by David Edgar
Now the fire feels like the torches of the Nuremberg rallies. Enter GANZENMÜLLER.
GANZENMÜLLER. On the 28th of July 1942, yes, I appear to have signed a letter to SS General Wolff. ‘With reference to our telephone conversation of 16th July, I am able to inform you that since 22 July one train a day, with 5,000 Jews, is going from Warsaw to Treblinka . . . ’
Now the torches are topped by Speer’s Cathedral of Light, through which walks HANKE.
HANKE. All right. I’m going to say this once – and you’re going to say nothing. There’s a place, in Upper Silesia, on the Vistula near Crakow.
It’s vast, goes on for ever. I.G. Farben has a plant there. In the Polish it’s Oswiecem and we call it Auschwitz. And if you’re invited there – don’t go. I can’t describe it. I am not permitted to describe it. Just don’t go.
1.15.2 Posen, 1943
Then the light becomes candelabra in the darkness and a small man enters, now alone, to a lectern. Finding it hard to see through the gothic gloom, he blinks, and cleans his glasses. Then he begins.
HIMMLER. I want to speak now, in this most restricted circle, about a matter which you, my party comrades, have long accepted as a matter of course, but which for me has become the heaviest burden of my life – the matter of the Jews.
The brief sentence ‘The Jews must be exterminated’ is easy to pronounce, but the demands on those who have to put it into practice are the hardest and the most difficult in the world.
We, you see, were faced with the question ‘What about the women and children?’ And I decided, here too, to find an unequivocal solution. For I did not think that I was justified in exterminating – meaning kill or order to have killed – the men, but to leave their children to grow up to take revenge on our sons and grandchildren.
For the organisation which had to carry out this order, it was the most difficult one we were ever given. I think I can say that it has been carried out without damaging the minds and spirits of our men, or of our leaders.
Blackout.
End of Act One.
ACT TWO
‘People cannot find a place in their imagination
(or allow themselves to remember) unimaginable horror.
It is possible to live in a twilight between knowing
and not knowing’.
W.A.Visser ’t Hooft, Dutch theologian
(quoted in Gitta Sereny, Albert Speer: His Battle with Truth)
ACT TWO
2.1.1 Spandau Garden, August 1966 and September 1954
A bench on one side. On the other, SPEER kneels, looking down. We might think he is praying, or in a state of abject misery. In fact, he is planting a flower with a trowel. He looks up. He is 60 years old.
SPEER wears a corduroy prison suit stamped with the number five on the breast, back and knees. He stands and speaks.
SPEER. So who is this old man? Well, he was first an architect, whose works proclaimed his country’s power to the world. And then a Minister, building armaments to dominate the world. But now he is a gardener . . . who built a place of beauty in the midst of all the dust and rubble, which he pretended was the world.
Who is he? Well, he’s all these things. But most importantly, he is your father.
HESS enters. He is in his 60s, as he was in 1954. His corduroy uniform is stamped four.
It was Herr Hess who gave me the idea.
HESS sits on the garden bench.
So how are you today, Herr Hess?
HESS. Oh, pretty bad.
SPEER (out front). He was Hitler’s deputy. And frankly he’d been pretty screwy even then.
HESS. However. I’ve decided I was wrong to think my food was being doctored to give me stomach cramps. After all, I can take any one of the seven bowls that are standing on the table.
SPEER. So you’ve got over your obsession.
HESS. Oh, no. That would never do. If I got over it, it wouldn’t be obsessive.
SPEER looks at HESS, fascinated by this logic.
SPEER. We all have our eccentricities. Do you know that I’m collecting kilometres? Don’t you think that’s crazy, writing down the distances I’ve walked each day?
HESS. Why not, if you enjoy it?
SPEER. But every week, I add them up, and calculate the weekly average, and enter the results.
HESS shrugs.
And even to start off I had to calculate my walking course, by measuring my foot, 31 centimetres, then walking heel to toe, 870 times, to work out my track.
HESS. Sounds logical to me.
SPEER. But it gets worse. Now I plan to walk to Heidelberg! 616 kilometres! That’s Two Thousand Three Hundred and eighteen point fifty two circuits of my track! Isn’t this completely mad?
HESS. Well only if you want to –
SPEER. And the worst thing is, my real obsession is that I’ll miscount and get there late. Can you believe that? That I could have been sitting in my favourite pastry shop but I’m still trudging through the outskirts in the rain!
HESS stands and goes out.
Herr Hess? Have I offended you?
HESS returns with a tin.
HESS. Here. Take 30 beans. Put them in your left pocket. Then every round drop one into your right pocket. And at night you count them up. You understand?
SPEER. Yes. Thank you, Hess.
HESS. Don’t mention it.
He makes to go.
A thought. Why stop at Heidelberg?
HESS goes out.
2.1.2 Spandau Garden, August 1966
SPEER turns out front.
SPEER. And so from Heidelberg I walked to Munich. Then across the mountains to Vienna. And all the time, I was thinking, when I got back to my cell, and found a scrap of paper, what I’d write to little or as time passed not so little Hilde.
When you were young, about how I first met your mother, and some jokey stories about life in prison in my ‘magazine’ for you, the Spanish Illustrated. Then later, when I made our secret rule: that if something’s wrong, but you don’t want to say so, then put the word ‘nevertheless’ before the sentence. Thus if you say, ‘Nevertheless, I’m fine’, it means you are not fine at all. Meanwhile, I walk on. My record for one day so far is 24.7 kilometres, my best pace 5.8 kilometres an hour. To aid me, the person who I call ‘my friend’ has obtained for me by our secret channel maps, travelogues, art history . . . he warns me of all natural barriers, raging rivers, glaciers, mountains, and sends me descriptions of the wonders I will pass.
You ask about the Nazis. You say how could an intelligent person go along with such a thing.
This morning I left Europe and crossed the pontoon bridge to Asia. I have trouble picturing the magnificent panorama: mosques and minarets in the midst of a tangle of small houses. How many towers does Hagia Sofia have?
To reassure you: of the dreadful things, I knew nothing. As far as practising anti-semitism or even uttering anti-Semitic remarks, my conscience is entirely clear. I really had no aversion to them, or rather, no more than the slight discomfort all of us sometimes feel when in contact with these people . . .
And today I am 353 kilometres from Kabul. If no snowstorms intervene I should be there mid-January.
Already we are fewer: three years ago Neurath was released, a year later Raeder and last year Dönitz. And Neurath died.
Now there are only 780 kilometres to Calcutta, which will mark the completion of my ten thousandth kilometre.
And I wonder: will I later miss these quiet days with books and gardening, free from ambition and vexation? When I’m released, will I still be able to cope with the world?
Funk was released two years ago and now he too has died.
For more than a year now I’ve been tramping north through endless woods of larch and fir, with gnarled silver birches in the highlands.
And now another 500 kilometres through the snowy wastes to the Bering Straight still lie before me, all to be done in almost total darkness. However, wonderf
ul northern lights, such as I saw in Lapland at the end of 1943, continually transform the scenery.
HESS enters. He is now in his late 70s.
The strait is frozen till mid March. I wanted to arrive in time to walk across. And so I have.
HESS. Herr Speer, you are talking to yourself.
SPEER. Yes, indeed I am. And in fact, Herr Hess you may be interested –
HESS. Schirach says that in mental hospitals they set the feeble-minded to the gardening.
SPEER. You may be interested to hear that you are looking –
HESS. Good point, I think.
SPEER. – that you are looking at the first central European to reach America by foot.
Pause.
HESS. This is more serious than I thought.
SPEER. Clearly you don’t remember.
HESS. No.
SPEER. So here’s a clue. The word is ‘beans’?
HESS. No, it won’t do.
SPEER. Don’t you remember? The 30 beans, to transfer from one pocket to the other. Look!
He shows HESS his beans.
HESS. You mean you’ve kept it up for all this time?
SPEER. Seventy-eight thousand five hundred and fourteen rounds. Twenty-one thousand two hundred and one kilometres. And look – the Bering Strait. The gateway to Alaska, Canada, Seattle. California!
HESS. Well . . . and they say I’m crazy.
He goes out.
SPEER (out front). And so. Hilde. This is my last letter. And a chance to thank you for all the extraordinary energy and love you expended in the effort to shorten my time here . . . the love from you to me was always the greatest gift.
SPEER stands a moment, then, in a different tone:
And what I thought but didn't say . . . This idiotic organisation of emptiness . . . What I am left with in the end is nothing but the foolish satisfaction of having marched obstinately in a circle for decades.
Through a mirrored hall of hundreds of unchanging faces, over and over, and all mine.
You know, if I had lived fully here, I think I would have had to die. Instead, I have become the man I never was.
He reaches into his sock and takes out a scrap of cardboard, from which he reads:
A telegram. To ‘my friend’. Rudi. This should reach you at precisely midnight, 30 September 1966. Please pick me up 35 kilometres south of Guadalajara, Mexico.
2.2.1 Outside Spandau. Midnight, 30 September 1966
Midnight chimes. SPEER walks out of Spandau, surrounded by British GUARDS, into the chaos of a phalanx of PRESSMEN, film and TV cameras, flashbulbs. On the edge of the crush is SPEER’s lawyer FLACHSNER, 66, leading MARGRET towards her husband. Rudi WOLTERS is on the edge of the scene.
PRESSMEN (variously). Herr Speer, how does it feel to be released?
What do you think of the treatment you received?
This way please, Herr Speer!
What are your plans?
FLACHSNER. Excuse me, excuse me please –
PRESSMEN. Frau Speer, how long is it since you’ve seen your husband?
Just turn your head this way, Frau Speer!
Do you think your sentence was just?
Where are you going now, sir?
Have you changed your views on Hitler?
Do you think you have paid a proper price?
Are you happy with your treatment in Spandau?
What was your view about the Eichmann trial?
FLACHSNER and MARGRET have reached SPEER, who looks happy but bewildered. They shake hands. FLACHSNER is holding up his hands trying to stop the barrage of questions so that he and SPEER can speak.
PRESSMEN. What did you most miss in prison?
What do you think about the Berlin wall?
How were your relations with your fellow prisoners?
Please look over here, Herr Speer!
SPEER holds up his hands along with FLACHSNER and the hubbub dissolves into silence.
PRESSMEN. Why were you not released early?
Do you feel responsible for Nazi crimes?
Do you think you were unjustly treated?
Do you think you’ve paid the price?
FLACHSNER. Ladies and gentlemen. Herr Speer will make a short statement.
FIRST PRESSMAN. What are your immediate plans?
SPEER. Ladies and gentlemen, may I say at first that I am quite glad to be out.
Laughter. The beginnings of questions, which SPEER stops with a gesture.
PRESSMEN. Do you plan to go back to architecture, Herr Speer?
SPEER. You will understand that I can only be brief tonight, for this evening belongs to my wife.
HECKLER. It’s not your business to say anything!
Booing and shhing.
SPEER. So you will forgive me for answering your questions this way. My sentence was just. I was treated correctly at all times. I have no complaints. Thank you so much.
FIRST PRESSMAN. What are your plans, Herr Speer?
SPEER. My immediate plans are to spend some quiet days with my family.
SECOND PRESSMAN. And beyond?
SPEER. I am an architect –
HECKLER. Architect!
SPEER. – and I hope to find people who will let me practise my profession. Thank you very much.
THIRD PRESSMAN. Herr Speer, do you think you have paid the price for what you did?
SPEER. And now please, everyone . . .
FLACHSNER pushing through the PRESS, making a path for SPEER and MARGRET to the car.
FLACHSNER. Thank you, that’s all.
3RD PRESSMAN. Will you be giving further interviews, Herr Speer?
FLACHSNER. No, he will not.
PRESSMEN. What is your view about the Frankfurt trials?
Do you plan to meet with any world leaders?
Will there be a press conference?
FLACHSNER. There are no further questions. Herr and Frau Speer are going to a private address.
SPEER passes WOLTERS.
WOLTERS. So here I am. Just south of Guadalajara.
SPEER. Rudi. Long time no see.
WOLTERS. You will come and see me.
SPEER. Oh, of course.
WOLTERS. I have the ham. And the Johannisberger.
SPEER(overwhelmed). And everything you’ve done for me. For us. For all these years.
WOLTERS. But tonight is for your wife. Go, go.
After this private moment, WOLTERS is swallowed up by the crowd.
PRESSMEN. Where are you going, Herr Speer?
Are you going to write about your experiences?
Have you sold your story to a newspaper or magazine?
What is your view on denazification?
What was your relationship with Rudolf Hess?
Will you be meeting up with your old comrades?
The price, Herr Speer! Do you think you’ve paid the price?
2.2.2 Hunting Lodge, Schleswig-Holstein, 1 October 1966
The SPEER CHILDREN, their SPOUSES and ANNEMARIE waiting in a hunting lodge hired by the SPEERS. Old fashioned comfort. Downstage, easy chairs and a gramophone. To one side, a table laid for dinner. HILDE(30), her husband ULF Schramm, ALBERT(32), and his wife RUTH, FRITZ(29) and ARNOLD(26). Two WAITRESSES stand close to waiting trays of canapés and drinks. The scene starts in silence. ALBERT goes and takes a canapé.
ALBERT. What’s this?
FIRST WAITRESS. Paté de fois gras, sir.
HILDE. It was one of the requests.
RUTH. Is that the stuff they make by forcefeeding –
ARNOLD. Yes.
ALBERT (eating). It’s actually quite palatable –
ARNOLD. It just tends to be a little rich.
ALBERT gestures anyone to take one.
ALBERT. Paté de fois gras, anyone? Aunt Annemarie?
No one takes up the offer. ANNEMARIE shakes her head. HILDE goes and takes a drink and sits.
HILDE. Well, as I say, he ordered it.
ULF. H
e ordered everything.
HILDE. It’s been driving us all bonkers. Lists lists lists.
ULF. Appointed tasks.
ALBERT. But after twenty years, I guess you are entitled.
FRITZ. So everybody: best behaviour –
A door opens, HILDE leaps up. Enter the 28-year-old MARGRET, her husband HANS STRAUSS, and 23-year-old ERNST.
ALBERT. Margret.
MARGRET JNR. We met Ernst at the station.
HANS. Sorry we’re so late.
ARNOLD. It’s fine. The old man’s not here yet.
ALBERT. Now, Hans, you’ve met Aunt Annemarie? Who was Father’s secretary in the war.
HANS. Of course I have.
HILDE. And truth be told . . .
ANNEMARIE. Ernst! Aren’t you looking well.
ERNST JNR. Aha. That’s what you get for being over 21.
ARNOLD. Why’s that?
ERNST JNR. People stop saying ‘aren’t you tall’.
RUTH. And haven’t started saying ‘aren’t you old’.
Pause.
HILDE. Of course, you haven’t seen him for twenty years.
ANNEMARIE. Not since Nuremberg. And visa versa, naturally.
MARGRET JNR. You look as wonderful as ever.
ALBERT. And in fact I think we’ve all –
FRITZ. In fact, dear family, tarantara, tarantara.
Enter MARGRET and SPEER. Applause. ALBERT nods to the WAITRESSES who pour champagne into the glasses ready to take them round.
MARGRET. I’m sorry.
SPEER. We must have . . .
MARGRET. Father thought he spotted a reporter.
SPEER. . . . come round the wrong way.
He takes it in.
Well. Well.
ALBERT to him.
ALBERT. Father, welcome back.
They shake hands.
SPEER. My boy.
ALBERT. And father . . . Ruth.
SPEER. My dear, how wonderful to meet you.
SPEER kisses RUTH’s hand.
You know, your husband has the most lovely hands. Do you remember, Albert, on your first visit, all those years ago?
ALBERT. Of course I do.
SPEER. I shook my son’s hand, and I was put up on a charge.
MARGRET. Well, you won’t be charged with anything today.
