The Trial of Adolf Hitler

This is not the type of trial that takes place every week in the People’s Court.

—ALFRED HOLL, TO WHICH THE JUDGE REPLIED, “THANK GOD!”

In Berlin, the British ambassador, Edgar Vincent Viscount D’Abernon, sat down for a chat with Gustav Stresemann, the former chancellor who had recently been named Germany’s foreign minister. Talk turned quickly to the trial of Hitler.

Stresemann had been struck by the many “revelations” emerging from Munich. Clearly, the danger to Germany and Europe had been “infinitely greater than the general public realized.” The British ambassador recorded in his diary:

[Stresemann] himself had always known that Germany had been within an ace of a serious and successful ‘putsch’ from the Right, but official circles in Berlin had hitherto underrated the danger the country had gone through.

Kahr’s plots against the republic, Stresemann realized, had been “not less subversive.” Hitler’s hasty move had derailed their efforts.

Many diplomats in Munich were also following the sensational trial. The minister of Württemberg, Carl Moser von Filseck, when he attended a session in early March, had been repulsed when the defendants entered the courtroom, laughing, chatting, and greeting one another and the public. There was no attempt to chasten them. The atmosphere was riotous, and their arguments reckless. His colleague Robert Murphy at the US embassy would later sum up their stance as “insolent bravado.”

On Monday, March 17, Hitler’s trial appeared on the cover of Munich’s satire magazine, Simplicissimus. The “Red Dog,” as it was nicknamed, depicted a dainty Hitler, nose in the air, straining with torch in hand to set a government building ablaze. He sits on the shoulders of General von Lossow, who, in turn, balances on the back of Gustav von Kahr. The latter, at the same time, calls for the police. In the distance, a shooting star rises in the sky. It is in the shape of a swastika.

That morning, the proceedings entered its fourth week. Hitler’s advocate, Lorenz Roder, opened by lodging a complaint against someone rumored to be writing a book on the trial. This author was said to be collaborating with a military official, who was bartering information he gained from the secret sessions in return for a daily payment and a portion of the book’s profits. The plan was to expose the inside story of the Hitler trial.

Roder found this story credible, given the high public interest and the amount of sensitive material that had already been leaked to the press. Neithardt agreed to investigate. As the suspected informant, Col. Joseph Schraudenbach, was present that morning, the courtroom was treated to the spectacle of the presiding judge questioning a man pulled from the audience.

Schraudenbach admitted at once that he had placed an advertisement in the newspaper offering his services as a writer and photographer for any book project about the trial. He made no attempt to deny the claims that Roder made, except for one: He swore that he would never divulge any classified information.

As for the notes he had taken during closed sessions, Schraudenbach explained that this was to ensure the accuracy of his account. Not a word, he promised, would be published. To avoid an inadvertent mistake, he had enclosed all this sensitive material in parentheses. Roder accepted the explanation, as did Neithardt. The colonel was allowed to continue his collaboration, though he would soon pull out from the venture as a result of a contractual dispute.

Public opinion in Munich strongly favored Hitler and the defendants. The Bavarian leaders were regarded as the real traitors in this trial of patriotism, and, as the correspondent for Le Temps noted, they no longer dared to appear in public. Rumors circulated that General von Lossow had received more challenges to duels than he could ever fight. Time magazine noted that one of the challengers was believed to be the defendant Lieutenant Colonel Kriebel.

During this day’s long session, Roder made a dramatic move. To support his position that Kahr’s plan was no metaphoric or hypothetical enterprise, he motioned to call four new witnesses: the president of Germany, Friedrich Ebert; Foreign Minister Gustav Stresemann; the head of the military, General von Seeckt; and the minister of defense, Dr. Otto Gessler. There was no way the presiding judge was going to comply with this request, but several journalists ran with it. Roder’s flamboyant antics made headlines around Germany and the world.

So did the blatant disregard for the German constitution that afternoon. One witness, Eberhardt Kautter, a high-profile adviser to Kahr, opened his testimony by asking permission to make a statement. He then outlined the historical background of the putsch in a way that served largely to justify the acts of both Kahr and Hitler. There was no objection, either, when he described the Weimar constitution as “the gag on the will of the people.”

In the afternoon session, Hitler’s bodyguard, Ulrich Graf, took the stand. This was the first time he had seen Hitler since the beer hall putsch, when he had possibly saved his life. For weeks afterward, Graf had remained in the hospital, and, as he put it in his unpublished memoir, hovered between life and death. He was also depressed: Hitler was in prison, the Nazi Party appeared to be “smashed,” and his life savings had been wiped out by the hyperinflation. “Difficult days,” he said.

The bodyguard covered familiar ground on the storming of the beer hall, but then he added some little-known details about the talks in the back room. The questioning was, as Berliner Volks-Zeitung put it, “quite interesting.” Although he had not been able to hear the entire conversation, Graf testified that he had witnessed enough to believe that Lossow and Seisser had come to an understanding with Hitler even before Ludendorff had entered the room.

This impression of solidarity was strengthened, he added, when he watched the defendant Dr. Weber give a cigarette to Colonel Seisser, prompting General von Lossow to ask for one as well.

“Was the meeting that cheerful?” Neithardt asked.

Yes, Graf said, adding that the mood was quite different from the one described in the newspapers. What’s more, Hitler’s success with the triumvirate had been easier than he had expected. They didn’t really have to drink that much, he remembered thinking.

As for the march into the city center, defense attorney Christoph Schramm wanted to know if the witness had informed the state police troops at the Odeonsplatz that Ludendorff was with them.

Yes, Graf said, describing how he had shouted out, “This is Ludendorff! Do you want to fire on your general?” At this point, the shots had come. From behind he had still heard the marchers singing “Deutschland über Alles.”

Perhaps the police had not been able to hear him amid the noise and confusion?

Impossible, Graf said. “I did not just shout it—I roared it.”

The questioning continued without a major revelation until Hitler spoke up in favor of his bodyguard and called him “a most upright, loyal, and sincere man.” Graf would, Hitler added, “allow himself, at any time, to be shot dead for me.” He nearly had been. Graf’s young daughter Gretl was still nursing him back to health, and the witness left the courtroom, overjoyed by this praise.

The day would wind down with a discussion over whether to call the remaining witnesses. The presiding judge was trying to conclude the testimony as soon as possible. The prosecution, on the other hand, wanted to summon at least one more witness, and the defense had its own list. All this only threatened to cause the trial to descend into a labyrinth of testimony and counter-testimony. The judge recessed the court at 5:12 that evening, promising to announce his decision soon.