The frontier between Belgium and Germany is very narrow, only about forty miles in width. As this space is insufficient for the quick and orderly transfer of the huge armies which the Germans proposed to send into France, they determined to break another treaty, and enter through Luxemburg as well. This would give them another forty miles of line across which to advance, and would place them in possession of a town in which the whole network of railways uniting Germany, France, and Belgium forms a junction. Once in Luxemburg, they were in command of the whole system of roads and railways leading from North Germany into France and Belgium.
When the inhabitants of Luxemburg awoke on the hot Sunday morning of 2nd August, they were surprised to find that the Adolf Bridge, which leads to the city across the river Alzette, was in the hands of the Germans. A little later, armed motor cars, filled with German officers and men, were seen approaching the city. It was the vanguard of the 39th Regiment. A member of the Luxemburg Government met the invaders, and handed them a copy of the treaty guaranteeing the neutrality of the state. They told him that they knew all about the treaty, but that they had their orders. The Archduchess now drove up, and tried to block the path of the Germans with her motor car. She was told to go home at once; and, having no force behind her, was obliged to obey.
On and on came the Germans, and the people were greatly surprised to see amongst them many men who up to that time had been clerks in the offices of Luxemburg. These men, while pretending to be peaceful citizens, had made themselves thoroughly acquainted with the geography of the country, had carefully noted the best points for the Germans to occupy, and the places where they could procure provisions. Before nightfall the whole state was in their hands; the roads and railways were guarded by sentries; and houses, woods, and standing crops which might afford cover to the enemy were destroyed.
That same day German cavalry crossed the French border near Longwy,[168] and farther south, near Strassburg, they pushed across the frontier to the town of Cirey-les-Forges.[169] Still farther south, near the Swiss boundary, another raid was made. You will remember that the French had promised to keep their troops back from the border as long as there was the slightest chance of bringing Austria and Russia to agreement.
Monday, 3rd August, was the most remarkable Bank Holiday ever known in Britain. All Bank Holiday excursions were cancelled, for the railways were in the hands of the military authorities. Hundreds of thousands of persons, who would otherwise have spent the day at the seaside or in the country, were forced to remain in London. Great crowds gathered at Westminster to see the members of Parliament enter Palace Yard. It was known that a Cabinet Council had been held on the previous day, and that a very important statement was to be made that very afternoon.
Let us peep into the House of Commons on that memorable occasion. The Chamber, which is far too small to accommodate all the members of Parliament, is crowded to excess. All the green benches are filled, the side galleries are thronged, and there are rows of chairs in the gangways. It is evident that a matter of great pith and moment is now about to arise. There is some preliminary business to be got through, and the House is impatient to see the end of it. Then Sir Edward Grey rises, and amidst loud cheering advances to the table, and begins the most fateful speech that was ever made in all our long history. He is very grave, and his set face shows traces of the anxious and laborious days through which he has recently passed. He speaks without passion, and with no attempt at fine language; but every word that he utters is full of deep meaning, and the House listens with eager attention.
He tells his fellow-members that the Government has worked with a single mind, and with all the earnestness in its power, to preserve the peace, but that its labours have proved vain—Germany and Russia have declared war on each other. Then he goes on to speak of our friendship with France—that warm and cordial friendship, which has replaced the enmity of long ages. This friendship, he declares, entails duties upon us. The French fleet is in the Mediterranean Sea, because of the good feeling and confidence that has grown up between us, and the northern and western coasts of France are without defence. "My own feeling is," he says, "that if a foreign fleet, engaged in a war which France had not sought, and in which she had not been the aggressor, came down the English Channel and bombarded and battered the unprotected coasts of France, we could not stand aside." The loud cheers which immediately break forth show that the great majority of the members thoroughly agree with him. When the cheers have subsided, he proceeds: "We could not see this going on practically within sight of our eyes, with our arms folded, doing nothing, and I believe that would be the feeling of this country."
France, he says, is entitled to know at once whether she can depend upon British support should her northern and western coasts be attacked. He has therefore given an assurance to the French Government that, should the German fleet come into the Channel or through the North Sea to undertake hostile operations against the French coasts or shipping, the British fleet, if Parliament approves, will give all the protection in its power. The cheers that follow this statement clearly show that the House of Commons fully approves of the undertaking which he has given to France.