War and Peace

Last week was the 27th and most critical of World War II. There were signs of peace. The Allies had done nothing to start the three-month struggle between Finland and Russia, but paradoxically the indications that that struggle might end totted up as a disaster for them.

Certainly the week's activities had all the fog and confusion of a great military defeat. Important missions wound up in blind alleys or off in an entirely different direction. Important people were reported in one place, turned up in another. Amateur diplomats pinch-hit for professionals. Forgotten veterans found themselves dragged from retirement to undertake the gravest responsibilities. For almost a week almost nobody knew what in the world was going on.

Wednesday. The first electric news leaked out from Stockholm. Somewhere, somehow, at some previous time, Sweden had made possible peace negotiations between Russia and Finland. The Finns were so nearly beaten that almost their only hope lay in an Allied Expeditionary Force.

But Sweden had received numerous intimations that if she allowed the transit of Allied troops, Germany would attack her.

Perhaps the Allies would come anyhow. A quick peace was Sweden's only hope of escape from the dilemma.

Since the Allies did not want peace, Sweden's best bet was to get Germany interested. As her salesman she picked 75-year-old Sven Anders Hedin, explorer, adventurer, surveyor, mapmaker, Orientalist --but no professional diplomat. Happening to be in Berlin to thank Adolf Hitler for a decoration from the German Government, he called on and had a two-hour talk with Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop.

Sven Hedin had an attractive piece of goods to sell. Germany had everything to gain by peace: removal of the threat of a Northern Front, perhaps more help from a peaceful Russia, a resultant strengthening of prestige and power not only in the North as a peace broker, but in the Balkans, where the Allies are titular protectors as they were supposed to be in Scandinavia.

And peace on the Baltic, with no Allied intervention, meant uninterrupted shipments of ore from Sweden to Germany.

Meantime, in London the first scare-story appeared. Finland's Commander in Chief Baron Carl Gustav Mannerheim, 72, was reported gravely ill, watched over by personal physicians. The report was promptly denied.

Thursday. Finnish Minister to the Court of St. James's Georg Achates Gripenberg was summoned to the Foreign Office and asked what he knew about the peace negotiations. London was naturally anxious. If peace were concluded, Germany's northern flank would be secure, the southern made more secure. The important Scandinavian neutrals--"Norway points like a pistol at the heart of England," wrote Leslie Hore-Belisha recently --would fall deep into Russo-German influence.

At Helsinki, the Finnish Government tentatively issued the following announcement: "The Soviet Government is believed to have planned the presentation of demands to Finland more far-reaching in character than those presented last autumn." Paris-Soir printed rumored Russian demands as telephoned from Stockholm: 1) the whole Karelian Isthmus, including Viipuri; 2) all territory northeast of Lake Laatokka, including Sortavala; 3) the northern part of Finnish Lapland, including Petsamo; 4) a naval base at Hanko, plus the whole Hanko peninsula. The demands were said to have been presented in the form of a 24-hour ultimatum. For that piece of reportage, no correspondents were permitted to telephone anything out of Stockholm for 24 hours.

These terms were indeed stiffer than the pre-war demands. Before the war Russia asked only enough of Karelia to put Leningrad out of Finnish artillery range; she said nothing about the Laatokka region, which controls the biggest lake in Europe; and all she wanted was to lease Hanko. Said Foreign Minister Vaino Alfred Tanner, who made quite a name for himself as a phrasemaker as the week wore on: "There is no reason for the Finnish Government to occupy itself with mere talk. Let those talk who like to talk." Across the Baltic in Stockholm, Dr. Juho Paasikivi was reported to be in Sweden, "in personal contact" with a Russian diplomat. This was big news, if true.

Former Premier Paasikivi headed the un successful Finnish delegations to Moscow before war broke out. The Russians liked him, partly because he said publicly that he liked Stalin the man, partly because he talked back to Stalin the diplomat.

Meantime, the German Minister to Finland, Dr. Wipert von Bluecher had conferred with representatives of General Mannerheim and with Finnish Government officials. Germany was apparently swinging into action.

Suddenly another venerable character was revived: Per Evind Svinhufvud, 79, Finland's President 1931-37. He arrived in Stockholm by plane, bound for Berlin, maybe Rome, and peace. An old fighter whose name means "Pig's Head," Per Svinhufvud observed: "When the road gets rough, the old cart is pulled out of the barn." He never got to Rome, and did nothing important in Berlin.

Friday. The Copenhagen Ekstrabladet reported that Soviet Minister to Sweden Alexandra Kollontay had got in touch with Finnish Minister to Sweden Eljas Erkko.

This brought into play the man who had been Finnish Foreign Minister when war broke out, and, on Russia's behalf, a woman whose mother was part Finnish.

Nothing came of that, either. But in Paris that afternoon it was announced that the Allies had offered Finland direct military intervention--providing Finland asked for it. The French Government added up all war supplies sent to Finland: 405 airplanes (67 of them bombers) ; 916 pieces of artillery and 2,300,000 shells; 5,224 machine guns, 150 anti-tank guns, 450 grenades, 1,050 sea mines, 10,000 land mines, 60,000,000 infantry cartridges. This was not a bad effort for countries themselves at war, said a French spokesman.

About the same time the U. S. came on the scene. U. S. Ambassador to Russia Laurence A. Steinhardt conferred for an hour at the Kremlin with Foreign Commissar Viacheslav M. Molotov, and talked with other diplomats (see p. 15).

In Helsinki Foreign Minister Tanner made the following statement: "The Finnish Government acknowledges the Soviet Government has forwarded demands. . . .

At the moment I am unable to state the Finnish Government's attitude." So at last there was at least one island of official fact in the dark sea of rumor.

Peace was indeed being discussed between the belligerents. And the world laughed at the one joke which emerged from a grim week: Joseph Stalin had established contact with Helsinki's Government--which he had said did not exist; it had been "overthrown" by the revolt of the Terijoki People's Government.

One by one the governments now came out in the open. The Swedish Foreign Office, confirming its part as an intermediary, released the extremely interesting fact that Finland had asked for an armistice during peace talk. The Russians refused.

Saturday. Nazi Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop headed for Rome.

Was Germany going to persuade Italy to front for peace, thus bringing her into more cordial relations with Russia? Was Italy, raging mad at Great Britain on account of the coal controversy (see col. 3), to make her final choice and plunge into the war on Germany's side? No. As it turned out, Herr Ribbentrop was just going to see the Pope (see p. 21).

Meanwhile it came out that while yachting off Nassau last month, Swedish Axel Wenner-Gren received a cable from Field Marshal Hermann Goring telling him to come home and mediate the Russo-Finnish peace. He sailed to Italy on board the same boat as U. S. Under Secretary of State Sumner Welles, proceeded to Berlin at about the same time. Having made mints from vacuum cleaners and refrigerators, Axel Wenner-Gren is influential in money markets, but his only experience in international crises was accidental--while cruising in his huge Southern Cross he came on the sinking Athenia and rescued some of the survivors. Nevertheless, his good friend Herr Goering thought he might be useful.

Tardily, the Allies moved. In London and Paris the War Cabinets met to talk over the possibility of direct intervention.

They decided intervention was out. To get a sufficient force--say 80,000 men--into action would be an extremely slow process. Even if Scandinavia permitted transit, they would have to land far north, either at Trondhjem or Narvik in Norway.

Curiously, at the same time the British Government let it be known that it had been asked to forward to Finland a previous set of Russian terms but refused to do so because they were too severe. "The democratic world is rapidly becoming a burial association," said Dorothy Thompson.

By transatlantic telephone from Helsinki to Manhattan, Foreign Minister Tanner reported: "The world is full of rumors. ... Certain proposals have been made, and they are under consideration. I hope we will know on Monday."

Sunday brought the crazy week's climax. In many languages a German broadcast announced that a Finnish delegation had been in Moscow talking peace ever since Wednesday. An unnamed Finnish Army officer observed: "Now that they are trying to drag this war down to the level of European politics, there can be but little hope for a clear decision." In greatest secrecy, a plane had taken off from Helsinki, headed for Stockholm, stopped there briefly, set out again, and gone straight across Latvia to Moscow. Its passengers were an extraordinary crew.

First among them was none other than Premier Risto Ryti of the Finnish Government. That Premier Ryti should lead a delegation to Moscow was in itself the height of irony. Knighted by King George V of England in 1934 and a close friend of Governor Montagu Norman of the Bank of England, Ryti is one of the world's outstanding financiers and a confirmed Anglophile. His advice to Finnish businessmen has always been, "Protect yourselves. Undersell the Russians." He himself owns only British-made cars. For years Governor of the Bank of Finland, dapper, suave, immaculate Risto Ryti is well known on Wall Street, and the "Finns-are-honest" reputation of his country is due principally to his clever financial diplomacy.

Accompanying Capitalist Ryti into the Bolshevik's lion's den was plutocrat Major General Karl Rudolf Walden, member of the Defense Council, close friend and adviser to Baron Mannerheim. Known as Finland's cellulose king and one of her wealthiest citizens, he is editor-owner of the second largest Finnish daily, Uusi Suomi (New Finland). Third Finn was 71-year-old Vaeinoe Voionmaa, ex-Foreign Minister, ex-Minister of Commerce, professor of history, member of Parliament. Fourth Finn was Juho Paasikivi, who was supposed to have been in Stockholm.

Nightly radio tirades against Finland abruptly ceased, but Monday the Moscow radio suddenly came to life, violently attacked Risto Ryti, still in Moscow, renewed exhortations to Finnish soldiers to revolt against their "capitalistic Government." Simultaneously it was officially announced that the bombing of Finnish areas had been resumed "on a comparatively large scale."

From Stockholm it was reported late Monday that modified terms had been agreed upon in Moscow--strangely in the United States Embassy--and that the Finnish delegation was on its way home to win Parliamentary approval. The new demands were said to be considerably easier: Viipuri, Sortavala, and Petsamo would not be taken; and instead of Hanko, Uto (halfway between Hanko and the Aland Islands) would do for a naval base; the Terijoki Government would be abandoned.

If these (or similar terms) were accepted, Finland could be considered to have lost perhaps a sixth of her 3,600,000 population but to have kept her honor bright. The Russians would look a lot less potent to the world, but at home Stalin could be made to appear a conquering hero, having won the U. S. S. R.'s first outside fight since its formation. The Germans would again enjoy a solid rearguard of neutrals. And the Allies would again savor the bitter hopelessness of trying to be the moral and political chaperones of a part of the world they cannot get an Army into.

If the terms were not accepted, there were still plenty of Finns who could draw a bead.

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