Bombing Hitler Read online

  This was a basic tenet of the best resistance fighters, from the military opposition to the Communists: If one of them had to go to the gallows, then he went alone and took no one else with him. Elser developed this tenet out of his own fundamental sense of ethics—he almost certainly never had any contact with resistance movements. His greatest success during the entire ordeal was probably that he was able to convince the Kripo and even the Gestapo of his sole involvement in the commission of the act. Under this regime, which saw in every individual only a puppet manipulated by outside forces, this was an extraordinary accomplishment.

  Elser was probably transferred by the Gestapo to Reich Security Headquarters in Berlin on November 18. Over the next five days—November 19 to 23—he was subjected to a comprehensive interrogation. The record of these sessions needs to be viewed from a particular perspective here, as it shows evidence of Elser’s tenacity in his discussions with the Gestapo commissars, resulting in some successes for him with regard to wording and permitting inferences as to the conditions under which Elser was being interrogated. What Elser actually admitted to will be dealt with at a later point.

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  The center of Nazi terror at Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse 8 lay in ruins after the war and by 1956 had so completely disappeared from the public consciousness that it was simply demolished. The need to forget, forgive, and let the grass grow over things was great. In the days of the SS and the Gestapo, the cellar of the building was supposed to hold only fifty detainees; in reality, the cells were unbearably crowded. Torture and cries of pain at any time of day or night were routine there. The light was kept on in the cells all night. Prisoners slept only for brief stretches because they were constantly awakened and asked their names and the charges against them. Summer and winter, the heating system was turned on full blast—the heat was insufferable. The prisoners were deprived of water to slake their thirst, and hunger tore at their guts. Every day prisoners were screamed at, threatened with death, and told of the suffering of others. They wore tight shackles which chafed and caused serious wounds. In a change of routine, they were sometimes promised a reduction of their sentence if they admitted to one thing or another, then all of a sudden the beatings resumed. They were beaten around the face until their teeth were broken out, or struck on the back with sticks or whips. And then there was the formal four-step torture, which was described by resistance fighter Fabian von Schlabrendorff.

  A record of which tools in this satanic arsenal Elser was forced to suffer under has not been preserved. But he was here because of his attempt on the life of the “dear Führer.” Himmler, head of the SS and the Gestapo and a consummate sadist, wanted to squeeze out of Elser everything regarding his cooperation with the British Secret Service and Otto Strasser. In his case, any and all means were justified.

  It was in this environment that Elser was interrogated between November 19 and November 23, for a total of forty-five hours—nine hours a day, after deducting time for any breaks. The interrogations took place during the day, starting at 8:30 a.m. and ending at 7:00 or 8:00 p.m. On one particularly intensive day with visits from high-level Nazis, the questioning even went on until 11:30 p.m. What happened to Elser at night is not recorded.

  In the printed version of the Stuttgart edition, the record takes up a total of 130 pages. The daily records vary in length, depending on how much resistance was offered by Elser or what kinds of things were going on. On the third day, November 21, many high-level Nazi functionaries were present in order to observe Elser being interrogated. It is also possible that he was brought face-to-face with his mother on this date. The prisoner seemed to be primed for presentation, to the public or even on the weekly news. The next day, the newspapers ran the sensational announcement that the assassin had been captured—hardly a sensation, since he had already been in custody for two weeks.

  Every day the Gestapo people wrung out of Elser between twenty and thirty-one recorded pages. For one page they needed an average of twenty-one minutes; a normal speaker takes three minutes to read a page aloud. From these statistics alone one can glean how steadfast and effective Elser was in his resistance. He could not be rattled; he retracted wording or took back a statement he had just made. The Gestapo didn’t have it easy with him. Elser was anything but chatty; he doggedly stuck to his interrogation strategy. And when there was no other way, he had the ability to simply remain silent. Huber called this “a period of obstinacy.”

  Elser sat across from three Kripo commissars, one of whom was Herbert Kappler, who would later become the notorious police chief of Rome convicted by an Italian court of shooting hostages and imprisoned as a war criminal in the military prison at Gaeta. Even though Elser was completely inexperienced in the police environment, he became intuitively attuned to a rule of thumb Nebe constantly pounded into his friends in the resistance:

  . . . as soon as possible, whether by making a partial confession or declaring remorse, take control of the questioning—so you clumsily admit something that is clearly known or indisputable, dictate the record yourself, make mistakes and then correct yourself, distort the circumstances. But above all, create distractions—one distraction after another until, through their impatience or their curiosity, they perhaps permit some insight into what they wanted to hear or what their interests are, or might be, or were at some point.

  Hitler, who read the records of the interrogations, could sense in them the small victories achieved by Elser. In his headquarters at the Wolf’s Lair, on March 26, 1942, he admitted in a belated compliment that Elser was “very crafty. He says only what has already been learned from other sources.”

  The record of the Berlin interrogations was not taken down first in shorthand, like Elser’s first informal conversation in Munich. There are no notes; here the Gestapo commissar dictated—usually exactly what he wanted to hear. It is not a word-for-word record, with questions and answers; instead, it is a kind of record of results. A stenographer typed what was dictated straight into a typewriter— nothing was corrected. Today one can still sense the pace of the inter-rogation from the many breaks in the halting style of the text.

  It is not until the third day in the record—sometime after he had described his trip to Munich on November 8, 1938—that he remembers going to Oktoberfest once in 1919. This is nothing but a distraction, which just piques the curiosity of the commissars. A bit later, in a supplemental entry, they focus on an outburst by Elser that surely did not take place. The subject is Elser’s free time in Munich and his tours of the city, “always on foot.” He made no acquaintances, he says, except for the errand boy and an unknown official who “accompanied him once.” He prefers not to mention his interest in young women. Now he is asked about the waitresses, who have already mentioned his name. The Gestapo official depicts Elser making an effort at remembering, “Wait, now I remember, I was talking to three serving girls in the Bürgerbräukeller,” then going on to say that he had taken a group photograph of them.

  Immediately there are questions about his camera and who he got it from, even though the Gestapo already knew it was Maria Schmauder. The actual interrogation is riddled with countless supplemental questions, which can be recognized in the text as such only when one looks behind the formulation of the sentences. The record reflects a constant struggle between the prisoner, who is trying to stall for time, and the commissars, who keep pressuring him. An analysis of the text formation would reveal hundreds of these supplemental questions. One sentence is usually the result of cobbling together three, four, or five bits of questioning; thus, what we have here is an artificial record produced by the Gestapo, in which we can nonetheless, with effort and interpretation, hear Elser’s voice.

  The commissars are not able to adapt everything to their language style. We occasionally encounter a Swabian turn of phrase. In reference to his termination of employment at the Wachter woodworking shop in Bernried near Lake Constance, where the master was reluctant to let him go, Elser says in his simple and dire
ct way: “But quarrel we had none on account of that.” Asked why he had given up zither lessons in Konstanz, he responds like the proverbial frugal Swabian: “[...]it was the money.” At two marks, he found the lesson too expensive; his own hourly wage was barely half that. On the crucial third day of the interrogation, when the room was filled at times with voyeurs who wanted to glimpse a real firebrand of an Untermensch, he is asked about his motives for the assassination attempt. He tells them about the dissatisfaction of workers with the regime—a sensitive subject. The Gestapo becomes uncertain when Elser lashes out in Swabian that working people had “‘a real rage’ against the government.” Being made uneasy by the statement and not able to translate it into their jargon, the Gestapo finally resorts to quotation marks.

  Less Gestapo influence is exhibited when Elser is asked about things that fall more within his range of interests—his speech becomes more fluid, almost breezy. Gone are the space-fillers he used when he got stuck, phrases like “if you’re asking,” or “if I recall correctly.” We learn about his interests and his interrogation strategy. He prefers to talk about ordinary things, and is definitely not cut out for political discussions. He speaks most easily when talking about his profession, any technical matters, music, work activities, his “tinkering,” the Waldenmaier Company, acquiring explosives at the Vollmer Quarry in Königsbronn, and the move to Schnaitheim. When expressing political views, he speaks fluidly and extensively only about workers’ economic criticism of the regime—the Gestapo doesn’t have to drag this out of him.

  The interrogations reach their most important point on the third day, November 21, when the topic turns to the preparations for the attack. The Gestapo commissars have clearly gotten used to the assassin—they pay careful attention as his life story unfolds, and little by little their detachment diminishes. Frequently the technical aspects take precedence, as they did during the eyewitness accounts given in the wreckage of the hall or the reports of explosives experts. The ideology, the negative portrayal of the assassin and his actions starts to diminish, and Elser himself can be distinctly heard.

  At first, they put words in his mouth, e.g., “national revolution” for Hitler’s assumption of power—Elser would never have uttered such words. But as soon as the subject turns to the explosive device and its ignition mechanism, more objectivity becomes possible. The Gestapo renders “ignition mechanism” with an awkward Teutonic construction, adding afterward the word Höllenmaschine (Hell’s machine), a term that Elser avoided using.

  But the Gestapo’s language increasingly conforms to that of Elser—an indicator of the effect Elser’s behavior is having on his adversaries. Now we read that Elser “got hold of” powder “for the planned attack”; the forced negative tone is gone. Regarding breaking into Vollmer’s explosives shed, Elser shows his foxiness. Downplaying becomes his motto—he calls each of the burglaries a “visit.” Five times in a row he makes “visits” to the explosives stockpile.

  The influence of both Elser’s cautious manner of speaking and the intense nature of the subject matter continue into the fourth day. What Elser was doing at night in the Bürgerbräukeller was simply “working.” The reprehensible nature of the purpose has disappeared from the language. Hollowing out the pillar is part of the “preparatory work.” Even on the final day of the interrogation, the commissars respectfully use the word “work” in their regular dictation.

  Only later, when the Gestapo commissars consider it necessary to address the technical issues in a “notation,” do they regain their ideological footing: Elser’s “apparatus” is then a Höllenmaschine. But when the interrogation reaches the decisive phase of the preparations and setting the two clocks, the commissars are once again caught up in Elser’s language: He let “matters take their course.” This creates the impression of a just cause, certainly Elser’s view of the matter.

  An opportunity arises for the Gestapo to regain some of their lost detachment when they confront Elser with the eight victims of his attack. In order best to capture the essence of Elser, they change the form of the interrogation from the piecemeal results-oriented style of establishing the record to a question-and-answer type of procedure. They want to soften him up with crocodile tears, but he is unimpressed and maintains the poise he has now cultivated for so long. After five days of interrogation, after extensive beatings, after many a night spent in fear, his demeanor stands out as evidence of his self-confidence and his moral certitude.

  What were his thoughts when he finally closed the door in the pillar? He dodges the question—he can no longer recall. “At the time, what did you think the results of the attack would be?” His answer is noncommittal: “I had already thought that through several times.” They are unable to extract more out of him. “Did you consider that a number of people could be killed?” Elser responds with a provocatively simple “Yes.”

  The Gestapo interrogators seem flustered and have to repeat a question that has already been answered: “Is that what you wanted?” Then the Gestapo makes a mistake that offers Elser the opportunity to state his goal bluntly. “And who were you trying to hit?” Elser: “Well, I wanted to get the leadership.” The policemen, who themselves work under the most dreadful terror apparatus, would like to hear that Elser occasionally had doubts about his actions. Regarding his scruples, they note down that the prisoner thought for a long time. Finally Elser says: “I no longer recall whether or not at some time I had doubts.” Continuing this thought, he states: “But I don’t think I ever had any.”

  The attempt to maneuver Elser into making some statement of regret does not work. The commissar can no longer conceal his annoyance and asks again how Elser feels about his actions in light of his failure and the eight people killed. Elser responds: “I would never do that again”—hardly a grand gesture, considering that he was now in the hands of the police. Now angry, the commissar lashes out pedantically: “That is not an answer to my question.” Elser does not yield—he remains the rational craftsman: “The objective was not achieved.” The Gestapo resorts more and more to moralizing, asking whether the deaths of eight people were of no consequence to him. These men of the Gestapo were the right ones to be asking; however, they still didn’t go as far as the newspapers and use the term “murder.” But then they turn to trickery, asking: “What would you do if, for some reason, you were to be released?”—knowing full well, of course, that such a thing would never happen. Retaining his composure, Elser responds: “I would try to make up for the things I did wrong.” He pauses again, then the commissar probes further: “How? By doing what?”

  It is not until this point that Elser tries to reflect the prevailing ideology—he has simply had enough: “By making the effort to be part of the Volksgemeinschaft (“people’s community,” in Nazi ideology) and to work within it.” Inevitably he is asked whether he could do this. Elser’s response: “I’ve changed my views.” What changed them, they want to know—his arrest? The Gestapo commissars realize how absurd it seems to argue with one who has been defeated. Now Elser works himself up to the final sentence of the entire written record, a self-criticism based on the course of history, a secularized determinism. The Nazis had prated about “Providence”; now Elser states: “No, I definitely believe that my plan would have succeeded if I had had the correct views. After it failed, I became convinced that it was not meant to succeed and that my views were wrong.” Only his views were wrong—perhaps about setting the two clocks? The act itself stands oddly apart—the hatred of Hitler has in no way been recanted. Anyone reading the transcript will find no indication of changed views. Elser seeks to appease with empty words; there is no trace of repentance and contrition.

  For the Gestapo the interrogation was a grim disappointment because Elser refused to invent any instigators. When Himmler read the final report and saw that his expectations had not been fulfilled, he flew into a rage and scrawled in the green ink reserved for him on the red cover of the printed report: “What idiot created this report?�
� The “idiots” were Reichskriminaldirektor Nebe and the leaders of the two subgroups of the Bürgerbräu Special Commission.

  The voyeurism of the Nazi brass on day three of the interrogation led to an unexpected result. A journalist from the DNB agency, from which the press took its reports in lockstep, was so impressed with Elser’s integrity that he erected a written monument to the assassin. In his report on Elser’s guilt, the journalist allowed his impressions to take precedence over his political convictions:

  We have seen this man. He is the murderer; the dead are the victims of his dreadful plan. This is the man whose intended target was the Führer and with him the leadership of the Reich. All of these things we must always bear in mind, for this man does not have the obvious physiognomy of a criminal; rather, he has intelligent eyes and expresses himself in a way that reveals cautious reflection. The hearings go on interminably. He weighs each word carefully and at length before he gives his answer; and when one observes him doing so, one forgets for a moment what a satanic monster this is and what a ghastly burden this conscience is apparently capable of bearing with ease.

  IX

  Cult of Death: The official Ceremony of November 11

  IN ORDER TO understand the assassination attempt not just as an isolated event but in the larger context of the effect it had, one must not ignore the extent to which the regime made the victims into instruments of propaganda.

  Since its new beginning following Hitler’s release from prison in Landsberg at the end of 1924, the Nazi Party had developed a cult in which defeat and death could be transformed into victories. If the original intention was to counteract the low morale following the failed Putsch of 1923, the Putsch was recast after the Nazi assumption of power as a preliminary step on the way to victory: the bloody end on the street in a hail of bullets fired by the Bavarian state police became glorified as the beginning of a triumphal march to power. Hitler’s escape and disappearance were converted by the Nazi lie into heroism. The memorial ceremonies for the Putsch were blended into the ceremonies commemorating the fallen of the World War. Thus the failure of the march on the Feldherrnhalle gained national significance; the Putsch appeared as a first attempt to erase the defeat in the World War and expunge the “shame of Versailles.” Mourning became militarized with the presence of high-ranking officers and military formations—all in all it was an occasion for standing at attention and marching around to the sound of lively music.