“I was twenty-four years old at the time. People laughed at me, you know,” Hitler said.
“A prophet must always endure s corn.”
“You are a student of Nietzsche, too?”
“I am familiar with his works.”
“You are quite the scholar, Hans Wolfe,” Hitler said, impressed. “Do you like music? Wagner-?”
“Very much.”
They continued down the path toward the tea house.
“Do you know when I was a boy in the Waldviertel my friend Gustl and I wrote an opera. An outrageous thing, filled with madness, violence, murder, miracles, mythology, magic, suicide. Oh, it was quite Wagnerian.
Suddenly Hitler’s mood swung again, this time from nostalgia to petulance. His voice grew slightly louder, its pitch a shade higher.
“That is another thing about the fools down there,” he went on. “They do not even understand Wagner. Only I understood the magnitude of Wagner’s vision, Hans. Only I understand that the creation was an act of violence, and so all creation must continue on a path of violence.”
Just as suddenly his voice lowered, became almost a whisper. He leaned closer to Ingersoll.
“This is the beginning. Last Monday when that doddering, senile old fool made me chancellor, that was the start of it. First there was the Holy Roman Empire, then the Prussian Hohenzollerns and now the glorious Third Reich. We are going to change the world. We are going to obliterate Versailles. Obliterate the Jews and the Gypsies and the Communists. We are going to create a population of pure Aryans, smarter, stronger, better- looking than any other race in history. We are going to do all this.” He stopped for a moment, his eyes blazing, his breath coining in short, wispy breaths. “Do you believe that, Hans? Do you believe that the Third Reich now exists?”
“Yes, mein Fuhrer,” said Ingersoll. He was staring transfixed by the simple power of Hitler’s voice. He had heard or read all the words before, in various speeches and in books. But he had never heard them performed with such mastery. And he did believe it. There was no question in his mind.
“The Third Reich is you, mein Fuhrer,” he blurted passionately. And impulsively he stepped back and threw out his arm in the Nazi salute. “Heil Hitler,” he said. “Hail the Chancellor.”
A faint smile played on Hitler’s lips. He lifted his hand in response. They walked on down the footpath.
The tea house looked like a large, enclosed gazebo on the edge of a cliff at the foot of the overlook walk. As they neared it Hitler picked up the pace, anxious to get out of the cold. They rushed inside and slammed the door against the freezing draft. A white-uniformed servant snapped to attention and saluted.
“You may go to the kitchen, Fritz, we can serve ourselves.”
“Yes, mein Fuhrer,” the soldier said and vanished.
Outside, the wind whirled the snow into twisting devils that danced past the frosted windows. Inside, a giant fire snapped and sent glittering sparks twirling up the chimney.
“Ah,” Hitler said, closing his eyes. He opened the coat and held it like a shield in front of the fire, gathering in its warmth. “Fire is a great cleanser,” he said. Staring at the blazing logs, he saw instead that towering Reichstag ablaze. His mind conjured twinkling sparks floating over the city.
A table had been set in front of the fireplace. There were plates of homemade breads, pastries, cheeses, and thick sausages cooked until their skin had burs t. A large china teapot squatted in the center of the table, the tea steeping in its own steam. Two bottles of wine had also been opened and were sitting on the table.
“The walk here is good discipline. Are you a disciplined man, Hans?”
“When it’s necessary.”
“Good point. One of the reasons I come to this place is to relax.” He placed a finger on one of the wine bottles.
“Red or white?”
“I think I prefer the red.”
Hitler poured them both a glass of the red, then took a knife and sliced off a bit of sausage and put ii in his mouth. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the spicy bit of meat before washing it down with a sip of wine.
“Forget the discipline for a day OT two, yes?”
“An absolute necessity,
“Exactly, exactly. Help yourself, Hans.”
Hitler fixed himself a plate of bread, cheese and sausage, poured more wine in the glass. Warmed by the fire, he took off his coat and threw it over a chair, pulled another one close to the hearth and sat with his legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles. He sighed with contentment. Ingersoll drew up a chair and sat beside him. They both stared, almost transfixed, at the fire as they spoke.
“I never discuss politics here at the Eagle’s Nest,” Hitler said. “We come here to relax and forget the problems, hmm? However, Herr Ingersoll, I think it would be profitable for us to understand each other, eh?”
