The Proud Shall Stumble

by Gerald N. Lund

  Hans took a deep breath, threw back his shoulders, and strode forward. When Adolf saw him, he raised a hand and started to call to him, but Hans cut him off. There was no way to ease into this. “Mein Führer!” he shouted, “the triumvirate has escaped. General Ludendorff let them go.”

  1:18 a.m.

  The fog of shock and horror that had blanketed Adolf on hearing the details of what had happened quickly dissipated, and he sprang into immediate action. To everyone’s surprise and enormous relief, the first thing he did was walk over to Max. Adolf reached out and grabbed him by the nape of the neck and drew him in close enough that their noses nearly touched. “The fault is mine,” Adolf said softly. “All mine. And Ludendorff’s,” he added angrily. “I should have known that doddering old fool couldn’t be trusted.”

  And that was that. Hans thought Max was going to faint with relief, and Adolf was true to his word. He blamed no one but himself. Calling the leaders that were still present together, Adolf immediately set to work assessing the damage and seeing what could be done to fix it.

  A short time later, they got more bad news. Ernst Roehm radioed in that his S.A. troops, along with stormtroopers from some of the Kampfbund groups, had successfully seized Army Headquarters at the War Ministry on Schoenfeldstrasse. But regular army troops were moving in and surrounding his position. Where were the other Kampfbund groups? Were they coming to assist him? No one had an answer for that.

  And the blows just kept coming.

  Ten minutes later, Lieutenant Wilhelm Brückner radioed in. His task had been to seize the main telegraph and telephone ­exchanges. They had met fierce resistance from regular army and police units who were already in place. Not one of these highly strategic objectives had been taken, including the headquarters of the state police. Had they done so, they might have marshaled them to their side, but with Colonel Seisser freed again, that opportunity was gone.

  Shortly before two o’clock in the morning, a party member who worked at the main telephone exchange called in to Rosenberg to report that General von Lossow had just sent a wire to Hans von Seeckt, commanding general of the National Reichswehr in Berlin. Lossow told him that Bavaria was in full revolt and was about to be overthrown by extremist right-wing parties. Seeckt immediately wired a blunt reply back: “In conjunction with the state police, the Bavarian State Army is to suppress the rebellion at all costs. We are coming! Help is on the way.” Lossow sent a runner with a copy of the telegram and made sure Adolf saw it.

  Half an hour after that, one of Goering’s company commanders rushed into the room to report that the expected support for the revolution from the ranks of the Bavarian Army’s officers corps had not materialized. A few junior officers were with them, but at best, defections were a bare trickle. The senior officers, led by General von Danner, commander of the Munich garrison, were seething with rage. Lossow had told them how Max von Scheubner-Richter had held a pistol on him and threatened to shoot him. Outraged at this unthinkable breach, the senior members of the officers corps were now solidly united behind Lossow.

  A quarter of an hour later, that same company commander radioed in again to report that Danner had sent messages to various outlying garrisons asking them to send in reinforcements. By dawn, it was expected that the contested areas of Munich would be completely ringed with regular army troops. That news sent Hitler and a chastened Ludendorff—who had finally wandered back in to see what was going on—rushing off to the War Ministry, where they conferred with Roehm and his officers. Roehm was deeply shaken when he realized that he was the only one who had taken any serious military action. Messages in General Ludendorff’s name were dispatched to the headquarters of the 19th Infantry, a unit thought to be loyal to the old war hero and the Nazi cause. The only answer was a deafening silence.

  3:33 a.m.

  Red-eyed and exhausted beyond belief, and knowing that dawn was coming quickly, the desperate little body of conspirators took a break as things finally began to settle down.

  Their rest was premature.

  One of Emil Maurice’s men came in with a report from one of his company commanders. State Commissioner Gustav von Kahr, knowing that the rebels were anxious to recapture him and his two partners, had immediately evacuated all key government personnel to Regensburg, about seventy miles north of Munich. Once safely there, he announced that this would be the seat of the Bavarian state government until the crisis passed. The birds had not only fled the beer hall; they had now flown the coop. Any hope of recapturing the triumvirate was dashed.

  That cracked even Hitler’s stony mien. He gave a low cry, swung around, and slammed his fist against the wall. Everyone was so startled that they just gaped at him. As they did so, the messenger walked over to Hans and Goering. He withdrew a placard about nine inches square from inside his overcoat and handed it to Hans. Surprised, Hans turned it over and saw that it was a printed notice signed by State Commissioner Gustav von Kahr. He held it up as Goering read it aloud to the group.

  The deception and perfidy of some ambitious comrades have converted a demonstration in the interests of national reawakening into a scene of disgusting violence. The declarations extorted from myself, General von Lossow, and Colonel Hans von Seisser at the point of a revolver last evening at the Bürgerbräukeller are null and void. The National Socialist German Workers’ Party (Nazi Party), as well as the fighting leagues, such as Oberland and Reichskriegsflagge, are hereby dissolved.

  Gustav Von Kahr

  General State Commissioner

  Almost quaking in his boots, the messenger told them that hundreds of these placards were now being posted all around Munich. When the population awoke a few hours from now, these would be waiting for them.

  For what seemed like an eternity, Hitler stared blankly at the man as the rest of the men held their breath. Finally, without a word, he put his hands behind his back, lowered his head, and began to pace back and forth across the length of the room.

  Chapter Notes

  Here again, most of the details depicted in this chapter follow Shirer’s account closely. That someone as politically shrewd as Hitler would make such a strategic blunder is hard to conceive. Most likely, after overcoming major setbacks with seeming ease, he must have been soaring emotionally. It would be easy to assume at that point that you were unstoppable and that the victory was in the bag. This assumption would prove to be highly costly (see Rise and Fall, 71).

  Shirer summarizes the setbacks that occurred during that night but does not specify an exact order or time for each event, though he does seem to suggest that it went on all through the night. So the specific order and timing found in this chapter are of my own making.

  November 9, 1923, 7:38 a.m.—Bürgerbräukeller, Munich

  For hours they sat around, tossing out ideas, trying to decide where to go next. It was an indicator of the depths of the crisis that the ideas they were putting forth now were growing increasingly desperate and increasingly out of touch with reality.

  One of those put forth by Adolf was a suggestion that he and General Ludendorff drive out into the countryside. There they would rally the peasants and other working classes to the cause and then march back to Munich, where they would join their other troops. His excitement quickly died when no one else in the room did more than politely nod. Hans had inwardly winced. He could picture how his own family would respond to such a call. “Grab your pitchforks and your cheese paddles and march with us against the government’s cannons and machine guns!”

  Next, they talked about massing their forces and attacking two or three of the strategic targets they had previously planned to secure and hadn’t. But Max von Scheubner-Richter and Rudolf Hess patiently pointed out that doing so would have a profound negative effect on the people. They were the primary users of these services, not just the government. The men were trying to win the support of the Bavarian people, not start a civil war with them.r />
  Conversations finally ground to a halt as the ideas ran out. Around seven, Goering had gotten so frustrated that he decided the few government officials he had corralled the previous night were not significant enough to serve as good hostages. So he took a squad of his own to city hall to round up others. It was at that point that Hans got up and left the group, mumbling something about needing to get some sleep. He had found a corner with an empty table, laid his head down on his arms, and pretended to sleep.

  But a short time later, waitresses began bringing platters of boiled eggs, bratwurst, sauerkraut, various cheeses, hard bread rolls, and cold meats. And numerous steins of beer, of course. As they were finishing, Goering’s men returned with the mayor of Munich in tow and nine members of the city council. They had obviously been roughed up a little and were pretty badly shaken. Great way to win over the hearts of the people, Hans thought. The current mayor was quite popular. But the others seemed to be cheered by the fact that someone had actually done something.

  After breakfast someone put forth another idea: get Prince Ruprecht, the Crown Prince of Bavaria, to lead them. Wild as it sounded at first, the more Hans thought about it, the more he was intrigued. He got up and rejoined the conversation.

  Bavaria was heavily Catholic and politically quite conservative. Here, the royal family was still held in considerable esteem, and many even spoke of restoring the monarchy. In addition, Prince Ruprecht was enormously popular with the people. Everywhere he went, cheering crowds thronged his way. He had little of the inbred arrogance of the upper classes and mingled comfortably with all levels of society. He had also served with distinction as an officer in the Imperial Army. The problem was, how did they approach him at this point in the revolt?

  When Emil Maurice said that one of his lieutenants was a childhood friend of the prince and could get access to him almost any time, the group came alive. The lieutenant was brought in, made a telephone call to the prince’s castle at Berchtesgaden, and was told by the prince’s private secretary that the prince would be pleased to see him whenever he could make it to the castle. For the first time in several hours, a glimmer of hope returned to the conspirators.

  Maurice authorized the man to take a car from the motor pool. Hitler told him that speed limits were not a concern on this day, and off he went.

  10:47 a.m.

  Everyone visibly jumped when the sound of a telephone rang out from the outer hallway. Emil was up like a shot and out the door. Hitler was on his feet, his eyes eager. The rest, including Hans, rose too.

  About two minutes later, Maurice reappeared in the doorway. His face had the haunted look of a man who had just come through an artillery barrage. Adolf raced over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “What is it, Emil? Was that our lieutenant?”

  It was as though he hadn’t heard at first, but finally his eyes focused on his leader. “Yes. Lieutenant Neutzer is at the train station here in Munich,” he said in a quavering voice.

  “The train station?” Goering cried. “I thought he was taking a car.”

  Emil’s face was a chalky white. “When he got to where the cars were parked, there was no one there. And no cars to be seen. So he went looking for a vehicle he could expropriate.” He swallowed hard. “After an hour and a half without success, he decided he had better take the train.”

  “He hasn’t even left yet?” Adolf roared.

  Emil cringed. “It’s chaos out there, mein Führer. Roads are blocked. Soldiers are everywhere. The police are stopping everyone. There was no automobile to be had.” Emil ran his fingers nervously through his hair, looking quite ill. “His train leaves in ten minutes,” he whispered. “But it won’t arrive in Berchtesgaden until half past one.”

  What had been gloom before turned to a deep despair. Men slumped in their chairs around the table. Adolf went to the window again and stared out, not saying a word.

  Hans was strongly tempted to get up and walk out. Go to the train station and buy a ticket for Oberammergau. Take Emilee and his girls into his arms and hold them for a long time. Maybe even milk a few cows. But he knew he wouldn’t. If it weren’t for Adolf, there would be no farm to go to.

  A sound from off to his left broke the silence. A chair was being pushed back. Hans lifted his head and turned and then straightened. General Erich Friedrich Wilhelm Ludendorff was on his feet. Hans was startled. Sometime after the night’s debacle, the general and his aide had found an empty room and evidently gone to sleep. He hadn’t joined them for breakfast, and Hans had wondered if he had gone back home. Now every eye turned to him.

  The general stood there as imperious, haughty, and aloof as always. Except that—and this really took Hans aback—his collar was unbuttoned. The Prussian-style uniform had a stiff collar that was almost three inches wide and fastened tightly at the throat. Now it hung loose. That shocked Hans almost as deeply as the events of the night because it said, more powerfully than words, what kind of night this had been for the old general. Everything about him was always absolutely impeccable. But now his collar was loose. It was almost as shocking as if he had come in without clothes on.

  Everyone in the room was up and totally alert. Every eye was fixed on the general’s fingers as they reached up and slowly fastened his collar. He glanced down, flicked at some invisible piece of lint on his sleeve, and turned to Adolf, who still stood at the window.

  “Herr Hitler,” he said gravely, “I have been reflecting on our situation, and I have a proposal.”

  Adolf snapped to attention. “I am listening.”

  “I have been pondering on the matter,” Ludendorff began, his eyes fixed on Adolf and no one else. “You know my feelings about our current national government. Just yesterday, I told my wife that I would happily string up President Friedrich Ebert and that gang of criminals who call themselves the Weimar government. I could watch them dangle from the gallows without the slightest remorse.”

  “Hear, hear!” someone behind the general called out.

  Ludendorff didn’t acknowledge that he had heard it. “But I do not wish to kill policemen and soldiers here in Munich because, in large measure, they share in our hatred of the Republic and stand with us in our desire to launch a national counterrevolution. Most of them are former soldiers of mine and still have a great loyalty to me and the values I represent.”

  “Agreed,” Adolf said quietly. “My hope was to make a revolution with the police and army, not against them.”

  “Ja, ja. Exactly. So here is what I propose. I led many of these men to victory on both the eastern and the western fronts in the Great War. I believe it is not an exaggeration to say that I am held in high esteem by these former soldiers of mine. If you will permit me a lapse in modesty, they call me their ‘Legendary General.’ They will not fire on me.”

  Adolf’s jaw went slack. Hans was staring at the man, not sure what he was suggesting.

  “Therefore, I propose that we—you and I, along with a few of your selected leaders—link arms, so to speak, and march to the center of the city, backed by as many of your stormtroopers as you can muster. There we will first take over Army Headquarters and then the parliament building.”

  There was an audible gasp from Adolf. And a sudden fire in his eyes.

  “Not only will the army and police not fire on me, but they will accept my orders and fight for me. And when the people see that it is I who marches at the head of this column, they will join in our glorious revolution.”

  There was a quick, thin smile. “And when Kahr and his cronies see that we have the army and the people with us, I am confident that we can persuade them to join with us. Then together we shall march on Berlin.”

  Hans forced himself to look away from Ludendorff to his Führer. Was he as stunned as Hans was? Was this arrogant old man with his icy superiority actually handing them a possible solution? Or was this another debacle in the making? He could see
the same questions going on behind his friend’s eyes.

  Finally, Adolf straightened. “Sir,” he asked hesitantly, “after all that happened last night, are you confident that the army will not fire on us?”

  There was a sniff of disdain. “I am Field Marshall Erich Ludendorff, Herr Hitler. You were in the war. You know of my reputation and how beloved I was by the troops. And you saw the people’s reaction last night when I entered the hallway. It was a turning point for you, no?”

  “Ja,” Adolf said after a moment. “Ja, ja. It was a triumphant moment.”

  “Then what are we waiting for? Gather your men.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Let us see if we cannot begin our march by eleven.”

  “Jawohl,” Hitler said, leaping to his feet. He looked around at the others. “Get out there and marshal the men. Tell them we are marching in ten minutes.” He started away but then whirled back around. “Hans!”

  Hans snapped to attention. “Ja, mein Führer?”

  “You look like a bum.” Adolf grinned. “Somebody get this man a uniform and a razor.”

  Chapter Notes

  The escape of the triumvirate was a bitter blow, and Hitler seemed to have realized the enormity of his mistake. What followed was a frantic search for solutions. The idea to enlist Prince Ruprecht’s support was a good one, though not realistic, given his feelings toward Ludendorff and Hitler. Shirer says only that Lieutenant Neutzer “was unable to find an automobile” but gives no details as to why (Rise and Fall, 72). It seemed logical to assume it was the result of the logistical nightmare the Nazis were experiencing at that point.

  Several sources indicate that the general’s personal assessment of his own importance, stature, and reputation was unhampered by much humility, so his proposal should not have been too surprising. Perhaps when it became obvious they would not get the Crown Prince’s support in the coup, Hitler felt he had no other options left (ibid., 72–73; see also Read, Devil’s Disciples, 98–99).