Roger Moorhouse - The Devils' Alliance - Hitler's Pact with Stalin, 1939-1941

Impressed by this ecumenical and businesslike approach, the Soviets continued their clandestine negotiations with Berlin while maintaining their public, and increasingly desultory, talks with the British and the French. For all the Machiavellianism on show in the Soviet capital, there seemed to be a genuine sentiment at its core. As Johnnie von Herwarth recalled, there was “near unanimity amongst the Western embassies in Moscow that summer that Stalin had a higher regard for the Germans than for the other Western powers, and that he certainly trusted them more.” Consequently, through most of August, soundings with Berlin were taken, meetings conducted, and respective positions clarified, such that by the last week of the month, draft treaties had already been drawn up, exchanged, and provisionally agreed. The process had been driven on by Hitler’s overriding desire to wrap up the pact in time for his invasion of Poland, initially planned for August 26, and so present the West with a fait accompli. Drawing upon these discussions, a German-Soviet Economic Agreement was signed in Berlin in the early hours of August 20, allowing for an exchange of Soviet raw materials for German finished goods and a credit facility of 200 million reichsmarks. Goebbels was unusually laconic in his diary comment of “Times change,” but he knew very well that the agreement’s primary significance was that both sides saw it as the necessary precursor to the all-important political treaty.

That same day, events far to the east further contributed to Soviet decision making. In its flirtation with Berlin, Moscow had been keen to bring an end to German support for the Japanese military campaign against the Red Army in the Far East, raising the issue several times in negotiations. On August 20, however, the problem appeared to have finally solved itself. After a summer of inconclusive skirmishing on the border between Mongolia and Manchuria, Soviet forces attacked the Japanese Imperial Army that day, close to the river Khalkhin Gol, seeking the decisive result that would drive the Japanese back. While the ensuing battle raged—and it would last for eleven days before the Japanese forces were finally routed—Stalin would be unsure whether further military commitments were necessary on his eastern border and consequently would have been wary of entering new commitments in the west—particularly those of the sort suggested, however halfheartedly, by the British and the French. If Hitler’s offer of territorial gain for nonbelligerence was not already attractive enough, the battle at Khalkhin Gol must have conspired to make Stalin’s mind up for him.

From there, events moved with astonishing rapidity. On the morning of August 21, a final meeting was held between Drax’s delegation and their Soviet partners, but neither side, it appeared, had anything further to report, so the meeting was adjourned sine die. The Western policy of procrastination had run out of tomorrows. In contrast, discussions with the Germans on the draft text of the pact were progressing apace, and though Stalin would have welcomed a delay, pending some clarity in the situation on his eastern frontier, Hitler was determined to force matters along. The previous evening, the Führer had sent a personal telegram to Stalin in which he asked that Ribbentrop be received in Moscow to tie up the final details without delay. This highly unorthodox move would have made a distinct impression on the Soviet leader. Accustomed to being treated as a toxic and malevolent outsider in world politics, Stalin craved the recognition and respect that a direct approach such as Hitler’s implied. That afternoon, his reply—agreeing to Ribbentrop’s arrival for talks on August 23 and expressing the hope that the proposed pact would be a “turn for the better” in Soviet-German relations—was telegraphed to Hitler on the Obersalzberg. According to Hitler’s architect, Albert Speer, who witnessed the scene at the Berghof, the Führer “stared into space for a moment, flushed deeply, then banged on the table so hard that the glasses rattled, and exclaimed in a voice breaking with excitement, ‘I have them! I have them!’”

STALIN MIGHT HAVE COUNTERED WITH A QUERYING “ KTO KOGO poimal ?” (Who has whom?). Certainly when the negotiations with Ribbentrop opened in the Kremlin on the afternoon of August 23, he performed like a man convinced that he held all the cards. After the opening pleasantries had been concluded, the four—Ribbentrop, Stalin, Molotov, and Ambassador Schulenburg—got down to business. Draft treaties had already been agreed in the preceding days, so all that needed to be done was to finalize terms and draw up the necessary paperwork. Nonetheless, Ribbentrop began with a bold suggestion, most likely calculated to steal the initiative, proposing on Hitler’s behalf that the Nazi-Soviet nonaggression pact should have a hundred-year term. Unfazed, Stalin’s response was cool. “If we agree to a hundred years,” he said, “people will laugh at us for not being serious. I propose the agreement should last ten years.” Deflated, Ribbentrop meekly concurred.

Discussion swiftly moved to the essence of the Nazi-Soviet arrangement, the so-called secret protocol by which both parties were to divide the spoils of their collaboration. The initiative came from the Soviet side. Realizing that Hitler was impatient to proceed with his invasion plans for Poland, Stalin sought to extract the maximum possible territorial concession. “Alongside this agreement,” he announced, “there will be an additional agreement that we will not publish anywhere else,” adding that he wanted a clear delineation of “spheres of interest” in central and eastern Europe. Taking his cue, Ribbentrop made his opening offer. “The Führer accepts,” he said, “that the eastern part of Poland and Bessarabia as well as Finland, Estonia and Latvia, up to the river Dvina, will all fall within the Soviet sphere of influence.” This was exceedingly generous, but Stalin was not satisfied and demanded all of Latvia. Ribbentrop stalled. Although he had been given the authority to agree to terms as was necessary, he utilized the negotiating trick of breaking off talks to refer a question to a higher authority. Replying that he could not accede to the Soviet demand for Latvia without consulting Hitler, he asked that the meeting be adjourned while a call was made to Germany.

Hitler was still at the Berghof on the Obersalzberg, anxiously awaiting news of the negotiations. It was a hot summer’s evening, and he spent his time on the terrace, enjoying the spectacular view north across the valley to the Untersberg where, according to legend, King Frederick Barbarossa lay sleeping, waiting to reemerge at Germany’s hour of need. As Hitler’s Luftwaffe adjutant, Nicolaus von Below, recalled, the highly charged mood of anticipation seemed to be mirrored by the weather. “As we strolled up and down,” he wrote in his memoir, “the eerie turquoise-coloured sky to the north turned first violet and then blood-red. At first we thought there must be a serious fire behind the Untersberg mountain, but then the glow covered the whole northern sky in the manner of the Northern Lights. I was very moved and told Hitler that it augured a bloody war. He responded that if it must be so, then the sooner the better; the more time went by, the bloodier it would be.”

Shortly afterward, the mood had scarcely lightened when word came through from Moscow. “Groups of ADCs, civilian staff, ministers and secretaries were standing around the switchboard and on the terrace,” recalled Schutzstaffel (SS) Adjutant Herbert Döhring. “Everybody was tense, they waited and waited.” When the telephone finally rang, Hitler was initially silent as he listened to Ribbentrop’s brief summary of progress and Stalin’s demand for all of Latvia. Within half an hour, after consulting a map, Hitler returned the call, consenting to the alteration with the words, “Yes, agreed.” According to Johnnie von Herwarth, who received the call in Moscow, the speed of Hitler’s reply was testament to his eagerness to conclude the pact. For Stalin, it marked a signal victory: with a single evening’s negotiation and a single phone call, he had regained almost all of the lands lost by the Russian Empire in the maelstrom of World War I.