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Chapter 12
Adolf Leaves for Vienna
I had been noticing for a long time that Adolf, whether he was talking about art, politics or his own future, was no longer satisfied with friendly and familiar, though bourgeois Linz, and cast his eyes more and more frequently towards Vienna. The Austrian capital, still a resplendent imperial city and the metropolis of a state of 45 million people, promised him fulfillment of all his hopes for the future. At the time of which I speak, the summer of 1907, Adolf knew Vienna from a visit he had paid it in the previous year. In May and June 1906, he had stayed there long enough to grow enthusiastic about everything that had especially attracted him – the Hof Museum, the Hof Opera, the Burg Theatre, the magnificent buildings on the Ring – but not long enough to observe the distress and misery which were concealed by the magnificent façade of the city. This deceptive picture, largely produced by his artistic imagination, held a powerful attraction for him. In his thought he was no longer in Linz but already in Vienna, and his incredible capacity for ignoring the reality in front of him, and for accepting as real what existed only in his imagination, now came into full play.
I have to correct here a small error which Adolf Hitler made in Mein Kampf in regard to his first stay in Vienna. He is wrong when he says that he was not yet sixteen years old, for actually he had just had his seventeenth birthday. For the rest, his account corresponds entirely with my own recollection.
I well remember the enthusiasm with which my friend spoke of his impressions of Vienna. Details of his account, however, escape my memory. It is all the more fortunate that the postcards which he wrote to me on this first visit are still preserved. There are, altogether, four postcards which, apart from their biographical interest, are important graphological documents, for they are the earliest substantial examples of Adolf Hitler’s handwriting still existing. It is a strangely mature, rather flowing hand, which one would hardly connect with a youth of barely eighteen, whilst the incorrect spelling not only bears witness to patchy schooling, but also to a certain indifference in such matters. All the picture postcards he sent me were, significantly enough, of buildings. A different kind of young man of his age would certainly have chosen a different kind of picture postcard for his friend.
The first of these cards, dated 7 May 1906, is a masterpiece of the postcard production of the period and must have cost him a pretty penny – it opens out into a kind of triptych, with a full view of the Karlsplatz, with the Karlskirche in the centre. The text is:
In sending you this postcard I have to apologise for not having written sooner. Well, I have safely arrived and am going around everywhere. Tomorrow I am going to the opera Tristan and the day after Die fliegende Holländer etc. Although I find everything very beautiful, I am longing for Linz. Tonight Stadt Theatre.
Greetings from your friend
Adolf Hitler.
On the picture side of the card, the Conservatoire is expressly marked, probably the reason for his choice of this particular view, for he was already playing with the idea that one day we would study together in Vienna, and never missed an opportunity of reminding me of this possibility in the most alluring form. On the lower margin of the picture he added, ‘Greetings to your esteemed parents.’
I would like to mention that the words ‘Although I find everything very beautiful I am longing for Linz’ do not refer to Linz but to Stefanie, for whom his love was all the greater the further from her he was. It certainly satisfied his impetuous longing for her that he, a lonely stranger in this heartless metropolis, could write these words, which only the friend who shared his secrets would understand.
On the same day, Adolf sent me a second postcard, which depicts the stage of the Hof Opera. Presumably this particularly successful photograph, which shows a part of the decor, had appealed to him. On it he wrote:
The interior of the edifice is not very stirring. If the exterior is mighty majesty, which gives the building the seriousness of an artistic monument, the inside, though commanding admiration, does not impress one with its dignity. Only when the mighty sound waves flow through the hall and when the whispering of the wind gives way to the terrible roaring of the sound waves, then one feels the grandeur and forgets the gold and velvet with which the interior is overloaded.
Adolf H.
On the front of the card there is again added: ‘Greetings to your esteemed parents.’ Adolf is completely in his element here. The friend is forgotten, even Stefanie is forgotten; no greeting, not even a hint, so overwhelmed is he by his recent experience. His clumsy style clearly reveals that his power of expression is not sufficient to do justice to the depth of his feelings. But even his poor style, which sounds like the ecstatic stammering of an enthusiast, reveals the magnitude of his experience. After all, it had been the greatest dream of our boyhood in Linz to see, one day, a perfect production at the Vienna Opera House instead of the performances in our provincial theatre, which left so much to be desired. Certainly Adolf, with his glowing description, aimed at my own art-loving heart. For what could make Vienna more attractive to me than the enthusiastic echo of such artistic impressions?
On the very next day, 8 May 1906, he wrote again; it is rather surprising that he wrote three times in the space of two days. His motive becomes clear from the contents of the postcard, which shows the exterior of the Vienna Opera House. He writes:
I am really longing for my dear Linz and Urfar [sic]. Want or must see Benkieser again. What might he be doing, so I am arriving on Thursday on the 3.55 in Linz. If you have time and permission, meet me. Greetings to your esteemed parents!
Your friend,
Adolf Hitler.
The word ‘Urfar’, misspelt in a hurry, is underlined, although Adolf’s mother was still living in the Humboldtstrasse, and not in Urfahr, and of course that remark referred to Stefanie, as did the agreed codeword, Benkieser. The phrase ‘want or must see Bekieser’ is typical of Adolf’s style and character. Also significant are the words, ‘If you have time and permission, meet me.’ Although it was a matter of urgency for him, he respects my duty of obedience to my parents, nor does he omit to greet them on this card.
Unfortunately I cannot verify whether Adolf really returned to Linz the following Thursday, or if this indication was only intended to satisfy his unappeasable longing for Stefanie. However, his remark in Mein Kampf that his first sojourn in Vienna lasted only a fortnight is incorrect. Actually, he stayed there about four weeks, as is evidenced by the postcard of 6 June 1906. This card, which shows the Franzensring and the parliament building, is on conventional lines: ‘To you and to your esteemed parents, I send herewith best wishes for the holidays and kind regards. Respectfully, Adolf Hitler.’
With this memory of his first day in Vienna transfigured by his yearning for Stefanie, Adolf entered the critical summer of 1907. What he suffered in those weeks was in many respects similar to the grave crisis of two years earlier when, after much heart-searching, he had finally settled his accounts with the school and made an end of it. Outwardly, this seeking for a new path showed itself in dangerous fits of depression. I knew only too well those moods of his, which were in sharp contrast to his ecstatic dedication and activity, and realised that I could not help him. At such times he was inaccessible, uncommunicative and distant. It might happen that we did not meet at all for a day or two. If I tried to see him at home, his mother would receive me with great surprise. ‘Adolf has gone out,’ she would say, ‘He must be looking for you.’ Actually Adolf would wander around aimlessly and alone for days and nights in the fields and forests surrounding the town. When I met him at last, he was obviously glad to have me with him, but when I asked him what was wrong, his only answer would be, ‘Leave me alone’, or a brusque, ‘I don’t know myself.’ And if I insisted, he would understand my sympathy, and then say in a milder tone, ‘Never mind, Gustl, but not even you can help me.’
This state lasted several weeks. One fine summer evening, however,
when we were strolling beside the Danube, the tension began to ease. Adolf reverted to his old, familiar tone. I remember this moment exactly. As usual, we had been to see Stefanie pass by arm-in-arm with her mother. Adolf was still under her spell. Even though he saw her at this time almost every day, these meetings never became something commonplace for him. Whilst Stefanie had probably long since become bored by the silent, but strictly conventional adulation of the pale, thin youth, my friend lost himself increasingly in his wishful dreams the more he saw her. Yet he was past those romantic ideas of elopement or suicide. He explained to me in eloquent words his state of mind: the vision of the beloved one pursued him day and night; he was unable to work or even to think clearly and he feared he would go mad if this state of affairs went on much longer, though he saw no way of altering the situation, for which Stefanie was not to blame, either. ‘There is only one thing to be done,’ he cried, ‘I must go away – far away from Stefanie.’
On our way home he explained his decision in greater detail. His relationship with Stefanie would become more bearable for him once he was living at a distance and could not meet her every day. It did not occur to him that in this way he might lose Stefanie altogether – so deeply convinced was he that he had won her for ever. The true situation was different. Adolf, perhaps, already realised that, if he wanted to win Stefanie, he would have to speak to her or take some such decisive step – it is probable that even he began to find the exchange of glances on the Landstrasse a little childish. Nevertheless he felt instinctively that it would abruptly destroy his life’s dream if he actually made Stefanie’s acquaintance. Indeed, as he said to me, ‘If I introduce myself to Stefanie and her mother, I will have to tell her at once what I am, what I have and what I want. My statement would bring our relations abruptly to an end.’ This awareness, and the simultaneous realisation that he had to put his relationship with Stefanie on a firm basis to avoid ridicule, were for him the horns of a dilemma, from which he saw only one way out – flight. He started at once to expound his plan to the last detail. I received precise instructions what to tell Stefanie if she asked, full of astonishment, what had become of my friend. (She never did.) Adolf himself realised that, if he wanted to marry her, he would have to offer her a secure existence.
But this unsolved and, for a person of my friend’s nature, insoluble problem of his relationship with Stefanie was only one of the many reasons which prompted him to quit Linz, although it was the most personal and therefore decisive. Another reason was that he was anxious to escape the atmosphere that prevailed at home. The idea that he, a young man of eighteen, should continue to be kept by his mother had become unbearable to him. It was a painful dilemma which, as I could see for myself, made him almost physically ill. On the one hand, he loved his mother above everything: she was the only person on earth to whom he felt really close, and she reciprocated his feeling to some extent, although she was deeply disturbed by her son’s unusual nature, however proud she was at times of him. ‘He is different from us,’ she used to say.
On the other hand, she felt it to be her duty to carry out the wishes of her late husband, and to prevail on Adolf to embark on a safe career. But what was ‘safe’, in view of the peculiar character of her son? He had failed at school and ignored all his mother’s wishes and suggestions. A painter – that was what he had said he wanted to become. This could not seem very satisfactory to his mother for, simple soul that she was, anything connected with art and artists appeared to her frivolous and insecure. Adolf tried to change her mind by telling her of his intention to study at the Academy. That sounded better; after all, the Academy, of which Adolf spoke with increasing enthusiasm, was really a kind of school, where his mother thought he might make up for what he had missed in the Realschule.
When listening to these domestic discussions, I was always surprised by the sympathetic understanding and patience with which Adolf tried to convince his mother of his artistic vocation. Contrary to his habit, he never became cross or violent on these occasions. Often, Frau Klara would also unburden herself to me, for she saw in me too an artistically gifted young man with high aims. Having a better understanding of musical matters than of her son’s dabbling in drawing and painting, she frequently found my opinions more convincing than his, and Adolf was very grateful for my support. But, in Frau Klara’s eyes there was one important difference between Adolf and me: I had learnt an honest trade, finished my apprenticeship and passed my journeyman’s examination. I would always have a safe haven to shelter in, whereas Adolf was just steering into the unknown. This vision tormented his mother unceasingly. Nevertheless, he succeeded in convincing her that it was essential for him to go to the Academy to study painting. I still remember distinctly how pleased he was over it. ‘Now mother will not raise any more objections,’ he told me one day, ‘I will definitely go to Vienna at the beginning of September.’ Adolf had also settled with his mother the financial side of the plan. His living expenses and the Academy fees were to be paid out of the small legacy left him by his father and now administered by his guardian. Adolf hoped that, with great economy, he would be able to manage on this for a year. What would happen afterwards remained to be seen, he said. Perhaps he would earn something by the sale of some drawings and pictures.
The main opponent of this plan was his brother-in-law Raubal who, with his revenue official’s limited horizon, was incapable of understanding Adolf’s thoughts. That was rubbish, he said; it was high time that Adolf learned something decent. Although Raubal, after some violent altercations with Adolf, in which he always came off worst, avoided any further argument with him, he tried all the harder to influence Frau Klara. Adolf found out most of this from ‘the kid’, the pet name he used for his eleven-year-old sister. When Paula told him that Raubal had been to see his mother, Adolf would fall into a rage. ‘This Pharisee is ruining my home for me,’ he once remarked to me in a fury. Apparently, Raubal had also got in touch with Adolf’s guardian, for one day the worthy peasant Mayrhofer, who would have liked best to have made a baker out of Adolf and had already found an apprenticeship for him, came from Leonding to see Frau Klara. Adolf was afraid that his guardian might induce her to hold back the legacy. This would have put a stop to his moving to Vienna. But the plan did not get so far, though for some time the decision was very much in doubt. By the end of this tough struggle, everybody was against Adolf – even, as happens in tenement buildings, the other tenants. Frau Klara listened to this more or less well-meant chatter and became completely confused by it all.
Often, when Adolf had his fits of depression and was wandering through the woods, I used to sit with her in her little kitchen, listening sympathetically to her laments, trying hard to comfort the wretched woman without being unfair to my friend, and at the same time helping him where I could. I could easily put myself in Adolf’s shoes. It would have been simple enough for him, with his great energy, just to pack up and go, if consideration for his mother had not prevented him. He had come to hate the petit-bourgeois world in which he had to live. He could hardly bear to return to that narrow world after lonely hours spent in the open. He was always in a ferment of rage, hard and intractable. I had a lot to put up with in those weeks. But the secret of Stefanie, which we shared, bound us inseparably together. The sweet magic which she, the unattainable, radiated, calmed the stormy waves. So, as his mother was so easily influenced, the matter remained undecided, although Adolf had long since made up his mind.
On the other hand, Vienna was calling. That city had a thousand possibilities for an eager young man like Adolf, opportunities which might lead to the most sublime heights or to the most sombre depths. A city magnificent and at the same time cruel, promising everything and denying everything – that was Vienna. She demanded the highest stake from everyone who pledged himself to her. And that is what Adolf wanted.
No doubt, Adolf had his father’s example before him. What would he have become if he had not gone to Vienna? A poor, haggard cobbler somewhere
in the poverty-stricken Waldviertel. And see what Vienna made of this poor, orphaned, cobbler’s boy!
Ever since his first visit in the spring of 1906, these rather vague ideas had assumed concrete form in Adolf’s mind. He who had dedicated his life to art, could develop his talents only in Vienna, for in that city were concentrated its most perfect achievements in every field. During his first short stay there he had already been to the Hof Opera and seen Die fliegende Holländer, Tristan and Lohengrin. By these standards, the performances in the Linz Landestheater appeared provincial and inadequate. In Vienna, the Burg Theatre, with its classic productions, awaited the young man. There was also the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra which, with justification, was then considered the best in the world. The museums with their immeasurable treasures, the picture galleries and the Hof Library provided endless possibilities for study and self-improvement.
Linz had little more to offer Adolf. What rebuilding had to be done in this city he had already done, mentally, and no more large, tempting problems were left for him to solve. And I was always there to report any further alterations to the town, such as the new Bank of Upper Austria and Salzburg building on the main square, or the projected new theatre. But he wanted to look at grander things – the magnificent buildings of the centre of Vienna, the vast, truly imperial layout of the Ringstrasse – rather than the humble little Landstrasse in Linz. Moreover his growing interest in politics found no outlet in conservative Linz, where political life ran in well-defined grooves. Simply nothing happened that might have had any political interest for a young man; there was no tension, no conflict, no unrest. It was a great adventure to move from this absolute calm into the centre of the storm. All the energies of the Habsburg state were concentrated in Vienna. Thirty nations struggled for their national existence and independence, and thus created an atmosphere like that of a volcano. How the young heart would rejoice at throwing itself unrestrainedly into this struggle.
The Young Hitler I Knew Page 14
