Hitler's Diaries: The Mind & God & "Wisdom" & Philosophy of
Adolf Hitler (Edited, compiled, analyzed, etc., by edited by Rhawn Joseph, Ph.D. )
Chapter 6 On Himself (Adolf Hitler) by Adolf Hitler Edited by R. Joseph, Ph.D.
My ideal consists in never doing anything but the indispensable.
For my part, I must say that when I meet children, I think of them as if they were my own. They all belong to me.
I passionately loved soldiering.
At the beginning of our movement, I acted above all by intuition.
Anyone at all can be made a president, but it's not possible to give the title of Fuehrer; to a nobody.
I have devoured all five hundred volumes in a Viennese book-store; how do I read: By glancing first at the end, then in the middle, then; when I have some idea of its content; working systematically through it.
A man who has no sense of history, is like a man who has no ears or no eyes. He can live, of course, but what is that?;
Fate be resisted and reversed; ;the March on Rome was a turning-point in history: the mere fact that it could be done gave us our inspiration;.
We are barbarians! We want to be barbarians! It is an honourable title. We shall rejuvenate the world. This world is near its end.; By ;historical necessity; barbarian forces must break up decaying civilizations and ;snatch the torch of life from their dying fires;. The last fifteen hundred years, he casually informed Mussolini;the years between Attila and himself, the whole span of Christian civilisation –had been a mere interruption of human development, which ;is now about to resume its former character;.
I have not come into the world, not to make men better, but to make use of their weaknesses.
I, on the other hand, have always had a single aim: to assert my demands at all costs, come wind, come weather.
We shall triumph in this undertaking, likewise: because we fight fanatically for our victory, and because we believe in our victory.
When I was younger, I thought it was necessary to set about matters with dynamite. I;ve since realised that there;s room for a little subtlety. The rotten branch falls of itself.
I could never make the mistake of beginning a speech with the words: ;There is no fairer death in the world…;. For I know the reality, and I also know how the soldier feels about it.
I could never make the mistake of beginning a speech with the words: ;There is no fairer death in the world…;. For I know the reality, and I also know how the soldier feels about it.
The revelation that her encounter with her first man is for a young woman, can be compared with the revelation that a soldier knows when he faces war for the first time. In a few days, a youth becomes a man.
It was with feelings of pure idealism that I set out for the front in 1914. Then I saw men falling around me in thousands. Thus I learnt that life is a cruel struggle, and has no other object but the preservation of the species.
Plainly I belong by nature to quite another species. I would prefer not to see anyone suffer, not to do harm to anyone. But when I realise that the species is in danger, then in my case sentiment gives way to the coldest reason.
I become uniquely aware of the sacrifices that the future will demand, to make up for the sacrifices that one hesitates to allow to-day.
Who knows? If my parents had been sufficiently well-to-do to send me to a School of Art, I should not have made the acquaintance of poverty, as I did. Whoever lives outside poverty cannot really become aware of it, unless by overthrowing a wall. The years of experience I owe to poverty;a poverty that I knew in my own flesh;are a blessing for the German nation. But for them, we;d have Bolshevism to-day.
At that time, I lived in palaces of the imagination. And it was precisely at that time that I conceived the plans for the new Berlin.
On occasions of this sort, one must aim at the greatest success possible, and the proper solution of the problem demands thinking on a grand scale.
The first show I went to after the first World War was Peer Gynt, which I saw with Dietrich Eckart, at the Staatliche Schauspielhaus.
All Iíd have added that the tricks of a small conjuror cannot deceive a master-conjuror.
I once had an ex-sailor as a servant. At all hours of the day and night the fellow used to try to spin me yarns which any fool could see were nonsense. In the end, I had to tell him that I was quite as good a liar as he was, and that he must not tempt me to try to go one better! As even that did not stop him, we were forced to part company.
Who escapes from criticism? I myself, if I disappear to-day, realise that a time will come, in a hundred years, perhaps, when I shall be violently attacked. History will make no exception in my favour. But what importance has that? It takes only another hundred years for these shadows to be effaced. I donít concern myself with such things, I go my way.
I have a bad conscience when I get the feeling that Iíve not been quite fair to somebody.
I don't think a man should die of hunger because he has been my opponent. If he was a base opponent, then off to the concentration camp with him! But if heís not a swindler, I let him go free, and I see that he has enough to live on.
Thaelmann himself is very well treated in his concentration camp. He has a little house to himself.
Thank God, I've always avoided persecuting my enemies.
I've been particularly correct towards my opponents. The Minister who condemned me, Iíve made him my Minister of Justice. Amongst my prison guards, several have become chiefs of the SA. The director of my prison has risen in rank. The only one whose situation Iíve not improved is Schweyer.
I wouldn't feel I had the right to demand of each man the supreme sacrifice, if I hadnít myself gone through the whole 1914-18 war in the front line.
I've noticed, on the occasion of such everts, that when everybody loses his nerves, Iím the only one who keeps calm.
It was the same thing at the time of the struggle for power, but at that time I had the luck to be only thirty, whilst my opponents were twenty or thirty years older.
Space lends wings to my imagination.
When peace has returned, I'll begin by spending three months without doing anything.
I never read a novel. That kind of reading annoys me.
To those among them who, in their enthusiasm for the regeneration of our nation, go too far and hail me as a Prophet, a second Mahommed or a second Messiah, I can only retort that I can find no trace of any resemblance in myself to a Messiah.
There are other parts of Germany, apart from the Rhineland, which give me intense pleasure to visitóthe Kyffhaeuser, the forests of Thuringia, the Harz and the Black Forest. It is most exhilarating to drive for miles through the woods and forests, far away from the throng.
One of my greatest delights has always been to picnic quietly somewhere on the roadside; it was not always easy, for our column of cars would often be pursued by a crowd of motorists, eager to see their Fuehrer off duty, and we had to employ all sorts of ruses to shake off these friendly and well-meaning pursuers; sometimes, for instance, I would drive up a side-turning, leaving the column to continue along the main road. Our pursuers would then overtake the cars of the column one by one, and, failing to find me, would go ever faster in the hope of overtaking me farther on. In this way, we managed occasionally to snatch a few hours of peace and tranquillity. On one occasion, I remember, a family out gathering mushrooms came suddenly on our picnic party. In a few moments, these kindly fold had alerted the neighbouring village and the whole population was surging towards us, filling the air with their shouts of Heil!î
We are barbarians! We want to be barbarians! It is an honourable title. We shall rejuvenate the world. This world is near its end.; By ;historical necessity; barbarian forces must break up decaying civilizations and ;snatch the torch of life from their dying fires;. The last fifteen hundred years, he casually informed Mussolini;the years between Attila and himself, the whole span of Christian civilisation –had been a mere interruption of human development, which ;is now about to resume its former character;.
A war-leader is what I am against my own will. If I apply my mind to military problems, that;s because for the moment I know that nobody would succeed better at this than I can.
I have numerous accounts to settle, about which I cannot think to-day. But that doesn;t mean I forget them. I write them down. The time will come to bring out the big book!
I shall leave behind me not only the most powerful army, but also a Party that will be the most voracious animal in world history.
I see no harm in shooting at game. I merely say that it;s a dreary sport. The part of shooting I like best is the target;next to that, the poacher. He at least risks his life at the sport. The feeblest abortion can declare war on a deer. The battle between a repeating rifle and a rabbit;which has made no progress for three thousand years;is too unequal. If Mr. So-and-so were to outrun the rabbit, I;d take off my hat to him. Unless I;m mistaken, shooting is not a popular sport. If I were a shot, it would do me more harm in the minds of my supporters than a lost battle.
THE FUEHRER: What did you shoot? Eagles, lions and bears?
WOLFF: No, common rabbits.
THE FUEHRER: Joy must now prevail amongst the rabbits. The air has been cleared.
GENERAL JODL: And you list all that game under the heading of wild animals;?
WOLFF: Yes.
JODL: Wouldn;t it be more appropriate to call them ;domestic animals;?
THE FUEHRER: I expect you used explosive bullets.
WOLFF: Merely lead.
THE FUEHRER: Did you kill or wound any beaters?
WOLFF: No, not to my knowledge.
THE FUEHRER: A pity we can;t use you crack shots against the Russian partisans!
WOLFF: Shooting;s a wonderful relaxation: it makes you forget all your troubles.
THE FUEHRER: Is it indispensable, for relaxation, to kill hares and pheasants? The joy of killing brings men together. It;s lucky we don;t understand the language of hares. They might talk about something like this: ;He couldn;t run at all, the fat hog!; What can an old hare, with a whole lifetime;s experience, think about it all? The greatest joy must prevail amongst the hares when they see that a beater has been shot.
Here;s a thing that;s possible only in Germany My present Minister of Justice is the very man who, in his capacity of Bavarian Minister, had me imprisoned in Landsberg. The former director of that prison has become the head of Bavaria;s penitentiary services.
The first time I was condemned, for being a threat to public safety, there were four of us, and we;d decided to transform the prisons into a National Socialist citadel. We;d arranged things in such a way that, every time one of us was set free, someone else came to take his place. In 1923, when Bruckner was imprisoned, the whole prison was National Socialist;including the director;s daughters.
I was a victim of that system myself. I wanted to go to the School of Fine Arts. The first question of the examiner to whom I;d submitted my work, was: ;Which school of arts and crafts do you come from?; He found it difficult to believe me when I replied that I hadn;t been to any, for he saw I had an indisputable talent for architecture. My disappointment was all the greater since my original idea had been to paint. It was confirmed that I had a gift for architecture, and I learnt at the same time that it was impossible for me to enter a specialised school, because I hadn;t a matriculation certificate. I therefore resigned myself to continuing my efforts as a self-taught man, and I decided to go and settle in Germany. So I arrived, full of enthusiasm, in Munich. I intended to study for another three years. My hope was to join Heilmann and Littmann as a designer.
I wanted to refrain from exciting the population by my presence. The first newspaper-seller who recognised me stood there and gaped. I still have before me the mental picture of that woman in Lille who saw me from her window and exclaimed: ;The Devil!;
I am obliged to stand out clearly from amongst all the people around me. If my close associated glitter with decorations, I can distinguish myself from them only by wearing none at all.
When I was a young man, I had worries to the extent of ten, twenty or thirty marks. The only period when I had no worries was the six years of my life as a soldier. Then one did not concern oneself with such matters. We were supplied with clothing, Lodging and board;or, in default of lodging, leave to sleep somewhere or other. After that, the worries came back: marks, then of a few millions. After we took power, they were to the extent of thousands of millions. Later still, I had new worries. First of all, how to find jobs for the unemployed? Then, when unemployment had disappeared, where to find enough workers? We must instal machines! Continually new problems to settle. It;s still the same to-day.
It's probable that, throughout the 1914-1918 war, some twenty thousand men were uselessly sacrificed by employing them as runners on missions that could have been equally well accomplished by night, with less danger. How often I myself have had to face a powerful artillery barrage, in order to carry a simple post-card! It;s true that later I had a commanding officer who completely put a stop to these practices. The spirit has changed since those days, and a day will come when such absurdities can no longer occur.
My strength lies in the fact that I can imagine the situations that the troops are called upon to face. And I can do that because I;ve been an ordinary soldier myself. Thus one acquires the rapid understanding of the appropriate steps to take in every kind of circumstance.
At present, I spend about ten hours a day thinking about military matters. The resulting orders are a matter of half an hour, or three-quarters of an hour. But first of all every operation has to be studied and thought over at length. It sometimes takes up to six months for the thought to be elaborated and made precise.
What is fortunate for me is that I know how to relax. Before going to bed I spend some time on architecture, I look at pictures, I take an interest in things entirely different from those that I have been occupying my mind throughout the day.
There is an interesting document, dating from the time of Caesar, which indicates that the soldiers of that time lived on a vegetarian diet.
The Vikings would not have undertaken their now legendary expeditions it they;d depended on a meat diet, for they had no method of preserving meat.
"People sometimes think," he told me on the occasion of a trip we took together, ìthat I donít like beer or wine. Oh! I really do like them. But every time I saw a bottle of wine, or even a quarter-bottle, or a mug of beer, I was reminded of my time in Vienna and later in Munich, when I had wanted it so much, I as well as my comradesóbut we had not been able to afford it. And even then I had often enough put the money back into my pocket once more, because somewhere I had seen a book that I wanted to borrow or buy because I felt an inner urge to have read it. And today, when there are so many people out of work who are living now as I lived in those days, I cannot bring myself to take a glass of wine or a mug of beer, since behind the glass I always se the sobbing expression of a head of a family or the satanic grimace of the plight afflicting the Volk.
And so I gradually gave it up.
Those who adopt a vegetarian diet must remember that it is in their raw state that vegetables have their greatest nutritive value. The fly feeds on fresh leaves, the frog swallows the fly as it is, and the stork eats the living frog. Nature thus teaches us that a rational diet should be based on eating things in their raw state. Science has proved, too, that cooking destroys the vitamins, which are the most valuable part of our food. It has not yet been established beyond doubt whether cooking destroys merely certain chemical particles or whether it also destroys the essential fermentative juices.
In many ways, my sheepdog Blondi is a vegetarian. There are lots of herbs which she eats with obvious pleasure, and it is interesting to see how she turns to them if her stomach is out of order. It is astonishing to see how wise animals are, and how well they know what is good for them.
Whenever I have to make a speech of great importance, I am always soaking wet at the end, and I find I have lost four or six pounds in weight.
This loss of weight is not, I think, injurious to health. The only thing that always worried me was the fact that my only uniform was a blue one, and it invariably stained my underclothes!
When I later gave up eating meat, I immediately began to perspire much less, and within a fortnight to perspire hardly at all. My thirst, too, decreased considerably, and an occasional sip of water was all I required. Vegetarian diet, therefore, has some obvious advantages. I shall be interested to see whether my dog eventually becomes a complete and confirmed vegetarian.
Whatever one says, Tristan is Wagnerís masterpiece, and we owe Tristan to the love Mathilde Wesendonck inspired in him.
Wagner is responsible for the fact that the art of opera is what it is to-day. The great singers whoíve left names behind became celebrated as interpreters of Wagner.
At the beginning of this century, there were people called Wagnerians. Other people had no special name.
At my worst moments, theyíve never ceased to sustain me, even Siegfried Wagner. (Houston Stewart Chamberlain wrote to me so nicely when I was in prison.)
The ten days of the Bayreuth season were always one of the blessed seasons of my existence. And I already rejoice at the idea that one day I shall be able to resume the pilgrimage!
I was so poor, during the Viennese period of my life, that I had to restrict myself to seeing only the finest spectacles. Thus, I head Tristan thirty or forty times, and always from the best companies. I also heard some Verdi and other worksóleaving out the small fry.
There are hundreds of thousands of men who could serve their country in no better way than by risking their lives for her, but a great artist should find another way. Can fate allow it that the most idiotic Russian should strike down men like that? We have so many men seconded for special duties! What harm could it do to add to their number the five or six hundred gifted men whom it would be important to save?
It's striking to observe that in 1910 our artistic level was still extraordinary high. Since that time, alas! Our decadence has merely become accentuated. In the field of painting, for example, itís enough to recall the lamentable daubs that people have tried to foist, in the name of art, on the German people. This was quite especially the case during the Weimar Republic, and that clearly demonstrated the disastrous influence of the Jews in matters of art. The cream of the jest was the incredible impudence with which the Jew set about it! With the help of phony art critics, and with one Jew bidding against another, they finally suggested to the peopleówhich naturally believes everything thatís printedóa conception of art according to which the worst rubbish in painting became the expression of the height of artistic accomplishment. The ten thousand of the Èlite themselves, despite their pretensions of the intellectual level, let themselves be diddled, and swallowed all the humbug. The culminating hoaxóand we now have proof of it, thanks to the seizure of Jewish propertyóis that, with the money they fraudulently acquired by selling trash, the Jews were able to buy, at wretched prices, the works of value they had so cleverly depreciated. Every time an inventory catches my eye of a requisition carried out on an important Jew, I see that genuine artistic treasures are listed there. Itís a blessing of Providence that National Socialism, by seizing power in 1933, was able to put an end to this imposture.
When I visit an exhibition, I never fail to have all the daubs pitilessly withdrawn from it. It will be admitted that whoever visits the House of German Art to-day will not find any work there that isnít worthy of its place. Everything that hasnít an undeniable value has been sieved out. I never hesitated, even when it was a question of works by painters given prizes by the Academy of Prussia, to ban these works from the House of German Art whenever they were worthless.
The best relaxation is that provided by the theatre and the cinema.
The old part of Paris gives a feeling of complete distinction. The great vistas are imposing. Over a period of years I sent my colleagues to Paris so as to accustom them to grandeur;against the time when we would undertake, on new bases, the re-making and development of Berlin. At present Berlin doesn;t exist, but one day she;ll be more beautiful than Paris. With the exception of the Eiffel Tower, Paris has nothing of the sort that gives a city its private character, as the Coliseum does to Rome.
It was a relief to me that we weren;t obliged to destroy Paris. The greater the calm with which I contemplate the destruction of St. Petersburg and Moscow, the more I;d have suffered at the destruction of Paris.
The busts alone can be defended, but those sculptures;what a riot of cancerous tumours!
I have inexorably adhered to the following principle: If some self-styled artist submits trash for the Munich exhibition, then he is either a swindler, in which case he should be put in prison; or he is a madman, in which case he should be in an asylum; or he is a degenerate, in which case he must be sent to a concentration camp
In former days, when I arrived by motor-car in a town where I was expected, I always stood, bare-headedóand I stayed like that sometimes for hours, even in the worst weather. I sincerely regret that age and my health no longer allow me to do that. At bottom, I could endure much more than the others, including those who were waiting for me in the open air, whatever the weather.
the days of my youth, I was something of a solitary, and I got along very easily without society. Iíve changed a lot, for nowadays, I can no longer bear solitude. What I like best is to dine with a pretty woman. And rather than be left at home by myself, Iíd go and dine at the Osteria.
Iíve just been reading a very fine article on Karl May. I found it delightful. It would be nice if his work were republished. I owe him my first notions of geography, and the fact that he opened my eyes on the world. I used to read him by candle-light, or by moonlight with the help of a huge magnifying glass.
The first thing I read of that kind was The Last of the Mohicans. But Fritz Seidl told me at once: ìFenimore Cooper is nothing; you must read Karl May.î The first book of his I read was The Ride through the Desert. I was carried away by it. And I went on to devour at once the other books by the same other. The immediate result was a falling-off in my school reports.
I had a particular liking for the delicate subjects in the Bible, and I took a naughty pleasure in asking embarrassing questions. Father Schwarz, our teacher, was clever at giving me evasive answers. So I kept on insisting until he lost his patience. One dayóIíve forgotten with reference to whatóhe asked me if I said my prayers in the morning, at midday and at night. ìNo, sir, I donít say prayers. Besides, I donít see how God could be interested in the prayers of a secondary schoolboy.î ìSit down, then!î
The whole class would answer with a long howl of disapproval. Then, I would get up and explain to him that it was the symbol of our national ideal. ìYou should have no other ideal in your heart but that of our beloved country and our beloved house of Hapsburg. Whoever does not love the imperial family, does not love the Church, and whoever does not love the Church, does not love God. Sit down, Hitler!î
During break, when he was talking with some other teachers, I went up to him holding the handkerchief at armís length, and disguising my disgust: ìHereís your handkerchief, sir.î He grabbed hold of it, glaring at me. At that moment, the other boys, who had gathered around me, burst out into a noisy, artificially prolonged laughter.
In the Steinstrasse, Father Schwarz had a female relative, of the same name as himself, who kept a little shop. We used to visit her in a group and ask for the silliest objects: womenís bloomers, corsets, etc.
Opposite the school, in the Herrengasse, there was a convent. An excellent recruit came to us from Vienna, a real scamp. He used to blow kisses to the nuns when they passed a window. One day, one of them smiled back at him. At once, an old prude got up and drew the curtain violently. We even heard a cry. Half an hour later, our Rector gave us a scolding, expressing his amazement at our lack of respect.
Before Easter, we had lessons to prepare us for confession. It was a tremendous rag. As we had to give examples of sins to confess, we chose them in such a way as to tease Father Schwarz.
During break, I wrote out on the blackboard a terrifying confession, headed by the words: ìCopy out.î I was busy at work when there was a whistle. It was the signal from the boy whom weíd posed to keep ìcaveî. I knocked the blackboard over and rushed to my form. The holidays went by, and everybody, including myself, forgot the matter.
The words Iíd written came into sight: ìI have committed fleshly sin, outside of marriageÖî The teacher studied the handwriting, thought he recognised it as mine, and asked me if I was the author. I explained to him that this was an example of deep introspectionóFather Schwarz having told us to be very precise on this subject. ìYou, Hitler, keep your examples to yourself. Otherwise, Iíll make an example of somebodyÖî
Often, I promised myself to moderate my ways, but I couldnít help it, I couldnít endure all those hypocrisies. I can still see that Schwarz, with hi slong nose. I saw red when I looked at him. And I retorted as best I could! One day, my mother came to the school, and he took the opportunity to pounce on her and explain that I was a lost soul. ìYou, unhappy boyÖî he apostrophized me. ìBut Iím not unhappy, sir.î ìYouíll realise you are, in the Next World.î ìIíve heard about a scientist who doubts whether there is a Next World.î ìWhat do you (in German, ìDuî) mean?î ìI must inform you, sir, that you are addressing me as ëthouí.î ìYou wonít go to Heaven.î ìNot even if I buy an indulgence?î
When I bearded him with my ill-digested scientific knowledge, I drove him nearly out of his wits.
After the examinations, we organised a great party. Itís the only time in my life Iíve been drunk. I had obtained my certificate, next day I as to leave Steyr and return to my mother. My comrades and I secretly gathered over a quart of local wine. Iíve completely forgotten what happened during that night. I simply remember that I was awoken at dawn, by a milkwoman, on the road from Steyr to Karsten. I was in a lamentable state when I got back to the house of my crux. I had a bath and drank a cup of coffee. Then, Petronella asked me whether I had obtained my certificate. I wanted to show it to her, I rummaged in my pockets, I turned them inside out. Not a trace of my certificate! What could I have done with it, and what was I to show my mother? I was already thinking up an explanation: I had unfolded it in the train, in front of an open window, and a gust of wind had carried it off! Petronella did not agree with me, and suggested that it would be better to ask at the school for a duplicate of the document. And, since I had drunk away all my money, she carried her kindness so far as to lend me five gulden.
The director began by keeping me waiting for quite a long time. My certificate had been brought back to the school, but torn into four pieces, and in a somewhat inglorious condition. It appeared that, in the absent-mindedness of intoxication, I had confused the precious parchment with toilet paper. I was overwhelmed. I cannot tell you what the director said to me, I am still humiliated, even from here. I made a promise to myself that I would never get drunk again, and Iíve kept my promise.
Chapter 7: Dogs, by Adolf Hitler
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