Twenty-two pages of Eva Braun's 1935 diary were found after
They are included here to show her state of mind and Hitler's attitude
toward her in the early stages of their relationship. Eva began her
hastily written diary on February 6, her birthday.
I think this must be the right day to begin this extra-special diary. I have now reached the happy age of 23. No, happy is not quite the right word. At this particular moment I am certainly not happy.
The truth is that I have rather large ideas about the importance to be attached to this day: If I had a dog I would not feel so lonely, but I suppose that is asking for too much.
Frau Schaub came as an ambassador bringing flowers and telegrams. The result is that my whole office resembles a flower shop and smells like a cemetery chapel.
I suppose I am ungrateful, but I did want to be given a dachshund. And I just don't have one. Perhaps I'll get one next year, or much later, when it will be more appropriate for a budding old maid.
What is important is not to give up hope. I should have learned to be patient by now.
Today I bought two lottery tickets, because I had a feeling that it would be now or never--they were both blanks. So I am not going to be rich after all. Nothing at all to be done about it.
Today I was going to Zugspitze with Herta, Gretel, Ilse, and Mutti, and I should have had a wonderful time, for it is always most enjoyable when other people are enjoying themselves, too. But nothing came of it. This evening I am going to have dinner with Herta. What else can you do, when you are a little single woman of 23? So I shall end my birthday "with gluttony and drunkenness." I think this is what he would want me to do.
He came to see me, but nary a sign of a dog or a chest of drawers. He did not even ask me what I wanted for my birthday. So I bought some jewelry for myself. A necklace, earrings, and a matching ring, all for 50 marks. All very pretty, and I hope he likes it. If he doesn't, then he should choose something for me himself.
The idea of going to Berlin seems to be coming off, that is, I won't believe it until I am really in the Reich Chancellery. Let's hope it all turns out well.
It is a pity that Herta cannot come with me instead of Charly. With Herta I could be sure of a few happy days. I imagine there will be a good deal of bickering, and I don't believe Brueckner will show Charly the nice side of his character.
I am not going to get excited about it, but if everything turns out all right, it will be wonderful. I hope all goes well.
Yesterday he came quite unexpectedly, and we had a delightful evening.
The nicest thing is that he is thinking of taking me from the shop and -- but I had better not get excited about it yet -- he may give me a little house. I simply must not let myself think about it. It would be marvelous. I wouldn't have to open the door to our "beloved customers," and go on being a shopgirl. Dear God, grant that this may really happen not in some far-off time, but soon.
Poor Charly is ill and won't be able to come with me to Berlin. But perhaps that is best after all. Br. can be very rude to her sometimes, and that would make her even more unhappy.
I am so infinitely happy that he loves me so much, and I pray that it will always be like this. It won't be my fault if he ever stops loving me.
I am so terribly unhappy that I cannot write to him. These notes must serve as the receptacle of my lamentations.
He came on Saturday. Saturday evening there was the Town Ball. Frau Schwarz gave me a box, so I absolutely had to go after I had accepted. Well, I spent a few wonderfully delightful hours with him until 12 o'clock and then with his permission I spent two hours at the ball.
On Sunday he promised I could see him. I telephoned to the Osteria and left a message with Werlin to say that I was waiting to hear from him. He simply went off to Feldafing, and refused Hoffmann's invitation to coffee and dinner. I suppose there are two sides to every question. Perhaps he wanted to be alone with Dr. G., who was here, but he should have let me know. At Hoffmann's I felt I was sitting on hot coals, expecting him to arrive every moment.
In the end we went to the railroad station, as he suddenly decided he would have to go. We were just in time to see the last lights of the train disappearing. Once again Hoffmann left the house too late, and so I couldn't even say good-by to him. Perhaps I am taking too dark a view, I hope I am, but he is not coming again for another two weeks. Until then I'll be miserable and restless. I don't know why he should be angry with me. Perhaps it is because of the ball, but he did give his permission.
I am racking my brains to find out why he left without saying good-by to me.
The Hoffmanns have given me a ticket for the Venetian Night this evening, but I am not going. I am much too miserable.
There is only one thing I want. I would like to be seriously ill, and to hear nothing more about him for at least a week. Why doesn't something happen to me? Why do I have to go through all this? If only I had never set eyes on him! I am utterly miserable. I shall go out and buy some more sleeping powder and go into a half-dreamlike state, and then I won't think about it so much.
Why doesn't that Devil take me with him? It would be much better with him than it is here.
I waited for three hours in front of the Carlton, and had to watch him buying flowers for Ondra and inviting her to dinner. (That was just my mad imagination. March 16th.)
He only needs me for certain purposes, otherwise it is not possible. This is idiocy.
When he says he loves me, it only means he loves me at that particular instant. Like his promises, which he never keeps. Why does he torment me like this, when he could finish it off at once?
He has left for Berlin again. If only I didn't go mad when he sees me so rarely. After all, it is quite obvious that he is not really interested in me when he has so much to do in politics.
Today I am going to the Zugspitze with Gretel, and perhaps my insanity will then leave me.
In the past everything turned out well, and it will be the same this time.
Yesterday he invited us to dinner at the Vierjahrenzeiten (Four Seasons). I sat with him for three hours and we did not exchange a single word. At the end he handed me, as he had done before, an envelope with money in it. It would have been much nicer if he had enclosed a greeting or a loving word. I would have been so pleased if he had. But he not think of it.
Why isn't he going to dine with the Hoffmanns? If he did, I would at least have had him to myself for a few minutes. I hope he doesn't come any more until his house is ready.
I am in great trouble, very great trouble. I keep on saying to myself, like Coué, "I am getting better and better," but it is no use. The house is ready, but I am not allowed to see him. Love has been temporarily excluded from his plans. Now that he is in Berlin again, I have thawed a little. There were days last week when I burst into tears over tiny things. Especially because I stayed at home alone during Easter.
I am saving and scraping. I get on everyone's nerves because I want to sell everything I have. Beginning with a dress, a camera, and down to a theater ticket.
Anyway, things will get better. My debts are not very big, after all
As Frau Hoffmann so affectionately and tactlessly informed me, he has now found a replacement for me. She is called Valkyrie, and that's what she looks like, including her legs. He likes measurements of this kind, but if she is really like that, he will soon make her thin with vexation unless, like Charly, the more worries she has, the fatter she gets. Charly's vexations only stimulate her appetite.
(Note: This may be a reference to Unity Mitford, whose middle name was Valkyrie. Mitford first met Hitler on February 9, 1935, at the Osteria Bavaria restaurant in Munich.) (Guiness)
If Frau H's information is correct. I think it is terrible that he should say nothing to me about it. After all, he should know me well enough to realize that I would never put anything in his way if he suddenly discovered his heart belonged to someone else. What happens to me is no concern of his.
I shall wait until June 3rd, when three months will have passed since our last meeting. Then I will ask for an explanation. Will anyone say this is not a modest demand? (Note: Since Eva had dinner with Hitler on March 31, she seems to be using the word "meeting" ("rendezvous" in the original) to mean having sex. See April 1)
The weather is so wonderful, and I, the mistress of the greatest man in Germany and in the world, am sitting here and gazing at the sun through a window. How can he have so little understanding as to let me remain here, bowing to strangers.
Man proposes, etc. And as one makes one's bed... It is all my fault, but it is nice to put the blame on others. The time of fasting will end, and then everything will taste so much better.
It is a pity it is spring.
I have just sent him the crucial letter. Question: will he attach any importance to it?
We'll see. If I don't get an answer before this evening, I'll take 25 pills and gently fall asleep into another world.
He has so often told me he is madly in love with me, but what does that mean when I haven't had a good word from him in three months?
So he has had a head full of politics all this time, but surely it is time he relaxed a little. What happened last year? Didn't Roehm and Italy give him a lot of problems, but in spite of all that he found time for me.
Maybe the present situation is incomparably more difficult for him, nevertheless a few kind words conveyed through the Hoffmanns would not have greatly distracted him.
I am afraid there is something behind it all. I am not to blame. Absolutely not.
Maybe it is another woman, not the Valkyrie -- that would be hard to believe. But there are so many other women.
Is there any other explanation? I can't find it.
God, I am afraid he won't give me his answer today. If only somebody would help me -- it is all so terribly depressing.
Perhaps my letter reached him at an inopportune moment. Perhaps I should not have written. Anyway, the uncertainty is more terrible than a sudden ending of it all.
I have made up my mind to take 35 pills this time, and it will be "dead certain." If only he would let someone call.