CONFERENCES: Reunion at the Yar

George Marshall's pilgrimage to the Moscow Peace Conference was surrounded by episodes, signs & portents, few of them cheerful.

The Lost Spring. Marshall's first stop was Paris, where President Vincent Auriol gave a dinner in his honor at the Elysée Palace's somber Salle Murat. On the guest of honor's right sat Jeannette Vermeersch Thorez, longtime mistress and now wife of France's Communist boss. The First Lady of French Communism speaks no English, and Marshall has forgotten most of his French; so hardly a syllable passed between the table companions in the flickering candlelight, while Jeannette vigorously concentrated on her dinner (Consomme Camelia, Timbale Joinville, Jambon d'York, Baltimore Laitue Nivernaise, Mousse Cyrano, Fromages, Fruits). Maurice Thorez himself was conspicuously absent.

In the salon next door, a saxophone quartet from the Garde Rápublicaine, reinforced by a violin and a harp, played throughout the meal (sometimes with so much gusto that an attendant had to quiet them down). The consomme was accompanied by some airily impressionistic Debussy, the timbale by a new composition entitled Song of the Lost Spring. Just then, the springy weather outside gave way to a violent snowstorm, which remained over Paris until Marshall's departure for Berlin next day.

The weather was just as bad in Germany. People fighting their way through unusually heavy snow cracked bitterly: "They're even going to take spring away from us at Moscow." In Berlin, Marshall urged conclusion of a 40-year Big Four Alliance to keep Germany disarmed, which, he said pointedly, should eliminate the suspicions with which some of the U.S.'s allies regard the U.S.'s role in Europe. But ever since Jimmy Byrnes first proposed this alliance last October, the Russians have ignored the offer.

"Better to Buy a Guitar." In Moscow, though the sun was out when Marshall's plane landed, things looked scarcely brighter. Andrei Vishinsky appeared, wear ing the steel grey Soviet diplomatic uniform with its star like a marshal's. The U.S. Secretary of State wore a plain overcoat and a neat grey Homburg. Reported one U.S. correspondent: "So in these strange times, a civilian dressed up like a general met a general dressed like a civilian."

Into a waiting microphone, Marshall spoke a brief message: "This is my first real view of Russia and the Russian people, except for a brief period at remote Yalta." His blue eyes twinkled at the word "remote," as though it could be taken to mean not only Yalta's distance in time & space, but also the remoteness of Yalta's mood of fatuous confidence. That afternoon, Ernie Bevin, 66 that day, dropped in on Molotov, who had turned 57 on the same day; the double birthday party was not festive.

Next day, at his first Moscow press conference, Secretary Marshall was asked whether he would try to reform Soviet working habits (Russian diplomats usually work till late into the night); the Secretary grinned and said: "I have a great many important things to settle here and I do not intend embarking on anything I don't have to. Besides, the Russians might object to your use of the word 'reform.' "