It certainly appears they are going to start draining Jewish wealth systematically, throw the leaders and intellectuals into concentration camps. No one doubts but that the Germans will strike again. Like Pharaoh and Rome, they will need slave labor. I believe the three and a half million Jews in Poland are marked for this.
Ervin thinks Swiss News will be closed any day. Among the new arrivals is a Nazi named Horst von Epp, who will run the Department of Propaganda and Press. It is only a matter of time until Chris de Monti’s credentials are checked.
ALEXANDER BRANDEL
Horst von Epp joined the influx of Nazi officials to Warsaw in the winter of 1939. Completely unlike most of his fellow Nazis, he was a sophisticated man with continental charm and a sparkling sense of humor. He did not wear any of the several choices of uniforms but had tailor-made clothing in the latest fashions and bemoaned the fact that war with England caused him to lose his Bond Street clothier.
The scion of a wealthy family of former nobility, he had little in common with fellow Nazis. He found their violent methods personally distasteful, had little regard for their mentality, and thought all the nonsense of super-men theories, geopolitics, land to live and joy through labor completely ridiculous.
He was far more at home in Paris, on the Riviera, or in New York than in Munich (but he adored Berlin). Yet he was a devoted Nazi and promoted the very principles he abhorred. Denied most of his family holdings by mismanagement and overspending, he was shrewd enough to recognize the irresistible and unstoppable surge of Nazism in the early thirties and simply drifted into the stream. He had few ideals and convictions to deter him from the pursuit of his own pleasures. He wanted the most for the least exertion of effort. He knew the bumbling mentality of most of the early Nazis would call for men like him to think for them.
He was a good-looking man in his early forties, a first-rate libertine who was never faithful to his wife for more than a month or so, and he was a genuine snob, intellectually superior to the majority of his confederates.
Horst von Epp grated the nerves of men like Rudolph Schreiker. He made them feel insignificant, and no Nazi should be made to feel that way. Many would have loved to get rid of Von Epp, but those in power realized he was needed for his particular talents and therefore worth the annoyance he caused.
The German propaganda instrument had effects which had never been duplicated. They knew the basic premise that if a lie was repeated often enough even those who knew it was a lie would soon regard it as truth. Then there were half truths based on masterful distortions of facts. Horst von Epp had helped engineer for Josef Goebbels one of the most brilliant propaganda coups of any age during the Spanish civil war, which was no civil war at all. He was able to clutter the true issues so neatly that the world soon came to believe that the Loyalist government was a Communist government and therefore the Spanish war was a war against communism.
While the Propaganda Ministry poured out fantastic distortions, it became Horst von Epp’s job to water down the vitriol. In Berlin, clever and unsatisfied newsmen from the outside world always stood ready to pounce on the validity of the Propaganda Ministry’s statements and charges. It was impossible to evict all of the journalists who questioned them and still keep world opinion in check.
Horst stilled the troubled waters. He became the pal of the newspapermen. He was always the swell guy, despite the fact that he was a Nazi. The Nazis were never known for being personality boys, so Horst’s personal charm was a luxurious departure from the Nazi bureaucrats. He became the front man who shielded the curious from the inner circle. Horst von Epp could fix anything for a journalist, from a speeding citation to a fräulein, any size or specification—for his friends.
Warsaw became a focal point of world observation. World opinion had to be kept in bounds.
During the winter of 1939, France and England engaged in a make-believe war with Germany on the western front. Not a single shot was fired by either side. Trains moved along the border unmolested. Germany embarked on a massive campaign to try to talk England and France out of continuing the war, now that the “Polish issue was settled.”
It therefore became a priority issue in the Propaganda Ministry to keep adverse news from getting out of Poland, which could upset their plans. Legions of neutral journalists had descended on the General Government Area from Italy, Switzerland, Sweden, the Orient. A few Americans and South Americans got in. A slick operator like Horst von Epp was needed to “keep things quiet.”
He arrived in Warsaw and established an elaborate headquarters in the Bristol Hotel, commandeering half a floor. He stocked his personal suites with the best liquors and foods. Within two weeks he had a line on every model and actress in Warsaw who was not stricken with Polish nationalism and made the propositions very attractive to them. Twenty-five of the most ravishing specimens were set aside for the pleasure of the top foreign newsmen and diplomats. He made up a second-string team of coeds from the university, secretaries, professional women, and attractive wives seeking to augment their incomes.
After the humorless, dull, blustering Rudolph Schreiker, Von Epp was making things bearable for the foreign journalists. Everything was conducted in a rather informal atmosphere, which both eased the tension and tranquilized the extent of their probing.
Chris was just finishing dressing when the doorbell of his flat on Jerusalem Boulevard rang. He opened the door, and Horst von Epp stood before him. The man was immaculately dressed and wore a pleasant smile.
“Hello there,” he said. “I am Horst von Epp.”
“Come in.”
The German looked around. “Lovely ... lovely. Ah! That jacket you are wearing.” He looked at the label. “Feinberg of Bond Street. The finest tailor in London. I was his customer right up to the war. Of course I had to switch the labels because he’s Jewish, but most of those lunkheads can’t tell a fine piece of material when they see one. Uniforms! Uniforms! The tailors in Berlin are butchers. Do you suppose you could get me a few things through Switzerland from Feinberg?”
“You didn’t come here for that.”
“No. I had a reception for the foreign press corps yesterday. I was particularly looking for you.”
“Sorry, I was driving back from Krakow. I phoned in my regrets.”
“No matter.”
“I just finished reading your love letters,” Chris said, referring to the new set of censorship regulations and procedures for filing dispatches.
“Oh, that,” Von Epp scoffed. “Nazi bureaucracy. You see, we have to put a hundred people to work making orders and then another hundred countermanding them. Another hundred sorting paper clips. That pays off our obligations to the party faithful. We shall rule the world in triplicate. Cigarette?”
“Matter of fact, yes. I drove back from Krakow so fast I forgot to buy some.” Chris was impressed with the package of American Camels.
“I’ll send you a case, my compliments. I’ve also made arrangements for certain members of the press corps to draw food supplies, personal articles, liquor, and so forth, from the SS officers’ stores at the Citadel.”
Well, Chris thought, this is something new in Nazi public relations. He studied Von Epp. Why had he been singled out for special treatment? He had heard Von Epp was coming to Warsaw and was a regular guy. Smooth—very smooth. Yet certainly likable.