These were obvious excuses to cover up his unauthorized behavior, but Wolff didn’t dare say anything against a Party veteran who counted many Nazi bigwigs as his friends. He simply suggested that the two fighting roosters get together and iron out their own differences. He could tell Hausser that his adversary really wanted to follow the order, and assured Dietrich that Himmler completely disregarded Hausser’s letter of complaint. The letter remains in the file to this day.
Wolff was also unsuccessful in his attempt to end an argument within the Party, whose evergrowing stack of files continued to land on his desk incessantly for two years. The fight began with a complaint by Gruppenführer Reinhard Heydrich about a painter, by now rightfully forgotten,
but who at the time was well regarded as an art promoter. His name was Wolf Willrich, and he considered it his mission to propagandize Nazi ideas through drawings and paintings of idealized people visibly of the Nordic race in heavily symbolic situations—men usually portrayed as heroic warriors, women as mothers or pregnant, naturally. According to the trend of the times, Heydrich had Willrich paint a portrait of his wife Lina, a blonde girl from Fehmarn Island. Then bizarre doings began to intrude in March 1937: against his wishes he discovered the picture on the cover of the magazine
Volk und Rasse
(People and Race). Given the assignment by Himmler, Wolff wrote to the office responsible for the magazine, the SS Race and Settlement Main Office, asking that Willrich be barred from any further publications.
Little did he know that this would take him to the heart of the dispute about the direction and goal of German art for years. The matter remained underground since the general public was not very interested in the topic, and rightfully so, because the two main squabblers were actually fighting for Party bigwigs who dared not insult each other directly. Wolf Willrich, the saccharine-sweet guardian of the Aryan race, who after many unsuccessful years with the Nazis had finally reached success, represented one side. His burning desire was to make those who had always been successful, the slimy ones and the bolsheviks of culture, pay for his humiliation. He found those who would share in his struggle at the “League of Defenders of German Culture,” sponsored by Reichsleiter Alfred Rosenberg, and in Reich Farmer’s leader Richard Walther Darré, he even found a consistent client, paying him a monthly retainer. In his book,
Cleansing the Stamp of Art
, Willrich strongly denounced the painters Emil Nolde, Karl Schmidt-Rottluff, Otto Dix, Ernst Heckel, the sculptor Ernst Barlach, the artist George Grosz, and many other modern artists of the twenties as destroyers of culture. He also influenced the exhibition “Degenerate Art” put together in 1936 at Hitler’s request. For this, many works in different styles—or by Jewish artists—were removed from museums. They would prove that the “cultural bolsheviks” had tried to weaken the aesthetic standards and the moral strength of the Germans through the fine arts.
At least during the first years following the seizure of power, there were still opponents, predominantly intellectuals and artists within the Party, to such iconoclasts. Berlin university students spoke out in favor of an exhibit in May 1933 where a great many condemned artists were to show their work as examples of a revolutionary era. One of the supporters
of this operation was the Reich Leader of Education of the National Socialist Association of Students—Nazi journalist Dr. Johannes von Leers.
At the time Willrich’s book appeared, the discussion regarding German and non-German art had long been decided—given Hitler’s provincial taste in art. In 1933, while architect Albert Speer remodeled the building of the Berliner Gau leadership and renovated the rooms, paintings by Emil Nolde on loan were hung on the walls. Dr. Goebbels, as Gauleiter of Berlin, was enthusiastic—until Hitler inspected the rooms and demanded that “these lousy pictures have to go.” From that point on, even Dr. Joseph Goebbels saw all art only through the Führer’s eyes, and most of the artists whom the Berlin students admired had either emigrated or were no longer allowed to work.
Typically enough, none of the denounced artists defended themselves against the defamation, except for art book publisher Willrich, who had been branded a “cultural bolshevik.” He went to court referring to Dr. von Leers’ report, to prove that he, Willrich, did support official National Socialist ideas, and had been incited by fanatic outsiders to publish the book. Very soon insults and denunciations were being hurled back and forth. Old Party comrade von Leers, now promoted to SS Obersturmführer, was blamed for organizing a revolt with the Berlin student association in 1933 against the Führer’s cultural policies.
Attorneys were hired. The SS Race and Settlement Main Office was asked to make a statement. Darré’s Reich farming community threatened to withdraw Willrich’s retainer if he refused to drop the issue. Defamatory letters arrived at the school. The president of the Reich’s Association of the Fine Arts, Adolf Ziegler—dubbed “Master of German Pubic Hair” because of the precision of his detailed nude paintings—was forced to be the arbitrate. Finally, both adversaries turned to Heinrich Himmler. Leers, his opponents demanded, “should be removed from all key positions that he still holds in the Party. A procedure of expulsion should begin…”
Even Wolff, with his extensive experience at smoothing out differences, could not separate the two sides. Without getting involved he turned over the files to Darré, the leader of the Reich farming community, who allowed Willrich to proceed against Leers in court, but the suit died within the justice system because the war broke out eight months later. Willrich could, however, immediately claim success; Wolff bought two paintings from him for the SS, for a total of 4, 000 marks, which was equal to the yearly income of a middle-class employee at the time. They hardly fit in
with Wolff’s tastes, since he liked figurative art. He had a life-size, oil portrait done of himself by Professor Padua, standing in a self-confident pose, like Lohengrin, in a festive white uniform decorated with medals, the formal dress of high-ranking SS officers.
When it became necessary to handle a problem discreetly at the upper echelon, he was clearly the best suited on Himmler’s staff. This was why the Reichsführer SS wrote the large German letters “Wolff” on the upper right-hand corner of the letter dated May 30 to “dear Heini.” The sender was Count Leo Du Moulin Eckart and the intimate form of address was a relic from the early years of the NSDAP. The count was at the Wehrkreiskommando in Munich, along with Himmler and Reichswehr Captain Ernst Röhm during Hitler’s putsch on November 9, 1923. After the ban on the Party was lifted he returned to his old position and had tried to build up an intelligence service for the Party under SA chief of staff Ernst Röhm.
Then in 1932 Karl Leonhard Count Du Moulin Eckart was involved in an obscure matter when leftist newspapers published Röhm’s private letters where his homosexual tendencies became obvious. Apparently the entire clique around the SA chief of staff was to be killed in a plot by purist Party comrades. The matter was never really cleared up, but on June 30, 1934, when Hitler had the SA leadership mowed down in Munich, even the count and SA Brigadeführer—who was not a homosexual—ended up among those arrested. He was taken to Dachau concentration camp where—as his merciless Führer said of him—“he should be glad to still be alive,” because he “actually deserved to the due to his constant treachery when there was strife at the
Munich Post.”
Himmler kept this statement by Hitler in a note on file after he had asked his Führer whether the count could not be released. The Reichsführer SS was obviously not completely convinced of his guilt. Shortly after that he managed to get his former comrade-in-arms back to Winklarn Castle, which he owned in the Upper Palatinate. Himmler also made sure that the prisoner returning home was not subjected to any form of harassment from the Party.
Indeed, it happened that an archeologist who was busy with diggings for the SS in the Gau of Schwaben, and who occasionally visited the Du Moulin family, was accused by the Gau leadership in Augsburg and the district leadership in Neu-Ulm of being in contact with an enemy of the State. It was after this incident that the count wrote the previously mentioned letter calling for help to Himmler on May 30, 1938. Two and a half
weeks later, Wolff dictated a registered letter to the district leadership in which he certified that the count “follows the appropriate regulations and does nothing without letting the Reichsführer SS know” The district leader from Neu-Ulm thus found out that in principle “the matter of the Count Du Moulin Eckart was being handled according to directives from the Führer.” Neither the archeologist nor the count were to be bothered by any of Party authorities in the future.
The count’s obsequiousness went so far as to ask for Himmler’s approval when his sister Aimé wanted to marry the Austrian Hans Schober. His uncle had been a chancellor of Austria for a time and later chief of police in Vienna. Through the RSHA, Wolff had an evaluation of the groom made at his work place in Vienna. The count found out on September 25, 1938, that Himmler “cannot do anything for your brother-in-law, because he received openly unfavorable information about him.” He was being blamed for having contact with those favorable to the Habsburg monarchy and Jewesses, as well as for his unhealthy compulsion to waste.
Countess Aimé protested against such reproaches. Understandably she wanted to find out the source but Himmler refused to talk. He let her know through his adjutant that he would give the information to her brother personally. This took place during his next visit to Munich.
Understandably Himmler had very little time for the countess’ marriage plans in those days. The crisis in the Sudetenland reached its peak during the second half of September. It had already begun six months before, even though ordinary people hardly felt any of it at the beginning. The Führer gave instructions for Operation Green, the preparation of the invasion of Czechoslovakia, which was obviously a State Secret, on April 22, 1938. Two days later Konrad Henlein, the leader of the Sudeten-German party, realizing that his attempts to reach an agreement with the government in Prague were unsuccessful, declared that his nation “from now on would take a separate path,” which was not seen as a warning.
Up to that point all of Hitler’s operations had ended well; everyone could still hear the happy sounds of the Austrians cheering.
At the beginning of May the heavens of the Third Reich were shining in grand style as never before. Hitler visited Mussolini in Italy; their friendship was celebrated for eight days. Himmler and Wolff traveled with an entourage of 500 people. Although the royal family and their followers behaved very coolly toward the Teutonic invaders descending in five special railroad cars, their well-known Italian friends in the secret police celebrated the SS leadership that included Heydrich and Daluege. As Hitler
told his hosts that he renounced all the claims by German nationals in the South Tyrol, he was in effect thanking Mussolini for keeping quiet during the annexation of Austria. At the same time he issued an advance request for future support when the Sudeten Germans would be brought back home to the Reich.
It was then, with the increasingly bad news from the Sudetenland, that the German people understood that the next thunderstorm was in the making. Prague called up its reservists and there were demonstrations, disturbances, and shootings in the German-speaking regions. Many of the younger Sudeten-Germans secretly crossed the border into the Reich. Just as refugees from Austria were formed into a legion, there was now a Sudeten-German volunteer corps. Because it was politically expedient, they were incorporated into the SS. Henlein, the self-confident sports instructor from the Bohemian border town of Asch, would have preferred to keep the corps under his control, but because he, with his Sudeten-German party, had competed for a while with the Nazi party within the ethnic group, the Reich Party leaders did not entirely trust him. There was a meeting on July 31, 1938, in Breslau at the German Gymnastics Festival—the last one, by the way, that the organized clubs of the German Gymnastics Association was to arrange. Hitler and Henlein agreed how the 3.5 million Czechoslovakian citizens of German nationality were to be brought home to the Reich. Now Himmler received orders to prepare his armed SS units and the voluntary corps for the invasion in Bohemia, in case—as planned—disturbances should break out in border towns.
Himmler and his top adjutant Wolff could already see their names in the history books as great liberators. At the Nuremberg Party rally at the beginning of September, they marched at the head of the SS units that goose-stepped across the main market past Hitler. Himmler led with his arm outstretched, with Wolff in step behind him. As always, they were fired up by the excitement of the Volksfest, the shattering marching music and the approving screams of “Heil” from the masses of people on the plaza. But stronger than ever before was their confidence that they were the creators of a heroic era. Although just a few days before Hitler gave them a terrible damper during his “cultural” speech—when he railed against the “slipping in of unclear, mystical elements” in “the movement against places of worship and cult—oriented fuss in the Party organizations.” But on September 11, the day they marched by, they were convinced by this demonstration of power and strength that great days were ahead of them. This was confirmed the next day in the congress hall; at the end
of the Party convention, Hitler announced that he would show no more patience with Prague.
Everything went according to Himmler’s wishes. For Wolff there was, of course, a small frustration on the fringe of this heroic day. Margarethe Himmler, several years older than the Reichsführer SS, a trained nurse, and according to Lina Heydrich, someone who “diets down to panty size 50,” had invited the wives of the highest-ranking SS leaders to the Party rally. With a compulsory schedule of events, she kept them all under her wing. As Lina Heydrich and Frieda Wolff escaped this situation where they were being told what to do, and decided to enjoy themselves among the crowd of Party comrades, they were admonished in military fashion. Both complained to their husbands, who had already protested in their own right about the attitude of the “female Reichsführer SS”—the result was that the mighty man shrugged his shoulders, looked helpless and sad, as if to say “That’s just the way she is!” No one close to him was surprised when he found emotional and sexual solace with his secretary Hedwig Potthast after 1940 and with whom he had two children.