I found Munich a picture of destruction too. The building where we had lived was completely flattened. Nothing could be saved. People were desperate and hopeless. I met few who still believed in victory. When I repeated what Hitler said I lacked his own conviction and sense of security, and my heart was full of doubts and conflict. On going back to headquarters after three weeks, at the end of August, I asked the officers, the adjutants and every one who ought to know, ‘Tell me, how is the war going? Do you really believe we shall win?’ And I always got the same answer. ‘It looks bad, but not hopeless. We must hold on and wait for our new weapons to come into play.’
Once again we sat with Hitler in the evenings. Now that most of the German cities were rubble and ashes, he was devoting himself with passionate intensity to plans for rebuilding them. When Giesler was there, he discussed the reconstruction of Germany in minute detail. The rebuilding of Hamburg, Cologne, Munich, Linz and many other cities had taken firm shape, not just in Hitler’s head but as complete architectural plans on paper. Hitler tended these plans lovingly, the way a gardener tends his roses. Sometimes we listened, uncomprehendingly, as his descriptions brought the finest cities in the world into existence before our eyes, the broadest streets, the tallest towers on earth. Everything was to be much better than it had ever been before, and he lavished superlatives on it all. Did he believe in his own words? I never stopped to wonder about that at the time. […]
I didn’t want any monumental buildings, I wanted peace and quiet. I certainly had a better life than most other people in wartime, I didn’t have to sit in a boring office and I had hardly been in any air raids. But I felt like a prisoner in a golden cage, and I wished I could finally get away from here and go back to other people where I belonged. After all, I’d been married for over a year, and I hardly noticed. Hitler still treated me like the baby of a family. He particularly liked joking with me. I would be asked to imitate a comic Viennese film actor, or speak in Saxon dialect and reply to his jokes. Frau Christian was the object of Hitler’s gallant attentions. It sometimes looked like a little flirtation, but almost every day the conversation would come round to Eva Braun, and then I could see Hitler’s eyes take on a deep, warm glow, while his voice grew soft and gentle.
But when he called an officers’ meeting again around the middle of August, and addressed the top military leaders at headquarters, there was no tolerance and softness about him now. I wasn’t at the meeting, but I saw the grand uniforms locked in violent and agitated discussion in the mess afterwards. There seemed to have been angry words. Hitler had given full expression to his indignation over the treachery of 20 July, and he imposed the ‘German greeting’ on the whole German Wehrmacht. At the same time he called on the loyalty and conscience of the officers and their unreserved obedience. Later, by chance, I saw the minutes of this meeting. I had no right to read them, but I did cast a quick glance at some of the pages. They said: ‘…and I thought that at my last hour, my officers would gather around me in unshakeable loyalty, their daggers drawn…’ Here General Manstein[81] called out: ‘And so they will, my Führer.’ In brackets, after that, the minutes said: Loud applause.
Hitler also awarded decorations to the men wounded on 20 July around this time. Several had now died of their injuries, including General Schmundt. The survivors were solemnly given the award for the wounded. The newsreels and photo-reports recorded this great moment. I saw that Hitler kept his left hand motionless behind his back all the time. He was very anxious that no one should see its constant tremor. I noticed that his state of health wasn’t very good anyway. He was taking any amount of medication. Either before or after meals Linge had to give him at least five different pills. One was to stimulate the appetite, another to aid digestion, a third to prevent flatulence, and so on. In addition Professor Morell, grunting and groaning, turned up in person every day to administer his usual miracle-working injections. The doctor had been suffering from particularly bad heart trouble recently. Once again he tried to lose weight by going on a diet, but his voracious appetite made it very difficult. When he came for tea in the evening it was usually only a few minutes before we heard his quiet snoring, which didn’t stop until Hitler went to bed. Then Morell would assure us he had enjoyed the evening very much, but he was extremely tired. Hitler was never angry with him, but as solicitous as if he were a child. There was much gratitude and something like pity in his eyes when he spoke of Morell. He trusted him so completely that he said, ‘But for Morell I might have died long ago, or at least have been unable to work. He was and still is the only person who can help me.’ However, no one knew what Hitler was really suffering from. No definite diagnosis was ever made.
V
We were sitting together at lunch again; this was the end of August [1944]. Hitler’s manner to me was very strange. He seemed almost unfriendly. He never said a word to me all through the meal, and when I happened to meet his eyes by chance they bent a serious, questioning gaze on me.
I couldn’t imagine what I might have done or how I could have annoyed him. I didn’t worry about it any further, and thought he was probably just in a bad mood.
That same day Fegelein phoned me. ‘Can I come and have coffee with you this afternoon?’ he asked. I wondered why he suddenly wanted to come and see me, he’d never done that before, but I said yes. Coffee time came and went but Fegelein didn’t turn up. Finally the phone rang again. He said the briefing had gone on a long time and now he had to get some work done, but could I just drop in on him for a moment? All right, I thought, I might as well take my dog for a walk, and I set off for Fegelein’s new hut, the last building in the headquarters complex. Fegelein greeted me. ‘Hello, nice of you to come, would you like a schnapps?’ Goodness me, I thought, what’s he after? I’d assumed he had something he wanted to discuss with me. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t want a schnapps at the moment, but you were going to come and have coffee with me, weren’t you? What’s up? I mean, why are you doing me this honour although you know I’m faithful to my husband?’ Then he came over to me, put his arms round me in a paternal way and said, ‘I’d better tell you straight out. Your husband has fallen.[82] The Führer has known since yesterday, but he wanted to wait for confirmation, and then he found he couldn’t tell you himself. If you’re in any kind of trouble come and see me, I’ll always help you.’ With these words he let me go and poured me a schnapps after all, and now I did drink it. For the moment I couldn’t think at all, and Fegelein gave me no time for it. He went on talking, and as if from a great distance I heard him saying what ‘a terrible mess’, everything was, this war and the Bolshevists and absolutely everything, but one day it would all be different… Funny how I still remember that, although I was hardly listening to him.
Suddenly I was out in the open air again. Warm summer rain was falling very gently, and I walked on down the road, out of the camp and over the fresh green meadows, and it was very quiet and lonely. I felt very much alone, and it was all so terribly sad. I got back to my room late. I didn’t want to see or hear anyone. I wasn’t anxious to hear any condolences and sympathy. Then a call came from the Führer bunker. ‘Are you coming to dinner today, Frau Junge?’ I said, ‘No, I won’t be there at dinner today.’ The orderly hung up. But the phone rang again. This time Linge himself was on the line. He said, ‘The Führer would like a quick word with you all the same, so come on over even if you don’t stay for dinner.’ Finally I thought well, the sooner the better, and then I’ll have it behind me.
81
Erich von Manstein,
82
Hans Junge died on 13 August 1944 as an SS-Obersturmführer in a low-flying aircraft attack in Dreux, Normandy. (For Junge, see also note 10.)