At five-thirty he received a call from the staff in Seyss-Inquart’s
chambers in Vienna’s Herrengasse. He could hear the panic in
their voices as they realized that he really was planning to in-
vade. He shouted down the line to Seyss-Inquart that he was to
march right back to the president’s palace, taking the German
military attaché General Wolfgang Muff with him this time. “If
our demands are not accepted, our troops will invade tonight,
and Austria’s existence will be over!... Tell him we’re not kid-
ding now. If Miklas hasn’t grasped that in four hours, then tell
him he’s got four minutes to grasp it now.” He tossed the re-
ceiver back onto its cradle, and settled back to wait.
That evening he was staging his Winter Ball, and it was
time to change into his ceremonial uniform. He found that the
Austrian envoy and his military attaché had sent their excuses,
but over one thousand other guests were already arriving at the
ornate Aviators’ Building. The air-force band oompahed and
the beautiful people of Berlin waltzed around the floor and all
the time liveried footmen slipped in and out with messages and
telegrams as the final orders went out to one hundred thousand
troops and hundreds of air crews.
The big question mark was Italy. Dour-faced Italian diplo-
mats cluttered the floor, stiff-lipped and saying nothing. To-
gether Hitler and Göring had drafted a long letter during the
day to Benito Mussolini, justifying their coming action in Aus-
tria. The complete typescript text, found years later in Göring’s
papers, also made plain to the Duce that Germany intended to
act against Czechoslovakia next. Göring had sent his friend
Prince Philipp down to Italy with this new epistle to the Ro-
mans.
Göring waited at the Chancellery for word from Vienna
and Rome. The seven-thirty deadline came and went. Just be-
fore eight Seyss-Inquart phoned again: Schuschnigg had merely