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Hitler: Never, never, never, whatever happens…. As soon as the Austrian affair is settled, I shall be ready to go through thick and thin with him, no matter what happens…. You may tell him that I thank him ever so much; never, never shall I forget.
Hesse: Yes, my Führer.
Hitler: I will never forget, whatever may happen. If he should ever need any help or be in any danger, he can be convinced that I shall stick to him, whatever may happen, even if the whole world were against him.73
On the afternoon of March 12, to the peal of bells, Hitler crossed the border at his birthplace, Braunau. Four hours later, he passed flower-decked villages and hundreds of thousands of persons lining the streets to enter Linz. Just outside the city line the Austrian ministers Seyss-Inquart and Glaise-Horstenau awaited him; with them was Heinrich Himmler, who had gone to Vienna the previous night to begin purging the country of “traitors to the people and other enemies of the State.” With palpable emotion Hitler delivered a brief address from the balcony of the town hall to a crowd waiting in the darkness below him. In the speech he evoked once more the idea of his special mission:
If Providence once called me from this city to assume the leadership of the Reich, it must have charged me with a mission, and that mission can only have been to restore my dear homeland to the German Reich. I have believed in this mission, have lived and fought for it, and I believe I have now fulfilled it.
Next morning he laid a wreath on the grave of his parents in Leonding.
Everything seems to indicate that up to this time Hitler had as yet made no specific decisions about the future of Austria. Presumably he wanted to wait to the last to see what the foreign reaction would be, to test out the chances, repercussions, and accidents of the new situation, confident that he could exploit them more rapidly than his antagonists. It would appear that he decided upon immediate Anschluss only under the impact of the triumphal ride from Braunau to Linz, the cheers, the flowers and the flags. This elemental delirium seemed to permit no alternatives. Late on the evening of March 13, in the Hotel Weinzinger in Linz, he signed the “law concerning the reunion of Austria with the German Reich.” One of those present reports that he was deeply moved. For a long time he remained quiet and motionless. Tears trickled down his cheeks. Finally he said, “Yes, the right political action saves blood.”74
On this and the following day, when Hitler entered Vienna from the direction of Schönbrunn Palace amid cheering and the tolling of bells, he was enjoying the realization of his earliest dream. The two cities that had witnessed his failures, had disdained and humiliated him, at last lay at his feet in admiration, shame, and fear. All the aimlessness and impotence of those years were now vindicated, all his furious craving for compensation at last satisfied, when he stood on the balcony of the Hofburg and announced to hundreds of thousands in the Heldenplatz the “greatest report of a mission accomplished” in his life: “As Führer and Chancellor of the German Nation and of the Reich I hereupon report to History the entrance of my homeland into the German Reich.”
The scenes of enthusiasm amid which this “reunion” took place “mocked all description,” a Swiss newspaper wrote.75 And although it is hard to determine how much of this clamor, how much of the flowers, the screaming and the tears, sprang from organized or spontaneous passion, there can be no doubt that the event stirred the deepest emotions of the nation. For the people who lined the streets for hours in Linz, Vienna, or Salzburg, this was the consummation of a longing for unity that had outlasted, as an elemental need, all the ancient dissensions, divisions and fraternal wars of the Germans. And it was out of this feeling that the people hailed Hitler as the man who had superseded Bismarck and brought his work to completion. The cry of “One People, One Reich, One Leader” was more than a clever slogan. That alone explains how not only the churches but also socialists like Karl Renner could let themselves be carried along by the euphoria of union.76 The hope for an end of domestic political strife arose out of the same state of mind, though also from the existential anxiety of a nonviable republic. Added to such longings was the desire to have the powerful united Reich regain something of that brilliance that had dimmed since the end of the monarchy. Old Austria seemed to be returning in this prodigal son of Austria, however illegitimate and vulgar he might be.
In this aura of consummation and bliss the physical force that accompanied the event went unnoticed. “The Army was joined by standards of the SS detached units, 40,000 men of the police, and Death’s Head Formation Upper Bavaria as second wave,” the official journal of the High Command of the armed forces noted. These units instantly set up a system of rigorous repression. It would be mistaking Hitler’s psychology to imagine that his resentments were forgotten for any length of time in the euphoria of triumph. And in fact the uninhibited savagery with which his squads now openly fell upon opponents and so-called racial enemies betrays something of his unforgotten hatred for Vienna. The sometimes ferocious excesses, particularly of the Austrian Legion, which had just returned from Germany, nakedly revealed what might be called the “Oriental” element that Hitler had introduced into German anti-Semitism; now he was unleashing it in followers of his own origin and his own emotional structure. “With bare hands,” Stefan Zweig wrote, “university professors were compelled to scrub the streets. Devout, white-bearded Jews were dragged into the temple and forced by yowling youths to do knee bends and shout ‘Heil Hitler’ in chorus. Innocent persons were caught en masse in the streets like rabbits and dragged off to sweep out the latrines of the SA barracks. All the morbidly filthy hate fantasies orgiastically conceived in the course of many nights were released in broad daylight.”77 A wave of refugees poured into non-German Europe. Stefan Zweig, Sigmund Freud, Walter Mehring, Carl Zuckmayer, and many others fled from Austria. The writer Egon Friedell threw himself out of his window. Nazi terror manifested itself in all openness. But these circumstances did not weigh heavily in the outside world. The impression of rejoicing was too strong, the German reference to the Wilsonian principle of self-determination too irrefutable. That principle was confirmed triumphantly with the predictable 99 per cent of the votes in the regime’s fifth and last plebiscite on March 16. The Western powers indicated that they were disturbed; but France was deeply embroiled in her domestic problems, and England refused to give France or Czechoslovakia any guarantees. England also rejected a proposal by the Soviet Union for a conference to prevent further aggression on the part of Hitler. Chamberlain and the European conservatives continued to regard Hitler as the commandant of their anti-Communist bulwark, who must be won over by generosity and simultaneously tamed. The Left, meanwhile, reassured itself with the thought that Schuschnigg was nothing but the representative of a clerico-Fascist regime ripe for overthrow, and one that had formerly fired upon workers. The League of Nations did not even hold a meeting on the question; the world by now was not bothering about mere gestures of indignation. Its conscience, as Stefan Zweig wrote bitterly, “only growled a little before it forgot and forgave.”78
Hitler stayed in Vienna less than twenty-four hours; it is hard to say whether his bias against the hated “sybaritic city” or his impatience prompted him to return so hurriedly. In any case, the effortlessness with which he had achieved this major victory encouraged him to push at once toward the next goal. Only two weeks after the annexation of Austria he met with Konrad Henlein, the leader of the Sudeten Germans, and declared his readiness to solve the Czechoslovakian question within the foreseeable future. Another four weeks later, on April 21, he discussed with General Keitel the plan for a military attack upon Czechoslovakia. Out of regard for world opinion he rejected an “attack out of a clear sky, without any pretext or possibility of justification.” He would prefer a “lightning-like action on the basis of an incident,” for example an “assassination of the German Ambassador in conjunction with an anti-German demonstration.”
As with Austria, Hitler was again able to utilize the inherent contradictions of the Versailles system. For Cz
echoslovakia was one grand negation of the principle upon which it was supposedly based. Its creation had been far less connected with the right of self-determination than with France’s strategical interests. For Czechoslovakia was a small multinational state in which one minority was pitted against the majority of all the other minorities, who were all manifesting that egotistic nationalism it had itself shown during its own struggle for independence. Chamberlain had once denigratingly called it not a state but “scraps and patches.” The comparatively high degree of freedom and political participation that the government granted its citizenry did not suffice to control the centrifugal forces operating within it. The Polish ambassador in Paris spoke bluntly of a “country condemned to death.”79
By all the laws of politics there was bound to be a clash with Czechoslovakia as German strength grew. The 3.5 million Sudeten Germans had felt oppressed ever since the foundation of the republic, and they attributed their economic distress, which was in fact very serious, less to structural causes than to the “alien rule” of Prague. Both Hitler’s seizure of power and the elections of May, 1935, when Konrad Henlein’s Sudeten German party had become the strongest political party in the country, enormously swelled their self-assurance, and the annexation of Austria had inspired massive demonstrations under the slogan of “Home to the Reich.” As early as 1936 an anonymous letter writer from the Sudetenland has assured Hitler that he looked upon him “as a Messiah”; and such hysterical expectations were now stirred up by wild speeches, provocations, and clashes. Hitler had coached Henlein to constantly present Prague with such high demands that they would “be unacceptable to the Czech government.” He encouraged him to adopt a challenging attitude. He thus laid the grounds for that crisis which would require him to intervene. In the meantime, he let events take their course. Early in May he traveled with a large retinue of ministers, generals, and party functionaries on a state visit to Italy, where Mussolini now had to try to surpass Hitler’s hospitality. The backdrop of the Eternal City was festively decorated with flags, fasces, and swastikas. The houses along the railroad line were freshly painted, and near San Paolo Outside the Walls a special station had been erected, at which the King and Mussolini received Hitler. Hitler noticed, however, with some irritation that protocol required Mussolini to keep in the background. Hitler himself, as head of state, was the guest of Victor Emmanuel III, whom he contemptuously called “King Nutcracker.” Right from the start he offended the King by small rudenesses, such as entering the royal carriage before him. He also objected to the reactionary and arrogant manners of the court. Long afterward, he justified his later acts of suspicion against his Axis partner on these grounds.
On the other hand, the reception and the tributes paid him by Mussolini deeply impressed him. In resplendent parades the new passo romano—the Roman parade steps—was displayed. At a naval show in Naples one hundred submarines simultaneously vanished beneath the waves, to reappear a few minutes later with ghostly precision. Extensive tours enabled Hitler to satisfy his aesthetic inclinations, and years later he tended to extol the “magic of Florence and Rome.” How beautiful Tuscany and Umbria were, he would exclaim. In contrast to Moscow, Berlin, or even Paris, where the architectonic proportions lacked harmony both in details and overall impression, and everything had just bypassed him, Rome had “really moved” him.
Politically, too, the trip proved a success. Since Mussolini’s visit to Germany the Axis had been subjected to considerable strains. The annexation of Austria had reawakened the old anxieties about South Tyrol. But Hitler now succeeded in allaying these. In particular, his speech during the state banquet in the Palazzo Venezia, a display both of style and psychological instinct, brought about a shift. Ciano, who mentioned an initial mood of “universal hostility,” noted with amazement the sympathy Hitler was able to win by speeches and personal contacts. The city of Florence, Ciano commented, had “welcomed the Führer with heart and head.”80 When Hitler boarded the train for Germany on May 10, concord appeared restored, and Mussolini shook his hand vigorously, saying, “Henceforth no force will be able to separate us.”
In the few political conversations held during those days Hitler had gathered that Italy would grant Germany a free hand toward Czechoslovakia. The Western powers, too, had meanwhile called upon Prague to meet the Sudeten Germans halfway. And Hitler informed those powers that the Czechoslovakian question was soluble. The British ambassador in Berlin had told Ribbentrop that Germany would win all along the line.81 Hitler was therefore all the more surprised when the Prague government, troubled by rumors about German preparations for an attack, ordered partial mobilization on May 20, and England and France explicitly came out with references to their obligations to aid Czechoslovakia. They were, moreover, supported by the Soviet Union.
A conference was hastily called at the Berghof on May 22. Hitler felt forced to halt his preparations. He had occasionally mentioned the fall of 1938 as the moment for his action against Czechoslovakia; now it appeared that his timetable was being upset. His indignation mounted when the international press hailed the “May crisis” as finally an effective check to Germany. As had happened during the comparable humiliation of August, 1932, he remained hidden in his mountain retreat for several days, and quite probably the same cravings for revenge, the same wild fantasies of destruction, moved him now. In later years he repeatedly referred to the “grave loss of prestige” he had suffered during those days. Finally, in his neurotic fear of showing signs of weakness, he thought it appropriate to inform both Mussolini and the British Foreign Secretary in special messages that nothing could be achieved with him “by threats, pressure or force,” that in fact these “would certainly only accomplish the opposite and make him hard and unyielding.” On May 28 he came to Berlin for a conference with his top people in military and foreign affairs. With a map before him, he expatiated with growing fury on how he intended to wipe out Czechoslovakia. His former military directive for “Operation Green” had begun with the sentence: “It is not my intention to smash Czechoslovakia by military means in the immediate future without provocation….” The new version ran: “It is my unalterable decision to smash Czechoslovakia by military action in the near future.”82 In a defiant reaction he set the date for precisely October 1.
He now bent every effort to increase the tensions. At the end of June maneuvers were held near the Czech border, while work on the west wall at the French border was pushed at an accelerated pace. With Henlein carrying out instructions to seek confrontation, Hitler cautiously stirred the greed of Czechoslovakia’s other neighbors, especially the Hungarians and the Poles. The Western powers pressed the Prague government for more and more concessions. As if the one gesture of resolution had consumed all their strength, they returned to their former compliance, and the policy of appeasement now moved toward its climax. Honorable or understandable though their motives might be, that policy suffered equally from ignorance of Hitler and ignorance of the special problems of Central Europe. The appeasers had a deep distaste for the complex animosities in Central Europe, and they capitulated before the impossibility of threading their way through the labyrinth of ethnic, religious, national, racial, cultural, and historical grievances. For Nevile Henderson the Czechs were “the damned Czechs.” Lord Rothermere stated in the Daily Mail that the Czechs were of no concern to Englishmen. Chamberlain summed up the fundamental mood when he spoke of “a quarrel in a faraway country between people of whom we know nothing!” The mission of inquiry in Czechoslovakia on which the British government had dispatched Lord Runciman in August was an admission of indifference.83
It is against this background that we must see the fateful editorial in the London Times of September 7, which proposed ceding the Sudetenland to the Reich. For after many weeks in which the crisis continued to worsen of its own accord, while Hitler seemingly restrained himself, the whole world was awaiting the speech with which he would wind up the Nuremberg party rally on September 12. It is quite possible tha
t the many evidences of the spirit of appeasement contributed to the exceptionally violent and challenging tenor of that speech. But the unforgotten humiliation of May, to which he repeatedly reverted at length, was also a factor. He spoke of “infamous deception,” of “terroristic blackmail” and the “criminal aims” of the Prague government. He once more worked himself up over the imputation that he had retreated in the face of his opponents’ resolute posture, and he denounced their preparations for war. He had now drawn the necessary conclusions, he continued, which would permit him to strike back at once in the future. “In no circumstances shall I be willing any longer to regard with endless tranquillity a continuation of the oppression of German compatriots in Czechoslovakia…. The Germans of Czechoslovakia are neither defenseless nor deserted. Let this be noted.”
The speech was the signal for an uprising in the Sudetenland that cost many lives. In Germany a period of hectic military activity began. Blackout drills were held and automobiles requisitioned. For a moment war seemed inevitable. Then events took a surprising turn. Prime Minister Chamberlain, in a message dispatched on the night of September 13, declared his willingness to come to any desired place, without consideration of questions of prestige, for a personal discussion with Hitler. “I propose to come across by air and am ready to start tomorrow,” Chamberlain wrote.
Hitler felt exceedingly flattered, although the proposal involved slowing down on the collision course on which he had been hurtling. “I was thunderstruck,” he later declared. But the insecurity that all his life had made him incapable of gestures of magnanimity continued to govern his behavior. His guest was almost seventy and about to enter a plane for the first time in his life. But Hitler was incapable of meeting Chamberlain halfway. He proposed Berchtesgaden as the place for the conference. When the British Prime Minister arrived at the Berghof on the afternoon of September 15, after having traveled for nearly seven hours, Hitler went no farther to meet him than the top step of the large outside staircase. Once again he had placed General Keitel intimidatingly among the members of his entourage. When Chamberlain expressed the desire for a private conversation, Hitler agreed, but with the probable intention of further tiring the old man poured out upon him a rambling review of the European situation, Anglo-German relations, his own degree of resolution, and his successes. Despite his stoic equanimity, Chamberlain undoubtedly saw through Hitler’s tricks and maneuvers, and in his report to the cabinet two days later he referred to him as “the commonest little dog” he had ever seen.84