cigarette, tossing it carelessly in Clara’s direction and offering a light. Having savored this hesitation, he resumed.
“Especially when you’re about to appear in the most ambitious film that Germany has ever seen.”
“Love Strictly Forbidden?”
Goebbels cast his eyes to the ceiling, as though beseeching divine help, and tapped a finger on his patent leather boot.
“Don’t be ridiculous, woman.
Love Strictly Forbidden
is a piece of nonsense designed for brainless secretaries on a night out whose highest ambition is to seduce their employer and entrap the poor sap into marriage. I’m talking about something of immense artistic importance.” He exhaled a weary stream of smoke, as though the woes of the world had settled on his narrow shoulders.
“You, Fräulein Vine, have been plucked from—well, perhaps not obscurity”—he gave a sardonic wince—“but very far from stardom, to feature in a documentary film about the making of Germania.”
“But I…”
“Don’t interrupt. It’s the inspiration of the Führer himself. He feels the time is right for a full-length film about the triumphs of our nation and a celebration of our cultural conquests abroad.”
What exactly could Goebbels be referring to? The remilitarization of the Rhineland? The annexation of Austria? The seizure of Czechoslovakia?
“Which cultural conquests did you have in mind?”
Goebbels’s eyes narrowed to check for subordination, then he said, “I take it you’ve heard of the Ahnenerbe?”
“I’m not sure I…”
“Herr Reichsführer Himmler’s hobby.”
The mention of the sinister, moonfaced SS chief was like an ice cube down the spine. Himmler had that effect on most people. Generally his hobbies involved building new concentration camps and expanding the Gestapo’s state-of-the-art surveillance system, but no one, as yet, had suggested making a film about them.
Goebbels crossed his skinny legs and sighed. “I can see I’m going to have to explain. You must have seen newsreels about the trip to Tibet?”
“Oh yes,” she said quickly. “That.”
The weekly newsreel was shown before every feature film. Clara had dozed through one just the other evening when she visited the Ufa Palast with Erich. Vaguely she recalled footage of scientists disembarking from a plane at Tempelhof airport. From what she could recall, the expedition had been dedicated to proving one of Himmler’s most cherished notions—that the Aryan race was preeminent on earth. They had been examining Tibetan natives for evidence.
“Himmler’s full of these obsessions,” grunted Goebbels. “If it’s not the Ahnenerbe, it’s that place down in Wewelsburg.”
Sensing that he had imparted a little too much information, he drew himself together, rose, and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Anyway. The Ahnenerbe is a scientific institute established to research the cultural history of the German race, and whatever our private thoughts about the SS Reichführer’s—
enthusiasms—
its work will be the centerpiece of this film. It’s got foreign locations, history, adventure.” A little, dismissive wave. “Everything people love.”
“It sounds very ambitious.” Clara made a mental note to grill Erich about the Ahnenerbe as soon as possible. As an ardent member of the Hitler Youth, he always knew about these things.
“It is. As the Führer sees it, the Ahnenerbe is at the very heart of our work as National Socialists. It seeks to propagate the eternal values of the Germanic races. Et cetera, et cetera.” Goebbels waved his hand to signify the kind of officialese beloved of his own newsreels and newspapers. “I’m giving you the broad-brush picture here, but you’re going to need to familiarize yourself fairly swiftly, because from what I hear Himmler is taking a close interest in this film and he’s perfectly likely to turn up on the set without warning.”
Goebbels’s face twisted with distaste at the thought. The
“Especially when you’re about to appear in the most ambitious film that Germany has ever seen.”
“Love Strictly Forbidden?”
Goebbels cast his eyes to the ceiling, as though beseeching divine help, and tapped a finger on his patent leather boot.
“Don’t be ridiculous, woman.
Love Strictly Forbidden
is a piece of nonsense designed for brainless secretaries on a night out whose highest ambition is to seduce their employer and entrap the poor sap into marriage. I’m talking about something of immense artistic importance.” He exhaled a weary stream of smoke, as though the woes of the world had settled on his narrow shoulders.
“You, Fräulein Vine, have been plucked from—well, perhaps not obscurity”—he gave a sardonic wince—“but very far from stardom, to feature in a documentary film about the making of Germania.”
“But I…”
“Don’t interrupt. It’s the inspiration of the Führer himself. He feels the time is right for a full-length film about the triumphs of our nation and a celebration of our cultural conquests abroad.”
What exactly could Goebbels be referring to? The remilitarization of the Rhineland? The annexation of Austria? The seizure of Czechoslovakia?
“Which cultural conquests did you have in mind?”
Goebbels’s eyes narrowed to check for subordination, then he said, “I take it you’ve heard of the Ahnenerbe?”
“I’m not sure I…”
“Herr Reichsführer Himmler’s hobby.”
The mention of the sinister, moonfaced SS chief was like an ice cube down the spine. Himmler had that effect on most people. Generally his hobbies involved building new concentration camps and expanding the Gestapo’s state-of-the-art surveillance system, but no one, as yet, had suggested making a film about them.
Goebbels crossed his skinny legs and sighed. “I can see I’m going to have to explain. You must have seen newsreels about the trip to Tibet?”
“Oh yes,” she said quickly. “That.”
The weekly newsreel was shown before every feature film. Clara had dozed through one just the other evening when she visited the Ufa Palast with Erich. Vaguely she recalled footage of scientists disembarking from a plane at Tempelhof airport. From what she could recall, the expedition had been dedicated to proving one of Himmler’s most cherished notions—that the Aryan race was preeminent on earth. They had been examining Tibetan natives for evidence.
“Himmler’s full of these obsessions,” grunted Goebbels. “If it’s not the Ahnenerbe, it’s that place down in Wewelsburg.”
Sensing that he had imparted a little too much information, he drew himself together, rose, and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Anyway. The Ahnenerbe is a scientific institute established to research the cultural history of the German race, and whatever our private thoughts about the SS Reichführer’s—
enthusiasms—
its work will be the centerpiece of this film. It’s got foreign locations, history, adventure.” A little, dismissive wave. “Everything people love.”
“It sounds very ambitious.” Clara made a mental note to grill Erich about the Ahnenerbe as soon as possible. As an ardent member of the Hitler Youth, he always knew about these things.
“It is. As the Führer sees it, the Ahnenerbe is at the very heart of our work as National Socialists. It seeks to propagate the eternal values of the Germanic races. Et cetera, et cetera.” Goebbels waved his hand to signify the kind of officialese beloved of his own newsreels and newspapers. “I’m giving you the broad-brush picture here, but you’re going to need to familiarize yourself fairly swiftly, because from what I hear Himmler is taking a close interest in this film and he’s perfectly likely to turn up on the set without warning.”
Goebbels’s face twisted with distaste at the thought. The
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