Shortly before noon on the wintry morning of 30th Januuary 1933,
the leader of the Nazi Party, Adolf Hitler, was ushered into a
meeting with the German president, Field Marshal Paul von Hindenburg.
Accompanied by the members of his new cabinet, he was received
frostily by the president, who was irritated at being kept waiting
and was dubious about Hitler's appointment. Hindenburg grunted a
perfunctory welcome and expressed his pleasure that the nationalist
right had finally over-come its differences. He then proceeded to
the matter in hand: Hitler was to be sworn in as chancellor of
the German Republic.
Dressed in a sober dark suit and tie, Hider solemnly swore to uphold
the constitution, to carry out his obligations without party bias,
and to serve for the good of the entire German nation. In a short,
unscheduled speech, he then promised to defend the rights
of the president and to return to parliamentary rule after the next
election. Hindenburg was less than loquacious in response: "And
now, gentlemen," he intoned, "forward with God.
That afternoon, the new cabinet sat for the German press in
the Reich Chancellery. Hitler, seated in a generously upholstered
chair, was surrounded by his new cabinet colleagues, with Goring
seated to his right and von Papen, the kingmaker and vice chancellor,
to his left. The remainder stood behind the trio, looking
distinctly uncomfortable. Little of the expected camaraderie was
on show. Though they knew one another well, few of them made
eye contact. Ministers stared sternly ahead or off to either side.
Only Hitler allowed himself a broad smile. In his first public
proclamation as chancellor, he congratulated his followers on
their "great political triumph.
In truth, Hitler's ascent to power was less glorious than his
propagandists would later proclaim. Though the head of the
party with the largest share of the popular vote, he was not
appointed as a result of due democratic process. Rather, he
was levered into power by the political elites in a grubby backstairs
intrigue. Power had not been seized; it had been handed to
Hider like a poisoned chalice. Hitler, it was thought, would
swiftly embarrass himself and discredit his movement. And if by
some miracle, he did not, he would lend the establishment his
popularity in the country, while they, in turn, would endeavor to
control him and rein in his wilder ambitions.
To this end, Hitler was appointed the head of a government
containing only a minority of Nazis. Of eleven posts, just three
were held by his men: the chancellorship, the Ministry of the Interior,
and a ministry without portfolio. Beyond these, all the
most important government positions had gone to the conservatives,
thereby strengthening their belief that they could, between
them, hold the rabble-rouser Hitler in check. Despite these restraints
on Hitler's freedom of action, his appointment was still deeply unpopular
among his new colleagues, and a number of additional concessions had been
wrung out of him. For one thing, he had sworn to leave the cabinet
unaltered regardless of the result of the elections he planned to hold.
For another, he had made an empty promise to broaden the basis of his
new government by approaching the centrist parties. It looked very
much as though the conservative ruse had succeeded. Hitler appeared
to have been laced into a political straitjacket. He would serve,
it was hoped, as a popular figurehead but wield little in the way of
genuine power.
For all these caveats, Hitler's victory was nonetheless substantial.
The former corporal, beer-hall agitator, and self-confessed
"drummer" for the nationalist cause had reached the pinnacle of
political power. His followers, quite naturally, celebrated the
success. Coordinated by Goebbels, the Sturmabteilung and
Schutzstaffel of the capital congregated at the Tiergarten in preparation
for an impromptu victory parade. Armed with torches, they set off
in the evening gloom at 7 p.m., heading for the government quarter.
Marching sixteen abreast to the thunderous acclaim of drums and military
bands, they passed beneath the Brandenburg Gate and on into the Wilhelmstrasse,
where they stopped to salute the aged president. Proceeding to Hitler's
new residence at the Reich Chancellery, they broke into a chorus of
"Siegi heil" as they were greeted by the new chancellor from a first-
floor window. Goebbels confided to his diary that it was "just
like a fairy-tale.
Hitler's newly exalted status brought with it new requirements
for his security regime. For one thing, his appointment was a profound
shock to all those who had considered him and his movement to be a
passing phase, or even faintly ridiculous. It caused his opponents,
passive and active alike, to sit up and take notice of
him, and to consider what action might be taken in response.
Hider's moment of triumph was arguably his moment of greatest
vulnerability.
As chancellor, Hitler became heir to a surprisingly violent
tradition of assassination plots. The famous nineteenth-century
chancellor Otto von Bismarck had escaped two such attempts,
and the volatile years after World War One had seen a spate
of political murders, culminating in the assassination of the foreign
minister, Walther Rathenau, in Berlin in the summer of 1922.
In the aftermath of that attack, security for the chancellor and
his ministers was placed on an entirely new footing. Whereas previously,
leading politicians would have been subject to only the
most cursory of security measures—consisting of no more than
a driver, an assistant, and perhaps a few policemen—they were
now to be guarded much more closely. Barely five days after
Rathenau's murder, new measures were being suggested and implemented.
A second escort car was to accompany the chancellor,
for example, while security at the Reich Chancellery was thoroughly
reorganized. All those who sent threatening or defamatory letters
to ministers could expect to be investigated by the police. Any
threats made were to be taken very seriously.
Thanks to these measures, a number of plots were discovered
in the years prior to Hitler's appointment. In the winter of 1922,
for example, a Dresden merchant called Willi Schulze was found
in possession of two pistols, with which, he confessed, he intended
to murder Chancellor Wirth. Some years later, in 1931, a
crude explosive device addressed to Chancellor Bruning was
intercepted by security staff. The following year, a female assailant
was caught inside the Chancellery building armed with a 28-
centimeter dagger. In spite of the improved security regime, she
had succeeded in gaining entry through a side door and had
reached the second floor of the building before being apprehended.
The revised security apparatus clearly functioned. But
with Hitler's appointment as chancellor in 1933, it was to face
its toughest challenge.
For one so steeped in violence, it is perhaps no surprise that
Hitler had a heightened sense of his own vulnerability to attack.
Right from the outset of his political career, Hitler realized that
he needed a bodyguard, a unit of unquestioned loyalty, a group
of "men who would . . . even march against their own brothers.
To this end, he employed a small coterie of toughs to serve as
drivers, guards, and general factotums. This group was formed
into the Saalschutz (Assembly-hall Protection) in 1920, which
expanded to become the Sturrnabteilung (SA, or "Storm Detachment")
the following year. Yet while the SA was responsible for
security in the broadest sense of the term, the more finessed
requirements of Hitler's personal safety were still handled by a
small group of trusted men. These included the former wrestler
Ulrich Graf, who served as Hitler's bodyguard; Emil Maurice, a
former watchmaker and Freikorps veteran, who was his driver;
Christian Weber, a horse dealer and part-time pimp, who was his
secretary; his valet, Julius Schaub; and his adjutant, Wilhelm
Bruckner. Between them, these men were initially responsible for
Hitler's safety at public events and speaking engagements. They
formed the Fuhrer's innermost circle.
In the crisis year of 1923, it was decided to reorganize
Hider's security. An elite guard was established, the Stabswache
(Staff Guard), which was recruited from the ranks of the SA and
was sworn to protect Hitler from both internal and external
threats. When the Stabswache fell victim to internal SA squabbling,
however, a new bodyguard was formed. The Stosstrupp
(Assault Squad) numbered about a hundred individuals, but its
core was still made up of Hitler's old, informal bodyguards. Graf,
Maurice, Weber, Bruckner, and Schaub were all members. They
would receive their baptism of fire in the Munich Putsch of November
that year, when five of their number would be killed.
In 1925, following Hider's early release from prison, the Nazi
Party and SA were refounded. The bodyguard was revived, too.
It was initially given its original title of Stabswache but was then
renamed the Schutzstaffd, the SS or "Protection Squad." In contrast
to the deliberate proletarianism of the SA, the SS was to be
unashamedly elitist. Originally numbering only eight men, it
grew slowly, as each party cell was obliged to provide an SS unit
of no more than ten men to provide for security. By the late
1920s it numbered only around 280, in stark contrast to the
60,000-strong SA. SS applicants were strictly vetted and discipline
was tight. Only "the best and most reliable Party members"
would be considered. They were to be efficient, resourceful,
trustworthy, and above all "blindly devoted" to Adolf Hitler.
They would not participate in political discussions but would
attend meetings intended for political instruction. They would not
smoke at party events, and would not leave the room until commanded
to do so. Their motto was "Meine Ehre heisst Treue," my honor is loyalty.
The SS would remain a relatively small, even insignificant organization
until the advent of Heinrich Himmler. In January 1928, Himmler
assumed responsibility for the everyday running of the SS; a year
later he became its leader, the Reichsfuhrer-SS.
Under his stewardship, the SS was expanded, its discipline was
tightened even further, and its unquestioning loyalty to Hitler
was trumpeted once again. Himmler wanted to inculcate into the
SS the same extreme ethos that he claimed of himself: "If Hitler
were to say I should shoot my mother," he once boasted, "I
would do it and be proud of his confidence."
Thankfully, most of the tasks set for the SS were much more
mundane, consisting of guarding the "Brown House," the Nazi
Party headquarters in Munich, and providing routine security.
One veteran of the period described the unit's remit:
The SS . . . was still a very small group, sifted from the SA
with the purpose of protecting the party, especially the
party leadership, in public I was at several of the larger
rallies in Hamburg. It was our job to shield the podium,
accompany the speakers to and from their cars, guard
their hotel and so on . . . things would often get pretty
lively.
In stark contrast to the growing confidence of the SS, the SA was
entering a period of crisis. By the late 1920s, the "brown ranks"
of the SA had marched and fought, and had propelled the Nazi
Party into the front rank of German politics. But Hitler, who was
now increasingly playing the respectable bourgeois politician, had
become faindy embarrassed by his mob. The vanguard of his revolution,
he believed, had become a "dubious mass"—politically
unreliable and totally unpredictable. Moreover, given that the SA
contained a majority of unemployed members in many districts
some units could not even raise enough money for the requisite
swastikas—he feared that it was becoming far too interested in
the socialist element of National Socialism. The party leadership,
meanwhile, with its expensive cars and plush apartments, was
widely seen by the SA as betraying its proletarian power base.
The crunch came in 1931, when much of the SA was drawn into
a revolt under their deputy leader, Walther Stennes. Though they
were soon brought back into the fold, the event sounded the
movement's death knell. Tellingly, the SS had remained
scrupulously loyal to Hitler throughout.
Thereafter, as the SA waned, the SS was ideally placed to take
over sole responsibility for Hitler's security, and accordingly,
Hitler's new personal bodyguard would be drawn exclusively
from its ranks. Its first commander, Sepp Dietrich, was a blunt
Bavarian, a veteran of the Freikorps and the Munich Putsch, who
would become one of the most decorated SS generals of the Second
World War. Dietrich, who had joined the SS in 1928, rose quickly
within the Munich cadre and within a year was a part of
Hitler's inner circle and one of his unofficial bodyguards. As the
political temperature rose in Germany, however, and the violence
reached unprecedented levels, it soon became necessary to put
Hitier's security on a more formal footing. In February 1932,
Dietrich was requested to organize a permanent protection unit
for the Fuhrer. The result was the SS-Bejjleit-Kommando "Der
Fiihrer" (SS Escort Detachment). A contemporary described its
men in vivid terms as fine, athletic German types. They had zipped
motor-car overalls over their black coated uniforms . . . and wore
close-fitting aviators' helmets. Armed with revolvers and
sjamboks [hippopotamus whips] . . . they looked like men
from Mars.
Another eyewitness was less flattering, describing the Fuhrer's
bodyguards as "strangely delicate . . . almost effeminate." Though
he went on to wonder whether they might have been selected by
the senior Nazi and notorious homosexual Ernst Rohm, he did at
least concede, after spending an evening in their company, that
"they were tough all right."
Initially numbering only twelve men under the command of
Dietrich, the bodyguard detachment was to accompany Hitler on
the turbulent election campaigns of that year. An account by a
British journalist described their modus operandi. In the spring
of 1932, Hitler was campaigning in the East Prussian town of Elbing
when his entourage was ambushed by communist protestors. As his
driver swerved to avoid the mob,
Hitler's leathercoated bodyguards had already leaped out
of their car and were lashing out . . . with rubber truncheons
and black jacks. Stones started to fly and pistol
shots rang out. Then the . . . men were back in their cars
and on we went.
When he was resident in Munich, Hitler's security measures were
more formal. His residence there, from 1931, was the so-called
Brown House, an elegant three -story palace that had once served
as the residence of the Italian emissary to the Bavarian royal
court. The guard detail consisted of three shifts, each of seventeen
men, drawn from the SS. Of these, at least ten were stationed
inside the building, while a further six guarded the
entrance, the grounds, and the perimeter. Access to the building
was permitted only upon production of a valid pass.
It is, however, doubtful that the security in Munich was particularly
effective. For one thing, prior to 1933, the guards on
duty were forbidden to carry weapons. In addition, it does not
appear that the measures instituted were always strictly followed.
One British visitor to the Brown House, for example, recalled
being barked at by the sentries not to walk on the pavement outside
the building, but made no mention of encountering any security
procedures once inside.The security methods employed
by Hitler in 1932 were, in truth, much as they had been in 1923.
He had a dedicated and fiercely loyal bodyguard at his disposal,
but its efficacy was open to serious doubt.
Part of the problem facing anyone attempting to create a
credible security regime for Hitler was Hitler himself. The
Fuhrer's attitude to his own security was shot through with
contradictions and inconsistencies. On one hand, he was almost
obsessed with his own mortality. He viewed himself as the "man of
destiny," the man to lead Germany out of slavery. Yet his fragile
constitution caused him to believe that his time was short. Hitler,
in truth, was not a well man. It has long been conjectured that he
may have suffered the effects of syphilis. But in addition to that
phantom, he clearly felt the very real strains of political life. By
1936, he was complaining of a whole catalogue of ailments, including
tinnitus, migraines, insomnia, eczema, stomach cramps,
flatulence, and bleeding gums. To this list one might add acute
hypochondria. Hitler's concern for his own health peaked in May
1935, when he convinced himself that a polyp removed from his
larynx would prove cancerous. From that point, he became a man
in a hurry, politically speaking. As he confessed to an intimate: "I
shall never become the Old Man of the Obersalzberg. I have so
little time."
In addition to all that, Hitler was preoccupied with the idea
that he might fall victim to an assassin. Consequently, as he
persistently impressed upon his bodyguards, his own survival was of
paramount importance. He took an extraordinarily detailed interest
in security measures and demanded that they be constantly
updated and intensified. He regularly carried a pistol in public,
and his personal bodyguards and adjutants were also invariably
armed.
Of course, Hitler's political activities inevitably exposed him
to some considerable danger. As head of the most violent and
aggressive movement in German political life, he naturally aroused
the personal enmity of his opponents. But in campaigning,
whether speaking before hostile audiences or merely traveling to
political events, he was regularly obliged to confront his detractors.
He was ambushed a number of times. Once, a train he was
traveling on was attacked. Communists also took potshots at his
car. On another occasion, in 1920, he escaped detection by a
menacing mob only by posing as the batman of one of his entourage.
Only his (then) relative anonymity saved his skin.
Yet, beyond what one might call necessary exposure to danger,
Hitler also regularly and willfully undermined the efforts of
his protectors. For one thing, he could be astonishingly reckless.
Once, in the Black Forest city of Freiburg, when his car was
pelted with stones, he jumped down from the vehicle waving his
whip, forcing his astonished attackers to scatter. On another
occasion, Albert Speer described how Hitler's motorcade drove
through hostile crowds in Berlin:
The temper of the crowd grew ugly. When Hitler with his
entourage arrived a few minutes later, the demonstrators
overflowed into the street. Hitler's car had to force its way
through at a snail's pace. Hitler stood erect beside the
driver. At that time I felt respect for his courage, and
still do.
Years later, Hider would explain his actions. If an idealist
assassin wanted to shoot him or blow him up, he opined, it would
make littlee difference if he was sitting or standing. "In the heroic
days," he said, "I shrank from nothing."
Hitler was also utterly and deliberately unpredictable. Speer
called him "royally unreliable." His routine, insofar as it is worthy
of the name, consisted of rising late and "working" long into
the night, usually ranting to his minions. He was incapable of any
systematic work, preferring to indulge his own whims or to submit
to indolence. In addition, he would often disappear to
spend the weekend with associates in Berlin or Munich, but
would accept little in the way of forward planning. Though this
pattern served as an effective hindrance to any potential assassin,
it also did little to facilitate the work of his bodyguards.
Indeed, for all his attention to security details, Hitler was
fundamentally unconvinced that his bodyguards would actually serve
any practical purpose. His belief in "fate" and "destiny" caused
him to ascribe his continued survival "not to the police, but to
pure chance." Thus, though he paid painstaking attention to
the details of his security regime, it is tempting to think that, in
this case at least, he really was just playing at soldiers reveling in
his own supernatural importance, yet knowing in his heart that all
such efforts would ultimately prove futile.
On one level, Hitler's apparent nonchalance would appear to
have been justified. In the early months of 1933, numerous
accounts were received in Berlin of the wildest plots and
conspiracies to kill the new chancellor. They arrived from all parts:
Switzerland, Holland, Morocco, Spain, Czechoslovakia, and the
United States. Some overheard Jews plotting in Basle, others
had wind of anarchists conspiring in Barcelona, still others heard
of communists scheming in the Saarland. Most of the reports were
flimsy, based on hearsay or a flippant comment such as "someone
should bump that Hitler off." But some defied credibility entirely.
One informant from Augsburg, for example, wrote
to inform Hitler of the possibility that the Chancellery building
itself might be undermined and that "subversives" might plant
explosives there. Though the correspondent confessed to having
no knowledge of such a plot, he exhorted his Fiihrer to guard
his "precious life" most carefully. As a result of such enthusiastic
and imaginative informants, the Berlin police were alerted almost
every week that a new plot was afoot. Most of the threats were
investigated, but of the hundreds received, only about ten were
considered to warrant serious attention, and even these
amounted to very little.
One might have assumed that the greatest threat to the life of
the new chancellor came from the left. Certainly, Germany's socialists
and communists were well aware that the new regime was
likely to declare open season on them, and some were perhaps
minded to prepare a preemptive strike. However, the German left
was almost congenitally unable to rouse itself to target Hitler.
The socialists were wedded to the democratic process and found
such extreme measures hard to stomach, while the communists
were being exhorted by their masters in Moscow to direct their
efforts against the socialists. Beyond sheer myopia, much of their
common problem was ideological. Marxist theory viewed fascism
as the last gasp of the capitalist bourgeoisie, the bloody prelude
to an inevitable socialist Utopia. History, it was thought, was driven
by grand social and economic forces, not by individuals. So, to
many on the left, the elimination of Hitler made little sense.
Nonetheless, a brave few were willing to give history a helping
hand. One was Beppo Romer, a communist and former Freikorps
leader, who gained access to the Chancellery in the spring of
1933 but was discovered by the SS. He would spend the next six
years in Dachau and would cease conspiring against Hider only
when he was executed, in 1942. Another was Kurt Lutter, a communist
shipwright from Konigsberg, who plotted a bomb attack
on Hitler in the spring of 1933. Arrested and interrogated,
Lutter was released without charge due to a lack of evidence.
Later, in 1935, an ambitious communist conspiracy was uncovered
in Vienna, which planned to assassinate Hitler as well as the minister
of war, General Blomberg, along with Goring, Goebbels, and
Hess. Interestingly, the conspirators intended to give the impression
that their plot had been hatched by the SA.
In contrast to the largely latent threat from the left, that emanating
from the disgruntled on the right appeared to be more
serious. First, there were many within the SA who still viewed
Hider as a traitor to their principles. Some of the more prominent
among them could be bought off after January 1933, but much
of the rank and file was barely reconciled to the new constellation
of power or to the apparent success of "their" Flihrer. Indeed, in
1933, a would-be assassin in SA uniform was arrested carrying a
loaded weapon into Hider's residence at Berchtesgaden.
The SA crisis culminated in the Rohm Purge in the summer
of 1934. Yet, even while the SA was being purged, and its supposed
threat to the "peace of the nation" was being widely touted
by Hider, it momentarily found an opportunity to avenge itself.
As Hider and his SS entourage were preparing to leave the Bavarian
guesthouse where many of the SA leadership had been arrested, an
SA bodyguard detachment arrived. Clearly confused
and increasingly aggressive, they were ordered to return to barracks
in Munich. However, they drove only a short distance before setting up
a road block, with machine guns on either side of
the road, to wait for Hitler. The Fuhrer, meanwhile, had thought
it wise to depart the area by another route.
Another source of opposition to Hitler was the so-called
Black Front, headed by the former Nazi Otto Strasser. Always on
the fringe of the Nazi Party because of his eclectic ideology -- a
curious amalgam of extreme nationalism, anti- capitalism, socialism,
and anarchism—Strasser was forced out of the party in the
summer of 1930. He conceived the Black Front as an umbrella
organization for all those on the right who were disaffected with
Hitler, and by the time of the movement's prohibition in January
1933, it had attracted some five thousand members. Thereafter,
based in Vienna and then Prague, Strasser fought a propaganda
campaign against Hitler and maintained a small underground
network within Germany itself.
His most audacious move came in 1936, when he planned to
assassinate Hitler. His chosen assassin was a Jewish student from
Stuttgart, Helmut Hirsch, who was studying architecture in
Prague and was persuaded to carry out a "heroic act" to inspire
the Jews of Germany. Hirsch was to take a suitcase bomb to the
Nazi Party headquarters in Nuremberg but was arrested on crossing
the German frontier in December 1936, and executed the
following spring. Two theories might explain his failure: either
the Gestapo had an informant within the Black Front, or else the
Black Front had cynically betrayed Hirsch itself, so as to benefit
from the attendant publicity.
Yet Hirsch was symbolic of another growing source of resistance
to Hitler. Organized Jewish opposition to Nazism only
really sparked into life with the Warsaw ghetto uprising of 1943.
Until that point, the growing persecution of Jews within Germany
and elsewhere was met with an almost stereotypically
phlegmatic response. Some individuals, however, were goaded
into action. Hirsch, for example, had been frustrated by his family's
vain efforts to secure American citizenship.
He may also have been spurred by the actions of a young
Yugoslav Jew, David Frankfurter, who in February 1936 had
successfully carried out a near-perfect assassination. Frankfurter
was a failed medical student who had fled to Switzerland after
briefly attending Frankfurt University. In exile, he read reports of
the concentration camps and anti-Jewish propaganda and was
spurred to act. He had initially wanted to target Hitler but had
settled on the German-born Swiss Nazi leader Wilhelm Gustloff
Frankfurter did his homework. He studied Gustloff's routine,
memorized his movements, and carried his photograph to aid
identification. He also bought himself a revolver and practiced on
a shooting range in Berne. On 03rd February, he purchased a one- way
ticket to Davos, where he rented a room. The following day,
he went to Gustloff's house, calmly rang the doorbell, and asked
to see his target. He was ushered into a study, seated beneath a
picture of Adolf Hitler, and asked to wait. When Gusdoff entered
the room, Frankfurter shot him five times in the chest and head
before fleeing the scene and telephoning the police. He surrendered
himself with the words "I fired the shots because I am a Jew. I am
fully aware of what I have done and have no regrets."
Like Hirsch, Frankfurter was seeking to spur his tormented
people to resistance against the Nazis. Like Hirsch, he failed in
this wider aim. While organized Jewish resistance was still absent,
however, Hirsch and Frankfurter demonstrated that individuals
could be provoked into action by their repeated humiliations and
privations. And in such circumstances, they required few means
beyond the humble accoutrements of the lone assassin. Their example
would be followed once again, with horrific results, in
1938. That November, the secretary of the German legation in
Paris was murdered by a seventeen-year-old Polish Jew, Herschel
Grynszpan, whose family had been expelled from the Reich.
Grynszpan was caught and subsequently killed by the Nazis.
But his crime would provide the cue for the murderous pogrom
of Kristallnacht. Jewish resistance appeared to have scored a
spectacular own goal, but it had at least demonstrated what was
possible.
Following Hitler's accession to power in January 1933, and in
view of the increased threat that the new chancellor was considered
to be under, yet another revision of his personal security was
carried out. For the first time, the Fiihrer's protection could command
state funding, and those surrounding Hitler wasted little time in
exploiting the new situation for their own ends, creating
power bases and seeking to exert influence. The foremost among
them was Heinrich Himmler.
In March 1933, soon after the Nazi "seizure of power,"
Himmler established a new security body to operate in parallel to
those already existing. He envisaged the new unit—christened
the Fuhrersehutzkommando (Fuhrer Protection Group)—as a
small group of "tried and trusted National Socialists, and [ . . . ]
excellent criminal-police officers" that would guarantee Hitler's
"unconditional safety," exercise conscientiousness, and show exemplary
manners.
This move would naturally serve to expand Himmler's growing
influence and bring him closer to the epicenter of power. But
it was also seriously flawed. First, officially at least, Himmler's
own writ, and by extension that of his pet organizations, did not
yet carry Germany-wide. His Fuhrer Protection Group, therefore,
could initially protect the Fuhrer only in Bavaria. Moreover,
the unit was made up almost exclusively of Bavarian policemen,
the very officers who had put down Hitler's abortive putsch a decade
before. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Hitler initially refused to
be guarded by anyone other than the trusted Leibstandarte Adolf
Hitler (Adolf Hider Bodyguard), which had been established by
Sepp Dietrich a few months before.
The Leibstandarte had, in turn, been developed in parallel to
Dietrich's previous bodyguard unit, the SS-Begleit-Kommando
aDer Fuhrer, * which had been set up the previous year. It was to
serve as a model SS unit and would absorb all previous security
organs. Initially numbering only 120 individuals, it was composed
solely of the German "elite": those with proven Aryan
ancestry, Nordic in appearance, possessing no criminal record,
and having a minimum height of 1.80 meters (5 feet 11 inches).
(One is tempted here to recall the contemporary Polish line: "as
tall as Hitler, lean as Goring, blond as Himmler, and athletic
as Goebbels.") The first detachment of the Leibstandarte to assume
its post was a detail of twelve men assigned to guard the
Reich Chancellery in April 1933. A second unit was sent to
Berchtesgaden that July. By November, the entire Leibstandarte,
now over eight hundred strong, swore an oath of allegiance to
Hider before the memorial to the fallen of the Beer Hall Putsch.
Their oath was a personal one, which made no mention of the
constitution, or even of the German people: "I swear to you,
Adolf Hitler, as Fuhrer and chancellor of the German Reich, loyalty
and bravery. I vow to you and to my superiors appointed by
you obedience unto death. So help me God." One witness recalled
the scene with no little emotion:
The midnight oath-taking ceremony before the Feld
herrnhalle in Munich. Splendid young men, serious of face,
exemplary in bearing and turnout. An elite. Tears came to
my eyes when, by the light of the torches, their voices repeated
the oath in chorus. It was like a prayer.
Already by this point, the Leibstandarte was engaged guarding
the Reich Chancellery, Berlin's three airports, numerous ministries,
Berchtesgaden, and Himmler's home.
It was, of course, primarily a corps of bodyguards. As such it
excelled, not least in its very obvious manner. Its giant sentries, in
their immaculate black uniforms with white belts and white
gloves, were a gift to the propagandists. They inspired fear, respect,
and envy in equal measure. One eyewitness recalled their
impressive appearance in Breslau in 1938, where they remained
unperturbed as a march threatened to descend into hysterical
chaos:
There was, however, one group that remained immune to
the excitement spreading around them, and stood fast in
their positions with stoical ease. These were the Fuhrer's
bodyguards from the SS Adolf Hitler, gigantic men over
two meters tall wearing black uniforms and black steel
helmets. They surrounded the rostrum, and, at a sign
from an officer, closed ranks.
The Leibstandarte was, however, not just a corps of bodyguards.
It was the elite troop of the elite SS: Hitler's "Household Cavalry."
Its men provided the guard ofhonor for visiting dignitaries.
They paraded for Hitler's birthday and for the numerous other
anniversaries in the Nazi calendar, with their famed marching
band leading the chorus. But they also fulfilled a much more sinister
function. They served as chief executioners during the
Rohm Purge and would attend every ceremonial entry as the
Reich expanded: the Saar in 1935, the Rhineland in 1936, Vienna
in 1938, Prague and Warsaw in 1939, Paris in 1940. As
their oath demonstrated, they were the beginnings of Hitler's
private army.
Despite the Leibstandarte apparent position of strength, a
new rival was to emerge in 1935. By that time, Himmler had expanded
his own power base and had succeeded in pushing for a further review
of Hitler's security apparatus. After much wrangling, he persuaded
Hitler to appoint him chief of the newly formed Reichssicherheitsdienst
(RSD, Reich Security Service), which would supersede the earlier
Fuhrerschutzkommando and would be responsible for the protection of
Hitler and other prominent government figures.
The RSD initially consisted of only forty-five officers, divided
into a number of "bureaus," the first of which was assigned to
protect the Fuhrer. Its tasks included the routine surveillance of
salient buildings, pre-event spot checks at venues, travel security,
and the investigation of suspects. Wherever Hider traveled within
Germany, the RSD was granted authority over all local police
forces for the duration of the visit. By the outbreak of war, the
unit numbered over two hundred officers.
The fourth player in the prewar security regime was the SS
Begleit-Kommando (SS Escort Detachment), established by Sepp
Dietrich in 1932. With the seizure of power, the clique of "old
fighters" who had previously made up Hider's entourage were rewarded
with various administrative postings, honorary positions,
and sinecures. The SS Escort Detachment, therefore, effectively
had to be refounded, and its new members, drawn from elsewhere in
the SS, were strictly vetted. Initially numbering only
about eight, it was charged with accompanying Hitler on all domestic
and foreign trips. Those not on duty with the escort
served as valets, drivers, and orderlies.
Meanwhile, the tug-of-war for control of Hitler's security continued
at the highest level. After Himmler's Fuhrer Protection
Group fell by the wayside, absorbed into the regular police and
subordinated to the Ministry of the Interior, the remaining players
the RSD, the SS Escort Detachment, and the Leibstandarte—were
forced to divide their labor sensibly. Where their remits over-
lapped, they had to establish discrete areas of competence. The
solution was that the escort duties were undertaken by the SS Escort
Detachment; bodyguards, ceremonial guards, and sentry details would
be provided by the Leibstandarte; and the RSD would supply the
professional police support, including surveillance and
investigation. Between them the three formed a formidable barrier
to anyone who wished Adolf Hitler harm.
An impression of the security surrounding the Fuhrer can be
gleaned from an examination of the procedures instituted in the
Reich Chancellery in 1938. Any visitor to the building would
have to pass through two SS sentry posts prior to entry. Then the
visitor would be referred to a receptionist and issued an identification
pass before receiving an SS escort to the relevant office.
Thereafter, the visitor would pass the various sentries of the
thirty- nine-strong permanent SS guard.
On accessing the first floor, where the Fiihrer's suite was located,
the visitor would en- counter a visibly stricter security presence
with meticulous identity checks.
Anyone without a valid pass was liable to arrest. Upon
departure, the visitor would be escorted back to the reception
area, where the pass would be surrendered. In addition to all this,
Hider was also widely rumored to have employed a double, although no
documentary evidence supports this supposition.
Hitler's transport arrangements were another obvious source of
security concern. Hider was an early enthusiast of the motorcar.
He had owned one as early as 1923: a red Mercedes, which was
confiscated by the Munich police following the Beer Hall Putsch.
Thereafter, he acquired a string of vehicles, mainly Mercedes or
Maybach, for his personal and political use. Following the seizure
of power, he began to assemble a fleet of specially modified Mercedes,
some ofwhich were armor-plated, with bulletproof tires and 5-centimeter-
thick glass, and were supposedly impervious to bomb blasts and small-arms
fire. Despite its obvious shortcomings, however, Hitier's favored vehicle
was an open-top tourer. Being seen was evidently more important to him than
being safe. On public appearances Hitler's car would usually form part of
a convoy of at least four vehicles. A pilot car would lead the way,
followed by Hitler's vehicle, with at least two more behind that: one
carrying the SS Escort Detachment detail and another containing officers
from the RSD. Elaborate routines were planned whereby the Fuhrer's
arrival could be effected while a security cordon was simultaneously
thrown across the street. Any vehicle attempting to disrupt or infiltrate
the convoy was to be rammed off the road. Occasionally even star-struck
pedestrians were run down.
One pedestrian who was less than star- struck was the British
military attache, Sir Noel Mason-Macfarlane, who witnessed
Hitler's convoy en route to Vienna in 1938. Near Linz, he pulled
into a garage at a spot he heard that the Fuhrer was due to pass.
He recalled:
I decided to wait and see the Arch-Thug pass. Only a few
minutes later a couple of Mercedes, filled with S.S.
bristling with tommy-guns and other lethal weapons,
came by; they were closely followed by half a dozen super-cars
containing Hitler and his immediate entourage and
bodyguard There was something terribly sinister
about that string of shining black Mercedes, rolling along
inexorably towards Vienna.
In addition to his fleet of Mercedes, the "Arch-Thug" also kept a
small fleet of airplanes. In the early 1930s, he had already made
novel and extensive use of air travel in his political campaigning.
This trend continued after 1933, when he appointed his pilot,
Hans Baur, to supervise the creation of a "flying group." As well
as using the ubiquitous workhorse, the Junker- 52, Hitler also
employed a modified Focke-Wulf Condor, bearing the registration D-2600,
as his private plane. Security measures were especially tight. Only
Baur was permitted to pilot the plane, and he would never reveal the
destination of a flight, even to airport officials. D-2600 was kept
in a secure hangar at Tempelhof airport in Berlin, where it was guarded
by a joint detail of RSD and Leibstandarte and maintained by a strictly
vetted team of engineers.
Before every departure it made a fifteen-minute test flight,
and the carriage of parcels, mail, and unauthorized luggage was
expressly forbidden.
From 1937 Hitler also operated a personal train: the
Fiihrersonderzug, or "Fuhrer Special." Constructed almost entirely of
reinforced steel, it consisted of a locomotive pulling a succession of
as many as fifteen cars and conference coaches. It had a permanent staff
of over sixty, including guards, adjutants, valets, and maintenance
personnel. When on the move, the Fuhrer Special was often preceded
by a dummy train to attract any malicious intent. It was to be
given priority at all times, and scheduled services were forbidden
to overtake, while any following locomotive had to proceed after a
five-minute interval.
Despite these measures, it was, of course, extremely difficult
for the RSD to keep Hitler's train movements out of the public
domain. Given the constraints of timetabling, any departure required a
minimum of two hours' advance notice to the rail authorities, to adjust
timetables and minimize confusion. And in every case, word would
inevitably be swiftly passed down the line to railwaymen, stationmasters,
and beyond.
For all its apparent effort and expense, Hitler's security regime
suffered a number of fundamental flaws. Most important, there was a s
urprisingly lax attitude toward the vetting of staff in potentially
sensitive positions. Few of the RSD members, for example, were initially
Nazi Party supporters, and even the unit's commander, the rotund
Bavarian Johann (Hans) Rattenhuber,only joined the party after his
appointment. Among the Leibstandarte, too, Nazi Party membership was
apparently not a precondition, and over a quarter of the personnel
were not paid-up members.
Even among Hitler's inner circle, the same apparent laxity
prevailed. One of Hitler's secretaries, Traudl Junge, owed her position
not only to her stenographic skills but also to her sister's
relationship with Bormann's brother.48 Similarly, Hitler's cook,
Marlene von Exner, was engaged solely on the strength of a personal
recommendation from the Romanian dictator Marshall
Antonescu and did not undergo any vetting procedure. Had she
been of a mind to do so, Frau von Exner would have been ideally
placed to poison Hitler. She was later dismissed when it was discovered
that she had a Jewish grandmother.
Albert Speer, who was to become one of Hitler's closest confidants,
noted the almost complete lack of security checks for his
first meeting with the Fuhrer in the summer of 1933. Though an
acquaintance of Goebbels and Rudolf Hess, Speer was still a virtual
unknown. Yet when admitted to an interview with Hider in
his Nuremberg apartment, he was ushered in by an adjutant and
stood, alone, before "the mighty Chancellor of the German
Reich." Security measures, if there were any, were not mentioned.
In addition, it appears that some of Hitler's guards did not
treat their positions with the conscientiousness that one might
have expected. In one instance, a formal complaint was forwarded to
Sepp Dietrich after Leibstandarte men were caught riding in the
Reich Chancellery lift. Another of Dietrich's men was reprimanded
for pressing his nose against the ground-floor windows when on duty.
More seriously, weapons were inadvertently discharged within the
complex on a number of occasions.
The bodyguards themselves described their efforts as insufficient,
even amateurish. One veteran of the Leibstandarte re- called
that they were given no special training in their task and
were merely told not to be rude to the public when protecting
Hider at speaking events. He also claimed that when on guard
duty at Hider's residences, the bodyguards often had little to do
and so doubled as messengers or errand boys.
Perhaps because of these shortcomings, a number of uninvited
visitors managed to penetrate the Reich Chancellery. All of
them were intercepted, but their presence made it clear that the
Chancellery was not as hermetically sealed as Hider would have
wished. Operations in the field were often just as flawed. When
Hitler entered Vienna in 1938, for example, his bodyguards attempted
to merge into the crowd dressed in what he described as
an "astonishing collection of clothes—rough woollen mackintoshes,
ostler's capes and so forth." The urbane and sartorially sophisticated
Viennese viewed them with amusement. Hitler was
furious. "Any moron," he raged, "could recognise them for what
they were at a glance."
Perhaps for this reason, Hider considered his bodyguards to
be of only limited utility and felt that his continued survival was
due to the benign attentions of providence. Indeed, he was notoriously
impatient with his closest defenders. He had an almost visceral
aversion to policemen, perhaps as a result of "years of struggle,"
and could not bear to feel himself being watched. He would often
shout at his SS patrols: Go andguard yourselves!"
In the circumstances, the overlapping spheres of competence
of Hitler's numerous security organs must have proved a constant
irritation. Yet this curious state of affairs was entirely of the
Fuhrer's own making. Being congenitally suspicious, he was unwilling
to allow one individual to take charge of his security apparatus.
And he was also keen to utilize the principle that guided
many of his political machinations—that of "administrative
chaos." Under this system, numerous organizations and individuals
would be encouraged to compete in fulfilling a single task. This
competition, it was thought, bred efficiency; but it also appealed
to Hitler's "Darwinian" ideal of the survival of the fittest.
As one Nazi memoirist recalled, Hitler also liked to play his
paladins off against each other:
It pleased Hitler immensely to see organisations which
dealt with similar issues engage in feuds with one another.
For only in such circumstances, so he believed, would he
be able to maintain his independence from the specialised
ministries Those who became too powerful he gladly
cut down to size; to those who were stranded out on a limb
he extended a hand and helped them back onto their
feet.
This practice may have been beneficial in politics, but in the
security sphere it did little but sow confusion and, ofcourse,
violate the golden rule: that of making one authority solely responsible.
In one instance, Hitler ordered his driver to accelerate to escape
a strange car that had attached itself to his motorcade. He was
unwittingly escaping from yet another set of his own bodyguards.
The result of all this was that despite huge advances in personal
safety, surveillance, and what in modern parlance one might
call counterterrorism, Hitler's security regime of the late 1930s
still offered tantalizing opportunities to a would-be assassin. The
regime was certainly not as refined and practiced as it would later
become. And until 1938, the threats to Hitler's person remained
largely theoretical. His bodyguards—larking in the lifts and making
faces in the windows—were probably bored of chasing phantoms and
will-o'-the-wisps.
In addition, Hitler was reveling in his overwhelming popularity.
The year was studded with numerous public appearances that
had become enshrined in the Nazi calendar, including the "Day
of the Seizure of Power" in January, Hitler's birthday in April,
the Bayreuth Wagner Festival in July, the Nuremberg Rally in
September, and, of course, the commemoration of the Beer Hall
Putsch in Munich every November. Moreover, Hitler busied himself
in the early years with speaking tours, election campaigns, and
military reviews, shuttling up and down the country between
highly publicized events. In short, he was far from being the recluse
that he would become in his later years. He was a regular at numerous
cafes and restaurants in Berlin and Munich, with a
table perpetually reserved should he choose to stop by. And in
1936, he attended almost every day ofthe Berlin Olympics, much
to the frustration of his security personnel.
For the determined assassin possessed of a modicum of ingenuity,
Hitler must have offered a number of possibilities. He
would have recognized that, despite its perpetual revisions and
reorganizations, his target's security apparatus was still feeling
its way to genuine effectiveness. He would have seen how his target's
routine included a wealth of public appearances, where the
throngs of believers could create confusion and facilitate an escape.
His chances of success, he might have concluded, looked
promising.
Maurice Bavaud was born in Neuchatel, Switzerland, in January
1916. The eldest of seven children from a middle-class, devoutly
Catholic family, he underwent a conventional education, leaving
school at the age of sixteen to be apprenticed as a draftsman. The
young Bavaud inherited the strict Catholicism of his parents and
was briefly active in a church youth group before deciding, in the
spring of 1935, to become a missionary. That autumn, he enrolled in a
four-year course at a French seminary, the Ecole SaintIlan Langueux at
St. Brieuc in Brittany.
Fellow students from Saint-Ilan remembered Bavaud as a calm, sensitive
young man of average intelligence with a tendency
toward mysticism. He read philosophy and was a keen singer,
joining the Gregorian chant in the church and often reciting traditional
Swiss songs. He enjoyed his classes and relished the re- laxed atmosphere
of the seminary. But one colleague was to exert
a decisive, even fateful influence on him. Marcel Gerbohay was
highly intelligent and charismatic. But he was also a fantasist, and
possibly a schizophrenic. Despite being born in the most modest
of surroundings, he convinced himself that his mysterious father,
who had died in his infancy, was related to the Romanovs. (He
would later claim to be the illegitimate son of Charles de Gaulle.)
While studying at Saint- Ilan, he suffered hallucinations, delusions,
and disorientation, and was held back a year following what
appears to have been a minor nervous breakdown. Returning to
the seminary in the autumn of 1935, he met Maurice Bavaud.
The relationship that developed between the two has invited
much speculation. It may, for example, have had homosexual
overtones. Certainly Bavaud's later prison correspondence indicated
that, at the very least, he had an extremely intimate friendship, if
not an infatuation, with Gerbohay. It has also been
shown that the developing friendship coincided with a renewed
crisis in Gerbohay's mental condition. Bavaud and Gerbohay formed a
student group, the Compagnie du Mystere, where current affairs,
among them the merits and demerits of communism and Nazism, were
keenly discussed.
As the soi-disant son of emigre Russians, Gerbohay was a passionate
anti-communist. Bavaud, for his part, had flirted in his
youth with the Swiss fascist movement, the Nationale Front.
Yet, peculiarly perhaps, the result of their discussions was that not
Stalin but Adolf Hitler was the primary danger to mankind, even
an "incarnation of Satan." Within the group, a number of opinions
were represented. Bavaud, for example, appears to have been
concerned about Hitler's persecution of the Catholic Church
and the neo-paganism then fashionable in the Nazi movement.
Gerbohay, meanwhile, considered Hider to be too soft on the atheist
Soviet Union and longed for him to declare war on Stalin. On
one thing they both agreed, however: Hider had to be removed.
It is unclear at which point the plot graduated from mere student
pontificating to become a genuine conspiracy to murder
Hider. But in the summer of 1938, Bavaud left Saint-Ilan for the
vacation. He traveled to his family in Neuchatel and informed
them that he would not be returning to Brittany at the end of the
summer. He then sought work as a draftsman, read Mein Katnpf,
and began learning German. His plan was to gain access to the
Fuhrer by posing as an enthusiastic National Socialist. Later that
year, he began to put it into effect.
On 09th October 1938, Maurice Bavaud caught the early morning
train out ofNeuchatel. At the family home, he left a short and
somewhat Delphic note for his parents, which read: "Do not
worry on my account. I am going to make a life for myself."
Armed with his copy of Mein Kampfand 600 Swiss francs stolen
from his mother, he was heading for Baden-Baden and the home
of distant relatives, the Gutterer family.
He found a cautious but welcoming reception. After looking,
in vain, for work, he would go for walks in the neighborhood and
write postcards to Gerbohay. Though he posed as an ardent admirer
of Hider, his presence had nonetheless raised eyebrows. His
cousin Leopold Gutterer was a senior official in the Propaganda
Ministry, and he had told the family to keep clear of the new arrival
and had warned that Bavaud was under no circumstances to use him as
a reference in his search for work. He also informed the local Gestapo
of Bavaud's arrival.
Whether Bavaud had indeed planned to use cousin Leopold
as his entree to Berlin society—and to Hitler—is unclear, but the
latter's frosty attitude toward him would have convinced him that
it was time to move on. So, after only ten days with the Gutterers,
Bavaud left Baden-Baden, sending his luggage on to Berlin before
taking a train to Basle, where he bought himself a 6.35 mm
pistol and ammunition. He then proceeded to Berlin, arriving on
the twenty-first.
After finding lodgings, he began his surveillance of the government
district, but soon learned that Hider was at his residence
at Berchtesgaden at the time, more than 550 kilometers distant.
He then hurried to Upper Bavaria, only to discover that his
quarry was now in Munich. Nonetheless, Bavaud spent a couple
of days in the region of Hitler's Berghof, making subtle inquiries
about the security of the area and practicing his marksmanship in
the woods. By chance, he met a senior policeman, Karl Deckert,
who suggested (in all innocence) that, though a personal interview
was out of the question, the best opportunity to get close to
Hitler would be at the Commemoration of the Beer Hall Putsch
in Munich on 08th and 09th November.
Bavaud's plan was taking shape. On 31st October he traveled
north again to Munich, found lodgings, and went about trying to
secure himself a seat in one of the temporary grandstands over-
looking the procession route. After numerous requests, he finally
obtained a complimentary ticket by posing as a Swiss journalist.
In the remaining days before the celebrations, he walked the
procession route and considered his options. He toyed with the idea
of choosing a vantage point and rushing directly into the street to
shoot Hitler at close range, but finally opted to remain in the
grandstand. Thereafter, he purchased more ammunition and
traveled to the Ammersee, west of Munich, to practice his gun
skills again.
On the morning of 09th November, he arrived at the grandstand
early and found himself a seat in the front row. In his overcoat, he
would have felt the cold steel of the loaded pistol. The parade was
just hours away.
The parade was a commemoration of the failed Beer Hall
Putsch of 1923. The festivities had begun the previous night with
a Hitler address to his veteran comrades at the Biirgerbrau Beer
Hall, where the putsch attempt had started. The following morning,
just after midday, a procession retraced the steps of the
putschists. At its head marched the Gauleiter of Nuremberg,
Julius Streicher, followed by the Blutfahne or "Blood Standard,"
a swastika flag from 1923 that had been soaked with the blood of
the fallen. Then followed two ranks of the most senior Nazi leaders,
with Hitler among them, marching ten abreast. Behind them
were arranged thousands of uniformed marchers: groups of "Old
Fighters" (Alte Kampfer) and honor guards from the SS, SA,
and Hider Youth. The procession made its way slowly along the
prescribed route from the Biirgerbrau Beer Hall to the Feldherrnhalle,
where the putsch had been bloodily halted. As it progressed,
it passed numerous pillars, specially erected along the
route, bearing the names of the Nazi fallen and topped with an
eternal flame. At each one, the procession halted. Heads were
bowed, shots rang out, and the names of the movement's martyrs
were solemnly invoked.66 At its climax, the procession reached
the Feldherrnhalle, where an honor guard fired sixteen shots.
There, Hider laid a wreath, consoled the widows, and observed a
minute's silence. Then the procession moved on to its final act of
homage, at the nearby Konigsplatz, where the bronze sarcophagi
of die sixteen dead of 1923 were displayed in two classical pantheons.
There, Hitler would walk alone among the tombs.
The crowd that gathered to witness this spectacle would have
known the exact course and program of the procession from their
experience of previous years. They would have gathered many
deep at salient points along the route and would have jostled for
the best positions. They would have been moved by the military
band of the Leibstandarte, playing all the Nazi favorites: the
"Horst Wessel Song," "Das Deutschlandlied," and Ich hatt
einen Kamaraden." They would have seen the flags fluttering,
observed the uniforms and medals gleaming, and heard the incessant
drumming of the Hitler Youth. Separating them from the
procession was a rank of SA men lining the route and teams of
security men flanking the procession itself.
Bavaud had chosen his position well. He was located close to
the Holy Ghost Church, at a juncture on the route where the
procession slowed to pass through an archway and then turned
north toward the Feldherrnhalle. He would have heard the funereal
drumming and the blare of the military band, all relayed
across the city by loudspeaker. The cacophony would have increased
as the head of the procession approached. A ripple of excitement
would have passed through the crowd, followed by a hush of expectation.
Bavaud watched as the front rank drew near. He saw Hitler
and reached for the weapon in his pocket, poised to fire.
But as the crowd around him grew more animated, a forest of right
arms was raised, briefly obscuring the target. He tried to pick
his moment, but Hitler was closely flanked by Goring and Himmler, and
he was denied a clear shot. The crowd, the SA guard, and the
shifting group of marchers presented him with no opportunity to
fire. He thought briefly of rushing the parade, but he doubted
that he would get clear of the grandstand before being intercepted.
He watched, in pained impotence, as the procession
continued past the tribune and turned the corner into the
Marienplatz. The chance was gone. Hitler, like history,
was turning his back on Maurice Bavaud.
Though thwarted, Bavaud continued to look for an opportunity.
That afternoon, he returned to his hotel and forged himself
a handwritten letter of introduction from a former French prime
minister, addressed to the Reichskanzler. The following morning,
he set off again for Berchtesgaden armed with his letter and a loaded
pistol. Arriving in the early evening, he was stopped at the
outermost security picket, at the foot of the Obersalzberg, and
asked his business. He duly produced the letter and announced
that he had to deliver it personally to the Fiihrer. The guard
explained that he would not be permitted to pass, and that in any
case Hitler was not in residence. Bavaud returned to Munich the
same evening.
The next day he tried again, this time forging a letter from the
French nationalist leader Pierre Taittinger on a hired typewriter.
On the morning of 12th November, he took the letter to the Nazi
Party headquarters in Munich, the Brown House, where he again
asked to see Hitler. He was then accompanied into the building
to the office of a party official, who politely but firmly informed
him that a personal meeting with Hitler was out of the question,
and suggested that he leave the letter with him or send it through
the post.
By this time, Bavaud was growing desperate. He was running
out of money and had, as yet, failed to confront his target. That
same afternoon, he caught a train to Bischofswiesen, close to
Berchtesgaden, and began walking the ten or so kilometers to
Hitler's residence. By the time he arrived, however, it was already
dark and he realized that he would certainly not be admitted that
evening. Circumstances, he believed, were forcing him to abandon his
"holy" mission. He opted to return home.
After returning to Bischofswiesen on foot, Bavaud spent the
last of his money on a ticket to Freilassing, en route to Munich.
Despite lacking the funds to reach the French border, he hoped
to make it to Munich and then to France by stealing onto a Parisbound
train. Initially the plan worked well, but outside Augsburg
he was challenged by a ticket inspector. Without the funds to pay
the necessary fare, he was handed over to the railway police, who
in turn passed him on to the Gestapo.
Under interrogation, Bavaud initially maintained the pretense of
his enthusiasm for National Socialism. His gun aroused suspicions,
but he calmed them by claiming that it was his hobby. At first, then,
he managed to keep his attempt to kill Hitler secret,and he stood trial
in early December 1938 only for illegal possession of a weapon and
ticket fraud. When his baggage was re- trieved from Berlin, however,
the Gestapo was given more to work with. A map of Munich was found, as
well as one of Berchtesgaden, along with additional ammunition. Further
interrogation followed and soon revealed Bavaud's true purpose. In
February 1939, he was transferred to Berlin and formally charged
with attempting to assassinate the Fuhrer.
Bavaud's testimony was puzzling. He initially claimed to
have been acting on the orders of a person of considerable influence
within Germany, who acted as his "protector." But as his
interrogation progressed, he steadfastly refused to name the individual
or to give details of his motives. He was assessed by a psychologist,
who testified that he was of sound mind and was fit to stand trial.
The opinion was also given that he was a "religious fanatic,"
who had acted alone out of a mistaken sense of mysticism
and in the desire to become a martyr.
On 18th December 1939, Bavaud stood trial in the People's
Court in Berlin. Witnesses recalled him looking exhausted and
pale-faced, seated between two police officers. Facing a panel of
five judges, he was accused under paragraph 5 of the Law for the
Protection of the German People and State of 1933, which concerned
the attempted murder of a member of the government
and carried the death penalty. His defense lawyer bravely
stressed Bavaud's previous good conduct and argued in vain that
his client had only planned a murder and not attempted to commit one.
He would pay for his temerity with a lengthy interrogation of his own.
That morning, witnesses were called and expert testimony was heard.
Bavaud himself was asked to account for his actions.
He informed the court that he had acted alone, for the benefit of
humanity and all Christendom. He made no attempt to plead diminished
responsibility or to beg for leniency but, in a closing
statement, confessed to having exaggerated his role and expressed
his regret for his actions. It would help him little. Found
guilt}, he was described as an assassin of "exemplary circumspection,
shrewdness, intelligence and skill" and sentenced to death.
The Swiss authorities chose not to intervene. They submitted no
plea for clemency and made no request that the sentence be commuted. T
hey failed even to keep Bavaud's family informed of his
fate. Bavaud, meanwhile, was transferred to the Todeshans (death
row) of Plotzensee prison in Berlin.
The routine at Plotzensee was bestial. Prisoners were woken
at 5 a.m. to slop out their cells and receive a breakfast of watery
ersatz coffee and a piece of bread. Those on death row, such as Bavaud,
were kept in strict isolation, shackled hand and foot,
their meals pushed through a small metal hatch in the door.
Above their heads, an electric light burned constantiy, illuminating
every corner of their tiny cell. They were permitted no visitors,
no exercise, and no work. The food was predictably awful,
consisting most often of a thin, watery broth containing potato
peelings or fatty meat scraps.
Prisoners scheduled for execution were informed the afternoon of
the day before that they should tidy their things. They all knew
what this meant. The guards usually came for them at dawn. In
silence, they would be taken for "preparation." Their
necks would be shaved, their hands shackled behind their backs,
and their torsos bared. In the distance, a single bell would toll.
The condemned would then be led to the execution room, where
the guillotine was concealed behind a heavy black curtain. On a
signal from the commanding officer, the curtain would be drawn
back. The condemned would be strapped to a wooden board beneath
the polished blade of the guillotine. Execution followed
almost instantaneously.
Bavaud had originally been scheduled for execution in January 1940,
but, unlike most condemned men, he was kept alive
while the mysterious background to his plot was investigated
again and again. Germany, by this time, was at war, and the possibility
of enemy involvement in the conspiracy could not be
ruled out. Bavaud was interrogated by the Gestapo in February
1940 and in May 1941, but litde more information of substance
was gleaned.
Bavaud's extended stay in Plotzensee must have been unbearable.
Every day, for nearly eighteen months, he had to prepare
himself anew for his turn: the click of heels in the corridor, the
key in the door, his appointment with death. His letters home,
mostly confiscated by the authorities to aid their investigations,
expressed his homesickness and fear, as well as his strengthened
faith and renewed optimism. They also demonstrated regret for
his involvement with Gerbohay, who emerged as the shadowy
"protector" and instigator of the assassination plot. Writing on
05th April 1940, Bavaud cursed his fate, saying:
If only I had stayed at Saint-Ilan, in the service of God. If
only I hadn't abandoned the creator for that creature; the
eternal for the worldly; light for darkness, I would not be
here.
His final letter, written on the night of 12th May 1941, relayed to
his parents the news that his turn had finally come:
Dear Father, Dear Mother,
. . . this is the last night that I will spend down here. I almost
didn't think this day would come, but I have kept a cool head, which
gives me hope for the morning, for the moment when my head
will roll.
... I beg the Lord to forgive my enemies. I beg forgiveness
from those against whom I have trespassed.
... I embrace you all . . . for the last time. I want to cry, but
I can't. I feel my heart would explode . . . Thank you for
everything that you have done for me ... I entrust my soul
into the hands of God.
Your son.
As it turned out, Maurice Bavaud was forced to maintain his
"cool head" for one more day, while his last words were translated,
analyzed, and censored. He was guillotined at dawn on
14th May 1941.
What light does Maurice Bavaud's attempt shed on the effectiveness
of Hitler's security regime? After the event, investigations into
Bavaud's background, motivations, and possible accomplices were
predictably thorough. Convinced that Bavaud was part of a wider
conspiracy, the Gestapo made tireless inquiries, retracing the
assassin's steps and interviewing all those with whom he had come
into contact. Following the fall of France in 1940, Bavaud's former
classmates at Saint- Ilan were questioned. Marcel Gerbohay
implicated in Bavaud's prison correspondence—was arrested, interrogated,
and, like his former friend, guillotined.
Yet the security forces had been much less thorough in detecting or
preventing Bavaud's attack. Certainly Bavaud could
not get close enough in Munich to risk a shot, and his subsequent
attempts to secure an interview with his target also failed. But
beyond that, he does not appear to have been hindered in any way
at all. He was never stopped, frisked, questioned, or checked, despite
speaking little German. He purchased ammunition freely in
Berlin and in Munich, and repeatedly practiced his marksmanship
in rural Bavaria and close to the Berghof. 77 His identity was not
checked when he requested a ticket for the parade in Munich. And
he was not searched when he took his seat in the grandstand.
Even his repeated demands to see Hider aroused no suspicions. In
fact, he twice received advice from Germans on how he might get
close to the Fuhrer—from a policeman at the Berghof and from
Karl Deckert, who was an officer of the Reich Chancellery staff.
Apart from his final arrest, which owed everything to chance, he
never once came to the attention of the police, in spite of the fact
that the Gestapo had received two tip-offs about him, from
Leopold Gutterer and from his Berlin landlady. In dealing with
Bavaud (or rather in failing to deal with him), the Nazi security
organizations had demonstrated some grievous failings.
It should be added at this point that Bavaud was almost certainly
not the criminal mastermind described by the People's
Court. That backhanded compliment was probably paid to cover up the ineptitude
of the authorities. Though charming and persuasive, Bavaud made a
very amateur assassin. As a convinced pacifist, he was hardly cut
out for the task, and his actions do not
suggest a razor- sharp intellect or indeed a killer instinct. Even his
choice ofweapon betrayed his lack of proficiency. The Schmeisser
6.35 mm pistol was certainly small and easy to conceal, but it
lacked the firepower and accuracy of larger-caliber weapons. To
be genuinely effective for an assassin, therefore, it would have to
be fired a number of times at very close range—below 5 meters, or
better yet point-blank. If Bavaud had succeeded in securing an
audience with Hitler, it would have been ideal, but it was entirely
ill-suited for his master plan: the task of picking Hitler out of a
crowded procession at 15 or 20 meters.79 Even if Bavaud had
fired during the parade, it is extremely unlikely that he would
have hit his target at all.
Yet if one starts from the recognition that he was an amateur,
Bavaud's achievement is nonetheless impressive. Only twenty-two,
he single-handedly tracked Hitler across Germany, armed and
trained himself, and came within a few feet of his target. Only fear,
inexperience, or his own scruples prevented him from firing a shot.
Most important, he demonstrated the courage and strength
of conviction to act, when many millions of others across Europe
were content to criticize, wring their hands, and do nothing.
For this reason perhaps, news of Bavaud's case was conspicuously
absent in the German press when it came to trial in the winter of
1939. Hitler, of course, was well apprised of the case and
certainly took the matter seriously. Perhaps predictably, in the
Fuhrer's mind it assumed more ominous and monumental proportions.
He inflated and embellished Bavaud's three-week pursuit of him
to three months, during which the "Swiss sniper," as he called his
assailant, had been armed with two pistols and had
"hunted" him during his walks around Berchtesgaden. But,
beyond the hyperbole, Hitler undoubtedly thought Bavaud to
have been a genuine threat to his life. Typically, he considered
Bavaud's relative success to be proof positive both of the short
comings of his bodyguards and of the protection he enjoyed from
providence. Bavaud had "confirmed his belief that there is nothing
one can do to stop an idealistic assassin, who is prepared to
die for his mission."
The Fuhrer's security regime did indeed change in the year
after Maurice Bavaud's arrest, but it is hard to ascertain the extent
to which those changes were in response to Bavaud or merely a response
to the rising international tensions of the time. The new
Reich Chancellery, for example, completed in January 1939, had
revamped security arrangements, with double sentries and an
alarm system. Arrangements for Hitler's tours were also tightened,
with a sentry of Leibstandarte men to be posted outside the
Fuhrer's chosen residence, and an anti-aircraft battery added to
his train.
There were, however, two clear consequences of Bavaud's at- tempt.
The first was that, from 1939, the rules regarding foreign
nationals wishing to participate at party events were tightened.
An application had to be made in writing and a strict vetting
procedure was to be followed, including an interview with the
Gestapo. Staff were reminded to be especially vigilant of dubious
letters of recommendation.83 The second consequence was that the
annual commemorative parade in Munich was scrapped after 1938.
The "Swiss sniper" had evidently convinced Hitler that it was
too risky to concentrate the Reich leadership in one narrow street
for such a widely publicized event. Indeed, in time of war, such
willful exposure to risk was unthinkable, even for Hitler. In
later years, therefore, he would usually merely drive to the Feldherrnhalle,
lay his wreaths, and depart again for Berlin.
What Hitler's security men didn't know, however, was that just
as Bavaud was agonizing at seeing the Fuhrer march away from
him that day in Munich, another assassin was watching the spectacle,
looking for opportunities and plotting an attack of his own.
