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An American who observed Juliana at The Hague. Congress of Europe (TIME, May 17) last week drew a word picture of the Princess listening to Winston Churchill: "Juliana sat leaning forward, her firm chin firmly planted in her firm hand, squinting a little, nodding a little from time to time as she followed with an obvious effort Churchill's not very difficult line of thought. Her mien was strikingly familiar: it recalled the American matron who had learned at Bryn Mawr that an active interest in public affairs was the duty of an educated, responsible woman, and who was not going to use motherhood merely as an excuse for shirking her duty.
"The Bryn Mawr alumna would buy tickets for a lecture on economics by the late John Maynard Keynes and would go in much the same spirit as Juliana went to hear Churchill. Just as the Bryn Mawr alumna would bring her husband, so Juliana brought Bernhard. He sat there looking as if he would rather be at a country club, but had been almost reconciled to the educational occasion."
To help her discharge her responsibilities, the Dutch people have elected a sober, able lot of politicians. The two largest parties, the Laborites and the Catholics, work well together. The Netherlands' Premier, Willem Drees, is a quiet, respected Socialist who started out as a bank clerk and parliamentary stenographer. Last week he peered through his pince-nez from behind his neat desk and spoke to a U.S. newsman. "Western Union? A fine and necessary thing, but it will take a lot of time ... Holland is grateful indeed for
Marshall aid, but... in the long run our salvation depends on our own efforts."
The Touch of Greatness. Juliana on one occasion achieved a touch of greatness. In 1940, fleeing the Nazis, she went to Canada while her mother and husband remained in Britain. For the first time in her life she was on her own. She went to a microphone and spoke to the Canadian and American people, a simple woman, a mother, and unmistakably a princess. "Please do not regard me as too much of a stranger," she said. "But you may not know very much about me, so I had better tell you who I am. My name is Juliana ..." Then she spoke of her family, finally of her children. "You will see them among you . . . for we do not lock ourselves up—it just is not in our nature ... I rather think that they are very sweet children. Above all things, they smile quite easily. Please give them your smile and they will be happy and they will ask for very little more . . ."
For her nation she asked more than a smile; she asked respect: "Whatever you do, do not give me your pity. No woman ever felt as proud as I do of the marvelous heritage of my own people . . . They had always maintained the right of the individual to his own liberty ... of his person and ... of his soul. . . Placed before the terrible choice of surrendering those rights or of dying in their defense, they never hesitated . . . Pity is for the weak, and our terrible fate has made us stronger than ever before . . ."