Meanwhile the Goebbels family had come over from the bunker underneath the Propaganda Ministry to the Führer bunker. I went to meet them and welcome the children. Frau Goebbels was taken straight to Hitler. The five little girls and the boy were happy and cheerful. They were pleased to be staying with ‘Uncle Hitler’, and soon filled the bunker with their games. They were charming, well brought-up, natural-mannered children. They knew nothing of the fate awaiting them, and the adults did all they could to keep them unaware of it. I took them over to the storeroom where Hitler’s birthday presents were kept. There were children’s toys and clothes among them, and the children chose what they liked.
When we came back there was another air-raid warning. The raids were coming thick and fast now, concentrating on the area round the Reich Chancellery. We had almost got used to the artillery fire. We noticed only when the roaring noise stopped. Once again we were sitting with Hitler. He was getting more oddly behaved and difficult to understand all the time. Just as yesterday he hadn’t said a word to suggest that he didn’t think victory certain, today he said with equal conviction that there was no longer any hope for a change in the situation. We pointed to the picture of Frederick the Great looking down from the wall, and now we all quoted the words Hitler had used so often. ‘My Führer, where’s the last battalion? Don’t you believe in the lessons of history any more?’ He shook his head wearily. ‘The army has betrayed me, the generals are no good for anything. My orders haven’t been carried out. It’s finally over. National Socialism is dead and will never rise again!’ How upset we were to hear these words! The change had been too sudden. Perhaps we hadn’t really and truly meant it when we said we wanted to stay in Berlin? Perhaps we had hoped to get away with our lives after all. Now Hitler himself was depriving us of that hope.
Eva Braun developed a kind of loyalty complex. ‘You know,’ she told Hitler, ‘I can’t understand the way they’ve all left you. Where’s Himmler, where are Speer, Ribbentrop, Göring? Why didn’t they stay with you where they belong? And why isn’t Brandt here?’ And Hitler, who may well have been thinking how readily and light-heartedly many whom he had raised to great heights had now abandoned him, spoke up for his men. ‘You don’t understand, child. They can serve me better if they’re out of here. Himmler has his divisions to lead, Speer has important work to do, they all have their official duties which are more important than my life.’ ‘Yes,’ said Eva Braun, ‘I can understand that. But take Speer, for example. I mean, he was your friend. I know him, I’m sure he will come.’
During this conversation Himmler rang. Hitler left the room and went to the telephone. He came back looking pale, his face rigid. The Reichsführer had been trying once again, by phone, to get Hitler to leave the city. Once again the Führer had firmly refused. He spoke quite impersonally of his intended suicide, as if it were something to be taken for granted. And we kept seeing our own deaths before our eyes as well as his. We were getting used to the idea. But I hardly slept that night.
Next day the artillery fire comes closer again. The Russians have moved into the suburbs of the city. There is desperate fighting against a huge number of mighty tanks. The situation in the bunker is still the same. We sit and wait. Hitler has become dull and listless after his outburst of fury yesterday, when he shouted about betrayal. It’s as if he has abdicated his office. There are no official military briefings now, the day has no set timetable. In the bright light reflected from the white concrete walls we don’t notice day giving way to night. We secretaries keep close to Hitler, always uneasily expecting him to put an end to his life. But for the time being he goes on with this half-life. Goebbels has brought his state secretary Dr Naumann[96] and his adjutant Schwägermann[97] with him. They are discussing a final propaganda campaign with Hitler. The population must know that the Führer is in the besieged city and has undertaken its defence. That, they say, will give people strength to resist and make the impossible possible. But while the desperate and homeless flee from the ruined buildings and seek refuge in the U-Bahn tunnels, while every man and every boy is supposed to fight and risk his life using some kind of makeshift weapon, Hitler has already buried all hope.
The six children play in the corridors, happy and contented. They read their fairy-tales at the round table on a landing on the stairs, halfway down to the deepest part of the bunker. They don’t hear the explosions getting louder and louder, they feel safe with ‘Uncle Führer’. In the afternoon they drink chocolate with their ‘uncle’ and tell him what they have been doing at school. Helmut, the only boy, reads aloud the composition he wrote for Hitler’s birthday. You stole that from Daddy,’ says his sister Helga. And the adults laugh when the boy replies, ‘Or Daddy stole it from me.’ But in her handbag their mother is carrying the poison that means the end of six little lives.
I suddenly wonder where Professor Morell is. His room is being used by Goebbels and his wife now; the physician has left. Linge, who goes about his work in as calm and friendly a way as ever, tells me that after a dramatic scene with the Führer, Morell left Berlin by plane early in the morning. The previous evening Morell went to the Führer as usual to give him his daily injection before bed. And suddenly Hitler was overcome by a feeling of fear and distrust, suspecting betrayal and plots. ‘Morell, leave my room at once! You want to anaesthetize me so that they can take me out of Berlin by force. That’s what they all want, but I’m not going,’ he shouted. And when the trembling Morell almost had a heart attack with the shock of it, he ordered him to leave Berlin on the next plane. Never before had Hitler gone for so much as a day without the support of his physician, who had to accompany him on every flight and every drive. Now he was sending him away. He didn’t need a doctor any more, or medication or a special diet. Nothing mattered.
New faces suddenly appeared in the Führer bunker. There was Artur Axmann[98] the Reich youth leader. One of the devoted believers, a blind idealist! He had only one arm, but eyes full of warlike zeal shone in his calm, composed face. He too had come to be with his Führer at the last. Then there was an inconspicuous little man, greying at the temples. He wore the field-grey SS uniform and was to be found anywhere you saw a couple of officers standing together discussing the situation. This was Obergruppenführer Müller,[99] Kaltenbrunner’s deputy.
Suddenly Speer appeared again. Eva Braun went to meet him, hand outstretched. ‘I knew you’d come. You won’t leave the Führer on his own.’ But Speer smiled quietly. ‘I’m leaving Berlin again this evening,’ he replied after a pause. Then he went to see Hitler. We learned nothing of this long, serious conversation between them.
Another event was the subject of excited discussion: Göring’s ‘treachery’. Goebbels, Hewel, Voss, Axmann and Burgdorf were standing together in the corridor outside the conference room. Out in the anteroom I heard muted voices saying that Göring had betrayed the Führer, now, at the vital moment. What exactly had happened? On my way to the upper part of the bunker I met Frau Christian. She had heard about it from Colonel von Below, a colleague of her husband. Göring had sent a telegram to say that he was about to take over as Hitler’s successor, since he assumed that the Führer no longer had complete freedom of action, and if he received no reply from the Führer by 22.00 hours he would consider that his succession had come into effect.
96
Werner Naumann,
97
Günther Schwägermann,
98
Artur Axmann,
99
Heinrich Müller,