THE NATIONS: The Look of the World

In the interim between Geneva I and Geneva II (due to resume July 13), the headlines tended to stress the disarray in the Western camp: Britain's impatience for a summit on any terms, Adenauer's quibbles with Britain and quarrels with his own party, De Gaulle's insistent demand for big-power status. But serious headlines, based on the anxieties of the moment, are apt to obscure basic trends that move more slowly—slower trends that justified a more optimistic outlook in July 1959.

Around the world, peace could be captured in the sight of Dior models in front of Stalin's tomb, in the pensive glances of Belgium's Prince Albert and Italy's Princess Paola Ruffo di Calabria before their marriage this week. The prosperity of Western Europe could be seen at the crowded beaches, in the tumult of new cars crowding the Autobahnen. Those insecure lands of the Middle East, of Africa, of Asia were taking turns that caused concern as well as hope; in some, harsh methods employed new guises. But in this Geneva interval, when a basic worldwide test was how firmly nations stood on their own, how able and anxious they were to resist the reach of Communism, the results were impressive. A partial check list:

Western Europe. Never before have so many shared in such prosperity. The recession is over: in France, a record 102,820 cars were produced in February; Germany has 2,670,000 TV sets. One result: in only France and Italy are Communist parties still strong, and in neither do they have an effective say in the country's policy. The new six-nation Common Market promises revolutionary business opportunities for a market of 166 million people.

Berlin. Still free. Still drawing around 2,000 refugees a week from East Germany.

Eastern Europe. Perhaps more resigned to its fate (a limited victory for Khrushchev), but not even in the remotest satellite village would anyone hazard a really free vote.

France. Its finances back in shape, its economy is healthier than it has been in three decades; its public—with only scattered misgivings—is content to accept the side effects of firm rule in gratitude for tranquillity. The result is an ally acting more prickly in its pride, but stronger.

West Germany. Its prosperity steadfast; its politics momentarily jolted by Konrad Adenauer's awkward handling of an aged man's transfer of power.

Great Britain. Facing a general election before next spring, with the Socialist Opposition—its reforming passion assuaged —unsure of what it has to campaign about. Not in 35 years, boasts Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, has there been so favorable a combination of full employment, steady prices.

Spain & Portugal. Both nations are now in the restless stage before an aging strongman surrenders authority (after 27 years for Salazar, 22 for Franco). But in each, the anxiety to avoid violence will probably prevent a revolution—or the injection of much democracy.

Outside Europe. 1959's changes mostly reflect what the optimists call "creative abdication" of empire and the pessimists call retreat. But to the surprise of many, including the participants, an independence movement that begins as a protest against the West, taking help where it can find it, often ends by discovering that its freedom has to be as jealously maintained against another outsider: