CZECHOSLOVAKIA: Pax Runciman

The British Government, although continuing to insist that Viscount Runciman arrived in Prague last week as a “purely private person,” engaged a 15-room suite for him at the Alcron Hotel—long the favorite resort of Sudeten German politicians—and proceeded to pay all the bills.

Continentals expect an Englishman to arrive on diplomatic missions with an odor of sanctity, and Prague was not surprised to read that before Lord Runciman left Cowes, where he had been yachting, he bowed his head in its Holy Trinity Church while the vicar intoned a prayer “for one who is about to go to Czechoslovakia. . . .

May he be successful in insuring peace in that country!” Ace London Cartoonist David Low went to town on the angelic chord (see cut).

A mountain of luggage, exceptional even for a traveling British peer, went with Lord & Lady Runciman to Prague. He told reporters: “I may stay a month, or it may be three months.” The Czechoslovak Government, on discovering that the British Legation staff were turning out in top hats to meet a Purely Private Person at the station, sent their own top hats, and in every observable respect Britain’s unofficial mediator became official. His large staff of British Civil Servants released press handouts on crisp sheets headed “From Lord Runciman’s Mission.” In his first public utterance at Prague the Viscount created a great stir by thanking Sudeten German delegates for having met him at the station. Vexed Czechs made tart comments. Sudetens, learning with glee that “the British milord speaks German but he does not speak Czech,” began referring to him as “Runzelmann” —which, freely translated, means The Man With the Wrinkled (i.e., Thoughtful) Brow.

Konrad Henlein, the Sudeten German Führer, sent only subordinates to confer with the Viscount. The consideration with which he treated them was considered spectacular. Lord Runciman’s program included 20-minute formal calls on President Eduard Benes and Premier Milan Hodza; two lengthy conferences with henchmen of Henlein, the second lasting until 2 a. m.; next day lunch with Dr. &

Mme Benes; a short conference at his hotel with non-Nazi Czech Germans.

On the third day the British mediator uncorked his first proposal. He declared that before he could attempt to advise he must understand the problems of Czechoslovakia, must study them for at least a fortnight. Therefore, he proposed that the Government and the Sudetens stop negotiating while he studied. To this provisional Pax Runciman they agreed. Instead of discussing the disputed Minorities Statute, the Czechoslovak Parliament met for only 20 minutes—its first meeting since the war crisis was averted on May 21 —then meekly adjourned indefinitely.

Meanwhile, tourist travel to Prague picked up magically overnight. Tourists wolfed tasty Prager ham and downed it with Pilsner beer, convinced that they were safe so long as The Man With the Wrinkled Brow continues his studies.

When U. S. Ambassador to Germany Hugh Wilson, an ace career diplomat, suddenly flew to Prague on what he carefully described as “just a holiday visit” to his friend U. S. Minister to Czechoslovakia Wilbur J. Carr, Czechs were delighted.

They thought his coming was a friendly gesture by President Roosevelt and the State Department, a nudging reminder from Washington to London that the bulk of U. S. public opinion would not be favorable to a Runciman Report so couched as to sell Czechoslovakia down the river. Private Person Wilson was soon received by President Benes and Premier Hodza, had a talk with Private Person Runciman, insisted he was only vacationing.