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  When war was declared, the populace was placed immediately on high alert. Gas masks were issued and air-raid sirens sounded frequently. Thousands of children were moved out of the capital and into the countryside, as were most of Paris’s most treasured works of art. Over the next four months, the Louvre was almost completely emptied. More than two hundred truckloads of paintings and sculptures, including the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo, were crated and shipped from the museum and stored in chateaux for safekeeping.

  The threat of war prompted some artists and performers to leave the city or France altogether, but not Maurice Chevalier. In late 1939, he recorded “Paris sera toujours Paris” (Paris will always be Paris), a love song to his hometown that captured her new look under the blackouts and was a boost to her defiant, resilient spirit:

  Par précaution on a beau mettre

  Des croisillons à nos fenêtres

  Passer au bleu nos devantures

  Et jusqu’aux pneus de nos voitures

  Désentoiler tous nos musées

  Chambouler les Champs-Élysées

  Emmailloter de terre battue

  Toutes les beautés de nos statues

  Voiler le soir les réverbères

  Plonger dans le noir la ville lumière

  Even if one puts for precaution

  Latticework on our windows

  Blue on our storefronts

  And up to the tires of our cars

  Removes the paintings from our Museums

  Turns the Champs-Élysées upside down

  Swaths the beauty of our statues in clay

  Veils the streetlamps in the evening

  Plunges the city of light into darkness

  Paris sera toujours Paris,

  La plus belle ville du monde,

  Malgré l’obscurité profonde,

  Son éclat ne pert être assombri

  Paris will always be Paris,

  The most beautiful city in the world,

  Despite the profound darkness,

  Her luster cannot be dimmed

  WITH THE EXPERIENCE of World War I, during which France lost 1.4 million lives, still fresh in their memories, political and military leaders and civilians alike had been hoping there would not be another war. But Hitler’s actions over the previous two years had convinced many of the likelihood, and some even the necessity, of battle with Germany. Nonetheless, even after the war declarations, there was still some glimmer of hope that an all-out conflict could be averted. Indeed, France and Britain had retreated from the very brink of clashing with Germany just one year earlier, in September 1938.

  The path toward war began with Hitler flouting the terms of the 1918 armistice by rebuilding Germany’s armed forces, and then expanding the Reich’s territory through a series of military threats and political maneuvers. The Führer’s moves were guided by his perception of the will, or lack thereof, of France and Britain to oppose him. He assumed that both nations wanted to avoid another bloody conflict at almost any price, even if that meant ceding the control of much of central and eastern Europe to Germany. Hitler tested the Allies’ resolve at every turn.

  In March 1938, Austria was intimidated by the specter of an armed invasion and manipulated politically into accepting annexation by Germany. France and Britain made no significant objections or gestures. Encouraged by his swift, bloodless takeover, and the Allies’ reticence, Hitler then set his sights on Czechoslovakia, which would push all of Europe to the brink.

  Hitler’s aims were to absorb the Sudetenland and to conquer what remained of Czechoslovakia. How to do so without arousing France, which was bound by treaty to come to Czechoslovakia’s aid if it were attacked, and Britain, which was committed to aid France if she were attacked, was a tricky proposition. But Hitler assumed that neither France nor Britain would risk a European war over Czechoslovakia, so he plotted a takeover.

  After months of military, political, and diplomatic maneuvering, the situation reached a crisis in September 1938. With Hitler threatening an invasion of Czechoslovakia that would trigger their obligations, Britain and France sought some resolution that would appease Hitler and relieve them of their respective commitments. The balance of considerations was delicate. On the one hand, Britain and France could not appear too reluctant for war, or the Führer would take that as a sign of weakness to be exploited. On the other hand, they could not take too aggressive a stance, as that might provoke the belligerent dictator into a war that might escalate quickly, with unknowable consequences. There was also the matter of honor, a commitment to an ally that, if broken, would undermine the reliability of all commitments and the security of the Continent. And finally, there was public opinion, which shifted unpredictably as events unfolded. Governments that ignored this last variable did so at great risk to their longevity.

  Britain’s prime minister, Neville Chamberlain, initiated face-to-face negotiations with Hitler on September 15, 1938. It soon became clear to Chamberlain that the price of peace would be Czechoslovakia, or at least the Sudetenland. France’s premier, Édouard Daladier, supported Chamberlain’s efforts to avoid war. Chamberlain and Daladier pressured the Czech leadership to concede to Hitler’s demands for the Sudetenland in order to keep the peace. The Czechs rejected the demands. France then upped the pressure by asserting that in rejecting their proposal, Czechoslovakia assumed responsibility for military action by Germany, and informed the Czech government that France would now not act if Germany invaded. The Czech government was cornered and had no choice but to bow to the demands; it could not resist Germany on its own.

  Chamberlain brought the Czech concession back to Hitler on September 22. Although only a week had passed, Hitler now rejected the Czechs’ capitulation as insufficient and increased his demands, which included the immediate military occupation of the Sudetenland. Chamberlain was surprised and exasperated at the Führer’s change in posture and returned to London crestfallen. His cabinet rejected Hitler’s new demands, as did the French and the Czechs.

  In the meantime, the Czechs mobilized their armed forces and the French followed suit. The white posters plastered all over France on the morning of September 24 announced the immediate call-up of nearly a million men. French armed divisions were moved to the border with Germany.

  To the general populations of all countries involved, war now appeared inevitable and imminent.

  Daladier conferred with Chamberlain in London, who decided to attempt one last diplomatic effort to dissuade Hitler. Britain and France made an about-face from their previous abandonment of the Czechs a week earlier and informed Hitler on September 27 that they would stand by Czechoslovakia if Germany attacked.

  Hitler was apoplectic. He replied by vowing to destroy Czechoslovakia and to be at war with France and Britain within a week.

  But, aware that the Czechs and French were mobilizing, that their combined armies were double that of the German forces, and that Britain was also readying for battle, Hitler shortly reconsidered. He wrote to Chamberlain that he was now prepared to “give a formal guarantee for the remainder of Czechoslovakia.”

  Chamberlain seized on the reopening of dialogue. While the citizens of each country braced for war, with many fleeing the cities via traffic-choked roads, a last-ditch campaign unfolded. Chamberlain proposed a conference to Hitler, and asked Italian prime minister Benito Mussolini to do the same. Mussolini complied; Hitler agreed and proceeded to invite Chamberlain, Daladier, and Mussolini to a summit of the four powers in Munich (the Czechs were not invited).

  At the news of the invitation, Britain’s war-anxious House of Commons erupted with cheers. Paris was equally relieved and hopeful. The heads of state went to Munich determined to secure the peace—the price of which was Czechoslovakia, which was to be partitioned along lines that would satisfy the Führer. The four powers promptly signed the accords on September 30. The Czechs were left with no option; as their official communiqué stated, they had been “abandoned.”

  Chamberlain and Daladier
were greeted at home by cheering throngs. Daladier addressed the nation: “I return with the profound conviction that this accord is indispensable to the peace of Europe. We achieved it thanks to a spirit of mutual concessions and a close collaboration.”

  The Paris newspapers gushed with praise and relief. Former premier Léon Blum said in Le Populaire: “There is not a woman or man in France who would refuse MM. Neville Chamberlain and Édouard Daladier their just tribute of gratitude. War is spared us. The calamity recedes. Life can become natural again. One can resume one’s work and sleep again. One can enjoy the beauty of an autumn sun.”

  Privately, however, Daladier had learned the lessons of dealing with Herr Hitler. “We can never deal with Germany except with force,” he told two of his generals just days after the Munich pact.

  When Daladier became premier, he maintained his position as minister of war and national defense. Shortly after the Munich pact, he committed 40 billion francs, nearly 85 percent of France’s tax revenue for 1939, to rearmament, as well as an additional 2.5 billion francs in a secret deal to acquire one thousand aircraft from the United States.

  Daladier’s mistrust of Hitler was validated in March 1939 when the Führer, mocking the assurances given in Munich just six months earlier, engineered a full Nazi takeover of what remained of Czechoslovakia. Britain and France could merely protest what was an overnight fait accompli. Poland was then surrounded on three sides by the Reich, and surely would be its next quarry.

  Daladier told his cabinet: “There is nothing more to do than prepare for war.” In order to increase the standing army, he increased the length of service for military reservists. With respect to future spending, he insisted to a cabinet committee, “We should not devote a single dollar of our reserves to nonmilitary purposes. It is indeed necessary to go further: the dollars and gold of which we dispose should be devoted entirely to the purchase of airplanes in the United States … With that sum, we will be able to create a powerful air fleet, thanks to which we will crush the Ruhr [an industrial center in Germany] under a deluge of fire, which will lead Germany to capitulate … it is the only means of finishing the war. I do not see another.”

  The time for appeasement had passed. The military leadership prepared war plans. By July 1939, Gen. Maxime Weygand claimed that, due to the rearmament initiatives, France had the best-equipped army in the world and that there was no doubt of victory. The general’s confidence was bolstered by the facts that the French Army, which had reached more than 2.4 million men by late August 1939, was comparable in size to the German Army, and that the French held an advantage in the number and quality of tanks. With the additional security of the heavy fortifications of the Maginot Line, which ran the length of the French-German border, the French leadership firmly believed that it would be folly for Germany to attack, but if they did so, together with the help of France’s Allies (mainly Britain), Germany would be defeated, as in the previous war.

  Public opinion had also shifted as Hitler’s territorial thirst appeared ever more insatiable. France and Britain had commitments to aid Poland if it was attacked, and by late August Poland was clearly in Hitler’s gun sights. This time, however, last-minute diplomatic heroics similar to those during the Czech crisis of the previous year failed. Hitler gave the order to attack, and on the morning of September 1, the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe began to pummel Poland.

  Daladier ordered a general mobilization on September 2.

  While split along many political and ideological lines before September, the diverse press quickly adopted the same themes. L’Intransigeant said, “War has been imposed on France and she has no other choice but to fight; France and her Allies are fighting a Nazi-created religion of hatred, brutality, and lies.”

  In Le Populaire, former prime minister Léon Blum wrote, “The Nazis have compelled the most peaceful of nations to go to war for the defense of her liberty, existence, and honor.”

  Across the political spectrum, from Socialists to conservatives, the war was unwanted but had become a necessity. It was to be a “just war,” according to the Catholic daily La Croix, to decapitate “the modern Attila,” a “struggle between civilization and barbarity.”

  If the last war was to be any guide, this spirit and unity were going to be essential for the struggle ahead.

  The French military leaders, however, did nothing to save Poland in the first crucial moments of the war. After a week’s delay, they finally launched an invasion of the German Saarland. The offensive was given enthusiastic coverage in the press, one newspaper calling it a “brilliant attack.” But in reality, the Army moved just five miles into Germany, into territory where villages had already been evacuated.

  Despite overwhelming superiority on the western front—with some eighty-five well-armed French divisions facing thirty-four largely reserve German divisions—the French did not attack and thus did not draw away any of the pressure from Poland, and neither did they threaten any vital German areas. Poland crumbled in eight days. With Poland annihilated, the French command secretly ordered a retreat from the Saarland at the end of the month.

  But Germany took no significant action against France, either. Days, then weeks, passed. Troops worked and even played in full sight and range of each other across the front. The military communiqués published on the front pages of the Paris newspapers became progressively shorter and repetitive: “Night calm on the entire front” or “Nothing to report” or “Routine patrols” were standard entries.

  The war acquired new names. At first it was la guerre d’attente (the war of waiting). In England, it was dubbed the “Bore War,” then the “Phoney War.” Soon, a new moniker was offered by Henri Lémery in Paris-Soir—“la drôle de guerre”—the funny war.

  BY THE NEW Year, four months had passed, and still nothing had happened. The long pause nourished hope that perhaps with further patience, resolve, and diplomacy, calamity might again be avoided, as it had been so narrowly in 1938.

  There were many soldiers on leave in Paris restaurants, cabarets, and theaters that cold night of La Saint-Sylvestre. Neither they, nor the citizens who toasted the New Year with them, could know that the Phoney War was then half over, that there would be four more months of waiting. Nor could they imagine that this would be the last such celebration in a free Paris for a very long time.

  THE LAST VERSE of Chevalier’s song played on radios and phonographs that night:

  Même quand au loin le canon gronde

  Sa tenue est encore plus jolie …

  Paris sera toujours Paris!

  On peut limiter ses dépenses,

  Sa distinction son élégance

  N’en ont alors que plus de prix

  Paris sera toujours Paris!

  Even when the cannon is roaring in the distance

  Her dress is even prettier

  Paris will always be Paris

  One can limit what she spends

  Her distinction, her elegance

  Are only all the more priceless

  Paris will always be Paris

  As Parisians pondered what the New Year would bring, Le Figaro assured that: “Throughout this night, on each floor, deep in everyone’s heart, the same burning hope arose: ‘that 1940 will be the year of victory.’ ”

  CHAPTER 2

  PLANS

  Since France, the deadly enemy of our people, is pitilessly choking us and depriving us of power, we must not shrink from any sacrifice on our part that will contribute to the destruction of France as the master of Europe.

  —ADOLF HITLER, Mein Kampf (1926)

  (banned in France)

  ACROSS THE BORDER IN BERLIN, THE NEW YEAR’S MOOD WAS DECIDEDLY different. In a thirty-minute radio address, Joseph Goebbels, the Reich minister for public enlightenment and propaganda, reviewed the past year and looked ahead to 1940:

  The year 1939 was so dramatic and filled with historical splendors that one could fill a library writing about them. One hardly knows where to begin … our peop
le began to restore its national life in 1939, beginning a great effort to throw off the chains of constraint and slavery and to once again take our place as a great power after our deep fall.

  He justified the takeover of what remained of Czechoslovakia after annexation of the Sudetenland in late 1938. Then he rationalized the invasion of Poland, blaming the “London warmongering clique,” a series of purported incidents against Germans, and provocations by Poland (such as mobilizing its reserves) as warranting action by Germany. “The Führer had no alternative but to answer force with force,” he claimed. Goebbels exonerated Germany of any blame for the current climate in Europe and railed against the French and British governments:

  On September 2, London and Paris gave Germany an ultimatum, and declared war against the Reich soon after … The war of the Western powers against the Reich had begun … No one can doubt that the warmongering cliques in London and Paris want to stifle Germany, to destroy the German people … We 90 million in the Reich stand in the way of their brutal plans for world domination … They have forced us into a struggle for life and death.

  Finally, Goebbels looked into the future: