Chapter 40

December 19, 1931

Wolf and I attended Joseph Goebbels’s marriage to Magda Quandt at the Quandt family–owned estate in Severin, Mecklenburg. It was now hers courtesy of a generous divorce settlement. The weather was cold, with snow blanketing the ground. An honor guard greeted us with arms in salute as we approached the chapel entrance.

After the ceremony, the newlyweds, along with Harold Quandt, Magda’s son from her first marriage, garbed in his Deutsches Jungvolk uniform, led the procession from the chapel to the reception hall. Adolf Hitler—their best man—was a step behind the bride and groom, sporting a fashionable long coat and a felt fedora.

At the time of the Goebbels’s wedding, the Hitler youth program—personified by young Harold—numbered twenty-five thousand.

*

December 1931 appeared to be a month for Nazi weddings. Less notable was Reinhard Heydrich’s wedding, which neither Wolf nor I attended. But Himmler did. He was so impressed with the tall, blond, blue-eyed bridal couple that at the end of December he transformed the SS from a bastion of unmarried warrior-elite to a family-oriented corps. He issued a “marriage order.” All future SS men had to be married, and their marriages had to be pre-approved. Couples had to pass a racial purity test: neither groom nor bride could have a drop of Jewish blood.

To this end, Himmler established an SS Racial Office to test for racial suitability and fertility. Each person’s family was traced for Aryan purity for 130 years, to the year 1800. If found impure, the SS man was forced out of the corps.

*

Looking back on this time, one thing is clear: Adolf Hitler changed. It was not that his character or values were altered. Rather, for him, everything intensified. Blacks became blacker and whites whiter. In a sense, he lost a degree of balance.

. . . along with part of his humanity.

During the time since Geli’s death, Germany and the party were in the throes of change much the way Hitler was. The more Germany sank into despair, the more the party flourished. As 1931 closed, six million—nearly one-third of the workforce—searched for jobs. Millions more queued on breadlines and depended on soup kitchens for their sustenance.

As for me? It was also a period of change. I had lost the love of my life and felt adrift.

*

I returned to Berlin during the last days of the year. Wolf arranged for Alfred Hugenberg, the head of the studio, to provide me with one of his many apartments, a modest salary, and a small office at UFA studios with the title “consultant.”

I planned to spend New Year’s Eve alone in my Berlin apartment but grew depressed when I recalled the previous glorious New Year’s with Lilian in Switzerland. I hated the thought of welcoming in the New Year alone.

It took several calls, but I reached her. “Kitty, how are you and Max welcoming in the New Year?”

“We’re entertaining a small group at the Nightingale.” I mumbled something about how that sounded like fun. Kitty understood at once. “Friedrich, I should have thought of it before. You’re alone. Come. Join us.”

“Well . . . I don’t want to intrude.”

“Please hush. Friedrich, there is one thing you should know . . .” She paused then said, “These people are Max’s friends. They are all Jews.”

“For God’s sake, Kitty, you know me better than that.” I returned the receiver, with my spirits lifted.

*

“Don’t you look handsome in your tuxedo?” Kitty kissed me on the mouth, as I entered the club.

I pretended to brush lint off my lapel. “Thank Herr Goebbels. I needed to buy a new one after last year’s stink bomb attack at a movie opening.”

Max took my hand. “I can’t thank you enough for fixing my problem. I don’t know how you did it, but instead of paying for police protection, now the club is protected all the time. It doesn’t cost me a pfennig. Who did you call?”

I winked. “You know that certain questions should never be answered.”

“Was it Goebbels? Because if it was, I might offer the bastard a drink the next time I see him.”

I held up my hand. “Save the liquor for paying customers. What’s important is that you and the Nightingale are thriving.”

Kitty looped her arm through mine. “Enough shop talk. Let me introduce you to our other guests.” We left Max to speak with his headwaiter.

We neared their table set for nine; six seats were occupied. I stood behind an empty chair as Kitty made the introductions. All eyes turned to us. “This is our dear friend, Friedrich Richard. Permit me to introduce Herr Hermann Kaufmann and Frau Kaufmann.”

I tipped my head in deference. “I don’t know if you would remember, Herr Kaufmann, but we once met on the set of The Congress Dances.”

“I supplied the costumes. Wonderful movie.” Hermann Kaufmann owned Theaterkunst, the top décor and costume supplier in the world. Kaufmann gained notoriety when his company provided eight thousand costumes for Ben Hur. “Were you in the movie?”

I shook my head. “I score movies.”

“We must chat about that later,” Kaufmann said.

Kitty nudged me to the right. “Friedrich, may I present Siegfried Franz Oser-Braun and his wife, Johanna.”

I bowed. “I’ve passed your boutique a thousand times when I stayed at the Adlon Hotel.”

“You are a hard man to forget,” Oser-Braun rose with his hand outstretched. “I remember you accompanying Fräulein Harvey in our shop.”

“She appreciated its uniqueness. You have the best goods in Berlin.”

We moved to the last two. “And this is Martin Breslauer and his son, Berndt.” The lad stood. Berndt had already been bar-mitzvahed. He was tall and lank, displaying the manners of a mature adolescent. When Martin’s wife had passed away, he raised Berndt by himself.

Max appeared. “I see that introductions have been made. Why don’t we take our seats?”

After a round of drinks, Hermann Kaufmann turned to me. “Would we know any of the films you’ve scored?”

I ticked off a few movies.

“Friedrich is quite talented,” said Max.

I was glad Max did not elaborate that my dinner companions were dining with an SS general.

“He also plays the piano,” added Kitty.

“See, Berndt. I bet Herr Richard’s parents didn’t have to force him to practice the piano every day, now did they?” The doting father eyed me for support.

I empathized at the challenges Martin faced raising Berndt alone. “Perhaps you can visit me at the studio one day, Berndt, and I can introduce you to some pieces that might make the piano more interesting.”

Before Berndt could answer, Martin turned to the rest of the table. “I don’t know how much longer Berndt and I will remain in Berlin. These last months have given me pause. I can sell my books from anywhere.” Breslauer had recently discovered the five-thousand-book collection of Napoleon’s second wife—Marie Louise—hidden in an Austrian castle and sold it for a handsome profit. Then he added, “If the Nazis take power, there is little chance they will let me stay in business. My books are antithetical to their way of thinking.”

“Martin, you’re jumping to conclusions. That will never be necessary,” said Oser-Braun. “I’ve already made substantial donations to the Nazis. We finally have someone who will stand up for our sovereign rights.”

“How can you give that man money after everything he says about the Jews?” asked Breslauer.

“Hitler will never carry out his claims to rid Germany of its Jews,” answered Oser-Braun. “It’s empty rhetoric. He is just saying it to get votes. As for your books, I understand he is a voracious reader. It’s been reported that he loves history, art, architecture, and more. I tell you, you and your books are safe.”

“That man is capable of burning the books he does not read,” said Breslauer.

“Nonsense,” Oser-Braun scoffed. “What a crazy notion.”

While this was not the evening I expected, these unvarnished perspectives of upper strata Jews interested me. I was anxious to hear from Kaufmann and more from Oser-Braun.

Kaufmann cleared his throat. “I gave money to the Nazis, too, but not because I believe they will be good for Germany. Herr Hitler will always protect industrialists and donors like us. It doesn’t matter if we are Jews. What’s important is that he believes in capitalism, therefore, he believes in us. Look, he started as a socialist before he embraced capitalism against many in his own party. He began as a putschist—now he tells his party to lay down their arms. He has already become quieter about Jews. If he comes to power, I believe he will move even further away from those wild claims to get rid of us.”

He turned to me. “You haven’t weighed in, Herr Richard. What are your thoughts as to where this country is headed?”

Max coughed into his napkin. This was his way of letting me know that he would come to my rescue if I faltered.

I struggled as to what to say when Oser-Braun said, “No thinking person in Germany can be blind to what is happening around us, Herr Richard. Surely you must have strong beliefs about this.”

“All I know is that ever since the kaiser was forced to step down, we’ve floundered as a nation. We’re constantly on the brink of civil war. I am ready to support anyone who will get Germany back on the right track.” I glanced at Max for a lifeline.

Max, good soul that he was, came to my rescue. “In spite of all that is happening, our businesses have thrived, haven’t they?” He pointed to Kaufmann, Oser-Braun, and Martin Breslauer. “None of you can tell me I’m wrong. I am the first to admit that there are unsavory elements in Berlin we could all live without. But on the whole, things are not that bad for us.”

Kaufman agreed. “I couldn’t agree more. We are making more movies than ever. Business could not be better in spite of Herr Goebbels’s threats to monitor our industry.”

“I think you are all missing the point,” said Oser-Braun. “This country lacks structure. Even if the victors lifted all of the sanctions against us, we would not know how to steer this country. I, for one, welcome a benevolent dictator. That is why I am supporting Herr Hitler.”

Martin Breslauer shifted in his chair. “Now you’re getting into the world of Nietzsche. In order to achieve what you are suggesting, the supreme leader has to demand supreme happiness. I don’t think happiness is in Herr Hitler’s twenty-five-point program.”

“All I know is that President Hindenburg is the glue holding this country together. When he goes, all Germans should start to worry,” said Kitty.

“Then it’s time to worry. The presidential election is this March. I can’t imagine the general running again,” said Frau Kaufmann. “He’s eighty-five.”

“I’ve seen a number of eighty-five-year-olds with plenty of energy still left in them,” said Kitty. That brought much needed laughter to the table. Everyone, including the women, knew about Pension Schmidt.

Martin Breslauer remained nonplused. “How can we peg the future of our country on the old general? Is there no one else strong enough to fight the extreme right? Even if Hindenburg runs and wins, we’re deluding ourselves. He can’t live forever. Whether now or in the not-so-distant future, the government will be overrun. Civil war is knocking on our door. When that happens, this will be no place for Jews. As I said before, Berndt and I will leave before that happens . . . and I suggest everyone else at this table consider doing the same.”

That sobered everyone. I wanted to put their minds at ease, to tell them that Wolf had no intention of confiscating their properties or seizing their assets. But I couldn’t. Even if I unmasked, I couldn’t give them ironclad reassurances. I had no confidence that they had nothing to worry about. And yet . . . the fact that they were the very people with the most to lose and were of split opinion, gave me hope that all might end well.