V Alexander - The Taster

I saw little of Hitler during the early months of 1944 and that suited me fine. He traveled back to the Wolf’s Lair, leaving a few of us with Eva. The officers who confided in Karl told him the Führer was now impossible to get along with no matter his location. He was surly, irritable, and always directed blame away from himself to those beneath him. Hitler, the infallible, could do no wrong. Karl said the Führer had the uncanny knack of refusing the sound advice of his generals and then excoriating them for losses of men and matériel. They were doomed by his failure to listen, his belief in his omnipotence. He was also a disastrous statesman, a tyrant over the lands he had conquered. His puppet governments were little more than killing machines against those who resisted his iron hand.

We never found out who laced Hitler’s cup with cyanide. Neither did the SS. So many splintered pockets of resistance were arising it was impossible to tell who might be responsible. The Colonel ordered that the poisons be taken out of the kitchen and Cook’s classes for new tasters be discontinued. “I’m more concerned about the Führer than a taster,” he told her. “If they die, they die.” Cook was furious, but her protests had no effect. At first I suspected someone from the kitchen, perhaps even Else, had tried to poison Hitler, but when I studied her kind face and subservient demeanor I knew she would never attempt such an act. On the other hand, those loyal to the Führer, like the Colonel, remained staunchly so and above suspicion. They would fight to the death for the Reich. Karl and I decided we should keep to ourselves during the winter and not press our luck. The times were too dangerous and too much suspicion had been cast upon the kitchen staff. Karl assured me the plot we’d been waiting for would be put into motion soon. Therefore, we should exercise patience and caution.

After the holidays, Karl and I expected we would be called back to the Wolf’s Lair. However, no orders ever came. Hitler returned to the Berghof in late February 1944.

The foul mood in the house was unchanged by the intermittent thaws and shoots of grass poking through the snow. Although the days were growing longer and the sun stronger, heavy clouds of melancholy hung over the mountain retreat. Eva and her friends, the SS staff, Göring, Bormann, Speer and others would sometimes bask on the terrace during the increasingly warm days. Most of the time they were like paper cutouts, as shallow and useless as the governments Hitler had set up in his conquered lands. I imagined these officers and dignitaries came to the Berghof to listen to Hitler, bow and scrape and then execute his orders whether or not they believed in them.

By late March, the British had made no move against the Führer, nor had any other governments. Karl hinted that attempts on Hitler’s life, besides the one he was involved in, might be in the works from other SS officers. The SS and its divisions were fractured by a lust for power; the chain of command was Byzantine and Machiavellian. Its leaders often were not aware of what their fellow officers were doing. Hitler issued conflicting orders to the officers and expected them to be carried out no matter the cost. If the men asked for clarification, they would be labeled as idiots or traitors who were dragging down the war effort. Astonishingly, Karl told me that Hitler’s generals were whispering about an attack the Allies might be massing for on the Western Front. Hitler knew of these rumors and scoffed at the idea. France was impenetrable, he thought.

Our mood brightened on June 6, 1944, when news of the Allied invasion at Normandy arrived at the Berghof. Karl disguised his delight in the company of the other officers, but with me he was euphoric. He sensed that Hitler could not win a war on two fronts. The Red Army was pushing to the west, the British and the Americans would push to the east and they would meet in the middle—in Germany.

Hitler, Karl reported, was “white as a ghost and looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.” He spent much of his time in the Great Hall hunched over, his hand shaking as he attempted to draw with colored pencils on his array of maps.

“Hitler will have no choice but to surrender,” Karl said to me a few days later. We sat in my room after I’d tasted. Else had gone out with one of the other girls for a walk. He whispered in my ear, cautious that he might be overheard. “Valkyrie may not even be put into motion.” He clasped my hands. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? The Allies may be here in a matter of days.”

I looked at his face and saw that he was searching for any good news to come out of this war. He could not hide the exhaustion that lurked underneath his skin. I wanted to build him up for our sake, but this evening I couldn’t. That task was as difficult as the change of winter to spring—the promise was there, but there was no certainty when it would happen.

I withdrew my hands from his and spoke in a low voice. One couldn’t be too cautious. “It would be wonderful… but we are dealing with a madman.” I turned away, afraid to look at him for fear I would cry. “I don’t believe he will surrender. Germany will go down to defeat in ashes.”

When I turned, Karl’s face was pale and wracked with pain. His voice shook. “Please, Magda, tell me you don’t believe what you’re saying. For God’s sake, tell me you believe we will live.”

I sighed. “I only know I love you.” I brushed my hand against his cheek and said, “Let’s be married. Let’s live before it’s too late.”

He stared at me, his eyes clouded with emotion. He kissed me and whispered, “Yes, as soon as we can.”

Eva came to me a few days before my wedding and helped me pick out a suit from her vast wardrobe. She invited me to her private apartment, adjacent to the Führer’s. Her living room was nicely coordinated in blue and white furnishings with a matching couch along one wall. A white writing desk sat opposite, in addition to chairs and a small table. Two rustic windows let in light.

I sensed she was as excited about my nuptials as I was—perhaps even more so. Eva, like so many devoted followers of Hitler, had the sense that nothing could go wrong as long as he was in charge. The man she adored would, in the end, conquer all the lands he desired. My faith in that future was by no means as assured.

She took me into her bedroom, where a large burled walnut wardrobe covered one wall. She pulled open the doors and said, “Choose whatever you like.” I was astonished at her collection of beautiful dresses, shoes, furs and scarves. I handled the dresses carefully, deciding upon a smart navy suit, one of the least expensive Eva owned, but with modern styling. “I’ll loan you my pearls,” she said. “They’ll look wonderful with that outfit.” She sat on the edge of her bed and looked at me. “I don’t think we wear the same shoe size. You’ll have to fend for yourself.” She laughed, but the sound came out small and bitter.

I was taken aback by her laugh. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Oh no, Magda, not you. You’ve been above reproach. You’ve even saved the Führer’s life. I’m forever grateful.” She stopped and lifted her hands, examining her ring finger. “I wish I had a little sherry.” She smiled. “A drink might help me get through the day.”

“I’m thankful you’re letting me choose a dress. But it’s too much.”

“No, it’s your special day.”

Despite her generosity, I remained aware that we weren’t really friends. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. If you prefer to be alone—”

She rose from her bed and rushed to me. “No, don’t leave.” She took my hands in hers. “Can’t you see? I envy you—you’re marrying the man you love. And a handsome one, I must admit.” Her face reddened. “I have no wedding, no marriage to look forward to because the Führer will not set a date while we are at war. His duties are too important. There’s too much work to be done for Germany. The Reich’s leader shouldn’t concern himself with such trivial matters as… love. The excuses are always the same.” She released my hands and returned to the bed, sinking upon it in despair.