Paris 1935: Destiny's Crossroads

by Paul A. Myers

Plotting Begins

  Tuesday, February 18, Berlin. Foreign minister Constantin von Neurath entered through the massive doors into the inner sanctum of the Reichs Chancellery—the office of Adolph Hitler. The Führer stood and shook his foreign minister’s hand. “What have we from London?”

  “Count Otto von Bismarck met with the head of the Central Europe section of the foreign office. He followed up on Ambassador von Hoesch’s talks that indicated the British were interested in ‘stabilizing conditions’ in Europe.”

  The Führer nodded in understanding. His diplomats were developing excellent information.

  “The British official, shall we say, over spoke. The British are drawing up a ‘working agreement’ to find common ground between Britain and Germany without discussing this with France. They feel once common ground is established, the French can be brought along.”

  The Führer asked, “What of the British cabinet?”

  “The British are going to rearm on the one hand and they want an understanding with Germany on the other.”

  The Führer thought out loud. “While they rearm, they will want to avoid war.”

  “Count von Bismarck was told that one of Eden’s guiding principles is to cultivate friendly relations with Germany.”

  The Führer asked, “And the British posture on the Rhineland?”

  “We carefully scrutinized Eden’s answer to that very question in the House of Commons last week. Very legalistic, lacking in conviction.”

  Neurath watched Hitler’s expression carefully. The Führer had an instinct for such things, thought Neurath. Hitler’s decision was forming.

  After a moment, Neurath added, “They desperately want an air agreement.”

  The Führer concluded, “Good. We will know what to offer the British when the time comes.”

  Neurath changed subjects. “Tomorrow Ambassador von Hassell will be here from Rome. He has news of promising developments.”

  The Führer stood. “Good.” Neurath departed.

  Wednesday, February 19. The secretary opened the door to the Führer’s study. Ambassador Ulrich von Hassell walked in, followed by Foreign Minister von Neurath. Adolph Hitler stood and shook the ambassador’s hand. “I have been following your reports from Rome most closely.” He turned and waved the two men into their chairs.

  The Führer nodded at Hassell to begin.

  “Italy has reoriented its policy with regard to Austria. Mussolini expresses little interest in Austria. Weakness has changed Mussolini. He understands that Germany and Austria are closely linked in language and thought.”

  Hitler interjected, “German sovereignty must follow German blood.”

  “Yes, but we want to be careful of a ruse. Mussolini may want to embroil Germany in Austria to distract the League from his difficulties in Ethiopia. It would be a risk to look on Italy as a trustworthy ally.”

  Hitler nodded in obvious appreciation and added, “Here time is on our side. Our plan will unfold.” He leaned back in his chair and looked into the distance and savored his thoughts: the Rhineland, Austria, the Sudentenland Germans, Danzig. All in time.

  Hassell and Neurath watched, careful not to disturb Hitler’s thoughts.

  The Führer quickly returned to the present and asked, “How will Mussolini react to an initiative in the Rhineland?”

  Hassell replied, “In my view, based on very close observation of Mussolini and the Italian foreign ministry, the Italians will not react to a German movement into the Rhineland. Nor will they cooperate with Britain and France. That has gone cold.”

  The Führer nodded and indicated for Hassell to continue.

  “As I told the foreign minister,” and Hassell nodded at Neurath, “there need be no haste with respect to the Rhineland; there will be plenty of opportunities to abolish the demilitarized zone.”

  Hitler leaned forward and politely and firmly disagreed. “The longer the demilitarized zone remains intact, the more inviolable it becomes. If Italy succeeds in Ethiopia, British attitudes will stiffen. No, passivity is not a policy. Attack is better.”

  Hassell was impressed with the resolve and decisiveness of the Führer.

  Hitler continued, “When the French parliament ratifies the Franco-Soviet pact, the time will never be better.”

  Neurath entered the conversation and explained to Hassell, “At the same time as the soldiers march, the Führer will offer a comprehensive peace plan to the European nations: a new demilitarized zone on both sides of the frontier, a pact to defend the independence of Holland and Belgium, a limited air pact to the British, a nonaggression pact with France, a Four-Power pact including Italy covering Western Europe.”

  Hassell listened to Neurath; not only would German soldiers march, but German foreign policy would be on the march as never before. The ambassador turned and looked at Hitler and thought: yes, it was a masterstroke.

  Neurath looked at Hitler for a moment and then said to Hassell, “Ambassador von Hoesch in London has proposed that the Führer announce as part of the comprehensive peace plan that Germany will return to the League of Nations. The British are much interested in Germany returning to Geneva.”

  Hassell smiled and nodded in agreement.

  Hitler said, rather absently, “By all means, a return to the League. For the British.”

  Saturday, an evening in February, Paris. In the cold of a winter evening, Dexter and Marcelle walked up rue de l’Odéon with other guests towards the bright lights shining out of the windows of Shakespeare and Company, Sylvia Beach’s bookshop.

  Dexter said, “This is the debut reading of Friends of Shakespeare and Company. All of literary Paris will be here tonight.”

  “Why now?” asked Marcelle.

  “The Depression has been hard on the English-language bookshop. The American and English tourists aren’t here. Many of the expatriates have gone home. The big glamour puss, Hemingway, and the other famous American writers are gone. James Joyce’s books are being commercially published in America now, not smuggled in under brownpaper wrappers.”

  “So the Protestants can admire the depravity of the Irish Catholics from the comfort of their reading chairs.”

  “Exactly,” laughed Dexter. “But the real news is that the French literary world is stepping in. They dearly love Sylvia. Somewhat to their surprise, I think, it is giving new life to their own literary establishment which recently has been riven by political conflict.”

  They moved through the door, removed their overcoats and held them in their arms. Dexter pointed to some empty folding chairs towards the back of the room. Marcelle whispered and pointed, awestruck, “There he is!” Sitting up front was James Joyce, black eyepatch over one eye, the bushy iron gray hair brushed back. “Look,” and Marcelle pointed to a picture just above the small fireplace, “he looks just like his photograph. Remarkable. And look, there’s Gide,” she said, pointing at André Gide sitting behind a small wooden table just in front of the rectangular marble fireplace. Dozens of photographs of famous authors stared down at the dean of French letters from the wall behind him.

  Marcelle turned to Dexter. “Oh, thank you for bringing me here tonight.”

  “My pleasure,” he said, and then catching the eye of a person sitting near Joyce, Dexter waved and whispered to Marcelle, “There’s André Chamson. And his wife Lucie.”

  Marcelle smiled and waved at Lucie. “She’s so much fun.”

  Dexter pointed Marcelle towards a chair. “We better sit down.”

  Sylvia Beach strode to the front of the room and said, “Messieurs et mesdames, bon soir.” She continued with a few remarks and then said, “André Gide. He is going to read to us from his unpublished novel Geneviève.”

  “It better be a dark tale,” said Marcelle with mock disdain.

  Dexter smiled.

  Gide began reading in a clear and precise voice, grabbing the audience’s attention and never letting it go. The audience followed with rapt attention minute after minute as Gide read, the austeri
ty and energy of the elocution itself an object of art. Finishing, the audience burst into a long round of applause. People began to stand.

  Dexter and Marcelle stood. Adrienne Monnier came up, telling all around her, “His voice moves through a text with the timbre and an authority that awaken a world.” She shook Dexter’s hand and then reached out and hugged Marcelle.

  André Chamson and Lucie came up. Chamson shook Dexter’s hand. “Following events?”

  “Reading your editorials in Vendredi,” referring to the leading Radical Socialist newspaper that Chamson edited.

  Chamson laughed. “You would be better informed speaking with your—is she now—fianceé.”

  “Almost,” replied Dexter.

  Adrienne looked at Chamson. “Ah, Paris’s best political writer is here.”

  Chamson looked at her. “I think not. I think the best writer is standing there,” and he nodded at Marcelle to Adrienne’s astonishment. “She is the one that turned the phrase that brought the British foreign secretary to agreement at the Quai d’Orsay last December.”

  Dexter looked at Marcelle utterly astonished. Chamson looked at him and thought: he didn’t know?

  Marcelle’s eyes flashed and she looked at Chamson searchingly. Adrienne stepped back; she had seen this fire before. What would the charming little volcano do now?

  Lucie stepped forward and took Marcelle’s forearm in her hands, “Now, now, that came straight from Laval’s chef du cabinet. At someone’s salon after the Laval government fell. It’s not a state secret anymore.” And then she looked wickedly at Marcelle. “But it is in everyone’s diary!”

  Marcelle’s expression eased; she smiled a thank you at Lucie. She had been afraid that Suzanne Bardoux had leaked the confidence. But it had just been a politician.

  Marcelle spoke apologetically to Chamson, “I had been afraid there might have been a betrayal of a confidence by someone on the professional staff. Only a handful were present.”

  Chamson understood and reassuringly replied, “No. Nothing like that at all.” He thought how much he really admired Marcelle’s discretion. Not even Dexter knew.

  Sylvia Beach came up and clapped Dexter on the back. “I am so glad you could come,” and turning to Marcelle, “and I am always so pleased to see you.” She turned to Chamson and Lucie. “Oh, I think André’s reading went off beautifully!” Everyone nodded in agreement. “It’s a flash of light amongst storm clouds gathering.” Again, heads nodded.

  Monday, February 24. Secretary-General Léger, followed by Madame Bardoux, entered the foreign minister’s office. He rose to greet them. All sat down.

  Foreign Minister Flandin began, “I want to record my conversations with the Minister of War on the Rhineland.” He turned to Madame Bardoux, “If you could take notes?” She nodded and opened her notebook.

  “Two weeks ago, Minister of War General Joseph Maurin told me that the military would respond to a German move in a restrained way to avoid provoking a conflict.” Flandin gave Léger a bleak look. “The army would man the border fortresses, move troops into the border zone—all on our side of the border—and guard lines of communication and await further political decisions.”

  Looking at Léger, he continued, “I told General Maurin that he had to prepare the military response now, that we needed a strategy to discourage Germany. I asked General Maurin for a more, shall we say, ‘illuminating’ response.” Flandin smiled weakly.

  “Then last week the General Staff let it be known that if Germany reoccupied the Rhineland, possibly Britain could be prevailed upon to enter a new Franco-Belgium-British alliance backed up by military accords. They prefer a new military alliance to keeping the Rhineland demilitarized.”

  Léger interjected, “That completely ignores our interests in East Europe. If the Germans remilitarize the Rhineland, the countries of East Europe will believe their alliance with France is worthless.”

  Flandin agreed. “Properly so.”

  Madame Bardoux hurriedly wrote this down in her notebook.

  Flandin said, “Today, I got a further ‘clarification.’ General Maurin sees German reoccupation of the Rhineland,” and the foreign minister took on a bitter tone, “as a chance to obtain new government credits for the military.”

  Léger took this is in with a touch of resignation. Indeed, the French military had been a separate kingdom ever since the war, unreachable by ordinary diplomacy.

  Flandin concluded, “No counterstroke is contemplated. No thought of how to intimidate the Germans has been considered. No plans to force a German withdrawal.”

  Léger said, “A failure to even plan. Without a plan, the cabinet cannot debate a course of action. No plan, no action.”

  Flandin slowly nodded. “The Council of Ministers meets next Thursday. The Rhineland is on the top of the agenda.”

  The foreign minister stood. The other two rose. Flandin said to Madame Bardoux in conclusion, “Please see that I get a copy of your memorandum.”

  Thursday, February 27, London. Ambassador Leopold von Hoesch entered the ornate office of the British foreign secretary in Whitehall. Anthony Eden came around from behind his large desk and shook the ambassador’s hand and bade him take a seat.

  “Minister, my government wonders if any further progress relative to your internal discussions has developed?”

  “Yes, we want to strengthen our relations with Germany.”

  “Berlin is concerned about efforts to encircle Germany.”

  Eden vigorously responded, “We deny any intent to encircle Germany.”

  Hoesch nodded in understanding. “As we speak, in Paris they are debating ratifying the Franco-Russian Pact, which proposes to do just that.”

  Coldly, Eden replied, “We have little interest in the Franco-Russian Pact.”

  Hoesch smiled inwardly; the interview was going swimmingly well. He continued, “What steps might move the process of improving relations between our two countries forward?”

  Eden smiled warmly, “Yes, my government is anxious to pursue talks about an air pact.”

  “The Ethiopian war poses difficulties.”

  With determination Eden replied, “Difficulties are to be overcome. I will see Foreign Minister Flandin in Geneva next week. When I return to London, I will inform you fully of developments.”

  Hoesch smiled and said, “That would be most helpful. I will discuss further with Berlin a possible air pact.”

  Eden stood and came around the desk and escorted Hoesch to the door.

  Monday morning, March 2, Berlin. Adolph Hitler sat at the head of the large oaken conference table in the Bendlerstrasse, the army headquarters. Along the walls were large maps of Europe. On the wall behind the chancellor was a large map of western Germany, the Rhineland. A line of bright red yarn snaked down the map from the North Sea to the Swiss border about fifty kilometers east of the Rhine river—the hated demarcation line to the demilitarized zone. Of all the indignities of the Versailles Peace Treaty, this was the provision most hated by the Reichswehr, the German army.

  The bright red line glared at the general staff, day after day, year after year. To the west of the red line along the Rhine, the heart of western Germany, were the ancient German cities of Mainz, Frankfurt, Coblenz, Cologne, and Dusseldorf, beautiful cities without their army garrisons. This was where the Germany army traditionally maintained its watch on the Rhine.

  To one side of Hitler at the long table sat Field Marshal Werner von Blomberg, minister of war. Down each side of the table sat officers in field gray uniforms, bright red collar insignia with gold embroidery setting the generals off from the colonels.

  Hitler began the conference. “I am instructing Field Marshal von Blomberg to issue operational orders for the reoccupation of the Rhineland. The soldiers march Saturday morning, March 7.”

  The officers had been expecting this. Nevertheless, they were conservative, conscientious about risks. General Werner von Fritsch, head of the army, replied, somewhat hesitantly, �
��I would like to state again my reservations that negotiation might be the best way forward because our army is not ready to meet the French army in combat.”

  Hitler nodded in acknowledgement.

  General Ludwig Beck, chief of the general staff, warned, “We would be unable to successfully defend against the obvious counterstroke, a French retaliatory attack.”

  Hitler leaned back in his chair, took on a relaxed air, and looked down the conference table. “Gentlemen, I am sorry to tell you that your information is all wrong. If you believe that the French army would start a campaign, you are much mistaken. Let me tell you that France won’t move an inch, and that we can get going without the least fear. In fact, you needn’t serve out any ammunition to your troops because they won’t need to fire a single shot.”

  General von Fritsch asked, “But suppose France were to launch an attack?”

  Hitler laughed. “If France takes any countermeasures on the evening of our entry into the Rhineland, I will commit suicide and you can give the order to withdraw.”

  Several of the generals down the table smiled. The Führer knew something they did not; of that they were sure.

  Hitler stood. “France will not act.” He bade the generals farewell and departed.

  Monday afternoon, March 2, Geneva. Foreign Secretary Eden entered the well-appointed meeting room off the Hall of the League of Nations and walked up and shook Foreign Minister Pierre Flandin’s hand. The two men sat down.

  Flandin moved briskly to the point. “We are concerned that moving forward with the oil sanction will cause Italy to abandon the League, drop out of Stresa, forget about the Locarno Treaty, and even worse move towards Germany. Nothing could be more perilous for France.” Warnings about the Rhineland had been streaming into the Quai d’Orsay for weeks.

  Eden smoothly moved to his points; he was very concerned about diplomatic precedents. “If the League were not to move forward on the oil sanction, then we would be allowing the aggressor state to choose its own sanctions. Protection of principle is involved here.”

  Flandin paused, inwardly exasperated: protection of the Rhineland was what was important. The British just don’t see the real threat—Germany.

  Flandin countered, “France would like to propose a further peace appeal before applying the oil sanction. France feels that time is late and the oil sanction will not be effective in improving Ethiopia’s situation.” Britain seemed to be disregarding the impending Italian victory, thought Flandin.

  Eden replied, “Of course, His Majesty’s Government will be pleased to give you several days to call for immediate negotiations between Italy and Ethiopia.”

  Flandin smiled and nodded in agreement. One small victory.

  Having given something up, Eden replied, a touch of sternness in his voice, “But it is my duty to tell you that the British cabinet has decided in favor of the oil sanction.”

  Flandin replied with a noncommittal, “I understand.” Eden had played his card. Now it was his turn. He gathered his thoughts and spoke decisively, “It is my duty to tell you that the French cabinet has formulated its Rhineland policy.”

  Eden looked startled; he had rather thought the Rhineland was not on today’s agenda.

  Flandin laid out the basis of French policy. “The French government does not intend to take isolated action separate from Locarno and Stresa.”

  Eden nodded and thought: good, a British veto on any French action was still in place.

  Flandin described France’s proposed course of action if Germany were to march, “In case of a breech, France will report it immediately to England, Belgium, and Italy with a view towards concerting a common response pursuant to the Covenant of the League of Nations.”

  Eden listened: good, the pause for consultation was still in place. A pause is almost as good as a veto.

  Flandin then moved to his most important point. “But while talking to our partners, France reserves the right to take all necessary measures, including those of a military character, which France deems necessary.”

  Eden looked sharply at Flandin: military measures? That would put action before talk. Would involve generals and such. Always dangerous. Not very diplomatic.

  Flandin then played his trump card. “Before France would feel comfortable moving forward with an oil sanction on Italy, France must be sure of Britain’s support on the Rhineland, even if it means just France and Britain responding without the other treaty partners. France must be able to count on Britain’s support.”

  Eden collected his thoughts. “Yes, of course. This is a matter upon which I must consult my cabinet colleagues. I will do so promptly upon my return to London Thursday.”

  Flandin made a thin smile: Eden would not stop the French from deferring action on the oil sanction this week. He had put something bigger and more immediate on Eden’s plate.

  Flandin stood up, as did Eden. The two men shook hands and walked towards the door. Flandin had achieved a minor triumph.

  Thursday, March 5, London. At Number 10 Downing Street, the British ministers sat around the long cabinet table. Anthony Eden stood up and began his report on the proceedings at Geneva. He explained that he had announced the British cabinet’s support for the oil sanction. He described French concern that an oil sanction against Italy would lead Mussolini towards Germany. Italy might stay neutral if Germany militarily reoccupied the Rhineland.

  Various cabinet ministers took up a discussion about what the consequences of Italy opting out of Locarno might be. Eden stood listening.

  Eden finally spoke, “If Italy opts out, Britain is still obligated to France under Locarno.”

  The prime minister, Stanley Baldwin, now spoke to the larger issue, “The British people see the Rhineland as a much more doubtful cause than Ethiopia. The Rhineland is inside Germany’s borders and part of their country. So stationing one’s own army on one’s own territory seems normal to the average Englishman.”

  Eden nodded in agreement and then made an oblique point, “We must rebuild our alliance with France and keep Locarno alive as the most effective deterrent to Hitler in the future.”

  Down the table, heads nodded: a well-made point.

  More discussion followed. Baldwin then summed up, “The reality is that neither France nor Britain is in any position to take effective military action against Germany.”

  Heads slowly nodded, others sighed.

  Eden stepped forward and authoritatively put forth his alternative. “We should take the initiative with Germany. I would ask the cabinet’s authority to approach Germany on an air pact. Germany might raise the Rhineland issue and at that point we could draw the French into the talks. Possibly settle the issue.” Several of the ministers looked quietly at Eden: yes, clever, go behind France’s back in the guise of helping France.

  Baldwin called for the cabinet to back Eden’s proposal. Yes, by all means take the initiative with the Germans. Discuss an air pact.

  Thursday evening, March 5, Place Malesherbes, Paris. At eleven o’clock at night the telephone rang in the study of the apartment of Geneviève Tabouis. She picked up the phone, heard the clicks and static—a long distance call. A voice came on the phone that she immediately recognized; she quickly wrote down on her pad “the diplomat,” a code word in her notebooks.

  The voice, speaking urgently into the mouthpiece, said, “Madame Tabouis, the reoccupation of the Rhineland will take place in two days. That is definite. You must print this news immediately to avoid catastrophe.”

  “Yes. This has been expected. But now?”

  “The German people, and also circles in the Reichswehr, are praying that France will act. Hitler has had terrible quarrels with his generals. The German troops are badly equipped, and they have orders to retreat at the first sign of resistance on the part of France. Hitler believes that France will not act.”

  “He may be right,” replied Madame Tabouis.

  “He has staked everything on that. If France resists, it will mean hi
s personal ruin, and the end of Nazism!”

  Madame Tabouis replied, “I will get it in the morning paper.” The line went dead.

  Friday morning, rue Monsieur. Dexter opened L’Oeuvre and quickly found Geneviève Tabouis’s column. He read it, giving a low whistle. “Whew, Geneviève has really done it.”

  Marcelle looked up. “What’s she up to? Selling state secrets?”

  Dexter looked at her with a smile. “Yes, but they’re German state secrets. She’s spilling secrets from Berlin. She says the Germans will reoccupy the Rhineland tomorrow.”

  Marcelle looked astonished. “Tomorrow?” Marcelle felt that if the French government knew this was coming, then somehow she would have noticed unusual activity yesterday at the Matignon—hurried meetings, comings and goings, a bustle of activity.” She looked at Dexter. “How would she know?”

  “Her specialty is the deepest secrets in both Paris—as you’ve seen—and in Berlin. No one else has sources so deep in the German ministries.”

  Marcelle grabbed the paper and read through the story and said, “She calls her source a diplomat stationed in Berlin. How would a diplomat know what’s going on inside the top of the Third Reich.”

  “Most of us suspect her real sources are Germans high up in the ministries, not foreign diplomats. She doesn’t want to tip her sources.”

  Marcelle said, “I see. What do you think, if I may ask?”

  Dexter replied, “I think the Germans will reoccupy the Rhineland, if not tomorrow, then soon. As to the rest, I think the Nazis have had an absolute grip on the German state ever since the Night of the Long Knives in 1934. It’s too late for one setback to topple the regime.”

  “And France?”

  Dexter looked evenly at Marcelle, “I don’t think the French army will advance across the border.”

  Marcelle looked very evenly at Dexter. “I see.” She pondered Dexter’s statement for a moment. “That was the point of Colonel de Gaulle’s talk last summer?”

  Dexter nodded.

 

  Friday, March 6, Whitehall, London. Anthony Eden looked down at the note on his desk: Chancellor Hitler was going to address the Reichstag tomorrow at noon. Not really surprising. The Foreign Affairs Commission of the French Senate had voted for ratification of the Franco-Russian pact on Wednesday. Some sort of response from the German government was expected, possibly a denunciation of the demilitarized zone in the Rhineland.

  There was a knock on the door and it began to open. Eden stood up. An aide ushered Ambassador von Hoesch into the darkly paneled office. The foreign secretary walked around his desk and shook the ambassador’s hand and motioned him towards a chair.

  Returning to his chair, Eden briskly began, “With regard to your inquiry whether we have concrete proposals, I can now say that His Majesty’s Government believes it opportune to open serious discussion on an air pact. We would hope you would bring that up with the chancellor.”

  “Chancellor Hitler has no objection in principle to an air pact.”

  “Good. I suggest we proceed through diplomatic channels to agree on principles.”

  Hoesch nodded in understanding. Eden continued, “Britain has no intent to encircle Germany. Britain’s wish is for relations based on confidence with Germany. To that end, Germany’s return to the League would be most welcome.”

  Hoesch smiled inwardly; Hitler’s plan involved just such an announcement—at his suggestion. Hoesch let Eden continue, then Hoesch said, “A messenger from Berlin is on his way. I will have an important communication to deliver tomorrow morning. Could we meet at 10 o’clock?”

  “By all means,” replied Eden. Possibly events were developing faster than previously thought. He stood up signaling an end to the interview.