Riot of Romance

Over the wires of a great and hard-boiled news service last week came the lead "BERLIN RAN RIOT WITH ROMANCE TODAY."

At dawn that day in a misty Berlin prison courtyard two cringing figures in suits of coarse sacking were led out, their hands chained behind their backs. Headsman August Groeber, 67 and spry for his age, advanced in impeccable full dress exuding Eau de Cologne. An artist, as are all great executioners, Groeber keeps his blade on ice until the last second, figures that blood has a tendency to congeal on an iced blade and hence will not spout on his boiled shirt. Swish-clump! Swish-clump!--two heads rolled in the sand. One of them, declared Nazis with more exuberance than exactitude, was "the head of the first Jew ever decapitated in German history." Otherwise insignificant, Jew Solly Epstein and equally inconsequent Gentile Hans Zeigler were sentenced to death for the Nazi crime of "watching" outside the flat of Horst Wessel during the brawl on Jan. 14, 1930 in which that Nazi martyr was shot by a Communist. The fact that

Martyr Wessel earned his living as a pimp is glossed over in Germany since he wrote the words of the national Nazi anthem.

Next shot of Berlin romance after the Dark Age beheading last week came when Nazi No. 2 was awakened with a brass band serenade, for it was his wedding morn. As every German knows, Nazi No. 1 eschews pomp, never wears anything more pretentious than a corporal's uniform, eats no meat, never smokes, drinks nothing stronger than beer. Contrariwise No. 2 Nazi Hermann Wilhelm Goering crowds every waking moment with pomp and circumstance, changes from gorgeous to still more gorgeous uniforms half a dozen times a day, stuffs his fat but mighty-muscled frame with much raw meat, tosses off champagne with gusto and indulges his every whim, from keeping a fond lioness at home to forcing the League of German maidens to make pilgrimages to the shrine of his late first wife who was a Swedish Baroness.

Nazi Goering is Premier of Prussia, German Air Minister, Master of the Hunt, Chief Forester, General of Aviation and dread Chief of the Secret Political Police. It was he who ordered shot during the Blood Purge (TIME, July 9) the only man for whom Adolf Hitler had acted as best man since his rise to power, Berlin Storm Troop Leader Karl Ernst. Last week the Realmleader was going to be best man for Goering.

Aryan Emmy. Dawn mists and rain soon cleared to "Nazi weather," as Germans are taught to call every fine day. On this beautiful morning, by the Realm-leader's order, a fine Berlin street, the Sonnemannstrasse, was deprived of its name.

Sonnemannstrasse was named long years ago for the Jewish founder of the Frankfurter Zeitung. Last week General Goering was about to marry Actress Emmy Sonnemann. Whatever she is, she does not look Jewish. During the War she clerked in a Hamburg candy shop. Goering then was a national hero, one of Imperial Germany's greatest fighting aces, finally Commander of the late, great Baron Manfred von Richthofen's daredevil escadrille. Three years ago Emmy was introduced to Hermann by Adolf.

Says she: "I fell in love with him at first sight." As Premier of Prussia he controls the State Theatre for which she acted. "I decide whether a player is Jewish or not!" he has boasted. Deciding he loved Emmy, Premier Goering created for her the title "State Actress," equivalent to prima donna assoluta.

Stork Guffaws. Not superstitious, Bridegroom Goering masterfully ignored the general belief that one should not see one's bride on the wedding day before the ceremony. Piling his great bulk into an open Mercedes, already half full of roses and tulips, he drove to his Emmy's house on the same swank street as the U. S. Embassy, picked her up, drove on to the Realmchancellery, picked up Best Man Adolf Hitler and drove down a lane of 33,000 uniformed Nazis of both sexes to

Berlin's City Hall where 6 ft. 6 in. Mayor "Long Heinrich" Sahm performed the civil service.

For this General Goering had invented a completely new uniform with what seemed to be a great white bib jutting from under his lantern jaw. With no time to change uniforms at the City Hall, he whipped off his bib, snapped on a different detachable chestload of medals, donned a shimmering white scarf across his blue-grey chest as

General of the Flyers and was off with his bride to Berlin Cathedral. Guffaws from the populace were attributed to a stork which sedately circled the Cathedral spire at the crucial moment, then flapped off toward East Prussia.

As befits a German Emperor, which he is in all but name, Realmleader Hitler sat alone ahead of the congregation. Realmbishop Ludwig Muller pronounced the words of holy matrimony, almost the only thing he has done without public dispute since Catholic Hitler raised him from the rank of army chaplain to be the most unpopular head of Protestantism Germany has ever had. To Muller's question "Do you take this woman. . . ?" Goering replied "JA!" with the bellow of a drill sergeant. The State Actress answered "ja" so softly she could scarcely be heard.

Cried the Realmbishop in benediction, "The love of the entire nation, from the Leader to the humblest citizen, accompanies you this day."

As Herr and Frau Goering left the Cathedral her train was carried not by bridesmaids but by "bridesboys," ripe, apple-cheeked Nazi favorites.

Hams, Jokes, Diadems. At the jolly champagne wedding breakfast Best Man Hitler seemed as much out of things as he always does at a party. Wedding gifts ranged from dozens of Westphalian hams to the manuscript of Arabella presented by Opera Composer Richard Strauss. No. 1 Nazi Jew-baiter Julius Streicher, who always does the odd thing, presented a huge volume which he said contains all jokes current in Germany about the bridegroom. Eccentric Rear Admiral von Levetzow, Berlin Police Chief, gave "a fragment of a shell fired at Jutland," but rich Germans currying favor piled up $400,000 worth of presents.

"Aha!" boomed the bridegroom, twirling a diadem between big thumb and finger. "This I bought for my bride with what I now save on my bachelor tax!" Less than a year ago General Goering's friends were distressed because he insisted on praying twice daily at a sumptuous private shrine to his first wife. Last week the newlyweds drove off to his hunting lodge, where the whimsical Master of Huntsmen has an amazing "hunting coach" (see p. 23).

Why Goering? If General Eric Ludendorff had not broken with Adolf Hitler after the failure of their Beer Hall-Putsch in 1923, he might today be No. 2.

Goering, the hero-crowned War ace, began his political career as the best barnstorming attraction an Austrian house painter whose putsch has fizzled could command. Addicted to morphine, as were many great airmen at the close of the War, Goering has been "cured" in Sweden but he still has occasional extraordinary moments, and in certain kinds of politics a dash of madness is a dash of greatness.

Not No. 1 Hitler but No. 2 Goering is credited with such Nazi inspirations as burning down the Reichstag, blaming this on the Communists, using it as an excuse to scrap the Constitution (TIME, March 6, 1933) and a year later starting the shooting of prominent Nazis which was called "The Blood Purge."

Actually there were two purges, both begun the same night, with Goering's at Berlin generally believed to have started a few hours before Hitler's at Munich. This darkest Nazi page may never be clear. At his possible worst General Goering hoped that Pederast Ernst Roehm would have Hitler shot in Munich after which Goering and Roehm might have succeeded in butchering a slew of Reichswehr generals and other obstacles to Storm Troop supremacy.

As the purges turned out, Storm Troop Leader Roehm was Hitler's most prominent victim and General Kurt von Schleicher was Goering's. Botched was any possible Storm Troop coup against the Reichswehr which has been waxing ever since, while the Storm Troops wane.

Still the No. 2, still on outwardly friendly terms with the No. 1 and still Adolf Hitler's greatest rival, Hermann Wilhelm Goering has made less news than usual of late, devoting himself to building up Germany's new air force, putting away cherished memories of his adored first wife, falling in love all over again and finding his jittery nerves calmed with new happiness. Last week he announced that on April 20, Hitler's birthday, Emmy Goering would make her farewell appearance as Prussian State Actress in her favorite frogged-jacket role of Queen Louise in The Prince of Prussia.

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