Hitler’s drive toward war also stimulated a growing concern among the civilian population. Although the public was not aware of Hitler’s plans, signs of impending war were everywhere. On June 22 Göring issued a decree giving the regime the authority to conscript workers from one industry or area and transfer them to another. Workers were drafted to work on the construction of fortifications in the west or build strategically important roads on Bavaria’s eastern and northern borders with Czechoslovakia. Buses were requisitioned; labor camps erected. Air raid drills increased; civil defense formations were organized. In some areas gas masks were issued. Although a full-blown rationing system was not in place until August 1939, certain food items virtually disappeared, and artificial substitutes were introduced. Military training for the Hitler Youth was intensified, and women were being prepared to take jobs in essential economic sectors formerly held by men. These measures, accompanied by an intensified propaganda campaign against Czechoslovakia, convinced the German public that the Reich stood on the brink of war.
Yet, despite Goebbels’s relentless demonization of the Czechs, the German public remained largely unmoved by the plight of their Sudeten cousins. What they did feel was considerable anxiety about the possibility of war. A Sopade report out of Silesia stated that “leading Nazi circles are convinced that the people do not want war. They have, therefore, made every effort to generate the necessary psychological preconditions for war.” But it was not working. “Even people who have hardly been critical of the regime before are . . . astounded by how in the last weeks attitudes about the system have turned around. One hardly recognizes the people and the openness with which they speak out against Hitler and the whole system. They accuse Hitler and his circle of wanting war because they no longer know any way out of this extremely critical situation.” Some, party activists and the young, remained enthusiastic, but most Germans were deeply ambivalent about Hitler’s course of action.
No less anxious were Prague, Paris, and London. Western diplomats had already come to believe that Hitler was determined to strike Czechoslovakia and that they would be drawn into the conflict. In interviews with French and German diplomats, Hitler railed against the Czechs, against Benes personally, shrilly repeating that his patience was at an end. The German press was ablaze with hysterical headlines: “WOMEN AND CHILDREN MOWED DOWN BY CZECH ARMOURED CARS” or “BLOODY REGIME—NEW CZECH MURDERS OF GERMANS” or “EXTORTION, PLUNDERING, SHOOTING—CZECH TERROR IN SUDETEN GERMAN LAND GROWS WORSE FROM DAY TO DAY.” All were the pernicious creations of the Reich Propaganda Ministry, and the offensive was unrelenting.
With a mounting sense of dread, British and French leaders assumed that Hitler would use his address at the Nuremberg party rally on September 12 to declare war on Czechoslovakia. But Hitler’s speech that night was surprisingly mild. He touched on the mounting Czech crisis only briefly and in the most general, though menacing, terms, but did declare ominously that there would be “grave consequences” if the “democracies persist in their conviction to . . . accord their protection to the oppression of German men and women.” He was “under no circumstances willing to stand quietly by and observe from afar the continued oppression of German Volksgenossen (people’s commander) in Czechoslovakia. All the Sudeten Germans were demanding was the right of national determination, a right of all peoples guaranteed by the Versailles settlement.
Shortly after Hitler’s speech, demonstrations broke out in the Czech town of Eger, near the German border, where ten thousand protesters jammed the town square screaming for self-determination. When the crowd grew disorderly, Czech police opened fire, killing one and wounding a number of others. Violent demonstrations quickly spread to other cities in the Sudetenland, twenty-one people were killed, and the Czech government declared martial law in the border areas. Again rumors spread that Germany was preparing an invasion. At this point, French premier Edouard Daladier conferred with British prime minister Neville Chamberlain, declaring above all it must not come to war. He recommended that they meet with Hitler immediately. When Chamberlain wired Hitler suggesting a face-to-face meeting, Hitler jumped at the chance. He invited the British prime minister, but not Daladier, to join him the very next afternoon at the Berghof. It would be summit diplomacy, a two-person conference.
On September 15, the sixty-nine-year-old Chamberlain flew to Munich. It was his first airplane trip. From Munich, he was taken by train to Berchtesgaden, and then driven up the same mountain road that Schuschnigg had followed in February. His reception was quite different from that which greeted the Austrian prime minister. After stilted pleasantries over tea, the two men and Paul Schmidt, Hitler’s interpreter, adjourned to a small wood-paneled room. Chamberlain began by saying that he was prepared to discuss the possibility of righting any German grievances so long as force was not used. This set Hitler off. In a storm of words, he angrily exclaimed that it was the Czechs who had threatened to use force in May, not Germany. “I shall not put up with this any longer. I shall settle the question in one way or another. I shall take matters into my own hands.”
To Chamberlain, this sounded like an ultimatum, in which case he saw no point in continuing the meeting. He would return to London at once. This seemed to sober Hitler, who, regaining his composure, said that if Chamberlain were willing to recognize the principle of self-determination of peoples in the case of the Sudeten Germans, the talks might continue. Chamberlain responded that he could not make such guarantees without first consulting the cabinet and suggested that they suspend the discussion until he could confer with both his own government and that of France. Hitler agreed and promised not to take military action “unless a particularly atrocious incident occurred,” and Chamberlain left with the impression “that here was a man who could be relied upon when he had given his word.”
It was clear to Chamberlain that some transfer of territory to the Reich was essential, and Daladier agreed that some “friendly pressure” should be applied to the Czechs. European peace hung in the balance; Prague must understand that some portions of Sudeten territory must be ceded to Germany. They agreed that an international guarantee of the remaining Czech state must be made, and that not only should Britain and France participate in such a guarantee but Germany as well. When these terms were presented to Prague on September 20, Benes was shocked and refused to agree. But Chamberlain was determined to resume talks with Hitler within forty-eight hours and pressed Benes to accept. It was the best way for Czechoslovakia to retain its independence and avoid a devastating war. For his part, Benes was convinced that the Sudetenland was merely a first step in Hitler’s plan to dismember the Czech state. Presented with what amounted to an ultimatum from London and Paris, he bowed to pressure and indicated his willingness to accept the terms. He issued a communiqué to the Czech people, explaining that he had “relied upon the help that our friends might have given us, but when it became evident that the European crisis was taking on too serious a character,” they had abandoned the Czech state. “Our friends therefore advised us to buy freedom and peace by our sacrifice. . . . The President of the Republic and our government had no other choice, for we found ourselves alone.”
The next morning, Chamberlain once again boarded a plane bound for Germany, this time to Bad Godesberg on the Rhine. There he proudly presented the results of his consultations to Hitler. He began a discussion of the complicated plans for a phased Czech turnover of territory to Germany, explaining the guarantee that Britain and France would extend to Prague and his hope that Germany would join them. Hitler listened politely, then stunned the prime minister by saying softly, “I am exceedingly sorry, Mr. Chamberlain, but I can no longer discuss these matters. This solution after the developments of the last few days is no longer practicable.” He could not consider a deal with the Czechs before the claims of Poland and Hungary on Czech territory were settled. After rebutting Chamberlain’s proposal point by point, he closed by stating the Sudetenland must be occupied by German troops immediately. Fin
al frontiers could be settled at a later date. When a shocked and angry Chamberlain replied that all the conditions Hitler had insisted upon in Berchtesgaden had been met, Hitler replied, with no trace of irony, that the Czechs could not be trusted and that “if Prague fell under Bolshevik influence, or if hostages continued to be shot, he would intervene at once.”
The situation seemed hopeless. Hitler was implacable, and in the following days his threats grew more reckless, his language more inflammatory. In conversations with British and French diplomats, Hitler seemed to have lost all sense of perspective. Sir Horace Wilson, among Chamberlain’s closest advisors, accompanied by British ambassador Sir Nevile Henderson and senior diplomat Sir Ivone Kirkpatrick, met with Hitler on September 26, bringing a letter from the prime minister informing Hitler that the Czechs had rejected the Godesberg proposal. They had been amenable to the transfer of the Sudeten districts Hitler desired but could not accept Hitler’s demands for an immediate occupation by German troops. Hitler sat restlessly through the translation of the letter, until suddenly he launched himself from his chair and shouted, “There’s no point at all in going on with negotiations,” and made for the door, where he must have realized that this was his office and three British diplomats were left sitting there. “It was an incredibly painful scene,” Hitler’s translator Paul Schmidt recalled. When Hitler gained control of himself and Schmidt reached the letter’s conclusion, once more Hitler could not restrain himself. Hitler “let himself go more violently” than Schmidt “ever saw him do during a diplomatic interview.” Wilson’s calm attempts to persuade Hitler to be reasonable only served to heighten the Führer’s rage. Ribbentrop chimed in, fanning the flames of Hitler’s fury by denouncing Benes as a “terrorist” and the Czechs as “war mongers.”
That night, in addressing an enormous crowd of baying Nazis at the Sportpalast, Hitler unloosed a hate-filled tirade against Benes and the Czechs that shocked even longtime Hitler watchers in the foreign press. “The Czech state was born in a lie,” he thundered, his voice quaking with scorn. “The name of the father of the lie was Benes. He convinced the framers at Versailles that there was a Czechoslovakian nation. . . . He built up a regime of terror! Back then already, a number of Germans attempted to protest against this arbitrary rape of their people. They were summarily executed. Ever since, a war has been waged to exterminate the Germans there. . . . The entire development since 1918 is proof of one thing only: Herr Benes is determined to exterminate Deutschtum slowly but surely.” His brutal rule over the Sudeten Germans amounted to “a military occupation,” but the time had come “to tell him what’s what.” The Reich, calumnied as a warmonger in the international press, had shown superhuman restraint in the face of Czech provocations, but Benes had gone too far. The Czech president should remember, Hitler shouted, that while he “may have seven million Czechs . . . here there is a Volk of seventy-five million.” Now the Reich’s “patience was at an end with regard to the Sudeten German problem! I have put forward an offer to Herr Benes, an offer that is nothing other than realization of his promises. The decision is his now! Be it war or peace! He can either accept my offer and give the Germans their freedom, or we Germans will go get it for ourselves.”
Leo Amery, a Conservative politician and minister in several British governments, was in the audience that night, and described Hitler’s performance as “more like the snarling of a wild animal than the utterance of a human being, and the venom and vulgarity of his personal vilifications of ‘Benes the liar’ almost made me feel sick. There was something terrifying and obscenely sinister in this outpouring of sheer hatred.” William Shirer, who as CBS’s top reporter in Germany was broadcasting from the balcony that night, observed in his diary that in all the years he had been covering Hitler, “for the first time . . . he seemed tonight to have completely lost control of himself.” When Hitler finished, Goebbels leapt to the podium and roared: “One thing is sure: 1918 will never be repeated.” At this, Hitler sprang to his feet and, according to Shirer, “with a fanatical look in his eyes I shall never forget brought his right hand, after a broad sweep, pounding down on the table and yelled with all the power in his mighty lungs, ‘Ja!’ ” Then he slumped back down in his chair thoroughly spent.
The following day, Wilson sought another audience with Hitler. So stormy was their earlier meeting and so belligerent was Hitler’s demeanor, that British diplomat Ivone Kirkpatrick felt an aura “of such ruthless wickedness that it was oppressive and almost nightmarish to sit in the same room.” The atmospherics did not improve in this second meeting. Wilson tried to convey Britain’s commitment to ensuring that the Czechs honored their agreement to transfer the territory in question, but when Wilson asked if Hitler had a message for London, the Führer replied that it was all quite simple. The Czechs had but two choices. They could either accept the Godesberg Memorandum or reject it. If they chose the latter course, Hitler bellowed, “I will smash the Czechs,” a threat repeated throughout the tense meeting. When Wilson stated forcefully that if Germany attacked Czechoslovakia and Paris honored its treaty obligations, Britain would feel compelled to support the French, Hitler erupted. “If France and England strike,” he shouted, “let them do so. It is a matter of complete indifference to me. I am prepared for every eventuality. . . . It is Tuesday today, and by next Monday we will all be at war.” To impress the world with the nation’s enthusiastic support for war, Hitler planned a military parade through the government quarter later in the day. He had ordered the High Command to publish an announcement that in the afternoon the 2nd Motorized Division would drive through the city on its way toward the Czech frontier. After the wild cheering by the carefully selected audience at the Sportpalast the night before, Hitler anticipated a passionate crowd of thousands to be gathered in the Wilhelmplatz just across from the Reich Chancellery.
The peripatetic Shirer was on the scene that afternoon as the vehicles of the 2nd Motorized Division turned down the Wilhelmstrasse toward the Reich Chancellery. Like Hitler, he expected to see a tremendous demonstration, reminiscent of those he had read about during the summer of 1914 when cheering throngs had tossed flowers at the columns of marching troops. “The hour,” Shirer wrote in his diary, “was undoubtedly chosen . . . to catch hundreds of thousands of Berliners pouring out of their offices at the end of the day’s work, but they ducked into the subways, refused to look on, and the handful that did stood at the curb in utter silence.” No frenzied cries of Sieg Heil, no patriotic songs. A sparse crowd of only two hundred or so had congregated in the Wilhelmplatz. “It has been the most striking demonstration against war I’ve ever seen,” Shirer observed. “The German people are dead set against war.” Hitler, who watched the sullen, silent crowd on the Wilhelmplatz from the windows of the Chancellery, was disgusted. “With such people,” he said in dismay, “I cannot wage war.”
Events now were rushing toward a climax. While publicly insisting on their support to the Czechs, both the British and French were desperately seeking ways out of their obligations, pressuring Benes to accept the Godesberg Memorandum. They spoke of plebiscites, phased occupation, international commissions to oversee territorial transfers, and Anglo-French guarantees of the remainder of Czechoslovakia. But Benes responded by ordering a mobilization of Czech forces. The French unhappily followed suit, and Chamberlain, with great reluctance, ordered the mobilization of the British fleet. Chamberlain, whose entire policy was based on preserving peace, gave vent to his feelings in a surprisingly candid radio address on the evening of September 27. “How horrible, fantastic, incredible, it is that we should be digging trenches and trying on gas masks here because of a quarrel in a faraway country between people of whom we know nothing.” He had done his best to save Europe from war, but, he admitted, “however much we may sympathize with a small nation confronted by a big powerful neighbor, we cannot in all circumstances undertake to involve the whole British Empire in a war on her account.”
With peace perched precariously on a
razor’s edge, Chamberlain decided to make one final appeal to Hitler. In a letter delivered on September 26 but unread until the following day, he stated his firm conviction that the differences between the two sides had narrowed to a point where “really it was inconceivable that they could not be settled by negotiations.” The British, after all, were offering a settlement according to which German troops would enter selected areas in the Sudetenland, their occupation monitored by an international commission, which would set the final borders, and finally a plebiscite would be held in the areas affected. The occupation would proceed in two phases between October 1 and October 10. It was, in essence, the Godesberg agreement, but with logistical amendments. Despite his ferocious bluster and the ongoing military plans to invade, reservations had begun to creep into Hitler’s thinking. Ernst von Weizsäcker, state secretary in the Foreign Office, had long cautioned restraint, gingerly urging Hitler to draw back from the precipice. Negotiation would render the desired results without armed conflict, he insisted.
The Third Reich Page 52
