The Vengeance of Rome
- Автор: Муркок Майкл
- Серия: Between The Wars #4
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Vengeance of Rome». Краткое содержание книги:
I put it to Doctor Strasser that we, not the German Army, were the ones who were truly betrayed, for we were betrayed by our own allies. Why did the Americans not step in at the right time and save our Tsar? They had the means. They had agents there, like the British. They knew everything that was going on. In the end, even the British and French let us down, but the Americans, as usual, did enough to make a mess but not enough to clear it up. What was the matter with Americans? Ice had crept into their hearts. Surely they had no reason to hate Germany?
He said that the Americans did not understand altruism. And as with everything else they didn’t understand, they rejected, hated or sentimentalised it so that it became something else. I agreed. Germany could never rely on America for long-term help. I had not considered before that the culture actually mitigated against altruism just as it mitigated against intellectualism, in both cases because of the vast numbers of Protestants and Jews in America. Together they were lethal! Nothing in Protestant folk stories and moral tales suggested that virtue was its own reward. As in Victorian England, virtue in America is always thoroughly rewarded. Indeed, the reward is always promised. When it cannot be redeemed, it becomes heaven’s responsibility. A sentimentalised culture was actually inimicable to genuine altruism. Their charitable organisations always expected something in return for their help. At the very least they demanded pious thanks. Even the Catholics. The whole culture demanded you act like a character in a melodrama. At the moment, therefore, presented by Weimar with an image of decadence, Americans believed Germany beyond salvation.
Doctor Strasser took a polite interest in what I had to say. So it was with Catholics everywhere, he added vaguely. A question of vested interests, and the oldest vested interest in the world was the Vatican. But he parroted this without any real passion, like most Roman Catholics who had escaped the tyranny of their parents’ religion. From me he chiefly wanted to know what California and Hollywood were like. Had I met any of the famous stars?
So somehow the rest of the evening became devoted to trivial reminiscence. Doctor Strasser relayed juicy Nazi gossip, and I relayed equally juicy Hollywood gossip. As my spirits began to improve, I realised I was quite enjoying myself. I offered stories about famous stars now completely out of fashion. Otto Strasser’s tales were probably equally out of date since he had been so long from the centres of NSDAP power.
That night Strasser took over my couch. He was too drunk, he said, to return to his little pension. Unfortunately Schirach had neglected to leave any bedlinen so I slept on the mattress fully clothed, and Strasser slept similarly on the couch. The beer made sleep easier but waking rather harder.
Next morning we freshened ourselves as best we could and stumbled down the uncarpeted stairs into the cobbled street to get some cheap coffee. On the corner a cheerful Brownshirt boy called out the latest headlines while holding the handlebar of a bin-on-wheels, a kind of converted perambulator or sandwich cart, advertising in vivid scarlet against a black background the Völkischer Beobachter. Doctor Strasser reached in, flashed a lapel badge, and pulled a paper from the bin while the lad looked on, not sure what to do.
As we left the speechless vendor behind, Strasser handed me the paper. ‘This was always a rag. Now it’s a rag telling nothing but lies, what?’ He stopped rather ostentatiously at the Münchener Post kiosk and bought the paper that had most consistently attacked Hitler and raised questions about Fräulein Raubal’s death.
Taking me into the nearest tiny coffee shop, Doctor Strasser ordered us some croissants and buried himself in the newspaper. He relished every word of scandal about Hitler. Meanwhile, I read of Nazi triumph and Hitler’s heroism in the face of attacks from every side. The fact that the Führer was able to shrug off all such filthy propaganda was a further sign of his superhuman discipline.
Doctor Strasser ate rapidly. Ordering more coffee, he devoured the croissants and read me the wildest of the allegations.
Admittedly, and rather disturbingly, the paper touched on the truth, at least as I understood it. Its publisher had some vendetta against the Nazi leader and no doubt a left-wing agenda of his own. Though the stories were sensational and unlikely, Strasser seemed happy to believe them, at least for the moment, as one might enjoy a cheap novel. He ate another croissant as he grinned and chuckled, rustling the pages and retailing every fresh detail. Röhm’s mythological orgies were not left out of the account. Ever since his touching letters had been intercepted and published, the papers had had a field day with his sexuality. Of course, they did not dare use a word like ‘queer’, though the inference was clear.
Röhm was described as Hitler’s closest intimate. Hitler was described as ‘unmarried’ and a ‘confirmed bachelor’ while at the same time being his niece’s ‘protector’, as if to make sure of blackening his name on as many counts as possible. Here was a man who was both rapist, impotent, feminine, masochist, sadist, heterosexual, homosexual, asexual, had boyfriends and kept a mistress, while at the same time rushing from one end of the country to the other giving political speeches. No wonder people hailed him as a superman!
And now Hitler could also be a savage murderer. The police were suggesting Geli had been beaten up (by inference Hitler had done it) because she refused some particularly perverse advance. I really had no interest in this nonsense, particularly since I knew far too much of the truth.
‘Surely none of this scandal will do Röhm any good with the Reichswehr,’ I said. ‘They’re notoriously homophobic!’
‘That isn’t the character Röhm presents to the army, of course. With them he is the efficient, sensible officer, the comrade-in-arms, the war veteran. They find him perfectly charming and are happy to believe him when he tells them that the scandals are simply the invention of his enemies, that his famous love letters are mere forgeries. No doubt he lets them think he’s a widower with two children he’s raising himself. Captain Röhm’s a nice middle-class boy, like me. Well educated. Well brought up. Good at deferring to his betters, or at least appearing to. In Germany you are trained to present the face people want to see. Face is of primary importance. What you do, you do. If you are caught, you suffer. Isn’t it like that in America?’
‘So Röhm is right and will ultimately have control of the army?’
Doctor Strasser took this seriously, folding his paper and lighting a fresh cigarette, thinking for a moment. ’Not likely. The Reichswehr is still the strongest single force in Germany and has tried to stay out of direct politics, though it has a fair amount of influence. The Reichswehr controls Germany. Röhm doesn’t. Hitler could sacrifice Röhm to appease the Reichswehr. Or there could be civil war with the regular army on one side and the various Freikorps, especially the Storm Troopers, on the other. It would be horrifying, like the Hundred Years War all over again, with no side staying the same, and more and more foreign interests drawn in and ultimately simply annexing parts of Germany for themselves. The Jews have even fewer local loyalties than the Catholics and will take advantage of such a situation. So everyone knows we should avoid it developing. I think the Reichswehr will find a formula, a way of saving face, to incorporate the SA. The army commands Germany, but the army needs a commander. If Hitler shirks the issue and demands command of the army, Röhm will turn against him.’