Death of an Optimist

Old Aristide Briand called Eduard Benes the only "permanent Minister" in Europe. Others dubbed him "Europe's smartest little statesman." That was how he looked between the wars. He did not change but the world did, and long before the end came last week, Benes looked anything but permanent, anything but smart.

"A Lofty Ideal." Benes began his first exile in 1915 when he was a wispy little 31-year-old scholar. He wanted for his Czech people "the freedom of conscience and a lofty ideal of justice." That was his line of thought, but his line of action was to work hard for the dismemberment of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. When it fell, only Habsburgs, sentimentalists and thoroughly wrongheaded people failed to join in the rejoicing.

The Habsburg anachronism was replaced by the Wilsonian unrealities. The two most important of the new splinter states--Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia--operated on the Habsburg principle of a dominant nationality reigning over subordinate nationalities. Neither they nor their little neighbors could defend themselves. Progress and good intentions had created a power vacuum into which rushed first the Nazis, then the Reds.

The Czechoslovakia created by Benes and his great chief, Thomas Masaryk, was by far the best of the little states. It was not good enough. Hitler accurately took its measure--and the measure of the great nations. Before Munich, Hitler had screamed: "Benes ... In that name is concentrated all that which today moves millions, which causes them to despair or fills them with a fanatical resolution. The decision now lies in his hands: Peace or War." Benes thought so, too. Later he wrote: "I had to decide whether to provoke the war or not . . ." He chose not to. Once again he became an exile.

A Heavier Yoke. After the war he went back, trusting in the Russians as firmly as he had trusted in France and Britain. The Russians, too, betrayed his optimism. When Klement Gottwald demanded power, Benes might have stopped him, but only at the risk of civil war. Benes gave in to him, as he had to Hitler.

In each of his three great decisions, 1915, 1938 and 1948, Benes did what seemed best at the time. No contemporary of Benes, anywhere, had a right to brand him as wrong. Yet as it worked out, his beloved Czechs today live under a yoke infinitely heavier than Franz Josef's.

How heavy that yoke was for Benes himself was related by his U.S.-naturalized brother John, recently returned from a long stay in Prague. Said John: "He was always worn out. He told me he simply could not get along with Gottwald."

Last week Czechs wept over Benes' death. They were weeping not only for a little statesman but for a little country.

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