Ribbentrop, who knew the country well from the years he had spent in England, shared my views. So did Himmler. In molding his SS officers, he even tried to turn them into his own version of the English gentleman, for example, by having them learn to box, ride, and eat porridge for breakfast! Alas, it was not to be. The English remained suspicious of me. They followed their traditional policy of always opposing the strongest Power on the Continent so as to prevent the latter from being united. That was a pity, for it ended by costing them their empire and triggering the ongoing decline of the white man which we can see all around us.
I could not, did not, want to rest on my laurels. Partly, because my ultimate objectives were much broader. And partly because I knew I would not live forever. I only had a limited amount of time. No future German leader was likely to enjoy the trust of the people or to wield authority as I did. That, incidentally was why I had Speer build the new Chancellery. Not because I wanted that kind of luxury—God knows I did not. I was not Louis XIV, and I was not trying to construct a new Versailles. Let alone Romania’s boss Nicolae Ceaușescu who, in order to make room for his palace, demolished half of Bucharest before his people overthrew him and executed him.
Personally, I much preferred the Berghof and tried to spend as much time there as I could. What a relief, compared to both Berlin and my various military headquarters! But I wanted to have a building that would impress visitors as much as possible. And one, which was even more important, that would be filled by my spirit so that my successors, at least some of whom were likely to be mediocrities, might be hallowed by it, so to speak. The building was a great success, so much so that I told Speer I wanted the “diplomats’ walk” extended from 150 to 300 meters. It was, however, utterly destroyed during the last weeks of the war. Much later, the nearby site was occupied by the so-called “Holocaust Memorial.” If anything shows what utter cowards and traitors my successors have been, this does.
With Austria in our hands, I turned my attention to the next problem: Czechoslovakia. In the whole of history, probably no person had less belief in the role of international law than I did. But this time I felt our case was excellent indeed. After all, President Wilson had personally proclaimed that national borders ought to be governed by the “principle of nationality.” There was no doubt that the Sudetenland was German and that its inhabitants had always been German. Nor was it in doubt that the vast majority of them wanted to join the Reich (albeit that we helped them a little by stirring up trouble and making their wishes clear to the world). In fact, there were actually more Germans in Czechoslovakia than there were Slovaks. So why should they be treated as second-rate citizens? Previously, I had been able to guide our policy in such a way that international intervention was not required. Now, however, so hostile were France and England that I had no choice but to bring them into the game.
Throughout the summer, as I demanded that the Czechs cede the Sudetenland, our relations with them went downhill. And they, meaning President Edvard Beneš, obstinately refused to give us our due. In this tug of war, for the first time, our principal opponents proved to be the English. But for them, the French, shaking in their pants for fear and busily working on their Maginot Line, would not have lifted a finger. By alternately threatening war and promising peace if my demands were met, I was able to arrange for an international conference in Munich. To make sure Germany would not be outvoted two to one, I insisted that Mussolini should be present as well. He, Chamberlain, Daladier, and I agreed that the Russians should be left out. At the time Stalin was busy arresting and executing huge numbers of his own officers. Besides, who needed him?
The conference went as well as I could have expected. Poor Beneš, who had not been invited, had no choice but to bow to the inevitable. He signed on the dotted line, resigned, and went into exile. From there he emerged after the war, our bitter enemy, to preside over the expulsion of three million of our Volksgenossen. But that is another story. The conference over, our troops marched into the Sudetenland as they had gone into Austria. Some actually hailed from Austria, or the Ostmark as we, wishing to eradicate its previous identity, called it. They were greeted by a rain of flowers thrown at them or strewn at their feet by a cheering population. Again, I had triumphed not only over my foreign enemies but over my domestic critics too: principally, the generals who, as so often, were trembling with fear.
Even the London Times agreed that the change was “both necessary and fundamentally just.” The Czechs apart, perhaps the only man who was not completely happy with the outcome was me. Generals or no generals, somewhere in the back of my mind, I wanted war. Not against the West, of course. However, and if only because too many bloodless triumphs tend to demoralize an army, a campaign against Czechoslovakia, something on the lines of our subsequent invasion of Poland but on a smaller scale, would have suited me just fine. In any event Chamberlain’s surrender at Munich robbed me of the opportunity to show the generals and the world what Germany, my newly constructed Wehrmacht, and I myself could do.
And so, on the Ides of March 1939, we took over Bohemia and Moravia. First, I summoned Beneš successor, Emil Hácha, to my brand-new Chancellery in Berlin. Built to intimidate, it served its purpose well. Just the sculptures by Arno Breker, two powerful, nude, stern-looking male figures that I dubbed the Party and the Wehrmacht, respectively, and put on both sides of the main entrance were enough to make one shiver. I made Hácha wait for hours before finally receiving him at 0130. Ribbentrop and I explained to him that our forces were already marching. He could sign, in which case the occupation would follow peacefully. Or else. Several hours passed during which Ribbentrop actually had to chase him around the table and put pens into his hand. Next, he suffered a nervous breakdown so that we feared he might die. Dr. Morrell was summoned and administered an injection which revived him, but with unexpected results: so lively did he become that I feared he might not sign after all.
In the end the old gentleman surrendered. Having made him swear an oath of loyalty to me, I kept him in office. Naturally, that did not mean I left him with any power to wield. Over him I appointed, as Protector of Bohemia and Moravia, my former Foreign Minister Konstantin von Neurath. The dismantlement of the Czechoslovak Republic also gave the Slovaks their long longed-for independence. Their leader, Jozef Tiso, a former clergyman turned nationalist, was grateful to me. Slovakia became part of our zone of influence. During most of the war it remained faithful to its alliance. In some things, such as the need to exterminate the Jews, the Slovaks were even more on the ball than many of my own subordinates were.
19. The Road to War
There could be no doubt about my next objective. First, I had Ribbentrop ask Lithuanian Foreign Minister Jozuas Urbšys to hand us back the town of Memel, which he immediately did. On a silver platter, as they say. Next, I trained my sights at Poland. I offered them an anti-Soviet alliance, but they rejected the idea. Their refusal to join me left me with no option but to beat them. The lever I used was the town of Danzig. Danzig itself was a relatively small and unimportant city. It had, however, turned into a symbol of everything that had been unjustly taken from us. I wanted it. I needed it back.
No sooner did we make our intentions clear than we found ourselves confronted with a problem. Until then it had been His Britannic Majesty's government’s aim to prevent us from expanding while at the same time keeping the peace. So foolish were they that they turned over to us $100,000,000—present value, approximately $3 billion—worth of Czech gold that had been stored in London! But on 30 March, just two weeks after our occupation of Bohemia and Moravia, Chamberlain, the same Chamberlain who had promised “peace in our time,” changed his mind. Following a series of consultations with France and speaking in the latter’s name as well, he personally drafted a note for the Poles. In it he promised them that, should they feel obliged to use their armed forces in order to fight for their independence, the two countries would go to war to assist them. His intention was to surround and intimid
ate us. The mouse, for that is how he had impressed me at Munich, had roared. Who would have believed it?
This was a challenge I could not ignore. I had just started wondering how to go about it when Roosevelt, with his usual American naiveté, sent me a telegram. In it he asked me whether I would be willing to guarantee that I would not use my armed forces to either attack or invade an attached list of thirty-one countries! Both Göring and Mussolini, who had also received the telegram, thought it was a piece of stupidity not worth answering. I, however, immediately understood what a great opportunity had come my way. I summoned the Reichstag for a meeting on 28 April. Normally, I liked to speak more or less freely. But this time I prepared very carefully indeed. I also had Ribbentrop send a short questionnaire to the countries in question. They were asked, first, whether they felt themselves threatened by Germany, and second, whether they had asked Roosevelt to speak for them.
When the day came, I started by listing, for the nth time, all the wrongs Germany had suffered under the Treaty of Versailles. I painted our situation as it had been when I took over power and provided a brief overview of all the great things my colleagues and I had done to put matters right. Second, I expressed, also for the nth time, my genuine admiration for England and my wish to improve relations between our two countries. Third, using the Poles’ new alliance with England and France as my excuse, I declared the 1934 non-aggression pact we had signed with them null and void. At the time it had been a useful device to assuage people’s suspicions concerning our intentions and, to some extent, to end our isolation in the international arena. Five years later, though, it no longer served any purpose.
My next move took everyone by surprise. We had used the previous two weeks or so to contact the countries on Roosevelt’s list. Some of them were a bit dumb at first and did not understand what we expected them to say. In the end, though, all answered as we wanted them to. Now I slowly read the answers, all of them negative, needless to say, one after the other. I did not forget to add that some of the countries we had asked could not really provide an answer, given that they were not independent but occupied by the English! Next, I turned to Roosevelt personally, assuring him that, in case he was worried, I would gladly give my word to him, too. The Reichstag roared with laughter, and so did millions of other people both in Germany and abroad. I ended with a peroration to the German nation, a paean to their great qualities and my own burning love for them. And on both counts I was perfectly sincere.
As I had expected, my fellow Germans loved the speech. And with good reason: it addressed their self-esteem like few others I have ever delivered. As so often, foreigners were less impressed, particularly because I had been careful not to name Poland. But that was just a small detail. My task now was, first, to prepare German public opinion for the likelihood that war with Poland might in fact break out. And, second, to isolate the latter as much as I could.
To put muscle behind my word, I also had my generals prepare plans for an invasion. Given the way geography and topography were configured, it was not a very difficult task. Some ancient plans for the campaign were dusted. That done, the brass came up with a large-scale offensive. One army was to advance from the east. Another one would come from the north and one from the south. They would meet at Warsaw, and that would be that.
The date I gave them was 1 September. I did not choose it with an eye to the next Party Day at Nuremberg, as some historians, with no evidence whatsoever to back them up, imagined. I did so because it was the traditional date on which we finished bringing in the harvest. In addition, at that time, the rains would not yet have turned what it pleased those Polish Versager (failures) to call “roads” into quagmires. Planning went ahead and made good progress. But nothing had been decided yet.
England and France well understood that, by giving Warsaw the guarantee they did, they had effectively enabled the latter to rule over war and peace. They also realized that, in view of the geographical facts, the only way they could make good on their promise was to call in the nice people at the Kremlin. During the mid-1930 there had been some attempts to set up an English-French-Russian alliance. Typical of the age, it was called “Collective Security.” Its obvious purpose was to surround us and to stop us in our tracks. Memories of pre-1914 days, no doubt.
In any event, mutual suspicion prevailed and nothing came of the project. One reason for this was that the Poles, on whom everything depended, had just signed the aforementioned non-aggression pact with us. It caused them to reject any proposals to join a united front against us. England’s Prime Minister, Stanley Baldwin, tended to disparage Russian military power. The French plutocrats, worried to death about what their own working class might do to them, openly said that they preferred me to Stalin. Stalin, for his part, was convinced that his two presumptive “allies” were trying to embroil him in a war with us. One from which, acting as the proverbial tertius, they would emerge as gaudentes. As far as England was concerned, he may very well have been right in being suspicious.
Now, in the spring of 1939, negotiations between the three Powers resumed. The great stumbling block was, once again, the Poles. Chamberlain’s guarantee to them had been given without mentioning the name of any other country. All it said was that London and Paris would guarantee Poland’s independence in case anyone would try to put an end to it. If post-war accounts are to be believed, Poland’s Foreign Minister at the time, Jozef Beck, received it without batting an eyelid between two flicks of his cigarette! But it did put Paris, and behind it London which was looking over its shoulder, so to speak, back into the dilemma they had faced in respect to Czechoslovakia. They either had to keep their word and fight or break it and lose their credibility. Or, at least, lose whatever part of it that, following first the Munich Conference and then our occupation of Bohemia and Moravia, they still possessed.
But there still was no way they could help Poland without bringing in the Russians as well. In plain words, to fight us the Red Army would have to cross Poland first. Let me put it on record that no one hates and despises the Poles more than I do. One and all, they are Slavs, fit for nothing but being slaves. Still, one cannot blame them for not relishing the prospect. If the Poles, as we Germans like to say, are Versager (blunderers), then the Russians are twice as bad. Starting in 1756-63, when they occupied Berlin for a short period of time, their drunken, uncouth peasant hordes were notorious for the way they smashed up everything in their path. Plus, once the Russians had got in, there was no knowing when they would get out again. If they ever would.
Back in the 1920s General Seeckt had said that Poland was like a small drop of sweat. When its two strong neighbors shook hands, as was bound to happen sooner or later, it would disappear. Now, however, the situation was just the opposite. The Poles behaved like a canary that had swallowed not one cat but two. And what enabled them to do so was precisely the guarantee they had received.
Throughout the spring of 1939 negotiations between London and Paris on the one hand and Moscow on the other proceeded rather sluggishly. On the whole it was Stalin who seemed to be in a greater hurry to come to an agreement. He was probably hoping to recover territory Russia had lost in 1915-18. That explains why, whereas the Western Powers often took weeks to reply to a note, he would answer almost immediately. Only at the beginning of August did the English and the French finally announce that they were going to become serious. Even then, they only sent, as their envoy, a certain Admiral Drax, of whom no one had ever heard before and of whom few heard anything later on. The brave man had no authority to sign anything. To add insult to injury they had him travel to Leningrad by sea! Mysterious are the ways of Whitehall. Had they wanted to convince the hard-nosed men in the Kremlin that they were useless and/or insincere, they could have found no better way of doing so.
Stalin had been taking note of all this. Tentative contacts between some of his diplomats and ours had been going on for several months. At first, they were limited to economic issues. Later, they extended
to cover political problems as well. The decisive turn came on 3 May when the Man of Steel let go of his Commissar for Foreign Affairs, Maxim Litvinov. “Let go” is really too mild a term for the drama that took place. First, Litvinov, who was Jewish, had his dacha surrounded and his telephone cut. Next, Malenkov, the man in charge of the Party bureaucracy, and Beria, the head of the Secret Police, arrived on the scene and told him what was what. NKVD troops surrounded the Commissariat. They arrested Litvinov’s aides and beat them up in an attempt to extract compromising information about him.
Somehow, Litvinov managed to survive. Later, he went on to become his country’s envoy in Washington, where he did what he could to incite the Americans against us. But many of his collaborators were purged. Quite a few of them were also Jewish, so their departure was no great loss either to Holy Mother Russia, to us, or to the world at large. Litvinov’s replacement was Vyacheslav Molotov, a veteran Bolshevik. His colleagues in the Politburo used to call him “Iron Ass.” By rank and position he was the second most powerful man in the country after Stalin. But this did not prevent him from being as terrified of the latter as any of them. With good reason, as it turned out, since Stalin later had his wife, Pauline, arrested and sent to a concentration camp in Siberia. In his dealings with us he proved to be a tough and wily negotiator.
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