“One minute to go,” shouted the engineer.
“I can’t go on with that mike,” I protested.
I espied some packing-cases in the corner just behind the microphone. I had an idea.
“Boost me up on those, will you?”
“Wie, bitte? What you say?”
“Give me a lift.” And in a second I was atop the boxes, my legs dangling nicely, my mouth just opposite the level of the microphone. We all laughed—
“Quiet,” the engineer shouted, giving us the red light. I had no time to get nervous again.
And now I must wait for the verdict. In the meantime leaving for Nuremberg tonight to do the Party Congress for the U.P. Webb Miller and Fred Oechsner were rather insistent that I help them out. It’s better, at that, to have some distraction in the next few days while I wait. Wrote Tess we probably won’t starve.
NUREMBERG, September 11
A week now and no word from Murrow. My voice apparently was pretty lousy. Birchall of the New York Times talks of giving me a job, but won’t pay much. Returning to Berlin day after tomorrow.
NUREMBERG, September 13
Murrow called and said I’m hired. Start October 1. Wired Tess. Celebrated a little tonight, I fear, on the very potent local Franconian wine. Prentiss Gilbert, our counsellor of Embassy, has been here, the first American diplomat to attend a Nazi Party Congress. Ambassador Dodd, who is in America, strongly disapproves, though Prentiss, a swell guy, says he was forced into it by Henderson, the pro-Nazi British Ambassador, and Poncet, who used to be “pro” but is probably so no longer. The congress duller this year and many are asking if Hitler is slowing up. I hope so. Constance Peckham, a nice young lady from Time magazine has been here. She thinks we “veterans” are much too blasé about this party show, which appears to have given her a tremendous kick. Much good talk and drink with her, Jimmy Holburn, and George Kidd this night. Appropriate, I suppose, that I should begin and end my newspaper sojourn in Germany at this madhouse which is the party rally. Three years. They’ve gone quickly. Germany has gone places. What will radio be like?
BERLIN, September 27
Tess back, feeling fine, and we’re packing. We are to make our headquarters in Vienna, a neutral and central spot for me to work from. Most of our old friends have left—the Gunthers, the Whit Burnetts—but it is always that way in this game. Go to London next week, then Paris, Geneva, and Rome to meet the radio people, renew contacts with the newspaper offices, and, in Rome, to find out if the Pope is really dying, as reported. We are glad to be leaving Berlin.
To sum up these three years: Personally, they have not been unhappy ones, though the shadow of Nazi fanaticism, sadism, persecution, regimentation, terror, brutality, suppression, militarism, and preparation for war has hung over all our lives, like a dark, brooding cloud that never clears. Often we have tried to segregate ourselves from it all. We have found three refuges: Ourselves and our books; the “foreign colony,” small, limited, somewhat narrow, but normal, and containing our friends—the Barneses, the Robsons, the Ebbuttses, the Dodds, the Deuels, the Oechsners, Gordon Young, Doug Miller, Sigrid Schultz, Leverich, Jake Beam, and others; thirdly, the lakes and woods around Berlin, where you could romp and play and sail and swim, forgetting so much. The theatre has remained good when it has stuck to the classics or pre-Nazi plays, and the opera and the Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra, despite the purging of the Jews and the year’s disciplining of Fuertwängler (who has now made his peace with Satan), have given us the best music we’ve ever heard outside of New York and Vienna. Personally too there was the excitement of working here, the “Saturday surprises,” the deeper story of this great land in evil ferment.
Somehow I feel that, despite our work as reporters, there is little understanding of the Third Reich, what it is, what it is up to, where it is going, either at home or elsewhere abroad. It is a complex picture and it may be that we have given only a few strong, uncoordinated strokes of the brush, leaving the canvas as confusing and meaningless as an early Picasso. Certainly the British and the French do not understand Hitler’s Germany. Perhaps, as the Nazis say, the Western democracies have become sick, decadent, and have reached that stage of decline which Spengler predicted. But Spengler included Germany in the decline of the West, and indeed the Nazi reversion to the ancient, primitive, Germanic myths is a sign of her retrogression, as is her burning of books and suppression of liberty and learning.
But Germany is stronger than her enemies realize. True, it is a poor country in raw materials and agriculture; but it is making up for this poverty in aggressiveness of spirit, ruthless state planning, concentrated direction of effort, and the building up of a mighty military machine with which it can back up its aggressive spirit. True, too, that this past winter we have seen long lines of sullen people before the food shops, that there is a shortage of meat and butter and fruit and fats, that whipped cream is verboten, that men’s suits and women’s dresses are increasingly being made out of wood pulp, gasoline out of coal, rubber out of coal and lime; that there is no gold coverage for the Reichsmark or for anything else, not even for vital imports. Weaknesses, most of them, certainly, and in our dispatches we have advertised them.
It has been more difficult to point out the sources of strength; to tell of the feverish efforts to make Germany self-sufficient under the Four-Year Plan, which is no joke at all, but a deadly serious war plan; to explain that the majority of Germans, despite their dislike of much in Nazism, are behind Hitler and believe in him. It is not easy to put in words the dynamics of this movement, the hidden springs that are driving the Germans on, the ruthlessness of the long-term ideas of Hitler or even the complicated and revolutionary way in which the land is being mobilized for Total War (though Ludendorff has written the primer for Total War).
Much of what is going on and will go on could be learned by the outside world from Mein Kampf, the Bible and Koran together of the Third Reich. But—amazingly—there is no decent translation of it in English or French, and Hitler will not allow one to be made, which is understandable, for it would shock many in the West. How many visiting butter-and-egg men have I told that the Nazi goal is domination! They laughed. But Hitler frankly admits it. He says in Mein Kampf: “A state which in an age of racial pollution devotes itself to cultivation of its best racial elements must some day become master of the earth…. We all sense that in a far future mankind may face problems which can be surmounted only by a supreme Master Race supported by the means and resources of the entire globe.”
When the visiting firemen from London, Paris, and New York come, Hitler babbles only of peace. Wasn’t he in the trenches of the last war? He knows what war is. Never will he condemn mankind to that. Peace? Read Mein Kampf, brothers. Read this: “Indeed, the pacifist-humane idea is perhaps quite good whenever the man of the highest standard has previously conquered and subjected the world to a degree that makes him the only master of the globe…. Therefore first fight and then one may see what can be done…. For oppressed countries will not be brought back into the bosom of a common Reich by means of fiery protests, but by a mighty sword…. One must be quite clear about the fact that the recovery of the lost regions will not come about through solemn appeals to the dear Lord or through pious hopes in a League of Nations, but only by FORCE OF ARMS…. We must take up an active policy and throw ourselves into a final and decisive fight with France….”
France is to be annihilated, says Hitler, and then the great drive to the eastward is to begin.
Peace, brothers? Do you know what the Deutsche Wehr, which speaks for the military in this country, remarked two years ago? “Every human and social activity is justified only if it helps prepare for war. The new human being is completely possessed by the thought of war. He must not and cannot think of anything else.”
And how will it be? Again the Deutsche Wehr; “Total war means the complete and final disappearance of the vanquished from the stage of history!”
This, according to
Hitler, is Germany’s road. The strain on the life of the people and on the economic structure of the state already is tremendous. Both may well crack. But the youth, led by the S.S., is fanatic. So are the middle-class alte Kämpfer, the “old fighters” who brawled in the streets for Hitler in the early days and have now been awarded the good jobs, authority, power, money. The bankers and industrialists, not so enthusiastic now as when I arrived in Germany, go along. They must. It is either that or the concentration camp. The workers too. After all, six million of them have been re-employed and they too begin to see that Germany is going places, and they with it.
I leave Germany in this autumn of 1937 with the words of a Nazi marching song still dinning in my ears:
Today we own Germany,
Tomorrow the whole world.
LONDON, October 7
Murrow will be a grand guy to work with. One disappointing thing about the job, though: Murrow and I are not supposed to do any talking on the radio ourselves. New York wants us to hire newspaper correspondents for that. We just arrange broadcasts. Since I know as much about Europe as most newspaper correspondents, and a bit more than the younger ones, who lack languages and background, I don’t get the point.
PARIS, October 12
Suppered with Blanche Knopf. She urged me to get along with the revision of the Indian novel.
GENEVA, October 15
The Bise blowing, and something dead and sad about this town.
ROME, October 18
Saw the Pope today and he seemed most sprightly for a man who is said to have one foot in the grave. Frank Gervasi got me into an audience at Castel Gondolfo, the summer residence. The Pope was receiving a delegation of Austrian mayors, which made it nice for me because he spoke in German and I could understand him. He fairly bubbled over with energy. Made elaborate arrangements for radio coverage in the event of the Pope’s death (it will be the first time radio has ever had a chance to cover it), but did not hire Monsignor Pucci, a sly, colourful man who works for every correspondent and most of the embassies in town.
MUNICH, October (undated)
Rushed up here to get acquainted with the Duke of Windsor with instructions to stick to him, accompany him to America, and arrange for him to broadcast there. He’s been touring Germany to study “labour conditions,” being taken around by one of the real Nazi ruffians, Dr. Ley. Had my first view of Mrs. Simpson today and she seemed quite pretty and attractive. Randolph Churchill, who looks like his father but does not think like him—at least, not yet—has been most helpful. A curious thing for the Duke to do, to come to Germany, where the labour unions have been smashed, just before he goes to America. He has been badly advised.
BRUSSELS, November 11
Armistice Day, cold and grey and drizzly, but no greyer than the prospects of the Nine-Power Conference now in session here to try to straighten out Japan’s war in China. This is my first actual broadcasting assignment and not very exciting. Have put on or am putting on Norman Davis, Wellington Koo, whom I like immensely, and other delegates. Litvinov refuses to broadcast and seems worried by news from Moscow that his private secretary has been arrested by the Ogpu; Eden declines too. Silly, this CBS policy that I must not do any reporting, only hire others to do it. Edgar Mowrer, Bob Pell, Chip Bohlan, John Elliott, Vernon Bartlett here to chatter with about the sad state of the world; and a pleasant evening with Anne and Mark Somerhausen, she as pretty and brilliant as ever, he quieter and much occupied in Parliament, where he sits as a Social Democrat deputy. The Nine-Power Conference so far an awful farce.
VIENNA, December 25
Christmased this afternoon with the Wileys; John our chargé d’affaires here now. Walter Duranty there, as always, the Fodors, etc. Chip Bohlan, on leave from the Moscow Embassy, came with me to the studio of the Austrian Broadcasting Company to help me shepherd the youngsters of the American colony through a Christmas broadcast. A childish job and one that I do not like, being too much interested in the political situation at present.
We are nicely installed in an apartment in the Ploesslgasse, next door to the Rothschild palace. The owners, being Jewish, have removed themselves to Czechoslovakia for greater safety, though Schuschnigg seems to have the situation fairly well in hand here. Vienna, though, is terribly poor and depressing compared to our last sojourn here, from 1929 to 1932. The workers are sullen, even those who have jobs, and one sees beggars on every street corner. A few people have money and splash it at the night-clubs and a few fashionable restaurants such as the Drei Husaren and Am Franziskanerplatz. The contrast is sickening and the regime is resented by the masses, who are either reverting to their old Socialist Party, which is fairly strong underground, or going over to Nazism. The great mistake of this clerical dictatorship is not to have a social program. Hitler and Mussolini have not made that mistake. Still, there is more to eat here than in Germany, and the dictatorship is much milder—the difference between Prussians and Austrians! Next to Paris I love this town, even now, more than any other in Europe, the Gemütlichkeit, charm, and intelligence of its people, the baroque of its architecture, the good taste, the love of art and life, the softness of the accent, the very mild quality of the whole atmosphere. A great deal of anti-Semitism here, which plays nicely into the hands of the Nazis, but then there always was—ever since the days of Mayor Karl Lueger, Hitler’s first mentor on the subject when he was down and out in this city. Have had much good talk with Duranty, who is living here for a few months; the Fodors, she lovable as before, he a walking dictionary on central Europe and generous in telling what he knows; Emil Vadnai of the New York Times, a Hungarian of great charm, knowledge, and intelligence. Had Duranty broadcast the other day, though New York was afraid his voice was too high. Came a cable the same evening from Chicago: “…your clear, bell-like voice…” signed by Mary Garden, who ought to know.
We wait for the baby, due in seven weeks now, arguing the while over names.
VIENNA, February 5, 1938
Doings in Berlin. Today’s papers say Blomberg and Fritsch, the two men who have built up the German army, are out. Hitler himself becomes a sort of “Supreme War-Lord,” assuming the powers of the Minister of Defence. Two new generals appear: Wilhelm Keitel as chief of the High Command, and Walther von Brauchitsch as commander-in-chief of the army in place of Fritsch. Neurath is out as Foreign Minister, replaced by Ribbentrop. Schacht is out, replaced by Walther Funk. Göring—strange!—is made a field-marshal. What’s back of all this? The meeting of the Reichstag which had been set for January 30 and then postponed is now to be held February 20, when we shall probably know.
VIENNA, February 7
Fodor tells me a strange tale. He says Austrian police raided Nazi headquarters in the Teinfalt-strasse the other day and found a plan initialled by Rudolph Hess, Hitler’s deputy, for a new Putsch. Idea was, says Fodor, to organize a riot in front of the German Embassy in the Metternichstrasse, have someone shoot Papen and the German military attaché, and thus give Hitler an excuse to march in.
VIENNA, February 13
Much tension here this Sabbath. Schuschnigg has had a secret meeting with Hitler at Berchtesgaden, but we don’t know what happened.
VIENNA, February 16
A terrible thing has happened. We learned day before yesterday about Berchtesgaden. Hitler took Schuschnigg for a ride, demanded he appoint several Nazis led by Seyss-Inquart to the Cabinet, amnesty all Nazi prisoners, and restore the political rights of the Nazi Party—or invasion by the Reichswehr. President Miklas seems to have balked at this. Then yesterday Hitler dispatched an ultimatum: Either carry out the terms of the Berchtesgaden “agreement,” or the Reichswehr marches. A little after midnight this morning Schuschnigg and Miklas surrendered. The new Cabinet was announced, Seyss-Inquart is in the key post of Minister of the Interior, and there is an amnesty for all Nazis. Douglas Reed when I saw him today so indignant he could hardly talk. He’s given the London Times the complete story of what happened at Berchtesgaden. Perhaps it wi
ll do some good. I dropped by the Legation this evening. John Wiley was pacing the floor.
“It’s the end of Austria,” he said.
VIENNA, February 20
Tess, Ed Taylor, and I sat glumly around the radio on this Sunday afternoon listening to Hitler thunder before his Reichstag in Berlin. Today he came out in the open with his theory that Germany will herself protect the ten million Germans living outside the Reich’s borders—meaning, though he did not say so, the seven millions in Austria and the three million Sudeten Germans in Czechoslovakia. He even proclaimed their right to “racial self-determination.” His words: “There must be no doubt about one thing. Political separation from the Reich may not lead to deprivation of rights—that is, the general rights of self-determination. In the long run it is unbearable for a world power to know there are racial comrades at its side who are constantly being afflicted with the severest suffering for their sympathy or unity with the whole nation, its destiny, and its Weltanschauwng. To the interests of the German Reich belong the protection of those German peoples who are not in a position to secure along our frontiers their political and spiritual freedom by their own efforts.”
LATER.—A New York broadcast says Eden has resigned. It almost seems as though at the bidding of Hitler, who singled him out for attack in his speech this afternoon. The Ballhausplatz very worried.
VIENNA, February 22
The baby is due, but has not yet come. I must leave tonight for a broadcast in Sofia. My bad luck to miss the event, but perhaps I shall get back in time.
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