Part 37 (1/2)
”It will take at least that long,” he said, ”for the New Culture to take root on earth. For the New Europe to be what I have foreseen.”
”If Von Braun has his way, we'll be long gone from earth by then! At least he seems to plan pa.s.sages for many Germans on his s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps.”
”Germans!” spat out Hitler. ”What care I for Germans or Von Braun's s.p.a.ce armada? Let the technical side of Europe spread out its power in any direction it chooses. Speer will be their G.o.d. He is the best of that collection. But let the other side determine the values, man. The values, the spiritual essence. Let them move through the galaxy for all I care, so long as they look homeward to me for the guiding cultural principles. And Europe will be the eternal monument to that vision. I speak of a Reich lasting a thousand years? It will take that long to finish the job, to build something that will then last for the rest of eternity.”
The old fire was returning. His voice was its old, strong hypnotic self. His body quivered with the glory of his personal vision, externalized for the whole of mankind to touch, to wors.h.i.+p... or to fear. I bowed my head in the presence of the greatest man in history.
He fell back for a minute, exhausted, lost in the phantasms behind his occluded eyes. Looking at the weary remains of this once-human dynamo, I was sympathetic, almost sentimental. I said: ”Remember when we first met through our anti-Semitic activities? It was an immediate bond between us.”
He chuckled. ”Oh, for the early days of the Party again. At the beginning you thought me too bourgeois.”
He was dying in front of me, but his mind was as alert as ever. ”Few people understand why we singled out the Jew, even with all the n.a.z.i literature available,” I continued.
He took a deep breath. ”I was going to turn all of Europe into a canvas on which I'd paint the future of humanity. The Jew would have been my severest and most obstinate critic.” The Fuhrer always had a gift for the apt metaphor. ”Your propaganda helped keep the populace inflamed. That anger was only fuel for the task at hand.”
We had discussed on previous occasions the fundamental nature of the Judeo-Christian ethic, and how the Christian was a spiritual Semite (as any pope would observe). The Jew had made an easy scapegoat. There was such a fine old tradition behind it. But once the Jew was for all practical purposes removed from Europe, there remained the vast ma.s.s of Christians, many Germans among them. Hitler had promised strong measures in confidential statements to high officials of the SS. Martin Bormann had been the most ardent advocate of the Kirchenkampf, the campaign against the churches. In the ensuing years of peace and the nuclear stalemate with the United States little had come of it. I brought up the subject again.
”It will take generations,” he answered. ”The Jew is only the first step. And please remember that Christianity will by no means be the last obstacle, either. Our ultimate enemy is an idea dominant in the United States in theory, if not in practice. Their love of the individual is more dangerous to us than even mystical egalitarianism. In the end the decadent idea of complete freedom will be more difficult to handle than all the religions and other imperial governments put together.” He lapsed back into silence, but only for a moment. ”We are the last bastion of true Western civilization. America is always a few steps from anarchy. They would sacrifice the state to the individual! But Soviet communism-despite an ideology-was little better. Its state was all muscles and no brain. It forbade them to get the optimum use out of their best people. Ah, only in the German Empire, and especially here in New Berlin, do we see the ideal at work. The state uses most individuals as the sheep they were meant to be. More important is that the superior individual is allowed to use the state.”
”Like most of the Gauleiters ?” I asked, again in a puckish mood.
He laughed in a loud and healthy voice. ”Good G.o.d,” he said. ”Nothing's perfect... except the SS, and the work you did in Berlin.”
I did not have the heart to tell him that I thought he had been proved soundly mistaken on one of his predictions for the United States. With the nuclear stalemate and the end of the war-America having used its atomic bombs in the Orient, and riveting the world's attention in the same fas.h.i.+on as we-the isolationist forces in that country had had a resurgence. In a few years they had moved the country back to the foreign policy it held before the Spanish-American War. Hitler had predicted grim consequences for that country's economy. The reverse un.o.bligingly came true. This was in part because the new isolationists didn't believe in economic isolation by any means; they freed American corporations to protect their own interests.
The latest reports I had seen demonstrated that the American Republic was thriving, even as our economy was badly suffering from numerous entanglements that go hand-in-gauntlet with an imperial foreign policy. We had quite simply overextended ourselves. New Berlin, after all, was modeled on the old Rome... and like the Roman Empire we were having trouble financing the operation and keeping the population amused. There are times I miss our old slogan: Gold or Blood?
I'm as dedicated a National Socialist as ever, but I must admit that America does not have our problems. What it has is a lot of goods, a willingness to do business in gold (our stockpile of which increased markedly after the war), and paper guarantees that we would not interfere in their hemisphere. We keep our part of the bargain fairly well: all adults understand that Latin America is fair game.
There is, of course, no censors.h.i.+p for the upper strata of n.a.z.i Germany. The friends and families of high Reich officialdom can openly read or see anything they want. I still have trouble with this modification in our policy. At least I keep cherished memories of 1933, when I personally gave the order to burn the books at the Franz Joseph Platz outside Berlin University. I have never enjoyed myself more than in the period when I perfected an acid rhetoric as editor of Der Angriff, which more often than not inspired the destruction of writings inimical to our point of view. It was a pleasure putting troublesome editors in the camps. Those days seem far away now. Many enjoy All Quiet on the Western Front!
Hitler would not have minded a hearty exchange on the subject of censors.h.i.+p. He likes any topic that relates at some point to the arts. He would have certainly preferred such a discussion to arguing about capitalist policy in America. I didn't pursue either. I am satisfied to leave to these diary pages my conclusion that running an empire is a lot more expensive than having a fat republic, sitting back, and collecting profits. The British used to understand. If they hadn't forgotten, we probably wouldn't be where we are today.
Ironically for someone reputed to be a political and military genius, Hitler has spent the entirety of his retirement (he holds his t.i.tle for life) ignoring both subjects and concentrating on his cultural theories. He became a correspondent with the woman who chairs the anthropology department of New Berlin University (no hearth and home for her) and behaved almost as though he were jealous of her job. Lucky for her that he didn't stage a putsch. Besides, she was a fully accredited n.a.z.i.
I think that Eva took it quite well. Kinder, Kuche, Kirche!
As I stood in Hitler's sickroom, watching the man to whom I had devoted my life waning before me, I felt an odd ambivalence. On one hand I was sorry to see him go. On the other hand I felt a kind of-I'm not sure how to put it-release. It was as though, when he died, I would at last begin my true retirement. The other years of supposed resignation from public life did not count. Truly Adolf Hitler had been at the very center of my life.
I wish that he had not made his parting comment. ”Herr Dr. Goebbels,” he said, and the returned formality made me uncharacteristically adopt a military posture, ”I want to remind you of one thing. Shortly before his death Goering agreed with me that our greatest coup was the secrecy with which we handled the Jewish policy. The atom-bombing of camps was a bonus. Despite the pa.s.sage of time I believe this secret should be preserved. In fact, there may come a day when no official in the German government knows of it. Only the hierarchy of the SS will preserve the knowledge in their initiatory rites.”
”Allied propaganda continues to speak of it, mein Fuhrer. Various Jewish organizations in America and elsewhere continue to mourn the lost millions every year. At least Stalin receives his share of blame.”
”Propaganda is one thing. Proof is another. You know this as well as anyone. I'd like to hear you agree that the program should remain a secret. As for Stalin's death camps, talk that up forever.”
I was taken aback that he would even speak of it. ”Without question, I agree!” I remembered how we had exploited in our propaganda the Russian ma.s.sacre of the Poles at Katyn. The evidence was solid... and there is such a thing as world opinion. I could see his point. At this late date there was little advantage in admitting to our vigorous policy for the Jews. The world situation had changed since the war.
Nevertheless his request seemed peculiar and unnecessary. In the light of later events I cannot help but wonder whether or not Hitler really was psychic. Could he have known of the personal disaster that would soon engulf members of my family?
The conversation kept running through my mind on the way to the funeral. As we traveled under Speer's Arch of Triumph, I marveled for-I suppose-the hundredth time at his architectural genius. Germany would be paying for this city for the next fifty years, but it was worth it. Besides, we had to do something with all that Russian gold! What is gold, in the end, but a down payment on the future, be it the greatest city in the world or buying products from America?
The procession moved at a snail's pace, and considering the distance we had to cover I felt it might be the middle of the night by the time we made it to the Great Hall. The day lasted long enough, as it turned out.
The streets were thronged with sobbing people, Hitler's beloved Volk. The swastika flew from every window; I thought to conceive a poetic image to describe the thousands of fluttering black shapes, but when all I could think of was a myriad of spiders, I gave up. Leave poetry to those more qualified, I thought- copywriting is never an ode.
Finally we were moving down the great avenue between Goering's Palace and the Soldier's Hall. The endless vertical lines of these towering structures always remind me of Speer's ice-cathedral lighting effects at Nuremberg. Nothing he has done in concrete has ever matched what he did with pure light.
G.o.d, what a lot of white marble! The glare hurts my eyes sometimes. When I think of how we denuded Italy of its marble to accomplish all this, I recognize the Duce's one invaluable contribution to the Greater Reich.
Everywhere you turn in New Berlin there are statues of heroes and horses; horses and heroes. And flags, flags, flags. Sometimes I become just a little bored with our glorious Third Reich. Perhaps success must lead to excess. But it keeps beer and cheese on the table, as my wife, Magda, would say. I am an author of it. I helped to build this gigantic edifice with my ideas as surely as the workmen did with the sweat of their brows and the stones from the quarries. And Hitler, dear, sweet Hitler-he ate up little inferior countries and spat out the mortar of this metropolis. Never has a man been more the father of a city.
The automobiles had to drive slowly to keep pace with the horses in the lead, pulling the funeral caisson of the Fuhrer. I was thankful when we reached our destination.
It took a while to seat the officialdom. As I was in the lead group, and seated first, I had to wait interminably while everyone else ponderously filed in. The hall holds thousands upon thousands. Speer saw to that. I had to sit still and watch what seemed like the whole German nation enter and take seats.
Many spoke ahead of me. After all, when I was finished with the official eulogy, there would be nothing left but to take him down and pop him in the vault. When Norway's grand old man, Quisling, rose to say a few words, I was delighted that he only took a minute. Really amazing. He praised Hitler as the destroyer of the Versailles penalties, and that was pretty much it.
The only moment of interest came when a representative of the sovereign nation of Burgundy stood in full SS regalia. A hush fell over the audience. Most Germans have never felt overly secure at the thought of Burgundy, a nation given exclusively to the SS... and outside the jurisdiction of German law. It was one of the wartime promises. .h.i.tler made that he kept to the letter. The country was carved out of France (which I'm sure never noticed-all they ever cared about was Paris, anyway).
The SS man spoke of blood and iron. He reminded us that the war had not ended all that long ago, although many Germans would like to forget that and merely wallow in the proceeds from the adventure. This feudalist was also the only speaker at the funeral to raise the old specter of the International Zionist Conspiracy, which I thought was a justifiable piece of nostalgia, considering the moment. As he droned on in a somewhat monotonous voice, I thought about Hitler's comment regarding the secret death camps. Of course, there are still Jews in the world, and Jewish organizations in America worth reckoning with, and a group trying to reestablish Israel-so far unsuccessfully-and understandably no group of people would rather see us destroyed. What I think is important to remember is that the Jew is hardly the only enemy of the n.a.z.i.
By the time he was finished the crowd was seething in that old, pleasing, violent way... and I noticed that many of them restrained themselves with good Prussian discipline from cheering and applauding the speaker (which would not be entirely proper at a funeral). If they had broken protocol, however, I would have gladly joined in!
It seemed that an eternity had pa.s.sed by the time I stood at the microphone to make my oration. I was surrounded by television cameras. How things have changed since the relatively simple days of radio. I'm sure that many of my ardent supporters were disappointed that I did not give a more rousing speech. I was the greatest orator of them all, even better than Hitler (if I may say so). My radio speeches are universally acclaimed as having been the instrumental factor in upholding German morale. I was more than just the Minister of Propaganda-I was the soul of National Socialism.
Toward the end of the war I made the greatest speech of my career, and this in the face of total disaster. I had no more believed at the time that we could win than Hitler had when he made his final boast about a mysterious secret weapon still later in the darkest of dark hours. My friends were astonished that after my emotional speech I could sit back and dispa.s.sionately evaluate the effect I had had upon my listeners. Such is the nature of a good propagandist.
Alas for the nostalgia buffs, there was no fire or fury in my words that day. I was economical of phrase. I listed his most noteworthy achievements; I made an objective statement about his sure and certain place in history; I told the mourners that they were privileged to have lived in the time of this man. That sort of thing, you know.
I finished on a quiet note. I said: ”This man was a symbol. He was an inspiration. He took up a sword against the enemies of a n.o.ble idea that had almost vanished. He fought small and mean notions of man's destiny. Adolf Hitler restored the beliefs of our strong ancestors. Adolf Hitler restored the sanct.i.ty of our”-and I used the loaded term-”race.” (I could feel the stirring in the crowd. It works every time.) ”Adolf Hitler is gone. But what he accomplished will never die... if ”-I gave them my best stare-”you work to make sure that his world is your world.”
I was finished. The last echoes of my voice died to be replaced by the strains of Die Walkure from the Berlin Philharmonic.
On the way to the vault I found myself thinking about numerous things, none of them having to do directly with Hitler. I thought of Speer and the s.p.a.ce program; I philosophized that Jewry is an idea; I reveled in the undying pleasure that England had become the Reich's ”Ireland”; I briefly ran an inventory of my mistress, my children, my wife; I wondered what it would be like to live in America, with a color television and bomb shelter in every home. The coffin was deposited in the vault, behind a bulletproof sheet of gla.s.s. His waxen-skinned image would remain there indefinitely, preserved for the future. I went home, then blissfully to bed and sleep.
OCTOBER 1965.
Last night I dreamed that I was eighteen years old again. I remembered a Jewish teacher I had at the time, a pleasant and competent fellow. What I remember best about him was his sardonic sense of humor.
Funny how after all this time I still think about Jews. I have written that they were the inventor of the lie. I used that device to powerful effect in my propaganda. (Hitler claimed to have made this historic ”discovery.”) My so-called retirement keeps me busier than ever. The number of books on which I'm currently engaged is monumental. I shudder to think of all the unfinished works I shall leave behind at my death. The publisher called the other day to tell me that the Goebbels war memoirs are going into their ninth printing. That is certainly gratifying. They sell quite well all over the world.
My daughter Hilda, besides being a competent chemist, is serious about becoming a writer as well, and if her letters are any sign I have no doubt but that she will succeed on her own merits. Alas, her political views become more dangerous all the time, and I fear she would be in grave trouble by now were it not for her prominent name. The German Freedom League, of which she is a conspicuous member, is composed of sons and daughters of approved families and so enjoys its immunity from prosecution. At least they are not rabble-rousers (not that I would mind if they had the proper n.a.z.i ideas). They are purely intellectual critics and as such are accommodated. We are embracing a risk.