Anthony Eden
Somewhat startled by the comment, Dexter asked, “Why?”
“The rumor is that he was worried about French naval superiority over the British fleet in the Mediterranean.”
Dexter’s face went blank with astonishment. He mumbled, “The British were worried about French naval superiority in the Mediterranean?” Had anyone ever honestly thought French naval superiority should be a British concern since the days of Napoleon, he wondered. Seemed sort of dumb, he thought.
Then he looked at Madame Bardoux and said, “That would mean Eden has mistaken Mussolini to be Britain’s adversary, not Hitler.”
Madame Bardoux added in a dismissive manner, “The British worry a lot about their Mediterranean lifeline to India, apparently in a highly distorted way.”
Regaining his composure, Dexter summed up, “An interesting misjudgment.”
Madame Bardoux added, “Eden is rumored to be the next foreign minister. What future misjudgments might he make?”
Dexter nodded thoughtfully at this insight; a useful bit of information that he would share with his colleagues back at the embassy, who tended to be star-struck by the superbly tailored foreign secretary-in-waiting.
Madame Bardoux added, “Eden is handsome like the American movie star Errol Flynn. Very dashing.”
Dexter smiled inwardly: Madame Bardoux did not mean this as a compliment.
Madame Bardoux lightly added, “The American press always loves a handsome face.” Boy, the needle was out today, Dexter thought.
Dexter made a playful grimace in response to the barbed comment. Then putting a lighter tone on his next remark, Dexter suggested, “With regard to leaving France out of the treaty negotiations, you might have your London ambassador mention to the British foreign office that France has a navy, too.” He smirked in self-satisfaction at this little piece of sarcasm, then flippantly added, “Tucked away in the harbor of some colony in Africa, I believe,” and he turned and smiled at Madame Lambert like a prankish schoolboy.
Madame Bardoux relaxed and smiled indulgently; she had performed her task: an American diplomat, conveniently at a low level, had been informed that possibly Anthony Eden was not the wunderkind so many believed him to be.
With a slight rustle of her skirt, Madame Lambert sat forward, prim as a school mistress, and addressed Dexter, “One minor point, if I may, if your allusion was to the harbor of Mers-el-Kébir in Algeria, well, Algeria is a departement of France, not a colony.” She sat back in her chair, a relaxed smile on her face.
Dexter’s eyebrows went up, then he grinned and nodded in acknowledgement at Madame Lambert. A pleasant sensation came over him from this minor point of correction; he felt not a trace of irritation.
Dexter decided upon another sally. “The diplomatic community is quite taken with Premier Laval’s widely quoted remark to the British chargé d’affaires upon hearing the news about the Anglo-German Naval Treaty, ‘I may not be a gentleman, Mr. Campbell, but I most certainly would not act as you have done.’” Once again, Great Britain had gone behind France’s back.
Dexter glanced sideways at Madame Lambert; she made a thin smile with what seemed a hint of approval at the premier’s remark. She was not exactly a screaming headline, thought Dexter.
Dexter turned back and smiled warmly at Madame Bardoux, more as a signal of his fascination with Madame Lambert than anything else. Madame Bardoux, of course, missed nothing.
Madame Bardoux returned Dexter’s smile and then looked knowingly over at Madame Lambert. Madame Lambert smiled, her face a noncommittal mask.
Deciding to move on to the next item on the agenda, Madame Bardoux placed her hands, fingers intertwined, on her desk neatly centered in front of her and in a businesslike manner continued, “Monsieur Laval has now added the duties of premier to his many responsibilities. So he has offices at both the Hôtel Matignon and here at the Quai d’Orsay. Madame Lambert and I have been charged with ensuring that the right official papers are maintained in the appropriate offices. Careful and thorough coordination is required,” and she looked at Madame Lambert for confirmation.
Madame Lambert smiled, nodded in agreement, and replied with one word, “Yes.” She looked at Dexter and smiled again, giving Dexter the accurate impression that one of Madame Lambert’s gifts was discretion, a deep appreciation for the power of words not said.
Dexter understood. He recalled the swirl of events leading to Laval’s ascension to power the previous week. A mad scramble had begun two weeks before as President Lebrun offered the premiership to one leading politician after another, each failing to muster a majority because the Chamber of Deputies would not grant “full decree powers” to meet the financial emergency driving the crisis. Finally, working through the night, the crafty peasant politician turned millionaire lawyer, Pierre Laval, cobbled together a government in President Lebrun’s office just as day was breaking. Government formed, Laval then led the dead-tired ministers out of the Élysée Palace into the early morning sunrise. The press quickly named the new government the Dawn Cabinet. Sounded hopeful.
The centerpiece of the political deal was a skillfully brokered “restricted extraordinary powers” motion that would give Laval broad authority to enact by decree financial measures to stem the flight of gold from the Bank of France. But the decrees would be subject to future approval by the Chamber; accordingly the requirements of parliamentary democracy were maintained. Long-time Radical Socialist party leader Édouard Herriot provided the margin of political support; he agreed to enter the government with five other bourgeois Radical ministers. Rumor was that Herriot had assured Laval of six months continuity in the Chamber.
Madame Bardoux spoke, “Yes, as foreign minister, Monsieur Laval successfully contained Hitler. Now, as premier, he is to balance the budget.”
Dexter replied, “Balancing the budget carries its own risks. It’s hard to predict, but some form of deflation seems inevitable if the franc continues to be maintained at its current exchange rate. It is overvalued.”
Madame Bardoux said, doubt in her voice, “Well, yes, but I of course do not know what the consequences of any particular financial policy will be.”
“Possibly more unemployment,” ventured Dexter.
Madame Bardoux winced. France was beset with difficulties.
Madame Lambert listened attentively, clearly grasping the argument, but not offering any further comment. Dexter looked at her inquiringly; she smiled at him pleasantly.
Changing the subject, Madame Bardoux asked Dexter, “What has you on our side of the river this afternoon?”
Dexter replied, “I am on my way to the Palais de la Mutualité to see the opening of the International Writers Congress. André Gide is going to make the opening remarks,” speaking of the dean of French literature, a man who probably would already have his Nobel Prize if not for his well-known Communist party sympathies. Leastwise that was the way the literary rumors were traveling across the cafés of the Left Bank, thought Dexter.
Madame Lambert inquired, “André Malraux is the co-chairman. Is he going to speak tonight?”
Dexter answered, “Probably. He is the energizing force behind the convention.”
Madame Lambert nodded in agreement and then ventured, “He seems to be the man to follow in Paris just now. He is the very symbol of the écrivain engagé”—the committed writer.
Dexter asked, “Are you interested in Malraux’s work?”
Madame Lambert replied, “His books on the Far East are fascinating. The collision of revolution with colonialism. The development of the ideal of revolutionary heroism.” Dexter sensed some hidden appreciation of the colonial situation in Madame Lambert’s comment; possibly she had some personal experience in the French Empire. Intriguing.
Dexter nodded in agreement, “Yes, quite so. He will be giving the closing address next Tuesday evening.”
Madame Lambert took in this bit of information without further comment.
Dexter rose and said, ??
?I must be going. I don’t want to keep you ladies from your work.” Then he stopped, recalling the reason for his visit. “Oh, yes. You are of course invited to the American embassy for our Fourth of July reception.” He stopped and swept both women up in his glance. “Both of you.”
Both women rose. Madame Bardoux held out her hand. “We will be pleased to consider it.” Dexter shook the outstretched hand.
He turned and held out his hand to Madame Lambert. She reached out and gave it a polite shake and smiled pleasantly at him. She made no comment on the invitation. He turned and walked out the door.