Naturally, Baldwin also embodied the ideas and aspirations of his country’s ruling classes, but he was a lazy and rather inert ‘philosopher’, plagued by scepticism and doubts. There was something of the ancient Petronius in Baldwin. According to Lloyd George, he was not at all convinced that capitalism was the best of all possible systems in the world. Baldwin tended more towards the opinion that the capitalist system had entered its period of decline and that another system, most probably socialist, would take its place. It is not accidental that Baldwin’s favourite son, Oliver, is in the Labour Party. Accepting that capitalism’s disintegration and the creation of a new social system on its ruins might be inevitable, Baldwin prayed to God for just one thing: ‘Let it happen after me! I want to die under capitalism. I’m accustomed to it and I haven’t fared so badly under its conditions. The new generation can do what it wants.’ Chamberlain is different. He believes in capitalism devoutly. He is firmly convinced that capitalism is not just the best, but also the only possible socio-economic system, which was, is, and will be. Capitalism for Chamberlain is as eternal and unchanging as the principle of universal gravitation. This makes him a vivid and self-confident representative of bourgeois class consciousness, which in our days, as we know, can come decked only in deeply reactionary colours.

Indeed, Chamberlain is a consummate reactionary, with a sharply defined anti-Soviet position. I remember my first conversation with him about five years ago when I had just been appointed ambassador to Britain. The signing of a new trade agreement was on the agenda of Anglo-Soviet relations. Chamberlain complained to me about the insufficient number of our purchases in Great Britain, contrasting their relatively modest quantity with the major German exports to the USSR. I replied by referring to the better credit terms granted by Germany at that time. Chamberlain gave a sudden start and, with an icy expression, remarked: ‘Credit? Why on earth should we lend out our money to our blatant enemies?’ This may not have been very diplomatic, but it was entirely sincere, and I sensed that it came from the bottom of his heart. I retorted in the proper manner, but that is not the point. The point is that Chamberlain’s remark vividly illuminates the very essence of his mental profile. He both acknowledges theoretically and feels with his every fibre that the USSR is the principal enemy and that communism is the main danger to the capitalist system that is so dear to his heart. (Such was Chamberlain five years ago and such he is today; for, in the opinion of all who know him well, Chamberlain never changes.) Such is the prime minister we have to deal with now in England.

(2) Two paths . When Chamberlain became head of government in the spring of 1937 and came face to face with the complex problems of British foreign policy, which now essentially boil down to the question of how to defend the Empire and maintain British positions in the world, two possible paths were open to him. The first was the path of effective resistance to the aggressors (Germany, Italy and Japan) via the League of Nations and collective security, which in practice required the creation of a London–Paris–Moscow axis. That was the only reliable and efficacious path, but it demanded close cooperation with the ‘Bolsheviks’. Eden accepted that path and, judging by my last talks with him, he seemed to believe that the Western democracies, in their retreat before the fascist aggressors, had reached a certain critical line where they had to stop and say firmly: ‘Thus far and no further!’ Eden wanted to entrench himself on that line and gather strength, i.e. revive the League of Nations and cement cooperation between Britain, France and the Soviet Union, before going on the offensive against the aggressors. For Chamberlain, with his acute ‘class consciousness’ of a British bourgeois, this path was inconceivable. He just could not stomach the prospect of close cooperation with Moscow. But if he was to reject this first path, the PM had no choice in the current situation, which is so very difficult for Great Britain, but to take the second path – the path of a direct deal with the aggressor, which in fact meant something very close to capitulation before the aggressor. This is the path Chamberlain has taken. Of course, he now tries to sweeten the pill for himself and his party with various reassuring arguments. He thinks (as I have heard from reliable sources) that Italy and Germany are in considerable difficulty and so he will manage to get off quite lightly. Furthermore, he tends to exaggerate the significance of Austria’s role, as a bone of contention between Hitler and Mussolini which can easily be exploited in order to all but destroy the Rome–Berlin axis. All these political notions are highly dubious – not so much, perhaps, because Chamberlain obviously exaggerates the present difficulties of Germany and Italy, as because the British PM, through his cowardly tactics, is massively strengthening his opponents’ positions and inflaming their appetite out of all proportion. There is good reason to assume that by virtue of his diplomatic inexperience Chamberlain grossly underestimates the difficulties he will meet on the way to an agreement with the aggressors. There is also good reason to assume that major disappointments await the PM on the road he has taken. It is quite possible that, one sad day, Chamberlain will find himself left with nothing; and if this happens, very different forces may rise to power, which will be obliged, by the logic of things, to engage the aggressor in open conflict. But for the moment all this is just idle speculation. Today it is Chamberlain who stands at the helm of the ship of state, and the next few months promise a phase of ‘new experimentation’ in British foreign policy. Besides, we must realize that the PM will stop at nothing to achieve a ‘success’, or at any rate to reach an agreement with Italy and Germany such as could be presented to the voting public as a success. For, as I have informed you more than once by telegram, Chamberlain has staked both his reputation and the fate of his Cabinet on one card: cutting a deal with the aggressor. If this card fails him, he will be done for and the Conservative Party will find itself convulsing in the most severe internal turmoil.

(3) The gathering crisis. I’ll try to outline a few specific patterns against this general political background. From the very first days of his premiership, Chamberlain took the following course in regard to Eden: either to ‘tame’ the foreign secretary and make him an obedient tool of his policy or (if this failed) to get rid of him as quietly as possible. Naturally, Chamberlain preferred the first option, since Eden was undoubtedly the most popular member of the government and there were even many in the opposition who were well disposed to him. The loss of Eden would significantly diminish the Cabinet’s prestige under any conditions. The foreign secretary, however, turned out to be a much tougher nut than the PM had expected. Attempts to control Eden ended in failure. Relations between the PM and the foreign secretary worsened to a sometimes critical extent, as in the case of Halifax’s visit to Germany. As is known, the issue of Eden’s dismissal was already in the air at that point, but conflict was averted for a while. The Cliveden Set (the Astors, Halifax, Samuel Hoare, The Times editors, Garvin, etc.), who had arranged Halifax’s visit, continued their stubborn attack on Eden, despite their own temporary setback. In the PM’s own office, something like a parallel FO was formed, headed by Chamberlain’s first secretary Sir Horace Wilson, who acted independently from, and even against the wishes of, the real Foreign Office. Chamberlain acquired his own ‘unofficial’ and unaccountable agents in various countries, who supplied him with information contradicting that of the ambassadors and envoys; but the PM trusted this intelligence more than he did Foreign Office reports. This state of affairs, naturally enough, could only widen the gulf between the PM and the foreign secretary. Time and again Chamberlain and Eden were at variance on issues pertaining to the League of Nations, the Far East, Spain and other matters. Let me note here that, as I recently learned from absolutely reliable sources, Eden sympathized on a personal level with the Spanish government, but was forced to pursue a somewhat different policy under Cabinet pressure. The relationship between PM and foreign secretary thus grew more strained with every passing month, and their disagreement over the Italian negotiations was merely the straw that broke the camel’s back.

(4) The crisis . The specific details of the crisis take approximately the following form. Since last summer, Chamberlain has had a great desire to normalize relations with Italy in one way or another in order to create a more peaceful situation in the Mediterranean. He constantly strove to further his ploy, which began with an exchange of letters with Mussolini in July, but Eden held him back, using information supplied by the Italians themselves: piratical submarine adventures in the Mediterranean, Mussolini’s insolent bragging about the role of Italian troops in the capture of Santander, Italy’s ostentatious walk-out from the League of Nations. Eden’s reckoning was very simple: as he clearly intimated to me during our recent talks, he was playing a wait-and-see game, being fully aware that Mussolini’s position in Abyssinia, Spain, Austria and inside his own country was becoming ever more difficult with each passing month. Eden expected that in, say, six months Mussolini would be much more pliable, and so he was in no hurry to begin official negotiations. When, in early February, Grandi himself began to force the issue of serious talks, Eden simply sabotaged their progress.

In particular, Eden made a favourable resolution of the Spanish question a prerequisite for opening formal negotiations. In our talk on 11 February, he clarified this point as follows: negotiations with the Italians would not open until the evacuation of ‘volunteers’ began, and the concessions that Britain would be prepared to grant to Italy after the talks would not be effected until the last ‘volunteer’ left Spain. Such was the foreign secretary’s policy. Chamberlain did not like any of it. He, on the contrary, was eager to open negotiations with Mussolini as soon as possible.

One further consideration, in addition to those mentioned above, played a very significant role in causing Chamberlain’s impatience, namely: if Mussolini was not helped out in time, he might be done for, and what then? Who would take his place? The ‘Reds’?… The mere thought of a left Republican government, let alone a communist one, appearing in Italy on the ruins of the fascist dictatorship sent shivers down the spine of the ‘class-conscious’ PM. He was therefore indignant with the foreign secretary for his Fabian tactics and grew ever more convinced that a break with Eden was inevitable. A circumstantial factor played its part here.

The widow of the late Austen Chamberlain

Lady Ivy Chamberlain, wife of Austen Chamberlain.

went on holiday to Rome a while ago. Mussolini decided to ‘conquer’ her, and did so. He showered kindnesses and attention on the honourable Lady Chamberlain and managed to convince her that he was ready to sell Great Britain his ‘friendship’ for a very modest price. At the same time, however, Mussolini told Lady Chamberlain outright that he could not conceive of an agreement with Britain while Eden remained foreign secretary. Lady Chamberlain assailed her brother-in-law with letters demanding quick and resolute action. Her message to Chamberlain from Mussolini was that the question of reconciliation between Britain and Italy was at the point of ‘now or never’. There is every reason to believe that Lady Chamberlain’s influence played no small part in preparing the crisis.

It is also worth noting here another curious fact indicative of the role played by ‘unofficial’ persons and influences in the methods of Chamberlain’s foreign policy. As I have already mentioned, Grandi had been holding rather fruitless talks with Eden on Anglo-Italian issues since the beginning of February. On 17 February, in the afternoon, Sir Horace Wilson received a phone call from…Augur (alias Polyakov), an agent on Mussolini’s payroll for the past two or three years. Augur told Wilson in a raised voice that the Italians were highly dissatisfied with the slow pace of the talks and that Mussolini had sent a telegram to Grandi asking him to put the dilemma, ‘now or never’, before the British government in the starkest of terms. Wilson panicked and immediately reported this to Chamberlain, who also panicked and on the following morning, 18 February, asked Grandi to see him without consulting Eden. Although Eden was also summoned to attend the meeting, it was Chamberlain who conducted the entire conversation: Eden merely observed, intervening with the odd remark. Chamberlain first asked Grandi whether Italy was prepared, in compliance with the Stresa agreement, to take part in consultation on the fate of Austria (the agreement, as it is known, envisaged the possibility of consultation on this issue between Britain, France and Italy). Grandi replied that he had to confer with his government. Then Chamberlain began an exchange of opinions with Grandi on other points disputed by Britain and Italy. No binding statements were made, but the two sides sounded one another out extensively. With that, the morning meeting concluded.

After lunch, Grandi visited Chamberlain again and told him, on Mussolini’s behalf, that Italy would not take part in consultation on the Austrian issue. Despite this affront and Italy’s violation of yet another international agreement, Chamberlain did not even frown, but made a renewed and more resolute statement to Grandi that serious talks in Rome were highly desirable. After Grandi’s departure, Eden pointed out to the PM the danger of such an approach vis-à-vis the Italians and added that if Chamberlain was intent on sticking to his guns, he, Eden, would have to resign. This was beginning to look like a crisis.

So Chamberlain, sidestepping hallowed British tradition, convened a special Cabinet meeting after lunch the following day (19 February), a Saturday, where he raised the question of the immediate commencement of negotiations between Britain and Italy. A great battle followed, in which, as was to be expected, most of the ministers, headed by Chamberlain, Hoare and Simon, spoke against Eden. A minority, consisting mainly of the so-called young Conservatives (Elliot, Morrison,

William Morrison (1st Viscount Dunrossil), minister of agriculture, fisheries and food, 1936–39; minister of food, 1939–40; postmaster-general, 1940–42.

Ormsby-Gore, Stanley and others), as well as a few National Labourites and National Liberals, supported the foreign secretary. At the end of the meeting, Eden left for the Foreign Office, across the road from the PM’s residence, and returned a quarter of an hour later with his letter of resignation. Eden then went home, but there was great agitation among the members of the government. Fearing the repercussions of Eden’s resignation, Chamberlain implored several of Eden’s closest friends in the Cabinet to persuade him to revoke his resignation. I know that, throughout the evening of 19 February and the morning of 20 February, Elliot, Morrison and young MacDonald went to great lengths to try to keep Eden in the Cabinet, but Eden would not budge.

On Sunday, 20 February, another special Cabinet meeting was set for 3 p.m., at which Chamberlain himself, supported by a large number of his colleagues, tried to get Eden to reverse his decision. This attempt also ended in failure. Eden was adamant. That evening, the press was informed about the foreign secretary’s resignation. Cranborne resigned together with Eden. In the heat of the moment, several ‘young’ ministers (Morrison, Elliot, Ormsby-Gore, Bernays

Robert Hamilton Bernays, parliamentary secretary to the Ministry of Health, 1937–39, and to the Ministry of Transport, 1939–40.

and others) were also about to follow Eden, but Chamberlain held another hastily convened Cabinet meeting late on Sunday night and persuaded the ‘rebels’ to abandon their plan. In truth, this was not all that difficult for him. The so-called ‘young’ ministers were all too keen to hold on to their portfolios, and none wished to jeopardize their positions.

On the following two days, 21 and 22 February, debates were held in parliament in connection with Eden’s resignation. In accordance with British customs, Eden and Cranborne were to explain their moves. They both spoke in a fairly tough manner and emphasized the serious fundamental disagreements between the Foreign Office and the premier. Cranborne even described Chamberlain’s policy as ‘capitulation to blackmail’. Both received resounding ovations, not just from the opposition, but also from a significant section of the Conservative Party. Chamberlain gave his own account, while striving all the time to show that there had been no fundamental discord between him and the Foreign Office, and that Eden had resigned on a ‘secondary matter’ of a procedural nature, namely, the question of when to open talks with Italy: now or a little later? Chamberlain also received an ovation from his supporters, but it was weaker than that accorded to the disgraced foreign secretary.

On the second day of the debates, a vote of no confidence in the government was discussed, having been proposed by Labour. The opposition accused the Cabinet of betraying the League of Nations platform, on the basis of which the National Coalition won the last election of 1935. This predetermined the outcome of the ballot, since a vote of this sort was a clear case of party politics and forced government supporters, even those who disagreed with Chamberlain’s policy, to vote against for reasons of party discipline. That is what ultimately happened. The no-confidence vote was rejected by a majority of 330 to 168, with 22 official abstentions. Only one Conservative, Vyvyan Adams, voted with the opposition, although 60 to 70 government supporters abstained ‘informally’, that is, they either did not attend the meeting or left it before the voting began. The total number of abstentions thus amounts to 80–90 (out of the 431 members on the government benches). This figure shows the approximate number of Eden’s supporters in the National Coalition. The opposition stars spoke on the second day of the debates: Churchill on behalf of the Conservatives, and Lloyd George and Herbert Morrison on behalf of the Liberals and Labour. Their speeches were very unpleasant for the government, especially Churchill’s.

In defending himself, Chamberlain committed two major tactical errors. First, he openly announced that he no longer believed either in the League of Nations or in collective security, and thought it imperative to neutralize the League by removing Article 16. This elicited vigorous protests from the opposition and furnished the pro-League elements – whose number, in spite of everything, is still large in the country – with a powerful weapon for propaganda against the government. Second, Chamberlain revealed all too clearly that he associated his reputation and the fate of his Cabinet with the outcome of the Anglo-Italian talks. This will greatly weaken his position in negotiations with Mussolini and will again play into the hands of his adversaries in Britain itself. Be that as it may, however, the Cabinet withstood the storm and has now emerged from it, albeit with torn sails and serious leaking below the waterline. I am fully justified in using these colourful nautical phrases, because, in the informed opinion of the most experienced parliamentarians (Attlee, Lloyd George, Nicolson, Margesson,

David Reginald Margesson (1st Viscount Margesson), chief whip of the Conservative Party, 1931–40; secretary of state for war, 1940–42.

the chief whip of the Conservative Party, and others), this recent crisis has seriously damaged the government’s prestige. If an election were to be held now, say these same political experts, Chamberlain would lose at least 100 to 150 seats and, at best, would return to parliament with a negligible Conservative majority. But since the government has no plans to call an election now, Chamberlain has the opportunity to retain his post on the captain’s bridge and to chart a course for the ship of state with greater freedom than before.

(5) What prospects are now in store? The events described above certainly represent an achievement for the Cliveden Set. Eden’s replacement as foreign secretary by Halifax has made this particularly clear. The opposition and some members of government launched a major campaign against Halifax’s candidature, but Chamberlain eventually got his way, albeit by assuming personal responsibility in the Commons for all major foreign-policy issues. Undersecretary Butler, who has been appointed to replace Cranborne, is a newcomer to foreign affairs, but is a man who will diligently obey his superiors. The Chamberlain–Halifax–Butler combination leaves not the slightest doubt that from now on Chamberlain will be the real foreign secretary. What is Chamberlain’s programme? Everything that is known to me of the PM’s foreign-policy ambitions and everything that surfaced so clearly in the course of this recent crisis allows one to formulate Chamberlain’s programme according to the following four points:

(1) Renunciation of the League of Nations and the principle of collective security (couched in an indirect form, of course), and a more or less patent return to traditionally English ‘balance-of-power politics’.

(2) The opening of Anglo-Italian negotiations is the first step towards a four-power pact . It is quite possible that talks with Germany will be carried on in parallel, but it is more likely that serious negotiations between London and Berlin will open when (if ever) talks between London and Rome are successfully completed.

(3) Isolation of the USSR as the first stage on the path towards various more ambitious plans (an attack by the fascist aggressors against the USSR, etc.) which Chamberlain may not yet be thinking about as practical political objectives.

(4) Vigorous build-up of Great Britain’s armaments.

Such is the general outline of Chamberlain’s foreign-policy programme. Were he to succeed in implementing the second point, i.e. in securing a four-power pact, he would undoubtedly go to the polls to consolidate the Conservative majority for another five years. One should not discount the possibility of the PM risking election even if the Anglo-Italian agreement alone were to be signed, providing that the latter proved remotely advantageous to Great Britain. The present parliament has entered the third year of its term; a general election is traditionally held in the fourth year, but no one can know what 1939 will bring. New foreign-policy problems and an economic depression, or even a crisis, are highly probable. In such a situation, how could one fail to take electoral advantage of so favourable a development as the ‘appeasement’ of Europe, resting on an agreement with Germany and Italy?

But will Chamberlain succeed? There are arguments on both sides. Undoubtedly, the intensification of the class struggle at a global level paves the way for the realization of a four-power pact. The personal ambitions of Hitler, Mussolini and Chamberlain also point in this direction, abetted by France’s feeble and wavering political line. On the other hand, there are many obstacles on the path to a four-power pact. There are serious economic and political conflicts between Britain and France on the one side, and Germany and Italy on the other, which are not easy to bridge. Naturally, the typical tactlessness of German diplomacy only makes these difficulties harder to overcome. What will the final outcome be? Nobody could give a definite answer at the moment.

One thing is certain, however: France’s position will play a critical role, however the issue is resolved. Labour and Liberal opposition inside Britain, which is now launching a major movement in defence of the League of Nations and against the government, can also play its part. The events of the next six to eight months will prove critical, and future historians may one day mark 1938 as a decisive year in the development of foreign politics in our era. Meanwhile, we should prepare ourselves for a spell of deterioration in Anglo-Soviet relations, the duration of which will depend directly on the fate of the four-power pact.

Although Litvinov had succeeded in convincing Stalin that Russia could not remain ‘completely passive’, he did not really anticipate a favourable response to his ‘final appeal to Europe for a collective action’. This move was aimed as much at exonerating Russia of possible accusations of isolationism as it was at scotching the widespread rumours that the purges had rendered her militarily weak. However, with Cadogan now secure at the helm of the Foreign Office, Vansittart’s faint support for Maisky could do little to persuade the Foreign Office to respond to Litvinov’s appeal. It had become apparent to Maisky that Vansittart (who now consistently referred to the government and the Foreign Office as ‘they’) had been pushed aside. His successor Cadogan, who was well attuned to the prime minister, warned about the possible repercussions the Soviet overtures might have in parliament: ‘The opposition will say “Here is collective security: march under the brave Litvinoff’s banner”. The Russian object is to precipitate confusion and war in Europe: they will not participate usefully themselves: they will hope for the world revolution as a result (and a very likely one, too).’

Pons, The Inevitable War, pp. 114–15 and DVP, 1938, XXI, docs. 59, 88, 102 & fn. 59. Cadogan’s minutes from 17 March, following a meeting with Maisky in which he had submitted Litvinov’s appeal for an international conference, are in TNA FO 371 21626 C1935/95/62.

But Maisky had also to protect himself against the storm brewing in Moscow, where the third public trial of former Trotskyists, accused of plotting with the Germans and Japanese to topple the Soviet regime, had just commenced. Among the accused were the 70-year-old Christian Rakovsky, the first Soviet ambassador to Britain, and Arkadii Rosengolts, who was Maisky’s superior in London in 1926. Both were eventually shot.]