knew about the latest medal, the Mammutkreuz “It’s to be
awarded to Hermann Göring on our final victory. The Mam-
moth Cross of the Grand Cross, with diamonds, mounted on
self-propelled gun carriage!”
By that time his predilection for diamonds was well known.
“I want a pot of your finest diamonds,” he once commanded his
favorite jeweler. “You’ve got to play with trinkets,” he told his
goggling staff, “to learn how to trifle with men.” Henceforth an
adjutant had to carry the pot around on journeys in case
Göring felt the sudden urge to play with them. It was the same
way with daggers. At a public meeting in December Backe
saw him surreptitiously running his thumb along the side of a
favorite dagger while Darré, whom he could not abide, was
speaking. His brother-in-law Eric von Rosen had given him a
beauty, inscribed: “A knife from Eric to Hermann.” Count Eric
also sent him a dagger specially made for him, with its cross-
guard and pommel encrusted with jewels, its hilt fluted with
ivory, its scabbard richly engraved with hunting scenes (it is
now a prized item in an American collection).
The pet lions were a care-
fully calculated part of this
playful, primitive image. Once,
while Italy’s crème-de-la-crème
sipped afternoon tea at Carinhall
during the Olympics, he
had bounced in with a full-
grown lion frisking at his side.
The Italian princesses Maria and
Mafalda the latter the wife of
Prince Philipp of Hesse shrieked; the Mussolini sons Vittorio
and Bruno displayed pale-faced aplomb; Emmy clucked her
tongue and shooed the beast outside.