Synopsis
Book by Tittman William Iii Tittman Harold Iii
Extrait
CHAPTER I
1939-1940
In August 1939, my father was appointed U.S. Consul General in Geneva, Switzerland. At that time, Hitler was threatening to invade Poland if the Poles did not meet his demands regarding Danzig and the Polish Corridor. Despite British and French commitments to support Poland if the Germans attacked, Europeans did not want to believe that the Polish crisis would lead to yet another major war. Nevertheless, World War II broke out shortly after my father began his new assignment in Geneva, and he recorded his impressions of this dramatic event in his memoirs:
A week before the Nazis invaded Poland, I arrived in Geneva to assume my new job as Consul General. It was the end of August in 1939. I had come from Washington where I had been in the Division of Western European Affairs at the State Department. Looking back, it seems extraordinary that, although we knew many of the details regarding efforts to keep the peace, we somehow lacked awareness that Europe was on the brink of a real disaster. My family was with me; after docking at Le Havre, we motored through France, stopping on the way to enjoy the countryside and to leave our ten year old son, Harold, with American friends outside of Paris for a visit. But he surprised us by arriving in Geneva on the train only one day after we ourselves arrived, explaining as he got off the train that his hosts had suddenly departed for the United States, convinced that France was about to go to war. During our brief stay in France we had not been conscious of the imminence of such danger, and the French people we talked with did not seem at all disturbed. Even when I arrived at my office in Geneva, I encountered little sense of impending danger. Our son had first brought us the sad tidings.
It was at a bathing beach in Geneva on September 3, with family and friends, that we heard over the loudspeaker the British and French prime ministers announce to the world that their countries were at war with Germany. There was practically no reaction. We all simply shrugged our shoulders and continued to enjoy the warm autumn sun and the refreshing water of the lake. This extraordinary display of apathy in the light of such catastrophic forebodings was an example of the sentiment that prevailed everywhere in Europe during the following six months. Only Switzerland immediately put in strict rationing. After the surrender of Poland, military activities on both sides were at a standstill and neither one displayed any desire to get them started. This was called the period of the "phony war."
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When we first arrived in Geneva, we stayed at Hotel de la Paix for a month or so while my parents looked for a house to rent. The hotel, relatively small and cozy, was one of Geneva's best, located on a lakeside quai only two blocks from the offices of the Consulate General. I remember particularly the elegant dining room, which had a superb view of the lake and Geneva's trademark jet d'eau, a graceful artificial geyser thrusting hundreds of feet above the lake. One day at lunch, my father commented to the headwaiter that it obviously must be expensive to provide enough energy to throw up so much water. Wouldn't it be better for mankind, my father added, if the funds spent for this spectacle were used instead to help the poor? "Monsieur," replied the headwaiter, "there are no poor people in Switzerland." Indeed, there were no slums in Geneva; the city displayed subdued, well-ordered prosperity that the wartime restrictions would not seriously affect.
We soon moved to "Campagne Mallet," a lovely seventeenth-century country house rented by my father in the Geneva suburb of Cologny. I remember particularly the extensive grounds surrounding the house, which included a working farm where we obtained fresh eggs. Campagne Mallet provided my father, for the only time in his career, with an opportunity to create a small vegetable garden, despite his wooden leg. He managed to grow a few rows of American sweet corn, which matured nicely in the summer of 1940. The driveway leading to the villa was lined by two rows of magnificent horse chestnut trees, which in the fall produced an abundant crop of shiny brown fruit. Though inedible for humans, they were used by the Swiss farmers as emergency wartime rations for their pigs. My brother Barclay and I would collect the horse chestnuts in large sacks, which we were able to sell for a modest amount of pocket money.
My parents chose to continue our schooling at least partly in the English language. Although Barclay and I had learned to speak French at an early age from Swiss governesses in Rome, our writing ability was nil. After a brief stint at the International School in Geneva, my father sent me to Le Rosey, a fashionable boarding school for boys located halfway between Geneva and Lausanne. The school was bilingual in French and English, and was known for attracting the sons of royalty and the wealthy from all over the world. After the war broke out, the school's sources of students largely dried up, allowing my father to negotiate a reduced tuition, the normal size of which he could ill afford. During the winter term, the entire school would move to a campus in the ski resort of Gstaad. I have only vague recollections of that school year, my first away from home, but I think on the whole it was a happy time and I received a good education. Although the number of students had shrunk from 110 to around 30, the school kept on all its faculty. As a result, the students benefited from unusually close attention from the teachers.
As the "phony" war continued into 1940, my father found his work in Geneva "much too quiet for [his] taste," as he wrote to his mother in February 1940. One of the functions of the Consulate General in Geneva was to report on developments at the League of Nations, which was based in that city. However, the League was in its death throes, and not much of interest was happening. My parents were warmly received by Geneva society; my father speculated that this was partly due to self-interest, as the Swiss may have foreseen the day when they would need the wartime support of the United States. This does not do justice to the great charm and social graces of my mother. She was an accomplished golfer, and soon became the ladies' champion at the Geneva Golf Club.
At the end of 1939, President Roosevelt decided to appoint Myron C. Taylor as his personal representative to Pope Pius XII. It was a decision that would have a profound effect on my father's diplomatic career. His memoirs describe the background to the Taylor mission:
In November 1936, Eugenio Cardinal Pacelli, the Secretary of State of Pius XI, was the luncheon guest of President Roosevelt at his country estate at Hyde Park, and the question of relations between the U.S. and the Vatican was broached in a general way. Thereafter, Roosevelt often referred to Pacelli, especially after he became Pope Pius XII, as "his old and good friend," a personal and familiar touch which was unusual when statesmen dealt with the Pope. Although there was no formal change in the traditional policy of United States aloofness from Vatican affairs, Roosevelt demonstrated a more sympathetic attitude toward the Pope and the Holy See by designating Joseph Kennedy, the U.S. Ambassador in London, as Special Envoy of the President at the Coronation Ceremony of Pacelli as the newly elected Pope on March 12, 1939. This was the first time an American president had been officially represented on such an occasion.
During the summer of 1939, as the war clouds were gathering and turning black, President Roosevelt became convinced of the need for establishing some rapport with the Holy See, in view of its importance in world affairs. The Vatican had representatives, diplomatic or otherwise, in a total of seventy-two countries throughout the world, from which it could gather much information. In addition, the diplomatic corps accredited to the Holy See, representing thirty-eight countries, constituted in itself a potential source of useful information.
In July 1939, Under Secretary of State Sumner Welles sent a personal letter to William Phillips, the U.S. Ambassador in Rome, asking for his thoughts on the possible establishment of U.S.-Vatican diplomatic relations. Phillips replied that he favored such a move, since this would make available to the Department of State an important source of political information. Phillips also noted that U.S. diplomatic relations with the Vatican would enhance the prestige of the Pope and thus help him in his dealings with the Italian and German governments, as well as in his efforts to preserve the peace in Europe. "At present," Phillips wrote, "the Pope is living in the shadow of a dominant personality and he may well hesitate at times to take any action that might incur the displeasure of Mussolini."
In August, Welles and Secretary of State Cordell Hull advised Roosevelt that the Vatican had many sources of information, particularly for Germany, Italy and Spain, which the U.S. did not possess, and that it was obviously desirable to obtain access to such information. Hull recommended against the appointment of a regular ambassador, which would require the consent of the Senate. Instead, he suggested the naming of a personal representative of the President to the Pope, thereby avoiding Senate involvement. The Vatican had for years maintained an informal "Apostolic Delegation" in Washington, which had no diplomatic standing.
In October, Archbishop Spellman of New York, who had close contacts with the Pope, met with Roosevelt to discuss relations with the Vatican. The President told him that he had decided to establish a special U.S. mission to the Holy See which would not require Congressional approval. In order to make sure that there would be no interference by the Congress, he planned to announce the decision during the Christmas legislative recess. He advised Spellman...
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