant’s testimony and Mutti Clara’s “confession” that she had indeed taught the children the song.
While Arvid reasoned with the official, Inge and Mildred were allowed into the cellblock to see Mutti Clara. To their relief, they found her in good health and spirits, bemused by all the fuss and annoyed at the inconvenience. “I wasn’t teaching them ‘La Marseillaise,’ for heaven’s sake,” she said, wringing her hands in agitation.
Mildred suspected it was not the Volkslied but the implication that Nazi songs were inferior that had prompted her mother-in-law’s arrest, and when she and Inge rejoined Arvid and Falk, the brothers were addressing that very point with the Gestapo officer assigned to the case. “By discouraging the children to renounce their Hitlerjugend and Jungmädelbund songs, Frau Harnack was undermining the authority of their leaders, and by extension, that of the Reich,” the officer said, his faint flush belying his firm tone. Was he angry, or was he embarrassed by the absurdity of prosecuting an elderly woman for such a trivial misdeed?
“She wasn’t asking them to renounce anything, but rather to add Volkslieder to their repertoire,” said Arvid. “Surely you agree with our Führer that children should learn the songs of the Volk?”
“Certainly, but a woman of her advanced years should know better than to question the children’s instruction.”
“A woman of her advanced years is easily confused,” said Arvid. “You know how the older generation is affected by talk of war, having such vivid memories of the last one. She has been deeply upset by the bombings in Poland, and it has affected her mind.”
The officer appeared to soften at this. Out of respect for Arvid’s high rank in the Economics Ministry, he agreed to take the matter up with his superior, but for the present, Frau Harnack must remain in prison. When Inge begged him to permit her mother her paints, easel, and brushes, the officer hesitated, but eventually agreed.
The next day, they returned to the prison to visit Mutti Clara and plead her case to any official who would see them. After four days, Mildred, Falk, and Inge remained in Thuringia, but Arvid was obliged to return to the ministry. He continued to work from his office for his mother’s release, calling in favors, finding advocates in the Nazi hierarchy for whom the Harnack name still carried weight. Finally, after a harrowing fortnight, Mutti Clara was released on the condition that she leave Jena. She reluctantly consented, and even more reluctantly, her children decided to admit her to a sanatorium for the aged in the countryside for her own safety.
Soon after Mutti Clara was settled in her new home—temporarily, they all hoped—Mildred received word that her applications for the Rockefeller and Guggenheim fellowships had been rejected.
“I’m sorry, Liebling,” said Arvid, embracing her. “They’re fools not to recognize your genius.”
Despite her crushing disappointment, Mildred had to laugh. “How could I ever leave such a sweet and loyal husband?” she asked, kissing him.