We were walking through the snow-covered village. There was a small one-storeyed house, No. 61, which had once belonged to Adolf’s father: the big beehive, of which his father had been so proud, was still there, but now it was owned by strangers. Next to it was the cemetery. His father’s grave, in which his mother had now been buried, was near the eastern wall, and the fresh little mound was covered with snow. Adolf stood in front of it with a stern, set face. He looked hard and severe, and there were no tears in his eyes. His thoughts were with his beloved mother. I stood by his side and prayed.
On our way back, Adolf said that he would probably stay in Linz throughout the month of January until the home was finally disposed of and the estate settled. He foresaw, he said, some heated arguments with his guardian. Certainly his guardian wanted to do his best for Adolf, but what use was this to him if the ‘best’ was nothing more than an apprenticeship to a master baker in Leonding?
Old Josef Mayrhofer, Hitler’s guardian, died in 1956 at Leonding. Naturally he was often asked about his experiences with the young Hitler, and his impressions of him. In his simple, disinterested manner, he replied to all questioners – first the enemies, then the friends, and then again the enemies of his ward – and his replies were always the same, irrespective of his questioner’s opinions.
One day in January 1908, he would say, the Hitler-Adi, grown tall, with dark down on his upper lip and a deep voice, almost a grown man, came to see him to discuss the question of his inheritance. But his first sentence was: ‘I am going to Vienna again.’ All attempts to dissuade him failed – a stubborn fellow, like his father, the old Hitler.
Josef Mayrhofer retained possession of the documents relating to these discussions. The application for an orphan’s pension for himself and his sister which Adolf made at his guardian’s request, reads as follows:
To the Respected Imperial and Royal Finance Administration. The respectfully undersigned herewith request the kind allocation of the orphan’s pension due to them. Both of these applicants, after the death of their mother, widow of an Imperial and Royal customs official, on 21 December 1907, are now without either parent, are minors and are incapable of earning their own living. The guardian of both applicants – Adolf Hitler, born 20 April 1889 at Braunau am Inn, and Paula Hitler, born 21 January 1898 at Fischlham bei Lambach, Upper Austria – is Herr Josef Mayrhofer of Leonding near Linz. Both applicants are domiciled in Linz.
Repeating respectfully their request
Adolf Hitler Paula Hitler,
Urfahr, 10 February 1908
Incidentally, Adolf obviously signed the application for his sister Paula, for the surname ‘Hitler’ in both signatures shows the same downward-sloping tendency which was so characteristic of his signature in later years. Beside, he made a mistake in the date of birth of his sister, who was born in 1896.
According to the legislation then in force regarding state officials, orphans under 24 years of age, with no means of their own, were entitled to claim an orphan’s pension amounting to one half the widow’s pension which their mother had been receiving. Frau Hitler had received a pension of 100 crowns monthly since her husband’s death: therefore, Adolf and Paula were entitled jointly to a total of 50 crowns monthly, and so Adolf’s share was 25 crowns monthly. This was not enough for him to live on, of course – for example, he had to pay 10 crowns monthly to Frau Zakreys for his room.
The application was granted, and the first payment made on 12 February 1908, when Adolf was already in Vienna. Incidentally, three years later he renounced his share in favour of Paula although he could have continued to claim it until he reached the age of 24 in April 1913. The document of renunciation was also retained by his guardian at Leonding.
The document concerning the inheritance which Adolf signed in the presence of his guardian before he left for Vienna also mentioned his share in his father’s estate, amounting to about 700 crowns. It is possible that he had already spent part of this money during his previous stay in Vienna, but in view of his very economical way of life – the only large item in his budget was books – he was left with enough to tide him over at least the beginning of his new sojourn there. As regards our joint future, Adolf was more fortunate than I, not only because he had some capital and a fixed monthly income, however small – a matter which I still had to arrange with my parents – but also because, having prevailed over his guardian, he was free to make his own decisions, whereas my decisions were subject to my parents’ confirmation. For me, moreover, moving to Vienna meant giving up the trade I had learned, whereas Adolf could continue to lead there more or less his previous life. Al these circumstances made it increasingly difficult for me to come to a decision. Adolf could not understand this for some time although from the beginning he had taken the lead in this whole difficult affair. As far back as the beginning of our friendship, when I could still only visualise my future in the dusty upholsterer’s workshop, though nearly a year younger than I Adolf had made it abundantly clear to me that I ought to become a musician. Having put this idea into my head, he never gave up his efforts to persuade me. He comforted me when I despaired, he bolstered up my self-confidence when I was in danger of losing it, he praised, he criticised, he was occasionally rude and violent and railed at me furiously, but he never lost sight of the goal which he had set for me. And if sometimes we had such furious rows that I believed it was the end of everything, we would enthusiastically renew our friendship after a concert or performance in which I had taken part.
By God, nobody on earth, not even my mother who loved me so much and knew me so well was as capable of bringing my secret aspirations into the open and making them come true as my friend, although he had never had any systematic musical training.
In the winter of 1907, when work in our business was slackening and I had more time to myself, I took lessons in harmonics from the conductor of the Linz Theatre. My studies were as thorough as they were successful, and filled me with enthusiasm. Unfortunately, there was no scope in Linz for studying the other subjects of musical theory, such as counterpoint, orchestration and the history of music, nor was there a seminary for training in conducting and composition, much less any stimulus for free composition. This sort of training was only available at the Vienna Conservatoire; besides, there I would have the opportunity of hearing first-class performances of operas and concerts.
Though I had made up my mind to go to Vienna, unlike my friend I lacked the necessary determination to carry through my decision against all odds. But Adolf had already prepared the ground. Without my knowledge he had succeeded in convincing my mother of my musical vocation, for what mother does not like to hear a brilliant career prophesied for her son as a conductor, especially when she is so devoted to music herself? And there was also her justifiable anxiety about my health, as my lungs could no longer stand the perpetual dust in the workshop. So my mother, who had grown fond of Adolf just as Frau Klara had become fond of me, was won over and everything now depended on my father’s consent. Not that he openly opposed my wish. My father was in every respect the opposite of Adolf’s father, as he had been described to me by my friend. He was always quiet, and apparently took no interest in what was going on around him. All his thoughts were devoted to the business which he had created out of nothing, had successfully steered through grave crises and had now built up into a reputable, prosperous enterprise. He regarded my musical tastes as idle dilettantism, as he could not believe that it was possible to build a secure existence on more or less useless fiddling and strumming. To the last, he could not understand that I, knowing poverty and distress, was willing to renounce security in favour of a vague future. How often did I hear him say ‘A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush’, or bitterly, ‘What was the use of all my drudgery?’
I was working harder than ever in the workshop, as I did not want it said that I was neglecting my trade for the sake of my musical studies. My father saw in my industry a sign that I wanted to remain in the trade and t
ake over his business one day. My mother knew how devoted my father was to his work and so kept silent in order not to upset him. So, at the time when my musical future depended absolutely on attending the Vienna Conservatoire, things seemed to have reached a deadlock within our domestic circle. I worked feverishly in the workshop, and said nothing. My mother also said nothing and my father, thinking that I had finally abandoned my plan, did the same.
At this juncture Adolf came to see us. At one glance he realised what the situation was and intervened immediately. To begin with, he brought me up to date with his own affairs. During his stay in Vienna, he had made detailed enquiries about the study of music and now he gave me exact information on the subject, telling me, in his tempting way, how much he had enjoyed attending operas and concerts. My mother’s imagination was also fired by these vivid descriptions, and so a decision became more and more imperative. It was, however, essential that Adolf himself should convince my father.
A difficult enterprise! What use was the most brilliant eloquence if the old master-upholsterer had no regard for anything connected with art? He was quite fond of Adolf but, after all, he only saw in him a young man who had failed at school and thought too highly of himself to learn a trade.
My father had tolerated our friendship, but actually would have preferred a more sound companion for me. Adolf was, therefore, in a decidedly unfavourable position and it is astonishing that nevertheless he managed to win over my father to our plan in so comparatively short a time. I would have understood it if there had been a violent clash of opinions – in that case Adolf would have been in his element and able to play all the trumps which he held. But that was not the case. I cannot recollect that any argument in the usual sense took place at all. Adolf treated the whole matter as of no great importance and, in particular, implied that the decision rested with my father alone. He accepted the fact that my father only half gave his consent, suggesting a temporary solution: as the current scholastic year at the Conservatoire had already started in the previous autumn, I should go to Vienna for a trial period only to look a round for a while. If the facilities for training came up to my expectations, I could then make a final decision, but failing this, I could return home and enter my father’s business. Adolf, who hated compromise and with whom it was usually all or nothing was, surprisingly enough, agreeable to this course. I was blissfully happy as never before in my life, for now I had achieved my purpose without upsetting my father, and my mother shared my joy.
At the beginning of February, Adolf returned to Vienna. His address remained the same, he told me when he left, as he had paid rent in advance to Frau Zakreys, and I should write to him in good time announcing my arrival. I helped him carry his luggage to the station, four cases altogether unless I am mistaken, every one of them very heavy. I asked him what they contained, and he answered ‘all my belongings’. They were almost entirely books.
At the station Adolf once again spoke of Stefanie. Unfortunately he had had no opportunity to talk to her, he said, for he had never met her unaccompanied. What he had to tell Stefanie was for her ears only. ‘Perhaps I shall write to her,’ he added in conclusion. But I thought that this idea, expressed by Adolf for the first time, was merely a sign of embarrassment or at the most a cheap consolation. My friend entered the train and, standing at the window, shook me by the hand. As the train moved off, he called out to me, ‘Follow me soon, Gustl’.
My good mother had already started preparing my clothes and linen for my journey to great, unknown Vienna. In the end, even my father wanted to contribute something – he made me a big wooden box which was reinforced with strong iron bands. I put into it my music, and my mother filed the remaining space with clothes and shoes.
In the meantime, a postcard arrived from Adolf dated 18 February 1907 showing a view of the armour collection at the Vienna Museum of the History of Art. ‘Dear Friend,’ it began – and this form of address proved how much our relationship had deepened since his mother’s death. ‘Dear Friend, am anxiously expecting news of your arrival. Write soon so that I can prepare everything for your festive welcome. The whole of Vienna is awaiting you, therefore come soon. I will, of course, come and meet you.’ On the back of the postcard he wrote: ‘Now the weather here is improving. I hope you will have better weather too. Well, as I said before, at first you will stay with me. Later we shall see. One can get a piano here in the so-called Dorotheum for as little as 50 to 60 florins. Well, many regards to you and your esteemed parents, from your friend, Adolf Hitler.’ Then a postscript. ‘Beg you again, come soon.’
Adolf had addressed the card as usual to ‘Gustav’ Kubizek. He spelt this sometimes ‘Gustav’, at others ‘Gustaph’. He heartily disliked my first name, August, and always called me ‘Gustl’. which was closer to Gustav than August. He would probably have preferred it if I had formally changed my forename. He even addressed me as Gustav when he wrote to me on my saint’s day, the feast of St Augustine, 28 August. Under my name there is the abbreviation ‘Stud.’, and I remember that he liked to refer to me as ‘Stud. Mus.’
This postcard, unlike the previous ones, is much more cheerful. Typical of Adolf’s mood is the humour permeating it. ‘The whole of Vienna is waiting for you,’ he says, and he intends to prepare ‘a festive welcome’. All this indicates that, after the dark and depressing days which he had spent in Linz following his mother’s death, he was feeling relaxed and free in Vienna, however uncertain the future might be. Nevertheless, he must have been very lonely. The ‘anxiously’ in the first sentence of his card was no doubt meant seriously, and the fact that he repeats ‘come soon’ even in the form ‘beg you again, come soon’ proves how much he was looking forward to my arrival. Even the information as to the cheap piano was intended to encourage me to come without delay. He may have feared secretly that my vacillating father would change his mind at the last moment.
The day of my departure, 22 February 1907, arrived. In the morning I went to the Carmelite church with my mother. I felt how painful my departure was for her, although she stuck tenaciously to her resolve. Yet I also remember a typical remark which my father made when he saw my mother weeping. ‘I can’t understand why you are so depressed, mother,’ he said, ‘We haven’t asked Gustl to go, he wanted to leave himself.’ My mother, in her grief at my parting, concentrated on my creature comforts, giving me a nice piece of roast pork, and the dripping, which was for spreading on my bread, was put into a special container. She baked me some buns, gave me a large chunk of cheese, a jar of jam and a bottle of coffee. My brown canvas bag was full to overflowing with food.
So, off I went to the station after my last dinner at home, well provided for in every respect. My parents saw me off. My father shook my hand and said, ‘Always do the right thing.’ But my mother, with tears in her eyes, kissed me and, as the train started, made the sign of the cross on my forehead. For a long time I felt her tender fingers there as they traced the cross.
* The future Geli Raubal, Hitler’s paramour in the 1920s. [Ed.]
* * *
Chapter 15
No. 29 Stumpergasse
My first impression on arriving in Vienna was one of noisy and excited confusion. I stood there, holding my heavy case, so bewildered that I did not know which way to turn. All these people! And this noise and tumult! This was terrible. I was almost inclined to turn tail and go straight home again. But the crowds, thrusting and complaining, were jostling me through the barrier where the ticket inspectors and police stood, till I found myself in the station hall looking round for my friend. I shall always remember this first welcome in Vienna. While I stood there, still overwhelmed by all the shouting and hustling, recognisable from a mile away as a country bumpkin, Adolf behaved as a perfectly acclimatised city dweller. In his dark, good-quality overcoat, dark hat and the walking stick with the ivory handle, he appeared almost elegant. He was obviously delighted to see me and greeted me warmly, kissing me on the cheek lightly, as was then the custom.
The first problem was the transport of my bag for, thanks to my mother’s presents, this weighed very heavily. As I was looking around for a porter, Adolf grabbed one of the handles and I took the other. We crossed the Mariahilfe Strasse – people everywhere coming and going about their affairs, and such a terrible noise that one could not hear oneself speak – but how thrilling were the electric arc-lights that made the station yard as bright as day.
I still remember how glad I was when Adolf soon led me down a side street, the Stumpergasse. Here it was quiet and dark. Adolf stopped in front of a fairly new-looking house on the right side, No. 29. As far as I could see, it was a very fine house, most imposing and distinguished looking, perhaps too distinguished for such youngsters as we were, I thought. But Adolf went straight through the entrance and crossed a small courtyard. The house on the far side of this courtyard was much humbler. We went up a dark staircase to the second floor. There were several doors opening on this floor – ours was No. 17.
Adolf unlocked the door. An unpleasant smell of paraffin greeted me and ever since for me this smell has been connected with the memory of that apartment. We seemed to be in a kitchen, but the landlady was not about. Adolf opened a second door. In the small room that he occupied, a miserable paraffin lamp was burning.
I looked around me. The first thing that struck me were the sketches that lay around on the table, on the bed, everywhere. Adolf cleared the table, spread a piece of newspaper on it and fetched a bottle of milk from the window. Then he brought sausage and bread. But I can still see his white, earnest face as I pushed all these things aside and opened the bag. Cold roast pork, stuffed buns and other lovely things to eat. All he said was, ‘Yes, that’s what it is to have a mother!’ We ate like kings. Everything tasted of home.
The Young Hitler I Knew Page 17
