Goering (31 page)

Halifax, with whom Dahlerus next discussed the matter, considered the meeting might prove useful, but retained his doubts of Germany's intentions. Hitler permitted Goering to undertake the mission because he saw in it a further way of eliminating British intervention, in which by now, under the influence of Ribbentrop, he no longer seriously believed. As for Ribbentrop, he knew nothing whatsoever about the conference at this stage; later, when he learned about it, he resented these secret meetings with Dahlerus, which were to continue until September 4, four days after the invasion of Poland. Goering regarded the whole affair, therefore, as a most unexpected and welcome opportunity to spike Ribbentrop's guns.

Seven British businessmen attended the conference at Sönke Nissen Koog on August 7.
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They had stayed there overnight and waited in some state of excitement for the arrival of Goering, who traveled from Berlin by special train accompanied by Bodenschatz and Koerner. Dahlerus, who was so tense with expectation that he had been quite unable to sleep the previous night, opened the conference, and Goering at once adopted his usual frank and friendly manner in answering the questions the Englishmen put to him. He explained at length why the Nazis felt that England was cold and hostile and lacked any understanding of the change that had taken place in Europe as a result of the rebirth of Germany. The English then criticized Hitler's aggressive and “offhand” methods of dealing with the German minority questions. Goering chose this moment to give his audience his “sacred assurance as a statesman and an officer” that Germany did not intend to encircle Poland, and that the settlement of the problems of Danzig and the Corridor would not be followed by demands for territories elsewhere. At lunch Goering proposed a toast to peace, and the outcome of the discussion, which finally ended at six-thirty in the evening with further friendly toasts, was an agreement to recommend that a delegate conference authorized by the British and German governments should meet on Swedish soil to resolve the deadlock over Poland.

Dahlerus has been called an interloper, and there is no doubt, to judge from the tone of his book
The Last Attempt
, that he obtained an intense personal gratification from his self-appointed mission. There is, indeed, an odd air of comedy about the whole affair, as if some intrusive character in a complicated play had grown so insistent on joining in the plot that all the weary protagonists accepted his presence and then made use of him to serve their particular ends. Dahlerus' intervention, therefore, inevitably confused events before the war, and for Goering he became a means of keeping himself at center stage at a time when both Hitler and Ribbentrop were confining him to the wings as a misguided appeaser of Britain.

As the days passed, Goering's motives in his relations with Dahlerus became more and more mixed. Hitler's only interest in Goering as a diplomat was to use him to sever Britain and France from Poland; Goering, aware of this, exploited the situation as much as he could to sever Hitler from Ribbentrop and so regain his influence as the advocate of negotiation. So long as he could keep Dahlerus in active contact with Britain, his own initiative with Hitler could be maintained, if only on the telephone. On the British side, the weakness and desperation of the government are revealed by the degree to which they confided in Dahlerus and made full use of him, though he only met Halifax for the first time on July 19, Chamberlain on August 27, and Henderson on August 29. The final disillusionment of this amateur diplomat was not to be expressed until he was cross-examined at Nuremberg in 1946; yet, at the time, his desire to help seemed to shine like a “good deed in a naughty world.” But the professional diplomats soon defeated his honesty and wrapped his goodness in their winding sheet. In the end he became a ghostly counselor unable to penetrate the gathering mists in spite of a courageous persistence that lasted even after war had been declared.

Like so many others, he failed to understand sufficiently the complex character of Goering and to see through the combination of mainly selfish motives that divided him at this time, though he certainly saw Goering's lack of moral courage in his relations with Hitler. What he failed to realize was Goering's inability to resolve the dilemma created by his circumstances and his character, his innate desire to be prominent in either of the divergent paths of peace or war. Goering had to maintain his difficult position beside a master whose authority he accepted as absolute, while in his heart he dreaded the trouble, the labors and the losses that total war would bring to the luxurious existence he had come to regard as essential to him.

Dahlerus was to meet Goering eighteen times between July 5 and September 4, and to have many other meetings with ministers and diplomats in London and Berlin. In addition he undertook innumerable difficult telephone conversations with Goering and with various British representatives. In the same period he was to travel between England and Germany and back again twelve times; four of these journeys were undertaken during the critical three days of August 25—27. No one could have been more patient or more desperately hopeful.

The day after the conference at Sönke Nissen Koog, Goering invited Dahlerus to the island of Sylt, where he was having a brief holiday, for a further conversation; Bodenschatz had flown to Berchtesgaden to give Hitler an account of the discussion. Meanwhile Goering said that in his opinion the proposed conference (now increased by mutual consent to a four-power level to include Britain, Germany, France and Italy) would be acceptable, provided it was prepared for in advance and its terms of reference were strictly defined. This was confirmed a few days later and telephoned by Dahlerus to London. Then followed a long, exasperating silence; most of the British negotiators, it was explained to him, were away on their annual holiday. He was not to know that the silence was due to the rival negotiations which were then proceeding in Moscow and which resulted in the pact between Germany and Russia and the abandonment of the Russians' halfhearted talks with the British delegation. The pact provided in public for mutual nonaggression and in private for the mutual disposal of the territory of Poland and the Baltic States. The announcement of the pact came as a severe shock to Dahlerus.

Meanwhile Goering had been wearing his other guise of the resolute war leader. It was in August that he repeated his famous boast about the Luftwaffe which made headlines in the press: “Germany will not be subjected to a single bomb. If an enemy bomber reaches German soil, my name is not Hermann Goering; you can call me Meier!”
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On August 14 he attended with the other commanders in chief a war conference called by Hitler at Berchtesgaden, where the Führer claimed that Britain's leaders were not of the caliber that wages war, that Poland must be defeated within a week and that Russia (he dropped a hint here only of the negotiations that were afoot) was interested in the “delimitation of spheres of interest.” There is no sign in the record of the meeting that Hitler had learned anything from the conference organized by Dahlerus, or that Goering spoke up against the preparations which he must have realized were far more likely than not to lead to war with Britain. On August 22, the day after the conclusion of the pact with Russia, Hitler called a further staff conference, at which he expressed his triumph by declaiming his genius, surveying the situation at inordinate length, and harping continually on Britain and her ineffectual position, and on the significance of Russia's alignment with Germany. According to one report, Goering leaped on a table and offered Hitler “bloodthirsty thanks and bloody promises.” He hotly denied this story at Nuremberg, pointing out that he did not have the habit of jumping on tables in private houses; to have done so would have shown “an attitude completely inconsistent with that of a German officer.” But he agreed that he had led the applause for the speech. After lunch Hitler told them all to close their hearts to pity and “act brutally.”

Bloodthirsty thanks or not, Goering was still trying to make contact with Britain. On August 21, writes Lord Halifax in his memoirs, “a cryptic message” was received from Germany that Goering wanted to visit England and see the Prime Minister.
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Arrangements were made for him to fly in secretly on Wednesday, August 23, and be taken by car to Chequers, the official country seat of Britain's Prime Ministers. He never came, and it appeared subsequently that Hitler had canceled the visit as unlikely to be useful. So Goering, unable to succeed on his own, decided once more to resort to Dahlerus, from whom he had heard nothing since the conversation at Sylt on August 8. On the morning of August 23, the day after the conference at Berchtesgaden, Goering telephoned Dahlerus, told him the situation had worsened and asked him to come to Berlin. After hasty consultations with the Swedish Prime Minister (who was also on holiday and pooh-poohed the idea that the situation was grave), Dahlerus, acting strictly as a private citizen of Europe, went to Berlin, where he was told by a Swedish friend, a banker, that Goering's influence was less than it had been, because of his “definite repugnance to a war.” The friend added that Dahlerus might well be arrested if he discussed peace plans with Goering against Hitler's will. Nevertheless he went, on Goering's invitation, to see him at Carinhall. Goering told him of Germany's strengthened position as a result of the agreement with Russia and “with great eagerness” urged him to fly to London and impress on the Foreign Office that “forthcoming developments would be wholly dependent on British attitude and initiative.” He made it plain that Ribbentrop, now on his way back from Moscow, would do nothing to ease the situation. Goering then drove Dahlerus back to Berlin in a sports car; the people in Berlin recognized Goering at the traffic lights and, to his delight, cheered him on his way.

Goering had told Dahlerus he was about to see Lipski and then Hitler. In the conversation with Lipski which followed he said how sorry he was that his policy of maintaining friendly relations with Poland had “come to naught,” but he no longer had the influence to do any more.
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What mattered was not so much the future of Danzig, Goering said, as Poland's alliance with Britain.

That night, speaking on the telephone, Goering renewed Dahlerus' hopes that he might still be useful if he went immediately back to London. He flew there by passenger plane the following morning, Friday, August 25, and gathered, after conversations with Halifax, that the governments were in active touch once more; Henderson was seeing Hitler. That night, with official help, Dalherus managed to speak by telephone to Goering, who left a conference with Hitler to take the call. Goering sounded nervous and uneasy; he said war might break out at any minute. The situation had worsened, he added, because of the pact England had signed that afternoon with Poland. On Saturday morning, August 28, Dahlerus saw Halifax once more, told him what Goering had said and added that “Goering was the only man in Germany who might be able to prevent a war.” The Prime Minister then approved Dahlerus' suggestion that Halifax should send Goering a personal letter confirming Britain's desire to reach a peaceful settlement.

Dahlerus returned to Berlin immediately by special plane and was taken that evening by car to Goering's personal train, which he found halted at a wayside station not far from Carinhall. Goering was “very grave,” repeated some standard complaints about the ill-treatment of German minorities in Poland and for a while would scarcely let Dahlerus speak. For a whole hour they talked while Dahlerus purposely withheld the letter, delivering it finally as a climax to his assertions that Britain was eager for peace. Goering fell on the letter, opening it quickly and nervously; he became impatient with his uncertain English and asked Dahlerus to translate it with care in order to bring out every shade of meaning. He listened tensely and seriously, and then they left the train and drove immediately to the Chancellery in Berlin.

It was midnight. The place was in darkness and Hitler had gone to bed. Goering sent Dahlerus back to his hotel to wait while he stayed on in the hope that the Führer could be roused to study the letter. Dahlerus did not know that August 26 had been the day scheduled by Hitler for the invasion of Poland, and that on the previous day, when the Anglo-Polish pact was announced and Mussolini had admitted by letter he could not offer Germany military assistance, Hitler had telephoned Goering canceling the operation.
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Goering had asked if this was temporary or for good, and Hitler's reply had been, “No, I will have to see whether we can eliminate British intervention.”

No wonder, therefore, that Goering thought Hitler would not mind being disturbed. No sooner had Dahlerus reached his hotel than he was chased back to the Chancellery, where he was amazed to find the place transformed from darkness to light, like a stage where the curtain has suddenly risen on a scene filled with activity. There followed one of those fantastic interviews with Hitler that revealed the disturbance of his mind. Dahlerus was led over the exquisite carpets of the famous long gallery in the new wing of the Chancellery, past walls on which hung masterpieces of art, and between masses of orchids that lined the path to the Führer. Hitler stared at him with a fixed gaze, then welcomed him and proceeded to give him the customary lecture on German history and policy, during which he became more and more excited. Dahlerus managed after some considerable time to break in and say that he had lived in Britain as a workingman, and this so captivated Hitler's curiosity that he broke off to question him at length about this unique and unexpected experience. Then, “his face stiff” and his movements “peculiar,” Hitler returned to the set groove of his own arrogant ambition, the greatness of his Army and his unconquerable Air Force. Goering, who had been silent as a schoolboy in the headmaster's study, “giggled contentedly” as Hitler praised the Luftwaffe. When Dahlerus, speaking very quietly because he realized that Hitler's “mental equilibrium was patently unstable,” pointed out the strength of Britain and France and their ability to blockade Germany, Hitler's behavior became suddenly abnormal. His voice blurred, and he started to jerk out words and phrases as he stood in the center of the room, his eyes staring: “If there's war, then I'll build U-boats, build U-boats, U-boats, U-boats, U-boats . . . ” He choked. When he had gained some self-control, he shrieked out violently, “I'll build aircraft, aircraft, aircraft, and destroy my enemies!” Dahlerus was horrified and looked toward Goering, but Goering “did not turn a hair.”