The Vengeance of Rome

Like myself, Major Nye has been on the sidelines of some monumental events, but I do not believe he ever played the same kind of crucial role as I played in the rising dominance of the Nazi Party. I personally will be very sorry when I can no longer chat with him. We are of a similar age and have had many similar experiences around the world. Also, of course, we were both in love with the same woman. That is why he still comes to Ladbroke Grove.

We return to her basement for tea.

Major Nye always called Hitler ‘that grubby little agitator’. He had no time for Röhm, sadly, or most of the others. ’Göring seemed jolly enough on the surface, but frankly I never had patience for any of them.’ He believed that the best in Germany had been wiped out by the War. Only the cripples, the walking wounded, the exiles were left. The business people were almost as bad. ‘They possessed a very low standard of intelligence,’ he says. ‘The brains had either been killed or had enough sense to stay out of the limelight. German government was in the hands of a few survivors. It wasn’t fair to punish them the way the French did. France just wanted the rest of the Allies to hold the poor bastard down while she kicked him a few times. She’s never recovered from being beaten so often by Bismarck. In French history, Napoleon was a fluke. Not that he and Hitler didn’t make precisely the same mistakes. Men of destiny always do, don’t they, old boy? At least,’ he added, ‘Napoleon had had the sense not to let businessmen or the army make political decisions. They were the absolute worst people at that. Any time business or the army dominate politics, that’s when you might as well pack your bags and leave. The one thing the British Army understands,’ he says, ‘is to stay out of the brawl. Getting into it was the German Army’s greatest mistake. They should have held aloof. But I suppose they were too afraid of Röhm.’

He and Colonel Pym often discuss matters of strategy.

Mrs Cornelius takes down her best teaset. She balances the teapot on a pile of magazines while she clears a space on her coffee table. ‘Sorry about ther smell,’ she says. ‘I think it’s ther cat.’

‘Well, it’s always been a mystery to me,’ says Colonel Pym, ‘why any decent army officer should not have taken one look at Herr Hitler and seen at once what a little turd he was.’

“E was vulnerable,’ says Mrs Cornelius, searching for her biscuits. ‘That’s orlways a plus in a politician. It’s ther same with them pop stars, innit? Women recognise it. Men c’n sense it, but they never know wot it is. ‘Itler could’ve been knocked art at any time, but they all looked after ‘im. Why d’yer fink them rich old ladies loved to mother ther little bugger? They thought ‘e was a sensitive artiste. ‘E was the Liberace of ‘is day.’

We are silent. Not one of us can think of a response.

During the following weeks Röhm had certain rooms in his villa set aside for meetings. He made me stay away from them. People would be driven up to one particular door and admitted. They never saw the rest of the place. Their impression was of an austere military base.

Röhm said the meetings would have bored me. He admitted that most of the time he himself was bored. ‘But if we’re to defeat the Antichrist,’ he said jokingly, ’we must make friends even with swine. At least for the moment.’ He was clear-headed about his political ambitions. I did not agree with all his views, but there was no doubting his integrity.

Röhm shared this with Strasser, whom I met at last. The greathearted chemist came to dinner with two or three of his people. After the others had left, I joined the two friends for drinks. Strasser was charming. He smelled of the most expensive cologne. His clothes were of excellent English cut. Strasser made me feel very comfortable. He had seen my films. He did not, as some of the SA chiefs did, take me for Röhm’s fancy boy. We discussed literature. I told him about the English fiction I read. I mentioned G. H. Teed and Anthony Skene. He himself was a great fan of Schiller. ’He is humane,’ he said, ‘in a way that Goethe is not.’

Strasser was the greatest gentleman who ever led a political party. His terrible mistake was to remain true to his ideals. That, I fear, could be the sad epitaph for many of us.

I will not forget those evenings of camaraderie during the late summer of 1931 when it was still possible to plan for a golden future, to dream, as they say, the impossible dream. I feel I was privileged. The threat of the Baroness laid to rest, the mystery of Mussolini’s behaviour at least partially explained, I felt able to relax.

The talk that evening soon returned to Hitler. Among these people, Hitler’s ups and downs were a constant subject of debate.

‘He’s a bloody Austrian,’ said Röhm. ‘What do you expect? He’s sloppy and easygoing most of the time. He just happens to have this charm, this gift. We can’t switch it on and off whenever we feel like it. We can’t twist the public round our little fingers. And so we’re annoyed! We’re jealous.’