Failure of a Mission - Berlin 1937-1939

Failure of a Mission

Berlin 1937-1939

BY THE RIGHT HONORABLE

Sir Nevile Henderson

P. C., G. C. M. G.

SIR NEVILE HENDERSON

COPYRIGHT, 1940, BY SIR NEVILE HENDERSON

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, must

not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Designed by Robert Josephy

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

PART I: THE BACKGROUND OF THE STORY

APPENDIXES

PROLOGUE

I labour for peace, but when I speak unto

them thereof they make them ready to battle.

6TH VERSE OF PSALM CXX OF        

THE BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER.

IT was the stationmaster at Grantham who finally overcame my scruples about the writing of this book. Mr. Gardner was kind enough to invite me into his office, where there was a fire, one cold morning when I was waiting for a train for London, which was late. We spoke of this and that, about the war and its origins; and his final remark to me was that he and people like him knew nothing of the facts of the case.

I have attempted in this volume, the main purpose of which is historical, to give the facts of the case; and to those who read it I should wish, first of all, to make it quite clear that, whereas all the observations, comments, and opinions expressed in this volume are purely personal and therefore fallible and controversial, the sequence of events and the facts themselves are taken entirely from telegrams, dispatches, and letters written at the time, and are consequently, humanly speaking, strictly exact.

In a book of this nature, written so soon after the events recorded therein, there must necessarily be certain reticences. In the first place, I occupied an official position at Berlin, and was then, and still am, in the service of His Majesty’s Government.

In the second place, if circumstances had been normal, nothing would have induced me to write—at least at this early stage—about people who had so recently been uniformly courteous and hospitable to me personally.

Unfortunately, circumstances are not normal; and, whatever my personal inclinations may be, I have felt that, having regard to the fact that it is British public opinion which ultimately determines the character of our foreign policy, it is my duty to give to the people of this country an account of my stewardship of the mission which was entrusted to me by the King in April, 1937, as his Ambassador at Berlin.

The first commandment of a diplomatist is faithfully to interpret the views of his own government to the government to which he is accredited; and the second is like unto it: namely, to explain no less accurately the views and standpoint of the government of the country in which he is stationed to the government of his own country.

The first commandment is much easier to keep than the second; and its fulfillment can, or should, be taken for granted. The second is sometimes far more difficult of performance. I went to Berlin resolved, in spite of my own doubts and apprehensions and in spite of many of its detestable aspects, to do my utmost to see the good side of the Nazi regime as well as the bad, and to explain as objectively as I could its aspirations and viewpoint to His Majesty’s Government. Hitler and the Nazi party governed Germany, and with them it was my duty to work. But above all, I was determined to labor for an honorable peace and to follow the example of the Prime Minister in never wearying of that labor.

For two years I hoped against hope that the Nazi revolution, having run its course, would revert to a normal and civilized conduct of internal and international life, that there was a limit to Hitler’s ambitions and a word of truth in some at least of his assurances and statements. Many may regard my persistence as convicting me of the lack of any intellectual understanding of Nazi or even German mentality. That may be true; but even today I do not regret having tried to believe in Germany’s honor and good sense. Whatever happens, I shall always persist in thinking that it was right to make the attempt, that nothing was lost by making it, but that, on the contrary, we should never have entered upon this war as a united Empire and nation, with the moral support of neutral opinion behind us, if the attempt had not been made. Anyway, the fact remains that up to the fifteenth of March, 1939, and in spite of the shocks of Godesberg and Munich in 1938, I refused to abandon that hope. After the occupation of Prague on the Ides of last March I still struggled on, though all hope, except in a miracle, was dead.

No miracle occurred, and on September 1st the German armies and Air Force invaded Poland. There was no declaration of war, and a clearer case of unprovoked aggression there can never be. Indeed, in spite of all my hopes and efforts, it is possible now to say that for a year and a half before that date I had been obsessed with the idea that we were moving remorselessly through the pages of a Greek tragedy to its inevitably disastrous and sinister end. Those who take the trouble to read this book will realize what I mean. Hitler never intended the ultimate end to be other than war. It seems inconceivable that the will and lust for power of one man should plunge an unwilling Europe into war. But so it is; and hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children have to suffer and to die for it. So long as Germany, the home of the most numerous, disciplined, and hard-working race in Europe, is governed by Hitler and his secret police (Gestapo) and by all that Hitlerism stands for, there can be no confidence in international agreements and no civilized conduct in national and international life.

That is my profound conviction after living in the Germany of Hitler for over two years. I like and admire the German people; I feel myself very much at home among them and find them less strangers than almost any other foreign people. A prosperous, contented, and happy Germany is a vital British interest. But today the Germans are serving a false god, and their many good and great qualities are being debauched for ends which are evil. Germany can neither be prosperous nor happy till she recovers her individual and personal freedom of life and thought and has learned that the true responsibility of strength is to protect and not to oppress the weak.

I have lived abroad for a third of a century. The last year in which I spent as much as six months in England was 1905. In December of that year I was sent to my first post at St. Petersburg. Since then I have never spent more than four months in England in any one year, generally much less; and in the course of some years I have never returned to England at all. Yet, whenever I do so, I am always struck by the fundamental common sense, sound judgment, and critical faculty of the great mass of the British people, of John Citizen and Jane Citizeness in their simplest form. Never was I more impressed by this than in September of this year and in the months which preceded the declaration of war. I may tell of my personal experiences at Berlin during the past two years; but nothing in such a record can add to, or detract from, the instinctive appreciation by the British public of the realities of the struggle upon which we have now entered.

There is no material gain in it for ourselves. True to our own spirit of freedom, we are fighting for the moral standards of civilized life, in the full realization of our responsibilities and of the cost which we must pay for shouldering them. All that is best in this generation of the British nation, and particularly of its youth, has dedicated itself to the higher cause of humanity in the future; and it is in humble recognition of that marvelous fact that I myself dare to dedicate this book to the people of the British Isles, to the men and women of its streets and factories, shores and countrysides.

Rauceby Hall,

Sleaford.

October, 1939.

PART I

THE BACKGROUND

OF THE STORY

IN January, 1937, when I had been just over a year at Buenos Aires as His Majesty’s Ambassador to the Argentine Republic, I received a telegram from Mr. Eden, then Foreign Secretary in Mr. Baldwin’s Cabinet, offering me the post of Ambassador at Berlin in succession to Sir Eric Phipps, who was being transferred to Paris in April. As the telegram was marked personal, I asked my secretary, Mr. Pennefather, to help me decode it; and I can still vividly recall my first reactions on ascertaining its contents. They were threefold. In the first place a sense of my own inadequacy for what was obviously the most difficult and most important post in the whole of the diplomatic service. Secondly, and deriving from the first, that it could only mean that I had been specially selected by Providence with the definite mission of, as I trusted, helping to preserve the peace of the world. And thirdly there flashed across my mind the Latin tag about failure and success which ominously observes that the Tarpeian Rock, from which failures were thrown to their doom, is next to the Capitol, where the triumph of success was celebrated. I might have hesitated more than I did about accepting Mr. Eden’s offer if I had not been persuaded of the reality of my second reaction, which seemed to me to outweigh every other consideration.

I left Buenos Aires in the middle of March. Though I had had a German governess as a small boy and had spent the best part of two years in Germany while preparing for the diplomatic examination, I had never during my thirty-two years’ service abroad been in a post where German was the spoken language, so that my knowledge of it was extremely rusty. It was partly for that reason that I took my passage back to England on the German liner Cap Arcona and provided myself with two copies of Hitler’s Mein Kampf to study on the way. The one had been given me by the German Ambassador at Buenos Aires, the other was an unexpurgated edition which I obtained privately. Though it was in parts turgid and prolix and would have been more readable if it had been condensed to a third of its length, it struck me at the time as a remarkable production on the part of a man whose education and political experience appeared to have been as slight, on his own showing, as Herr Hitler’s.

The Captain of the Cap Arcona was a certain Niejahr, who was afterward promoted to be Commodore of the North German Lloyd. He was a great favorite with all the British passengers on board, of whom there were a number, including the late Lord Mount Temple, who was at that time President of the Anglo-German Fellowship, but who resigned from that position after the Jewish persecutions in November, 1938. I had several talks with Captain Niejahr; and, on one occasion, pointing to his own high cheek bones, he drew my attention to the considerable admixture of Slav blood in many of the Germans and particularly of the Prussians. It is no coincidence that in the last war it was the Prussians rather than the Germans whom we regarded as our real enemies and that in the present one it is the Nazis, or followers of Hitler, and again not the Germans as a race. Though but few of the actual leaders of the National Socialist party are Prussians by origin, it is the Prussian ideology and particularly their methods which are no less dominant today in Germany than they were in 1914 or in 1870.

In a democracy the state is subordinated to the service of its citizens. In National Socialism, as interpreted by Hitler, the state is all in all; while the citizen has no individual personality and is but the obedient servant and slave of the state as personified in its leader, whose will is absolute (the Führerprinzip). The leader principle is derived directly from Fascism; but otherwise this conception of national philosophy is based entirely on the old Prussian theory of service to the state and obedience to command, as preached in the writings of its apostle, Immanuel Kant. In what proportion militant Prussianism is due to its Slavic blood mixture, to the harsh northeastern German climate, or to the militarism imposed on it by its old indefensible eastern frontiers is an open question. But the fact remains that the Prussians, of whom even Goethe spoke as barbarians, are a distinctive European type, which has imposed itself and its characteristics upon the rest of Germany. Also, from the point of view of the western world, it has prostituted or is prostituting the great qualities of order and efficiency, probity and kindliness of the purer German of Northwest, West, and South Germany, with whom an Englishman on his travels abroad finds himself in such natural sympathy.

Among the German passengers on board the Cap Arcona were Count and Countess Dohna, with whom, as I shall relate, I afterward stayed at their castle of Finckenstein in East Prussia; and Princess Frederick Leopold of Prussia, a sister of the late Empress, who was traveling with her only surviving son, destined later to be imprisoned by the Nazi Government. Apart, however, from having occasion to make my first attempt at a speech in German at a small dinner given to the Captain, by far the most interesting incident of the journey was our meeting with the new German airship Hindenburg, which, in the following May, was to become a total casualty with considerable loss of life at Lakehurst in the United States. She caught us up on her return journey from South America to Germany, and setting her engines as she reached us to the same speed as those of the Cap Arcona, she hung over our heads at about one hundred and fifty feet, a most impressive spectacle, for fully five or ten minutes while wireless messages were exchanged between the two craft. When she started her engines at full speed again, it was almost incredible how quickly she disappeared once more from view.

I reached Southampton on one of the last days of March and spent a hectic month in London seeing as many people as possible and occupied in all the numerous preparations which are necessary before one takes over a new post. My most important interview was, of course, with Mr. Neville Chamberlain, who was at that time Chancellor of the Exchequer but who was already Prime Minister designate, as Mr. Baldwin had some time previously announced his intention of retiring immediately after the Coronation, which was to take place on May 12th. Both he and Mr. Baldwin, whom I had seen earlier, agreed that I should do my utmost to work with Hitler and the Nazi party as the existing government in Germany. In democratic England the Nazis, with their disregard of personal freedom and their persecution of religion, Jews, and trade unions alike, were naturally far from popular. But they were the government of the country, and an ambassador is not sent abroad to criticize in a country the government which it chooses or to which it submits. It was just as much my duty honorably to try to co-operate with the Nazi Government to the best of my ability as it would be for a foreign ambassador in London to work with a Conservative Government, if it happened to be in power, rather than with the Liberal or Labor opposition, even though his own sympathies might possibly lie rather with the policy or ideologies of the latter. I was fully alive to the probability that the attempts which I intended to make to work with the Nazis and to understand their point of view would be criticized by many people in my own country. Do what thy conscience bids thee do, from none but self expect applause. Burton’s rule of conduct in life is not a bad one, provided one is a fairly strict critic of oneself, has a few real and candid friends, and does not easily applaud. Certainly, if one observes it, one is to a great extent armed against criticism.

Be that as it may, Mr. Chamberlain outlined to me his views on general policy toward Germany; and I think I may honestly say that to the last and bitter end I followed the general line which he set me, all the more easily and faithfully since it corresponded so closely with my private conception of the service which I could best render in Germany to my own country. I remember making but one reservation to Mr. Chamberlain, namely, that, while doing my utmost to work as sympathetically as possible with the Nazis, it was essential that British rearmament should be relentlessly pursued, since no argument could count with the government of Hitler except that of force. Mr. Chamberlain assured me that he equally appreciated this and that such was his own firm intention.

Inasmuch as any public attempt to co-operate with the Nazi Government would constitute somewhat of an innovation, I remember also asking Mr. Chamberlain whether, as Prime Minister, he would object to my being, if I thought it necessary, slightly indiscreet on first arrival in Berlin. His reply was to the effect that a calculated indiscretion was sometimes a very useful form of diplomacy and that he had himself recently had experience of its value.

FORTIFIED by this understanding attitude on the part of the future Prime Minister, I left for Germany on April 29th. Before, however, describing the dramatic events of the next two years, I wish to make quite clear to my readers the principles which guided me in undertaking my mission to Berlin.

I was, above all, convinced that the peace of Europe depended upon the realization of an understanding between Britain and Germany. I was consequently determined: firstly, to do all in my power to associate with the Nazi leaders, and if possible to win their confidence and even sympathy; and, secondly, to study the German case as objectively as possible and, where I regarded it as justified, to present it as fairly as I could to my own government. To those two rules I adhered throughout my two and a quarter years in Berlin. I honestly endeavored, where I could do so without sacrificing the principles or the interests of my country, both to understand the German external viewpoint and to see what was good in its social experiment, without being blind to what was bad. My mission to Germany was a tragic failure, but at least my own conscience in this respect is clear. The modern ambassador is but a small cog in the machinery of a twentieth-century government, but nobody strove harder for an honorable and just peace than I did. That all my efforts were condemned to failure was due to the fanatical megalomania and blind self-confidence of a single individual and of a small clique of his self-interested followers. I say this in no spirit of bitterness, but with the conviction drawn from the experience of two years’ close observation and contact. For the fact of the matter is that one of the things for which we have gone to war today is to decide whether, in the future, the fatal arbitrament of peace or war, not only for a great nation but for the world, is again to rest in the hands of a single individual, and, as in this case, an abnormal one. In other words, this is a war for the principles of democracy.

What I wish here to stress, however, is the honesty of the intentions which inspired me when I went to Berlin in 1937, and which afforded the Nazi Government every opportunity for frank co-operation with me. I may have erred in optimism, but not in cynicism, in hoping as long as possible for the best and in refusing to be convinced, until the worst proved me wrong, that the intentions of others were as evil as they seemed.

Nor did I lose any time in making clear to the Germans the standpoint which I proposed to adopt. Just a month after my arrival the German-English Society of Berlin, which corresponded to the Anglo-German Fellowship in London, were so good as to give a dinner in my honor. The President of this Society was, very suitably, H.R.H. the Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, whom, as Duke of Albany, I had known as an Eton boy and afterward as a German student at Bonn, where I had spent three months in 1903 when studying for my diplomatic examination. A large number of the leading Nazis attended the banquet; and, taking advantage of the license granted me by Mr. Chamberlain, I committed the indiscretion of making there a speech which aroused considerable criticism in certain circles in England, and which earned for me in some British journals the application of our Nazi British Ambassador at Berlin. I have never felt the least remorse about that speech. It may have been prejudicial to the usefulness of my reports on Germany, to be regarded by some of my own countrymen as pro anything except British. But that was inevitable at a moment when everyone was being labeled pro something or other.

Before ever I went to Germany, I had twice had experience of the same superficiality of judgment. When I was at Constantinople, in the days of Chanak and the Lausanne Conference, General Harington and myself were both labeled as pro-Turk. Both he and I would gladly accept that reputation today. Again, when I was Minister at Belgrade in the early nineteen thirties, and largely because I happened to be a friend of the late King Alexander, I was condemned as being pro-Yugoslav and pro-dictator. People in England sometimes forget that there are less happier lands than theirs, and fail to realize that even dictators can be, up to a point, necessary for a period and even extremely beneficial for a nation. I say up to a point because the ancient Romans, who were the first to invent dictators to deal with crises, were wiser than their successors today, in that they carefully restricted dictatorial powers to a limited period of months. Few impartial historians would deny the uses of Cromwell, even in England, after the troubles of the civil war; and the crop of dictators which sprang up in Europe after the chaos of the 1914-1918 world war is explicable for the same reasons. It is a curious fact, parenthetically, that Hitler himself, who is a great reader of history, and especially so since his accession to power (Baron von Neurath once told me that his Führer knew far more history than he did himself), at one time made a particular study of Cromwell, who, among other things, died in his bed. Goering, too, mentioned to me on one occasion the names of two books which he also had read on the life of the Protector. The fact, indeed, is that dictators only become an unqualified evil for their own subjects and a danger for their neighbors when power goes to their heads and ambition and the desire for permanence drives them to oppression or adventure. Nor are all dictatorships, even if prolonged, reprehensible. Ataturk (Mustapha Kemal) built up a new Turkey on the ruins of the old; and his expulsion of the Greeks, which perhaps suggested to Hitler that he should do the same in Germany with the Jews, has already been forgotten and forgiven. One cannot, just because he is a dictator, refuse to admit the great services which Signor Mussolini has rendered to Italy; nor would the world have failed to acclaim Hitler as a great German if he had known when and where to stop; even, for instance, after Munich and the Nuremberg decrees for the Jews. Dr. Salazar, the present dictator of Portugal, who has set himself his own limitations and abided by them, is assuredly one of the wisest statesmen which the postwar period has produced in Europe. Dictatorships are not always evil; and, however anathematic the principle may be to us, it is unfair to condemn a whole country or even a whole system because parts of it are bad. Many dogs have been hanged simply for their bad name; and who was I to condemn the Nazis offhand or before they had finally proved themselves incurably vicious? Anyway, I do not concede to anyone the right to label me as anything but pro-British. I had told Mr. Eden before I left London that I should probably incur the appellation of pro-German; and if there were people who continued to regard me, till the end of my time at Berlin, as too pro-Nazi or pro-German or pro-anything at all except British, theirs was the mistake.

Moreover, whatever the detriment may have been of having such a reputation in certain quarters in England, it was outweighed, from the point of view of my work on behalf of British interests, by the sympathy which the sincerity of my attitude immediately won for me with the general public in Germany. With one rather interesting exception the text of my speech at the dinner of the German-English Society was published in full in all the German papers. Toward the end of it, with a view to enlisting the support of German women for the peace for which I pleaded, I quoted a verse of a song which, if I remember rightly, had been popular in America during the antiwar Wilson election there in 1916. It ran as follows:

I did not raise my son to be a soldier,

I brought him up to be my pride and joy.

Who dares to put a musket on his shoulder

To kill some other Mother’s darling boy?

I was told afterward that it had been purposely omitted, lest German mothers should really think that their sons were not solely born to die for Hitler and for Germany.

Admittedly, foreign relations are an ambassador’s sole concern; and it is no business of his to refer in speeches to the internal affairs of the country in which he is living. But Germany was no normal state, and one could not ignore Nazism when referring to Germany. In point of fact, my reference to the Nazi regime constituted but a small part of a speech in which I attempted to explain frankly and honestly the attitude which I proposed to adopt toward the German Government and the Nazi party, since it was the latter which actually governed Germany. Its whole theme was the necessity for the peaceful negotiation of outstanding problems. Provided that line was adopted, all would, I said, be well; and I told my listeners that I could assure them that the reproach, which had been repeatedly made to me, to the effect that Britain was attempting to hem Germany in was untrue. I reminded them that, on