The Hague Haggle

Pale, flabby-fleshed, glisteningly bald Dr. Gustav Stresemann played at the Hague Conference last week an astute, unobtrusive dickering game for Germany. The quarrel over whether Great Britain should get a larger share of the Reparations "sponge cake" (TIME, Aug. 19) was the German Foreign Minister's big chance. In the bitter fiscal struggle of France and her Latin allies to resist the demands of British Chancellor of the Exchequer Philip Snowden it came logically about, last week, that both antagonists found themselves willing to offer political concessions to the Reich for maintaining a benevolent neutrality.

The major political concession which Dr. Stresemann has sought for years--one for which Germans yearn with a passionate desire not fully realized in other countries--is swift, complete evacuation of the 60,000 Allied troops still occupying the Rhineland. Last week the short, soft fingers of the statesman from Berlin seemed to have virtually within their stubby grasp an Anglo-French agreement to evacuate the Rhineland at the latest by Jan. 1, 1930.

By Christmas? Speaking with vigor and emotion Dr. Stresemann urged that the Allied troops be withdrawn from the Rhineland by Christmas.

"Mais, mon ami!" responded M. Briand, advancing a purposely weak argument, "I fear it would be a great hardship to move our troops in the cold winter months. Why not wait till Spring?"

Considering the punch which Aristide Briand has placed aforetime into French denials of German requests for evacuation this was conciliation indeed. "Permit me to suggest," replied Dr. Stresemann smilingly, "that your troops could be spared the inhuman experience of a winter evacuation by leaving now."

The ample, easy shrug of the Frenchman, and his bland smile suggested that an understanding had been reached behind the scenes. Meanwhile an even closer rapprochement was unquestionably being achieved by Dr. Stresemann with genial, beefy "Uncle Arthur" Henderson, British Foreign Secretary.

Correspondents heard at British headquarters that whatever attitude the French might take, British troops would begin to move out of the Rhineland within a month. At London, the Daily Herald, organ of the present British Labor Cabinet, promptly said:

"The Watch on the Rhine Must End!" We welcome the announcement that the withdrawal of the British troops is likely to begin next month.

"This country is wholeheartedly behind Arthur Henderson, the British delegation and the Government in any steps taken to implement his desire."

Soon steps to draft a concrete program of evacuation were taken by what was called the Political Commission of the Hague Conference. Beaming Dr. Stresemann sat to business between Mr. Henderson and M. Briand. "I believe a settlement of the political issue can be effected," he said, "even if agreement on the financial aspect of the conference is postponed."

Presently M. Briand gave an assurance that on the morrow, after consulting his political colleagues in Paris by wire, he would do what France has never done before : propose a definite date for the evacuation. Before M. Briand's morrow dawned fresh hurling of ultimata back and forth in the financial section of the Conference (see below) had so incensed French public opinion that the French Prime Minister was obliged to retreat. Calling personally on Dr. Stresemann he explained that "pour le moment, I can get no date to announce."

None the less a principle had been established, and Britain's promise stood unimpaired. For Dr. Stresemann it was a week of triumph.

Sponge Cake Showdown. On the fiscal battle line, choleric, drawn-faced Philip Snowden put away the clumsy weapon of personal insult, labored honestly to clarify the points on which he demanded concessions before Great Britain would agree to join with Europe in ratifying the Young Plan (TIME, May 13, et seq.). The plan proposes a certain division of German Reparations--called "sponge cake" by homely Yorkshireman Snowden--among the Creditor Powers (Britain, France, Belgium, Italy, Japan, etc.). Fortnight ago Chancellor Snowden rocked the fiscal and diplomatic worlds by demanding for Britain "MORE SPONGE CAKE!" But only last week was it possible to state that he wanted precisely 45 million marks more cake ($10,800,000) every year, until Germany has fully paid up her reparations. Since the Young Plan as originally drafted would allot 409 million marks annually to Great Britain, the Chancellor's demand would bring her share up to 454 million marks ($108,960,000). That was what correspondents called last week "Snowden's Second Ultimatum."

"Shylock." By a fortnight of relentless pounding the little crippled Yorkshireman had driven into Latin heads that some sort of concession must be made to his demands. Shrewdly the French moved. Indignantly a question was raised by Prime Minister Aristide Briand: was the whole 45 million marks annual increase demanded by "mon cher M. Snowden" supposed to come out of the share in Reparations alloted to France (amounting to 54% of the total) ? Instantly, an actor taking his cue, the Governor of the Bank of France, potent Emile Moreau, was on his feet. With flashing eyes he cried, "If the whole of this burden is placed on France, I will withdraw my signature as an original signer of the Young Plan!"

Of course this tableau was staged for the benefit of the French press and in hopes of making Chancellor Snowden feel like a Shylock. The second move of the French was to join with Belgium, Italy and Japan in presenting to Shylock Snowden a highly complex "final offer" which they claimed met 80% of his demands. What could be fairer?

When Chancellor Snowden had studied the Four-Power offer he denounced it as actually giving Britain only 20% satisfaction. Once more he demanded 100%, vowed he would take not a farthing less than the $10,800,000 per annum more "spongecake" he had asked at first.

"Prestige at Stake!" Exasperated, the Latins countered quite illogically that, although $10,800,000 was too much for them to yield, it is less than one-fourth of one percent of the stupendous figure at which Britain's last year balanced her budget ($3,594,667,850). Sarcastic members of the French Delegation asked British correspondents if their Chancellor was really so mad as to think of wrecking the conference and destroying the Young Plan by holding out for one-fourth of one percent! That jibe smoked Snowden out.

"It is not the money involved that counts with us," he rapped. "The prestige of England is at stake. Our foreign policy in the last few years has been so weak [under the Conservatives] that the time has now come for England to resume that place in international relations to which her position in the world entitles her. Other nations have taken advantage of England's weakness. The moment has come to change all that!"

If the Latins yielded to Prestige-stickler Snowden they would be humbling their prestige, eating crow, sullying "honor." Furious delegates of France, Belgium and Italy told correspondents that they would rather let the conference crack. Next day, however, when buxom Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, invited all the chief delegates to a state banquet and set the date a week distant, she got many an acceptance. Intuitive, Her Majesty perhaps guessed that the statesmen would stick around bickering until some of them had to leave for Geneva, where the 56th bicker of the Council of the League of Nations begins early in September.