Hitler's Spy Chief (9 page)

His family was of Italian origin, as was later shown in an elaborate family tree, lavishly produced and bound as a present by Cesare Amé, chief of the Italian Military Intelligence Service S.I.M. The Canarisi were a north Italian family who came to Germany in the seventeenth century and were assimilated entirely into German culture. Nevertheless, certain Latin traits appear to have been recognisable generations later, and Canaris was known for his aversion to the cold – rarely did this officer ever remove his greatcoat – his love of the countries of the Mediterranean and his quick thinking.

Ultimately, however, Canaris' passionate interest in a remote Hellenic figure who was no blood relation of his family cut unsurprisingly litde ice with his father, even though he had at first encouraged his son's interest and even procured a small copy of the statue to be erected in their house. A row ensued, in which his son was told in no uncertain terms that if he were to break family tradition and join the armed services, he would be allowed to seek a posting only in a solid cavalry regiment where social etiquette still counted for much and where the young Wilhelm would meet the right sort of person. This dispute is the only documented incident
that casts a light on the young Canaris' relationship with his rather distant father. It certainly implies that the relationship was not an easy one and that the ambitions of the father were being heaped on the shoulders of the son, irrespective of the latter's feelings. The element of tacit competition between these two males of the family was, even without the benefit of psychological insight, an important factor in the young Canaris' development. His ‘feminine' side was strongly developed by his doting sisters and would later lead to his ability to bond with younger men, such as Heydrich or Szentpetery, at a most intense platonic level.

A suitable commission was sought in a Bavarian heavy cavalry regiment. The young Canaris was an excellent all-round equestrian. It is interesting to reflect on the possible future development of Anglo-German wartime relations had Wilhelm taken this opportunity to appease his father and joined one of the many cavalry regiments which were to be slaughtered by machine guns as unhorsed infantry in the mud and blood of Flanders; though, ironically, in the Second World War, the German cavalry regiments would be very much in tune with the resistance and considered politically highly unreliable.

Mercifully for Canaris, however, fate intervened to save him from a career that almost certainly, at the very least, would have repressed many of his desires and talents. In 1904 Canaris' father died of a stroke. The routine of stables, mess pranks, buckles and boots was spared him. With the successful completion of his ‘Abitur', his high school exams which he passed with flying colours, the route to Kiel, the home of the German navy, was now clear.

For the German navy, unencumbered by the feudal baggage of the imperial German cavalry, Canaris was an ideal candidate. First, he came from what would be termed today a good family. He was clearly a bright fellow. He had passed his final school written tests with such brilliant results that he had been, most unusually, spared a viva. In an increasingly technocratic service, this also counted for much. Moreover, the German
navy prided itself on its sense of honour and here the quiet piety Canaris had inherited from his mother made a good impression. Despite his mordant wit he exuded that gravitas which German writers such as Fontane have praised. The young man's linguistic skills also impressed the examiners. He was already fluent in three languages. Perhaps most important of all, and here the German navy was no different from any other in imposing this far from nugatory requirement, he had impeccable manners.

On 1 April 1905, Cadet Canaris entered the Imperial Naval Academy, along with other eighteen-year-olds joining a young but already proud elite. Conditions, while not as primitive as those inflicted on much younger Royal Naval cadets at Dartmouth, were nevertheless tough. A strict military infantry course was followed by nine months on a sailing training ship in the North Sea where the skills of seamanship, navigation and gunnery were all taught. A fellow cadet noted that Canaris never had any difficulty in the exams: ‘He was slow to speak but quick to listen.' His sense of humour was also frequendy deployed. He showed himself to be stoic and surprisingly tough.

Early in 1908, the cadets at Kiel received a visit from a Royal Navy training ship, HMS
Cornwall
, under the command of Captain William Reginald Hall, later to become the head of British Naval Intelligence. There is no evidence to suggest Hall took any interest in Canaris, but as he was gathering intelligence on all aspects of the German navy during his visit, he may well have noted some of the cadets he would have met.

Later that year, Canaris was appointed the German equivalent of a midshipman on the cruiser
Bremen
, which fortunately brought him in contact with the Latin American world where he could perfect his Spanish, immersing himself in the culture and history of the countries he visited. It was also an opportunity to study the Royal Navy at close quarters, as the fleets of all the great powers cooperated in defending their commercial
interests in the region. Here Canaris already displayed the ‘finger tip instincts and ability to handle people'
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that were to prove his great gifts in later years. His command of Spanish and young seriousness of manner endeared him to many and the Greek connection was appreciated by well-read Latin Americans who themselves, in younger days, empathised with the Greek struggle for independence. The Chileans in particular took to him, and the links between the two navies were intimate. He was even decorated by the Chileans with the Order of Bolivar. By this time, Canaris spoke excellent Spanish with a Chilean accent and was an expert on all the political trends and personalities of the country.

Within a year, however, it was back to Kiel and the demanding schedule of duty officer on a small torpedo boat in the North Sea. Even in peace, this was a challenging environment requiring high standards of seamanship and technical skill. According to reports, Canaris was virtually alone in not suffering from sea sickness. Those, including Admiral Dönitz, Hitler's successor, who later claimed (in his case during his trial at Nuremberg) that Canaris was ‘never a proper naval officer', confused loyalty with training. By the autumn of 1912, the twenty-five year old, now a lieutenant, was considered one of the best naval officers of his generation. By the time Canaris came to his beloved light cruiser
Dresden
, he had already made a firm reputation for being capable and reliable. A naval report describes his possessing a calm temperament well beyond his years, and an ability to deal with people that would be most ‘helpful in the political sphere'. But first Canaris had to learn about politics as they were practiced at the time, at their most
haut-politique
level, away from the banana republics of South America.

The Balkan Wars and the need to secure German interests in the eastern Mediterranean provided a suitable occasion. Canaris was posted with the
Dresden
to the Adriatic and then Istanbul where, for the first time, the political problems of the time were thrown into sharp relief. One development in particular was sharply silhouetted: Anglo-German rivalry.

Istanbul, as a diplomat before the First World War pointed out, was not just the capital of a state; it represented many powerful global commercial, political and religious interests which in the run up to 1914 seemed, to an intelligent eye, to be well embarked on collision course. If the British, in the guise of Sir Ernest Cassel, had founded and owned the National Bank of Turkey, and through Vickers owned the Golden Horn and Stenia Docks, German commercial interests were gathering momentum fast. Siemens was deeply involved in the Berlin to Baghdad railway. Krupp was busy bribing politicians, and the formidable Liman von Sanders was about to transform himself into Liman Pasha and turn, with the help of his military mission, what the American ambassador described as an ‘undisciplined ragged rabble' into a force ‘parading with the goose-step … clad in field grey'.
5

For the young and sensitive Canaris this was a spectacular introduction into the game of geo-politics. On shore, as the guest at innumerable receptions given by German interests, the young officer would have heard countless times how, in the words of one expert on German Turkish relations: ‘Our common political aims and Germany's interest in keeping open the land route to the Indian Ocean will make it more than ever imperative for us to strengthen Turkey economically.'
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More ominously, these ideas went hand in glove with the view that: ‘England can be attacked … on land in one place only … in Egypt. With the loss of Egypt, England would lose not only mastery over the Suez Canal and the link with India and Asia, but also her possessions in Central and East Africa.'
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Such was the influence of the Baghdad railway, supported as it was by all the most powerful commercial interests of Germany, including Deutsche Bank, Dresdner Bank and the giant engineering company Siemens, that news of its progress found its way into State dispatches and dominated conversation.

With his keen brain, Canaris digested all of this with the enthusiasm
of a convert. He noted the latest developments and watched for the signs of future moves. He was aware that Germany had supplied four torpedo boats, built in the Schichau yards in Danzig, two years earlier. A few months earlier, Deutsche Bank had acquired twenty-five per cent of the Turkish Petroleum Company, while the Hamburg-Amerika line had so successfully captured a large proportion of the transport business to and from Basra that it had ended Britain's virtual monopoly of the seaborne trade of Mesopotamia, forcing the British to compromise on something like dictated terms.
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If, by the close of 1912, Canaris had added some European political insights to his seamanship skills, the next year, the last of peace, would cement these two qualities with renewed exposure to and experience of the Latin American world. By now a senior lieutenant, confident and handsome, Canaris was ready for the challenges of political instability that awaited him.

In Mexico, revolution once again stalked the streets. The country that had seen so much turmoil in the nineteenth century and was destined to be the scene of competing European and American spheres of influence for many years to come, was having one of its periodic struggles between different commercial interests. While the majority of European ships kept their distance, the
Dresden
risked the last twenty miles of the Tampico river to rescue President Huerta from the rebels, despite their threat to set the river ablaze with oil from the nearby refinery. In addition to Huerta, several hundred Americans were rescued by the
Dresden
and taken to an American warship that had been unwilling to risk the rebels' threats. Huerta was deposited in July 1914 in the relative safety of Kingston, Jamaica.

With the outbreak of war a few weeks later, Germany's interest in Mexico became even more intense, though with the then unforeseen consequence that this interest, already resented by America, would eventually bring the US into the war, thanks inevitably to British naval intelligence's interception of the infamous Zimmerman telegram, offering
German support for a Mexican invasion of Texas.

But all that lay ahead. As the
Dresden
prepared to sail back to Germany only the news from the Balkans was disturbing but as Canaris well knew, ‘Auf den Balkan ist immer etwas los.'
*
The disturbing signal that, with the expiry of the ultimatum to Belgrade, the Austrians and the Russians were at war, foretold the full brutal reality of what was imminent. With war declared by all the major powers within days, orders to return to Germany were cancelled and the
Dresden
set off on her final journey. In a ceremony redolent of the end of the era, the ship's crew began consigning important papers to the furnace and jettisoning all unnecessary cargo. The ship's pianos, which had offered such pleasures to the officers in the evenings, went the same way. Memoirs noted that the disposal of the pianos afforded many tears from the more musical of the officers. The world Canaris had grown up in was about to end once and for all, and as the British Foreign Minister Grey noted: ‘We will not see its like again in our lifetimes.'
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*
‘There is always something going on in the Balkans.'

CHAPTER FOUR

FINIS GERMANIAE

Wealth measured in billions has been blown into the air … Nothing in fact, economically, politically or socially, would ever be the same again
.

LORD HOME, LETTER TO HIS GRANDSON
1

The end of the war saw Canaris in his submarine, surrounded by the red pennants of revolution flying from every capital ship in Kiel harbour. Imperial Germany was in ruins. The flag of Communist revolt had been raised and the days of the officer corps, once the arbiter of Germany's destiny, appeared numbered. Canaris laconically noted in the submarine's war diary: ‘With three hurrahs we lowered our flag.'
2
With it, seemingly, disappeared decades of discipline. It is hard for those in countries that have enjoyed centuries of stable continuity to imagine the chaos and bitterness that attends social meltdown and revolution. Anarchy, fed by the countless masses of starved and defeated men and women, was rampant on every street corner. No authority; no discipline; the revolutionaries of that November found, as revolutionaries generally find, that it is easier to destroy an old system than to replace it.

Around Kiel, barracks were turned into brothels or shops; thugs ruled every main thoroughfare on the lookout for anyone with officer rank or middle class appearance to intimidate, rob or indeed murder. The Imperial
navy, the pride of Germany and the Kaiser, was no more; worse, it had been the catalyst for revolution. It had been sailors who had first trained their weapons on their officers. Not the sailors who had served under Canaris in relatively small vessels such as submarines or torpedo boats, or even the cruiser
Dresden
, but sailors from the great Dreadnoughts where social tension was more marked. Canaris would never forget how Marxism had infiltrated the crews of these ships to wreak such destruction on the institution that had been his life. Later, in the 1920s, he would defend the navy to the hilt, rejecting any criticism of the relations between officers and sailors. For him, the mutiny had been almost entirely caused by subversive elements on shore which had infected the crews with the virus of revolt.
3
It would make him a life-long anti-Communist despite his relatively liberal views.