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Lindenstraße, Berlin; February 1933






Ernst stretched out in the comfy interior state car and tried to relish it for as long as possible. Such indulgences were generally frowned upon these days, particularly outside Social Democratic Party headquarters. Willi Munzenberg’s example of even the most senior public officials making their own way back and forth to work had put most of his colleagues to shame. An exception was made for Ernst’s travelling partner, he wasn’t long after having an operation after all.



Hermann Muller, Foreign Minister and former Chancellor, retained the same austere expression he had worn for much of the train ride back from Geneva. If his health allowed him a state car it also apparently disallowed from flying despite its increasing popularity. Ernst would have preferred to take the plane, if only so that the new experience might have shaken Muller up a bit.


They had been making several such trips back and forth to Geneva for the best part of a year and Ernst had witnessed Muller’s enthusiasm decline throughout. It seemed this would be their last. The World Disarmament Conference opened with so much promise and there had seemed to be a genuine enthusiasm on display, at least from the American and British delegations. Ernst and his fellow members of the German delegation had tried to make their country proud by going in with a similar spirit of optimism but they had soon been made to feel like the ghosts at the feast by the French and Italians. They seemed to be outraged that the Germans were here as equal partners rather than merely receiving another diktat like the one handed down in the Treaty of Versailles.


Muller had been part of the German delegation in 1919 and Ernst could forgive the man’s darkening mood as their delegation was faced with Franco-Italian aggression, then the Japanese and Soviets bickering with one another and eventually the Americans deciding they had lost their enthusiasm for world peace in favour of dealing with their domestic problems. The Foreign Minister was returning with bad news once more, even if it was better to return empty handed than with the humiliating terms brought back from Versailles. At least this time he was less likely to end up with a target on his head.



“We did what we could, we’ll always have that to remember.” Muller said, perhaps to himself. He continued to look out of the window at the expanding metropolis around them. The evening lights were beginning to brighten up the city.


“I think we came out of the whole process looking good. At least better than most.” Ernst replied, hoping to motion towards all that was going well in the capital.


Berlin was growing beyond any anticipated size once more. The expropriations and tax hikes which had seized much of the wealth of the old industrial elites had been plunged into infrastructural development and housing. This had made the economy shudder to life and now unemployment was lower than before the Wall Street Crash. People might not have always enjoyed their new jobs but they were able to eat again.


New urban development projects led the advance of the city and its workers. The formerly middle class clerks and officials who had found themselves without their old status in the wake of the civil war were now living in newly built complexes amongst the proletariat, where they were encouraged to behave like part of a larger family. In many cases they had to build their own complexes over wrecked homes which had once been their own. Ernst was privately glad of this private perk to his role in the conference delegation, it meant the party had stopped encouraging him to give up his own flat.


“That will only make us more paranoid now.” Muller responded. “We might be coming together as a people but the world will be seen to be hardening against us in response. World peace is off the agenda and the Soviets are our only real friends. That isn’t a situation to feel pleasant about.”


“Well we have the new American President to look to, he might be turning inward but he’s still interested in what the National Reconstruction Council has achieved, and the Soviet trade we can enable. If we can get a delegation into the White House we can perhaps turn ourselves towards the Americans and fully recover together.”


“That was my aim as Chancellor.” Muller remarked, Ernst had his attention now but the older man’s face still had that jaded look to it.


Suddenly it turned to confusion. The car was slowing to a halt in the middle of the road. It seemed there was a hold-up despite the fact they should only have been a few moments away from Social Democratic headquarters.


“Police blocking the road.” Their driver called out absentmindedly. A policeman approached the driver’s window but he seemed more concerned about having the end of his shift delayed than anything else. Ernst took it upon himself to find out what was going on.


There were a lot of police huddled around and it soon became clear that they were outnumbered only by the press.


“What's happened?” Ernst asked in his most official tone. The policeman wasn’t forthcoming regardless.


“Can’t say, there’ll be a statement shortly.”


“Are we allowed to get through?”


“No sir, the area’s cordoned off to the general public.”


“The foreign minister is in that car,” Ernst jerked out his arm towards the vehicle for emphasis. “He's expected back at the party headquarters. Would you like to be his reason for being late?


That got the policeman to relent to a satisfying degree. He had a deference as traditional as his Prussian uniform. Ernst wondered if that was something that would survive the United Front. In returning to the car, his animated state seemed to faze Muller as they spoke through the window.


“There’s been some sort of incident. The police won’t let the car through but they say we can pass. Are you alright to walk the rest of the way?”


“With those vultures? Hardly likely. I knew we’d end up having to explain ourselves."


Ernst nodded and went off on his own, reassuring Muller that he would be back to explain what was happening. In spite of having to be escorted through the crowd of photographers and reporters he seemed to slip by unnoticed. To be asked if he was a detective was grating and perplexing at the same time.


The reporters were kept well away from party headquarters and even the numbers of police seemed to thin as Ernst drew nearer. They were replaced by large numbers of distraught party workers, many in tears, some apparently hysterical whilst others huddled around to comfort them.


Hermann Gott was wandering in a circle, it looked like he was lost. Ernst tried to approach him. The man was still the party’s head of internal disciple but it seemed he might be struggling to pull himself together.


“He fell.” He said in a dreadful monotone.


“What? Who fell?”


“Levi, he just fell from the building. We didn’t realise until we heard the cracks.”


“Cracks?”


“He’s dead. Paul Levi’s dead.”



Amidst the confusion Ernst soon found himself just as lost as everyone around. There was a bloody shape lying on the cobblestones. There was no light on it but people were keeping a wide berth. He approached the scene warily. It seemed there was some uncertainty as to whether the body should be moved but someone had had the decency to throw a blanket over the Chancellor.

Ernst felt like he could sob.



Levi had always been an adventurous dreamer but his commitment to the United Front had seemed unshakeable. There had been unconditional decency to the man, one that had seen him welcome Ernst back into the party when many would have disparaged him. Now Levi was gone and the United Front might follow suit.



If it were to survive, he feared there was only man who would be viewed as up to the task.







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The painting is Portrait of a Man by Aleksandr Kolomenkov