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460 pages, Hardcover
First published August 10, 2017
[He] saw things rather differently. He argued that it was entirely because of Hitler that Germany had in fact already ‘lapsed into Bolshevism’. In his view, the Nazi government was copying the Soviet Union to such an extend that there was now almost no difference between their two systems. He cited ‘its ownership and control of industry; its control of money and banking, its steps toward land ownership and control by government; its ordering of work and wages, its building of infrastructure and houses, its youth movement and its one party state at election’.” (p. 250)

Travellers in the Third Reich is a chronological overview of the history of the Third Reich, supplemented with the accounts of a wide variety of foreign visitors (mostly from the UK and the US). The book doesn’t put forward any grand conclusions. Rather, it offers a new perspective on Germany during this time and a glimpse into the political attitudes around the world.
The main takeaway is that whilst the warning signs of Hitler’s regime are obvious with the benefit of hindsight, the situation was much murkier to those living in the midst of it. The author notes that even many “politically sophisticated” visitors of the Third Reich were unsure what to think of Hitler’s Germany. She puts this down to a number of things:
Early on many foreigners were impressed with how Hitler was rebuilding Germany after the depression. Many of them, as well as many Germans, believed that the Nazis’ anti-Semitism would be temporary. Evelyn Wrench, chairman of The Spectator, was one of them. Although “condemning unreservedly the regime’s treatment of Jews”, he tried to put it in context. He reported that many of his German friends reminded him that “Germany had just undergone an almost bloodless revolution and, naturally at such times, ‘as you English know from history,’ regrettable things happened.”
The unsettling truth is that due to many visitors’ ‘casual’ anti-Semitism, “the discomfiture of a few Jews seemed a small price for the restoration of a great nation – a nation, moreover, that was Europe’s chief bulwark against communism.” Ariel Tennant, a teenager who studied art in Munich in the 1930s, “was struck by how many people in England refused to believe her accounts of Nazi aggression. When, on a brief visit home, she described some of her more alarming experiences, she was dismissed as being too young to understand.”
Another reason for many people’s willingness to ignore – at least to an extent – the darker sides of National Socialism, even late into the 1930s, was their love for Germany. Many academics “chose to travel in the Third Reich because Germany’s cultural heritage was simply too precious to renounce for politics, however unpleasant those politics might be.” Others were taken in by the idyllic atmosphere of Germany’s cities and landscapes. The writer J.A. Cole, who was not a Nazi sympathiser, wrote: ‘I cannot see a German town for the first time on a sunny morning without a rising of the spirits, a feeling that here is place delightfully foreign yet at the same time a place where one could live happily.’ The author comments that “it would seem that those travellers fundamentally hostile to the Nazis instinctively looked beyond the regime to what they imagined to be the real Germany; a country that, despite everything, maintained its enduring power to beguile and entrance.”
Travellers with strong political views usually didn’t change their mind once they visited the Third Reich. Regardless of whether they were left or right-wing, they found ample evidence to support their views. Considering this duality, it’s not surprising that many others weren’t sure what to make of Hitler’s Germany: “Was the implementation of socialist principles inspired by idealism or dictatorship? Were voluntary labour camps genuine philanthropy or a front for something more sinister? Were the endless marching bands, swastikas and uniforms joyful expression of restored national pride or harbinger of renewed aggression?”
To add to the confusion, it became increasingly difficult to see what differentiated National Socialism from communism. When Denis de Rougemont, a Swiss literary and cultural philosopher, arrived in Germany in 1935 he was convinced that ‘Hitlerism’ was a right-wing movement. But after a few weeks of talking to people from varying backgrounds, he was no longer sure.
What unsettled him was the fact that those who stood most naturally on the right – lawyers, doctors, industrialists and so on – were the very ones who most bitterly denounced National Socialism. Far from being a bulwark against communism, they complained, it was itself communism in disguise. They pointed out that only workers and peasants benefited from Nazi reforms, while their own values were being systematically destroyed by various methods. They were taxed disproportionately, their family life had been irreparably harmed, parental authority sapped, religion stripped and education eliminated.
W.E.B. Du Bois, a prominent African-American academic, agreed that there was almost nothing differentiating the Nazi government from the Soviet Union. He cited ‘its ownership and control of industry; its control of money and banking, its steps towards land ownership and control by government; its ordering of work and wages, its building of infrastructure and houses, its youth movement and its one party state at elections’.
De Rougemont managed to get some insight into how this was possible when he talked to a former militant communist who decided to change sides at the age of fifty:
we want work and our cup of café au lait in the morning … that is enough. Politics don’t interest the workers when they have food and work. Hitler? Now that he has won, he has only to implement his programme. It was almost the same as ours! But he has been more cunning, he reassured the bourgeois by not immediately attacking religion … I will tell you one thing: if they abandon him, all these fat pigs who are around him … I will go and fight for him! He at least is a sincere man; he is the only one.
The thing was that no matter their political stance or personal situation, most Germans strongly believed in Hitler. In 1935 Truman Smith, the first American official to have interviewed him, noted that while ‘Germany is still not of one mind’, people’s criticism was almost always direct at the Party, not at Hitler himself: ‘Germans, irrespective of class adore and revere this strange man and the qualities they attribute to him of selflessness, lack of ostentation and participation in the joys and sorrows of the German people.’
Alarmingly, their support often ran so deep that they could not imagine Hitler being behind any atrocity. Manning Clark, a young future historian, talked to a retired professor of physics after Kristallnacht. The professor voiced his strong disapproval of the pogrom but was convinced that Hitler would never have allowed it to happen had he known about it beforehand. Clark noted that ‘this was the first time I realized that the person of Hitler was sacrosanct. He was never connected in any way with instances that were doubtful or likely to prove unpopular. It was always Göring or Goebbels’.
Adding to the confusion, German propaganda and the distortion of truth were pervasive. You didn’t even have to set foot in Germany to be subjected to it, as from 1933 onwards the Reich Committee for Tourism did everything they could to lure foreign tourists to Germany in an effort to counter the Nazis’ negative image abroad. The Committee reassured potential visitors that “whatever they may read in their ‘Jewish’ newspapers – life in the Third Reich was entirely normal. Germany was a ‘peace-loving, trustworthy and progressive nation, a joyful country of festival-goers, hearty eaters, smiling peasants and music lovers’.”
Once in Germany, the Nazis employed an array of tactics to convince visitors of their righteousness. All important visitors were received warmly by a welcome committee, like the 1936 Olympic athletes who arrived by ship when “thousands of Germans, singing, dancing and cheering, crowded on to the riverbank to watch [the ship] pass.” During the games there was little to no outright hostility towards Jewish and black athletes, so when Lithuanian basketball player Frank J. Lubin stayed in Berlin for another week once the games had ended, he was surprised to find a restaurant with the Star of David in the window and a large board inscribed ‘Juden verboten’ by the entrance of the baths he had visited before. When he remarked that these signs hadn’t been there a few days ago, the response was ‘no, but now the Olympic Games are over.’
Knowing that anti-Semitism and animosity towards communism were widespread sentiments in the 1930s, the Nazis happily made use of the idea that there was a common enemy. As part of this effort, from the mid-1930s onwards, guided tours of Dachau became a kind of tourist attraction – and it worked. ‘Adjutant says most prisoners Communist,’ Victor Cazalet MP wrote in his diary. ‘If that is the case, then they can stay there for all I care.’ Two other visitors praised the Nazis for giving these ‘dregs of humanity’ a new chance. When James Grover MacDonald, American High Commissioner for Refugees coming from Germany, questioned the necessity of Dachau, his guide told him “Germany was still in the throes of a revolution, and that whereas in most revolutions political prisoners were shot, at Dachau ‘we try to reform them’.” What none of them could have known was that the prisoners they saw on their guided tours were usually guards in disguise.
The author aptly finishes her book with the following words:
Perhaps the most chilling fact to emerge from these travellers’ tales is that so many perfectly decent people could return home from Hitler’s Germany singing its praises. Nazi evil permeated every aspect of German society yet, when blended with the seductive pleasures still available to the foreign visitor, the hideous reality was too often and for too long ignored. More than eight decades after Hitler became chancellor we are still haunted by the Nazis. It is right that we should be.
The book contains countless more impressions, like those of Geoffrey Cox, who spent three voluntary weeks in a labour camp; Unity Mitford, who was famously infatuated with Hitler; Ji Xianlin, a Chinese student who ended up living in Germany throughout WWII; and Michael Burn, who was in Germany in the 1930s as a young journalist and later published a memoir in which he openly discusses his shock at his lack of concern during his travels.
The main reason I gave this book 4 stars rather than 5, is that the vastness of the different accounts made the book come across as slightly chaotic and unclear at times. Once travellers had been introduced, subsequent mentions often contained little to no context about their political background. Coupled with the fact that many accounts in the book are recounted without comment by the author, this sometimes made it difficult to know whether the author intended them to be interpreted in a certain way. And at times, comments from the author actually added to my confusion.
Nevertheless, I would recommend this book to anyone interested in the history of the Third Reich, and specifically those who want to know the sometimes unsettling, sometimes surprising and sometimes bizarre reality of what it was like to live and travel in Hitler’s Germany.
Knut Hamsun was emotionally devastated by the war. Not that the Nobel laureate had lost any of his admiration for Hitler or, more especially, for Goebbels. On 19 May 1943 he spent several hours with the literary-minded minister for propaganda at the latter’s house in Berlin. Goebbels was so incensed to learn that Hamsun’s Collected Works was no longer being read in Nordic countries that he at once decided to print an edition of 100,000 copies. Hamsun demurred, pointing out that it was hardly the right moment given Germany’s severe paper shortage. The brief encounter must have left a deep impression on the Norwegian because, as soon as he reached home, he made the remarkable decision to send Goebbels his Nobel medal. ‘I know of nobody, Herr Reichsminister,’ he wrote in an accompanying note, ‘who has unstintingly, year after year written and spoken on Europe’s and humanity’s behalf as idealistically as yourself. I ask your forgiveness for sending you my medal. It is of no use to you whatsoever, but I have nothing else to offer.’ (352-3)
But one thing was clear – the war had ended. Never again would anyone travel in the Third Reich.
'The continuous viewing of ugly distorted faces and forms, with blood and vomit spewing from them - vulgar disgusting scenes - produced a definite physical reaction.' ... Kay, who had been reading articles in the American press condemning Nazi philistinism, was now, on this issue at least, entirely in sympathy with the Führer. 'I heartily supported the name Degenerate Art which Hitler had given it,' she wrote, 'and was delighted when he announced that "the era of the purple cow" was over.' (276)
Despite his packed programme, Domville found time to buy a print of the oil painting In the Beginning Was the Word by Hermann Otto Hoyer depicting Hitler as 'The Bringer of Light'. He was so pleased with it that he returned to buy a second copy for a fellow guest. 'It is a wonderful bargain for DM 3.60' he noted in his diary, adding, 'I am sure they intend to deify Hitler.' (265-6)Sir Barry's "wonderful bargain":
