pages of Eva Braun's 1935 diary were found after the war - a fascinating
document of an immature young woman whose love for Hitler is unmistakably
This early, authentic diary for the period from February 6 to May 28 1935
exists, both in German script and in English typescript translation, in
the National Archives, Washington, D.C.
I think this must be the right day to begin this extra-special diary.
I have now reached the happy age of 23. No, happy is not quite the right
word. At this particular moment I am certainly not happy.
The truth is that I have rather large ideas about the importance to be
attached to this day: If I had a dog I would not feel so lonely, but I
suppose that is asking for too much.
Frau Schaub came as an ambassador bringing flowers and telegrams. The
result is that my whole office resembles a flower shop and smells like a
I suppose I am ungrateful, but I did want to be given a dachshund. And I
just don't have one. Perhaps I'll get one next year, or much later, when
it will be more appropriate for a budding old maid.
What is important is not to give up hope. I should have learned to be
patient by now.
Today I bought two lottery tickets, because I had a feeling that it would
be now or never--they were both blanks. So I am not going to be rich after
all. Nothing at all to be done about it.
Today I was going to Zugspitze with Herta, Gretel, Ilse, and Mutti, and I
should have had a wonderful time, for it is always most enjoyable when
other people are enjoying themselves, too. But nothing came of it. This
evening I am going to have dinner with Herta. What else can you do, when
you are a little single woman of 23? So I shall end my birthday "with
gluttony and drunkenness." I think this is what he would want me to
February 11, 1935
He came to see me, but nary a sign of a dog or a chest of drawers. He
did not even ask me what I wanted for my birthday. So I bought some
jewelry for myself. A necklace, earrings, and a matching ring, all for 50
marks. All very pretty, and I hope he likes it. If he doesn't, then he
should choose something for me himself.
February 18, 1935
Yesterday he came quite unexpectedly, and we had a delightful evening.
The nicest thing is that he is thinking of taking me from the shop and --
but I had better not get excited about it yet -- he may give me a little
house. I simply must not let myself think about it. It would be marvelous.
I wouldn't have to open the door to our "beloved customers," and
go on being a shopgirl. Dear God, grant that this may really happen not in
some far-off time, but soon.
Poor Charly is ill and won't be able to come with me to Berlin. But
perhaps that is best after all. Br. can be very rude to her sometimes, and
that would make her even more unhappy.
I am so infinitely happy that he loves me so much, and I pray that it will
always be like this. It won't be my fault if he ever stops loving me.
I am so terribly unhappy that I cannot write to him. These notes must
serve as the receptacle of my lamentations.
He came on Saturday. Saturday evening there was the Town Ball. Frau
Schwarz gave me a box, so I absolutely had to go after I had accepted.
Well, I spent a few wonderfully delightful hours with him until 12 o'clock
and then with his permission I spent two hours at the ball.
On Sunday he promised I could see him. I telephoned to the Osteria and
left a message with Werlin to say that I was waiting to hear from him. He
simply went off to Feldafing, and refused Hoffmann's invitation to coffee
and dinner. I suppose there are two sides to every question. Perhaps he
wanted to be alone with Dr. G., who was here, but he should have let me
know. At Hoffmann's I felt I was sitting on hot coals, expecting him to
arrive every moment.
In the end we went to the railroad station, as he suddenly decided he
would have to go. We were just in time to see the last lights of the train
disappearing. Once again Hoffmann left the house too late, and so I
couldn't even say good-by to him. Perhaps I am taking too dark a view, I
hope I am, but he is not coming again for another two weeks. Until then
I'll be miserable and restless. I don't know why he should be angry with
me. Perhaps it is because of the ball, but he did give his permission.
I am racking my brains to find out why he left without saying good-by to
The Hoffmanns have given me a ticket for the Venetian Night this evening,
but I am not going. I am much too miserable.
March 11, 1935
There is only one thing I want. I would like to be seriously ill, and
to hear nothing more about him for at least a week. Why doesn't something
happen to me? Why do I have to go through all this? If only I had never
set eyes on him! I am utterly miserable. I shall go out and buy some more
sleeping powder and go into a half-dreamlike state, and then I won't think
about it so much.
Why doesn't that Devil take me with him? It would be much better with him
than it is here.
I waited for three hours in front of the Carlton, and had to watch him
buying flowers for Ondra and inviting her to dinner. (That was just my
mad imagination. March 16th.)
He only needs me for certain purposes, otherwise it is not possible.
This is idiocy.
When he says he loves me, it only means he loves me at that particular
instant. Like his promises, which he never keeps. Why does he torment me
like this, when he could finish it off at once?
March 16, 1935
He has left for Berlin again. If only I didn't go mad when he sees me
so rarely. After all, it is quite obvious that he is not really interested
in me when he has so much to do in politics.
Today I am going to the Zugspitze with Gretel, and perhaps my insanity
will then leave me.
In the past everything turned out well, and it will be the same this time.
April 1, 1935
Yesterday he invited us to dinner at the Vierjahrenzeiten (Four
Seasons). I sat with him for three hours and we did not exchange a single
word. At the end he handed me, as he had done before, an envelope with
money in it. It would have been much nicer if he had enclosed a greeting
or a loving word. I would have been so pleased if he had. But he not think
Why isn't he going to dine with the Hoffmanns? If he did, I would at least
have had him to myself for a few minutes. I hope he doesn't come any more
until his house is ready.
As Frau Hoffmann so affectionately and tactlessly informed me, he has
now found a replacement for me. She is called Valkyrie, and that's what
she looks like, including her legs. He likes measurements of this kind,
but if she is really like that, he will soon make her thin with vexation
unless, like Charly, the more worries she has, the fatter she gets.
Charly's vexations only stimulate her appetite.
If Frau Hoffmann's information is correct. I think it is terrible that he
should say nothing to me about it. After all, he should know me well
enough to realize that I would never put anything in his way if he
suddenly discovered his heart belonged to someone else. What happens to me
is no concern of his.
I shall wait until June 3rd, when three months will have passed since our
last meeting. Then I will ask for an explanation. Will anyone say this is
not a modest demand?
The weather is so wonderful, and I, the mistress of the greatest man in
Germany and in the world, am sitting here and gazing at the sun through a
window. How can he have so little understanding as to let me remain here,
bowing to strangers.
Man proposes, etc. And as one makes one's bed... It is all my fault, but
it is nice to put the blame on others. The time of fasting will end, and
then everything will taste so much better.
It is a pity it is spring.
May 28, 1935
have just sent him the crucial letter. Question: will he attach any
importance to it?
We'll see. If I don't get an answer before this evening, I'll take 25
pills and gently fall asleep into another world.
He has so often told me he is madly in love with me, but what does that
mean when I haven't had a good word from him in three months?
So he has had a head full of politics all this time, but surely it is time
he relaxed a little. What happened last year? Didn't Roehm and Italy give
him a lot of problems, but in spite of all that he found time for me.
Maybe the present situation is incomparably more difficult for him,
nevertheless a few kind words conveyed through the Hoffmanns would not
have greatly distracted him.
I am afraid there is something behind it all. I am not to blame.
Maybe it is another woman, not the Valkyrie -- that would be hard to
believe. But there are so many other women.
Is there any other explanation? I can't find it.
God, I am afraid he won't give me his answer today. If only somebody would
help me -- it is all so terribly depressing.
Perhaps my letter reached him at an inopportune moment. Perhaps I should
not have written. Anyway, the uncertainty is more terrible than a sudden
ending of it all.
I have made up my mind to take 35 pills this time, and it will be
"dead certain." If only he would let someone call."