“I continue,” said Dimitrov. “Is it known to Mr. Göring
that the party with what he calls this ‘criminal ideology’ is a
party that rules one-sixth of the earth’s surface? Namely, the
Soviet Union?”
“What they do in Russia,” Göring broke in after a further
lecture by the defendant, “is a matter of indifference to me. I am
concerned only with the Communist party in Germany and
with the alien Communist scoundrels who come here and set
our Reichstag on fire.”
There were shouts of “bravo” from the public benches.
“This bravo-bravo,” mimicked Dimitrov. “Of course. Say
bravo. To wage war on Communist party in Germany is your
good right. Like right of Communist party in Germany to live
illegally and fight your regime and keep fighting!”
“Dimitrov,” snapped the judge, bringing down his gavel, “I
forbid you to make Communist propaganda here!”
“He is making Nazi propaganda here!” was the fearless re-
tort.
Once Göring snapped, “Listen! I’ll tell you right now what
the German people is aware of. It’s aware ” and his voice rose
to a hysterical shriek “it’s aware that you’re acting like a thor-
ough scoundrel. You come trotting over here to set our Reich-
stag on fire, and then have the gall to spout such arrant non-
sense to the German people! I didn’t come down here to have
you level charges at me! In my eyes you’re a scoundrel and
should have been strung up on the gallows long ago.”
The judge murmured a rebuke, and Dimitrov nodded ap-
preciatively. “I’m quite content,” he said, “with Mr. Göring’s
utterance.”
Cool and sovereign in the knowledge that he was winning,
the Bulgarian turned to Hermann Göring. “Are you afraid of
my questions?”