The Arcades Project - Operi

The Story of Old Benjamin
By Lisa Fittko
This account was written in English, in November 1980, by Lisa Fittko, who accompanied BelaIllin
across the Pyrenees to the French-Spanish border at the end of September 1940 (and who later
settled in the United States). It is printed in English in Gesammelte Sdlljf!en, vol. 5 (Frankfurt:
Suhrkamp, 1982), pp. 1184-1194, widl supplementary material (letters) relating mainly to the unsolved
mystery of the "large black briefcase" which Benjamin was carrying. Included (p. 1203) is
Belamin's last letter, dated Port-Bou, September 25, 1940, and addressed both to Helmy Gurland,
who was with him at the end (see Gcrshom Scholem, f%lter Bel!jamin: The Story qf a Friendship,
trans. Harry 201111 [New York: Schocken, 1981], pp. 224-226), and to Theodor Adorno; it is in
French, in a form reconstructed from memory by Helmy Gurlalld, who had felt it necessary to
destroy the original: "In a situation presenting no way out, I have no olher choice but to make an end
of it. It is in a small village in the Pyrenees, where no one knows me, that my life will come to a close
[va s 'aclieverJ . / I ask you to h'illlSmit my thoughts [j)el/stb] to my friend Adorno illId to explain to him
the situation in which I find myself. llIere is not enough time remaining for me to write all the letters
I would like to write;'
This happened exactly forty years ago. I finally have to keep my promise to write down
the story. People keep saying:Just write it the way it was ...
I do remember everything that happened; I think I do. TIlat is, I remember the facts.
But can I re-live those days'? Is it possible to step back and into those times when there was
no time for remembering what normal life was like, those days when we adapted to chaos
and stnlggled for survival ... ?
111e distance of the years-forty of them-has put events for us into perspective, many
believe. It seems to me, though, that this perspective, under the pretense of insight, easily
tUfDS into simple hindsight, reshaping what was . ... How 'Will my recollections stand up
against this trap?
And where do I startl}
September 25, 1940
Port-Vendres (Pyrenees Orientales) France}
I remember waking up in that narrow room under the roof where I had gone to sleep a
few hours earlier. Someone was knocking at the door. It had to be the little girl from
downstairs; I got out of bed and opened the door. But it wasn't the child. I nlbbed my
half-closed eyes. It was one of our friends, Walter Belamin-one of the many who had
poured into Marseilles when the Gennans overran France. Old Benjanlln, as I usually
referred to him, I am not sure why-he was about forty-eight. Now, how did he get here?
"GJladige Frau," he said) "please accept my apologies for this inconvenience." The
world was coming apart, I thought, but not Benjamin's jJolitesse. '7ftr Herr Gemahl/) he