The Third Reich

by Thomas Childers

  * * *

  Throughout the following summer months the international situation simmered. Hitler retreated to Berchtesgaden and was rarely in Berlin. The Germans made desultory overtures to the Poles—Hitler still believed that they might have a role to play in an anti-Soviet alliance—but the return of Danzig and a rail or road connection across the Corridor were the unalterable German demands for any deal. Warsaw spurned these soundings as well as overtures from Russia. The key to the diplomatic situation, however, was not to be found in London or Paris or even Warsaw but in Moscow. British and French guarantees to Poland would be effective only if placed in a context of a collective security structure that included the Soviet Union, and both the English and French worked during the summer to coax the Russians into some sort of agreement. But Chamberlain was highly mistrustful of the Soviets, a sentiment reciprocated by Stalin, and the talks dragged on with little sense of urgency. Ultimately they foundered on Stalin’s conviction that the West was simply trying to force war between the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany and that the English and French could not be trusted to honor their obligations. This, for Stalin, was the lesson of Munich.

  Germany, too, was seeking to improve relations with Moscow. Ribbentrop was a keen advocate of closer ties, and while a rapprochement made no ideological sense, it would serve the short-run interests of both regimes. A Nazi-Soviet pact would upset Nazi party members for whom anti-Bolshevism was a central pillar of National Socialist ideology, but conservatives, especially within the military, were more open to the possibility of an accord. After all, cooperation with Russia had been a traditional element of Prussian/German foreign policy through much of the nineteenth century, and during the Weimar era the two pariah states had signed a secret agreement that established close military cooperation. In 1922 they formalized that cooperation in the Treaty of Rapallo, whereby Germany helped train Russian troops and instructed them on modern weaponry. In return the Soviets allowed the Germans to develop and test weapons far from the prying eyes of Versailles inspectors. With the installation of Hitler in the Reich Chancellery in 1933 that cooperation had come to a halt, but by the close of the decade, the exigencies of international politics created space for some sort of agreement—not simply on trade but also on security matters.

  In May Stalin signaled a shift in Soviet policy. He dismissed his foreign minister, Maxim Litvinov, a pro-Western advocate of good relations with Britain and France, the League of Nations, and collective security. Litvinov was also a Jew, and his dismissal was received in Berlin as an unmistakable message. Trade talks between the two governments sputtered intermittently along during the summer until at last, in August, the Soviets hinted that they might be open to something more. Discussions turned to security matters, and the Russians indicated that they would be interested in some sort of nonaggression pact. Ribbentrop quickly picked up the idea. Knowing that the invasion of Poland was imminent, he was eager to reach an understanding with the Soviets. Adding to his anxiety, the British and French were still negotiating with the Russians. But convinced that a Nazi-Soviet pact was a political impossibility, the British and French were in no rush.

  As the days passed and the pressure mounted, Ribbentrop pressed hard for an agreement. In Berlin and Berchtesgaden nerves were frayed. Hitler, who had been initially skeptical about a deal with the Soviets, was now more eager than his foreign minister. An accord with Russia would remove the threat of a two-front war, against which he had preached since the earliest days of his political life. It would also, he believed, act as a deterrent to Western intervention. But the Soviets confirmed their reputation as difficult negotiators, and their interest for a pact with Hitler seemed to run hot and cold. Then, in mid-August, came a sudden breakthrough. Moscow presented a draft of a nonaggression pact, which thrilled Ribbentrop, but then insisted that the trade deal that had been under discussion over several months be completed first. On August 20 Hitler wrote a personal message to Stalin urging him to come to terms—and quickly. The Germans hastily agreed to sign the trade agreement, and Stalin responded directly to Hitler, inviting Ribbentrop to Moscow to sign the nonaggression pact on August 23. Hitler received the message while having dinner with Albert Speer and others at the Berghof. After scanning the note, “he stared into space for a moment,” Speer recalled, “flushed deeply, then banged on the table so hard that the glasses rattled, and exclaimed in a voice breaking with excitement: ‘I’ve got them! I’ve got them.’ ”

  While the Ribbentrop delegation was preparing for its secret mission to Moscow, Hitler convened a meeting of his senior military commanders at the Berghof to brief them on the political situation. There would be a war with Poland, he stated bluntly, and it was better to act now than delay. Several factors weighed in his decision. “First of all, two personal factors: my own personality and that of Mussolini. Essentially all depends on me, on my existence, because of my political talents. Probably no one will ever again have the confidence of the German people as I have. My life is, therefore, a factor of great value. But I can be eliminated at any time by a criminal or an idiot.” Hitler had become increasingly preoccupied with his own mortality and was determined to achieve his goals while he was still in good health. “No one knows how long I shall live,” he said, “therefore conflict is better now.”

  A second factor had to be taken into the equation. The Western powers were governed by men “who are below average. No personalities. No master, no men of action.” This time he was not interested in negotiations. There would be no more Munichs. “I am only afraid,” he declared, “that at the last minute some Schweinhund will produce a plan of mediation!” It was, of course, an enormous gamble, he understood this, but a lightning victory over Poland would leave the Western powers no viable course of military action. Speed, therefore, was everything. And once the fighting had commenced, moral considerations would play no role. “When starting and waging a war it is not right that matters,” he declared, “but victory. Close your hearts to pity. Act brutally. Eighty million people must obtain what is their right. . . . The wholesale destruction of Poland is the military objective. Speed is the main thing. Pursuit until complete annihilation.”

  The next evening at six, in the presence of Stalin himself, Ribbentrop joined Russian foreign minister Vyacheslav Molotov in signing a German-Russian nonaggression pact that no one thought possible. The two bitter ideological enemies promised to observe benevolent neutrality in the event that one or the other should become involved in a European war. In secret clauses the pact called for a partition of Poland—an indication that this agreement was intended to address an immediate situation. The signatories also divided Eastern Europe into spheres of influence: Lithuania and Vilnius would fall to the Germans, while Finland, Estonia, and Latvia would be in the Soviet sphere. No agreement could be reached about Romania, with its rich oil fields, and the issue was tabled.

  For Hitler, the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact put an end to the threat of a two-front war. The Nazi-Soviet agreement, he was certain, would serve as a deterrent to Western interference. After all, with Russia at Germany’s side, how could Britain and France hope to come to Poland’s aid? Russia would also be a source of much needed raw materials—timber, grain, iron, oil, among others—and render Germany impervious to an English blockade. At some point in the future, the score would be settled with Bolshevik Russia, but for the moment, cooperation between the two dictatorships was essential.

  * * *

  For Stalin, the pact was a hedge against betrayal by the West, which, he was convinced, was only interested in directing Nazi aggression eastward; it shifted the Soviet frontier westward, providing a buffer between Germany and the Soviet Union. The pact also gave him time to rebuild the Red Army, which had been decimated by the military purges of 1938. Those purges were staggering in scope: of the eighty members of the Military Soviet in 1934, only five survived. All eleven deputy commissars were eliminated; every commander of a military district, including their replacements, had be
en liquidated by the summer of 1938; thirteen of the fifteen army commanders, fifty-seven of the eighty-five corps commanders were purged; and 220 out of the 446 brigade commanders had been executed. But the losses didn’t stop there. The greatest number of victims were junior-grade officers from the rank of colonel downward; company commanders by the score were liquidated. Distasteful as it was to many in the Soviet hierarchy, the deal with the hated Nazis would buy time for Stalin to rebuild the army he had so thoroughly eviscerated.

  For Chamberlain, the news from Moscow resounded like the crack of doom. Speaking to a tense House of Commons he warned that the Germans were suffering from a “dangerous illusion” if they believed that this surprise agreement would convince the British and French to abandon their obligations to Poland. He followed these words with a stern letter to Hitler, hand-delivered by Ambassador Sir Nevile Henderson. Britain would leave no stone unturned to prevent war, but “if the need should arise, His Majesty’s Government is resolved, and prepared, to employ without delay all the forces at its command, and it is impossible to foresee the end of hostilities once engaged.” Chamberlain also announced that the British guarantee to Poland had been formally translated into a military alliance.

  Hitler’s response to the prime minister’s letter was to inform Henderson defiantly that with Russia at its back, if it came to it, Germany would not shrink from a war with the West. He reminded Henderson that “this time Germany will not have to fight on two fronts.” He then made a typically grandiose proposal. Germany was prepared to guarantee the continued existence of the British Empire and to offer military help “in any part of the world where such help might be needed.” He was also willing to offer guarantees of frontiers in the West and a limitation on armaments. But the question of Danzig and the Corridor must be resolved without delay.

  Chamberlain’s stern message was reinforced by Robert Coulondre, the new French ambassador, who called at the Reich Chancellery later in the day. After listening to Hitler fume about the Poles and their alleged atrocities, Coulondre replied that “in a situation as critical as this, Herr Reichskanzler, misunderstandings are the most dangerous things of all. Therefore, to make the matter quite clear, I give you my word of honor as a French officer that the French army will fight by the side of Poland if that country should be attacked.” At the same time, he explained, “the French Government is prepared to do everything for the maintenance of peace right up to the last, and to work for moderation in Warsaw.”

  As if these declarations were not sobering enough, Bernardo Attolico, the Italian ambassador, followed Coulondre into Hitler’s study and delivered an eagerly awaited letter from Mussolini. The Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact had come as a disturbing surprise to the Duce, and Hitler had written an awkward communication to Rome attempting to explain how it would actually strengthen the Axis. His message also made it clear that Italy should anticipate important developments in the near future. Mussolini’s response was apologetic, embarrassed, but blunt: “In one of the most painful moments of my life, I have to inform you that Italy is not ready for war.” He complained about low stocks of fuel, ammunition, iron, and other shortages that made a sustained military effort impossible.

  The Duce’s missive was a blow. When Hitler inquired what Mussolini would need in the way of supplies, he found that Italy’s needs were so exorbitant they simply could not be met. That, of course, was Mussolini’s intent. If Italy felt compelled to remain neutral, Hitler asked Mussolini to give every appearance of preparing for war. The appearance of Fascist solidarity was important to Hitler, as was the deterrent value of possible Italian action against France and England. Let off the hook, Mussolini readily agreed. But the Pact of Steel was badly strained, and Italian bitterness at being left in the dark and then perhaps towed into a war they did not seek was palpable.

  Faced with these setbacks Hitler ordered a twenty-four-hour postponement of the invasion, scheduled to begin at dawn the next day. On August 30, Henderson delivered Chamberlain’s reply to Hitler’s last proposal. The British wanted good relations with Germany “but could not . . . acquiesce in a settlement which would put in jeopardy the independence of a State to whom they have given a guarantee.” The note proposed resumption of direct negotiations between Germany and Poland to address their points of difference and concluded with the unambiguous declaration: “A just settlement of these questions . . . may open the way to world peace. Failure to reach it would ruin the hopes of better understanding between Germany and Great Britain, would bring the two countries into conflict, and might well plunge the whole world into war. Such an outcome would be a calamity without parallel in history.”

  As the diplomatic situation deteriorated, party officials and the Socialist underground throughout Germany reported growing anxiety. Initially, the popular mood was calm, confident that “the Führer will make everything all right.” But as the crisis deepened, the public’s mood sobered. A Sopade informant detected “a certain nervousness” among the public, especially women, who were worried about the call-ups and generally were of the opinion that “those in Berlin don’t understand the situation and the feelings of the people.” There was a widespread attitude “that a war because of Danzig [was] madness; it is irresponsible to sacrifice possibly millions of people for the sake of one city.”

  The last dwindling days of August brought a series of feverish meetings, midnight telegrams, urgent appeals. The atmosphere was electric. The Reich Chancellery, teeming with generals and their adjutants, diplomats, state ministers, and party leaders, seemed more like the frenetic halls of the nearby Anhalter station than a center of government. Nerves, already frayed, were not calmed when a blackout went into effect in Berlin, casting the giant metropolis into stygian darkness. Hitler’s response to the British note did little to reduce tensions. The German government was open to negotiation and would accept British mediation, Ribbentrop informed Henderson. To that end, the German Foreign Office had drafted a sixteen-point proposal that the Germans believed to be generous. Danzig would be returned to Germany; a plebiscite, administered by an international commission, would be held in the Corridor; the Poles would be guaranteed an international road and railway through territory that was to become German as well as unfettered economic rights in Danzig. Britain was to produce a Polish emissary with full powers to negotiate, and that emissary, the Germans insisted, was to arrive in Berlin on Wednesday, August 30, leaving the Poles a scant twenty-four hours to prepare. It was, as Henderson protested, an ultimatum, but the Germans refused to budge, accusing the British government of indifference to the continuing persecution of Germans in Poland. The Poles must accept this condition.

  Under the circumstances, the British did not even attempt to convince the Poles to meet the German deadline. They opposed both the unreasonable time frame and the site of the talks. After the experiences of Hacha and Tiso, neither the British nor the Poles were willing to contemplate another visitation to the Reich Chancellery. Instead, Poland announced the mobilization of its forces. Though they held out little hope of success, the British now urged Warsaw at least to begin negotiations. But when Polish ambassador Jozef Lipski presented himself at the Foreign Office on August 30, Ribbentrop had only one thing to say: “Have you the authority to negotiate with us on the German proposals?” When Lipski admitted that he had not, Ribbentrop brusquely terminated the meeting. There was no point of continuing. The Germans, it was plain, were not interested in negotiations, and the Poles had seen enough of Hitler to know that he could not be trusted. They were prepared to fight.

  Hitler’s grand sixteen-point proposal was read out over German radio on the night of August 31. It was intended for domestic consumption, demonstrating to the German people that the Führer was striving mightily for peace and was magnanimous in his dealings with the Poles. Only Polish intransigence and blind British support for Warsaw had sabotaged Germany’s last-gasp offer of a peaceful settlement. Later Hitler admitted that the proposal was nothing but a propaganda ploy, “
an alibi, especially with the German people, to show them that I had done everything to maintain peace. That explains my generous offer about the settlement of Danzig and the Corridor.”

  Throughout these last days of August, Ribbentrop remained intent on scuttling any hint of serious negotiations. Although he realized that British intervention was a distinct possibility, he was willing to take the risk. At every opportunity he emphasized to Hitler that London was bluffing, reinforcing the Führer’s gambling instincts. While Ribbentrop pressed the case for war, no policy consensus existed at the highest levels of the military or among the regime’s political elite. Göring sought to use both official and backdoor channels to engage the British and avert the descent into war. In one remarkable initiative, he enlisted the services of a well-connected Swedish businessman, Birger Dahlerus, to shuttle between London and Berlin, seeking the basis for some sort of understanding. Although Dahlerus was able to engage Lord Halifax’s interest, he could not dispel the deep British skepticism about Hitler’s intentions. At a midnight meeting in the Reich Chancellery on August 26, Dahlerus, just back from London, attempted to convey Britain’s desire for negotiations but also its profound wariness about entering into discussions with Hitler.