Benito Mussolini in 1930s
The day had concluded with a long interview with Mussolini, who remained obstinately unyielding and stated quite clearly that he saw Germany getting stronger by the day. The blackmail was all but explicit. As for conciliation through diplomacy, Mussolini was dismissive, speaking contemptuously that Britain and France thought Italy could be bought off by giving “her a couple of deserts—one of salt, the other of stone.”
Mussolini got right to his conclusion. “You will see Germany march on Vienna, the Little Entente brushed aside under a German thrust to the Bosphorus.” Mussolini saw Germany as the new winner on the European chessboard.
Sir Eric sighed at the memory of the interview: Mussolini’s threat was so crudely put. He reflected with deep sadness because he knew that Sir Samuel Hoare’s assurances to Mussolini that Britain wanted Italy strong and secure was the correct course for Italy. The only course.
And what of the German course? Sir Eric pondered; Hitler would use the Italians like a fallen woman when the time came. They would have their way with her.
London, of course, knew all of this. Sir Eric decided on a different tack. He picked up the pencil and began his dispatch, a somber portrait of the Italian dictator, the words flowing. “One who has…condemned thousands of young Italians to painful death and millions of his countrymen to an almost animal level of existence, he seems astonishingly untroubled by the remorse of conscience. The explanation lies probably in his philosophy and creed. He believes in war as the means by which a country can be kept vigorous, young, powerful and progressive…These reasons combined have rendered him oblivious of other considerations, such as economic and financial facts, and have produced in his mind the impression that he is acting as a predestined instrument…confirms my own constant impression of a man who is the victim, not the master of his destiny.”
He sat back, read the message over. Satisfied, he stood up and walked into the hall. An aide took the message down to the third secretary waiting in the offices on the ground floor. It reached Whitehall later that night.
Thursday, September 26, Quai d’Orsay. Alexis Léger came into Foreign Minister Pierre Laval’s office with a message in his hand, quickly saying, “I have Sir Samuel Hoare’s response and our London ambassador’s comments.”
Laval took the papers and read through them, commenting, “Yes, the ambassador is right. The response lacks formal precision.”
He looked up at Léger. “It is what I feared. Sir Samuel’s speech at Geneva represented the policy for that day only. It is not a long-term commitment upon which France can rely.”
Léger nodded in understanding.
Laval turned thoughtful. “The ultimate safeguards for France are the Treaties—pieces of paper—and the Rhineland—a hard geographical fact.”
Léger said, “Yes. And Britain’s entente with France is crucial to both.”
Laval put the papers down on his desk, tapping them with his forefinger. “But the British are saying that the unilateral violation of treaties would not necessarily occasion British support. Furthermore, they are saying that even in cases of unprovoked aggression, Britain retains its freedom of action.”
Léger said, “They maintain the right to be consulted before acting.”
Laval replied, “Yes, a possibly dangerous delay.” Laval leaned back, his thoughts to himself: when the man in Berlin puts the pieces together, he very well might move—without consulting, without delay.
Léger summed up, “It is less than we hoped; more than we expected.”
Laval nodded in agreement.
Friday, September 27, Paris. Marcelle Lambert walked down the arcaded sidewalk of the rue de Rivoli carrying a shopping valise. She turned into Angelina’s Tea Room, immediately saw Suzanne Bardoux sitting at a chair in the reception area, and came up and said, “So nice we could meet for lunch.”
Suzanne stood up. “Yes, so much to share.”
She went over to the maitre d' and spoke briefly to him. He checked the name off his list and said, “This way, mesdames.” The two women followed him into the dining room. The maitre d’ held each woman’s chair as they seated themselves.
Marcelle looked across the table. “War in Ethiopia seems imminent.”
“Yes,” Suzanne replied.
“What happens then?”
Suzanne said, thoughtfully, “One view is that Italy will win some early triumphs, and then run into difficulties—the Ethiopians are not without their strengths—and then some sort of settlement can be reached.”
Marcelle took this in, her concerns easing somewhat. “I see.”
“No one works harder for compromise and settlement than our foreign minister.”
Marcelle replied, softly banging her fist down on the white linen for emphasis, “That I have confidence in.”
“How is the budget?” Suzanne asked.
Marcelle crisply replied, “The 1936 budget represents a twenty percent reduction over the 1935 budget. That represented a challenge to every ministry. Constant revision, constant negotiation. The Council of Ministers approved it last Saturday morning.”
“And the decrees?” asked Suzanne.
“When the Chamber votes on the budget, they are also voting on the decrees. The Finance Committee of the Chamber takes up the legislation the week after next. All or nothing.”
“Do you think it will pass?”
“The budget passes or the government falls,” Marcelle said.
“Falls?” gasped Suzanne. She had never thought of the budget that way.
Marcelle continued to look evenly at her, nodding to drive home the point.
Suzanne, composing her thoughts, said, “But the negotiations over Ethiopia will surely be at a critical stage then.”
“Premier Laval carries very heavy burdens,” Marcelle said quietly.
“The English don’t make it easier for him,” Suzanne added, almost absently,
The waiter brought tea and small sandwiches and put them down.
Changing subjects, Suzanne said brightly, “Tell me about the dress,” and looking at the shopping valise, “and whatever else you have.”
Marcelle smiled, “I must thank you for the dressmaker. Irène worked marvels with my old gown.” Then she reached down and picked up the valise, pulling out a long, thin box and opening it, “Here are gloves to match.”
Suzanne held them, running her hands over them, and marveled, “They are beautiful.”
Then Marcelle lifted out a box, removed the lid, and pulled back some wrapping paper. “Shoes.”
Suzanne took one of the shoes out of the box and rotated it for careful inspection. “Well made. Stylishly simple. Like you.”
Marcelle said, “Thank you.”
Suzanne looked at Marcelle, her eyebrows making question marks, “Tell me about the Opéra? And Dexter.”
Marcelle leaned across the table towards Suzanne and whispered, “I will tell you everything afterwards,” then smiled and added, “well, almost everything.”
Suzanne laughed. “I haven’t seen you like this—ever! I am so happy for you.”
The two women continued eating, chit chatting, and watching the other women lunch at the tables around them, like schoolgirls.
American embassy, Saturday, October 5. Dexter walked into the ambassador’s office and said, “Good morning, Mr. Ambassador.”
“And a good morning to you, Dexter,” the ambassador replied jovially and pointed to a chair for Dexter. “Could you give me a rundown on the Ethiopian situation. Seems the candle has gone off.”
“Yes it has, Mr. Ambassador.”
The ambassador’s expression turned serious and thoughtful and he nodded to Dexter to begin.
Dexter started. “Ethiopia cabled the League of Nations Thursday that the Italians had bombed Adowa and that battles were in progress. Yesterday, the Italian general in East Africa proclaimed the opening of hostilities in Ethiopia.”
“Was any reason given?”
&
nbsp; “The Italian foreign ministry put out a statement that Italy was taking measures for defense in response to warlike behavior by Ethiopia.”
“Any truth to it?”
“Unlikely,” replied Dexter.
“And the Ethiopians?”
“Interesting. The emperor has urged his soldiers to fight the nomad war. He told them to scatter to advance to victory.”
The ambassador nodded in understanding and made his own assessment. “Shrewd.”
Dexter added his opinion, “The Italians may have difficulties beyond what they imagine.”
The ambassador nodded in agreement and shifted the discussion. “The British?”
Dexter replied, “Prime Minister Baldwin came right out with a bold statement saying that Britain would stand by its pledge to the Covenant. He was quite clear: Britain would enforce the Covenant any time, any place, and without reference to the British interests involved.”
The ambassador probed this statement. “Any conditions?”
Dexter responded, “He repeated that all members of the League must share in its responsibilities and benefits.”
“Of course.”
Dexter added, “And as we know, the Covenant leaves it to each member to decide if its obligations under the Covenant have in fact been invoked and how it should respond.”
“Yes, the inevitable loophole.”
Dexter smiled.
The ambassador then bore in. “What is going on with British policy below Baldwin’s lofty declarations?”
“The British are trying to ride two horses at once. They want to stand resolutely behind collective security operating through the League against aggression. That is what is behind Baldwin’s public statement—the ideal. Anthony Eden is the proponent here.”
The ambassador nodded.
“The other horse is a desire for some sort of settlement with Italy over Ethiopia that keeps Italy in the anti-German coalition. That is the politics. Sir Samuel Hoare is the behind-the-scenes voice here.”
“What is the weak point in the British position?”
Dexter replied, “Hoare is publicly shaking the big stick, but concealing the fact that neither he nor the British electorate are prepared to wield it.”
The ambassador nodded and gathered his thoughts. “Always a dangerous game. The man in Berlin will notice.”
“Surely.”
“When you back down the first time, it begs the question whether or not you will stand the next time.”
Dexter nodded thoughtfully in agreement. “Could set off an unfortunate chain of challenges from Berlin in the coming years as Hitler gathers strength.”
“Yes,” the ambassador concluded and moved on, asking Dexter, “France?”
Dexter answered, “Premier Laval is always ready to deal on Italy. He is focused on Germany. He met with Eden Thursday. Eden is concerned that Laval is too ready to negotiate with Mussolini,” Dexter paused and smiled at the ambassador, “Eden used the word, we are told, ‘zigzag’ to describe Laval.”
The ambassador smiled and then ruminated, “Yes, the British would not want a ‘deal’ to be seen as undercutting the ideal.”
Dexter said, “Precisely.”
The ambassador asked, “What has Britain so focused these days on collective security through the League?”
“In a word, airplanes.”
“Airplanes?”
“Yes, Germany is within several years of having an air force capable of significant bombardment of the British Isles. That is an entirely new development in Britain’s island history: they might not quite be the island they thought they were.”
The ambassador stood up, signaling an end. “Thank you, Dexter. By the way, I see you are one of the guests at the Ambassador’s Box at the Opéra tonight. Got something charming on your arm, have you?”
“Yes sir, quite charming.”
“Have a good time. At the Opéra,” and the ambassador smiled.