Edge of an Abyss

"In the name of our love for la Patrie, I conjure you not to leave her isolated." So Foreign Minister Georges Bidault pleaded with the French National Assembly last week to approve the Western German state that Britain and the U.S. wanted--and that French delegates had accepted in London.

Behind Bidault's insistence stood the fear that, should he fail to get approval from the Assembly, France might be left perilously alone; in the half-light of the gilt and plush Chamber of Deputies lurked the specters of a resurgent Germany, of France's own military impotence. As they listened to the debate, deputies also thought of the 60 Red Army divisions facing westward, of Washington and London, who want to rebuild a Western German state; of millions of other little Europeans who fear that this major step towards European reconstruction may plunge them instead into a new war.

Something or Nothing. White-faced and nervous, faced with a critical and hostile Assembly, Bidault showed little stomach for the job. The deputies would not hear from him "either expressions of enthusiasm or excuses"; it was "a case of getting something or taking nothing." His voice drooping, Bidault reviewed his major defeats and minor victories. He had failed to have the Ruhr cut off from Germany. He had failed to sell the French program of a loose federation of German states as the political structure of the new Germany. Worst of all, perhaps, he had failed to get sufficient guarantees for the future security of France. But to keep her stake in the game, France would have to ante up: she would have to ratify.

The attacks that followed from the benches of the Left & Right sounded somewhat faint. Their thunder had been stolen two days before by General Charles de Gaulle. He had unloosed a jeremiad denouncing Bidault and offering to form a new government ("I myself am ready"). The London agreement he flayed as foreshadowing the creation of two conflicting German governments and a war for which France was unprepared. He called for renewed negotiations with the U.S. and Great Britain, and failing this, demanded that France go her own way alone. "We are on the edge of an abyss," he cried.

Surtout, de la Dignite. No party in France was more anxious to block the London agreement than the Reds. But last week they sat quiet, letting other government critics do most of the talking. Party Chief Maurice Thorez had warned the comrades: "Above all, dignity." Once Bidault remarked that if Europe was split, it was Russia's fault. Fernand Grenier, Communist deputy from Saint-Denis, rose like an angry bull. But Thorez turned like lightning and imperiously shushed him.

In the muggy heat of emotions and premature summer weather one man remained crisp and cool. Having weathered other bitter crises, France's Premier Robert Schuman was quietly awaiting his next test: the summing up at the end of the debate this week, and the Assembly's vote. Bidault was feeling the temperature more than his chief was. When he had finished his halting defense of the London agreement, the Foreign Minister walked slowly from the rostrum and took his seat on the government bench. He was sweating, but he muttered to Robert Schuman: "J'ai froid" (I'm cold).

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