Dinner for Three

The finest attack of nervous indigestion in all Europe descended last week upon the lean Roman abdomen of Baron Pompeo Aloisi. This hawk-eyed, hollow-cheeked diplomat who since 1932 has served Italy as chief delegate to the League of Nations, found himself rudely summoned from his Geneva apartment, plumped down in a small private dining room before a table full of Swiss food, and talked to, straight from the shoulder, by two nervous, irritable statesmen whose friendship he valued, whose ability he recognized, whose view point he could understand. It was a dreadful meal. The soup got cold, the champagne warm, the roast greasy. Every few minutes the three diners rose from the table to telephone Rome, London or Paris. Between times they kept looking at their watches.

Across the table from Baron Aloisi were immaculate Capt. Anthony Eden, white hope of the British Foreign Office, and swart Pierre Laval, Foreign Minister of France. Britain's Lord Privy Seal, normally the most suave of diplomats, had just recovered from a heart attack. Word had come from London that important Cabinet changes were imminent (see p. 19). With luck, within a fortnight, Captain Eden might find himself Foreign Minister of Great Britain. Minister Laval had scarcely had a good night's sleep for a month. The clatter of railway wheels rang ceaselessly in his ears. He had just traveled from Paris to Warsaw, to Moscow, back to Warsaw and Cracow for the funeral of Marshal Pilsudski, through Berlin back to Paris and now to Geneva. The French franc, the French Government, Laval's political future were trembling in the balance (see p. 19). Yet he desired nothing so much at the moment as 24 hours in bed.

Because the three statesmen had been through so many diplomatic campaigns together, Messrs. Eden and Laval wasted few words. Over the consomme, they talked hard & fast. Italy was determined to test her new army by a military campaign in Abyssinia. In normal times London and Paris would have no objection. As a matter of fact it would benefit both France and Britain to have Italy, instead of Japan, gain the upper hand in Africa's last independent empire. But these were not normal times. Abyssinia has been a member of the League of Nations in good standing since 1923. In addition, curly-bearded Emperor Haile Selassie was daily proving a shrewder diplomat than anyone had suspected. He had appealed officially to the League of Nations and raised a whirlwind of sentimental sympathy throughout Europe.

Granted, now that they were around one small table, that the League was a feeble crutch at best, nevertheless, if Italy refused to arbitrate her border differences with Abyssinia, much more than this particular crisis was at stake. If Abyssinia's appeal should be dragged into the open League forum and if Italy still refused to arbitrate, the same thing would happen that had happened in the case of Japan and Germany. It would turn into a squabble of Italy against the entire League and probably force Italy to withdraw from the League. With the Danubian conference in the offing and the question of Austria's independence pressing hard behind. Britain and France could not afford to lose Italy from the League. Italy. Capt. Eden and Minister Laval chorused, must accept arbitration. Baron Aloisi got up from the table to telephone his boss in Rome.

Shouting into his mouthpiece, Il Duce wanted to know if his Geneva delegate remembered what day this was. It was the 20th anniversary of Italy's entry into the War. Throughout Italy since dawn it had been as fine a fiesta of flag waving as any Fascist could remember. From Naples 2,200 more troops had sailed for East Africa. There were parades and speeches in every provincial capital. In Rome gnarled little King Vittorio Emanuele presented new colors to 16 new regiments. Celebrating the ninth Fascist levy 150,000 young men throughout Italy joined the Fascist Militia. And addressing 100,000 soldiers and Blackshirts, Benito Mussolini had cried:

"We Italians are very circumspect before reaching any decision, but once we have made up our minds, we march straight toward our objective and never turn back. . . . An unknown infantryman [Mussolini], one of many who fought, suffered, died and won to give Italy a radiant victory in the World War, wrote on the wall of a house near the banks of the Piave River: Better to live one day as a lion than 100 years as a sheep. This motto, more than any other, is our gospel!"

On this day of days did Baron Aloisi want the Italian Dictator to crawl back and cravenly accept League dictation in the Abyssinia dispute?

Baron Aloisi went back to the table with small appetite for the roast. Doing his best, Capt. Eden arranged to keep the League Council in session on the Abyssinian question for a week if necessary. Meanwhile Pierre Laval got a call from headquarters: Things were going very badly at home. Crowds were nervous. Everything pointed to the fall of the Flandin Cabinet when parliament reopened early this week. The Foreign Minister had better hurry home. The last train for Paris left at 10:45 p.m. What time was it now? Nearly 9 o'clock. Mon Dieu!

The statesmen looked sourly at their plates of striped ice cream. In their own rooms members of the League Council sat patiently waiting, paring their nails.

Shortly after 9 o'clock the telephone rang again. This time it was Signer Mussolini calling. Capt. Eden spilled his coffee. Il Duce had thought of a compromise. He would agree to arbitrate the Abyssinian question--in principle--if Britain and France would let him continue to send troops to Africa. Italy was perfectly agreeable to Abyssinia's two chosen arbitrators: Professor Albert de la Pradelle of France and Professor Pitman Benjamin Potter of Long Branch, N.J., onetime instructor in political science at Harvard and in history at Yale.

With a great pouf of relief Foreign Minister Laval leaped from the table. Eager to help, Maxim Litvinoff, President of the League Council, summoned his colleagues at 12:47 a.m. At 1:37 a.m. the Council passed two interlocking resolutions. They provide that four arbitrators (Abyssinia's two and two appointed by Italy) must reach a decision by July 25, failing which a fifth arbitrator will be chosen by the League Council. All five will be given until Aug. 25 to reach agreement, after which the League Council will take things over, scratch its head, ponder.

Before dinner M. Laval and Capt. Eden had called on Abyssinia's inky-black Delegate, Pecla Hawariate, at his rooms in the Hotel Des Bergues, had told him what they were doing for his little country and advised him that the least he could do, if war could be averted, was to grant important commercial concessions in Ethiopia to Italy.

Excellent from the Italian point of view was the League's agreement. Made operative under the Italo-Ethiopian Treaty of 1928 it still left Italy more or less free after Aug. 25 to treat as she would with the League. The Italian general staff, skeptical from the beginning of the Abyssinian adventure, had insisted for months that it was useless to advance until the rainy season was over, about Sept. 1. Of course if the arbitrators could reach a definite agreement before Aug. 26, Italy might be obliged to abide by it.

His diplomatic reputation saved, Baron Aloisi went to bed with a huge glass of bicarbonate of soda. Foreign Minister Laval left a call for the first morning train to Paris.

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