8mm to the Left: If Hitler Died in 1923
- Thread starter KaiserKatze
- Start date
Actually, the regency ended in 1912. The Duke of Cumberland renounced Brunswick in favor of his son Ernest Augustus, who had fallen in love with Kaiser Wilhelm's daughter Victoria Louise. Ernest Augustus accepted the Prussian terms, married Victoria Louise, and reigned in Brunswick until 1918.
That is more enlightened despot, which is the best thing you could ever get but, true enlightened despots are rare and so there must be a democratic side to the state to balance out a bed king. Really if Macron crowned himself king I would not mind
Thanks, I love making maps in my spare time so I thought I might as well, though I must say Brandenburg angers me it feels off
I do like it, but a few things:
You extended Mecklenburg further East into Pomerania, which wouldn't happen since Pomerania is a historical part of Prussia and, if it had to be split, would be its own state with no border changes.
Brandenburg was ceded territory in the North which might explain its border looking weird.
I personally don't like fusing Baden and Württemberg unless the goal is to condense the states as much as possible, the two have very distinct identities. I also prefer to break Franconia off of Bavaria if I can, assuming I can break Prussia of course.
However, I already have a pretty solid map for the future German states. Unfortunately, it is nowhere near as clean and orderly as they are in modern IRL Germany--and a Lower Saxony state is definitely out, I am sad to say to all fans of it!
Love the map, though, even if it won't work for my story, and keep sending your ideas!
With a Germany that goes down a path that allows it to continue its older traditions I think it's inevitable. I think border gore within a state is a lot more acceptable than border gore between different states lmao.
BOOOOOOOOO!!!
One of the funniest idea's I've had in regards to this is federating the Thuringian states within a German Empire. So it would be a elective rotating monarchy ala Malaysia within Germany. Oh and abolishing the Lex Miguel Lasker whilst you're at it
Saxe-Schwanz-und-Hodenfolter will ban high heels and will mandate cute black platform boots for all its women!
It was a law (lex) from the early German Empire about the supremacy of central law over that of the individual states. I've seen it called the one roadblock to genuine federalism in the German Empire and Republic
https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lex_Miquel-Lasker (yes I know only a German wikipedia page, very obscure)
Correct me if I'm wrong, but as far as I understood it, the issue wasn't the law itself, but that it did not set clear delineations between which laws were relevant for the central government to use as a standard, plus the fact that the "central law" tended to be Prussian law more than anything. If it had been used to regulate core national institutions it would have been fine, but it gave Berlin the power to stick their nose into any and all regional law in the various states.
Or am I misunderstanding it? It is a topic I am plannign to tackle, but it, like the relationship between the states and the Reich itself, won't come until an actual major administrative reform
Really, don't ask me. I'm not a lawyer I'm a engineer specializing in agricultural machines. The only thing I have ever had to do with law is know a thing or two about the Bundesbodenschutzgesetz of the late 90'ies
Fair, haha.
The trick with discussing federalism in the sense of the modern era is always finding the right balance. The old German Empire never found a good balance suffered for it; the Weimar Republic fixed some of the issues, but created others, and was hurt by its flirt with centralisation
I don't personally think that a post-1871 Germany has much chance of becoming truly federalised without some massive shattering effect like the Nazis and WW2 IRL. And I don't think that that's a bad thing, necessarily--a "First Among Equals" relationship for a smaller but still large Prussia, a cut in the centralisation attempts, and laying out more specific rules for the member states (which also should be standardised, not like IRL with some like Bavaria having tons of freedom and others like Anhalt having barely any) would create a pretty stable Germany, IMO. Prussia could be a bulwark without being powerful enough to be a bully and its power would feel more like a representation of its population and guiding hand rather than it being Germany in all but name.
Lubeck being abolished because of a personal vendetta by Hitler, and then that abolishment being upheld by the courts post-war is simply a crime
#JusticeForLubeck
I went to Lübeck for the first time last year and it is legitimately one of the most beautiful towns I have ever seen.
Don't worry, Hansestadt Lübeck will remain.
Garrison
Donor
Well I would imagine a lot of German towns and cities are going to retain their charm in the absence of the attentions of Bomber Command and the US 8th Airforce.
Well, someone has to face the wrath of Bomber Harris, so it'll either be the Franco-Italian alliance that I believe has been alluded to occuring, or the Soviets assuming a British-German alliance against them.
On the contrary, Paris or Rome, which made it through WW2 more or less intact IOTL, would probably lose their charm ITTL.
the spinosaurus in München will survive yay, though can we just not bomb pretty cities, please
20 - An Unhappy Marriage
8mm to the Left: A World Without Hitler
"It is the great fault of mankind to be tempted by that which we do not have. The weak crave power; the uneasy crave stability; the lost crave purpose. In the hands of a skilled master, that fault, that craving, can oh-so-easily be turned on one’s enemies. Once that has been done, all one must do is sit back and let the yearning masses consume each other while you claim dominion over the wreckage.” - Jean-Jacques Crevet, protagonist of the banned 1938 French film ‘La Fleur Pourrie’ (The Rotting Flower), a harsh critique of the state of France at the time and the political violence erupting from both ends of the spectrum
An Unhappy Marriage
Britain was not the only country destined to face governmental shifts, with France, Spain, and Germany all slated to undergo elections in 1936 which had the potential to radically alter their governments. France came first, in April, and it was clear from the onset that it would be an especially contentious one. Opposite the incumbent Prime Minister Pierre-Étienne Flandin rose the powerful Popular Front, a coalition of Centre-Left and Left parties which hoped to revolutionise the French economy and oppose the increasingly-powerful Far-Right leagues whose power and presence had been growing, including, most notable, the Action Française, led by Charles Maurras. Though the Party had failed to draw the Communist Party into their ranks—this still the era of the Communist International’s opposition to working with less-revolutionary parties—their numbers were nevertheless formidable, and their message enticing.(1)
In the wake of the February 6th Uprising and the assimilation of the Croix de Feau, Maurras’s Action Française had risen to become a powerful force of influence in the Third Republic. Until this point, many had seen the group as one in decline, rooted as it was in pre-revolutionary and monarchist ideas which found little grasp on the modern French populace. The absorption of so many fascist adherents had nearly caused an internal crisis and ruptured the group, and it was only through the near-frantic work of Maurras himself that the two had been able to reconcile and birth a new shared ideology: Integral Fascism.
Integral Fascism is sometimes erroneously described as a marriage of pre-1934 Integralism and Italian Fascism. This is not the case, or perhaps could better be described as not entirely the case. Integral Fascism was a brilliant stroke of trickery by Maurras, one which preserved the elements of his Integralism ideology to which he most fiercely clung while also providing concessions in ways that he found to be, as a whole, irrelevant.
Integral Fascism maintained Integralism’s belief in a decentralised state centred around the so-called “petits pays”, i.e. local communities and, most importantly, family. It kept the Catholic Church as the foundation for moral stability within France and focused on French culture as a unifying force which transcended explicitly racial connotations. Even the notion of a powerful monarch, one of the less-popular foci within Integralism, was carried over. Where elements of Fascism took over were in questions such as the economy, where Corporatism and inter-class co-operation were seen as the solution to France’s increasingly-underdeveloped economy opposite the likes of Britain or Germany, and Expansionism, where Maurras reluctantly swallowed his own aversion to French cultural assimilation policies in the colonies and turned a blind eye to the actions taken against native peoples in Africa.
If one is indeed to consider Integral Fascism a marriage of two ideologies, it can only then be understood as an unhappy one, and one held together solely by Maurras’s own character and gift for the written word. He published writing upon writing throughout the mid-to-late 1930’s where he furiously defended this new ideology as a perfect blend of pre- and post-Revolutionary Ultra-Conservatism. Scholars today have dissected these writings and it is near-unanimously agreed that even Maurras himself was unsure of how the puzzle fit together, solely that it had to in some form. The simple fact of the matter was that Integralism’s localist, anti-modernity approach was incompatible with Fascism’s push towards a new world order and rejection of the old, and there was only so much smoke and mirrors which could disguise that fact.
Despite all of this, the ideology would continue to see its popularity rise, albeit slowly, throughout 1936, and, with the possibility of a socialist Prime Minister leading France, Action Française would be able to unite the disparate anti-socialist groups composing it into a true and significant threat to the forces of the Left. Though nowhere near powerful or united enough to offer their own candidate as a counter-offer, their numbers were enough to tip the scales where it counted.
Marguerite Dupand laid the paper-wrapped slab of beef at the bottom of her wicker basket, taking care to not rip the packaging as she followed it with assorted vegetables, two-dozen eggs, a small packet of sugar, and finally a bar of chocolate. After a moment of consideration she rearranged it so that the chocolate sat below the eggs. The last thing that she wanted was for her daughter to see it before it had time to become part of her cake.
“That will be seventy-eight Francs and twelve cents, Madame Dupand,” the grocer, Louis, a round man with an Occitan accent, said with a smile.
“That much?” Marguerite exclaimed, surprised.
Louis rolled his shoulders and his smile turned sympathetic. “I am afraid so. Prices are going up all over France.”
Marguerite set down the bills she’d pulled out in preparation of payment—roughly sixty Francs—and reopened her purse. Another twenty Francs were procured, along with the appropriate change, and placed atop the preexisting pile. The price hike cut into her weekly budget more than she’d have liked, though not enough to cause concern. Still, it would perhaps be prudent to ask her husband Marcel about setting aside a bit more in the event of further price increases, even if the government had promised that it would not be so.
Louis held out a hand, letting the change pour into her outstretched palm. “I wish you a wonderful day. Until next time!”
“Au revoir.” With a mind already calculating how twenty Francs fewer would affect her budgeting, Marguerite dropped the money into her purse and exited the market. Outside a group of women were discussing the recent price hike.
The visibly youngest of the group was fanning herself. “I don't know what my husband will say,” she said in a strained voice. “Thirty Francs for a steak is too much, but he always eats steak on Tuesday and I don't know how he'll react when I tell him. Should I buy it anyway? I don't really need as much food as he does, what with the construction work.”
“Meat is a luxury,” another retorted, wrinkling her nose visibly. “Men aren't dogs; they can live on eggs and greens like the rest of us. It is all that damned fool Flandin's fault! The Germans and Brits get richer and we get poorer.”
“I heard that the gold standard is to blame,” declared the third in the group. “My husband is a banker, you know. He knows things about finances. He says that the gold standard is dragging us down.”
“How can it be dragging us down? It is gold—its worth is inherent!”
The first woman wrung her hands. “Oh, this doesn't help at all! The steaks, Nicole, the steaks!”
Marguerite rounded the corner and the voices died out, replaced by the dull murmur of the city at noon. Cafes were filled with workers eating lunch, the sun baking the cobblestones till the air simmered, and the insect life had burst from hibernation to pester the city's inhabitants as they did every Spring. Saint Denis was a workers’ borough, and while it lacked the glitz and glamour of nearby Paris, it had a unique charm all its own.
She crossed the Place Victor Hugo and was just turning down the alleyway which led to her house when she recognised a familiar face in front of a nearby cafe, seated on a spindly metal chair and sipping from a white porcelain cup. After a moment of consideration, she decided that she could spare the time to say hello, and walked over. The other person recognised her as she drew close, and his eyes lit up.
“Marguerite!”Jacques Doroit exclaimed, rising to his feet to greet her. He took both of her hands in his and gave her a kiss on each cheek. He squeezed her hands once firmly before releasing his hold for propriety’s sake. “How long has it been, now?”
Jacques Doroit, 1929
(https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacques_Doriot#/media/File:Jacques_Doriot.jpg)
“Two years, I should say.” Marguerite was unable to hold back a grin to match his. She had worked as his secretary during the first three years of his tenure as Mayor of Saint Denis, from 1931 until 1934, and though the struggling economy had forced her to seek employment within a different part of the administration, she had thoroughly enjoyed her time working for him. At his invitation, she sat down across from him. “How have you been? How are your daughters?”
“Both are doing very well, thank you. Well-behaved and successful in their studies. And yours?”
Marguerite’s mind drifted absently to the chocolate hidden in her groceries. “A troublemaker, but with a good heart,” she replied, smiling and taking a moment to retell an event last month when her eight-year-old daughter, Héléne, had been caught letting a stray cat in through her window to sleep in her bedroom. Marcel had been furious and, following a good scolding, had sent her to bed without supper. Imagine their surprise when the next morning they found the cat in Héléne’s closet, a whole litter of newborn kittens alongside her!
“A good heart is increasingly difficult to come by these days,” Doroit offered sagely, clearly amused by the story. “Moral decay is setting into our society. If we cannot protect the values of the next generation, who will?”
The topic reminded her of some of the rumours circulating. “I hope this does not come across as too brusque, but my husband and I support you wholeheartedly with this new direction,” she said, dropping her voice so as to not be heard. “We need new voices in Paris. New ideas, like yours.”
Doroit’s face did not shift, but something in his eyes lit up at her words. It had not been long since he had announced his opposition to the attempts at a broader Leftist alliance proposed by French Left-wing politicians, denouncing the movement as a Marxist attempt to bind France to the rotting corpse of the Soviet Union. His statement had not been met with many supporters in Saint Denis, given how loyal the city tended to be towards Socialist and Communist ideas, but Marguerite and her husband could see through the nonsense and understood the truth. What France needed was a Revitalisation National, to use Doroit’s words, something to renew their economy and restore their prestige. She wasn’t as keen on that Maurras fellow—his writings felt like a look into the past rather than a bold new step forwards—but if men like Doroit were truly helping steer the Action Française now, then it was a movement which she wanted to be a part of.
He reached across the table to clasp her hand. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “This is not the right place to discuss politics, but please—I am holding a rally tomorrow. Come, and bring your husband.”
“We will be there,” Marguerite promised, rising once more to her feet. Doroit kissed the top of her hand in thanks.
“We will build a new France for people like Héléne to live freely,” he declared.
“And what a glorious France it will be.” Marguerite smiled. “I cannot wait.”
French Prime Minister Flandin was caught in a quandary. The quandary was a political one and, just as if not more damningly, a moral one. He had the profound sensation that the decision he made would have terrific consequences for his homeland and the future of the French people, and, like it or not, a choice would have to be made.
Flandin let out a long breath. The metal of the fence dug into his forearms where he was leaning against it, the cigarette between his fingertips nearing its end. He took one last long draw from it before flicking it over the railing and into the rippling waters of the Seine below. Near his feet, his pet poodle busied herself with investing the damp earth and the myriad of interesting smells therein, unaware of her master's inner turmoil.
The pink-and-orange sunset cast a warm glow over Paris. In moments like these the world felt wholly still and calm, the complicated tangle of politics and domestic issues washed away by the rays of the setting sun. Somewhere on the other side of the river there was music playing, no doubt emanating from one of the open windows. People living their lives, unburdened.
Flandin reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and removed the wadded-up newspaper page he’d hurriedly stuffed into it. With careful motions he unfolded it, reading the words which haunted his thoughts. News of riots and street violence, arrests and counter-arrests, all of which led back to one source: Action Française, the once-fringe movement which now threatened to overturn the delicate chessboard of French politics. He had done his best to turn a blind eye to them until now, appreciating their use as a foil to the Communists if nothing else, but his tolerance had turned to complacency and complacency bred danger, and the movement’s growth was about to surpass the threshold where it could be contained.
But did he want to contain them? That was the question which had been presented to him not one hour ago by members of his own party. Action Française was a group of violent thugs led by that fool, Maurras, but being fools did not prevent their usefulness. They would never possess the numbers to contest the elections with a candidate of their own, and their intense, even violent opposition to the Communists and the so-called Popular Front, an attempt to unify the disparate Left-wing groups against the government, put them, by process of elimination, on the side of the Conservative National Front and Flandin himself. Why, one of his ministers pointed out, if Flandin were to concede certain wishes of theirs, they may be willing to openly support him and thus ensure his victory.
Flandin was a member of the Liberal Right. Opposition to Communism was a core component of his philosophy, something which AF certainly agreed with. But they took it to steps he could not reconcile with; their talk of dictators and kings was madness. Yet simultaneously, they were one of the few to see the rising threat of Germany for what it was, supporting an alliance with the Italians to contain the Teutonic threat, something which Flandin himself had spent his tenure as Prime Minister working towards, to moderate success.
“Allons-y, Fifi,” he murmured, giving a gentle tug on the leash as he stuffed the wrinkled clipping back into his pocket. He crossed back to the path and began the long walk home, still going back and forth on the questions in his mind.
Was he risking falling into the same trap as the leaders of the First and Second French Republics, who invited a Napoleon into the halls of power and through this arranged the destruction of their own democracies? Or was he walking in the footsteps of King Louis XVI, a man so blind to the dangers of revolution that he instigated the very uprising he had sought to oppose?
With the tip of one shiny leather shoe he kicked a large pebble from the path, sending it ricocheting against the metal fence with a loud ding that reminded him faintly of the sound of bullets striking his aircraft. Though it had been twenty years since the Great War… it had been, hadn’t it?
He drew up sharply to a halt. Fifi, who’d been trotting ahead of him, was yanked back with a brief yelp before she turned and headed over to him curiously.
Twenty years. The number felt too big somehow, a chasm too vast to encompass the still-raw scars left upon him and his nation. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could still feel the grip of the steering column in his hands, the icy temperatures burning his face as he took his plane higher and higher. They’d fought longer and harder than anyone had imagined possible to liberate Alsace and Lorraine, and the peace that they’d built was already threatening to crumble. If only the damned Brits and Americans had listened to the French, if only they had agreed that Europe could only be safe if Germany were dismantled…
He looked down at his dog. “The freedom of France will not be at odds with my personal convictions,” he said aloud. The words were almost a surprise to hear despite his own mouth forming them, and he had to take a moment to consider what he meant.
Many within France felt that the key to her future security was a series of strong alliances, such as with the United Kingdom or the Soviet Union. Those alliances were powerful, it was true, but came at a cost; neither of the two potential allies saw Paris as their equal, and this domineering attitude had already reaped its consequences in German steps towards rearmament. Flandin himself was guilty of complacency in this matter, something once thrown against him by Marshal Philippe Pétain. If France’s survival hinged on the strength of her allies rather than the strength of her citizens, did she have any right to call herself a Great Power?
Slowly, he resumed his walk, though he was no longer paying attention to the scenery around him.
France may have regained Alsace and Lorraine in 1918, but something had been lost in the process. The fire and hunger for triumph had been, if not been snuffed out, then reduced to a fragile ember of its former self, beaten down by the horrors experienced. The solution was not a compromising skew towards Left-wing radicalism to earn the loyalty of the Communists, as proposed by the Popular Front; nor would it be helped by falling to Fascism or Communism. Rather, the Third Republic would have to tread the narrow path, to awaken the French spirit from its hibernation.
His hand reached into his jacket pocket, absently toying with the balled-up newspaper. Action Française were fools and extremists, yes, but they held that fire within them. Fire was a useful tool, but only when he allowed it to be. France was not Italy; they would not abandon their freedoms so casually, and Maurras was certainly no Mussolini.
Certainly, the actions of a few pseudo-fascists were not beyond his control?
(1) IRL, it was only the threat of the Nazis which pushed the Communists to end the "anti-cooperation" policy and join the Popular Front. Germany is a threat, but it is only a somewhat more hostile version of pre-1932 Germany, not anything as radical as fascist Nazi Germany, and with the power of the Socialists even within Germany itself, I do not see the basis being there yet for a complete breakaway from the Stalinist line. That said, many would support the Popular Front in principle.
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For the first major bloc of the story there will be three returning “everyday” characters whom I will use to explore the world from the perspective of normal people in different countries:
Marguerite Dupand, French working wife and Right-wing sympathiser
Antonio Bertoldi, Italian soldier from Dalmatia
Heinrich Adler, German Jew and Socialist caught between political beliefs and morals
More details on each of these characters will come with time.
(P.S. I am not a native French speaker, so if I made any mistakes, please let me know! Je voudrais améliorer mes compétences en français!)
Marguerite Dupand, French working wife and Right-wing sympathiser
Antonio Bertoldi, Italian soldier from Dalmatia
Heinrich Adler, German Jew and Socialist caught between political beliefs and morals
More details on each of these characters will come with time.
(P.S. I am not a native French speaker, so if I made any mistakes, please let me know! Je voudrais améliorer mes compétences en français!)