Hoare-Laval – Sunday
Sunday morning, December 8. The limousines brought the British delegation to the front steps of the ceremonial entrance to the Quai d’Orsay. Premier Laval and Secretary-General Léger stood on the steps in welcome. Once inside, walking down the hallway towards the foreign minister’s office, Premier Laval said to Foreign Secretary Hoare, “Let’s leave the experts to their work. We will keep our session small and focused on the overall agreement.”
Hoare looked over at Permanent Secretary Vansittart, who nodded in acquiescence.
Léger stepped back and directed the French and British experts and their aides into a separate conference room.
Laval escorted Hoare into his official office, stopped, and said, pointing towards Madame Lambert and Madame Bardoux standing by his large desk, “Madame Lambert from yesterday. She has a typist nearby to help us with the draft agreement. Madame Bardoux, who I am sure you know is Monsieur Léger’s assistant, can assist with drafting the communiqué.”
Hoare replied briskly, “Excellent. Hopefully I will be off for Switzerland this evening and the settlement will be off to London.” He smiled a warm good morning to Madame Lambert and Madame Bardoux.
Laval guided Hoare towards his study; Vansittart and Léger followed. Madame Lambert and Madame Bardoux came after the men and discreetly took their seats at a small table behind Léger.
Laval opened the discussion. “We must strive today for a real unity of view and intention between our two countries.”
Heads nodded in agreement.
Hoare spoke, “The arrangement must be a judicious mixture of an exchange of territory and the conferring of economic concessions.”
Laval then set forth his first position. “The exchange of territories should be the northern province currently occupied by the Italian army for a corridor to a seaport for Ethiopia.”
Léger added, “The remainder of the exchange should be explained as a rectification of the borders to the east along the Danakil frontier and to the south along the Ogaden frontier.”
Vansittart entered the conversation. “The corridor to the sea must be emphasized in the communiqué. World opinion must believe that landlocked Ethiopia is gaining something of value from the exchange.”
Laval agreed. “The key element of a diplomatic solution is to give Ethiopia access to the sea.” Then he shifted in his chair uneasily and said, “Now for the hard part. We need a zone to the south and east for Italian economic expansion. That has been Mussolini’s argument to the Italian people, if not the world.”
Hoare leaned forward and looked at Laval directly. “His Majesty’s Government can never consent to Italian sovereignty in fact. The sovereignty must remain with the emperor of Ethiopia. That must be made clear.”
Laval sighed. That would be a big sticking point with Mussolini, he knew.
Léger came in on an optimistic note. “We propose a chartered Italian company to administer the exclusive Italian rights to economic expansion in the zone.”
Vansittart looked skeptically at Léger and then added, “We need to go further. There needs to be a formal plan of assistance under the auspices of the League in the Special Economic Zone. The principal adviser must be appointed by the League and report to the emperor. Among other things he would look out for the social welfare of the indigenous peoples.”
Léger listened intently. “No problem.”
Hoare now turned to Léger. “I want the entire matter of the Economic Zone to be in the League’s hands, not Britain’s.”
Laval spoke softly, “I agree.”
Hoare then turned to Laval. “The bases for an agreement are in place. Just as important is how the agreement is presented to the parties.”
Laval nodded. “Mussolini is ready to negotiate.”
Hoare straightened up. “What has been discussed here requires approval from the British cabinet before going forward.”
Laval said, “Of course.”
Vansittart spoke, “When we get the agreement drafted, we will have Peterson immediately leave for London with a copy. The cabinet can discuss it tomorrow afternoon, the evening at the latest.”
Laval, his mind moving ahead to the next step, said, “On Tuesday we can have both the French and British ambassadors communicate directly with Mussolini, on identical terms, the outline of the proposals. This step must be strictly confidential.”
Vansittart said, “In that case, the following day we will have the French and British ministers in Addis Ababa present the proposals to Emperor Haile Selassie as a basis for conciliation under the League Committee.”
Hoare looked thoughtful. “There might be some difficulty with the cabinet on this. It’s not fair play to speak with Mussolini first and Emperor Selassie second.”
Vansittart spoke, “Possibly we can arrange something informally,” and he looked over at Léger, “through the Quai d’Orsay.”
Laval looked thoughtful and stroked his chin. “Yes, our expert, Monsieur St. Quentin, might be of assistance here.”
Laval, feeling the substance of things was settled, stood up. “Gentlemen, let us go to our dining room for lunch. After lunch we can draft the documents.” The other men stood up; Madame Lambert and Madame Bardoux arose. The men trooped out.
Madame Bardoux said, “Let’s go get Sophie and we can go to Monsieur Léger’s dining room for lunch.”
Madame Lambert said, “With pleasure.”
Early evening darkness was settling in outside the window of the small office in the Quai d’Orsay where Madame Lambert was sitting at a desk while Premier Laval stood by her side. Both were intently looking down at the most recent draft of the agreement the premier was working on with Foreign Secretary Hoare. In the corner of the office, Sophie sat at a typing desk looking expectantly at the other two, awaiting instructions.
“The foreign secretary keeps fiddling with the language,” the premier complained. “What do you think?” he asked.
“The foreign secretary keeps marking up the language describing the terms of the Special Economic Zone,” replied Madame Lambert. “This issue has been bothering the British all day. Possibly you could add language ‘subject to such arrangements as will be developed by the League Committee in Geneva.’ That moves the final resolution to Geneva, which is where I believe the British are trying to move the issue.”
“Why, I believe you are right.”
Madame Lambert took the draft, made an annotation on the page, and handed the sheet to Sophie. “Could you re-type just this one page?”
“Bien sûr, Madame.”
Laval stood patiently while Sophie typed the page. She pulled it out of her typewriter and handed it to Madame Lambert, who carefully read through the draft and then compared it to the annotated draft. Satisfied, she handed the finished page to Premier Laval, who inserted it into the four-page agreement. Madame Lambert inserted carbon copies into the second and third sets of the document. She handed these to Premier Laval, too.
“Thank you. Let me review these with the foreign secretary,” and he turned on his heel and left.
Several minutes later, Premier Laval returned, a smile on his face. He showed the final pages of all three sets to Madame Lambert. “See?”
Madame Lambert saw the neat initials “S.H.” and “P.L.” on each final page.
“Come on ladies. Let’s go find the others. I am sure they have the communiqué done by now. Then we can have the press conference and be done with the matter.”
Again Madame Lambert and Sophie stood at the rear of the large meeting room being used for press briefings. In the front they could see Madame Bardoux handing out copies of the communiqué to the reporters. Premier Laval and Foreign Secretary Hoare stood front and center, flanked on either side by Secretary-General Léger and Permanent Undersecretary Vansittart.
A reporter asked a question about the specific provisions agreed to as part of the agreement. Hoare took one step forward. “There can be no question at present of publishing these formulae. T
he British Government has not yet been informed of them and once its agreement has been received it will be necessary to submit them to the consideration of the interested Governments and to discussion by the League of Nations.”
“We have worked together with the same anxiety to reach as rapidly as possible a peaceful and honorable solution.”
Looking over at Laval, Hoare concluded, “We are both satisfied with the result which we have reached.”
Vansittart stepped forward and added, “With that in mind, Maurice Peterson has already left for London with a copy of the agreement for consideration by the cabinet.” Vansittart took a step back.
Hoare then returned to the subject of specific details, “I would urge members of the press to abstain from guessing or trying to discover what this basis of settlement might be. Its details are of no importance except to the people immediately concerned—that is to say, in the first place, the Italians and Ethiopians.”
Vansittart stepped forward and added, “And the League of Nations. Remember, Premier Laval and Foreign Minister Hoare have in the present instance been acting as agents for the League, which body has charged them with the task of seeking an amicable solution. The governments of France and Britain are not proposing a specific settlement.”
Hoare nodded in vigorous agreement.
Léger now added his voice, “We do not want the chance of an honorable peace to be compromised by the excitement of public opinion reacting to false surmises.” The reporters mumbled to themselves; they hated it when the world of officialdom tried to draft them into a conspiracy of silence, always for some high-minded reason.
Another reporter asked about possible differences in approach between the French and British governments. Laval now stepped forward and spoke briskly, heavily emphasizing the words “complete solidarity.” He repeated it several times in different contexts. The reporters seemed to grasp the point.
A reporter directed another question at Laval. “What do you think Mussolini will do?”
Laval, speaking in a hypothetical way, implied that if he were in Mussolini’s place “he would accept the basis of settlement that is proposed and be glad to do so.” The reporters sensed Laval felt a breakthrough was coming.
The American reporter from New York stood up, scanned his notes, and said, “In brief, it comes down to this—between now and Thursday Mussolini will have time to reflect on the joint Anglo-French proposals as a basis of settlement. If by then his reply is not encouraging, the League Committee will extend sanctions to include an embargo on oil, coal and iron.” The reporter looked up. The four officials on the dais looked directly at him and said nothing. The reporter smiled. He had his conclusion: sanctions might be a live issue on Thursday.
Next, the reporter from the Times of London stood and asked Hoare for his assessment. Hoare calmly replied, “I am neither optimistic nor pessimistic. I only hope there is as sincere a desire for a settlement and peace as is claimed by everyone. For ourselves and for the French I can say that desire is very deep and very sincere.”
The reporter from New York, who had remained standing, looked to the officials on the dais and asked a question as a means of summarizing the situation, “So once more the answer is up to Mussolini.” No one moved to contradict the reporter.
Madame Bardoux stepped forward. “That will conclude the briefing. If you have further questions, you may contact our press office or the British embassy. Good night.”
As the reporters departed, Premier Laval walked over and shook Hoare’s hand while clapping him on the back. “Now we’re finished with Italy.”
Sunday evening, December 8, London. In the dining room of the Carlton Hotel, underneath spreading crystal chandeliers, sat some older women draped in light-colored evening gowns. Other women, still blessed with the slenderness of youth, were elegantly sheathed in dark couture. The ladies chatted with men dressed in black-tie dinner jackets. The round tables were draped with thick white tablecloths on which bone-white china dinnerware glistened. Some men self-importantly made serious points, others, possibly more important, lightly joked, while women spoke with amused little laughs; a tinkle of gaiety hovered in the air.
Geneviève Tabouis, dining with friends, was making a serious point: “If the peoples of Europe lose confidence in the League and its authority to insure the peace, then the joint solidarity between Britain and France loses its leverage point.” Heads at the table nodded in agreement. Geneviève always broke the table taboo of no politics at dinner, or leastwise not until coffee.
Geneviève continued with emphatic sincerity, “That is the danger in the so called ‘deal’ that is being negotiated in Paris.” The English heads nodded in agreement: the French were always maneuvering some deal, always a little greasy around the edges.
One of the men cleared his throat to speak. “This head-long rush to the oil sanction carries risks, too. Don’t want to wind up like July 1914 with soldiers marching over the paper treaties. Sanctions, like principles, have to be applied with great care to the circumstances.” Heads around the table nodded in wise agreement.
Geneviève quickly replied, “Yes, but the little countries at the League are watching. Selling out a little country sets a bad precedent.” Again, heads nodded in agreement. Dilemmas everywhere.
Glancing down at her watch, Geneviève saw that it was nine-thirty. She set her napkin on the table before her, leaned forward, and said, “Excuse me. I have to leave for a while. Continue. I will be back for coffee.”
Geneviève went up to her room and picked up the telephone and called Paris. The line clicked and a voice came on. “Yes?”
“Good evening,” replied Geneviève. No need to say more. Other ears might be on the line.
In Paris, a sigh of relief. “Not exactly as we thought. An outlet to the sea. Some occupied territory to the occupier. Corrections of the frontiers east and southeast. The large zone indicated by the north latitude and the east longitude is to be a special zone with a monopoly of economic development under a chartered company. League supervision.”
Geneviève wrote this down in her notebook. “How good is the source?”
“Good, but he doesn’t have the actual document.”
“Are you running with the story?”
“Yes, tomorrow morning. Paris and London.”
“I’ll telephone mine in from here.”
“Good. See you in Paris later in the week.” The line clicked dead.
Geneviève placed the telephone in its cradle. She went over and sat at the desk. She took the pencil draft of tomorrow’s column and read it through, correcting here and there, making additions in other places, lining out a few sentences. She read it through again. She wanted it simple and direct. She made some more changes. Satisfied, she walked back over and picked up the telephone.
At the offices of L’Oeuvre the night editor came on. “Yes?”
“It’s Geneviève. Here’s tomorrow’s story. It’s big. I’d run it page one.”
“Your wish is my command. Here’s a stenographer.” The editor handed the telephone to an assistant.
The editor sat back in his chair. Yes, everyone knew the British foreign secretary was meeting with Laval at the Quai d’Orsay. Everyone knew there was a press blackout. The paper breaking the news would sell papers by the thousands in the morning. He could hear the shouts of the newsboys now. He smiled.
Paris 1935: Destiny's Crossroads Page 33