Hitler Is Alive! Read online

  If money means anything, Hitler never had any doubts as to the faithfulness of the pretty blonde who was young enough to be his daughter. A study by Allied authorities of his financial records showed that Eva, in the 12 years she was his mistress, spent $728,000 for clothes, jewels and personal items. She also got more than $500,000 in jewels the Nazis confiscated.

  When the Red Army pounded at the gates of Berlin, Eva hurriedly sent her valuables and her private papers and albums to her sister Gretl. Gretl later denied this, but Intelligence officers found the albums and Eva’s diary buried in a field outside Munich.

  In addition, the Army discovered Eva’s cache contained a silver set with the seal of the Polish royal family valued at $500,000. The loot included a sack of American dollars and a 15-karat diamond broach with a cluster of 50 white stones.

  Indicating the character of Hitler’s mistress were reels of film which showed Eva and her sister Gretl swimming and doing calisthenics in the nude.

  However, it was the diary that gave the Intelligence officers the proof that Eva was cheating on Adolf shortly after he started keeping the blonde Bavarian.

  The diary had some interesting hints of why little Eva went on a cheating binge after a few years as Der Fuehrer’s official mistress.

  In 1935 Eva wrote repeatedly how much she loved Hitler. Yet even in this early period of romance, the complaints began. On May 10, she commented:

  Looking Out the Window

  “The weather is gorgeous and I, the mistress of Germany’s and the world’s great man, have to sit at home and look at it through the window. He has so little understanding and still makes me appear distant when his friends are around. This period of fasting won’t last forever, and then it will taste much better. Too bad though that it just happens to be spring.”

  To any normal guy this would have meant that the little woman was getting restless and looking around for playmates. Eva found them.

  On May 23, 1938, Eva scribbled in her diary:

  “H— just had breakfast and left. He looks so handsome in his SS uniform and he has lashes like a girl’s. I want him to come back, but he’s afraid. He knows the penalty if Der Fuehrer finds out. But I assured him there wasn’t a chance, and he said he would come back Sunday night. He’s only 30 and looks much younger.”

  Then followed some unprintable comments.

  H. was Standartenfuehrer Hoegel, head of the SS detachment of Hitler’s personal bodyguards. When Adolf was away from ­Berchtesgaden, Eva would frequently entertain the handsome Hoegel in her rooms, and the two would go off hiking in the woods. Another “friend” who hovered around Eva when Der Fuehrer was away from the mountain retreat was Otto Guensche, Hitler’s SS adjutant.

  Eva took her chances at Berchtesgaden. Though surrounded by Adolf’s personal bodyguards and the housekeeper who obviously didn’t like her, Eva managed to steal off on mountain hikes and swimming parties.

  On Aug. 14, 1939, she wrote:

  “Walter and I hiked about five miles. It was wonderful high on the mountain away from all politics and war talk. We chased each other like children and then drank beer. Walter isn’t like Col. —. He says he isn’t frightened and would give his life for me. We took pictures and Walter said he would develop them himself.”

  A month later back at Munich (Sept. 12) Eva unburdened herself in her diary:

  “Der Fuehrer left a few minutes ago. He gave me a lovely diamond broach and a pearl necklace and then spent 20 minutes lecturing me about using lipstick and cosmetics. He said girls of the super race didn’t need such things. He also found some cigarettes, and I said they belonged to Gretl. He warned me about the evils of smoking.

  “He is going back to Berlin so I think it is safe to have the party tomorrow night. I’ve ordered two cases of champagne. And Walter is coming.”

  The party must have been a big success, for later Eva noted:

  “Too weak to write. The party lasted until seven this morning. I’m going to wake Walter up and make him help me clean the apartment. What a mess.”

  Eva Had Her Fun

  So little Eva had her fun. How long it continued no one will ever know, for her diary entries stopped in 1940, probably because the war interfered with her fun, Intelligence officers said.

  On the other hand Eva might have been sobered as she looked ahead to the bombings, the carnage and finally that day when Hitler married her as the Red Army swept nearer and nearer the bunker in which they hid.

  But whatever the reason for the end of the diary, it’s a safe bet that Eva Braun, the schoolteacher’s daughter who became Hitler’s mistress, knew a lot more than Der Fuehrer did about the art of cheating. He was an expert at the double-cross, but she could give him cards and spades and get away with it, and these hitherto unpublished pictures and diary secrets prove that little Eva had the last laugh on Adolf.

  3 WOMEN DIED FOR HITLER’S LOVE

  by JACK REICH ART

  Many women loved Hitler madly—and died by their own hands … Here’s a peek into Der Fuehrer’s private life

  Three women loved Adolf Hitler with a strange and awful desperation—and all three shot themselves!

  These women knew that Adolf Hitler could never love them—or any other women—but they preferred death to a love that could never be fulfilled.

  What was the fatal magic that drew women to his side? What was the dark secret that made him forever a stranger to them?

  “My bride is Germany,” Hitler would answer with an unconvincing laugh when he was asked about marriage.

  And when his close friend, Heinrich Hoffman, pressed the point, Hitler delivered a response in the best Don Juan tradition. “I love flowers—but that is no reason for my becoming a gardener!”

  It was the conceited, leering remark of a confirmed woman chaser, a man who wore his conquests like badges. But the Fuehrer was not that kind of man at all. Was his remark a cover-up—a vain boast to give the impression that he was not “different?”

  Yet, Hitler was careful not to antagonize the female Party members. He was well aware of the value of their support. In meetings, he saw to it that they sat knitting and sewing in the front rows. Periodically they shouted enthusiastically or burst into wild applause, touching off a similar demonstration among the audience.

  In modern theatrical parlance, this is known as “papering the house.” And if anybody knew his theater, Hitler did.

  These women were also influential in their own households. They persuaded their husbands to join Hitler, they worked tirelessly in their spare time, they gave of themselves unsparingly in their political enthusiasm.

  Though he had to accept the adoration they showered on him, Hitler was embarrassed when he met them individually.

  It is always better to have your workers worship you. You get more out of them. Hitler knew this and made good use of the worship, but he would not allow a woman to hold a leading position in the Third Reich.

  “I allow no man to stick his finger in my political pie,” he told his friend Hoffman. “And certainly no woman.”

  He seemed to realize that he would never be able to have a son and felt obliged to offer some sort of excuse for his failing.

  “History abounds with proof that seldom, if ever, is the son of a great man also great,” he said.

  He felt that a son of his would never have the necessary qualities for greatness and would only be in the way. His successor, he said, had to be a man of mental stature equal to his own.

  Hitler was apparently satisfied that this grand explanation let him off the hook as far as marriage was concerned. Surely nobody would question the Fuehrer’s feelings on a matter that concerned the future of Germany!

  Then, one day in 1927, 20-year-old Angelika Raubal—daughter of Hitler’s step-sister—joined him at his table in Munich’s Cafe Heck.

  Geli seemed to enchant Hitler. He became devoted to her. She even persuaded him to go shopping with her, though nothing disgusted him more.

  Under h
er spell, his social life blossomed. But whether it was to the cinema, the theater, or a drive and picnic in some out of the way spot, Hitler’s attitude toward this charming girl was formal and reserved.

  But when he looked at her, his eyes seemed haunted by a nameless longing. His voice was soft with a kind of helpless, groping affection.

  When he moved into a house at 16 Prinzregentenstrasse, Munich, he installed her in a beautiful, lavishly furnished room. There were no strings attached. He seemed satisfied to watch her and gloat over her.

  Hitler Lived with Jealous Fury

  Geli chafed at this confinement. She liked lights and music and people. Sitting at the same table in the same cafe day after day listening to the same people talk politics was not her idea of a good time.

  He refused to let her go to a dance. Geli begged and pleaded until he changed his mind. He agreed with a provision that his two friends, Heinrich Hoffman and Max Amman, accompany her and bring her home by 11 p.m. He even selected her dress for her—a conservative, almost prudish garment without the gaiety that Geli sought.

  When Geli, flanked by her two escorts, left the ball just before 11, she was feeling far from gay. She felt like a prisoner.

  Hoffman sympathized with her and told Hitler the restraint was making her unhappy. Hitler had a ready answer.

  “Geli’s future is so dear to my heart that I feel myself duty-bound to watch over her,” he said unconvincingly. “I love Geli, and I could marry her. But I am determined to remain a bachelor.”

  One day Hitler’s long-time chauffeur, Emile Maurice, dropped in to see Geli. Maurice was one of the oldest Party members. As he sat innocently laughing and chatting with her, the door opened and Hitler stood in the doorway, his face livid with fury.

  He shouted at the terrified man, swore at him, and reached for his gun. Then he thought better of it and walked around the room, cursing the chauffeur. Maurice had never seen Hitler in such a terrible state of violent emotion.

  Geli was bewildered. How could she understand a man who never unbent to her, never gave any concrete expression of love, yet felt he owned her body and soul? What did he want from her?

  On Sept. 17, 1931, Hitler left to go on tour. As he and Hoffman went down the stairs, Geli leaned over the bannisters and called, “Au revoir, Uncle Adolf. Au revoir, Herr Hoffman.”

  Hitler stopped and looked up. They looked at each other for a moment, then he went back up the stairs to her. He stroked her cheek fondly, then bent and whispered something in her ear. She pulled away, angry and disappointed. Hitler left her and joined Hoffman at the door.

  They drove in gloomy silence toward Nuremberg. “I don’t know why,” Hitler said, “but I have a most uneasy feeling.”

  After staying the night in Nuremberg, they set off for Bayreuth and had not gone far before a taxi caught up with them and a page boy from the Nuremberg hotel delivered a message to Hitler that Rudolph Hess wished to speak to him urgently from Munich and was holding the line.

  They rushed back to the hotel. Hitler ran for the phone.

  “Hitler here,” he said. “Has something happened?” His face paled. “How awful! Hess! Answer me yes or no. Is she still alive? … Hess!” he screamed. “Hess!”

  But the connection had been broken. Hitler whirled to his chauffeur. “We go back to Munich. Get every ounce you can out of the car. I must see Geli alive again!”

  Arrived Too Late

  Geli lay dead. She had found a letter to Hitler from Eva Braun—whom he had recently met—and had shut herself in her room and shot herself near the heart. She did not die at once and might have been saved—but no one had heard the shot. Young, unhappy Geli had bled to death.

  After her funeral, a grim Hitler locked the door of her room and ordered no one but the housekeeper to enter it. On his orders she daily placed in the room a bouquet of fresh chrysanthemums—Geli’s favorite flowers.

  For two days after the suicide Hitler brooded in solitude. Then he summoned Hoffmann to his house.

  “I cannot stay in this house where my Geli died,” he said, desperately tired and haggard. “Mueller has offered me the use of his house in St. Quirin. Will you come with me? I want to stay there until she has been buried. Then I shall go to her grave.”

  Before he left the two at St. Quirin, Hitler’s chauffeur stole his gun so that he should not try to kill himself.

  Hitler’s room was above Hoffmann’s, but he did not sleep. Throughout the night he paced back and forth, back and forth. Hoffmann sat in an armchair, listening.

  Dawn broke and Hoffmann wearily went upstairs to try to get him to eat. Hitler took no notice.

  Another night came, and Hoffmann sat in his armchair listening to the ominous, tortured pacing in the room above. Another day … and Hitler’s mouth was set in bitterness. Dark shadows underlined his shrunken eyes. He was haggard, drawn, and unshaved, but still he paced and still he refused food.

  They reached Vienna early in the morning and went straight to the Central Cemetery. Hitler spent half an hour at Geli’s grave, returned to the car and ordered the chauffeur to drive to Berchtesgaden.

  “Now,” he said half to himself, his eyes fixed straight ahead, “let the struggle begin—the struggle which must and shall be crowned with success.”

  Hitler threw himself into his speechmaking. He rushed from city to city. An almost superhuman power of persuasion seemed to come over him the moment he mounted the platform. And his speeches were fascinating.

  But in unguarded moments a haunted look came over his face.

  Once, at a New Year’s Eve party at Hoffmann’s house, an extremely pretty girl couldn’t take her eyes off Hitler. She engaged him in conversation and slyly maneuvered him under the mistletoe where she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a passionate kiss.

  A look of astonished horror crossed his face. The girl recoiled from it, as did the other guests. In that heavy silence he stood there under the mistletoe, biting his lip in an effort to master his anger. For the remainder of his stay, the atmosphere was icy. Eva Braun was an employee of Hoffmann and Hitler often chatted with her. But that was as far as it went. Yet Eva, the would-be femme fatale, told everyone Hitler was madly in love with her and that she was going to marry him.

  Never, in voice, look, or gesture did Hitler suggest any deep interest in her. Perhaps his very aloofness, his mysterious inaccessibility, fired her love for him.

  Then one day in the summer of 1932, Eva Braun put a pistol to her heart and pulled the trigger!

  Hitler was sick with bewilderment. “Doctor,” he pleaded, “do you think she shot herself simply with the object of becoming an interesting patient and of drawing my attention to herself?”

  The doctor shook his head. “The shot was aimed directly at the heart,” he said. “I consider it a genuine case of attempted suicide.”

  “You hear, Hoffmann?” he said in agitation, pacing up and down. “The girl did it for love of me. But I have given her no cause to justify such a deed. Obviously I must now look after the girl.”

  “I see no obligation,” Hoffmann said. “No one could blame you.”

  “And who do you think would believe that?” he snapped. “And another thing—what guarantee is there that something of the kind might not occur again?”

  And so, Eva Braun got her own way. She moved into his house and became the companion of his leisure hours. But again, that’s as far as it went. There was nothing between them. It was a hollow victory for the feather-brained little shop-girl.

  For years Hitler regularly attended the Bayreuth Festival of Music. There, in 1934, he met Unity Mitford, one of the six daughters of Lord Redesdale.

  Unity was full of enthusiasm for Hitler’s ideas. This swelled Hitler’s pride. She became passionately devoted to him and toured Europe in a car decorated with the Union Jack and the swastika making speeches about him that bordered on the hysterical.

  When war was declared in September, 1939, Unity was in Munich, wearing the Nazi badge
that Hitler had given her. But she was followed everywhere by Gestapo agents who were not sure she was not a British spy.

  Wagner, Gauleiter of Bavaria, suggested that she should leave. When she requested Hitler to come see her, the Fuehrer refused. It wasn’t wise to be friendly with an Englishwoman—even a Nazi Englishwoman.

  Suicide Attempt

  Her dreams were shattered. In despair she shot herself through the head in a Munich park. Unity never fully recovered from her injuries, and she died in England in 1948.

  Her attempted suicide haunted Hitler. “You know, Hoffmann,” he said, “I’m beginning to be frightened of women. Whenever I happen to show a little personal interest—by a look or by paying some little compliment—it is always misinterpreted.

  “I do not bring women luck. And that’s a fact which repeats itself in a most unusual way throughout my life.”

  For Adolf Hitler’s charm was truly fatal. Of all the strange complexities of this mysterious, brutal, driven man, none is more baffling than his unnatural relations with the opposite sex.

  Women were fascinated by him, worshipped him—and fell in love with him. And then, too late, did they find that he was not capable of love? Did they see in his cold eyes the secret that Hitler hid from the world?

  EVA BRAUN’S SECRET DIARY REVEALS HITLER’S STRANGE LOVE LIFE

  by KENNETH PETERS

  Eva Braun’s own words paint an intimate portrait of Hitler as a man—and lover

  Editorial note: Diary entries for this article were reused by the Police Gazette from a previous article, “Eva Braun’s Diary.”

  Adolf Hitler’s private life was more turbulent than even his political career. He cast the same hypnotic spell over the women who shared his boudoir as he did over his fanatic Nazi followers.

  As a lover, Hitler treated his women with a cold indifference that drove Geli Raubal, his first great love, to suicide and made Eva Braun, the girl he finally married, attempt suicide on several occasions. Der Fuehrer was cold, cruel and sadistic; completely devoid of any real sentimentality.