The Nuremberg Interviews (25 page)

He continued listlessly to describe his family and siblings. His two half brothers, whom he rarely saw, were seventy-six and sixty-six years of age and still living. One half brother died at twenty-five of unknown causes. His two full brothers were two years older and two years younger than himself. His older brother died during the First World War at the front. His other brother, born in 1895, named Albert, was “never a party member.” He was here in Nuremberg for a while, but is now interned at the camp in Hersbruck. “He lived in Austria and was opposed to the party until 1938. Then I had him appointed to become the foreign director of the Skoda Works in Prague. That was before the occupation of Czechoslovakia. In reality I had nothing to do with his appointment, merely recommended it. He remained in that position until the end of the war. His position was not affected by my station.”

This brother, Albert, was married happily, but “always looked ten years older than I. Maybe it was because he took things too seriously. We never really got along well together. For twelve years we never spoke to
each other because of Albert’s attitude toward the party. Neither of us was angry at the other. It was a separation due to the situation.” As children they had little in common, as far as Goering could recall. Albert was not the sport lover that Hermann had been. They would quarrel over small things, “like all children, but I can’t remember any serious fights.”

Goering’s education in the early years was in the hands of a tutor and later in a private school. He attended a private gymnasium in Fürth until he was thirteen. He then was enrolled in the cadet school, at first in Karlsruhe and later in Berlin for five years until his graduation in 1911. He was bent on becoming an officer from his earliest recollection. “The cadet school had the same curriculum as the gymnasium. One could become a lawyer or doctor after attending the cadet school. But I stayed in the cadet corps and became an officer in 1912.”

In 1912 he joined the infantry regiment of Prince Wilhelm in Mülhausen, where he remained during the years 1912 to 1914. He said that the regiment was named after the prince, but this was only an honorary title. It was the custom to name various regiments and corps after members of the nobility. “In our army it was changed. There were only two military units named after individuals. The Hitler Bodyguard, which was an SS unit, and the Hermann Goering Division, which was a varied outfit, mainly a panzer division but belonging to the air force. In the air force there was the Richthofen Squadron, which remained so named. I was Wolfram Freiherr von Richthofen’s successor.”

Goering seemed little interested in these details. I remarked that he seemed a bit depressed or at least thoughtful. “You know, what I’m thinking of is my brother Albert. You ask me about my own brother, and I can hardly tell you about him. It’s strange but true of all human beings. It just occurred to me why we were estranged. He was always the antithesis of myself. He was not politically or militarily interested; I was. He was quiet, reclusive; I like crowds and company. He was melancholy and pessimistic, and I am an optimist. But he’s not a bad fellow, Albert.”

Goering felt as if he had acquitted himself well after this recital of the differences between himself and his younger brother. He launched into a description of his career from the time of the outbreak of the First World War. He was a lieutenant of infantry at the front and participated in the first few battles until October 1914. He then joined the air force. He was an aerial observer until June 1915, and then he became a pilot.
At first he flew a large bomber, and in the fall of 1915 became a fighter plane pilot. He was severely wounded in 1916 during an aerial battle. In the summer of 1918 he became commander of four squadrons, which was the largest single aerial formation in the last war. He remarked that toward the end of that war the English had the biggest air force, but the Americans had only a few poor planes, which entered into action only toward the end of the war. He said that his injury kept him out of active service for only three months of the entire war in 1916. For two months he was confined to a hospital bed, and another month he spent recuperating at a mountain resort.

“Ach,” sputtered Goering, “I live in the present, not the past. All of this reminiscing is like so much dead fish.” Obviously his recital of his past was so dispirited it was unenjoyable to him. He wanted to talk of more recent memories, of the glories that were his in the Third Reich, of the personalities among the defendants, of anything except himself and his personal life. There ensued a lively conversation about present affairs, which I found superficial and dull, but uttered by Goering as if he were a savant and philosopher.

At one point in the interview he commented on Ribbentrop. “He is a good fellow, but he always appears as if he will fall apart any minute. Sometimes I have a hard time when he bores me in his remarks in court. That he did the Führer’s will and followed instructions is correct. He did more or less as I advised him during his defense, but he has no ability to spar with the prosecution. If I had been foreign minister I would be able to defend my actions, no matter what they had on me. But Ribbentrop is so weak and indecisive.”

He enjoyed commenting on his fellow defendants. In the main he said nothing disparaging about their political ideas or actions, but his temptation to make an acrid observation often overcame his calculated desire to present the Nazi regime as a dignified body of high-minded statesmen. We spoke of Hess. I mentioned that Schirach had told me that Hess was always a peculiar fellow, who probably felt left out of things in 1941, and to show that he was important, flew to England. I repeated Schirach’s analysis that Hess was a pilot in the First World War, just as Goering had been, but also became one at the end of the last war and was undistinguished. Schirach felt that perhaps unconsciously he flew to England to show the world that he, too, was a great flier.

Goering smiled. He obviously did not want to corroborate anything
Schirach might have said at this moment because the unexpressed tensions between the two men were running high. Goering knew that Schirach was going to abandon the “united front” policy which Goering strived so hard to maintain. He knew that Schirach had decided on admitting that Hitler was a murderer, for example, and this was certainly against Goering’s tactics, which were all for putting the Nazis on a respectable basis, ignoring the atrocities, the warmongering, the general corruption of the regime. Nevertheless, Goering could not resist making a few remarks about Hess.

“Hess was slightly off balance for as long as I can recall. Why the Führer kept him on as head of the party was a mystery to most people, but to me I always felt it was Hitler’s loyalty to his old friends. I remember Hess had a bright idea once in treating me for some neuralgia that I had at the time. It was in 1936 or so. Anyway, one day lots of pots and pans arrived of all different sizes. I didn’t know what they were for. One was for soaking my arm, another my forearm, another size for my leg, my thing, and so on. I called him up and asked him what he had sent me so many pots for — did he think I wanted to start an aquarium? But Hess explained that I told him I had neuralgia and this was the treatment for it. I thanked him over the telephone and laughed for days.”

I said that Schirach also told me that Hess was said to have had a pendulum in his office, which he used to detect whether the letters he received were worthy of answering or not — whether the writer was a friend or an enemy. If the pendulum swung in one direction, the letter was all right; if it swung another way, the letter was a bad one. Did Goering know anything as to the validity of this tale?

“Sure. I saw Hess’s pendulum and he used it. I never paid any attention to his strange ideas. He was quiet and bothered nobody. I knew a great surgeon who believed in a similar pendulum, using it the same way Hess did. Apparently it’s a common superstition.” Goering went on to say that obviously it was not Hitler’s idea that Hess fly to England, because it was too stupid. “There were many other means to negotiate a peace with England if Hitler wanted that. We could use our representatives in Sweden or Switzerland.”

He returned to the subject of his attitude toward Ribbentrop. “Ribbentrop should say, ‘This is my policy. I stand up for it. If a foreign tribunal tries me for what I did in a sovereign state as foreign minister, it’s none of their business.’ That’s what I would have said if I were in his
situation when he took the stand. Instead he had many quibbling memoranda, legalistic notations, long explanations. I don’t think much of that kind of defense. A defense should be like mine was, clear, straight, no quarter given to the prosecution. They can’t force a foreigner to account for his actions in his own country. It’s none of the tribunal’s business. Personally I used the tribunal to give to history and the German people a last statement about the National Socialist regime and my part in it. As far as the cross-examination — I didn’t give a damn for it. I was polite, but firm. I answered questions intelligently.

“I never thought much of Ribbentrop’s abilities. As a foreign minister he was lacking in understanding and experience. I was against Hitler’s choosing Ribbentrop at the time he did. I wanted Neurath to remain. He was not a strong man, and Hitler could tell him what to do, but he would do it more intelligently and with more finesse than Ribbentrop.”

I remarked that it seemed to me Hitler surrounded himself with odd, weak characters, such as the two we were just discussing, Hess and Ribbentrop. Goering did not reply at once, but finally said in a dry manner, “I have never pretended that in later years Hitler was one who could stand for any disagreement. In the beginning I could speak my mind with him, at least in private. I often disagreed with him. But later on that was impossible, and he expected everyone, myself included, to say ‘yes’ to his every word.

“Even in the early years of the war I had plenty of influence with Hitler. I kept Sweden out of the war, when Hitler wanted to invade that country. Through my friends in Sweden, I managed to get King Gustav to write Hitler a note, to the effect that Sweden would resist invasion. Hitler asked me about it and I said Gustav was entirely right. Besides, what on earth did we have to gain by bothering a neutral nation that was more help to us out of the war than in it? The Swedes know I spared their country from war. Birger Dahlerus, my witness, knows that.”
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We went on to talk about Hitler. It seemed obvious that Goering was consciously trying to tell me breezily about people without in any way insinuating their weaknesses, except unconsciously, because of his desire to maintain his line of solidarity with all things Nazi, all “good Nazis,” and produce a legend of betrayal by someone or other which accounted for Germany’s defeat and Hitler’s change of personality. What about Hitler’s death? I asked. Did he really think Hitler committed suicide? If so, was it not a cowardly thing to do? Goering assumed an air of loyal
disapproval of my effrontery in asking him if Hitler had done a cowardly action. “No, it was certainly not cowardly. Can you imagine that man in a cell like this? Hitler was the spirit and symbol of Germany. They did not put Kaiser Wilhelm on trial after the last war, they aren’t trying Emperor Hirohito of Japan. But they would probably have tried Hitler. I am here to stand in for Hitler. It was not a matter of cowardice for him to allow others to assume the responsibility for his acts. It’s a responsibility I gladly assume in Hitler’s stead, as I told the court.” There was little conviction in his voice as he said these gallant words. It was as if he had played a record that had gone stale and the music was off-key.

He said that he was certain Hitler had committed suicide because Speer had told him that on April 22, 1945, Eva Braun told Speer that she and the Führer intended to die together in Berlin. I asked him if he knew Eva Braun and what sort of woman she was. I said that Dr. Brandt, Hitler’s personal physician, had mentioned to me that Hitler often said that the “greater the man, the smaller the woman he should have.” Goering’s cue for emphasizing the respectability of Hitler and Nazism had been given. He said loftily, “The Führer, like myself, had a great respect for women. He was satisfied with Eva. I never knew her well, saw her a couple of times. She was completely alive for Hitler, which is as it should be. She was no great beauty, but wasn’t a bad figure. She had a sweet personality, I think. Hitler always disapproved of his party leaders divorcing wives and marrying younger ones. That is seen here among the defendants. Frick and Schacht, for example, married against the wish of Hitler. Do you realize that Schacht, in his late sixties, is married to a comparatively young woman? Schacht is now such a moral, upstanding man!”

Did Hitler really have much regard for the common people? Again, Goering appeared dignified and disdainful of the whole idea of questioning the motives of the man who “symbolized” Germany. “His whole life was dedicated to the German nation.” He seemed to quit this subject abruptly. I continued for a moment, more or less ignoring his disdain. What about Hitler’s last testament? Schirach, Speer, Fritzsche, and other defendants told me often that the last testament showed how megalomaniacal Hitler was, and how little he cared for the people. The whole tempo of his last testament, according to Schirach, I continued, was that of vitriolically blaming others for the defeat of Germany, scorning the existence of the German people, and so forth.

Goering stirred himself, and for the first time during today’s interview
seemed anxious and defensive. “In the first place I’m sure Hitler did not write that damned testament himself. Probably some swine like Bormann wrote it for him. But I don’t see what is so terrible in the testament when you examine it, anyway. There was Berlin, bombed every minute. The noise of artillery from the lousy Russians, the American and British bombers overhead. Maybe Hitler was a trifle unbalanced by all that. If he wrote the testament at such a time, it was hysteria. But essentially, what difference does it make?”

I was silent for a moment and Goering fidgeted. “You probably think I’m jealous because Hitler named Doenitz his successor. Ridiculous. I was too important for him to name. I, too, was a symbol of Germany. Who was Doenitz? A little admiral who could negotiate a peace. Who could Hitler have named? Certainly not Ribbentrop, who was mistrusted abroad. Not me, his foremost contemporary!”