In the many vacant hours of his lethargy he fells weak and humiliated. Then he is irritated and tries to acquire the semblance of creativeness by endless talks. For this he wants an audience. He sees his own remarkable career as a confirmation of hidden powers. He may sit for hours in apathy without speaking or without even looking up. No real conversation was possible with him.
He would specify-he would walk restlessly up and down, interrupt constantly, and jump from one subject to another as if unable to concentrate. He had states which resembled persecution mania and dual personality. He woke up in the middle of the night and wandered restlessly to and fro. Then he must have light everywhere and then sends for young men to keep him company during these hours of anguish. He wakes with convulsive shrieks, shakes with fear stuttering confused, unintelligible phrases.
He is exacting, avaricious, greedy; he is incapable of working unremittingly and continuously; he gets ideas, impulses, and must feverishly achieve them and get rid of them.
He rarely reads a book through; he only begins it and then throws it away. He hears voices in his solitary walks and recognizes nobody there who meets him. He is timid and sensitive. He used to complain for weeks at a time, blaming the ingratitude of his followers, or the unkindness of fate his own inactivity, and was fond of posing as a martyr.
Then the other side, the sudden activity; but everything is jerky; he without balance. Full of resentments. Visitors have been completely dumb founded at the sudden transition from obvious goodwill to violent scolding for some imagined slight.
The troubled dreams of the past and torturing doubts of the future are with him. Then he must have company when he is convulsed by sudden paroxysms, which are near to insanity. He walks up and down restlessly, while the young men in his entourage roused from their beds in order to divert his thoughts. He is afraid of everything, is well protected, whenever he goes abroad, for fear of attacks on his precious person, and even his bed can only be made by special trusted servants, for fear of being poisoned in his sleep.
This is the picture as drawn by a quondam friend and follower and close companion of Hitlers–Rauschnigg, in his book called Hitler Speaks, only published recently.
Does this picture not illustrate what Hahnemann has drawn as the mental characteristics and psychological ideas of an individual who requires Drosera to cure him from his “Weltschmern”.
What could have happened, if some physician versed in Homoeopathy, could have got hold of this pathological misfit and give him Drosera?.
It is idle to speculate and too late now. The harm is done. But Hitler is a Drosera patient and should have been given it years ago.
And what about his physical peculiarities; the thick, raucous voice, this tendency to laryngeal troubles, this weak voice of his which fails him again. And so he has required the services of a laryngologist more than once. Does not that prove also my contention , that here we have a Drosera patient, and if he had been given Drosera, the would never have had to put up with this war and the whole history of Europe, nay of the whole globe, would have been different.
It was not to be. We have got to drink the cup of misfortune and sorrow and suffering right down to the dregs because of the ill- balanced mind of one poor demented man, whose soul is even now whipped by the relentless furies of the fate which will ultimately be his end.
