Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler
Volume One: A Reckoning
Chapter VII: The Revolution

WITH THE YEAR 1915 enemy propaganda began in our country, after1916 it became more and more intensive, till finally, at the beginning ofthe year 1918, it swelled to a positive flood. Now the results of this seductioncould be seen at every step. The army gradually learned to think as theenemy wanted it to.

And the German counter-action was a complete failure.

In the person of the man whose intellect and will made him itsleader, the army had the intention and determination to take up the strugglein this field, too, but it lacked the instrument which would have been necessary.And from the psychological point of view, it was wrong to have this enlightenmentwork carried on by the troops themselves. If it was to be effective, ithad to come from home. Only then was there any assurance of success amongthe men who, after all, had been performing immortal deeds of heroism andprivation for nearly four years for this homeland.

But what came out of the home country?

Was this failure stupidity or crime?

In midsummer of 1918, after the evacuation of the southern bankof the Marne, the German press above all conducted itself with such miserableawkwardness, nay, criminal stupidity, that my wrath mounted by the day,and the question arose within me: Is there really no one who can put anend to this spiritual squandering of the army's heroism?

What happened in France in 1914 when we swept into the countryin an unprecedented storm of victory? What did Italy do in the days afterher Isonzo front had collapsed? And what again did France do in the springof 1918 when the attack of the German divisions seemed to lift her positionsoff their hinges and the far-reaching arm of the heavy long-range batteriesbegan to knock at the doors of Paris?

How they whipped the fever heat of national passion into thefaces of the hastily retreating regiments in those countries ! What propagandaand ingenious demagogy were used to hammer the faith in final victory backinto the hearts of the broken fronts!

Meanwhile, what happened in our country?

Nothing, or worse than nothing.

Rage and indignation often rose up in me when I looked at thelatest newspapers, and came face to face with the psychological mass murderthat was being committed.

More than once I was tormented by the thought that if Providencehad put me in the place of the incapable or criminal incompetents or scoundrelsin our propaganda service, our battle with Destiny would have taken a differentturn.

In these months I felt for the first time the whole malice ofDestiny which kept me at the front in a position where every nigger mightaccidentally shoot me to bits, while elsewhere I would have been able toperform quite different services for the fatherland !

For even then I was rash enough to believe that I would havesucceeded in this.

But I was a nameless soldier, one among eight million!

And so it was better to hold my tongue and do my duty in thetrenches as best I could.

In the summer of 1915, the first enemy leaflets fell intoour hands.

Aside from a few changes in the form of presentation, theirContent was almost always the same, to wit: that the suffering was growinggreater and greater in Germany; that the War was going to last forever whilethe hope of winning it was gradually vanishing; that the people at homewere, therefore, longing for peace, but that 'militarism' and the 'Kaiser'did not allow it; that the whole world-to whom this was very well known-was, therefore, not waging a war on the German people, but exclusively againstthe sole guilty party, the Kaiser; that, therefore, the War would not beover before this enemy of peaceful humanity should be eliminated; that whenthe War was ended, the libertarian and democratic nations would take theGerman people into the league of eternal world peace, which would be assuredfrom the hour when ' Prussian militarism ' was destroyed.

The better to illustrate these claims, 'letters from home' wereoften reprinted whose contents seemed to confirm these assertions.

On the whole, we only laughed in those days at all these efforts.The leaflets were read, then sent back to the higher staffs, and for themost part forgotten until the wind again sent a load of them sailing downinto the trenches; for, as a rule, the leaflets were brought over by airplanes.

In this type of propaganda there was one point which soon inevitablyattracted attention: in every sector of the front where Bavarians were stationed,Prussia was attacked with extraordinary consistency, with the assurancethat not only was Prussia on the one hand the really guilty and responsibleparty for the whole war, but that on the other hand there was not the slightesthostility against Bavaria in particular; however, there was no helping Bavariaas long as she served Prussian militarism and helped to pull its chestnutsout of the fire.

Actually this kind of propaganda began to achieve certain effectsin 1915. The feeling against Prussia grew quite visibly among the troops-yetnot a single step was taken against it from above. This was more than amere sin of omission, and sooner or later we were bound to suffer most catastrophicallyfor it; and not just the 'Prussians,' but the whole German people, to whichBavaria herself is not the last to belong.

In this direction enemy propaganda began to achieve unquestionablesuccesses from 1916 on.

Likewise the complaining letters direct from home had long beenhaving their effect. It was no longer necessary for the enemy to transmitthem to the frontline soldiers by means of leaflets, etc. And against this,aside from a few psychologically idiotic 'admonitions' on the part of the'government,' nothing was done. Just as before, the front was flooded withthis poison dished up by thoughtless women at home, who, of course, didnot suspect that this was the way to raise the enemy's confidence in victoryto the highest pitch, thus consequently to prolong and sharpen the sufferingsof their men at the fighting front. In the time that followed, the senselessletters of German women cost hundreds of thousands of men their lives.

Thus, as early as 1916, there appeared various phenomena thatwould better have been absents The men at the front complained and 'beefed';they began to be dissatisfied in many ways and sometimes were even righteouslyindignant. While they starved and suffered, while their people at home livedin misery, there was abundance and high-living in other circles. Yes, evenat the fighting front all was not in order in this respect.

Even then a slight crisis was emerging-but these were still
'internal' affairs. The same man, who at first had cursed and grumbled,silently did his duty a few minutes later as though
this was a matter of course. The same company, which at first was discontented,clung to the piece of trench it had to defend as though Germany's fate dependedon these few hundred yards of mudholes. It was still the front of the old,glorious army of heroes!

I was to learn the difference between it and the homeland ina
glaring contrast.

At the end of September, 1916, my division moved into the Battleof the Somme. For us it was the first of the tremendous battles of materielwhich now followed, and the impression was hard to describe-it was morelike hell than war.

Under a whirlwind of drumfire that lasted for weeks, the Germanfront held fast, sometimes forced back a little, then again pushing forward,but never wavering.

On October 7, 1916, I was wounded.

I was brought safely to the rear, and from there was to returnto Germany with a transport.

Two years had now passed since I had seen the homeland undersuch conditions an almost endless time. I could scarcely imagine how Germanslooked who were not in uniform. As I lay in the field hospital at Hermies,I almost collapsed for fright when suddenly the voice of a German womanserving as a nurse addressed a man lying beside me.

For the first time in two years to hear such a sound!

The closer our train which was to bring us home approached theborder, the more inwardly restless each of us became. All the towns passedby, through which we had ridden two years previous as young soldiers: Brussels,Louvain, Liege, and at last we thought we recognized the first German houseby its high gable and beautiful shutters.

The fatherland!

In October, 1914, we had burned with stormy enthusiasm as wecrossed the border; now silence and emotion reigned. Each of us was happythat Fate again permitted him to see what he had had to defend so hard withhis life, and each man was wellnigh ashamed to let another look him in theeye.

It was almost on the anniversary of the day when I left forthe front that I reached the hospital at Beelitz near Berlin.

What a change! From the mud of the Battle of the Somme intothe white beds of this miraculous building! In the beginning we hardly daredto lie in them properly. Only gradually could we reaccustom ourselves tothis new world.

Unfortunately, this world was new in another respect as well.

The spirit of the army at the front seemed no longer to be aguest here.l Here for the first time I heard a thing that was still unknownat the front; men bragging about their own cowardice! For the cursing and'beefing' you could hear at the front were never an incitement to shirkduty or a glorification of the coward. No! The coward still passed as acoward and as nothing else; and al he contempt which struck him was stillgeneral, just like the admiration that was given to the real hero. But herein the hospital it was partly almost the opposite: the most unscrupulousagitators did the talking and attempted with all the means of their contemptibleeloquence to make the conceptions of the decent soldiers ridiculous andhold up the spineless coward as an example. A few wretched scoundrels inparticular set the tone. One boasted that he himself had pulled his handthrough a barbed-wire entanglement in order to be sent to the hospital;in spite of this absurd wound he seemed to have been here for an endlesstime, and for that matter he had only gotten into the transport to Germanyby a swindle. This poisonous fellow went so far in his insolent effronteryas to represent his own cowardice as an emanation 2 Of higher bravery thanthe hero's death of an honest soldier. Many listened in silence, otherswent away, but a few assented.

Disgust mounted to my throat, but the agitator was calmly toleratedin the institution. What could be done? The management couldn't help knowing,and actually did know, exactly who and what he was. But nothing was done.

When I could again walk properly, I obtained permission to goto Berlin.

Clearly there was dire misery everywhere. The big city was sufferingfrom hunger. Discontent was great. In various soldiers' homes the tone waslike that in the hospital. It gave you the impression that these scoundrelswere intentionally frequenting such places in order to spread their views.

But much, much worse were conditions in Munich itself !

When I was discharged from the hospital as cured and transferredto the replacement battalion, I thought I could no longer recognize thecity. Anger, discontent, cursing, wherever you went! In the replacementbattalion itself the mood was beneath all criticism. Here a contributingfactor was the immeasurably clumsy way in which the field soldiers weretreated by old training officers who hadn't spent a single hour in the fieldand for this reason alone were only partially able to create a decent relationshipwith the old soldiers. For it had to be admitted that the latter possessedcertain qualities which could be explained by their service at the front,but which remained totally incomprehensible to the leaders of these replacementdetachments while the officer who had come from the front was at least ableto explain them. The latter, of course, was respected by the men quite differentlythan the rear commander. But aside from this, the general mood was miserable:to be a slacker passed almost as a sign of higher wisdom, while loyal steadfastnesswas considered a symptom of inner weakness and narrow-mindedness. The officeswere filled with Jews. Nearly every clerk was a Jew and nearly every Jewwas a clerk. I was amazed at this plethora of warriors of the chosen peopleand could not help but compare them with their rare representatives at thefront.

As regards economic life, things were even worse Here the Jewishpeople had become really 'indispensable.' The spider was slowly beginningto suck the blood out of the people's pores. Through the war corporations,they had found an instrument with which, little by little, to finish offthe national free economy

The necessity of an unlimited centralization was emphasized

Thus, in the year 191S17 nearly the whole of production wasunder the control of Jewish finance.

But against whom was the hatred of the people directed?

At this time I saw with horror a catastrophe approaching which,unless averted in time, would inevitably lead to collapse.

While the Jew robbed the whole nation and pressed it beneathhis domination, an agitation was carried on against the 'Prussians.' Athome, as at the front, nothing was done against this poisonous propaganda.No one seemed to suspect that the collapse of Prussia would not by a longshot bring with it a resurgence of Bavaria; no, that on the contrary anyfall of the one would inevitably carry the other along with it into theabyss.

I felt very badly about this behavior. In it I could only seethe craftiest trick of the Jew, calculated to distract the general attentionfrom himself and to others. While the Bavarian and the Prussian fought,he stole the existence of both of them from under their nose; while theBavarians were cursing the Prussians, the Jew organized the revolution andsmashed Prussia and Bavaria at once.

I could not bear this accursed quarrel among German peoples,and was glad to return to the front, for which I reported at once aftermy arrival in Munich.

At the beginning of March, 1917, I was back with my regiment.

Toward the end of I911, the low point of the army's dejectionseemed to have passed. The whole army took fresh hope and fresh courageafter the Russian collapse. The conviction that the War would end with thevictory of Germany, after all, began to seize the troops more and more.Again singing could be heard and the Calamity Lanes became rarer. Againpeople believed in the future of the fatherland.

Especially the Italian collapse of autumn, 1917, had had themost wonderful effect; in this victory we saw a proof of the possibilityof breaking through the front, even aside from the Russian theater of war.A glorious faith flowed again into the hearts of the millions, enablingthem to await spring, 1918, with relief and confidence. The foe was visiblydepressed. In this winter he remained quieter than usual. This was the lullbefore the storm.

But, while those at the front were undertaking the last preparationsfor the final conclusion of the eternal struggle, while endless transportsof men and materiel were rolling toward the West Front, and the troops werebeing trained for the great attack- the biggest piece of chicanery in thewhole war broke out in Germany.

Germany must not be victorious; in the last hour, with victoryalready threatening to be with the German banners, a means was chosen whichseemed suited to stifle the German spring attack in the germ with one blow,to make victory impossible:

The munitions strike was organized

If it succeeded, the German front was bound to collapse, andthe Vorwarts' desire that this time victory should not be with the Germanbanners would inevitably be fulfilled. Owing to the lack of munitions, thefront would inevitably be pierced in a few weeks; thus the offensive wasthwarted, the Entente saved international capital was made master of Germany,and the inner aim of the Marxist swindle of nations achieved.

To smash the national economy and establish the rule of internationalcapital a goal which actually was achieved, thanks to the stupidity andcredulity of the one side and the bottomless cowardice of the other.

To be sure, the munitions strike did not have all the hoped-forsuccess with regard to starving the front of arms; it collapsed too soonfor the lack of munitions as such-as the plan had been- to doom the armyto destruction.

But how much more terrible was the moral damage that had beendone!

In the first place: What was the army fighting for if the homelanditself no longer wanted victory? For whom the immense sacrifices and privations?The soldier is expected to fight for victory and the homeland goes on strikeagainst it!

And in the second place: What was the effect on the enemy?

In the winter of 1917 to 1918, dark clouds appeared for thefirst time in the firmament of the Allied world. For nearly four years theyhad been assailing the German warrior and had been unable to encompass hisdownfall; and all this while the German had only his shield arm free fordefense, while his sword was obliged to strike, now in the East, now inthe South. But now at last the giant's back was free. Streams of blood hadflown before he administered final defeat to one of his foes. Now in theWest his shield was going to be joined by his sword; up till then the enemyhad been unable to break his defense, and now he himself was facing attack.

The enemy feared him and trembled for their victory.

In London and Paris one deliberation followed another, but atthe front sleepy silence prevailed. Suddenly their high mightinesses losttheir effrontery. Even enemy propaganda was having a hard time of it; itwas no longer so easy to prove the hopelessness of German victory.

But this also applied to the Allied troops at the fronts. Aghastly light began to dawn slowly even on them. Their inner attitude towardthe German soldier had changed. Until then he may have seemed to them afool destined to defeat; but now it was the destroyer of the Russian allythat stood before them. The limitation of the German offensives to the East,though born of necessity, now seemed to them brilliant tactics. For threeyears these Germans had stormed the Russian front, at first it seemed withoutthe slightest success. The Allies almost laughed over this aimless undertaking;for in the end the Russian giant with his overwhelming number of men wassure to remain the victor while Germany would inevitably collapse from lossof blood. Reality seemed to confirm this hope.

Since the September days of 1914, when for the first time theendless hordes of Russian prisoners from the Battle of Tannenberg beganmoving into Germany over the roads and railways, this stream was almostwithout end-but for every defeated and destroyed army a new one arose. Inexhaustiblythe gigantic Empire gave the Tsar more and more new soldiers and the Warits new victims. How long could Germany keep up this race? Would not theday inevitably come when the Germans would win their last victory and stillthe Russian armies would not be marching to their last battle? And thenwhat? In all human probability the victory of Russia could be postponed,but it was bound to come.

Now all these hopes were at an end: the ally who had laid thegreatest blood sacrifices on the altar of common interests was at the endof his strength, and lay prone at the feet of the inexorable assailant.Fear and horror crept into the hearts of the soldiers who had hitherto believedso blindly. They feared the coming spring. For if up until then they hadnot succeeded in defeating the German when he was able to place only partof his forces on the Western Front, how could they count on victory nowthat the entire power of this incredible heroic state seemed to be concentratingfor an attack on the West?

The shadows of the South Tyrolean Mountains lay oppressive onthe fantasy; as far as the mists of Flanders, the defeated armies of Cadornaconjured up gloomy faces, and faith in victory ceded to fear of coming defeat.

Then-when out of the cool nights the Allied soldiers alreadyseemed to hear the dull rumble of the advancing storm units of the Germanarmy, and with eyes fixed in fear and trepidation awaited the approachingjudgment, suddenly a flaming red light arose in Germany, casting its glowinto the last shell-hole of the enemy front: at the very moment when theGerman divisions were receiving their last instructions for the great attack,the general strike broke out in Germany.

At first the world was speechless. But then enemy propagandahurled itself with a sigh of relief on this help that came in the eleventhhour. At one stroke the means was found to restore the sinking confidenceof the Allied soldiers, once again to represent the probability of victoryas certain,l and transform dread anxiety in the face of coming events intodetermined confidence. Now the regiments awaiting the German attack couldbe sent into the greatest battle of all time with the conviction that, notthe boldness of the German assault would decide the end of this war butthe perseverance of the defense. Let the Germans achieve as many victoriesas they pleased; at home the revolution was before the door, and not thevictorious army..

English, French, and American newspapers began to implant thisfaith in the hearts of their readers while an infinitely shrewd propagandaraised the spirits of the troops at the front.

'Germany facing revolution! Victory of the Allies inevitable!This was the best medicine to help the wavering poilu and Tommy back ontheir feet. Now rifles and machine guns could again be made to fire, anda headlong flight in panic fear was replaced by hopeful resistance.

This was the result of the munitions strike. It strengthenedthe enemy peoples' belief in victory and relieved the paralyzing despairof the Allied front-in the time that followed, thousands of German soldiershad to pay for this with their blood. The instigators of this vilest ofall scoundrelly tricks were the aspirants to the highest state positionsof revolutionary Germany.

On the German side, it is true, the visible reaction to thiscrime could at first apparently be handled; on the enemy side, however,the consequences did not fail to appear. The resistance had lost the aimlessnessof an army giving up all as lost, and took on the bitterness of a strugglefor victory.

For now, in all human probability, victory was inevitable ifthe Western Front could stand up under a German attack for only a few months.The parliaments of the Entente, however, recognized the possibilities forthe future and approved unprecedented expenditures for continuing the propagandato disrupt Germany.

I had the good fortune to fight in the first two offensivesand in the last.

These became the most tremendous impressions of my life; tremendousbecause now for the last time, as in 1914, the fight lost the characterof defense and assumed that of attack. A sigh of relief passed through thetrenches and the dugouts of the German army when at length, after more thanthree years' endurance in the enemy hell, the day of retribution came. Onceagain the victorious battalions cheered and hung the last wreaths of immortallaurel on their banners rent by the storm of victory. Once again the songsof the fatherland roared to the heavens along the endless marching columns,and for the last time the Lord's grace smiled on His ungrateful children.

In midsummer of 1918, oppressive sultriness lay over thefront. At home there was fighting. For what? In the different detachmentsof the field army all sorts of things were being said: that the war wasnow hopeless and only fools could believe in victory That not the peoplebut only capital and the monarchy had an interest in holding out any longer-allthis came from the homeland and was discussed even at the front.

At first the front reacted very little. What did we care aboutuniversal suffrage? Had we fought four years for that? It was vile banditryto steal the war aim of the dead heroes from their very graves. The youngregiments had not gone to their death in Flanders crying: 'Long dive universalsuffrage and the secret ballot,' but crying: 'Deutschland uber Alles inder Welt.' A small yet not entirely insignificant, difference. But mostof those who cried out for suffrage hadn't ever been in the place wherethey now wanted to fight for it. The front was unknown to the whole politicalparty rabble. Only a small fraction of the Parliamentary ian gentlemen couldbe seen where all decent Germans with sound limbs left were sojourning atthat time.

And so the old personnel at the front was not very receptiveto this new war aims of Messrs. Ebert, Scheidemann, Barth, Liebnitz, etc.They couldn't for the life of them see why suddenly the slackers shouldhave the right to arrogate to themselves control of the state over the headsof the army.

My personal attitude was established from the very start. Ihated the whole gang of miserable party scoundrels and betrayers of thepeople in the extreme. It had long been clear to me that this whole gangwas not really concerned with the welfare of the nation, but with fillingempty pockets. For this they were ready to sacrifice the whole nation, andif necessary to let Germany be destroyed; and in my eyes this made themripe for hanging. To take consideration of their wishes was to sacrificethe interests of the working people for the benefit of a few pickpockets;these wishes could only be fulfilled by giving up Germany.

And the great majority of the embattled army still thought thesame. Only the reinforcements coming from home rapidly grew worse and worse,so that their arrival meant, not a reinforcement but a weakening of ourfighting strength. Especially the young reinforcements were mostly worthless.It was often hard to believe that these were sons of the same nation whichhad once sent its youth out to the battle for Ypres.

In August and September, the symptoms of disorganization increasedmore and more rapidly, although the effect of the enemy attack was not tobe compared with the terror of our former defensive battles. The past Battleof Flanders and the Battle of the Somme had been awesome by comparison.

At the end of September, my division arrived for the third timeat the positions which as young volunteer regiments we had once stormed.

What a memory!

In October and November of I914, we had there received our baptismof fire. Fatherland love in our heart and songs on our lips, our young regimentshad gone into the battle as to a dance The most precious blood there sacrificeditself joyfully, in the faith that it was preserving the independence andfreedom of the fatherland.

In July, I917, we set foot for the second time on the groundthat was sacred to all of us. For in it the best comrades slumbered stillalmost children, who had run to their death with gleaming eyes for the onetrue fatherland.

We old soldiers, who had then marched out with the regimentstood in respectful emotion at this shrine of 'loyalty and obedience tothe death.'

Now in a hard defensive battle the regiment was to defend thissoil which it had stormed three years earlier.

With three weeks of drumfire the Englishman prepared the greatFlanders offensive. The spirits of the dead seemed to quicken; the regimentclawed its way into the filthy mud, bit into the various holes and craters,and neither gave ground nor wavered. As once before in this place, it grewsteadily smaller and thinner, until the British attack finally broke looseon July 13, 1917.

In the first days of August we were relieved.

The regiment had turned into a few companies: crusted with mudthey tottered back, more like ghosts than men. But aside from a few hundredmeters of shell holes, the Englishman had found nothing but death.

Now, in the fall of 1918, we stood for the third time on thestorm site of 1914. The little city of Comines where we then rested hadnow become our battlefield. Yet, though the battlefield was the same, themen had changed: for now 'political discussions went on even among the troops.As everywhere, the poison of the hinterland began, here too, to be effective.And the younger recruit fell down completely for he came from home.

In the night of October 13, the English gas attack on the southernfront before Ypres burst loose; they used yellow-cross gas, whose effectswere still unknown to us as far as personal experience was concerned. Inthis same night I myself was to become acquainted with it. On a hill southof Wervick, we came on the evening of October 13 into several hours of drumfirewith gas shells which continued all night more or less violently. As earlyas midnight, a number of us passed out, a few of our comrades forever. Towardmorning I, too, was seized with pain which grew worse with every quarterhour, and at seven in the morning I stumbled and tottered back with burningeyes; taking with me my last report of the War.

A few hours later, my eyes had turned into glowing coals; ithad grown dark around me.

Thus I came to the hospital at Pasewalk in Pomerania, and thereI was fated to experience-the greatest villainy of the century.

For a long time there had been something indefinite but repulsivein the air. People were telling each other that in the next few weeks itwould ' start in '-but I was unable to imagine what was meant by this. FirstI thought of a strike like that of the spring. Unfavorable rumors were constantlycoming from the navy, which was said to be in a state of ferment. But this,too, seemed to me more the product of the imagination of individual scoundrelsthan an affair involving real masses. Even in the hospital, people werediscussing the end of the War which they hoped would come soon, but no onecounted on anything immediate. I was unable to read the papers.

In November the general tension increased.

And then one day, suddenly and unexpectedly, the calamity descended.Sailors arrived in trucks and proclaimed the revolution; a few Jewish youthswere the 'leaders' in this struggle for the 'freedom, beauty, and dignity'of our national existence. None of them had been at the front. By way ofa so-called 'gonorrhoea hospital,' the three Orientals had been sent backhome from their second-line base. Now they raised the red rag in the homeland.

In the last few days I had been getting along better. The piercingpain in my eye sockets was diminishing; slowly I succeeded in distinguishingthe broad outlines of the things about me. I was given grounds for hopingthat I should recover my eyesight at least well enough to be able to pursuesome profession later. To be sure, I could no longer hope that I would everbe able to draw again. In any case, I was on the road to improvement whenthe monstrous thing happened.

My first hope was still that this high treason might still bea more or less local affair. I also tried to bolster up a few comrades inthis view. Particularly my Bavarian friends in the hospital were more thanaccessible to this. The mood there was anything but 'revolutionary.' I couldnot imagine that the madness would break out in Munich, too. Loyalty tothe venerable House of Wittelsbach seemed to me stronger, after all, thanthe will of a few Jews. Thus I could not help but believe that this wasmerely a Putsch on the part of the navy and would be crushed in the nextfew days.

The next few days came and with them the most terrible certaintyof my life. The rumors became more and more oppressive. What I had takenfor a local affair was now said to be a general revolution. To this wasadded the disgraceful news from the front. They wanted to capitulate. Wassuch a thing really possible?

On November 10, the pastor came to the hospital for a shortaddress: now we learned everything.

In extreme agitation, I, too, was present at the short speech.The dignified old gentleman seemed all a-tremble as he informed us thatthe House of Hollenzollern should no longer bear the German imperial crown;that the fatherland had become a ' republic '; that we must pray to theAlmighty not to refuse His blessing to this change and not to abandon ourpeople in the times to come. He could not help himself, he had to speaka few words in memory of the royal house. He began to praise its servicesin Pomerania, in Prussia, nay, to the German fatherland, and-here he beganto sob gently to himself-in the little hall the deepest dejection settledon all hearts, and I believe that not an eye was able to restrain its tears.But when the old gentleman tried to go on, and began to tell us that wemust now end the long War, yes, that now that it was lost and we were throwingourselves upon the mercy of the victors, our fatherland would for the futurebe exposed to dire oppression, that the armistice should be accepted withconfidence in the magnanimity of our previous enemies-I could stand it nolonger. It became impossible for me to sit still one minute more. Againeverything went black before my eyes; I tottered and groped my way backto the dormitory, threw myself on my bunk, and dug my burning head intomy blanket and pillow.

Since the day when I had stood at my mother's grave, I had notwept. When in my youth Fate seized me with merciless hardness, my defiancemounted. When in the long war years Death snatched so many a dear comradeand friend from our ranks, it would have seemed to me almost a sin to complain-after all, were they not dying for Germany? And when at length the creepinggas-in the last days of the dreadful struggle- attacked me, too, and beganto gnaw at my eyes, and beneath the fear of going blind forever, I nearlylost heart for a moment, the voice of my conscience thundered at me: Miserablewretch, are you going to cry when thousands are a hundred times worse offthan you! And so I bore my lot in dull silence. But now I could not helpit. Only now did I see how all personal suffering vanishes in comparisonwith the misfortune of the fatherland.

And so it had all been in vain. In vain all the sacrifices andprivations; in vain the hunger and thirst of months which were often endless;in vain the hours in which, with mortal fear clutching at our hearts, wenevertheless did our duty; and in vain the death of two millions who died.Would not the graves of all the hundreds of thousands open, the graves ofthose who with faith in the fatherland had marched forth never to return?Would they not open and send the silent mud- and blood-covered heroes backas spirits of vengeance to the homeland which had cheated them with suchmockery of the highest sacrifice which a man can make to his people in thisworld? Had they died for is, the soldiers of August and September, 1914?Was it for this that in the autumn of the same year the volunteer regimentsmarched after their old comrades? Was it for this that these boys of seventeensank into the earth of Flanders? Was this the meaning of the sacrifice whichthe German mother made to the fatherland when with sore heart she let herbest-loved boys march off, never to see them again? Did all this happenonly so that a gang of wretched criminals could lay hands on the fatherland?

Was it for this that the German soldier had stood host in thesun's heat-and in snowstorms, hungry, thirsty, and freezing, weary fromsleepless nights and endless marches? Was it for this that he had lain inthe hell of the drumfire and in the fever of gas attacks without wavering,always thoughtful of his one duty to preserve the fatherland from the enemyperil?

Verily these heroes deserved a headstone: 'Thou Wanderer whocomest to Germany, tell those at home that we lie here, true to the fatherlandand obedient to duty.'

And what about those at home-?

And yet, was it only our own sacrifice that we had to weighin the balance? Was the Germany of the past less precious? Was there noobligation toward our own history? Were we still worthy to relate the gloryof the past to ourselves? And how could this deed be justified to futuregenerations?

Miserable and degenerate criminals!

The more I tried to achieve clarity on the monstrous event inthis hour, the more the shame of indignation and disgrace burned my brow.What was all the pain in my eyes compared to this misery?

There followed terrible days and even worse nights-I knew thatall was lost. Only fools, liars, and criminals could hope in the mercy ofthe enemy. In these nights hatred grew in me, hatred for those responsiblefor this deed.

In the days that followed, my own fate became known to me.

I could not help but laugh at the thought of my own future whichonly a short time before had given me such bitter concern. Was it not ridiculousto expect to build houses on such ground? At last it became clear to methat what had happened was what I had so often feared but had never beenable to believe with my emotions.

Kaiser William II was the first German Emperor to hold out aconciliatory hand to the leaders of Marxism, without suspecting that scoundrelshave no honor. While they still held the imperial hand in theirs, theirother hand was reaching for the dagger.

There is no making pacts with Jews; there can only be the hard:either-or.

I, for my part, decided to go into politics.

[ Other White Nationalist Texts ] [ Mein Kampf: Table of Contents ]

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