Snowden v. Europe

A thin-lipped little Yorkshireman with the cold, drawn face of a stone gargoyle--that was Right Honorable Philip Snowden, Chancellor of His Britannic Majesty's Exchequer, as he bristled and battled last week at The Hague. What he wanted was for twelve nations to reopen the question of how German reparations are to be divided among the creditor powers. That question was closed at Paris (TIME, May 13. et seq.) when the Young plan was drafted by the countries' foremost financiers. In presenting their handiwork to European statesmen. Owen D. Young and his colleagues described it as "an indivisible whole," declared that to be workable it must be adopted in toto as drafted. Last week the declaration of a Morgan, a Young, a Schacht was simply sneered at by Laborite Snowden. In homely Yorkshire fashion he referred to the Young Plan as a "sponge cake" in need of being recarved. For Britain a bigger piece of sponge cake!

Stumping about the conference painfully on his two rubber-tipped canes, the Rt. Hon. Snowden seemed a puny match for his Latin opponents: the delegations of France, Belgium and Italy, marshaled by doughty French Prime Minister Aristide Briand. It was a queer tussle. M. Briand is at least three times as great in girth as the frail Yorkshireman, and nine years his senior in statecraft. The Latins, supported by Japan and with Germany's blocky Foreign Minister Dr. Gustav Stresemann neutral, were in solid phalanx pressing for adoption of the Young Plan unchanged. They were satisfied with the size of their pieces of sponge cake. Since Britain wanted more--since she wanted some of their cake--there was battle royal. In four smashing rounds Battling Snowden led with logical lefts and sarcastic rights, followed with a walloping ultimatum. He stooped to rabbit-punch with personal insults in the clinches, and at last sent his opponents reeling groggily with a blow that packed the might of the whole British Empire.

Round One. Cornered and isolated from the start, Chancellor Snowden said with a twisted smile: "If the Young Plan could be adopted by majority vote, I suppose it would be carried today, but fortunately adoption must be unanimous."

As his first and only conciliatory point the Yorkshireman said that there was nothing wrong with the size of the sponge cake, with the total fixed by the Young Plan for Germany to pay. That part of the plan he was ready to adopt. But he objected strenuously to: 1) the scaling down of the British Empire's share in German reparations to 18%, whereas under the Spa agreement of 1923 she was to get 22%; 2) the allotment to France, Belgium and Italy of nearly all the sums "unconditionally" pledged by Germany "in kind" (i.e., in commodities like coal) for the next ten years, whereas Mr. Snowden wanted them stopped at once, believing that they constitute "dumping" and are ruinous to Britain's depressed trade.

Declaring pungently that Great Britain is tired of being "Europe's henpecked husband," Chancellor Snowden demanded that the conference take steps to modify the Young Plan in accordance with his wishes. Trembling with earnestness, clutching the heads of his canes until his knuckles showed white, his hurled his ultimatum: "I have behind me the unanimous support of my government, the support of the House of Commons, irrespective of the party in power, and the support of the entire population of Great Britain. I speak frankly. I cannot compromise."

Round Two, Snowy-bearded, patriarchially irate French Finance Minister Henri Cheron rose to hurl a counter ultimatum: "There can be no thought of making a division of annuities different from that of the Young Plan. Mr. Snowden's proposal is not acceptable."

Thumping angrily with his canes. Chancellor Snowden snapped: "If the Young Plan can't be changed, what are we all here for? All the changes asked for by the British delegation can be made within the structure of the report without undermining the foundations of the plan."

Shifting the grounds of the debate, the French and Italians launched emotional tirades, recalled that huge cuts had been made in their original claims against Germany, rehearsed their "sacrifices" in accepting the Young Plan.

"You gave up what you never could have gotten anyway ! " shouted back Chancellor Snowden. "No reply has been made to my arguments. . . . But if you have started talking of sacrifices I will tell you of sacrifices! . . . Great Britain has a War debt now more than twice the War debt of any other nation."

Ringside Comment. Soon it appeared that British Public opinion was indeed breaking party lines, surging to support Philip Snowden. "His robust patriotism pleases us as much as it surprises us," cried the conservative Morning Post, normally a ruthless flayer of all Laboriteism. "We are delighted that there is no nonsense about internationalism in the line that he has taken, and that he stands firmly upon the British interest."

Evidently the Briton in the street had pricked up ears at "sponge cake," grinned approval at the project of ending John Bull's "henpecked husbandhood." The most amazing tribute came from Quebec, where famed Conservative Winston Churchill, immediate predecessor of Chancellor Snowden at the Exchequer, was lecture-touring last week. Said he warmly: "I think Snowden is opposing the Young Plan not on personal or party grounds but solely as an Englishman who wants fair play!"

On the other side of the prize ring the Paris press stormed, catcalled. "It is possible to say," wrote famed authoritative "Pertinax" (Andre Geraud) in L'Echo de Paris, "that never before has so bitter a quarrel raged between London and Paris."

"All is consternation at The Hague!" headlined typically La Liberte. "Snowden is torpedoing everything--the conference, the Young Plan, the peace of Europe!"

Round Three. As the Latins refused to yield to his demands, the little lame Yorkshireman waxed in spleen, finally dived into a clinch. In arguing against Mr. Snowden a whole sheaf of figures had been cited by Finance Minister Henri Cheron, and the Frenchman punched home his point with a citation from the British Balfour Note of 1922.

"I hope that M. Cheron will not consider me discourteous," flashed Chancellor Snowden. "but I do not accept the accuracy of a single one of his figures. I could refute every construction he has placed on his figures. . . . His interpretation of the Balfour Note is grotesque and ridiculous "

To prod the insult doubly deep, Mr. Snowden, when he had done, hobbled out past the French delegation with lips pursed, whistling, set off for a motor ride.

"Foul!" Flustered and anxious to avoid a scene, the conference interpreter did not translate into French the insult to M. Cheron--and M. Cheron understands no English. Not until Mr. Snowden was safely away did the Frenchman's bushy white beard begin to bristle. Colleagues had told him what had been said. M. Cheron rushed to the acting chairman of the session, Belgium's Baron Houtart, demanded that he obtain an apology. At Mr. Snowden's hotel, Baron Houtart had to wait some six hours before the Chancellor returned from his outing. Then with a sardonic grin, Philip Snowden wrote: "The words used . . . are not in the English language in any way offensive. . . . I did not know that in the French language they had any discourteous significance." Of course grotesque is exactly as offensive as "grotesque"--the English and French spellings and meanings being absolutely identical. "Ridiculous" and ridicule are the same. But as a diplomatic gesture the joke would hold water, was perforce "accepted as an apology" by incensed M. Cheron.

Round Four. By now, of course, negotiations had reached total deadlock. The Latin delegations--maneuvered by M. Briand who himself spoke seldom--had dodged the Snowden attack by treating it as bluff. Such a wild man, they indicated, could not be speaking for British Prime Minister James Ramsay MacDonald, that sane and steady Scot. The full staggering power of Chancellor Snowden's punches was not felt until Mr. MacDonald officially declared: "In view of the statements so widely read on the Continent that Mr. Snowden is bluffing, I want to make it perfectly clear that the claims he is making that Great Britain has now reached the limit of bearing unfair burdens have all of our support."

For the first time the Latins realized that they must yield--or adjourn. As a last resort the French started a rumor that J. P. Morgan would consent to act as "mediator," obviously hoped he would. When the story was spiked from a source close to Mr. Morgan, who was in Scotland last week, Prime Minister Aristide Briand intimated that France might make "substantial concessions."