Rainbow at the Citadel

Whatever Franklin Roosevelt or Winston Churchill said--or did not say--the real story of their meeting in Quebec's Citadel would be acted out step by step, in the answers by action to these questions:

>How soon will the "second front," infection center of ill-will between the English-speaking Allies and Russia (see p 23), be established in Western Europe?

>How soon will the Allies get decisive help to China for the war against Japan?

>Will the U.S., Britain, China and Russia learn to live together as great powers must--now and after World War II ends?

If Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill found the right answers, Quebec's Citadel, where the end of New France was once written by the great Wolfe, may again become a landmark of history. If they did not, their conference may some day be known as the most tragic failure of World War II.

Pressure of Victories. Roosevelt and Churchill worked under great pressure. The rapid pace of military events called for urgent decisions: even as they met, the Germans backed up toward Italy's Po River, bombers continued their spectacular successes in softening up -Western Europe, the Russians recaptured Kharkov, U.S. air power forced the last Japanese out of the Aleutians. Victory was now certain--and, in Europe, perhaps near. The political pressure was equally tense. The worries of Europe's little people, now that victory could be foreseen, demanded a firm policy toward the postwar government of Germany, Italy, Poland, the other occupied nations. And over the conference hung the huge, dark shadow of a distrustful Russia.

At week's end, timed like an explosion, came a Moscow announcement that Maxim Litvinoff, great & good friend of collaboration, had been removed as Russian Ambassador to the U.S. and an unknown diplomat, Charge d'Affaires Andrei A. Gromyko, given his place. There was other strong evidence that Russia was retreating--or bluffing a retreat--into nationalistic lone-wolfing, perhaps even a separate peace.

Pressure of Possibilities. The time called for long-range policy, and Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill are by nature improvisers. Their previous meetings have followed the pattern set in their first war council in the North Atlantic, when the U.S. was not yet in the war, Britain had yet to win her first victory and the atmosphere was as heavy with ifs and buts as the Atlantic fog that surrounded them.

Did Quebec change the pattern? There were a few hopeful signs, mostly on the military side. Great strategic decisions were obviously made. The baronial, turreted pile of the Chateau Frontenac, famed old Quebec hotel where conference advisers lived, was so full of gold braid that the eyes of bellhops and chambermaids were dazzled. Rumor said that colonels were sleeping two to a room.

To the Citadel itself, the grim grey fortress where Roosevelt and Churchill lived and worked on the Plains of Abraham 300 ft. above the broad St. Lawrence River, went China's earnest Foreign Affairs Minister T. V. Soong--a hint that real action might be on its way in the Far East.

Also to the Citadel went Britain's hand some, greying Foreign Minister Anthony Eden, champion of cooperation with Russia, and Secretary of State Cordell Hull. Reports were that Eden, and possibly Hull, would now go to Moscow to confer with Joseph Stalin. If so, perhaps some light was about to be let into the dark places of United Nations diplomacy.

Smoke & Light. At Quebec there was much colorful smoke, but no light. Winston Churchill, doughty and cherubic as ever, arrived by special train that pulled to a stop at the little Wolfe's Cove station, in the parish of Notre Dame de la Garde. The parish homes emptied, the townspeople rushed to the station, carefully avoiding a brush with two youngsters who arrived in dripping bathing suits.

Winston Churchill doffed his grey Homburg; flashlight bulbs popped; one newsman shouted: "What, no cigar?" Slyly, Churchill raised his hand--the cigar was hidden behind a glove.

Next day Franklin Roosevelt's train reached Wolfe's Cove. A motor caravan formed: Roosevelt, Churchill, Canada's stocky Prime Minister William Mackenzie King, Canada's venerable Governor General, the Earl of Athlone. Up narrow winding roads they drove to the Citadel, past the old battlements and moats to the poplar-shaded parade grounds. There, against the purple background of the Laurentian Mountains, the Stars & Stripes rose high and proud; the red-coated Canadian Royal Mounted Police Band played The Star-Spangled Banner.

The ceremony ended. The crowd departed. In the solitary fastnesses of the old fort, Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill went to work.

Strangers & Gags. The old-world city of Quebec, only walled city in North America, was full of crowds and excitement. British journalists cabled rich accounts of the narrow streets teeming with gaily-dressed inhabitants--until they discovered that the women in bright colors and kerchiefs were really U.S. tourists. Everybody laughed over a gag credited to Churchill before he left England.

Interviewer: "Will you offer peace terms to Germany?"

Churchill: "Heavens, no! They would accept immediately."

At the Chateau Frontenac, the Canadian Government had taken over at the cost of $10,000 a day, had evicted all the 800 guests but one: 90-year-old Miss Alice Caron, who has lived there for a quarter-century and refuses to move for anybody. Mounties accompanied bellhops on their business in the halls. Every arriving package, even if just an Admiral's laundry, met a suspicious inspection.

In the Place d'Armes, the public square outside the Chateau, the meeting made a philosopher out of Old Pierre, who has driven tourists in his caleche for 40 years. His business booming but his spirit troubled, Pierre mumbled through his beer-stained mustache:

"Certainement, we are lucky to have this big meeting here. But all my life I can drive through the big gate at the Chateau. Now what happens? A big fellow with a revolvaire says whoa. He wants my red pass. You would think I carry a bomb--n'est-ce pas?"

Life on the Fringes. Brown-haired Subaltern Mary Churchill had a busy, flattering vacation. Quebec girls sent her bundles of fan mail. She went shopping, headed straight for the underwear counter, confided to the clerk: "The ones I've got on, I made out of the skirt of an old evening dress." She held a press conference, described her father as "awfully nice to work for and not a bit difficult."

At the Clarendon Hotel, 150 newsmen, the cream of the international press corps, waited for news, soon discovered they would get none at all. Britain's redheaded Minister of Information, Brendan Bracken, held a press conference to console them, described Roosevelt, Churchill and King as "the three oysters." Said he:-"News is scarcer than water in the Sahara."

Newsmen learned that Roosevelt, who likes to work mornings, and Churchill, who likes to work over a Scotch & soda at night, had reached a compromise. They worked late, but got up for an 8:30 breakfast and began working again. One day they went fishing for the speckled trout in

Grand Lac de l'Epaule. They ate the proudest concoctions of three chefs, a head baker and a head pastry cook.

Otherwise the conference was shrouded in secrecy. No one could get near the Citadel. On Sunday morning the Anglican Bishop of Quebec, the Rt. Rev. Philip Carrington, felt justified in complaining mildly to his congregation that the conference might as well have been held in another world for all that Quebec residents could see of it.

Life to Come. Bishop Carrington and the rest of the world could only wait and hope. Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill had doubtless solved their immediate military problems. Their political problems were much harder. The Russian demand for a second front had always conflicted in the past with U.S.-British military policy (after the bitter post-Pearl Harbor defeats) of attacking only in overwhelming force, after a thorough pasting from the air. And in spite of Russia's blandly ignoring the fact, the U.S. and Britain were now busily engaged on five major fronts, all over the world. Conflicting Russian-British-U.S. attitudes toward postwar Europe can be resolved only in an atmosphere of faith and close communication which last week was obviously still lacking.

Unless the U.S., Russia and Britain can reach an agreement out of last week's conferences and those to follow, peace planners may as well stop talking about international cooperation and go back to power politics. Perhaps Russia, now proved unbeatable by arms and economically self-sufficient, is determined to play a lone hand anyway--but the U.S. and Britain must still try.

Life As It Was. Many a hardheaded American, secretly scoffing at punditical peace planners, believes his nation already has a long-range foreign policy. Such Americans see the world on a status quo basis, with Germany left as a nation under a new government, conquered nations restored to about their prewar boundaries, the gold standard re-established and attempts to expand foreign trade limited to bigger and better reciprocal trade agreements and whatever reduction of tariffs could be worked out.

In such a world, there would be four dominant nations: the U.S. in the Western Hemisphere, England in its far-flung British Commonwealth, Russia in Europe, China in the Far East. Each would try to prevent warfare in its own sphere and avoid conflicts with the rest. If they joined in any sort of international organization it would be loose and informal. They would try to postpone another war --but would never ascend to such idealism as thinking of World War II as a war to end wars.

Even for this minimum goal the great powers would have to get along in the thousand details, big and small, of inter national diplomacy. Otherwise the post-Tenement of war may be pathetically short-lived.

Just before Franklin Roosevelt arrived in Quebec last week, a summer rain stopped, the sun came out, and a rainbow appeared in the southern sky. To some who waited at the railway siding, this was an omen. But most of the world would wait for better evidence.

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