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Hitler, the man who shouldn’t have been born
Hitler, the man who shouldn’t have been born
Hitler, the man who shouldn’t have been born
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Hitler, the man who shouldn’t have been born

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“Hitler, the man who shouldn’t have been born”

Un’opera inedita sulla personalità di Adolf Hitler, dall’infanzia fino alla morte, per non dimenticare come sia facile superare la linea di confine tra bene e male. Oltre all’analisi del dittatore nazista sono analizzate firme e scritture di alcuni suoi collaboratori (Goering, Himmler, Mengele, Bormann, Rommel, …), oltre alla sua compagna Eva Braun.

Un’opera curiosa, originale e intrigante, ma di facile lettura.

***

“Hitler, the man who shouldn’t have been born”

The book presents an ‘unpublished’ profile of Adolf Hitler personality, from infancy to death. The ‘take home message’ is not to forget how easy it is to overcome the line between good and evil. In addition to the analysis of the Nazi dictator, the book collects and analyses some writings and signatures of a pool of Hitler’ collaborators such as Goering, Himmler, Mengele, Bormann, Rommel, as well as of his partner, Mrs Eva Braun. “Hitler, the man who shouldn’t have been born” is a curious, original and intriguing work, easy to read.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherYoucanprint
Release dateFeb 8, 2018
ISBN9788827810194
Hitler, the man who shouldn’t have been born

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    Hitler, the man who shouldn’t have been born - Evi Crotti

    Alexander.

    Preface

    How did the idea of ??a book about Adolf Hitler emerge, seeing that an infinity of them already exists in all languages?

    This book was born from an experience directly lived by my family - replies Evi Crotti - and I wish to remember my mother’s great courage when facing the cruelty of some of these characters.

    Do you want to briefly tell about this experience during World War II?

    I was quite little, but some episodes I remember very well. I lived then in Bonate Sotto in the province of Bergamo, where there was a Nazi SS detachment, right in my town.

    At that time in the province of Bergamo there were many prisoners escaped from Germanround-ups, coming from all over Europe. I remember that among the so-called prisoners of war there were some who came from Greece and Macedonia; there was one Macedonian in particular, Gregory, who was a regular guest in my parents’ house and who shared part of our house with other prisoners, although they were just temporary guests. Gregory was a nice guy, sweet and friendly, with a beautiful voice, especially when he sang. It was he who taught me a song I still remember by heart and that only by a strange coincidence that I have recently discovered to be still sing in Greece:

    With a smile on their lips,

    Our soldiers march forward

    And the Italians have become a ridicule

    Because their hearts aren't brave enough.

    Mussolini, you fool

    None of you will be left standing

    You and Italy,

    Your ridiculous country,

    You’ll all fear our colors.

    You have no honor

    And when we’ll march in,

    Even in Rome, we will raise

    The Greek, blue and white flag.

    It's raining and they're under the tent

    They're not taking a step forward

    And they are announcing,

    That the weather is to blame.

    Mussolini, you fool

    None of you will be left standing

    You and Italy,

    Your ridiculous country,

    You’ll all fear our colors.

    You have no honor

    And when we march in,

    Even in Rome, we will raise

    The Greek, blue and white flag.

    (English translation from lyricstranslate.com)

    He repaired shoes and clogs for his companions and, as such, my dad got him a shoemaker table so he could carry on practicing his profession; my mother provided him with the appropriate material and, at times, sitting on a stool I helped him, too.

    One day, following atip-off, my mum was stopped by the SS and was ordered to hand in the refugees she was hiding at home, otherwise – they said – we shoot your children. Meanwhile, two soldiers were pointing the rifle at our necks. I still remember my mother’s coldness and calm as said aloud, so that the prisoners could hear her and flee through the back door of the house: You shall kill my children only if you find the prisoners in the house. Then give us the key to the house and my mother, even more firm, determined and serene, at least apparently: A moment. I’ll look for it in my bag. She pretended not to find it to bid some time and, in the end, rummaging in his pocket said, Oh, look where I put it!. Thus, in the meantime, the prisoners retreated in the garden behind the house and hid beneath a huge plant of elder. Unfortunately, one of the prisoners, Leonidas, lagged in his escape and was instantly shot, but he hadn’t been found inside our house.

    Another time they came and found Gregory in the house. He was arrested and my mother was intimated to let my father know to immediately present himself in the headquarters of Bergamo for a questioning.

    Luckily the director of Dalmine, a fascist as so many were, who had in great esteem my father, helped him to flee and find refuge. How, I don’t know.

    We didn't see him for three months, but my mother was reassured about his good health.

    This is the reason I wanted to retrace a moment of Hitler’s biography since he, although indirectly, touched me closely and if I talk about it, it is also because that rifle pointed at my neck left me a scar: every time something obstructs my throat I immediately feel like I’m choking.

    Can graphology really grasp in a scientific way such a complex personality like that of the Nazi dictator?

    Of course. It highlights the temperamental traits of every man. Hitler was suffering from ruinous narcissism, but he was not mentally ill. His calligraphy has proven it, confirming what was already been stated by many researchers including Erich Fromm.

    Here will not be addressed the point of Adolf Hitler’s intelligence, although – in his case – said intelligence is manipulative and allowed him to exploit distorted thoughts to influence the world and orient it to his own ends.

    So did Hitler suffer from delirium for power or from mere fanaticism of a heroin addict?

    If he were a heroin addict, it cannot be said based on his writings. What can be deduced is the delirium for power of a necrophiliac, obsessive and mythomaniac personality. He felt like a God and as such acted by subjecting to his will the whole Germany. It is

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