Sappers were mining the 400-year-old Palais du Luxembourg with its priceless trove of literary and art treasures, the Chamber of Deputies, the French Foreign Office, the telephone exchanges, the railroad stations, the aircraft plant and every major factory in the area. On August 17, Choltitz had received from Feldmarschall Gunther von Kluge a cable that read in part: "I give the order for the neutralization and destruction envisaged for Paris." Whatever he did, the general would be forced to act soon. He was torn between his ingrained Prussian inclination to do as he was told and the realization that to obey would be a bestial act of mass vandalism for which he would be eternally held responsible.
West of the city, Lt. Col. Hubertus von Aulock was deploying his forces in a 60-mile arc before the advancing Allies. With only 10,000 men available, the line was stretched impossibly thin, but Choltitz had been promised reinforcements. For the time being Aulock's forces busied themselves digging in and installing the 88mm anti-aircraft pieces that had been removed from the city and placed at their disposal for use as artillery against the approaching armored columns. The guns would not be needed at their former posting. The Allies would never bomb Paris.
A tunnel beneath the city was filled with U-boat torpedoes that, if ignited, would produce a titanic explosion and tremendous devastation. On August 17, the busy general received at his headquarters Pierre Charles Tattinger, the mayor of Paris. The mayor was alarmed at all the explosives being deployed throughout the city and asked the German for an explanation. He was shocked by Choltitz's response: "As an officer, Monsieur Tattinger, you will understand there are certain measures I shall have to take in Paris. It is my duty to slow up as much as possible the advance of the Allies."
Although he was a collaborator, Tattinger was understandably aghast at this revelation. How could even the Nazis consider such an atrocity? Suddenly, Choltitz was seized by one of his periodic attacks of asthma and went into a fit of uncontrollable coughing. Leading him onto the balcony for some fresh air, Tattinger looked down on the lovely sculptured garden of the Tuileries and had an inspiration. Gesturing at the captivating vista, he made his point. Below them a lovely young girl was riding her bicycle on the Rue de Rivoli; on the manicured grounds of Le Notre, children played by the pond with their sailboats; across the adjacent Seine was the glittering dome of Les Invalides; and beyond that stood the landmark of the City of Light, the Eiffel Tower.
The Frenchman's appeal was powerful: "Often it is given a general to destroy, rarely to preserve. Imagine that one day it may be given you to stand on this balcony again, as a tourist, to look once more on these monuments to our joys, to our sufferings, and be able to say, 'One day I could have destroyed this, and I preserved it as a gift to humanity.' General, is not that worth all a conqueror's glory?" Choltitz looked silently to his left at the Louvre and to his right at the Place de la Concorde and replied: "You are a good advocate for Paris, Monsieur Tattinger. You have done your duty well. Likewise I, as a German general, must do mine." Would he?
