Although he will go down in history as one of the most evil and destructive dictators of all time, Hitler saw himself as a creative soul. He and his chief architect Albert Speer pored their plans for post-war Munich, complete with a giant obelisk topped by a swastika-clutching German eagle (pictured, on the left)
- 2,000 documents and sketches have been released by Munich archives
- They show Hitler's plans for a post-war City Of The Movement
- The centrepiece would have been a dome over underground train station
- A swastika-holding German eagle would sit atop an obelisk 600-feet tall
- The city would have rivalled Germania, Hitler's rebuilt capital in Berlin
- The plans were shelved as the war turned against Germany in 1943
The rally grounds were supposed to include 4 square miles of structures, though most of the components never came to fruition.
That includes a Congress Hall, several deployment fields, a "great road" for Nazi parades, and a stadium that never rose from its foundation.
Despite heated resistance from Hermann Göring, one of Hitler's top Nazi leaders, Hitler borrowed the searchlights from the German air force.
The move convinced the world, Hitler surmised, that the Nazis had unlimited searchlights at their disposal, despite them actually being in short supply.
Of the effect created by the beams of light, Speer said, "The feeling was of a vast room, with the beams serving as mighty pillars of infinitely light outer walls."
11:43 AM by Mitch Williamson , under architecture
Initially, Hitler wanted nothing to do with the 1937 world expo, but with Speer's reassurance that the German pavilion would leave spectators in awe, Hitler conceded.
The expo wasn't even meant to be a political standoff between the Germans and the Soviets, but on opening day those were the only two pavilions that were ready to go. The Soviet pavilion showed a statue called Comradeship, which featured two nude men joining hands.
Speer adorned his with Nazi symbols and perched an eagle on top, making the pavilion slightly taller than the Soviet one.
The Great German Art exhibition was housed in a purpose-built museum, designed in the style of an antique temple by the architect Paul Ludwig Troost. Its heavy, squared-off columns marching in front of a solid rectangular block of a building were a long way away from the delicate and subtle neo-Classical architecture that Troost sought to imitate. Like other Nazi buildings, it was first and foremost a statement of power. The House of German Art was only one of a large number of prestigious projects Hitler had begun as soon as he took power in 1933. Indeed, he had been thinking about them since the early 1920s. Hitler imagined himself an architect even more than he thought of himself as a painter, and paid more attention to architecture than to any other of the arts. ‘Every great era finds the concluding expression of its values in its buildings,’ he declared in 1938: ‘When peoples inwardly experience great times, they also give these times external expression. Their word is then more convincing than when it is spoken: it is the word in stone!’
The new public buildings of the Third Reich were all conceived in this massive, pseudo-Classical, monumental style. Like the public buildings Hitler had observed and drawn on Vienna’s Ringstrasse in his younger days, they were intended to project permanence and durability. All of them were influenced by Hitler’s own personal architectural and design plans. Hitler spent hours working with architects on refining their ideas, poring over models and discussing the finer points of style and decoration. Already in 1931-2 he had collaborated with Troost on redesigning the Königsplatz in Munich, and when he came to power, these plans were put into effect. The old Party headquarters at the Brown House were replaced by a gigantic Leader Building and a huge Administration Building, housing vast reception halls and decorated with swastikas and eagles on the façade. There was a balcony on each one from which Hitler could speak to the crowds who were expected to gather below. Despite their appearance, the new buildings incorporated advanced technology in their construction and equipment, including air-conditioning. Adjoining were two characteristic expressions of the Nazi cult of the dead: temples of honour dedicated to the Nazis who had been killed in the 1923 beer-hall putsch. In each of them, an atmosphere of reverent sacrality prevailed, with the bodies of the recently exhumed martyrs displayed in sarcophagi mounted on a dais, open to the elements, and flanked by twenty limestone pillars lit by flaming braziers. The huge grass arena of the Königsplatz itself was paved over with 24,000 square feet of granite slabs. ‘Something new has been created here,’ remarked a commentator, ‘the deepest meaning of which is a political one.’ Here the organized and disciplined masses would gather to swear allegiance to the new order. The whole ensemble was, he concluded, ‘ideology become stone’.
As in other fields, Nazi cultural managers took some time to impose their views. The Reich Chamber of Architects soon expelled Jewish practitioners from the profession, but despite Nazi hostility to ultramodern architecture, it was slower to move against the modernists, some of whom, such as Mies van der Rohe, remained in Germany for a while, though finding it increasingly difficult to practise. By 1935, however, the more experimental types of modernism had been effectively routed; Mies soon emigrated to New York. By the mid-1930s, constructions of the Weimar era such as modernist apartment blocks were no longer in fashion. Instead, the Nazi ideal of domestic architecture favoured a vernacular, pseudo-peasant style such as that practised by the leading proponent of racial theories of modern art, Paul Schultze-Naumburg. These were only showcases for the suburbs; necessity meant that blocks of flats still had to be constructed in the inner cities, where pitched roofs, however, were now preferred over flat roofs because they were believed to be more German. But it was into public buildings that Hitler put his real passion. In Munich, the foundations were laid for a gigantic new central railway station that was designed to be the largest steel-frame structure in the world, with a dome higher than the twin towers of Munich’s signature landmark, the Frauenkirche. Not only Munich, but other cities too were to be transformed into massive stone statements of the power and permanence of the Third Reich. Hamburg was to be graced with a new skyscraper for the Nazi Party’s regional headquarters higher than the Empire State Building in New York, crowned by an enormous neon swastika to act as a beacon for incoming ships. Down-river, the suburb of Othmarschen was to be demolished to make way for the ramps and piles of a gargantuan suspension bridge across the Elbe. The bridge was to be the largest in the world, larger by far than the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, on which it was modelled.
In Berlin, a huge new airport terminal was built at Tempelhof, with over 2,000 rooms. A grandiose new Ministry of Aviation incorporated lavish, marble-floored halls, swastikas and memorials to famous German aviators. A vast Olympic Stadium, costing 77 million Reichsmarks, held 100,000 spectators, attending not only sporting events, but also major Nazi rallies. Here too, in adjoining towers, there were memorials for the fallen, in this case German soldiers of the First World War. By 1938 Hitler had also commissioned a new Reich Chancellery, since he now found the existing one too modest. It was even bigger and more imposing than the Munich buildings. The main gallery was nearly 500 feet long; twice as long, as Hitler noted, as the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. Inaugurated in 1939, the new Reich Chancellery, one commentator recorded, advertised ‘the eminence and richness of a Reich which has become a super-power’. In fact, the gigantism of all these projects, planned for completion by the early 1950s - a remarkably short space of time - was intended to signify Germany’s arrival by that date not just as a super-power but as the dominant power in the world.
The new Reich Chancellery was designed not by Hitler’s favourite architect, Paul Troost, who had died in January 1934, but by a newcomer who was to play a central role in the Third Reich’s later years, Troost’s young collaborator Albert Speer. Born in Mannheim in 1905, Speer belonged to a generation of professionals whose ambitions were framed by the bitter and chaotic experiences of the First World War, the Revolution and the hyperinflation. The son of an architect, and thus a member of Germany’s educated upper middle class, Speer trained with the architect Heinrich Tessenow in Berlin, and formed close friendships with a number of Tessenow’s other pupils. Their teacher imbued them with an open approach to architecture, espousing neither modernism nor its antithesis, but emphasizing simplicity of form and the importance of rooting their style in the experience of the German people. As in every university in the mid-to-late 1920s, the atmosphere among the students was strongly right-wing, and despite his liberal background, Speer succumbed. In 1931, Hitler addressed Berlin’s students at a beer-hall meeting. Speer, in the audience, was, he later confessed, ‘carried away on the wave of the enthusiasm which, one could almost feel this physically, bore the speaker along from sentence to sentence. It swept away any scepticism, any reservations.’
Overwhelmed, Speer joined the Nazi Party and threw himself into its work, volunteering for the National Socialist Drivers’ Corps and exploring, though not taking up, the possibility of joining the SS. By 1932 he was practising architecture independently, and began to use his Party contacts to get commissions. Goebbels asked him to help with the conversion and refurbishment of the Propaganda Ministry, a building by the great nineteenth-century architect Friedrich von Schinkel which Goebbels had vandalized with the help of a gang of brownshirts on moving in. Not surprisingly, Goebbels scorned Speer’s attempt to preserve what was left of Schinkel’s Classical interiors, and had the work redone in a more grandiose style a few months after Speer had completed his task. The young architect’s next project was more successful, however. Seeing the plans developed in the Propaganda Ministry for the celebration of the Day of National Labour on the Tempelhof Field in Berlin on 1 May 1933, Speer complained about their unimaginative quality and was commissioned to improve them. His successful innovations, including massive banners, swastikas and searchlights, led Goebbels to commission him to design the surround for the Nuremberg Rally later that year. It was Speer who, in 1934, created the ‘cathedral of light’ effect produced by upward-beamed searchlights that so impressed foreign visitors. Soon he was refurbishing Nazi Party offices and remodelling the interior of Goebbels’s new house on the Wannsee, just outside Berlin. Speer felt himself energized by the purposeful atmosphere surrounding the Nazi leaders. He worked extremely hard and got things done quickly. In no time at all, still only in his late twenties, he had made a name for himself amongst the Nazi leadership.
The death of Troost, whom Hitler had revered, catapulted Speer into the Leader’s personal entourage, as Hitler co-opted the young man as his personal architectural adviser, someone to whom he could talk about his favourite hobby without the deference he had felt was owed to Troost. Speer was overwhelmed by this attention, and moved his family and home to be near to Hitler’s Bavarian retreat above Berchtesgaden. A frequent guest at Hitler’s mountain lodge, Speer was carried along by the Leader’s desire to construct huge, monumental buildings in a style ultimately derived from Classical antiquity. Soon he was being entrusted with schemes of rapidly increasing ambition, many of them based on sketches Hitler had himself made in the early-to-mid 1920s. Speer was commissioned to rebuild and extend the Nuremberg Party Rally grounds in a series of imposing new buildings constructed at vast expense from the late 1930s, including a stadium that would hold 405,000 people, a Congress Hall seating 60,000 and two huge parade-grounds, the Zeppelin Field and the Mars Field, flanked by rows of columns and providing standing room for 250,000 and 500,000 people respectively. Meanwhile he designed and built the German Pavilion at the 1937 World Exposition in Paris, another huge, bombastic structure, the largest in the entire exhibition. It was dominated by a massive pseudo-Classical tower of ten fluted piers joined by a cornice at the top, towering over all the nearby structures, including the Soviet pavilion, and outdone only by the Eiffel Tower, which stood at the end of the avenue on which the pavilions were located. Red swastikas glowed at night from the spaces between the piers. Next to the tower, the long, rectangular, windowless main hall projected a monolithic sense of unity to the outside world. Its interior was compared by an exiled German art critic, Paul Westheim, in a macabre, prophetic image, to a crematorium, with the tower taking the place of the chimney.
Speer’s success as the architect of propaganda constructions such as these led to his appointment by Hitler on 30 January 1938 as the General Building Inspector for the National Capital, charged with putting into effect the Leader’s megalomaniac plans for the transformation of Berlin into a world capital, Germania, by 1950. A huge axis of wide boulevards designed for military parades was to be cut through Berlin. In the middle would stand a triumphal arch 400 feet high, more than twice as big as its counterpart in Paris, the Arc de Triomphe. The main avenue would lead up to a Great Hall, whose dome was to be 825 feet in diameter, the largest in the world. At the end of each of the four boulevards there would be an airport. Hitler himself had drawn up the plans many years before and discussed them with Speer many times since they had first met. Now, he decided, was the time to begin to put them into effect. They would last for all eternity, a monument to the Third Reich when Hitler had long since departed the scene. Evictions and the bulldozing of houses and apartment blocks levelled the ground for the new boulevards, and part of the scheme was eventually opened to traffic. Meanwhile, fresh buildings were added, including the new Reich Chancellery, and soon Speer had built a scale model which Hitler spent many hours in the following years poring over in his company, making adjustments, and bemoaning the fact that he himself had never become an architect.
By the mid-1930s, Speer was heading a large firm of architects and gaining managerial experience that would stand him in good stead when he was suddenly catapulted into a much larger and more important role during the war. Many of his most striking designs were not purely his own but were worked out in a team whose members, notably Hans Peter Klinke, a fellow student of Tessenow’s, played a role at least as creative as his own. Moreover, the firm’s designs were far from original or even particularly Nazi in style: the civic architecture of the era drew on Classical models in other countries too, and the idea of remodelling cities along geometrical lines, with broad boulevards and great public buildings, was hardly new either; in many ways, for instance, Speer’s plans for Berlin bore a striking resemblance to the centre of the Federal capital of the United States in Washington, D.C., with its wide central mall surrounded by large colonnaded neo-Classical structures all in gleaming white stone. What distinguished Nazi civic architecture and city planning was not the Classical derivation of its style but the maniacal gigantism of its scale. Everything might not be very different from civic structures elsewhere, but it certainly was going to be vastly bigger than anything the world had so far seen. This was already apparent in the models of Berlin that Speer spent so much time inspecting with his master. On one occasion, he showed them in a private session to his 75-year-old father, himself a retired architect. ‘You’ve all gone completely crazy,’ the old man said.
HITLER'S BERLIN: ABUSED CITY
By Thomas Friedrich
Yale University Press, $40, 480 pages
Adolf Hitler had a love-hate relationship with Berlin.
He loved the city for what it represented -- the focal point of Prussian power, the dynamic capital of the kaiser's empire and the political and military nerve center of the Third Reich.
However, Hitler also hated Berlin. He despised its cosmopolitan makeup and what he felt was a pervasive Jewish cultural and commercial influence on the city as well as on the whole of Germany. The resentment was pathological. A few years later, it ushered in the Holocaust, the systematic slaughter of 6 million European Jews.
The late German author Thomas Friedrich's book "Hitler's Berlin: Abused City," is a fascinating study of the politics, culture and architecture of Berlin. Berlin initially resisted Hitler's National Socialist Party. The city had a strong communist base, a powerful trade-union movement and liberal intellectuals.
Big business and the military rallied on behalf of Hitler's push for power because they thought he would revitalize the economy, enlarge the army and crush the communists and the unions. They also thought Hitler could be controlled. How terribly wrong they turned out to be.
Hitler became chancellor in January 1933 through constitutional means but not as a result of an election. He was appointed by the aging President Paul von Hindenburg, a World War I hero who disliked the Austrian-born politician who fought for Germany during the war as a corporal.
"I will employ my strength for the welfare of the German people, protect the Constitution and laws of the German people, conscientiously discharge the duties imposed on me, and conduct my affairs of office impartially and with justice to everyone," Hitler swore as he took the oath of office.
Not one of those pledges was kept.
Hindenburg, by then senile, died the following year at age 86. Hitler declared the office of president vacant, made himself the supreme leader, militarized Germany and abrogated the Versailles Peace Treaty of 1919. He stepped up a campaign against Jews, communists, labor unions and his remaining political rivals.
He also sought to remake the city of Berlin to reflect the glory of a new Germany.
Hitler employed architect Albert Speer on Jan. 30, 1937, as general inspector of buildings in the country's capital. It is not insignificant that the appointment was announced exactly four years after Hitler become chancellor.
Friedrich notes that Hitler wished to create a grand city that would be a symbol of a Thousand Year Reich -- a city full of huge buildings, avenues and monuments, a capital that would dwarf Paris.
Hitler told the Reichstag, the German parliament, he needed Speer to ensure that "an overall vision be brought to the chaos of Berlin's architectural past, a vision that will do justice to the spirit of the National Socialist movement and to the character of the German capital."
Hitler never abandoned his dream of creating a grand Berlin until the closing months of World War II, perhaps because he considered himself an artist -- and politics a form of art. Historians often speculated what would have happened had Hitler been accepted to the art academy in Vienna. Some argued that he might not have entered German politics.
As for Berlin, Hitler's plan ended in the utter ruin of the city at the hands of the Soviet army. He committed suicide in Berlin during the closing days of the war.
"When Hitler took his own life in his Chancellery bunker on 30 April 1945, he took with him not only his plan for Germany's military domination of Europe but also his attempt to turn Berlin into the capital of the world, Germina -- the two plans were not only closely connected, each was a precondition and expression of the other," Friedrich writes. "Berlin continues to the present day to bear the burden of both these foolhardy schemes."
Today, Berlin is a vibrant, progressive, tolerant, multicultural capital of a reunified Germany.
Hitler would have hated the Berlin he inadvertently helped create.
Frank T. Csongos, former bureau chief of United Press International and Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, reported for UPI from Berlin in 1991 when it became the capital of a reunited Germany.
11:39 AM by Mitch Williamson , under Olympic Games
On September 7, 1937, German construction workers laid the cornerstone for what was to become the world's largest stadium — one that would hold over 400,000 spectators. Designed by Hitler's close adviser Albert Speer, the monumental structure drew as much inspiration from the Greek Panathenaic Stadium of Athens as it did from Hitler's brazen megalomania. But in the end, it was simply not meant to be, a project cut short by the demands of World War II and the eventual demise of the Third Reich.
‘An entire nation in sympathetic wonder'During the groundbreaking ceremony, Hitler unveiled a two-meter high model of the Deutsches Stadion ("German Stadium") to an excited crowd of 24,000 people. He described it as "words of stone" that were to be stronger than anything that could ever be spoken. And indeed, Nazi architecture was grandiose and domineering for a reason — a way to make the German volk feel insignificant and small, while showcasing the unbridled power of the regime.
At the same time, however, the Nazi architects wanted the structure to emphasize a sense of community, and to create a bond between the competitors and spectators. Writing in 1937, Wolfgang Lotz wrote:
As in ancient Greece, the elite and most experienced men chosen from the mass of the nation will compete against each other here. An entire nation in sympathetic wonder is seated on the tiers. Spectators and competitors merge in one unity.In addition to serving as a sports complex, Hitler was also planning to use it for Nazi party rally grounds in Nuremberg — what would have undoubtedly engendered similar feelings among the spectators.
‘It is we who will determine how the sporting field is measured'There's no doubt that the completed horseshoe-shaped stadium would have been impressive.
The designs called for a structure 800 meters (2,625 feet) in length and 450 meters (1,476 feet) wide. Its external façade would have been 90 meters (295 feet) high, equipped with several express elevators that could take 100 spectators at a time to the upper levels. Each end of the horseshoe shaped stadium was to be joined by two gigantic towers featuring enormous eagles with wing spans of 15 meters (50 feet).
Earlier, while Speer and Hitler were putting the designs together (the Nazi duo often collaborated on their megaprojects), Speer realized that the playing fields did not match official Olympic dimensions. Hitler responded by saying, "That's totally unimportant. The 1940 Olympics will be taking place in Tokyo. But after that they will be held for all eternity in Germany — and in this stadium. And it is we who will determine how the sporting field is measured."
It's a very telling statement — a remark that not only expressed Hitler's overconfidence in winning the war, but also an admission that his ultimate goal was global domination. He also spoke of launching the "Aryan Games" at some future point.
Speer also expressed concern about the project's cost. Again, Hitler dismissed his reservations saying, "That's less than two Bismarck class battleships. Look how quickly an armored ship gets destroyed, and if it survives it becomes scrap metal in 10 years anyway. But this building will still be standing centuries from now."
Hitler hoped to see the stadium completed by 1945 in time for the Reich Party Congress.
Proof of conceptPrior to the groundbreaking ceremony, Speer and Hitler decided that it would be prudent to construct a test stadium to get a better sense of the final version's sightlines and acoustics. To that end, they brought in 400 workers to construct a 1:1 scale model of the stadium — but in a section measuring 27 meters (88 feet) wide, 76 meters (250 feet) deep, and 82 meters (270 feet) high. And to do so, they had to clear an entire hillside of trees near the town of Achtel.
After the cement was laid, the construction workers erected wooden grandstands across the five levels. And though spectators sitting at the top would have been over 80 meters (260 feet) away from the playing field, Speer said that the view was "more positive" than he anticipated.
It took the workers 18 months to achieve this "proof of concept."
At the end of the war, Achtel was almost totally destroyed as the Germans put up a bitter resistance against advancing American troops. But remnants of the test stadium are still intact today, what the locals now call ‘Stadium Mountain.' The objects have had the vegetation removed and is now placed in monument protection — a permanent symbol of Nazi hubris.
Sources: Much of what we know from this episode comes from Speer's personal memoirs written after the war, including Errinerungen and Architektur: Arbeiten 1933-1942. Other sources: Haaretz and Spiegel.
Images: Dokumentationszentrum Reichsparteitagsgeländ via Spiegel; Lencer via Haaretz.