David
Hoggan (1923-1988) was an American historian who received his
doctorate from Harvard University in 1948 with a dissertation on The
Breakdown of German-Polish Relations in 1939.
The influential and well-respected historian Harry Elmer Barnes was
so impressed with it that he encouraged Hoggan to expand it into the
book currently under review.It first appeared in 1961 in a German
translation (Der
Erzwungene Krieg).
With its thesis that Hitler and Germany did not bear primary
responsibility for the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939, the
work triggered predictable outrage among the West German political
and cultural establishment, but met with a grateful reception from
thousands of ordinary Germans. Mainstream German historians produced
critiques, and were able to point out instances of questionable
documentation, some of which the author later corrected. However, as
German historian Kurt Glaser wrote of the controversy: “It is
hardly necessary to repeat here that Hoggan was not attacked because
he had erred here and there — albeit some of his errors are
material — but because he had committed heresy against the creed of
historical orthodoxy.”
It
took another 28 years for Hoggan’s book to appear in English, as
Mark Weber explains in his Introduction to this new edition:
As
he was finishing work on the manuscript, the author became embroiled
in a dispute with Barnes, who pleaded with Hoggan to revise or remove
a few troublesome passages that, in his view, were not adequately
supported by the evidence. Hoggan, proud and somewhat temperamental,
refused to budge. He also quarreled with Devin-Adair, the publisher
that was preparing the book for release. Because these disputes were
not resolved, Devin-Adair withdrew from the project. Eventually the
Institute for Historical Review obtained the rights to the book. But
a devastating arson attack on the IHR’s offices in July 1984, which
destroyed the book’s layout and proof sheets, art work and other
key files, delayed publication several more years.
The
first English edition of The
Forced War finally
appeared in 1989. Despite his disagreements with a few of the
author’s formulations, Harry Elmer Barnes said of the book: “it
not only constitutes the first thorough study of the responsibility
for the causes of the Second World War, but is likely to remain the
definitive revisionist work on this subject for many years.” The
1989 edition has long been out of print. This new edition has been
completely reset, with a new index, photographs, map, and
Introduction, as well as corrections and expansions to the appendix,
bibliography, and notes.
*
* *
An
important consequence of the First World War was the reappearance of
a sovereign Poland on the map of Europe. The new state was unenviably
located between Germany and Russia — two much larger powers with a
combined population eight times its own. Under such circumstances,
prudence dictated the cultivating of friendly relations with at least
one of these two states as insurance against possible threats from
the other. Long before independence was recovered in 1918, Polish
nationalists had been debating whether a pro-German or pro-Russian
policy would be in the country’s best interest. As Hoggan writes, a
hostile Polish policy toward both neighbors “would have been like a
canary seeking to devour two cats.”
Success
in foreign relations requires adaptation to constantly changing
circumstances, and the author credits Marshal Józef Piłsudski, the
dominant figure in interwar Poland, with the necessary flexibility.
In 1933, for example, the Marshal had considered a possible
preventive war against a still-weak Germany, yet by the end of that
year he had given his approval for a German-Polish non-aggression
pact. In March 1935 he came out in opposition to efforts to challenge
Hitler’s defiance of the Versailles Treaty, believing the time when
Germany might have been dealt with through intimidation had passed.
Piłsudski
died in May 1935, and Hoggan characterizes his successors as epigoni:
lesser figures who sought to perpetuate the Marshal’s legacy but
lacked his breadth of views. Polish foreign policy became the
responsibility of Piłsudski’s longtime collaborator, Col. Józef
Beck, who failed to display the Marshal’s flexibility in relations
with Poland’s two powerful neighbors. Unalterably opposed to any
collaboration with the Soviet Union, Beck would consistently reject
all overtures from Hitler. This proved to be a luxury Poland could
not afford.
Ten
months after Piłsudski’s death, Hitler ordered German troops into
the Rhineland, which had been demilitarized under the Versailles
Treaty. Polish Foreign Minister Beck responded by summoning the
French ambassador and offering to attack Germany from the east if
France would agree to invade from the west. It was symptomatic of
what was to come. As Hoggan explains, Beck
believed
that the unpopular Polish regime would acquire tremendous prestige
and advantages from a military victory over Germany. His attitude
illustrates the deceptiveness of the friendship between Germany and
Poland during these years, which on the Polish side was pure
treachery, beneath the façade.
Though
revealing, the incident proved inconsequential: The French were not
interested. Beck covered his tracks by having the Polish news agency
issue a pro-German statement the following day.
The
Versailles Treaty of 1919 was a disaster for German-speaking Central
Europe. It broke up the Austro-Hungarian Empire, leaving seven
million Germans in a newly-constituted Austrian rump state none of
them desired, and three million more within “Czechoslovakia,” a
new multi-ethnic state dominated by the Czechs. Nearly all these
people would have preferred to see their lands become part of
Germany, but this was forbidden by the victorious powers.
The
German state itself also suffered large punitive reductions in
territory under Versailles and other post-war treaties, including the
annexation of Alsace-Lorraine by France, the Eupen district by
Belgium, and northern Schleswig by Denmark. By far the greatest
amount of territory, however, was lost to the new Polish state,
including most of the provinces of Posen and West Prussia, along with
the industrial region of East Upper Silesia. These regions amounted
to more than 25,000 square miles — about the size of today’s
Lithuania — and were home to over five million people, many of them
German. The awarding of this land to Poland contravened the November
1918 armistice agreement under which Germany declared it would accept
the results of self-determination in the German-Polish borderlands.
The
agreement had also stipulated that Poland was to obtain access to the
sea, a result which could have been achieved by granting her free
harbor facilities in German ports. The Germans living there would
have been glad to get the business. Instead, the Versailles Treaty
assigned Poland political sovereignty over a corridor to the Baltic
that cut the province of East Prussia off from the rest of Germany —
without bothering to ask the local inhabitants what they thought.
Danzig,
a medium-sized provincial German port city, was subjected to what
Hoggan calls “the least defensible territorial provision of the
Versailles Treaty.” Against the will of its citizens, it was
detached from Germany and placed under the administration of the
League of Nations. Geographically, it lay sandwiched between East
Prussia and the Polish Corridor, which had the effect of exciting
Polish covetousness while also preventing its satisfaction. In short,
no one was happy with the arrangement.
In
November 1937, Germany and Poland concluded a pact regarding their
ethnic minorities in one another’s countries. It prohibited forced
assimilation and restrictions on use of the mother tongue, protected
peaceful ethnic associations and schools, and forbade policies of
economic discrimination. The pact was especially welcome to ethnic
Germans in Poland, who had been treated harshly after 1918. Hundreds
of thousands had already migrated to the Reich.
It
is difficult to get an accurate count of the total number of Germans
living in interwar Poland at any given time. The author notes, “A
critical study of the 1931 Polish census, which contained startling
inaccuracies in several directions, showed that the given figure of
727,000 Germans was short of the real figure by more than 400,000.”
It is even more difficult to get an idea of how many Poles lived in
Germany; the German census allowed native speakers of Polish to
declare themselves ethnically German if they wished, resulting in a
count of fewer than 15,000 Poles in the entire country. The German
government estimated there ought to have been 260,000 by objective
criteria, while the Polish government alleged there were one and a
half million! This last claim is certainly fanciful: Hoggan describes
the German minority in Poland as “much larger.”
Unfortunately,
the 1937 agreement on minorities was ignored by the Polish
authorities, and subsequent months saw conditions for the German
minority in Poland deteriorate rather than improve. German schools
were closed and Poland’s land reform program was carried out in a
manner heavily biased against German interests. In 1938, for example,
Germans had to supply two-thirds of the land for confiscation and
redistribution. The German government forbade newspapers to report on
anti-German incidents for fear of damaging diplomatic relations with
Poland.
In
spite of all this, a leading member of the Polish Parliament publicly
declared in April 1938 that conditions were far worse for Poles in
Germany. The speech “had a disastrous effect on the attitude of the
Polish masses toward the Germans in Poland, and the theme of the
speech was constantly reiterated in the Polish popular press.” The
German Ministry of the Interior investigated the claim and found no
more than a few instances of “discrimination against Polish
students and restrictions on the distribution of books by Polish
cooperatives.” But this had no effect on ordinary Poles, and
anti-German hostility grew.
The
year 1938 witnessed two stunning diplomatic victories for Adolf
Hitler which temporarily relegated German-Polish relations to the
background: the annexation of Austria in March and that of the
Sudetenland, or German-speaking periphery of the Czech lands, in
October. Without a shot being fired, two of the Versailles Treaty’s
punitive anti-German provisions were undone and ten million Germans
brought into the German state.
As
demonstrated by British historian A. J. P. Taylor in The
Origins of the Second World War (1961),
and contrary to the picture painted at the Nuremburg Trials, these
were not preplanned stages in a program of conquest, but
opportunistic responses to events over which Hitler had little
control. For example, as late as four days before the Anschluss,
or the annexation of Austria on March 12, 1938, Hitler had no plans
for such an action and no idea it was going to occur. The previous
month he had met with Austrian Chancellor Kurt Schuschnigg who, in
Hoggan’s words,
agreed
to cease persecuting Austrian National Socialists, to admit the
National Socialist Austrian leader, [Arthur] Seyss-Inquart, to the
Cabinet as Minister of the Interior, and to permit Hitler to
broadcast a speech to Austria in return for a Schuschnigg speech to
Germany.
The
Austrian leader later regretted these concessions and began to
consider how to repudiate them. On March 9, 1938, he announced a
plebiscite on the future of Austria in just four days’ time. Voting
would not to be anonymous, and “a vote-of-confidence question in
Schuschnigg was to be phrased in terms as confusing and misleading as
possible.” The breathtaking speed of the events which followed
resulted from Schuschnigg’s insistence on holding his plebiscite
within such a short time.
Schuschnigg
was informed by Seyss-Inquart on March 11, 1938, at 10:00 a.m., that
he must agree within one hour to revoke the fraudulent plebiscite,
and agree to a fair and secret-ballot plebiscite within three to four
weeks, on the question of whether Austria should remain independent
or be reunited with the rest of Germany. Otherwise the German Army
would occupy Austria. The failure of a reply within the specified
time produced a new ultimatum demanding that Seyss-Inquart succeed
Schuschnigg as Chancellor of Austria.
The
German army entered Austrian territory to install Seyss-Inquart, and
the Austrian public’s ecstatic reaction convinced Hitler to simply
annex the country the following day.
The
Czech crisis later that year presented important analogies to what
had happened in Austria. At Versailles, the Czech leaders had assured
the victorious powers that they intended to give their new state of
Czechoslovakia a Swiss-style decentralized constitution involving a
loose confederation between the various nationalities. What they went
on to create was a kind of Czech empire in which their own group
wielded power over all the others, Slovaks included. Accordingly, the
annexation of Austria produced wild excitement among three million
disaffected Sudeten Germans. By the end of March, their leader,
Konrad Heinlein, was “pleading for the curtailment of all
propaganda efforts to arouse the Sudeten people who were already too
much aroused.” Heinlein collaborated with the German leadership to
formulate a list of demands which he announced on April 24.
The
Czech leadership was placed in an awkward position, and on May 21
they made a tactical blunder not unlike Schuschnigg’s announcement
of a fraudulent plebiscite: They ordered partial mobilization based
on a false accusation that German troops were concentrating on the
Czech border. They hoped that “the resulting emotional confusion
would commit the British and the French to the Czech position before
a policy favoring concessions to the Sudeten Germans could be
implemented.” This did not happen, and British military experts
soon determined there were no hostile German troop concentrations.
The fiasco led to Hitler’s decision to force the Sudeten issue that
same year.
A
British fact-finding mission to Czechoslovakia
completed
its labors early in September 1938, and reported that the main
difficulty in the Sudeten area had been the disinclination of the
Czechs to grant reforms. This development was accompanied by the
final rupture of negotiations between the Sudeten German and Czech
leaders. It was evident that the crisis was close at hand.
The
Czech and German leaders traded defiant messages, and British Prime
Minister Neville Chamberlain made two abortive efforts to intercede
with Hitler on September 15 and 23-24. Hitler was determined to
resolve the matter militarily on October 1. However, on September 28
Italy launched a last-minute mediation effort to which Hitler agreed.
The
British Ambassador was able to telephone London at 3:15 p.m. that
Hitler wished to invite Chamberlain, [French Prime Minister]
Daladier, and Mussolini to Munich the next day to discuss a peaceful
solution of the Czech problem. The British Prime Minister received
this news while delivering a tense speech to the House of Commons on
the imminent danger of war. When he announced the news of Hitler’s
invitation and his intention to accept, he received the greatest
ovation in the history of the British Parliament.
The
events which followed have been among the most misrepresented and
mythologized of the twentieth century. At the Munich Conference,
Britain and France declined to go to war over the Sudetenland, and
all peripheral districts of the Czech lands with a German population
of over 50% were assigned to Germany. Hoggan writes:
Never
was an agreement more clearly in the interest of all Powers
concerned. Great Britain had won time to continue to gain on the
German lead in aerial armament. France extricated herself from the
danger of a desperate war after having abandoned her military
hegemony in Europe in 1936 [when she permitted Germany’s occupation
of the Rhineland]. Italy was spared the danger of involvement in a
war when she was woefully unprepared. Germany won a great bloodless
victory in her program of peaceful territorial revision. By resisting
the temptation to fight merely because she had the momentary military
advantage, she increased her stature and prestige.
Contrary
to legend, there was never any split within the British leadership,
either at the time of the Munich Conference or later, between the
advocates of craven “appeasement” and manly resistance to “Nazi
aggression.” Britain faced no “Nazi aggression.” As an American
embassy official in Berlin noted that same year, “an English-German
understanding is Hitler’s first principle of diplomacy in 1938,
just as it was in 1934, or in 1924 when he wrote Mein
Kampf.”
An
anti-German stance predominated within the British Conservative Party
at this time, including among those later referred to contemptuously
as “appeasers.” The only serious disagreement focused on whether
to go to war with Germany immediately or to play for time.
Chamberlain once remarked that “one should select a favorable hour
to stop Hitler rather than to permit the German leader to pick both
the time and the place for the conflict” — hardly the view of a
man willing to sacrifice all other considerations to the maintenance
of peace.
As
Hoggan notes, one reason Britain acquiesced in the Munich settlement
was her perceived need to beef up aerial munitions before the final
showdown that was already being planned. She did so, in fact, over
the next 11 months. Whereas Germany possessed mainly light and medium
bombers for tactical operations in support of ground troops, the
British armaments program emphasized heavy bombers that were capable
of attacking civilian objectives far behind the front. British
targeting of Germany’s women and children was planned at least as
early as 1936.
Given
that both the United States and the Soviet Union were far larger and
more powerful than Germany, and that the British themselves were
still presiding over an enormous empire, one may wonder why Britain’s
leadership was in such agreement on the supposedly urgent need to
resist a far smaller power’s efforts to consolidate more of the
German-speaking population of Central Europe within her borders.
According to Hoggan, the answer lies in the hold of the traditional
British balance of power policy on their minds.
The
concept of the “balance of power” has its roots in the politics
of Renaissance Italy, where the various cities formed alliances to
prevent the Duchy of Milan from gaining supremacy; this diplomatic
strategy was cast into theoretical form by Machiavelli. But as Hoggan
notes, balance-of-power thinking cannot be successfully applied in
all situations. In Italy, the strategy became obsolete once large
outside powers such as Spain and France intervened in the peninsula’s
politics. Moreover, even where best applicable, the balance-of-power
principle involves a peculiar and questionable moral vision: Any
state that grows in power and prosperity beyond the level of its
neighbors is cast into the role of enemy regardless
of its domestic institutions or foreign policy.
Success is treated as tantamount to aggression. In Hoggan’s words,
the balance of power policy
substituted
for a healthy pursuit of common interests among states the tortuous
attempt to undermine or even destroy any state which obtained a
leading position [and] demanded otherwise inexplicable shifts of
position when it was evident one state had been overestimated or
another underestimated.
The
balance-of-power model was introduced to England by Thomas Cromwell
in the time of Henry VIII. Hoggan includes a brief historical sketch
of subsequent British diplomatic and military history from that
period through the early twentieth century, demonstrating that a
balance-of-power policy usually — although not uninterruptedly —
inspired the foreign policy of British leaders over a period of four
centuries. The British opposed France in the Age of Napoleon because
she was the largest continental power. When leadership passed to
Prussia and Germany later in the century, British policy shifted
accordingly. Then, following the First World War, France briefly
reemerged as the leading power on the European continent. This was
not because she had achieved any new increment to her own power, but
simply by default following the collapse of all her potential rivals:
Germany lay defeated, Austria-Hungary was dismembered, and Russia was
reduced to famine by Bolshevism and civil war. So when France
occupied Germany’s Ruhr Valley in 1923 in an attempt to collect war
reparations under the Versailles Treaty — to which Britain herself
had agreed — the British leadership came out in opposition!
It
was thus almost inevitable that Britain would sour on Germany in the
1930s as she gradually regained a position as the dominant power in
Europe. Objections to National Socialism or Hitler’s Jewish policy
were more pretext that motive; Hoggan notes that, although the world
has since forgotten it, Poland had anti-Jewish policies in some
respects harsher than Germany’s during these years.
The
United States and the Soviet Union played a role in the Europe of the
1930s not unlike that of France and Spain in Renaissance Italy —
outside powers whose intervention rendered inherited balance-of-power
considerations anachronistic. Yet, Britain was not alone in badly
underestimating the threat from Bolshevik Russia. It seemed
incredible to most observers that a state with such an irrational
economic system, and barely able to feed its own people, could
constitute a serious military threat to the entire European
continent. In 1935, one leading British politician publicly surmised
that the Soviet Union would be unable to wage a war of aggression for
50 years! Moreover, Stalin had just shot himself in the foot by
purging 25,000 officers from the Red Army. No one predicted that the
Soviet military would soon reveal itself as one of the greatest
killing machines in human history. As Hoggan emphasizes, a defensive
alliance between Germany and Poland would have represented a powerful
bulwark against Communist expansion. But few outside the German
leadership perceived the desirability of such an arrangement at the
time.
And
so the British persisted with their futile and dangerous policy of
hostility toward Germany.
*
* *
Resolution
of the Czech crisis led Hitler to believe the time was right for a
concrete offer to settle German-Polish differences. On October 24,
1938 his Foreign Minister, Joachim Ribbentrop, conveyed his proposal
to the Polish ambassador. It required Poland to acquiesce in
Germany’s annexation of Danzig and permit construction of a highway
and railway transit route linking East Prussia to the rest of
Germany. (Hitler privately indicated to Ribbentrop that, if necessary
to arrive at an agreement, he would be prepared to give up the rail
link.) In exchange,
Poland
would be granted a permanent free port in Danzig and the right to
build her own highway and rail road to the port. The entire Danzig
area would be a permanent free market for Polish goods on which no
German customs duties would be levied. Germany would take the
unprecedented step of recognizing and guaranteeing the existing
German-Polish frontier.
Hoggan
considers this last offer especially generous: Hitler “was prepared
to pay a high price for Polish friendship. The renunciation of every
piece of German territory lost to Poland since 1918 would have been
unthinkable to the leaders of the Weimar Republic.” The British
ambassador in Berlin noted that “of all Germans, Hitler is the most
moderate so far as Danzig and the Corridor are concerned.”
Nor
was this an isolated case: Hitler had already renounced
Alsace-Lorraine, and viewed the loss of South Tyrol as the price of
his friendship with the Duce.
He had long maintained it would be childish to insist on the return
of every square inch of territory that had ever been German. What he
sought was a compromise between the entirety of German-speaking
territory and the punitive losses imposed by the victors at
Versailles.
Beck
adopted delaying tactics for nearly five months, constantly putting
off a definite response to Hitler’s proposals. Particularly
successful with his German interlocutors was his pretense that
adverse Polish public opinion made a final settlement difficult. The
German Chancellor was patient and set no deadline.
Meanwhile,
conditions for the German minority in Poland continued to
deteriorate. Increasing numbers of Germans were being sentenced to
prison for alleged remarks such as “the Führer would
have to straighten things out here.” Mass anti-German
demonstrations and boycotts of German businesses became common, but
the Polish government looked the other way. In February 1939,
contrary to previous Polish assurances, Germans were made to supply
71% of the acreage for Poland’s annual land reform measures,
virtually completing the expropriation of German holdings.
In
the tiny industrial region of Teschen, which Poland had acquired from
the Czechs following the Munich Conference, German-language schools
were closed and parents threatened with unemployment if they did not
send their children to Polish schools. German doctors and lawyers
were forbidden to practice unless they learned Polish within three
months. Germans’ assets were frozen and their pensions and state
salaries reduced. About 20% of the German population fled the
district within the first month of Polish occupation, and emergency
camps had to be built in Silesia to house refugees.
Reports
of these events began appearing in German provincial newspapers,
stirring fierce resentment among ordinary Germans. Hitler moved
swiftly to impose press controls, declaring that it was his policy
“to release nothing unfavorable to Poland; this also applies to
incidents involving the German minority.” Representatives of the
Teschen Germans travelled to the Foreign Office in Berlin, but their
complaints were rejected; the government was unwilling to jeopardize
its prospects of an agreement with Poland regarding Danzig and the
Corridor.
Due
to Beck’s delaying tactics, the winter of 1938-39 passed amid
friendly but meaningless diplomatic contacts until a new series of
events triggered open Polish rejection and British intervention in
March. Perhaps the most interesting episode in Hoggan’s narrative
of the intervening months is Prime Minister Chamberlain’s visit to
Italy from January 11 through 14. It is less important for its
immediate consequences than for what it reveals about the thinking of
the British leadership.
Accompanying
Chamberlain to Rome was British Foreign Secretary Edward Wood, 1st
Earl of Halifax. In Hoggan’s telling, Halifax was the individual
most responsible for the outbreak of the Second World War in
September 1939, and he dominates the subsequent narrative. Hoggan
describes him as “one of the most self-assured, ruthless, clever
and self-righteous diplomats the world has ever seen.” In his
maiden speech to the House of Commons in 1910, Halifax “denied that
all men are created equal” and “called on the British people to
remain true to their calling of a ‘superior race’ within the
British Empire.” Despite having been born with a withered left arm,
he participated in some battles of the First World War. He had no
patience with conscientious objectors. In 1918 he was involved in
organizing a letter to the Prime Minister demanding a hard line with
the defeated Germans. Between the wars he held many important
government posts, including six years as Viceroy of India. By 1935 he
had become an important voice in the conduct of British diplomacy. A
champion of the balance-of-power policy, he viewed war with Germany
as necessary following Hitler’s occupation of the Rhineland in
1936. He became Chamberlain’s Foreign Secretary in February 1938.
Regarding the motives of his anti-German belligerence, the author has
this to say:
It
was for the prestige of Great Britain rather for such mundane
considerations as national security or immediate British interests
that Halifax became a proponent of war. [He] did not propose to
tolerate the existence in 1939 of a German Reich more prosperous and
more influential than the Hohenzollern Empire which had been
destroyed in 1918.
According
to Hoggan, Chamberlain took the lead in determining British foreign
policy through the Czech crisis, but Halifax subsequently enjoyed a
free hand.
The
two men arrived in Rome on January 11, 1939, and their first meeting
with Mussolini took place the same day. Mussolini stated that a new
world war could destroy civilization, and he deplored the failure of
the Four Munich Powers to cooperate more closely to preserve peace.
He also said he favored arms limitations.
The
following day, Chamberlain turned the discussion to Germany:
He
claimed to be impressed by rumors of sinister German intentions. He
had heard that Germany was planning to establish an independent
Ukraine, and to attack Great Britain, France, Poland, and the Soviet
Union. Mussolini assured the British leaders that German armaments
were defensive, and that Hitler had no plans for an independent
Ukraine or for attacks on the various countries which Chamberlain had
mentioned. He added that Germany desired peace. Chamberlain
disagreed. He declared that German arms were more than sufficient to
deal with attacks from countries immediately adjacent to Germany, and
that hence the Germans must be harboring aggressive plans. He claimed
that Great Britain, on the other hand, was merely concerned with
defending herself from the German menace.
Following
a dinner at the British Embassy the next day, Chamberlain repeated to
the Italian leader
that
he distrusted Hitler, and that he remained unconvinced by Mussolini’s
arguments that the German armament program was defensive in scope. He
hoped to make Mussolini uneasy by referring to a rumor that Germany
had launched special military preparations in the region near the
Italian frontier [a claim reminiscent of the Czech hoax the previous
May]. He assured Mussolini categorically that Great Britain and
France, in contrast to 1938, were now prepared to fight Germany. . .
. Chamberlain complained of “feverish armament” in Germany, and
alleged German offensive plans. Mussolini, in denying such plans
existed, placed primary emphasis on the point that German defensive
requirements should be considered in relation to the Russian armament
campaign. It is significant that there is no mention of this point in
the British record.
The
Italian leader pointed to the Westwall (or
“Siegfried Line”) along Germany’s frontier with France and
Belgium as an indication of her armament’s defensive nature.
Chamberlain responded that if Hitler was sincere in his desire for
peace, he ought to speak of it publicly. An astonished Mussolini
asked if Chamberlain had missed Hitler’s recent New Year’s
address in which he had done just that. Wanting to allay British
suspicions of Germany, Mussolini proposed a general disarmament
conference as soon as the Spanish Civil War ended. Chamberlain
displayed no interest.
The
British goal for these talks, which were agreed to beforehand between
Halifax and Chamberlain, was to intimidate Mussolini and discourage
him from standing by Germany when war came. They were successful,
although this did not become clear for several months. For his part,
Mussolini was deeply frustrated and understood that Germany was now
in danger of a British attack.
A
few days later, Halifax applied similar treatment to American
President Franklin Roosevelt, writing to him of “a large number of
reports from various reliable sources which throw a most disquieting
light on Hitler’s intentions.” He claimed that Hitler intended to
destroy the Western powers in a surprise attack before moving on to
the East, adding some colorful rhetoric about “Hitler’s mental
condition, his insensate rage against Great Britain and his
megalomania.” It was impossible to lay such talk on too thickly
with the bellicose American President; anyone in his entourage who
did not declare Hitler insane was “virtually ostracized.”
During
February and early March 1939, a rift developed between the Czechs
and Slovaks in what was left of Czechoslovakia. The Czech-dominated
Prague government insisted on stationing Czech troops in Slovakia and
Slovak troops in the Czech lands, while the Slovaks wanted their boys
back home and the Czechs off their territory; financial differences
and greater Slovak sympathy for the Germans were also points of
contention. A crisis arrived on March 9, when the Prague government
dismissed the four principle Slovak ministers from the local
government in the Slovak capital of Bratislava. Fighting in the
streets ensued, and on March 14 Slovakia declared independence.
Germany
quickly extended diplomatic recognition to the new state. Hitler then
decided to occupy the remaining Czech lands — in part to prevent
war between Czechs and Slovaks, and in part because of the Czechs’
continuing anti-German policies. On the evening of March 14, Czech
President Emil Hácha travelled to Berlin. He made a plea for the
continuation of Czech independence and offered to reduce the army.
Hitler rejected this, ordering German troops into the Czech lands the
next morning. Hácha telephoned Prague to advise against resistance.
On
March 16, the Protectorate of Bohemia-Moravia was proclaimed. Formal
German military rule lasted just one month, until April 16. Hoggan
observes that Hitler “was willing to grant the Czechs the autonomy
they had persistently refused to give the Sudeten Germans.”
President Hácha appointed a new Czech government on April 27, but
the departments of Foreign Affairs and Defense were dissolved.
Contrary
to a widespread legend, Britain extended no guarantee to the Czechs,
either at the Munich Conference or subsequently, so their failure to
intervene in March 1939 did not constitute a “betrayal.” Hitler
later explained to the British ambassador that “the protectorate in
Bohemia-Moravia had been a necessity ‘for the moment,’ but that,
as far as he was concerned, the area in the future could become
anything, provided it was not a bastion against Germany.” Hoggan
even makes this extraordinary claim: “It was evident within a few
weeks after the proclamation of the Protectorate . . . that the new
regime enjoyed considerable popularity among the Czechs.”
In
the larger context of European politics, the significance of the
final Czechoslovak crisis of March 1939 lay in providing the occasion
for Britain to proclaim her hostile intentions toward Germany openly.
On the evening of March 15, Halifax told the German ambassador that
his country’s actions “implied a rejection of good relations with
Great Britain. He also insisted that Germany was ‘seeking to
establish a position in which they could by force dominate Europe,
and, if possible, the world.” As Hoggan notes, the British had
previously done everything possible to create the impression that the
future of Czechoslovakia was a matter of perfect indifference to
them. Now they declared that events there had convinced them Hitler
was out to conquer the world.
Halifax
then organized “one of the most fantastic intrigues of modern
diplomacy.” A German trade delegation happened to be visiting
Romania at this time to negotiate a perfectly ordinary commercial
treaty. On March 17, at Halifax’s prodding, Romania’s ambassador
to Britain declared that this delegation had presented an ultimatum
to Romania. Coming on the heels of the occupation of Prague, this
sensational claim provoked “bewilderment, anxiety, and outspoken
hostility toward Germany” among the British public. Denials quickly
arrived from Romania itself, but the British leadership managed to
keep the story going for several days. Halifax even made an absurd
appeal to the Soviet Union to help defend Romania from “German
aggression” — to the consternation of the Romanian government,
which was far more anxious about Soviet Russia than about Germany.
Also
on March 17, Prime Minister Chamberlain was preparing to give an
address on British domestic affairs in Birmingham. Halifax induced
him to substitute the text of a belligerent speech on Germany:
The
role assigned by Halifax to Prime Minister Chamberlain at Birmingham
was one of outraged innocence. Chamberlain agreed to present himself
as the victim of German duplicity, who had awakened at last in a
great rage to admit he had been duped. [He] solemnly declared that he
would never believe Hitler again. Chamberlain warned his listeners
that Hitler might be embarking on an attempt to conquer the world.
Three
days later, completing Britain’s diplomatic volte
face,
Halifax “informed Paris, Moscow, and Warsaw that he wished to have
an ironclad military pact of Great Britain, France, Russia, and
Poland against Germany.” There were many obstacles to the pact
Halifax desired, however: France wanted peace, the Poles rejected any
agreement with Russia, and the Soviet leaders replied noncommittally.
Meanwhile,
Poland had also decided to come out into the open against Germany. On
March 23 Beck conferred with military leaders, who instantly issued
orders for a partial mobilization. This brought 334,000 new soldiers
into the armed forces, more than doubling the strength of the Polish
army. The same day Beck had a prominent journalist arrested for
advocating a German-Polish agreement.
Three
days later, on March 26, Poland’s ambassador in Berlin delivered a
note categorically rejecting the proposals that had been pending
since the previous October. Germany was warned that Poland would
fight to prevent the return of Danzig. The most destructive war in
human history was to be triggered by a dispute over a city of 400,000
inhabitants.
War
fever began to grip Poland. Military leaders made delusional claims
that their ill-equipped forces were superior to those of Germany, and
planned for a direct assault on Berlin. An anti-German pressure group
drew thousands of participants to a public meeting in Polish West
Prussia at which speakers bitterly denounced the Germans. Afterwards,
bands of Poles roamed the streets, assaulting any Germans they came
across.
By
this time, Halifax understood that an anti-German alliance that
included both Poland and Russia was an impossibility, at least for
the time being. He determined to go ahead with plans for an alliance
with Poland as its only Eastern member. As Hoggan wryly notes, it
might have been possible to choose Russia over a lesser power such as
Poland, but this would not have gotten Halifax the war he sought.
On
March 31, Halifax announced in Parliament that Britain was extending
a unilateral guarantee to Poland. It was not limited to cases of
aggression, but would be valid even if Poland attacked Germany.
Observers noted that this was the first time in history Britain had
abandoned to an outside power the decision as to whether she would go
to war. As Hoggan notes, “it was the most provocative move that
Halifax could have made under the circumstances, and it was the step
most likely to produce another European war.” A few days later, he
privately admitted to the American ambassador that neither Hitler nor
Mussolini wanted war. All the breathless public statements about
“German aggression” were a hoax meant to deceive the public.
To
summarize: In less than three weeks following Czechoslovakia’s
final crisis, the entire European continent had been brought into a
state of high tension by the actions of Halifax and Beck.
Hitler’s
behavior during these critical days was cautious. Even the final
rejection of his proposals by the Poles on March 26 did not make him
despair of an eventual diplomatic settlement, and his military men
were baffled that they still did not have permission to draw up plans
for a possible campaign in Poland. Only in April did Hitler finally
allow this. Hoggan writes:
Polish
provocation of Germany after March 31, 1939, was frequent and
extreme, and Hitler soon had more than a sufficient justification to
go to war with Poland on the basis of traditional practices among the
nations. Hitler, who was usually very prompt and decisive in
conducting German policy [cf. the Austrian crisis], showed
considerable indecision before he finally decided to act. He did not
abandon his hope for a negotiated settlement with Poland until he
realized that the outlook was completely hopeless.
We
shall skip somewhat lightly over events between this point and the
final August crisis, although Hoggan treats them in more detail.
Perhaps
the most important landmark was Beck’s chauvinistic speech to the
Polish legislature on May 5. Beck claimed that the Versailles
Treaty’s arrangements for Germany in the East had been fair and
just, and therefore Hitler had no grounds for proposing any changes;
that his offer to recognize the existing frontier with Poland was
worthless; that Germany had not offered one concession to Poland, but
merely presented demands; that Hitler had sought to impose a time
limit on negotiations; that he was deliberately seeking to humiliate
Poland and exclude her from the Baltic; and that his proposals were
an assault on Poland’s fundamental honor and an effort to degrade
her into a mere vassal of Germany. Beck even made a stunning claim
that the territory of the Corridor “is an ancient Polish land, with
an insignificant percentage of German colonists.” In short, the
speech was, in Hoggan’s words, “studded with impudent lies from
beginning to end.” But ordinary Poles did not know this, and the
country erupted in a patriotic frenzy. Congratulatory telegrams
poured into Beck’s office, and millions of Poles were now
single-mindedly disposed to go to war against Germany.
Predictably,
the situation of Germans in Poland became alarming. Men were beaten
for speaking German in public, mobs destroyed German-owned buildings,
and throughout the country Germans were threatened: “If war comes,
you will all be hanged.” Polish authorities either denied such
things were happening or blamed Hitler for them.
Poland
based its military planning on what Hoggan calls “the disastrous
and false assumption that there would be a major French offensive
against Germany.” British leaders also privately considered the
participation of France as an essential precondition for their
launching of hostilities against Germany, although this had not been
made clear in their guarantee to Poland. And France had never agreed
to any such thing. French Foreign Minister Georges Bonnet privately
told Prime Minister Édouard Daladier during these months that
an
Anglo-French war against Germany was quite unnecessary, and that he
would prefer to resign than to have any part in the launching of such
a disastrous conflict. Daladier assured Bonnet that he sympathized
with his attitude, and urged him to remain at his post and continue
the fight for peace.
Meanwhile,
neither Britain nor France did anything to remedy the military
unpreparedness of the Poles, who suffered a ten-to-one disadvantage
in fighter aircraft and a 12-to-one disadvantage in armored vehicles
as compared to Germany. The only beneficiary of the situation was
Soviet Russia, which hoped for a conflict between Germany and the
Western powers that would exhaust these “capitalist powers” and
create conditions favorable for the expansion of Communism. Halifax
continued to campaign diplomatically for Soviet support during these
months, but his efforts were clumsy and ineffectual.
The
”Pact of Steel” between Germany and Italy, announced with great
fanfare on May 22, was less significant than it appeared at the time;
it did not formally require Italy to go to war at Germany’s side.
Hoggan dismisses it as a “fair-weather alliance.”
By
August 1939, everyone understood that a war between Germany and
Poland was extremely probable. The great question was whether it
might still be prevented from developing into a general European war.
Hitler was under an important time constraint: since October rains
transform Poland into a sea of mud, German military leaders warned
him it would be unsafe to postpone the launch of hostilities past
September 1.
On
August 12, a Soviet chargé d’affaires called at the German Foreign
Office to announce that Stalin wished to arrive at an understanding
with Germany about Poland and Russo-German relations. Dilatory
diplomatic contacts continued for over a week until, on the 21st,
Hitler dispatched a personal telegram to Stalin requesting that
Foreign Minister Ribbentrop be received in Moscow within two days.
Stalin duly invited him for August 23.
Hitler’s
coming triumph in obtaining a Soviet agreement was undercut on August
18 by an Italian diplomatic blunder: Foreign Minister Galeazzo Ciano
told the British Ambassador that Italy “has not agreed” to
support Germany in the event of war. This is what most observers had
taken the May Pact of Steel to imply. When Halifax received word of
Ciano’s statement, he hastened to inform British diplomatic
missions abroad that Italian defection from the alliance with Germany
was a certainty. For extra assurance, he dispatched a message to Rome
two days later warning that Britain would attack Italy immediately
with most of her armed forces if she joined Germany as an ally in any
future war.
The
effect of Ciano’s remark on France was more decisive still. Indeed,
Hoggan believes “it is reasonably certain that France, and
consequently Great Britain, would not have attacked Germany” had it
not been for Ciano’s indiscretion. At a French Defense Council
meeting the previous March, the Commander-in-Chief of France’s
armed forces, Gen. Maurice Gamelin, had confessed that the country
was unprepared for a conflict with Germany. At the next such meeting,
on August 23, he said France’s military position had improved.
According to Hoggan, the only conceivable excuse he could have had
for saying this was the new assurance of Italian neutrality.
By
mid-August, Polish authorities were proceeding to mass arrests of
their German minority. On the 16th, they incarcerated the most
prominent German leader in Poland on espionage charges, but he was
released following British intervention. He proceeded to Danzig,
where he met with German authorities on the 22nd:
[He]
spoke of a disaster “of inconceivable magnitude” since the early
months of 1939. The last Germans had been dismissed from their jobs
without benefit of unemployment relief, and hunger and privation were
stamped on [their] faces. German welfare agencies, cooperatives, and
trade associations had been destroyed. The mass arrests,
deportations, mutilations, and beatings of the past few weeks
surpassed anything which had happened before.
By
this point, Polish authorities were responding to criticism of their
actions with sweeping charges of German mistreatment of their own
Polish minority. But such charges remained entirely general, whereas
German press reports of anti-German actions in Poland included names,
dates, and details. Polish diplomats in Berlin admitted privately
that the lack of detail in Polish accusations was due to the
difficulty of finding specific incidents.
Despite
Britain’s March 31 guarantee to Poland, Hitler had long found it
difficult to believe that, when push came to shove, the British
leadership would plunge the entire European continent into a war over
Danzig. He hoped the approaching conflict might be limited to Germany
and Poland. He was strengthened in this hope by reports he received
from the German Foreign Office on August 16. One, originating with a
friendly French journalist, rested on what Hoggan calls “the
obvious fact that Great Britain would not attack Germany without
French support,” combined with French Foreign Minister Bonnet’s
determination not to allow France to be drawn into a war on behalf of
Poland. A second was based on claims of “lively opposition to war
with Germany within the British Air Ministry.” This report’s
source conceded that both Britain and France might declare war,
but would subsequently be willing to conclude peace following the
Polish phase of hostilities.
Accordingly,
on the evening of August 22, Hitler told German military leaders he
was convinced that Britain would not actually attack Germany.
Britain, he said, “had no need to wage war and consequently would
not wage war.” Hoggan observes that Hitler “attributed a far more
rational basis to British policy than the facts warranted.”
At
this same conference, Hitler ordered plans for “Operation White,”
military action against Poland, to be completed by the 26th. He
refrained from issuing the final attack order.
The
next day, August 23, the “Molotov-Ribbentrop Non-Aggression Pact”
was signed in Moscow. Contrary to popular belif, this agreement was
not an alliance, but a mere delimitation of German and Russian
spheres of interest. In effect, the two powers drew a line through
the map of Eastern Europe, agreeing that Germany would not interfere
with Russian actions to the east of it, while Russia would not
interfere with German actions to the west. Much of Poland lay east of
the line, at the mercy of the Bolsheviks.
Hitler
hoped the new pact would cause British leaders to realize the
impossible situation their Polish ally was in, and seek a compromise
to spare her inevitable disaster. They would surely have done so had
they given a damn about Poland, but in fact they were sacrificing
Poland to reach their true objective of war with Germany. The same
day the German-Soviet agreement was signed in Moscow, the British
ambassador delivered to Hitler a letter from Prime Minister
Chamberlain. It warned that Britain would support Poland with
military force regardless of the new pact. Chamberlain conceded that
Germany might well subdue Poland, but added that Britain would fight
on regardless.
Even
this letter did not disabuse Hitler entirely of his hopes of making
the British see reason. His reply that same day emphasized the
suffering of Germans in Poland, and pleaded with Britain’s
leadership to consider the situation from the standpoint of humanity
rather than abstract considerations of policy. He blamed Polish
intransigence on Britain’s guarantee, and closed with the
observation that war would mean the defeat of his lifelong ambition
to promote Anglo-German friendship and understanding.
On
the night of August 24, on Hitler’s orders, Ribbentrop telephoned
Ciano to request a definite statement of Italian intentions. Ciano
replied that Germany would receive it the next day.
August
25 was a busy day for Hitler. By early afternoon, he received his
answer from Italy. The prospect of a frank repudiation of the German
alliance proved unbearable to the Duce,
so Ciano instead persuaded him to send the Germans a formal offer of
support conditional upon Germany supplying Italy with impossibly
large quantities of raw materials within an absurdly short time.
Hitler received the telegram by early afternoon and immediately
understood that it represented a refusal.
At
1:30 PM the British ambassador arrived to receive formal German
proposals for an Anglo-German agreement. Germany wished, he
explained, to follow up her treaty with Russia by concluding a treaty
of friendship with Britain:
He
was prepared to assume the greatest and most complex commitment on
behalf of Great Britain that had ever been offered by any foreign
leader. This commitment was no less than to place the entire power of
the Reich at the disposal of the British for the defense of the
British Empire at any point and any time. The British leaders
themselves, of course, would be free to decide in any threatening
situation when and if they needed this aid. Hitler believed that an
arrangement of Anglo-German differences would create conditions of
complete security for both Powers, and it was obvious that a drastic
reduction of armaments would be immediately feasible. . . . The very
last thing he could possibly desire was to turn Germany into nothing
better than a military barracks.
The
British ambassador relayed this offer to Halifax with the
recommendation that Hitler be given an opportunity to demonstrate his
good intentions.
Immediately
following this meeting, Hitler gave the order to begin full-scale
military operations against Poland the next morning at dawn. He hoped
to minimize the danger of a wider conflict by settling accounts with
the Poles while the impact of his alliance offer was fresh, and
before Britain and France learned that Italy would not support him
(not realizing they had learned this several days before he did).
Shortly
before 3:00 PM, Polish telephone communications through Germany were
interrupted by the military authorities. Beck interpreted this as
part of a war of nerves rather than an indication that an attack was
imminent, and Poland did not order full mobilization. By 3:05 PM,
General Wilhelm Keitel had distributed all the necessary orders to
the individual German army commanders. The German war machine was in
motion.
Hitler
anxiously awaited news from Britain. When it arrived at 5:00 PM, it
was not what he anticipated. The German News Bureau announced that
the British guarantee to Poland was about to be formalized as an
Anglo-Polish alliance. Hitler’s optimism that Britain would avoid
full-scale war on Poland’s behalf was finally starting to be
shaken.
At
5:30 PM, the French ambassador arrived for a previously scheduled
meeting. In the ensuing conversation (and possibly unaware Bonnet was
opposed to intervention) he gave Hitler his “word of honor as a
soldier that he had no doubt whatever that in the event of Poland’s
being attacked, France would assist her with all the forces at her
command.” Hitler’s confidence in the step he had taken was
further shaken.
After
this meeting, he summoned Ribbentrop:
Hitler
complained that he had received two very bad pieces of news on this
one difficult day. One was the defection of Italy, and the other was
the conclusion of the Anglo-Polish Pact. Hitler was astonished that
these two developments occurred in the wake of his treaty with the
Soviet Union. He was sufficiently flexible to agree with Ribbentrop
that his analysis of the Anglo-French position was probably wrong.
If
so, his assumption that Poland could be fought without plunging the
whole of Europe into war was also wrong. Although the attack order
had already gone out, it was not yet irrevocable. Such a last-minute
reversal was one of the hypothetical scenarios for which the German
military had planned. The point of no return would not be reached
until 9:30 that evening. Even so, plenty of confusion and failures of
communication were possible in the event of a cancellation. As Hoggan
observes, “the Bulgarians had stumbled into the Second Balkan War
under similar circumstances in 1913, and suffered a crushing defeat.”
Hitler faced an agonizing decision.
Mindful
that his alliance offer to Britain might still have an effect, he
summoned Gen. Keitel, and at 6:30 PM he ordered the attack on Poland
suspended. Keitel instantly sent out the command that “the already
started ‘Operation White’ will be stopped at 20:30 (8:30 PM)
because of changed political conditions.” There were a few serious
slips, but the Wehrmacht was
more efficient than the Bulgarian army of 1913. Germany was pulled
back from the brink.
Hitler’s
cancellation of military operations for August 26 left him with only
five days before September 1, after which, according to his generals,
a military campaign in Poland would no longer be feasible. If war was
to be prevented, it had to be done within this time.
On
the morning of August 25, President Roosevelt had dispatched messages
to Germany and Poland proposing a settlement by direct negotiation,
arbitration, or mediation. This elicited a response from Polish
President Ignacy Mościcki rejecting arbitration, but accepting in
principle the prospect of negotiations. His statement remained airily
general, however; he not only offered no concrete proposals, but
suggested no time or place for talks. Hitler was justifiably
suspicious of both Roosevelt and Mościcki’s intentions, putting
more faith in the ability of Poland’s British allies to pressure
her to come to the table. In fact, on the very day of President
Mościcki’s remarks, Beck was telling America’s ambassador in
Warsaw that Poland would take the initiative of declaring war on
Germany if the Germans did not act soon.
As
they waited for a response from London, the Germans worked out a new
set of terms for negotiation with the Poles. These became known as
the Marienwerder Proposals; they involved a plebiscite in the
northern tip of the Corridor. Gdynia, a port 23 miles from Danzig
that had been under construction by the Poles since 1920, was
recognized by the Germans as indisputably Polish and was not included
in the plebiscite area. In the event of a Polish plebiscite loss, she
was to be granted a transit route to Gdynia similar to the route
previously sought by the Germans. The total extent of the area
involved in these new proposals amounted to only one-tenth of the
territory Germany had surrendered to Poland and the League of Nations
after the First World War:
The
German government insisted again and again that these terms were
formulated to offer a basis for unimpeded negotiations between equals
rather than to constitute a series of demands which the Poles would
be required to accept. There was nothing to prevent the Poles from
presenting proposals of their own.
Hitler
was also in correspondence with French Prime Minister Daladier during
these days, who maintained that France “found it necessary to offer
her support to Poland,” but insisted on his strong desire for
peace. (As previously mentioned, Daladier’s Foreign Minister,
Bonnet, opposed any French guarantee to Poland.)
France’s
ambassador remarked to Hitler that
[a]
war fought with modern arms would above all be a great tragedy for
the women and children of Europe. [He] noted that these carefully
calculated words produced a great effect on Hitler. There was a long
pause, after which the German Chancellor observed pensively: “Yes,
I have often thought of the women and children.”
The
next day, Hitler extended a pledge to the French that in the event of
hostilities, Germany would not take the initiative in the waging of
war against enemy civilians. Hoggan remarks, “This pledge was later
strictly observed. It was rendered inoperative by the indiscriminate
British bombing campaign over Germany.”
A
prominent role in these final days of peace was played by a Swedish
engineer named Birger Dahlerus, a firm opponent of Anglo-German
hostilities with numerous contacts in both Britain and Germany. Since
early July he had been working, with Hitler’s knowledge and
permission, as a private envoy between the British authorities and
Germany’s second-in-command, Hermann Göring. Dahlerus conferred
with Halifax in London on August 25 and 26. Halifax presented him
with a personal letter to Göring recommending direct German
negotiations with the Poles. (It might have been more pertinent to
have addressed such a missive to the Poles.)
Dahlerus
flew to Berlin on the afternoon of the 26th to deliver Halifax’s
letter to Göring and have his first personal audience with Hitler.
On the 27th he was back in London, where British leaders assured him
that a formal reply to Hitler’s alliance offer would soon be made.
The gist was to be that “an agreement for collaboration with
Germany was acceptable in principle, but the British would continue
to support the position taken by Poland in the Danzig issue.” Back
in Berlin the same day, he conveyed this to Hitler, who was extremely
pleased:
Hitler
assured Dahlerus he would be willing to accept the British commitment
to Poland once Germany had settled her own differences with the
Poles. He believed the British would recognize that he had made an
important concession when he ceased to regard their guarantee to
Poland as an obstacle to an Anglo-German understanding. Hitler then
raised the crucial point. He insisted it was necessary for the
British to persuade the Poles to negotiate. Otherwise nothing would
be accomplished, war would be inevitable, and a favorable opportunity
for an Anglo-German understanding would be lost.
Hitler
said he was prepared to accept an international guarantee of Poland
as part of any settlement, and to deny support to any third power —
including Italy — that came into conflict with Britain.
Göring
instructed Dahlerus to inform the British authorities of three
important points: first, of the German army’s military plans,
specifically that they would be in their final positions for
operations against Poland by the night of Aug 30-31; second, the
substance of the Marienwerder Proposals, which had not yet been
reduced to numbered articles; and third, a convenient neutral
location for negotiations between Germany and Poland: a Swedish-owned
yacht in the Baltic. Dahlerus conveyed this information in London on
the afternoon of the 28th. Halifax’s reaction was revealing: He
transmitted to Warsaw only
the first point, about military plans.
Hitler
assumed the British were exerting pressure on their Polish allies to
negotiate during these critical days, but such was not the case.
Halifax merely contacted the British ambassador in Warsaw — not the
Poles themselves — on August 28 at 2:00 PM, three days after
receiving Hitler’s offer. In Hoggan’s view, he might not have
done even this without “constant prodding from Dahlerus.” Halifax
referred to President Mościcki’s abstract claim to be open to
negotiations in his reply to Roosevelt, adding that “Britain
expected Poland to conduct herself accordingly.” The ambassador
replied “nonchalantly” that “Beck was prepared to enter into
direct negotiations at once.” It is doubtful whether he had even
asked Beck, who maintained afterwards that the first direct appeal he
received to renew negotiations with Germany only came “much later.”
In short, the British brought no pressure whatever to bear on Poland.
Dahlerus
returned to Berlin on the 28th to announce Halifax’s rejection of
Hitler’s proposal for German defense of the British Empire,
apparently regarding it as an insulting insinuation that the British
were unable to defend it themselves. (Hoggan notes that the British
had accepted the Japanese defense of her East Asian possessions as
early as 1902.) Göring was disturbed by this development, but Hitler
persisted in his confidence that Britain would bring the Poles to the
negotiating table.
At
10:30 PM on the 28th, the British ambassador finally brought Hitler
Halifax’s official response. Along with much verbiage about the
approaching war being “a calamity without parallel in history,”
the note made two points: first, that Britain would insist that any
settlement of the controversy with Poland be subject to an
international guarantee by a number of powers, including Poland and
Germany; and second, that the Polish government had declared its
willingness to negotiate directly with Germany. This latter claim was
nothing more than an allusion to President Mościcki’s response to
Roosevelt, which the Germans already knew about; Poland had made no
new assurances to the British. Unaware of this, Hitler was elated at
the British note.
On
August 29 at 7:00 AM, Dahlerus telephoned the British Foreign Office
to report Hitler’s new optimism. Britain’s ambassador in Berlin
wired London several times that day to urge British insistence that
the Poles negotiate, and to recommend associating France in this
demand. He denied Polish allegations that Hitler’s efforts toward a
negotiated settlement merely represented an attempt to split the
Anglo-Polish front. Halifax ignored these appeals.
Poland
ordered full mobilization that same day, something Polish military
plans stipulated would only be taken in the event of a decision to go
to war. As Hoggan notes, this step is unsurprising in view of
Halifax’s relaying of Göring’s information regarding German
military plans, combined with suppression of the accompanying peace
proposals.
By
this time, even in the absence of British pressure, rumors were
reaching Beck that Poland might be urged to resume negotiations with
Germany. He took the initiative to inform the British ambassador in
Warsaw that he was unprepared to grant any concessions to the
Germans, and therefore saw no point in negotiations. This was relayed
to Halifax, who neither replied nor informed the Germans.
In
ignorance of the true situation, Hitler was preparing his response to
Britain. He requested that the British authorities advise the Poles
to send an emissary to Berlin the following day, August 30,
emphasizing the need for haste. The British received Hitler’s
response that evening, the 29th. Shortly after midnight, Halifax
forwarded it to Britain’s ambassador in Warsaw with the vague
comment that it “appeared to be not unpromising.” In informing
Beck of Hitler’s request for an emissary, the British ambassador
took it upon himself to advise a refusal — not that Beck needed
such advice. On the morning of the 30th, Halifax was told it would
“be impossible to induce the Polish government to send Col. Beck or
any other representative immediately to Berlin to discuss a
settlement on the basis proposed by Herr Hitler.” (Bonnet urged
Beck to accept Hitler’s offer as soon as he heard about it, but was
unable to accomplish anything without British support.)
After
dispatching his response to Britain, Hitler even followed up with a
clarification that the proposed meeting need not take place in
Berlin, and might be held after midnight: in other words, on the 31st
rather than the 30th. This made no difference.
General
mobilization notices were posted throughout Poland by the afternoon
of the 30th. The Polish government released a communiqué to justify
the measure. Written by Beck, it insisted to the world that Poland
had supported all efforts for peace, but had gotten no response from
Germany. These measures were understood by the German Foreign Office
as a final Polish rejection, although Hitler, Göring, and Ribbentrop
clung to their hopes until the 31st.
At
6:50 PM on August 30, Halifax sent Britain’s ambassador in Berlin
the British reply to Hitler’s note of the 29th. He rejected as
“wholly unreasonable” the proposal for a Polish emissary to come
to Berlin to negotiate. Hitler was informed at midnight of a flat
British refusal to advise the Poles to comply.
Dahlerus
conveyed the Marienwerder Proposals to the Polish embassy in Berlin
at 10:00 the next morning, August 31. The Polish ambassador forwarded
them to Beck, who responded shortly before noon with an order not to
accept any more German proposals. Göring’s office intercepted and
decoded this telegram:
The
German response was swift and decisive. Hitler could act with a clear
conscience. He had offered to negotiate a moderate settlement with
the Poles despite months of Polish provocations and savage
persecution of the Germans in Poland. The Polish refusal to discuss a
settlement with Germany on any terms was insulting. Hitler had waited
as long as possible without jeopardizing the German operational plan.
He issued the final attack order at forty minutes past noon, on
August 31.
A
German war with Poland was now a certainty, but a new continental war
involving Britain and France was not. The most important obstacle to
the widening of the conflict was that Britain quietly viewed French
participation as an indispensable precondition of her own
involvement, and the French had not committed themselves to action
against Poland. Indeed, sentiment within the French leadership was
largely opposed to intervention.
Hitler
addressed the Reichstag on the morning of September 1. He emphasized
his longstanding attempts to resolve issues with foreign nations
through peaceful revision. Poland had rejected proposals more
generous than any other German leader had dared to offer. Hundreds of
thousands of people in Danzig and the Corridor were suffering from
Polish countermeasures since she declared partial mobilization March
23. Unlike Poland, Germany had faithfully carried out the provisions
of the minority treaty of November 1937.
Hitler
had announced his own position in the dispute on April 28. Since
then, he had waited four months in vain for some response from the
Polish side. No great power could tolerate such conditions
indefinitely.
Germany’s
dispute with Poland did not affect the Western powers’ vital
interests. Hitler had never asked and never would ask anything from
Britain and France, and he ardently desired an understanding with
them.
The
German Chancellor then announced his war aims. He intended to solve
the Danzig and Corridor questions, and to bring about a change in
German-Polish relations. He would fight until the existing Polish
government agreed to peaceful coexistence or until another Polish
government was prepared to accept this. He was pursuing limited
objectives and not insisting on the annihilation of the Polish armed
forces or the overthrow of the Polish state.
Hitler
claimed the German Reich had spent 90 billion Marks for defense
purposes during the previous six years. This was an exaggeration:
About half of that sum had gone for public works with no direct
connection to armament. His juggling of the figures was an effort to
discourage Britain and France from declaring war on Germany.
Following
Hitler’s speech, a bill was introduced for the annexation of Danzig
to the Reich. It passed unanimously.
The
indefatigable Birger Dahlerus continued his mediation efforts on
September 1, seeking permission from the British Foreign Office to
come to London to present the German case. At 1:25 PM he received a
definite refusal: The British authorities would not agree to support
further negotiations unless German troops withdrew from Poland and
Danzig.
That
evening, Prime Minister Chamberlain addressed the House of Commons,
claiming that “the responsibility for this terrible catastrophe
lies on the shoulders of one man, the German Chancellor.” He
claimed Hitler’s recent suggestion that a Polish envoy come to
Berlin for negotiations was a command for Poland to accept Germany’s
terms without discussion. This was patently untrue, but as Hoggan
observes, “the Polish case was so weak that it was impossible to
defend it with the truth.”
Chamberlain
promised to keep British casualties to a minimum by attacking Germany
primarily from the air. This was a tacit admission that Britain
planned to let the French do most of the bleeding. No wonder the
French government was less enthusiastic at the prospect of war!
Halifax
delivered a similar speech in the House of Lords. He insisted the
English conscience was pure, and proudly added that he would not wish
to have changed anything about British policy. As Hoggan notes,
Halifax retained this smug complacency even in his post-war memoirs.
Upon
the outbreak of hostilities, Britain demanded an immediate
Anglo-French ultimatum to Germany. Bonnet hoped there would never be
such an ultimatum, but he replied simply that it would be impossible
to consider the matter until after the convening of the French
Parliament on September 2. In fact, Bonnet was trying to arrange an
international peace conference, despite worries about British
intransigence. He had the support of Prime Minister Daladier and most
Cabinet ministers. This greatly worried Halifax, who wired Britain’s
ambassador in Paris that the French attitude was causing grave
misgivings in London. He added, “We shall be grateful for anything
you can do to infuse courage and determination into M. Bonnet.” To
the British Foreign Secretary, anyone who opposed his plans for war
could only be a coward.
On
the afternoon of September 1, Daladier sent an appeal to the Italians
for help in arranging a conference. The message was welcome: Italy
was proud of having launched a successful last-minute mediation
effort in the Czech crisis the previous year, and hoped to do so
again. Most of her efforts on September 1, however, were directed to
convincing the world she would not intervene in Germany’s war
against Poland. Italy still feared possible British attack, and an
angry mob was besieging her embassy in Warsaw in the mistaken belief
that she was aiding the Germans.
Ciano
and Mussolini decided it would be wise to secure German support
before approaching the French and British about a conference. Ciano
wired Berlin at 10:00 AM on September 2 about Daladier’s
solicitation of a diplomatic conference. Italy was prepared to
propose an armistice that provided for the halting of the German and
Polish armies at the positions momentarily occupied. Arrangements
could then be made for a conference within two or three days. Hitler
responded enthusiastically. An Italian diplomat who was present
records that Hitler appeared positively eager to terminate German
operations in Poland. He knew that with French support, Germany and
Italy could prevail over Britain and Poland in any five-power
conference. By 4:00 PM, the Italians had received word of German
approval. Hitler declared he would be able to stop operations in
Poland by noon the next day.
At
this same hour, however, Halifax was insisting to Bonnet that Germany
would have to complete the withdrawal of her forces from Poland and
Danzig before Britain would agree to consider the conference plan.
Bonnet knew that “no Great Power would accept such treatment.”
Ciano
telephoned Halifax at 5:00 PM and was stunned to learn of his
insistence on a full German withdrawal from Poland as a precondition
for any conference. He assured Halifax this would destroy every
chance for a peaceful settlement; the Italian diplomat still did not
grasp that this was Halifax’s purpose.
Moreover, as Hoggan notes:
He
failed to perceive that British entry into the war was dependent on
the consent of France, and that the British would not be able to
destroy his peace plan if it was supported by France. The moment of
decision for the Italian mediation effort had arrived, but Ciano was
so overwhelmed with indignation at British intransigence that he
failed to make the proper comments. He should have taunted Halifax
with the fact that the French attitude toward the crisis was entirely
different.
That
very afternoon, Daladier’s promise to continue working for peace
had been met with loud applause from all sections of the French
Chamber.
One
possible reason Ciano failed to play the French card was continued
fear of British reprisals; recall Halifax’s August 20 threat that
Britain would attack Italy immediately with most of her armed forces
if she joined Germany in any war. Thus, Ciano’s conversation with
Halifax remained brief and inconclusive, leaving him in a depressed
mood.
Also
at 5:00 PM, Bonnet was repeating to a British diplomat his refusal to
make the withdrawal of German troops from Poland a condition for a
conference. Bonnet said he would present this question to the French
Cabinet, which would probably not reach a decision before 9:00 PM.
Under pressure from Halifax, he promised that the French Cabinet
would try to complete deliberations by 8:00 PM.
At
6:00 PM, Halifax learned that Ciano had been complimenting Bonnet on
a response to Italian mediation efforts “more forthcoming and
willing” than Halifax’s own. Was Ciano beginning to realize it
was France and not Britain that held the key to peace? He instructed
Britain’s ambassador to France to make a strong protest that “the
position of the French government was very embarrassing to His
Majesty’s Government.” The ambassador responded that the protest
could not be delivered immediately since the French Cabinet was in
session. At that very moment Bonnet was making his final, supreme
attempt to commit his colleagues to a peaceful settlement, and there
was nothing more Halifax could do to influence the outcome.
He
then decided on a “desperate gamble,” telephoning Ciano at 6:38
PM to deceive him about the situation:
Halifax
told Ciano that the withdrawal of the German troops from Poland was
the essential condition for any conference, and he implied that Great
Britain and France were in complete agreement on this important
question. Ciano received the false impression that Bonnet had
accepted this fatal maneuver to obstruct a conference prior to
attending the French Cabinet, which was still in session.
Halifax
further insisted that Britain would demand the restoration of the
government of the League of Nations High Commissioner (then in
Lithuania) to Danzig before considering the possibility of a
conference. His imagination was endlessly fertile in throwing up
obstacles to peace.
The
bluff was successful: Ciano never imagined a British Foreign
Secretary would deliberately lie about another nation’s views. Both
Ciano and Mussolini concluded that the cause of peace was lost. It
was a disastrous mistake.
At
7:30 PM Chamberlain presented to the House of Commons a distorted
version of the Italian peace plan, asserting that “Britain could
not consent to negotiate while Polish towns were being bombarded and
the Polish countryside invaded.” Halifax made a similarly
misleading address to the House of Lords. In reality, both men knew
Hitler had offered to suspend hostilities as a necessary condition
for any conference.
At
8:20 PM, Ciano wired instructions to Italy’s ambassador in Berlin
announcing that Mussolini had formally withdrawn his offer to mediate
among Britain, Germany, Poland, and France. Hitler was advised to
abandon plans for an armistice.
At
that very moment, the French Cabinet was adjourning its first session
in Paris without
having reached a decision on the conference plan.
A still hopeful Bonnet was then informed of the withdrawal of the
Italian mediation effort. At 8:30 PM he put through an urgent
telephone call to Ciano:
Bonnet
explained that France had not actually accepted the British condition
of a German troop withdrawal. Ciano expressed amazement, but did not
see how Italy could retrieve her blunder of cancelling her mediation
plan. Bonnet no longer had the German assurance for an armistice.
Ciano insisted that a new mediation effort would be unpropitious
under these circumstances, and the French Foreign Minister
reluctantly agreed.
Hoggan
comments, “This conversation is a striking example of the manner in
which resignation and fatalism can paralyze the will under the
enormous pressure of a crisis situation.”
Bonnet
had no sooner put down the receiver than another French minister
appealed to him with tears in his eyes to get back on the telephone
and insist Italy launch a new mediation effort on condition that the
German troops halt their advance. Hitler, he said, would very likely
agree to these terms. “Bonnet sadly replied that, in his opinion,
there was no longer the slightest doubt that such an effort would
fail.”
Having
concluded his speech to the House of Lords shortly after 8:00 PM,
Halifax was waiting impatiently for news from Rome. At 9:30 PM he
received a wire that the Italians “do not feel it possible to press
the German government to proceed with Signor Mussolini’s
suggestion.” The war he sought was finally within his grasp: All
that now remained was to obtain an official French declaration.
Chamberlain
telephoned Daladier at 9:50 PM, claiming with considerable
exaggeration that he had faced an “angry scene” in Parliament
when he said he was still consulting with France on the time limit
for an ultimatum. He told Daladier he wished to inform the British
public before midnight that an ultimatum would be delivered in Berlin
by both Britain and France at 8:00 AM the next day, September 3.
Daladier’s answer was no: “He asserted in desperation that he
still had good reason to believe that Ciano was about to renew his
mediation effort [and] advised against any kind of diplomatic step
before noon on the following day.”
The
British were furious. Halifax decided on another gamble:
He
telephoned Bonnet at 10:30 p.m. that the British ultimatum for 8:00
a.m. the next day would be communicated to the British public before
midnight, regardless of the attitude of France. He was unable to
disguise his basic dependency upon France. He confided that
everything would proceed unilaterally up to the expiration of the
British ultimatum at noon. Britain at that point would take no action
unless the French had previously agreed to follow with their own
declaration of war within twenty-four hours.
Hoggan
pauses for an instant to consider the “fantastic situation” that
might have ensued if the French had persisted in their refusal to
deliver an ultimatum and the British had failed to act on theirs.
Halifax’s
telephone call with Bonnet lasted a long time, and Halifax did most
of the talking. He then
drew
up a memorandum on the conversation in which he concluded, after some
hesitation, that Bonnet had “finally agreed.” French resistance
crumbled rapidly in the face of Halifax’s self-assurance. Bonnet
concluded fatalistically that, with the Italians now out of the
picture, it would be futile to continue to frustrate British designs.
Bonnet
was a sincere friend of peace, but at least twice on the evening of
September 2 his will proved weaker than Halifax’s, both during his
8:30 call to Ciano and his 10:30 conversation with Halifax himself.
The French ultimatum followed the British in well under 24 hours, and
Europe was at war.
*
* *
Hoggan’s
gripping narrative of the last days of peace, especially the
brinksmanship of September 2, provides more than enough support for
his contention that
there
was no justification for the later fatalism which suggested that
World War II was inevitable after 1936 or 1938. The British had to
work very hard until the evening of September 2, 1939, to achieve the
outbreak of World War II. The issue was in no sense decided before
that time.
Some
readers may be surprised at the absence of Winston Churchill’s name
from this narrative. In the period covered by The
Forced War,
Churchill was the leader of the war party in the House of Commons,
and does merit a few mentions, but Hoggan states:
Churchill
does not bear direct responsibility for the attack on Germany in
September 1939, because he was not admitted to the British Cabinet
until the die was cast. The crucial decisions on policy were made
without his knowledge, and he was amazed when Halifax suddenly
shifted to a war policy in March 1939. Churchill was useful to
Halifax in building up British prejudice against Germany, but he was
a mere instrument in the conduct of British policy in 1938 and 1939.
The
war which began in September 1939 would prove a catastrophe for
Poland and a Pyrrhic victory for Britain, which was reduced to the
status of an American vassal and was shortly thereafter deprived of
her Empire. The true victor would be the Soviet Union, which ended up
controlling half of Europe for four and a half decades after the
conclusion of hostilities. As noted above, virtually everyone
underestimated the Bolshevik colossus in 1938 and 1939.
Yet
despite its disastrous outcome, the struggle against Hitler remains
the founding myth of the post-war world. Every foreign head of state
perceived as a threat is “the new Hitler,” and every attempt to
deal with such a man through negotiation is “appeasement” and a
failure to learn the “lessons of Munich.” The persistence of this
pernicious mental template among the powerful continues to threaten
the peace of the world and makes Hoggan’s guided tour of musty
diplomatic archives as relevant to the future of our civilization as
today’s headlines.
A
correction of the record is also a matter of simple justice. Millions
of people continue to believe the literal truth of British and Polish
propaganda from 1939 — namely, that these nations did everything
possible to maintain peace, but were forced to take a heroic stand
against monstrous aggression from a madman determined to take over
the world. Hoggan, writing at the height of the Cold War, concludes:
The
German people, especially, have been laden with an entirely
unjustifiable burden of guilt. It may safely be said that this is the
inevitable consequence of English wars, which for centuries have been
waged for allegedly moral purposes. It is equally evident that the
reconciliation which might follow from the removal of this burden
would be in the interest of all nations which continue to reject
Communism.
