We arrived in Paris yesterday, at 9 a.m., and wandered about the city until evening. Talked a lot with Surits. Did a bit of shopping. I also met Robert Longuet (the son of the late Jean Longuet

Jean Laurent-Frederick Longuet, leader of the French Socialist Party.

) and we arranged the transfer to the I[nstitute] of M[arx], E[ngels] and Lenin of various relics and objects that his great-grandfather had left in the family (including two armchairs, in one of which Marx wrote his Das Kapital, and Marx’s correspondence with the publisher of Das Kapital).

It so happened that Halifax and I travelled from Paris to Geneva in the same train and even the same carriage. Photographers at the station made our life hell: they were dying to take a photograph of me next to the British foreign secretary. But I managed to avoid that.

When the train moved off, Halifax met me in the corridor of our carriage and said that he would like to see me in Geneva the following day for a thorough discussion. He promised to call me immediately after our arrival. He has yet to call.

The Paris train gets in to Geneva devilishly early, at 7.13 in the morning. We all crawled out of the carriages sleepy, gloomy and peeved. For some odd reason, Halifax decided to walk from the station to the hotel. It was a grey, drizzly morning, and his long, lean figure striding through Geneva under a black umbrella seemed to have leapt from a cartoon by Low.

Halifax began by asking me to explain our resolute opposition to the British formula of 8 May.

Emphasizing that this was my personal reply, I indicated the reasons underlying our position.

The Soviet Union can pursue one of two courses today:

(1) A policy of isolation and freedom of movement in international affairs. This could ensure its relative security (considering its might, its abundant resources, the size of its population, etc.). I say ‘relative’ because such a policy would not be able to stave off a world war, with all the ensuing consequences.

(2) A policy aimed at building a peace bloc, primarily with Britain and France, which would impose heavy military obligations on the Soviet Union and limit its freedom of action in international affairs, but which would promise greater security, for by taking this route one could hope to avert a world war.

The USSR prefers the second course and wishes to pursue it. But, naturally enough, it assesses the Anglo-French proposals in the light of the possibilities open to it.

Yes, the Soviet Union is prepared to abandon freedom of action and assume heavy obligations, but only on condition that the British and the French mean real business. Otherwise it makes no sense for the USSR to refuse the opportunities offered by the first option.

What do we understand by real business?

In the first place, it means the possibility of averting a world war – this is our main goal.

It further means maximum guarantees of security and victory for the USSR should war nevertheless break out.

What is required for these aims to be accomplished?

What is required is a concentration of peace-loving forces so powerful as to make the aggressors lose hope of military success. Such a powerful concentration can only be attained through a tripartite pact, reinforced by a military convention. Therein lies the basis of our proposals. Without a tripartite pact, there can be neither real security nor hope of victory in the event of war. If the Anglo-French side declines the tripartite pact, it will be much more expedient for us to follow the course of isolation and ‘relative’ security.

Meanwhile, what does the Anglo-French formula offer? Even if we look at the latest ‘Vansittart version’?

It does offer a tripartite pact, but on the basis only of Poland and Rumania. Can such a pact prevent war? No, it can’t. Can it at least provide a sound guarantee of security for our western borders? No, it can’t, since all the Baltic States remain unprotected. What is the point, then, of our accepting the 542Anglo-French formula? There is none. So we reject it as being deprived of the principles of equality and reciprocity, and as being incapable of preventing war.

Such is our position. I believe I have expounded it with the utmost clarity.

Halifax listened very attentively, interrupting me fairly often to pose a question or request an explanation. At the end, he declared that he now understood our point of view entirely and found much of my argument convincing.

Then I, in turn, asked Halifax why the British government was so opposed to our proposals.

Halifax replied that the British government had two principal motives.

First, the Baltic States, in their fear of Germany, do not want to be guaranteed by a tripartite pact. In the end, one cannot impose guarantees on others by force.

Secondly – and this is far more important – many in Britain think that a tripartite pact may push Hitler to unleash war straight away, and therefore, rather than preventing war, the pact will hasten it. Halifax made a point of emphasizing that this was not his own opinion, but the opinion shared by influential British circles, including some of his colleagues.

I replied that I found both arguments unconvincing. The reluctance of the Balts was being greatly exaggerated (just as the reluctance of Poland and Rumania to form a bloc with the USSR had once been exaggerated). As for the probable effect of the pact on Hitler’s conduct, the reverse ought to be the case. The gravest mistake made by certain leading English figures is their complete failure to grasp the psychology of such men as Hitler and Mussolini. These Englishmen perceive them as they would a business man from the City or an English country gentleman. They could not be any more mistaken! Aggressors have an entirely different mentality! Those who would like to understand the aggressor mentality would do better to look to Al Capone as a model. We have experienced this for ourselves in Japan. That experience and our observation of European events have brought us to the firm conclusion that aggressors respect only force! Only force will make them doff their cap! That is why I am absolutely convinced that the creation of a tripartite pact would not only not lead to war, but would make Hitler and Mussolini retreat.

Halifax asked with obvious interest: ‘After all, the Japanese seemed to concede to all your demands in the fishery business, didn’t they?’

‘Yes, they did,’ I answered, ‘but consider their behaviour: for months they’d been demanding, insisting and threatening, and tormenting Litvinov with endless meetings, but when they finally understood that they couldn’t frighten us, they conceded to all our demands at the very last moment, at precisely five minutes to twelve. Five to twelve! The Japanese were playing tough, but our nerves proved stronger than theirs, and as a result we won.’

We then returned to the Anglo-French formula.

‘But if,’ Halifax continued, ‘the Baltics received guarantees like Poland and Rumania, wouldn’t that satisfy you? Why would you then need a tripartite mutual assistance pact? Your entire western border would be covered, and the Germans would have no way of attacking you without encroaching on the guaranteed countries on your western border.’

I replied: ‘But what if our neighbours fall victim to “indirect” German aggression? What if, using the well-known fascist technique of carrot and stick, Germany provokes internal coups in our limitrophes and sets up its own governments there? Or bribes and threatens the governments that are currently in place? What if these states become German allies, or, at the very least, allow German troops heading for the USSR to pass through their territory? In that case our limitrophes will offer no resistance to German aggression, and your guarantees towards them will remain inactive. What then?’

These arguments set Halifax thinking. They had clearly never entered his mind before, at least not in such a clear and precise form. Eventually he said: ‘I understand: You are afraid that at a critical moment your limitrophes might capitulate. Yes, it’s a serious consideration.’

Our conversation came to an end. Shaking my hand on parting, Halifax summed up: ‘I will think over the content of today’s conversation and try to draw the appropriate conclusions in time for the Cabinet’s next meeting.’

A strange business! On the day of my departure for Geneva, a Tory MP I know said to me with a wry smile: ‘I have nothing to do with diplomacy, and may not understand much about it. Yet it seems strange to me, as an outsider, that in order to have “serious conversations” about the Anglo-Soviet pact, you and Halifax should need to go to Geneva.’

I laughed and readily agreed with him. But here’s a curious thing: when talking with me in Geneva, Halifax was far more straightforward, free and human than he is in London. Moreover, we talked for an hour and a half, while in London Halifax never allows ambassadors to stay with him for more than thirty minutes.

How should we understand this? Can it be the effect of Geneva’s celebrated atmosphere?