“Nor will I argue either the good or the bad of the Weimar Republic. It was our first experiment with so-called democracy ... and it failed. It was too weak to achieve the needs of the day.
“So, now that this war is ending you say to me ... how could this have happened? I’ll tell you, Major O’Sullivan. If you were a German citizen of Rombaden in 1924 you would have known. There was starvation and no work. Inflation was so bad a wagonload of marks could not buy a loaf of bread.
“And the worst of it was that we Germans had been stripped of our pride and our dignity. Pride is a German strength and a German weakness. Other people can live without it ... the Chinese ... the Latin Americans ... the Slavs. But a German cannot.” He pointed to his dueling scar. “This is a nonsensical pride to show my courage as a young man. Well, Hitler came and spoke to us of jobs and returning German dignity. In that square below and in other squares he staged his pageantry and a hurt lower class devoured it.
“How did the rest of us feel about this ridiculous man? We were coming to a choice in Romstein Landkreis. We either went with Hitler or to the Communists. There was no strong middle ground in the Weimar Republic. So we tried to make a temporary arrangement with Hitler in order to get people working, recover our senses, beat back the Communists, restore our dignity.
“I say in all candor to you, Major O’Sullivan, that in the days that lie ahead you Americans will discover that we were not wrong about the Communists. They may be your allies now, but you shall learn hard lessons about them.
“In the beginning, Hitler gave us more than he had promised. We had our national pride returned and we were working again. None of the people in my class believed that we could not eventually bring Hitler under control. You know the rest of the story. The tyranny imposed upon the German people was absolute. We were strangled and unable to fight back ...”
Sean heard it all with fascination. Was the Versailles Treaty unfair? Could a Germany which plunged the world into its first bloody global war have expected less? And what about the rest of Europe, which starved and went without jobs and knew blood and sorrow because of German insanity.
And what about the Weimar Republic? Did the German people really want it to work? Did the General Staff and all the Von Romsteins give it a chance? Didn’t they fight it and club it to death?
“I am sorry for what happened at Schwabenwald,” Ludwig said softly. “And when the German people learn about these places they will be sorry too. We did not know.”
“What about London and Rotterdam and Warsaw?” Sean asked. “Are you sorry about these places too? Are you sorry about my brothers, Timothy and Liam O’Sullivan? Did you have tears for the human race you trampled on or did you begin to become sorry when you got your brains knocked out at Stalingrad? And as for knowing. You did not know because you did not want to know.”
Graf Ludwig Von Romstein arose. “I assume the interview is at an end?’’
“Yes.”
He turned to go, then stopped and said with a pleading voice, “What you saw at Schwabenwald could have happened to any people anywhere under the same conditions.”
“But it never has, Count, it never has.”
Chapter Nineteen
LUDWIG VON ROMSTEIN BETRAYED his noble breeding where many Germans did, at the table. His otherwise impeccable manners eroded to gluttony satisfied with rapid shovelings of his spoon, fork, knife, and fingers (between slurps and burps) and a final sucking and picking of the teeth. The nervous rebellion made him hungrier than usual.
Sigmund had been right. The American major was obsessed with the mission of destroying him. Moreover, O’Sullivan’s intelligence and his information and knowledge of Von Romstein history was startling. The interview had failed to be convincing.
From the moment he realized what was happening at Schwabenwald a year ago, he wove stories in his own mind to build arguments to prove he knew nothing about it. So did everyone else. He cursed the stupid Nazi louts. They had left everyone in a fine fix by failing to destroy the gas chambers and crematoriums. Clumsy dogs ... leaving those fields and trainloads of corpses strewn around. Even the latest batch of castrations in the “science center” were shot in bed.
Perhaps, Ludwig thought, I should have joined the plot on Hitler’s life last year. I should have covered myself with some sort of anti-Nazi gesture; smuggled a Jew to Switzerland or something. I had Jew slaves working on the farms. So, what then? I would have been strung up like everyone else involved in the bomb plot.
He convinced himself once more that he had stayed out of the intrigues against Hitler for the sake of preserving the family, but the whole Von Romstein family is tottering! Sigmund is ready to crack apart. He has been in a state of hysteria since the first air raids two years ago. What will happen when they really grill him? If only he had the good grace to put himself away as Kurt did.
Of his two sons, Johann had followed the baron’s steps as a flyer. Johann was dead ... shot down over the English Channel.
The other son, Felix, was a dull, minor bureaucrat in Berlin, without ability to carry on the Von Romstein tradition.
His thoughts turned to his daughter, Marla Frick. Marla was the only real hope the family had. But ... hadn’t she always been the only hope? Johann had been wild and irresponsible ... fast cars, faster airplanes. Johann would have never settled to his family duties even if he had survived.
And the others ... bunglers. Marla was the one real Von Romstein of them all. A true German noblewoman. Count Ludwig had needed someone to modernize the Machine Works. He arranged a marriage between Marla and Wilhelm Frick to lure the brilliant industrial designer away from the Krupp Industries.
The Von Romstein fortunes revolved around the Machine Works. Wilhelm Frick could ensure its continued growth and prosperity ... even turn it into one of the nation’s industrial giants. So what if the marriage was not made in heaven ... Wilhelm was ten years older than Marla ... he kept mistresses at the Spa on the south bank ... he had another in Dusseldorf, where he made trips yearly and she accompanied him to Munich and the Riviera. But ... what the devil, we’ve all had our other women. Ludwig had not shared his wife’s bed for seven years. Even poor Sigmund kept a woman in Rombaden.
The marriage of Marla and Wilhelm had produced the necessary heirs, fortunately two boys. These grandsons would eventually adopt the Von Romstein name and carry the great tradition into the next century.
But dammit, just when the big contracts were rolling in Wilhelm Frick was drafted by Alfred Speer’s ministry to organize industry in the occupied countries. Wilhelm Frick had been captured by the Russians. God only knew when he would be seen again, if ever.
Ludwig left the table, retreated to the study of his late brother, Kurt. The room was still plush, having been spared from the bombings. It was in this room so many many years ago ... how many? Twenty ... twenty years ago that he urged Kurt to join the Nazi Party ... get in on the ground floor ... for the sake of the family. Kurt obeyed. Everyone obeyed Ludwig. It was damned fortunate for us all, Ludwig thought, that Kurt did not allow himself or the records to be taken. The Nazi records showed the close intertwining of the Von Romstein control. It was in this room, too, that Kurt took his life. Poor Kurt. Ludwig selected one of his brother’s pipes, found the last of the tobacco, and sunk into a deep chair waiting for Marla to finish putting the children down. Damned nuisance these days without servants.
Marla was a good sport. She and Wilhelm Frick had a magnificent smaller estate on the south bank. The Americans had commandeered it for those louts of Polish laborers. Slaves, indeed! A decent slave can at least put in a day’s work—the Poles were less than useless. In normal times they could not have held jobs at the Machine Works ... now these pigs live in Marla’s home. God knows what they will do to Castle Romstein.