by Ian Kershaw
The fragmentation of the völkisch movement in Hitler’s absence, the extraordinary adulation he received from those who already saw greatness in him, and the recognition in himself of ‘great’ leadership were closely interlinked. By the date of his release from Landsberg, on 20 December 1924, the basis for his later incontestable position as Leader had been laid.
I
Nothing could have demonstrated more plainly how indispensable Hitler was to the völkisch Right than the thirteen months of his imprisonment, the ‘leaderless time’ of the movement. With Hitler removed from the scene and, from June 1924, withdrawing from all involvement in politics to concentrate on the writing of Mein Kampf the völkisch movement descended into squabbling factionalism and internecine strife. By courtesy of Bavarian justice, Hitler had been allowed to use the court-room to portray himself as the hero of the Right for his role in the putsch. Competing individuals and groups felt compelled to assert Hitler’s authority and backing for their actions. But in Hitler’s absence, this was insufficient in itself to ensure success.3 Moreover, Hitler was often inconsistent, contradictory, or unclear in his views on developments. His claim to a leadership position could not be ignored, and was not disputed. Any claim to an exclusive leadership position was, however, upheld only by a minority in the völkisch movement. And as long as Hitler was in no position directly to influence developments, the narrow core of his fervent devotees was largely marginalized even within the broad völkisch Right, often at war with each other, and split on tactics, strategy, and ideology. By the time of his release in December 1924, the Reichstag elections of that month had reflected the catastrophic decline of support for the völkisch movement, which had come to form little more than a group of disunited nationalist and racist sects on the extreme fringe of the political spectrum.
Just before his arrest on 11 November 1923, Hitler had placed Alfred Rosenberg, editor of the Völkischer Beobachter, in charge of the banned party during his absence, to be supported by Esser, Streicher, and Amann.4 Like a number of leading Nazis (including Heß, Scheubner-Richter, and Hitler himself), Rosenberg’s origins did not lie within the boundaries of the German Reich. Born into a well-off bourgeois family in Reval (now Tallinn), Estonia, the introverted self-styled party ‘philosopher’, dogmatic but dull, arrogant and cold, one of the least charismatic and least popular of Nazi leaders, united other party bigwigs only in their intense dislike of him.5 Distinctly lacking in leadership qualities, he was scarcely an obvious choice, and was as surprised as others were by Hitler’s nomination.6 Possibly, as is usually surmised, it was precisely Rosenberg’s lack of leadership ability that commended itself to Hitler.7 Certainly, a less likely rival to Hitler could scarcely be imagined. But this would presume that Hitler, in the traumatic aftermath of the failed putsch, was capable of lucid, machiavellian planning, that he anticipated what would happen and actually wanted and expected his movement to fall apart in his absence.8 A more likely explanation is that he made a hasty and ill-conceived decision, under pressure and in a depressed frame of mind, to entrust the party’s affairs to a member of his Munich coterie whose loyalty was beyond question. Rosenberg was, in fact, one of the few leading figures in the Movement still available.9 Scheubner-Richter was dead. Others had scattered in the post-putsch turmoil, or had been arrested. Even – though Hitler could scarcely have known this – the three trusted lieutenants he had designated to support Rosenberg were temporarily out of action. Esser had fled to Austria, Amann was in jail, and Streicher was preoccupied with matters in Nuremberg. Rosenberg was probably no more than a hastily chosen least bad option.
Whatever the reasoning, Rosenberg soon found that his writ did not run: simply calling on Hitler’s authority did not help. One immediate sign was the insistence of the acting head of the now illegal SA, Major Walter Buch, that the organization of the Storm Section, while retaining its loyalty to Hitler, would not be subjected to the party’s leadership and would keep out of party-political conflict.10 This was the direct opposite of Hitler’s instructions, that the SA would be subordinated to the party.11 Rosenberg also found in any case that there was no party organization to speak of. The haphazard way in which the party had developed before the putsch had left it unprepared for illegality. Close coordination even of groups in southern Bavaria was now impossible. Rosenberg devised the code-name ‘Rolf Eidhalt’ – ‘Keep the Oath’ – as an anagram of ‘Adolf Hitler’, and used it in letters passed on by courier.12 Camouflage organizations – hiking clubs and the like – were established. Local party groups were sent copies of postcards carrying a picture of Hitler which, they were told, had to be sold in millions ‘as a symbol of our Leader’, since ‘the name of Adolf Hitler must always be kept alive for the German people’.13 Successor newspapers to the banned Völkischer Beobachter attempted to keep the flame alight among Nazi followers. Hitler himself contributed articles and drawings to one clandestine production smuggled out of Landsberg.14 Whatever the difficulties of communication at first, any cloak-and-dagger activity was soon shown to be unnecessary. The authorities proved willing to permit the creation of obvious successor organizations to the banned NSDAP.15
On 1 January 1924, Rosenberg founded the Großdeutsche Volksgemeinschaft (GVG, ‘Greater German National Community’), intended to serve, during the NSDAP’s ban, as its successor organization.16 By the summer, Rosenberg had been ousted and the GVG had fallen under the control of Hermann Esser (returned in May from his exile in Austria) and Julius Streicher.17 But the coarse personalities, insulting behaviour and clumsy methods of Esser and Streicher merely succeeded in alienating many Hitler followers. Far from all Hitler loyalists, in any case, had joined the GVG. Gregor Strasser, for example, a Landshut apothecary who was to emerge in the post-putsch era as the leading figure in the party after Hitler, joined the Deutschvölkische Freiheitspartei (DVFΡ), a rival völkisch organization headed by Albrecht Graefe, formerly a member of the conservative DNVP, with its stronghold in Mecklenburg and its headquarters in Berlin.
Graefe and two other dissidents from the DNVP, Reinhold Wulle and Wilhelm Henning, all members of the Reichstag with good connections to former officers and businessmen, had formed the DVFP in Berlin in the late autumn of 1922, wanting a more radical völkisch line than that offered by the DNVP. Hitler had been forced to a temporary agreement with Graefe in March 1923, allowing the DVFP dominance in northern Germany, with the south retained for the NSDAP. A further agreement, reaffirming that of March and recommending close cooperation between the two parties, had been signed by Hermann Esser on 24 October 1923. It was subsequently claimed by Rosenberg and others that Esser had acted without Hitler’s knowledge, and that the latter had not disowned the pact only to save Esser’s face. But since Hitler had agreed to the March arrangement, and since it is scarcely probable that Esser could or would have taken such a step without his approval, this is unlikely.18
The agreement had not caused any conflict before the putsch, and, in fact, Graefe had taken part in the march to the Feldherrnhalle on 9 November. But conflict was not long deferred once Hitler was in prison. The DVFP had been less affected by proscription than had the NSDAP. In contrast to the disarray within the Hitler Movement, Graefe and the other DVFP leaders were still at liberty to control a party organization left largely in place. And though the DVFP leaders lauded Hitler’s actions in the putsch in an attempt to win over his supporters, they were actually keen to take advantage of the situation and to establish their own supremacy. That the DVFP leaders advocated electoral participation by the völkisch movement added to the growing conflict. A move towards a parliamentary strategy alienated many Nazis, and was vehemently opposed by NSDAP diehards in northern Germany. Their spokesman, Ludolf Haase, the leader of the Göttingen branch, was increasingly critical of Rosenberg’s authority, and above all keen to keep the north German NSDAP from the clutches of Graefe. Rosenberg’s position was still further undermined when a draft agreement with Graefe, allowing for unified party organization and
combined leadership, which the acting Nazi leader had turned down at a secret meeting in Salzburg at the end of January, was then accepted after all, at Ludendorff’s insistence, on 24 February. This was with Hitler’s express permission (though stipulation that the agreement should last for only six months). It was a further sign of how little clear and unequivocal guidance those left trying to run a party banned and in disarray were given by their imprisoned leader. Immediately after this, on the day before the trial of the putschists began, Ludendorff publicly recommended support for Graefe as his representative in north Germany, thereby lending his prestige to the DVFP and at the same time tacitly claiming leadership of the völkisch movement.19
Those völkisch groups that were prepared, however reluctantly, to enter parliament in order to be in a position one day to destroy it, decided to enter into electoral alliances to allow them to contest the series of regional (Landtag) elections that began in February, and the Reichstag election – the first of two that year – on 4 May 1924. Hitler was opposed to this strategy. As Rudolf Heß, on Hitler’s behalf, was still explaining over a year later: ‘Herr H. was against participating in the elections from the first moment onwards, and said this clearly and plainly to a number of gentlemen, including His Excellency L[udendorff]. He was convinced that the Movement was not mature enough, that we also had to stay true to our principle of anti-parliamentarism, and that money was only squandered pointlessly.’20 Hitler’s opposition made no difference. The decision to participate went ahead. It seemed to be borne out by the results. In the February Landtag elections in Mecklenburg-Schwerin, Graefe’s stronghold, the DVFP won thirteen out of sixty-four seats. And on 6 April in the Bavarian Landtag elections, the Völkischer Block, as the electoral alliance called itself there, won 17 per cent of the vote.21
Even after these results, Hitler was still letting it be known that he opposed the activities of the Völkischer Block in the forthcoming Reichstag elections. Yet at the very same time he allowed his name to go over an electoral proclamation of the Block. And soon after the election, he told Kurt Lüdecke that policy would have to change, and that ‘we shall have to hold our noses and enter the Reichstag against the Catholic and Marxist deputies’.22 How he viewed this was made plain a year or so later by Rudolf Heß, replying for Hitler to a letter from a party member: ‘Herr Hitler is of the view that, after parliament was entered against his will, participation in parliament has to be seen as one of many methods of combating the present system, including parliamentarism. But participation should not be “positive cooperation”, as was unfortunately carried out by the völkisch parliamentarists with very little success, but only be through the fiercest opposition and obstruction, through constant criticism of the existing system in parliament. Parliament, or better still parliamentarism, should be taken to absurdity in parliament.’23
The Reichstag election results had, it seems, helped persuade Hitler that the parliamentary tactic, pragmatically and purposefully deployed, promised to pay dividends. The völkisch vote, bolstered by the publicity and outcome of the Hitler trial, had stood up well, with a result of 6.5 per cent and thirty-two seats in the Reichstag.24 The results in Graefe’s territory of Mecklenburg (20.8 per cent) and Bavaria (16 per cent) were particularly good.25 That only ten of the völkisch Reichstag members were from the NSDAP and twenty-two from the DVFP gave some indication, however, of the relative weakness of the remnants of the Hitler Movement at the time.26
In the first of two visits he paid to Landsberg in May, Ludendorff, whose contacts in north Germany were extensive despite his continued residence near Munich, seized the moment to try to persuade Hitler to agree to a merger of the NSDAP and DVFP fractions in the Reichstag, and in the second meeting even to full unity of the two parties. Hitler equivocated. He agreed in principle, but stipulated preconditions that needed to be discussed with Graefe. One of these, it transpired, was that the headquarters of the movement would be based in Munich.27 The meeting with Graefe did not take place, however, before the Reichstag deputies of the two parties came together in Berlin on 24 May and agreed to merge for parliamentary purposes under the name of the National Socialist Freedom Party (Nationalsozialistische Freiheitspartei, NSFP). Ludendorff compromised Hitler’s position by announcing in a press release that the latter supported the creation of a single, unified party. Hitler was in difficulties because, though he had always insisted on a separate and unique identity for the NSDAP, there was the danger, following the electoral success of the Völkischer Block, that such an uncompromising stance would seem less than compelling to his supporters. Moreover, the DVFP was the stronger of the two parties, as the election had shown, and Ludendorff was now generally regarded as the leading figure in the völkisch movement.28
Hitler’s weakness, reflected in his habit of telling people what they wanted to hear, was revealed in a hastily arranged visit to Landsberg by a four-man north German Nazi delegation, led by Haase, at the end of May. Hitler insisted that the agreement with the DVFΡ of 24 February had been presented to him as a fait accompli, that he had opposed electoral participation but had been unable to prevent it, and that unity with the DVFP went no further than the combining of the Reichstag fractions.29 Ludendorff immediately cast doubt on Hitler’s sincerity in a published statement on 11 June flatly contradicting such a version, and stressing Hitler’s acceptance of the need for a merger.30 However, the result of the visit by Haase’s delegation was the establishment on 3 June 1924 in Hamburg by the north German Hitler loyalists of a ‘Directorate’ under the leadership of Dr Adalbert Volck, a lawyer based in Lüneburg whose embracing of the völkisch movement was strongly coloured by his Baltic origins.31 The Directorate totally rejected any notion of a merger with the DVFP which, it felt, would lead to it being sucked into ‘parliamentarism’ and becoming a party like others. Consequently, the Directorate aimed to be a tightly knit, centrally controlled organization, loyal to Hitler and holding to his principles until he could be released to take up the reins again.32
Even so, some north German Nazis were, not surprisingly, confused and uncertain about Hitler’s position regarding any merger. In a letter of 14 June, Haase sought confirmation that Hitler rejected a merger of the two parties. Replying two days later, Hitler denied that he had fundamentally rejected a merger, though he had stipulated preconditions for such a step. He acknowledged the opposition among many Nazi loyalists to a merger with the DVFP, which, he also pointed out, had made plain its rejection of some of the old guard of the party. Under the circumstances, he went on, he could no longer intervene or accept responsibility. He had decided, therefore, to withdraw from politics until he could properly lead again. He refused henceforth to allow his name to be used in support of any political position, and asked for no further political letters to be sent to him.33 A week later, Hermann Fobke, a young Nazi from the Göttingen area, imprisoned with Hitler in Landsberg and acting as his general factotum and go-between with the north German faction, tried to assuage Haase by assuring him of Hitler’s support for the opposition of the north German National Socialists to the DVFP. ‘All in all,’ Fobke summed up, ‘H[itler] thinks things have gone so hopelessly off the rails that he is in no doubt that he will have to begin completely afresh when he is free. But in such a case, he is very optimistic and of the view that he will have firm control again within a few days.’ Fobke could not resist, however, pointing out his own disappointment at Hitler’s indifference to the ‘cries of distress’ of the north German NSDAP.34
Hitler announced his decision to withdraw from politics in the press on 7 July. He requested no further visits to Landsberg by his supporters, a request he felt compelled to repeat a month later. The press announcement gave as his reasons the impossibility of accepting practical responsibility for developments while he was in Landsberg, ‘general overwork’, and the need to concentrate on the writing of his book (the first volume of Mein Kampf).35 A not insignificant additional factor, as the opposition press emphasized, was Hitler’s anxiety to
do nothing to jeopardize his chances of parole, which could be granted from 1 October.36 The occasion for his decision was Ludendorff’s press statement on 11 June which had embarrassed and angered Hitler by claiming, despite the latter’s caution and equivocation, that he openly supported the merger of the two parties.37 Fobke told Haase on 23 June that the decision to withdraw from politics had been ‘born out of the anger over this statement’.38 However, the dominant reason was doubtless the one he had given Haase: his impotence at controlling developments from within Landsberg. The Ludendorff press release had simply been the last indication of this impotence. His withdrawal was not a machiavellian strategem to exacerbate the split that was already taking place, increase confusion, and thereby bolster his image as a symbol of unity.39 This was the outcome, not the cause. In June 1924, the outcome could not be clearly foreseen. Hitler acted from weakness, not strength. He was being pressed from all sides to take a stance on the growing schism. His equivocation frustrated his supporters. But any clear stance would have alienated one side or the other. His decision not to decide was characteristic. ‘Hitler habitually rationalizes his choices,’ commented Lüdecke. ‘He was prepared to risk everything rather than delegate a portion of his personal authority while he remained confined.’40
Hitler’s frustration was also increased by his inability, despite his outright disapproval, to curtail Röhm’s determination to build up a nationwide paramilitary organization called the Frontbann. This was intended to absorb and unify other existing paramilitary leagues of the völkisch movement, including the SA and the other banned units of the former Kampfbund, and to be placed under the military leadership of Ludendorff. Hitler was allergic to the inevitable loss of control over the SA which would certainly follow and concerned to avoid his own dependence, as before the putsch, on leaders of paramilitary organizations. Above all, he was anxious that what might be seen as his renewed involvement in paramilitary politics would hinder his chances of early parole and encourage moves to deport him back to Austria. Unable to deter Röhm – already freed on 1 April, bound over on probation, his derisory fifteen-month prison sentence for his part in the putsch set aside on condition of good behaviour – Hitler ended their last meeting before he left Landsberg, on 17 June, by telling him that, having laid down the leadership of the National Socialist Movement, he wished to hear no more about the Frontbann. Röhm nevertheless simply ignored Hitler and pressed on with his plans, looking to Ludendorff for patronage and protection.41