Berlin Diary

by William L. Shirer

  As a matter of fact, the Germans did a superb technical job on our two armistice broadcasts. By a superhuman effort, army communication engineers had laid down in a couple of days a radio-cable line from Brussels to the Compiègne Forest. Earlier in the campaign they had linked up the Belgian capital with Cologne, the nearest German point on the Reich net of radio-cable lines. How necessary it was to have a radio-cable and not just a mere overhead telephone line was shown the first day at Compiègne. Whereas the voices of Kerker and myself came into New York, we were informed, as clear as a bell, the American newspaper correspondents, telephoning their stories only as far as Berlin over an ordinary overhead telephone wire, complained that even by shouting at the top of their voices they could scarcely make themselves understood in Berlin.

  Given a perfect cable line over Brussels and Cologne to Zeesen, nine tenths of our troubles were over. The German Broadcasting System provided us with microphones, which they set up within fifty feet of the armistice car, and with an amplifier truck. That was all we needed. Also, in Berlin the RRG had a man calling New York constantly over the shortwave to inform them when we would be on the air. Paul White cables that on the first day they only picked us up one minute before we started talking, which gave very little time to cut off the program then on the air and switch to us.

  Our scoop, like all scoops, was due largely to a combination of lucky circumstances. In the first place, we did not know until the next day that the official communiqué on the signing of the armistice had had to be approved by Hitler before it was released in Berlin. As Hitler was some distance away, this took several hours. We had supposed that the DNB had released the communiqué in Berlin as soon as it was flashed from Compiègne at six fifty p.m., the second the armistice was signed. We did not go on the air until eight-fifteen, an hour and twenty-five minutes later.

  In fact we were held up forty-five minutes because the RRG quite naturally was using the cable line to clear its own German broadcast to Berlin. Fortunately for us, this German account was not rebroadcast simultaneously, but recorded in Berlin and held until the High Command could okay it. This, fortunately for us, took several hours.

  Now, the day before, the High Command had forced us to go through the same process. That is, we had had to broadcast our description of the first day to Berlin, where it was recorded and played off to the army censors, and we had only gone on the air directly to New York after the military in Berlin had given us the go-ahead. But on the second day I saw an opportunity of taking advantage of the excitement of the Germans over the signing of the armistice, and by much bludgeoning and with the co-operation of three Germans—Hadamovsky, head of the German radio, Diettrich, head of the shortwave, and a certain colonel of the German High Command—we dispensed with the recording and went on the air direct to New York. We were not supposed to. Later the three above-mentioned gentlemen swore we were not supposed to be on the air. The important thing was that in the excitement I had got them to give the all-important order merely to throw a switch in a Berlin control room which put us on the air, direct to New York. When Hitler, the High Command, and Dr. Goebbels learned that we had given the American people a detailed thirty-minute description of the signing of the armistice several hours before the signing was even officially announced in Berlin and several hours more before the German radio gave it to their own people, they were furious. My three German friends faced court-martial or worse and spent some very uncomfortable days before the matter finally blew over.

  The curious thing is that the German army alone in this country understands the position of American radio as a purveyor of news and news analysis in the United States. Dr. Goebbels and his foreign press chief, Dr. Boehmer, have never appreciated it, and it was only at the insistence of the army that Kerker and I were taken to Compiègne at all. Boehmer, who is definitely antiradio, actually rushed Lochner, Huss, and Oechsner, the three American agency correspondents, from Compiègne to Berlin by air the morning of the day the armistice was signed so that from the German capital they could be first with the news. As it turned out, this was a strategic error and there was not a single press correspondent at Compiègne the day the armistice was made.

  Though a couple of the American news correspondents have often complained to the Nazis about taking me to the front, on the ground that instantaneous radio communication puts them at a disadvantage, since they must file their stories by the slower method of telephone and cable relays, I have tried to iron out this absurd competitive idea by agreeing to hold up my ordinary broadcasts until their stories could get through to New York. Since NBC and CBS subscribe to all the press associations, there is no danger of radio ever being scooped by the press. And I feel we are doing different jobs which, after all, merely complement each other. There should be no insane rivalry between American press and radio over here.

  GENEVA, July 4

  Here for a week’s rest. The smell of the dead horses and the dead soldiers in Belgium and France seems a part of another world you lived in a long time ago. The excited cries of Eileen when I take her in swimming for the first time of her life at the proud age of two and a half, the soft voice of Tess reading a fairytale to Eileen before she goes to bed—these become realities again and are good.

  Everyone here is full of talk about the “new Europe,” a theme that brings shudders to most people. The Swiss, who mobilized more men per capita than any other country in the world, are demobilizing partially. They see their situation as pretty hopeless, surrounded as they are by the victorious totalitarians, from whom henceforth they must beg facilities for bringing in their food and other supplies. None have any illusions about the kind of treatment they will get from the dictators. The papers are full of advice: Prepare for a hard life. Gone, the high living standard. The freedom of the individual. Decency in public life.

  Probably, too, the Swiss do not realize what the dictators really have in store for them. And now that France has completely collapsed and the Germans and Italians surround Switzerland, a military struggle in self-defence is hopeless.

  Mont Blanc from the quay today was magnificent, its snow pink in the afternoon sun. Later went to a 4th of July celebration at the consul’s. Nice home in the country and restful, with the cows grazing in the pastures around it. Talked too much.

  People are talking about the action of the British yesterday in sinking three French battleships in Oran to save them from falling into the hands of the Germans. The French, who have sunk to a depth below your imagination, say they will break relations with Britain. They say they trusted Hitler’s word not to use the French fleet against Britain. Pitiful. And yet there will be great bitterness throughout France. The Entente Cordiale is dead.

  We had dinner along the lake, on the Alpine side, under a thick old chestnut tree, its branches extending over the water. The Juras were bluer—a deep smoky blue—than I’ve ever seen them. They looked lonely and proud, and now the Germans were occupying them. I left the party and went over to the rail to gaze at the scene as the sun was setting. The overwhelming blue of the Juras had cast its colour on Lake Geneva, which was like glass, neatly placed amongst the green hills and the trees. The lights started to sparkle across the lake.

  GENEVA, July 5

  Avenol, Secretary-General of the League, apparently thinks he’ll have a job in Hitler’s United States of Europe. Yesterday he fired all the British secretaries and packed them off on a bus to France, where they’ll probably be arrested by the Germans or the French.

  Tonight in the sunset the great white marble of the League building showed through the trees. It had a noble look, and the League has stood in the minds of many as a noble hope. But it has not tried to fulfil it. Tonight it was a shell, the building, the institution, the hope—dead.

  BERLIN July 8

  Tomorrow France, which until a few weeks ago was regarded as the last stronghold of democracy on the Continent, will shed its democracy and join the ranks of the totalitarian states. Laval, whom Hitler has p
icked to do his dirty work in France—the notorious Otto Abetz is the main go-between—will have the French Chamber and Senate meet and vote themselves out of existence, handing over all power to Marshal Pétain, behind whom Laval will pull the strings as Hitler’s puppet dictator. The Nazis are laughing.

  The armistice car arrived here today.

  BERLIN, July 9

  The Nazis are still laughing. Said the organ of the Foreign Office, Dienst aus Deutschland, in commenting on Vichy’s scrapping the French Parliament today: “The change of the former regime in France to an authoritarian form of government will not influence in any way the political liquidation of the war. The fact is that Germany does not consider the Franco-German accounts as settled yet. Later they will be settled with historical realism… not only on the basis of the two decades since Versailles, but they will also take into account much earlier times.”

  Alfred Rosenberg told us at a press conference this evening that Sweden would have to join the rest of Scandinavia and come under the benevolent protection of the Reich. Emissaries of Goebbels and Ribbentrop who were in the room dashed out to inform their bosses of Rosenberg’s blunt remarks and were back before he had finished speaking, he being very long-winded. They passed notes to Dr. Boehmer, who was presiding. As soon as Rosenberg sat down, Boehmer popped up and announced excitedly that Rosenberg was speaking only for himself and not for the German government.

  BERLIN, July 10

  Hans came in to see me. He had just driven from Irun, on the Franco-Spanish border, to Berlin. He said he could not get over the looks of Verdun, which he visited yesterday. Not a house there has been scratched, he said. Yet in the World War, when it was never taken, not a house remained standing. There you have the difference between 1914–18 and 1940.

  BERLIN, July (undated)

  Ralph Barnes, correspondent of the Herald Tribune (and one of my oldest friends), who came here from London just before the big offensive, left Berlin today, by request. With him went Russell Hill, assistant to Ralph and to me. They were thrown out because of a story of Ralph’s that Russo-German relations were not so friendly now as of old. The Wilhelmstrasse is very touchy on the subject, but I think the real reason is the Nazi hate of the Herald Tribune’s editorial policy and its insistence on maintaining fearlessly independent correspondents here—the only New York paper that does. Though Russell had nothing to do with the story, the Nazis could not forgive him for his steadfast refusal to knuckle down to them, and so took this opportunity to get rid of him too. Ralph and I had a farewell walk in the Tiergarten this afternoon, he naturally depressed and not quite realizing that his going was a proof that he had more integrity than any of us who are allowed to stay.25

  BERLIN, July 15

  The German press today informed its readers that German troops of all arms “now stand ready for the attack on Britain. The date of the attack will be decided by the Führer alone.” One hears the High Command is not keen about it, but that Hitler insists.

  BERLIN, July 17

  Three hundred S.S. men in Berlin have started learning Swahili. Swahili is the lingua franca of the former German colony in East Africa.

  BERLIN, July 18

  For the first time since 1871, German troops staged a victory parade through the Brandenburg Gate today. They comprised a division conscripted from Berlin. Stores and factories closed, by order, and the whole town turned out to cheer. Nothing pleases the Berliners—a naïve and simple people on the whole—more than a good military parade. And nothing more than an afternoon off from their dull jobs and their dismal homes. I mingled among the crowds in the Pariserplatz. A holiday spirit ruled completely. Nothing martial about the mass of the people here. They were just out for a good time. Looking at them, I wondered if any of them understood what was going on in Europe, if they had an inkling that their joy, that this victorious parade of the goose-steppers, was based on a great tragedy for millions of others whom these troops and the leaders of these people had enslaved. Not one in a thousand, I wager, gave the matter a thought. It was somewhat sultry, and scores of women in the Platz fainted. An efficient Red Cross outfit hauled them from the pavement on stretchers to a near-by first-aid station.

  The troops were tanned and hard-looking, and goose-stepped past like automatons. One officer’s horse, obviously unused to victory parades, provided a brief comedy. Kicking wildly, he backed into the reviewing stand, just missing Dr. Goebbels.

  The last time German troops paraded through the Brandenburger Tor after a war was on a dismal cold day of December 16, 1918. That was the day the Prussian Guard came home. Memories are short.

  Hitler will speak in the Reichstag tomorrow, we hear. But we’re threatened with expulsion if we say it to America. Himmler is afraid the British bombers will come over. There is some speculation whether it will be, as on the grey morning of September 1, an occasion to announce a new Blitzkrieg—this time against Britain—or an offer of peace. My hotel filled with big generals arriving for the show.

  BERLIN, July 19

  It is not to be a Blitzkrieg against Britain. At least not yet. In the Reichstag tonight, Hitler “offered” peace. He said he saw no reason why this war should go on. But of course it’s peace with Hitler sitting astride the Continent as its conqueror. Leaving the fantastic show in the Reichstag—and it was the most colourful of all I’ve ever seen—I wondered what the British would make of it. As to the Germans, there’s no doubt. As a manœuvre calculated to rally them for the fight against Britain, it was a masterpiece. For the German people will now say: “Hitler offers England peace, and no strings attached. He says he sees no reason why this war should go on. If it does, why, it’s England’s fault.”

  I wondered a little what answer the British would make, and I had hardly arrived at the Rundfunk to prepare my talk when I picked up the BBC in German.26 And there was the answer already! It was a great big No. The more I thought of it, the less I was surprised. Peace for Britain with Germany absolute master of the Continent is impossible. Also: the British must have some reason to believe they can successfully defend their island and in the end bring Hitler down. For Hitler has given them an easy way out to save at least some pieces for themselves. Only a year and a half ago at Munich I saw them grasping at such a straw. The BBC No was very emphatic. The announcer heaped ridicule on Hitler’s every utterance. Officers from the High Command and officials from various ministries sitting around the room could not believe their ears. One of them shouted at me: “Can you make it out? Can you understand those British fools? To turn down peace now?” I merely grunted. “They’re crazy,” he said.

  Hitler put his peace “offer” very eloquently, at least for Germans. He said: “In this hour I feel it my duty before my own conscience to appeal once more to reason and common sense. I can see no reason why this war must go on.”

  There was no applause, no cheering, no stamping of heavy boots. There was silence. And it was tense. For in their hearts the Germans long for peace now. Hitler went on in the silence: “I am grieved to think of the sacrifices which it will claim. I should like to avert them, also for my own people.”

  The Hitler we saw in the Reichstag tonight was the conqueror, and conscious of it, and yet so wonderful an actor, so magnificent a handler of the German mind, that he mixed superbly the full confidence of the conqueror with the humbleness which always goes down so well with the masses when they know a man is on top. His voice was lower tonight; he rarely shouted as he usually does; and he did not once cry out hysterically as I’ve seen him do so often from this rostrum. His oratorical form was at its best. I’ve often sat in the gallery of the Kroll Opera House at these Reichstag sessions watching the man as he spoke and considering what a superb actor he was, as indeed are all good orators. I’ve often admired the way he uses his hands, which are somewhat feminine and quite artistic. Tonight he used those hands beautifully, seemed to express himself almost as much with his hands—and the sway of his body—as he did with his words and the use of his v
oice. I noticed too his gift for using his face and eyes (cocking his eyes) and the turn of his head for irony, of which there was considerable in tonight’s speech, especially when he referred to Mr. Churchill.

  I noticed again, too, that he can tell a lie with as straight a face as any man. Probably some of the lies are not lies to him because he believes fanatically the words he is saying, as for instance his false recapitulation of the last twenty-two years and his constant reiteration that Germany was never really defeated in the last war, only betrayed. But tonight he could also say with the ring of utter sincerity that all the night bombings of the British in recent weeks had caused no military damage whatsoever. One wonders what is in his mind when he tells a tall one like that. Joe [Harsch], watching him speak for the first time, was impressed. He said he couldn’t keep his eyes off his hands; thought the hand work brilliant.

  Under one roof I have never seen so many gold-braided generals before. Massed together, their chests heaving with crosses and other decorations, they filled a third of the first balcony. Part of the show was for them. Suddenly pausing in the middle of his speech, Hitler became the Napoleon, creating with the flick of his hand (in this case the Nazi salute) twelve field-marshals, and since Göring already was one, creating a special honour for him—Reichsmarshal. It was amusing to watch Göring. Sitting up on the dais of the Speaker in all his bulk, he acted like a happy child playing with his toys on Christmas morning. (Only how deadly that some of the toys he plays with, besides the electric train in the attic of Karin Hall, happen to be Stuka bombers!) Throughout Hitler’s speech Göring leaned over his desk chewing his pencil, and scribbling out in large, scrawly letters the text of his remarks which he would make after Hitler finished. He chewed on his pencil and frowned and scribbled like a schoolboy over a composition that has got to be in by the time class is ended. But always he kept one ear cocked on the Leader’s words, and at appropriate moments he would put down his pencil and applaud heartily, his face a smile of approval from one ear to the other. He had two big moments, and he reacted to them with the happy naturalness of a big child. Once when Hitler named two of his air-force generals field-marshals, he beamed like a proud big brother, smiling his approval and his happiness up to the generals in the balcony and clapping his hands with Gargantuan gestures, pointing his big paws at the new field-marshals as at a boxer in the ring when he’s introduced. The climax was when Hitler named him Reichsmarshal. Hitler turned around and handed him a box with whatever insignia a Reichsmarshal wears. Göring took the box, and his boyish pride and satisfaction was almost touching, old murderer that he is. He could not deny himself a sneaking glance under the cover of the lid. Then he went back to his pencil-chewing and his speech. I considered his popularity—second only to Hitler’s in the country—and concluded that it is just because, on occasions like this, he’s so human, so completely the big, good-natured boy. (But also the boy who in June 1934 could dispatch men to the firing squad by the hundreds.)