Traudl Junge - Hitler's Last Secretary - A Firsthand Account of Life with Hitler [aka Until the Final Hour]

Speer did wear uniform, for he held an official position, and what is an official position without a uniform? However, his uniform was always slightly incorrect, and he never looked military in it. His hair usually needed cutting, although he noticed that only when his wife pointed it out. I never saw him intoxicated, and he didn’t join in any of the parties thrown by people who knew Hitler. I didn’t notice him being especially friendly with any of the Party or Wehrmacht people either.

Heinrich Hoffmann, however, was different. He too was a frequent and important guest of the Führer. A veteran of the days when the Party was struggling for power, he always used to be around with his camera when Hitler made an appearance anywhere. ‘Oh yes, Hoffmann used to be a splendid fellow, he was still slim and supple then, and worked tirelessly away with his elaborate old camera. Back then he still had to slip under the black cloth and do all kinds of hair-raising things with his heavy equipment to get a good shot. He’s a very loyal comrade.’ So in the end, out of gratitude for his faithful services, the little photographer Heinrich Hoffmann was appointed ‘professor’. Professor of what, I always wondered◦– business acumen, maybe? Or was it an award for his keen instinct? For out of thirty different political parties, he had chosen to photograph the National Socialists. And he really did take excellent shots and was also a gifted graphic artist, very entertaining and sometimes even witty◦– but not likeable. At least, we called him the ‘Reich Drunk’, and in the years when I knew him that description certainly fitted.

Hitler showed Hoffmann great affection and forbearance, as he did with other old comrades from the early days of the Party. While he would dismiss or demote members of his staff or generals without a qualm if they opposed him, or if someone slandered them, he would excuse many failings in his old companions◦– personal defects or flaws of character that had a far worse effect on the Party cause and Nazi ideology than honest, down-to-earth disagreement openly expressed.

It certainly upset him a lot to see that Hoffmann was so devoted to the bottle and had a reputation as a womanizer, but he knew nothing about the Professor’s orgies in Vienna and Munich, and on his estate at Altötting, and the indignation they aroused among the people. Well, who was going to tell him? Who would have dared speak out against a friend of Hitler? The only person who did try to intervene was Eva Braun. She told Hitler: ‘You really must do something; Hoffmann’s behaviour is terrible. He’s drunk the whole time, always eating and drinking massively, and at a time when most people don’t have enough to eat at all.’ So then Hitler did get angry and told Hoffmann off, but it didn’t work for long. ‘His first wife’s death hit Hoffmann so hard,’ Hitler explained, by way of excuse. ‘He just couldn’t get over it, and that’s when he began drinking. He used to be a good husband.’ But apparently even in his prime Hitler’s comrade in the Party struggle hadn’t despised a good drop of something, for Hitler himself told many anecdotes showing that Hoffmann had never been known for his abstinence. For instance, Hitler once amused the company at table by describing a drive with Hoffmann in the 1920s. ‘Hoffmann had bought a new car, a Ford, and he insisted that I must try the car out with him. I said, “No, Hoffmann, I’m not going for any drive with you.” But he kept pestering me, so finally I gave in, and we set out from Schellingstrasse. It was already evening, it had been raining too, and Hoffmann went tearing round the corners like an idiot, almost ran into the corner of a building, ignored street junctions. “Hoffmann,” I said, “watch out, you’re driving like a madman! This is terribly dangerous.” “No, no, my Führer, it just seems that way to you because you haven’t had a drink. If you’d put back a good glass or so of red wine like me you wouldn’t notice a thing.” At that I got out, and I never went for a drive with him again.’

Since the beginning of the war Hoffmann had had few opportunities to see the Führer. He had no business at headquarters, so the Berghof was the only place where Hitler could meet him. At first the Führer was always glad to see his faithful supporter again after an interval of many months, but soon Hoffmann began getting on his nerves. ‘Hoffmann, your nose looks like a rotten pumpkin. I think if we struck a match under your nostrils your breath would catch fire and you’d explode. Soon there’ll be red wine flowing in your veins instead of blood,’ he once told Hoffmann, when he turned up at a meal and even the Führer couldn’t help noticing that he’d had too much already. At least Hoffmann never used to arrive drunk in Hitler’s presence, and the Führer was sorry to see his old friend and comrade letting himself go so badly.

Finally Hitler told his adjutants Schaub and Bormann, ‘Please make sure that Professor Hoffmann is sober when he comes to see me. I’ve invited him because I want to talk to him, not so that he can drink himself into a stupor.’ So poor Hoffmann had some difficulty finding drinking companions. All of a sudden none of Hitler’s entourage seemed able to find Hoffmann a nice bottle of something, and no one had time to drink with him. Our guest later took to bringing his own supplies, but that annoyed Hitler so much that Hoffmann was hardly ever invited again.

For the time being he could still amuse the Führer and the rest of the company at table with his jokes and reminiscences. For instance, he once told the following joke. ‘Here’s a riddle, my Führer: you, Himmler and Göring are all standing under an umbrella in the middle of the road. Which of you gets wet?’ No one could guess, so Hoffmann told us the answer. ‘None of you, my Führer, because it isn’t raining.’ Hitler shook his head. ‘Dear me, Hoffmann, you’re getting old!’ Everyone laughed. ‘And just think, my Führer, the man who told me that joke is in Dachau now!’ ‘I don’t believe you, Hoffmann, that’s a really stupid joke,’ said the Führer. ‘Oh, but he really is in Dachau, my Führer◦– he lives there,’ said Hoffmann triumphantly, which made Hitler laugh a lot. ‘You’re worse than Count Bobby,’ he said.

Then there were long conversations by the hearth in the evening about art galleries and their curators, and the exhibitions in the House of German Art, organized by Hoffmann. These conversations bored everyone else terribly, but Hitler loved painting, and Hoffmann knew his taste◦– and above all he knew the financial value of the old masters.

Once Hoffmann’s daughter, the wife of Baldur von Schirach, [47] Henriette von Schirach, née Hoffmann, b Munich 3 February 1913; 1930 joins the NSDAP, 1932 marries Baldur von Schirach; 1945 interned; 1980 publishes her book Anekdoten um Hitler. Geschichten aus einem halben Jahrhundert [Anecdotes of Hitler. Stories from Halfa Century]. came too. She was a nice, natural Viennese woman, [48] Although Frau von Schirach was born in Munich, at this time she was indeed living with her husband, the Gauleiter and Reich Governor of Vienna, in the capital of Austria, then known in Germany as the ‘Ostmark’. with a delightful flow of talk, but she had to leave suddenly when she raised a very unwelcome subject in tea-time conversation. I wasn’t present myself, but Hans Junge told me about it. As Hitler was sitting by the hearth with his guests, she suddenly said, ‘My Führer, I saw a train full of deported Jews in Amsterdam the other day. Those poor people◦– they look terrible. I’m sure they’re being very badly treated. Do you know about it? Do you allow it?’ There was a painful silence. Soon afterwards Hitler rose to his feet, said goodnight and withdrew. Next day Frau von Schirach went back to Vienna, and not a word was said about the incident. Apparently she had exceeded her rights as a guest and failed to carry out her duty of entertaining Hitler.