Agreement on Germany

History was the honored guest at the London conference. In stately Lancaster House, where Chopin once played mazurkas for Queen Victoria, the accolade of sovereignty was restored, in all but name, to defeated West Germany. Britain dramatically abandoned a centuries-old tradition of "splendid isolation" from the Continent. The U.S. firmly offered to keep an American army in Europe so long as Europe is threatened. Both offers were made to reassure France, finicky with ancient fears which history was rendering obsolete. France responded by agreeing to Germany's rearmament and admission into the North Atlantic alliance.

All the commitments hung on promises rather than on comfortable certainties. But they were promises solemnly made by men who, in their own words, hoped "to liquidate the past and to prepare for the future."

First Day. An awareness that failure could shatter the Atlantic alliance lent a grave and urgent air to the chandeliered conference room where the nine foreign ministers assembled at the invitation of British Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden. They sat about a huge, hollow, rectangular table covered with deep blue felt--Chairman Anthony Eden, lounging debonairly; John Foster Dulles, doodling; Belgium's Paul-Henri Spaak, looking more than ever like a plumper and younger Winston Churchill; Canada's L. B. Pearson; Konrad Adenauer, gaunt and silent; Gaetano Martino, at his first international appearance as Italy's Foreign Minister; Joseph Bech from Luxembourg; Johan W. Beyen of The Netherlands; dark-jowled Premier Pierre Mendes-France, reading a magazine. The pressing task before them was to fill the void left by the French rejection of EDC--in short, to bring an armed Germany into the alliance without losing the French,

"This is a conference which must succeed," Anthony Eden began. Mendes-France, whose views were known the least and counted the most, hastened to explain his government's "philosophy" toward German rearmament. Diplomatic brows furrowed as Mendes reeled off the list of familiar French objections: controls, limits, agreements on the Saar. Then Mendes made a big concession. In principle, he said, France would no longer oppose West German sovereignty or its admission to NATO. "The French government," explained the man who had stood in five-to-one isolation at the Brussels Conference only five weeks before, "does not feel like opposing an objective shared by a large number of others."

Konrad Adenauer replied, matching concession with concession: West Germany would 1) pledge itself not to exceed the twelve-division strength laid down for it in EDC, 2) submit to controls, so long as they were not discriminatory. It was a good beginning.

Second Day. Next day, Eden and Dulles sat close together on the same side of the table. A sudden quiet fell as the American made ready to speak. For a moment, only the scratch of Dulles' pencil could be heard over the delegates' earphones. Then, quietly, the Secretary of State began to speak. "The U.S.," he said, "responds in many ways like a barometer to the climate which exists in Europe. If the climate is one of unity and cohesion, our assistance and aid of every kind goes out. If the climate is one of dissension . . . our tendency is to withdraw." Dulles reminded the Europeans that since the defeat of EDC "there has been a great wave of disillusionment in the U.S., a feeling that, after all, the situation in Europe is pretty hopeless." As things stood, the Secretary warned, it would be impossible for the U.S. government to give Europe the pledge that it once offered to EDC: the pledge to keep its "fair share" of troops on the Continent, "whilst that area is threatened."

But "if, using the Brussels Treaty as a nucleus, [Europe can create] a continuing hope of unity . . . [embodying] the hopes of EDC,then I would . . . recommend to the President that he should renew the U.S. pledge." In other words, if the conference produced a workable settlement, the U.S. would not withdraw from the Continent.

Then, feelingly, spoke Anthony Eden. "I fear that at times we too readily take for granted what this generous brother has done for us in Europe, when but for his help all must have collapsed into confusion and Communism." Eden said. "I would like to assure the U.S. that what it has done . . . will be remembered with thankfulness." . To prove worthy of U.S. confidence, as Eden put it, Great Britain had a "new proposal to put before the conference." It was a proposal to make history, shattering the proud policy of insularity that Englishmen have maintained against all comers since William Shakespeare wrote :

This fortress built by nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war . . .

On behalf of the Tory government, Eden offered :

P:To maintain on the Continent, indefinitely, a British army and air force, "equivalent in fighting capacity" to the four divisions and tactical air force now assigned to NATO.

P:Not to remove these forces, except in cases of "an acute overseas emergency," without the consent of a majority of the Brussels pact powers, including ex-enemies West Germany and Italy.

"What I have announced," said Eden proudly, "is for us a formidable step. You all know that ours is an island story . . . whatever the facts of modern weapons and strategy may compel."

Inside and outside the conference, Eden's offer created a sensation. It gave Frenchmen the assurance they most had desired, the prerequisite they most insisted on before letting the Germans, whom they do not trust, rearm. In the conference room, tears shone in Frenchmen's eyes. Paul-Henri Spaak put said his hand on Mendes shoulder and said quietly "You've won." Mendes replied: "Britain's guarantee will rejoice the heart of France."

Third Day. "The conference," said a British spokesman, "is over the hump." The ministers dined with Sir Winston Churchill and heard a powerful disquisition on his current obsession, defense against the H-bomb. Optimism was in the air. All that remained was to work out the details on how best to control German rearmament. Eden's plan was to settle some of these thorny questions in four-way talks between West Germany and the three occupying powers, leave the rest to committees of experts. But it didn't work out that way.

Fourth Day. Feeling bad from a cold, Mendes-France suddenly accused the committee on German arms control of ignoring French wishes. His tone was so disagreeable that several delegates feared that he was trying to throw up another roadblock. At this point, Chairman Eden gaveled for silence and read Mendes a pointed lecture: "Some people talk about the importance of their Parliaments. I must say that my own Parliament will be very surprised if a question of arms control is considered more important than the concession my government has made to Western unity." With that, Eden called time out, and the delegates recessed in gloom.

The gloom persisted throughout an evening session, in which, confessed a British spokesman harsh words were exchanged." Mendes wanted the Brussels pact powers to control the distribution of U.S. arms aid to Europe. Dulles flatly refused. The Frenchman also insisted that he did not object to the Germans making "submachine guns and cartridges," but did not want them building tanks and planes. At that, the Germans demurred. The usually impeccable Eden emerged from the fourth day's session with his hair ruffled and his face damp with perspiration.

Fifth Day. Next morning, to break the developing stalemate, John Foster Dulles took Mendes-France aside and asked him bluntly: "Just what are you after-- everything?" The ministers shooed all but one aide each out of the conference room and settled down to a tough brass-tacks bar gaining session. The result was a compromise plan proposed by Dulles and made acceptable to the French by a generous new pledge from Konrad Adenauer. West Germany, he promised, would "never have recourse to force to achieve reunification [of Germany]." The Dulles-Adenauer compromise provided that: 1 ) Germany would agree to make no ABC (atomic, bacteriological and chemical) weapons, build only enough conventional weapons to arm its twelve divisions; 2) NATO would set minimum force levels for all its members' armies, 3) the Brussels pact powers would by unanimous vote set maximum force levels for each national army. The French would thus have a veto on any German effort to add to their twelve divisions.

Mendes accepted the compromise. He left an aide to attend to details, and went scurrying out of the conference and back to the French Embassy, where he took to bed with the grippe. Wire service reporters jumped to the conclusion that this meant trouble, but were soon reassured. "A solution has been found" proclaimed Belgium's Paul-Henri Spaak. Said Konrad Adenauer: "This really astounding drama . . . has brought full agreement." "One of the greatest conferences of all time," said John Foster Dulles. Mendes' response was even more dramatic-- he summoned the National Assembly from vacation for a special session opening this week.

As their "final act," the ministers issued "The London Protocol." "Recognizing that a great country can no longer be deprived of the rights properly belonging to a free and democratic people," it recommended an end of the occupation "as soon as possible"; German admission to NATO "forthwith"; the strengthening of the Brussels Treaty "to emphasize European union."

None of these complex agreements was final or even certain. The peoples concerned, most importantly, the divided, unpredictable French, still had to ratify them. But, for all the pitfalls ahead, more had been left behind.

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