writings: the diaries of otto dix |
I visit Dr Wolf. Im having health problems. My stomach is driving me nuts. I have gas. I am farting like a horse. The stink is brutal. I have vicious cramps. I have irregular bowel movements. Sometime I poop three times a day. Then I go for a week and nothing. The problem is coffee. I feel better when I drink tea. But tea is boring. I hate this beverage. I must have coffee. It gives me energy. I need it to paint. I must drink coffee and smoke cigarettes. I dont sleep. I wake up in the morning with no energy. I feel like shit. This is why I need the coffee. Its a pain in the ass. Hitler has the same problems: a digestive ailment and insomnia. He goes to bed at 4 in the morning.Maybe I should see his doctor. Ive known Dr Wolfe for 20 years. He gave me the best advice I ever had from a member of this profession: he said stay away from doctors. But he is the exception. I love this man. He has a gift. There is a word in Spanish: simpatico. There is no exact translation in German. It means a person you enjoy being around. Why? Because they make you feel good. F has this quality. Also my wife. Also Vera. And thats about it. Its a desirable quality in a physician. He inspires confidence, re assurance. You are convinced that if this man cannot help you the disease is incurable. I recall something that ccurred on a previous visit. I was in the waiting room thumbing through an issue of The Journal of Morbid Psychology . On the phone the nurse was speaking to a patient. This was a woman Frau Mendelssohn. Frau Mendelssohn needed an immediate appt. It was an emergency or semi- emergency. Something to do with an inflamed colon. The nurse said Dr Wolfe was booked solid for the day and leaving the following day for a much needed vacation. Meanwhile she would be happy to schedule an appt with Dr Feldstein who was seeing all patients of Dr Wolfe during his absence. This would not do said Frau Mendelsshon. She must see Dr Wolfe. The nurse said Dr Feldstien had filled in for Dr Wolfe in the past many times. There were never any complaints. He was an excellent physician. Said Frau Mendelsshon: perhaps the nurse didnt understand: she must see Dr Wolf. Back and forth they went. The conversation became quite heated. Finally the nurse said she would speak to Dr Wolf. She hung up. She gave me a frazzled look. She said: this happens all the time. I enter the office. Its been a few years. He looks the same. He is a small man with large ears. He is not young he is 76. He has never married. He is a pussy hound. He owns a fabulous car a Duesenberg. Its like the car Picasso owned. Its 19 feet long. He drives around in this thing all 180 centimeters of him with his head barely clearly the top of the steering wheel cruising for pussy. We shake hands. I ask about his health. I cant complain! Did you see the man who just left? He drives me crazy. He is a hypochondriac. He has every disease known to man. And do you know why? Because he doesnt work. He has money. His father gives it to him. His father supports him. He is pissing forgive the expression his life away. Thats why he comes here. He is bored. I have explained all this. He needs to do something He needs to work. But people dont listen. They hear what they want. We chat. This is his secret. he spends time with his patients. He likes them. He interests himself in them. He asks about my work. He knows I have been having problems with the Nazis. He has some problems of his own with the Nazis. He is a jew. Things are becoming increasingly difficult for these people. Many are beginning to emigrate. We are losing talented people not only artists and writers but doctors, engineers, scientists. Einstein has fled. He is in the United States. This is only the man who changed the way we think about the universe. Dr Wolf says: I am looking over your file. You were here 4 years ago a kidney infection. I remember this. I will never forget it. This was pain. It was deep. I was sure I had a stone. But it was only a little gravel. Dr Wolfe gave me some pills and the following morning I took a very painful piss and that was that. I describe my symptoms. He writes it all down. He gives me a sympathetic look. I can see you are in distress. It is difficult to be happy with stomach cramps. On to the physical. Its the usual: blood pressure, hernia, pee into the jar and the old prostate massage with the condom unrolled over the middle finger expertly jammed up your asshole. Also an x ray. This is a new piece of equipment. He says: do you know of this machine? I just bought it. I love this machine! He wheels this beast out. It looks like a prop from a science fiction movie. Its a giant arm on wheels with this rotating lens. The arm has a ball/socket joint that combines with the rotating lens so that the lens can be positioned to zero in on the target organ at any angle. Ive read of this device. It was invented by a Frenchman. There was a photograph of one of these x rays. It looked like an Oscar Kokoshka painting. Special protective clothing is required to operate this machine. There is this life vest type garment with lead inserts he slips over his head. Next a lead lined cap, heavy gloves and giant pair of welders goggles. He looks like he is preparing to practice germ warfare. What a painting this would make. Its a classic. But there is a new felony on the books: the Otto Dix portrait. I am naked standing up sandwiched between a double set of giant photographic plates. He zaps me with this thing I dress and we return to the office. He says: your health is excellent. You may have an ulcer. I will have the x rays developed. If its an ulcer I have some pills. They just came out. The results have been encouraging. Do you drink coffee? Yes. Black or with cream? Black Start using cream. Its a funny thing with diet. You hate it at first and then you get used to it. it is the same with salt. People tell me they cannot live without salt. A few weeks later they say: I dont miss it! We shake hands. How is your family? Very good. How is Hans Koch? He knows the story. Who doesnt know this story. An interesting man. He was a student of mine. Did you know that? |
Yesterday the Speer exhibit the model of the New Berlin opened. This is the enterprise that has transformed my wife into a zombie. The show occurred at the German academy of Art. The show is called the East/West axis. The actual project once built will be an artery 6500 meters long intended to function as the political and cultural heart of the city. The major ministries and other offices of government will be installed here along with museums, concert halls, theaters, etc This project is Hitlers obsession. Hitler has many obsessions. But this is the obsession of obsessions. There are three major structures that occur along this route: a railroad terminal, a Grand Arch and a Great hall. The model itself was a huge project. Its built to a scale of 1000:1. Its 90 meters long. A team of cabinetmakers has been laboring for a year to complete this thing. The detail is extraordinary. There is a fancy catalog that provides all the relevant info. For example: the domed hall contains a volume of 15,000,000 cubic meters. Into this space the cathedral of St Peters in Rome could fit 47 times. This is the Nazi theory of design. You take the most famous example of the particular type building or monument required for your purpose. Then you multiply the size of this edifice by a factor of 6 minimum and there is your design. In this way the great dome displaces a volume 47 times the volume of st Peters, the RR terminal is six times the size of Grand Central station in New York and the arch in the Grand Arch covers a span 9 times the diameter of the Arch de Triumphe on the Champs Elysee in Paris. My only question is this: where is the money coming from? Also: do we need this project? Do we need a giant dome 36 times the size of st Peters? Do we need a railroad station 7 times the size of Grand Central Terminal? Do we no we need a grand arch9 times the size of the arch de Triumphe? Personally I like the old Berlin. In a side room another model is on display The air ministry. This is a project of Goring also to be located on the east west axis. This building even by Nazi standards is excessive. It takes up an entire block. And it is a large block. On the roof is a park with trees, tennis courts, a swimming pool. There are several models of interior rooms including the lobby if this is the word. Its 7500 sq meters of floor space. Then you have the staircase. Goring has a staircase theory. The success or esteem of a man is to be measured by the size of his staircase. You have the staircase at the Paris Opera, the staircase at the Hermitage museum in Leningrad and the staircase of the king of England at Buckingham Palace. And now you have the staircase of Gorings air ministry--the granddaddy of all staircases. Its actually a double staircase one flanking the room on either side that ascend zig/zag fashion back and forth until they join at the top in a balcony that overlooks the lobby 4 floors below. My question is this: who is going to climb this beast? That is why we have elevators. And there is an elevator. But why take an elevator when you can drop dead by climbing this staircase. Martha tells me this story. Albert Speers father also an architect was in Berlin to see the exhibit. He walked the entire length of this project without saying a word. Then he turned to his son and said: youve all gone completely mad! |
We are in Italy--in Rome. We have been planning this trip. Martha has been working like a dog. There is Martha, myself, the children, Eleanor thestudent\nanny and Joachim Felixmuller. Joachim was Marthas idea. He would be good company for the children. He is thrilled at thissuggestion. I feel like Picasso with this entourage. The plan is Rome, Naples, Florence and Sicily. This is the perfect time to visit Rome: the middle of August. Its 67 C with a humidity factor of 98% You wake up in the morning and step outside and its like someone covering you with piss. In Rome we visit deChirico. D has gotten married to a Russian dancer. Picasso also married a Russian dancer the bloodsucker. He lives in an apt near the Bourghese gardens. D is the same. He is like F. He doesnt change. Only one thing interests him: painting. He is still doing the still lifes and horses and the occasional fascist portrait. The mother is still around. She lives in the same building. She arrives every morning at 8 to make breakfast. This is what we do in Rome: we eat. We eat, eat, eat. deChirico has an obsession here. He takes us to some fabulous restaurants. But the best meals occur at the house. He does the honors himself. If this man werent a painter he would make a fabulous chef. Its all home made. Everything is fresh. Its fresh, fresh, fresh. The eggs are freshly laid, the bread is freshly baked, the chickens are freshly strangled. Each meal is shopped for on an individual basis. The mother goes out in the morning for pastry and cream. We eat breaksfast and she goes out to shop for lunch: bread, prosciutto, cheese. In the afternoon she shops for dinner. There is the pasta, the chicken, the stuffed breast of veal, the soups and salads and torts and tartes and pastries and cake and gelato. There is cheese. The cheese is amazing. Its sharp and a little gooey and dry at the same time. It enters the mouth and spreads itself around upon the tongue and eats into the tongue in an ecstatic way. We eat and visit churches. Martha has her own obsessions. This is her latest one of the hazards of working for an architect. We visit the _________, the __________the __________ The children are going nuts. Every day they say: no more churches! The mothers attitude towards Mussolini. The Italian love affair with M is begging to show signs of strain. They dread being dragged into this war of Hitlers in which they have nothing to gain. But Mussolini has something to gain. Its called covering yourself with glory. He wants to be the new Caesar : the lord of the Mediterranean and North Africa. We spend 3 days in Rome. The plan was to spend a week. But its too hot. Another 2 days of this and the children will be dead. At the beach. This is great. Its the resort of Ostia about 30 km south of Rome. The beach is great and the accommodations are gratis. The house is deChiricos. We are here for a week. Its perfect. We are right on the beach. In the morning we throw the children out the door and they return 8 hours later in an exhausted state. Martha does her thing and I do mine. What is Marthas thing? After 15 years of marriage I am still in the dark here. She keeps busy. This is all I know. She is like Goring: she is her own best friend. Meanwhile the eating continues. Its relentless. Now its shellfish: we get fresh clams, mussels, scungilli, lobster. I love lobster. When I was a child we had lobster once a month. But not lobster like this. They are gigantic. They look prehistoric. At the beach. I am getting a lot of work done. I am drawing and doing some water colors. I am doing some portraits of Martha and the children and some of the locals. I draw and swim and work on my tan. This is the life. The weather is great. Its hot, clear, dry. Rome was like getting up in the morning and instead of a shower someone took a large brush and lathered you up with wallpaper paste. The children are having a wonderful time. They adore Joachim. What a blessing this kid is. He is mature. He is 11 and acts like 40. But he has always been this way. He was mature the day he was born. He never cried. Every night F and Clara would lay there in bed waiting for him to cry. They thought he was dead. |
Yesterday we invaded Poland. We heard the news while eating lobster on the beach. There was a long speech by Hitler. Not to be confused a with short speech. The reaction was subdued. There is little enthusiasm for this enterprise. He has misread our feelings here. We dont want war. We remember the last one. It was a pain in the ass. But Hitler likes war. He is a warrior type. He likes to see the arms and legs fly. He thinks a nation can become great in only this way: via war. Ribbontrop can also take some credit for this situation. This man is a moron. I speak the truth. With most of the Nazis everyone has their opinion. There are only two Nazis everyone agrees on: Hitler and Ribbontrop. Everyone agrees that Hitler is a genius and Ribbontrop is an imbecile. Yet this is the man in whose hands we have entrusted German foreign policy. He was trained for this post by operating a wine distributorship owned by his father/in/law. He likes to talk. He talks, talks, talks. Listening to this man speak is maddening. I would rather have my fingernails removed one at a time. Hitler also likes to talk. The difference is that Hitler has charisma. He has a way of capturing your attention. Ribbontrop has the charisma of a donkey. There was a British prime minister after the war called Ramsey McDonald who was described by Churchil as "a hole in the air". Ribbontrop is a hole in the air. He reminds me of Joyce the art school model. We have left Ostia. I will miss this place. I ventured the suggestion that further travel was perhaps a mistake. Maybe we should just stay put. This was a suggestion that didnt have a prayer. Martha likes to go. So we went. We jumped into the car and headed south. We made a detour around Naples. This was on the advice of deChirico. D is Roman. The Romans despise the Neapolitans. And the feeling is mutual. Ive heard of this. We have the same thing in Germany. In Germany its the Bavarians who are despised by the Northern Germans. On the other hand Beuys who has traveled widely in Italy prefers Naples. It is the crude, rude and lewd attitude of the Neapolitans that appeals to him in some perverse way. He says in Naples you must seek the eye of the hurricane. But for now we take D's advice. We have enough barbaric behavior to deal with in the form of our children. We wind our way down the coast. We take the Strada Corniche. A great road. It twists and turns and snakes in and out and over and under and down and around along the coast precariously sited on the edge of these cliffs with the waves crashing onto the rocks 200 meters below. Its spectacular. Its so spectacular the children become violently ill. They are carsick. There is something called projectile vomiting. It occurs without warning. Your child is looking at you and then you are covered with vomit. The children are terminally carsick and I become constipated. Normally my problem is diarrhea. I have some pills given to me by Dr wolf for the diarrhea called Immodium that are great. One pill and five minutes later your bowels have turned to cement. But now its the other. Now I have the cement. I need something to make dynamite. The constipation continues. It continues to Naples and around Naples and down the Amalfi coast all the way to the toe of the boot at Reggio Calabria and from there on the ferry across the straits to Taormina and a spin around the Sicily to Palermo where we board the ferry to Naples and from there its on to Florence. The children have recovered from the carsickness. But I continue to battle this constipation. It goes on and on. Its an epic. It occurs to me that defecation is more important than sex. You can live your entire life without sex but you can die in two weeks without a bowel movement. Martha suggests medication--some castor oil perhaps. But I prefer to let nature takes its course. Every day I visit the can and sit on the bowl for an hour or so to grunt and groan and pray but its no dice. I am lucky to squeeze out a few miserable farts. But this is travel. Finally I shit. I am in my 12th day. I feel like someone has shoved a tire pump up my ass. It occurs in Florence at the hotel _____________. I woke up in the morning and felt a mild perstaltic growl or rumble--faint but unmistakeable. Then again. Into the can and onto the bowl. I waited. There it was again. This time I could tell. There was that God blessed sense of urgency. It was going to happen. And happen it did--with a vengeance. What a poop this was. I shit for two hours. There were three stages. The first stage produced a single unbroken turd segment one meter in length. It slipped out slowly but irresistibly. The second stage was diarrhea. This lasted 40 minutes. The stink was unbelievable. Now occured a series of normal turds and then a final massive evacuation of the bowel in liquid form--more diarrhea. It was explosive. I sat there for a few minutes. Nothing. Not even a fart. I staggered back to the room and collapsed on the bed. I lay on my back staring in this glazed way at the ceiling. Never had I felt such relief. I was in an altered state. I made a silent vow never to eat again. Martha said: you look like you have seen Jesus. Lunch with Trott. He is back in Berlin. He has been living in China. This man gets around. He is married and has a child. You can always tell a new father. They dont get much sleep. But he looks good. I am always stimulated by this mans company. He has a mind. He has a job working at the Foreign Ministry. Its the usual--translation. What was China like? China was great. A beautiful country and beautiful people. There is one problem: they are at war with the Japanese. The Japanese have invaded Manchuria. They have decided to follow the example of Hitler and carve out an empire of their own in the far East. He tells me an interesting story. He says the incident that sparked the war with Poland--a Polish soldier who had been shot after firing upon a German at a border crossing--was a complete lie--a frame up. This man was actually a German. He was a criminal. He was released from jail and then shot and dressed in the uniform of a Polish soldier and taken to the border and dumped. Then we invaded Poland. Goebbels got on the radio and started ranting and raving that this was the last straw and that "preventive" measures were called for because the Poles were preparing to invade Germany. Of course. They were itching to unleash their cavalry upon our tanks. Not that any of this was news. Anyone with a brain in their head could have figured this one out. This is what disturbs me the assumption that we are sufficiently gullible to swallow this garbage. The Nazis are up to their old tricks. Its the Reichstag fire scenario. But the stakes have been raised. They started off by framing a few politically naive individuals or small time parties. Now the frame has been applied to an entire country. Its behavior like this that makes your head spin. These people are gangsters. Meanwhile an entire nation is put at risk. I refuse to get involved in this mess. I have my own problems. Actually things are going well. The children are fine. I take them to school, I return to the house, I paint. What am I painting? Still lifes. I am actually beginning to enjoy this work. I am inspired by deChircico here. D enjoys the still life. He was working on a large painting during our visit--80 x 140 cm. The props were a long table with this decorative linen and the usual still life ingredients by way of props. The usual props are: bread, some sort of silver plate--a tea pot, samovar, candlkeabra, etc--a bottle of wine, cheese, fruit--esp grapes. There are always grapes. A still life painter is graded by the way he paints the reflections in silver plate and the quality of his grapes. Also the mottled skin of an orange. This piece of deChiricos is a masterpiece. It is the still life of still lifes. How he does it I dont know. This thing was painted within an inch of its life. The grapes are amazing. They look biological--like larvae. How does he do it? I paint and do some light housekeeping. I pick the children up from school. Martha comes home. She is still working for Albert Speer. She is working like a dog. They are designing a huge model of the new Berlin Hitlers fantasy. There is a major exhibit scheduled to open. As soon as we destroy Poland. I make Martha a drink. I cook dinner. We eat and entertain the children. This is easily done. you sit on the floor with them playing board games for four hours. Werner Finck has been arrested. Finck is an entertainer. He is or was a fixture at the Biarritz cabaret for years. I have seen his show many times. Beckmann is also a fan and has painted several portraits. Finck sings, dances, juggles and does impersonations. His impersonations are brilliant. Before the Nazis came to power he had a whole repertoire of these people. And lets face it there was juicy material here. You had Hitler who is a peasant, Goring weighs 12 stone, Goebbels is a dwarf with a clubfoot and Hess has an overbite like a beaver chewing down a tree. The routine about Goebbels having an argument with his deformed foot was a masterpiece. hen the Nazis came to power. Finck was obliged to scrap large chunks of this material. He still does some of the lower echelon types and Goring. He can get away with Goring because Goring has a sense of humor. Youre OK with Goring unless you threaten his standard of living. Then its like trying to steal meat from a wild animal. What did Finck do to land him in this situation? He inserted into his act some non- judicious remarks about the East/West axis exhibit at The German Academy of Art. Speer took it in stride but the news got back to Hitler. Hitler went thru the roof. Even Goring who has bailed Finck out of similar scrapes in the past stayed out of it. There is a lesson to be learned here. Talent and common sense are unrelated. |
In 1940 occurred the invasion of France. Hitler was still entertaining hopes of making a deal with England but it was no dice. There would be no deal with England. Poland was the last straw for England. Meanwhile Russia was re arming. Hitler was convinced that once this occurred the non aggression pact negotiated by Ribbontrop in 1939 would be repudiated and Russia would enter into a deal with England. The two countries would move to crush Germany. Things simmered over the winter of 1940. This was the "shadow war". But this could not continue. Hitler had a decision to make. His armies were ready. They were in position. An ingenious plan had been devised by Manstein to circumvent the Maginot line to the north while swooping down and delivering a blow to the south via the Argenne and trapping the British and French armies in a giant pincer. He felt he must do something--either invade France or pull back and give England a respite--more time to figure things out. This would never do. The army was ready. He would invade France. There was still a score to settle with France. |
In may 1941 a strange incident occurred. Rudolph Hess jumped in a 2 seat messerschmitt 103 in the middle of the night and flew to England and bailed out. He survived this stunt. He landed in a field and was collared by the local authorities and taken into custody. He identified himself and said he was on an important mission and demanded an immediate conference with Winston Churchill. Instead he was clapped into jail where he spent the rest of the war. Hess was one of Hitlers earliest supporters along with Ernst Rohm. He participated in the Munich Putsch and joined hitler in Landsberg Prison. He served as Hitlers secretary during the writing of Mein Kampf. He was widely viewed along with Goring as the second man in the party. What was behind this stunt? There are several versions. The most likely is the rivalry with Bormann. Hess had lost favor with Hitler. He was on his way out--a terrifying thought. Bormann meanwhile was becoming more and more useful. He was a grind--the classic party stooge. He kept his eyes open and his mouth shut. He was Hitlers shadow. He stuck to him like glue. Revolutions are won by breaking heads but countries are run on paperwork. This was Bormanns gift. He had a huge apettie for work. All the work Hess had lost interest in doing was turned over to Bormann. Hitler finally asked himself the question: what do I need this man for: he nags me to death and does no work So Hess was out--or on his way. He decided to redeem himself and restore his standing with Hitler and deal a blow to Bormann in a dramatic scheme to negotiate a deal with England. |
Lunch with Trott. I get some good dope about Hess--the dope. The story behind the Hess incident involves Bormann. Bormann is the key. There was this rivalry between Hess and Bormann. Hess was beginning to get on Hitlers nerves. He was becoming a nag. I have always wondered about this guy. He is strange. He looks strange, he acts strange, he eats strange. He is a homeopath. I have never understood these people. They dont eat. They eat birdfood--seeds and grass and so forth. Trott says Hitler would invite Hess to dine at the Berghof and Hess would take the precaution of providing his own meals. Hitler was himself a vegetarian and took pride in the cuisine prepared by his personal chef. He told Hess to leave the food home--or himself. Meanwhile--according to Trott--Bormann has become the terror of the inner circle. This is interesting. The average German does not even know this man exists. His name is rarely in the papers and his picture never. So Hess was gradually losing influence with Hitler. This is the worst thing that can happen to a Nazi. Its like a priest being ex/communicated by the church. This is when a sense of desperation occurs and they begin to fall apart. He hit upon the solution of jumping into this plane the middle of the night and to bail out over England and demand to see Churcill. What a moron. Now he is in the slammer and and Hitler looks like a chump. I have seen Vera. We had coffee. Its been 5 years. She looks good. She looks great. She has been living in Italy. She was briefly married to an Italian. Why? Who was this man? He was an architect. He was talented. He was funny. A sharp dresser and so forth. Was she in love? A good question. Fortunately there are no children. I press further. I ask the personal or intimate question. This is not a problem for me. I am interested in human nature. They can always refuse comment. The husband Vittorio had a girlfriend. This is shocking: an unfaithful Italian. She says: he lied to me. This is the one thing I cannot tolerate. It was one lie after another. The problem with this is that at some point they dont even know they are lying. It becomes chronic. This is true. Well--its an old story. Love is blind. Here is a girl with brains and breeding and style to burn--and a great body--and what happens? She winds up going cuckoo for an Italian jive artist who cant keep his fly zipped. Lunch with Trott. We have a long talk about Hitler. The question for Hitler is: what next? He must do something. England shows no signs of making a deal. Churchill goes back and forth to the United States on a regular basis. He is drawing the United States into the web. They have already signed a deal with the United States to provide war materials including 50 warships. Sooner or later that country will be dragged into this affair. Churchill is determined to arranged this. Trott thinks Hitler will invade Russia. This has always been his dream a German version of the British empire. |
In June 21 1941 Hitler invaded Russia. There is much speculation about the motives behind this decision. Many books have been written. Hitler insisted he would never repeat the mistake of World War 1 by fighting a war on two fronts. But he was convinced or had convinced himself or had been convinced by Ribbontrop that he had no choice. England had been fought to a standstill. Time was running out. England must not be given time to recover or to formally enlist the help of the United States. The German army was at its peak. It had won astonishing victories. It had the weapons and the leadership and the morale among the troops. It had momentum. It had confidence. Confidence was supreme. Hitler decided he could invade Russia and deliver a knockout blow. The war could be won in three months. With Russa finished off and out of the picture England would be a different story. England would be alone in Europe. A deal would have to be struck. So invasion plans were drawn up and the campaign launched. Even for Hitler this was a huge gamble. It was his greatest gamble. But this was his way. He was the gambler of gamblers. He was never reluctant to risk everything on a single throw of the dice. The code name for the Russian campaign was Barbarrossa. Hitler said: when Barbarrossa begins the world will hold its breath. |
Lunch with Trott. The air raids continue. We speak of the war. Hitler has a plan--a vision. The Russians arent included. Hitlers vision is to create a German empire along the lines of the British Empire. The jewel in the crown of the British empire is India. Russia will be the jewel in Hitlers crown. There will be one difference. English rule in India is comparatively decent. This wont be the case in Russia. It will be a master/slave situation. The idea is the economic rape of the country. Natural resources such as wheat, oil, gold, et are to be ruthlessly (a favorite word of Hitlers) exploited. The jews, intelligentsia, army brass and anyone else who could pose a threat in the way of resistance will be killed off. The people that remain the peasants will remain peasants. They will become slaves. They will work for their German masters. The key to the scheme is education. There will be no education. They will be taught to the level of the second or third grade--just sufficiently to count up the numbers of bags of wheat to be loaded on the train and to read the directions to deliver the shipment of goods to Germany. This explains how the plans for the rebuilding of Berlin are going to be financed and where the labor is to come from. All this from Trott. I thought we had a deal with these people the Russians. We did have a deal. We had a Ribbontrop type deal. The average life of one of these documents is 14 months. This is why we are at war with England. Because we dont have a shred of credibility left. This used to be an honorable country. |
We have moved to the country. Martha parents own some property a summer house in Randegg. Its good to be a little in the west these days. The idea is to keep as much space as possible between us and the Russians. The Russians may be here sooner than we think. This is a minority view I am careful to keep to myself. A pessimistic view of the war is not called pessimism. Its called defeatism. Its been declared a capital offense. You go up before Freisler. I could wind up bunking with Werner Finck. The country isnt too bad. Its harder on Martha. She is a high energy type. Its too quiet for her. Its quiet, quiet, quiet. But there are compensations. The nights are stunning. There are 3 zillion stars. And they mind their own fucking business. In the country. We go back and forth. The children are still in school in Berlin. They attend 3 days a week. I am getting a lot of work done. It occurs by default. There is nothing else to do. I paint, paint, paint. I am painting landscapes. Picasso says all landscape painting looks the same--like a plate of spinach. I have met this man Bernard. I was in the cafe having coffee. He came over and introduced myself. He knows me. That is he knows my work. I invited him to sit. I always have time for a fan. This is an interesting character. An Englishman with Italian citizenship now living in Germany. He is a teacher--an English professor. He also writes poetry. He reminds me in some ways of Mother Ey. Mother Ey could find a way to entertain herself while standing in line at the DMV waiting to apply for plates. B has this quality. The Spanish have a word--divertido. |
In the country. Trott came to visit. Vera was with him. We had lunch. I invited Bernard to join us. This would provide something of a buffer to the intensity of Trott. Lunch was pleasant. Vera brought coffee this was a treat. We have been drinking this piss--ersatz. I have no idea what goes into this beverage--walnut shells. We agreed not to speak of the war--a major effort for Trott. He is becoming more and more anti-Nazi and very outspoken in his opinions of Hitler. I fear for this man and the people he chooses to chum around with. B was in form. He spoke of Byron--another Englishman and pussy hound who abandoned his country for the life of an expatriate. B is a Byron scholar and has some good stories. For example did you know that________________? For example did you know that__________________? Did you know that Byron was a great swimmer? He swam the Hellespont--a treacherous stunt and a story he never tired to bore his friends with. He was much prouder of his swimming exploits than anything he ever wrote. B is great. I like this man. If you are going to be stuck in the country you may as well be stuck with a Byron scholar who know how to tell a joke. In the country. I think B likes Vera. This is never too hard to miss. He looks like he had been kicked by a horse. B was in WW1--an ambulance driver. He met Robert Graves--fellow writer and poet who shared similar views about England. B is a sport. He dresses up every day shirt, vest, bow tie. The shirt is pink. He has six shirts all pink. Dinner with B. B was married. He is still married. The wife lives in Greece. She is also a poet. They write and he visits her from time to time. There are no children. This he regrets. He loves children. Tonight I had a lesson on how to mix a martini--according to B. The single thing lacking in my education. Its done in this way: (develop-- edit) We drink martinis and discuss the war. Normally this is a subject we prefer to avoid. But tonight we get into it. Hitler is a gangster. That is the conclusion. What is a gangster? A gangster is Al Capone. It has to do with turf. Al Capones turf was Chicago. Hitler has taken the turf concept and applied it to the map of Europe. Its taken a while to figure this out--9 years. B is a poet. I havent seen any of this work. He says he can only write poetry when he is in love. B needs a girlfriend. He is lonely. I think he would like Vera. And she is a little glum these days. She is worried about her family. She still has some relatives in Lithuania. All hell is breaking loose in Russia. She could use a little distraction. B would be perfect for this. Normally I avoid playing the role of Cupid. We will see. The war has had this effect on us all. It accelerates and disturbs the normal rhythms of behavior and reminds us of the fleeting, precarious nature of life. The word for B is perky. He is a Picasso type. He will die with an erection. His girlfriend in Italy was 15. She was Neapolitan. Neapolitans mature early. She was five nine and had breasts like eggplant. She was hairy. She was covered with hair like a monkey. She had hair on her legs, back, arms, chest. Coffee with B. B is beaming. He is always beaming. But today he is beaming with even greater pleasure. He is up to something. Last nite we had dinner. It was me, Martha, Vera, B and the children. What is it about children? They are always around. Coffee with Vera. She said: how is your friend Bernard? He is fine. He is a character! That he is. I look at her. She looks at me. How old is he? 60. She rolls her eyes. I said: thats not a problem. His last girlfriend was 15. He wore her out. Coffee with Vera. She had lunch with B in Berlin. I know all about this. She says: he has been writing these poems. I ask to read one No! Why not? Otto--they are poems. Its a highly personal form of correspondence. I pester her for a line or two but its no dice. She says: its nice. He is simpatico. I get to talk about myself. He encourages it. He actually listens. He adores me. This is true. I said: he adores you. Yesterday I was visited by my wife. I never see this woman. She comes and goes. I have no idea what she does. She leads a double life. Now she is involved with public relief. There is a huge demand for this. Berlin is swarming with refugees. We also have this labor force on our hands Russians, French, Poles, Bulgarians, etc. These are wretched souls. They work like dogs and live like rats. They work to produce weapons to further complete the annihilation of their countries. They are forbidden to socialize with Germans especially German women. The penalty is death. The children come and go. Somehow they are managing to get an education. The war means nothing to them. Its exciting--an adventure. Martha and I had a long talk about our relationship. We have this discussion every 5 years. Its her idea. I am happy. But she needs to analyze things. Weve been together 16 years. During this time we have spent 7 days apart. She wants to reassure herself the marriage wasnt a mistake. I say: it wasnt a mistake. We love each other, we have similar tastes, we have two beautiful children. We get along. We have a history. This is important. She knows me. She knows all the little twisted peevish likes and dislikes and dos and donts and yes and nos and this endless dismal litany in the nitpicking or anal compulsive vein of the things I will in no way tolerate that cause me to snap every time. Its a long list--and growing longer. She knows the list--from a to z. What is the point of exchanging one woman for another? There is no point. Its like moving from one house to another to eliminate the neighbor factor. It cant be done. You always have neighbors. And they dont change. They are a pain in the ass. What about communication? She says there is no communication. This is true. We dont talk as much. But we have known each other 16 years. What is left to talk about-- flossing teeth? She says: this isnt the point. The point is talking period. You start talking and one thing leads to another and at some point an interesting subject is stumbled upon-- something that would not have occurred if you continued to sit there staring at each other like two mutes. Its called stimulation. Are you following me? Yes, darling. I have a girlfriend. How did this happen? It started out platonic. She is a ceramist. She has a shop in town. I wandered in one day. There she was. What a body on this creature. She studied dance. I never fucked a dancer. I have painted some dancers. I painted Anita Berber. I poked around and we traded chit chat. I introduced myself. So it began. We had lunch and went for hikes. I drew up some designs for her pottery. Picasso also does this. One day we were out for a hike and took off our clothes and fucked each other. |
We have invaded France. This took 3 weeks. Along the way we have occupied Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark and Norway. This isnt bad. Hitler rules Europe. This is a man who came from nowhere. He had no job, no friends, no money, no education. He was a bum a drifter. He still has no friends. But the drifting is behind him. The only problem is England. Churchill insists the English will fight to the end. Churchill still has an ace in the hole: the United States. Its no secret the United States must somehow be prevailed upon to bail Britain out of this war. This is Churchills job. He may swing it. Trott has met Churchill. He has heard him speak. This is a formidable adversary. He resembles Hitler in an important way: he is a salesman. He is persuasive. He has a simple technique: he grinds you down. He hammers and hammers and hammers until you cave in from sheer exhaustion. Hitler is the same. This is interesting. Rudolph Hess is in England. He jumped into a plane in the middle of the night and flew to Scotland and bailed out. The story has created a sensation. What inspired this crackpot deed? Everyone has a different version. The only thing they all agree on is that Hitler has gone thru the roof. Goebbels has his work cut out for him here. The entire country is buzzing with his news. |
Barbarossa was launched June 21, 1941. Hitler nearly won this war. By the end of July the Germans had advanced 400 miles into Russia. They were 200 miles from Moscow. Casualties on the Russian side were horrendous: In five weeks 900,000 russians were dead and another 600,000 taken into captivity. The red air force was virtually annihilated. The war was being fought on 3 fronts. North to Leningrad, east to Moscow and south to the ukraine and beyond to the Caucasus mountains and the oil fields of mailkop. The oil fields were a major objective. Now there was a problem. Kleist in charge of the advance to the south had bogged down. Hitler was advised to ignore this and concentrate on the drive to Moscow. Moscow was the great prize. The capture of Moscow would be a devastating psychological and strategic as well defeat for Stalin. The Germans had a momentum going. This was the key. Nothing should be allowed to disturb this. But Hitler had been encouraged by the speed of the advance and decided to take the risk. He diverted part of Bocks army to the south to back up Kleist. The drive to Moscow was stalled for 2 months of perfect weather and when it resumed the perfect weather had dissapeared. It rained. The roads turned to glue. Then winter set in a little ahead of schedule. This was bad news. There was no winter clothing. Hitler had launched Barbarrossa in the belief that Russia would be finished off in three months and no provisions for a winter campaign had been made. The weather continued to deteriorate. The temperature dropped to 40 below zero (farenheit). The casualties from frostbite began to mount. There were more deaths from the cold than the fighting. There was something else. it was a big country. the supply lines were being stretched thinner and thinner. The drive stalled 60 miles from Moscow. They could get no further. Fresh Russian divisions especially trained for cold weather fighting had been called up from Siberia and a counter attack was launched under Zukhov. The Russians fought like beasts. The Germans were out of reserves. The reserves were exhausted. They were driven back. They dug in for the winter. |
Tennis with Vera. We have resumed the tennis. This occurs on a private estate. The owner is Baron von Kessler. Here I mingle with the ruling class or the former ruling class. I dont mind the ruling class. I have reached a funny age. Its all the same if its the ruling class or the non/ruling class or some rabid socialist type or working stiff or a Christian like Trott or a peasant standing there up to his boots in horse shit. I dont give a piss. I only ask one thing of my friends these days: they must make me laugh. We play tennis, swim and drink gin and tonics. The war gets closer every day. We have invaded Russia. Trott was right. I trust these people know what they are doing. Russia isnt France. Its big and there is snow. There is snow and mud. The roads are cowpaths and when it rains they turn to glue. Its a nightmare. Also: Hitler never fought the Russians. Hitler fought the French. But I fought on the eastern front. These people have a different attitude. They are fatalists. Life doesnt mean that . They dont fear death. The only thing that concerns them is taking a few Germans with them when they go. Joachims recital. Ive been to several of these. They are an ordeal. They are an ordeal for Clara, for F, for myself. But not Joachim. He enjoys performing. He is mr Cool. He has ice water in his veins. The problem with him is practice. Then its like pulling teeth. Clara supervises the practice. She hounds him. Its war. She is trying to drill a little musicianship into him--to recognize the idea that there is more to this music business than the correct playing of notes. The composer has a plan. One clue to this plan can be found in the dynamics. A rippling legato passage is followed by a rattling staccato and a more feathery effect occurs in the diminuendo when it is followed by an accelerando and you have the fortissimo vs the pianissimo and so on and in this way you wind up with something called the yin and the yang. Its the same in painting. To intensify a blue we lay in a little orange next to. A warm contrasts with a cool. A thick impasto goes beisde a thin wash, etc, etc I tell her: you need two teachers. One for the lesson and one for practice. But the hounding works. There is a payoff. He makes progress. We gather for this affair at the house of F. It occurs in the garden. The piano--a Bechstein baby grand--is moved outside. Its a beautiful day. There are chairs set up and a buffet. The teacher is Karl. Karl is a homosexual. But he has suppressed this impulse and seeks the company of women. He has a girlfriend. The result is a confused human being. Martha has a friend who married a homosexual. But she didnt know he was homosexual. This perversion somehow failed to manifest itself and penetrate her love/addled brain. They married. The sex began to dry up. She was disturbed. She and the husband had a talk. The truth came out. He preferred male sex. He had a boyfriend. The woman sued for divorce. Now what happened? Did the husband--ex/ husband--move in with the boyfriend? No. He married another woman. The recital begins. Karl makes a little speech in his bi-sexual way and introduces the first student. This is Willi. Willi is 6. He wears long pants and a white shirt and bow tie. He is clean, clean, clean. He bows and sits down to play. The piece is a simple beginners piece the Bach ______in A minor. He mangles this work to a pulp. He stands, we applaud, he bows and bolts for his seat. Now its Josephs turn. He is Willis age--6 or 7. He also has the long pants and the white shirt and the sparkling look. He plays a short etude by Mozart. Not too bad. Next: Claudia. Claudia is 9. This is an adorable creature. She wears a flowery dress and white socks and flats. She has chosen to play a Beethoven sonata of moderate difficulty. She begins. Immediately there are problems. She stops and starts over. More problems. She stops. She sits looking at the music. She looks at us. We look at her. She starts to cry. Karl leaps from his chair and goes to the piano and takes her hand and leads her away. They disappear behind some shrubbery. Several minutes pass. Karl reappears holding the childs hand. He leads her back to the piano. She resumes her seat. She begins again. We hold our breath. She arrives at a difficult section. We hold our breath. The tension is brutal. She manages to negotiate this passage. Very good. She continues. Now she stumbles at a perilous cluster of phrases infested with arpeggios. Its like a minefield. But she recovers and moves on. Very good. She has regained some confidence. She continues. She has some momentum. She finishes the piece without mishap and even with mild pleasure. She stands. She is exhausted. The applause is thunderous. And so it goes. Intermission. We attack the buffet. F can always be counted on to provide a good spread. Claras chocolate cheesecake is reason enough to attend one of these functions. Too bad Hitler isnt here. He has a notorious sweet tooth. Hitler has frugal tastes except for cake. Albert Speer can testify to this; he has seen him in action. There is no self/control . He can eat six custard tarts at a time. There is a recently published book that makes a connection between war and glandular pathology. Is this why we have invaded Russia because Hitler reached for an extra fudge brownie? Back to the recital. Otto is next. Otto is 10. This child has talent. I remember him from the last recital. He has technique, he is aggressive, he enjoys performing. His mother is a ballbuster. The piece is by Scriabin. This is a formidable work. Its crawling with octaves played at a lively tempo. The tempo is vivace . And in vivace it must be played. Its an unforgiving piece. You make it sing. Otherwise it turns to mud. But Otto does well. He does very well. His hands are the problem. He doesnt have the spread to comfortably negotiate the arpeggios at this tempo. Nevertheless he attacks. He flattens this thing. He refuses to be intimidated. He establishes momentum and leaves in the dust a trail of wounded eighth notes. Its the same like in painting: a mistake executed with authority reduces much of the curse. He finishes, stands and bows. The applause is vigorous. Joachim is next. Clara is as wreck. How many times have we been thru this. He is wearing knickers, a shirt in the Franz List vein with a ruffled front and these billowing cuffs and a bow tie. The bow tie is a nice touch. He is playing Chopin. The Rondo in D flat minor. A formidable piece. The dynamics are of urgent concern here. Clara has been laboring this point. She rants and raves while he listens with a glazed look. But its the usual. He walks to the piano, bows, sits down and nails this thing. He is cool as a cucumber. There are three to go. The next two are without talent. They play in a dull and uninspired way. There is no motivation. They would rather be somewhere else. They are here because of the parents. They finish with vast relief, stand, bow and bolt for their seat. One left. This is Claudia. I perk up. She is 15. She is a piece of cheesecake herself. What will this one be like in 2 years? Or you could do it right now. Its called jailbait. There was a movie a few years ago called The Private Life of Louis 14. Billy Wilder worked on this film. He did a script polish. He re/wrote 4 pages of dialogue and made $1800. It was an American movie about a French king with an Englishman playing the lead an actor named Charles Laughton. This was a great film. Charles Laughton was brilliant. He dived into this part. Louis 14 had a great quality. He liked his job being King. He took great pleasure in performing the duties of state. He enormously enjoyed the royal banging of young women. At the age of 75 he was still going strong. He aged while the women got younger. Towards the end he was down to the 14 year olds--the convent recruits. But there was no sense of shock or outrage. Instead the expression used was: the kings morale is high! This girl Claudia fits the part. She wears a pleated skirt and shirt combo with shoulder straps and ankle socks and flats--the convent look. She bows and sits down to play. More Chopin. This one is Polonaise in B flat. She starts off well. There is talent here. But something is missing. She doesnt enjoy performing. There are musicians like this. They prefer to play for their own pleasure. In front of an audience they lose concentration. The first few passages of scales and arpeggios are beautifully played--an effortless rippling legato like glass. Then she stumbles. She recovers and stumbles again. Now the thread is lost. She cant get it back. She struggles painfully. But its no dice. It isnt her day. She bravely finishes the piece. The applause is generous. She is shaken and hurries off. |
Tennis with Vera. The war continues. We work, wait for air raids and play tennis. There is myself, Vera, Trott, Gottfried von Cramm and a man named Stauffenberg a soldier. He is a distant cousin of Von Cramm. Stauffenberg doesnt play. He is a spectator. He is a soldier a lieutenant. He just got back from Russia. He was seriously wounded. He lost an arm and three fingers of his left hand and is blinded in one eye. He fought with Bock in the Moscow campaign. This war is a nightmare. The Russians are fighting like beasts. And there are a lot of them. There is an endless number. They come at you in wave after wave. The more you kill the more that appear to continue the fight. They are dying not by the thousand --or even the tens of thousands--but by the hundreds of thousands. And still they come. Wave after wave. They advance over the bodies of their dead comrades. The ground is literally a carpet of dead bodies. Sometimes there are more Russians than bullets. Its a little unnerving. But its the weather that has gotten everyone attention. The weather is unspeakable. Its hitting 40 below zero. The motor oil freezes in the engines. The ground is so hard it must be blasted with artillery to provide cover. Also: there is no winter clothing. They are fighting in cotton. We have Hitler himself to thank for this. He insisted the war would be over in 3 months. We would be in Moscow by Oct. There would be no winter campaign. Now he has decided to give a boost to morale by creating a new medal to be awarded to the men who have fought in this campaign. They have no winter clothing but they have this medal--the frozen meat award. I said to Stauffenberg: can we win this thing? He said: we better. Tennis with Vera. Tennis with Vera. No more tennis with Vera. A tragedy has occurred. There was an air raid last night and a bomb fell on the estate of Baron von Kessler and destroyed the tennis court. |
*installment 16: war |