Failure of aRevolution

Germany 1918-1919

by Sebastian Haffner

Translated from the Germanby Georg Rapp

Published by Plunkett Lake Press, June

2013www.plunkettlakepress.com

© Estate of Sebastian Haffner

Translation © Carlton PublishingGroup

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And let me speak to th’yetunknowing world

How these things came about; soshall you hear

Of carnal, bloody and unnaturalacts,

Of accidental judgements, casualslaughters,

Of deaths put on by cunning andforced cause,

And, in this upshot, purposesmistook

Fall’n on th’inventors’ heads: allthis can I

Truly deliver.

Shakespeare — Hamlet 5, ii

Contents

Preface

1 Empire and Social Democracy2 September 29, 19183 October4 The Revolution5 November 96 Ebert’s Hour7 November 10: The Revolution’s

Battle of the Marne8 Between Revolution and Counter-

Revolution9 The Christmas Crisis10 Decision in January11 The Persecution and Murder of

Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg12 The Civil War13 The Munich Republic of Councils14 Nemesis15 Three Legends

Preface

Franz Kafka’s story Before the Law isof a man at a gate demanding entry.Invariably repulsed by the gatekeeper hespends his entire life waiting expectantlyoutside the gate where he vainly keepstrying to persuade him to relent. Finally,in the hour of his death, as his hearingbegins to fail, the gatekeeper roars intohis ear: ‘No one else could ever beadmitted here since this gate was madeonly for you. I am now going to shut it.’

One is reminded of this Kafka story inmusing over the history of the GermanEmpire and of German SocialDemocracy. Created almostsimultaneously, they seemed meant for

each other: Bismarck had put togetherthe outer framework of state withinwhich Social Democracy was able tospread its wings and which it hoped oneday to fill with lasting and significantpolitical substance. If this hope hadcome true — perhaps the GermanEmpire would still be in existence.

As is well known, it did not cometrue. The German Empire fell into thewrong hands and went under. In theseventy-four years of its existenceSocial Democracy, which from thebeginning had felt called upon to leadthe Empire and might have saved it,never found the courage and strength tograsp power. Like the man in Kafka’sstory, Social Democracy had made its

bed outside the gate. And in 1945 worldhistory might have roared into its ears:‘This gate was made only for you. I amnow going to shut it.’

But unlike Kafka’s tale, this story hasa dramatic moment when everythingseemed about to change. Faced withdefeat in war, the imperial gatekeepersin 1918 themselves opened the long-barred outer gate to the Social Democratleaders and admitted them voluntarily, ifnot without ulterior motives, into theantechambers of power. At this point theSocial Democrat masses burst in,overran their leaders, hustled them alongand forced open the last doors into theinnermost shrine of power. After half acentury of waiting, German Social

Democracy, in November 1918, seemedto have reached its goal.

Then the incredible happened.Reluctantly raised to the empty throne bythe Social Democrat masses, the SocialDemocrat leaders promptly mobilizedthe old palace guards and had their ownsupporters ejected. One year later theythemselves were again outside the door— for ever.

The German Revolution of 1918 wasa Social Democrat revolutionsuppressed by the Social Democratleaders: a process hardly paralleled inthe history of the world.

This book intends to describe thisprocess scene by scene. But before welet the curtain rise on the sombre drama,

it may be wise to have a brief look at itslong prelude: the half-century of SocialDemocrat hoping and waiting outside thegates of power.

1. Empire and Social Democracy

The German Empire and the GermanSocial Democrat Party not only cameinto being at the same time, theysprouted from the same root: thefrustrated middle-class revolution of1848. This revolution had two aims:national unification and democraticreform. Both were overdue. Germanypre-1848 was based on a proliferationof small states and on feudalism. At thedawn of the industrial age both wereripe for abolition.

But the bourgeois revolution failed,and the German bourgeoisie came toterms with this failure, leaving its tasksto others; Bismarck, at the head of the

Prussian Junker class and with the helpof the Prussian Army, achieved nationalunification; the overthrow of outdatedregional frontiers. The innermodernization — the overthrow ofoutdated class barriers — was taken onby the fourth estate, from the enfeebledhands of the third who had left itunfinished. In the 1860s Bismarck andthe nascent German workers’ movementeach held one end of the thread that hadsnapped off in 1849. If they had workedtogether, by about 1870 they could havemade good what was left undone in1848: a modern, healthy, lasting Germannational state might have come intobeing. But they did not work together,they opposed each other, and this could

perhaps hardly have been otherwise —in spite of the brief, fascinating butfruitless flirtation between Bismarck andLassalle.

The result was a German Empire,powerful and feared by the rest of theworld, but at home resembling awrongly-buttoned waistcoat. Perhaps itwas inevitable and pardonable that as aNation-state it was a little amorphousand imprecise — it excluded manyGermans, included many non-Germans.Nor was Bismarck’s oddly jumbled andsomewhat disingenuous constitution —with its unsolved dualism betweenEmpire and Prussia, its illusory powersof the federal princes and of the FederalCouncil, its unclear division of

omnipotence between Kaiser and ReichChancellor, its institutionalizedimpotence of Parliament (the Reichstag),its unintegrated army — the heart of thetrouble; constitutions can be changed. Toquote Arthur Rosenberg’s History of theGerman Republic: ‘The Bismarckianempire was mortally ill from the day ofits birth’ despite the ‘glamour of militaryvictories’. What ailed it was a wrong,outdated, anachronistic distribution ofpower among its classes.

The state was under the wrongmanagement. The Prussian Junkers, whowere in a state of economic decline andslowly becoming parasitical, hardlyknew what had hit them when they foundthemselves having to lead a modern

industrial state. The capitalistbourgeoisie, which since 1849 had gotused to and been spoilt byirresponsibility, was looking abroad forthe power withheld from it at home andwas pressing for an adventurous foreignpolicy. And the Social Democratworkers — objectively the nation’sstrongest reserve strength and willingheirs to the responsibility renounced bythe bourgeoisie — counted as ‘enemiesof the Reich’.

Was this true? They were feared,outlawed, hated, and in the last twelveyears of the Bismarck era, from 1878 to1890, they were persecuted. Beyonddoubt they were — in those days —irreconcilably opposed to the

administrative and social orderBismarck had given to his Empire.Beyond doubt they proclaimed politicaland social revolution, about which theyadmittedly — even then — had no clearnotions, let alone concrete plans.Beyond doubt they, like those other‘enemies of the Reich’, the Catholicvoters of the Centre party, had ties andloyalties beyond the Imperial frontiers:for the latter it was the Catholic Churchat large, for them it was the SocialistInternational.

And yet neither were enemies of theReich. On the contrary: from the outsetthe Social Democrats and the Centrewere the true Reich parties; they hadarisen and grown in the Empire, with the

Empire and through the Empire; theirroots in it were deeper than those of itsPrussian founders. Neither the SocialDemocrats nor the Centre ever dreamedof dissolving or wishing for thedissolution of the German Empire whichwas their life element. Rather they feltthemselves — the Social Democratseven more than the Centre — from thestart to be its heirs apparent. It was onlya slight exaggeration for ArthurRosenberg to write: ‘The SocialDemocratic Party Council became a sortof secret shadow government and AugustBebel at the height of his power ashadow-Emperor.’

The Social Democrats of theBismarckian Empire were revolutionary

patriots. They wanted revolution andreconstruction at home — they had nowish for weakness and dissolution in theeyes of the world at large. They wantedto turn Bismarck’s Empire into theirEmpire — not to weaken or abolish it,but to raise it to the level of the age.Admittedly, such an attitude, howeverclear in theory, was in practice notwithout contradictions. There is acertain contradiction in the two mostfamous sayings of August Bebel, foryears the Party leader: ‘For this systemnot one man nor one penny!’ and ‘If it’sagainst Russia, I myself will grab a gun!’But this was not the contradiction onwhich the Social Democrats founderedin 1918; it was quite another.

Until the last moment they promisedthemselves a German social revolution.In the beginning they genuinely hopedand strove for it; but it remained forthem a matter of tomorrow or the dayafter, never the immediate issue of theday. No German Social Democrat everasked himself, like Lenin: ‘What is to bedone?’ The Revolution, they kept tellingthemselves, would sooner or later‘come’; it was not something which onehad to make here and now. It was enoughto await it; in the meantime they lived inthe Kaiser’s Empire, things being whatthey were, as supporters of one of itsparties, pleased at the party’s growingstrength from one Reichstag election tothe next. But a revolutionary party which

is content to wait for the Revolutiongradually ceases to be a revolutionaryparty. The living day is stronger than themerely hoped-for tomorrow, especiallywhen hopes and expectations recede intoan ever more distant future while thepresent proves increasingly acceptable.

Both these things happened. In 1891August Bebel had said at the SPD PartyConference: ‘Bourgeois society isworking so effectively towards its owndownfall that we need merely wait forthe moment to pick up the powerdropping from its hands... Yes, I amconvinced that the realization of ouraims is so close that there are few in thishall who will not live to see the day.’Twenty years later he called the

Revolution ‘the great crashing mess [dergrosse Kladderadatsch]’ — not exactlythe way to describe what youpassionately long for. He was againaddressing his bourgeois opponents, thistime in the Reichstag: ‘It [the greatKladderadatsch] will come not throughus, but through you yourselves.’ But therewas no longer any talk of the imminenceof the day of revolution. Instead: ‘It willcome, it is merely adjourned.’ This timethere were in fact few in the room whowould not live to see it: seven yearslater the day was at hand. But at heart theSPD had ceased genuinely to wish forwhat it was now calling that greatKladderadatsch.

It is odd to observe how exactly the

critical moments in the history of theGerman Empire coincide with those inthe history of the German SocialDemocrat Party. The forty-eight years ofthe Kaiserreich embrace three clearlydistinct periods: the twenty years ofBismarck until 1890; the Wilhelminianperiod from 1890 to 1914; and the fourWar years from 1914 to 1918. Thehistory of the Social Democrat Partydivides into exactly the same periods.During the Bismarck period it was or atleast considered itself the party of ’redrevolution’. Between 1890 and 1914 itwas revolutionary only in word; at heartit had begun to feel part of WilhelminianGermany. In 1914 this change came outinto the open.

Among the reasons for this change thecessation of their persecution was thefirst. In his last weeks in officeBismarck had wanted to make the anti-Socialist laws even harsher, to the pointof provoking open civil war. Wilhelm IIdropped them instead. The SocialDemocrat leaders, who for twelve yearshad been outlawed and hunted men,could now lead the safe, pleasant, andinteresting lives of parliamentarynotables. They would have had to besuperhuman not to welcome thisrelaxation with a certain gratitude.

But that was not all. The wholedomestic political atmosphere ofWilhelminian Germany was differentfrom that of the Bismarckian era — more

relaxed, less harsh and strict. Germanyat the turn of the century was a happiercountry than she had been in the 1880s.In Bismarck’s Germany the air had beenheavy to breathe. Wilhelm II had thrownopen the windows and let in fresh air;the great and grateful popularity heenjoyed in his early years had not comeby accident. Admittedly, this agreeablerelaxation at home was achieved bydiverting dammed-up energies andexcess pressures into foreign fields, atthe expense, that is, of the world outside— which was not prepared to put upwith this in the long run. In the end Warpresented the bill.

But around the turn of the century veryfew would have seen this. What the

Social Democrats noticed, more thananybody else, was the disappearance ofthe sultry atmosphere which had beencrying out for a revolutionarythunderstorm. Before 1890 they hadreally seen the revolution ‘coming’.Now they saw it receding into an evermore distant future.

Wilhelminian Weltpolitik chieflyfavoured the capitalist bourgeoisie who,by contrast with the Bismarck era, werenow being compensated for theirimpotence at home by the deployment ofpower abroad. But the German worker,too, had a small share in the new wealthof Imperialist expansion. He was stillfar from well off, but he was better offthan before; and a man who notices

improvement and hopes for furtherimprovements loses his enthusiasm forrevolution. The ‘revisionists’ in the SPDwho in the early years of this centurywanted to delete revolution from theParty programme and substitute purely apolicy of social reforms had a good nosefor the way the wind was blowing. Theywere outvoted. At its Party conferencesand demonstrations the Party went on asever proclaiming the coming revolution,red flags and all. But the gap betweenwords and feelings was steadilywidening. The ‘Marxist centre’ of theParty secretly agreed with what therevisionists were saying openly; theParty’s left wing, which persisted inbelieving in the revolution, had become

a minority.And then there was a third factor: the

SPD’s brilliant parliamentary career.With each successive election the Partyhad gained both voters and mandates.From 1912 onwards it was by far thestrongest party in the Reichstag. Couldthis fail to leave its mark? If therevolution was becoming increasinglyimprobable while the Social DemocratParliamentary Party was growing byleaps and bounds in a perfectly legalmanner — would this not be food forthought?

Under the Bismarck constitution theReichstag had little power — but surelythis could be changed? Were there notother parties also clamouring for more

power? And if power could be achievedby way of a majority in the Reichstagand by constitutional reform in favour ofParliament — what need was there for arevolution? No one, not even therevisionists, said it in so many words,but in fact the SPD of 1914 was alreadya parliamentary party, no longer arevolutionary one. It no longer wanted tooverthrow the existing stage, merely togrow into it, in conjunction with otherparliamentary parties, with the Liberalsand the Centre. The mass demonstrationsand the red flags were now only atraditional ritual. The party’s centre ofgravity was now in the parliamentarygame, in parliamentary ambitions. At theoutbreak of war in 1914 it became clear

what was appearance and what reality.For one week the SPD kept uprevolutionary appearances. On July 25,1914, in conformity with early Partyconference resolutions, it raised ‘a fieryprotest against the criminal activities ofthe warmongers’. In the days thatfollowed there were still anti-Wardemonstrations in the streets of Berlin— demonstrations by no meansinsignificant: some twenty to thirtythousand people marched each time. Ofthe two Party Chairmen, one, FriedrichEbert, travelled to Zurich with the Partyfunds; they were still anticipatingproscription, arrests, confiscations. Theother, Hugo Haase, a left-winger, hurriedto the offices of the Socialist

International in Brussels to consult aboutinternational action against the war.

But when War actually broke out, allthis was forgotten. With 96 votes against14 the Parliamentary Party decided toapprove the War Credits; and thefourteen dissenters without exceptionaccepted the majority verdict (including,this once, Karl Liebknecht, leftmost ofthe left-wingers). One of the fourteenwas Hugo Haase, the second PartyChairman, a depressive man who spenthis life being outvoted and submitting tothe majority will. He was given the jobon August 4 of making the famousdeclaration in the name of the Party andagainst his inner convictions: ‘In its hourof peril we shall not abandon the

Fatherland.’ The Kaiser gave the equallyfamous answer: ‘I no longer knowparties, I know only Germans.’ GermanSocial Democracy had made its peacewith the Kaiserreich. From now on itbehaved as if it were a governing party— without being it.

The Party’s left wing, faithful to theold revolutionary aims, was shattered bythis ‘treason’ and unable to digest it: inthe course of the War it splintered off;sections of the old ‘Marxist centre’followed it as did some of the oldrevisionists, and from 1917 on therewere two Social Democrat Parties, theSPD (Social Democrat Party ofGermany) and the USPD (IndependentSocialist Party of Germany), the

‘majority socialists’ and the‘Independents’, the former loyal to Warand State, the latter pacifists and —some of them at least — revolutionaries.But the decision of August 4, 1914 wasnot ‘treason’; it followed logically fromthe development in the Party’s policyduring the preceding quarter-century,even if the effects of instinctivepatriotism, war-panic and war-fervourare taken into account. The Party rightlyunderstood that the War presented thebill for twenty-five years of aggressiveImperialist foreign policy and that thispolicy had also profited the Germanworker and German Social Democracy.It was thus a case of ’in for a penny, infor a pound’. Above all, if with and

through Parliament they were to becomethe party in power, the war would givethem their chance. Now for the first timethey were needed. The party that had theconfidence of the masses could not bepassed over in a mass war. In saying‘yes’ to the war, the SPD believed itselfto be crossing the threshold to power.

In this it was both wrong and yet notwrong. Throughout the entire War, to thevery last moment, the Reichstag, theReichstag majority and the SocialDemocrats failed to get real power —that went to the Military. But in thecourse of the War the constitutionalequilibrium was upset and both theReichstag and the SPD were amongthose who gained rather than lost in the

transformation. The chief losers werethe Kaiser and the Federal princes whofrom pillars of state became mereornaments of the constitutional façade.The losers also included the Chancellorand the Cabinet: from responsibledecision-makers they turned increasinglyinto auxiliaries of the High Command.

From autumn 1916 onwards the HighCommand was Germany’s realgovernment. The real Kaiser was nowcalled Hindenburg, the real Chancellor,Ludendorff. But, behind the monarchistfaçade that was left standing, moreevolved than merely a militarydictatorship. There was at the same timesomething approaching a secretrepublic: the only counterpoise to stay

abreast of the Supreme Command, togain in weight and to compelconsideration was the Reichstagmajority which in the course of the warshaped itself into a coalition of SPD,Progressive Party, and Centre.

Kaiser Wilhelm II with Hindenburg (left) andLudendorff (right) at military headquarters during the

first World War (Ullstein)

This new constitutional realityrevealed itself finally in July 1917 whenthe High Command and the Reichstagmajority did what they had not the leastconstitutional authority to do: together— if with different long-term aims —they overthrew the Reich Chancellor.Admittedly, against their hopes, it wasnot the Reichstag majority who decidedon his successor. Ludendorff made thatdecision, and thereby once again showedwho was now Germany’s real ruler. Butat least from 1917 onwards the ReichChancellor had a Member of Parliamentas Vice-Chancellor; the Reichstagmajority could no longer be ignored

altogether. In the last two war yearsthere was between High Command andReichstag majority a relationship notunlike that between Government andOpposition in a parliamentary country.

The High Command ruled — and itruled with an iron fist, with a state ofmartial law, censorship, and protectivecustody; far stricter and harsher than thepre-War Imperial constitutional powersit had inconspicuously usurped. Butunlike the Imperial authorities before thewar, it could no longer simply pass overthe parties in the Reichstag majority.They were listened to, they could makethemselves heard; they could evenoverthrow chancellors.

The Reichstag majority was in

opposition. There were two issues inconstant debate between it and thegoverning military powers: the War aimsand constitutional reform. The Reichstagmajority urged a negotiated peacewithout major annexations. The HighCommand guaranteed a ‘victoriouspeace’. The Reichstag majority calledfor free elections to the centralParliament to be held in all the Federalstates, for freedom of the press,democratization, parliamentarization.The High Command replied: ‘After thevictory — perhaps.’ At times the debatebecame acrimonious, and the men of theReichstag majority had to facevituperation — from their right-wingcolleagues in Parliament and from the

‘national’ press even more than from theMilitary in power.

This in no way curtailed their loyalty.To the last moment they agreed all WarCredits, and the SPD in particular didtheir best to go on persuading thebleeding and starving masses to ‘keepgoing’, in spite of growing discontentand strikes. They never thought ofsabotaging the War if it was not wagedaccording to their ideas. That ideaoccurred only to the Independent SocialDemocrats, who had organizedthemselves into a new Party in the springof 1917 and, although weak in theReichstag, had considerable influence inthe country. They were again what thewhole SPD had been under Bismarck:

outlaws. Where they were not protectedby their parliamentary immunity, theyrisked protective custody or beingdrafted as privates into the supplyservices or into penal battalions.

The men of the Reichstag majority,even the Social Democrats, ran no suchrisks. They had now become sociallyacceptable, they frequented theGovernment offices, even at GeneralHeadquarters they were occasionallyreceived and politely listened to. It wasan unusual experience for them and thenew politeness and accessibility of themighty could not help but give them awarm and pleasant feeling.

There even developed a sort ofcamaraderie between certain SPD

leaders and some of the men in the newmilitary hierarchy, for instance betweenParty leader Friedrich Ebert andGeneral Wilhelm Groener. From time totime business threw them together andthey got on well with each other; bothwere the sons of artisans from the Southof Germany, the one from Baden, theother from Württemberg; both wereserious, sober, able at their jobs and‘nationally-minded men’. Why ever hadthere been all this hostility in the olddays?

The Social Democrat majority partyof the war years had grown, if not in factinto power, at least into the atmosphereof power. It was now part of the‘Establishment’ even though in the role

of an Opposition. It was a national andloyal Opposition and reform party whichcriticized the Government but had nointention of overthrowing the state. It hadcome to terms with monarchy andcapitalism. A parliamentary form ofgovernment and a negotiated peace wereits chief remaining aims. It was preparedto alternate peacefully with its right-wing bourgeois opponents in thegovernment of a future parliamentarysystem; and it was much closer to itsbourgeois coalition partners of theProgressive and the Centre Parties thanto its ex-comrades of the USPD. The onehad become friends and allies; the othershad become close enemies.

If one thing suffered from these

developments, it was the relationshipbetween Party leadership and Partymembers. It had always been based onrigid discipline and obedience; the crackabout the ‘Royal Prussian SocialDemocrats’ was older than the War. Butbefore the war the ordinary ‘comrades’and their leaders had still been linked bya good deal of class solidarity, by a sortof pay-day fellowship. The SocialDemocrat leaders had been ordinarypeople speaking the language of ordinarypeople. Now they could occasionally beheard to speak the language of the rulers.While they began to share the concernsof the ruling Military and to value themfor their human side, their ordinarysupporters were more than ever exposed

to the harshness, not to say brutality of amilitary government. A certain alienationwas inevitable. Some of the old SPDstrongholds — Berlin, Leipzig, Bremen,Hamburg — now became centres for thenew USPD.

The USPD, which since 1916 hadbeen voting against War Credits,continued in the traditions of pre-WarSocial Democracy much more faithfullythan the majority Party. They embracedthe entire spectrum of opinions of pre-War Social Democracy, from therevisionist leader Eduard Bernstein viathe chief ideologist of the ‘Marxistcentre’ Karl Kautsky, to theinternationalist revolutionaries of the‘Spartacist Union’, Karl Liebknecht and

Rosa Luxemburg. The USPD was by nomeans a tightly-knit, unifiedrevolutionary party of the Left likeLenin’s Russian Bolsheviks. They wereunited only in their opposition to the Warand in their bitter dislike of the war-loyal majority Socialists who heartilyreciprocated this dislike. For them theIndependents were something liketraitors to the Fatherland; for theIndependents the majority Socialistswere traitors to Socialism and theworking class.

But from below, from the ordinaryparty member’s viewpoint, the splitwhich aroused so much bitterness, evenhatred among the politicians, seemedpretty harmless. For many of them

majority Socialists and Independentswere at heart still the same thing,differing only in temper. After all, themajority Socialists were for a negotiatedpeace, were they not, and against theannexationists and ‘War prolongers’;they, too, demanded reforms in thefranchise and democracy, only theirlanguage was milder and more patient.Also, they too could be approached incases of personal hardship as a result ofmartial law, arbitrary arrests andbureaucratic unpleasantness. Perhaps,with their more conciliatory methods,they achieved more than theIndependents with their embitteredradicalism. Nor had the majoritySocialists publicly renounced the great

long-range socialist aims.Confidence dies slowly. The masses

still had faith in their old and familiarleaders — those of the SPD hardly lessthan those of the USPD. These leaderswere all they had. During the great strikemovement in January 1918 the strikerselected the SPD leaders, too, into thestrike leadership — and allowed themafter a few days to talk them into endingthe strike. After all, there was a War on,and the War would have to be gonethrough first. Most of the rank and filehoped for a reunification of the Partyafter the War.

After the War — for the ordinary manin Germany until far into the summer of1918 — this meant after the victory, or,

at worst, after a negotiated peace. Theidea of a possible defeat had neverseriously gained ground. Had there notbeen an unbroken succession of victoriesfor four years? Was the Army noteverywhere in enemy country? Had notRussia been forced to make peace? Forthe people in Germany the War consistedof hunger, worry for those ‘out there’ —and news of victories. They kept going,clenched their teeth and fought andstarved and went on toiling — full ofbitterness for those who despite allvictories were not ready to make peace.That they would end by losing the Warnever entered their heads.

Indeed there was no one in highplaces in Germany who had ever hinted

at, let alone admitted, such a possibility.The men at the top would not admit thepossibility of defeat even to themselves,not even in summer 1918 when, after thefailure of the last great German offensivein the West and the massed arrival of theAmericans, it had become almost acertainty. And they wasted the monthswhen it might have been wise to adjustto imminent defeat and perhaps stillpossible to mitigate, if not avoid it.

Then, in August and September,events avalanched. In the West the Allieswent over to the offensive on one sectorof the front after another. The groundgained in the spring was lost, the retreatgathered pace. Germany’s alliescollapsed. On September 13 Austria sent

out an S.O.S. On September 15 theAllies broke through on the Balkan front.On September 27 Bulgaria capitulated.On the same day the Allies in the Westattacked the Hindenburg line on a widefront. It was the Germans’ last fortifiedline of defence and it began to give way.

The German papers were still talkingof perseverance and ultimate victory.The parliamentarians in Berlin, full offoreboding but far from realizing that theend was at hand, discussed whether thetime had not now come to change theGovernment and to make an earnestattempt at a negotiated peace. Thequestion was: how was Ludendorff to bepersuaded?

There was a breathtaking surprise in

the offing for them. It was Ludendorffhimself who from one day to the nextchanged the Government and theConstitution for good measure. He tookthe decisions the parliamentarians hadnot found the strength to take. Heordered parliamentary democracy inGermany and took the SPD into thegovernment, thus fulfilling its fondesthopes. But by way of a moving-inpresent he thrust defeat into their hands,and what he was now demanding wasnot the quest for a negotiated peace — itwas capitulation.

The day on which all this happenedwas September 29, 1918.

2. September 29, 1918

September 29, 1918 was a Sunday. Itbegan as a beautiful late summer day andended with autumn storms andcloudbursts; in that year it was the daywhen summer turned into autumn. ForGermany it was also the day when thepolitical weather changed. It was the dayof the sudden and unheralded decisionswhich led to the end of the First WorldWar, the end of German resistance andthe end of the Kaiser’s Empire.

September 29, 1918 is one of the mostimportant dates in German history, butunlike other comparable dates — sayJanuary 30, 1933 or May 8, 1945 — ithas never ranked as a landmark in

German history books. To some extentthis may be due to the fact that nothing ofwhat happened on that day was reportedin the next day’s papers. The events ofSeptember 29 remained a state secret foryears. Even when they were finallymade public, they retained strangelyindefinite outlines, as if still shrouded inthe fog of secrecy.

September 29, 1918 was May 8, 1945and January 30, 1933 in one:Capitulation and Reconstruction of theState. Both were the work of one man —a man whose constitutional positiongave him no authority whatsoever forsuch far-reaching deeds: Quartermaster-General Erich Ludendorff[1]. September29, 1918 still preserves the enigma of

Ludendorff: the enigma of his power, ofhis personality and of his motives.

In the last two years of the WarLudendorff’s power had become almostunbounded, and its boundlessness neverappeared in so harsh a light as on thisday when he abjured it and ‘broke hisstaff’. It was a power such as no otherGerman before Hitler had everpossessed, not even Bismarck —dictatorial power.

Ludendorff‘s nominal superior, theChief of the High Command,Generalfeldmarschall von Hindenburg,was in fact never more than his willingtool. The Kaiser, Supreme Warlordunder the terms of the Constitution, hadgot into the habit of executing, as if it

were an order, every wish of the HighCommand, in the political as well as themilitary sphere. Chancellors andMinisters came and went as Ludendorffdeemed fit. When Ludendorff finallydecided from one day to the next to turnBismarck’s Germany into aparliamentary democracy and to havethis parliamentary democracy run up thewhite flag, there was no one to resist oreven contradict him; his decision wasput into effect with mute efficiency. Yetthis man was only one General amongmany, by no means the highest in rank,only number two in the High Commandand without any political office ormandate. What gave him his immensepower? Even today there is no clear and

uncontested answer to this question, andLudendorff’s character too remainsenigmatic: the enigma deepens on closerinspection.

To the man in the street Ludendorffmeant nothing at all; he was no popularhero. That was Hindenburg’s part and tohim Ludendorff freely yielded all thepopularity, splendour and glory.Ludendorff was completely free fromvanity. One might be tempted to say thathe was not interested in the appearanceof power, only in power itself — if acloser look did not force the conclusionthat power itself also left him unmoved.Has there ever been another dictatorwho — like Ludendorff on September29, 1918 — not only voluntarily

surrendered power but from the veryheight of his power commanded andorganized its orderly transfer to hispolitical opponents?

Admittedly he did this in the momentof defeat and, as we shall see, notwithout ulterior motives. Nevertheless,one need only compare Ludendorff’sconduct in the moment of defeat with thatof Hitler and one will have to admit thatwhatever Ludendorff was, he was notgreedy for power. He was — in apeculiarly harsh, almost evil way —selfless.

Ludendorff was no winner of hearts,no leader of men. He had neither charmnor magnetism; he could no moreenchant than he could convince or

mesmerize. His manner with people wascurt, dry, disagreeable, stand-offish,distant. In his own field, in mattersmilitary, he was beyond doubt highlycompetent, but not the inspiredcommander that he was later made out tobe by his admirers. His talents were lessin strategy than in logistics — anorganizer and administrator, a technicianof war; cool-headed and decisive,ruthlessly conscientious andindefatigable, an able General. But therewere other able Generals. If one askswhat distinguished this bourgeoisGeneral from all others and gave him hisincisive power, there is in the end reallyonly one answer: his tough, almostinhuman selflessness which enabled him

to become pure will, pure instrument,pure embodiment.

General Erich Ludendorff (Heinrich Hoffman)

For that is what he was; embodiment,personification — Ludendorff more thananyone else personified the newbourgeois German ruling class whichduring the War had pushed the oldaristocracy increasingly to one side; heembodied its pan-Germanic ideas, itsburning desire for victory, the frenzywith which it staked for all or nothingand grasped at world power. Because hewas selfless, free from all personalconsideration, free in fact from anyconsideration, because he wascompletely matter-of-fact in a somewhatsinister, somewhat inhuman way: that iswhy he was always able to take theutmost risks and make a cool habit of

daredevil audacity. That is whatGermany’s new ruling class could sense,that is why he was their man, why theyblindly followed him — while the moresensitively strung aristocrats of the oldrégime submitted to his mercilessobjectivity and singleness of purposeand the masses, growling, came to heel.

Ludendorff was the man whoundertook not only to win the War forGermany but to win it totally, the manwho was prepared to go on playing vabanque with iron composure. All hisdecisions were on a colossal scale: theunlimited U-boat war, the support for theBolshevik Revolution, the forced peaceof Brest-Litovsk, the great land-grabbingcampaign in the East in the spring and

summer of 1918, undertaken at the verymoment when he was trying to force adecision in the West: that was his style, astyle in which the German grandebourgeoisie recognized its own styleand an expression of its innermost spiritand aspirations. Ludendorff was the firstrepresentative of a new trait in theGerman character — a trait of coldfrenzy overreaching itself andchallenging fate, the ‘all or nothing’which became the motto of an entireclass and has ever since haunted Germanhistory. Ludendorff’s unaided decisionon September 29 bears the same stamp.It was his characteristic reaction todefeat.

It has often been said, almost from the

beginning, that on that day (or rather onthe previous Friday, September 27,when the plan took shape in his headwhich he then put into effect on Sunday)Ludendorff simply ‘lost his nerve’. It istrue that to the very last momentLudendorff did not want to acknowledgethe defeat which for months had been onthe cards, for weeks had been visiblyapproaching — and then suddenly fromone day to the next switched from franticfaith in victory to extreme, perhaps evenexaggerated pessimism and defeatism.As late as July he had assured vonHintze, the newly appointed Secretary ofState at the German Foreign Office, thatthe imminent German offensive at Reimswould produce final military victory —

doubtless trying to keep his ownmisgivings at bay. At the ImperialCouncil of August 14, he still held that itwould be possible to paralyse theenemy’s will to fight by prolongedresistance and agreed to postpone peacefeelers until the military situation hadimproved. Now on September 29 hesuddenly demanded a request for anarmistice within twenty-four hours —giving as his express reason that hecould no longer promise to avoid amilitary catastrophe on the WesternFront for more than twenty-four hours.

Naturally this created the impressionthat faced with the position at the front,which had indeed become ominous, hehad suddenly lost his nerve; especially

when in the following days and weeksthe feared catastrophe failed tomaterialize. It is also true thatLudendorff’s hardness was a brittlehardness and that earlier in the summerhe had had repeated nervous criseswhich frightened his entourage atheadquarters. But characteristically thishad happened during those earliermonths when against his own bettermilitary judgement he had still forcedhimself to an unjustifiable optimism. Onthe historic weekend of September 28and 29 he once again appeared markedlycold, dominating and self-possessed; notlike a man who has lost his nerve butrather like one who has recovered it andis pursuing a clearly thought out plan.

This was, in fact, the case.Ludendorff was never a man for

caution, for re-insurance, and forkeeping all options open. Staff-Officertraining and personal temperament,coming together and reinforcing eachother, had moulded him to a style ofthought and action which knew onlyclear-cut, extreme alternatives.Ludendorff was in the habit of playingthrough alternative plans in his mind,Staff-Officer fashion, coming downfirmly in favour of one and thenimplementing the chosen plan with theutmost energy, to the very limit, withoutso much as glancing to the right or left; ifthe plan failed, then was the time fornew alternatives and new radical

decisions. What had tortured Ludendorffin the summer of 1918 and sometimesbrought him to the brink of nervouscollapse, had probably been the veryfact that at that time he found himselfcondemned to unplanned muddlingthrough. Unable to face the possibility ofdefeat he had frantically kept onpursuing a victory to which he no longersaw a clear road. Now, suddenly, onSeptember 27 when the Allies breachedthe Hindenburg line, there was an end toevasion. His military judgement forcedhim to accept the possibility ofimmediate military catastrophe. Heturned and faced defeat. The shock of therealization must have been terrible but itwas also liberating: for now Ludendorff

could plan again. Now he planned thedefeat.

He planned it as earlier he hadplanned victory: as a military man, as aGeneral, not as a politician. In the faceof defeat he concentrated on one aim: tosave the Army.

Every war gives rise to a subtleconflict between the political and themilitary leadership. Victory sometimesglosses over this; defeat mercilessly laysit bare. Sometimes when a law-suit isbeing lost there comes a moment when alawyer thinks less about the interests ofhis client than about how he can protecthimself against his disappointed client’sclaims for redress. In much the sameway in the moment of defeat the leaders

of a beaten army often think no longer ofthe interests of the country they can nolonger protect but only of how topreserve their military honour. Thus itwas in France in 1940, and thus it was inGermany in 1918.

From the moment when he began toplan ‘Operation Defeat’ Ludendorff hadone fixed goal: to save the Army — itsexistence and its honour. To save theexistence of the Army, an armistice hadto be concluded — as soon as possible,without delay, by tomorrow if possible;every day might bring military collapse.But to save the honour of the Army therequest for an armistice would have tocome from the Government, not from theHigh Command. It would have to be

based on political, not on militarygrounds. This aim generated threequestions: where were those politicalgrounds to be found? What Governmentwould be prepared to shoulder theburden? And how could one make surethat the victorious enemy would indeedgrant the requested armistice?

The answers to these questionsconverged. To appear politicallymotivated, the request for an armisticewould have to be linked with an offer ofpeace and would therefore have to comefrom those who had long advocated anegotiated peace; i.e., the majorityparties in the Reichstag. These partieswould therefore have to join theGovernment or form one. To get the

Reichstag majority to assume the burdenof government under such dreadfulconditions, they would have to betempted: that meant the change in theConstitution on which they placed somuch value, the transition towards aparliamentary form of government. Thiswould at the same time improve thechances for an armistice. The Ententewere claiming to fight for democracy;President Wilson, in particular, hadseveral times publicly proclaimed thedemocratization of Germany as the chiefaim of the war. Excellent! If he was nowhanded a German democraticGovernment on a plate he could hardlyrefuse its petition for an armistice. Tomake it even harder for him to refuse, his

famous 14 Points would be accepted asa basis for peace negotiations.

And if, nevertheless, he refused — orcame up with new, unforeseen,dishonourable conditions? Well, onewould have to see. Perhaps the newpopular Government would then unleasha people’s war, a desperate levée enmasse. But if they did not do that andsubmitted instead — then it would betheir submission; the Army in any casewas safe; its existence as well as itshonour. With its existence intact and itshonour unstained, it could later, after theWar, send packing a parliamentaryGovernment disgraced by capitulation.

That was the plan — Ludendorff’splan for the manipulation of the defeat

which he now saw as inevitable. Heformed it on September 27. OnSeptember 28 he took Hindenburg intohis confidence who, as usual, agreed. OnSeptember 29 he gained one by one theassent of the Foreign Minister, theKaiser and the Chancellor. It wasLudendorff’s last great operation; incontrast with his great militaryoffensives of 1918, he achieved acomplete breakthrough at the firstattempt this time.

***The operation was executed with

military precision, with the element ofsurprise playing a decisive role. UntilFriday evening nobody had even aninkling of what was in Ludendorff’s

mind. On the morning of September 28he began by informing the ReichChancellor, the aged Count Hertling,through his Berlin liaison officerColonel von Winterfeldt, that the HighCommand had formed the opinion ‘that areconstruction of the Government or itsextension on a broader base had becomenecessary’. At the same time he orderedthe Reich Chancellor to comeimmediately to General Headquarters.Count Hertling’s son and A.D.C. reports:‘Immediately after Colonel vonWinterfeldt had left his room, my fathercame to me and reported the suddenchange in the High Command’s politicalviews. I was, of course, very surprisedto learn from him that from one day to

the next the High Command hadespoused the cause ofparliamentarianism to which they hadnever before subscribed.’ TheChancellor decided to travel thatevening. The Secretary of State at theForeign Office, Paul von Hintze, wentahead of him. It was Saturday morning,September 28. Only late in the afternoon,when this step had already been taken,did Ludendorff consider it necessary toacquaint Hindenburg, his nominalsuperior, of his intentions.

In his memoirs he has this to say:

On 28 September, at 6 p.m., Iwent down to the next landing tocall on the Generalfeldmarschall

in his room. I gave him an exposéof my thoughts about an offer ofpeace and armistice... We now hadthe one task to act with dispatch,clarity and determination. TheGeneralfeldmarschall listened tome deeply moved. He replied thathe had wanted to say the same thingto me that evening, he too hadconstantly reviewed the position inhis mind and considered this stepnecessary... TheGeneralfeldmarschall and I partedwith a firm handshake like menwho have buried the thing they loveand who intend to stick together notonly in life’s good moments butalso in its heaviest hours.

This description does not make itclear whether Ludendorff revealed hisentire plan to his Chief or whether — asis more probable — he disclosed to himonly the military side of it as he hadearlier disclosed only the political sideto the Chancellor.

It is, however, known that on Sundaymorning Ludendorff discussed the entireplan in all its details with von Hintzewho arrived during the night. On this wehave Hintze’s testimony; it is evenpossible that Ludendorff’s plan wasfurther modified during this conversationand that Hintze’s contribution gave it itsfinal shape. Hintze much resembledLudendorff in his mental make-up; a

youngish man, he was incisive,unflappable, and sharp-witted, a navalofficer by training and, like Ludendorff,of bourgeois origin and pan-Germanicviews. When Ludendorff told himbluntly that the Western Front mightcollapse at any minute and that thesituation of the Army demanded animmediate armistice, he was ‘crushed’but quickly took hold of himself. Notonly did he approve of Ludendorff’ssuggestion that the request for anarmistice should be the responsibility ofthe majority in the Reichstag, he wenteven further. Ludendorff had evidentlythought at first only of invitingrepresentatives of the Social Democrats,the Progressive Party and the Centre

Party to join the existing Government inorder to justify the sudden request for anarmistice and offer of peace. Hintze feltthis was not enough. In view of the‘catastrophic effect on army, people,empire and monarchy’ which mightensue, it would be better to have acomplete, visible, dramatic change in thesystem, an immediate change in theconstitution, a ‘revolution from above’.(This expression was first used in thisconversation although it is not clearwhether by Hintze or by Ludendorff.)Ludendorff was at first afraid this woulddelay the armistice, but then he quicklyabsorbed the Secretary of State’sthinking. A ‘revolution from above’ —that made sense; it appealed to his

inclination for the radical all-or-nothingapproach; it dotted the i’s of his plan.The more complete the break with thepresent Government and Constitution,the more credible it would be that therequest for an armistice arose from thepersonal political aspirations of theNew Men — and that the Army hadnothing to do with it. Hindenburg wasconsulted and, as ever, agreed. Lunchfollowed. The afternoon had been setaside for the report to the Kaiser.

***Meanwhile the unsuspecting Reich

Chancellor, the old Count Hertling, wason his way to Spa, the Belgian resortwhere the General Headquarters hadbeen located for some time. He was

accompanied by his son who has left agraphic account of the journey and whathappened on arrival:

It was a beautiful, warm andsunny day. It felt strange, passingthrough that familiar region whichwe had come to love and had leftjust a month ago. Autumn hadmoved into the countryside, thewoods glowed in all colours... Aswe approached Spa, the weatherchanged, dark clouds loomed upand as we drove into our castle, afine drizzle began to fall from thesky. The house was cold andunwelcoming.

We had not long arrived when

Herr von Hintze had himselfannounced. His conversation withmy father was brief. When he left,my father, looking very serious,came into my room and said: ‘It’squite terrible, the High Commanddemand that as soon as everpossible a peace offer be made tothe Entente. Hintze’s pessimismhas been proved right!’

The old Chancellor had decided enroute to offer his resignation. He hadbeen a convinced monarchist all his life.He did not want to have a hand inushering in a parliamentary régime. Itnever occurred to him that he couldthwart Ludendorff’s request. And now

this as well! As a patriot he was shaken.As a Chancellor determined to resignanyhow, he was perhaps relieved that itwas, as it were, no longer his business.

At Hindenburg’s decisive interviewwith the Kaiser the Reich Chancellorwas not even present. CivilianGovernment was represented only byHintze who since that morning had beenin full agreement with Hindenburg andLudendorff. The Kaiser himself made noattempt at resistance, he approvedeverything; both the change in theConstitution as well as the plea for anarmistice. The only thing heprovisionally rejected was Hintze’soffer of resignation.

Thus, when the Kaiser with his

entourage finally called on the agedReich Chancellor at 4 p.m., everythinghad already been decided. All that wasleft to do was to draft the ImperialDecree on constitutional change and toaccept Count Hertling’s resignation. Themost striking thing about the events ofthis historic day is the undramatic andsubdued smoothness with whicheverything happened as if taken forgranted. It was after all a question ofadmitting defeat after four years ofpassionately contested world war and oftearing down at the same timeBismarck’s constitutional edifice. But noone seemed to get excited and only theresignations of the Chancellor and theSecretary of State caused some debate.

Ludendorff had taken them all bysurprise, and they all played theirallotted role as if in a trance, notnoticing the immensity of their actions.

The younger Hertling recorded:

The Kaiser seemed to me on thisday to look no worse than usual...the meeting took a long time. Herrvon Hintze who had spent the nighttravelling to Spa and the wholemorning negotiating with the HighCommand, looked completelyexhausted and as a result of thisoverexertion fell asleep in ourroom while waiting to be called toconsultation... Meanwhile theKaiser’s declaration had been

drafted, in which he expressed hisintention of giving representativesof the people a greater part in thebusiness of Government and inwhich he graciously accepted myfather’s resignation. I brought thedocument into the study where themomentous discussion was stillgoing on. The Kaiser did not saymuch; the Chief of his CabinetOffice spoke for him, with suchanimation that his voice wasclearly audible in the next room.The Kaiser was more than painedby the Chancellor’s resignation...Then the discussion ended. As everthe Kaiser took amiable leave of usall and we were alone. My father

was pretty quiet. But when Ireminded him how we would nowsoon move from the ‘lowlands’ ofPrussia into the high plateau of ourbeloved Bavarian mountains, agentle almost happy smile flitteredacross his grave face.

And the Kaiser? According to his

chronicler Niemann, ‘on the evening ofSeptember 29 there was a feeling ofquiet resignation among the Imperialentourage, accompanied however byunmistakable disgruntlement withGeneral Ludendorff.’ Quiet resignationand ‘unmistakable’ disgruntlement wasall that Kaiser and Chancellor couldmuster on that fateful day to oppose the

will of Ludendorff — they did not dareto protest.

The constitutional authorities of theKaiserreich capitulated on September29, 1918 without a battle; in a certainsense they had already abdicated. Therewas more battle done in the days tofollow in Berlin during the formation ofthe parliamentary Government which, inassuming power, was to take on theresponsibility for the defeat; and in theHigh Command the decisions ofSeptember 29 hit the staff officers like abomb, when they learnt about them thenext day.

3. October

‘Dreadful and terrible!’ Colonel vonThaer noted in his diary on October 1,the day after the meeting at whichLudendorff had told the entire staff of theHigh Command what had happened. Thediary adds: ‘While Ludendorff wasspeaking one could hear muted groaningand sobbing, many, perhaps most, hadtears helplessly running down theircheeks... As I had a previousappointment to report to him afterwards,I followed him at once and — being anold acquaintance — grasped him by theright upper arm with both hands, a thing Imight have hesitated to do underdifferent circumstances, and said:

“Excellency, can this really be true? Isthis the last word? Am I awake ordreaming? It’s simply too terrible! Whatis to become of us?”‘

Scenes very similar to this occurredthe next morning in the Reichstag inBerlin when an emissary ofLudendorff’s, Major von dem Bussche,told all the party leaders: ‘The HighCommand has found it necessary to urgehis Majesty to try to break off thefighting, to give up the continuation ofthe war as hopeless. Every day mightworsen the position and reveal our basicweakness to the enemy.’

An eye-witness account describes theeffect:

The delegates were shattered;Ebert turned deathly pale and couldnot utter a word; the delegateStresemann looked as if he wereabout to have a fit... Minister vonWaldow is said to have left theroom with the words: ‘All that isleft now is to put a bullet throughone’s head.’ Herr von Heydebrand,the leader of the PrussianConservatives, rushed into thecorridor shouting: ‘For four yearswe have been lied to anddeceived!’

While he thus drew into confusionboth the general staff and the Reichstag— the two centres of power between

which the game of German politics wasfrom now on to be played — Ludendorffhimself had completely regained hiscomposure. He once again felt master ofthe situation and planned with hiscustomary cool precision. Colonel vonThaer — whose diary is invaluable asthe only more or less literal account ofLudendorff’s utterances in those days —gives this description of his appearance:

When we had assembled,Ludendorff stepped among us, hisface filled with the deepest grief,pale, but with his head held high. Atruly beautiful Germanic herofigure! I had to think of Siegfriedwith the fatal wound in his back

from Hagen’s spear.He said roughly this: It was his

duty to tell us that our militarysituation was terribly grave. OurWestern Front might be breachedany day... There was no relying onthe troops any longer... Thus it wasto be anticipated that in the nearfuture with the help of the highbattle morale of the Americans theenemy would gain a major victory,a break-through on a very largescale; our army in the West wouldthen get out of control and floodback across the Rhine in completedisorder, bringing revolution toGermany. This catastrophe had tobe prevented at all costs. For the

above reasons no further defeatcould be risked. The HighCommand had therefore requestedH.M. and the Chancellor to applywithout any delay to Wilson, theAmerican President, for anarmistice with a view to concludingpeace on the basis of his 14Points...

It had been a terrible moment forthe Field Marshal and for him tohave to make this announcement toH.M. and to the Chancellor. Thelatter, Count Hertling, had informedH.M. in a dignified manner that hewould have to offer his immediateresignation. After so manyhonourable years he could not and

would not now, as an old man, endhis life pleading for an armistice.The Kaiser had accepted hisresignation.

His Excellency Ludendorffadded: ‘For the moment we aretherefore without a Chancellor. It isnot yet clear who will take over. Ihave however begged H.M. now todraw into the Government thosecircles whom we have chiefly tothank for being in this position.We shall thus see these gentlemenmoving into the Ministries. Letthem conclude the peace that mustnow be concluded. Let them copewith the mess! It is their mess afterall.’

And when von Thaer afterwardsgrabbed him by the arm, ‘he remainedcompletely calm and gentle and saidwith a profoundly sad smile: “This, alas,is how things are and I can see no otherway out.”‘

***The ‘way out’ which Ludendorff saw

and which allowed him to remain‘completely calm and gentle’ was noneother than the shifting of theresponsibility for defeat which was laterto give rise to the legend of the stab-in-the-back. For who had got whom into amess here? If the German defeat onSeptember 29 was really as total asLudendorff claimed, then it was his

defeat, for it was he who until that dayhad determined Germany’s conduct andpolicy of war; he, not his critics. But ifthe defeat was not yet total and therequest for an armistice premature, thenmore than ever it was his defeat: for thenhe brought it about by suing for thearmistice. If the other side still haddoubts about winning, if Germany stillquestioned her defeat, and if thereforethe winning side was still ready tonegotiate, the losing side still ready toresist, the request for an immediatearmistice was bound to nullify all this. Itmeant waving the white flag. It wasLudendorff who insisted that this shouldnow happen but it was not he who wouldshoulder the blame; the new Government

of the Reichstag majority should ‘copewith the mess’. It was his price forletting them govern.

Ludendorff in the moment of his defeatwas the same coldly daring planner thathe had always been. As always he bidfor a grand slam. He offered the majorityparties in the Reichstag what they hadnot hoped for even in their wildestdreams: complete parliamentarygovernment, full power. An irresistiblebait! True, the bait was poisoned: itcomprised the responsibility for defeat,the total defeat which had becomeinevitable through the request for anarmistice. Ludendorff baited a trap forhis political opponents, as he had donefor the Russians at Tannenberg, and like

the Russians at Tannenberg, theyblundered into it — even if at first theysniffed at it suspiciously and shrankback. Prince Max von Baden, the newReich Chancellor, a liberal Prince whoin preceding years had cautiouslycriticized Ludendorff’s conduct of theWar, was thunderstruck when he learnton his arrival in Berlin on October 1what was expected from him. For a fewdays he fought a desperate battle againstthe request for an armistice; thus it wentoff only on October 4, not on the 1st asLudendorff had demanded. PhilippScheidemann, then number two in theSocial Democrat party and their expertin the Reichstag on Foreign Affairs,argued prophetically at a meeting of the

Parliamentary Party against stepping into‘a bankrupt enterprise’, and a large partof those present supported him.

The two men who broke the resistanceof Prince Max and of the SocialDemocrats were, strange to say, thepresent and the future head of state. At aPrivy Council meeting Wilhelm IIbarked at his reluctant fellow prince:‘You have not come here to makedifficulties for the High Command.’ AndFriedrich Ebert, the leader of the SocialDemocrat Party, argued at the Partymeeting that the Party should not layitself open to the accusation of havingrefused its co-operation at a time when itwas being urgently begged for it from allsides. ‘On the contrary we must throw

ourselves into the breach. We must seewhether we can get enough influence topush through our demands, and if it ispossible to do this and at the same timesave the country, then it is our damnedduty to do it.’ Ebert won — and sent thereluctant Scheidemann as Secretary ofState into the Government of PrinceMax.

So Germany learnt on the morning ofOctober 5 that from now on it was aparliamentary democracy, that it had anew Government in which, under aliberal Prince as Chancellor, the SocialDemocrats, the ‘Scheidemen’, called thetune; and that as its very first act thisGovernment had addressed animmediate petition for peace and an

armistice to the American President.Nobody was told anything of what hadhappened on September 29. ThatLudendorff was behind the request for anarmistice, that he had practically forcedit through, of this no one in Germanyoutside a tiny closed circle had the leastsuspicion. In any event such a suspicionwould have seemed absurd. Hindenburgand Ludendorff — were they not the menwith the strong nerves and the ironresolve to achieve victory, the self-appointed guarantors of the ultimatetriumph? Scheidemann on the other hand,and the Centre Party delegate MatthiasErzberger, both now suddenly in theGovernment, were undoubtedly the menbehind the Reichstag ‘peace resolution’

of July 1917, the ‘lily-livered, muck-raking pictures of misery, birds of illomen, Jeremiahs croaking from thedepths’, as a Conservative proclamationcalled them by way of greeting. It wasjust like them, now that things were in abad way, immediately to cry for peace!For years the battle about the War aimshad been waged in Germany under thetwo slogans of ‘Hindenburg’s peace’ and‘Scheidemann’s peace’. NowScheidemann was in the Government —and here at once was the capitulation.There you have it. This way it wasbound to happen. With a Governmentlike this the war was over — and lost.

The other news, the announcement ofa far-reaching change in the constitution,

was almost eclipsed by these terribletidings. Admittedly Ebert, in theReichstag, celebrated October 5 as a‘turning point in Germany’s history’ andthe ‘birthday of German democracy’, buthardly anyone listened. At this momentconstitutional changes left the Germanmasses comparatively indifferent, and aPrince as Reich Chancellor did not lookmuch like democracy. What counted wasthe end of the War, the defeat,capitulation, the end of the terror and theterror of the end. With lightning speedthe whole country was divided into twocamps. The one heard the news withrelief, the other with despair. Themasses, hungry and tired of war,breathed with relief; the bellicose

middle class, thirsting for victory, stifleda sob. The one groaned: ‘At last!’ Theother groaned: ‘Treason!’ And at oncethe two camps began to view each otherwith hatred. All were agreed on onething only: this was the end.

On just this point, however, they wereall wrong. The end was slow in coming.The whole of October passed. Thepetition for an armistice had beenaddressed to President Wilson who hadto consult his Allies and who in any casereacted with hesitation and mistrust,dosing out his conditions drop by drop.Between October 8 and 23 he sent threenotes. The first demanded, as aprecondition, retreat from the occupiedterritories. The second demanded

cessation of the U-boat war. The thirdwas a scarcely veiled demand for theKaiser’s abdication. Meanwhile the Warcontinued. Men went on dying on theWestern Front, went on starving at home.During this month of October 1918,orders to report to the Army still wentout in large numbers: the seventeen-year-olds were being drafted.

Every reply to Wilson was the subjectof prolonged wrangling in Berlin, andbetween Berlin and Headquarters inSpa. Positions became strangelyreversed.

***In the first week of October the Reich

Chancellor had desperately resisted therequest for an armistice and Ludendorff

had peremptorily insisted on it. But nowthat it had been dispatched, theGovernment felt committed to it whereasLudendorff increasingly withdrew fromhis original position. Now he suddenlyfavoured breaking off the exchange ofnotes and carrying on the fight — andthis in spite of the fact that Germany’ssituation was becoming daily moredesperate.

True, the great Allied breakthrough ofthe Western Front which Ludendorff hadfeared at the end of September hadfailed to materialize. The Western Frontwavered and fell back but it did notbreak, neither through the whole ofOctober nor in November; on the veryday of the armistice there was still a

coherent German Front in the West,albeit in full retreat and without hope ofhalting. But Germany’s last allies,Austria-Hungary and Turkey, collapsedin the course of October, and from theBalkans and Italy unopposed Alliedarmies approached Germany’sunprotected southern borders. The lossof Rumanian oil made the day inevitablewhen Army transport, fighter planes andthe Navy would come grinding to a halt.Even if in the West it might have beenremotely possible to drag things out intothe winter — a spring campaign was outof the question.

It would be underestimatingLudendorff’s military judgement tosuggest that he alone failed to grasp this.

By the second half of October he, likeeveryone else, must have known thatdefeat could really no longer bepostponed and that an early armisticeoffered the only chance of sparing thecountry at least the horrors of invasion.And yet Ludendorff chose this moment toadvocate a last-ditch stand — as ifSeptember 29 had never been.

For Ludendorff’s volte-face there isno military explanation nor one based onexternal politics, only one based ondomestic politics. Ludendorff was nofriend of parliamentary democracy. It istrue that he had himself decreed aparliamentary government on September29 — but surely not in order to turn itinto a successful and permanent

institution, merely to mark it with thestamp of defeat and capitulation and,once it had done its job, to be sure ofquickly overthrowing it. His first stephad succeeded beyond expectations. Thenew Parliamentary Government hadassumed full responsibility for therequest for an armistice and shielded theHigh Command from any suspicion ofpaternity. As late as October 16 theGovernment issued this directive at itspress conference: ‘The impression thatour peace move originates from themilitary must be avoided at all costs.The Reich Chancellor and theGovernment have undertaken to sponsorthis step. The press must not destroy thisimpression.’ This loyal self-denial was

the Government’s attempt at a patrioticbluff vis-à-vis the enemy; if possible noone in America, England and Francewas to notice until the last moment thatthe High Command itself had given theWar up for lost. But with this very stepthe Parliamentary Government left itselfat the High Command’s mercy; if itinsisted on having waved the white flagof its own accord, it left the HighCommand free to protest against suchfeeble and shameful defeatism, thuspreparing the way for the subsequentreproach of the stab-in-the-back — andthis with increasing impunity as thesituation became more and moreobviously irretrievable.

From the middle of October onwards

Ludendorff found himself again able toplay the heroic part of the unconqueredand belligerent soldier manfullyresisting a peace-seeking Government ofweak-kneed democrats ready tosurrender.

***He had come to terms with Wilson’s

first note. After the second note herumbled discontent and refused to takeany responsibility for an assenting reply.After the third one, he issued, onOctober 24, without so much as waitingfor the Government’s reaction, an orderof the day on his own authority, in whichhe said the note was unacceptable andcould ‘only be a challenge for ussoldiers to continue resistance with our

utmost strength’. But in so doingLudendorff had overbid his hand. Theunexpected happened — Prince Max vonBaden the Reich Chancellor, anaristocratic, rather gentle person and bynature no real fighter — stood hisground. He presented the Kaiser with anultimatum: ‘Ludendorff has to go — or Igo.’ And this time it was Ludendorff whohad to go.

On October 17, during a Cabinetmeeting at which Ludendorff waspresent, Prince Max ‘lost confidence inLudendorff as a man’: ‘Today GeneralLudendorff did not breathe a word aboutthe armistice offer and its disastrouseffect on Germany and on the outsideworld, while he treated the armistice

conversations in Berlin as responsiblefor the encouragement of the enemy andthe deterioration of the morale at theFront.’ Perhaps the Prince did not quitesee through the whole of the insidiousgame Ludendorff intended to play withthe Government; but with the instinct ofthe aristocrat from a ruling house hesensed something disloyal, autocratic,unreliable in Ludendorff’s volte face.The order of the day of October 24 and asecond journey to Berlin, undertaken byHindenburg and Ludendorff on thefollowing day against the Chancellor’sexpress wish, were the last straw: ‘Itwas clear to me that this journey couldonly end in General Ludendorff’sdismissal. This piece of defiance only

gave me the occasion I needed. I wasalso influenced by a desire to ease theinternal and external situation. But itwas my loss of confidence in him thatwas really decisive.’

Suddenly it emerged that in such acrisis between Government and HighCommand Ludendorff was no longer thestronger. By pushing through the requestfor an armistice he had himself sawn offthe branch on which he was sitting. Fortwo years his unbounded power hadbeen based on his being the man whoguaranteed victory. When he stoppeddoing this, he was merely a General likeall the others. Before September 29Ludendorff could get what he wanted atevery point in the conflict by merely

threatening to resign. When he now did itagain, he lived to hear the Kaiser say:‘Well, if you insist on going, by allmeans go.’ This happened on October 26at 10 a.m., at an audience in the BellevuePalace in Berlin where the Kaiserreceived Ludendorff and Hindenburg‘very ungraciously’. The Kaisersuddenly levelled reproaches atLudendorff — because of the offer of anarmistice, and also because of theunauthorized order of the day of October24 — and told him bluntly he had lostconfidence in him.

Ludendorff had a last ace up hissleeve — or thought he had. When theKaiser so casually accepted theGeneral’s resignation,

The Field Marshal [Hindenburg]dropped his habitual reticence andlikewise offered his resignationwhich the Kaiser rejected byremarking brusquely: ‘You stay on!’The Field Marshal bowed beforethis imperial decision. The Kaiserhad hardly left the room when abrief but heated exchange ensuedbetween Hindenburg andLudendorff who reproached theField Marshal for leaving him inthe lurch in this decisive hour.When, on getting into his car, theField Marshal invited him to joinhim for the return journey, herefused and returned to Staff

Headquarters alone.

Ludendorff told this, immediatelyafter the audience, to Colonel vonHaeften who has left this record.

In this dismal fashion ended thedictatorship of General Ludendorff.

***A month earlier this event would have

shaken the German public like no other.Now it aroused little attention. Eventshad already left the person of Ludendorffbehind. For not only the War situationbut also Germany’s internal mood andstate of affairs had changed immenselyin the weeks since the request for anarmistice. ‘Two attitudes of mind’, theSaxon envoy in Berlin reported to his

ministry, ‘dominate the masses. One isan extreme longing for peace; the otheran unmistakable bitterness about the factthat previous Governments failed toappreciate the limits of German powerand so fed the belief in Germaninvincibility, that large sections of thepopulation had a false sense of security.’Longing for peace, then, and a crisis ofconfidence, together with the certaintysince October 5 that the War was lostand all further sacrifices were in vain:these resulted in an incalculable,explosive mood among the masses. Addto this that the days passed and theoverdue armistice stayed out of reach,and the result was impatience — abitterly tense, almost unbearable

impatience.The talk everywhere was about the

notes in which President Wilson castdoubts upon Germany’s suddendemocratic metamorphosis and urgedfurther internal changes. The exchange ofnotes between Prince Max’s Governmentand the American President wasprobably the strangest that has everpreceded an armistice between warringpowers. It reminds one of an academiccontroversy between constitutionallawyers of different persuasions. TheGerman notes kept asserting that sincethe October constitutional reform theGerman Government no longerrepresented an autocratic régime but wasresponsible solely to the people and

their freely elected Parliament. ThePresident was not quite ready to believethis — and no wonder. ‘Significant andimportant as the constitutional changesseem to be which arc spoken of by theGerman Foreign Secretary in his note ofthe 20th October’, Wilson said in hisreply three days later, ‘it does notappear that the principle of aGovernment responsible to the Germanpeople has yet been fully worked out, orthat any guarantees either exist or are incontemplation that the alterations ofprinciple and of practice now partiallyagreed upon will be permanent... It isevident that the German people have nomeans of commanding the acquiescenceof the military authorities of the Empire

in the popular will; that the power of theKing of Prussia to control the policy ofthe Empire is unimpaired; that thedetermining initiative still remains withthose who have hitherto been the mastersof Germany.’ He certainly was not allthat far off the mark. Originally aprofessor of political science, Wilsonmay have been doctrinaire, his (perfectlysincere) view of the War as a crusadefor democracy may have smacked of thequixotic: his analysis of the situationinside Germany nevertheless wentstraight to the heart of the matter. Did notthe brand-new Parliamentary democracyexist in fact merely by the grace of theHigh Command? Was it really firmly inthe saddle as long as the country

everywhere was still living under a stateof emergency and theGeneralkommandos[2] held sway? WasPrince Max’s Government anything morethan a thin parliamentary veil over theold reality, owing its existence as it didto a ‘revolution from above’?

Since Wilson’s third note everyone inGermany was suddenly bandying twophrases about which a bare three weeksago no one had yet heard: ‘Kaiser-problem’ and ‘Revolution’. If theKaiser’s presence was an obstacle to anarmistice — should he not make thesacrifice and abdicate? This questionwas suddenly being asked not only bySocial Democrat workers, but also byconfirmed monarchists; not only by the

people, but also by Ministers. It was notyet a debate about ‘Monarchy orRepublic’; on the contrary many men inresponsible positions, including theReich Chancellor, saw the Kaiser’sabdication as the best, perhaps the onlyway to save the monarchy. Theycalculated that a Regency and an earlyarmistice might still preserve the state,the constitution and the monarchy. But ifthe ‘Kaiser-problem’ wrecked thearmistice, the threat of revolutionloomed.

No one as yet knew how and fromwhat direction revolution would come.But it was in the air, sinister andintangible, and the presence of the‘Kaiser-problem’ threatened to spark it

off. It was feared that the masses wouldrise in despair to get rid of the Kaiserwho was standing between them andpeace — and if they did, they wouldsweep away everything else along withhim: monarchy, state, army and navy,Government and authority, aristocracyand grande bourgeoisie.

This had to be prevented. Prince Maxvon Baden was not alone in thinking so,Friedrich Ebert thought the same. He,too, was deeply worried by thethreatening revolution. Defeat from theoutside was now inevitable and was badenough. Defeat from the outside andRevolution on the inside — that was toomuch, more than one could cope with.The very thought filled Ebert with

horror. He now shared the aims of theGovernment which he supported with allhis strength: the Kaiser’s abdication —an early armistice — a Regency — thepreservation of the monarchy.

The Kaiser himself had no intention ofabdicating but he, too, was afraid ofrevolution: for that very reason he nowdesired the armistice as eagerly as thepeople and the Government. He neededthe Army to smash the revolution athome if it should break out. Thatpresupposed the armistice. The Armymust no longer be tied down to fightingthe enemy; it would have to be free toturn and march against the rebellioushomeland. If Ludendorff still wanted tostop this he had to go. The Kaiser

already had his eye on the Commanderwho would quell the revolution: GeneralWilhelm Groener, a clear-headed manfrom Swabia who might be expected totake in his stride the military defeatwhich was not of his making, but whowould restore law and order at homewith a firm hand. On October 30 theKaiser unceremoniously left Berlin,escaping the tactless discussions of hisabdication in the capital, and took upbattle stations at General Headquarters,surrounded by his military paladins.

***A no-man’s-land in time, this month

of October 1918 — a time between Warand Peace, between Empire andRevolution, between military

dictatorship and Parliamentarydemocracy. As the month advanced, thenormal political bearings becameincreasingly shrouded as if in a fog. Theindividual protagonists lost sight of eachother — were almost out of earshot fromeach other; each obsessed with his ownfear — the Kaiser fearing for his throne,the High Command for the coherence ofthe Army, the Chancellor for a timelyarmistice, the Social Democrat leadersfor the patience of the masses. A fewconspirators did put their heads togetherin Berlin (and only there) and plannedrevolutionary action, originally forNovember 4, then for November 11.They too were full of fear — for thefeasibility of their plans. For although

everyone was talking of the possibilityof a revolution, nobody knew whetherthe masses were really ready and able torevolt; and nobody knew what powers ofresistance the Establishment might yetmuster if an uprising took place.

In the event it was not the Berlinconspirators who set the Revolution inmotion, and it was not the ‘Kaiser-problem’ which sparked it off, but atotally unexpected act of despair by theNaval Command.

For an understanding of this step, letus listen once more to the voice ofLudendorff. Ludendorff had departed —to Sweden on a forged passport — buthis spirit survived in the Army and Navystaffs. On October 31 Ludendorff wrote

down what was now in his mind:

Certainly our situation was nolonger capable of improvement. Inthe South-East disaster was,beyond doubt, taking its course. Buta last effort by the German peoplewould have had a sobering effecton the people and armies of France,England and probably alsoAmerica. For a few months wecould have kept the War going. Afortress which surrenders beforemaking a last-ditch stand is cursedwith dishonour. A people whichaccepts humiliations and submits toconditions destructive of itsexistence, without having pitted its

last strength, is courting its finaldownfall. If it submits to a similarfate after making a last supremeeffort, it will live.

Much of this is unrealistic andillogical, but it contains one genuinefeeling. Of course one cannot survive thedestruction of one’s existence, even aftera last-ditch stand, and anyway Wilson’sconditions included no such thing. ThatGermany might have ‘kept the War goingfor a few months’ could perhaps haveapplied before September 29; not now.But when Ludendorff talks of ’the curseof dishonour’ which strikes those whostop fighting before they are totallyunable to fight, he touches upon

something that was real and alive. Aspecific concept of honour which wasthen deeply ingrained in the GermanOfficers’ Corps, indeed in the Germanruling class; a concept of honour which,though it is rigid and formal andnowadays seems somewhat archaic andmoth-eaten, was in those days apowerful psychological reality. Itgoverned the thoughts, emotions andactions of the German ruling class forwhom it established their identity anddistinguished them from the masses, whowere not gentlemen, had no honour andcould not be challenged to a duel. Thisconcept of honour divided upper andlower classes into two separate worlds.Strange that Ludendorff had forgotten it

completely on September 29; lesssurprising that he was now rememberingit.

Others had never forgotten it, eventhen. Let us recall how his own staffofficers reacted to his decision tocapitulate: ‘One could hear mutedgroaning and sobbing, many, perhapsmost, had tears helplessly running downtheir cheeks.’ They felt dishonoured. Themasses at home, as also the masses ofsimple soldiers and sailors might feelrelieved by the prospect of peace andlife, even if the War was lost, even if thefight was abandoned before the lastditch; not so the officers. For themsurrender meant disgrace; and todisgrace they preferred death. And the

other ranks would have to join in thedying without reasoning why.

But the other ranks no longer wantedto go on dying — not now that the Warhad been given up as lost, and not for thesake of the honour of one class, anhonour in which they did not share andwhich meant nothing to them — and this,not the ‘Kaiser-problem’, in fact, nowtriggered off the Revolution.

When the naval officers tried inearnest to mount a last-ditch stand, thesailors mutinied — and swept the homeArmy and the workers along with them.What was rising up here was anelemental desire to live, and what it wasrising against was an extravagantconception of honour clamouring for an

end wreathed in glory. Three days afterLudendorff’s dismissal, two days afterthe acceptance of Wilson’s last note,while the Government was busy gettingrid of the Kaiser and saving themonarchy, and while the Germanarmistice delegation was packing itsbags, in Germany the earth began toshake.

4. The Revolution

The first historian of the WeimarRepublic, Arthur Rosenberg, has calledthe November Revolution of 1918 ‘theweirdest of all revolutions... The massesbacking the majority parties in theReichstag rebelled against the Max vonBaden Government, that is to say, in factagainst themselves.’ Rosenberg’sanalysis of the origins and history of theWeimar Republic remains the mostprofound and perceptive study so far, buton this point Rosenberg is wrong. Themasses did not rebel against theGovernment. Strange though it maysound — they rebelled for theGovernment.

The earthquake of the second week ofNovember began, as is well known, witha mutiny among the sailors of the HighSea Fleet against the Naval Command,but what triggered off this mutiny — afact which has since been consistentlyglossed over — was another mutiny; amutiny of the Naval Command againstthe Government and its policies.

When the ranks rose against this, theysaw themselves as acting on theGovernment’s behalf. The dramatic testof strength between sailors and navalofficers which took place on October30, 1918 on Schillig Wharf outsideWilhelmshaven and which started theRevolution, was not a test of strengthbetween Government and Revolution. It

was the first contest between thecounter-Revolution and Revolution —and the counter-Revolution made theopening move.

When, in line with Wilson’s demands,the Reich Government, on October 20,ordered the cessation of the U-boat war,the Naval Command decided to pick thismoment for a decisive engagementbetween the German and the BritishNavies. This decision was by its naturemutinous. It was taken behind the back ofthe new Government and kept strictlysecret from it. It was unmistakablyintended to thwart the Government’spolicies. It expressed the unspoken andperhaps only half-conscious butunmistakable wish to ignore the

‘Revolution from above’ which hadplaced this Government of Parliamentary‘lily-livered pictures of misery’ at thehelm, to treat it as if it had not happened,if not to unmake it.

The attempt was later made to playdown this decision to send out the entireGerman Fleet as a mere supportoperation to relieve pressure on theArmy, a routine military operation ofwhich the Government did not need to beinformed. This is an untenable alibi andexcuse. The battle on land in the west,with its critical points far inland, couldnot be decisively influenced at sea. No-one had ever thought this possible; theHigh Command had never demandednaval support for the land Army simply

because such support would not havemade military sense. If for the first timein two years the German Fleet was nowto set sail in full array, this could haveonly one meaning, the same as in May1916 at Jutland: to challenge the BritishNavy to a decisive naval battle.

Such a naval battle could no longerturn the fortunes of war, not even in theunlikely event of a victory over theBritish Navy, for the British Navy wasnow backed up by the American Fleetwhich could go on enforcing theblockade, and in any case, now that theWar was about to be decided on land,the blockade no longer influenced theissue. But the terrible sacrifices of agreat naval battle, irrespective of how it

ended, were bound to rouse the enemy’sfury and determination to a new whiteheat and destroy all hopes of an earlyand acceptable armistice such as theGerman Government was urgentlyworking for. Now, more than ever, thedecision to fight a naval battle was ahighly political decision, and what ismore, one which flew directly in theface of the Government. When the NavalCommand took this decision completelyon its own initiative, this was a majorbreach of discipline, insubordination,officers’ mutiny. This officers’ mutinynow provoked a mutiny in the ranks.

***Discontent had long been smouldering

among the ratings of the German Fleet.

Breaches of discipline with politicalovertones had occurred in 1917 and hadbeen suppressed with adamantineruthlessness and punished with theutmost severity. But nothing of the sorthad happened since and there is not theslightest shred of evidence that thedisheartened sailors, with the longed-forend of the War in immediate reach, nowintended off their own bat to risk theirlives in a large-scale last-minute mutiny.However, they felt the same about amajor naval battle. Now suddenly facedwith the choice of once more riskingtheir lives in one way or the other, thecrews of several large ships (yet by nomeans all) opted for mutiny. Assuredlynot from cowardice — mutiny in time of

war requires more personal courage thanbattle — but because they feltthemselves to be in the right.

On the Thüringen, one of the twoships of the line which on October 30refused to sail, the sailors had a fewdays earlier sent a delegate to the FirstOfficer and told him that the plannednaval operation did not appear to fit inwith the ideas of the new Government.According to the sailors’ subsequentevidence before the court martial, theFirst Officer replied bitterly: ‘Yes, thereis your Government for you!’ Anexchange which reveals in a suddenflash the true confrontation. It was theofficers who no longer acknowledgedthe Government as theirs; the crews who

felt driven to fight for ‘their’Government. In their view they wereengaged in legitimate national self-defence and were defending overridingprinciples: their mutiny was againstmutineers.

Leaflet issued to Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councilsand addressed to soldiers returning from the front

For days no one in Berlin or atHeadquarters in Spa knew anything ofthe mutiny on Schillig Wharf. Keptsecret, it ended in a draw. Afterbreathtaking minutes during which theships in mutiny and those which had notyet mutinied aimed their giant guns ateach other from the closest proximity,the mutineers surrendered. Thus far theofficers had won. But the navalengagement was abandoned: theAdmirals felt they could not risk battlewith so unreliable a crew. Thus far thecrews had won. The fleet which hadbeen assembled at Schillig Wharf was

dispersed again. Only one squadronremained outside Wilhelmshaven,another was ordered to Brunsbüttel; theThird Squadron which had not mutiniedsteamed back to Kiel where it arrived onFriday, November 1. Over one thousandsailors were arrested and taken ashoreinto military prisons. They faced courtmartial and the execution squad.

Their fate was now at issue. Thecrews of the Third Squadron rode backto Kiel as gloomily as a week earlierthey had set out for Wilhelmshaven. The‘death ride’ which they then thoughtthemselves to be heading for had indeedbeen thwarted. But now their comradeswho had thwarted it were facing death.This thought gnawed at and fermented in

the sailors. At Schillig Wharf only thecrews of the Thüringen and of theHelgoland had in the end reallymutinied, but almost all the others hadbeen close to it, had merely lacked thecourage to jump. Now this keptbothering them. Should their comradeson the Thüringen and the Helgoland,who had summoned enough courage andthus saved their lives, now die for it?They could not permit this. But if theywere not to permit it, they now neededmore than the courage they had failed tomuster two days earlier at SchilligWharf. For now they had to dare theunheard of, the unimaginable: no longermere disobeying of orders but revolt,violence, seizure of power. And what

would happen then? The prospect leftthem terrified. But to let their comradesdie? Just as impossible, no, even moreso.

It took three days before these menwho had lacked the courage to mutiny inWilhelmshaven found the courage torevolt in Kiel. On the first day they senta delegation to the local commander todemand the release of the arrestees; itwas of course refused. On the secondday they spent hours in the trade unionbuilding at Kiel debating with marinesand dockers what was to be done — andcame to no conclusion. On the third day,Sunday November 3, they wanted tocontinue the discussions but found theunion building locked and under armed

guard. They therefore assembled in theopen on a parade ground where theywere joined by thousands of workers,listened to speeches and finally formed agreat protest march. Some were armed.At a crossroads the march was stoppedby a patrol. Its leader, a LieutenantSteinhäuser, commanded: ‘Disperse!’Then, when this did not happen: ‘Fire!’Nine dead and twenty-nine injured wereleft lying in the road. The marchscattered — but an armed sailor rushedforward and shot Lieutenant Steinhäuserdead.

And that was the moment of truth, thestarting gun of the German Revolutionhad been fired. Suddenly all realizedthat now there was no backing out, and

suddenly all knew what was to be done.On the morning of Monday, November 4,all the sailors of the Third Squadronelected Soldiers’ Councils, disarmedtheir officers, armed themselves and ranup the red flag on their ships. Onesolitary ship, the Schlesien, did not takepart: she ran out to sea under thethreatening guns of her sister ships. Onlyone Captain, Captain Weniger of theKönig, drew his sword to protect hisflag mast. He was shot dead.

Armed sailors, now under thecommand of their soldiers’ councils,where a certain Able Seaman Artelt hadgrasped leadership, marched ashore inmilitary formation, occupied the militaryprison without resistance and freed their

comrades. Others occupied publicbuildings, yet others the railway station.The General Command at Altona hadbeen asked for a detachment of soldiersto put down the sailors’ revolt. Theyarrived at the station in the afternoon andwere disarmed amid scenes offraternization. The Commander of theport, suddenly stripped of all power,received a delegation from the soldiers’council and capitulated, grinding histeeth. The marines of the garrisondeclared their solidarity with the sailors.The dockers moved for a general strike.By the evening of November 4 Kiel wasin the hands of 40,000 rebellious sailorsand marines.

***

The sailors had no idea what to dowith their newly gained power. When onthe evening of November 4 there arrivedfrom Berlin two emissaries of thedisturbed Berlin Government, the SocialDemocrat delegate Gustav Noske andSecretary of State Haussmann, of theLiberal Party, they were welcomed withjubilation and relief. Noske wasimmediately elected ‘Governor’ — onemore proof that the rebels wererebelling not against but for theGovernment and saw themselves asacting on its behalf. But one thing theyinstinctively knew: now they had takenthe first big step in Kiel, overthrown thelocal authorities and seized the town, themovement must not remain limited to

Kiel. Otherwise Kiel would become atrap. They could only escape byadvancing: now they would have tobreak out and carry the movement furtheror their effort would be as suicidal ashad been a week earlier the success ofthe mutineers at the Schillig Wharf,hundreds of whom were still imprisonedin Wilhelmshaven and Brunsbüttel. Theywould have to be liberated and thenwhat had happened in Kiel would haveto happen everywhere, or they were alllost. As the mutiny had grown into arevolt, so now the revolt had to growinto a revolution. The rebels had to seizepower everywhere in the country as theyhad done in Kiel if they were not to beencircled in Kiel, overcome and cruelly

punished. They had to swarm out andcarry revolution into the land. This theynow did with a success entirely beyondtheir expectations.

Wherever the sailors went thesoldiers from the garrisons and theworkers from the factories joined themas if they had been waiting for them;there was almost no serious resistanceanywhere; everywhere the existing ordercracked like rotten wood. On November5 the Revolution had gripped Lübeckand Brunsbüttelkoog, on the 6thHamburg, Bremen and Wilhelmshaven,on the 7th Hanover, Oldenburg andCologne; on the 8th it was in control ofall major west German cities and inLeipzig and Magdeburg it had reached

across the River Elbe. From the thirdday onwards it no longer took sailors totrigger off Revolution; it was spreadingunder its own impetus like a forest fire.As if by tacit agreement the patterneverywhere was the same: the garrisonselected soldiers’ councils, the workerselected workers’ councils, the militaryauthorities capitulated, surrendered orfled, the civil authorities, scared andcowed, recognized the new sovereigntyof the workers’ and soldiers’ councils.The picture was the same everywhere:great processions in the streets, greatpopular demonstrations in the marketplaces, everywhere scenes offraternization among men in blue jackets,men in field grey, and haggard civilians.

First the political prisoners were setfree everywhere and the prisonsoccupied, then the town halls, thestations, the General Commands,sometimes the newspaper offices.

Of course one must not picture theelection of workers’ and soldiers’councils as being like an orderly poll inpeacetime. In the barracks the mostpopular or respected soldiers were oftenappointed by their comrades byacclamation. The election of workers’councils only rarely took place in thefactories and then in much the same way;usually members of the local partycommittees of the two socialist parties— the SPD and the Independents —were nominated as ‘workers’

councillors’ and their nominationconfirmed by acclamation in massgatherings, often in the open in somecentral square. Usually the workers’councils were drawn equally from bothparties. The masses were evidentlyintent upon reuniting the two warringfraternal factions who had split in thecourse of the War. The generalundisputed consensus was that theyshould together form the newGovernment of the Revolution.

There was little resistance, violenceor bloodshed. These days of Revolutionwere marked by a feeling ofstupefaction: the authorities werestupefied by their sudden and unheraldedimpotence, the revolutionaries stupefied

by their sudden and unheralded power.Both sides moved as in a dream. For theone it was a nightmare, for the othersone of those dreams in which one cansuddenly fly. The Revolution was good-natured. There was no mob rule and norevolutionary justice. Many politicalprisoners were set free but no one wasarrested. At the worst a particularlyhated officer or sergeant might have gotbeaten up. The revolutionaries contentedthemselves with depriving officers oftheir insignia of rank — this was asmuch part of the revolutionary ritual aswas running up the red flag. Many of thevictims, however, felt this to be a mortalinsult. It is of little avail to thevictorious masses to be good-natured;

what their vanquished masters could notforgive was their victory.

***Those temporarily vanquished

masters were later to write the history ofthe November Revolution. It is thus notsurprising that German history bookshave little good to say of the events ofthe week from November 4-10, 1918. Itis denied even the honourable name of‘Revolution’: the story is one ofdisorder, collapse, mutiny, treason, mobrule, chaos. In fact what took placeduring this week was a genuinerevolution. What had happened inWilhelmshaven on October 30 had onlybeen a mutiny — disobeying the ordersof authority without any plan or intention

to overthrow this authority. The events inKiel on November 4 were already morethan mutiny, a revolt: there the sailorshad overthrown authority — admittedlywithout any idea of what was to take itsplace. But what swept across Germanywest of the Elbe between November 4and 10 was a true revolution; that is tosay the overthrow of the old régime andits replacement by a new one.

In the course of five days the revolution spreadthroughout Germany

In this week western Germanychanged from a military dictatorship to aRepublic of Workers’ Councils, the so-called Räterepublik. The rising massesdid not create chaos, they createdeverywhere the rough-hewn butrecognizable elements of a new order.They put an end to the GeneralCommands, the military overlords whohad ruled every German town and ruraldistrict throughout the war under thestate of emergency. The newrevolutionary authority of the workers’and soldiers’ councils took their place.The civil administration remained

untouched and went on working underthe supervision and superior authority ofthe councils as it had worked during thewar under the supervision and superiorauthority of the military. The revolutiondid not touch private property. In thefactories everything stayed as it was. Butthe military authorities who had been allpowerful until now were swept away,together with the monarchs in whosename they had ruled and the militaryauthority of the officers in the army units;the soldiers’ councils replaced them all.The Revolution was not socialist orcommunist. It was — with a sort of tacitmatter-of-factness, almost incidentally— republican and pacifist; consciouslyand above all, it was anti-militarist.

What it got rid of and replaced byinstituting the Workers’ and Soldiers’councils, was the disciplinary powers ofthe officer corps in Army and Navy andthe dictatorial executive powers themilitary had wielded in the country since1914.

The masses who in the Workers’ andSoldiers’ Councils had created a neworgan of state leadership, were noSpartacists or Bolsheviks. They wereSocial Democrats. The members of theSpartacist Union, the predecessor ofwhat was later the Communist Party,provided no leaders for the Revolution,not even ‘ringleaders’. Most of themwere imprisoned until the Revolution setthem free — Rosa Luxemburg, for

example, was throughout this entireweek still in the Breslau town jail,burning with impatience. She was freedonly on November 9 after years ofimprisonment; and Karl Liebknecht,released from prison on October 23,was in Berlin and had to rely on thenewspapers for details of what washappening in the country during thatweek of Revolution.

The Russian example may have had anencouraging influence from afar but therewere no Russian emissaries to providethe Revolution with leadership. In fact,anywhere but in Munich, this Revolutionhad no leaders and no organization, nogeneral staff and no plan of operation; itwas the spontaneous creation of the

masses, of the workers and the commonsoldiers. Therein lay its weakness, alltoo soon to become evident, but thereinalso lay its glory.

For this week of Revolution was notwithout glory — however one may feelabout its aims. It was a massive outbreakthat had the qualities of greatness andnobility which were manifest in itsactions: courage, decisiveness,readiness for sacrifice, unanimity,ardour, initiative, even inspiration andinstinctive purposefulness, all that whichglorifies a revolution; and this amongleaderless masses, German masses atthat! The often repeated allegation thatthe Germans were incapable of arevolution — one knows Lenin’s

scoffing remark that Germanrevolutionaries could not occupy arailway station unless the counter wereopen for the sale of platform tickets —finds its rebuttal in this November weekduring which the German massesoccupied not only many stations, butother more important buildings. In onetown after the other thousands of themnot only risked their lives but venturedthe leap into the unknown, untried,incalculable which takes more couragethan merely putting one’s life at risk —revolutionary, not merely soldierlycourage. The revolutionary achievementof the German masses in this week inNovember can stand comparison withtheir achievements as soldiers in the

previous four years of War and does notfall short of the revolutionaryachievement of the Russian masses in theMarch revolution of 1917. The ardourand impetus of this week even grippedpeople of the middle classes.

Rainer Maria Rilke, for example, whowas hardly a revolutionary, was in factsomething of a snob, wrote to his wifeon November 7 after a revolutionarymeeting in Munich:

... although you sat round thebeer-tables and between the tablesin such a way that the waitressescould only eat through the densehuman structure like weevils — itwas not in the least oppressive, not

even for the breath; the fog of beerand smoke and people did notstrike you as uncomfortable, youbarely noticed it, so important wasit and so clear above everythingelse that things could be said whoseturn had at last come, and that thesimplest and truest of these things,in so far as they were presentedmore or less intelligibly, wereseized upon by the immense crowdwith heavy and massive applause.Suddenly a pale young worker roseup, spoke quite simply: ‘Have youor you or you, have any of you,’ hesaid, ‘made the offer of anarmistice? And yet we are thepeople who ought to have done it,

not these gentlemen at the top; if wecould get hold of a radio stationand speak as common people to thecommon people over there, Peacewould come at once.’ I cannot say ithalf as well as he did, but suddenly,when he had said this, a difficultystruck him, and with a touchinggesture towards Weber, Quidde andthe other professors standing on thestage beside him, he continued:‘Here, these professor chaps, theycan speak French, they’ll help us tosay it properly, as we mean it...’Such moments are wonderful, therehave been all too few of them herein Germany...

This eye-witness account is importantnot only because it catches, with a poet’ssensibility, the atmosphere of thisGerman Revolution, the peculiar mixtureof grave courage and touchingawkwardness, but also because, withoutthe writer realizing it, it makes clear theRevolution’s attitude to the Government.The revolutionaries in Munich, like themutineers of Schillig Wharf ten daysearlier, were not arrayed against thenew Government. On the contrary, theyshared its aims, they thought it neededtheir help and assistance. Peace was notto be left in the hands of the ‘gentlemenup there’: the masses themselves desiredto re-enact and bring to completion whatthey felt the new Government had started

and got bogged down with. The‘Revolution from below’ did not mean toundo the ‘Revolution from above’, but tosupplement it, animate it, push itforward, finally give it life. What itopposed was not the new parliamentaryGovernment but the military dictatorshipstill functioning as a counter-governmentwith martial law, censorship andpreventive custody. With unerringinstinct the masses sensed that thismilitary régime was as much opposed tothe Revolution from above as to thatfrom below, that in truth it wantedneither peace nor democracy, that atheart it was bitterly and irreconcilablycounter-revolutionary, and that it wouldhave to be swept aside together with all

the instruments of its power, all itsinsignia and symbols, in order to makeroom for the new common ideal, the newpeacetime people’s state. The SocialDemocrat masses who had these ideasand who were making revolution,thought they were at one in this withtheir leaders. It was their tragedy thatthey were wrong.

***In the week of revolution no one

suspected the imminence of this tragedy;yet its first scene was already beingenacted. While the Revolution wasspreading like wildfire everywhere —the very night Rilke penned his deeply-moved report, it conquered Munich — ithad already died down in the very place

where it had started: in Kiel. On theevening of Revolution Monday the SPDdelegate Gustav Noske had arrived thereto be jubilantly greeted by the sailors as‘their man’ — the very next evening hephoned Berlin that he ‘had but one hope:a voluntary return to order under SocialDemocrat leadership; then the rebellionwould collapse’... On all sides, hereported, he noticed the inborn Germanfeeling for order reawakening amongworkers and sailors. Reich ChancellorPrince Max von Baden, who made a noteof it, on the same day got Cabinetapproval for the decision: ‘A free handfor Noske in his attempt to stifle thelocal outbreak.’ And a few days later hewas able to note to his satisfaction that

Noske in Kiel had in the name of therevolution successfully called off therevolution, had re-established theauthority of the humiliated officers, hadeven reinstated ships’ patrols. Thosesailors left in Kiel had returned to theirnormal duties. ‘They don’t want theEnglish here’, a satisfied Noske toldBerlin by telephone, and Prince Maxwas full of admiration for what Noskehad accomplished in Kiel: ‘The man hasdone superhuman work.’ In his memoirshe later set down what he was alreadythen beginning to suspect: ‘Germany’sfate depended on Ebert’s repeating therole of his comrade on a large scale —by “rolling back” the movement in thecountry as a whole.’

Rolling back the movement — that,during Revolution week, was the onlypreoccupation of the three centres ofpower left in Germany, all of whichwere feeling the earth tremble undertheir feet: the Kaiser, and the HighCommand headed by Hindenburg andGroener at Spa in Belgium; the ReichGovernment headed by Prince Max vonBaden in Berlin; and, also in Berlin, theSocial Democrat Party leadershipheaded by Ebert who were carrying andsupporting this Government but werenow with forebodings seeing the hourapproaching when they would have tostep into the limelight and take officethemselves to save the State. All threewere agreed that the Revolution would

have to be ‘stifled’ or ‘rolled back’. Asthe days advanced it became theiroverriding concern. They were alsoagreed that an immediate armistice wasthe first priority; as long as the Warcontinued, the Revolution wouldcontinue too.

There was, therefore, a deep sigh ofrelief both in Spa and in Berlin when onWednesday morning, November 6, theyheard from President Wilson that theallied Commander-in-Chief, GeneralFoch, was now ready to receive theGerman armistice delegation at hisHeadquarters in Compiègne. That veryday Secretary of State Erzberger got hismarching orders, very much against hiswill, via Spa to Compiègne. (To the last

moment the Government clung to thefiction that it had originated the requestfor an armistice, not the High Command;hence the highly unusual step ofentrusting leadership of the delegation toa civilian politician, not to a general.)On Friday, November 8, at 10 a.m.,Erzberger, together with the militaryretinue he had picked up in Spa on theway, stood in Compiègne facing Foch,who received him with the words:‘What brings the gentlemen hither? Whatdo you want from me?’ Told that theywere seeking proposals for an armistice,he replied drily: ‘I have no proposals tomake.’ In fact he made no ‘proposals’.Instead he submitted a list of armisticeconditions which had resulted from ten

days of negotiations between the Alliedgovernments, and an ultimatum to acceptor reject these conditions withinseventy-two hours. It was already clearthat the ultimatum would be accepted.

***But what would happen after the

Armistice? Here the threatenedoverlords parted company. They wereall agreed — Kaiser, High Command,Chancellor and SPD leadership — thatthe most urgent task was to bring theRevolution to a halt and to rescue whatwas left of the existing state. They werealso agreed that the Western Armywould be the decisive factor, the onlyinstrument of power that was stillobedient, was not yet involved in the

Revolution and was by the Armisticemade available for use at home. But forwhom or to what purpose the WesternArmy would be used — on this subjectthoughts differed.

The Kaiser was convinced that underhis leadership as supreme Warlord theWestern Army would fight the ‘innerenemy’ as readily as the enemy outside,and he was determined to have it about-turn after the Armistice and marchagainst its rebellious homeland.

General Groener and the ReichChancellor Prince Max did not share thisconviction. Both were secretly of theopinion that the Kaiser himself hadbecome a bone of contention and wouldhave to be removed if the Army were to

remain under the control of its officersand put into action against theRevolution. The solution favoured byPrince Max was a personal abdicationand the installation of a Viceroy or aRegent; General Groener felt the Kaisershould now seek death in battle. Neitherdared to put their views to the Kaiser inperson. They discussed them with theirCabinet colleagues or with otherGenerals; not with the Kaiser. TheCabinet colleagues glumly agreed orshrank back in horror. They too had nowish to speak to the Kaiser. So the dayspassed and nothing happened.

It was the SPD leaders who finallyforced something to happen, particularlytheir Chairman, Friedrich Ebert, who

day by day edged closer to the forefrontof events. He was no opponent of theGovernment to which he had helped givebirth and which he had supported fromthe first moment of its existence, noopponent in principle of the monarchy;in no way an opponent of the existingpolitical order — he saw himself andhis Party as preservers of the state, as itslast reserve of strength; just like Groenerand Prince Max he was concerned withsaving the state and intercepting theRevolution. But he saw more clearlythan Groener or Prince Max how strongthe Revolution had already become andthat not a single day must be wasted if itwas to be stopped. Moreover he had oneadditional worry: if they were merely

wondering how to retain control of theWestern Army, Ebert was alsoconcerned with keeping control of theSPD. Day by day he saw its membersand provincial officers take a left-turninto the Revolution.

On Wednesday, November 6, Ebertwith his colleagues of the SPDExecutive appeared in the ReichChancellery where General Groener hadalso turned up, and demanded theKaiser’s abdication. It had becomenecessary ‘if the masses were to beprevented from going over to the campof the revolutionaries’. This was ‘thelast chance to save the monarchy’.Groener indignantly refused — thesuggestion was ‘completely out of the

question’ — whereupon Ebert declareddramatically: ‘Then things must taketheir course. From now on our pathsdivide. Who knows whether we shallever meet again.’

But if Groener was not yet ready tolisten — the Chancellor had beenconvinced by Ebert. Prince Max askedhim to come back the next morning,Thursday, November 7, for aconversation tête-à-tête. It took place inthe autumnal garden of the ReichChancellery where the two men pacedup and down among the withered leavesof the old trees. Prince Max later made averbatim record of the decisive momentsof the conversation. He acquainted Ebertwith his decision to travel himself to

Headquarters and urge the Kaiser toabdicate. ‘If I succeed in convincing theKaiser, can I count on your support infighting the social revolution?’ PrinceMax continues:

Ebert’s answer was unhesitatingand unequivocal: ‘Unless theKaiser abdicates, the socialrevolution is inevitable. But I willhave none of it, I hate it like sin.’

After the Kaiser’s abdication hehoped to bring round the party andthe masses to the side of thegovernment. We touched on thequestion of the Regency. I namedPrince Eitel Friedrich as the Regentfor Prussia and the Empire

indicated by the Constitution. Ebertdeclared on behalf of himself andhis party that on these constitutionalpoints no difficulties would be putin the government’s way.

Then, in words which betrayedhis emotions he wished me successfor my journey.

Too late! The journey did not takeplace, and the pact between Prince Maxand Ebert fell apart on the very sameday; for in the course of the day itbecame clear that the Revolution wasnow reaching for Berlin and there wasno longer time for journeys to Spa. TheIndependents, the left-wing competitorsof the SPD, had arranged twenty-six

meetings that evening in Berlin. TheGovernment wanted to ban the meetings.The SPD on the other hand wereconvinced that a ban would trigger offrevolution in the capital. Their plan wasto take over the meetings and take thesting out of them. At 5 p.m. they facedthe Government with a new ultimatum:permission to hold the meetings and theKaiser’s abdication by Friday afternoon.To the Chancellor’s outragedexpostulations Ebert replied: ‘Tonightwe must announce the ultimatum fromevery rostrum, otherwise we lose thewhole lot to the Independents. TheKaiser must abdicate at once or we shallhave the revolution.’ Suddenly PrinceMax and Ebert who after all had the

same aim — to get rid of the Kaiser andstifle the Revolution — seemed to faceeach other like enemies.

In all the confusion, the panic of theselast days of the Kaiserreich hidsomething deeper and unspoken. All theprotagonists, Groener and Prince Maxon one side, Ebert on the other, sawsomething coming towards them thatfilled them with horror. All three of themsaw that they would have to becometraitors if they were to achieve theircommon aim: saving the existing stateand the existing social order. Groenerand Prince Max would have to betraytheir Imperial master to whom they hadsworn allegiance. Ebert would have tobetray the Revolution which

unsuspectingly offered him itsleadership. Each of the three still hopedthat the treason of one of the otherswould save him from having to turntraitor. Beneath the audible dialoguebetween them there ran another,subterranean, silent dialogue which wentlike this: ‘If you betray the Kaiser I shallnot have to betray the revolution.’ —‘No, you pretend to take over therevolution and betray it, then we shallnot have to betray the Kaiser.’ But noneof them would listen to the others’ secretcry of distress and meanwhile the dayspassed and the sands of time ran out.

In the end none of the three men werespared the great betrayal each had triedto push on to another. The moment of

truth came on the same day, on Saturday,November 9. For the German monarchyand for the German Revolution alike thiswas the fateful day. It was the day onwhich the Kaiser fell by the hand of hispaladins. It was also the day when theRevolution installed the man who wasdetermined to stifle it.

5. November 9

On Friday evening, November 8, HerrDrews, the Prussian Minister of theInterior, drew out his watch at a meetingof the Cabinet and remarked: ‘It is now9.30, let us adjourn the meeting.Tomorrow there will be a general strikeand bloody riots are likely. Everythingdepends on whether the Army stands fastor not. If not, then tomorrow there willbe no Prussian Government.’ WarMinister von Scheüch took umbrage:‘What makes Your Excellency think thatthe Army will not stand fast?’

At about the same time RichardMüller, leader of an illegal group ofconspirators who had for days been

planning a coup for the followingMonday, stood by the Halle Gate inBerlin. ‘Heavily armed columns ofinfantry, machine-gun companies andlight field artillery moved past me in anendless stream towards the heart of thecity. The troopers looked pretty tough. Ifelt uneasy.’ What frightened Müller andgave von Scheüch his confidence wasthe Fourth Regiment of Fusiliers, a unitregarded as particularly reliable, whichduring the summer had several timesbeen successfully sent into action in theEast against Russian revolutionaries.Now they were to be sent into action inBerlin against German revolutionaries.They had got their marching orders theprevious day in Naumburg to reinforce

the Berlin Garrison. Late at night onNovember 8 they moved into theAlexander Barracks. That very nighthand grenades were distributed. This ledto an incident.

A lance-corporal made a rebelliousremark. He was immediately arrestedand taken away, without resisting. Butsuddenly, after the event, the men, to thedismay of their officers, began togrumble and to ask questions aloud.Even these ‘tough troopers’ weresuddenly heard to say strange things.What was it all about? What were theydoing here in Berlin? Wasn’t everyonetalking about the end of the War and theKaiser’s abdication? Hadn’t they gotSocial Democrats in the Government?

Could they really be meant to fightagainst the Government? They no longerunderstood anything. Before they threwhand grenades at German compatriots,they wanted to know exactly what wasup. The officers managed to calm themdown somewhat by promising them thateverything would be made perfectlyclear to them the next morning. So themen first of all went to bed. After allthey were tired; they had had a longday’s march. But on Saturday morning,after reveille, they agreed quite suddenlyto find out for themselves. A delegationwent by lorry to the offices of the SPDnewspaper Vorwärts. It is not clearwhether the officers were informed ofthis and had given their agreement.

At Vorwärts the SPD shop stewardshad been in session since 7 a.m. Theywere waiting for news of whether theKaiser had abdicated or whether ‘thingswould start’. They were waitingimpatiently. They were no longer sure oftheir influence in the factories. Moreradical men than they were now beinglistened to there. If something didn’thappen soon ‘things might start’ withoutthem. The soldiers broke into thisnervous gathering. Had they perhapscome to arrest them? Anything waspossible. There they stood by the door,self-assured, demanding. Someone wasto come with them, immediately, to putthe unit in the picture. What could thismean? The SPD delegate Otto Wels

decided to risk the journey into the lion’sden; he was a stocky, powerful man anda genial soul. He travelled in the lorrywith the soldiers, a lonely civiliansurrounded by heavily armed men. Hehad no idea what awaited him.

In the square of the AlexanderBarracks the entire unit had formed up inmilitary order, with the officers in front.Wels did not know their mood. Hauledon top of a regimental dog-cart he beganto speak. He began carefully, beingneither provocative nor inflammatory.He spoke sadly and simply of the Warthat had been lost, of President Wilson’shard conditions, of the Kaiser’sobstinacy, of the hope for peace. Whilespeaking he slowly began to sense

agreement among the men, uncertaintyamong the officers. Slowly he felt hisway forward, became more explicit —until he risked it: ‘It is our duty toprevent civil war! I call upon you tocheer the peoples’ free state!’ Andsuddenly a roar — he had won.

The ranks rushed forward andsurrounded the cart on which he stooderect, an easy target if someone hadwanted to shoot. But no officer fired.Wels returned in triumph with sixty menwho were to protect Vorwärts — andthen went on to the other barracks of theBerlin garrison. He now knew whatmattered and how he had to handle thesoldiers. The Naumburg Fusiliers hadgiven him his clue.

It was 9 a.m., Berlin was still quiet,the workers were still in their factories.In the capital the Revolution had not yetbegun — but its fate was sealed inadvance. Armed power in Berlin wasnow in the hands of the SPD. On this dayit meant the end of the Kaiserreich. Bythe next day it was to mean the end of theRevolution.

In the very hour when Wels returnedto Vorwärts with his military escort, atHeadquarters in Spa, Hindenburg andGroener went to the Kaiser to informhim that he no longer had the backing ofthe field Army. The previous evening —at about the time when the PrussianMinister of the Interior saidprophetically: ‘Everything depends on

whether the Army stands fast’ — theyhad received shattering news: theSecond Division of Guards, made up ofthe Prussian King’s Own Regiments, hadbeen ordered back from the front to Aix-la-Chapelle in order to retake Colognefrom the revolutionaries and therebysecure the most important line of supplyand retreat for the army. But they had‘broken their allegiance to their officersand against their express orders had setoff to march home’. The SecondDivision of Guards! If it could not berelied on, that was the end.

On the same morning thirty-nine unitcommanders had arrived from the frontwith instructions to report whether theirunits were ready to fight for the Kaiser

against the Revolution. Before calling onthe Kaiser and leaving the officers withthe Chief of Operations, Colonel Heye,for more detailed interrogation,Hindenburg and Groener briefly listenedto them. Their verdict confirmed theexperience with the Second Division ofGuards: the units could no longer beused for action in a civil war. The daybefore at the morning audience theKaiser had announced his intention toplace himself at the head of his Armyimmediately after the Armistice andrestore order at home, and had givenGeneral Groener the formal order toprepare this operation. Now Groenerhad to explain to him that the order couldnot be executed. He did this at length,

drily and unemotionally, with muchtechnical detail. His report culminated inthe sentence: ‘The Army will marchback to the homeland in closed ranks andgood order under its leaders andcommanding generals, but not under theleadership of Your Majesty.’ The much-quoted sentence: ‘The oath of loyalty isnow a mere notion’ was not spokenduring this conversation. Groener didnot address it to the Kaiser but said itlater in conversation with other officers.Shortly afterwards Colonel Heye, whohad since individually sounded out thethirty-nine commanding officers,confirmed it to the Kaiser: ‘The Armywill march home under the soleleadership of its generals. If Your

Majesty should march with it, it will notmind and will be pleased. But one thingthe Army no longer wants is to fight,either abroad or at home.’

So in Spa, too, the hour had struck:like the Berlin garrison the Army in thefield could no longer be used to putdown the Revolution. The Kaiserreichhad no means left to defend its existence,either at the Front or at home.

***On the morning when news of the

defection of the Army reached theChancellery, Prince Max von Badenrealized (as he later noted) that: ‘We canno longer suppress the Revolution byforce, we can only stifle it.’ GeneralGroener probably had similar thoughts at

this time. Stifling the Revolution — thatmeant handing it an illusory victory on aplate, evacuating advanced positions forit to occupy, in order to bring it to a haltfrom carefully prepared positions in therear. In factual terms: the Kaiser had toabdicate, the semi-Social DemocratGovernment would have to go entirelySocial Democrat and Friedrich Ebertwould have to become ReichChancellor. It was then up to Ebert to getrid of an apparently victoriousRevolution still reeling from the surpriseof its own all-too-easy victory and torestore order. In the words of PrinceMax: ‘to do in the country as a wholewhat Noske had already done inminiature in Kiel’. It was a role Ebert

was perfectly willing to play, and PrinceMax knew this; General Groener at leastsuspected it. From early on November 9,if not sooner, these three men werepulling in the same direction. They wereall acting in line with the same plan.

But not to the same timetable — andthat led to the drama of November 9, adrama which for all its pathos andsuspense, was not without moments ofcomedy. On that morning Groenerthought that he still had a few days’grace before the Armistice; Prince Maxthought he had at least a few hours —Berlin still seemed quiet. But Ebert hadnot a minute to lose: during the morning-break, factory workers everywhere weregathering and forming columns. If the

SPD did not join these marchers at onceand appear to take the lead, it wouldlose control. The result was that Eberthad to act without being able to wait forPrince Max, and that Prince Max had toact without being able to wait forGroener; that in Spa they spent the wholeday performing a drama of abdicationwhich had long been overtaken by theevents in Berlin; that Prince Max afterhours of anguish announced the Kaiser’sabdication without it having taken place;and that even this misrepresentationcame too late to stop the course ofevents.

Almost everything which, on this day,had the remaining dignitaries of theKaiserreich in a state of excitement and

high tension was, in reality, no longer ofany importance. In Spa and in theChancellery they were performing thelast act of the Kaiserreich withheightened pathos — and totalirrelevance. They were like actors in ahistorical drama rolling their eyes anddeclaiming their lines in a fine frenzywhen the curtain has already dropped.

Shortly after 9 a.m. Spa phoned theChancellery (using a secret direct linewhich was later to play an importantpart) to say that the High Command wasnow ready to inform the Kaiser that hehad lost the Army’s backing. TheChancellery at once phoned this news toEbert: ‘Revolution superfluous,abdication imminent.’ Ebert replied:

‘Too late! The ball has been set rolling.One factory is already in the streets.’After a short pause he added. ‘We shallsee what can be done.’

But if for Ebert — much to his regret— it was already too late, in Spa it wasstill much too soon for final decisions.Admittedly at about 11 a.m. the Kaiser,in a private conversation with one of hispersonal advisers, for the first timetalked openly of abdicating, in adisgruntled and disparaging tone: ‘I havereigned long enough to know what anungrateful business it is. I am far fromwanting to cling to it.’ But that was farfrom being a firm decision, and in thenext hour the Kaiser suddenly indulgedin a new idea: to divest himself of the

mantle of Emperor, but to remain King ofPrussia. At twelve the Crown Princearrived, naïve and forthright as ever:‘Have those piffling sailors not been putto the wall yet?’ Father and son had theirdiscussion in the park. No one heardthem talking; everything was again indoubt. Meanwhile a succession of urgentphone calls from Berlin: the abdicationwould have to be announced at once if itwas still to make an impact, everyminute counted. Spa made the painedreply that such important decisions couldnot be unduly hurried. His Majesty hadmade his decision but it still had to beformulated and would Berlin kindly bepatient.

At noon, with news reaching the

Chancellery of huge columns of workerspouring towards the city centre from thefactory estates, the Chancellor finallylost his patience. The officialannouncement of the Kaiser’s abdicationhad been prepared hours ago, at hisinstruction. Now he ordered it to bemade public, knowing full well that itwas premature. The official newsagency issued this statement:

The Emperor and King hasdecided to renounce the throne. TheReich Chancellor will remain inoffice until the problems connectedwith the Kaiser’s abdication, therenunciation of the throne by theCrown Prince of the German Reich

and of Prussia and the installationof the Regency have been settled.He intends to propose to the Regentthat Representative Ebert beappointed Reich Chancellor and abill be drafted for the holding ofimmediate general elections for aGerman National ConstituentAssembly which would have thetask of giving final form to thefuture Constitution of the Germanpeople, inclusive of those parts ofthe people who might wish to comewithin the frontiers of the Reich.

In anticipating the Kaiser’s decisionand telling the people of an abdicationthat had not yet happened, Prince Max

felt he was committing a terrible deed.He had hesitated for many agonizinghours before summoning enoughcourage, and in fact for a man of hisbackground and position it would havebeen a classical piece of villainy — if ithad still had the least significance. But itsignified nothing. The princelyChancellor’s gesture resembled thegesture of a circus clown who pretendsto be directing the show; it was purecomedy, no less so than the comedyabout the order to fire which followedhard upon it. The Commanding Officerof Berlin, General von Linsingen,enquired whether there was any point inusing firearms in view of the fact that themajority of the troops would not fire in

any case. After hasty consultation withhis staff the Chancellor brought himselfto reply: ‘Only to protect the lives ofcitizens and to protect Governmentbuildings.’ This answer was lost in thevoid, for Linsingen, under pressure oftime and circumstances, had himselfalready issued the order: ‘Troops are notto use arms, not even in defence ofbuildings.’ And even that came too late,for by the time the order reached them,the soldiers were already fraternizingcheerfully with the approaching workersand would not have fired in any event.

Meanwhile, a few minutes after noon,Ebert had turned up in the Chancellerywith a delegation of the SPD Executiveand demanded that he and his Party take

over the Government ‘to preserve lawand order’. The announcement that theChancellor was to stay in office until thequestion of the Regency was settled hadonly just been issued but the Prince didnot resist. Basically he and Ebert wantedthe same thing, and he was immenselyrelieved that Ebert was now ready to ridhim of all further responsibilities. Hetherefore ceded to him theChancellorship: as yet theChancellorship of the ImperialGovernment — just after having,however prematurely, announced theKaiser’s abdication. Even if he had notdone that, the transfer would still havebeen constitutionally impossible — noChancellor has the right to nominate

another. But whatever the rights orwrongs, the Government Ebert now tookover was still the old Government; allSecretaries of State remained in office,even the Prussian War Minister, vonScheüch; the only difference was that theChancellor was now called FriedrichEbert instead of Max von Baden. Hisfirst act in office was a proclamation tothe marching workers of Berlin: ‘Fellowcitizens! With the agreement of allSecretaries of State the present ReichChancellor has entrusted me with theconduct of the business of the ReichChancellor... Fellow citizens! I urge allof you: Leave the streets! Preserve lawand order!’ But Ebert was too late. Thecall to leave the streets was lost in the

void like Prince Max’s prematureannouncement of the Kaiser’s abdicationand his half-hearted order to fire. Themasses were in the streets in theirhundreds of thousands and had — oneo’clock was approaching — reached thecity centre. The leaflets with Ebert’sproclamation were discarded unread.

***The next great scenes of this free-

wheeling tragi-comedy took place overlunch. There were three of them.

The first was played in the Reichstagwhere Ebert and Scheidemann werelunching on the watery potato soup thatwas on the menu, sitting at separatetables. The two leaders of the SPD didnot particularly like each other. As they

were eating, there was a noise outside; ahuge swarm of people had reached theReichstag, they were shouting for Ebertand Scheidemann, punctuated withrhythmic chants of ’Down with theKaiser, down with the War!’ and ‘Up theRepublic!’ Representatives came rushingin begging Ebert and Scheidemann toaddress the crowds. Ebert shook hishead and went on eating his soup. ButScheidemann, who was a brilliant oratorand somewhat proud of it, left his soupand hurried through the long ornatecorridors of the Reichstag. In passing, heoverheard with silent amusement a groupof Representatives and senior officialsdiscuss the selection of a Regent. Hereached a window and opened it. Below

he saw the gigantic crowd fall silent atthe sight of him, the forest of red flags,thousands of emaciated, careworn,devout faces looking up at himecstatically. What a moment! This washis hour, stirring off-the-cuff speecheswere his forte; he found his tongue, thewords came in a rush. ‘The people havewon all along the line!’ he shouted, andthen, into the mounting roar of delight:‘Long live the German Republic!’

He himself thought he had not donetoo badly and, pleased with himself,went back to the dining-room where hiswatery soup had grown cold. Butsuddenly Ebert stood at his table, hisface livid with rage: ‘He banged his fiston the table and yelled at me: “Is it

true?” When I told him that it was notonly true but a matter of course he madea scene which took me completelyaback. “You have no right to proclaimthe Republic. What is to become ofGermany, a Republic or whatever, willbe decided by a Constituent Assembly!”‘Thus wrote Scheidemann in his Memoirsof a Social Democrat.

In fact Ebert himself was not about toleave everything to a ConstituentAssembly. When Prince Max came a fewhours later to take his leave, he askedhim to stay on — as Administrator of theReich. He was as ready as Scheidemannto do the Assembly’s job for it — onlyin the reverse sense; he did not want arepublic, he wanted to save the

monarchy, even now. But Prince Maxwas no longer inclined to play a part, hehad packed his bags. That very afternoonhe departed; home to South Germany,making his exit from seething, turbulentBerlin — and from history.

***While Ebert and Scheidemann were

eating in the Reichstag, in Spa the Kaiserwas taking his meal in the royal train. Hewas at table when they brought him thenews just received by telephone fromBerlin — the news that Prince Max hadannounced His Majesty’s abdication.The Kaiser was professionally trained toself-control. He went on eatingmechanically. Then he slowly turnedpale and began: ‘That a Prince von

Baden should overthrow the King ofPrussia...’ he did not finish the sentence.His voice broke.

He had just signed the document inwhich he abdicated as Emperor but notas King of Prussia, and was engaged ininwardly rehearsing his new role asKing of Prussia. And now this! After themeal, at coffee with a small privateentourage, his indignation exploded:‘Treason, shameless outrageoustreason!’, he kept repeating loudly andfilled hurriedly-ordered telegram formswith increasingly sharply wordedmessages of protest. None of them weresent. And the addressee was no longerthere to receive them.

In the Reich Chancellery in Berlin the

mid-day meal was also interrupted, by atelephone call reporting the partialabdication — as Emperor, but not asKing of Prussia — and they were hardlyless indignant about this than the Kaiserwas about the conduct of Prince Max.‘What are you saying?’ Under-Secretaryof State Wahnschaffe shouted into theinstrument, ‘Abdicate as Emperor butnot as King of Prussia? But that is ofabsolutely no use to us, that isconstitutionally quite impossible!’ Theconstitutional impossibility was largelyirrelevant — everything that hadhappened in the last few hours wasconstitutionally impossible. Thegentlemen at the Chancellery were muchmore indignant at not having been

consulted about such a plan, and in thisthey were quite right. The whole thinghad been dreamt up on the spur of themoment. Berlin accordingly completelyignored it. The information was filed inthe archives and never made public. TheKaiser’s partial abdication never tookeffect.

In fact the Kaiser did not abdicate onNovember 9, 1918 (he did it threeweeks later in Holland) and, as yet,Germany was no republic. ThatScheidemann had cheered the republicfrom a Reichstag window wasconstitutionally irrelevant. Prince Max’sabdication announcement had simplybeen a false report. The declaration bywhich the Kaiser withdrew to the status

of King of Prussia remained an invaliddraft buried without countersignature inthe Chancellery archives. And the manwho had now become Reich Chancellor,even if in a highly irregular manner, stillconsidered himself an ImperialChancellor and still strove to save themonarchy somehow. But the monarchywas beyond salvation. In German minds,including those of monarchists, it endedon that day, and the Kaiser himselffinally gave it the coup de grâce, not byabdicating (this was no longer on theagenda) but by slipping out of thecountry.

***It is not clear who first suggested his

departure. It was not an obvious

solution. The Kaiser was in no personaldanger. In Spa he moved between hisresidence, the Headquarters and theroyal train without interference, theguards as always presenting arms. Therewas no revolution in Spa. The unitCommanders had told Colonel Heyeonly a few hours earlier that the troopswould not mind and would ‘be pleased’if the Kaiser were to join them on apeaceful march home. And yet afterlunch everyone was suddenly talkingabout the safety of the Kaiser’s personand the question of where he would livein future. All seemed agreed that theKaiser was in danger and that he wouldhave to leave. Only Groener disagreed:‘I would point out that when the Kaiser

has abdicated he can go where he likes.Until he has abdicated he must notabandon the Army. To abandon the Armywithout abdicating is an impossibility.’

Embarrassed silence greeted thisremark. Nobody seemed to want tounderstand. After a short pause thediscussion about possible itinerariescontinued as if Groener had not spoken.Even Hindenburg, who had been veryreserved throughout the day, saidrepeatedly: ‘In an extreme emergencycrossing the frontier to Holland might beconsidered.’ The court officials putforward the thought that if the Kaiserintended to travel, the decision wouldhave to be taken soon, so that the DutchGovernment might be advised. Although

no definite decision had actually beentaken, everyone was soon busytelephoning. At five o’clock the Kaiser,who had not been present, suddenlysummoned the Chiefs of Command to saygoodbye. He refused to shake GeneralGroener’s hand: ‘Now that I haveresigned the High Command I have nolonger anything to do with you. You are aGeneral from Württemberg.’ Evidentlyhe somehow viewed Groener’s requestthat he should remain with the Army aslong as he had not abdicated, as apersonal insult; evidently he also stillconsidered himself King of Prussia. Butthe King of Prussia now abandoned theArmy.

There was still some dithering.

Suddenly the word went round: ‘We arenot going’; then again, ‘We are going.’ Inthe event the Kaiser, his luggage packed,spent the night in the royal train and, at 5a.m. the next morning, the train steamedout of Spa Station in the direction of theDutch border. Like Prince Max vonBaden twelve hours earlier the Kaisernow made his exit from history, and theGerman monarchy exited with him. Afterthis precipitate departure nothing couldhave saved it. It had not abdicated, it hadwiped itself out.

The Kaiser’s clandestine getaway andthe soundless collapse of the Germanmonarchy which it implied were ofmomentous importance for Germany’sdistant future. It deprived the German

upper classes of their tradition andmainstay; it imparted to their imminentcounter-Revolution a desperate andnihilist air which it would hardly havehad as a movement to restore themonarchy; it left the vacuum that Hitlerwas ultimately to fill. But what theKaiser did or did not do had becometotally irrelevant to the immediate dramaof November 9 and 10. Whether heabdicated or not, whether he stayed inSpa or went to Holland, could no longerhave any effect on events in Berlinwhere since early on November 9 theworkers had been on the move and thesoldiers had joined the socialist camp.The defender of the old order was nolonger the Kaiser, it was Ebert. And

Ebert, on the afternoon of November 9,unlike Prince Max in the morning, had notime to worry about the Kaiser; he hadquite different worries. For on this sameafternoon the Revolution threatened toengulf Ebert as well.

6. Ebert’s Hour

Friedrich Ebert who, on November 9,1918, became Germany’s man of destinywas not impressive to look at. He was ashort, fat man, with short legs, a shortneck, and a pear-shaped head on a pear-shaped body. And he was not acompelling orator. His voice was throatywhen he read his speeches. He was notan intellectual yet not a man of thepeople. His father had been a mastertailor (like the father of Walter Ulbricht)and he himself had been apprenticed to asaddler; since childhood horses hadbeen his secret love. Later, as ReichPresident, he went for regular morningrides in the Tiergarten.

Ebert was a typical German artisan:solid, conscientious, a man of limitedoutlook but within his limitations a manof skill; quietly dignified in his treatmentof important customers, laconic andbossy in his own workshop. The SPDofficials tended to shake in their boots inhis presence like journeymen orapprentices in the presence of a strictmaster. He was not particularly popularin the Party but he enjoyed enormousrespect. He had played no big part in thegreat discussions which shook the Partybefore the War — about revolution orreform, mass action orparliamentarianism — but when he waselected to the Party Executive he had atonce installed telephones and

typewriters and a decent filing system inthe Party offices. Ebert could be reliedon to be systematic. When the War brokeout he had been picked as the man totake the Party funds to Zurich where theywould be out of harm’s way. He was aman one could trust, a man who alwaysknew what he wanted.

What did he want? Quite certainly nota revolution. He hated it ‘like sin’. If hehated anything more, it was lack ofdiscipline in his Party. ‘It will lead tothe collapse of the Party,’ he had statedin 1916, ‘if discipline and confidenceare destroyed and all the foundations ofthe organization allowed to perish. Thisis the Party’s great danger! We must puta stop to these goings-on.’ In those days

this had sufficed to split the Party. In1917 all those restless spirits who couldno longer bear to be under Ebert’s thumbhad finally split off and formed theIndependent Social Democrat Party(USPD). Ebert looked upon this newParty of the Left not only with disfavourbut also with contempt: a pigsty lackingall discipline and structure.

He wanted the best for his Party andhe had not the least doubt what this bestwas: more power for the Reichstag, withthe Reichstag franchise extended toPrussia; this would automatically takethe SPD into the Government, perhapseven make it the strongest Party in theGovernment, and then it would be ableto introduce social reforms and improve

the workers’ lot. Friedrich Ebert did notwant more: that was the extent of hisvision.

In the German Empire, as it then was,Ebert did not see much to find fault with.During the War he had of course been apatriot but he was not cast down bydefeat: ‘With calm and fortitude,’ he toldthe Reichstag on October 22, ‘we awaitthe results of our peace initiative. Wemay lose our goods and chattels — butno one can take from us the strength tocreate anew. Whatever may happen, weremain at the heart of Europe as anumerous, capable, honour-lovingpeople.’

Basically, Ebert by October 1918 hadachieved everything he had ever striven

for. He was more than happy that theParty found itself sharing power withrespectable bourgeois partners andequally pleased that there was still aKaiser awesomely brooding over thewhole. That at this moment theRevolution had to break out! And that hisown supporters were responsible! ForEbert this was a dreadful stroke ofmisfortune, a terrible misunderstanding.But he thought he was the man to copewith it.

He was now Reich Chancellor,backed by the State, by organizedauthority, by the Civil Service and by theArmed Services — or what was left ofthem. He embodied order. And surelythat was what counted? Was an orderly

Government not necessary to achieve theArmistice and peace that all werelonging for? Was not order necessary if acatastrophic famine was to be avoided?Ebert wanted order. Ebert was order,and it seemed a safe bet to him that theGermans could rapidly be won back totheir sense of order.

Moreover Ebert had another trumpcard up his sleeve: he was not onlyChancellor, he was also Chairman of theSPD. He embodied not merely order assuch, he embodied the new order. Therevolutionaries — who were largelySocial Democrats themselves — whomwould they want to place at the head ofthe Reich if not their own PartyChairman? Agreed, there were still

those restless spirits of the USPD, therewas still that awkward Karl Liebknechtwho had now become so popular as amartyr of the protest against the War.Well, one would in God’s name take afew USPD people into the Governmentand gag the Revolution that way. Theywould not be able to do too muchdamage. Before lunch on November 9Ebert received a USPD delegation in theChancellery and invited them tonominate three candidates for ministerialoffice. One of them asked if they couldnominate whom they chose. ‘Yes,’ Ebertreplied. ‘We shall not let questions ofpersonality stand in our way.’‘Liebknecht too?’ the USPD manquestioned. ‘If you want to, bring in Karl

Liebknecht,’ was Ebert’s reply, ‘he willbe welcome.’

Then they all went to the Reichstag,Ebert to eat his potato soup in silentisolation, the USPD emissaries to spendthe whole afternoon arguinginconclusively with their ParliamentaryParty about participating in theGovernment. They were after all anundisciplined lot where everyone heldhis own views. The Reichstag began tolook like an Army camp that afternoon;the SPD and USPD ParliamentaryParties were in constant session andevery now and again someone from theSPD poked his head through the USPDdoor to ask if they had at last reached adecision. Outsiders also joined the

USPD meeting; at one point KarlLiebknecht turned up to enquire what itwas all about and then ‘in a triumphant,almost imperious tone’ dictated to theSecretary the words: ‘All executive, alllegislative, all judiciary power to theworkers’ and soldiers’ councils’ —whereupon a passionate discussion atonce flared up. But other gate-crashersalso rushed into the Reichstag —unknown, uninvited ones, at times entireprocessions waving red flags. Therewas a constant coming and going. Onthat afternoon of November 9 the streetsin the centre of Berlin resembled asurging sea, and again and again abreaker from this sea of people rolledinto the Reichstag.

Demonstration in Berlin: the placard reads ‘Allpower to the Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils’

(Ullstein)

No one actually attempted to count thenumbers that poured into the city onNovember 9, but all eye-witnessesspeak of hundreds of thousands. Theyhad all experienced a dramatic change ofmood. In the morning each and every oneof them had been prepared to march totheir death. They had no idea that theArmy ‘no longer stood fast’, theyexpected machine-gun fire as theyarrived in front of barracks andGovernment buildings. As — slowly andheavily — the endless columnsapproached from all directions, the frontranks were carrying placards: ‘Brothers,don’t shoot!’ In the rear many carriedarms. With grim determination they wereready to fight to the death for the

barracks. The day was overcast andmild for the time of year, the air heavy,almost sultry; a day pregnant with asense of foreboding and ill omen, aproper day for dying.

And then nothing happened! The‘brothers’ in fact did not shoot, theythemselves threw open the barracks, theyhelped hoist the red flags, they joined themasses or — like the police guards inPolice Headquarters in theAlexanderplatz — they unstrapped theirweapons and made off as quickly as theycould! People were so taken aback thatthey formed gangways to let the policego home unmolested; no one evenshouted insults. The Revolution in Berlinwas as good-natured as it had been

everywhere else. The other side wereresponsible for such bloodshed as therewas: in the Maikäfer Barracks a fewofficers suddenly fired when the door ofa room in which they had barricadedthemselves was torn open. Three peoplewere killed; more died later duringsimilar incidents in the Marstall and inthe university, fifteen all told. But in theimmensity of the crowds these deathswent unnoticed. Since noon, when thefear and tension in the face of theexpected massacre had shown itself tobe groundless, there was everywhereimmense relief, even a sense ofdeliverance and exaltation — and at thesame time a sense of anticlimax, and ofperplexity. What now remained to be

done? All that was left, overflowing thestreets, was an aimless throng,fraternizing in a mood of mutedcelebration — muted because there wasnothing to celebrate; and the dupedreadiness to face death left a strangelyempty feeling.

All the same, here and therecourageous men with a gift fororganization and improvisation took theinitiative, assembled columns of armedmen and trucks and got something done.First of all, as everywhere else, theyoccupied the prisons and set free thepolitical prisoners — only the politicals,all properly and according to the files!Then they occupied the railway stations,the main post offices, also several

newspaper offices (at Vorwärts theattempt was foiled by the NaumburgFusiliers who had been standing guardthere since morning). UnguardedGovernment buildings were left inpeace; the word had gone around thatthese already contained a People’sGovernment. But at 4 p.m. someoneraised the cry: ‘To the Palace!’ Half anhour later the Royal Palace wasoccupied and Karl Liebknecht appearedon a balcony draped with a red blanketand for the second time that dayproclaimed the Republic — this time theSocialist Republic. His solemn voicewith its almost clerical chant rang outover the square where the crowds stooddensely packed. He ended with these

words: ‘Those among you who want tosee the Free Socialist Republic ofGermany and world revolution come topass, raise your hand and swear!’ Theyall swore. Who knows how many keptthe oath?

Karl Liebknecht addresses a street meeting, Berlin,1918 (Stern)

Karl Liebknecht’s was a big name inthose days, perhaps the biggest inGermany. Everyone knew of him and noone remained indifferent: he aroused themost intense love and the most fervidhatred. But he was a symbolic figure, nota powerful one. It was only two weekssince he had been released from theprison where he had spent the previoustwo and a half years as a result of hissingle-handed public protest against theWar. He belonged to no party (the USPDhad been formed when he was already injail), he had no organization to back himand no gift for organization as the

coming weeks were to show. He hadplayed no part whatever in therevolutionary events of the past week; onthis November day, the 9th, his was, as itwere, merely a subsidiary decorativerole in Berlin. He was not the leader ofthe Revolution. His appearance on thePalace balcony was no more than astirring interlude, an episode which hadno effect on the course of events.

But there was another group of menwho thought themselves equipped tograsp the leadership of the Revolutionand whose intervention was to changethe course of events of this eventful dayin the most dramatic manner: they werethe Revolutionary Shop Stewards(Obleute) of Berlin’s great factories, a

group of some hundred men, with anucleus of about a dozen; genuine skilledworkers and experienced workers’leaders whose names (unlikeLiebknecht’s) were unknown in Germanyoutside their factories, but who (againunlike Liebknecht) had the backing of anorganization, namely the workers of theirfactories on whose allegiance they couldcount.

The group of Revolutionary ShopStewards had been formed during the bigstrikes of the past winter. They had beenthe real strike leaders. Since then theyhad conspired together and for someweeks had been planning the Revolution.On November 4 — without the leastinkling of the avalanche which started

that day in Kiel — they had decided on acoup in Berlin planned for November11. They had obtained and distributedarms and drafted plans for a surpriseattack on the centres of Government.Events had then left the Shop Stewardsbehind, but they had no intention ofletting themselves be passed over. Onthe afternoon of November 9 — whilethe masses, enthusiastic, aimless andalready tiring, were surging through thestreets of Berlin, while Ebert wasattempting to govern in the ReichChancellery, and while the SPD and theUSPD were having their endlessmeetings in the Reichstag and failing toagree on the conditions for USPDparticipation in Ebert’s Government —

the Revolutionary Shop Stewards held ahurried consultation and then went intoaction.

They were no great theoreticians orplanners, but men with practical ideas.They saw clearly what was now atissue: to provide the masses with aspearhead capable of action, an organcapable of political intervention, arevolutionary government which couldpush Ebert and the parties to one side.They drummed up a few hundred of theirfollowers. In the evening as darknessfell and the masses in the streets slowlybegan to disperse, they occupied theReichstag.

***There had been wild, uncontrolled

coming and going in the Reichstag allday. The group which suddenly pushedits way in between 8 and 9 p.m. had atfirst attracted no attention, particularlyas it was as motley in its composition aswere all the weird visitors the Reichstaghad seen that day. Nobody was, after all,issuing entry tickets, and all manner ofcurious or enterprising people, inuniform or in civilian dress, had taggedalong with the column of theRevolutionary Shop Stewards. Butsuddenly this column manifestedsomething resembling planned action.The group, numbering several hundredmen, began by occupying Room 17, thenthe main assembly chamber which theydecorated with red sheets brought along

for the purpose. Someone had taken theChair, the President’s bell was rung, thedelegates’ seats were taken, the turbulentgathering was brought to order, anExecutive was proposed and elected.From outside the chamber one couldhear speeches and applause, the wholeritual of a normal session of theReichstag. The delegates who had beenroused from their meeting rooms andwho rushed up to see what washappening, were taken aback at beingsuddenly confronted with arevolutionary parliament in fullprogress.

It was a turbulent, random, unelectedparliament but evidently one quitecapable of functioning. A group of men

occupying the Ministerial benches hadthe assembly pretty well in hand. Theywere the leaders of the RevolutionaryShop Stewards, a few of them familiarfaces, such as Richard Müller and EmilBarth. They cut short wild speeches,gave each other the chance to speak,themselves spoke briefly and effectively,and evidently knew exactly what theywanted. Soon they were putting actualresolutions forward, and thoseassembled were actually voting on them.Shortly after 10 p.m. a few people fromthe SPD who had been listening left thehall in a hurry, covered the shortdistance from the Reichstag to theChancellery in record time and, indismay, reported to Ebert what had

happened: an assembly in the Reichstaghad just resolved that the followingmorning all factories and barracksshould elect workers’ and soldiers’councillors — one representative perbattalion and per 1,000 workers — andthat these elected councillors shouldmeet at 5 p.m. in the Busch Circus tonominate a provisional government, a‘Council of People’s Commissars’.There had been no mention of Ebert’sGovernment; they had acted as if therewas no Government left; they evidentlyintended simply to shoulder theGovernment aside. By now emissariesfrom the Reichstag were probably ontheir way to drum up workers andsoldiers everywhere. The whole thing

seemed to be a coup d’état by theObleute of whose existence and powerin the factories one had a rough idea.

Ebert listened to these ill tidings ingrim silence, without visible excitementbut with an ashen face and compressedlips. ‘Alright,’ he said, ‘wait here in theante-room.’

***What Ebert had aimed at on this day is

perfectly clear from everything he saidand did — he wanted to stop theRevolution at the last moment, to arrangefor the workers’ great march to pass offas a mere demonstration, to save theessentials of the old order and to carryon business under a new letter-head.Prince Max’s programme — the

Kaiser’s abdication, a Regency, anArmistice, a National Assembly — wasalso Ebert’s programme. He simply feltbetter able and politically better placedthan the Prince to implement it. PrinceMax, who called on him in the afternoonto say goodbye, found him ‘stillendeavouring not to lose the organiccontinuity with the past’.

At noon when he took up the post ofReich Chancellor Ebert had been fairlyconfident that he would succeed in this.He found a well-run-in Governmentready at hand and took it over — at firstwithout making any changes in the cast.In one of the proclamations he issued inthe afternoon he had addressed the civilservants in an almost supplicating,

apologetic tone: ‘I know that many willfind it difficult to work with the newmen but I appeal to your love of ourpeople.’ In any case, civil servants arenot strike-prone. He was firmly incontrol of the SPD leadership, he hadknown since morning that he had thebacking of the Army in Berlin. To calmthe working masses he was ready to takesome of the Independents with him intothe Government. He knew theIndependents and was not afraid of them.They had been faithful SPD comradesunder his Chairmanship until well intothe War, and if in the course of time theyhad then split off, very few of them werefirebrands or radicals. In the Cabinetthey would be under his eye and their

participation in the Government wouldfurnish a handy alibi. When at noon inthe Chancellery, on his way to theReichstag and to his potato soup, heabruptly offered them coalition, he did itaccording to ear-witnesses ‘prettybluntly’ and ‘condescendingly’. At noonhe still thought he held all the trumpcards.

But by afternoon everything had goneseriously wrong. Scheidemann’suncalled-for proclamation of theRepublic had been the first mishap; asecond and more serious one was PrinceMax’s refusal to become ReichAdministrator and his hurried departure.Ebert then had to come to terms with theidea of a republic as best he could —

simply because there was no one leftprepared to embody the monarchy. Thishe could learn to bear. But then theIndependents had made unexpecteddifficulties; at first they had been unableto come to a decision about his offer of acoalition, finally they had stipulatedunacceptably radical conditions. Byevening no coalition had yet taken shapeand Ebert had to content himself withnominating a few additional SPDSecretaries of State. His call for thestreets to be emptied had fallen on deafears. At least the mass demonstrationshad passed without much bloodshed, andby tomorrow, a Sunday, Ebert hoped thatthe masses would be tired, would wantto stay at home and sleep off their

revolutionary ardour.But now all these hopes were dashed.

Now it was clear that the Revolutionwould continue tomorrow, and in a muchmore dangerous, much more organizedand more purposeful manner than today.A counter-force had shown its facewhich was competing with him for theleadership and which, in sharp contrastto his own aims, far from calling off theRevolution intended to fan it further.How could he get the better of it?

He had no prepared positions towhich he could retreat. Ebertrepresented the extreme Left of theEstablishment, the last reserve of the oldorder — which for him meant ‘order’pure and simple. Behind Ebert there was

no one. Take him away and there wasnothing left.

Did this mean open warfare?Forbidding the elections for the councilsand the meeting in the Busch Circus and,if necessary, using firearms to shootthem down? Ebert shrank back from thisidea. Certainly, he had the support of theArmy in Berlin. But could he expectthem to go to any lengths? Were they infact still a genuine, blindly obedientmilitary force? Only a few hours agoWels had persuaded them not to fire.Could they now suddenly be persuadedto fire again? And even if one couldpersuade them — should one? Abloodbath among Social Democratworkers perpetrated by the first Social

Democrat Chancellor on the first day ofhis Government? Impossible!

That left only one way out: Ebertwould have to renounce his attempt tomaintain ‘organic continuity with thepast’ through his own person. He wouldhave to stop being the last ReichChancellor and become instead the firstChairman of this — what was it called?— this ‘Council of People’sRepresentatives’. He would have tocollect a second stamp of office: firstthat of Prince Max which had beenunconventional enough, now that of themeeting in the Busch Circus.Impossible? No. There were after allenough loyal Social Democrats amongBerlin’s workers; it was merely a

question of mobilizing them quicklyenough. Above all the alliance with theIndependents had to be signed andsealed even at the expense ofconcessions; the workers and soldiers inthe Circus would have to be confrontedwith the fait accompli of an all-Socialistgovernment. Reconciliation, unity, ‘nofratricidal war’ — that would have to bethe slogan now. Ebert knew his workerswell enough to know that this sloganwould carry weight, that it wasirresistible.

As for the soldiers, they too weremeant to vote and they were, thankgoodness, anything but revolutionary;earlier today it had been anyone’s guesswhether or not they would shoot the

Revolution to bits. They had not done soin the end and it was perhaps no longerto be expected of them. But voting downthe Revolution — that they could stilldo. Here Otto Wels could be used again.He had done so well in the morning, hehad hit the right note with the soldiers,he would have to get back into thebarracks and get to work on the soldiersto make sure they voted the right way thefollowing day.

In the end, when all this had beenachieved, Ebert, having accomplished acoalition of the two Socialist parties,would have to appear personally in theBusch Circus and have himself elected‘revolutionary leader’. He would willy-nilly have to howl with the wolves for

an hour or two. It was the only way.What Reich Chancellor Prince Max hadseen in Reich Chancellor Ebert, ReichChancellor Ebert saw — in the People’sCommissar Ebert. If he was still toprevent the Revolution, he would haveto begin by appearing to lead it. Therewas no other way, but this way it mightstill work.

Ebert summoned his party comradesback from the ante-room. He hadreached a decision and issued hisinstructions. That very night his crewwent to work, headed by theindefatigable Otto Wels still swollenwith success. The men of theRevolutionary Shop Stewards alsoworked throughout the night. It was as

though the staffs of two opposing armieswere in active preparation on the eve ofa decisive battle.

November 9, 1918 ticked to its end. Ithad brought the downfall of themonarchy but not yet the victory of theRevolution. During the night ofNovember 9-10 the fate of theRevolution was still in the balance. Onlythe next day could decide it.

7. November 10: The Revolution’sBattle of the Marne

Professor Ernst Troeltsch —theologian, professor of history andsince 1914 one of the glories of BerlinUniversity — sat down that very monthto describe how the citizens of Berlinspent November 10:

On Sunday morning after a nightof anxiety this picture emergedfrom the newspapers: the Kaiser inHolland, the revolution victoriousin most centres, the Federal princesin the process of abdicating. Notone man has died for Kaiser andReich! The civil service in the

service of the new Government! Allobligations will continue to be metand no run on the banks!

Sunday November 10, was atruly beautiful autumn day. As usualgreat numbers of citizens wentwalking in the Grunewald: nodisplay of elegance, ordinarymiddle-class folk, some of themhad perhaps taken care to dresssimply; all somewhat subdued, likepeople whose fate is being decidedsomewhere far away, but relievedand at ease because it had gone offso well. Trams and undergroundtrains ran as usual, a sort of pledgethat the immediate necessities oflife were secure. On all faces one

could read: ‘salaries will go onbeing paid.’

The citizens on their Sunday afternoonstrolls in the Grunewald who werealready feeling relieved becauseeverything had ‘gone off so well’, didnot suspect that their fate was in fact asyet to be decided on this Sundayafternoon — and not ‘somewhere faraway’ but in the East of their own city, ata turbulent mass meeting in the BuschCircus where that afternoon the firstgreat battle of the revolution was foughtand lost — the first and at the same timethe decisive battle: the Revolution’sBattle of the Marne.

Saturday, November 9, had seen the

climax of the spontaneous, leaderlessRevolution which had broken out in Kielthe previous Monday. Sunday,November 10, saw the beginnings of itsdefeat. Paradoxically, what was to putthe seal on its defeat looked from theoutside like its final and greatesttriumph.

On that Sunday morning everythingwas still undecided. The streets in thecity centre, where yesterday a mass ofpeople had surged, lay empty in theSunday calm. The flagstaffs in Unter denLinden still carried red flags — butthere was barely a handful of isolatedstrollers to rejoice or glower at them.The workers, who yesterday at this timehad been starting their great

revolutionary march, were today —Sunday! — almost all back in theirfactories to elect the workers’councillors whose task it would be thatafternoon in the Busch Circus to institutethe new Government, the Government ofthe victorious Revolution. It was abrilliant organizational success for theRevolutionary Shop Stewards who hadformed this plan late on Saturdayevening. The news had spread by wordof mouth and the workers had turned upalmost in full strength to register theirvotes.

But they did not vote the way the ShopStewards wanted them to. The SPD, too,had not been idle that night. Thousandsof leaflets had been hurriedly drafted,

printed, distributed. The Partynewspaper, Vorwärts, was passed fromhand to hand in all the factories thatmorning, or men read it in groups andstood there, gravely nodding their heads.Its leading article was headlined: ‘NoFratricidal War.’ With what seemed atouch of genius this headline hit on thegeneral mood.

The mood was no longer that of theprevious morning — a point the ShopStewards had overlooked. Yesterday ithad been bitter, impatient, rebellious,grimly determined, full of dammed-up,explosive anger; in fact, a mood ofrevolution. Today it was relaxed,tolerant, conciliatory — a mood ofvictory, not flushed with success but

infused with gratitude. Everyone feltvaguely grateful that victory had been soeasy, that there had been no battle, nocasualties, no bloodshed. Those who theday before had marched into the cityready to die now felt as if they had beenreturned to life. Richard Müller, one ofthe leaders of the Revolutionary ShopStewards, reports that in some factoriesthey elected as workers’ councillorsSPD officials who had yesterday beenforcibly ejected for refusing to join inthe great march. There was no turningthis great emotional tide. Certainly, mostof the candidates put forward by theRevolutionary Shop Stewards gotthrough, but a large number of the newlyelected workers’ councillors — this

much the Shop Stewards angrilyadmitted to themselves by mid-day —were supporters of Ebert.

The elections in the factories had beena semi-defeat. In the barracks, defeatwas total. Here the Revolutionary ShopStewards carried no weight, here no oneknew them, here Otto Wels did thetalking and he pulled no punches. Therewas no talk here of reconciliation, ofbrotherhood — it was a question offoiling a sinister plot aimed at taking theSPD by surprise and keeping it out ofgovernment. Had not the soldiersyesterday taken the people’s part withoutconsiderations of party? Very well then,it was now their duty to defend thepeople’s rights. The soldiers must place

themselves at the disposal of the Ebert-Scheidemann Government, following theexample set yesterday by the NaumburgFusiliers!

A roar of applause! It wasimmediately decided to form an actioncommittee of the Berlin units. In thecourtyard of the Vorwärts building, therewas, at mid-day, a mass meeting ofsoldiers — elected and unelected ones.Leaders and speakers were appointed,rations distributed, and in the afternoon,long before the time for the meeting, thesoldiers, with Wels at their head,marched in closed ranks to the BuschCircus where they occupied the frontrows near the arena. Hermann Müller,later to become SPD Chancellor, throws

light on their mood:

A Spartacist who on his way tothe Lindenstrasse had joined thecolumn of the soldiers’ councillorsout of curiosity, discovered whatwas going on and threatened Welswith a revolver, yelling like a manpossessed: ‘You dog, you are goingto spoil everything for us!’ But hedid not fire and so he was notlynched.

In this manner, in factories andbarracks during the morning and earlyafternoon of November 10, the defeat ofthe Revolution and Ebert’s victory weretaking shape. Ebert himself as yet knew

nothing of this. He still looked on theBusch Circus meeting as a lion trainermight regard his first entry into the lion’scage and he felt he could face it only ifhe came armed with a coalition with theIndependents, with a Government ofSocialist reunification. While thefactories and barracks were busyelectioneering and electing, Ebert at theChancellery was chairing a meeting ofthe Reich Government — still PrinceMax’s old semi-bourgeois Government;and at the same time the ParliamentaryParty of the Independents was meeting inthe Reichstag. Both meetings wereconcerned with the reshaping of theGovernment.

The Government meeting had also to

consider whether the Armisticeconditions should be accepted orrejected but this point was hardly raised;their acceptance was a matter of course.The conditions were tough ones. Theymade it impossible for Germany tocontinue fighting. But it had been clearsince September 29 that Germany couldno longer fight. The meeting hadreceived a telegram from the HighCommand suggesting that they should tryto negotiate for concessions, but if thisfailed, they should sign nevertheless:‘REQUEST SPEEDY DECISIONGOVERNMENT ON THESE LINES,VON HINDENBURG.’ The Governmentdecided accordingly. Erzberger, whospent the day in Compiègne nervously

waiting, reports that late in the eveninghe received an uncoded cableauthorizing him to sign, ‘which greatlyupset me as the open cable jeopardizedthe result of the two-day negotiations’.He nevertheless achieved someconcessions. ‘The cable was signed“Reich Chancellor End”. Theinterpreting officer asked if “End” wasthe name of the new Chancellor and whothis gentleman might be; the French HighCommand and the Government in Parishad not heard of him. I explained that“End” meant full-stop.’

All this happened on the fringe, as itwere; the acceptance of the Armisticeconditions was no longer a problem.That morning Ebert was really

concerned with the decision of theIndependents — and in his presentposition he was prepared to accept theirconditions for participating in theGovernment almost as completely as theArmistice conditions. He now neededthe Independents in his Government,needed them as urgently as Germanyneeded the end of the War — or at leasthe thought he did. With a Government ofSocialist reconciliation he felt in controlof the situation; without such aGovernment he did not know how tocope with the afternoon’s revolutionaryassembly.

At 1.30 p.m. news came of hisdeliverance: the Independents, afterhours of wavering, had decided to

nominate three ‘People’s Commissars’ toEbert’s Cabinet. Their conditions wereharsh; the day before Ebert would haverejected them: political power in thehands of the workers’ and soldiers’councils; delay of the decision about aNational Assembly; all ‘People’sCommissars’ to have equal status. Well,one would see. All that mattered nowwas to have the Independents in theGovernment. Their list of candidateswas something of a relief: Hugo Haase,their Chairman, a gentle, melancholyman who usually conceded, albeitplaintively; Wilhelm Dittmann, anobody; and the third, Emil Barth, one ofthe leaders of the Revolutionary ShopStewards — not a bad idea, perhaps, to

have him in the Government as ahostage. Ebert accepted conditions andcandidates — without objection andwithout discussion. Then he sat down toa hasty lunch and to draft his speech forthe meeting. He felt firmly in the saddleagain.

(From left) Dittmann (USPD), Landsberg (SPD),Haase (USPD), Ebert (SPD), Barth (USPD),Scheidemann (SPD) (Staatsbibliotek, Berlin)

In these early hours of the afternoon,before the decisive battle of the BuschCircus, a third meeting was being held:the Revolutionary Shop Stewards wereholding a hasty council of war to agreeon their tactics in the light of the newsituation. In contrast with Ebert andHaase they already knew the result of themorning elections; they had been there,and they knew their cause had donebadly. Now they had to hit on some newidea, and in fact, once again, theysucceeded. Richard Müller reported:

After the result of the voting itwas clear that the right-wingSocialists together with the right-

wing Independents... had amajority. A Government without theright-wing Socialists was out of thequestion. They had to be taken intoaccount. It was also clear toeveryone that the right-wingSocialists would try to break thepower of the workers’ and soldiers’councils in order to bring about aNational Assembly and as a result abourgeois-democratic Government.If they succeeded, the Revolutionwas lost.

So what was to be done? Someone —there is no way of telling who — had thesaving inspiration. If the formation of anEbert Government could not be

prevented, one would simply have toelect a second body, under some name orother, which could develop into a sort ofcounter-government. After all, the ShopStewards as organizers of the meetingprovided its Executive and fixed theagenda; with clever management itshould be possible, in addition to the‘Council of People’s Commissars’ tocall into being a second council packedwith their men. As Richard Müllernoted:

It was decided to propose to themeeting the election of an actioncommittee of the workers’ andsoldiers’ councils. Its tasks werenot to be discussed, it was to come

about without any debate, by a kindof bluff.

Both sides had thus laid their booby-traps. At five o’clock in the afternoon,while an early November dusk settled onBerlin and the citizens returned to theirpoorly heated homes from theirafternoon walks, the Revolution and thebourgeois-parliamentary republic wentinto the ring in Busch Circus, in aseething witch’s cauldron of two or threethousand people. Both fought under falseflags. Ebert assumed the guise of arevolutionary. The revolutionariesassumed the guise of parliamentarians.The decision about who won or lost wasin the hands of a mass meeting such as

Germany has never seen before or since:in the front rows some thousand men infield grey uniforms, a firmly disciplinedblock; above them, towards the cupola, athousand or two workers, men andwomen, blurred in the half-light — aworld of feverish, care-worn faces,whose wretchedness has been capturedfor all time in the drawings of HeinrichZille. In the arena, at improvisedwooden tables, sat the panel — and allthe VIPs of the Socialist parties, fromEbert to Liebknecht.

In the chair was Emil Barth, one of theleaders of the Revolutionary ShopStewards and also a proposed People’sCommissar; a man of great energy, witha thirst for action and not a little vanity,

who saw himself as the Napoleon of theRevolution and was over-fond of thesound of his own voice. That afternoon,this was to be his undoing and theundoing of his cause.

Ebert, the first to speak, announcedthe conciliation of the two Socialistparties and carried the meeting at once:it was what they wanted to hear. The restof his speech — patriarchal, strict andmeasured in tone as always — was alsowell in tune with the mood of themeeting. He had a lot to say about lawand order, but order, he claimed, wasnecessary ‘for the complete victory ofthe Revolution’. Haase, the leader of theIndependents, who followed him,appeared feeble by comparison. He

could only support him, and perhaps hebetrayed the fact that at heart he hadbeen against the coalition. It had beenHaase’s lot before, on this day as wellas long ago on August 4, 1914, toannounce in public Party decisions takenagainst his advice. When it wasLiebknecht’s turn to speak, he tried toswim against the tide. He berated theSPD with a list of their wartime sins.But in this euphoric moment of victoryand reconciliation, no one wanted tohear. There was much heckling; downbelow at the rim of the arena the soldiersbecame restless. They chanted in unison:‘Unity! Unity!’

Then it was time to count the votes,and the moment had come — quite

casually and without any fuss, beforeanyone woke up to what was happening— to elect the action committee. Thepanel of the meeting, that is to say theRevolutionary Shop Stewards, had a listof committee members up their sleeves.But now Emil Barth made his bigmistake. Instead of simply calling forvotes, and quite against the agenda, hemade a fourth long speech — perhaps tocounteract Liebknecht’s, or simplybecause he enjoyed the sound of his ownvoice. Richard Müller, who wassuffering agonies in the seat next to him,noted: ‘The attentive listener couldgrasp the hidden intentions betweenBarth’s lines.’ Ebert, in particular,grasped them. He asked to speak again

and declared briefly and firmly that sucha committee was ‘superfluous’, but if ithad to be formed, then like theGovernment it would have to be filledby both parties in parity. From the list hehad just heard, the SPD was absent.Whereupon Barth finally gave the gameaway. In this committee, he shoutedexcitedly, there was no room for right-wing Socialists. With that the fat was inthe fire. Richard Müller writes:

What followed on Barth’sdeclaration can hardly bedescribed. The soldiers shouted inwild confusion ‘Unity, parity!Parity!’ Captain von Beerfeldesubmitted a list from the soldiers.

The right-wing Socialist Büchel[whom, according to the otherMüller, Hermann Müller, Barth hadtried to prevent from speaking bypoking him in the back with thepresidential bell] came up with alist from his Party. Richard Müllerand Karl Liebknecht attempted tospeak against parity on thecommittee; they were both shouteddown. The excitement escalatedinto frenzy. The soldiers rushed intothe arena and on to the rostrum.They threatened to carry on with theRevolution without the workers,without the parties, and to install amilitary government. There wassuch a tumult that for some time it

was impossible to carry on with themeeting.

With the meeting interrupted, thesoldiers going wild in the lower rowsand the workers in the upper rowsengaged in bewildered discussions witheach other, there was feverishnegotiation in the arena — under theeyes of the agitated crowd, but notwithin their hearing, for microphoneswere not yet invented. Both sides weresuddenly anxious, and made rash and ill-considered proposals. For a briefmoment the SPD offered to content itselfwith two members out of a total ofeleven, for a brief moment the ShopStewards were ready to forgo the whole

action committee. But this was suddenlyopposed by the SPD itself: what animpression that would make! Alright, anevenly manned committee then, but theywould have to agree here and now on itscomposition. Someone proposedLiebknecht, but Liebknecht flatlyrefused. Never would he sit at the sametable as Ebert’s men! When agreementseemed finally within reach, the soldiersraised new difficulties; now theydemanded a double parity, not only asbetween SPD and USPD, but also asbetween workers and soldiers. It wasgetting late, a decision would have to bereached, they would agree to this too.But now the soldiers could not agree ontheir own representatives. Finally the

meeting was declared open again, and aspeace gradually returned, Barthannounced the formation of a twenty-man‘executive council of the workers’ andsoldiers’ councils’: ten soldiers, tenworkers, half of the latter to becomposed of members of the SPD, halfof nominees proposed by the ShopStewards. The soldiers’ representativeswould be chosen tomorrow. The meetingaccepted the proposal: it was by nowready to accept almost anything. It wasfairly late. It was past supper-time, manywere hungry (people were hungry inGermany in those days) and many had along way to go home. Everythingsuddenly happened very quickly. Theyconfirmed the new Reich Government

which was to call itself ’the Council ofPeople’s Commissars’, and they carrieda previously prepared resolution with alot of ornate and beautiful words aboutthe Socialist Republic and WorldRevolution (the bourgeois papersprinted it the next day, not so Vorwärts).Then they sang the ‘International’ and atlast — night had fallen — the BuschCircus began to empty.

None of the main protagonists wenthome satisfied. The Obleute knew theyhad lost their battle. Ebert now hadrevolutionary endorsement for hiscounter-revolutionary Government andlittle to fear from the executivecommittee in its new shape. But Ebert,too, was depressed: he had won, indeed;

he had kept the reins in his hands, but atwhat cost! The Independents in theGovernment, this suspicious executivecommittee as a parallel government, hehimself no longer Reich Chancellor butthe ‘People’s Commissar’, revolutionaryleader against his will, annexed, as itwere, by the Revolution he had wantedto bring to a halt and call off. Would hego on enjoying the confidence of hisbourgeois colleagues in Parliament andCabinet and of the High Command inSpa? He felt himself pushed into a falseposition. He had always hated theRevolution; now he hated it doubly forforcing him, an honest man, to turn liarand traitor. For he had no doubt aboutone thing: if he still wanted to undo the

Revolution — and he could not help butwant this — he would have to betray it.He was condemned to play a doublegame. Could he still bring it off? Wouldthe state and the society he wanted toserve still be prepared, after today, toaccept him as their saviour?

On this score, at least, he wasreassured late that evening by anunexpected telephone call. It camethrough on a secret line, the existence ofwhich Ebert had until then beenunaware. Spa was at the other end, theHigh Command, General Groener. Atlast a decent person with whom onecould talk sensibly! The exact nature ofthis almost legendary telephone call hasnever been made known; there were no

tape recorders in those days, and therewere no witnesses. But subsequentstatements by Groener give anapproximate indication of what musthave been said (Ebert never talked aboutit). The General offered loyal co-operation — and made demands: a fightagainst radicalism and Bolshevism, anend as soon as possible to the ‘councilsnonsense’, a National Assembly, a returnto ‘a state of order’. Ebert was able toagree to all this with real feeling; it wasexactly what he himself wanted. He musthave opened his heart to Groener; forGroener later noted that, to judge fromthe conversation, Ebert ‘was clinging tothe helm with difficulty and near to beingoverrun by the Independents and the

Liebknecht lot’. Evidently he was still inthe grip of the turbulent meeting he hadjust been through. At the end, Ebertthanked the General — not the reverse.

Groener later spoke of a ‘pact’ whichhe had concluded that evening withEbert. It was a pact to fight against theRevolution whose leadership Ebert hadaccepted not many hours earlier. ‘Ebertagreed to my suggestion of a pact,’Groener writes. ‘From then on weconsulted with each other every eveningabout the necessary measures, using asecret line between the Chancellery andthe High Command. The pact proveditself.’

8. Between Revolution and Counter-Revolution

Theodor Wolff, at that time one of thebest known of German journalists, wrotein the Berliner Tageblatt of November10:

Like a suddenly unleashed stormthe greatest of all revolutions hasoverthrown the imperial régime,with all that was part of it, from topto bottom. One may call it thegreatest of all revolutions becausenever has a Bastille so firmly builtand so solidly walled about beentaken at the first assault. A weekago there was still a structure of

military and civil administration soextensively ramified, intertwinedand deeply rooted that its reignseemed safe from the changingtimes. The grey motor-cars of theofficers raced through the streets ofBerlin, policemen stood in thepublic squares like pillars, agigantic military organizationseemed to embrace everything, inpublic offices and ministries anapparently invincible bureaucracywas enthroned. Yesterday morningall this was still there, at least inBerlin. Yesterday afternoon nothingremained.

He was wrong — perhaps it looked

like that on November 10, but the truthwas different. In fact the state had barelybeen scratched. On the Monday afterRevolution Weekend the same civilservants went back to the same publicoffices, and even the policemen (who onSaturday afternoon had been glad to gethome unmolested) were back again afew days later; in the armies in the fieldin the East and West the same generalsand officers remained in command, andeven the Reich Government was in effectunchanged — except that at its head,instead of an Imperial Reich Chancellor,there was now a six-man collegium of‘People’s Commissars’ among whomone, in effect, was still ReichChancellor: Ebert. All the staunchly

conservative country prefects,provincial prime ministers, ministryofficials were at their desks as ever. Notone of them had been removed; they hadmerely had a few workers’ councillorsplanted over their heads and treated thisas extreme provocation. Their mood —and that of large sections of thebourgeoisie — was expressed byanother journalist, Paul Baecker. Hewrote, also on November 10, in theconservative Deutsche Tageszeitung:

Words cannot suffice to expressthe indignation and the grief... thegreat edifice for which our fathersfought with their blood — wipedout by treason in the ranks of our

own people! Germany, yesterdaystill unconquered, now left at themercy of her enemies by menbearing the name of Germans,forced to her knees in ignominiousdisgrace by felony in her ownranks!

The German socialists knew thatpeace was in the offing, that it wasmerely a matter of facing the enemyfor a few weeks, perhaps only afew days, with a firm unbreachedfront, to extract tolerable conditionsfrom him. In this situation theyhoisted the white flag.

This is a perfidy that can neverand shall never be forgiven. It is anact of treason, not only towards the

Monarchy and the Army, buttowards the German people whowill have to bear the consequencesthrough centuries of decline and ofmisery.

Baecker’s attack was as inaccurate asWolff’s hymn to ‘the greatest of allrevolutions’. It was not the Socialistswho had waved the white flag, butLudendorff; delay could not improve, butmerely worsen the Armistice conditions,and there was no question of treason.Nor were centuries of misery anddecline in prospect. But Baecker nodoubt honestly felt what he wrote — andexpressed the feelings of millions: of theofficers whose insignia of rank had been

torn off, of the conservative officialssuddenly having to wrangle withworkers’ councillors, of the wholebourgeoisie watching its world collapse,and also of simpler people with rigidly‘national’ views, for example Lance-Corporal Hitler who threw himselfsobbing on to his hospital bed inPasewalk and, weeping tears of rage,swore to become a politician. At thesame time as the Revolution, thecounter-Revolution was born, and here,as early as November 10, its authenticvoice was to be heard. It is worth notingthat this article could be printed inBerlin on November 10, 1918 withouthindrance. Never has a revolution fromthe very first moment allowed its

enemies such unlimited freedom toagitate and protest as did the GermanRevolution of 1918.

Not that its enemies offered any thanksfor this. The then Mrs Ludendorff (hisfirst wife Margaret, not his second, laterfamous, wife, Mathilde) says of herhusband:

After the Revolution Ludendorffrepeatedly declared: ‘Therevolutionaries’ greatest piece ofstupidity was to leave us all alive.Well, if I ever come to poweragain, there will be no pardons.With a good conscience I wouldhave Ebert, Scheidemann andcompany strung up and dangling!’

Ebert, Scheidemann and company —not, that is to say, simply Liebknecht andRosa Luxemburg who at least reallywanted the Revolution. Ebert andScheidemann did not want it at all; onthe contrary, they had striven to the lastmoment to prevent it, and from the firstmoment of their victory were solelyoccupied with stopping it, rolling it backand if possible undoing it. But forLudendorff — and for the manyembittered members and supporters ofthe old ruling class who reacted in thesame way — they were revolutionaries,traitors and ‘November criminals’; andin fact the Revolution had raised them tothe pinnacle of power — they were now

‘People’s Commissars’; whether theyliked it or not, they from now onembodied the Revolution — in the eyesof the counter-revolutionaries as muchas in those of the revolutionaries. Fromthe first moment of their government theyfound themselves caught betweenrevolution and counter-revolution.

It was their tragedy — or tragi-comedy — that they could not see this.They could not, or would not, see thatsince November 9 they had mademillions of enemies — enemies to thedeath — on the Right; they could onlysee their old familiar enemies on theLeft. Scheidemann, for instance, as lateas December 29 during a criticalCabinet meeting: ‘Of course there are a

dozen officers capable of crazy pranks.But it is on the other side that those standwho endanger the Revolution. Againstthem we must defend ourselves.’ And thethird SPD ‘People’s Commissar’, a DrOtto Landsberg, said on the sameoccasion: ‘There is always so much talkof a threatening counter-Revolution...The essential difference between thisRevolution and all earlier ones is that allpower structures of the overthrown classhave been so completely shaken andeliminated that the danger of counter-revolution can only become acute if thepeople on the extreme Left succeed indriving the masses to despair.’ Finally,Herman Müller, later an SPD ReichChancellor: ‘I must tell you openly,

since November 9 I have not been afraidof counter-revolution for a single day.’

In fact Ebert and his political friendswere at heart still living in October —in the time when the Kaiserreich,tottering and about to fall, had takenthese ‘unpatriotic outcasts’ courteouslyto its bosom, passed them the buck ofdefeat and made them welcome ashelpers in need. They had done theirhonest best to help it in its need; they hadnot been able to save the Monarchy; theywere still trying to save everything else.For them the Revolution was amisunderstanding or a regrettableincident which they still hoped toreverse.

But it was irreversible — even after it

had been choked off and crushed. Whathad happened in Germany, quite againstthe wishes of the Social Democratleadership, between November 4 and 9,had torn aside the artificial fog ofOctober and left clear-cut politicalfronts. The insincere pretence of peacebetween High Command and theReichstag majority, between militarismand parliamentarism, Ludendorff’s finelyspun plan to present the SocialDemocrats and their bourgeois allieswith the illusion of power in order toburden them with the responsibility forthe defeat while the military stayed inthe background and wielded the realpower — all this had been swept asidein the week of revolution by the

spontaneous action of the SocialDemocrat masses of the workers andsoldiers.

The revolution of the masses gave theSocial Democrat leaders their first andonly chance to grasp real power — atthe expense of the poisoned powerborrowed from Ludendorff onSeptember 29. Once the officers had hadtheir insignia torn off and the ‘generalcommands’ had been replaced byworkers’ and soldiers’ councils, therewas no possibility of reconciliation, noteven for appearances’ sake. Thequestion of who would rule had beenasked — and on November 9 it seemedfor a moment as if it had been answered.The military dictatorship which had

ruled Germany to that day, had goneunder almost without resistance.

If the Social Democrat leadershipnow made use of the victory of itssupporters, renounced the Octoberagreement with the High Command,completed the defeat of the old militaryauthorities and created its ownrevolutionary forces, it would no longerhave to fear the revenge of powerlessgenerals and officers. But if it permittedthem to rise again and to recover fromthe degrading and stunning blow theyhad sustained in November, then it couldexpect no mercy — no mercy not onlyfor its own revolutionary supporterswho had dared to ‘mutiny’, but also foritself. By allowing themselves to be

turned by the Revolution into ‘People’sCommissars’, Ebert, Scheidemann andLandsberg had, in the eyes of theoffended officers, identified themselveswith the Revolution.

They continued to play a double game,not noticing that they were playing it totheir own disadvantage. They still calledthemselves revolutionaries — and theirwords were noted and later used inevidence against them. In their actionsthey remained counter-revolutionaries— without earning the gratitude of thereal counter-Revolution. But the masseswho had given them their confidence onNovember 9 and 10 gradually noticedwhat was going on and turned againstthem. In two months the ambivalent game

played by Ebert and the SPD was to leadto civil war.

***What was at issue during these two

months? If one were to listen to the SPDpoliticians of the time and their laterhistorians, the issue was one ofdictatorship by the councils versusparliamentary democracy, of keepingBolshevism at bay and of electing aNational Constituent Assembly. But thiswas propaganda — and still is today.The truth had a different face. In truth theonly issue was between Revolution andcounter-Revolution.

Germany in 1918 was at no pointthreatened by a Bolshevik dictatorship;for the simple reason that the essential

instrument of power, a Bolshevik partycapable of dictating, did not exist. KarlLiebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg had noorganization whatever until December30, 1918, and only a very feeble onethereafter; nothing to compare withLenin’s corps of professionalrevolutionaries prepared by fourteenyears of training. They were powerlessindividuals who were limited toagitating and to what the Berlin Obleutecontemptuously called ‘revolutionarygymnastics’: repeated aimlessdemonstrations by which the participantshoped to get themselves into arevolutionary fervour. In Germany in theautumn of 1918 the ‘Bolshevik danger’was a bogey, not a reality.

On the other hand the elections to aNational Assembly were not a majorpoint of disagreement. The only pointbeing contested was their timing —which was, of course, not withoutimportance. The Independents wereanxious to postpone them as long aspossible, into the spring of 1919, to givethe Revolution time to consolidate. TheSPD wanted the elections to be held assoon as possible, to give the NationalAssembly a chance to carry on where theold Reichstag had left off, as if norevolution had taken place. But by theend of November a compromise hadbeen reached: February 16 as the day forthe elections. In the middle of Decemberit was paradoxically the highest organ of

the Revolution, the National Congress ofCouncils itself, which put the dateforward to January 19 — conclusiveproof that the Councils did not want theirown dictatorship and that theconfrontation — Council dictatorshipversus parliamentary democracy —simply did not exist.

Headlines from three contemporary newspapers,October-December, 1918

In fact something quite different wasat stake. The Councils — the installingof workers’ and soldiers’ councils hadbeen the main manifestation of theRevolution, and the counter-Revolution’s first aim was to abolishthem — had no objection toparliamentary democracy. They did notregard themselves as a substitute for aparliament, but as an instrument for theradical reform and democratization ofthe executive, that is to say the essentialbody of the state, the administration andin particular the military structure. It wasthe old conservative bureaucracy and the

old conservative corps of officers whichthe Councils were striving to get undercontrol, eradicate and reshape from theroots upwards. The workers andsoldiers who had carried through theRevolution knew instinctively that aslong as the old bureaucracy and the oldcorps of officers retained their power,the Revolution was lost; the mostmagnificent constitution and the mostmagnificent parliament would be of noavail. Real power had its seat in theadministration, in police headquartersand the ‘general commands’, and also inthe courts; if the old entrenched powerswere left untouched, they would graspthe first opportunity to take their revengeon the Revolution. There was no room

for compromise. On this field the victoryof Revolution or counter-Revolutionwould be decided.

And on this field Ebert and the SPDleadership took up positions clearly onthe side of the counter-Revolution. Theywere anxious to save what theRevolution was anxious to overthrow:the old state and form of society,embodied in the bureaucracy andofficers’ corps. They wanted toparliamentarize the old state and formpart of it, joining in its futuregovernment. But the thought of thedisorder which would inevitably followany attempt really to revolutionize it,filled them with horror. That is why theywanted to be rid of the Councils as

quickly as possible; that is why — quiteagainst the wish of the majority of theCouncils — they misrepresented them asan alternative to a National Assembly;and that is why they readilyincorporated into their propaganda thebourgeois misconception thatgovernment by the Councils was thesame thing as Bolshevism.

In fact there were hardly anySpartacists in the Councils —Liebknecht applied in vain for a seat inthe Reich Congress of Councils — theSPD from the beginning had the majorityin almost all local Councils, and thispicture was more than confirmed whenprovincial and regional Councils wereelected at the beginning of December.

One could go as far as to say that theCouncils were the living body of theSPD, its active members and officials (aminority was drawn from members ofthe USPD and there were also a fewbourgeois members, particularly in theSoldiers’ Councils); they regardedthemselves as loyal auxiliaries of theGovernment.

This is where the tragicmisunderstanding lay. For Ebert’sGovernment was no revolutionarygovernment; it saw itself, in Ebert’ssubsequent words, simply as thereceiver and liquidator of theKaiserreich. It was the loyal servant ofthose who since November 9 hadbecome its bitter enemies, and fought

without mercy against those who feltthemselves to be its shield-bearers. Ontheir side the Councils, too, stood firmagainst their best friends: they wanted notruck with the Spartacists who weredemanding the dictatorship of theCouncils; they merely wanted to equipthe Social Democrat state with a SocialDemocrat executive. No one saw thismore clearly than Liebknecht and RosaLuxemburg. Liebknecht, for instance,wrote on November 20:

Often the elected workers havevery little enlightenment, very littleclass-consciousness, so that theworkers’ councils... have norevolutionary character at all.

And Rosa Luxemburg, ten days later,wrote:

If the Revolution were going onin those of its organs which werethe creation of its early days, theWorkers’ and Soldiers’ Councils, itwould be in dire straits... TheRevolution will live without theCouncils, the Councils without theRevolution are dead.

Even the Social Democrat leaderscould hardly fail to notice that theCouncils were not staffed withSpartacists, but with their own people.Nevertheless the Councils were a thorn

in their flesh from the start. They had notbeen anticipated, did not fit into theirprogramme, they prevented an alliancewith the bourgeois parties and with theHigh Command. They had to go. Fromthe start Ebert and Scheidemann treatedthe Councils not only with distrust andhostility, but with spite and malice.Scheidemann, addressing the ReichCongress of Councils, said:

I am of the firm persuasion thatthe permanent institution ofworkers’ and soldiers’ Councilswould mean — I say this after dueconsideration — the absolutelycertain downfall of the Reich.

Of course it was easy to find faultwith the Councils. They lacked theadministrative experience of the oldcivil servants, the military skill of thestaff officers. Where could they haveacquired them? Their interventionbrought disorder in its wake — has thereever been a revolution without disorder?Nevertheless, most of the spiteful attackson the ‘chaos’ of the ‘council hotchpotch’(Rätewirtschaft) spread by the counter-Revolution and eagerly picked up by theSPD leaders, were vastly exaggerated.The Councils did not consist of corrupt,pleasure-seeking revolutionarybohemians; they were largely composedof sober and solid, thoughtful workingmen, party and trade union officials, as

fond of order in their own way as the oldcivil servants they were seeking tocontrol and replace. In the course of fourweeks they had largely overcome theoriginal chaos and created anorganization parallel with the oldadministrative bodies and fully capableof functioning at all levels — anachievement commanding respect.Eberhard Kolb, who wrote the standardwork The Workers’ Councils in GermanHome Politics 1918/19 (DieArbeiterräte in der DeutschenInnenpolitik 1918/19), says that at thebeginning of December the councilorganization ‘provided the newGovernment and Party leadership with apolitically reliable instrument in the

reconstruction of the state which wasthere for them to use if they so chose’.

But they chose to do the opposite.They wanted to ‘create order’ — whichmeant re-establishing the old order —with the very instrument the Kaiser hadwanted to use for this purpose onNovember 8: with the Army in the field,released by the Armistice and marchinghome from the West. That was themeaning of the ‘pact’ between Ebert andGeneral Groener.

Later, in the course of the so-called‘stab-in-the-back’ hearings in Munich in1925, Groener was explicit on thissubject. Here is his statement:

At first it was a question of

wrenching power from the workers’and soldiers’ Councils in Berlin.An operation was planned for thispurpose, the military entry of tendivisions into Berlin. The People’sCommissar Ebert was completelyin agreement with this. An officerwas despatched to Berlin tonegotiate the details, also with thePrussian War Minister [still, asbefore November 9, von Scheüch]who had of course to be consulted.There were a number ofdifficulties. I may just mention thatsome Independent members of theGovernment, but also, I think, somesoldiers’ councillors — I cannotoff-the-cuff be sure of the details —

demanded that the troops move inwithout live ammunition. Wenaturally opposed this at once, andHerr Ebert naturally agreed that thetroops should move into Berlinwith live ammunition. For this entryby the troops which was to affordus at the same time an opportunityto re-establish a firm government inBerlin — I am now giving evidenceunder oath, the gentleman has askedme, therefore I must in God’s namespeak out about something whichfor good reasons I have not donebefore — a day-by-day militaryplan had been elaborated. This planset out what was to happen: thedisarming of Berlin, clearing Berlin

of Spartacists, etc. All this hadbeen provided for, day by day, forthe individual divisions.

The ‘plan’, worked out with GeneralStaff precision, was made public muchlater, in 1940. It contains such points as:

Whoever is found in possessionof arms without a licence is to beshot. Whoever keeps war material,including motor vehicles, will besummarily convicted. Deserters andsailors have to report to the nearestreserve unit or regional commandwithin ten days. Whoever assumesan official function withoutauthorization is to be shot. Unsafe

parts of the city to be combed.Decrees about the unemployed andabout emergency public works. Theauthority of officers to be restoredin full (insignia, duty to salute,decorations, wearing of arms,badges for the army in the field).The administration and the troopsto resume their legal functions. Allsubstitute units to be disbanded atonce.

Groener’s statement in the witnessbox went on:

The officer I had sent to Berlindiscussed all this with Herr Ebert. Iam especially grateful to Herr

Ebert for this and have defendedhim against all attacks for hisabsolute love of the Fatherland andhis complete dedication to thecause. This plan had been formedthroughout with Herr Ebert’sknowledge and agreement.

The Ebert-Groener plan was to be putinto effect from December 10 to 15. Thefirst National Congress of Councils wasplanned for December 16, in Berlin.Evidently the ‘re-establishment of order’by ten divisions of the army returningfrom the front was intended to forestallit.

But nothing came of it. The counter-Revolution did not take place on this

occasion, and the Congress of Councilsmet as arranged, little suspecting whatfate it had narrowly escaped.

At first a few units of the Berlingarrison — having played a double-edged part from the outset of theRevolution and evidently having gotwind of what was in the offing — actedprematurely. On Friday, December 6,something happened which Scheidemannwas later to describe as a ‘crazy prank’,Richard Müller as a ‘farce’. A unit ofthe Franzer regiment occupied thePrussian House of Representatives andarrested the executive council of theBerlin workers’ and soldiers’ Councilswhich moved there after its election inthe Busch Circus on November 10 and

had endeavoured to fulfil its functionswith varying success. A detachment ofGuard Fusiliers stopped a Spartacistdemonstration march at the corner ofInvalidenstrasse and Chausseestrasseand without warning fired into it withmachine-guns. There were sixteen deadand many wounded. Another detachmentof the Franzer regiment appearedoutside the Reich Chancellery, calledupon Ebert to come out — which he didmore readily than usual — andproclaimed him Reich President. ASergeant Spiro made a speech. He endedhis oration with: ‘So let us give a cheerfor the German Republic and the greatFritz Ebert, whom, speaking from yourmidst, backed by armed power and

conscious of speaking for the wholenation, I proclaim President ofGermany.’

Friedrich Ebert, as Reich President, followed byReich Chancellor Wirth and General Seeckt (in military

cap) (Staatsbibliotek, Berlin)

Ebert neither agreed nor refused. Hewould first have to talk to his friends inthe Government. Then the matter wasdropped — until, two months later, onFebruary 11, 1919, the Weimar NationalAssembly made him Reich Presidentafter all. This time it had evidently beenpremature: the whole exercise went upin smoke. Whether Ebert knew of it inadvance has never been clarified. In anycase no one was ever taken to task forwhat was in effect an attempted coupd’état. The soldiers went back to theirbarracks, the men behind it remainedunidentified, the executive council wasrestored to freedom. It was as if nothinghad happened. Only the dead of the

Chausseestrasse remained dead.Four days later, on December 10, the

returning field divisions marched intoBerlin according to plan — not exactlyin parade order but in good marchingorder and with live ammunition. Ebert— who had never shown himself to themasses of the workers on November 9— welcomed them at the BrandenburgGate with an extravagant speech: ‘Noenemy has vanquished you! NowGermany’s unity is in your hands!’

But again nothing came of it. The planto re-establish order and a ‘firm’government in Berlin was not put intoaction and for years no one discoveredthat it had ever been contrived.

What happened was simply this:

immediately after Ebert’s speech ofwelcome the troops began to disperse —spontaneously, in breach of discipline,beyond recall. Neither Groener norEbert had taken the men’s state of mindinto account: the War was over, theywere all glad to have survived it, theyall wanted to get home — and Christmaswas round the corner. There was noholding them. When they took up theirquarters on the evening of the day oftheir arrival, they were already belowstrength, the next day their numbers haddwindled further, and two weeks later,out of ten divisions only some eighthundred men remained. In the words ofGroener: ‘The troops developed such anurge to get home that these ten divisions

were absolutely of no use and the wholeplan of clearing Berlin of Bolshevistelements, the surrendering of arms, etc.,could simply not be put into effect.’ Forthe time being the counter-Revolutionhad drawn a blank.

Instead, on December 16, the NationalCongress of Councils assembled in thePrussian House of Representatives at theLeipziger Platz in Berlin, as arranged.This was no longer a turbulent massgathering like the revolutionary meetingof Berlin workers’ and soldiers’councillors in the Busch Circus onNovember 10. A very orderly assembly,much like a parliament, now cametogether in Berlin, reminding journalisteye-witnesses irresistibly of pre-war

SPD party congresses: the same types,often the same faces even, the sameatmosphere, conducted under the samedirection, with the same concern fororder and respectability. What in the olddays had been the Party’s left-wingminority was now the Independents, thatwas the only difference. The majorityloyally supported the party executive.

This majority in the Congress ofCouncils, in keeping with Ebert’swishes, decided to bring forward thedate of the elections for a NationalAssembly; it expressly rejected aproposal by the Independents that theCongress itself should in the meantimeassume ultimate legislative as well asexecutive power; having instituted a 16-

man Central Council to replace theformer Berlin executive council formedon November 10, it did not evenempower it to pass interim legislationuntil the National Assembly could meet.The Independents thereupon decidedgrimly to boycott this Central Councilwhich thus became a purely SPD organ.In this manner the first NationalCongress of Councils demonstrated itsgood faith and its good nature.

And yet this tame and well-disposedCongress of Councils brought about thegreat split between Party leadership andParty membership, the crisis of theRevolution and the civil war whichexploded in January 1919. For on onepoint it remained inexorable: there was

to be no comeback for the militarydictatorship overthrown by theRevolution, the power of the generalsand the officers’ corps was to remainbroken for good. On a proposal by theHamburg delegation the Congressadopted by a big majority a resolutionfor the complete reorganization of themilitary structure, which became knownas the ‘Hamburg points’: supremecommand to rest with the People’sCommissars under the control of theCentral Council; disciplinary powers tobe wielded by the soldiers’ councils;free election of officers; no insignia ofrank; no deference to superior officersoutside service hours.

The essentially anti-militarist nature

of the Revolution was once again mademanifest. Its aims in all other directionsmay have been moderate or undecided,on this point it meant business. Most ofthe delegates already knew from theirown experience that it was precisely theofficers’ corps which harboured thethreat of counter-revolution. Manybrought bad news about what happenedin West German cities when the troopscame marching back — arrest andmaltreatment of workers’ councillors,burning of red flags, secret orders aboutthe forming of volunteer battalions incase of civil war. No one as yetsuspected Ebert. No one knew of hispact with Groener.

The adoption of the ‘Hamburg points’

struck at the heart of this pact and set thecrisis in motion. Hindenburg wired atonce that he ‘did not recognize’ theCongress of Councils’ resolution.Groener travelled to Berlin andthreatened to resign if the ‘Hamburgpoints’ were implemented. The threePeople’s Commissars of the USPD alsothreatened to resign — if the ‘Hamburgpoints’ were not implemented. Ebertstrove to gain time: the detailedimplementation had yet to be decided, hepointed out by way of consolation.(Groener: ‘Ebert like few others was amaster of the art of evasion.’)

The High Command meanwhile beganto muster volunteer battalions on theparade grounds around Berlin — tough,

reliable, well-equipped instruments ofcounter-revolution which would notdisperse like the ten returning divisions.And the troops in Berlin, who had so faropted for the Revolution, even if in asomewhat ambiguous manner, began toget restless.

While the inhabitants of Berlin weregetting ready for their first paltrypeacetime Christmas — there were noChristmas geese and no Christmas cakes,no Christmas tree candles; instead,black-market cartridge cases filled withcarbide which could be tied to thebranches and lit to give a stinking glow— the political atmosphere of Berlinturned as threateningly sultry as it hadbeen before the weekend of the

revolution. And then, on Christmas Eve,the storm broke. On December 24, 1918,Berlin was awakened by the roar ofcannons.

9. The Christmas Crisis

In the morning hours of December 24,1918 Revolution and Counter-Revolution fought a bloody battle on theSchlossplatz in Berlin. Revolution won.Then it gave victory away. You mightsay it handed it to the Counter-Revolution by way of a Christmaspresent.

In every revolution the attitude ofarmed power is the decisive factor. Thefinal weeks of 1918 appear in such anuncertain light, not only because theSocial Democrats’ ‘People’sCommissars’ played a double game, butchiefly because from week to week,even from day to day, no one could say

for certain where the armed powerstood, or even what it was composed of.The Armistice had been followed bydisorganized, uncontrollabledemobilization. The troops from thefront, whom Ebert and Groener hadhoped to use in the middle of Decemberto liquidate the Revolution, were notalone in dispersing as soon as they gothome; there was no holding the troops athome who had made the Revolution inearly November; they, too, wanted tospend Christmas with their families.Only the officers were left — and thoseamong the men who liked being soldiers;the Revolution had been made by thosewho disliked it. The Berlin garrisonwhich still held the balance of power

had shown as early as December 6 thatin its present composition it was of moreuse to the Counter-Revolution than to theRevolution. To put it at its lowest, it hadbecome an unknown quantity, under theinfluence of Otto Wels who had workedon the soldiers so successfully onNovember 9 and 10 and had since beenappointed City Commander.

But there was an exception: thePeople’s Naval Division, which had notbeen in existence on November 9 buthad since come to be regarded as theGuards of the Revolution. Its nucleuswas formed of several hundred sailorswho had reached Berlin from Kielduring the week of the Revolution, had atfirst been arrested there but had been

freed on November 9. They were joinedby a further several hundred sailors whowere at home in Berlin; and finally bytwo thousand expressly summoned fromKiel by Wels on November 12. At timescomprising three thousand men, thePeople’s Naval Division was, duringNovember, regarded as the Revolution’sélite unit. On November 15, on ordersfrom the City Commander, they had takenover the palace which had earlier beenlooted. Their staff was now billetedthere, with the troops in the Marstall,the royal stables, opposite.

For four weeks the People’s NavalDivision was the pride of the Berlin citycommand. Then there was a suddenchange. Whether because the division

had refused to take part in the uprising ofDecember 6 and had deposed itscommanding officer for being involvedin it, or because it was an obviousobstacle in the way of the Groener planfor the ‘re-establishment of order inBerlin’, or simply because the wind hadchanged and they no longer fitted into thepicture; from the middle of Decemberonwards City Commander Wels, eitheron his own initiative or acting on hintsfrom higher up, worked unmistakablytowards their disbandment.

If you want to drown your dog, accuseit of rabies, says a French proverb. ThePeople’s Naval Division was suddenlysuspected of being ‘Spartacist’ and wasnow held to blame for the looting of the

palace, which they had, in fact, put astop to. They were to be moved from thepalace and their strength reduced to sixhundred men. (Demobilization hadalready reduced numbers to about onethousand.) To bring pressure to bear,Wels held back their pay. And Christmaswas approaching.

It sounds grotesque: because a unit ofa thousand men felt cheated out of theirChristmas pay — that is why a bloodystreet battle was waged in Berlin, that iswhy the Government split, that is whatled to the final line-up in the civil war,that is how the Revolution got and lostits last chance. It sounds like an operetta.But the ridiculous thinly veils the grimlyserious. It was not in fact merely the

Christmas pay of the People’s NavalDivision which was at stake, it was itsvery existence, and as things now were,practically the very existence of theRevolution. The story of Christmas 1918indeed made history: a chapter inGerman history at which one neverknows whether to laugh or cry.

Throughout the week beforeChristmas the sailors’ spokesmen werenegotiating with Wels at the CityCommand. They were demanding theirpay. Wels was demanding that theyshould first evacuate the palace. Thesailors asked that Wels should firstallocate them new staff quarters. It is notclear whether this was finally agreed. Atany rate, nothing happened: the sailors

did not get new staff quarters, they didnot evacuate the palace and they did notget paid. And now Christmas wasimminent.

On December 23, the sailors’ patienceran out. At noon their leaders andspokesmen went, not to the command,but to the Reich Chancellery. There theyencountered a state of crisis. The‘Coalition of Socialist Unity’, formed onNovember 10, was on the point ofbreaking apart. Between the three SPDand the three USPD People’sCommissars there was mistrust,irritability and open disagreement. Thesailors could not but notice that theIndependents treated them as friends, theSPD people as enemies. At last they

were sent packing with this verdict:Hand over the keys of the palace, thenyou will get your pay. There was nomention of other staff quarters. Thesailors were not told where they shouldhand in the keys.

At 4 p.m. the sailors were back in theReich Chancellery, with the keys, butalso with an armed escort who stationedthemselves at the entrance. The sailors,headed by their leader, a LieutenantDorrenbach, asked to be taken to EmilBarth, one of the three USPD People’sCommissars, and handed him the keys.Barth reached for the telephone and toldWels that he had the keys and Welsshould now pay up. Wels refused on thegrounds that he took instructions only

from Ebert. Barth sent the sailors’spokesmen to Ebert. Ebert refused to seethem.

Now the sailors’ patience was at anend. On Dorrenbach’s orders they barredall exits from the Reich Chancellery,occupied the telephone exchange and cutthe lines. This put the People’sCommissars in the Chancellery underhouse arrest. The sailors could haverounded up the members of theGovernment, could have arrested andshot the People’s Commissars — if theyhad wanted to. But of course this ideanever entered the heads of Dorrenbachand his men. All they wanted was theirpay! And they were now really furious.They felt they were getting a rough deal

on all sides and did not see why theyshould have to put up with it.

After all, who had the arms? Who wasthe stronger? And, when all was saidand done, who had made theRevolution? To whom did Fritz Ebertand Otto Wels owe their positions? Nowthese gentlemen would experiencesomething that would make them thinkagain. They would never again considerit wise to refuse revolutionary sailorstheir pay!

While one section of the sailors waskeeping the People’s Commissars lockedup in the Reich Chancellery, another,bigger section marched to the CityCommand. Here they met withresistance. The sentries refused to allow

the sailors into the building. A strugglebroke out at the gates; then an armouredcar appeared outside and fired at thesailors. There were three dead.

Now the sailors attacked the buildingand took it by storm, arrested Wels andtwo of his assistants and dragged them tothe royal stables. On the way theypunched and beat them and threatenedthem with being put to death. It was ofno help to Wels that he now offered themtheir pay. They took the pay, but theyalso took him along with them.Meanwhile the People’s Commissarsremained imprisoned in the Chancellery.It was 5 p.m., in the early Decemberdark.

There was one thing the sailors did

not know when they occupied thetelephone exchange at the ReichChancellery and cut the lines; thatbetween Ebert’s study and the HighCommand (now in Kassel) there was adirect line which by-passed theexchange. Ebert now made use of thisline to call for help. At the other end ofthe line was a man who was later to playa major part in events — Major Kurtvon Schleicher. On this day he had hisfirst cue-call on to the historical stage. ‘Ishall arrange at once,’ he declared, ‘fortroops loyal to the Government to besent from the environs of Berlin for yourliberation. Perhaps’, he added hopefully,‘there will now, after so many missedopportunities, be a chance to aim a blow

at the radicals.’At the same time as the sailors were

returning to the Marstall with their pay,secured by force, and with Wels as theirprisoner, the High Command gave theorder by telephone that units in Potsdamand Babelsberg were to march towardsBerlin. They were the last operationalremnants of those ten divisions who hadbeen meant to ‘create order’ in Berlinbetween December 10 and 15; barelymore than eight hundred men, but with afew batteries of field artillery. Thesailors, somewhat more than a thousandmen, had only machine guns and smallarms.

Now the picture gets confused. Whathappened in the late afternoon of

December 23 cannot be clearlyreconstructed from the contradictoryreports. It is not clear whether the housearrest of the People’s Commissars wascalled off during this time or not; in anycase between 5 and 7 p.m. there was aCabinet meeting, at which Ebert told thethree Independents nothing of theapproaching troops and after which, atsupper time, the Independents left theChancellery unmolested and suspectingnothing. Ebert and his SPD colleaguesstayed inside.

It is not clear either how the sailorscame to know of the approaching troops.But somehow they must have found out,for at 8.30 p.m., when the stage getsmore clearly lit again, it reveals a

martial scene. From two directionsheavily armed columns rattle towardsthe Chancellery: from the West, from thedirection of the Tiergarten, the troopsfrom Potsdam and Babelsberg,shouldering their rifles and with horse-drawn field-guns; from the East, from theMarstall, the entire People’s NavalDivision in full marching trim. Thesailors get there a little before thesoldiers. For the third time that dayDorrenbach calls on Ebert: there werebattle-ready troops in the Tiergarten.What was that meant to mean? If theywere not withdrawn, fighting would starthere and now.

At this point the commanding officersof the summoned troops also enter

Ebert’s room, make their reports and askfor the order to open fire. The leaders ofthe two opposing forces stand face toface in front of Ebert whom both,somewhat mistrustfully, regard to someextent as their man. The sailors — forwas he not still the People’s Commissarof their revolution? The officers — forhad he not called them to effect his‘liberation’?

One would give a good deal to have atape-recording of this scene. Not aword, alas, is known of what was saidthat evening in Ebert’s study. One onlyknows the result: both sides marched offagain, the soldiers back to theTiergarten, the sailors back to theMarstall. It is also known that Ebert

promised that the whole affair would besettled the next day by decision of theCabinet. Meanwhile: no bloodshed!

But it is also known that during thenight, at about 2 a.m., Ebert issued anorder to the troops encamped in theTiergarten to attack the Marstall in themorning and to round up the People’sNaval Division.

There is disagreement about themotives behind this order. The followingday Ebert claimed that he had beentelephoned from the Marstall and toldthat Otto Wels’s life was in danger. Thistheory is suspect as there is no recordthat the telephone lines, cut the previousday, had been restored. Nor is theargument convincing; if Wels’s life had

really been in danger, an attack on thebuilding where he was held was thesurest way of bringing about his death.There is also Scheidemann’s evidencethat early in the morning, at 3 a.m.,several hours before the attack tookplace even if one hour after it wasordered, Wels himself turned up at theReich Chancellery, much affected by hisordeal but alive and unhurt. Here wasanother sign of the odd moderationwhich characterized the Germanrevolutionaries of 1918 even in theirmoments of rage. No doubt Wels wasroughly handled, and there was everyintention of giving Ebert and hiscolleagues a proper fright. But that wasall there was to it: nobody wanted to go

to extremes. Nobody wanted to commitmurder, not even in anger. The counter-Revolution was to have no suchscruples.

Another version, which sounds moreprobable, is that at about midnight therewas a serious telephone conversationbetween General Groener and Ebert, inthe course of which Groener threatenedto renounce the pact with Ebert if noaction was taken.

Ebert probably did not need muchpersuading. He had been genuinelyfrightened that afternoon and evening,and fear easily and readily turns to fury.In any case, at 2 a.m. the order to attackwas issued from the Chancellery and at7.45 a.m. the guns thundered on the

Schlossplatz.The battle lasted, with interruptions,

until noon and ended in victory for thesailors. That much is certain. Detailedaccounts of the course of the encounterare confused and contradictory. Thecannonade with which the Ebert troopsopened the battle clearly failed in itsobjective. They fired artillery andmachine guns from several sides. Duringthe first hour alone sixty shells hit thepalace and Marstall. The buildingssuffered severe damage but the sailorsheld their positions.

Between 9 and 10 a.m., with the battlestill fierce and undecided, the gunfireattracted civilians in vast numbers —workers with women and children came

pouring out of the side streets; theirappearance is said to have had ademoralizing effect on the governmenttroops for they obviously sided with thesailors. The crowd’s mood recalled thatof November 9: ‘Brothers, don’t shoot!’

At about ten o’clock there was apause in the fighting, to get the womenand children away from the scene ofbattle. At 10.30 the fight was resumedwith increased intensity, and now it wasthe sailors’ turn to attack. Individualsoldiers are said to have crossed over totheir side; they were also beingreinforced by armed civilians. At anyrate, according to a report in the nextday’s Vorwärts (not the kind of paperlikely to support the sailors), by noon

‘the entire region around the Marstallincluding the Königstrasse as far as theRathaus (Town Hall) was occupied bysailors and their supporters withmachine guns’.

At this point the battle finally ceased.The troops who had started it in themorning undertook to clear the battlearea and were allowed to departunmolested. The sailors undertook toreturn to their quarters — from whichthey were to have been expelled. Theyhad won the day. Both sides carried offtheir dead and wounded, whose numbershave remained unknown.

That afternoon there was dismay anddeep depression both at Headquarters inKassel and in the Chancellery in Berlin.

Major von Harbou, who acted asGeneral Staff Officer with the troops inthe operation, wired Kassel: ‘TROOPSOF THE GENERAL COMMANDLEQUIS CAN NO LONGER BE USEDIN ACTION. I SEE NO WAY OFPROTECTING THE GOVERNMENTWITH THE MEANS SO FAREMPLOYED. THE RESULT OFTODAY’S CLASH CAN BECOME APOLITICAL CATASTROPHE FORTHE GOVERNMENT. THE GENERALCOMMAND LEQUIS HAS BECOMEIMPOSSIBLE IN MY VIEW.RECOMMEND ITS DISSOLUTION.’(General Lequis was the CommandingOfficer of the ten divisions who hadmarched into Berlin two weeks earlier.)

At a staff conference hurriedlysummoned in Kassel several officersexpressed themselves in favour ofdissolving the High Command. ‘It wasno use rebelling any longer against fate.Each of them had better travel home andsee how he might protect his family anddefend his life.’

It was Major von Schleicher who putan end to this defeatism — and thus forthe second time in two days intervenedin the course of German history. If theydid not throw the towel in, he said withprescience, the Berlin defeat wouldremain a mere episode. Salvation wouldcome from the volunteer battalions nowbeing formed. Groener supported thisview. He knew that the Freikorps were

actively being mustered and he wasconvinced that time was on the side ofthe counter-Revolution.

Ebert was less well informed; theHigh Command took care not to showhim its hand. But he was well aware thatif the Revolution were to exploit itsvictory, he would be helpless. He wasseriously concerned about a possibleattack on the Reich Chancellery and wasno doubt worried about his own safety,not without reason.

Groener, who had telephoned himagain late on Christmas Eve, describeshim as calm, phlegmatic, almosthumorous. Asked what he now intendedto do, Ebert (according to Groener),replied: ‘First of all I shall visit some

friends and get some sleep which I badlyneed. Let Liebknecht occupy the ReichChancellery if he wants to. He will findthe birds have flown.’

Other eye-witnesses who spoke withEbert that evening, saw a lessimpressive picture. As during theprevious night, and again after the defeatoutside the Royal Palace, Ebert, in astate of near panic, is said to haveinsisted on leaving Berlin together withthe entire government — to goanywhere, far out into the quiet of thecountry, to Rudolstadt or Weimar. ‘Itcannot go on like this,’ he is said to havekept repeating with almost hystericalemphasis. ‘One simply cannot governlike this.’

Perhaps Ebert appeared morecomposed in talking to Groener than inconversation with his colleagues. Bothaccounts agree that he no longer felt safein the Chancellery. With things as theywere, he had every reason. If theRevolution had not lacked leadership —there would have been nothing, thatChristmas Eve, to stop it from takingcontrol of the capital.

But the Revolution had no leadership;it did not see its chance — and also, bynow, it was Christmas Eve. The sailorsat last had their pay, they had fought andwon; now they were intent oncelebrating.

As for Karl Liebknecht — who hadnothing at all to do with the events of the

last few days — he spent the entire nightpreparing a particularly effective issueof the Rote Fahne, the extreme left-wingpaper Red Flag, which appeared thenext morning with a huge bannerheadline: ‘EBERT’S BLOODYCHRISTMAS.’ The revolutionaryObleute, who, like everyone else, spentthat evening around the Christmas treesinging ‘Silent Night’, called for ademonstration on Christmas Day, withthe slogan: ‘Situation serious, theRevolution in great danger.’ But theIndependent Socialists, with Haasemelancholy as ever at their head, couldsee only one thing: they had to leave theGovernment; they did not wish to beinvolved in further dreadful events like

those which had occurred on December24 without their knowledge orcomplicity.

This was probably the biggest favourthey could do Ebert and hiscollaborators. Groener later praisedEbert for cleverly using the Christmascrisis to push the Independents out of theGovernment; and Walter Oehme, at thattime Secretary to the Head of the ReichChancellery office, reports that evenbefore Christmas there wereunmistakable machinations against thethree USPD People’s Commissars in theReich Chancellery.

The daily gossip treated theirresignations as imminent.

Replacements from among theright-wing socialists were alreadybeing mooted. If earlier the wholemachinery of the Chancellery hadbeen clearly biased in favour of thethree right-wing Commissars, fromthat day onwards (the winding up ofthe National Congress of Councilsand the election of a purely SPDCentral Council) it worked for themexclusively. Haase, Dittmann andBarth were slowly beingeliminated.

But if this was indeed the case — afew Social Democrat historians deny it— they could have spared themselvesthe trouble. Haase, Dittmann and Barth,

the USPD People’s Commissars,eliminated themselves.

Their political tactics during the intra-Governmental controversy about theevents of December 23 and 24 were sonaïve that one can only explain them byassuming that consciously orunconsciously they had the sole aim ofshedding the responsibility ofgovernment to which they had notmeasured up. They spent a whole dayfruitlessly arguing with their SPDcolleagues about the rights and wrongsof the order to fire issued on December24 — and then called upon the CentralCouncil, which was manned exclusivelyby SPD representatives, to arbitrate; andwhen, as was to be expected, the Central

Council decided against them, theyresigned from the government.

This took place on December 29. Bythe next day the three SPD People’sCommissars had added to their numbertwo new colleagues from their ownparty, Wissell and Noske. ‘SocialistUnity’, proclaimed a bare seven weeksearlier, was buried with undisguisedrejoicing. ‘The hampering discord isover’ they announced cheerfully in aproclamation to the German people,‘Now we have the chance to work!’ Theproclamation said the aim towardswhich they would work was ‘peace andsecurity’. The word ‘revolution’ was notmentioned any more. It was signed: ‘TheReich Government.’ The Council of

People’s Commissars was abolished.In this way the Revolution’s first and

only military victory developed withinfive days into its decisive politicaldefeat. On November 9 and 10, Ebert, inan effort to halt the Revolution, had beenforced to concede a ‘Government ofSocialist Unity’. Now, seven weekslater, this Socialist unity — which fromthe start had been more illusory than real— was at an end. All those politicalforces which had really favoured or atleast sympathized with it, were againexcluded. Not that they were blameless:they had missed their moment and failedto grasp their chance. They had been out-manoeuvred — or had outmanoeuvredthemselves.

The immediate and inevitable resultwas the disintegration of the politicalLeft. After any defeat, the vanquisheddispute among themselves; each blamesthe other for what has happened. This iswhat they did now.

On December 30 the Spartacistsfinally broke with the USPD and formedthemselves into the Communist Party. Atthe same time they quarrelled with therevolutionary Obleute, who wanted nopart in this new creation and who hadlong thought Liebknecht’s ‘street tactics’— constant demonstrations — dangerousand amateurish.

Even the congress called to found theCommunist Party (KPD) was, from thestart, the scene of sharp disagreements

between the mass of supporters whoclamoured for immediate action, and theleadership who foresaw a long, slowstruggle. (Rosa Luxemburg: ‘Comrades,you are taking your radicalism somewhattoo easily... We are at the beginning ofthe Revolution.’)

After the departure of the Spartacists,the USPD remained in a state of schism.Some members of its right-wing weretempted to rejoin the SPD. Its left-wingaccused the former People’sCommissars of having failed in everyway. The revolutionary Obleuteexpelled Emil Barth, the man who hadbeen their only representative in theCouncil of People’s Commissars andwho as little as seven weeks earlier had

been one of their leaders.But while the political leadership of

the Left disintegrated, the workers,during those Christmas days, evolved anew revolutionary mood. In Novemberthe masses had thought they had won.Since Christmas they felt betrayed,cheated of their victory — but not yetdefeated. They would have to try onceagain. Hadn’t they managed withoutleaders in November? If it was possiblethen, why shouldn’t it be possible now?

When, on Sunday, December 29, theburial of those sailors killed in battletook place, a seemingly endlessprocession of mourners followed themto the Friedrichshain in the East ofBerlin. The mourners were angry. There

were posters saying:

Who killed the sailors? Namethem we can:

Ebert, Landsberg andScheidemann

and:

Violence against Violence!

They raised their fists and chanted inunison: ‘Down with the traitors!’

This rising up and flooding of thestreets of East Berlin was the secondwave of the Revolution. Within a week itwas to break.

10. Decision in January

The fate of the German Revolutionwas decided in Berlin during the weekof January 5 to 12, 1919. Historyremembers it as ‘Spartacus Week’ — butwrongly. What happened that week wasnot a Communist rising against theSocial Democrat Government. It was anattempt by the Berlin workers to regainwhat they had won on November 9 and10 and had meanwhile half lost, and toregain it by the same means as before.January 5 was another November 9.

But whereas November at leastproduced the appearance of success,January brought complete failure.Failure partly because the leadership,

again in the hands of the RevolutionaryObleute, operated with even lessplanning and even less skill than the lasttime. But failure chiefly because Ebertnow felt strong enough to risk what hehad not dared to do the last time: to havethe Revolution stifled.

No one had planned or could haveforeseen the events of January 5 inBerlin. It was a spontaneous massexplosion. The occasion was trivial. TheBerlin Chief of Police, an insignificantman named Emil Eichhorn, whoachieved no kind of prominence eitherbefore or afterwards, refused to accepthis dismissal by the Prussian Ministry ofthe Interior. He was a member of theUSPD and turned for support to the

Berlin section of his Party. On January 4,a Saturday, there was a meeting at PoliceHeadquarters between the executive ofthe Berlin USPD, the RevolutionaryObleute and two representatives fromthe newly formed KPD, Karl Liebknechtand Wilhelm Pieck. They conferred withEichhorn and decided to call a protestdemonstration against his dismissal, toassemble on Sunday. It was the onlyaction they could envisage; they were tohave the surprise of their lives.

The call they sent out was for ‘animpressive mass demonstration in theSiegesallee’ on Sunday at 2 p.m. Butalready, during the morning, as onNovember 9, huge columns of workerscame flooding from all the working-

class suburbs into the city centre. By twoo’clock, hundreds of thousands werestanding shoulder to shoulder, not only inthe Siegesallee, but right across theTiergarten, along Unter den Linden, onthe Schlossplatz, and from there downthe Königstrasse to the Alexanderplatzwhere Police Headquarters weresituated.

It was not a peaceful gathering. On thecontrary, it was a show of strength.Many were armed; all were angry andeager for action. After listening tospeeches — which most of them couldnot hear for in those days there were noloudspeakers — the masses did notdisperse. Just as on November 9 a fewcourageous people suddenly took the

initiative, issued instructions andassembled in armed groups and columns.After all, they did not merely want todemonstrate, they wanted to act — to dosomething.

Later it was claimed that Governmentspies were involved as agentsprovocateurs. This is not impossible butthey would not have been able to incitethe crowd to the sort of action thatfollowed if the people involved had notalready been bent on such action.

In the course of the afternoon thedemonstration had turned into an armedoperation. Its main target was thenewspaper district. All the bignewspaper publishing houses — Scherl,Ullstein, Mosse, Vorwärts — were

occupied, the presses stopped, theeditorial staffs sent home. Later otherarmed groups occupied the majorrailway stations.

During the night excited columns werestill roaming through the centre ofBerlin, looking for strategic points tooccupy or resistance to overcome. Butthere was no resistance. The Revolutionwhich had lain dormant since November10 had again erupted. That night itappeared to have taken control of Berlin.

No one was more surprised by thisuniversal eruption than the people whohad triggered it off. They had had noidea of the avalanche they wereunleashing.

On this Sunday evening eighty-six men

were assembled in the Berlin PoliceHeadquarters: seventy RevolutionaryObleute, ten members of the executive ofthe Berlin USPD led by the ageingGeorg Ledebour, two soldiers’ and onesailors’ representative, Liebknecht andPieck as delegates of the KPD and,finally, Eichhorn himself. According tothe report of a participant, theconference was ‘completely under thespell of the tremendous demonstrationwithout at first coming to anyconclusions as to what was to happennext’. A mood prevailed ‘whichpermitted no objective analysis. Thespeakers vied with one another in theirdemands and their invective.’

Wilder than most was Heinrich

Dorrenbach, the leader of the People’sNaval Division, who was not onlyintoxicated like all the others by theoverwhelming impressions of the lastfew hours, but was still swollen with thevictory in the Christmas battle. He nowclaimed that ‘not only the People’sNaval Division, but all the other Berlinregiments are backing the RevolutionaryObleute and are ready to overthrow theEbert-Scheidemann Government byforce of arms’. Whereupon Liebknechtsaid that in this case the overthrow of theGovernment was possible andabsolutely necessary. Ledebour said: ‘Ifwe decide on that, we must movequickly.’

The two soldiers’ representatives

uttered words of warning. ‘Perhaps thetroops are behind us,’ one of them said,‘but they have always vacillated.’ Theother was more pessimistic still. It waseven questionable, he said, whetherDorrenbach had the backing of his ownmen (a doubt which was all too soon toprove well-founded). But the warningscould not prevail against the intoxicationof victory which, oddly enough, had notbeen imparted to the masses by theirleaders, but had swept from the massesinto the leadership. By 80 votes to 6 itwas decided ‘to take up the fight againstthe Government and carry it on until itsoverthrow’.

The same night the followingproclamation was issued:

Workers! Soldiers! Comrades!On Sunday you displayed withoverwhelming power yourdetermination to thwart the lastevil-minded plot of thebloodstained Ebert Government.Now bigger issues are at stake. Wemust put a stop to all counter-revolutionary machinations!Therefore come out of the factories!Assemble in vast numbers thismorning in the Siegesallee at 11a.m.! The Revolution must beimplemented and strengthened! Upand into battle for Socialism! Upand into battle for the power of theRevolutionary proletariat! Down

with the Ebert-ScheidemannGovernment!

A ‘provisional RevolutionaryCommittee’ was formed with no lessthan fifty-three members, headed byLedebour, Liebknecht and a certain PaulScholze; this Revolutionary Committeedeclared that it had ‘provisionally takenover the business of government’. In factit never took over the business ofgovernment or even of the Revolution.The proclamation for the renewed massgathering on Monday was all it everachieved.

This proclamation was obeyed. OnMonday morning the masses were againin the streets, in perhaps even greater

numbers than on Sunday. Shoulder toshoulder they again stood from theSiegesallee to the Alexanderplatz,armed, expectant, ready for action. Theynow felt strong. Yesterday they had,almost playfully, shown their strengthand power — quite spontaneously,unled. Now that they thought they hadleadership, they expected determination,battle and victory.

And then nothing happened. Theleadership remained silent. Individualgroups again went off on their own andoccupied a few more public buildings— the Wolff Telegraph Office and theGovernment Printing Office among them.Evidently nobody was ready to attempt adecisive assault on the Government

buildings without being given the order— and no order came. Also there were afew thousand Government supportersmassed outside the Chancellery, armedcivilians drummed up by the SPD thatmorning.

The hours passed. The day which hadbegun with beautiful winter sunshinegrew foggy, then unpleasantly wet andcold. Slowly darkness fell. And no ordercame. The sandwiches had been eatenand hunger returned, the everlastinghunger of this winter of revolution. Bythe end of the afternoon the massesslowly began to thin out. By evening theyhad dispersed. When midnight struck, thecentre of Berlin lay deserted. Althoughno one was as yet aware of it, on this

January 6, 1919 the German Revolutionhad died.

What had happened? Above all it wasthis: the hoped-for support of the troopsfor this second wave of revolution hadfailed to materialize. The soldiers’representative’s warning of the previousevening was proved right. The troopshesitated, debated, did not quite knowwhat was going on; as usual they were infavour both of revolution and of law andorder. At any rate, they felt noinclination to risk their necks. Even thePeople’s Naval Division opted for‘neutrality’. In the morning, the fifty-three-man Revolutionary Committee hadtransferred, full of hope, from PoliceHeadquarters to the Marstall, the

sailors’ headquarters. In the afternoonthey were politely shown the door. Andthus they had spent their day.

In the evening there was again ameeting at Police Headquarters, but nowthere was a very different mood. It wasno longer a question of how tooverthrow the Government, but merelyof how to get out of the whole businesswith impunity.

On this Monday evening this stillseemed possible, as it did for the nexttwo or three days. During this time, bothsides were wary of each other; theGovernment as much as therevolutionaries. The former were stillsweating from Sunday’s experience, andon Monday another gigantic crowd could

clearly be seen to be forming from theWilhelmstrasse; the Linden, a hundredyards away, resembled an armed camp:what would happen if this army launchedan attack on the Government buildings?The true helplessness of therevolutionary leadership was not yetevident. And the majority of the Berlintroops were not to be relied on: by theGovernment as little as by therevolutionaries.

True, the Freikorps, the volunteerunits, were getting ready on theprovincial parade grounds outsideBerlin. On Saturday, Ebert and Noskehad been to Zossen to inspect the newlyformed Landesjägerkorps underGeneral Maercker and had been

agreeably surprised at seeing ‘realsoldiers’ again. Noske, the taller by twoheads, had patted Ebert on the shoulderand said: ‘Cheer up, everything will bealright soon.’ But that had been Saturdayin Zossen; now it was Monday in Berlin,and it was not the Landesjägerkorpsmassed in the Unter den Linden, but thearmed revolution.

It was therefore a welcome reliefwhen the former USPD People’sCommissars, who had left theGovernment on December 29, nowoffered to mediate. Ebert was happy toaccept. At the very least it was a way togain time. He made only one condition:the occupation of the newspaper officesmust cease.

This condition was debated by theRevolutionary Committee on Mondayevening. If they had agreed to it, thesituation might still have been saved. Butthey said no.

This paralytic monster of a committeewas a pitiful sight from first to last:incapable of advancing, unwilling toretreat. After yesterday’s victoriousdelirium the mood had crashed toosteeply. To recognize and admit defeat,to beat a retreat, was more than thesefifty-three men could psychologicallyaccomplish within twenty-four hours.

Perhaps they also had secret doubtsabout whether they could in factguarantee the evacuation of thenewspaper offices. They had not ordered

them to be occupied and had no powerover the armed groups in the newspaperbuildings; in many cases they did noteven know who was in command. Infact, in this Revolution, theRevolutionary Committee at PoliceHeadquarters played the part of thesimpleton. But that had to be kept dark.They said no.

At heart, Ebert was content. Hewanted no repetition of that illusorypeace pact with the Revolution as onNovember 10; he wanted the pay-off.(‘The day of reckoning approaches!’says a Government proclamationformulated by him and issued two dayslater, on January 8.) He protracted theinauspicious negotiations for a few days

and made his military preparations. Theywere two-pronged.

One prong was Noske, with theFreikorps. As recently as Monday, in thehalf-besieged Chancellery, Noske hadbeen appointed Commander-in-Chief.(‘It is all right by me,’ he remarkedaccording to his own testimony.‘Someone has got to be thebloodhound.’) He had immediately leftthe danger-zone, passing freely throughthe armed crowd at the BrandenburgGate who had no idea who the tall,bespectacled civilian was. (‘Irepeatedly asked politely to be letthrough. I had an urgent errand, I said.They readily made way for me.’) Sincethen he had established himself in the

West Berlin suburb of Dahlem, in theLuisenstift, a smart girls’ boardingschool enjoying extended Christmasholidays. There he had made hisheadquarters, and from there he busiedhimself with mustering the newFreikorps around Berlin and preparingtheir march into the city. In Dahlem therewas no sign of revolution, no workerroamed that far. In the spacious, wintrygardens there was a gracious peace.Noske could work undisturbed. But hiswork needed time and Ebert had none.There was still a general strike inBerlin, the newspapers and railwaystations were still occupied, theRevolutionary Committee was still insession at Police Headquarters, there

were still vast mass demonstrations inthe East and North of the city. If theFreikorps were not yet ready to march— could not something after all be donewith the Berlin troops? Ebert waswilling to try. It should be possible toemploy some unit or other against theSpartacists, for God’s sake!

Gustav Noske, Commander-in-Chief of theFreikorps, addresses a meeting during the Berlin

elections (Staatsbibliotek, Berlin)

This was the second prong hesharpened against the Revolution, whilestill negotiating and expressing hisdisapproval of bloodshed. And in factthe Berlin troops finally tilted the scales.When the Freikorps moved into Berlinat last, the battle had been fought.

The days of battle were Thursday,January 9 to Sunday January 12, 1919.During this period, on Ebert’s orders,the Revolution in the capital was mowndown with gunfire. Day after dayBerliners heard the roar of cannon,previously heard only on December 24.A motley assembly of troops — theever-conservative ‘May-Bugs’(Maikäfer), the newly-formed Reichstag

Regiment, loyal to Ebert, the right-wingradical volunteer regiment Reinhardwhich had been put together during thedays of Christmas, and finally thePotsdam battalions under Major vonStephani, reorganized after theirignominious defeat on Christmas Eve —fought violent street and house-to-housebattles to retake the occupied buildingsone by one, including, finally, the PoliceHeadquarters building on Sunday.

The fiercest battle raged on Saturdaymorning, January 11, around theVorwärts building in the Lindenstrasse.The first gun salvo failed, as it had donein the fight for the Palace, the firstassault was repelled; then therefollowed a second, more powerful salvo

and then a dreadful thing happened. TheVorwärts garrison sent out sixspokesmen bearing a white flag tonegotiate a safe conduct. One of themwas sent back with a demand forunconditional surrender, the remainingfive were kept behind, taken away,brutally maltreated and finally shot,together with two captured couriers. TheVorwärts was then taken by storm. Threehundred of the defenders were takencaptive.

Major von Stephani telephoned theReich Chancellery to ask what he was todo with so many prisoners. According tohis own written testimony, he receivedthe reply: ‘Shoot the lot!’ This he refusedto do; he was still an officer of the old

school. Seven of the prisoners were shotnevertheless and almost all were cruellybeaten with gun-butts, without vonStephani being able to prevent it. AGovernment archivist, ReichsarchivratVolkmann, who has written a history ofthe Revolution which tends throughout toside with the military, reports asfollows:

In their rage the soldiers arealmost out of control. When theysee how one of the officers, whohad been captured by the rebels andheld prisoner in the Vorwärtsbuilding during the bombardment,shook the Spartacists by the hand tothank them for their considerate

treatment of him, they beat him tillhe bled.

On January 12 the fighting in Berlinwas over. The Revolution had beencrushed. Had it been a Spartacist, that isto say a Communist revolution? Thevictors said so from the start, and theirnomenclature has prevailed to thepresent day. (Note the unquestioningconviction with which Volkmann callsthe occupants of the Vorwärts‘Spartacists’.)

But this is not the truth. The KPD hadneither foreseen nor desired the Januaryrising, they had neither planned norguided it. They were in fact horrified bythe unplanned, leaderless, mass

stampede. Such a massed rising, whenthe Party had barely found its feet, wasagainst all the rules! When, on January 8,Liebknecht after some days of absenceturned up at the Party headquarters, hewas showered with reproaches forhaving taken it upon himself toparticipate. ‘Karl, is that ourprogramme?’ Rosa Luxemburg is said tohave shouted out to him; or, according toanother version: ‘Karl, what hashappened to our programme?’

And even the lamentableRevolutionary Committee — on which itwas not the two Communists, Liebknechtand Pieck, who called the tune, but theseventy Revolutionary Obleute — hadneither planned, caused nor led the

January rising. This rising had been theexclusive and spontaneous doing of theBerlin working masses, the same masseswho had produced the NovemberRevolution and who wereoverwhelmingly Social Democrat, notSpartacist or Communist, and whoserising in January had not differed fromthat in November.

There is evidence for this, for themasses did not remain silent. In thesecond half of that tragic week inJanuary, when they too had realized thefailure of the ‘Revolutionary Committee’and when the cannons were alreadyspeaking in the newspaper district, theyformulated their aims in the course ofbig mass demonstrations, and did so

with remarkable clarity.On January 9 — Thursday — forty

thousand workers of the AEG and theSchwarzkopf works assembled in theHumboldthain, called — just as onNovember 10 — for the ‘unity ofworkers of all persuasions’ andinstituted a commission on which theSocialist factions were equallyrepresented. In the days that followedthe unity movement affected practicallyall Berlin’s factories. The Four PointsResolution passed by the Spandaufactories (eighty thousand workers) onJanuary 10 is typical:

1 The resignation of all People’sCommissars

2 Formation of evenly-balancedcommittees of the three Parties

3 New elections for the workers’and soldiers’ councils, the centralcouncil, the executive council andthe People’s Commissars

4 Setting about the unification ofthe socialist parties

Equally characteristic was thedemand voiced by the workers in theelectricity plants Südwest, Schöneberg,on January 11 — Friday — for theresignation of ‘leaders of all politicalpersuasions who have proved incapableof preventing this terrible fratricide’.

These are not Spartacist orCommunist aims. They are the very aims

to which Ebert had paid lip-service onNovember 10: Socialist unity, ‘nofratricide’. They are the aims for whichthe workers of Berlin had fought onNovember 9, and for these aims they hadonce again, spontaneously and withoutleadership, taken up arms in that goryweek of January.

They still wanted what they hadwanted in November: the unification ofall Socialist parties and the abolition ofthe old feudal-bourgeois State in favourof a new workers’ State. Ebert onNovember 10 had pretended to grantthis. But it had never been his wish:from the start he was eager to preservethe old structure. And this is what theworkers of Berlin realized between

November and January; and that is whyin January they produced, not aSpartacist or Communist revolution, butthe same revolution all over again. But ifthe first time there had been at least anillusion of victory — this time theRevolution ended in bloody defeat.

The workers who had stormed into thestreets on November 9 and on January 5and who, on January 9, 10 and 11 hadformulated their aims in massresolutions, still largely voted SocialDemocrat during the elections for aConstituent National Assembly a weeklater. They still considered themselvesSocial Democrats — not Independentsor Communists. In their eyes the peoplewho were no longer Social Democrats

were Ebert, Scheidemann and Noske.But it was Ebert, Scheidemann and

Noske who now held power and whodecided who from now on was entitledto call himself a Social Democrat andwho was to put up with being called‘Spartacist’. They also had the powersimply to consign all the workers’resolutions of that January week to thewastepaper basket.

Of course, in order to hold their ownsupporters in check, they now had to findstrange allies — allies inclined to viewthem as semi-Spartacists themselves.With the same lack of suspicion withwhich the Revolution two months agohad placed itself in Ebert’s hands, Ebertnow delivered himself into the hands of

the Counter-Revolution.When Ebert had won his battle for

Berlin, Noske, too, had completed hispreparations. The first Freikorps wereready to march into Berlin. On Saturday,January 11, after the storming of theVorwärts — there was a foretaste: ademonstration march by theLandesjägerkorps Maercker throughbourgeois West Berlin. The conservativePost reported it the next day under theheadline ‘A GLEAM OF LIGHT’:

Yesterday afternoon at aboutthree o’clock many a patriotic heartcould once again rejoice at a long-missed sight. Soldiers weremarching across the Potsdamer

Platz in the direction of theDönhoffplatz. Soldiers withofficers, soldiers controlled bytheir leaders. An immense crowdlined both sides and welcomedthem with enthusiastic cheers. Themarch stopped, the troops wereforced to halt. Sharp commands of‘Company halt! Slope arms!’ wereexecuted with disciplinedprecision. Shouts of ’Bravo!’ fromthe public. All were looking withadmiration at this first-class,impeccable, disciplined unit and itsleaders.

What the Post failed to report wasthat this first-class unit had marching at

its head a lonely, tall, bespectacledcivilian: Gustav Noske. This was amoment he was not prepared to miss.Volkmann, quoted above, has a snapshotof the strange picture: ‘The deadlyserious face betrays an iron will. At hisside, half mocking, half embarrassed, acolonel.’

This march was a mere prelude. OnJanuary 15, the Wednesday after theweek of revolution, the whole South andWest of Berlin and the City Centre wereoccupied by the newly-formed ‘GeneralCommand Lüttwitz’. The North and East— the workers’ districts — were for thetime being excluded. Their subjection,when bloodshed would be inevitable,was left for later.

The West of Berlin was taken over bythe newly-formed Garde-Kavallerie-Schützendivision. They established theirheadquarters in the palatial Eden Hotel.They brought posters along which read:‘The Garde-Kavallerie-Schützendivision has marched intoBerlin. Berliners! The Divisionpromises you not to leave the Capitaluntil order has finally been re-established.’

On the very day of its arrival thedivision left its visiting card: bymurdering Karl Liebknecht and RosaLuxemburg.

11. The Persecution and Murder ofKarl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg

When on the evening of January 15,1919, Karl Liebknecht and RosaLuxemburg, beaten senseless with rifle-butts, were taken by car from the EdenHotel in Berlin to the Tiergarten to bemurdered, the course of political eventswas at first pretty well unaffected. TheRevolution’s last hour had alreadystruck; Liebknecht had only played avery peripheral part in it, RosaLuxemburg had not taken any active partat all. In any case, the Revolution wasabout to be brutally crushed. The murderof the two figures that symbolized itperhaps helped to give the signal for the

massacre; in the overall course of eventsthis crime seemed at the time to be nomore than a garish episode.

Today one realizes with horror thatthis episode was historically the mostpotent event in the drama of the GermanRevolution. Viewed from the vantagepoint of half a century later, it hasacquired something of the uncanny,incalculably far-reaching effect of theevent on Golgotha — which likewiseseemed to make little difference when ithappened.

Death brought Liebknecht and RosaLuxemburg together. During their livesthey had had little in common until rightat the very end. They had very differentcareers and were totally different

personalities.Liebknecht was one of the most

courageous men Germany has everproduced. He was not a great politician.Before 1914 he was hardly knownoutside the SPD; and inside the Party hecounted for little — the insignificant sonof a great father, Wilhelm Liebknecht,the Party’s founder: ‘a hot-headed,obstinate lawyer with a kind heart and aweakness for the dramatic.’

He had worked with young peopleand written a book against militarismwhich earned him eighteen months ofimprisonment; it was only then that theParty, half as a gesture of defiance, halfas a consolation prize, chose him as anelection candidate; from 1908 onwards

he was in the Prussian RegionalParliament (Landtag); from 1912onwards he was in the Reichstag, theNational Assembly. Rosa Luxemburg lefta fairly ironic description of Liebknechtas a representative: ‘All day inParliament, at meetings, on committees,at discussions, in a constant rush, alwaysoff somewhere, from a train into a tramand from a tram into a car, every pocketcrammed with notebooks, his armsloaded with freshly bought newspaperswhich he would never find time to read,body and soul covered with the dust ofthe streets...’ Even as late as the outbreakof the War, when she was trying to bringtogether within the Party a group inopposition to the War, she wrote: ‘One

can hardly get hold of Karl because hedarts about like a cloud in the air.’

Rosa Luxemburg, on the other hand,had been a political figure of the firstrank in Germany since the turn of thecentury — although a triple outsider, asa woman, a Jewess and a semi-foreigner(she was born in Russian Poland andhad only become a German by afictitious marriage); in addition sheterrified the bourgeoisie, and even theSocial Democrats, because of herradical views. And yet admired byfriends and enemies — often reluctantly— for a multiplicity of talents borderingon genius: a brilliant and penetratingmind, a scintillating style, infectiousoratory; a politician through and through

and at the same time an original thinker,a warm-hearted, fascinating woman intothe bargain. Her wit and her gracefulgravity, her passion and kindness madeone forget that she was not good-looking. She was loved as much as shewas feared and hated.

Rosa Luxemburg addressing a meeting during theSocialist Congress, 1907 (Ullstein)

She had always been at the forefront

of the great national and internationalsocialist controversies at the beginningof the century. As their ally or opponent,she was the peer of Bebel and Kautsky,Lenin and Trotsky, Jaurès and Pilsudski.She ventured into the RussianRevolution of 1905 — and again andagain she ended up in prison, for lèse-majesté, for incitement to disobedience,for insults to the officers’ corps. Awoman beyond grasp, a great woman,perhaps still the greatest woman thiscentury has produced.

Then suddenly the War changedeverything, in a manner recalling Faust:

... it takes a woman a thousandpaces

however much she runs or races—

a man can do it in a single bound.

During the War the unknownbackbencher Karl Liebknecht overtookthe great Rosa Luxemburg and achievedworld fame, not through some act ofspecial political brilliance orintellectual originality, but simplythrough two acts of courage, immense,single-handed, moral courage. OnDecember 2, 1914 he alone in theReichstag voted against a second warloan — one must know the mood thenprevailing in Germany and the GermanReichstag to comprehend what thatmeant. And on May 1, 1916, during a

May demonstration on the PotsdamerPlatz in Berlin (not a big demonstration;a few hundred people, at most athousand, surrounded by police), hebegan his speech with the words: ‘Downwith the war! Down with theGovernment!’ He got no further.Policemen overwhelmed him anddragged him off. For the next two and ahalf years he was out of sight behindprison walls. But those eight words hadhad more effect than the longest or mostbrilliant speech. When Liebknecht wasset free on October 23, 1918, he hadbecome, for Germany and far beyond herborders, the very embodiment of protestagainst the War and the embodiment ofrevolution.

Rosa Luxemburg did not leave prisonuntil November 9, 1918. She had spentalmost the entire war behind bars: tostart with, one year as the result of a pre-war political verdict, then two and a halfyears in ‘preventive detention’. Thoseyears, during which she had composedher classic critiques of German SocialDemocracy and of the RussianRevolution, had turned her hair grey, buther mind had lost nothing of its sparklingmastery.

From now on the two of them had agood two months to live, the two monthsin which the German Revolution brokeout and foundered.

If one asks what was Liebknecht’s andRosa Luxemburg’s contribution to the

drama of these two months, the honestanswer must be: little or nothing.Everything would have happened exactlyas it did if they had not existed. Evensuch ephemeral figures as the sailorsArtelt and Dorrenbach had, at moments,a greater effect on events than the twogreat revolutionaries. The realprotagonists were Ebert and his crew,the Revolutionary Obleute, the sailors,the Berlin troops, the Socialist Partyorganizations, the council congressesand the masses continually andunpredictably intervening in the action— and on none of these did Luxemburgand Liebknecht have any real influence.Liebknecht made a few appearances onthe stage; Rosa Luxemburg none at all.

What they did during these sixty-sevendays can be reconstructed in detail. Theyfounded and edited, against manyobstacles and under much difficulty, anewspaper, Die Rote Fahne (The RedFlag), and wrote its daily leadingarticles. They took part —unsuccessfully — in the meetings andgatherings of the Revolutionary Obleuteand of the Berlin USPD. Finally, facedwith this lack of success, they decided tofound their own party, prepared thefounding meeting of the KPD, held it,made the main speeches; RosaLuxemburg drafted the party programme.But this founding congress, too, broughtthem no personal successes: onimportant issues they were outvoted.

This was during the very last days of1918. Then, off his own bat, Liebknecht,from January 4, 1919 onwards, took partin the unproductive meetings of the fifty-three-man Revolutionary Committee inthe Berlin Police Headquarters. Duringthat time Rosa Luxemburg edited theRote Fahne alone. And then the little oflife left to them was already exhausted.

If one also takes into accountparticipation in demonstrations,speeches made off-the-cuff on theseoccasions, endless discussions withothers of the same persuasion, one gets apicture of a more than full period, hecticand short of sleep. In those days fromNovember 9 to January 15, in whatremained of their lives, Liebknecht and

Rosa Luxemburg worked like peoplepossessed, to the very limits of theirstrength: but they effected nothing. Theywere not the leaders of a GermanBolshevist revolution, not Germany’sLenin and Trotsky. They did not evenseek to be this: Rosa Luxemburg becauseshe rejected the violent element in Leninand Trotsky’s revolution-by-forceps-delivery on grounds of principle, andkept repeating almost solemnly that theRevolution would have to grownaturally and democratically out of theconsciousness of the proletarian masses,which in Germany was still in its earlybeginnings; Liebknecht because he wasconvinced that the Revolution wouldmake itself, indeed had already done so,

and required no further organization ormanipulation. Lenin, in April 1917 whenhe had only just returned to Russia,issued the instruction: ‘Organization,organization and more organization!’Liebknecht and Luxemburg did notorganize anything. Liebknecht’swatchword was: Agitation; RosaLuxemburg’s was: Enlightenment.

And enlighten she did, with dailyarticles in the Rote Fahne. From theoutset there was no one to rival RosaLuxemburg for the accuracy with whichshe analysed the nature of the GermanRevolution and the reasons for itsfailure: the SPD’s lack of sincerity, theUSPD’s lack of purpose, theRevolutionary Obleute’s lack of ideas.

She did it with penetration, openly andin public. In its own way it wasmagnificent. But it was a journalistic,not a revolutionary achievement. All thatRosa Luxemburg accomplished by thiswas to make herself the object of thedeadly hatred of those she saw throughand exposed.

From the very start this hatred was,quite literally, deadly. There is evidencethat the murder of Liebknecht and RosaLuxemburg was planned andsystematically pursued from thebeginning of December, if not earlier. Inthose early December days hoardingsthroughout Berlin displayed posterswhich read:

Workers, Citizens! TheFatherland is on the brink ofdisaster. Save it! It is threatened notfrom without but from within: bythe Spartacist group. Beat theirleaders to death! Kill Liebknecht!Then you will have peace, workand bread!

The Front-line Soldiers.

At that time there were, as yet, nofront-line soldiers in Berlin. The call formurder came from a different source. Wehave some indication of the nature of thissource. A certain Anton Fischer, whowas then deputy to Otto Wels, the CityCommander, wrote in 1920 that inNovember and December of 1918 it had

been the policy of his office to ‘dig outand hunt down’ Liebknecht andLuxemburg ‘by day and by night, so thatthey had no chance to agitate ororganize’. As early as the night ofDecember 9 to 10, soldiers of theSecond Regiment of Guards forced theirway into the building where the RoteFahne was being edited, with theintention — subsequently admitted — ofmurdering Liebknecht. During the courthearings which followed this event halfa dozen witnesses stated that at that timethere was already a price of 50,000marks on the heads of both Liebknechtand Rosa Luxemburg, offered byScheidemann and Georg Sklarz, anouveau-riche war millionaire who was

a close friend of Scheidemann’s.On January 13, 1919, two days before

the assassination, the information sheetof the volunteer auxiliary corps in Berlin(Mitteilungsblatt der freiwilligenHilfskorps in Berlin) had this to say:

‘The fear has been voiced thatthe Government might slacken in itsaction against the Spartacists.Authoritative sources confirm thatwhat has been achieved so far is byno means considered sufficient, andthat every effort will be made to actagainst the leaders of themovement. The population ofBerlin should not feel that thosewho have for the time being got

away can live elsewhere in peace.The very next days will show thatthey, too, will not be spared.’

On the same day the Social DemocratVorwärts published a poem ending withthis stanza:

Many hundred dead in a row —Proletarians!Karl, Rosa, Radek and Company

—Not one of them there, not one of

them there!Proletarians!

A few days earlier in the Luisenstift

in Dahlem, Gustav Noske, Ebert’s civilwar Commander-in-Chief, hadpersonally ordered Lieutenant FriedrichWilhelm von Oertzen to monitorLiebknecht’s telephone day and night.Oertzen, who later wrote down a recordof all this, was to report all Liebknecht’smovements, day by day and hour byhour, to Captain Pabst of the Garde-Kavallerie-Schützendivision. It was thisorder which led to Liebknecht’s andRosa Luxemburg’s capture, and Pabstheaded the murder squad.

In the end Liebknecht and RosaLuxemburg can hardly have failed torealize that they were being hunted. It isremarkable and characteristic — in anhonourable sense — that even so, not for

a moment did it occur to them to leaveBerlin; and they refused their supporters’repeated offer of a bodyguard. Theywere much too involved in theirpolitical and journalistic work to spendmuch time thinking about their ownsafety; perhaps they were also over-confident — arrest and imprisonmentwere familiar experiences that held noterror. This very familiarity may havemade it difficult for them to realize thatthis time their lives were really indanger. When she was ‘arrested’ RosaLuxemburg touchingly packed a smallsuitcase with a few belongings andfavourite books which had more thanonce accompanied her into prison.

And yet a kind of fatal foreboding

invaded their last days. It had been abreathless period throughout; they hadhardly seen their homes during thosesixty-seven days; rationing their sleep,they had spent restless nights in theeditorial office, in hotel rooms or in theapartments of friends. But this constantchange of address took on a newmeaning in the last week of their lives— it smacked of flight, of rushing fromone inadequate cover to the next, and ina terrible way anticipated the fate ofJews hunted to death in the Third Reich.

The editorial office of the RoteFahne, at the lower end of theWilhelmstrasse, had become unsafe.Government troops entered it almostdaily; one woman editor, whom they

mistook for Rosa Luxemburg, narrowlyescaped death. For some days RosaLuxemburg did her editorial work in adoctor’s apartment near the HallescheTor; then, after her presence had becomea burden for her hosts, in a worker’s flatin Neukölin. There she was joined onJanuary 12 by Karl Liebknecht, but twodays later — on January 14 — atelephoned alert drove them both away(it was perhaps a fake call from themurderers’ switchboard which had beenshadowing, and possibly evencontrolling, their every movement fordays). They transferred to their lasthideout, to Wilmersdorf, near theFehrbelliner Platz: Mannheimer Strasse53, c/o Markussohn. There on the

morning of January 15 they wrote theirlast articles for the Rote Fahne. It seemsmore than just chance that they read likeparting words of farewell.

Rosa Luxemburg’s article was entitled‘Order prevails in Berlin’. It ends:

O you thick-skulled myrmidonsof the law! Your ‘order’ is built onsand. By tomorrow the Revolutionwill rise clanking to its feet againand to your horror announce with afanfare of trumpets: I was. I am. Ishall be!

Liebknecht’s article ‘In spite ofEverything’ ends thus:

Today’s vanquished will betomorrow’s victors... Whether ornot we shall still be alive when thisis achieved — our programme willlive on: it will dominate the worldof liberated humanity. In spite ofeverything!

Towards evening — Rosa Luxemburghad a headache and had gone to liedown, and Wilhelm Pieck had justarrived with the galley proofs of theRote Fahne — the doorbell rang. Aninnkeeper named Mehring was at thedoor, asking for Herr Liebknecht andFrau Luxemburg. At first their presencewas denied, but Mehring persisted. Hesummoned a group of soldiers led by a

Lieutenant Lindner, who searched theflat, found them and asked them to comealong. They packed a few things. Thenthey were taken to the Eden Hotel, whichfrom that morning had been serving asHeadquarters of the Garde-Kavallerie-Schützendivision. There they were beingawaited. The rest happened quickly andis quickly told.

In the Eden Hotel they were greetedwith insults and maltreated. Liebknecht,who had been beaten with rifle-butts hadtwo open wounds on his head and askedfor bandages, but was refused. He alsoasked to be allowed to go to thelavatory; that too was refused. Theywere then both taken to the first floor, tothe room of Captain Pabst who was in

charge. It is not known what was said inthat room. We only have Pabst’s ownstatement in court — which has beenshown to have been false on other points— according to which his conversationwith Rosa Luxemburg went as follows:

‘Are you Frau Rosa Luxemburg?’‘Please make up your own mind about

that.’‘To judge by your pictures, you must

be.’‘If you say so.’Then Liebknecht, and a little later

Rosa Luxemburg, were subjected torenewed maltreatment while being takenor dragged down the stairs and handedover to the murder squad, held inreadiness. Meanwhile Pabst sat in his

room and prepared an extensive reportwhich appeared in all the newspapersthe following day. Liebknecht, it read,had been shot while trying to escapewhen he was being transported to theMoabit prison, while Rosa Luxemburghad been snatched from her escort by anenraged crowd and dragged off to anunknown destination.

In fact the road outside the side exit,through which Karl Liebknecht and RosaLuxemburg were taken on their lastjourney, had been barred and wasdeserted. A Fusilier called Runge hadbeen posted by this side exit. As firstLiebknecht, then Rosa Luxemburg wereescorted outside, his orders were tosmash their heads in with the butt of his

rifle. He did as he was told: two viciousblows, but neither of them fatal. Stunnedor half-stunned by those terrible blows,Liebknecht, and a few minutes laterRosa Luxemburg, were dragged into carswhich were standing by. Liebknecht’smurder escort was under the commandof a Lieutenant-Captain von Pflugk-Harttung, Rosa Luxemburg’s under thatof a Lieutenant Vogel.

Within a few minutes of each otherboth cars drove to the Tiergarten. At theNeue See, a lake, Liebknecht was askedto get out, shot in the back of the headwith a pistol, thrown back into the carand then delivered to the mortuary as the‘body of an unknown man’.

Rosa Luxemburg was shot through the

temple immediately after being drivenaway from the Hotel Eden and at theLichtenstein Bridge was thrown into theLandwehrkanal. It has not beenascertained whether she was killed bybeing beaten to death, by the bullet or bydrowning. When months later the corpsewas washed up, the post-mortemshowed that the cranium had not beensplit, the bullet wound had notnecessarily been fatal.

Why were Karl Liebknecht and RosaLuxemburg persecuted and murdered?The legend — carefully nurtured by theSocial Democrats, involuntarilysupported by the Communists inexaggerating the Spartacist part in theRevolution — obstinately keeps on

repeating that they became the victims ofa civil war they themselves hadunleashed. As far as Rosa Luxemburg isconcerned, not a word of this is true.And even if Liebknecht’s participation inthe Revolutionary Committee of January1919 were to be regarded as an act ofcivil war, how is one to explain thatnothing happened to the other fifty-twoparticipants, that while Georg Ledebour,who had been every bit as involved andhad been arrested on January 10, wasacquitted during the subsequent hearings,Liebknecht’s persecution had begunearly in December, when nobody as yethad any idea of January’s impendingevents? No, the persecution and murderof Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg

were not acts of combat in the civil war.Other reasons lay behind them.

One reason was that Liebknecht andRosa Luxemburg, more than anyone else,embodied the German Revolution in theeyes of both friends and enemies. Theywere its symbols, and who killed them,killed the Revolution. This applies toLiebknecht even more than to RosaLuxemburg.

The other reason was, that, more thananyone else, they saw through the doublegame which its alleged leaders wereplaying with the German Revolution, andevery day shouted their findings from therooftops. They were expert witnesseswho had to be killed because theirtestimony was irrefutable. This applies

to Rosa Luxemburg even more than itdoes to Karl Liebknecht.

The murder of Karl Liebknecht andRosa Luxemburg meant the murdering ofa superior courage and a superior spirit.It meant murdering the irrefutable truth.

Who was guilty of this act? Theimmediate guilt, of course, rests onCaptain Pabst, who decades later, in1962, protected by the Statute ofLimitations, openly boasted of his deed,and on his murder squads. They were allsurely more than mere tools, dully andindifferently executing orders; they actedwillingly, even eagerly. But were theyalone, or even directly, responsible? Itmust be remembered that thepersecution, the public incitement to

murder, and the preparations for themurder itself began at the latest in thebeginning of December 1918, longbefore the murderers from the Garde-Kavallerie-Schützendivision entered thestage. One must remember the price ontheir heads, the testimony of the BerlinDeputy City Commander, theunmistakable incitement to murder, notonly in the conservative press, but alsoand especially in the Social Democratpapers; and after the event,Scheidemann’s hypocritical defence,Noske’s cold satisfaction. Ebert, as faras can be ascertained, always kept silentas the grave.

One must also remember theundisguised, indeed shameless manner in

which judiciary and Governmentauthorities favoured the actualmurderers. (Most of them were acquittedin the course of farcical proceedings at acourt martial of their own division eventhose who received minor sentences for‘dereliction of sentry duty’ and ‘body-snatching’; they were immediatelyafterwards helped to escape.) Andfinally one must remember the reactionof bourgeois and Social Democratpublic opinion, ranging fromwhitewashing understatement to openrejoicing: a hypocritical reaction whichremains unchanged to the present day.

As recently as 1954 the liberal lawyerand historian Erich Eyck wrote:

One does not excuse the murderif one recalls the old adage that hewho lives by the sword shall perishby the sword, and one haswitnessed too many bloody deedsby those who think like Liebknechtand like Rosa Luxemburg to feelespecially outraged at their fate.

And as late as 1962 the Bulletin desPresse- und Informationsamtes derBundesregierung Nr 27 (Handout No.27 from the Press and Information Officeof the German Federal Government)called the murders ‘executions byshooting under martial law’.

The murders of January 15, 1919were a prelude — the prelude to

murders by the thousand in the followingmonths under Noske, and to murders bythe million in the ensuing decades underHitler. They were the starting signal forall the others. Yet this one crime remainsunadmitted, unexpiated and unrepented.That is why it still cries out to heaven inGermany. That is why its light sears theGerman present like a lethal laser beam.

12. The Civil War

From January to May 1919, with off-shoots reaching into the height ofsummer, a bloody civil war was wagedin Germany, leaving in its wakethousands of dead, and unspeakablebitterness.

This civil war set the points for theunhappy history of the Weimar Republicto which it gave birth, and the rise of theThird Reich which it spawned. For itleft the old Social Democratic movementirreversibly split, deprived theremaining rump of the SPD of allchances of future left-wing alliances andforced it into the position of a perpetualminority; and in the Freikorps, the

volunteer battalions who waged andwon the war for the Social DemocratGovernment, it gave birth to the frame ofmind and attitudes of the future SA andSS, which were often their directsuccessors. The civil war of 1919 isthus a pivotal event in Germantwentieth-century history. But strangelyenough it has almost completelyvanished from the canvas of Germanhistory, erased and repressed. There arereasons for this.

One of them is shame. All theparticipants are ashamed of the part theyplayed in the civil war. The defeatedrevolutionaries are ashamed of havingnothing glorious to point to, no partialvictory, not even a grandiose twilight,

merely disorganized confusion,indecision, failure and defeat — andanonymous suffering and dying forthousands. But the victors, too, areashamed. They formed a strangecoalition: a coalition of SocialDemocrats and — Nazis. And bothparties in this unnatural coalition werelater reluctant to confess to what theyhad done: the Social Democrats that theyhad recruited the predecessors andprototypes of what were later to becomethe SA and the SS, and had unleashedthese future Nazis on their own people;the Nazis that they had taken serviceunder the Social Democrats and hadbeen blooded under the Social Democrataegis. History readily buries in silence

what all participants remember withshame.

But there is another reason why thecivil war of 1919 has disappeared fromGerman memory and Germanhistoriography: it does not make a good‘yarn’, no material for a spell-bindingnarrative — no drama with tension andmemorable climaxes, no coherent action,no breath-taking battle between well-matched opponents. The bloodyphenomenon rolled sluggishly acrossGermany without ever affecting thewhole country at once. The slow firealways broke out somewhere when ithad just been stamped out somewhereelse. It began early in February on theNorth Sea coast, with Bremen as its

centre; then, in the middle of February,the main theatre of war was suddenly inthe Ruhr area, by the end of February inThuringia and central Germany, at thebeginning and in the middle of March inBerlin, in April in Bavaria, in May inSaxony; in between there were majorepisodes like the battles for Brunswickand Magdeburg, and innumerablesmaller ones now known only to localhistorians: a bewildering, unstructuredsuccess of unconnected major and minorskirmishes, battles and massacres.

In each case the outcome was clearfrom the outset, and everything alwaysfollowed the same pattern, in a constant,monotonous repetition. One can no moredescribe in detail the five or six months

of civil war in 1919 than one can do itfor their counterpart, the five or six daysof revolution in November 1918. Just asthen the same pattern had been repeated,with minor local deviations, throughoutGermany, so it was again now: then theunresisted victory of the Revolution,now the triumphal march, not unresistedbut irresistible, of the counter-Revolution. But there were differences;what had then been consummated withlightning speed, now proceeded withtortuous, methodical slowness; then littleblood had been spilt, now it poured inrivers; then the Revolution had been thespontaneous act of the leaderless massesby which the Social Democrat leadershad most reluctantly allowed themselves

to be raised to power, now the Counter-Revolution was a systematic militaryaction ordered by these same SocialDemocrat leaders.

Of this there can be no doubt: theinitiative for the civil war, the decisionto fight it and therefore also — if wewant to apply such concepts — the‘blame’ for the civil war restedunquestionably with the SocialDemocrat leadership, especially withEbert and Noske. At the most, the otherside occasionally provided them withpretexts for an attack, sometimes noteven that. After January in Berlin therewas only one more ‘second wave’ of theRevolution, in Munich in April. Apartfrom this, Ebert and Noske were on the

offensive from the start to the finish. Tounderstand what happened one mustabove all try to put oneself in theirplace.

This need not take long as far asNoske is concerned. Noske was asimple man and a violent one, whosepolitics followed a primitive friend-foepattern and who employed the primitiveman’s method of hitting out at everyonewhom he considered his enemy at alltimes and with all available means. Hislater writings as much as his actionsshow him as incapable of the subtlerdistinctions, a man in love withviolence, who by his whole mentalitywould have fitted into the Nazi party, theNSDAP, better than into the SPD. But

Noske was not the ‘head’ of the civilwar. He was merely Ebert’s right hand— or rather his right fist. Ebert holds thekey.

Ebert was no Nazi, not evenunconsciously, and he was capable ofmaking distinctions. He regarded himselfthroughout as a Social Democrat andafter his own fashion as the friend of theworkers. His aims were the aims of thepre-war SPD as he had found them:parliamentary government and socialreform. But he was no revolutionary. Forhim revolution was both ‘superfluous’(his favourite word) and lawless. Hehated it ‘like sin’. All he really wanted,and had ever wanted, had in fact beenachieved in October 1918 when the

Kaiser granted increased power toParliament and the entry of the SocialDemocrats into the Government. All thatwas further gained by the Novemberrevolution he saw as foolishness,misunderstanding and mischief. The factthat he had been forced to pay lip-service to the Revolution only made himdislike it the more.

Ebert never had a bad conscience vis-à-vis the Revolution for having betrayedit; rather he was furious with it forforcing him to play a two-faced game fora time. If he did have a bad conscience,it was vis-à-vis the old order, for havinghad to act the revolutionary.Circumstances alone had compelled himto dissemble. He had had to ally himself

to the Independents, to owe his positionto the councils, to play the ‘People’sCommissar’; sad enough, but in his owneyes all null and void. At heart he hadthroughout remained the guardian of theold Reich and the old Reichstagmajority.

When this majority was re-establishedby the elections for the NationalAssembly on January 19, 1919 (SPD 38per cent, Centre Party 19 per cent,German Democratic Party 18 per cent),Ebert once again felt firm ground underhis feet. For him this election cancelledout everything that had happenedbetween November 9 and January 19.All the revolutionary institutions formedduring those days, in particular the

workers’ and soldiers’ councils, had inhis view now lost their right to exist, andhe quite failed to understand why theydid not share this point of view. Butnaturally they did not share it, and thatwas why, regrettably, they had to beremoved by force. This attitude ofEbert’s, held in all good faith butextraordinarily subjective for all that,was at the root of the German civil war.

An almost grotesque event willillustrate how deep-seated this attitudewas in Ebert. The Central Council of theWorkers’ and Soldiers’ Councils, electedin Berlin by the National Congress ofCouncils, was nominally the highestrevolutionary organ of state, from whichthe government of the ‘People’s

Commissars’ derived its authority. ThisCentral Council was tame and meekbeyond description. Composedexclusively of SPD members, it hadnever offered Ebert the slightestopposition, had even actively helpedhim in excluding Independents from theGovernment and was now quiteprepared to transfer its powers to theNational Assembly. But Ebert would notallow it to do even that: the Council hadnothing left to transfer, he declared, nowthat the National Assembly was in being,all that was left for the Central Councilto do was to shut up, pack up anddisappear. This led to the first and onlyserious row between Ebert and theCentral Council, which still went on

leading an impotent shadow existencefor a while. A grotesque episode withoutpolitical significance, but it throws lighton Ebert’s political standpoint. Theelection of the National Assembly —which in turn promptly elected himprovisional Reich President — had inhis eyes created a new legality whichlatched on to the old one of October1918. All that belonged to the interimperiod had now lost its status,retroactively. The Revolution wasannulled de jure. It would now kindlyannul itself de facto. The Workers’ andSoldiers’ Councils would have to go.Ebert, quite sincerely, regarded this as amatter of course.

But exist they did and obviously they

took a very different view. For them therevolution had been annulled neither inlaw nor in fact, for them it remained theonly source of any new legality. Even thetame Central Council argued: ‘We candismiss the People’s Commissars, butnot they us,’ and the local Councils, stillwielding local power everywhere, wereat first inclined to greet Ebert’ssuggestions with bitter laughter. Theyknew they still had the backing of theworking masses. These working massesconsisted largely of demobilizedsoldiers fresh from the War, and almosteveryone still had a gun at home. Therewas no shortage of arms and ammunitionin Germany so soon after the War. Whowould dare to send the people,

victorious and armed, packing like agang of schoolboys after a silly prank?As the chairman of the Leipzig workers’council, Kurt Geyer, was later to writesadly and self-critically, ‘the possessionof local power left the radical massestotally unable to see the true distributionof power in the overall structure’.

But not only the ‘radical masses’, thevery councils, including their moderateSPD members, simply failed tounderstand why the Revolution shouldsuddenly be treated as if it had nothappened. Of course there was now aNational Assembly; the NationalCongress of Councils had itself voted toelect one. But the Congress had neverfor a moment intended this as a step to

abolish the Revolution. In the eyes of thecouncils the National Assembly in factowed its own existence and legality tothe resolution of the National Congressof Councils. It had quite clearly definedtasks: to draft a constitution and laws, tofix the budget, to control theGovernment. It was not meant to beomnipotent, and certainly not meant toannul the Revolution. Alongside it, theCouncils went on regarding themselvesas legitimate organs of state created bythe Revolution, which would go onworking by the side of the NationalAssembly as the provincial andcommunal authorities had previouslyworked alongside the imperialReichstag. Just as until November 1918

there had been an elected Parliament in astate which, apart from this, was a classstate, so it should be now — with thedifference that the Revolution hadreplaced the rich and the aristocracy asthe ruling class by workers and the otherranks. That was the view of the councils.The Soldiers’ Councils still laid claim todisciplinary authority in the Army, theWorkers’ Councils still felt themselvesto be the effective centre of localauthority — by the right of revolution. Ifthis was disputed, the whole issuebecame a question of power.

Noske stated this most unequivocallyon January 21, during a Cabinet meeting:‘We must create a power factor to givethe Government authority. In the course

of a week an armed body of 22,000 menhas been created. As a result relationswith the Soldiers’ Councils have shiftedinto a somewhat different key.Previously the Soldiers’ Councils werethe power factor; now we have becomethis power factor.’ On the same day,faced with emissaries from the Soldiers’Council of the Seventh Army Corpsprotesting against the reintroduction ofinsignia of rank and the recruiting for thevolunteer Freikorps, Noske threatened:‘You do not seem to have a clear idea ofthe powers of your Soldiers’ Council;that is something we shall teach you inthe next few days. There is going to be abig change! The Government is not goingto put up with your measures and is

going to intervene as it has alreadyintervened elsewhere.’ This last remarkmay have been an allusion to the eventsin Berlin in January and the murders ofLiebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg.

Indeed, the Government ‘intervened’at once — first in Bremen, then in theRuhr, then in Thuringia and so on, stepby step. By early February the civil warslowly moved into gear throughout thecountry. The occasions for interventionvaried. Usually they were of a purelymilitary nature — interference with therecruiting for the Freikorps, the refusalof Soldiers’ Councils to reintroduceinsignia of rank and the duty to salute(basing themselves on a resolution bythe National Congress of Councils which

Ebert and Noske had effectively setaside as early as January 19) sometimesthey were strikes or local disorders.

In fact, there was, everywhere, onlyone real issue: the existence of theWorkers’ and Soldiers’ Councils and, byextension, the legitimacy of therevolution. Noske’s ‘conqueror ofcities’, General Maercker, in commandof the Landesjägerkorps, made thispoint quite openly:

The fight of the Reichgovernment against the left-wingradicals was exclusively concernedwith the maintenance of politicalpower. The soldiers were sent intoaction with this purely political

aim: as an element of force in thestrengthening of internal politics.But the Government’s weakness didnot permit it to say so openly. Itwas afraid to show its hand and toannounce that the volunteer forcewas being used to abolish Councilrule wherever this was still to befound. For, in the last resort, thatwas what it was about. They gotround this by using military mattersas an excuse for intervention. Thisdishonest proceeding was not at allto my taste. I would haveconfronted the workers’ leaderswith more confidence if I couldhave told them openly: ‘Mypresence means war on the council

rule you are aiming at and on thedespotism of the armed proletariat.’

Though Maercker was an arch-conservative, not to say reactionary,officer, he was an officer of the oldschool, accustomed to discipline andobedience, and his Landesjägerkorpswas, at least during the 1919 civil war, areasonably well-behaved and reliablegovernment unit. One cannot say as muchfor most of the other Freikorps,recruited in a hectic rush during themonths of civil conflict. In the end therewere sixty-eight recognized Freikorpscomprising, according to Noske, almost400,000 men, each corps having swornloyalty to its leader ‘much as it must

have been in Wallenstein’s time’(Noske). The strangest thing is that Ebertand Noske put up with this and saw in itno cause for concern. Even moreastonishing than the utter ruthlessness oftheir treatment of the left-wingrevolutionaries to whom, after all, theyowed their power, is the unsuspectingunconcern with which they armed theirsworn enemies of the Right and taughtthem the taste of blood.

For right from the start there could notbe the least doubt about the politicalattitudes of the overwhelming majorityof these Freikorps leaders and theirmen. ‘It would be a mildmisrepresentation,’ wrote von Oertzen,then a lieutenant in the Garde-

Kavallerie-Schützendivision, ‘to claimthat the men in the then Governmentwere to the liking of the officers in theEden Hotel.’ Indeed it would be.Colonel Reinhard, for example, later tobecome commander of this division andknown to some as the ‘liberator’, toothers as the ‘butcher’ of Berlin, spokeas early as Christmas 1918 of a ‘SocialDemocrat witches’ cauldron’ and in alater address to his troops referred to theGovernment they served as ‘riff-raff’.The leader of the Eiserne Schar (IronHost), a Captain Gengler, wrote in hisdiary on January 21, 1919 of the EbertGovernment: ‘The day will come when Ishall get my own back on thisgovernment and unmask the whole

pitiful, miserable pack.’ Lieutenant-Colonel Heinz, another well-knownFreikorps leader, said a few monthslater: ‘This state, born of revolt, willalways be our enemy, never mind whatsort of constitution it endows itself withand who is at its head... For the Reich!For the people! Fight against theGovernment! Death to the DemocraticRepublic!’ And Herr von Heydebreck,then leader of the Freikorps ‘Werwolf’(later a high-ranking SA leader andfinally, together with his chief Röhm,shot by Hitler on June 30, 1934), said:‘War against the state of Weimar andVersailles! War every day and with allmeans! As I love Germany, so I hate theRepublic of November 9!’

These were the attitudes of the leadersof those 400,000 men whom Ebert andNoske were now arming and unleashingagainst the workers, and to whom theyentrusted the protection of the bourgeoisrepublic they were bent on setting up aswell as their own lives. In the case ofNoske, who basically had much incommon with them and who during thenext year occasionally flirted with theidea of letting them make him a dictator,this can still be understood. In the caseof Ebert it reveals a strange trait ofblinkered incomprehension. Ebert, afterall, was not dreaming of any SS state,but of a bourgeois Parliamentarydemocracy, joint government by theSocial Democrats and the bourgeois

centre, law, order and decency, amiddle-class state with good conditionsfor the workers too. And to realize thisdream, he now unleashed a pack whichdisplayed almost all the characteristicsof the future SA and SS, men of whomseveral were later to play a personalpart in Hitler’s seizure of power; inaddition to Heydebreck, the Germancivil war produced names like Seldteand von Epp — the former to become aMinister in Hitler’s Government, thelatter Hitler’s Governor of Bavaria.

Ebert was evidently quite blind as tothe true nature of these early Nazis. Onhis political Right all he saw werefriendly, cultured, well-meaning peopleand his only ambition had always been

to have himself and his Party recognizedby them as their equals and as capable ofsharing in the Government. And had notthis ambition been realized in October1918? Had not Ludendorff himselffinally granted, indeed ordered, even ifunfortunately at the moment of defeat, theparticipation of the Social Democrats inthe Government, for which Ebert hadworked throughout the entire War? Thatthis might have been a trap occurred toEbert as little as did the insight that theRevolution, which in Novemberprovided the October Government withfirm backing, had been his only chanceof escape from that trap. All he couldsee was the honourable task of coming tothe aid of the bourgeois state in its hour

of need; he had remained at heart faithfulto this task and expected nothing butgratitude from the Right. The only right-wing enemies he could envisage wouldhave been monarchists (to his regret hehad been unable to save the Monarchy),and the men in the Freikorps werecertainly no monarchists. What theydreamed of and hoped for, what theyfought and also murdered for, wassomething other than the Monarchy —something which would one day be putinto words by a man who in those dayswas active as an obscure liaison man inthe Bavarian Army in Munich. It was hisspirit, as yet unrevealed, the spirit of thefuture concentration camps andextermination squads, which already in

1919 dominated the troops of thecounter-Revolution which Ebert hadsummoned up and Noske wascommanding. The Revolution of 1918had been good-natured; the counter-Revolution was cruel. One could say inits defence that it had to fight, somethingthe Revolution was spared, and that theother side, too, committed occasionalatrocities and acts of brutality. But twofacts tilt the scales: almost withoutexception the competently led and well-armed Government forces were vastlysuperior to the levies which were hastilyassembled by the local councils andequipped only with small arms, with theresult that casualties were very unevenlydivided even during the actual fighting.

And almost always the real terror — thesummary courts, the arbitrary massexecutions, the beatings and torturings— only started when the fighting wasover, when the Government troops hadbeen victorious, when they had nothingleft to fear and could really letthemselves go. In many German cities,horrors were committed during thosedays of which no history book tells.

Of course, the counter-Revolutionwas not dreaded by all; many saw it as aliberation and deliverance. While fearand sullen rage stalked the workers’districts in the conquered cities, whilethe street fighting left the streets desertedand unaccompanied officers venturingtoo far into the occupied areas risked

being attacked and lynched, gratitudeand rejoicing greeted the ‘liberators’ inthe middle-class areas: beer, chocolatesand packets of cigarettes, girls blowingkisses, children waving little flags. Thecivil war was a class war like all civilwars. Strange only that it was a SocialDemocrat government waging waragainst the working class.

Like any civil war, this one too sawan escalation of horrors as it developed.At the outset, in Bremen and centralGermany, things had still been fairlymoderate; in the Ruhr area, wheresporadic fighting went on for weeksafter the main clash in February, therewere already many gruesome episodes.And dreadful things happened in Berlin,

where in March, Noske’s troops,commanded by Colonel Reinhard,moved in with a double aim: to occupythose workers’ districts in the North andEast of the city which had been leftuntouched in January, and to disarm theunreliable Berlin garrison troops whichhad taken part in the NovemberRevolution, particularly the People’sNaval Division which was still inexistence. One horrifying incident fromthis particular chapter has turned up inall the history books: when sailors of thePeople’s Naval Division arrivedunarmed in an office building in theFranzösische Strasse where they hadbeen summoned to receive theirdemobilization papers and final pay

(somehow the People’s Naval Divisionwas always concerned with its pay),thirty of them were grabbed withoutreason or warning, led into thecourtyard, lined up against the wall andshot.

These thirty sailors were only afraction of those massacred in Berlin inMarch. Noske was surely notexaggerating when he estimated thenumber at ‘around twelve hundred’. Hehimself had issued the terrible order:‘Any person found offering armedresistance to Government troops is to beshot at once.’ Colonel Reinhard furtherelaborated this order to shoot: ‘Inaddition, all the inhabitants of housesfrom which troops are fired at, are to be

brought out into the streets, irrespectiveof whether they affirm their innocence ornot, and the houses are to be searched intheir absence for arms; where arms areactually found, suspicious persons are tobe shot.’ In reading this one must have amental picture of the overcrowdedtenements of the East of Berlin. Thereare reports of what happened, as a resultof this order, on March 11, 12 and 13,1919, in the streets around theAlexanderplatz and in Berlin-Lichtenberg over which it is best todraw a veil.

Soldiers with flame-throwers and armoured carsduring the street fighting in Berlin, March 1919

(Staatsbibliotek, Berlin)

These March battles in Berlin alreadysaw instances of despair leading tohopeless resistance, of a violencehitherto unknown in the German civilwar. But these March battles were notthe climax of this bloody strife. Theclimax was reached a month later, inMunich.

13. The Munich Republic of Councils

In Bavaria the Revolution, from thebeginning, took a different course fromthat in the rest of Germany.

Unlike the pattern of events in Berlin,the Revolution did not immediately fallinto the hands of its enemies. Unlikeelsewhere in the Reich it was not thework of leaderless masses. It hadleadership and a leader, Kurt Eisner —a man who, unsupported by anyorganization, was in masterly control ofthe situation in his state for three monthsthanks to a unique mixture ofinventiveness and energy, idealism andcunning adaptability, a sensitive noseand a firm grip.

As long as Kurt Eisner was alive, theRevolution in Bavaria was bothsuccessful and bloodless. His murderevoked an unparalleled public outcryand thirst for revenge, unequalled evenby the reaction to the murder ofLiebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg and itled to chaos. His death showed thatEisner had won the hearts of theordinary people of Munich.

That was perhaps his most remarkableachievement, for he was in effect quiteunqualified for the part of a Bavarianpopular hero. He was no Bavarian, but aBerliner through and through; he wasalso a Jew and a man of letters — apicture-book intellectual with beard andspectacles, and a bit of a Bohemian.

Eisner had passed his Berlin childhoodbetween the Opernplatz and theKastanienwäldchen; his father had ashop in Unter den Linden selling militaryaccessories and decorations, and heldthe royal warrant. His prodigal sonturned into an aesthete and a Socialist;but became a journalist rather than apolitician, scoring his chief successes asa drama critic. In 1907, at the age offorty, chance took him to Munich. In theSPD, where he was not particularlyprominent, he, if anything, belonged tothe right-wing, liberal, semi-bourgeoissection. Only the War drove him furtherto the left and into the USPD which hadlittle significance in Bavaria as anorganized Party. Moreover, Eisner did

nothing to build up the Party. He was noparty politician, no party leader. But inJanuary 1918 he was active as a strikeorganizer — his first venture into thepolitical limelight. He was arrested andheld for nine months without a hearing.In October he was released. InNovember he made the MunichRevolution.

Kurt Eisner (Der Spiegel)

Incredible though it sounds, he madethe Revolution. The NovemberRevolution in Munich was a one-manshow. All those events which in Berlin,during the weekend of November 9 and10, had constituted the Revolution —getting the soldiers to change theirminds, the mass marches, theproclamation of the Republic, theRevolutionary Parliament, the formationof a Government, the election of theCouncils — had happened two daysearlier in Munich, in a somewhatdifferent order, during the night ofNovember 7 to 8, under the direction ofKurt Eisner, and with Kurt Eisner in all

the leading roles. He was at the sametime the Otto Wels and the Liebknecht,the Emil Barth and the Scheidemann, in acertain sense even the Ebert of theMunich Revolution, inasmuch as he wasthe only one to know exactly what hewanted and how to bring it about.

The Munich Revolution began on theafternoon of Thursday, November 7,with a mass meeting on theTheresienwiese. The Bavarian RoyalGovernment had permitted thisdemonstration organized by the SPD inorder to provide a safety valve to allowthe revolutionary mood to let off steam.The SPD leader, Erhard Auer, had givenreassuring undertakings: he had firmcontrol of his people and nothing

untoward would happen. This Eisnerwould be ‘pushed against the wall’. Infact, after speeches demanding theabolition of the Monarchy and theoverthrow of the Government, Auermarched off with a section of thedemonstrators in a neat processionthrough the city centre to theFriedensengel where everybodydispersed. But Eisner had meanwhileled an equally large column in theopposite direction — into the North ofMunich, towards the barracks.

There, in the early evening, thedecisive act of any coup d’état wasstaged — the ‘reversal’ of armed power.Then, still under Eisner’s personaldirection, the first Workers’ and

Soldiers’ Councils were constituted inthe Matthäserbräu; then, late in the night(the King had already left Munich andarmed soldiers were driving through thecity centre in trucks and taking up sentrypositions outside public buildings) thefirst meeting of these Councils (the‘Revolutionary Parliament’), held in thePrannerstrasse building of the ProvincialAssembly, proclaimed the Republic andnominated Eisner as Prime Minister.

The next morning Eisner held decisivepolitical discussions: with the RoyalPrime Minister, who surrendered hisoffice under protest, and with Auer, theSPD leader, who — swallowing hisrage — was persuaded to take overHome Affairs under Eisner. In the

afternoon Eisner presented his Cabinetat the first plenary session of the‘Provisional National Council’. TheMunich Revolution was complete,accomplished in one breathless solo runwithin twenty-four hours. No shot hadbeen fired, no blood had been spilt. Andthe man who had performed this trick, amere nonentity the day before, now heldall the strings.

That evening Eisner spoke before theProvisional National Council. ‘For aman who had had little sleep for twenty-four hours his brief speech wassurprisingly literary’ — to quote theAmerican historian of the BavarianRevolution, Allan Mitchell, whoseattitude to Eisner is highly critical,

perhaps even a little jaundiced.Eisner’s speech of November 8 was

not only literary, it was statesmanlike.‘In times of more tranquil development’a National Assembly would be calledtogether to draft the final form of theRepublic; until then the people wouldhave to govern directly through the‘elemental impetus’ of the RevolutionaryCouncils. What was now essential, if abearable Peace were to be achieved,was a clearly visible new start, acomplete severance from the old stateand, above all, total abandonment of itsWar policy. ‘A Government which hasassumed all the responsibilities of thepast faces a terrible Peace’ Eisner said,with a clear allusion to Berlin.

Eisner, as opposed to Ebert, saw theinternational position of the vanquishedGermany very clearly from the start andhad a clear idea of foreign policy. Hesaw the dangers of a dictated peace andtried to anticipate them by providingimpressive proof of a clear breach withthe past at home and by establishingdirect contacts abroad, with the Westernpowers, especially with America; hehad no liking of Bolshevist Russia. Thispolicy of Eisner’s later fell on deaf earsin Berlin; there, particularly in mattersof foreign policy, much importance wasattached to unbroken continuity with theKaiserreich. Eisner’s ruthless breakwith the War policy of 1914 wasregarded as ‘dirtying one’s own nest’ —

and subsequently there was speechlesssurprise when the victors in Versaillestreated Ebert’s ‘new’ Germany simply asthe vanquished Kaiserreich.

But what is of interest here is notEisner’s foreign policy so much as hismanagement of the Bavarian Revolution,which deserves the epithet ‘masterly’ —even if it remains an open questionwhether a successful revolution inBavaria could in the long run have stoodup to a successful counter-Revolution inthe rest of Germany. Eisner was the onlyman in Germany who had enough shrewdinsight to grasp what the GermanRevolution was aiming at and ably toassist its birth, in contrast to Ebert,whose only thought was to throttle the

Revolution — in contrast also toLiebknecht who demanded of it what itnever intended. Ebert’s true adversarywas not Liebknecht, it was Eisner. Notwithout reason Arthur Rosenberg in hisHistory has called him the only creativestatesman of the German Revolution.

What did the revolutionary masses inGermany want? Not — at least notimmediately — Socialism. Nowhere inNovember were factories occupied;demands for socialization came into playmuch later, and effectively only in thecase of the miners. The first andpredominant aim was an end to the Warand the overthrow of MilitaryGovernment, together with theoverthrow of the Monarchy. But the

overthrow of Military Government andof the Monarchy had more far-reachingimplications: namely the overthrow ofthe ruling classes. The Workers’ andSoldiers’ Councils, which were both thecreation and the essence of theRevolution, wanted to become thesuccessors to the old officers’ corps andthe old bureaucracy. The state was infuture to recruit its upper echelons froma new ruling class, not from thearistocracy and the Grande Bourgeoisie,but from the other ranks and the workingclass. The new state was to be aworkers’ state; Eisner went further: itwas also to be a peasants’ state. Bavariaunder Eisner was the only German statewhere Peasants’ Councils played an

important part from the start.Did this mean dictatorship by the

Councils? By no means. The Councilsthemselves had in fact decreed theelection of a National Assembly, andEisner himself arranged for the electionof a Bavarian Diet, even if he wouldhave liked to delay it and was in nohurry to summon it after its election. Thecouncils were far from wantingdictatorial powers. Neither councildictatorship nor parliamentarydictatorship were in their minds, but aconstitutional councils’ democracy;basically a constitutional structure muchlike the familiar Bismarckian one, butupside down — or rather downside up.The Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils as

the pillars of state, replacing thearistocracy and Grande Bourgeoisie; areunited Social Democratic Party as thegoverning party and a permanentgovernment independent of Parliamentas the conservatives had been. And sideby side with this a Parliament freelyelected by the entire people, includingthe — no longer — ruling classes, to actas a representative, legislative andcontrolling organ, perhaps with evengreater powers than the old Reichstaghad enjoyed, but without omnipotence.That was the constitution for which therevolutionaries all over Germanystruggled. Anyone who — like Eisner —had ears to hear could make this outquite clearly from all its manifestations,

in words and deeds.Both Ebert and Liebknecht were deaf

to this. Both — though withdiametrically opposite hopes — couldonly see a simple choice: dictatorship bythe Councils (Rätediktatur) or abourgeois Parliamentary democracy.Eisner was alone in seeing that theRevolution was in fact not posing thisalternative at all. This bohemian man ofletters was, in 1918, Germany’s onlyrevolutionary realist. He realized thatthe true choice lay not between rule bythe Councils or by Parliament, butbetween Revolution and counter-Revolution; and that Revolution impliedneither dictatorship by the Councils nordictatorship by a Parliament, but a

system of checks and balances betweenthe power of the Councils and thepowers of a Parliament. He alsorealized that the new councillors wereinexperienced and needed time to warmup. This is why he would have liked todelay the elections to the ProvincialAssembly and why, when he failed inthis, he at least put off its meeting aslong as possible.

As was to have been expected inCatholic Bavaria, the elections hadresulted in a bourgeois-Catholicmajority. The Bavarian Popular Party —the same party which nowadays callsitself the CSU — emerged asnumerically the strongest, with 66 of the180 representatives. The SPD came

second with 61. The USPD, to whichEisner belonged but to which he hadnever paid much serious attention,remained a tiny minority — with nomore than three of the 180 seats in theProvincial Assembly.

Eisner was unperturbed. His mindwas focused on revolutionary, not onparliamentary politics. The bourgeoisiemight indeed provide the majority ofelectors, but the War and the way it hadended had left it discredited,intimidated, passive — whereas themasses of the workers and soldiers,whether they voted SPD or USPD, werein a state of high revolutionary fervourand potency. Their revolutionary organwas the Councils, not the parties. And

Eisner knew he had the backing of thesemasses in insisting on retaining theCouncils and limiting the power ofParliament. This led to conflict betweenEisner and his Home Secretary, the SPDleader, Auer, and to a crisis between theCouncils and the Provincial Assembly.

This crisis took visible shape in theweek before the Provincial Assembly’sfirst meeting on February 21: theParliamentary Parties held meetings inone wing of the Assembly building, theCouncils were in session in the other.The Parliamentary Parties, under Auer’sguidance, were labouring to put togethera coalition Government of SocialDemocrats and Liberals which wouldhave kept the strongest party in

Parliament, the Bavarian Popular Party(BVP), in opposition. The Councilswere getting ready for a ‘secondrevolution’ in the event that Parliamentshould try to abolish them as had beendone elsewhere in Germany. Eisner wasready to resign as Prime Minister and toyield the Parliamentary arena, for thetime being, to Auer; but he wasdetermined to remain at the head of theCouncils and, if need be, to lead the‘second revolution’. His demand wasfor the Councils to be ‘anchored’ in thenew Constitution.

A trial of strength appeared imminent.Its outcome was open. There were noFreikorps in Bavaria, and those parts ofthe armed forces which were not yet

demobilized were overwhelminglycontrolled by their Soldiers’ Councils.But there was also still the chance of acompromise; Bavaria had until nowbeen an example to the GermanRevolution; in spite of some tensemoments no blood had been shed. Oftenwith great personal courage and alwayswith great skill, Eisner had contrived toconciliate in dangerous situations.Perhaps this time, too, he might havesucceeded in achieving the balancebetween Council power andParliamentary control which was hisobject.

But when, on the morning of February21, 1919, a few minutes before ten, heturned the corner from the

Promenadenplatz into the Prannerstrasse,in order to attend the opening meeting ofthe Provincial Assembly, his resignationspeech in his attaché case, he wasmurdered.

The murderer — a young man in araincoat who stepped from a housedoorway towards Eisner and, at closerange, fired two revolver bullets into hishead — was a half-Jewish Nazi. CountArco-Valley had been expelled from theThule Club — an association whichlater justly boasted that it had been theoriginal nucleus of the Nazi movement— because he had kept quiet about hisJewish mother. This is why, as thefounder of the Thule Club, Rudolf vonSebottendorff, was later to write that

Arco-Valley wanted ‘to prove that evena half-Jew was capable of an heroicdeed’.

Eisner died immediately. Hismurderer was shot at and seriouslyinjured by one of Eisner’s bodyguards,but he later recovered, was sentenced,pardoned and lived until 1945.

News of the atrocity spread at oncethroughout Munich, arousing horror andanger. It was followed by a second onewithin the hour. A butcher’s assistantcalled Lindner had no sooner heard ofEisner’s murder than he grabbed hispistol in frenzied rage, rushed to theProvincial Assembly building, forcedhis way in, levelled his gun at the SPDleader, Auer, who was just voicing

conventional outrage in a memorialspeech in honour of his murderedopposite number, and shot him down. Itis interesting that Lindner evidently tookit for granted that the murder of arevolutionary leader would have beeninstigated by whoever was leader of theSPD at the time, an assumptionindicative of the state of things inGermany at the time. In fact Auer wasquite innocent of the murder. Hesurvived his injuries but for years waspolitically inactive.

This hour was to have immeasurableconsequences. The two dominant mindsin Bavarian politics were suddenlygone. In their place there waseverywhere a sudden wild upsurge of

emotion. The whole city, indeed thewhole country, at one fell strokepresented a picture of anarchy —everywhere armed men raging throughthe streets on foot, in cars or in trucks;shootings, random arrests, beatings andlooting, panic, rage, and thirst forrevenge.

The Provincial Assembly hadscattered in a panic. There was nolonger any Government: of the eightministers constituting it, one was dead,one desperately injured, one in hiding,two had fled from the raging cauldron ofMunich; only three tried to carry on withthe routine work in their ministries,without Cabinet meetings and withoutcontact. A general strike had been

proclaimed, a state of siege declared.Thousands made the pilgrimage to thescene of the murder on thePromenadenplatz where around the hugebloodstain a sort of altar with a pictureof Eisner had been erected on bayonets.Eisner’s funeral, which took place a fewdays later with regal splendour, becamea gigantic demonstration of enragedgrief. Vast numbers of country peoplepoured into the city to join it, and theBavarian mountaineers with theirchamois-tufts and leather shorts marchedseriously and solemnly behind the coffinof this Berlin Jew who had, they felt,understood them so well. No one knewwhat was to happen next.

In all this chaos the Councils

provided the only reasonably intactauthority left. Their Central Council,under the chairmanship of the youngelementary school teacher ErnstNiekisch, later to acquire fame as awriter and glory as a martyr of the ThirdReich, endeavoured to implement‘Eisner’s legacy’ — i.e. to bring about acompromise between the Councils, thesocialist parties, and the ProvincialAssembly. There was no longer anymention of a bourgeois-socialistcoalition Government. After weeks ofconfused negotiations, a new SocialistGovernment finally emerged under aman from the SPD, Johannes Hoffmann,which on March 17 was givencomprehensive authority by a short

session of the Provincial Assembly. Inform it was a dictatorial Government; infact it lacked the foundations of power. Itdid not wish to be regarded as agovernment of the councils, but apartfrom the Councils it had no backing. Itdid not command a majority in theProvincial Assembly, and in the lastresort the Councils had little faith in it.The Hoffmann Government was in thelong run unable to carry on. SinceEisner’s murder and Auer’s elimination,the weight of circumstances in Bavariatended in the direction of a Republic ofCouncils, a Räterepublik — simplybecause the Councils had now becomethe only more or less substantial sourceof power, the only alternative to anarchy.

Two major problems remained:firstly, whether a Republic of Councilscould come into — and remain — inbeing in Bavaria when everywhere elsein Germany Noske’s Freikorps wereliquidating the Councils; secondly,whether the Councils were at all in aposition to govern — particularly nowthat Eisner was dead.

In addition to the moderates likeNiekisch striving to implement Eisner’slegacy, there were now two new forceslocked in battle in the Councils: on theone hand a body of intellectualscharacterized by a mixture of high-mindedness, ambition and politicalineptitude — expressionist poets likeErich Mühsam and Ernst Toller,

academic theoreticians like the literaryhistorian Gustav Landauer and theeconomists Otto Neurath and SilvioGesell; on the other, for the first time inthe history of the German Revolution, theCommunists; more precisely oneCommunist, Eugen Leviné, a young manof startling and tempestuous energy,who, quite unlike Liebknecht or RosaLuxemburg, was perhaps made of thestuff to become a German Lenin orTrotsky.

Eugen Leviné (Staatsbibliotek, Berlin)

Leviné — born in Petersburg, the sonof German-Jewish parents, raised inGermany — had as late as early Marchbeen sent to Munich by PartyHeadquarters in Berlin in order to get aBavarian Communist Party going. Of theseven men he had found constituting theMunich KPD, he had thrown out five andwithin one month had created a well-disciplined, if small, Party organization,and was now beginning to make himselffelt in the Councils as a hard,domineering, cool-headed revolutionary.During this phase he was the bitterestopponent of a Bavarian Republic ofCouncils: in his view the Councils were

not yet ripe for the task of government.They would first have to be firmlyreorganized, disciplined, armed: onlythen would they be ready to seize power— but then complete power, withoutcoalition partners and withoutconcessions. All or nothing — noconstitutional council democracy, but adictatorship of the proletariat. When onApril 5 the Räterepublik was in factproclaimed, Leviné and his Communistswere the only ones to vote against and torefuse to participate. One week later, onApril 13, they nevertheless took over theRäterepublik, by a coup d’état withinthe coup d’état.

What had happened meanwhile? Acivil war had broken out.

Kurt Eisner’s proclamation of the revolutionaryrepublic of Bavaria

***Curiously enough it had been the

Minister for military affairs inHoffmann’s Social DemocratGovernment, a man calledSchneppenhorst, who provided the finalimpetus for the proclamation of theRäterepublik on April 5. His motiveshave been much debated, but in the lastanalysis they are pretty evident: hewanted to confront the Councils withtangible evidence of their own inabilityto govern, in order then to abolish themas quickly and painlessly as possible,with the aid of a military coup by the

Munich garrison over whom he had atleast partial control. Both he and theHoffmann Government, who had takenrefuge in Bamberg, were anxious notonly to be rid of the councils, but aboveall to do this under their own steam.They had no wish to open the country tothe Prussian Freikorps whose serviceshad been offered by Noske.

The military coup accordingly tookplace, as planned, on Palm Sunday,April 13 but it failed. In the course of abloody five-hour street battle whichbegan in the Marienplatz and ended withthe storming of the main railway station,Schneppenhorst’s troops were beaten bya hurriedly assembled ‘red’ force led bya sailor called Rudolf Eglhofer. They

fled from Munich by train. A secondattempt to take Munich — this time fromthe outside — by Bavarian troops loyalto the Government ended three days laterin their defeat. In an encounter at Dachauon April 16, the ‘red army’ overcame its‘white’ enemies and occupied Dachau.The ‘red’ commander in this encounterwas the poet Ernst Toller.

But now the die was cast. TheHoffmann Government in Bambergswallowed its pride and called uponNoske for help; 20,000 men from theFreikorps in Prussia and Württemberg,under the command of the Prussian,General van Oven, moved into Bavariafrom the north and west.

Eugen Leviné had meanwhile taken

over the Council administration inMunich. He abandoned all restraint andcast his political realism overboard; thesituation was now critical, the time hadcome to fight, and he was not preparedto leave the fighting to the moderatesaround Niekisch, who were still inclinedtowards negotiation and compromise,nor to the starry-eyed, like Toller andLandauer.

What Leviné failed to see, or closedhis eyes to in heroic self-deception, wasthat the time for fighting, like the time fornegotiating, was already past. He didindeed succeed in getting together a ‘redarmy’ of about 10,000 men, under thecommand of the energetic Eglhofer, andto give them rudimentary organization

and training. But that was not enough topit against the superior forcesrelentlessly approaching, it was notenough even for any noticeableresistance.

The area of the Munich Räterepublikextended for all practical purposes nofurther than Dachau in the north,Garmisch and Rosenheim in the south.All food supplies were cut off; Munichwas starving. At the same time there wasa grotesque shortage of legal tender: theMunich branch of the Reichsbank hadremoved all its stocks of cash and all theprinting plates for bank notes. Levinéordered the confiscation of bankaccounts and safe deposits, andrequisitioned the private food hoards of

middle-class households: desperatemeasures, taken in a rage and enragingothers. He was also the first Germanrevolutionary to arrest politicalopponents. In the end, when the gunswere blasting in the streets, eight ofthem, members of the Thule Club, wereshot, together with two officers takenprisoners-of-war. Leviné was notresponsible for this deed; it has neverbeen established beyond doubt who was.It was the only act of true terror whichcan be blamed on the GermanRevolution — and it was to be terriblyavenged.

In the meantime, the Councilgovernment had broken up: a majority,led by Toller, forced Leviné to resign on

April 29, reproaching him with a policyof violence, while they made one morevain attempt to resume negotiations withBamberg. The ‘red army’ remained andwent on fighting on its own. But it couldno longer save anything. On April 29Dachau fell, on April 30 Noske’s troopspenetrated the Munich city area fromthree directions. On the afternoon ofMay 2 the last resistance collapsed.

And now a ‘white terror’ ensued suchas no German city, not even Berlin inMarch, had yet experienced. For awhole week the conquerors were atliberty to shoot, and everyone ‘suspectedof Spartacism’ — in effect Munich’sentire working-class population — wasoutlawed. Josef Hofmiller, a right-wing

senior teacher and literary critic, whokept a diary to record the events, notedas late as May 10 a statement by thepublisher Bruckmann that ‘the maid-servants in the entire house were in astate of excitement because people werebeing shot there every day’. He alsotells, with much equanimity, of’Spartacists’ whom he saw beingdragged out of wine-bars or railwaytrains and shot then and there. ‘We havegot quite used to the constant shooting.’

This ‘white’ terror displayed anunmistakable trait of sadism. Forexample, Gustav Landauer, the highlycultivated Minister of Education in thefirst Council government, was literallytrampled to death in the courtyard of the

Stadelheim prison — not in an access offury, but in a sort of victorious frolic.His air of a Jewish scholar may havetriggered something off in his torturers.Other scenes of horror, with apronouncedly sexual flavour and oftenwith women ‘Spartacist wenches’ astheir victims are reported by Manfredvon Killinger, then a Freikorps leader,with reminiscent relish in his bookErnstes und Heiteres aus demPutschleben (‘Memories Gay and Grimfrom the Time of the Coup’). VonKillinger was later to have a splendidcareer under Hitler.

May 1919 in Munich was alsopeculiar in that it had something about itof a foreign invasion and occupation.

The Prussian Freikorps felt and behavedlike victors in a conquered country; theythought the Munich proletariansunappealing, sluttish and dirty, lookeddown upon them and did not understandtheir dialect. Probably that was thecause of the misunderstanding whichfinally brought the random shootings toan end. On May 6 twenty-one membersof a Catholic association of journeymen(Gesellenverein), who, feeling safeunder the liberators, had ventured tohold a reunion, were raided by thesevery liberators and — as was now usual— shot without further ado. A meeting ofyoung men evidently belonging to theworking class had seemed an obvious‘Spartacist gathering’, and when the

terrified victims endeavoured to explainthemselves, their Bavarian dialect mayhave contributed to their completefailure to make themselves understood.

After this embarrassing mishap thefrenzied executions abated. Further‘tidying-up’ was left to the courts andsummary jurisdiction. The defeated gotshort shrift from them, too. It raineddeath sentences. Leviné used his courthearing to make a good exit. ‘WeCommunists,’ he said in his concludingaddress, ‘are all dead men on leave. It isup to you to decide whether my pass isto be extended once more or whether Ishall be drafted to join Karl Liebknechtand Rosa Luxemburg.’ Two hours laterhe was shot. He died shouting: ‘Long

Live World Revolution.’

14. Nemesis

By the middle of 1919 the back of theGerman Revolution had been broken.The SPD was left governing a bourgeoisstate. The counter-Revolution it hadsummoned wielded the real powerbehind the scenes. Seen from the outside,the SPD had never before — or since —made such a splendid showing. In theReich, in Prussia, in Bavaria it filled allthe top positions. But its power wasillusory. Within the bourgeois statewhich it had reconstituted, the SPDremained a foreign body. To the counter-revolutionary Freikorps, which hadassisted in the reconstitution, it remainedan enemy. This Party of the workers had

destroyed the foundations of its ownpower when it had crushed therevolution of the working masses.

In fact, the SPD had throughout aimedat restoring the status quo of October1918. Those had been the days when itsmodest aims had seemed accomplished.It had at last ‘grown into’ the State andthe Government; and, more than that, hadbeen courted and wooed by theadministrative and social establishment.That unfortunate November Revolutionhad temporarily disturbed this idyll, butnow that it was happily a thing of thepast, the Social Democrat leadersthought their idyll restored — eventhough there was no Kaiser enthroned atthe top. As in October 1918, the SPD

was once again governing aParliamentary state hand in hand with theCentre and the Progressives. The‘Weimar Coalition’ was nothing otherthan the old Reichstag Majority — thesame coalition which in October 1918had carried the Government of Max vonBaden.

And yet everything was different. InOctober 1918 the Revolution had beenimminent; now it was over and donewith. Then the bourgeoisie and thefeudal class had been scared; now theyhad regained their self-confidence. Thenthey had needed the SPD to shoulder theburden of the capitulation and to throttlethe Revolution. Now that both thesetasks were accomplished, the SPD was

no longer needed except perhaps as ascapegoat and whipping boy for thedefeat and the post-war misery. From themiddle of 1919 onwards, to quote ErnstTroeltsch, the most perceptive ofcontemporary observers, ‘a wave fromthe right’ came sweeping over Germany.The Social Democrats became the‘November Criminals’ and ‘defeatistpoliticians’ who had ‘stabbed theGerman Army in the back’.

Even the relationship with theirpartners in the Government, thebourgeois centre parties, was no longerwhat it had been. Before October 1918,in the struggle for parliamentarygovernment, the three parties had tuggedat the same rope. Now Democrats and

Centre Party were no longer the SPD’sallies, but its watchdogs. They madesure that the Social Democrats did not inany way disturb the capitalist economyor the Catholic Church. Without anabsolute majority in Parliament andwithout potential coalition partners onthe Left, the Social Democrats wereforced to rely on the parties of thebourgeois centre. But the centre partieshad the choice, if they preferred, ofgoverning in alliance with the parties ofthe bourgeois Right — who in turn hadthe choice of either forming a bourgeoisblock in Parliament or making commoncause with open counter-Revolution.The counter-Revolution had become aforce — in many eyes the only real

force. Since August 1919 itsorganizational centre was to be found inthe Nationale Vereinigung (NationalUnion), a group of conspiratorspreparing a coup d’état. Its leaderswere Wolfgang Kapp, from East Prussia,and Captain Pabst, who had organizedthe murder of Liebknecht andLuxemburg; behind them stoodLudendorff, who had meanwhilereturned from Sweden.

Between November 1918 and summer1919 Germany had faced the choice:revolution or counter-revolution? Nowthe choice was simply: bourgeoisrestoration or counter-revolution? (Tenyears later the question was to be:Which kind of counter-revolution?)

The outcome of this choice dependedas much on the soldiers as on thepoliticians. The 400,000-manReichswehr, formed in March 1919 fromthe Freikorps, was a political armythrough and through, and an army of theRight at that. Like the political Right, themilitary Right had a cautiousconservative element as well as morereckless characters who were impatientfor action. The one group was preparedto give the bourgeois-parliamentary statea chance under a government of thebourgeois block; the other wanted amilitary coup d’état and dictatorship.Neither group had any use for the SocialDemocrats. At best some of them made apersonal exception in the case of Noske.

In July 1919, after the signing of theVersailles Treaty, Hindenburg andGroener, the chiefs of the old HighCommand, had resigned. Since thenpolitics had been almost as prominent inthe Reichswehr as in the NationalAssembly. Almost every unit had its ownpolitical character, almost every generalhis own political ideas. Two men slowlyemerged as the leading figures of the twopolitical wings of the Reichswehr: Hansvon Seeckt, chief of the General Staff,who was anxious — for the time being,at least — to ‘de-politicize’ theReichswehr, and Walther von Lüttwitz,Commander-in-Chief of GroupCommand I, the ‘Father of theFreikorps’, who already by 1919 was

constantly voicing political demands(e.g. prohibition of strikes, abolition ofunemployment benefits). Since thesummer of 1919 the Reichswehr’s plansfor a dictatorship were a frequentsubject of discussion. Noske wasseveral times involved in suchdiscussions, and played a somewhatquestionable part in them. It is true thathe turned down the idea of becomingdictator as the result of a military coup,but he took no steps against the officerswho approached him with such aproposal, and there is no evidence thathe informed his ministerial colleagues ofhis repeated flirtations with menplanning high treason. If all these plansfor military coups and dictatorships in

the second half of 1919 came to nothing,it was chiefly because the would-beinsurgents among the officers could notdecide whom to make into a dictator.Someone from their own ranks? Noske?Kapp? Ludendorff? They lacked aconvincing candidate: there was as yetno Hitler. When the year 1920 arrived,the never-ending talk of a coup hadbecome commonplace and was nolonger taken seriously. Yet that was themoment when the situation did becomeserious.

On January 10, 1920 the Treaty ofVersailles took effect, limiting theGerman Army to 100,000 men; the Navyto 15,000. This meant a drastic reductionin the 1919 400,000-strong Reichswehr.

Most of the Freikorps would have to bedisbanded willy-nilly. In fact they wereno longer required: they had not beenrecruited to defend the country but tooverthrow the Revolution, and they hadaccomplished this task. Now they hadbecome a potential source of disorderand a danger to State and Government.

But they were not prepared to be sentpacking, nor were the political generalswilling to part with the instrument oftheir political power. Rather thanrenounce it, they would put it to use.Hence the military coup d’état of March13, 1920 which has gone down inhistory as the ‘Kapp Putsch’.

The name is misleading — asmisleading as the name ‘Spartacus week’

which has been attached to the week ofrevolution in Berlin in January 1919.Kapp and his ‘National Union’ played aslamentable a secondary part in the dramaof these March days as the fifty-three-man Revolutionary Committee had donein the previous year’s January tragedy.Then there had been spontaneous massaction, now there was militaryinsurrection. It was led not by Kapp butby General von Lüttwitz and wasoccasioned by Noske’s decree ofFebruary 29, 1920, ordering thedisbanding of the MarinebrigadeEhrhardt.

The Ehrhardt Brigade, numbering5,000 men, was a Freikorps, originallyrecruited from officers and NCOs of the

Navy, later reinforced with men from theBaltikum, German troops who as late as1919 had fought in Latvia againstBolshevist units. In the civil war thebrigade had seen action in Berlin andMunich. Militarily speaking, it was anélite unit, politically it was extremelyanti-Government. Its colours were black,white and red (the colours of theImperial German flag as well as of thesubsequent Nazi emblem) and its ordersof the day habitually made mockery ofthe ministers. Since January 1920, whenGeneral von Lüttwitz had moved it to theDöberitz military camp near Berlin, theBrigade wore the Swastika on its steelhelmets. As early as 1920 the spirit ofthis unit was unmistakably that of the

future Waffen-SS. The brigaderesponded to the disbandment decree ofFebruary 29 with a big parade on thefollowing day, to which the ReichDefence Minister was not invited. Atthis parade General von Lüttwitzdeclared: ‘I shall not permit such anélite band of men to be torn asunder atso storm-laden a moment of time.’ It wasa public breach of obedience to theGovernment, and he meant what he said.

Some of his staff officers werefrightened and during the next few daystried to stop and deflect Lüttwitz. As afirst step they arranged a discussionbetween him and the leaders of the twoParliamentary right-wing parties. Thesehad just initiated a political action of

their own: they were demanding thedissolution of the National Assemblyand new elections for the Reichstag, acabinet of ’experts’ and the immediateelection by plebiscite of the ReichPresident — completely constitutionaldemands but ones which, now that the‘wave from the right’ was on the move,they hoped would lead to the eliminationof the SPD from the Government. TheGovernment parties had of courserejected these demands but it was hopedto push them through with the help of alarge-scale propaganda campaign in theensuing weeks or months. They thereforehad no use for a coup at this point intime. Lüttwitz took note of theirdemands, but was not to be dissuaded

from his plans for a coup d’état. Incontrast with the leaders of the right-wing parties he felt there was no time tospare. He did not want to risk the loss ofhis best unit. He felt himself to be underpressure.

This feeling grew stronger in the daysthat followed, for Noske now removedthe Ehrhardt Brigade from Lüttwitz’scommand and placed it under that of thenaval authorities, in the hope that thesewould implement his disbandment order.Lüttwitz ignored this instruction, butbefore he went too far his staff officersmanaged to persuade him to seek aninterview with Ebert. Ebert was good-naturedly prepared to receive themutinous general (‘The old gentleman is

eccentric, after all,’ he said). On March10 at 6 p.m., Lüttwitz, with a largeentourage, called upon Ebert who, forhis part, had co-opted Noske. Thediscussion was catastrophic. ‘Sharplyand with the utmost vehemence’ Lüttwitzdemanded new elections and ‘expertministers’, as he had learned from theleaders of the right-wing parties, but inaddition his own nomination asCommander-in-Chief of the entireReichswehr and the retraction of thedisbandment orders. Ebert and Noskerejected these demands, Ebert in apaternal manner, stating his reasons atlength. Noske, irritated and curt, said heexpected the General’s resignation bythe next morning. They parted in anger.

There was no resignation the nextmorning. Instead Lüttwitz went to seeHermann Ehrhardt in Döberitz and askedhim whether he and his brigades couldoccupy Berlin that very evening.Ehrhardt had to say that he needed a dayfor preparations but that by Saturdaymorning, March 13, his brigade could beat the Brandenburg Gate. This then wasthe decision reached. Lüttwitz gave theorder for the march on Berlin. Ehrhardtmade ready.

Only now did Lüttwitz draw into theplot the group of conspirators of the‘National Union’ — Kapp, Pabst,Ludendorff and their associates. Theywere to stand by to take over theGovernment in Berlin on Saturday

morning. This request, made at suchshort notice, caught them unprepared.Their own plans for a coup were not yetready, in large sectors of the country thepreparatory organization was not yetcompleted, no list of ministers had beencompiled. But since Lüttwitz andEhrhardt had fixed a date for the coup,Kapp and his men submitted. The moreso as they, too, now felt time to bepressing, for on that day orders wereissued for their arrest. These orderswere not executed: instead of arrestingthe conspirators, the Berlin Police hadthem tipped off. The Police were as‘solidly national’ as the Reichswehr.

On the following day, Friday, March12, Berlin was buzzing with rumours.

The Berlin evening newspapers evencarried news of an imminent coup by theEhrhardt Brigade. But Noske was not yetready to take this seriously — at leastthat was the impression he later gave;and it must be admitted that in theprevious nine months there had beenmore than one coup planned which cameto nothing, and rumours of coups whichhad faded into thin air. NeverthelessNoske took precautions: he summonedtwo regiments of police and aReichswehr regiment into thegovernment district, for its armeddefence in case of need. In this way hethought he had provided for alleventualities. He was about to have theshock of his life.

For on that very evening all theofficers of these three regiments agreedto disregard the order to defend thegovernment district. They arranged withthe leaders of the remaining unitsstationed in and around Berlin that noneof them would obey a similar order, andfor safety’s sake got the approval ofSeeckt, who held no direct power ofcommand but as Chief of the GeneralStaff naturally enjoyed an impressivedegree of military authority. He gave hisapproval by saying that it was of courseout of the question ‘to hold manoeuvresbetween Berlin and Potsdam with liveammunition’. Legend has turned thisflippant statement (one seems actually tobe able to hear the nasal clubman’s

drawl) into the pithy ‘Reichswehr doesnot fire on Reichswehr’.

In fact Reichswehr was perfectlywilling to fire on Reichswehr. For thatevening at 10 p.m. Captain Ehrhardtordered his brigade ‘to march on Berlinin battle order, to crush any resistanceruthlessly and to occupy the city centrewith its ministries’. Before their arrivalin Berlin he drummed it into his troopsonce again: ‘If there is fighting withtroops in the government district, you areto act with the utmost severity.’ Theinsurrectionist section of the Reichswehrwas thus fully prepared to fire onReichswehr, only those Reichswehr unitswhich were to oppose the insurrectionwere not. One part of the Reichswehr

was resolved to overthrow theGovernment by force; the other, not tocome to its defence. Both acts amountedto mutiny. During this night of March 12to 13, 1920 Ebert and Noske foundthemselves abandoned by their armedforces — just as Kaiser Wilhelm II haddone on November 9, 1918.

It was an eventful night. From 10 p.m.onwards the Ehrhardt Brigade wasmarching towards Berlin, in full battletrim, assault packs on their backs, hand-grenades in their belts, as if invadinghostile territory. One hour later theBrigade’s approach was made known tothe Group Command in Berlin. Noskewas informed by telephone. Two of theCommand’s generals, von Oven and von

Oldershausen, drove off towards theBrigade allegedly (according to theirsubsequent testimony after the failure ofthe coup) to make a last-minute attemptto dissuade Ehrhardt from his plan; intruth probably in order to make a lasteffort at conciliation between him andNoske. After some difficulty they cameface to face with Ehrhardt and persuadedhim to give the Government a chance tocapitulate before he arrested itsmembers. They had until 7 a.m. to acceptLüttwitz’s demands; until then he and histroops would take up positions by theSiegessäule, the victory column. Bothgenerals again telephoned Noske who inhis turn called Ebert shortly aftermidnight and informed him of the

ultimatum. Ebert called a Cabinetmeeting in the Reich Chancellery forfour o’clock in the morning, Noskesummoned his commanders to the ReichDefence Ministry at 1 a.m.

At his meeting with the commandersNoske called for their help in thedefence of the ministries: he asked invain. All the generals and staff officerspresent, with two exceptions, refused totake orders to shoot from theGovernment. Von Oven and vonOldershausen recommended negotiationwith Ehrhardt. Others made excuses: themen would not understand an order tofight, or they were no match forEhrhardt’s Brigade. General Seecktlectured about comradeship and argued

that at any rate it was preferable thatEhrhardt should encounter anuncommitted Reichswehr than that heshould enter Berlin ‘as victor of asuccessful battle by the BrandenburgGate’. Embittered, Noske summed up:‘Evidently you do not want to fight.’When no one contradicted him, he criedout: ‘Am I then quite abandoned?’ Theofficers remained silent. A broken man,Noske left the Bendlerstrasse at 4 a.m.for the Chancellery, to inform theCabinet that they were withoutprotection. To his ADC he spoke ofsuicide.

The nocturnal Cabinet meeting waschaotic. Everyone talked at random andshouted at everyone else; Ebert, in the

chair, made a vain attempt to get a moreor less orderly discussion going. And yetthis panic meeting produced twoimportant results: one was the decisionto flee from Berlin; the other a call for ageneral strike.

Neither decision was takenunanimously. The rift between the SocialDemocrats and their bourgeois partnersin the coalition, long in the offing, brokewide open that night, although in theexcitement and confusion of the momentit remained unarticulated. Vice-Chancellor Schiffer, of the Democraticparty, and some of the bourgeoisministers did not take part in Ebert’s andthe Government’s flight. They did notwant to make a complete break with the

mutineers. More important still: the callfor the general strike bore only thesignature of Ebert and of the SocialDemocrat ministers. The bourgeoisministers held aloof.

Indeed this call was strong medicine;even for the Social Democrats it meantan unprecedented volte-face. In theirdesperation they had suddenlyrediscovered the language of thatrevolution which a year earlier they hadbloodily liquidated with the very troopswho now threatened their own safety:

Workers! Comrades! We did notmake the Revolution in order tosubmit now to a régime of bloodymercenaries. We made no pact with

the Baltikum criminals...Everything is at stake. Extrememeasures of defence are calledfor... Down tools! Strike! Cut theground from under the feet of thisreactionary clique! Fight with allmeans for the maintenance of theRepublic! Shelve all disputes!There is only one weapon againstthe dictatorship of Wilhelm II: toparalyse the entire economy! Don’tlift a finger! No proletarian musthelp the military dictatorship! Ageneral strike all along the line!Proletarians, unite! Down with theCounter-Revolution!

The proclamation, decided on by the

Social Democrat ministers without theagreement of their bourgeois colleagues,was drafted during the meeting by theGovernment’s chief press officer whoput Ebert’s and the Social Democratministers’ names at the bottom in pencil.Only the Reich Chancellor, Bauer,signed with his own hand, the others didnot have time to do so: at 6.15 a.m. themeeting was broken off and the ministersjumped into their waiting cars — just tenminutes before Ehrhardt’s columns,raucously chanting, marched through theBrandenburg Gate where they weregreeted by a group of men in uniform andcivilians in ‘cutaways’ and top hats:Lüttwitz, Ludendorff, Kapp and theirfollowers. When Kapp and his men took

over the Chancellery to proclaim theformation of a new government of‘order, liberty and action’, they found thechairs still warm.

***For one whole day, Saturday, March

13, 1920, the coup d’état appeared tohave been successful. There was no signof military resistance anywhere. TheBerlin garrison as well as the police, theentire Navy, the Army commands in EastPrussia, Pomerania, Brandenburg andSilesia formally accepted the authorityof the new self-styled Commander-in-Chief Lüttwitz and his Reich Chancellor,Kapp. The Bavarian Reichswehr usedthe opportunity to overthrow, of its ownaccord, the Social Democrat provincial

Government in Munich and to install anew provincial Government — thenotorious Kahr Government under whichHitler rose to strength and which clungto office until that second coup ofNovember 1923 which was alreadyHitler’s work. Elsewhere in Germanythe regional army commanders declaredneither for nor against Kapp andLüttwitz; but theirs was not a genuineneutrality: they were merely awaiting theoutcome of events. At heart theirsympathies were all with the ‘newgovernment’ and many localcommanders made no secret of it. Theattitude of the higher-ranking civilservants was not much different:outwardly they appeared to be playing at

wait-and-see, inwardly, for the mostpart, they were in sympathy. Later theallegation was made that Kapp andLüttwitz foundered for lack of supportfrom the ministerial bureaucracy. Itmerits no rebuttal. Both the civilian andthe military apparatus of state (apartfrom the Eastern provinces whichfollowed Kapp and Lüttwitz to a man) atbest manifested a few signs of cautioushesitation, but they were at all timescompletely willing ‘to do their duty’ asever under the ‘new Government’ ifevents should favour it.

The old Government was meanwhileleading a precarious refugee existence. Itwas no longer in a position to govern:the fugitive ministers no longer had any

means of organization — they did noteven have typists; they were left onlywith their lives. They had at first gone toDresden where General Maercker,Noske’s old ‘conqueror of the cities’,was in command. They hoped to findasylum with him. But Maercker hadreceived telegraphic orders from Berlinon Saturday morning to take theministers into ‘protective custody’ whenthey arrived, and seemed perfectly readyto execute this order, being just politeenough to explain to his superiors that hewas really only arresting them for theirown protection. It was not the ministersbut the leader of the right-wing GermanPopular Party, Heinze, by chance inDresden, who initially succeeded in

dissuading him from this intention. Laterin the day, having indignantly read theSocial Democrat call for a generalstrike, Maercker turned up again toarrest the Government, this time in realearnest. The ministers had to protest atlength that their names had been put tothis ‘draft’ without their consent beforehe would once again change his mind.Ebert and Noske then preferred not torisk a third encounter. After their secondadventure with Maercker, the ‘oldgovernment’ chose to continue theirflight. That very evening they went on toStuttgart where the Army had so farremained calm. But it was a matter ofseveral days before the localcommander there officially declared his

loyalty to the legal government. He didthis only after the general strike haddone its work and Kapp’s and Lüttwitz’sposition had become untenable.

The general strike began full blast inBerlin on Sunday, March 14, spread tothe entire Reich on Monday andpromptly completely paralysed theinsurgents’ Government. It was the mostmassive strike Germany has everexperienced. The entire country groundto a halt. There were no trains, no tramsin the cities, no postal deliveries, nonewspapers. All factories were closed.The public administration flagged: thelower officials were on strike, the higherones found themselves unable to do anyeffective work in their offices. In Berlin

even water, gas and electricity were cutoff. People stood in long queues at old-fashioned fountains and wells fordrinking water. By the second day of itsexistence the self-styled government inBerlin had lost all possibility ofgoverning. All communications betweencapital and provinces were cut. In Berlinitself the military and the administrationrapidly lost control over the inhabitants.The ‘new government’s’ tendons andvocal cords had been severed; themachinery of state was free-wheeling.

The only communication with regionalarmy headquarters was by courier andmessenger. In vain Kapp and hiscollaborators drafted conciliatoryappeals for a resumption of work, in

vain they promised new elections, invain they decreed the death penalty forstrike leaders, in vain they retracted thisdecree. Nothing of all this got any furtherthan the government district of Berlin.After three days of general strike thePutsch government in Berlin hadbecome as impotent as the government inexile in Stuttgart. For both, their writ ranno further than their front doors.

In this week of general strike, fromMarch 14 to 21, 1920, the Germanproletariat once again repeated itsachievement of the week of revolutionfrom November 4 to 10, 1918. The twogreat events are extraordinarily similar.As on that previous occasion — withoutcentral planning or leadership but

apparently born of a spontaneoussolidarity of thought and feeling — thewhole country acted in the same way. Aspreviously, the nature of this mass actionwas not socialist, but democratic andanti-militarist: as then the Revolution, sonow the general strike, was aimedagainst a military government andthought of as coming to the aid of acivilian government against the military.As previously, the bulk of the strikersconsisted of Social Democrats. After all,only the Social Democrat ministers hadissued the strike call. The Independentsat first refused to join in the call for thestrike. (‘The SPD has treated us likedogs,’ one of their spokesmen, Crispien,told the Berlin trade union leaders on

March 13. ‘They cannot now ask us toforget everything.’) The headquarters ofthe Berlin KPD, then led by Ernst Reuterwho was later to be Mayor of WestBerlin during the blockade even issued acall that very day against the strike:‘Don’t lift a finger for the Government ofthe murderers of Karl Liebknecht andRosa Luxemburg, now ignominiouslyoverthrown!’ None of this had theslightest effect: the USPD and KPDmembers, too, went out on strike to aman, and in the end the party leaders hadno choice but to join their members.Now was the moment of truth; thecounter-Revolution stood unmasked, theSPD had found again the language ofrevolution, and for the working masses

nothing of what had happened sinceNovember 9 seemed any longer to count.The hour of socialist unity appearedonce more to have struck. In this, too, intaking the reunification of the socialistparties for granted, the mass rising ofMarch 1920 resembled that ofNovember 1918.

Revolutionaries on the roof of the BrandenburgGate (Staatsbibliotek, Berlin)

In Saxony, Thuringia and above all inthe Ruhr area the strike turned into

armed revolution in the course of theweek. It was triggered off by localReichswehr commanders who made‘common cause with the newgovernment’, flew black, white and redflags from barracks and arrested strikepickets. They met resistance; localshooting developed into skirmishes andstreet battles of varying degrees ofviolence. The civil war of spring 1919flared up again, and this time theopponents were differently matched.Then the Freikorps had embodied thepower of government, now theyrepresented insurrection; then thefighting workers had often been dividedand unsure, now this was truer of theirmilitary adversaries; then the fighting

workers had been on their own inwhatever part of the country the conflictreached, now they found backing in thegeneral strike throughout the land; aboveall, they were now fighting with muchmore embittered resolution, resentmentand desperation than a year before. Theyhad meanwhile come to know the whiteterror, they knew what to expect if theywere defeated. The Revolution which inMarch 1920 ‘rose clanking to its feetagain’ and once again took up the lostbattle was no longer as good-natured asit had been in the triumphal mood ofNovember 1918.

In Saxony and Thuringia the militarynevertheless ultimately kept the upperhand after the ups and downs of bloody

engagements. But in the Ruhr area amilitary miracle occurred. After the firstvictorious skirmishes an improvisedRed Army thundered across the regionlike an avalanche. On March 17 it tookDortmund, on the 18th Hamm andBochum, on the 19th Essen. Whereuponthe regional command in Münsterordered the demoralized garrisons towithdraw also from Düsseldorf,Mülheim, Duisburg, Hamborn andDinslaken. By the end of the strike weekthe whole of the Ruhr area was under thecontrol of the armed workers.

It was this unexpected display ofstrength by the renascent revolutionwhich was also to be its downfall. Thegeneral strike had made the Kapp

government untenable, on this itsmilitary backers were soon agreed. Butfear of the Revolution, which seemedsuddenly to be surging to life again justwhen its defeat had seemed final, withina few days restored unity among theopponents of March 13. Confronted bythe Revolution, bourgeois state andmilitary rebels quickly made commoncause again. And it was not long beforethe SPD, too, veered to join this unitedfront and betrayed the Revolution for asecond time.

On March 13 Kapp had taken Vice-Chancellor Schiffer, who had stayed inBerlin, into protective custody, alongwith the ministers of the Prussian StateGovernment. On the very next day — the

general strike had begun — they wereagain free and one day later negotiationswere in full swing. The leaders of thetwo right-wing bourgeois parties, OskarHergt and Stresemann, intervened inthese negotiations which showed thefour bourgeois parties to be instinctivelyallied. All four were agreed that themain danger now was ‘Bolshevism’ andthe main task was to ‘win back’ theofficers’ corps. Vice-Chancellor Schifferspoke everybody’s mind when he said itwas not desirable for Kapp and Lüttwitzto be overthrown by a ‘mutiny’ of theirtroops or a general strike; both wouldlead to ‘Bolshevism’. They would haveto be persuaded to resign; they wouldhave to be offered an easy way out. As

early as this a tacit coalition of the fourbourgeois parties began to take shape —the coalition of the bourgeois blockwhich a few months later was to takeover the government of the WeimarRepublic and to hold it, with briefinterruptions, until its dissolution. Thecompromise with the military rebels,which finally settled the Kapp coupwithout victors and vanquished, was itsfirst political action.

In return for Kapp and Lüttwitz’svoluntary resignation, the four parties,with the consent of a handful of SocialDemocrat politicians still in Berlin,offered new elections, a reconstructionof the Cabinet and an amnesty for allparticipants in the coup. The rebels

played poker. At first they onlywithdrew Kapp who in their eyes had inany case shown himself to be a dud.Lüttwitz endeavoured to remain militarydictator for another day. But then,somewhat like Noske on an earlieroccasion, he saw himself abandoned byhis military commanders. They, too, nowfelt that it was time to reconstitute aunited front against ‘Bolshevism’. ToVice-Chancellor Schiffer who was nowconducting the government’s business inBerlin — nominally still in the name ofthe Weimar coalition, in reality alreadywith the support of the four bourgeoisparties — they proposed General vonSeeckt as Commander-in-Chief of theReichswehr and Schiffer, acting in

Ebert’s name though without hisknowledge, appointed him.

The negotiations had been conductedthroughout in the friendliest terms. Thechief negotiator for the rebels wasCaptain Pabst, the murderer ofLiebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg, who asrecently as March 13 had been promotedMajor by Lüttwitz (the promotion wasnever rescinded). When he called onSchiffer on the evening of March 16 tobegin the negotiations, he was firstoffered a splendid supper. The Vice-Chancellor later noted: ‘This at leastproduced an atmosphere which, ifinappropriate to the seriousness of thesituation, at least had no unfavourableeffect on it.’ When two days later Pabst

brought him Lüttwitz’s resignation —which the Vice-Chancellor accepted atonce in the name of the Reich President,agreeing at the same time to the pensionprovisions it contained — Schifferpressed Pabst to stay out of harm’s wayuntil the National Assembly had settledthe amnesty issue and to offer the sameadvice to Lüttwitz. ‘Schiffer evenoffered false passports and money forboth of them, which Pabst declined withthanks. The insurrectionists had alreadyprocured false passports from theirfriends at Police Headquarters’, writesJohannes Erger, in his new and detailedstudy Der Kapp-Lüttwitz-Putsch, basinghis words on corroborating statementsby the two protagonists.

Ehrhardt received even bettertreatment than Pabst and Lüttwitz. Thenew Chief of the Reichswehr, Seeckt, ‘inan order of the day of 18.3., after ameeting with Ehrhardt, commended thediscipline of the Brigade, recognizedthat they had acted in the belief that theywere “serving the interests of theFatherland” and on 19.3. assuredEhrhardt in writing that he would be safefrom arrest as long as he was incommand of the Brigade’ (Erger). Onlythen did the Brigade march out of Berlin— singing and with flags flying, as theyhad marched in. When they met withbooing from a hostile crowd at theBrandenburg Gate, they unhesitatinglyfired with machine-guns into the crowd.

It was their parting shot. Twelve deadand thirty seriously injured were leftlying on the cobblestones of the PariserPlatz.

The Reich Government was now ableto return to Berlin from Stuttgart. Its firstconcern was to end the general strikewhich was still continuing, its second todisarm the Red Army which stilloccupied the Ruhr area. Unprompted, theSocial Democrat ministers, who in itsmoment of need had once again calledon the Revolution to help and had indeedbeen rescued by it, found their way backinto their familiar role as the fig-leaf ofthe counter-Revolution. To the unionleaders who were reluctant to call offthe strike, they made promises they knew

they could not keep, such as stiffpenalties against the participants in thecoup; or promises they had no intentionof keeping, such as the drafting ofworkers into the security forces. TheRed Army in the Ruhr got a short-termultimatum to lay down its arms. Then thematter was entrusted to the Reichswehrwhich ‘had returned to a constitutionalbasis’. The Reichswehr deliberatelyused for this purpose chiefly those unitswhich had taken part in the rising againstthe Government under Kapp andLüttwitz; inter alia the Freikorps Epp,Pfeffer, Lützow, Lichtschlag andRossbach as well as the Marine BrigadeLöwenfeldt, a sister unit to Ehrhardt’sBrigade. They were now to have a

chance to show their mettle once again.How they set about it is testified to in aletter from a member of the EppBrigade:

To the Reserve Field Hospital I,Station 9,

Wischerhöfen, 2 April ‘20

Dear Nurses and Patients,Am now at last with my

company. Yesterday morning I gotto my company and at 1 p.m. wemade the first assault. If I were towrite you everything, you wouldsay these are lies. No mercy isshown. We shoot even thewounded. The enthusiasm is

marvellous, almost incredible. Ourbattalion has two dead, the reds200 to 300. Anyone who falls intoour hands gets first the gun butt andthen the bullet. During the entireaction I thought of station A. That isdue to the fact that we also shotdead instantly ten red-cross nurseseach of whom was carrying apistol. We shot at theseabominations with joy, and howthey cried and pleaded with us fortheir lives! Nothing doing!Whoever is found carrying arms isour enemy and gets done. We weremuch more humane against theFrench in the field. How are thingsin the hospital? The population

gives us everything. In the pubs weoften get free drinks, 20 to 30 of us.My address is: Oberjäger MaxZiller, Student, 11 Kompanie,Brigade Epp, Post Rokow inWestfalen.

So ended the Kapp Putsch: with amurderously punitive expedition by theGovernment, still headed by SocialDemocrats, against its saviours, mountedby those from whom it had been saved.

But the SPD now had to face thejudgement of its adherents. The newelections promised to theinsurrectionists could no longer bepostponed. In April the NationalAssembly was dissolved, on June 6 a

new Reichstag elected. In this electionthe SPD paid for its great betrayal of theRevolution, of which it had given suchimpressive evidence once more after theKapp coup. At one blow it lost morethan half its supporters.

In January 1919 12.5 million votershad voted SPD. Now there were only5.5 million. And the collapse of the SPDdeprived the Weimar coalition of itsParliamentary majority — for good.There began that epoch of bourgeoisblock governments which lasted to theend of the Weimar Republic and wasresumed after the foundation of the BonnFederal Republic.

For half a century the SPD had waitedfor its hour to come. It had come and

gone. Another half-century had to passbefore it came again.

Reject the minute’s gift — andall eternity

will not renew the offer.

15. Three Legends

There can hardly be any event inhistory about which so many lies havebeen told as the German Revolution of1918. Three legends in particular haveproved hardy perennials.

The first one is particularlywidespread — even today — among theGerman bourgeoisie. It quite simplydenies the Revolution. No realrevolution, one is still frequently told,took place in Germany in 1918. All thathappened was a collapse. It was merelythe momentary weakness of the powersof law and order in the wake of defeatwhich allowed a sailors’ mutiny to seemlike a revolution.

How wrong and blind this is becomesimmediately evident when one compares1918 with 1945. Then, indeed, there wasmerely a collapse.

Admittedly, a sailors’ mutiny in 1918sparked off the Revolution, but it wasonly the spark. The extraordinary factremains: a mere sailors’ mutiny in thefirst week of November 1918 set off anearthquake which shook all Germany;the entire home army, the entire urbanworking class, in Bavaria in addition asection of the rural population joined inthe rising. This rising was no longer amere mutiny, it was a genuine revolution.It was no longer, as it had been onOctober 29 and 30 with the High SeasFleet at Schillig-Reede, a matter of

disobeying orders. It was a matter ofoverthrowing a ruling class and changingthe structure of a state. And what is arevolution if not just that?

Like every revolution this oneoverthrew an old order and replaced itwith the beginnings of a new one. It wasnot merely destructive, it was alsocreative. Its creation was the Workers’and Soldiers’ Councils. If everything didnot go smoothly and tidily, if the neworder did not at once function ascompetently as the old one, if regrettableand ludicrous elements were present —of what revolution would this not havebeen true? And that the Revolution brokeout at a moment of weakness and fear inthe old order and owed its victory in

part to this weakness, is equally self-evident. The same is true of any otherrevolution in history.

Against this, the German Revolutionof November 1918 deserves specialpraise for its self-discipline, mildnessand humanity which are all the moreremarkable in that the Revolution wasalmost everywhere the spontaneouswork of leaderless masses. The masseswere the real heroes of this Revolutionand it is more than chance that Germantheatre and film of those years reachedtheir apogee with grandiose massscenes, and that Ernst Toller’s thenfamous revolutionary drama was calledMasse Mensch (the human mass). As arevolutionary achievement by the

masses, November 1918 in Germany ison a par with July 1789 in France andMarch 1917 in Russia.

There is one final piece of evidenceto prove that the German Revolution wasno hallucination, no spectre, but a realityof flesh and bone: those rivers of bloodthat were shed in the first half of 1919 to‘roll back’ and crush the Revolution.

There is no doubt about who crushedthe Revolution. It was the SPDleadership, it was Ebert and his men.There is also no doubt that, in order tobe able to crush the Revolution, the SPDleaders at first placed themselves at itshead, that thus they betrayed it. In thewords of that impartial and expertwitness Ernst Troeltsch, the SPD leaders

‘for the sake of its effect on the massesadopted as their own long-promisedchild the Revolution which they had notmade and which from their point of viewwas a miscarriage’.

This is a moment for exactitude: everyword counts. It is correct to say that theSPD leaders had not made theRevolution and had not wanted it. But itis inaccurate to say that they merely‘adopted’ it. They had not merelyadopted the Revolution, it was indeedtheir own, long-promised, child. Forfifty years they had preached andpromised it. Even if now ‘their own,long-promised child’ had now becomefor the SPD an unwanted child, the SPDwas and remained its real mother, and if

she killed it, it was infanticide.Any infanticidal mother might plead a

stillborn or miscarried child. The SPDdid likewise. That is the origin of thesecond great legend about the GermanRevolution: that it was not the revolutionwhich the Social Democrats had beenproclaiming for fifty years, but aBolshevist revolution, somethingimported from Russia, and that the SPDhad protected and saved Germany from‘Bolshevist chaos’ (the expression‘Bolshevist chaos’ is in itself aterminological lie; Bolshevism,whatever may be said against it, is thevery opposite of chaos, namely the mostrigid, dictatorial, even tyrannical,order).

This legend, invented by the SocialDemocrats, is supported by theCommunists, intentionally or not, forthey claim the entire merit of theRevolution for the KPD or for itspredecessor, the Spartacist Union, andthus vaingloriously confirm what theSocial Democrats plead in self-justification: that the Revolution of 1918was a Communist (or ‘Bolshevik’)revolution.

But even if Social Democrats andCommunists for once say the same thing,that does not make it true. TheRevolution of 1918 was not importedfrom Russia. It was home-grownGerman produce. And it was not aCommunist, but a Social Democrat

revolution — the very revolution whichthe SPD had prophesied and demandedfor fifty years, and for which it hadprepared its millions of supporters. Itwas as the instrument of this revolutionthat the Party posed throughout.

This is easy to prove. It was not theSpartacist Union with its inadequatenumbers and organization which madethe Revolution, but millions of SocialDemocrat voting workers and soldiers.The government demanded by thesemillions — in January 1919 as much asin November 1918 — was no Spartacistor Communist government, but agovernment of the reunited SocialDemocrat party. The constitution theywere striving for was no dictatorship of

the proletariat, but a proletariandemocracy. The proletariat was toreplace the bourgeoisie as ruling class,but it aimed to rule democratically, notdictatorially. Stripped of their power,the former ruling classes and theirparties were to remain free to join inParliamentary discussion, roughly in theway in which the Social Democrats hadbeen free to in the Kaiser’s Empire.

The methods of the Revolution, too —perhaps to its disadvantage — wereanything but Bolshevist or Leninist. At acloser look, they were not even Marxist,but rather in the style of Lassalle: thedecisive lever of power, for which therevolutionary workers, sailors andsoldiers reached out, was not ownership

of the means of production, as Marxistteaching would have indicated, but thepower of government. In this sense, asthe Social Democrat battle song had it,they entered upon

the road along which Lassalleled us.

As the Social Democrat pioneerFerdinand Lassalle — not Marx — haddemanded in the 1860s, therevolutionary masses aimed at seizingadministrative rather than economicpower. It was not factories theyoccupied, but public offices andbarracks. As ‘People’s Commissars’they elected the Social Democrat

leaders.And these leaders, once they had

accepted the power of government fromthe Revolution, used it for the bloodyrepression of that Revolution — theirown long-promised, at last realized,Revolution. They pointed cannon andmachine-guns at their own supporters.What the Kaiser had in vain tried to do— to unleash the returning field armiesupon the revolutionary workers — Ebertlikewise tried to do from the very outset.And when he likewise failed, he did nothesitate to take the further step of armingand mobilizing against his unsuspectingsupporters the most extreme adherents ofcounter-Revolution, the enemies even ofbourgeois democracy, indeed his own

enemies, the predecessors of Fascism inGermany.

These are the facts: the Revolutionwhich was bloodily crushed by the SPDand from which, if you like, it‘preserved’ or ‘saved’ Germany, was noCommunist revolution but a SocialDemocrat one. The Social Democratrevolution which took place in Germanyin 1918 was — as Prince Max vonBaden had prophetically hoped duringthe week before November 9 — ‘stifled’— stifled in its own blood, not by theprinces and monarchs it had overthrown,but by its own leaders whom it hadtrustingly carried to power. It wascrushed with extreme and ruthlessviolence, not in honest battle, but from

the back, through betrayal.No matter what side one is on and

whether one welcomes or deplores theoutcome, this betrayal has earned forEbert and Noske an ingloriousimmortality. Two judgements still echodown the corridors of history whichwere uttered in those days andcountersigned by the speakers with theirlives. Franz Mehring, Social Democratparty veteran and party historian, said inJanuary 1919, shortly before he died of abroken heart: ‘No Government has eversunk lower.’ And Gustav Landauer, notlong before he died at the hands — ormore precisely, under the boots — ofNoske’s Freikorps soldiers, said: ‘In theentire realm of natural history I know of

no creature more repulsive than theSocial Democrat Party.’

Ebert and Noske were not evil-doerson an epic scale like Hitler, they werecommonplace — devastatingly so. Themonstrosity of their actions in history isnot reflected in their personalcharacters. The enquiry into theirmotives reveals nothing daemonic, nograndly satanic elements, only the trivialimpulses of the petty-bourgeois pedantand social climber. One can acceptwithout hesitation that they sincerelydetested and had an almost panic-stricken fear of the disorder whichattaches to every revolution, even ifcuriously enough they showed no suchfear of the equally great — and bloodier

— disorder of the counter-Revolution.More deep seated even was the vanity ofthe little man who is suddenly admittedto society and, what is more, called toits rescue. When bourgeois colleagues inParliament treated the former‘unpatriotic scum’ with sudden respect,when men like Groener and Prince Maxaccorded them flattering familiarity,when even the Kaiser and Hindenburgmanifested gracious condescension,when in their hour of need all thesefeared and envied people acknowledgedEbert and his men to be their lastremaining life-belt — a warm wave ofproud and grateful loyalty swept overthe recipients of such honours and theywere ready to make any sacrifice, even

human sacrifices by the thousand. Theyreadily sacrificed those who followedand trusted them to those who were nowpatronizing them. The unspeakable wasperpetrated with stout hearts and loyallyuplifted eyes.

When the generals, princes andGrande Bourgeoisie ‘entrusted theGerman Empire to Ebert’s care’, hetrusted them as unsuspectingly as he wastrusted by the Social Democrat workers,sailors and soldiers who made theRevolution. And as he betrayed theRevolution, so those whom his treasonserved betrayed him, once his work wasdone. The means they used was the thirdof the three great legends about theGerman Revolution — the legend of the

stab in the back.The claim that the Social Democrat

Revolution was to blame for Germany’sdefeat and had ‘stabbed the victoriousfront in the back’ was publicly made byHindenburg and Ludendorff as soon asEbert and Noske had completed thesubdual of the Revolution, and theGermans obediently believed it for aquarter of a century.

This claim was itself a stab in theback — into the back of the SocialDemocrat leaders whom, in October andNovember 1918, Imperial Germany hadsummoned to shoulder her defeat andundertake her rescue. (Ludendorff: ‘Letthem now cope with the mess...’)

After they had loyally shouldered the

burden of defeat (Ebert to the returningtroops: ‘No enemy has vanquished you’)and had brought the corpse of therevolution to drop it, retriever-fashion,at the feet of the German bourgeoisie,they got their reward in the shape of thelegend of the stab in the back. Eberthimself was literally hunted to death inthe ensuing years with the completelyunfounded, but incessantly repeated andjudicially approved reproach of ‘HighTreason’.

One might feel sorry for him if therewere not a kind of ironical justice in theway history took its revenge on him.There is a ballad by the German poetessAnnette von Droste-Hülshoff whichprovides an exact analogy for Ebert’s

fate.During a shipwreck someone murders

a fellow passenger by pushing him offthe plank to which he clings. By chancethe manufacturer’s stamp on the plankstays in his memory: ‘Batavia 510.’ Themurder is never discovered. But whenthe murderer reaches dry land, he ismistaken for a long-sought pirate,sentenced to death and led to hisexecution.

And as in his derision’s prideHe looks up at the sky againThis on the gallows he espied:‘Batavia 510’.

The poem is called Retaliation.

In exactly the same roundabout, butneat, fashion, retaliation struck at Ebertfor what he had done to the Revolution.He was hunted to death with a lie, withthe reproach of a treason he had nevercommitted. But this reproach couldnever have touched him if it had not beenfor the other treason he did in factcommit. He had stabbed in the back, notthe victorious front, but the victoriousrevolution. For the sake of those whowere now stabbing him in the back —with the lie of the stab in the back.

It is difficult to suppress a certainsatisfaction at the aesthetic perfection ofthis complicated symmetry. It is as if atthe climax of a symphonic compositionall themes meet — and disclose their

common root. On the surface the lieabout the stab in the back bitterlywronged Ebert. At a deeper level, he gothis deserts. He was betrayed as he hadbetrayed, and he could only be betrayedbecause he had betrayed.

On September 29, 1918 Ludendorffshifted the burden of his defeat on to theSocial Democrats in order to be ablelater to ‘frame them’. The Revolutioncame to their aid; it was about to smashthe trap he had set for them and in whichthey were unknowingly caught. But theybetrayed the Revolution — and the trapsnapped shut. There, in three sentences,is the entire story. A terrible story, butnot a meaningless one. It might beentitled: ‘The punishment fits the crime.’

Alas, the punishment for the greatbetrayal of the German Revolution of1918 hit not only those who deserved it.

The collective hero of the Revolution,the German working class, neverrecovered from the blow. Socialist unity,for which they had fought and bled sobravely, was lost for ever in 1918. Fromthat great betrayal dates the great schismof Socialism and the inextinguishablehatred between Communists and SocialDemocrats — a hatred as betweenwolves and dogs. (A dog, of course, wasonce a wolf, domesticated by man forhis own purposes. The SocialDemocrats were once a workers’ party,domesticated by capitalism for its ownpurposes.) The same workers who in

1918 — and again in 1919 and 1920 —fought so courageously and lucklessly,found their fighting spirit broken whenfifteen years later they would haveneeded it again — against Hitler. Theirsons of 1945 were no longer able torepeat their fathers’ prowess of 1918.Their grandchildren of today no longereven know of it. The German workers’revolutionary tradition is extinguished.

But the German people as a whole,including those of its bourgeois classeswho welcomed the failure of theRevolution with understandable reliefand delight, had to pay a heavy price forthat failure: the Third Reich, therenewed World War, the second andmore overwhelming defeat and the loss

of their national unity and sovereignty.The seed for all this was already to befound in the counter-Revolutiontriggered off by the Social Democratleaders. A victorious GermanRevolution might have saved Germanyfrom it all.

Even today there are many ‘EbertGermans’ who hate every revolution‘like sin’; even today there are manywho disown the Revolution of 1918 as ifit were a blot on the national escutcheon.But the Revolution is no disgrace.Coming after four years of starvation andexhaustion, it was something to be proudof. The disgrace was its betrayal.

Of course revolutions are not madefor fun; of course it is part of

statesmanship to prevent revolutions bytimely reforms. Every revolution is apainful, bloody and terrible process —like a birth. But like every birth, everysuccessful revolution is at the same timea creative, life-giving process.

All those nations who have gonethrough a great revolution look back onit with pride; and every victoriousrevolution has for a time thrust greatnessupon the people who made it: Hollandand England in the seventeenth centuryas much as America and France in theeighteenth and nineteenth, and Russiaand China in the twentieth. It is not thevictorious revolutions that cripple anation, it is the ones that are stifled andsuppressed, betrayed and disowned.

To this day[3] Germany is crippled bythe betrayal of 1918.

[1] The British military equivalent tohis rank would be ‘Deputy Field-Marshal’ or Deputy C-in-C.

[2] Translator’s note: Since thebeginning of the war, the Generalcommanding a Home Command hadexercised supreme authority over thecivilians within his command, dividingthe country into Generalkommandos.

[3] Publisher’s note: This book wasfirst published in 1969 in Germanyunder the title Die VerrateneRevolution.

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