On the face of it, in view of what Stalin said of the complete breakdown of "international law" and international treaties, his speech suggested that, in this international jungle, the Soviet Union would be wise to remain in splendid isolation; but in his precise wording he evidently took some trouble not to slam the door in the face of the French and British statesmen. The possibility of a late deal with the West could perhaps still be read into the reference to the Franco-Soviet mutual assistance pact. On the other hand he had dwelt far more on the perfidiousness of the "non-aggressor" nations than on that of the
"aggressors", and he had almost gone so far as to congratulate Germany on her wisdom in not having invaded the Ukraine, as "the West" had allegedly urged her to do!
Not without significance were also Stalin's references to Russia's "immediate
neighbours". Had not some suspect negotiations been going on between Germany and some of Russia's "immediate neighbours"? Had Nazi diplomacy not been active in the Baltic states? Had not Beck raised the "question" of the Ukraine with Hitler at Berchtesgaden on January 7, only to be told by the Führer that he no longer regarded the Ukraine as topical.
[
And the Russians continued to suspect the Finns, who only a year before had celebrated the twentieth anniversary of their liberation from "the Bolshevik yoke" with the help of the Kaiser's army towards the end of the First World War.
Such was the trend of Soviet policy on the eve of the Nazi march into Prague. It was still a wait-and-see attitude; the menace of war was already acute, but it was still not entirely clear what Hitler's next move would be.
The Nazi entry into Prague on March 15 not only put a full stop to Chamberlain's Munich illusions, but put the Soviet Union in a position where a clear choice would have to be made before long. It was already evident from Stalin's speech of March 10 that he was anxious to keep out of it all—
*
The German invasion of Czechoslovakia came to Russia as a shock—though not perhaps
as a great surprise. When, on March 15, the blow fell, the Soviet reaction was fairly sharp. In reply to the official German notification that Bohemia and Moravia had been incorporated in the Reich as a "protectorate" and that the statute of Slovakia had been
"modified" (it had been turned into a German satellite under Mgr Tiso), Litvinov sent the German Government a strongly-worded note. In it he recalled the Czechs' right to self-determination and denied the validity of President Hacha's surrender to Berlin. And
Litvinov concluded: "The action of the German Government not only fails to lessen the dangers threatening world peace, but can, on the contrary, only intensify them, shake the political stability of Central Europe... and strike another severe blow at the peoples' sense of security."
The alarm in Moscow was even greater than appeared on the surface. True, the papers
were already full of stories from Prague about "German vandalism in Czechoslovakia"
and about the "Gestapo terror" there—for instance, about a Karl Benes, secretary of the Nieburg Communist Party organisation, having been beaten and tortured to death by the Gestapo
—and Lithuania, which had just had Memel "shamelessly extorted" from her by the Germans, as the Soviet press put it.
The Germans in Memel, the Hungarians in Ruthenia, the growing threats against Poland
—all this was getting very near home.
Although the invasion of Czechoslovakia deeply shocked British public opinion,
Chamberlain's own first reaction was mild, judging by his statement in the House of
Commons on March 15. However, the outcry in the country compelled him to strike a
different note in his Birmingham speech on March 17. This time he spoke of his
"disappointment and indignation", and less than a fortnight later, on March 31, he announced the British Government's guarantee to Poland.
This extraordinary decision is perhaps best explained by a particularly well-qualified observer, Robert Coulondre, who was French Ambassador in Berlin at the time: "Without any kind of transition, and with a rashness pointing to his genuine anger, Chamberlain turned a complete somersault. He went from one extreme to the other, and diplomacy,
which is the daughter of wisdom and caution, does not like such extravagant behaviour.