Foreign News: THE TWILIGHT OF RUDOLF HESS

At a press conference in Manhattan two weeks ago Brendan Bracken cheerfully answered a dozen questions about Rudolf Hess. The British Minister of Information’s volubility was a sign that the official silence about Hess had ended. Last week London’s Daily Mail printed a fuller account of the condition and activities of Britain’s No. 1 War Prisoner. The Daily Mail’s story, amplified by information given to a TIME correspondent:

Dream World. The moment he hit British soil, Hess demanded to see King George and “the Dukes.” He wanted to tell them that Germany was about to invade Russia, to urge them to make peace and join the crusade. He was certain that, once the King and the Dukes decided on peace with Germany, the peace would be immediate.

British officials who interrogated Hess found him hopelessly saturated with Nazi propaganda. If Hess could be taken as accurate evidence, even top-rank Nazis lived in the unreal world their propaganda had created.

In gentle kindergarten tones, British officials tried to tell this Nazi-headed Teuton some ABC’s of Britain: that Britons, including titled Britons, contsidered Nazi Germany much more dangerous than Soviet Russia; that, even if the King and the Dukes desired peace with Nazi Germany, the British would never stand for it. But Hess could not believe that the “plutos” of a “pluto-democracy” would ally themselves with Communist Russia; that the leaders of a major world power like Great Britain would allow the public any say about national policy.

Hess did finally understand that his mission was no go, and so he decided to fly back home. When British authorities refused, he was indignant. He accused them of discourtesy.

In captivity Hess grew moody, despondent; he exploded in anger fits. He was allowed a radio, could tune in any country he wanted. When he tuned in BBC news programs he held the volume at a whisper: in Germany the penalty for listening to BBC was death. As he listened he would yell “Lies! All Lies!” He boasted to British officials that he could tell them any thing they wanted to know about German policy, even about German policy formed while he was in Scotland. His mind, he said, worked precisely as Hitler’s worked. Given any problems, any situations, he would be able to reach a plan for action. That plan, he added with satisfaction, would be the same as Hitler’s.

With his moods and tempers, British officials began to find Hess difficult. Before conversations got very far, he would rage and rant. One official saw Hess alone one day, decided to get started on an amiable course. Said the official: “There’s some thing that has always interested me. In the Battle of Britain, to put it in round figures, British communiqués said Germany lost about 2,500 planes and we lost about 750. Now your communiqués said just about the opposite—that we lost 2,000 planes and Germany lost only about 650. How do you account for this wide difference in the totals?”

Hess : “The Luftwaffe communiqués are absolutely accurate. We shot down 2,000 planes and lost only 650.”

Official: “But, Herr Hess, do you know how many planes we had during the Battle of Britain?”

Hess: “You never had more than 1,000 planes.”

Official: “Don’t you think there is something of a contradiction between the number of planes you say we had and the number you say you shot down?”

Hess: “You’re trying to trap me! Get out!”

Fear. Before the war Hess was a paranoid, hoped to retire to the Bavarian Alpsfor rest and nerve repair. As the months of captivity passed in Scotland, he developeda persecution mania. “They” were trying to “choke me.” Sometimes when he said this his hands would fly to his throat and he would stagger backward, screaming. A psychologist finally learned who “they” were: the people of Europe. Screamed Hess: “Like grass, they grow, higher and higher. They think we are evil and they hate us. The war goes on longer and they get stronger and stronger. From all over the hands reach up for our throats. They want to choke us.”

Today Hess is a developed paranoiac. His head jerks; he listens anxiously for voices from corners; under cabbage leaves on his plate he slyly hides pieces of meat he thinks have been poisoned. His only game is darts. He hurls the dart violently; then, when collecting his darts from the board, he is apt to duck, dodge, cower—expecting someone to throw a dart into his back.

Details. Hess wears civilian clothes, lives in a room 20 ft. by 20 ft. in a wing of a former lunatic asylum. Outside his windows is a spacious lawn and flower beds along the building; they are bright now with the season’s last roses and first asters and chrysanthemums. Oaks, elms and beeches surround the grounds. The view reaches to lavender hills.

The prisoner ranks as a captain, gets the £6 monthly allowed to a German army captain by the German Red Cross. He is guarded night & day and he is allowed to pretend that the guards are his personal servants. He gets up at 10 and goes to bed after midnight. He reads newspapers, books sent from Germany via the Red Cross, writes letters to his wife Klare, makes private notes, scribbles verse, draws architectural designs. The Daily Mail says the designs show considerable skill and delicacy. His only compulsory activity is daily exercise. He can take it inside the hospital grounds or walk along the road leading to a country village.

His rations are the same as those of other war prisoners, and he likes them cooked as plainly as possible. He insists that an officer share his dishes to prove they are not poisoned. Water is all he drinks. “Wine or beer or whiskey clouds the judgment. My job was to estimate public opinion for the Führer. You need judgment for that.” He does not smoke. “Tobacco ruins the palate and prevents you from smelling the countryside.” When a guard seems dubious about complying with a demand, Hess shouts: “That is what I wish. Those are my orders.” His pathological hatred of Jews and Russia has never wavered.

Two neurosis specialists visit him regularly. Says the Daily Mail: “Hess is becoming a sicker and ever a sicker man. His doctors are convinced he will never recover.”

Last Hope. He has not discussed the war since the fall of Tunisia ; since the fall of Sicily he has not listened to the news.

The last time he talked about the war he was still convinced Germany would win; he quoted U-boat production at eleven a week to prove his point.

Hess spends most of his time worrying now. He worries about the failure of his mission, his health, his wife, his survival, about Germany and the Führer. As he fades toward lunacy or death, Rudolf Hess mouths over & over: “If we are beaten ‘ this time, we shall fight a third war and win.” ‘