“That is why I am here, Your Excellency,” Hitler continued, his gaze steady on the cardinal. “General Ludendorff believes you can help.”
A slow smile spread across Pacelli’s face as he realized the potential that lay before him. “Then it seems we may be able to help each other,” he mused, his mind already spinning with possibilities.
“How might that be?”
“I am in the process of devising a grand strategy, a plan of such magnitude that it will eradicate communism from Germany,” Pacelli revealed, his eyes gleaming with determination. “And I believe, Herr Hitler, you could be the leader who will bring this plan to fruition.”
Hitler, his body taut with anticipation, leaned in, his eyes gleaming with the prospect of hearing the cardinal’s grand scheme. He harbored grandiose dreams of leading Germany out of the shadows and into the glory it rightfully deserved. The global community’s relentless persecution of Germany, holding it solely accountable for the atrocities of the Great War, was a grotesque display of injustice and cruelty. That his fellow Germans were being driven to the brink of starvation was a cruel and inhumane act. Hadn’t the Geneva Conventions been established to prevent such atrocities, safeguarding citizens of the world’s nations from such torment?
“I have the necessary connections to elevate you to the position of Chancellor of Germany,” Pacelli revealed, his voice barely audible. To expose this confidential information was to take a great risk—this secret, if leaked, would jeopardize the Council’s mission were Hitler to betray him. “But you must understand, this is not something that can be accomplished overnight. It demands time and patience.”
A smile of satisfaction spread across Hitler’s face at the prospect of such a future. But then, doubt crept in. “But how can this be? President Von Hindenburg will never allow it, Your Excellency.”
“This will be a process that spans decades, my friend. Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Pacelli explained, his voice steady and reassuring.
“You’re right. You have higher powers than I could ever imagine. Please, share your vision with me.”
“I need your absolute assurance that our discussions will remain confidential. Can I trust you, Adolf?” Pacelli’s gaze bore into Hitler, searching for any signs of deceit. He needed to be certain that Hitler was the right man to execute the Council of the Black Nobility’s grand plan.
“You have my unwavering loyalty, Your Excellency.”
“Excellent, my son. Now, let me share our vision with you.”
Hitler, in his naivety, believed that “our vision” referred solely to the shared aspirations of himself and the cardinal. Little did he know it implied a grander scheme, a master plan conceived by the Black Nobility. The Council’s aim was to bolster the Vatican’s financial reserves, and they planned to use Germany as the primary instrument to achieve this monumental task.
“As I mentioned earlier, Adolf,” Pacelli began, his voice steady and resolute, “this is not a task that can be accomplished overnight. It will require decades of meticulous planning and unwavering commitment. Are you prepared to dedicate yourself to the cause?”
“Again, I give you my solemn word, Your Excellency,” Hitler responded, his voice echoing his determination.
“Excellent,” Pacelli replied, his gaze scrutinizing Hitler, gauging his reaction to the daunting timeline. He was reassured when he saw the man, the decorated soldier, listening attentively, unfazed by the prospect of a decades-long commitment. “We both know who was responsible for Germany’s defeat in the Great War.”
“The Jews.” Hitler spat out the word with substantial disdain.
“Indeed. The Jews betrayed Germany, driven by their insatiable greed. They sought profits at any cost, and now the entire nation of Germany is paying the price—a staggering one hundred thirty-two billion gold marks.”
Hitler’s eyes darkened with memories from the front lines. “I’ve seen the horrors of war firsthand. Those money-grubbing traitors will never comprehend the sacrifices we made, the atrocities we endured. They have never set foot on the battlefield, never experienced the camaraderie of the trenches.” Hitler’s voice was laced with bitterness and longing. He yearned for the unity he’d experienced with his fellow soldiers, the respect he had earned for his bravery. His act of valor—dragging a wounded comrade to safety—had earned him the Iron Cross and the admiration of his peers. He yearned to feel that bond again.
“There’s already a simmering undercurrent of anti-Semitism in Munich and Berlin,” Pacelli noted, steering the conversation back on track.
“Yes, I’ve heard the whispers in the beer halls. I attended a meeting a few weeks ago led by an anti-Semite. His views mirror my own,” Hitler admitted, referring to a recent gathering of the German Workers Party. “The war reparations are bleeding us dry. The people know who’s to blame—the Jews. Those damned traitors,” Hitler spat again in contempt.
“It’s high time the Jews made amends to the German people for the atrocities they inflicted upon them.”
“But how can that be achieved?” Hitler questioned, his brow furrowed in thought. “The Jews won’t willingly part with their ill-gotten wealth. Have you ever tried to pry a pfennig from a Jew’s hand? They haggle over every last cent.”
Hitler, despite his cunning, had always found himself outmaneuvered by astute Jewish businessmen, never managing to secure the upper hand in any deal. The thought of retribution consumed him. He was prepared to go to any lengths to finally triumph over the influential Jewish community who seemed to have it all—the grandest estates, thriving businesses, powerful connections, and most enviable of all, the finest art collections. Hitler coveted their art, yearned to be part of this exclusive circle, but was always kept at arm’s length, his non-Jewish heritage a barrier he couldn’t overcome. The prospect of turning the tables, of holding the reins of power, was an intoxicating thought.
“The winds of change are on the horizon, I assure you. But first, I need your unwavering loyalty. Can I trust you with this mission?” the cardinal confirmed a third time.
“I am at your disposal, Your Excellency.”
Hitler’s thoughts drifted back to his days in the war. He had learned the value of obedience, of following orders from his superiors while serving as an infantryman during the Battle of Ypres. This brutal conflict had claimed the lives of 80 percent of his comrades, reducing his company of two hundred fifty men to a mere forty-two. Despite the devastating losses, Hitler’s loyalty to his leaders remained unshaken.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Keep your eyes open for any opportunity to make your mark within this Workers Party group. This could be the first stepping stone to you becoming the leader of the Third Reich.”
This new political phrase resonated with Hitler, stirring a sense of pride and ambition within him. “Leader of the Third Reich,” he repeated, sitting up straighter as he envisioned the prestige that came with it. “Germany will rise to greatness once again.”
Hitler had always held the Germanic people in the highest esteem; their strength and resilience resonated deeply within him. To lead them, to become their beacon in the storm, was the apex of his aspirations. Born an Austrian, he had always felt like an outsider, a spectator peering in through a frosted window. It was only when he enlisted in the German army, fighting shoulder to shoulder with his German brethren in the Great War, that he felt a profound sense of belonging. But then a tragic incident: a British gas shell temporarily blinded him, leaving him confined to a hospital bed until the war’s bitter end. Isolated there, Hitler became convinced that the German government had betrayed him, his comrades, the entire nation. And beneath this conviction, a deeper truth gnawed at him—it was the Jews who had truly betrayed them all.
“I will summon you for another meeting,” Pacelli declared, his tone grave. “It is of utmost importance that our discussions regarding this divine mission remain strictly between us. Can I count on your unwavering commitment and loyalty?” he repeated a fourth time, cementing Hitler’s allegiance.
“You have my loyalty, Your Excellency.”
“To initiate your mission, you will require financial support.” Pacelli rose from his seat and strode towards a large painting hanging on the wall. With a swift movement, he swung the painting aside, revealing a hidden safe. He deftly manipulated the tumbler, and the safe door swung open to reveal a substantial cache of Church funds stored within. This money, destined to fuel Hitler’s burgeoning revolution, would forever bind him to the cardinal.
A smile spread across Hitler’s face as he realized the magnitude of the opportunity lying before him. His meeting with the cardinal had not only secured the funding he needed to pursue his ambitious path, but had also opened the door to a future he had only dared dream of—becoming the leader of Germany.
As the clock chimed 2 a.m., Pacelli subtly gestured to Hitler, a silent indication that their clandestine meeting had reached its conclusion.
“You must go. Be swift and silent. It is of utmost importance no one ever learns this meeting took place,” Cardinal Pacelli whispered, leading the way towards the library’s exit. Hitler rose from his seat, following the cardinal in a hushed manner. “Our conversation tonight must never be spoken of. Do you understand?” Pacelli cautioned, pressing a finger to his lips in the universal sign of silence.
Hitler responded with a silent nod, understanding the gravity of their secret rendezvous as they exited the library.
Upon reaching the front door, Pacelli handed him the bag filled with money. His eyes darted toward the shadows, a subtle warning to Hitler that they were not alone.
The household was deep in slumber, oblivious to the clandestine meeting taking place. The only exception was Pacelli’s devoted aide, Sister Pascalina, who remained vigilantly awake. Her constant worry for the cardinal’s health often led the nun to wake at odd hours of the night, checking on Pacelli’s wellbeing.
