The Vengeance of Rome

THIRTY-FOUR

At eight the next morning I was again awakened by Frau Socking, but this time her manner was far less severe. She seemed her old self. I smiled at her pleasantly. Perhaps someone had spoken to the manager and I was to be reinstated?

She expressed only relief at my leaving. ‘Some boys are in the lobby to help you move,’ she announced. ‘Grüss Gott, Herr Peters.’ She was already making off.

I called after her that I would be down shortly. A porter could collect my luggage in an hour. Having so little with me, it did not take long to pack. Plans, pistols and my dwindling supply of ’cocoa’ were the most important items and these went into my locked case, which I took with me. I left the bones in my room. As soon as my bags were ready, I strolled down to the lobby to meet the emissary Röhm had sent in his place.

I knew both the Stabschef and Hitler thought highly of this young man. In his pictures Baldur von Schirach had seemed the very model of the modern, clean-cut German lad. In the flesh he gave the same impression, though his movements were somewhat awkward. Round-headed, blond, slightly plump, with almost a rosebud mouth, pink-and-white skin, smiling pale blue eyes and an eager, friendly manner, he was a typical Teuton. He offered me that increasingly common Ben-Hur salute, a Heil Hitler followed by his enthusiastic-pumping of my hand. He was dressed in expensive lederhosen, picturesquely decorated with full Bavarian floral flourishes. Over this he had thrown a large leather military coat. I was a little amused. He gave me the impression of a large chorus girl who had left the theatre in too much of a hurry to change.

Von Schirach spoke in the softly articulated educated accent associated with the old North German upper classes. The modern Nazi style was rough and coarse, whether you had started life with it or not. Röhm was a perfect example of this. His motto among his men, who worshipped him, was ‘the lewder the better’. He had been well educated and was, of course, from a good Munich family. I have described the Stabschef at home. When he wished, he could revert to his old, civilised way of speaking as he had during that visit.

As I have said, the experience of the trenches was determining the tone of the language. The new style was considered more authoritative, tougher, down-to-earth, practical, showing mocking impatience with the old institutions. It reached its dubious zenith in Berlin, where it became the only language you heard in the theatre, unless you attended an operetta. Newspaper journalists adapted the style for their pages. Novelists copied it. Films by Pabst and Lang employed it with relish. It appeared in poetry and fiction by Brecht and operas by Berg. Elsewhere, Schoenberg and Stravinsky were adding their cacophony to the general din. I found it impossible to enjoy a concert without one of these gentlemen introducing the wails and clatters of the synagogue and mosque into the event. If one wished to see a modernist film, the chances were that members of the audience would be hurt in clashes between Commies and Nazis objecting to what they perceived as political bias. Gangster writers spread their harsh, Yiddish-enriched rhetoric among office boys and students. Thus, by aping Berlin street language, the Jews helped proliferate a vocabulary ultimately employed in their own destruction. Everything I had been made to say to Hitler that night was available in some form to those who sought it out. Berlin was awash with aggressive filth.

Röhm argued that the Nazis had brought the language of the NCO to the Reichstag, which was why Hindenburg had been so uncomfortable with it. Röhm added that when people weren’t listening, you had to shout to be heard. The Nazis had been shouting for ten years; it had become a habit.

Von Schirach adopted that peculiar half-apologetic stance of his class towards admired members of the lower orders. He spoke with a slight lisp, like Röhm, which I think was considered elegantly Viennese.

Von Schirach introduced himself and his smart boy helpers, Ulrich and Siegfried, who wore the brown shirts and black trousers of the Hitlerjugend. As soon as these formalities were over, he switched to perfect English. He apologised for not having a car for me. All available transport was needed because of the situation in Berlin. In a few more days we might discover if justice would out and the Führer was to become the new Chancellor. These were exciting times. As we spoke, the Führer was sitting in his mountain fastness at Tegernsee brooding on the future and coming to a monumental decision.

Adding to all his other troubles, said von Schirach, was Hitler’s enormous weight of grief at the death of his poor little niece. Geli had shown signs of instability for some time. Her uncle had done all he could, trying to get her to take a positive interest in the world. He had supported her in every way. Typically, the Führer had cancelled political meetings just to be available to her. He took that sort of interest in all who were close to him. Angela was to have fulfilled her first engagements as a singer, but evidently the anxiety had been too much for her,