The story of the astrologer and her remarkable prediction about Hitler is accurately reported here (see ibid., 4).
February 25, 1924, 8:45 a.m.—Infantry School, Blutenburgstrasse, Neuhausen District, Munich
As Hans and Ernst Roehm approached the small conference room, Hans glanced around. There was a small rectangular table with an empty chair behind it at the opposite side of the room. In front of it, there were two rows of wooden chairs with six chairs in the first row and seven in the second. Thirteen, Hans thought. Maybe that was an omen. Two men that he didn’t recognize were seated in the first row. They wore business suits, and their heads were together as they conferred quietly with each other. No one was seated in the other chairs.
A clot of men who were smoking and talking animatedly with each other were in the middle of the room. The air was filled with cigarette smoke and smelled of coffee. Good coffee. One man in the group, whose back was to them, was in civilian clothes, but all the rest wore army uniforms, as did Hans and Roehm. All turned as Hans and Roehm were ushered in.
When the man in the suit and tie turned around to see who had entered, Hans saw that it was Adolf. With a warm smile and his hand outstretched, Adolf rushed over to greet them. “Ah, yes. There you are, brethren. Come in.”
Roehm was in the lead, so Adolf greeted him first with a vigorous handshake followed by a bear hug. “Ernst, you old warhorse. How good to see you at last.”
“Danke, mein Führer. It is my pleasure completely.”
Adolf came over to Hans, but this time the hug was more tentative, more carefully given. One hand came up and gripped the back of Hans’s neck. Adolf pulled him close until their noses almost touched. “Ah, my dear friend. At last I get to thank you for saving my life.”
“I . . . I just tried to get you safely to the car.” Then, feeling the gaze of every man in the room on him, Hans changed the subject. “How is your arm? You were in a lot of pain when Max dragged you down with him. I thought you had been shot too.”
“As did I, at first,” Adolf said ruefully. “My shoulder is almost better now, though the doctor says I may have stiffness and some residual pain for the rest of my life.” Then he waved his hand, as if impatient with himself. “But that is nothing compared to those now lying in the cemetery, like Max and so many of our other comrades. Or—” He looked at Hans. “Having a bullet lodged against your spinal cord. I am thrilled to see you up and walking, Hans. How are you doing?”
“Much better. My leg still gives me some pain, but it’s improving.”
“But you are walking. When they told me that you might be paralyzed—” He waved that aside and linked arms with both men. “Come. Say hello to the others.”
They did so and a warm round of handshakes, back slapping, and bear hugs ensued. This was the first time they had all been together since November. Impatient as always, Adolf quickly cut off the salutations. “Comrades, our time is limited and there is much to do.” He moved over behind the table and drew the chair out, motioning to the rows of chairs in front of him. “Find a seat.”
As the men filed into the two rows and sat down, Hans noticed that one chair was left empty. He quickly looked around to see who was missing and realized, to his surprise, that General Ludendorff wasn’t among them. Hans was seated next to Wilhelm Brückner, so he leaned closer and asked in a low voice, “No Ludendorff?”
“Nein,” Brückner whispered. “Ludendorff is disgusted with the Führer for ‘dragging him into this debacle’—his words, not mine—so he refuses to speak to any of us now. Like a little boy who didn’t get his way playing marbles.”
“But he will be in court?”
“Oh, yes,” Brückner whispered. “That will be his chance to shine. You know the general—his high opinion of himself has never been hampered by any feelings of inadequacy.”
Hans, who was still looking around, noticed another man missing. “What about Goering? Why isn’t he on the list of prisoners? He led the occupation of the War Ministry. And Rudolf Hess? He was in the middle of all this. Where is he?”
“You haven’t heard?” Friedrich Weber chimed in. “They’re both in Austria.”
“Still? I saw Goering get shot and go down. But all they told me in the hospital was that he hadn’t been killed and had been taken to Austria by his wife and some friends. I assumed he would have surrendered by this point.”
Roehm spoke up. “He’s not doing well. The bullet hit him in the upper thigh and the groin, and there’s a lot of infection. They say he’s still in tremendous pain. He’s taking massive doses of morphine. So even if he wanted to turn himself in, which he doesn’t, he couldn’t right now. I heard that now that Hess has learned he wasn’t charged, he’ll come back.”
Hans nodded his head toward two men on the front row that he hadn’t recognized. “And who are those two?”
Brückner turned and smiled thinly. “Those are our attorneys.”
“How good are they?” Hans asked.
Roehm shook his head. “Better than they look, I hope.”
Hans chuckled and was about to make a quip about lawyers, but Adolf, who was standing behind the table, rapped on it with his knuckles, and the men quickly came to order. Adolf pulled the chair out but didn’t sit down in it. Instead, he placed his hands on the back of the chair and let his eyes sweep across the men in front of him. His expression was sober, and he seemed far away. But then he smiled at them.
Hans was astonished. This wasn’t Adolf’s usual brief half-smile that came and went like a flickering shadow. It was a brilliant and genuine smile. And that was startling. In the first place, Adolf was overall an intensely serious man. Walking around with a grin pasted on his face wasn’t like him. In the second place, they were all going on trial in about twenty-four hours for treason against the Bavarian state. The German penal code was very explicit about this particular crime. It read: “Any person who attempts to alter by force the constitution of the German Reich or any German state shall be punished by lifelong imprisonment.” Hans knew that because at their arraignment, the prosecutor had read it to them twice.
So what was Adolf so happy about? Hans sighed. He knew that his leg was driving this sense of bleak hopelessness. The minute he had sat down on the hard chair, it had begun to ache. If their meeting lasted an hour, he would be hard pressed to endure it. How in the world was he going to last through the trial, which would go on all day for who knew how many days? He decided that after this meeting he would ask the guards to take him to the infirmary to see if there was a doctor that would give him something for the pain.
“My fellow prisoners,” Adolf began. The smile only broadened at his use of the title. “How good to see all of your faces again. I have been able to meet with a few of you over these last two months, but only on a very limited basis. But our day of triumph is almost here. Tomorrow, the National Socialist Party will begin its rise again.”
There were soft sounds of surprise and dismay. Adolf laughed openly at their expressions. “Yes, my hangdog friends, lift up your heads and rejoice, for our day has come. What the world is calling a disastrous failure is about to become a glorious triumph.”
Someone raised a hand. Adolf ignored it. “Our time is limited, so let me speak quickly. Our attorneys, both of whom are here with us this morning, have some instructions for us in preparation for tomorrow. But first I should like to share some news with you.”
“More bad news, right?” Ernst Poehner called out. He was a former officer in the National Police. He was not smiling when he asked it, and Hans saw that he definitely was not seeing any humor in this moment.
Adolf was unperturbed. “On the surface, it may appear to be bad news, but I think otherwise. The triumvirate of leaders governing Bavaria undertook immediate action to destroy our party once the uprising failed. They raided the National Socialist Party headquarters and seized our records and many of our ass
ets. They have frozen our bank accounts. The party is now disbanded and its members are forbidden to hold meetings.”
“Sounds like bad news to me,” someone else grumbled. Again, if Adolf heard it, he ignored it. “They also seized our newspaper and have stopped its publication. And, of course, they have sent the core of our leadership to prison and now plan to put us on trial for treason.” He looked around at the circle of faces. “They are saying that the Nazi Party is no more and that their ‘drummer boy’ leader is finished.”
Suddenly Adolf’s eyes were flashing fire and his voice went shrill. “Yes, that’s right. That’s what that old fool Kahr called me. He said I was nothing but a political drummer boy, beating cadence for the real troops to march to.” And then he laughed. “Well, we shall see. We shall see. Those old fools are already seeing that their actions went contrary to the will of the people. Kahr and Lossow have both resigned, hoping to sidestep further embarrassment.” He leaned forward and slammed his clenched fist against the table. “But they are on trial tomorrow, every bit as much as we are. And we shall have justice.”
That startled all of them. “Have they been charged with something?” Roehm called out.
“Oh, no,” Adolf said gleefully. “Not yet. They will be here to testify against us.” His voice went cold. “But we shall turn the tables on them. Mark my words. They will wish they could slink into their rat holes and hide their faces in shame when I am through with them.”
When you’re through with them? Hans found that an odd statement. Adolf was talking as though he were the prosecuting attorney, not the chief defendant on trial.
Adolf went on, his dark eyes glittering with excitement now. “It is true that many people out there think that our attempted putsch was a miserable failure. And some would cite the fact that we are now in prison awaiting trial as proof of that.” The last part was said sardonically.
“In a way, yes, it did fail. And I take full responsibility for that. And I shall make that very clear to the court. You were my faithful associates, but it was my decision to strike. And I shall request that the court release all of you. You were only soldiers doing your duty.” Another quick grin. “However, I wouldn’t pack your things quite yet.”
Realizing that it wasn’t just the smile that was so startling for him, Hans studied his old friend closely. It was the optimism, the absolute confidence that all would turn out well for them. In spite of himself, Hans felt his spirits lift a little.
“Yes, it is true that we are here in prison awaiting trial for high treason. So, why am I smiling on this cold winter morning?”
Excellent question! Hans thought.
“Well, in the first place, the Bavarian State Government finds itself in an interesting dilemma now. It’s been led by the three men I shall dub the Three Little Pigs—” He paused as snorts of laughter were heard. “—Who are so afraid of the Big Bad Wolf in Berlin that they caved in and betrayed their own people. Now they have discovered that a large number of the people are not asking why our party revolted but why their leaders didn’t support that revolt.”
Hans was thrilled with such stirring words, but somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that there was a serious disconnect between Adolf’s words and the fact that they were all still incarcerated. Was Adolf just cheerleading them in order to build their morale before the trial?
On the other hand, of all the German states, Bavaria was one whose political majority strongly favored right-wing parties over leftists. So maybe Adolf wasn’t exaggerating the people’s support. If not, this was good news indeed.
“Second point of information,” Adolf continued. “And this is even more significant than the first. Our failed attempt to give the government back to the people has made headlines in virtually every large newspaper in the Fatherland and throughout Europe as well. Do you understand what that means? Our name and our aims are now before the German people in a way that we could not have achieved on our own for years to come. And what is more, newspaper correspondents are flocking into Munich from all over Europe and even from America—yes, flocking!—so they can cover the trial. I do not exaggerate. They have had to set up the court in a gymnasium so that there is room to hold everyone.”
That won him several exclamations of astonishment, and the room broke into applause. Adolf bowed slightly at the waist to acknowledge it and then turned and looked over at the two guards, who were smoking in the corner now. “How much more time do we have?”
“About half an hour, Herr Hitler,” the younger of the two called back.
“You take what time you need, Herr Hitler,” the other sergeant added.
Hans turned and looked back in amazement. The two guards were not addressing a criminal or a traitor. They were speaking to him almost in awe, and with the greatest respect. And, strangely, that boosted Hans’s hopes even more.
“All right,” Adolf went on. “I now want to give our two attorneys the time they need to instruct us, but let me make one last point. And with it, perhaps I can convince even the most skeptical of you naysayers. The point is this: our so-called leaders of the Weimar Government in Berlin recently announced a sweeping change to our judicial system. To provide what they feel will be a more consistent evaluation of evidence presented in criminal cases, from henceforth all trials involving criminal behavior will now be tried before a presiding judge and a panel of five other judges, rather than a jury of their peers. Two of the five judges are called from the judiciary, and the other three are lay judges, meaning they are called from among the common people.”
Hans was leaning forward, hanging on Adolf’s every word. Since he and Adolf first met in Pasewalk Military Hospital five years ago, Hans had gotten to know him like he was the brother he’d never had. And with that familiarity, he had developed a sense of when Adolf had something big up his sleeve. He loved to drop what Hans thought of as oratorical bombshells and then revel in the effects that followed. And right now, Hans sensed that a bombshell was about to drop.
Adolf stopped, turned, and looked directly at Hans. “Hans, my friend. I would ask you a question. Does the name Franz Gürtner mean anything to you?”
Startled, Hans’s mind first went blank, but then his head came up. “Yes, mein Führer. Herr Franz Gürtner is currently the Minister of Justice here in Bavaria.”
“That is correct. And do you personally know this man?”
“I. . . . Yes. I have met him several times. He has been a longtime supporter of our party and. . . .” Hans’s voice suddenly filled with wonder. “And he is a close personal friend of yours,” he said slowly.
“Ah, yes,” Adolf exclaimed. “A very close personal friend and staunch supporter. And why would that be significant for us?” He turned to Roehm. “Ernst?”
The beat-up old warrior smiled lazily. “It’s always nice to have friends in high places.”
Adolf shook his head. “Close, but not quite what I’m looking for.” Hans nearly leaped to his feet. Not waiting to be called on, he blurted out, “Because the Minister of Justice picks the presiding judge for our trial, right?”
Adolf’s smile was like that of a man whose goose had laid a golden egg. “Precisely. And in yesterday’s paper, Herr Gürtner announced his selection. It will be—” Adolf couldn’t help himself. He laughed right out loud as he raised both hands and mimicked a snare drummer beating out a rhythm on his drums. “A small drumroll from the ‘drummer boy.’ And the answer is . . . Herr Georg Neithardt.”
For a moment there were a lot of blank looks. Then it was Brückner who gasped. “Isn’t he the judge who presided over your trial a year ago when you and some of the stormtroopers were arrested for beating up that Bavarian nationalist speaker at some political rally?”
“One and the same,” Hitler chortled.
“And who only sentenced you to three months in jail?” Hans cried in delight. “And then released you after you had onl
y served one month?”
“That’s him,” Adolf crowed again. “Oh, and one other thing.” It was obvious to Hans that Adolf was enjoying himself immensely. “It is the presiding judge who selects the other five judges to make up the panel.”
Chapter Notes
Hermann Goering was shot and severely wounded as described here. He did escape with his wife into Austria and then eventually went to Italy, where they stayed until after the trial was over. The morphine treatments he received for the terrible and persistent pain had its side effects. He was known to be a heroin addict up until his death (see “Biographical Time-Line of the Infamous Adolf Hitler: Show Time, Soft Trial,” grwa.tripod.com/ht15.html).
Shirer and some of the other sources discuss how Hitler saw the coming trial as a rich opportunity to turn a wretched failure into a triumphant victory. But we do not know whether he was allowed to share that vision with his fellow prisoners before the trial actually began. So while the thoughts expressed here reflect his thinking, the actual words found in this chapter—including the contemptuous “Three Little Pigs”—are my creation.
February 26, 1924, 9:58 a.m.—
Courtroom, Infantry School, Munich
As Hans entered the large hall, he looked around. There was no question that this was a gymnasium. The basketball hoops at each end of the large room were proof of that. But other than that, it did look very much like an actual courtroom. Somewhere they had found—or built—a platform to place at the north end of the room. It was large enough to accommodate six judges, a witness chair, and a chair and table for the court recorder.
They had also built a temporary barrier from sheets of plywood nailed together to serve as the “bar” found in most courtrooms. It separated the formal trial area from the gallery where the audience would sit. The makeshift half-wall had a swinging door that allowed passage back and forth, but an armed soldier stood there to make sure that only appointed attorneys and their clients passed through it.
The Proud Shall Stumble Page 16
