Читать книгу In the Way of the Reich - Paula Astridge - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

‘You’re my brother, for God’s sake. What are you trying to do, kill me?’

It was all that Hermann Goering could say to stop himself slapping his brother senseless. He was beside himself, his normally flushed, flabby face blanched white with rage.

This was the fourth time that he’d had to pull out all stops to rescue Albert from the Gestapo torture chambers. It was the fourth time, in as many months, that Albert had been arrested for getting in the way of The Reich. Not only by publicly slandering its leaders and purpose, but by committing the unpardonable sin of siding with the Jews and helping them escape extermination. Acts of supremely dangerous defiance that hit out directly at Hermann and threatened his position as Germany’s Reich Marshal. But it was worse that he was stupid enough to get caught out doing it.

‘What’s wrong with you? Do you hate me that much?’ Hermann demanded. ‘Or are you just getting some sick thrill from humiliating me in front of Hitler?’

‘I don’t hate you Hermann. I love you. I always have. It’s just that I don’t approve of your objectives or of what you’ve become to achieve them.’

Hermann answered with a contemptuous snort as he levelled his fat, ring-encrusted finger at his younger brother. ‘Well you can just thank your lucky stars that I am who I am. Otherwise you’d be dead. Who else would have the care or clout to save your miserable skin, and to do it repeatedly?’

Exasperated, Hermann walked over to pour himself a drink, uncorking the brandy decanter with a savagery that he would have just as soon exercised on his brother’s neck.

‘Throughout the entire war,’ he continued, ‘you’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side and an embarrassment to the family. You’ve gone out of your way, for some peculiar reason, to undermine all our most strongly held convictions. And for what? To destroy me and to defile our mother’s memory? It certainly hasn’t been for the good of Germany. Why do you do it? What possesses you to act in such a selfish, irresponsible way?’

Had Albert not been so appalled by the atrocities his brother and the Third Reich had committed he could almost have found this comment amusing. As it was, he could only dredge up a sardonic smile.

‘My selfishness stems, I believe, from my feeling for my fellow man.’

‘Oh, spare me the sanctimony,’ Hermann threw back at him before he swilled the last of his brandy and slammed the empty glass down on the table. ‘You’d be better off “feeling” for your brother for a change, because you’ve put me in an impossible position. But I can tell you now; it’s for the last time. I’ve had enough. Enough! I’m not going to intercede on your behalf again. Next time you get arrested, the Gestapo can do what they like with you.’

At this point, however, he relented, his tone softening as it always did with his younger brother.

‘Look Bertie, you know that you are dearer to me than almost anyone else in this world, but you’ve pushed me too far. You must understand that I’m walking a fine line with Hitler at the moment. Ever since Stalingrad, he’s lost faith in me and my in-house enemies are having a field day with it. They just can’t wait to see me fall flat on my face, and are actively working to that end. But do you have to keep on making it easier for them by showing me up as a fool in front of The Fuhrer with this wretched, worthless crusade of yours?’

On this subject, however, Albert was adamant.

‘If that’s what it takes to help bring down The Third Reich, then yes I do.’

Hermann had not expected his mild-mannered brother to speak out with such conviction. Courage and candour of the like were most out of character and hardly Albert’s right when his very existence on Earth seemed to pale into insignificance when compared to that of his older brother.

‘Do you honestly think that your feeble efforts to save a few Jews are going to count for anything in the grand scheme of things? You delude yourself.’

‘Perhaps,’ Albert agreed. ‘But at least I’ll know that in some small way I tried to make a difference.’

Hermann did not answer. He chose, instead, to stop and study his brother more closely. In looks, sentiments and in his very essence, Albert was his complete antithesis. Here he was, Hermann Goering, with his startling blue eyes and larger-than-life persona. Everything about him from his outlandish, expensive clothes to his fat body and overbearing presence was big-time and colourful. And there was his brother, two years his junior, who bore no resemblance to him whatsoever. Tall, dark-eyed and elegant, Albert had a seemingly diminutive spirit and gentlemanly grace which had been denied his older sibling. Hard to believe, in fact, that they’d been delivered from the same mother.

‘I’m going to name him Hermann, after you,’ Fanny Goering had said to her doctor, Hermann Von Epenstein, back on January 12, 1893 when her son was born.

Still sweating, flushed and bleeding from the exertion of her 18-hour labour, she had not been beyond this piece of breathless flirtation. She tilted her lovely blue eyes provocatively in his direction, shamelessly working her wholesome, Germanic charms to her best advantage. She flirted not only to boost his ego but also as repayment to him for having overseen this fret-free birth of her second son, Hermann, when the birth of her first son, Karl, had nearly killed her.

‘That perhaps may not be appropriate. Surely your husband will object,’ the doctor had answered as he’d washed his hands of both afterbirth and conscience.

For the truth was that he could not have been more thrilled to have won the love of the buxom, beautiful Frau Fanny Goering. She, in all her post-natal glory, was quick to dismiss his concerns.

‘My husband will do what I tell him. And I, I will do whatever you tell me.’

What Epenstein told her was that from that day forward she and her family, including her husband, Heinrich, belonged to him. Not only was he to be Hermann’s godfather, but he was to play that same role in regard to them all. One way or another each of their futures was to rest in his hands, which easily explained the physical difference between the two Goering boys. Both of whom had indeed come from the same mother, but by way of two different fathers.

It was a scandalous reality, which back in those days was best not discussed, particularly when the main offender, Dr. Von Epenstein, was in possession of such great wealth and fame within Berlin’s social circles. And who, in fact, had been ennobled with the addition of the prefix ‘Von’ to his surname for services rendered as physician to the Prussian Court.

Had such flagrant philandering been perpetrated by a man of less consequence, it would have been met with a moral outrage, outdone only by the malicious gossip it inspired. But given the status of the man in question, Epenstein’s romantic practices were tolerated with a grovelling forbearance relative to the balance in his bank account.

Of course, also, the suffering of Fanny’s existing husband had to be taken into account. The failure of Heinrich’s political career and his addiction to the bottle as a result, was a subject more taboo than his wife’s infidelity. Not only did the old, ineffectual diplomat have to endure the indignity of being a cuckold, but also the greater shame of having relinquished all responsibility (both emotional and financial) to the rich and powerful Dr. Von Epenstein. For in Heinrich’s perpetually drunken state he had allowed himself and his family to be kept by his wife’s lover. To live under that lover’s rules and roof.

It was the very substantial roof of Veldenstein Castle, a stone fortress that clung to a cliff just north of Nuremberg. There, Heinrich was permitted to exist and indulge in its luxuries and sumptuous meals while having to pay for them by offering up his wife to his host for dessert. To sit by meekly at the lower end of the banquet table as Von Epenstein entertained his guests and introduced her, Fanny Goering, as his Lady of the Manor.

Hard as that was to swallow, it had been more difficult still for Heinrich to turn a blind eye when Epenstein then, nightly, escorted his lodger’s wife to his bed. The bed in which it was quite obvious Albert had been conceived. For appearance sake, Epenstein had the compassion and cunning to see to it that Albert and Hermann shared the Goering name.

Some would have said that this was a generous gesture when there was no hiding the fact that Albert was Epenstein’s spitting image. In looks, temperament and talent they were one in the same, whereas Hermann had inherited his Aryan mother’s compelling blue eyes, along with her enormous capacity for conceit. The irony was that Hermann was Epenstein’s favourite, which stood to reason given his fascination with Fanny. Love Albert though he did, the doctor was, by instinct, more drawn to the lively, devil-may-care character that was Hermann’s.

‘He’ll be a real man’s man,’ Epenstein would often boast to his guests as he recounted tales of Hermann’s daring exploits. In one instance he had seen his 12 year-old godson scaling Gross Glockner, the highest mountain in Austria. It was an Alpine climb which had killed many a mountaineer older and wiser, but as Hermann said:

‘I have no fear of heights. They stimulate me. Any danger is worthwhile when you reach the summit because you have a view that few men will ever see.’

For his blood-son, Albert, Epenstein reserved the arts. Both father and son were passionate about them. There was nothing they enjoyed more than sharing nights of wine and song and, when Albert grew a little older, the added joy of women. Throughout both men’s lives the chopping and changing of affections for the fairer sex was to be one of their favourite hobbies. Their love of music, painting and literature, however, was held in even higher esteem, three things that were embedded in the Jewish psyche.

Although Epenstein had long since converted to Catholicism, he had never been able to cast off his innate cultural instincts. This was to become a rather alarming reality for Hermann in his World War II Wonder Years. It was one which he would strategically neglect to mention when chatting to the likes of Hitler and Himmler and indeed he would go out of his way to keep his fond memories and gratitude for his godfather under wraps.

Yet that was something Albert never felt the desire or necessity to do. For safety’s sake his birth certificate stated that he was the son of Heinrich Goering and of solid Aryan stock, but his heart refused to disclaim his true heritage and deep-rooted respect for his real father. The feeling was mutual. For each time Epenstein sat listening to his son playing Beethoven on their drawing room Steinway, there was no doubt in his mind that this son of his was a chip off the old block.

Nevertheless, in his will, Epenstein left his entire fortune to Hermann. That included both his castles, Veldenstein and Mauterndorf, together with a substantial holding of stocks and shares. It was all bequeathed on the understanding that Hermann must always see to the needs of his younger brother, which Epenstein trusted that his godson would do. In matters of the like, Hermann was painstakingly honourable.

All this great wealth was to come to the Goering boys, but not before that same benefactor of theirs had first thrown them and their mother out into the streets. It was a shock and humiliation which Hermann’s father, Heinrich, was spared because he was already dead. In 1913, the lethal combination of liquor and love lost had driven him to an early grave.

Unlike her husband, however, Fanny was not removed from Epenstein’s presence by an act of God but by his pretty housekeeper. A more youthful, blonde and blue-eyed woman than she, who stepped in to fill the void in the aging doctor’s love life. Her hourglass figure and promiscuous promises had done wonders to hoist his flagging libido and to persuade him to push Fanny and her sons aside. After their 16-year relationship, Epenstein had tired of the Goering girl and was eager to replace her with a new model.

So Fanny, without the support of her two husbands’ cravings or cash, had been forced to set up a house just on the outskirts of poverty in Munich. From thereon in, she, Hermann and Albert (unaware that they were to inherit a fortune) were expected to make their own way in life. It was a way which had been smoothed, to a degree, by Epenstein, who had provided both boys with a first rate education.

Hermann had graduated from the Karlsruhe Military Academy and the Lichterfelde Officer Cadet School, and Albert, with his more analytical mind, had achieved a final report marked ‘High Distinction’ from Munich’s Realschule, which concentrated on scientific and technical training.

At that low point in their lives, however, neither young man was in the mood to show his appreciation. Yet, despite their razor-sharp resentment of Epenstein, they were not prepared to cut ties with him entirely. Instead, they chose to hold their love for him in abeyance, because an expedient little voice at the back of their mind told them that their continued loyalty to him might still pay off.

In the meantime however, they were both poor and in desperate need to prove themselves.