(See Cover) Into the grey Elysee Palace-home in other historic times of Madame de Pompadour, Napoleon I, Tsar Alexander I, the Duke of Wellington, Napoleon III; home now of gentle President Albert Le-brun-strode a onetime Premier of France one morning last week: Pierre Laval, fresh from Rome. M. Laval was grave. He reported to President Lebrun that there was nothing to be hoped for from the hungry Italians. If anyone could wring concessions from Rome, it should have been the realistic co-author of the ill-fated Hoare-Laval Ethiopian Deal; but he might as well have tried to wring wine from a Parmesan cheese.
The President called a Cabinet meeting.
According to Scoopster Wythe Williams, M. Laval repeated his report. Suddenly, like a Nazi delayed bomb, Edouard Daladier, who had for some weeks lain quiet as a dud, exploded. It was all the fault of this disgraceful rout in Flanders, he raged.
Instantly most of the Cabinet put the blame squarely back on Daladier's own round shoulders: he had run the country two years, he had run the war seven months-why was France unprepared? Daladier angrily countered that France was unprepared because of the crackpot mismanagement of his predecessors, the Front Populaire; because of their 4O-hour week, their love of defense tactics, their coddling of labor. He added that one more military disaster would force France to sue for a separate peace.
Georges Mandel, terrifying Minister of the Interior who had set about ruthlessly suppressing dissension in the land, then roared that he would order a lettre de cachet (imprisonment without trial) of anyone advocating separate peace-including Cabinet Ministers. The argument crackled and burned. Suddenly heavy-faced Edouard Daladier stormed out of the room. Sarraut and de Monzie, spaniel-like Ministers of Education and Public Works, followed him.
Half an hour later Premier Paul Reynaud, who had sadly sat through all this, handed President Lebrun his resignation.
The President, in a panic, told M. Reynaud he could not do this thing. France was beside the abyss, the danger was immediate and deathly. If Reynaud resigned, democracy in France would be finished; the only alternative was military dictatorship under Weygand or Petain. In the end Reynaud agreed to stay-providing he could purge the Cabinet.
Out went Daladier and all his spaniels.
Out went not only five Ministers, but out, too, went an epoch. At long last and after many shifts, the supine time was over. In the days after this historic meeting, France might easily be beaten down by unbeatable force, but not again by lack of determination.
Chamberlain Too? So final was the break in France, so final the obliteration of the "Munichois" and all they represented, that Great Britain at once reacted.
Tardily, last week, Neville Chamberlain moved from No. 10 to No. n Downing Street. Winston Churchill prepared to move into the Prime Minister's residence.
There was some speculation in Whitehall as to how Winnie's cat, Nelson, would get along with a cat named Munich who for some time has lived at No. 10. Betting favored Nelson to chase Munich out.