Hans’s head jerked up and his whole body stiffened. A huge, collective gasp from the crowd seemed to suck the air out of the room. Hans was gaping at the Führer in utter disbelief. Had he gone mad?
Adolf raised his voice and thundered over the noise. “People, do you understand what this means? This means that Bavaria is no longer beholden to the November criminals in Berlin. We are free, and tomorrow we march on our capital to throw the bums out!”
People started to clap and cheer.
“Before week’s end we shall have torn the Versailles Treaty into shreds,” Adolf roared.
At that, the crowd roared back at him. In one massive, simultaneous response, people shot to their feet, screaming and shouting and cheering and pounding each other on the backs.
Adolf leaned closer to the microphone and bellowed into it. “On this very day, a new Germany is born! On this very day, we restore what was taken away then.” He shouted out each word as he punched a fist in the air to emphasize each one. “Greatness! Freedom! Pride!”
The sound was deafening. The whole building rumbled as three thousand people stomped their feet on the wooden planking. Many were on their feet. Then, suddenly, someone started singing “Deutschland über Alles.” Almost instantly, the hall was filled with a grand chorus.
Germany, Germany over all,
Over everything in the world!
Hans was on his feet too, singing at the top of his voice. Chills were shooting up and down his body from the electricity of the moment. Hitler turned and looked at him. He was euphoric, more ecstatic than Hans had ever seen him before. And why not? Hans could scarcely take in what had just happened.
When it comes to protecting and defending,
Our unity unites us.
Germany, Germany over all,
Over everything in the world.
As they finished the first stanza, Adolf turned, bent down, and hissed into Hans’s ear. “Where in the name of Hades is General Ludendorff? Find Goering. Find the general. We have to have Ludendorff!” Adolf moved back to the microphone and raised his hands high. Though a few started to sing the next verse, they quickly let it die. And then, ever the master orator, Adolf went after the ones who were still looking angry, still not sure, still not with him.
“Friends, neighbors, my fellow countrymen. I am deeply pleased to announce to you that our beloved Field Marshal Erich von Ludendorff, the hero of the Great War, will take command of the new German National Army, and that—”
But the end of his sentence was drowned out by a mighty shout of approval that shook the rafters. Now almost everyone was standing, and the very building seemed to shake.
Hans swore to himself. Yes, where was Ludendorff? Max von Scheubner-Richter had promised he would bring him. Hans looked around the hall wildly, searching for either of them. With the people on their feet, he couldn’t see clearly, but he saw neither Scheubner-Richter nor Ludendorff.
And then, as if Adolf had choreographed it himself, the roar deepened. As one, the crowd turned to look toward the back doors. Hans was on his feet now too. And then he saw it. A phalanx of four uniformed stormtroopers was pushing the crowd aside. Behind them was Max von Scheubner-Richter. And behind him, in full dress uniform, his chest spangled with medals, his helmet tucked under one arm, looking as imperious and regal as a Russian emperor, Field Marshal Erich Friedrich Wilhelm Ludendorff came down the aisle, looking neither to the right nor the left.
Scarcely believing his eyes, Hans grabbed the microphone. “Make way for General Ludendorff. It’s General Ludendorff. Make way! Make way!”
The change in the hall was immediate and almost miraculous. The shouting gave way to what was almost a reverential awe. “It’s him!” a woman cried. “It’s Ludendorff.” And the way seemed to open magically for him as people stepped back. Some reached out to touch his uniform, as if he were a holy man.
Max broke through the escort and came running up to Hans. “Sorry. At first he said it was too late for him to go out and—”
Hans grabbed him and shook him until his cap nearly fell off. “It doesn’t matter, Max! You’re here. Your timing is perfect.” Hans laughed in delight. “No, not perfect. Miraculous!”
Adolf was to them. He grasped Hans by the shoulders. “Go back to the room! Tell those three idiots that what they are hearing is the crowd’s reaction to their proposal to join hands in the revolution.”
“Their proposal? But . . . ?” Hans was staring at his friend in disbelief.
“Of course.” Adolf grinned. He gave Hans a little shove. “Tell them that Ludendorff is coming to congratulate them. Tell them that if they don’t join us now, these people are going to tear them apart, limb from limb.”
Chapter Notes
The Bürgerbräukeller was an important part of the Munich social scene for almost a hundred years. In 1980, the site was redeveloped into a civic cultural center. Shirer gives a very detailed account of what came to be known as the Beer Hall Putsch, which took place in Munich on November 8, 1923. He describes the events that led up to it and the events that pushed Hitler into his decision to seize power from the Bavarian government. It was an incredible achievement, for initially, it looked like the coup was doomed to failure. Then Hitler brazenly left the three leaders in the back room and announced to the crowd that they had agreed to join the revolt. Then almost miraculously, General Ludendorff was brought in at that moment, and his presence was all it took to finally convince the crowd this putsch was really happening. Hitler then sent people back to tell the stubborn triumvirate that the roars of the crowd were their sign that they had accepted the revolution. Once again, Hitler’s incredible boldness and his uncanny sense of timing saved them from disaster (see Shirer, Rise and Fall, 62–79; a few additional details are found in http://spartacus-educational.com/Max_Scheubner-Richter.htm).
We, of course, do not have a transcript of what was said in that back room, but Adolf did attempt to persuade the government leaders to join the rebellion first, and they refused. I added the quote from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, knowing that Hitler did admire Shakespeare’s writings.
November 8, 1923, 11:17 p.m.—Eckhardt Dairy Farm, Graswang Village, Garmisch-Partenkirchen District, Bavaria
“Is anyone else awake?”
Emilee leaned over and peeked around the kitchen door into the hall just to make sure. “No,” she answered softly. “I left my door open hoping against hope that you would call. And I wasn’t asleep, so I caught it on the first ring. Oh, Hans, I’m so happy that you called tonight. We’ve all been worried sick about you. The papers here say that a coup is imminent. And that there will be rioting in the streets by morning.”
“Don’t believe everything you read in the papers, Emilee. In the first place, it wasn’t a coup. The Führer convinced the three leaders of our current state government to join with the Kampfbund in declaring our independence from Berlin and the hated Weimar Government and—”
“What is the Kampfbund again?”
“That’s the alliance we made with other political parties a few weeks back. We joined together in the common cause and committed to pooling each of our paramilitary forces into one unified fighting force.”
“And Adolf is the leader of that alliance?”
“Not technically. There were three leaders appointed, and the other two are here tonight, but there’s no question about who’s actually leading.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“So anyway, we stormed into the hall where Kahr was speaking, and Hitler announced the revolution. At first, the people were angry, because they thought we were trying to overthrow the Bavarian leadership, but once they knew that their leaders supported it, they were celebrating as if it were twenty national holidays rolled into one.”
“But you said the leaders weren’t cooperative with you. Not at first.”
“That’s right, and that was wha
t was so amazing. They weren’t even talking to Adolf, even when he threatened to shoot them. So Adolf went out to the crowd and boldly announced that the leaders had agreed to set up a new government. I nearly fell off my chair. No one had agreed to anything. I thought Adolf had lost his mind. But it was brilliant, Emilee! I mean, absolutely brilliant. When the three leaders heard the crowd go wild, they thought it was because the people supported the revolution. So when Ludendorff came in and talked to them, they were persuaded to throw in their lot with us. They actually went back out with Adolf and the general and gave brief speeches supporting our actions. It was a glorious moment.”
“Amazing!”
Hans chuckled. “Ludendorff is not very happy, though. His understanding was that if he supported the revolution, he would be appointed Chancellor of the new Reich. When he found out that Adolf was taking that office for himself and was only offering Ludendorff command of the national army, he was furious. He barely spoke to Adolf the whole time we were in the room. But that didn’t bother Adolf. Ludendorff gave legitimacy to the revolution. It was a huge turning point for us.”
“So it’s over?” Emilee asked quietly. “Tell me that it’s over, Hans. When can you come back here? Your mother is very anxious too.”
“I’m not sure. No, it’s not completely over. There are still lots of details that have to be worked out tomorrow. I’ll try to call again tomorrow night. Hopefully, we’ll have a better idea by then. How are the girls?”
“They’re wonderful. They love being on the farm. They love being with their cousins and especially with your mother. But they miss their daddy.”
“And I miss them. How is Mama holding up?”
“It’s been hard. She really misses your father, as we all do. But she’s a strong woman.”
“I know. And how are you doing?”
“I love it down here too, Hans. I’m so glad I’m not in Munich all alone. Even Paula stayed down, what with all the turmoil going on. But I do miss you.”
“And I you.”
Over the phone, Emilee heard what sounded like a door opening. Hans grunted. “Emilee, I have to go. They need me for something.”
“All right. Call me tomorrow, Schatzi. I love you.”
But Hans had already hung up.
Emilee stared at the phone for a moment and then returned it to its cradle. She sat there for almost a full minute taking in all that Hans had said. Finally, with a heart filled with both gratitude and anxiety, she dropped to her knees and began to pray.
11:41 p.m.—Bürgerbräukeller, Munich
Hans hung up the phone and swung around as Max von Scheubner-Richter rushed up to him. “Hans, come quickly.” He spun around and started back down the hall toward the main part of the building.
Hans moved up beside him. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re gone.”
“Who’s gone?”
“All of them. Kahr, Seisser, Lossow.”
Hans stopped mid stride, grabbing his companion’s arm. “What? That can’t be!”
“Well, it is,” Max snapped. “We’ve lost them.”
“But . . . how? You and the Führer were with them when I left.”
“Yeah,” he said angrily. “And so were Goering and General Ludendorff and Rudolf Hess and Ulrich Graf. And then, as things settled down a little, the Führer started sending us all out on different errands.”
“Yeah,” Hans replied, still reeling. “He asked me and Emil to have our troopers check the crowds as they left the hall. Make sure that no VIPs were getting away. And we did snag several cabinet members and put them in temporary custody. But the Führer said that we couldn’t leave those three alone. You heard him say that.”
Max jerked free of Hans’s grasp. “Don’t tell me, Hans,” he snorted. “I know what he said. Then Roehm called.”
“Roehm? Was he in trouble? Did he occupy the War Ministry?”
“Yes. His troops are holding the building, but nearby, some of the stormtroopers from the Bund Oberland group had clashed with regular army troops at the army engineers’ barracks. They were in a standoff of some kind and called for help. Roehm didn’t dare leave the Ministry to solve it, so he asked the Führer what to do.”
“But—” Hans’s head was whirling. “We were told that the regular army would stay out of it.”
“Yeah,” Max cried in disgust. “Well, someone forgot to tell the army that. Anyway, as you can imagine, the Führer was greatly alarmed at that news. Keeping the army out of this is essential if we are to convince General von Lossow that resistance will be fruitless.”
Hans felt like swearing. “And so Adolf decided to drive over and resolve it himself.”
They had reached the door to the room, but Max didn’t open it. “Why shouldn’t he?” he asked bitterly. “Look what he pulled off tonight. He snatched victory from the very jaws of defeat. You saw how he was. He was in a state of pure euphoria. Like he had shot up on heroin or something. I tried to get him to let one of us go—you and me, or you and me and Hess. Anyone else. But he said that only he could do it. So he put General Ludendorff and me in charge of the prisoners and left with Ulrich.”
Hans was rubbing at his temples. Oh, Adolf! He closed his eyes. Adolf! Adolf! Adolf!
Max reached out and gripped the knob but still didn’t open the door. “He had barely driven away when suddenly General von Lossow stood up and started toward the door. I leaped up, pulling my pistol and pointing it at him. I told him to stop. He totally ignored me but turned to Ludendorff. ‘General,’ he said, ‘I am the supreme commander of the Bavarian Reichswehr, and my troops are engaged. I must leave for army headquarters immediately to give the necessary orders to the army.’”
Max’s face was ashen. “And to my utter astonishment, Ludendorff looked like he was about to agree. I was dumbfounded. ‘General!’ I cried. ‘He’s lying. He just wants to escape.’”
“Oh, no,” Hans groaned. “You accused an army general of lying?”
“Yeah. I mean, he was lying, Hans. I knew it, and he knew that I knew it. Lossow had this smirk on his face. But what did that old fool do? Stop Lossow from leaving? No, he swung on me in a rage. ‘How dare you question the motives of a German officer?’ He was screaming it, his face just inches from mine. ‘The general is an officer and a gentleman, and I forbid you to criticize him.’”
Hans felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach. An officer and a gentleman. Oh, how they loved to think of themselves in that way. Then he remembered something else. “It was more than calling him a liar, Max. You pulled your pistol on him. In the Army Officers’ Corps, it is a long-standing tradition—or rule, I guess is a better word—that if a civilian or an enlisted man ever points a weapon at a commissioned officer, it is a most grievous insult. Any other officers standing nearby are fully expected to strike the offender down with their pistol butts. It is the only way for the officer to regain his so-called honor.”
Max was staring at him. “No wonder,” he whispered. “Ludendorff was almost incoherent, he was so angry with me. I thought he was going to strike me. Finally, he turned to Lossow and told him he was free to go. With a smirk that made me want to smash his face in, Lossow darted out the door and disappeared.
“I was shocked into immobility for a moment, but then I started after him, warning him to stop. He did, because I really meant to shoot him. But then Ludendorff came out into the hall too. He was screaming at me to lower my pistol. His pistol was pointed right at my head. What could I do? He would have shot me if I hadn’t stopped. So I lowered my pistol and just stood there as Lossow raced down the hall and out a side door.”
He finally met Hans’s gaze. “I decided that I had to call the Führer and tell him, so I pushed past Ludendorff and came back into the room to make the call. Care to guess what I found?”
There was no need to guess. Hans had already seen it c
oming. “The other two were gone too.”
“Yeah. While Ludendorff was flaying the skin off of my behind, Seisser and Kahr just got up and walked out another door.”
Hans could only shake his head. “What was Adolf thinking? You’ve just solved a major crisis, and then you run off to put out some piddling little brushfire? How stupid can you be?”
Max gasped. Which only made Hans angrier. “Well, it was stupid. The key to our whole strategy depended on getting those three to cooperate with us, Max. And he goes off and leaves you and a senile old general in charge?” He swore and motioned for Max to open the door. “So, have you called him?”
“We’re trying to reach him. He’s not answering the phone.”
Why should he? He was magnificent tonight. So magnificent that he turned stupid. But this time Hans kept his words to himself. “We’ve got to get him. This is disastrous.”
Max entered the room and then stopped dead as he looked around. Hans nearly bumped into him. Max’s shoulders slumped. “So Ludendorff’s gone too.”
Who cares? Good riddance. But again, all he said to Max was, “Wait here. I’m going to send someone to find him.”
November 9, 1923, 12:49 a.m.
Leaving Max to mope in his despair, Hans went back into the hall. He had to find Goering or Hess. He peeked into the grand hall. It was almost empty, and he saw neither of them. He stopped for a moment, trying to think where he had last seen them, but then his head whipped around as he heard the main outside doors to the beer hall creak open. The sound was followed immediately by laughter and the heavy clunking of numerous boots on the wood floor. Suddenly, the doors to the hall were thrown open. Adolf was the first through the door, laughing and talking animatedly to the entourage that followed him—Goering, Hess, Maurice, Graf, Rosenberg. One look said it all. None of them had heard.
The Proud Shall Stumble Page 4