Читать книгу In Stalin's Secret Service - W/ G. Krivitsky - Страница 6

DURING the night of June 30, 1934, when Hitler’s first blood purge broke out and while it was still going on, Stalin called an extraordinary session of the Politbureau in the Kremlin. Even before the news of the Hitler purge reached the wide world, Stalin had decided upon his next move in relation to the Nazi regime.

I was then at my post in the Intelligence Department of the General Staff of the Red Army in Moscow. We knew that a crisis was impending in Germany. All our confidential dispatches had prepared us for an outbreak. As soon as Hitler launched his purge, we began to receive constant bulletins from Germany.

That night I was working feverishly with a staff of assistants, summarizing our information for War Commissar Voroshilov. Among the non-members summoned to that meeting of the Politbureau were my chief, General Berzin; Maxim Litvinov. Commissar for Foreign Affairs; Karl Radek, then director of the information bureau of the Central Committee of the Communist Party; and A. C. Artusov, chief of the Foreign Division of the Ogpu.

The emergency meeting of the Politbureau had been called to consider the probable consequences of the Hitler purge, and its effects upon Soviet foreign policy. Confidential information in our possession showed that two extreme wings of Hitler’s opponents were involved. There was the group led by Captain Roehm, consisting of Nazi radicals dissatisfied with Hitler’s moderate policies. They were dreaming of a “second revolution.” The other group was composed of officers of the German army, under the leadership of Generals Schleicher and Bredow. This circle had looked forward to a restoration of the monarchy. It joined hands with the Roehm wing for the purpose of unseating Hitler, each side hoping to emerge triumphant in the end. Our special bulletins from Germany brought the news, however, that the garrisons in the metropolitan centers remained loyal to Hitler and that the main body of army officers was true to the government.

In Western Europe and America, Hitler’s purge was widely interpreted as a weakening of the Nazi power. In Soviet circles, too, there were those who wished to believe it foreshadowed the collapse of Hitler’s rule. Stalin had no such illusions. He summed up the discussion at the Politbureau as follows:

“The events in Germany do not at all indicate the collapse of the Nazi regime. On the contrary, they are bound to lead to the consolidation of that regime, and to the strengthening of Hitler himself.”

General Berzin came back from the Kremlin session with this dictum of Stalin.

In my anxiety to learn the decision of the Politbureau I had stayed up all night awaiting Berzin’s return. We had a strict rule that no one, not even the Commissar of War himself, could take confidential state papers home with him, and I knew that Berzin would have to come back to the department.

The course of Soviet policy toward Nazi Germany followed from Stalin’s dictum. The Politbureau decided at all costs to induce Hitler to make a deal with the Soviet government. Stalin had always believed in coming to terms early with a strong enemy. The night of June thirtieth convinced him of Hitler’s strength. It was no new course for Stalin, however. It marked no revolutionary departure in his policy toward Germany. He only decided to redouble his past efforts to appease Hitler. His whole policy toward the Nazi regime during the six years of its existence had lain in that direction. He recognized in Hitler a real dictator.

The idea prevailing up to the recent Russian-German pact that Hitler and Stalin were mortal enemies, was pure myth. It was a distorted picture, created by clever camouflage and the vapors of propaganda. The true picture of their relations was that of a persistent suitor who would not be discouraged by rebuffs. Stalin was the suitor. There was enmity on Hitler’s side. On Stalin’s there was fear.

If one can speak of a pro-German in the Kremlin, Stalin has been that figure all along. He favored cooperation with Germany right after Lenin’s death, and he did not alter this basic attitude when Hitler rose to power. On the contrary, the triumph of the Nazis strengthened him in his quest for closer bonds with Berlin. In this he was spurred on by the Japanese menace in the Far East. He had a profound contempt for the “weakling” democratic nations, and an equally profound respect for the “mighty” totalitarian states. And he was guided throughout by the rule that one must come to terms with a superior power.

Stalin’s whole international policy during the last six years has been a series of maneuvers designed to place him in a favorable position for a deal with Hitler. When he joined the League of Nations, when he proposed the system of collective security, when he sought the hand of France, flirted with Poland, courted Great Britain, intervened in Spain, he was calculating every move with an eye upon Berlin. His hope was to get into such a position that Hitler would find it advantageous to meet his advances.

A high point in this Stalin policy was reached late in 1936 upon the conclusion of a secret German-Japanese agreement, negotiated behind the smoke screen of the anti-Comintern pact. The terms of that secret agreement, which came into Stalin’s possession in the main through my efforts and those of my staff, incited him to a desperate attempt to drive a bargain with Hitler. Early in 1937 such a deal was actually pending between them. Nobody knows to what extent the recent treaty of August, 1939, was anticipated at that time.

It was two years before Stalin began to disclose to the world his friendly attitude toward Germany. On March 10, 1939, he made his first pronouncement following Hitler’s annexation of Austria and occupation of the Sudeten areas, giving his answer to these world-shaking Nazi conquests. The world was astounded by Stalin’s friendly overtures to Hitler. It was dumbfounded when, three days later, Hitler marched into Czechoslovakia.

The record of Stalin’s policy of appeasement toward Hitler—both the open and the secret record—reveal that the more aggressive Hitler’s policies became, the more Stalin pressed his courtship. And the more strenuously Stalin wooed him, the bolder were Hitler’s aggressions.

Long before the rise of Hitler, or even of Stalin, Soviet-German cooperation had been dictated by the pressure of events. A Moscow-Berlin tie had been formed more than ten years before Hitler in the Rapallo pact of 1922. Both the Soviet Union and the German republic were then being treated as outcasts; both were in disfavor with the Allies; both opposed the Versailles system. They had traditional business bonds and mutual interests.

It is now common knowledge that during those ten years there was a secret arrangement between the Reichswehr—the German army—and the Red Army. Soviet Russia permitted the German republic to evade the Versailles prohibitions against training artillery and tank officers, and developing aviation and chemical warfare. These things were done on Soviet soil. The Red Army, on the other hand, got the benefit of expert German military knowledge. The two armies exchanged information. It is also common knowledge that trade between Soviet Russia and Germany flourished during that decade. The Germans invested capital and operated concessions in the Soviet Union. The Soviet government imported machinery and engineering personnel from Germany.

Such was the situation when Hitler’s menacing figure arose. Some seven or eight months before his ascent to power, in the early summer of 1932, I met in Danzig one of the high officers of the German general staff, a confirmed monarchist who came from Berlin expressly to meet me. He was an old-school military man and believed in the restoration of the German Empire in cooperation with Russia.

I asked this officer for his opinion on Germany’s policy in the event Hitler became the head of the government. We discussed Hitler’s views as outlined in his book, Mein Kampf. The German officer gave me his analysis of coming developments, and concluded: “Let Hitler come and do his job. And then we, the army, will make short work of him.”

I asked the officer if he would be good enough to submit his views in writing for me to forward to Moscow, and he agreed to do so. His report created a stir in Kremlin circles. The prevailing view there was that military and economic ties between Germany and Russia were so deep-rooted that Hitler could not possibly disregard them. Moscow understood Hitler’s fulminations against Bolshevism as a maneuver on the road to power. They had their function. But they could not change the basic interests of the two countries, which were bound to make for cooperation.

Stalin himself derived much comfort from the report of the German officer. Although fully alive to the Nazi doctrine of “pressure toward the east,” he was habituated to the tradition of collaboration between the Red Army and the Reichswehr, and had a wholesome respect for the German army and its leadership under General Von Seckt. The report of the German staff officer dove-tailed with his own views. Stalin looked upon the Nazi movement primarily as a reaction to the Versailles peace. It seemed to him that all Germany would do under Hitler was to throw off the shackles of Versailles. The Soviet government had been the first to hammer at them. Indeed, Moscow and Berlin had originally been drawn together by their common opposition to the rapacity of the allied victors.

For these reasons, Stalin made no effort after the rise of Hitler to break the secret Berlin-Moscow tie. On the contrary he tried his best to keep it in force. It was Hitler who, during his first three years, gradually dissolved the intimate link between the Red and the German armies. But this did not deter Stalin. He only became more assiduous in the pursuit of Hitler’s friendship.

On December 28, 1933, eleven months after Hitler became chancellor, Premier Molotov, speaking before the Congress of Soviets, asserted Stalin’s adherence to the former German policy:

“Our relations with Germany have always occupied a distinct place in our international relations . . . The Soviet Union has no cause on its part for any change of policy toward Germany.”

The following day, before the same Congress, Foreign Commissar Litvinov went even further than Molotov in pleading for an understanding with Hitler. Litvinov described the program outlined in Mein Kampf for the reconquest of all German territories. He spoke of the Nazi determination, “by fire and sword, to pave the way for expansion in the east, without stopping at the borders of the Soviet Union, and to enslave the peoples of this Union.” And he went on to say:

“We have been connected with Germany by close economic and political relations for ten years. We were the only great country which would have nothing to do with the Versailles Treaty and its consequences. We renounced the rights and advantages which this treaty reserved for us. Germany assumed first place in our foreign trade. Both Germany and ourselves have derived extraordinary advantages from the political and economic relation established between us. (President Kalinin, of the Executive Committee: “Especially Germany!”) On the basis of these relations, Germany was able to speak more boldly and confidently to her victors of yesterday.”

This hint, emphasized by President Kalinin’s exclamation, was designed to remind Hitler of Soviet Russia’s help in enabling him to challenge the Versailles victors. Litvinov then made the following formal declaration:

“With Germany, as with other states, we want to have the best relations. The Soviet Union and Germany will gain nothing but benefit from such relations. We, on our side, have no desire for expansion, either in the west or the east or in any other direction. We would like to hear Germany say the same thing to us.”

Hitler did not say it. But that did not deter Stalin. It encouraged him to a more strenuous courtship of the Nazi regime.

On January 26, 1934, Stalin himself, addressing the Seventeenth Communist Party Congress continued the drive for an appeasement of Hitler. Hitler had then been in power exactly one year. He had rebuffed all of Moscow’s political advances, although he had entered into a trade deal on favorable credit terms with Soviet Russia. Stalin interpreted this as a sign of political good will. He referred to those Nazi elements which favored a return to “the policy of the ex-Kaiser of Germany, who at one time occupied the Ukraine, undertook a march against Leningrad, and transformed the Baltic countries into an encampment for this march.” There had been a change, he said, in German policy, which he attributed not to the theories of National Socialism, but to a desire to avenge Versailles. He denied that Soviet Russia had changed its policy toward Berlin because of “the establishment of a Fascist regime in Germany,” and stretched out his hand to Hitler with these words:

“Of course we are far from enthusiastic about the Fascist regime in Germany. But Fascism is not the issue here, if only for the reason that Fascism, in Italy for example, did not prevent the Soviet Union from establishing good relations with that country.”

Stalin’s outstretched hand was ignored in Berlin. Hitler had other ideas on the subject. But Stalin would not be discouraged. He only decided upon a change of method. Viewing the Nazi agitation for an anti-Soviet bloc as a maneuver on the part of Hitler, he resolved to respond to it with a counter-maneuver. Henceforth, the Soviet government would appear as an upholder of the Versailles system, would join the League of Nations, would even associate with the anti-German bloc. The threat involved in such a course, Stalin thought, would bring Hitler to his senses.

Stalin picked a brilliant journalist to pave the way for this somersault. It must be remembered that an entire Soviet generation had been brought up in the belief that the Versailles Treaty was the most pernicious instrument ever drawn up, and that its authors were a band of pirates. It was no simple task to dress up the Soviet government in the costume of a defender of Versailles. There was only one man in the Soviet Union who could do this publicity stunt adequately both for domestic and foreign consumption. That was Karl Radek, the man who subsequently played such a tragic role in the great trial of January, 1937. Stalin picked Radek to prepare Russian and world opinion for his change of tactics.

I saw a great deal of Radek in those days—the early spring of 1934—at the headquarters of the Central Committee of the Communist Party. The Inner Circle in Moscow was then buzzing with talk about Radek’s assignment to prepare a series of articles forming a build-up toward the coming turnabout in Kremlin policy.

The articles were to appear in both Pravda and Izvestia, the leading Communist and Soviet organs. They would be reprinted throughout the world and carefully studied in all European chancelleries. Radek’s task was to whitewash the Versailles peace, to herald a new era of friendship with Paris, to persuade Soviet sympathizers abroad that such a stand was harmonious with communism, and at the same time to leave the door open for an agreement with Germany.

I knew, because of my frequent calls at Radek’s office, that he was in daily consultation with Stalin. Sometimes he would dash over to Stalin’s office several times a day. Every phrase he wrote was subject to Stalin’s personal supervision. The articles were in every sense a joint labor of Radek and Stalin.

While these articles were in preparation, Commissar Litvinov was keeping on with efforts toward an agreement with Hitler. In April, he proposed to Germany a joint undertaking to preserve and guarantee the independence and inviolability of the Baltic states. Berlin rejected the proposal.

The Radek article was hailed widely as foreshadowing a Soviet turn toward France and the Little Entente, and away from Germany. “German Fascism and Japanese imperialism,” wrote Radek, “are in a struggle for a redivision of the world—a struggle directed against the Soviet Union, against France, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Rumania and the Baltic states; against China and the United States of America. And British imperialism would like to direct this struggle exclusively against the Soviet Union.”

At this time I had quite a conversation with Radek. He knew that I was familiar with his assignment. I made some remark about our “new policy” and spoke of the impression it was creating in uninformed circles.

Radek let loose a flood of talk: “Only fools can imagine we would ever break with Germany. What I am writing here is one thing—the realities are something else. No one can give us what Germany has given us. For us to break with Germany is simply impossible.”

Radek continued to discourse along lines only too familiar to me. He spoke of our relations with the German army, which was very much in the saddle even under Hitler, of our relations with big business in Germany—and was not Hitler under the thumb of the industrialists? Surely Hitler would not go against the general staff, which favored cooperation with Russia. Surely Hitler would not cross swords with German business circles, who were doing a large trade with us. These two forces were the pillars of German-Soviet relations.

He denounced as idiots those who thought that Soviet Russia should turn against Germany because of the Nazi persecution of Communists and Socialists. True, the Communist Party of Germany was smashed. Its leader, Thaelmann, was in prison. Thousands of its members were in concentration camps. But that was one thing. It was something else when one considered the vital interests of Soviet Russia. Those interests demanded a continuation of the policy of collaboration with the German Reich.

As for the articles he was writing, what did they have to do with the facts? It was all a matter of big politics. It was a necessary maneuver. Stalin had no idea of breaking with Germany. On the contrary, he was seeking to draw Berlin closer to Moscow.

All of this was elementary to those of us who were on the inside of the Kremlin policy. None of us dreamed, in the spring of 1934, that a rupture with Germany was possible. We all regarded the Radek articles as Stalinist strategy.

Litvinov went off on a tour of the European capitals, ostensibly in the interests of the so-called Eastern Locarno pact which was to insure, by mutual agreement of all the governments concerned, the existing boundaries of the nations in Eastern Europe. He visited Geneva. His visit filled the world with rumors of a coming Franco-Russian rapprochement, crowning the work begun by Radek’s articles. At the same time, Stalin continued doggedly to assert at the Politbureau: “And nevertheless, we must get together with the Germans.”

On June 13, 1934, Litvinov stopped in Berlin to confer with Baron Konstantin von Neurath, then Hitler’s Foreign Minister. Litvinov invited Germany to join in his proposed Eastern European pact. Von Neurath firmly declined the invitation, and bluntly pointed out that such an arrangement would perpetuate the Versailles system. When Litvinov intimated that Moscow might strengthen its treaties with other nations by military alliances, Von Neurath replied that Germany was willing to risk such an encirclement.

The following day, on June fourteenth, Hitler met Mussolini in Venice for luncheon.

Stalin was not discouraged by this latest rebuff from Berlin. Through the Soviet trade envoys, he had all along endeavored to persuade the leading German circles of his sincerity in seeking an understanding with Hitler, allowing them to intimate that Moscow would go a long way in making concessions to Germany.

At the same time, Stalin tried to induce Poland to define her policy to the disadvantage of Germany. Nobody knew at that time which way Poland was going, and a special session of the Politbureau was called to consider this problem. Litvinov and Radek, as well as the representative of the Commissariat of War, took the view that Poland could be influenced to join hands with Soviet Russia. The only one who disagreed with this view was Artusov, the chief of the Foreign Division of the Ogpu. He considered the prospects of a Polish-Soviet accord illusory. Artusov, a bit rash in thus opposing the majority of the Politbureau, was cut short by Stalin himself: “You are misinforming the Politbureau.”

This remark of Stalin traveled fast in the inner circle. The “dare devil” Artusov was regarded as already a finished man. Subsequent events proved Artusov right. Poland joined the German fold, and that may have saved Artusov for a while. He was a Swiss who had taken up residence in Czarist Russia as a French teacher. He had joined the revolutionary movement before the World War and the Bolshevik Party in 1917. Of small stature, gray-haired, wearing a goatee, a lover of music, Artusov had married a Russian woman and raised a family in Moscow. In 1937 he was arrested and executed in the great purge.

The fiasco with Poland increased Stalin’s conviction of the need of appeasing Hitler. He used every avenue to convey to Berlin his readiness for an amicable arrangement. Hitler’s blood purge of June thirtieth immensely raised him in Stalin’s estimation. Hitler had demonstrated for the first time to the men in the Kremlin that he knew how to wield power, that he was a dictator, not only in name but in deed. If Stalin had doubts before as to Hitler’s ability to rule with an iron hand, to crush opposition, to assert his authority even over potent political and military forces, those doubts were now dispelled. From now on, Stalin recognized in Hitler a master, a man able to back up his challenge to the world. This, more than anything else, was responsible for Stalin’s decision on the night of June thirtieth to secure at whatever cost an understanding with the Nazi regime.

Two weeks later, on July fifteenth, Radek, writing in the official Soviet organ Izvestia, attempted to raise before Berlin the bugaboo of Moscow’s alignment with the Versailles powers. He ended, however, with this contrary note:

“There is no reason why Fascist Germany and Soviet Russia should not get on together, inasmuch as the Soviet Union and Fascist Italy are good friends.”

Hitler’s warning, conveyed through Von Neurath, that Germany was willing to risk encirclement was what sent Stalin off on a move for counter-encirclement. At this time, the close relations between the Red Army and the German army were still in existence. The trade relations between the two countries were very much alive. Stalin therefore looked upon Hitler’s political course toward Moscow as a maneuver For a favorable diplomatic position. Not to be outflanked, he decided to respond to it by a wide maneuver of his own.

Litvinov was sent back to Geneva. There in late November, 1934, he negotiated with Pierre Laval a preliminary joint agreement envisaging a mutual-assistance pact between France and Russia, purposively left open for other powers to join. This protocol was signed in Geneva on December fifth.

Four days later, Litvinov issued the following statement: “The Soviet Union never ceases especially to desire the best all-around relations with Germany. Such, I am confident, is also the attitude of France towards Germany. The Eastern European pact would make possible the creation and further development of such relations between these three countries, as well as between the other signatories to the pact.”

To this maneuver Hitler did at last respond. Large credits were opened to the Soviet government. Stalin was tremendously encouraged. The financial interests of Germany were, in his judgment, forcing Hitler’s hand.

In the spring of 1935, while Anthony Eden, Pierre Laval and Eduard Beneš were visiting Moscow, Stalin scored what he considered his greatest triumph. The Reichbank granted a long-term loan of 200,000,000 gold marks to the Soviet government.

On the evening of August 2, 1935, I was with Artusov and the other members of his staff at the Lubianka offices of the Foreign Division of the Ogpu. It was on the eve of Levanevsky’s take-off on his famous first flight across the North Pole from Moscow to San Francisco. We were all waiting for a car to take us to see Levanevsky and his two companions start for America. While we were waiting and looking up papers in the safes, the subject of our relations with the Nazi regime came up. Artusov produced a highly confidential report just received from one of our leading agents in Berlin. It was prepared in answer to the question worrying Stalin: What and how strong are the forces in Germany favoring an accord with the Soviet Union?

After an exceptionally interesting review of the internal economic and political conditions in Germany, of the elements of possible discontent, of Berlin’s relations with France and other powers, and of the dominant influences surrounding Hitler, our correspondent arrived at this conclusion:

“All of the Soviet attempts to appease and conciliate Hitler are doomed. The main obstacle to an understanding with Moscow is Hitler himself.”

The report made a profound impression upon all of us. Its logic and facts seemed unanswerable. We wondered how the “big boss” took it. Artusov remarked that Stalin’s optimism concerning Germany remained unshaken.

“Do you know what the boss said at the last meeting of the Politbureau?” Artusov observed with a wave of the hand. And he quoted Stalin:

“Well, now, how can Hitler make war on us when he has granted us such loans? It’s impossible. The business circles in Germany are too powerful, and they are in the saddle.”

In September, 1935, I left for Western Europe to take up my new post as Chief of the Military Intelligence there. Within a month I flew back to Moscow. My hurried return trip was caused by an extraordinary development.

I discovered, in taking over our Intelligence network, that one of our agents in Germany had come upon the trail of secret negotiations between the Japanese military attaché in Berlin, Lieutenant General Hiroshi Oshima, and Baron Joachim von Ribbentrop, then Hitler’s unofficial minister for special foreign relations.

I decided that these negotiations were a matter of such paramount concern to the Soviet government that they required exceptional attention on my part. To watch their progress would be no routine affair. I needed for the task the boldest and best men at our disposal. For this purpose I returned to Moscow to consult headquarters. I came back to Holland armed with all the necessary authority and means to pursue to the bitter end the quest for information on the Oshima-Ribbentrop conversations.

These conversations were carried on outside ordinary diplomatic channels. The Japanese ambassador in Berlin and the German Foreign Office were not involved. Von Ribbentrop, Hitler’s envoy extraordinary, was handling the matter privately with the Japanese general. By the end of 1935, the information in my possession showed beyond a shadow of doubt that the negotiations were progressing toward a definite objective. We knew, of course, that that objective was to checkmate the Soviet Union.

We also knew that the Japanese army had for years been anxious to secure the plans and models of Germany’s special anti-aircraft guns. The Tokyo militarists had shown themselves willing to go to any lengths to obtain from Berlin all the latest technical patents in weapons of warfare. This was the starting point for the German-Japanese negotiations.

Stalin kept in close touch with developments. Apparently Moscow decided to try to spike the negotiations by publicity. Early in January, 1936, reports began to appear in the Western European press that some kind of secret agreement had been concluded between Germany and Japan. On January tenth, Soviet Premier Molotov referred publicly to these reports. Two days later, Berlin and Tokyo denied that there was any substance in the rumors.

The only effect of the publicity was to increase the secrecy of the negotiations and to force the German and Japanese governments to devise some mask for their real treaty.

Throughout 1936, all the world capitals were astir with public and private reports of the German-Japanese deal. Diplomatic circles everywhere buzzed with exciting speculation. Moscow pressed hard for documentary proof of the agreement. My men in Germany were risking their lives, in the face of almost insuperable difficulties. They knew that no expense was too high, no hazard too great.

It was known to us that the Nazi secret service was intercepting, and had in its possession, copies of the coded messages exchanged during the negotiations between General Oshima and Tokyo. Late in July, 1936, I received word that the complete file of this confidential correspondence had at last been secured in photostatic form by our men in Berlin. The channel thus opened would provide us with all future messages from Oshima to his government and back.

The strain of the following days, when I knew that this priceless material was in our hands, but had to await its safe arrival from Germany, was nearly unbearable. No chances could be taken and I had to wait patiently.

On August eighth, word came through that the carrier of the correspondence had crossed the German frontier and was due in Amsterdam. I was in Rotterdam when the message arrived. I got into my automobile, accompanied by an aide, and made a dash for Amsterdam. On the way we met our agent, who was speeding to deliver the material to me. We stopped on the highway.

“Here it is. We’ve got it,” he said, and handed me some rolls of film—the form in which we usually put all our mail.

I went straight to Haarlem, where we had a secret photographic developing room. The Oshima correspondence was in code, but we had in our possession the Japanese code book. I also had, awaiting us in Haarlem, a first-class Japanese-language expert, whom we had scoured Moscow to find. I could not keep Moscow waiting for the arrival of the documents by courier, and I could not send coded messages from Holland. I had one of our men get ready to fly to Paris at a moment’s notice, to send off a long message to Moscow.

I saw, as it was being decoded, that I had before me the entire sheaf of Oshima’s correspondence with Tokyo, reporting step by step all his negotiations with Von Ribbentrop, and also the suggestions conveyed to him by his government. General Oshima reported that his negotiations were being conducted under the personal supervision of Hitler, who frequently conferred with Von Ribbentrop and gave him instructions. His correspondence revealed that the purpose of the negotiations was the conclusion of a secret pact to coordinate all the moves made by Berlin and Tokyo in Western Europe as well as in the Pacific. No reference to the Communist International, and no suggestion of any move against communism, was contained in this correspondence covering more than a year of negotiations.

Under the terms of the secret agreement, Japan and Germany undertook to regulate between themselves all matters relating to the Soviet Union and to China, and to take no action either in Europe or in the Pacific without consulting each other. Berlin also agreed to place its improvements in weapons of war at the disposal of Tokyo and to exchange military missions with Japan.

At five o’clock one afternoon, my courier took off for Paris with my coded message. I returned home and took a rest for several days. From then on, all correspondence between General Oshima and Tokyo flowed regularly through our hands. It revealed finally that a secret pact had been drawn up and initialed by General Oshima and Von Ribbentrop. The pact was so worded as to extend the field of cooperation between Japan and Germany to include interests beyond China and Soviet Russia.

There was but one problem to settle: How to camouflage the secret agreement; Hitler decided to draft the anti-Comintern pact as a device for misleading world opinion.

On November twenty-fifth, in the presence of all the envoys of the foreign powers in Berlin, with the exception of the Soviet Union, the anti-Comintern pact was signed by the official representatives of the governments of Germany and Japan. The pact is a public document consisting of a couple of brief clauses. Behind it lies concealed a secret agreement, the existence of which has never been acknowledged.

Stalin was, of course, in possession of all the proofs of this which I had uncovered. He decided to show Hitler that the Soviet government knew all about it. Foreign Commissar Litvinov was assigned to spring the surprise upon Berlin. On November twenty-eighth addressing an extraordinary session of the Congress of Soviets, Litvinov said:

Well-informed people refuse to believe that in order to draw up the two meager articles which have been published of the German-Japanese agreement, it was necessary to conduct negotiations for fifteen months; that these negotiations should have been entrusted to a Japanese general and a German super-diplomat, and that they should have been conducted in extraordinary secrecy and kept secret even from German and Japanese official diplomacy . . .

As for the German-Japanese agreement which has been published, I would recommend to you not to seek for any meaning in it, since it really has no meaning. It is only a cover for another agreement which was simultaneously discussed and initiated, probably also signed, and which was not published and is not intended for publication.

I assert, realizing the full weight of my words, that it was to the working out of this secret document, in which the word communism is not even mentioned, that fifteen months of negotiations between the Japanese military attaché and the German super-diplomat were devoted . . .

This agreement with Japan will tend to extend any war which breaks out on one continent to at least two, if not more than two, continents.

Needless to say, there was consternation in Berlin.

As for my own share in this affair, Moscow hailed it as a triumph. I was recommended for the Order of Lenin. The recommendation was approved all along the line, but got lost sight of at the time of the Red Army purge. I never received it.

An American sequel to the German-Japanese secret pact came to my attention when I was already in the United States. In January, 1939, Hitler appointed his personal aide, Capt. Fritz Wiedemann, consul general at San Francisco. Fritz Wiedemann had been Private Hitler’s commanding officer in the World War and is one of the Fuehrer’s most intimate and trusted collaborators. The appointment of such a figure to a seemingly minor post on the Pacific suggests the significance of the German-Japanese secret agreement. Hitler included in his plans even the possibility of joint maneuvers with Japan in the Pacific.

Lieutenant General Oshima was elevated from military attaché to Japanese ambassador to Germany in October, 1938, and presented his credentials to Hitler on November twenty-second, last.

Now, what was the effect of the Berlin-Tokyo pact upon the Kremlin’s foreign policy? How did Stalin react to Hitler’s enveloping operation against the Soviet Union?

Stalin continued his two simultaneous courses of action. The series of maneuvers he executed on the surface is a matter of open record. He strengthened his association with France by a special treaty and pressed for an alliance. He entered into a mutual-assistance pact with Czechoslovakia. He launched the united-front campaign throughout the anti-Fascist world. He had Litvinov inaugurate the crusade for collective security, designed to align all the great and small powers in the defense of the Soviet Union from German-Japanese aggression. He intervened in Spain in order to forge a closer link with Paris and London.

But all these surface moves were designed only to impress Hitler, and bring success to his undercover maneuvers which had but one aim: a close accord with Germany. No sooner was the German-Japanese pact signed than Stalin directed the Soviet trade envoy in Berlin, his personal emissary, David Kandelaki, to go outside the ordinary diplomatic channels and at whatever cost arrive at a deal with Hitler. At a meeting of the Politbureau held at this time, Stalin definitely informed his lieutenants: “In the very near future we shall consummate an agreement with Germany.”

In December, 1936, I received orders to throttle down our work in Germany. The first months of 1937 were passed in expectancy of a favorable outcome of Kandelaki’s secret negotiations. I was in Moscow when he arrived from Berlin, in April, accompanied by the Ogpu representative in Germany. Kandelaki brought with him the draft of an agreement with the Nazi government. He was received in private audiences by Stalin, who believed that he had at last achieved the goal of all his maneuvers.

At this time I had occasion for a long conference with Yezhov, then head of the Ogpu. Yezhov had just reported to Stalin on certain operations of mine. Yezhov had been a metal worker in his youth, raised in the Stalin school. This dreaded marshal of the great purge had a simple mind. Any question of policy he took up with Stalin at once, and whatever the big boss said, he repeated word for word, and then translated into action.

Yezhov and I discussed various reports in our possession as to discontent in Germany, and possible opposition to Hitler from the old monarchist groups. Yezhov had discussed the same subject that very day in his conference with Stalin. His words were practically a phonographic record of the boss himself:

“What’s all this drivel about discontent with Hitler in the German army?” he exclaimed. “What does it take to content an army? Ample rations? Hitler furnishes them. Good arms and equipment? Hitler supplies them. Prestige and honor? Hitler provides it. A sense of power and victory? Hitler gives that, too. The talk about army unrest in Germany is all nonsense.

“As for the capitalists, what do they need a Kaiser for? They wanted to put the workers back in the factories. Hitler has done it for them. They wanted to get rid of the Communists. Hitler has them in jails and concentration camps. They were fed up with labor unions and strikes. Hitler has put labor under state control and outlawed strikes. Why should the industrialists be discontented?”

Yezhov continued in the same vein: Germany is strong. She is now the strongest power in the world. Hitler has made her so. Who can doubt it? How can anyone in his senses fail to reckon with it? For Soviet Russia there is but one course. And here he quoted Stalin: “We must come to terms with a superior power like Nazi Germany.”

Hitler, however, again rebuffed Stalin’s advances. By the end of 1937, with the collapse of the Stalin plans in Spain and the Japanese successes in China, the international isolation of the Soviet Union became extreme. Stalin then took, on the surface, a position of neutrality between the two major groups of powers. On November 27, 1937, speaking in Leningrad, Foreign Commissar Litvinov poked fun at the democratic nations for their handling of the Fascist nations. But Stalin’s underlying purpose remained the same.

In March, 1938, Stalin staged his ten-day super-trial of the Rykov-Bukharin-Krestinsky group of Bolsheviks, who had been Lenin’s closest associates and who were among the fathers of the Soviet Revolution. These Bolshevik leaders—hateful to Hitler—were shot by Stalin on March third. On March twelfth, with no protest from Russia, Hitler annexed Austria. Moscow’s only reply was a proposal to call a parley of the democratic nations. Again, when Hitler annexed the Sudeten areas in September, 1938 Litvinov proposed concerted aid to Prague, but made it conditional upon action by the League of Nations. Stalin himself remained silent during the whole eventful year of 1938. But signs have not been wanting since Munich of his continued wooing of Hitler.

On January 12, 1939, there took place before the entire diplomatic corps in Berlin the cordial and demonstrative chat of Hitler with the new Soviet ambassador. A week later an item appeared in the London News Chronicle reporting a coming rapprochement between Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia. And this item was immediately and prominently reprinted, without comment and without refutation, in Stalin’s mouthpiece, the Moscow Pravda.

On January twenty-fifth, W. N. Ewer, foreign editor of the London Daily Herald, leading British Labor paper, reported that the Nazi government was “now almost convinced that in the event of a European war the Soviet Union would adopt a policy of neutrality and non-intervention” and that a German trade delegation whose “objects are political rather than commercial” was on the way to Moscow.

Early in February it was disclosed that Moscow had made a deal to sell its oil only to Italy and Germany and nations friendly to the Rome-Berlin axis. For the first time in its history the Soviet government had stopped the sale of oil to private foreign corporations. This new policy would provide supplies vital to Italy and Germany in case of war with Great Britain and France.

Then, on Friday, March 10, 1939, Stalin at last spoke up. It was his first word since the annexation of Austria and the Sudeten lands by Germany, and he displayed such remarkable good humor toward Hitler that it came as a shock to world opinion. He excoriated the democracies for plotting to “poison the atmosphere and provoke a conflict” between Germany and Soviet Russia, for which, he said, there were “no visible grounds.”

Three days after Stalin’s speech, Hitler dismembered Czechoslovakia. Two days later, he extinguished Czechoslovakia altogether. Of course, this was the result of Chamberlain’s policy of appeasement. The world did not then realize that it was also the result of Stalin’s policy of appeasement. Secretly Stalin had been playing the Rome-Berlin axis against the London-Paris axis all along. He does not believe in the strength of the democratic states.

To Stalin it was clear that Hitler had undertaken to solve the entire problem of Central and Southeastern Europe, to bring the peoples and resources in those areas under his political and economic domination, and to extend there his military base for future operations.

Stalin has seen Hitler in recent years reach out and get a foothold for a leap in almost every direction. He has dropped an anchor in the Pacific, and put his hand in South America. He is coming within striking distance of the British Empire in the Near East. And he has, with the aid of Mussolini, driven a stake in colonial Africa.

Stalin wants to avoid war at any cost. He fears war most. If Hitler will assure him peace, even at the price of important economic concessions, he will give Hitler a free hand in all these directions. . . .

The above account of Stalin’s hidden policies toward Hitler’s Germany was written and published in the Saturday Evening Post several months before August 23, 1939, when the world was astounded by the signing of the Stalin-Hitler pact. It is needless to say that the pact was no surprise to the author. Both Molotov and Von Ribbentrop assert that the Nazi-Soviet pact inaugurates a new epoch in German-Russian relations, which will have profound consequences for the future history of Europe and the world. That is absolutely true.