Goering (30 page)

During May 1937, the German ambassador in Spain complained of both Goering's and Goebbels' attempts at wholly independent action in Spain. Goering wanted to be invited to represent Germany in a victory parade, and at the same time to hold discussions with Franco, but he had instructed Bernhardt, his Four-Year-Plan representative in Spain, to negotiate this visit. He told Bernhardt that the ambassador should be prevented from knowing anything about the matter; he knew that Ribbentrop would scarcely approve. The ambassador finally heard what was going on and insisted on taking the arrangements out of the hands of Goering's agents; the visit, however, was finally abandoned. Ribbentrop himself drafted a letter of rebuke to Goering about the way in which the whole matter had been handled, but although the draft of the letter was filed, it was apparently never sent.

It was at this period that reports of Goering's ill-health recurred; he had returned to San Remo.
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Bodenschatz told the Polish military attaché, who passed the news on to the British embassy, that “there was no hope of restoring . . . Goering's health, and his political eclipse at the hands of . . . Ribbentrop was now complete.” By the middle of May, Henderson gathered that these rumors were exaggerated, and that Goering had “a form of diabetes,” but was improving under a doctor's care in San Remo. “There is, on the other hand,” added Henderson, “no doubt that he is out of favor with Hitler at the moment.”

On May 23, the day after the signing of the Pact of Steel (in which the signatories openly stated that they were “united by the inner affinity of their ideologies” and were “resolved to act side by side and with united forces to secure their living space”), Hitler summoned Goering and thirteen other senior officers for the purpose of briefing them on the war to come. Poland, once she had been isolated, was to be attacked at the first suitable opportunity; Germany was to expand her living space east into the granaries of the Ukraine; the people of the subject territories would provide Germany with forced labor. If Britain and France declared war, then they must be vanquished in a campaign striking through Holland and Belgium. Hitler seemed in a mood to take on everyone simultaneously. In the minutes of this meeting there is no record of either questions or dispute; these were the Führer's orders.

On May 28, Henderson reported a conversation he had had the previous day at Carinhall, in which Goering had complained bitterly of British hostility to Germany. Henderson described to him the shock that the German action on March 15 had been to the British people and to himself; it had undone all the work he had tried to do in establishing friendly relations between Germany and Britain during the past two years. It was the work, he said, of the “wild men” of the party; at this, according to Henderson, Goering became “a little confused” and explained that, after all, he had been away at San Remo. Then he blamed the obstinacy of the Czechs and tried to persuade Henderson that if Britain went to war over Poland she would stand to lose more than Germany by such an action; the Polish-British alliance, in fact, was only encouraging Poland to adopt a foolishly intransigent attitude to Germany's fair demands. Henderson pointed out that there was always a limit to Polish compromise, and that the wild men must not push the Polish issue or the issue of Danzig too far. After this exchange of diplomatic threats, Goering showed the ambassador the extensions to Carinhall and the colored sketches of certain “naked ladies” representing the Virtues in some sixteenth-century Flemish tapestries which he intended to buy for the decoration of his dining hall. “I got the impression that Goering was pleased to see me,” added Henderson in a supplementary report. “Goering is not much better than the others really, but at heart I feel sure he does not want war, and hates Ribbentrop.”
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A month later the Army's plans for the conquest of Poland were placed on Hitler's desk, and a special meeting of the Reich Defense Council was convened on June 23. Goering, who presided over this meeting of civil and military chiefs, made it clear the war was very close upon them and that the total mobilization of the country to meet it was the purpose of the conference. Seven million men were to be called up, and the deficiency of labor in the war plants and on the farms must be made good by men brought in forcibly from Czechoslovakia and drafted from the concentration camps.
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Later, in July, further meetings of the Council were called to plan improvements in the fortification of the West Wall in order to deter French and British intervention when Poland was attacked. Detailed surveys were discussed of the labor force available in Germany and the use of labor drawn from the occupied territories and the concentration camps. On August 24 the British ambassador in Warsaw reported that the Polish ambassador in Berlin had talked to Goering that afternoon. Goering had apparently admitted that “his policy of maintaining friendly relations with Poland . . . had come to nought,” and that his influence was now small. He had then added significantly that the chief obstacle to removing tension was not Danzig but Poland's alliance with Britain. Nor would Goering be sidetracked by what seemed to him to be irrelevant issues. During August Albert Voegler, an industrialist in steel who was also a Nazi deputy in the Reichstag, presented Goering with a report that his company had received from America which pointed out that if Britain went to war the United States would eventually follow, and that her war industry could easily outclass that of Germany. Goering merely scoffed at the report; he considered America far too remote to be taken seriously in European politics.
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There is no question, therefore, that Goering did not know exactly what Hitler had in mind—a major war of conquest timed to suit Germany's rearmament (of which Goering himself was in general charge) and seizure of those territories Hitler wanted when they were no longer available through diplomatic blackmail. The moment of ignition might well be September 1, or later; this depended on the reactions of Poland, Britain and France. And, not least, on the reactions of Russia, with which Hitler now saw the advantages of some sort of pact, however temporary. The coldness of Britain and France toward the Soviet Union had not passed unnoticed at the Chancellery. If they were prepared to reject an alliance so patently to their advantage, he was not. The scathing references to Bolshevism usual in Nazi speeches and propaganda slackened noticeably. Early in May, Goering sent Bodenschatz to the British and French embassies to hint that Germany and Russia might soon be reaching an agreement, in the hope that this would modify the attitude of their governments.
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Every month that passed without war was to Germany's advantage; this was Goering's view as well as that of all the responsible senior officers. The arbitrary dates decreed in secret by the Führer were always too soon for them. Hitler, isolated for the most part in his mountains, grew more and more egocentric, more and more intolerable to serve. Goering, moreover, was still a sick man. The responsibility of war was the last thing he wanted. “A war is always a risky and unsure business,” he said to Bodenschatz. He was forty-six years of age, happily married, with a wife and a baby daughter, both of whom he adored. And he liked to be regarded as the richest man in Europe.
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Goering in fact was rich solely because he had to pay for so little; he was rich in perquisites and possessions. Carinhall, Rominten and his house in Berlin on the Leipzigerplatz were maintained by what his accountant, Herr Gerch, called “representation funds.” Goering's private life was so involved in official entertainment that he and his wife seldom ate alone, and the expenses that would normally be regarded as private—such as those connected with his daughter—were either absorbed into the general house accountancy or were so negligible as to be easily offset by Goering's official salaries, which totaled some fifty-four thousand marks a year. Gerch, a senior administrative official in Goering's household, estimates that Goering need only have used some fifteen thousand marks a year on such purely personal expenditure.

Goering's comparatively small official income was substantially increased by the earnings from the books published by him or about him; he claimed a substantial part of the royalties earned through the authorized biography which Gritzbach had written for him and on which he also worked himself. Gerch's estimate of these accrued royalties from his biography and other publications is some 840,000 marks. Gerch also confirmed that from industrialists who wanted his favor Goering received substantial sums of money which went into his private account, as well as valuable gifts which went into his art collection. His personal art possessions were kept strictly separate from those acquired for the nation and paid for from Hitler's special
Bilderfond
on Goering's authority. Gerch maintains, against the evidence of other witnesses from his household staff, that Goering never directly asked for presents. It seems, however, that he was frequently consulted as to what he would like to receive from official bodies. He was also by now beginning to deal in art, buying and selling works, which brought him further personal profit.
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Goering's bank accounts, held by the Thyssen Bank and the Deutsche Bank, were divided into “private” (for his official salaries ), “special” (for capital sums and gifts) and “military” (for funds provided by the State).

Early in 1939, Goering acquired further property. Epenstein's widow, Frau Lilli von Epenstein, who had maintained contact with Goering after the Nazis had come to power and who had been a frequent guest at Carinhall, died suddenly and left all the Epenstein property, including the castles of Mauterndorf and Veldenstein, to the Goering family. She specified that Mauterndorf should go to Edda, but Goering did not take the trouble to establish his daughter's legal right to the property, and both castles became nominally his.

Goering thus had everything to lose if Germany went to war unprepared and failed to succeed in the fabulous encounter of which Hitler dreamed. He therefore talked both war and peace, according to the occasion and the men he was with. As his wealth increased, so his spirit for adventure declined, and he no longer stood side by side with the Führer as his friend and comrade. Like the other senior officers, he began to fear Hitler and was soon to dread the fearful summons to the Chancellery or to Berchtesgaden. He retired as much as he decently could to the luxury of Carinhall.

Once again the long days of summer were drawn out like a nerve stretched in tension. Hitler had always gained by waiting for the move his opponents would make under the stress of his threats. He followed this principle with Poland, as he had done so successfully with Czechoslovakia. The tentative approaches to the Soviet Union by Britain and France on the one hand and by Germany on the other dragged on; for Chamberlain it was sufficient that negotiations for an unwanted mutual-assistance pact were kept as desultory as possible; for Ribbentrop the matter assumed urgency only when he thought the Allies might succeed in bringing Russia into line against German action in Poland. When on August 5 the Anglo-French military mission set sail on a slow boat to Leningrad, Hitler and Ribbentrop decided to step up the pace of their negotiations. Ribbentrop offered to visit Stalin. If a nonaggression pact could be signed, then the ground would be snatched from under the feet of the Allies, and those feet would in consequence be subject to cold.

Meanwhile a strange, unexpected intervention occurred in German-British relations. An idealistic Swedish businessman, Birger Dahlerus, felt inspired to bring Britain and Germany together and stop the drift toward an inevitable war. He sensed that some block existed in the official communications between the leaders of the two countries which a wholly independent mediator might well be able to remove. He was acquainted with Goering, whom he had approached in 1934 when difficulties had been placed in the way of his marriage to a German widow; Goering had stepped in then and solved the matter for him. Subsequently he had been able to help Goering by procuring a business training for his stepson Thomas von Kantzow, who was living in Stockholm, and this led to regular meetings between them in Germany.

Dahlerus had a great love for Britain, where he had lived and worked for ten years and where he still had influential contacts among the industrialists. His visit to Germany convinced him that the Nazis were both ignorant and suspicious of British intentions. He knew the hard core which lay concealed under the seemingly soft surface of the lazy national temperament of the British people, and he felt that this was tempting Hitler to misjudge their real strength. He believed progress might result if a representative of the Nazi leadership were to meet, for informal discussion, some prominent Englishmen outside the diplomatic circle. On the German side he considered that Goering was the right man to approach because he already knew him and because he realized that Goering “did not like the idea of war.” Certain friends of Dahlerus in Britain responded seriously to this idea, and on Wednesday, July 5, he obtained an interview with Goering at Carinhall.

He was amazed at the extent of the enlargements to Goering's “sumptuous castle” since he had first seen it, in 1935; even at this time of economic stringency in Germany, he noticed that hundreds of workmen were engaged on these further extensions. A garden party was about to begin, but Goering, in spite of constant summonses to meet his guests, insisted on staying for over an hour to talk to Dahlerus about German-British relations. Goering said that he considered Britain was bluffing and was determined to hamper Germany's proper development. However, he favored the idea of the meeting and agreed to talk to Hitler while Dahlerus consulted his British friends. It was finally agreed that a secret meeting should take place at a house belonging to Dahlerus' wife, a mansion called Sönke Nissen Koog, situated in Schleswig-Holstein, close to the Danish frontier.