Chapter VIII - Service in the Lazaret in Hranice on Moravia
(Memoirs of Edith Stein)
Part 1
When the First World War broke out in the summer of 1914, Edith Stein was studying in Göttingen. Many of her friends, both students and teachers, were called to the army. She also wanted to engage in serving her country and considered interrupting her studies after her examination at the beginning of 1915.
Soon after the examination, I inquired with the Red Cross in Wrocław whether I could now begin sanitary service. Since I did not receive a response, I decided to stay in Göttingen until the end of the semester to attend lectures and use the time for my doctoral work. I began to study Greek again, as I wanted to take the exam as soon as possible. However, before leaving, I sent all my belongings home because I considered it uncertain whether I would return.
In Wrocław, I soon applied at the provincial school college for a supplementary examination in Greek; I wanted to take it in the fall. When I had been home for a few weeks, I received a phone call. It was a lady from the Red Cross who wanted to speak with me. In Germany, she said, there was still no demand for nurses, but there was a shortage in Austria. If I wanted to go there, I was to prepare to leave for Hranice on Moravia at the beginning of April. I was immediately determined.
Rosa Guttmann had already heard about the lazaret in Hranice because one student from Wrocław had been nursing there for several months. This student – Greta Bauer – was currently home on vacation. I sought her out to hear more details. Hranice is located on the route from Bohumín to Vienna, and it takes about 5-6 hours by express train. The large cadet hospital there had been converted into a lazaret for infectious diseases: 4000 beds belonging to the Carpathian front stage. A small student, a fresh, natural girl, was very happy to work there; she was also supposed to return before my departure and was looking forward to it.
I met with strong opposition from my mother. I did not tell her that it was a lazaret for infectious diseases. She knew that she could not persuade me by pointing out the dangers of life. Therefore, she used the strongest deterrent by saying that all soldiers coming from the field were infested with lice, and I would not be able to protect myself from that either. That was, of course, a fear that I dreaded greatly – but if all the people in the trenches had to suffer it, why should I be better off than them? (The delousing in Hranice was so well organized that I was spared this ordeal. I saw a few little creatures only occasionally on people's laundry – specifically on fresh laundry just pulled from the closet). When this argument failed, my mother declared with all her energy: "With my permission, you will not go." I replied just as firmly: "Then I will have to do it without your permission." My sisters were startled by such a blunt answer. My mother was not used to such resistance. Arno or Rosa may have often said much worse words to her. But that was in an outburst of anger when they lost control, and everything was soon forgotten. This was truly serious. My mother said nothing more, and for several days she was very quiet and dejected – that was a mood that always spread throughout the entire house. However, when I started to prepare for my departure, she took it upon herself to take care of the necessary small equipment for the nurse. Frieda, who was the most skilled in this, had to arrange necessary purchases and tailoring.
Before I began my wartime service, I still had to visit the provincial school college to withdraw from Greek, or rather to say that I had to postpone the term indefinitely. The decernent for humanitarian high schools, secret counselor Thalheim, was a dreaded man, serious and strict. When he heard the reason for the postponement, he was evidently dissatisfied but did not say anything at first. Only when I was already leaving, he called me back once more. "And do your parents agree?" "Father has been dead for a long time. This is inconvenient for mother." He jumped up lively. (He himself had a daughter my age. I knew her from school). "Of course, it is inconvenient for her. I have nothing to say to you. But since you no longer have a father, I feel obliged to warn you. Do you know how things work in lazarets?" I did not know. But if it was as he suggested – that one exposes oneself to moral danger and that the nurses have a bad reputation – then it was indeed terribly sad, and even more so I now considered it necessary for serious-minded people to come to such places. So I thanked the secret counselor with sincere warmth – he revealed a great goodness of heart by being so worried about me – but I did not allow myself to be misled in my decision in the slightest. (…)
Before I left, I went to see Emma at the women's clinic and she vaccinated me against typhus and cholera. Many people reacted to the injections with several days of real feverish illness, but it did not affect me at all.
(Edith Stein's Works VII, Editions Nauwelaerts, Louvain 1965, pp. 231–233, abbreviated.
Translated by Sister Petra of the Risen One OCD)
