He was ecstatic upon entering Hitler’s service; unfaithful on demand to the pure concept of architecture he had so wholeheartedly espoused from his first mentor, Tessenow; blinkered from the very beginning to his Führer’s monstrous obsessions; oblivious to (rather than ignorant of) the suffering they would so immediately cause–concentration camps for Christians and Communists, civic obliteration for Jews, death for the handicapped, the genetically sick, the senile. He enthusiastically embraced Hitler’s war when it began, was jubilant about his conquests, and when he–the artist–was appointed to high government office, he readily did all, and more, that was required. He manipulated, cajoled, intrigued against and threatened those who interfered with his power and his aims, demanded rather than merely participated in the brutal subjugation of foreign workers for slave labour and unconsciously or consciously blinded himself to licensed murder.
Pity, compassion, sympathy and empathy were not part of his emotional vocabulary. He could feel deeply but only indirectly–through music, through landscapes, through art, eventually through visual hyperbole, often in settings of his own creation: his Cathedral of Light, the flags, the thousands of men at attention motionless like pillars, the blond children, row upon row of them with shining eyes and arms stiffly raised. This became beauty to him and, another substitute for love, allowed him to feel.
But then, via Posen and Dora, at long last he acknowledged Hitler’s madness; through the revelations of Nuremberg and the confrontation with the reactions of the civilized world came his realization and horror at what had been done , his feelings of personal guilt, his wish, almost, for death and yet fear of execution, the shame of being spared, the prospect of twenty years’ incarceration until, a young forty-one when he went in, he would come out old, at sixty-one. Out of all this, through his illumination with Casalis, his discovery of humility, the gift to him of his young daughter’s excellence, the joy he found in solitude, but most of all, his continuing and tormenting awareness of guilt–out of all this, there came to be another Speer.
Unforgiven by so many for having served Hitler, he elected to spend the rest of his life in confrontation with this past, unforgiving of himself for having so nearly loved a monster.