Stalin’s mass terror of 1936–38 was a central episode, but not the central episode, of his regime in the period covered by this volume. That designation belongs, first, to the 1929–33 collectivization of agriculture, then to the 1939 Pact with Nazi Germany and its aftershocks. If Stalin’s foil in volume I was Trotsky (who, though politically vanquished, will haunt him more than ever), now a second materializes, and not a foreign exile wielding little more than a pen, but another dictator presiding over the rearmament of the greatest power on the continent.
Adolf Hitler was eleven years Stalin’s junior, born in 1889 in a frontier region of Austria-Hungary. He lost his father at age fifteen and his mother at eighteen. (The Jewish physician who tended to his mother would recall that in forty years he had never seen anyone as broken with grief over a mother’s death as her son.) At age twenty, Hitler found himself on a breadline in Vienna, his inheritance and savings nearly spent. He had twice been rejected from Vienna’s Academy of Fine Arts (“sample drawing unsatisfactory”) and was staying in a homeless shelter behind a railway station. A vagrant on the next bed recalled that Hitler’s “clothes were being cleaned of lice, since for days he had been wandering about without a roof and in a terribly neglected condition.” The vagrant added that Hitler lived on various shelters’ bread and soup and “discussed politics.” With a small loan from an aunt, he got himself into better quarters, a men’s home, and managed to find odd jobs, such as painting picture postcards and drafting advertisements. He also frequented the city’s public libraries, where he read political tracts, newspapers, the philosopher Schopenhauer, and the fiction of Karl May set in the cowboys-and-Indians days of the American West or the exotic Near East. Hitler dodged the Austrian draft and the police. When they finally caught up with him, they judged the undernourished and gloomy youth to be unfit for service. He fled across the border to Munich, and in August 1914 he joined the German army as a private. He ended the Great War still a private, but its aftermath transformed his life prospects. He would be among the many who migrated from left to right in the chaotic wake of imperial Germany’s defeat.
During the November 1918 leftist revolution in Munich, Hitler was in a hospital in Pomerania, but he was released and marched in the funeral cortège of provincial Bavaria’s murdered leader, a Jewish Social Democrat; film footage captured Hitler wearing two armbands, one black (for mourning) and the other red. After Social Democrats and anarchists, in April 1919, formed a Bavarian Soviet Republic, the Communists quickly seized power; Hitler, who contemplated joining the Social Democrats, served as a delegate from his battalion’s soviet (council). He had no profession to speak of, but appears to have taken part in leftist indoctrination of the troops. Ten days before Hitler’s thirtieth birthday, the Bavarian Soviet was quickly crushed by the so-called Freikorps of war veterans. He remained in the military because a superior, the chief of the German army’s “information” department, had the idea of sending him to an antileftist instructional course, then using him to infiltrate leftist groups. The officer recalled that Hitler “was like a tired stray dog looking for a master,” and “ready to throw in his lot with anyone who would show him kindness.” Be that as it may, the assignment as informant led to Hitler’s involvement in a minuscule right-wing group, the German Workers’ Party, which had been established to draw workers away from Communism and which Hitler, with the assistance of rabidly anti-Semitic émigrés from the former imperial Russia, would remake into the National Socialist German Workers’ Party, or Nazis.
Now a transfixing far-right agitator, Hitler remained a marginal figure. When Stalin was the new general secretary of the Communist party of the largest state in the world, Hitler was in prison for a failed attempt, in 1923 in Munich, his adopted hometown, to seize power locally, which would be derided as the Beer Hall Putsch. To be sure, he had managed to turn his trial into a triumph. (One of the judges remarked, “What a tremendous chap, this Hitler!”) Indeed, even though Hitler was an Austrian citizen and convicted, the presiding judge had refrained from having him deported, reasoning that the law “cannot apply to a man who thinks and feels as German as Hitler, who voluntarily served for four and a half years in the German army at war, who attained high military honors through outstanding bravery in the face of the enemy, was wounded.” During his first two weeks in prison, Hitler refused to eat, believing he deserved to die, but letters arrived congratulating him as a national hero. Richard Wagner’s daughter-in-law Winifred sent paper and pencil, encouraging him to write a book. Hitler had an attendant in confinement, Rudolf Hess, who typed his dictation, creating an autobiography dedicated to the sixteen Nazis killed in the failed putsch. In Mein Kampf, Hitler portrayed himself as a man of destiny and pledged to revive Germany as a great power and rid it of Jews, anointing himself “the destroyer of Marxism.” In December 1924, after serving thirteen months of a five-year sentence, he was released, but his book sales disappointed, a second book failed to find a publisher, and his Nazi party proved ineffectual at the ballot box. Lord d’Abernon, the British ambassador to Berlin at the time, summarized Hitler’s political life after his early release from prison as “thereafter fading into oblivion.”
History is full of surprises. That this Austrian in a fringe political movement would become the dictator of Germany, and Stalin’s principal nemesis, was scarcely imaginable. But Field Marshal Count Helmuth von Moltke the Elder (1800–91), chief of the Prussian and then German general staff for thirty-one years, had conceived of strategy as improvisation, a “system of expedients,” an ability to turn unexpected developments created by others or by happenstance to one’s advantage, and Hitler turned out to be just such a master improviser: often uncertain, a perpetrator of mistakes and a beneficiary of luck, but a man possessed of radical ideas who sensed where he was ultimately going and grasped opportunities that came his way. Stalin, too, was a strategist in von Moltke’s sense, a man of radical ideas able to perceive and seize opportunities that he did not always create but turned to his advantage. The richest opportunities perceived by Stalin and Hitler were often supposedly urgent “threats” they inflated or invented. If history is driven by geopolitics, institutions, and ideas, especially that triad’s interaction, it takes historical agents to set it all in motion.
No country had seemed capable of surpassing Great Britain, whose overseas empire would soon encompass a quarter of the globe, and whose power obsessed both Stalin and Hitler as the prime mover of the entire world. But Stalin had also grown up in an epoch when Germany had begun to stand out for having the best manufacturing processes and engineering schools. His direct experience of Germany consisted of just a few months in 1907 in Berlin, where he stopped on the way back to Russia from a Bolshevik meeting in London. He studied but never mastered the German language. But like several tsarist predecessors, especially Sergei Witte, Stalin was a Germanophile, admiring that country’s industry and science—in a word, its modernity. For the longest time, though, Stalin had no idea of Hitler’s existence.
Tsarist Russia had aimed in the Great War to destroy forever the threat of German power by breaking up the Hohenzollern and Habsburg realms and establishing a belt of Slavic states that would presumably be friendly to Russia. German and Austrian war aims, conversely, had sought to diminish a perceived Russian menace by stripping it of its western borderlands. If Russia had won the war, it would likely have enacted something like the German-imposed Brest-Litovsk Treaty in reverse. But Russia lost (on the eastern front), just as Germany and Austria-Hungary lost (on the western front), leading to the Versailles Peace. Contrary to received wisdom, Europe’s postwar security system did not disintegrate because of spinelessness or blundering. Only the dual collapse of Russian and German power had made possible Versailles, which could have succeeded only if German and Russian power never rose again. (Britain effectively recognized the instability of Versailles, for, having failed to reach a modus vivendi with German power before the Great War clash, would spend the entire postwar period pursuing an accommodation.) The two Versailles pariahs, Germany and the Soviet Union, entered into clandestine military cooperation. Then, in 1933, as we shall see, Hitler was handed the wheel of the great state Stalin admired. The lives of the two dictators, as the biographer Alan Bullock wrote, had run in parallel. But it was the intersection that would matter: two very different men from the peripheries of Russian power and of German power, respectively, who were bloodily reviving and remaking their countries, while unknowingly and then knowingly drawing ever closer. It was not only the German people who turned out to be waiting for Hitler.