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The Sitz-Krieg

On a cloudless Friday morning, the first day of September, all nature was rejoicing, but Luxembourg hearts beat under a terrible burden. War had come. In the early hours Germany had invaded Poland.1 In Luxembourg during the afternoon there was some purchasing of essential luxuries such as coffee, tea, and sugar. There was no panic or anything else than an infinite apprehension, coupled with a faint feeling of relief that the inevitable had now descended from the realm of the hypothetical.

An agricultural exposition was to be opened at Diekirch Saturday afternoon. I had planned to go with my Belgian colleague, but as the hour of our departure approached and as I had no word from him, I drove out in my own car. I arrived a little late, and when I walked up to the front row of chairs in the exhibition hall and took my place among the cabinet ministers I noted that I was the only diplomat present. Later I learned that, to avoid possibly unpleasant encounters, the various legations had received the suggestion that they might prefer to remain away.

After the opening I walked and talked with Foreign Minister Bech. We discussed England’s ultimatum to Germany, realizing that before twenty-four hours the great European war would be in effect. We took what comfort we could in the knowledge that England had never been defeated in a continental war. I remember assuring Mr. Bech of my solemn conviction that all would be well, as England could not be defeated, nor could she conceivably abandon the Continent to its fate.

The next afternoon, Sunday, Mr. Bech telephoned to my house, asking me to come to the Foreign Office. I drove there through a smart shower. We talked over the war prospects, deriving mutual comfort from our common loathing of Nazidom and our certainty that, come what might, Hitler and his gangsters would eventually be overthrown. You will recall that France’s ultimatum was delivered later than England’s and would expire at a later hour. We watched the hands of the clock approach the deadline. The hour passed, and still there was no word from Berlin or Paris. Mr. Bech said, “Well, France is in it. C’est la guerre européenne enfin!”2

“Mr. Minister,” I rejoined, “We have seen together the final step in the outbreak of the European war. God grant that we may hear the news of the Allied victory, together and in a Luxembourg intact.”

Friday noon Radio Luxembourg went off the air with the brief announcement that, to avoid any possible misconception of the country’s neutrality, the Grand Ducal Government had decided to cease all emissions save for a twenty-minute period at noon and a similar period in the evening when official announcements from the Government would be made each day to the citizens of Luxembourg.3 It was well that such a step was taken, because that same afternoon German stations sent out broadcasts on Luxembourg’s wavelength, purporting to come from Radio Luxembourg and giving grossly unneutral announcements. Indeed, so meticulous was the Grand Ducal Government that daily for the rest of September the exact text of every word broadcast was supplied in German, French, and the Luxembourg language to each of the legations in Luxembourg.4

As the days went on the twenty-minute period was lengthened by the inclusion of neutral music played by Radio Luxembourg’s Symphony Orchestra, one of the finest in Europe, and under the direction of Henri Pensis. Nevertheless, Mr. Bech and other members of the government continued to feel anxious and nervous about Radio Luxembourg. And one evening toward the last of September I heard the announcement that this was the last broadcast from Radio Luxembourg until peace should come again to Europe.5 As a magnificent instrumental program came to a climax in the Luxembourg National Anthem, I heard the last of a friend and companion that had been a solace and a comfort for years.6

Luxembourg had no blackout. She needed none. Train services to Belgium, France, and Germany continued almost as usual. After a slight acceleration of purchasing, housewives had no further fear of food stringency, and everyone knew that stocks on hand in the Grand Duchy were sufficient for a long time to come.

As I said, things returned to a kind of normality. But it is impossible to describe accurately just what it means for a small country at peace to be between two major belligerents. It has become customary to speak contemptuously of the Sitz-Krieg which was in effect during the first nine months on the Western Front.7 Although this fighting was not as intense as it developed when Germany let loose the Blitz-Krieg, it was nevertheless all the war we had. It lacked the excitement that a war of extended movement might have given to actual participants, but filled every breast with a leaden apprehension of inevitable damage to life and property if the end did not come quickly.8 “A plague on both your houses” might well have characterized the feelings of a great many honest people as their windows rattled violently and their sleep was frequently interrupted by the thunder of artillery a very few miles away!9 Robert Casey has described with inimitable feeling, richness of imagery, and compression of words an evening at my house during this period, and the reactions which it produced on non-Luxembourgers.10

Though utterly without any morbid curiosity, and after having put off the evil day as long as possible, I finally motored down to the little spur of Luxembourg jutting out between France and Germany, where from a very high hilltop you could see the actual fighting going on.11 Sometimes I saw splendid dogfights in which English planes triumphed or came down in flaming death. At other times I saw, without binoculars, what looked like a sham battle a mile and a half away. Sometimes for a day or two there would be no machine-gun or artillery fire. At other times for long hours during day or night the firmament rocked with discharges from German and French heavy artillery.12 Again, if you were lucky, you might see the French plane piloted by “Albert the Screwball” dash up the Moselle flying very low, almost grazing chimney tops, and then, eluding his pursuers, get back in safety to France.13

Early in October, under instructions, I went in haste to Rotterdam to meet the ship that was bringing Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Felix and Hereditary Grand Duke John, back from their visit to President Roosevelt and the New York World’s Fair.14 Much to my chauffeur’s regret, I did not want to take my car through Belgium and Holland in these uncertain times, and so I went by train to Brussels. I could get no assurance of railway connections in Luxembourg further than to Brussels, but in the dimly lighted Gare du Nord I found a train to Antwerp.

Belgium was at this time maintaining a partial blackout particularly effective on railway lines and in certain essential factories. This was my first experience of a blackout, and I contemplated it with mixed emotions. In Antwerp I could obtain only very unsatisfactory travel information, but finally learned that a train would leave in about an hour and a half for the Dutch frontier, where I could probably get something else to take me on to Rotterdam. After a melancholy dinner in the station, I stumbled through pitch darkness to a small carriage in a combination freight and passenger train and took my seat in a crowded compartment. Every man in the compartment was smoking a heavy cigar or strong pipe. The darkness made reading impossible, and when I opened the door I found that the locomotive was reversed and that its smokestack belched fumes which were worse than the odor of tobacco in the carriage. Having no gas mask, I accommodated myself to a state of semi-asphyxiation as the train chugged its way, with many suburban stops, to the frontier. Descending with relief from this little train, I boarded a brilliantly illuminated and very comfortable Dutch train and proceeded to Rotterdam through what now seemed a fairyland of lights. Inquiries at my hotel in Rotterdam told me that there was no question of the vessel’s coming in during the next forenoon, and I joyfully availed myself of a good night’s rest.

The next morning I had a pleasant visit at the American Consulate, where my colleagues welcomed me heartily and told me that the steamer due that day in Rotterdam was held up by the English in the Downs.15 Day after day went by before the arrival of the steamer. I dared not go far from the hotel or consulate since the ship might arrive at any time. One day, however, I did venture as far as The Hague, where I had a pleasant visit with the Marquis and Marchioness Diana, Royal Italian Minister at The Hague, who used to be at Luxembourg. Diana himself had been Secretary of Legation in Athens when I was there nearly a quarter of a century before. I lunched in the home of Webb Benton, then secretary of our Legation at The Hague, and was refreshed and delighted by being again with his lovely mother, who has added charm to their home in so many European capitals.

Late one afternoon I got the news that the long-awaited ship was coming in about nine o’clock that evening. So, accompanied by the lord mayor of Rotterdam, the Chef de Protocol from the Foreign Office at The Hague, the admiral of the Netherlands’ Navy, Diana and his wife, and representatives from our Legation and Consulate, I went on board the vessel immediately upon her arrival. Their Royal Highnesses, accompanied by Ambassador Davies and Captain Gade, our Naval Attaché at Brussels, welcomed me cordially. The two princes and I left the steamer at once and got into one of the limousines waiting on the dock. Accompanied by automobiles and motorcycles from the Dutch Army and Rotterdam police, we sped through the night to Brussels. The princes’ aide-de-camp, servants, and luggage would follow them some hours later. We arrived at Brussels about three o’clock in the morning and drove to the American embassy, where Ambassador Davies had already arrived to welcome us with a collation, after which, thoroughly tired out, we retired.

After breakfasting in bed at a reasonable hour the next morning, I had the pleasure and honor of showing His Royal Highness, Prince John, over the embassy and presenting the members of our staff to him. His father, Prince Felix, had gone to Steenockerzeel to spend the morning with his sister, Her Majesty the Empress Zita. Immediately after an early lunch, at Prince Felix’s invitation I went with Captain Konsbruck to the Castle of Steenockerzeel, where His Royal Highness presented me to his sister.

Their Royal Highnesses and I left Steenockerzeel after half an hour and proceeded to Luxembourg. During the trip Prince Felix regaled me with a minute and delightful account of his visit to the United States. He was particularly appreciative of his reception at the White House, and I was delighted to note the deep and sincere admiration he had for the President of the United States.16

Arriving in the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, we drove first to the Castle of Berg, where His Royal Highness picked up a favorite dog. Then we proceeded to the manor of Fischbach.17 Here Her Royal Highness the Grand Duchess was waiting on the terrace to welcome us. I begged permission to be allowed to proceed immediately to Luxembourg, as I did not wish to intrude on the reunion of husband, son, and mother. Her Royal Highness, however, with that thoughtful kindliness so characteristic of Her, said, “But you must be famished. Come in and have your tea now!” After tea I was taken back to Luxembourg, where I found everything normal.

About this time I had the great pleasure of getting to know several American correspondents who came to Luxembourg during the autumn and winter to remain for days or weeks at a time. Among these Larry Rue, Charles Wentenbaker, Mr. Mencken, and Robert J. Casey stand out vividly in my recollection. Their understanding of the situation, their brilliant reporting, and their interesting personalities made it a privilege to know them, and it gave me much pleasure to share with them such knowledge as I might properly place at their disposal.18 They reciprocated with that true loyalty and cooperation which the best journalists can always be counted upon to manifest to those who are endeavoring to play fairly with them.

Luxembourg obviously could not permit all comers to wander in and out of the Grand Duchy at pleasure, and it was necessary that a visa control be carried out that was only a little less strict than that applied by other neighboring countries. Many of my friends of the press might have been grievously hampered in their movements had I not been able to arrange a simple and effective process for their admission. Like Topsy, this process grew up of itself more or less.19 American newspaper correspondents, having arrived at Paris or Brussels and learning that their applications for visas to enter Luxembourg would have to be filed at the Luxembourg Legation or Consulate General and thence forwarded to Luxembourg City for approval or rejection—a process involving days or weeks—got into the habit of telephoning me and asking that I expedite their visas.

I could not place myself in the untenable position of asking a foreign government to grant a visa to a fellow countryman when, owing to our own immigration regulations I would be unable to reciprocate. I had an informal conversation with the minister of foreign affairs. He shared my feeling that the best possible thing for Luxembourg would be at all times to have as much truthful publicity as possible and that the country should welcome foreign correspondents.

We verbally worked out an arrangement whereby, immediately upon receiving an S.O.S. call from Paris or Brussels, I would telephone the chief of one of the sections at the Foreign Office that Mr. William J. Blank, representing an American publication, was in Paris or Brussels and was applying for a visa to enter Luxembourg. The Foreign Office would then immediately telephone its legation, instructing that the visa be granted forthwith. The correspondent would frequently arrive in Luxembourg on the afternoon or evening of that same day.20

Eric Sevareid was another of the brilliant men with whom I came into contact during this period. He made several interesting short-wave radio reports from Luxembourg to the United States, as did also Miss Marvin Breckinridge, now Mrs. Jefferson Patterson.21 It was interesting to observe their keenness, their receptivity, their ability to sketch in a great deal of background in few words, and their skill in remaining “neutral.” Mr. Bech obviously had no time to censor their scripts before release, and finally asked me to take care of that for him.22 I told him that I could not have anything to do officially with these broadcasts and under no circumstances would I assume any responsibility for them, but that I would, as a friend, be willing to read them through and suggest the deletion or change of any parts which I thought might not be entirely desirable. However, owing to the expertness of the American commentators who came to Luxembourg at that time, I seldom had much, if anything, to change.

Providence gave me a much needed rest just before the world came to an end. A bad cold, which I was too busy to check, suddenly turned to the left, and my physician found me on the brink of pneumonia. Serum, careful treatment, and a couple of days of acute discomfort left me fairly free from pain though weak and with the pleasing orders to remain in bed for at least a week. A radio at my bedside kept me in touch with the British Broadcasting Corporation and American short-wave programs, and I lay day after day in glorious luxury reading Jane Austen and Trollope.

The spring came with great speed during my enforced rest, and my first venturing out was to Easter Service at the Cathedral. The Double Octave of Our Lady of Luxembourg was observed as under the shadow of a sword, but never was more devoted patriotism manifested than when the crowds cheered their Sovereign in the Place Guillaume on the evening of the closing procession.23 We didn’t know consciously, but underneath we must have known, that the sands had run out.24 Any moment now, the dam would burst, overwhelming the whole country in a torrent of filth and horror and bestiality.25

On one of these days Bob Casey came over to my house to hear a German broadcast, which I translated as it came in. We drove back to the city together and spoke of the inevitability of a German invasion of Luxembourg.

“I have no doubt of the final rescue of Luxembourg. God is in His heaven, and all must sooner or later come right with the world, but even though the German occupation lasts only a year there will be unnecessary suffering, useless destruction, and a wanton besmirching of this land.” I said “Yes. It seems to be on the cards.” Casey agreed. “As if this nation needed trial by fire, or could be strengthened by being tortured. The whole history of its people is but the achieving of a fairer, better, nobler standard, applied in actual life and human relationships. How in the Justice of God can there by any benefit to them in being forced to witness the blasphemy of Nazism and the rape of civic virtue?”

Mr. Robert Casey, beneath a genial, and indeed jovial, manner, has one of the most sensitive natures it has ever been my privilege to encounter. His participation in my apprehension as to the fate of Luxembourg was then, as at other times, a precious source of comfort and encouragement to me.

The next morning Mr. Casey called at the Chancery to tell me that he had to leave. He was going back to the Maginot line, where he would be separated from me by less than eighteen miles.26 He was unable to say when he could get back to Luxembourg. I told him that I felt the sands were running out very rapidly, but that I hoped things would not break before the Feast of St. Willibrord at Echternach.27 Mr. Casey had never seen the mystic glory and beauty of St. Willibrord’s dance and I invited him to come back if at all possible and go with me on the fourteenth of May to watch and possibly to participate in St. Willibrord’s Procession. He told me that he would if it were humanly possible. But I felt as he went that here was going the strongest element that had kept the rest of the world informed of Luxembourg’s attitude and her neutrality.28

1. No formal declaration of war preceded the invasion. “German troops moved into action against Poland at dawn today. This action is for the present not to be described as war, but merely as engagements which have been brought about by Polish attacks.” Weizsäcker, Circular to diplomatic missions, Berlin, 1 September 1939, DGFP, ser. D, vol. 7, no. 512, 491.

2. When Germany failed to comply with British and French demands to withdraw from Polish territory, a sine qua non for negotiations, they issued ultimatums due to expire at 11 am and 5 pm, respectively, on 3 September. A state of war went into effect when Germany did not reply. DGFP, ser. D, vol. 7, nos. 560–61, 563–64, 529–35.

3. Radio Luxembourg came on the air in 1933 and became one of the most powerful stations in Europe, symbolized by the three 600-foot masts on the Junglinster plain, and as a potential for propaganda broadcasting was a prize to be coveted. See James Wood, History of International Broadcasting (London: Peter Peregrinus, 1992), 43–46.

4. See Denis Maréchal, Radio Luxembourg, 1933–1993: un média au coeur de l’Europe (Nancy: Presses universitaires de Nancy, 1994), 108–10.

5. Waller to State, 7 November 1939, #105, File 850A.76/2 RG 59 NARA. Radio Luxembourg went off the air on 21 September 1939 in compliance with a government plan to adhere strictly to its neutrality policy. Muller, Tatsachen, 374.

6. In a note of farewell to Maestro Pensis (who was to achieve great acclaim in the United States as director in New York, New Jersey, and Iowa), Waller remarked on the pleasure he had from his “incomparable artistry.” Loll Weber, Henri Pensis, ein Dirigent aus Luxemburg (1900–1958) (Luxemburg: Imprimerie Saint-Paul, 1998), 87–88. See idem., “Das letzte Lied war ein Schrei nach Freiheit,” LuxWort, 14 September 1989, 5.

7. Unlike the Blitz-Krieg lightning war, this was literally, a sitting-down, immobile war, usually referred to in English as the “phony war,” and in French as the “drôle de guerre.” See Norbert Etringer, Das Kriegsgeschehen an der Dreilaenderecke, 1939–1940 (Luxembourg: J.-P.Krippler-Müller, 1983), 10–26.

8. Many Luxembourgers shared a concern that eventually the belligerents would abandon their defensive mode, a strategy based on the Westwall and the Maginot line. Germany presumably lacked adequate supplies of strategic raw materials, a problem compounded by the Allied blockade, hence the conclusion that Germany would seize the initiative with a westward thrust which would certainly result in an occupation of the Grand Duchy. A French riposte into the German flank would turn Luxembourg into a landscape of death and destruction. Although overwhelmingly pro-French, the Luxembourgers were not oblivious to a lack of élan among the French troops in the adjacent border areas. Allied strategic planners also found it difficult to resolve the conflict between a frontal and a peripheral campaign against Germany. Support of Finland might open the way to an invasion of Germany from Scandinavia; bombing strikes on the Caucasus oil fields might help to slow the flow of oil supplies to German air and armored forces. The unexpectedly swift defeat of Poland only served to deepen anxieties in Luxembourg. See Jacobsen, Fall Gelb, 68–118; François Bédarida, La stratégie secrète de la drôle de guerre: le Conseil suprême interallié, septembre 1939–avril 1940 (Paris: Presses de la Fondation nationale des sciences politiques, 1979), 480–527.

9. The phrase from Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, act 1, scene 3, 90–92, exemplified the torment unleased from both sides. Errant artillery shells, aerial combat, the destruction of the Schengen bridge, border crossings by farmers to their fields, workers to their jobs, commerce with the belligerents, travel to France or Germany, the precarious situation of German Jewish refugees, all these matters clouded everyday life in Luxembourg. For a variety of examples, see File 3289 AE ANLux. See also Etringer, Kriegsgeschehen, passim.

10. Robert J. Casey, “Roar of Guns Recalls 1914 to Luxembourgers,” Chicago Daily News, 10 November 1939, 8; idem, I Can’t Forget: Personal Experiences of a War Correspondent in France, Luxembourg, Germany, Belgium, Spain and England (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1941), 89–92.

11. Many foreign journalists gravitated toward the so-called Dreiländerecke near Schengen to observe small scale patrol clashes across the Moselle river. To minimize provocations along the German border, usually in the form of insult-trading, local authorities imposed restrictions designed to enforce neutrality. See Lutz, Wormeldingen, 13 December 1939, #441, File 3809/0002–0005 AE ANLux; Eric Sevareid, Not so Wild a Dream (New York: Knopf, 1946), 119. Schengen is now renowned as the site of the 1985 Schengen Agreement for open borders.

12. See Robert J. Casey, “Angelus Tinkles its Holy Call in Midst of Death,” Chicago Daily News, 20 October 1939, 1; idem, “Luxembourg City Gets Scare; Mystery Planes Smoke Sky,”Chicago Daily News, 8 November 1939, 3 as well as reports by George Axelrod to the New York Times, 2, 3 November 1939.

13. “Albert the Screwball” (screwball is a baseball pitch thrown to break in a direction opposite to the one expected), a French pilot of a Curtiss fighter plane, whose spectacular antics over the Moselle harassing the Germans made him a folk hero, not only to the Luxembourgers, but to readers in the U.S., through the dispatches of Robert J. Casey,“Flier Thumbs his Nose at Nazis in Daring Flights,” Chicago Daily News, 20 November 1939, 2; idem, “Albert Flies near Fuehrer at the Front,” Chicago Daily News, 5 January 1940, 1; idem, “Albert a Trio? Even so, he’s in the Air again,” Chicago Daily News, 23 April 1940, 1; idem, “Albert Killed; Aviator’s End Heroic as Life,” Chicago Daily News, 3 May 1940, 1. The pilot turned out indeed to be a real Albert: Ernest Albert Schmitt, 27, native of Thionville.

14. The Prince Consort and the Crown Prince had been issued diplomatic visas in the names of Felix de Clervaux and John de Clervaux. See Waller to State, 11 August 1939, File 033.50A11/45 RG59 NARA. After leaving Montreal on 26 August, they were to be overnight guests of President and Mrs. Roosevelt. At Mount Vernon they would lay a wreath at the tomb of George Washington, and visit Arlington National Cemetery. See Department of State for the press, Washington, 23 August 1939, #340, File 033.50A/39 RG59 NARA. Although travelling “strictly incognito,” they were extensively reported in the New York Times as they visited the Empire State building, the Brooklyn Navy Yard, and West Point and received many high officials and politicos as well as native Luxembourgers at their royal suite at the Waldorf Towers. See New York Times, 29–31 August, 1–4 September 1939, passim. For the successful ceremonies at the New York World’s Fair, see “Luxembourg at the World’s Fair.” File 17/0032–0033 AE ANLux. They also visited Chicago as well as Minneapolis before returning on the Nieuwe Amsterdam. See File 17/0028 AE ANLux. An excellent relationship began beween Prince Felix and President Roosevelt (including the gift of an album of Luxembourg stamps), see Georges Heisbourg, “Les relations américano-luxembourgeoises en 1939–1940,” LuxWort, 10 November 1984.

15. From the start of the war, Britain and France implemented a naval blockade of Germany which included inspections of neutral vessels possibly transporting contraband goods destined for Germany. See John A. Gade, All My Born Days: Experiences of a Naval Intelligence Officer in Europe (New York: C. Scribner’s sons, 1942), 304–5. His fellow passengers, besides the Luxembourg princes, were the ambassadors Joseph E. Davies and Herbert Pell.

16. See the exchange of telegrams between Grand Duchess Charlotte and President Roosevelt, File 17/0020, 0022 AE ANLux. The princes had been treated to the full panoply of honors: descending from a special train, the “Minnewaska,” from Montreal to track 20 at Union Station, Washington, DC, they were welcomed by ruffles and flourishes sounded by a drum and bugle section of fifty Bluejackets and fifty Marines lining their pathway, and an appropriate march was played as the Royal Party’s car, preceded by a troop of Third Cavalry, moved around the east front of the Capitol on a circuitous route to the northwest gate of the White House. Besides an informal family dinner with the Roosevelts, next day they were honored at an official luncheon with many important political and business people. See Government of the District of Columbia to all district agencies concerned, Washington, 23 August 1939, File 033.50A11/35 RG59 NARA, and File 17/0028 AE ANLux. Dispatched with the Secretary of State in tail coats and top hats as greeting party, one counselor remarked wryly: “’A small Court rates a big hat,’ as the old German saying goes.” See Jay Pierrepont Moffat, The Moffat Papers: Selections from the Diplomatic Journals of Jay Pierrepont Moffat, 1919–1943 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1956), 256.

17. See Dostert and Margue, La famille, 118–19.

18. See Casey, I Can’t Forget, 91–93.

19. Topsy, the archetypical “pickaninny” character in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, in reply to the question “Do you know who made you?” famously replied “S’pect I grow’d,”and came to signify growing without any intention or plan. Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, or, Life among the Lowly (New York: Literary Classics of the United States, 1982), 282.

20. Waller to State, 1 November 1939, #108, File 850A.00/85 RG59 NARA.

21. For a hook-up to the Columbia Broadcasting Corporation in New York on December 30, Waller secured from the now closed Radio Luxembourg a microphone connection to the Post Office and a direct line to London. He listened with his luncheon guests to the broadcast over short-wave from New York at 1:05 PM. For the Breckinridge text, see Waller to State, 3 January 1940, #121, File 850A.00/86 RG59 NARA.

22. See Sevareid, Not so Wild a Dream, 118.

23. The Waller family had been accustomed to witness the octave procession from the balcony of Mme Munchen’s home when they lived on the Merler Stross. Waller, Susie, 21. Easter in 1940 fell on 24 March, and the octave began on the third Sunday after that date. The annual spring pilgrimage originating in 1639 commemorates the choice of Mary (Consoler of the Afflicted) as the Protectoress from the ravages of the French campaign against the fortress of Luxembourg. Facing the Grand ducal palace, crowds thronged the Knuedler, the large open square dominated by an equestrian statue of William II, King of The Netherlands and Grand Duke of Luxembourg, dedicated in 1885.

24. “When you realize that the Siegfried line runs along one side and the Maginot line on the other, we feel as if we were into jaws which might close down when the present yawn is over and the war monster gets into action.” Waller to Hamilton, New York, 2 March 1940, File 123 RG84 NARA.

25. The spectre of Russia’s swallowing Finland had brought this warning from Bech: “If the neutral nations allow one small nation after another to be gobbled up without aiding when such intervention might be effective, in the vain hope that the aggressor will be satisfied and that they will be overlooked, they are simply allowing themselves to be devoured one by one, instead of making it so difficult for the ‘crocodile’ to get them that he might possibly return to his waters and leave them in peace.” Waller to State, 19 February 1940, #6, File 740.00111EW/415 RG59 NARA.

26. The vulnerability of the Grand Duchy is accentuated by its small size. For example, the distance from the capital to the German border varies from 18 to 28 kilometers; to the French border, from 13.5 to 26 kilometers, and to the Belgian border about 26 kilometers.

27. Willibrord had come from Ireland at the end of the seventh century and founded the Benedictine abbey at Echternach. The dancing procession which still takes place on the Tuesday after Whitsun or Pentecost (fifty days after Easter) probably began around the year of St. Willibrord’s death in 739. For the evolution of dancing steps and musical accompaniment, see Pierre Kauthen, “La procession dansante d’Echternach et ses descriptions au 19e siècle,” Echternacher Studien 1 (1979): 417–26. Waller and his sister Frances loved to participate in the dance ritual.

28. For Casey’s report, see “Luxembourg: Ruffled Ruritania,” Time, 29 April 1940, 30, 32.