On June 21 the Franco-German armistice negotiations began. Three days before, Hitler had gone to Munich to see Mussolini. During that meeting his major aim was to repress his Italian ally’s craving for laurels. For in return for his extra’s role on the battlefield the Duce was demanding nothing less than Nice, Corsica, Tunisia, and Jibuti, also Syria, bases in Algeria, Italian occupation of France as far as the Rhone, surrender to him of the entire French fleet, and, when the time came, Malta and transfer to Italy of British rights in Egypt and the Sudan. But Hitler, his mind already busy with the next stage of the war, contrived to make it clear to Mussolini that Italy’s ambitions would only delay the victory over England. The terms of the armistice were bound to have a considerable psychological influence on England’s determination to continue the struggle, he said. Hitler also feared that the completely updated French fleet, which had escaped his grasp and now lay at anchor in various parts in North Africa and England, might be prompted by excessively hard terms to go over to the enemy or even to continue the fight from the colonies in the name of France. Finally, it may be that he was stirred by a fleeting emotion of magnanimity. At any rate, he convinced Mussolini that it was crucially important to entice a French government into accepting the armistice. The Italians were acutely disappointed by the result of the negotiations; but Hitler’s manner as well as his arguments did not fail to make their impression. The cynical Ciano noted: “He speaks today with a moderation and clearsightedness that are really surprising after such a victory as he has had. I cannot be said to hold especially tender feelings for him, but at this moment I really admire him.”12
However, Hitler showed far less magnanimity in his arrangements for the armistice ceremony. To drive the humiliating lesson home, he had the signing held in the forest of Compiegne, northeast of Paris, where on November 11, 1918, the armistice terms were presented to the German delegation. The railroad car in which the historic meeting had taken place was removed from its museum and installed in the clearing in which it had stood in 1918. Flags were draped over the monument with its fallen German eagle. The French text of the draft treaty had been prepared by candlelight only the night before in the small village church of Bruly-le-Peche; from time to time Hitler had gone over to the church in person and asked the translators how the work was progressing.
The meeting itself also underlined the elements of symbolic compensation. When Hitler, followed by a large retinue, got out of his car shortly before 3 P.M., he walked straight up to the granite block in the middle of the clearing. The inscription spoke of the “criminal pride of the German Empire” that had been vanquished at this spot. Feet planted wide apart, he placed his hands on his hips in a gesture of defiance and contempt for this place and all it signified.13 After he had given the order to raze the monument, he entered the railroad car and took the chair in which Marshal Foch had sat in 1918. Shortly afterward, the French delegation entered.
General Keitel then read the preamble of the treaty to the French. It once more evoked history: the breach of solemn promises, “the German people’s period of suffering,” its “dishonoring and humiliation,” which had begun in this place. Now, on this same spot, the “profoundest disgrace of all times” was being wiped out. Even before the text of the treaty itself was handed over, Hitler rose, saluted with outstretched arm, and left the car. Outside, a military band played the German national anthem and the Horst Wessel song. Then he walked to his car, parked in one of the lanes of beech that radiated starlike from the clearing.
On that day, June 21, 1940, he had reached the peak of his career. Once, in the days of its beginning, he had vowed not to rest until the injustice of November, 1918, was rectified. With that vow, he had won a hearing and a following. Now he had reached the goal. The old resentment once more proved its force. The Germans themselves, pointless though they had felt the war to be at first, regarded the scene at Compiegne as an act of metapolitical justice and celebrated with considerable emotion the moment of “restored right.”14 During this period many doubts evaporated or swung around to respect and devotion. Those who hated him were isolated. Seldom in the preceding years had the nation emotionally subscribed to a regime with such complete lack of reservations. Even the liberal historian Friedrich Meinecke wrote: “I intend… to relearn many though not all things.”15 Something of this deep emotion surrounding the events was also expressed in Hitler’s own conduct. On the night of June 24–25, shortly before the armistice took effect, he ordered the lights to be put out and the windows opened in his farmhouse in Bruly-le-Peche. Then for several minutes he stared into the night.
Three days later he went to Paris. He had summoned a retinue of art experts, including Albert Speer, Arno Breker, and the architect Hermann Giessler. From the airfield he went directly to the Opera. Knowledgeably rhapsodizing, he took it upon himself to guide the party. He then drove down the Champs-Elysees, stopped at the Eiffel Tower, lingered for a long time at the tomb of Napoleon in the Invalides, and waxed enthusiastic about the majestic backdrop of the Place de la Concorde. Finally he drove to Montmartre, where he found Sacre Coeur dreadful. After three hours he was done, but he declared that the “dream of his life” had been fulfilled. Afterward, accompanied by two old cronies, he went on a tour of several days over the battlefields of the First World War and visited Alsace. At the beginning of July, amid cheers, torrents of flowers, and the pealing of bells, he entered Berlin. That was the last triumphal entry of his life.
The grand military parade, with which he had wanted literally to take possession of the French capital, was canceled, partly to spare the feelings of the French, partly because Goring was unable to guarantee safety from British air raids. In fact Hitler was still uncertain about the reaction of the British and was closely watching each of their steps. He had smuggled into the Franco-German armistice agreement a clause that was intended as a quiet offer to London.16 And when Ciano came to Berlin at the beginning of July and again presented the Italian demands, Hitler put him off on the grounds that they must avoid anything that might strengthen the will to resist across the Channel. The Foreign Office was already drafting detailed proposals for a peace treaty, and Hitler himself was preparing for an appearance in the Reichstag, at which he was going to make a “generous offer.” But he also spoke of his determination, in case of rejection, “to loose a storm of fire and iron upon the English.”
Meanwhile, the expected countersignal once again did not come. On May 10, when the Wehrmacht launched its attack in the West, Great Britain had replaced Prime Minister Chamberlain with the man who for many years had been his fiercest opponent, Winston Churchill. The new chief of state declared in his inaugural speech that he had nothing to offer the nation “but blood, toil, tears and sweat.”17 It was as if a deeply defeatist Europe enmeshed in its complicated concessions to Hitler regained in Winston Churchill its standards, its language, and its will to selfpreservation. Beyond all political issues, Churchill gave to the conflict its grand moral element, the simple and instantly appealing meaning of a storybook legend. If it is true that no match for Hitler had appeared in the thirties, it is also true that one must know the measure of an era in order to take the measure of the man who dominated it. In Churchill Hitler found something more than an antagonist. To a panic-stricken Europe the German dictator had appeared almost like invincible fate. Churchill reduced him to a conquerable power.
As early as June 18, a day after the French government had taken what Churchill called its “melancholy decision” to surrender, Churchill had come before the Lower House and reasserted his resolve to go on fighting. “If the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will say: ‘This was their finest hour.’ ” Feverishly, he organized the defense of the British Isles against the feared invasion. On July 3, while Hitler was still waiting for a signal of compromise, he demonstrated his refusal to yield by ordering the navy to open fire upon yesterday’s allies, the French fleet in the port of Oran. Surprised and disappointed, Hitler postponed indefinitely the speech to the Reichstag that he had announced for July 8. In the exultation of victory he had firmly counted on the British to abandon the hopeless struggle, all the more so since he still had no intention of damaging their Empire. But once again Churchill ostentatiously made it plain that there would be no negotiations. Over London radio he declared on July 14:
Here in this strong City of Refuge which enshrines the title-deeds of human progress… here, girt about by the seas and oceans where the Navy reigns… we await undismayed the impending assault. Perhaps it will come tonight. Perhaps it will come next week. Perhaps it will never come…. But be the ordeal sharp or long, or both, we shall seek no terms, we shall tolerate no parley we may show mercy—we shall ask for none.18
Thereupon Hitler summoned the Reichstag to meet in the Kroll Opera House at 7 P.M. on July 19. In a speech of several hours he answered Churchill and the British government:
It almost causes me pain to think that I should have been selected by Fate to deal the final blow to the structure which these men have already set tottering. It never has been my intention to wage wars, but rather to build up a state with a new social order and the finest possible standard of culture. Every year that this war drags
