Best arrived half an hour late, wearing an extraordinary black uniform with two rows of gold buttons and immense lapels lined in white velvet. After a formal exchange of salutes, he vigorously shook my hand, apologizing for his lateness: “I was with the Führer. I didn’t even have time to change.” While we congratulated each other on our respective promotions, a maître d’hôtel appeared, greeted Best, and led us to a reserved booth. I ordered another martini and Best a glass of red wine. Then he questioned me about my career in Russia: I replied without going into details; in any case, Best knew better than anyone what an Einsatzgruppe was. “And now?” So I explained my idea to him. He listened to me patiently, nodding his head; his high-domed forehead, gleaming beneath the chandeliers, still bore the red mark of his cap, which he had placed on the banquette. “Yes, I remember,” he said finally. “You were beginning to be interested in international law. Why haven’t you published anything?”—“I’ve never really had a chance. At the RSHA, after you left, they entrusted me only with questions of constitutional and penal law, and afterward, in the field, it was impossible. I have acquired a solid practical experience of our methods of occupation, though.”—“I’m not sure that the Ukraine is the best example.”—“Of course not,” I said. “No one in the RSHA can understand how we let Koch go on like that. It’s a catastrophe.”—“That’s one of the dysfunctions of National Socialism. On this point, Stalin is much more rigorous than we are. But men like Koch, I hope, have no future. You read the Festgabe that we arranged to have published for the Reichsführer’s fortieth birthday?” I shook my head: “Unfortunately not.”—“I’ll have a copy sent to you. My contribution to it developed a theory of the Grossraum founded on a völkisch basis; your old professor Höhn wrote an article on the same subject, as did Stuckart, from the Ministry of the Interior. Lemmel, you remember him, has also published work on these concepts, but elsewhere. It was a question both of completing our critical reading of Carl Schmitt and at the same time of putting forward the SS as the driving force behind the construction of the New European Order. The Reichsführer, surrounded by men like us, could have been its main architect. But he let the chance slip by.”—“What happened, then?”—“It’s hard to say. I don’t know if the Reichsführer was obsessed by his plans for the reconstruction of the German East, or if he was overwhelmed with too many tasks. Certainly the involvement of the SS in the processes of demographic planning in the East played a role. That’s part of the reason I decided to quit the RSHA.” This last assertion, I knew, lacked sincerity. Around the time I was finishing my thesis (it had to do with the reconciliation of positive State law with the notion of Volksgemeinschaft) and was entering the SD full-time, to help write legal opinions, Best was already beginning to have problems, especially with Schellenberg. Schellenberg, in private but also in writing, accused Best of being too bureaucratic, too narrow-minded, an academic lawyer, a hair-splitter. That, according to rumor, was also Heydrich’s opinion; at least Heydrich had given Schellenberg free rein. Best, for his part, criticized the “de-officialization” of the police: concretely, he argued that all employees of the SD assigned to the SP, like Thomas and me, had to be subject to the ordinary rules and procedures of the State administration; department heads should all have legal training. But Heydrich made fun of this kindergarten for ticket punchers, and Schellenberg launched attack after attack. Best, on this subject, had made a striking remark to me one day: “You know, despite all my hatred for 1793, I sometimes feel close to Saint-Just, who said: I fear less the austerity or the delirium of some than the flexibility of others.” All that occurred during the last spring before the war; I have already spoken about what ensued in the fall, Best’s departure, my own troubles; but I understood why Best preferred to see the positive side of these developments. “In France and now in Denmark,” he said, “I tried working on the practical aspects of these theories.”—“And how is that going?”—“In France, the idea of a supervised administration was good. But there was too much interference from the Wehrmacht, which continued its own policy, and from Berlin, which spoiled things a little with that business of hostages. And also, of course, the Eleventh of November put an end to all that. In my opinion it was a gross mistake. But well! I have every hope, on the other hand, of turning Denmark into a model Protektorat.”—“People have only good things to say about your work.”—“Oh, I have my critics too! And also, you know, I’ve only just begun. But beyond these precise issues, what counts is to get down to developing a global postwar vision. For now, all our measures are ad hoc and incoherent. And the Führer is giving contradictory signals about his intentions. So it’s very hard to make concrete promises.”—“I see perfectly what you mean.” I spoke to him briefly about Lippert, about the hopes he had raised during our conversation in Maikop. “Yes, that’s a good example,” said Best. “But you see, other people are promising the same things to the Flemish. And also now the Reichsführer, encouraged by Obergruppenführer Berger, is launching his own policy, with the creation of foreign legions of the Waffen-SS, and this is incompatible with, or in any case not coordinated with, the policies of the Auswärtiges Amt. That’s the whole problem: so long as the Führer doesn’t intervene in person, everyone pursues his own personal policies. There’s no overall vision, and so no truly völkisch policies. The real National Socialists are incapable of doing their work, which is to direct and guide the Volk; instead, it’s the Parteigenossen, the Party men, who carve out fiefs for themselves and then govern them as they please.”—“You don’t think the members of the Party are authentic National Socialists?” Best raised a finger: “Watch out. Don’t confuse a member of the Party with a man of the Party. All members of the Party, like you and me, are not necessarily ‘PGs.’ A National Socialist must believe in his vision. And necessarily, since the vision is unique, all real National Socialists can work only in a single direction, which is that of the Volk. But do you think that all these people”—he made a wide gesture encompassing the room—“are authentic National Socialists? A Party man is someone who owes his career to the Party, who has a position to defend within the Party, and who thus defends the interests of the Party in controversies with other hierarchies, whatever the real interests of the Volk may be. The Party, in the beginning, was conceived as a movement, an agent of mobilization for the Volk; now it has become a bureaucracy like all the others. For a long time, some of us hoped the SS could take up that role. And it’s not too late yet. But the SS is also succumbing to dangerous temptations.” We drank a little; I wanted to return to the subject that concerned me. “What do you think of my idea?” I finally asked. “It seems to me that with my past, my knowledge of the country and of the various trends in French thinking, it’s in France that I could be most useful.”—“You might be right. The problem, as you know, is that aside from strictly police functions, the SS is a little out of the picture in France. And I don’t think my name would be very useful to you with the Militärbefehlshaber. With Abetz I can’t do anything either, he’s very jealous of his shop. But if you’re really interested, contact Knochen. He should remember you.”—“Yes, that’s an idea,” I said halfheartedly. That wasn’t what I wanted. Best went on: “You could tell him that I recommended you. What about Denmark? Wouldn’t that interest you? I could probably find a good job for you there.” I tried not to show my increasing embarrassment too much: “Thank you very much for the suggestion. But I have very concrete ideas about France, and I’d like to follow them up if that’s possible.”—“I understand. But if you change your mind, contact me.”—“Of course.” He looked at his watch. “I’m dining with my minister and I really have to change. If I think of something else, for France, or if I hear of an interesting position opening up, I’ll let you know.”—“I would be very grateful to you. Thank you again for taking the time to see me.” He finished his glass and replied: “It was a pleasure. That’s what I miss the most, since I left the RSHA: the possibility of openly discussing ideas with men of convictions. In Denmark, I have to be on my guard all the time. Good night, then!” I walked him out and left him in the street, in front of the former British embassy. I watched his car head off down Wilhelmstrasse and then I made for the Brandenburg Gate and the Tiergarten, troubled by his last words. A man of convictions? Before, probably, I had been one, but now, where was the clarity of my convictions hidden away? I could glimpse these convictions, they were dancing gently around me: but if I tried to grasp one, it slipped between my fingers, like a nervous, powerful eel.
