Alessandro Brogi - A Question of Self-Esteem - The United States and The Cold War Choices in France and Italy, 1944-1958 (2001, Praeger) PDF

A QUESTION
OF SELF-ESTEEM
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in International History
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A QUESTION
OF SELF-ESTEEM
THE UNITED STATES
AND THE COLD WAR CHOICES
IN FRANCE AND ITALY, 1944–1958
ALESSANDRO BROGI
International History
Erik Goldstein, William R. Keylor,
and Cathal J. Nolan, Series Editors
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Brogi, Alessandro.
A question of self-esteem : the United States and the Cold War choices in France
and Italy, 1944–1958 / Alessandro Brogi.
p. cm.— (International history, ISSN 1527-2230)
Includes bibliographical references (p. ) and index.
ISBN 0-275-97293-3 (alk. paper)
1. United States—Foreign relations—France. 2. United States—Foreign
relations—Italy. 3. France—Foreign relations—United States. 4. Italy—Foreign
relations—United States. 5. National characteristics, French. 6. National
characteristics, Italian. 7. United States—Foreign relations—1945–1989. 8. Cold
War. 9. North Atlantic Treaty Organization—History. 10. World War,
1939–1945—Influence. I. Title. II. Series.
E183.8.F8 B725 2002
327.44073'09'045—dc21 2001034584
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available.
Copyright © 2002 by Alessandro Brogi
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be

reproduced, by any process or technique, without the
express written consent of the publisher.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001034584

ISBN: 0-275-97293-3
ISSN: 1527-2230
First published in 2002
Praeger Publishers, 88 Post Road West, Westport, CT 06881

An imprint of Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc.
www.praeger.com
Printed in the United States of America
The paper used in this book complies with the

Permanent Paper Standard issued by the National
Information Standards Organization (Z39.48-1984).
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To my babbo
Contents
Series Foreword ix
Acknowledgments xiii
Abbreviations xv
Introduction 1
1 Invitation and Pride 13

France’s “Rebirth” 14
Italy’s “Rebirth” 19
America’s View 25
2 The Old Game 47

Maneuvers 48
A Sober Reassessment 59
3 Mastering Interdependence? Status, the “Third Force,”

and the Western Alliance 75
A Self-Reliant Third Force? 75
Status, Economic Recovery, and Their Contradictions 78
“Third Force” and “Atlantic” Choices 88
Toward a “New Game” 102
viii Contents
4 Mastering Interdependence? Status, Nationalism,

and the European Army Plan 117
France’s Quest for Leadership 118
Italy’s Reactions: The Quest for Harmony? 131
Confronting Communist Nationalism 136
Status, the New Look, and the Death of the EDC 144
Redesigning Interdependence 154
5 Mediterranean “Missions” 171

Imperial Decline 172
A Mediterranean “Vocation” 191
6 A Question of Leadership 223

Instability and Stagnation 224
The French “Savior” 227
A “de Gaulle” for Italy? 237
Epilogue: Containing French “Grandeur” 244
Conclusions 259
Bibliography 275
Index 305
Series Foreword
This series furthers historical writing that is genuinely international in scope

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While this series embraces traditional diplomatic history, it does not
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that the job of the international historian is done solely by consulting the
official records of various foreign offices. Instead, it encourages scholarly
works that also probe the broader forces within society forces that influence
the formulation and execution of foreign policies, social tensions, religious
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tific and technology issues, and international cultural relations.
x Series Foreword
On the other hand, the series avoids works that concentrate exclusively
on the foreign policy of any single nation. While not ignoring the central
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and of Great Britain in the nineteenth century, history written according to
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and other countries (and actors) with which it comes into contact.
The majority of recent publications in international history, in both book
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The editors of this series hold appointments in departments of history,
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Series Foreword xi
ally and morally sterile, assertion that historical truth is entirely relative,
and therefore that all interpretations of past events are equally valid, or
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ual historians. This group of scholars, the natural clientele of this series,
instead believe that it is the principal obligation of scholarship to ferret out
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sion to a more general audience in jargon-free, unpretentious language,
which any intelligent reader may readily comprehend.
Erik Goldstein
William R. Keylor
Cathal J. Nolan
Acknowledgments
This project has benefited greatly from the generous assistance of various
institutions. An entire year of my research and writing was sponsored by an
Award Fellowship from the John C. Baker Peace Studies Program at Ohio
University. I also received support from the Contemporary History Institute
and the John Houk Memorial Travel Grant at Ohio University for my
archival research in Rome, Paris, and at various locations in the United
States. International Security Studies at Yale University provided funding
for the final revisions of my manuscript. Additional support for my research
travels came from the Dipartimento di Studi sullo Stato of the University of
Florence, Italy, the Centro di Studi Americani in Rome, and the Università
Cattolica of Milan. To all these institutions that sustained my transatlantic
endeavor, I am deeply grateful.
Some archivists stand out for their remarkable skills and courteousness:
Madame Chantal Tourtier de Bonazzi of the National Archives in Paris,
Carlo Fiorentino of the State Archives in Rome, and, above all, David
Haight of the Eisenhower Library in Abilene, Kansas.
At Yale, International Security Studies provided not only funding but also
the congenial setting for the completion of my manuscript. I was lucky to
receive attention and constant intellectual stimulation from Professor Paul
Kennedy. Associate director Ted Bromund has always been remarkably
available for discussion and exchange of scholarly information, and Ann
Carter-Drier, as everybody knows at ISS, is the indispensable head of staff,
always on top of things.
xiv Acknowledgments
Another ideal setting for the completion of this work was provided by
Praeger Publishers. Heather Staines responded promptly and patiently to all
my queries and efficiently handled the various stages of publication. Cathal
Nolan, William Keylor, and Erik Goldstein of the International History
Institute at Boston University helped me during my final rush to turn in my
manuscript.
Several friends and colleagues from both sides of the Atlantic have dis-
cussed parts of my manuscript with me. In particular I would like to thank
the following—listed by country and not by importance: from the United
States—Charles Maier, Carole Fink, Chester Pach, Vladislav Zubok, Timo-
thy Naftali, Jeffrey Herf, Norman Goda, Marc Selverstone, Patricia Weits-
man, James Miller, Joel Blatt, and “co-Olin fellow” at ISS Anthony Loh;
from Italy—Marta Petricioli, Antonio Varsori, Leopoldo Nuti, Federico
Romero, Elena Aga-Rossi, Silvio Pons, Massimiliano Guderzo, Luciano
Tosi, and John Harper; from France—Marc Lazar and Pierre Melandri. My
special appreciation goes to Joseph Nye for talking with me about matters
of “soft power,” to Geir Lundestad for once again frankly and enthusiasti-
cally discussing our respective views and variations of his “empire by invi-
tation” thesis, and to Ennio Di Nolfo, my first mentor and always a fun-
damental inspiration for my work. My most avid reader and proofreader,
who patiently reminded me of the art of conciseness in the English lan-
guage, is former Ohio University “comrade” Raymond Haberski. So I wish
to say to him in Italian grazie mille.
I came to the United States eleven years ago to enroll in John Lewis Gad-
dis’ graduate seminars at the Contemporary History Institute of Ohio Uni-
versity. Since then and through these years as colleagues at Yale, John has
been my mentor and friend, a model in every respect. I have for him the
greatest admiration and owe him my greatest debt of gratitude.
Scholars sometimes are lucky to have someone who, with understanding
and caring, gives the most valuable support: in my case, her name is Ellen.
My father, Alberto, always supported my ambition, even when it took me
so far away from home. To him, who was sempre paziente but this time
could not see the results of his patience, this book is dedicated.
Abbreviations
ACC Allied Control Commission (in Italy)

ACI Advisory Commission Italy
AFL American Federation of Labor
ARAMCO Arabian American Oil Company
CFLN Comité Français de Libération Nationale
CFM Council of Foreign Ministers
CIA Central Intelligence Agency
CIO Congress of Industrial Organizations
CLN Comitato di Liberazione Nazionale
CPSU Communist Party of the Soviet Union
DC Democrazia Cristiana
EAC European Advisory Commission
ECA Economic Cooperation Administration
ECSC European Coal and Steel Community
EDC European Defense Community
EEC European Economic Community
ENI Ente Nazionale Idrocarburi
EPC European Political Community
ERP European Recovery Program
FLN Front de Liberation Nationale
IAR International Authority for the Ruhr
IRBM Intermediate Range Ballistic Missiles
JCS Joint Chiefs of Staff
xvi Abbreviations
MDAP Mutual Defense Assistance Program

MEDO Middle East Defense Organization
MRP Mouvement Républicain Populaire
NAC North Atlantic Council
NAT North Atlantic Treaty
NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organization
NEAAC Near East Arms Coordinating Committee
NSC National Security Council
OCB Operations Coordinating Board
OECD Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development
OEEC Organization for European Economic Cooperation
PCF Parti Communiste Français
PCI Partito Comunista Italiano
PPS Policy Planning Staff
PSB Psychological Strategy Board
PSDI Partito Socialista Democratico Italiano
PSI Partito Socialista Italiano
RPF Rassemblement du Peuple Français
SACEUR Supreme Allied Commander, Europe
SCUA Suez Canal Users Association
SFIO Section Française Internationale Ouvrière
SWNCC State, War, and Navy Coordinating Committee
UNRRA United Nations Relief and Recovery Agency
USIE United States Information and Education
WEU Western European Union
American troops of the 28th Infantry Division march down the Champs Élysées, Paris, in the “Victory Parade” (National
Archives, 111-SC-193197)
Amintore Fanfani with John Foster Dulles at the U.S. Embassy in Rome, October
1958 (Courtesy of Photo Archive of “La Nazione” Florence, Italy)
Introduction
Luigi Barzini, one of Italy’s best-known journalists, was a keen observer of

national characteristics. In his book The Europeans he analyzed how such
traits affected the movement for continental unity, and he significantly char-
acterized the French as “quarrelsome” and the Italians as “flexible.” No
mere clichés, these terms describe France’s visceral attachment to its pre-
sumed role as beacon of modern Western civilization, and the Italians’
repeated attempts to reconcile their national dignity with their tendency to
follow the powerful.1 For the French it’s a matter of preserving their
grandeur, for the Italians it’s about keeping their bella figura (roughly trans-
lated as “nice appearance”). This preoccupation with “show” and prestige
has traditionally affected both nations’ foreign policy. During the Cold War,
American leaders had the difficult and delicate task of accommodating the
“Latins’ care for appearances.” Yet scholars have overlooked the extent to
which considerations of prestige or status (I will use the two terms inter-
changeably) affected France’s and Italy’s relationships with the United States.
Many historians have simply explained away prestige for France and
especially for Italy during the Cold War as a matter of appearance, a dis-
play of rhetoric meant primarily for domestic use, which nevertheless had
little significant impact on the two nations’ internal stability, and even less
on their international relations. The most outstanding leader of Cold War
France, Charles de Gaulle, is credited as the exception, since his policy of
grandeur was such an intrinsic part of his outlook and did affect world
diplomacy, especially during the first years of the Fifth Republic.
2 A Question of Self-Esteem
This study challenges that common view in two ways. First, it shows that
appearance and substance were inextricably linked together for France and
Italy even in the first decade of the Cold War, when these two nations’ inter-
national power reached a nadir and their internal situation absorbed most
of their leaders’ attention and energy. France’s and Italy’s pursuit of prestige
served not only their political, but also their strategic and economic inter-
ests, and consequently had a significant impact on the Western alliance in
general. American leaders were quick to understand the domestic and inter-
national implications of the French and Italian “care for appearances,” and
particularly they tried to gear the two allies’ policies of “rank” toward the
establishment of a self-reliant Western Europe that would be able and will-
ing to share the burdens of the alliance with Washington.
And second, through a comparison between France and Italy, this
approach reveals patterns and characteristics of their foreign policies that
have remained hidden in separate treatments of the two countries. More-
over, a comparison of considerations and perceptions of status offers a new
paradigm for the study of the Atlantic Alliance in general, helping to solve
old questions and generate new ones on the reciprocal manipulation
between the United States and its European allies.
Most American and European historians of the Cold War now agree that
the Atlantic Alliance, while granting the United States a hegemonic posi-
tion, has always left a remarkably wide scope of initiative for its European
members. Each of America’s allies could base its leverage on its strategic
importance, or its enduring political and economic influence in many areas
of the world, or a long tradition of expertise in diplomacy; leverage could
even be founded on a nation’s vulnerability to external attacks or internal
subversion, if leaders of that nation could make the argument that its col-
lapse would hurt America’s vital interests.2
But all these elements of leverage were compounded by issues of status,
or prestige, particularly for Italian and French leaders. Prestige mattered;
and the appearance of leverage it projected was, to those leaders, just as
important as whatever more concrete means of influence on U.S. policies
they might gain. Indeed, a close reading of documents reveals that the con-
stant projection of the appearance of leverage was meant to create the sub-
stance of it in the near future. French and Italian leaders presumed that if
their nations were treated respectively as a “world power” and as one of
Europe’s “great powers,” they would become such powers; they believed
that prestige, usually a product of power could, under the particular cir-
cumstances leading to the formation and consolidation of the Western
alliance, precede power and even produce it. What follows not only illus-
trates how constant this assumption was in French and Italian international
choices, but also tests how constructive or misleading it turned out to be in
each of those choices.
Introduction 3
Why France and Italy? So why was status a crucial factor in French and
Italian foreign policies? That issue, to be sure, was rooted in historical tra-
ditions: for France those of the dynastic nation-state, which defined
national interests in terms of national honor; and for Italy the experience of
the Risorgimento, which had ushered the country into a precarious position
as the newest and least powerful member of the European Concert of Pow-
ers. But World War II and the early Cold War period added more specific
reasons.
The need to restore national self-esteem became a paramount element in
French and Italian prestige policies. After their humiliating defeat in the war
France and Italy were both discredited powers. Even though Germany and
Japan were defeated and prostrate as well, both nations were still respected
and feared as potential giants in the international system. The war con-
firmed for France that its position as one of the world powers was at best
problematic, and for Italy that it had hardly ever been a great power in the
first place. Both countries suffered a profound disappointment in their illu-
sions of grandeur, which resulted in a curious mixture of deference and
resentment toward the Anglo-Saxon “masters” of great power politics.
Often, their insistence on being treated as equals with those “masters”
reflected their urgent need to compensate for their actual loss of power and
to exorcize their inferiority complex. As the last of the great powers, France
constantly dreaded being demoted to the level of Italy; as the first of the
smaller powers, Italy aspired to catch up with France.
Weak parliamentary systems, persistent government instability, and the
threat of strong Communist parties further prompted the two nations’ lead-
ers to pursue international prestige in order to legitimize their authority or
to divert public attention from internal problems. Often those leaders
demanded a more “honorable” position within the alliance simply to refute
their Communist or Gaullist opponents’ charges of subservience to Ameri-
can interests. In the two governments’ view, therefore, such requests were
consistent with their alarms about their nations’ internal instability.
Differences were also important about which a few basic points must be
clarified. The difference in power and international clout between France
and Italy, big though it was, was not the most relevant one. Indeed this
study’s focus on status, revealing French fears of demotion in conjunction
with Italian yearnings for promotion, restores Italy as a factor almost as
crucial as France in certain Cold War events. There were more important
differences of style in French and Italian policies of prestige. Whereas the
“flexible” Italians generally appeared manipulative, the “quarrelsome”
French often resorted to defiance and confrontation.3 For postwar Italy,
prestige as a restored democracy often counted more than prestige deriving
from power policy. Despite Vichy, France needed no analogous endorse-
ment from the other democracies; instead with determination it held on to
its fading rank as a world power. Italy, with its weak sense of nation and
state, continued to spawn leaders who, more often than their French coun-
terparts, sought prestige for its own sake, as a matter of personal ambition,
or as a means to prevail in factional struggles at home.4
Defining and Redefining Prestige. The main reasons and purposes of

French and Italian status policies thus sketched must be framed in a work-
ing definition of prestige. Like every concept based on perception and psy-
chology, prestige may be hard to measure; but it is certainly not intangible
or elusive for, as political scientist Ralph Hawtrey put it, it is partly “a mat-
ter of calculation . . . partly of indirect inference.” Nor is it a minor com-
ponent in the contest for power internationally (enhancing leverage) as well
as internally (bolstering legitimacy). The notion that prestige is an intrinsic
element of power is a common denominator in the literature on Interna-
tional Relations, from Realism to the most recent theories. “Prestige, rather
than power,” Robert Gilpin goes as far as arguing, “is the everyday cur-
rency of international relations, much as authority is the central ordering
feature of domestic society.”5 It is beyond the scope of this work to provide
a thorough examination of the IR debate on prestige. A few basic interpre-
tations of prestige, however, must be noted in order to clarify the term’s
meaning and role in French and Italian Cold War policies.
Hans Morgenthau’s definition of prestige still bears universal validity.
Prestige, in his view, is one of the “basic manifestations of the struggle for
power on the international scene” (next to protection of the status quo and
imperial expansion). The purpose of prestige, Morgenthau adds, is “to
impress other nations with the power one’s own nation actually possesses,
or with the power it believes, or wants the other nations to believe, it pos-
sesses.” Prestige indeed has become “particularly important as a political
weapon in an age in which the struggle for power is fought not only with
the traditional methods of political pressure and military force, but in large
measure as the struggle for the minds of men.”6
For Morgenthau, and for practitioners of International Relations theory
ever since, prestige is not for “any nation,” for it remains a function of real
force, an additional instrument in a great power’s collection. The use of
prestige by a smaller nation, which aims at painting an exaggerated picture
of its power, is “absurd” and “foolhardy,” in Morgenthau’s words. The
point has merit when one thinks of Mussolini’s bluffs, for example. Based
on this axiom, however, one would mistakenly conclude that the prestige
policies of post-World War II France and Italy, relatively weak and poor
nations, were always counterproductive. My hypothesis instead is that pres-
tige policies provided the two nations with some notable achievements, and
more generally, that those policies had an impact on the Western alliance.
Even though other IR theorists still focus on the superpowers, they pro-
vide some clues toward a redefinition of status policies that might apply
Introduction 5
to minor powers as well. Norman Padelford and George Lincoln stress

that prestige “augments power.” John Spanier argues that by gaining
“reputation for power” a nation will be less likely to be challenged.
Becoming thus an instrument to avoid conflict, prestige is “of special con-
cern to ‘would-be great powers.’” Interestingly, Spanier adds that a
“nation’s prestige may outlast its power.”7 A. F. K. Organski offers an
important insight, contending that “a reputation for power confers power,
whether or not it is justified.” He also recognizes that power is a “subtle
thing;” it may be enhanced by the possession of its actual instruments but
also “by the skillful use of whatever instruments exist.” A nation, he adds,
“can increase power by making the most of a past reputation and of a
future promise.”8
Finally, theorists of “psychological deterrence” and “democratic peace”
propose, in contrast to the realists, a new definition of reputation and
power in light of the diminished importance of military means. As Bruce
Russett puts it, “power is the ability to prevail in conflict and overcome
obstacles” to get the desired outcome “through control of the environment,
both human and nonhuman.” And, as William Wohlforth has appositely
added, “the capabilities needed for winning the war are not identical with
those useful for influencing the peace;” prestige (or a perception of power)
in a situation of peace turns out to be “more dynamic than measurements
of material relationship.”9 While neither Russet nor Wohlforth suggest
divorcing prestige from the ability to coerce, their arguments may never-
theless be extended to a non-coercive notion of prestige fitting the category
of “soft power.” That category, as Joseph Nye characterizes it, is “the abil-
ity to achieve goals through attraction rather than coercion.” Since soft
power rests “on the appeal of one’s ideas or culture or the ability to set the
agenda through standards and institutions that shape the preferences of
others,”10 it is plausible to conclude that a nation’s intellectual “appeal”or
its diplomatic “ability” to shape institutions that serve its interests are also
forms of prestige. Soft power and prestige therefore are two mutually nur-
turing aspects of a nation’s influence, even regardless of that nation’s mili-
tary or economic strength, or “hard power.”
All the above definitions of prestige, inasmuch as they depart from the
most obvious one that describes it as a reflection of power, and especially
military power, can be applied to “declining” post-World War II France and
Italy. Four major indications emerge from this study about French and Ital-
ian notions of prestige. First, since leaders of both nations expected or
hoped that prestige would be a fundamental source rather than a result of
their power, then it can be inferred that they regarded prestige more as a
substitute rather than a complement of power. So France and Italy respec-
tively clung or aspired to a higher rank than they deserved assuming that
“prestige,” as historian Frederick Scott Oliver maintained in 1931, “draws
material benefits mysteriously in its train.”
Second, as a sort of “backup notion,” in case prestige did not produce

power, France and Italy also strove to demonstrate that their reputation as
nations of considerable influence would outlast their actual power. This line
of argument was also meant to elude as much as possible the most imme-
diate challenges, whether they came from a resurgent Germany, or colonial
peoples, or a hostile neighbor such as Yugoslavia.
Third, trying as much as they could to avoid the yardstick of economic
and military power, France and Italy sought alternative sources of prestige.
With varying degrees they attempted to define their prestige, and conse-
quently their leverage in terms of their historic reputation (their glorious
past and indispensable contribution to Western civilization), their moral
reputation (the nation of the “Rights of Man” with its mission civilisatrice,
or a renewed Italy embracing democracy even more than its Western part-
ners did), and their diplomatic reputation (as nations able to provide ideas,
forging and engineering institutions of international cooperation). These
were the various ways for France and Italy to enhance their “soft power”
and to pit it against the material power of both friends and foes.
The emphasis France and Italy placed on their moral reputation and
diplomatic skills illustrated a fourth and most remarkable aspect: a para-
digm shift in their status policies. Each nation’s firm goal, to be sure,
remained that of improving its position in the hierarchy of the Western
alliance. What changed in the period under examination here was the
method of attaining that goal. Prestige was still identified with nationalism
and a balance of power outlook in postwar France and Italy. It is therefore
important to test how both nations eventually reconciled their attachment
to rank with their acceptance of European and transatlantic interdepend-
ence. Several historians and analysts concluded that the advantages of
international cooperation and derivatively of economic modernization
eclipsed traditional concerns of status. Even those scholars who argue that
European integration mainly helped to consolidate the nation-state, stress
the economic and security advantages of that cooperation versus the draw-
backs of old-style balance of power policies.11 This study verifies whether
integration prompted the Europeans to reinvent not only national sover-
eignty but also national prestige and rank. So, did France’s and Italy’s pow-
erlessness induce them to seek alternative, less “jingoist” avenues to pres-
tige? To what extent did they manage to use interdependence as a
springboard to greater status? If such “mastery of interdependence” was a
new kind of prestige, how did it overlap with or, at crucial moments, even
replace traditional notions of status grounded in nationalism? And how did
this whole change affect the Western alliance?
Prestige and National Identity. The pursuit of prestige, in all its defini-
tions and mutations, naturally intersected with issues of national identity.
Recent scholarship has amply discussed the crisis and redefinition of
Introduction 7
national identity in postwar France and Italy.12 While focusing on the work-
ings of diplomacy, I will refer to those studies on national identity where
appropriate to clarify certain turning points in French and Italian status
policies. At the same time, this study adds a new perspective to a debate
that still lacks an articulated analysis of the interplay between foreign pol-
icy and national identity. Indeed, since national identity describes the dis-
tinctiveness of a nation, and since that distinctiveness is based on that
nation’s self-perceptions as well as the images others have of that nation, it
follows that pursuit of international prestige is inherent in the making of a
national identity.
In particular, this study explores aspects of national identity that were
informed by perceptions of international hierarchy, and shows the extent to
which the assertions of a French or Italian identity were part of an effort to
attack or reshape that hierarchy. Because there existed a connection in post-
war France and Italy between the crises of power and national identity, this
analysis has the additional advantage of emphasizing important distinctions
between France’s and Italy’s status policies based on their respective ideas
of what constituted the “nation.”13 France was very clear about its status
pursuits, and rather reluctant to surrender a “nationalist” rhetoric of pres-
tige not only because it was a greater power than Italy, but also because,
unlike Italy, it had always strongly identified the nation with the state. By
contrast Italy, due to its traditionally weaker link between nation and state,
was less assertive than France, but also more prone to adapt to changing
notions of international prestige.
Prestige “Under” U.S. Hegemony. The basic arguments of this study come
into full relief once tested under Geir Lundestad’s “empire by invitation” the-
sis. Lundestad stresses the consensual nature of America’s hegemony—or
“empire”—over Europe, as well as the considerable space for maneuvers
America’s allies were able to maintain within the framework of U.S. global
strategies.14 By considering prestige in terms of “self-esteem,” I highlight the
contrast between the Europeans’ appeals for American protection and their
embarrassment or resentment for the conditions that came along with it.
Those feelings undoubtedly amplified French and Italian leaders’ need for
prestige. Many of those leaders displayed an almost hysterical mixture
between begging and defiant behaviors.15 But this was not the only way in
which French and Italian prestige policies interplayed with the “invited” U.S.
hegemony.
It is important to verify whether and how the French and the Italians
believed that their goals of rank could be best achieved by association with
the United States as hegemonic power. A focus on prestige suggests two
variations of the “empire by invitation” thesis. It shows more clearly how
the manipulative intent of the Europeans often overshadowed their sincere
need for American protection; and, even more importantly, it reveals the
persistency of intra-European rivalries in their very act of “invitation”: pre-

cisely because they yearned for a privileged cooperation with the United
States, the large nations of Western Europe often promoted American hege-
mony competitively, vying for Washington’s special favor, and through such
maneuvers hoping to win their struggle for greater rank and leverage within
Europe. Because of their extreme sensitivity to possible shifts in the inter-
national hierarchy, both France and Italy matched British attempts to curry
America’s favor, only without the same self-reassurance that a “special rela-
tionship” would be actually possible.
America’s Management of Prestige. Naturally the manipulation

between smaller allies and the hegemon was reciprocal, making issues of
status crucial to America’s management of the alliance. About that, three
general points can be surmised.
First, the United States, interested in securing friendly and stable regimes
in France and Italy, would sometimes go out of its way to shore up the
strength and reputation of the centrist coalitions there. Second, Washington
conceived its aid and military commitment to Western Europe as a morale-
booster. To accomplish this objective fully the United States also had to
grant international recognition to the European allies that needed it most.
If those allies remained subordinate and discouraged, they would perpetu-
ate their dependence on U.S. assistance while also becoming less reliable.
Third, the Western alliance owed its strength and cohesion not only to the
strategic and economic benefits it secured on both sides of the Atlantic but
also to its pluralism. By improving the international status of its European
members, the United States nourished their will to resist aggression. It also
turned such additional evidence of the large autonomy nations enjoyed
under its sphere of influence into an excellent psychological and ideological
weapon in the confrontation with the tight Soviet rule over Eastern Europe.
But these general assumptions need to be qualified. Reconciling conflict-
ing priorities in American strategy or diverging interests in Europe was no
easy task. France’s and Italy’s own demands were sometimes inconsistent
and almost always overly ambitious. Was European integration the best way
out of America’s predicament? It is important to determine what pressures
Washington placed on French and Italian leaders to surrender nationalism
and to pursue an alternative prestige as “masters” of continental unity.
The Broader Question. These observations on reciprocal manipulation

allow us to refine the question about the part played by the Europeans in
shaping the international system during the first decade of the Cold War.
Several recent accounts have stressed not only the Europeans’ power of ini-
tiative but even their ability to instruct the Americans and to contest their
leadership.16 My point is that such “revisionism,” albeit correct in its prem-
ise, has gone too far. While I recognize that French and, more surprisingly,
Introduction 9
Italian politics and policies often had considerable weight on the Atlantic
Alliance, I also show the limits of their influence and the profound con-
straints in which they conducted their diplomatic actions. By stating that
the two nations regarded the “appearance” of leverage as a way to obtain
“actual” power, I do not mean that such design was always clear and bound
to succeed. The French and Italian regimes were characterized by many
uncertainties and contradictions; their leaders’ appeals to status often
proved illusory or, conversely, revealed a “national” inferiority complex.
An inquiry on status—on appearance—is thus a key to assess how much
substantial leverage and power France and Italy enjoyed, as it points to the
crucial distinction between rank and role. As theorist Carlo Maria Santoro
has observed, while rank indicates a nation’s prominence not necessarily
founded on its political, military, and economic merits, and entailing no
specific function in the international system, role is a more substantial posi-
tion, involving responsibilities worthy of the actual power of a nation.17
And so, thinking broadly, to what extent was the United States willing to
upgrade the rank of France and Italy? How did it evaluate their potential
role? And how willing were France and Italy to accept the responsibilities
of role in order to attain the privileges of rank?
In the final analysis, this study offers an important explanation of why
NATO has been so stable, despite frequent disagreements among its mem-
bers. A focus on French and Italian prestige and on how it clashed or com-
bined with their acceptance and promotion of the American “empire” illus-
trates the relevance of civilizational values in the consolidation of the
Western alliance. Recognizing the importance those values had at the peak
of the Cold War may suggest interesting hypotheses about the post-Cold
War world. For today the United States and its European allies find them-
selves constantly redefining their understanding of international relations,
as traditional indices of power are compounded if not overwhelmed by the
imponderables of civilizational values such as ethnic nationalism, the con-
trast between modernization and tradition, and the issues of rank and pres-
tige that underscore those values, in Western Europe as in Russia,
Yugoslavia, India, and China.18
* * *
As a study in international history, this book combines an analysis of
French and Italian foreign policies with an examination of America’s man-
agement of the two allies, giving roughly equal consideration to archival
evidence and secondary literature from all three countries. In order to
answer significant questions about status and the workings of alliance
politics in this period, the range of topics is necessarily vast. But I do not
pretend to deal comprehensively with the various issues I selected. On
most of them there is already a relevant scholarly historiography. Refer-
ence to many of those works is due. But since this study reinterprets those
issues from a new angle, it relies more heavily on primary sources and
archival material.
NOTES
1. Luigi Barzini, The Europeans. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1983.
2. Some political scientists have concluded, as David Calleo puts it, that “to
some extent America’s allies are free riders on the benefits of [the] American effort”:
David Calleo, Beyond American Hegemony: The Future of the Western Alliance.
New York: Basic Books, 1987, p. 14; Robert Gilpin, War and Change in World Pol-
itics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981, p. 232. The post-revisionist
school in Cold War history has also highlighted the manipulative attitude of minor
allies toward both superpowers. The list would be too vast to cite here but see espe-
cially [hereafter esp.] the most recent works by John Gaddis and Geir Lundestad
cited in this study; cf. Paul Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers: Eco-
nomic Change and Military Conflict from 1500 to 2000. New York: Random
House, 1987; Michael Doyle, Empires. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1986.
3. Most surveys on Cold War Franco-American relations announce this point in
their titles: Michael Harrison’s “Reluctant Ally,” Frank Costigliola’s “Cold
Alliance,” Charles Cogan’s “Oldest Allies, Guarded Friends,” Richard Kuisel’s
“Seducing the French,” are just the most significant examples. But the most impor-
tant accounts pointing out such “tensions” are Irwin Wall, The United States and
the Making of Postwar France, 1945–1954. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1991, and William Hitchcock, France Restored: Cold War Diplomacy and the
Quest for Leadership in Europe, 1944–1954. Chapel Hill: University of North Car-
olina Press, 1998.
4. Italy’s “policy of presence” soon became proverbial and frequently derided at
home and in diplomatic circles: see esp. Henry Kissinger, The White House Years.
Boston: Little Brown & Co., 1979, pp. 101–102. For general treatments describing
Italian foreign policy as mere reflection of domestic maneuvers, see Norman Kogan,
The Politics of Italian Foreign Policy. New York: Praeger, 1967; Primo Vannicelli,
Italy, NATO and the European Community: The Interplay of Foreign Policy and
Domestic Politics. Cambridge: Harvard Center of International Affairs, 1974; Fred-
eric Spotts and Theodore Wieser, Italy, A Difficult Democracy. A Survey of Italian
Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986, pp. 263 ff. For a recent cri-
tique of this thesis, see Leonard Weinberg, The Transformation of Italian Commu-
nism. New Brunswick and London: Transaction Publishers, 1995, pp. 1–15. For evi-
dence that even de Gaulle’s “grandeur” policy had primarily a domestic purpose cf.
esp. Philip Cerny, The Politics of Grandeur: Ideological Aspects of de Gaulle’s For-
eign Policy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980.
5. Ralph G. Hawtrey, Economic Aspects of Sovereignty. London: Longman,
Green, 1952, p. 64; Robert Gilpin, War and Change in World Politics. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1981, p. 31.
6. Hans J. Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations: The Struggle for Power and
Peace. 3d ed. New York: Knopf, 1960, pp. 72–73, 79–81; see also K. W. Deutsch,
“On the Concepts of Politics and Power,” in James N. Rosenau (ed.), International
Politics and Foreign Policy: A Reader in Research and Theory. New York: Free
Introduction 11
Press, 1969; John W. Burton (ed.), International Relations: A General Theory. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967.
7. Norman J. Padelford and George A. Lincoln, The Dynamics of International
Politics. 2d ed. London: Macmillan, 1967, p. 15; John Spanier, Games Nations Play.
Analyzing International Politics. 5th ed. New York: Reinhart and Winston, 1984,
pp. 59–61; Spanier’s observations confirm historian Edward H. Carr’s argument
that a nation whose power is recognized by others “can generally achieve [its] aims
without having to use [its power],” in Martin Wight, Power Politics. New York:
Holmes and Meier., 1978 ed., p. 98.
8. A. F. K. Organski, World Politics. 1st ed. New York: A. Knopf, 1958,
pp. 101–103.
9. Qtd. Bruce Russett and Harvey Starr, World Politics. The Menu for Choice,
5th ed. New York: Freeman and Co., 1996, p.117; see also Bruce Russett, Power
and Community in World Politics. San Francisco: Freeman and Co., 1974, esp.
chap. 15; William C. Wohlforth, The Elusive Balance: Power and Perceptions Dur-
ing the Cold War. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993, pp. 136 and 296; cf.
Robert Jervis, Perceptions and Misperceptions in International Politics. Princeton,
NJ: Princeton University Press, 1976; see also the interesting observations on pres-
tige and deterrence in Jonathan Mercer, Reputation and International Politics.
Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996, and Robert Jervis, Richard Lebow, and Jan-
ice Stein, Psychology and Deterrence. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1985.
10. Qtd. Robert O. Keohane and Joseph S. Nye, Jr., “Power and Interdependence
in the Information Age,” Foreign Affairs, 77, 5 (September/October 1998), p. 86;
best treatment of “soft power” in Joseph S. Nye, Jr. Bound to Lead: The Changing
Nature of American Power. New York: Basic Books, 1990, chap. 2.
11. Charles S. Maier, “Supranational Concepts and National Continuity in the
Framework of the Marshall Plan,” in Charles S. Maier and Stanley Hoffmann, The
Marshall Plan: A Retrospective. Boulder: Westview, 1984; Robert Frank, La hantise
du déclin. La France, 1920–1960: finances, défense et identité nationale. Paris:
Balin, 1994; Andrew Moravcsik, The Choice of Europe: Social Purpose and State
Power from Messina to Maastricht. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998. On sec-
ond thesis see esp. Alan S. Milward, The European Rescue of the Nation-State. Lon-
don: Routledge, 1992; Frances M. B. Lynch, France and the International Economy:
From Vichy to the Treaty of Rome. New York: Routledge, 1997; Federico Romero,
“L’Europa come strumento di nation-building. Storia e storici dell’Italia repubbli-
cana,” Passato e Presente, XIII (1995), n. 36. Balanced between the two theses is
Hitchcock, France Restored.
12. Among the most relevant works on French and Italian national identities that
also come closest to framing the issue in a foreign policy context see Brian Jenkins and
Spyros A. Sofos, (eds.), Nation and Identity in Contemporary Europe. London, New
York: Routledge, 1996; Pierre Nora (ed.), Realms of Memory: Rethinking the French
Past, 3 vols. New York: Columbia University Press, 1996–98; Robert Gildea, The Past
in French History. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994; Richard F. Kuisel, Seduc-
ing the French: The Dilemma of Americanization. Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1993; Rogers Brubaker, Citizenship and Nationhood in France and Germany.
Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1992; Michel Winock, Parlez-moi de la France.
Paris: Plon; 1995; Gabrielle Hecht, The Radiance of France: Nuclear Power and
National Identity After World War II. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998; Frank, La
hantise du déclin. cit.; Emilio Gentile, La grande Italia: Ascesa e declino del mito della
nazione nel ventesimo secolo. Milan: Mondadori, 1997; Ernesto Galli della Loggia,
L’identità italiana. Bologna: Il Mulino, 1998; Silvio Lanaro, L’Italia nuova: Identità e
sviluppo, 1861–1988. Turin: Einaudi, 1989; Guido Formigoni, L’Italia dei cattolici:
Fede e nazione dal Risorgimento alla Repubblica. Bologna: Il Mulino, 1998; Pier
Paolo D’Attorre, (ed.), Nemici per la pelle: Sogno americano e mito sovietico nell’
Italia contemporanea. Milan: Franco Angeli, 1991.
13. Cf. Brubaker, Citizenship and Nationhood in France and Germany, pp. 1–2.
14. Geir Lundestad, The American “Empire”. London, Oslo: Norwegian University
Press, 1991, pp. 31–115. Lundestad’s definition of “Empire” is divested of the most
negative connotations when applied to the United States; simply he uses the term to
illustrate the United States’ supremacy and influence in the West after World War II
comparable to if not bigger than that of formal empires of the past. For earlier formu-
lation of the thesis: America, Scandinavia and the Cold War, 1945–1949. New York:
Columbia University Press, 1980; see also “Empire” by Integration: The United States
and European Integration, 1945–1997. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998.
15. This is a phenomenon Alfred Grosser has first emphasized with regard to
France’s Fourth Republic: see La IVe République et sa politique extérieure. 3rd. ed.
Paris: Armand Colin, 1961.
16. For accounts reevaluating the diplomatic leadership of the French Fourth
Republic see esp. Hitchcock, France Restored; Lynch, France and the International
Economy; Frank, La hantise du déclin; Jasmine Aimaq, For Europe or Empire?
French Colonial Ambitions and the European Army Plan. Lund: Lund University
Press, 1996. Several authors have reevaluated the power of Italian initiative during
certain phases of the Cold War: see Ennio Di Nolfo, “Italia e Stati Uniti: un’alleanza
diseguale,” Storia delle relazioni internazionali, 1990, 1; Christopher Seton-Watson,
“La politica estera della Repubblica italiana,” in Richard J. B. Bosworth and Sergio
Romano (eds.) La politica estera italiana, 1860–1985. Bologna: Il Mulino, 1991;
several essays on Italy in Josef Becker and Franz Knipping (eds.), Power in Europe?
Great Britain, France, Italy and Germany in a Postwar World, 1945–1950. Berlin,
New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1986, and Ennio Di Nolfo (ed.), Power in Europe?
Great Britain, France, Germany, and Italy and the Origins of the EEC, 1952–1957.
New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1992; more balanced studies are: Leopoldo Nuti, Gli
Stati Uniti e l’apertura a sinistra. Importanza e limiti della presenza americana in
Italia. Rome: Editori Laterza, 1999, and Alessandro Brogi, L’Italia e l’egemonia
americana nel Mediterraneo. Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1996.
17. Carlo M. Santoro, La politica estera di una media potenza. L’Italia dall’Unità
ad oggi. Bologna: Il Mulino,1991.
18. On how civilizational values have informed American foreign policy see esp.
Frank Ninkovich, Modernity and Power: A History of the Domino Theory in the
Twentieth Century. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994; and Tony Smith,
America’s Mission: The United States and the Worldwide Struggle for Democracy in
the Twentieth Century. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994. On the increas-
ing importance of civilizational values since the end of the Cold War: Samuel P. Hunt-
ington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of the World Order. New York:
Simon and Schuster, 1997 (Huntington however exaggerates the importance of reli-
gious revivals) and Immanuel Wallerstein, Geopolitics and Geoculture: Essays on the
Changing World System. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992.
1
Invitation and Pride
One of France’s most celebrated monuments is the Arc de Triomphe. A net-

work of broad boulevards, including the central Champs Élysées, radiate
from the monument, enhancing its majestic presence. Few French would
hesitate to elect this section of Paris as the architectural symbol of the
nation’s grandeur and mission in the world, or mission civilisatrice, as they
used to call it. Several times a year, city authorities have the boulevards’
bustling traffic detoured to make space for the most significant national
events, from presidential ceremonies to the last relay of the Tour de France.
This area of Paris was the Bonapartes’ self-reward. In 1806 Napoleon I
commissioned the construction of the monument as a grandiose symbol of
his imperial rule. Fifty years later his nephew, Louis Napoleon, ordered the
expansion of the boulevards to mark the birth of a Second Empire. Since
both empires turned out to be rather short-lived, the Arc de Triomphe and
the boulevards, with all their pomp and magnitude, could be seen as the
ironic tribute to their sponsors’ ephemeral glory, and perhaps to the vanity
of modern France. On the stage of the Champs Élysées, the nation contin-
ued to play its internal strife and witnessed the humiliation of foreign inva-
sion. Louis Napoleon had thought the broad boulevards, replacing an intri-
cate network of medieval streets, would prevent Parisian revolutionaries
from raising barricades again. But the Communards in 1870 still managed
to wage their revolution on the Champs Élysées. Twice in less than a cen-
tury, in 1871 and in 1940, German troops marched under the Arc de Tri-
omphe, adding shame to irony for this emblem of la grande nation.
But the monument’s symbolic value was resilient. The French trans-
formed its purpose from self-glorification of an authoritarian ruler into a
people’s national heritage. More importantly, they impulsively gathered
around the Arch each time after their liberation from the German invaders,
seeking a hallmark of continuity between past glories and a more brilliant
future. Never did that seem more true than on August 26, 1944, when
Charles de Gaulle, the charismatic leader of the French Resistance, led the
military procession of the Liberation through the Arc de Triomphe. That
cathartic event inaugurated a long series of celebrations, extending well into
the post-World War II era.
FRANCE’S “REBIRTH”
One of the parades, on June 18, 1945, attracted the attention of the
American ambassador, Jefferson Caffery. The grandiose pageant, commem-
orating the anniversary of de Gaulle’s 1940 Radio Appeal from London to
continue the struggle against Germany, seemed to the ambassador exagger-
ated for the occasion and neglectful of the woeful state of France’s economy.
Symbols of national rebirth were plentiful: the Sultan of Morocco review-
ing the troops next to General de Gaulle served as a reminder of France’s
mission civilisatrice; the mighty display of armored divisions was worthy of
a great military power; and, for the climax, the air force units flying down
the boulevards in Cross of Lorraine formations at roof-top height was a rit-
ual catching the imagination of a public avid for shows of national unity
and vigor. This ceremonial excess, Caffery thought, was clearly meant to
offset the sense of humiliation the French had suffered since the destruction
of their army in 1940.1 The exhilarated audience evidently validated de
Gaulle’s conviction that domestic renewal, including economic revival,
required first a demonstration of national grandeur. To the French leader,
spectacular celebrations would help the general interest to prevail over the
sectional and class tension that had traditionally divided France, thus cre-
ating a basis for the reconstruction of the nation’s security and economy.2
The ceremonies were deceptive. Caffery remarked, with biting sarcasm,
that the parade of June 18 showed off mostly American or British military
equipment—a fact that had received no mention “although it doubtlessly
[had come] to the mind of every observer.” Such posturing was not a new
phenomenon. Even for the ceremonial march on the day of the Liberation,
de Gaulle had begged General Dwight Eisenhower to lend him two Ameri-
can divisions, so that he could impress the still restless Parisians and estab-
lish firmly his authority. That American might would serve to restore
French image as a great power had a “a touch of the sardonic,” Eisenhower
later remembered.3
However, these “externally-supported” parades had a deeper signifi-
cance. They reflected a growing, sober awareness that only by association
Invitation and Pride 15
with the new hegemonic power could France restore its great power rank.
The sham performances on the Champs Élysées also indicated that this sub-
ordinate status had to be concealed as much as possible. The relationship
between liberators and liberated had to appear as one between partners.
More than that, the prevailing hope in Paris was that the appearance would
soon become substance; that rank, which usually comes as a result of
power, would this time precede it, and even produce it. Ideally, while over-
coming internal divisions and “ferments of dispersal,” a policy of prestige
would restore confidence in France both at home and abroad. Only through
its undeserved participation in diplomatic summits could France gain lever-
age and promote its interests, consequently resuming its deserved greatness.
U.S. Presence. Yet, could the French government expect the United
States to cooperate? The myth of American isolationism still loomed large
in Paris; it counterbalanced fears that the United States would now exert a
preponderance of power over Europe. The French, and de Gaulle especially,
presumed the reality fell between these opposites: the United States, wary of
its past mistakes, was now willing to intervene in Europe, short of impos-
ing its “imperial” whims.4 Washington appeared likely to accommodate
anything that would revive the Europeans’ self-confidence, in order to
increase their willingness to resist Soviet expansionism.
De Gaulle keenly showed how to balance a desire for American protec-
tion with claims of status and independence. In July 1944, for instance, he
complained to U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt about France’s proba-
ble exclusion from the conferences of the great powers. The General’s mes-
sage was a peculiar mixture of cajoling and reproach. While emphasizing
the centrality of France to the future of Europe, de Gaulle noted that the
nation’s best quality was its historical record as the only European state
“which was, is and always will be [America’s] ally.” And even though West-
ern Europe continued to be riddled with squabbles and distress, it was, the
General insisted, “still essential to the West,” for “nothing [could] replace
the value, the power, the shining example of these ancient peoples.” There-
fore, the top concern at the great powers’ conferences, according to de
Gaulle, should be the restoration of Western Europe under American lead-
ership (he surely meant a temporary one) and with France at its core. The
alternative would be “barbarism, ultimately sweep[ing] everything away.”5
It might as well have been the recrimination of an ever-faithful bride facing
hordes of rapists.
A few weeks before the Potsdam conference in July 1945, de Gaulle
threatened that France would deal with those violators, if it continued to be
excluded from the great powers’ club (in fact, he had been trying to make
deals with the Soviet Union since December 1944). He understood that the
war had left only “two real forces in the world: the United States and the
Soviets,” adding that he “would rather work with the United States than any
other country.” However, he specified to Ambassador Caffery on May 5: “if

I cannot work with you I must work with the Soviets in order to survive even
if it is only for a while and even if in the long run they gobble us up too.”
But France “would not fall if [the United States] helped her.”6
De Gaulle’s bid showed that he saw the coming of the Cold War earlier
than his counterparts in Washington, but also that his invitation of Ameri-
can protection of, if not hegemony over, Western Europe could be recon-
ciled with his distinctive sense of national pride. With more resignation
than enthusiasm, de Gaulle promoted America’s presence in Europe as nec-
essary for the new balance of power in the Continent, while trying to estab-
lish a link between that presence and France’s margin for maneuver. Many
of the issues he raised in response to his exclusion from the Big Three fore-
shadowed patterns in Franco-American relations throughout the years of
the Fourth Republic.
Continuity of Themes. An enduring myth that de Gaulle himself inau-

gurated is that he and the leaders of the Fourth Republic differed radically
in their approaches to the United States. Where he was assertive and arro-
gant—or “proud” as he would prefer to describe himself—they were con-
ciliatory and manipulative. The difference in style was supposed to reflect
respectively the lack of a coherent foreign policy for the Fourth Republic
and a clear vision for the leader of the Liberation and the Fifth Republic.7
In fact, most of the recent scholarship has shown that continuity of themes
and objectives, if not of style, prevailed in the period from the Liberation to
at least the first years of the Fifth Republic.8 To be sure, “style” did make a
difference after 1958.9 While France’s disastrous condition in 1944–46
eclipsed the inspirational leadership of de Gaulle, most historians now
argue that the country’s improved economic and security position in 1958
allowed the Gaullist style to flourish, promoting national ambitions in ways
substantially different from those of the previous regime.10 It is worth
adding that it was not solely economic distress and fragile security that
determined the similarities between de Gaulle’s approach to the United
States during the post-Liberation period and that of the Fourth Republic.
De Gaulle struggled with greater determination than his successors for an
independent foreign policy, but his aggressive style contained many of their
manipulative arguments; even more, it badly concealed many of their
hopes, fears, and contradictions.
De Gaulle boasted about France’s central role in the future of Europe, in
order to exorcize a nagging inferiority complex versus the Anglo-Saxons—that
same inferiority complex he later attributed to the leaders of the Fourth
Republic. Particularly in 1944–46, his pride stemmed less from self-confidence
than from desperation, an “inevitable reaction” to the “humiliation of sub-
mission to the occupant;” hence his effort to restore French self-respect by
emphasizing France’s contribution to the allied victory.11
And yet, like his successors in the following decade, de Gaulle did not
hesitate to use weakness as a tool to blackmail a powerful protector. Count-
ing on the fact that the security and prosperity of France was indispensable
to American designs in Europe, he effectively invoked the image of the
Russian giant “gobbling up” Paris to get his point across to American lead-
ers. Some years later, Winston Churchill concluded that France was a model
of “tyrannical weakness,” keeping Europe hostage with its petty parlia-
mentary politics. But that “tyranny” was not simply a matter of a frag-
mented party system. As de Gaulle proved in 1945, it was an effective diplo-
matic instrument of leverage when used to secure U.S. strategic and
economic support.12 French weakness might have served diplomatic neces-
sity, but it actually worsened the nation’s inferiority complex. For even as
“begging” begat rewards, it also intensified the already existing sense of
humiliation and resentment toward the “donor.” As a result, the French
sought to bolster their prestige, thus bringing full circle the logic of French
diplomacy: prestige was both a means to gain more power as well as an end
in itself. Firmness and pride could actually make up for weakness in mate-
rial means, or, as de Gaulle explained to Churchill in 1945, France was
uncompromising because it was “too poor to be able to bow.”13
It is however far easier for the weak to be intransigent on symbolic issues
than on questions of substance. Among de Gaulle’s most remembered poses
was his spectacular rejection of Roosevelt’s invitation to meet him in Algiers
following the Big Three summit at Yalta as a compensation for France’s
exclusion from the conference. But early in 1946 the French leader did
“bow” to Jean Monnet’s advice that the nation could modernize its econ-
omy only by accepting a certain degree of trade liberalization and some
American “diktats” on that issue.14 Likewise, a reluctant surrender to the
substance of power relations, with occasional bursts of pride on matters of
principle, characterized the governments of the Fourth Republic.
De Gaulle’s reference to the “shining example” of “ancient” Europe in
1945 was, beyond mere rhetoric, another way to offset the humiliating
request for American protection. It suggested adding the value of history
and tradition to the new superpower confrontation. The struggle against
Communism was supposed to be a civilizational crusade against “bar-
barism.” This also meant that if France was now powerless, its glorious
past should be a sufficient asset for its claim to equal partnership at Yalta.
And although the United States was the new leader of Western heritage, it
was nevertheless “heir” to those who could still provide example and
expertise. Many of de Gaulle’s successors, like their British colleagues, con-
tinued to vaunt their nation’s experience as world leader and as beacon of
Western democracy. As Pierre Nora has put it succinctly, “it was easier for
France to suffer the loss of its power than to give up the idea of its mission
and vocation.”15 However, this obstinate emphasis on past glories could
backfire, highlighting instead present French weakness. Also, the appeal to
civilizational values tended to reflect a Manichean view likely to reinforce

the bipolarism of the Cold War, in which France would be only a minor
component, if not a pawn.
Consensus? What about public opinion? Certainly, the Parisians’ enthu-

siasm at well-orchestrated parades testified their excitement about national
rebirth and France’s position in the world. De Gaulle’s main biographer,
Jean Lacouture, notes that even the purges of Vichy officials were no mere
product of justice or revenge, but indicated a thirst for a “restoration” that
had to be as “theatrical” as possible in order to erase the sense of collective
shame. During the first days of the Liberation, the appearance of fourteen
daily journals expressing voices that had suffered from four years of repres-
sion and silence reflected the general atmosphere of optimism about the
nation’s renewal at home and abroad. “Everything is beginning,” leftist
writer Simone de Beauvoir recorded in her memoir Force of Circumstance;
and, with words conveying the pride and sense of self-mastery with which
the French started all over again, she added: “this victory was to efface our
old defeats, it was ours, and the future it opened up was ours, too.” Echo-
ing her from the Catholic side of the political spectrum, François Mauriac
mused that the war had “created a ‘tabula rasa.’ ” “Amidst the material and
human ruin,” he believed, “Destiny [had given the nation] the great but
brief opportunity to find its path again.”16
Beyond the exhilaration of the moment, these reflections expressed the
French people’s ingrained concern with restoring their nation’s dignity and
identity. The two concepts were correlated: in France the nation has been
traditionally equated with the centralized state; reviving the state’s power,
dignity, and prestige therefore seemed essential to maintain a strong national
identity.17 Moreover, the disgrace of the 1940 debacle remained unaccept-
able to most French. Thanks largely to de Gaulle’s masterful consciousness-
raising, that shameful experience did not intimidate them, but rather
induced them to cultivate the discourse of honor and rank. “The collective
memory of defeat,” Robert Gildea has written, “has itself served as a cru-
cible of national solidarity and national revival.” By late 1944 polls showed
that two-thirds of the French were already convinced that their nation had
regained its rightful place among the great powers.18
The question remains whether the relatively modest achievements of de
Gaulle’s grandeur policy during his first government made the French more
sober and less susceptible to the rhetoric of prestige. Several historians have
argued that the French postwar celebrations of la patrie were exceptional,
that their interest in world affairs then was a departure from their tradi-
tional “introversion,” and that by 1946 the excitement of all the “repressed
voices” had turned into humdrum parliamentarism.19 In fact, the myth of la
grande nation died hard. The people’s remoteness from foreign policy did
not necessarily mean that they renounced nationalist feelings. As Jean-
Pierre Rioux explains it, the French public continued to welcome the post-
war upsurge in nationalism as a “diversion from the humiliation of every-
day life, and one to which all shades of public opinion, including the Com-
munists, contributed.” So the “collective refusal to confront a possibly
unpalatable reality” had solidified into a permanent belief in the nation’s
prestige even after de Gaulle’s resignation in 1946.20 But ironically France
could search for greatness only through American support. In the Fourth
Republic the contrast between French invitation of an American presence,
even leadership, in Europe, and resentment for the conditions that came
with that leadership reached its apex.
ITALY’S “REBIRTH”
Following the collapse of Italy’s Fascist regime in 1943, the nation’s new
leaders followed the same pattern as the French in their approach to Amer-
ica’s rising hegemony: they acted not with timid submission but with pride
and presumption. Less “independentist” than de Gaulle, the Italians unam-
biguously linked the promotion of American leadership to their country’s
rank, presumably as the hegemon’s brilliant second.
Italy shifted its status from enemy to “co-belligerent,” thanks to the
unusual circumstances of its surrender in 1943—the dismissal of Benito
Mussolini, the alignment of his successor, General Marshall Pietro
Badoglio, with the Anglo-American “invaders/liberators” against the Ger-
mans. The provisional government in the liberated South immediately
aspired to be recognized as a member in the community of Western democ-
racies, first by seeking promotion from its status as “co-belligerent” to that
of full-fledged ally. Although the new Italian leaders understandably nur-
tured lesser ambitions than the French, they had an equal determination to
remove the humiliation of defeat and their own sense of guilt for having
consented to the shames of tyranny—a tyranny even more deplorable since,
on top of being oppressive and immoral, it had failed miserably in master-
ing aggression.
The Quest for Legitimacy. Italy’s provisional governments sought inter-

national recognition primarily to bolster their legitimacy. After the over-
throw of Mussolini, the Badoglio junta found encouragement in the Italian
people’s excitement about the nation’s future. Like the French, the Italians
embraced a sense of “new beginning,” and even more than the French,
desired to become masters of their own destinies after twenty years of coer-
cive power.21 Indeed, the sharp divisions among the parties that reemerged
from the Italian political underground reflected these hopes for renewed
national and individual self-determination. But this sudden pluralism also
stirred Badoglio’s deepest worries: rebellion or chaos could result out of the
Italians’ sense of “total” liberation. This fear was more justified than in
France, primarily because the provisional government could claim a very

limited role in the liberation from the “tyrant.”22 More importantly, twenty
years of authoritarian rule aimed at national glory that had ended in
national disaster exacerbated the Italians’ traditional disenchantment with
any government institutions. De Gaulle had feared civil unrest before his
arrival in Paris; Badoglio and his immediate successors during the co-
belligerence period could see that the struggle for individual self-determina-
tion meant for many Italians the collapse of rules, prohibitions, and public
authority. Mob rituals of this period, culminating in the summary execution
and lynching of Mussolini and his companion Claretta Petacci on April 29,
1945, also raised the specter of moral degradation that often follows a long
period of tyranny.23 While the public from below continued to question the
government’s legitimacy, the Allied occupation forces from above imposed
their victors’ restrictions, particularly through the “long armistice” of Sep-
tember 1943,24 thus intensifying the insecurity of the new Italian rulers.
To be sure, the United States, immediately after entering the war in
December 1941, had made it clear that Italy could avoid the treatment
reserved for Germany and Japan if it withdrew from the Axis Alliance. But
this “benevolent” position came from the American officials’ belief, con-
firmed by cultural stereotypes, that Mussolini’s regime did not reflect the
true feelings and character of the Italian people. As U.S. Assistant Secretary
of State Breckinridge Long notified former Italian ambassador Prince
Ascanio Colonna di Paliano, the Americans “ha[d] no quarrel with the Ital-
ian people,” only with their dictator. More than homage to the Italians’
honor and sense of democracy, this appeal to the ruled against the rulers
was the kind of meddling in internal affairs Washington would normally
use with a “client” state. Also, by stating explicitly that the Italians “ha[d]
been brought into the war at the behest of the Germans,” it suggested that
Italy had been at best a pawn in a game greater than itself.25
Promoting U.S. Hegemony. In his search for rank and legitimacy,

Badoglio was determined to mitigate the image of Italy as a helpless instru-
ment of some greater power’s design. In early 1944 the Italian leader began
“proud” appeals to President Roosevelt for an American “tutelage” of Italy
that sounded more like a privileged partnership. Alone among the great
powers, the United States seemed likely to accept a generous revision of the
armistice. Fearing America’s return to a policy of isolationism, Badoglio
encouraged the great power to “assume in Italy and the Mediterranean a
leading part vis-à-vis all the other Powers” and even to secure “a decisive
influence on Italy and Italian affairs.” This was no act of submission,
though. It was rather a request for protection, especially against “the
intransigent British policy.” Roosevelt was to keep his early promises to
restore Italy to an “honorable place in the world.” Honor, according to
Badoglio, would come through a “spiritual” regeneration “above all,” a
return to the basic rules of Western democracy—the kind of pledge he was

sure Roosevelt would appreciate.
But for the Italian general, the step from renewed constitutional democ-
racy to revival of Italy as a “power” was a short one. He boasted that the
United States would find in Italy “a secure base of 45 million people, dedi-
cated to high civilization, intelligence and industry,” a base from which it
would be able “to build a solid European policy balancing the two oppo-
site blocs headed by Russia and Great Britain.”26 By 1944 then, Badoglio
was playing on British and American fears of the Soviet Union.27 But he also
suggested a connection between Italy’s spiritual and material revival, a
process for which American hegemony in the Mediterranean, by supplant-
ing the British, could be the catalyst. By overstating the importance of the
Mediterranean, the Italian general sounded like de Gaulle, yet instead of
France, Italy would be at the core of America’s renewed European policy
and play a key role in resolving an emerging “Anglo-Russian” cold war.
Moral Prestige. While dreaming of great power status, Italian rulers

repeatedly stressed their country’s moral resurrection. The recovery of
moral standing after World War II had become a crucial source of interna-
tional prestige. That issue was naturally more imperative for Italy than it
was for France. In its first cabinet meetings, the Italian provisional gov-
ernment set up the adherence to the Atlantic Charter as the priority of its
new “democratic foreign policy.” To confirm that pledge, it promptly
repealed the unequal treaties the Fascist regime had signed with several
Eastern European governments, and, in May 1945, issued a symbolic dec-
laration of war against Japan.28 Given the severe restrictions the armistice
imposed on Italy’s external relations, a strictly pro-Allied policy was the
country’s only option. But the result could have been a passive, drifting
diplomacy, instead of zealous activism and a “pro-forma” war against
Japan. Italy was trying hard to work its passage back to a “respectable
place” in the family of nations, as well as its candidacy in the emerging
United Nations organization.
Italian pride made the struggle for acceptance a fight not merely for
being a part of the “family” of great powers, but one of its prominent
members. In August 1945, the then foreign minister, Alcide De Gasperi
reminded the American secretary of state, James Byrnes, that the Fascist
dictatorship had been a deviation for a people who had “natural qualities
of industriousness and frugality, [an] age-long tradition of Christian
morality and ancient Law” and who would surely constitute “a sound and
secure span for Western Civilization,” the preservation of which, he added,
was the United States’ main concern.29 Like France, Italy relied on its his-
tory and traditions to regain respectability, and to seek a privileged coop-
eration with the new Western hegemon that would go beyond requests for
economic aid. Unlike the French, the Italians placed a stronger emphasis
on their country’s “re-conversion” to democracy. Italy proved its new look

by subscribing to international cooperation.
Continuity of Themes. But in here lay the main contradiction of Italian

foreign policy. For a fallen power, constant tribute to international cooper-
ation might not strengthen its status but weaken it. Also, multilateralism
was typically the diplomatic last resort for a small power. Italy’s provisional
governments worried that their reliance on the emerging international secu-
rity organization would be interpreted at home and abroad as a confirma-
tion of their country’s decline from great power status. The myth of Italy as
“the last of the great powers” endured, and its flavor was more bitter than
ever as the vanquished became subject to the victors’ whims. Badoglio and
De Gasperi set the tone for the Italian government’s basic ambivalence dur-
ing the following decade: for reasons of moral prestige they embraced the
rules of international interdependence, while for power prestige they sought
at least formal recognition of their country as an important international
actor. Both policies were supposed to yield material advantages. Yet pursu-
ing them simultaneously could also become rather costly, precisely because
they were often inconsistent.
Italians’ devotion to appearance became so excessive that their claim of
prestige was frequently reduced to hollow rhetoric. During the early Cold
War, Italian leaders began to propound a politica di presenza, or policy of
presence, which meant that they pressed for their right to be welcome at
international summits as an end in itself, followed by no significant initia-
tive. However, the widely accepted assumption that since World War II Italy
has had no foreign policy is misleading.30 Italian leaders, like the French,
calculated or simply hoped that prestige would produce power rather than
being a derivation of it. Through a policy of presence, they attempted to
gain international clout. Through that presence they also hoped to reach
close association with the United States, a position that could improve their
negotiating power toward the other European allies.
This interest in establishing close ties with Washington, however, pro-
duced the second major ambivalence of Italian foreign policy. As in France,
this ambivalence was the basic paradox of the invitation/pride paradigm.
Although Italy’s promotion of U.S. hegemony in Europe was much more
unequivocal than that of France, the Italian leaders nevertheless displayed
a similar tension between the desire for special partnership with Washing-
ton and the fear for the subordination to the United States. That fear, con-
stantly rekindled by the anti-American campaigns on the left, made gov-
ernment officials acutely sensitive to matters of national worth and rank.
While often “fatalistically submissive,”31 they nevertheless tried to counter-
balance that attitude with the same manipulation, pride, eventually even
dissent as witnessed in Paris.
Italy’s use of its own “tyrannical weakness “ compounded the “invitation/

pride” phenomenon. Even more than the French, the Italians from the start
stressed the theme of abandonment. Badoglio’s pleas to Roosevelt deliber-
ately evoked images of breadlines, destroyed cities and (by early 1944) the
millions still “groan[ing] under the German heel.”32 But even more effective
in drawing American attention was the Communist threat to Italy, internal
and international, that antifascist exiles to the United States such as Carlo
Sforza (former and future foreign minister), and Alberto Tarchiani (the first
postwar ambassador to Washington) incessantly exploited. After the Soviet
Union had, first among the great powers, recognized Badoglio’s provisional
government in March 1944,33 Sforza, who had returned to Italy with the
ambition of supplanting the prime minister and his monarchic allies, did
not hesitate to describe Moscow’s move as the first step toward the “diplo-
matic Sovietization of Europe.” Such a fate, he explained, would eventually
be met by the Balkans, France, and Spain—one of the first examples of the
Cold War “falling dominos” syndrome. Tarchiani, as John Harper has
described him, had the “modest but ingratiating” manner that “befitted the
ambassador of a defeated enemy.” In Washington, he epitomized the diplo-
macy of postwar Italy as he “alternated the image of an abject Italy with
the bright prospect of future Italian-American partnership,” almost always
using the “red peril” to obtain support. In general, Ennio Di Nolfo has
noted, “the Italians themselves forcefully pointed to the potential danger of
communism in their country and asked the United States to work against it,
even before such danger manifested itself more explicitly.”34
This diplomatic tactic worked, particularly for the reemerging Christian
Democrats who in a few years managed to present themselves as the
United States’ only political option for a stable pro-Western Italy. But
“tyrannical weakness” had a price. As Tarchiani’s ten year experience in
Washington demonstrated, it became harder and harder to change the
image of Italy as the “tottering” nation and weakest link in the chain of
European allies into that of a stable partner. Moreover, by persistently por-
traying their struggle against the strong Italian Communist party (PCI) as
a microcosm of the emerging Cold War, Italy’s moderate representatives,
even to a greater extent than the French, risked confirming the image of
their country as a pawn in the superpower confrontation. Not only would
Italy frequently come across as a client of the United States, but it would
also seem an unreliable ally (because of the risk of Communist subversion).
While exaggerating the “red peril” could secure aid, in the postwar years
it often made Congressmen and cabinet members in Washington more
reluctant to grant substantial concessions. Together, domestic criticism and
America’s reservations aggravated the Italian government’s inferiority
complex and compelled it, like its French counterpart, to covet show and
rank as compensation.
Consensus? But hadn’t the Italian people in fact repudiated grandeur?

For the majority of Italians the word grandeur, or grandezza, carried the
burden of Mussolini’s disgrace. Even more pertinently than in the French
case, we must wonder how the Italian people viewed their leaders’ search
for international prestige. As the intellectual Alberto Savinio commented
“the size of our national disaster is directly proportional to the height of the
‘mountain of rhetoric’ on top of which our nation has been elevated [under
Fascism]”35 Defeat had been enough of a sobering lesson. Furthermore the
public remained remote from matters of foreign policy, partly as a conse-
quence of the alienation the Italians had so frequently felt toward govern-
ment institutions. Because Italy has never been as strongly united as other
Western European nation-states, its people have traditionally given their
main allegiance to political parties or religious institutions rather than to
the government. The experience of the Liberation and Resistance in the
years 1943–45 magnified the popular tendency toward factionalism, a nat-
ural explosion of different opinions after the vain efforts to “nationalize”
the masses during twenty years of Fascism. The Cold War added to the
nation’s traditional social divisions by creating a rift between pro-Soviets
and pro-Americans—hence the conclusion, shared by several historians,
that by 1945 the Italians had abandoned nationalism, even national iden-
tity, and craved foreign models more than any other European people did.36
Indeed, the confluence of all these characteristics of public opinion made
it urgent for Italy’s postwar leaders to seek legitimacy. They were convinced
that international prestige, as long as it did not imitate the belligerent
grandeur of the Fascist regime, would help them gain popular acceptance.
Moreover, the Italian people did not simply forsake nationalism. In Italy,
as in France, the people experienced Liberation as an occasion for national
reawakening. The Resistance was not merely a civil war. Those who chose
to fight Fascism invoked a morally pure, dignified patriotism.37 There was
an affinity between this popular impulse for “moral rebirth” and the gov-
ernment’s quest to restore Italy’s reputation as a democracy.
And while repudiating grandeur, the Italians remained acutely sensitive
about how others judged their country. As the Italians’ imperial dreams
crumbled during the war, their characteristic inferiority complex grew. At
the same time, years of Fascist rhetoric left an indelible mark on the nation’s
character. Though disenchanted with Mussolini’s great power policy, the
Italians remained affected by the form and psychology behind that policy,
the heavy reliance on appearances. The result was a sort of national pride
extremely susceptible to questions of status and yet almost always devoid
of the self-assertion more typical of the French or other European nations.38
Often, Italian public opinion seemed perfectly in tune with its leaders’ pol-
icy of presence, which gave more importance to the “stage” than to con-
crete initiatives.
Even when the Italians admired foreign models, they did not simply deny
Italian national identity but rather formed a curious symbiosis between their
“nationalism” and those models. Italy could perhaps be seen as a microcosm
of the Cold War. By war’s end the majority of the Italian public worshiped
the “American dream,” while “Giuseppe” Stalin enjoyed mythical status
among almost as strong a minority.39 But the political debate generally
turned on which of the two models would guarantee Italy social justice and
national rebirth and independence. As strangely vicarious as this national-
ism may seem, it was founded on the presumption of the people and of their
representatives alike that one or the other model could be absorbed,
adapted, and even improved in the Italian way. So for example, the Christ-
ian Democrats followed their own interpretation of Fordism and of other
imports of American capitalism, while the Communists never seriously gave
up the idea that there would be a better, Italian path to socialism.
Finally, the public’s remoteness from the subtleties of foreign policy led to
another paradox: during the postwar period such aloofness left almost
complete discretion to Italian leaders and diplomats. These policy-makers,
who had their political upbringing during the pre-Fascist and Fascist years,
maintained a keen attachment to old-style balance of power policy and the
issues of status that went along with it.
AMERICA’S VIEW
When Ambassador Caffery noted the Parisians’ eagerness to offset the
humiliation of 1940, he reflected a prevailing view in Washington: the new
dominating power took special notice of the defeated power’s inferiority
complex more than of its potential recovery of status. Whether leaders in
France and Italy begged or boasted, they displayed a “psychology of the
vanquished,” according to most American officials. By 1944–45, both
France and Italy were only relatively important to America. France was far
from being the privileged ally it aspired to be; Italy, never a focal point in
U.S. policy before, seemed worthy only of sporadic attention at the top lev-
els in Washington. Although Americans had faith in the prospect of recon-
structing the two devastated countries, they had much less respect for their
chance to recover international prominence. Germany and the British
empire remained the crucial strategic and economic assets of America’s
future world policy.40
In January 1945, Harry Hopkins, the special assistant to President Roo-
sevelt, explained to a sober de Gaulle that most American officials had
agreed to exclude France from the forthcoming great power meeting at
Yalta primarily because of “the stupefying disappointment” they had suf-
fered seeing the rapid collapse of la grande nation in 1940. “Our traditional
conception of her value,” he emphasized, “was overthrown in an instant.”
Worse still, France seemed to have slid into “moral decline” with leaders
(Vichy) that Washington soon found, in Hopkins’ words, “untrustwor-
thy.”41 A few months later, Ambassador Caffery, never a cheerleader for de
Gaulle, added that the General’s policy of prestige might actually advance
France’s “moral decline,” for the gaullist interpretation of grandeur implied
a certain dose of authoritarianism; that policy also sacrificed the economic
and social reforms France needed to become really a “great” nation again.
Even though the United States eventually grew more optimistic about the
future of French democracy, American officials continued to consider
France a second-rank power with excessive pride.
Italy was not even a power from America’s point of view. Only a few in
the United States had believed that Mussolini, the new “Caesar,” could
revive Italy’s rank. His abysmal failure only confirmed Washington’s view
of Italy as a peripheral nation of Europe.42 Close contacts with the Italians,
their culture, politics, and problems during the long campaign of 1943–45
did not change that view. This meant not only that both Roosevelt and Tru-
man disregarded Italian appeals for a special partnership with the United
States, but also that these presidents had no coherent design toward an area
they considered of marginal importance. Roosevelt’s announcement in
1944 promising an increase in the bread ratio for the Italians, appeared too
manifestly as a carefully calculated pre-electoral move, that actually further
stressed Italy’s powerlessness.43
Only as a renewed democracy could Italy hope to regain international
“respect.” The desire of the Italian provisional governments to return to the
family of democratic nations was certainly welcome in Washington. But
Italy had to drop its own corollary that this “purification” would allow a
comeback on the international stage as well.
Perceptions and Stereotypes. During the early years of the Cold War,
American attitudes about the French and the Italians, shaped by cultural
stereotypes, served to undermine the two countries as respectable world or
even regional powers. Many in Washington believed that if the two “Latin
sisters” exemplified the decline of the Old Continent, it was also because of
their political culture and the nature of their people.
The most common contrast was the one that posed European obsoles-
cence—or experience, in the French and Italian interpretation—versus
American youth and pragmatism. The Americans dismissed French and
Italian attachment to tradition in economics and politics as archaic and
inefficient, while several French and Italian representatives dreaded the
materialistic and conformist aspects of American “efficiency.”44 And not
surprising, during the first decade of the Cold War many advocates of
national prestige in France and Italy passionately campaigned for the
preservation of national cultural heritage.
From an American perspective, particularly after Europe’s self-inflicted

devastation twice in the space of thirty years, countries that ranked them-
selves according to values of the past evoked images of entrenched aristoc-
racies trying to hold back the inevitable tide of the future. Parallels with the
debauched aristocracy of Old Europe emerged most vividly in portraits of
French and Italians as “undisciplined” and “idle,” excessively relishing the
pleasures of the table, art and sex—a culture of indulgence that eventually,
in French and Italian upper-class circles, became known as “douceur de
vivre” and “dolce vita” respectively.45
If this lifestyle appeared frivolous or immoral to American “puritans,”
equally strange to America’s Protestant tradition was the considerable lever-
age that Catholicism still exerted in the two countries’ politics and society.
U.S. officials harbored a mixture of admiration and misgivings particularly
toward the Vatican, the only effective political institution in Rome before
the city’s liberation in June 1944 and a powerful influence thereafter. So the
Church had been a stabilizing element, but its power demonstrated that
Italy’s other institutions had failed developing a national secular culture.
The very anticlericalism that pervaded French and Italian mass culture was,
from an American point of view, a natural reaction to unresolved disputes
between Church and State and additional proof of the latter’s inherent
weakness in the two countries.46
Anticlericalism was not the only reason for social instability. France’s and
Italy’s national, or “nationalistic” experience had traditionally unfolded
through revolutionary outbreaks at home and militarism abroad. In part, it
was this characteristic that prompted American diplomats’ spontaneous ref-
erences to postwar France as “la grande malade” of Europe, “sick, hungry
and proud,” even “neurotic,” and to Italy as more “anarchic” than usual.47
The diagnosis became more dismal when compounded with another char-
acteristic that soon the French Fourth Republic and Italy’s new parliamen-
tary regime would seem to perpetuate: that the two peoples could not pro-
duce leaders with enough “spine.” De Gaulle was the exception and not by
accident he resigned in 1946 in the face of parliamentary factionalism. But
even the General’s self-comparison with Joan of Arc at first gained more
ridicule than respect in Washington. As to Italy, in 1945 New York Mayor
Fiorello La Guardia spoke for many Americans when he complained
crudely but concisely to an Italian diplomat, it was incredible that “among
44 million people you could not find a leader with two balls this big”—he
then wondered whether Italy would need another dictator to square things
out again.48
Archaic concepts in business, an “undisciplined” lifestyle, political prece-
dents of radicalism and authoritarianism, and a current weak leadership
were characteristics that made France and Italy not only uncertain democ-
racies in the 1940s and 1950s, but also explained the loss of the two main
instruments for a possible candidacy as great powers: a modern economy

and a mighty military. This judgment became ingrained in the United States
during wartime. At Yalta, Roosevelt agreed with Stalin that the lack of these
two elements critically reduced the relevance of France as an international
actor. Condescending caricature portraits of French and Italian “unmili-
tary” qualities abounded, with Hollywood productions such as A Bell for
Adano and Arch of Triumph leading the way. In both countries, black mar-
ket and profiteering during the Liberation seemed not only wartime phe-
nomena but the culmination of the two peoples’ undisciplined nature and
of the structural and institutional weaknesses of both economies.49
There were, however, clear distinctions in the prejudices Americans held
respectively toward the French and the Italians. Based on past contacts with
each nation, the United States responded differently to French and Italian
claims of prestige.
If both peoples received labels as undisciplined, fickle, lazy, and ineffi-
cient, Italians fared slightly better than the French, as most of those same
clichés were compensated by another one: their ability to improvise and
cope in the absence of institutionalized authority. Many American GIs
admired the Italians’ ingenuity in the most dire circumstances, their capac-
ity to survive, perhaps in part because they felt it closer to America’s own
tradition of self-reliance, or because of their own ethnic pride if they were
of Italian descent (the advantage of overseas kinship that France could not
enjoy).50 However, this perception validated America’s impression of the
Italians as naturally “anarchic,” thus refuting Badoglio’s and other leaders’
promises of institutional stability. Moreover, the survival instinct of the
defeated often required humbleness and subservience. The French after
D-Day may have been fickle and, at times, intractable; Italians, men and
women, were even “too welcoming,” as a British report noted in April
1945, ready to accept their liberators in their homes, but less willing to
defend their country with honor51 (the Resistance fighters were at best a
ragged, bandit army, in the Anglo-Saxon view).
Some American officials strove to provide a more fair portrait of the Italian
population, though still within the narrow confines of enduring clichés.
Emblematic was the State Department’s enthusiasm about Roberto Rossellini’s
film Open City (1945), which showed the Italians as people of principle, hero-
ically resisting Nazi tyranny—an excellent work of “propaganda” that
“would restore self-respect among Italians and Italian-Americans” according
to a U.S. diplomat.52 One of the first examples of the internationally renowned
Italian Neorealism in film, this movie also symbolized that movement’s pen-
chant for populism, continuing to expose the gap between rulers and ruled,
thus corroborating America’s perception of Italy as a country of weak institu-
tions and alienated poor. It was with the compassionate eyes of the benevolent
patron that American diplomats endorsed the heroism of the downtrodden.
This attitude could be a generous one, but it failed to grant the dignity Italian
leaders demanded. Even Italy’s most vocal advocates at the State Department
continued to indulge in derisive characterizations to get their point across: at
the end of 1946 the Italian Desk officer, Walter Dowling recommended “a pol-
icy so damned pro-Italian that even the dumbest wop would sense the drift
and even the cleverest Italian comrade would have trouble denouncing it.”53
Dowling and his colleagues looked at Italians based on the most common
stereotype they had, that of the poor immigrant. The uncertainty of Italy’s
democratic renewal in the postwar period even persuaded American diplo-
mats and leaders about the need to teach lessons of democracy to an
“immature” people. Italian representatives themselves resorted to the argu-
ment of the Italian citizens’ immaturity, after several years of tyranny, to
justify the delay of elections for a Constituent Assembly in 1945–46.
Tarchiani and De Gasperi in particular suggested that early elections would
only benefit the Communist party. Some American officials shared this fear
about the Communist threat in Italy; others were more worried that the
Italian provisional government’s hesitation would widen the gap between
the people and democratic institutions. Both arguments confirmed Ameri-
can reservations about the Italians’ sense of democracy. Washington pressed
for early elections precisely to help close the gap between rulers and ruled.
Finally held in June 1946, those elections awarded the moderate parties a
slim majority in the Constituent Assembly.54 It seemed curious at best that
the Italian government was demanding a less restrictive peace treaty and at
the same time inviting American tutelage until the country had matured
into a liberal democracy.55 But the argument behind both requests was the
same: the Communists would make hay of a punitive peace as well as of
early postwar elections. Consequently, it was not only with political—and
eventually financial—support that the United States endorsed the center
parties in Italy. It also resorted to its traditional sense of “mission,” under-
taking the role of “educator” toward the emerging Italian democracy, a
conduct that would reach its peak during the campaign for the first national
elections of the Italian Republic in 1948.
While certain characteristics of the Italians warranted a patron-client
relationship with the United States, the opposite can be said about
France. The French were less amenable to America’s “missionary”
impulse, mostly because France itself had traditionally justified its expan-
sion and influence in the world as a mission civilisatrice. French nation-
alism had a proselytizing nature in common with American nationalism.
For almost two centuries, the two nations had competed for the position
as the global leader of human rights and democracy. Since the time of
Thomas Jefferson, Americans had scoffed at French claims to be an
“equal” to the “Shining City on the Hill.”56 The wartime contrast
between Charles de Gaulle and Franklin Roosevelt was a classic example
of those competing claims, as was the contention between Jefferson and
the French Jacobins.
Roosevelt dismissed de Gaulle ostensibly because the French general’s

pretentions of grandeur did not correspond to his country’s limited contri-
bution to the war effort, and because Free France, more often than not, had
disrupted Anglo-American strategic designs, from the failed attempt to cap-
ture Dakar in 1940 to the Franco-American skirmishes over Strasbourg in
the winter of 1944. On top of that, Roosevelt followed the traditional pref-
erence of U.S. diplomacy to deal with representatives of the status quo—in
this case Vichy, then Darlan, then Giraud over the “rebels” of the French
Committee of National Liberation (the CFLN under de Gaulle).57
But the American president’s conduct was not solely a product of his
respect for power and stability. There was also a natural antipathy between
the leader who fancied himself “another Jefferson, patron and liberator of
France,”58 and the Général who acted as a modern “Joan of Arc” and
believed in the primacy of France in Europe. Roosevelt thought de Gaulle
was affected by a “messianic complex,” and, after Yalta, ridiculed his
poses as whims of a “prima donna.” The French general disparaged the
American president’s self-portrait as savior of humanity, a dissimulation
that, he believed, “draped in idealism” quite practical ambitions and cyn-
ical calculations.59
Indeed, this reciprocal criticism reflected not only competing American
and French claims of “mission,” but also their qualitative difference. While
de Gaulle wanted to raise American conscience on the political and sym-
bolic dimensions of power, Roosevelt measured power in practice, with fig-
ures, manpower, and technology. From the pragmatic viewpoint of the
American president, it was all too clear that the French leader resorted to
symbolism, to the intangible factors of power either because he had lost
sense of reality, or because he recognized all too well his nation’s decline.
And if those intangible factors were the only basis for France’s current
grandeur, then the whole French prestige policy had become quite ethereal,
from Washington’s standpoint. Even though none of de Gaulle’s successors
shared his devotion to philosopher Henri Bergson, who reevaluated the
power of the will, intuition, and sentiment over reason and science, they
held an almost equally romantic attachment to the “spiritual” value of
France’s example versus America’s “City on the Hill.” American represen-
tatives for their part continued to belittle the French mission civilisatrice.60
In sum, one of the main problems with French statesmen remained their
obsessive reference to their country’s continued role as beacon of civiliza-
tion for the rest of the world.
The United States’ disregard for French and Italian aspirations to power
and rank, and its harsh judgments on the nature and characteristics of the
two “Latin” peoples, tempered de Gaulle’s and Badoglio’s dreams of
grandeur. The White House and the State Department, however, did not
ignore requests for diplomatic support and at least a semblance of partner-
ship. The quest for self-esteem among Italy and France was a prerequisite
to their political stability, as Washington soon acknowledged. This was the

main, almost intuitive argument. It was however compounded by other rea-
sons and calculations.
Balance of Power. The issue of self-esteem became interlaced with that of

the balance of power in the European continent. From as early as 1944, the
British understood the implications of excluding France from the circle of great
powers. De Gaulle had insisted that a victor’s psychology—participation in the
Big Powers’ club—was necessary to erase France’s recent frustrations and
obtain its full cooperation in the postwar settlement. A victor’s psychology
would also secure a victor’s share: France’s status and security, according to de
Gaulle and his immediate successors required the fragmentation of the Ger-
man Reich into small federated states, an autonomous Rhineland under
French control, and an international administration of the coal-rich Ruhr.
While the British rejected some of these requests, and opposed French partici-
pation at Yalta, they nevertheless promoted France’s inclusion in the European
Advisory Commission, which was to decide the fate of Germany. In Novem-
ber 1944, Winston Churchill used the psychological rather than the strategic
argument to convince Roosevelt to change his attitude toward France. He
insisted that de Gaulle’s cabinet was stable, possessing a “rapidly growing
strength . . . in spite of Communist threats” and that it was therefore neces-
sary to foster the General’s self-reassurance, instead of mortifying it.61
By the following January, while the president was still reluctant to wel-
come Churchill’s solicitation, the State Department had absorbed it and
refined it. In a Briefing Book for the Yalta Conference, U.S. officials still
argued that the French were “unduly preoccupied, as a result of the mili-
tary defeat of 1940 . . . with questions of national prestige” and that
their requests were “out of proportion to their present strength;” but they
also urged that it was “in the interest of the United States to take full
account of this psychological factor in the French mind and to treat France
in all respects on the basis of her potential power and influence rather than
on the basis of her present strength [emphasis added].” Secretary of State
Edward Stettinius sharpened the argument, combining psychological and
strategic considerations. He noted that the United States had interest in a
rejuvenated France not only because of its possible contribution to accel-
erating victory and to building the postwar order, but also because pro-
moting France’s rank would make a favorable impression on “other small
countries of Europe which profess to fear the results of a peace imposed by
non-European powers.”62 The idea that continental Europe needed to
select a guiding power, a champion of European autonomy, would be an
enduring one in American Cold War policy.
But the link between status and balance of power might also mean limit-
ing French initiative. In the immediate postwar period, the acceptance of
France among the great powers became primarily and ironically a means to
curb its influence in Europe. After Yalta, the French government, accusing
the Big Three of dividing up Europe into spheres of influence, posed as
advocate of the smaller European nations, particularly in the East, and tried
to empower them by promoting the United Nations’ General Assembly. It
was in part to prevent a French-led coalition of middle and small powers at
the United Nations that the Anglo-Americans admitted France as one of the
five permanent members of the Security Council.63 This was only the first
example of Washington’s tendency to “contain” France by manipulating its
ambitions of rank.
Concessions of status had to be reinforced by a formal display of respect
in order to win France’s cooperation. Roosevelt’s concession of great pow-
ers status to France was welcome. Yet the style of his gesture remained a
problem, for he declared he made the concession “only out of kindness.”
FDR’s suggestion to meet de Gaulle in Algiers as a compensation for
France’s exclusion from Yalta was another awkward move toward the ally
who demanded unconditional treatment as a victor—a contemptuous
summoning of a French president on French territory, the General thun-
dered. President Truman, more amenable than his predecessor to advice
from the State Department, and not engaged in any personal animosity
with the French general, granted the requested treatment. In May he
announced that France should resume “its rightful and eminent place”
among the world powers and promised it a portion of America’s occupa-
tion zone in Germany.64 Nothing but France’s own “misbehavior” with the
Allies during the following weeks in the Val d’Aosta—where the French
claimed corrections of the Italian borderline, almost clashing with U.S.
troops—and in the Middle East—where the French tried to resist British
hasty promotion of independence for Syria and Lebanon—precluded its
presence at the Potsdam Conference.65 But Truman made up for that exclu-
sion by receiving the French foreign minister, Georges Bidault, in May, and
de Gaulle in August (this time in Washington) as representatives of a great
power—“a great ally, wounded but victorious, and, above all, needed,” in
de Gaulle’s own words. On that occasion, the French leader, surrounded
by the pomp and circumstance he craved, felt less shy about pleading for
more economic assistance to help his country become “great” again. Tru-
man graciously complied with a promise of aid, ushering in the Blum-
Byrnes accords of the following year.66
While the British had, first among the allies, fostered a revived great
power status for France, the same cannot be said about Italy. Here Amer-
ica’s and Britain’s roles as champions of leniency were reversed. Having
been much less engaged than the British against Fascist Italy, the Ameri-
cans were able to perceive earlier the connection between the Italians’ self-
esteem and Western strategic interests. Nothing as far-fetched as a “victor’s
psychology” was possible for Italy, although Italian leaders kept fruitlessly
demanding the replacement of “co-belligerent” status with “allied power”
status. Also, Dowling rightly complained that the United States continued
to treat Italy as a secondary theater, with sporadic attention to its prob-
lems. But although they had no clear plan until 1947, the Americans began
from as early as 1943 to argue in favor of a rapid economic and political
rehabilitation of the occupied country, which implied a certain respect for
its rank as “middle power.” Washington did wish a strong British role in
the Mediterranean, but not as a hegemon, particularly if it meant unset-
tling Italy’s fragile political situation. For this reason the United States
opposed Churchill’s attempt to preserve a monarchic regime in Rome, a
solution that would have enabled Great Britain to reduce Italy to a weak
complying client, subjugated by a punitive peace treaty, and as a result,
also highly unstable.67 The Russians above all might use that instability to
extend their influence in the Mediterranean, thus jeopardizing, in the
words of a report by the State-War-Navy Coordinating Committee,
“American dependence upon the lines of communication to oil supplies in
the Near East.”68
By war’s end, the Chief of the Allied Control Commission, American
Admiral Ellery W. Stone, was advocating a non-punitive approach to Italy,
paying particular attention to the Italians’ sensitivity and pride. The recip-
ient of Stone’s recommendation was the Supreme Allied Commander in the
Mediterranean, British General Harold Alexander, who acknowledged that
his government had attempted to dominate Italy while hoping it would be
“strong enough to give [the] West time to mobilize itself against [the]
East.” The government in London insisted on a five-year waiting period to
revise any peace terms with Italy. But to Alexander the combination of
punishment, threats, indecision, and eventual promises appeared “too
reminiscent of Hebrew theology.” “No donkey,” he added, “allows the
prospect of [an] amorphous carrot five years distant in space to influence
its reactions to [the] present;” therefore, he agreed with his American
counterpart that it was not possible to keep Italy “deliberately in suspense
as to whether her place [was] in the sun or in [the] shadow.” However,
even the most pro-Italian British officials kept arguing against Italy’s pre-
tense as a great power. At best they wanted to prevent what they still con-
sidered as a “Western European country” from being “Balkanized” and
falling “under Soviet influence,” in Alexander’s words. That Italy should
be considered a Mediterranean “equal” partner, possibly with the preser-
vation of its administration over Libya, even as a UN trusteeship, was a
different matter for the British: Italy should not retain control on both
sides of the Mediterranean.69
Because the British would confine Italy’s rehabilitation by demanding ret-
ribution from the former enemy and strict limits on its freedom of action in
foreign policy, the initiative of improving Italy’s status remained primarily
American. Less concerned about Italy as a potential aggressor and now
viewing the Italians as “essentially a peaceful people,”70 the United States
continued to detect more clearly than Great Britain the political and strate-
gic perils of a persistent psychology of the vanquished in Rome.
It was not only on ideological grounds that the Americans opposed the
unconditional preservation of the monarchy in Italy; they were also con-
vinced that complicity with the Fascist regime had discredited the Italian
royalty at home and abroad. Less bound than the British to the status quo
in the former enemy state, they perceived the importance of a good reputa-
tion for the first representatives of a democratic Italy.71
American prodding was behind the joint Declaration made by Roosevelt
and Churchill at Hyde Park, New York, in September 1944. A grand “ges-
ture”—as the British premier called it—the Declaration promised Italy a
revision of the armistice clauses, aid through the United Nations Relief and
Recovery Administration (UNRRA) and, not the least, the deletion of the
word “Control” from the Allied Control Commission, a correction imply-
ing greater administrative and diplomatic autonomy for the occupied coun-
try.72 With just as grandiose a proposal at Potsdam, Truman promised the
Italians “the dignity of the Free” and the “certainty that no condition essen-
tial to their development w[ould] be denied or impaired.” He also pressed
the British and the Soviets into a joint declaration announcing the Big
Three’s intention to negotiate a final peace treaty quickly with the Italian
government and to support Italy’s application for membership in the United
Nations. This was no specific promise, but a sign of “respect” that most
Italian officials took as an endorsement of future partnership, the same way
the French had interpreted Truman’s steps in their favor after Potsdam.73
However, the United States gave less encouragement to Italy than to France
in that direction. Beyond rhetorical respect, the State and War Departments
in Washington harbored no illusion about Italy’s potential role, if not rank,
as a middle power, and they invited it “to look primarily to the Interna-
tional Security Organization for [its] security,” thus justifying its “partial
disarmament.”74 Military revival, the most traditional path to national
power and assertion, remained out of Italy’s reach. But as will be shown,
these limits further motivated Italian leaders to explore alternative ways to
rehabilitate their nation.
Erasing the Recent Past. France’s and Italy’s need for self-esteem and
regained self-determination were also intertwined with their “moral” res-
urrection. Condoning the recent past was another way for the United States
to cure both nations’ inferiority complex. Although most American officials
found the purges of collaborators (in France) and Fascists (in Italy) ques-
tionable either because they were excessive, permitting rituals of private
revenge, or because they were ineffective, focusing on a few scapegoats and
show trials, the United States ultimately chose a hands-off policy; many
officials feared accusations of interference. By the spring of 1944, Secretary
of State Cordell Hull urged diplomats in France and Italy to avoid “scrupu-
lously any public comment on the trials.”75 There was no law of the victors
in France and Italy comparable to that established at Nuremberg.
The point was not only to show respect for French and Italian sover-
eignty or for their sensitivity on this particular issue. The mild purge, the
concentration of justice against a few top hierarchs, found its justification
in the argument that Fascism and Vichy had been a brief parenthesis, an
aberration in the two countries’ continuous democratic growth—as the
then popular thesis of Italian historian and philosopher Benedetto Croce
put it. This thesis helped perpetuate the idea that the Italian people and the
French under Vichy had been victims of an unwanted regime and an
imposed collaborationism. Reducing and even exonerating collective guilt
guaranteed for the two nations a rapid, if perhaps superficial, moral reha-
bilitation, a fundamental element in their resumption of international
respectability and rank. Furthermore, Washington understood all too well
that thorough punishment of the offense would have warranted a deeper
search into the political, economic, social factors that allowed Fascism to
take place in the two nations. This soul-searching risked provoking chaos
in the already unstable governments in Paris and Rome. To make this argu-
ment fully persuasive, de Gaulle justified his indulgence toward Vichy col-
laborators as a contribution to national unity—the main requirement for
grandeur. The “epuration” would have rekindled partisan passions; the
resulting factionalism would have undermined the legitimacy of the demo-
cratic government.76
Holding Communism in Check. The need to forestall Communist sub-

version remained the principle motivation for the United States’ efforts to
bolster the power and moral status of France and Italy beyond what their
present condition allowed. Beginning in 1944 the Communist parties in
both countries participated in national unity governments and for that rea-
son considerably toned down their militancy. But the other government
partners as well as the United States had no doubt about the Communists’
subversive intent and collusion with Moscow.
Already in October 1944, Caffery maintained that, because of the lever-
age and power the PCF had gained during the Resistance, the United States
had no other choice but to support the “sour puss” de Gaulle; to add
urgency to his argument he concluded, “as France goes, the Continent of
Europe will probably go.” The State Department in early 1945 pressed for
a stronger European role for France, lest the country fall under “totalitari-
anism.” Truman downplayed de Gaulle’s provocations at Stuttgart and in
the Val d’Aosta in the Spring of 1945, and later, during the General’s visit
in Washington, he publicly glorified the man he secretly called an “s.o.b.,”
also because by that time the Communists seemed the only likely successors
to power if the leader of the Liberation resigned.77 When France, as the new
member of the Allied Control Authority in Germany, used its “European
role” to veto projects for a coordinated administration of the four zones,

the American Deputy Governor, General Lucius D. Clay remained an iso-
lated voice calling for sanctions against Paris; the White House and the
State Department responded that an outcast France would turn Commu-
nist, with worse consequences for Germany and the rest of Europe.78
The prospect of a takeover by PCF naturally evoked fears of Continental
collapse. Europe seemed just as vulnerable if the Communists seized power in
the Italian peninsula. When Sforza in April 1944 warned the United States that
Communist influence in Italy could usher in the “Sovietization of Europe,” he
found a receptive audience. So did Ambassador Tarchiani a year later, when he
complained that the Anglo-Americans’ neglect of Italy’s welfare, and their stub-
born treatment of Italy as a former enemy state—with virtually no independ-
ent foreign policy—would steer the majority of the Italians toward the Social-
ist-Communist parties. This, he summed up, “might prejudice the whole
European situation,” because if Italy fell under Soviet domination “the Allies
would have no real friend left in Europe.” By June 1945, the main reason why
the AC Chief Ellery Stone insisted on improving Italy’s status was his fear that
a demoralized Italy would easily fall prey to Communist protest, ultimately
affecting the bordering nations. The report by the State-War-Navy Coordinat-
ing Committee of September 1945, while endorsing certain limits on Italian
rearmament, recommended keeping Italy strong and confident enough to with-
stand the forces that “threatened to sweep [it] into a new totalitarianism.”79
By early summer of 1945 the British leaders, including Churchill, decided
to leave the initiative in Italy to the United States partly because of their
country’s own economic troubles, but also because they understood that the
issue at stake was no longer one of monarchy versus republic, but rather
between totalitarianism and democracy. General Alexander summed up the
case for a milder treatment of Italy: “we cannot afford to keep the Italians
down too much and thus leave them no alternative but to go Red.”80
The same reasoning applied to the moral issue of the epuration. The fact
that the Communist parties seemed likely to benefit most from a thorough
house-cleaning in France and Italy pushed the Anglo-Americans toward
accepting compromises with the conservative forces—especially in Italy
where those forces refused to dismantle many structures and institutions of
the corporate state. What both the occupiers and the local moderates and
conservatives understood only later was that even the Communists were
interested in maintaining the existing bureaucratic structures, since, from a
Marxist-Gramscian assumption, the bureaucracy was intrinsically neutral;
what really mattered was who gained power over it.81
It was through a combination of economic assistance and support for an

improved status that the United States tried to decrease the vulnerability of
the French and Italian governments. The policy of aid proved to be a series
of insufficient stop-gap measures until 1947. But it is instructive to list the
concessions in terms of status that France and Italy obtained within only
two years, for they were disproportionate to the contribution the two dev-
astated nations could offer the West; but they also did prove to be matters
of “appearance” more than substance.
By 1945, France had become one of the five UN “policemen,” joined the
European Advisory Commission, obtained an occupation zone in Germany
with consequent equal membership in the Allied Control Council, received
its share as a winner in Italy too, entering the Advisory Commission. In
addition, France had received, during de Gaulle’s visit to Washington in
August 1945, America’s “blessing” as a “world power,” with responsibili-
ties not only in Europe but also in Africa and Indochina—responsibilities
that were to be fortified by U.S. diplomatic cooperation and economic assis-
tance.
Italy, once it obtained recognition as co-belligerent, rapidly became,
among the former enemies, the first candidate in the community of demo-
cratic nations. After lifting several armistice restrictions, the United States
at Potsdam prompted the other two great powers’ official endorsement of
Italy’s contribution to the war effort, a promise for a rapid negotiation of a
mild peace treaty, and tripartite support of Italian membership in the United
Nations (pending signature of the peace treaty, as the Soviets requested).
But participation in summits or formal welcomes into the “family” of
democratic nations guaranteed no substantial equality of power or dignity.
For France, being a member of the EAC and ACC bore only limited results,
since the Big Three continued to discuss the substance of their policies
toward Germany and the rest of the world in the Special London Commit-
tee of the Three and at other informal meetings within the Conferences of
Foreign Ministers that took place until 1947. The Advisory Commission for
Italy proved to be a shallow consultative body with no leverage over the
Anglo-American Allied Commission. Having renounced leading the discon-
tented small powers at the United Nations, France found itself contained
more than protagonist in the Security Council.82 The lesson the French
would have a hard time learning was that the informal entente among the
great powers counted more than any official summit.
Promises to Italy also soon appeared hollow. Already during the first
Peace Talks in London in September 1945, it became obvious that the Ital-
ian treaty would be neither swift nor mild. Conflicting interests among the
great powers—the British and the French with their Mediterranean ambi-
tions, the Soviets pressing for the same punitive treatment of Italy as the for-
mer German satellite states of Eastern Europe—mollified America’s support
for the ex-enemy and relegated the Potsdam Declaration to the realm of
rhetoric. The Italians, while still harboring hopes of preserving status sym-
bols such as the colonies, saw even the prospect of UN membership fade
away, due to the Soviet veto. Ambassador Tarchiani exemplified Italy’s jun-
ior status when, shortly after the London Conference, he protested against
weak Western resistance to Soviet attempts “to place at the same level the
Italian, Roumanian and Bulgarian situation.” While no peace was in sight
“the armistice continu[ed] to weigh heavily on Italy’s difficult situation,”
Tarchiani warned, “preventing the Government from regaining the mini-
mum of prestige necessary to restore its authority and to promote economic
normalization and the re-establishment of democratic life.”83
American diplomats had correctly analyzed French and Italian sensitivity
to questions of status, and urged remedies in terms of formal and “ceremo-
nial” recognition. Indeed, too frequently they focused their attention on
matters of appearance, turning them into a “Franco-Italian” cliché. For
example, after the Potsdam Conference, Ambassador Caffery considered
the French leaders’ apprehensions that the next Councils of Foreign Minis-
ters would simply ratify the Big Three’s decisions regarding Germany as a
symptom of their “well-known inferiority complex;” he believed that such
feeling was nevertheless balanced by their satisfaction for being invited to
those Councils and for becoming members in the German Reparations
Commission.84
The hard step to make was to recognize the link between France’s and
Italy’s rank and their concrete strategic and economic interests. France was
struggling and would continue to struggle for a position of prominence
among the Western allies because this was the only position that would
enable it to exert direct influence over American and English planning for
Europe, to maintain a continental supremacy over Germany, and to obtain
American endorsement of its colonial policies. The German question was
on top of the list: status was supposed to help achieve security and eco-
nomic goals such as the detachment of the Rhineland from Germany or the
internationalization of the Ruhr. The French delegates at the Council of
Foreign Ministers continued to face opposition or delaying tactics from the
Anglo-Americans and did not get any of the help they expected from the
Soviet Union.
The Italians, to be sure, established a less consistent connection between
status and security interests. But even for Italy, so discredited for being an
aggressor without teeth, recovery of status was not an achievement per se.
Recognition as a democratic nation in the victors’ coalition could diminish
the economic burden of reparations, perhaps even allow a share of U.S. aid,
through an extension of Lend Lease (which did not happen) or inclusion in
the new UNRRA program (which Italy enjoyed). Other concessions would
more easily be granted to a universally recognized democracy: on Trieste
the issue would no longer be defined as that of Italian imperialism versus
Slavic self-determination; as a member of the United Nations Italy would
have a fair chance to retain some of its colonies as trusteeships.85 The dis-
pute over Trieste, the most urgent one for the Italians, as it entailed the most
probable threat to their security, was bound to stay unresolved for several
years, as the main hostage of the great powers’ differences over Italy.
To a large extent, France and Italy were responsible for the feeble con-
nection between prestige and substance. During the first years after their
liberation, they believed they could achieve greater recognition, particularly
in the West, by maneuvering between the two superpowers. This was an
attempt at fitting the old-style European balance of power policy within the
context of the dawning Cold War. The problem was that neither France nor,
for more obvious reasons, Italy could any longer exert such a strong inter-
national influence. In fact, with their diplomatic moves, they reinforced
their own condition as captives of Cold War rivalries. We must consider the
complexities of this development, and especially how inextricable the two
nations’ “obsolete” diplomatic game was from matters of prestige. Ameri-
can reactions to French and Italian maneuvers also must be analyzed, for
they help us understand better how the United States’ view of those issues
of status and, more generally, of its own role in Europe evolved during the
first postwar years.
NOTES
1. Tel. 2354 Caffery to Secretary of State, June 23, 1945, 851.41, Record Group
[hereafter RG] 59, National Archives, College Park, MD [hereafter NA].
2. See esp. Charles de Gaulle, The War Memoirs of Charles de Gaulle,
1940–1946. Vol. 1 The Call to Honor. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1955, p. 1;
Cerny, The Politics of Grandeur, pp. 3–4; Andrew Shennan, Rethinking France.
Plans for Renewal, 1940–1946. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989, p. 72; Douglas
Johnson, “De Gaulle and France’s Role in the World,” in Hugh Gough, John Horne
(eds.), De Gaulle and Twentieth Century France. London: E. Arnold, 1994, p. 85;
cf. Nora, introduction, Realms of Memory, vol. 1, p. 18. In de Gaulle’s philosophy,
France and the State were superior entities superseding and even redeeming through
the “genie de la patrie” the faults of the individual Frenchmen: see esp. Michel
Winock, Parlez-moi de la France. Paris: Plon, 1995, p. 25.
3. Caffery to Sec. State, June 23, 1945, cit.; Dwight D. Eisenhower, Crusade in
Europe. Garden City: Doubleday, 1948, pp. 297–298; cf. Robert Aron, An Expla-
nation of De Gaulle. New York: Harper & Row, 1966, pp. 69–70.
4. For a different view: Melvyn P. Leffler, A Preponderance of Power: National
Security, the Truman Administration, and the Cold War. Stanford: Stanford Univer-
sity Press, 1992; cf. Charles de Gaulle, War Memoirs. Vol. 3. Salvation. New York:
Simon and Schuster, 1960.
5. Qtd. Charles de Gaulle, War Memoirs. Vol. 2. Unity. New York: Simon and
Schuster, 1959, p. 574, highlighted also in Tony Smith, America’s Mission: The
United States and the Worldwide Struggle for Democracy in the Twentieth Century.
Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994, p. 128.
6. Caffery to Sec. State, May 5, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, p. 686; cf. George-Henri
Soutou, “France,” in David Reynolds (ed.). The Origins of the Cold War in Europe.
International Perspectives. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994, p. 100; Charles
G. Cogan, Oldest Allies, Guarded Friends: The United States and France Since
1940. Westport, CT: Praeger, 1994, p. 5.
7. However, very few would accept de Gaulle’s portrait of the Fourth Republic as
Washington’s lackey. The myth of national grandeur affected the leaders of the
Fourth Republic as much as those of the Fifth Republic. But, as traditional historian
Alfred Grosser puts it, the Fourth Republic adopted a “nationalism of resentment”
whereas de Gaulle forged a “nationalism of pride”: Alfred Grosser, The Western
Alliance: European-American Relations Since 1945. New York: Continuum, 1980.
Resentment and pride, one should add, were interchangeable in both the Fourth and
the Fifth Republics. On differences in style see Richard F. Kuisel, Seducing the
French: The Dilemma of Americanization. Berkeley: University of California Press,
1993, p. 136; on the Fourth Republic’s incoherence in foreign policy: Michael M.
Harrison, The Reluctant Ally: France and Atlantic Security. Baltimore: Johns Hop-
kins University Press, 1981, p. 12; Philip H. Gordon, A Certain Idea of France.
French Security Policy and the Gaullist Legacy. Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1993, p. 5.
8. See esp. Jean-Pierre Rioux. The Fourth Republic, 1944–1958. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1987; Pierre Melandri. “France and the Atlantic
Alliance, 1950–1953: Between Great Power Policy and European Integration” in
Olav Riste (ed.) Western Security: The Formative Years. European and Atlantic
Defence. New York: Columbia University Press, 1985; Serge Bernstein and Pierre
Milza, “Les forces politiques françaises entre l’humiliation et la volonté de grandeur
(1956–1962).” Relations internationales, 57, Spring 1989; Hitchcock, France
Restored; Frances Lynch, France and the International Economy: From Vichy to the
Treaty of Rome. New York: Routledge, 1997; for an older assessment stating a sim-
ilar view: Stanley Hoffmann, “Paradoxes of the French Political Community,” in
Hoffmann (ed.), In Search of France.
9. See chapter 6.
10. Best on this point are Maurice Vaïsse, La Grandeur: politique étrangère du
General de Gaulle, 1958–1969. Paris: Fayard, 1998; Andrew Shennan, De Gaulle.
London: Longman, 1993, p. 51; Gordon, A Certain Idea of France, pp. 5–6.
11. Qtd. Hoffmann, “Paradoxes,” p. 56.
12. Qtd. Churchill to Eisenhower, Dec. 7, 1954, FRUS, 1952–54, VI-1, p. 1057;
on French leverage thanks to weakness cf. Pierre Melandri, Maurice Vaïsse,
“France: From Powerlessness to the Search for Influence,” in Becker and Knipping
(eds.), Power in Europe?, pp. 467–468.
13. Qtd. in Richard J. Barnet. The Alliance: America, Europe, Japan, Makers of
the Postwar World. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1983, p. 24; see also Young.
France, The Cold War, p. 53; Stanley Hoffmann, Decline or Renewal? France
Since the 1930s. New York: The Viking Press, 1974, p. 95; Alfred Grosser. La VIe
République et sa politique extérieure. Paris: Librairie Armand Colin, 3d ed., 1972,
pp. 33–34; drawing an analogy from French theater Grosser calls the resentful-
beggar syndrome “Perrichon complex.”
14. De Gaulle, Salvation, pp. 269–270; Jean Monnet, Memoirs. Garden City: Dou-
bleday, 1978, p. 228; John S. Hill. “Germany, the United States and de Gaulle’s
Strategy for Economic Reconstruction, 1944–1946,” in Robert O. Paxton, Nicholas
Wahl (eds.). De Gaulle and the United States. A Centennial Reappraisal. Oxford,
Providence: Berg, 1994, pp. 108–115.
15. Cf. esp. Françoise De la Serre, Jacques Leruez, Helen Wallace (eds.), French
and British Foreign Policies in Transition: The Challenge of Adjustment. New York:
Berg Publishers, 1990, intr.; qtd. Pierre Nora, “The Era of Commemoration,” in
Realms of Memory, Vol. 3, p. 633.
16. Jean Lacouture, De Gaulle: the Ruler. New York: W. W. Norton & Co, 1992,
p. 40; Anton W. DePorte, De Gaulle’s Foreign Policy, 1944–1946. Cambridge: Har-
vard University Press, 1968, p. 55; Simone de Beauvoir, Force of Circumstance.
New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1964, pp. 3–4; François Mauriac, Le bâillon dénoué.
Après quatre ans de silence. Paris: Grasset, 1945, p. 168.
17. See esp. Brian Jenkins and Nigel Copsey, “Nation, Nationalism and National
Identity in France,” in Jenkins and Sofos, Nation and Identity, p. 111; Frank, La
hantise du déclin.
18. Gildea, The Past in French History, pp. 133–134. Polls from Frank, La hantise,
p. 229.
19. Jean-Baptiste Duroselle, “Changes in French Foreign Policy Since 1945,” in
Hoffmann, In Search of France, esp. pp. 335–340; Melandri and Vaïsse. “France:
From Powerlessness to the Search for Influence,” and—less explicitly—other essays
on France in Becker, Knipping, Power in Europe?.
20. Rioux, The Fourth Republic, p. 82; Hoffmann, “Paradoxes,” p. 57.
21. Ennio Di Nolfo. Le paure e le speranze degli italiani, 1943–1953. Milano:
Mondadori, 1986, p. 15; Francesco Alberoni, Movimento e istituzione. Bologna: Il
Mulino, 1977, pp. 69–73; Stuart J. Woolf, “The Rebirth of Italy, 1943–1950,” in
The Rebirth of Italy, 1943–1950. London: Longman, 1972, pp. 222–223.
22. On this point esp. Elena Aga-Rossi, Una nazione allo sbando. L’armistizio ital-
iano del settembre 1943. Bologna: Il Mulino, 1993, pp. 160–161; Ernesto Galli
della Loggia, La morte della patria. Bari: Laterza, 1996, pp. 12 ff.
23. As the Washington Post commented on the occasion: cited in the memoirs of the
Italian diplomat Egidio Ortona, Anni d’America. Vol. 1. La ricostruzione, 1944–1951.
Bologna: Il Mulino, 1984, p. 133; cf. Galli della Loggia, La morte della patria.
24. The armistice imposed everything short of “unconditional surrender,” a defi-
nition that was pulled out of the text at the last minute. All the same, Italy had to
recognize the Allies’ right to occupy its territory and utilize all available resources
to carry on the war against Germany; the economy was under the jurisdiction of the
Allied Control Commission; war criminals were surrendered to the Allied authori-
ties; all the activities of the provisional government were supervised by the ACC and
Italy could have virtually no foreign relations: see James E. Miller. The United States
and Italy, 1940–1950. The Politics and Diplomacy of Stabilization. Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press, 1986, pp. 57–58.
25. Memorandum cited also in Miller, The United States and Italy, pp. 29–30; and
John L. Harper, America and the Reconstruction of Italy, 1945–1948. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1986, pp. 12–13, but both with different conclusions.
26. Badoglio to Roosevelt, Apr. 3, 1944, FRUS 1944, III, pp. 1087–8; Mtg.
Badoglio-Donovan, Jan. 28, 1944, Archivio Storico del Ministero degli Esteri Ital-
iano, Roma [hereafter: ASMAE], Fondo Cassaforte [hereafter FC], Italia-USA,
“Missione Pazzi,” also in Di Nolfo, “Italia e Stati Uniti,” p. 17.
27. Antonio Varsori, “L’Italia nel sistema internazionale post-bellico: dalle illusioni
di grande potenza alla realtà di una media potenza,” in La politica estera italiana
nel secondo dopoguerra, 1943–1957. Milano: LED, 1993, p. 10.
28. “Seduta del 23 maggio 1944” in Archivio Centrale dello Stato, Verbali del
Consiglio dei Ministri. Vol. 2 22 aprile 1944–18 giugno 1944. Roma: Presidenza del
Consiglio dei Ministri, dipartimento per l’informazione e l’editoria, 1996,

pp. 110–111; “Seduta del 18 gennaio 1945” in Vol. 4 Governo Bonomi, 12 dicem-
bre 1944–22 giugno 1945, pp. 131–134; Aide-Memoire British Embassy, March 31,
1944, FRUS, 1944, III, pp. 1084–5; Grew to Truman, May 1, 1945, FRUS, 1945,
IV, pp. 956–7.
29. De Gasperi to Byrnes, Aug. 22, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 1024–9.
30. See esp. Spotts and Wieser, Italy, A Difficult Democracy, pp. 263–264, Kogan
The Politics of Italian Foreign Policy, and Vannicelli, Italy, NATO and the Euro-
pean Community.
31. As defined in Spotts and Wieser, Italy, A Difficult Democracy, p. 264.
32. Qtd. Badoglio to Roosevelt, Apr. 3, 1944, cit.; cf. Chapin (Algiers) to Sec.
State, March 22, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, pp. 1071–2.
33. See next chapter.
34. Sforza in Murphy (Salerno) to Sec. State, Apr. 10, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III,
pp. 1090–1091; Harper, America and the Reconstruction of Italy, pp. 38–39; cf.
Alberto Tarchiani, Dieci Anni tra Roma e Washington, Milano: Mondadori, 1955;
Ennio Di Nolfo, “The United States and the PCI: The Years of Policy Formation,
1942–1946,” in Simon Serfaty, Lawrence Gray (eds.), The Italian Communist Party.
Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1980, p. 38.
35. Qtd. in Gentile, La grande Italia, p. 255.
36. See Christopher Duggan, “Italy in the Cold War Years and the Legacy of Fas-
cism,” in Christopher Duggan, Christopher Wagstaff (eds.), Italy in the Cold War:
Politics, Culture and Society, 1948–58. Oxford: Berg, 1995, pp. 10–20; John
Agnew, “The Myth of Backward Italy,” in Beverly Allen, Mary J. Russo (eds.), Revi-
sioning Italy. National Identity and Global Culture. Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota Press, 1997, pp. 36–37; Pier Paolo D’Attorre, “Sogno americano e mito
sovietico nell’Italia contemporanea,” in Pier Paolo D’Attorre (ed.), Nemici per la
pelle: sogno americano e mito sovietico nell’Italia contemporanea. Milan: Franco
Angeli, 1991; Marino Livolsi, L’Italia che cambia. Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1993,
pp. 5–25. On how the war experience worsened the already poor “state vocation”
of the Italians best are Galli della Loggia, L’identità italiana, pp. 59–84 and Lanaro,
L’Italia nuova, pp. 221–227.
37. See Gian Enrico Rusconi, Se cessiamo di essere una nazione. Bologna: Il
Mulino 1993, pp. 58, 74–75, 85.
38. Cf. Santoro, La politica estera di una media potenza, cit. pp. 94–95; Gentile,
La grande Italia, pp. 255–264; Spotts and Wieser, Italy, A Difficult Democracy,
p. 264.
39. Duggan, “Legacy of Fascism,” p. 19; Lanaro, L’Italia nuova, p. 81.
40. On “psychology of the vanquished” Smith, America’s Mission, p. 128; cf.
Frank Costigliola, France and the United States: The Cold Alliance Since World War
II. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1992, p. 40; Harper, America and the Recon-
struction of Italy, pp. 4–5.
41. De Gaulle may have overemphasized this comment in his memoirs to point out
America’s blunder of making deals with pro-Vichy Admiral François Darlan in
1942: de Gaulle, Salvation, p. 92.
42. Tel. 2148 Caffery to Dept. of State, Apr. 27, 1945, 851.00, RG 59, NA. On
America’s early admiration for Mussolini, followed by disappointment see John P.
Diggins, Mussolini and Fascism. The View From America. Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, 1972; David F. Schmitz, The United States and Fascist Italy,
1922–1940. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1988.
43. Robert A. Divine, Foreign Policy and US Presidential Elections, 1940–1948.
New York: New Viewpoints, 1974, pp. 144–145.
44. See Kuisel, Seducing the French; Denis Lacorne, Jacques Rupnik, “France
Bewitched by America,” in Lacorne, Rupnik, and Toinet, The Rise and Fall of Anti-
Americanism, pp. 1–2; Angelo Ventrone, “L’avventura americana della classe diri-
gente cattolica,” in D’Attorre (ed.), Nemici per la pelle, pp. 141–160. Blaming the
powerful “alien” culture has long been a form of national self-identity: cf. Benedict
Anderson, Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origins and the Spread of
Nationalism. London: Verso, 1983, esp. chap. 8.
45. Cf. Crane Brinton, The Americans and the French. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 1968, pp. 37–38; Kuisel, Seducing the French, pp. 120 ff.; Paul
Ginsborg, A History of Contemporary Italy, 1943–1988. London: Penguin Books,
1990, pp. 239ff.
46. Cf. Percy Allum, “The Changing Face of Christian Democracy,” in Duggan
and Wagstaff, Italy in the Cold War, p. 122; Ennio Di Nolfo, Vaticano e Stati Uniti
(1939–1952). Dalle Carte di Myron C. Taylor. Milano: Franco Angeli, 1978,
pp. 175–190; Russel B. Capelle, The MRP and French Foreign Policy. New York:
Praeger, 1963, pp. 19–21; on de Gaulle cf. Jean-Marie Mayeux, “De Gaulle as
Politician and Christian,” in Gough and Horne, De Gaulle and Twentieth Century
France, pp. 95–107.
47. Caffery to Sec. State, Jan. 3, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, p. 665; Gen. G. Bryan
Conrad, August 1945, qtd. in Costigliola, Cold Alliance, p. 40; tel. 2298 Harrison
(Bern) to Sec. State, Apr. 13, 1945, 865.01, RG 59, NA. On American reductionist
definitions of French politics and foreign policy as those of a “neurotic patient” cf.
Frank Costigliola, “Tropes of Gender and Pathology in the Western Alliance,”
Diplomatic History, 1997, 2, pp. 165–166.
48. La Guardia qtd. in Ortona, Anni d’America, 1, p. 85: Ortona edited the quote
as “a leader with two male attributes this big.” Jefferson Caffery thought the real
reason for de Gaulle’s resignation was his incompetence, especially in the economy:
tel. 158 Caffery to Sec. State, Jan. 10, 1946, 851.00, RG 59, NA.
49. Mtg. Roosevelt-Stalin, Feb. 4, 1945, FRUS, Malta and Yalta, pp. 570–3;
Brandt (Naples) to Sec. State, May 3, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, pp. 1105–8; Georges
Bidault, Resistance. The Political Autobiography of Georges Bidault. New York:
Praeger, 1967, p. 77; Costigliola, Cold Alliance, pp. 39–43; Di Nolfo, Le paure e le
speranze, pp. 82 ff.; Lorenza Sebesta, “Politica di sicurezza italiana e innovazioni
strategiche nell’Europa degli anni cinquanta,” Italia Contemporanea, June 1990,
n.179, pp. 286–287; on French reactions to Arch of Triumph: tel. 733 Bonnet to
Bidault, March 27, 1946, Amérique 1944–52, États-Unis, vol. 123, Archives His-
toriques du Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, Paris [hereafter AHMAE].
50. Ortona, Anni d’America, I, p. 53; J. L. Harper, America and the Reconstruc-
tion of Italy, p. 3.
51. Qtd. in Ilaria Poggiolini, Diplomazia della transizione. Gli alleati e il problema
del trattato di pace italiano (1945–1947). Florence: Ponte alle Grazie, 1990, p. 24;
cf. Harrison to State, Apr. 13, 1944, cit.
52. Letter John Murphy to W. Benton (Assist. Sec. State), Nov. 6, 1945, 865.4061
MP, RG 59, NA.
53. Memo W. Dowling to H. F. Matthews, Nov. 21, 1946, 865.00, RG 59, NA,
the most extended quotation of this famous document is in E. Di Nolfo, “Italia e
Stati Uniti,” pp. 19–20. On stereotypes and American double-standards between the
“refined” Italian elite and the “uncultured” Italian masses cf. observations in 1945
by Allen Dulles, then an OSS agent, in Sallie Pisani, The CIA and the Marshall Plan.
Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1991, pp. 108–111.
54. On Italy’s first elections see: tel. 2402 Kirk (ambassador to Italy) to Byrnes,
Aug. 21, 1945; tel. 1417 Byrnes to Kirk, Aug. 22, 1945; tel. 2465 Kirk to Byrnes,
Aug. 25; tel. 1528, Acheson to Kirk, Sept. 6, 1945, 865.00, RG 59, NA; also doc-
uments in FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 963–991.
55. Cf. tel. 2402 Kirk to Sec. State, cit.; Acting Sec. State to Kirk, May 1, 1945,
FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 967–71.
56. Brinton, The Americans and the French, pp. 45–46; on Jefferson and France
see esp. Lawrence S. Kaplan, Entangling Alliances with None. American Foreign
Policy in the Age of Jefferson. Kent: Kent State University Press, 1987; Robert W.
Tucker, David C. Hendrickson, Empire of Liberty. The Statecraft of Thomas Jeffer-
son. New York: Oxford University Press, 1990, chaps. 24–26.
57. Cf. Arthur L. Funk, “Negotiating the ‘Deal with Darlan’,” Journal of Con-
temporary History, 8, April 1973, pp. 81–117; John L. Harper, American Visions of
Europe. Franklin D. Roosevelt, George F. Kennan and Dean G. Acheson. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994, p. 113.
58. Qtd. Harper, Visions of Europe, p. 114.
59. Qtd. Aron, An Explanation of de Gaulle, p. 152; qtd. de Gaulle, Salvation,
p. 100 and p. 61; cf. Caffery to Sec. State, March 1, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, cit.
60. See Lacouture, De Gaulle. The Ruler, pp. 33–39; Aron, An Explanation of de
Gaulle, pp. 78–79; Gordon, A Certain Idea of France, p. 15. Theodore Zeldin
argues that France no longer represents a universal civilization because its culture is
too elitist for the democratic age: Zeldin, The French. New York: Vintage Books,
1984, p. 35; cf. Winock, Parlez-moi de la France, pp. 152–153.
61. Churchill to Roosevelt, Nov. 16, 1944, FRUS, Malta and Yalta, pp. 284–6; cf.
Mtg. Roosevelt-Stalin, Feb. 4, 1945, pp. 570–3; Ledwidge, De Gaulle, pp. 194–195.
62. Briefing Book (Paper of the Executive Secretariat of the Department of State),
FRUS, Malta and Yalta, pp. 300–4 (qtd. p. 302); Stettinius to Roosevelt, Jan. 4,
1945, pp. 293–4.
63. Briefing Book Paper, Jan. 15, 1945, FRUS, Malta and Yalta, pp. 89–90; Brief-
ing Book Paper, cit. in previous note; Third Plenary Meeting, Feb. 6, 1945, at
pp. 664–6; DePorte, De Gaulle’s Foreign Policy, pp. 107–121.
64. Mtg. Roosevelt-Stalin, Feb. 4, 1945, FRUS, cit.; Caffery to Sec. State, March
1, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, cit.; de Gaulle, Salvation, pp. 99–100. Statement by Pres-
ident Truman, May 18, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 690–1.
65. Grew to Caffery, June 6, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 734–5.
66. Caffery to Sec. State, May 20, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 697; Mtg. Truman-
Bidault, May 21, pp. 698–9; Mtg. Truman-de Gaulle, Aug. 22, 1945, pp. 707–711;
Mtg. Byrnes-Bidault, Aug. 23, 1945, pp. 711–722; de Gaulle, Salvation,
pp. 237–238; Irwin M. Wall, “Harry S. Truman and Charles de Gaulle,” in Paxton
and Wahl, De Gaulle and the U.S., pp. 122–124.
67. Churchill to Roosevelt, March 13, 1944 and Cordell Hull to Chapin (for-
warding message of Roosevelt to Churchill) March 15, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III,
pp. 1043–4 and 1053–5; cf. David W. Ellwood, Italy 1943–1945. New York:
Holmes & Meier, 1985, p. 71; Moshe Gat, Britain and Italy, 1943–1949: The
Decline of British Influence. Brighton: Sussex Academic Press, 1996, pp 38–40.
68. Ad Hoc State-War-Navy Coordinating Committee, Sept. 6, 1945, FRUS, 1945,
IV, p. 1038.
69. Kirk (Political Adviser to SAC) to Sec. State, July 31, 1945 and Kirk to Sec.
State, Aug. 3, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 1013–5 and 1015–6; recent studies have
argued that Alexander, Harold Macmillan, then Acting President of the Allied Com-
mission in Italy, and Sir Noel Charles, British representative in Italy mitigated the
harsh position of their government: see esp. Gat, Britain and Italy, and Poggiolini,
Diplomazia della transizione. For a more balanced view: Miller, The United States
and Italy, p. 118 and Ellwood, Italy, 1943–1945, pp. 6–7.
70. Qtd. State-War-Navy Committee, Sept. 6, 1945, cit. p. 1038. The report also
advocated a quick revision of draft peace treaty’s restrictive clauses on Italy’s mili-
tary, arguing that a weak Italy was more likely to fall prey of another power, possi-
bly the Soviet Union, while a restored and rearmed Italy would have confirmed its
traditional sympathy for Western democracies.
71. See Kirk to Sec. State, Apr. 12, 1945, cit.; Acting Sec. of State to Kirk, May 1,
1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 967–71; Kirk to Sec. State, Sept. 22, 1945, pp. 1052–4.
72. Cf. Gat, Britain and Italy, pp. 91–95 (qtd. Churchill); Ellwood, Italy,
1943–1945, pp. 113–115.
73. Qtd. remarks in Tarchiani to Sec. State, Aug. 8, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, p. 1019;
see also docs. in FRUS, Conference of Berlin, vol.2, pp. 1078–87, esp. Proposal by the
U.S. Delegation, July 17, 1945, pp. 1080–1; see also text of Potsdam joint declaration
for Italy’s admission at the UN: Text . . . , July 24, 1945, pp. 1592–1593; on Italy’s
gratitude see also: Parri (Italian President of the Council of Ministers) to Truman,
Aug. 22, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 1022–4; De Gasperi to Truman, Aug. 22, cit.
74. Qtd. Grew to Sec. of War Stimson, June 15, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV,
pp. 1008–9.
75. Hull to Chapin (Algiers), March 13, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, p. 654; Key
(Rome) to Sec. State, July 19, 1946, FRUS, 1946, V, pp. 925–6; tel. 1454 Sec. of
State to Key, July 16, 1946, 865.00, RG 59, NA. Only for a short time, after the
embarrassing Darlan affair, did Roosevelt and Secretary of Treasury Henry Mor-
genthau insist on a serious purge in Italy: cf. Ellwood, Italy, 1943–1945, pp. 144 ff.
76. Stone to Bonomi, September 5, 1944, 10000/136/327, RG 331, NA; cf. Duggan,
“Legacy of Fascism,” pp. 7–8; Peter Novick, The Resistance versus Vichy: The Purge
of Collaborators in Liberated France. New York: Columbia University Press, 1968;
Robert Aron, Histoire de l’épuration. Des prisons clandestines aux tribunaux d’ex-
céption (septembre 1944-juin 1949). Paris: Fayard, 1969; Alexander Werth, France,
1940–1955. New York: Holt & Co., 1956, pp. 239–241 and chap. 13; Rioux, The
Fourth Republic, pp. 32–41; Lacouture, De Gaulle. The Ruler, pp. 74–78. Lacouture
agrees with the general thesis of Vichy as a “pseudo-government,” exceptional in
France’s democratic path, but refutes the argument (primarily Novick’s) that the purge
was very lenient, and insists that the presence of Communist and Socialists in the gov-
ernment pushed de Gaulle’s hand; and precisely because the Consultative Assembly
had limited powers it was very “vociferous on matters of principle” (p. 78). Against
the “aberration” thesis: Michel Winock, Nationalism, Anti-Semitism and Fascism in
France. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998, pp. 21–22.
77. Caffery in Young, France, the Cold War, pp. 39–40; Stettinius to Truman, Jan.
4, 1945, FRUS, Malta and Yalta, pp. 293–4; Wall, “Truman and de Gaulle,”
pp. 119–121; Truman cautiously worded his protest on Val d’Aosta: Grew to Caf-
fery, June 6, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 734–5.
78. Murphy (Berlin) to Sec. State, Oct. 20, 1945, Murphy to Sec. State, Oct. 28,
1945, Caffery to Sec. State, Oct. 31, 1945, FRUS, 1945, III, pp. 884–5; 887–90; F.
Roy Willis, The French in Germany, 1945–1949. Stanford: Stanford University
Press, 1962, pp. 31–34; Young, France, the Cold War, pp. 82–83; Costigliola, Cold
Alliance, p. 48.
79. See Murphy to Sec. State, Apr. 4, 1945; Report Stone, June 23, 1945; Report
SWNCC, Sept. 6, 1945, all cit. Tarchiani in Memo by W. Phillips, May 30, 1945,
FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 1260–1; cf. response Truman to Acting Sec. State, July 2, 1945,
pp. 1265–6.
80. Qtd. Alexander in Kirk to Sec. State, May 30, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, p. 1008;
cf. Miller, The United States and Italy, pp. 156–157. After Churchill’s defeat at the
elections of July 1945, the Labor government of Clement Attlee, with Foreign Sec-
retary Ernest Bevin confirmed its alignment with the U.S. thesis on Italian rehabili-
tation as an anti-Soviet move: cf. record at the London Conference of Foreign Min-
isters in September 1945 in FRUS, 1945, II, esp. pp. 163–4 and 188–90.
81. See stunned reactions of the State Department to news that Communist leader
Palmiro Togliatti, as Italy’s minister of Justice, had granted an amnesty for common
and political crimes: tel. 1454 Sec. State to Key, July 16, 1946, 865.00, RG 59, NA;
Key to Sec. State, July 19, 1946, FRUS, 1946, V, pp. 925–6; cf. Irwin M. Wall,
French Communism in the Era of Stalin. The Quest for Unity and Integration,
1945–1962. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1983, chap. 3.
82. Cf. De Porte, De Gaulle’s Foreign Policy, pp. 92–98; Arthur L. Funk, Charles
De Gaulle. The Crucial Years, 1943–1944. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press,
1959, p. 298.
83. Tarchiani to Sec. State, Oct. 16, 1945, FRUS, 1945, IV, pp. 1069–70; cf. Dowl-
ing to Reber, Sept. 27, 1945, 865.00, RG 59, NA.
84. Caffery to Sec. State, Aug. 7, 1945, FRUS, Conference of Berlin, 2,
pp. 1549–50; also Caffery to Sec. State, Aug. 7, 1945, pp. 1554–5; Mtg. Bidault-
Byrnes, Aug. 23, 1945, pp. 1557–64.
85. See for ex. De Gasperi’s claims on “unresolved” questions after Potsdam: De
Gasperi to Sec. State, Aug. 22, 1945, cit.; cf. Memorandum Sforza, no date (pre-
sumably mid-1947), Carte Sforza [hereafter CS] b. 3, f. 9, Archivio Centrale dello
Stato, Rome, Italy [hereafter ACS], on UN membership.
2
The Old Game
In December 1944, Charles de Gaulle together with Foreign Minister

Georges Bidault discovered that, in spite of a considerable publicity cam-
paign, their presence in Moscow went almost unnoticed among ordinary
Russians. As a journalist in Moscow, Alexander Werth recounted how
crowds of Russians waiting for a train pushed about the French general “as
roughly as anybody else,” and how Muscovites—perhaps under pressure
from the Kremlin—paid attention to him only when they mocked his
determination to attend mass at the city’s little Catholic Church.1 The reac-
tion of ordinary Russians to de Gaulle’s state visit symbolized the limits of
France’s attempt to improve its status and consequently its chances for a
more independent foreign policy by concluding a treaty of friendship and
cooperation with Stalin. It also demonstrated the anachronism of a diplo-
matic action in the tradition of Europe’s balance of power at the dawn of
the Cold War.
A few months earlier Italy had also looked East for the same reasons; the
Badoglio junta secured recognition from the Soviet Union, first among the
Allied coalition to do so. Between 1944 and 1947, what France and Italy
managed to achieve in terms of status—and what they did not—can be in
part ascribed to their simultaneous attempt to gain leverage versus the
United States by making contacts with the Soviet Union. The two nations
were also similar in the way they initially overestimated the success of their
maneuvers, as well as in their subsequent disillusionment.
Some French and Italian historians have correctly traced this kind of
diplomacy back to the Bourbon and Savoy traditions. From Francis I to
Poincaré, France had persistently tried to outflank the Germans with a grand
alliance in the East. In Italy, during the struggle for independence, the Count
of Cavour had mastered the European Concert, playing the great powers
against one another.2 Less accurate is the conventional argument that
describes the two nations’ flirtation with the Soviet Union as an attempt to
become arbiters between East and West; an attempt that is said to have
lasted until 1947–48, when France and Italy, because of Moscow’s refusal to
cooperate with them and because of their economic dependency on the
United States, had no other choice but to join the Western camp.3 It is true
that in both countries the majority of public opinion for a while leaned
toward neutrality, and that the government contained significant neutral
groups, not to mention the powerful Communists, who until 1947 insisted
on preserving the Grand Alliance. Yet no French or Italian government ever
seriously embraced neutrality in the emerging Cold War. While negotiating
with the Soviet Union, the French and Italian rulers invited the United States
to assume a responsible role in Central Europe and in the Mediterranean.
Indeed their “appeal” to Moscow revealed itself mainly as a ploy to attract
the Americans’ attention, with whom they always preferred to cooperate. At
the same time, the deal with the East was supposed to help the French and
Italians attach conditions to their invitation to the United States. They hoped
that the Soviets, on the basis of common interests, would support some of
their claims against the Anglo-Americans—regarding Germany for France,
or the peace treaty, in the case of Italy—without requiring their rupture with
those Allies in return.
Reliance on status diplomacy was pivotal in determining Italy’s and
France’s maneuvers and choices in 1944–45. But the failure of nineteenth
century style diplomacy, or “old game” as a French diplomat called it,
induced the two nations to reevaluate their traditional concepts of rank. By
the late 1940s they began to adapt to their limits in a bipolar world, and
especially to redefine their notions of national prestige around the growing
European and transatlantic interdependence.
MANEUVERS
Italy, because of the armistice restrictions on its freedom to conduct
external relations, acted furtively, while the French announced and trum-
peted de Gaulle’s visit to the Soviet Union. But the main motive, a pursuit
of status and consequent greater leverage, was the same for both.
On March 8, 1944, the Soviet representative in the Advisory Council for
Italy, Aleksandr Bogomolov, notified his astounded British and American
colleagues that his country had agreed to exchange representatives with the
Badoglio government. The reestablishment of Soviet-Italian diplomatic
The Old Game 49
relations amounted to official recognition even without that formal seal.

Although Moscow since January had been giving hints in that direction,
the Anglo-Americans did not expect this move so soon. The Italian gov-
ernment was still confined to the southern city of Salerno, waiting for the
liberation of Rome; it was far from representing all the anti-Fascist fac-
tions, and particularly those from the left, Russia’s political allies. Above
all, the British and American representatives saw the Soviet initiative as a
maneuver to circumvent their absolute authority as the dominant members
in the Allied Control Commission—the supreme governing body from the
terms of armistice—and to increase Moscow’s influence in the peninsula
and in the Balkans. Churchill summarized the British perspective on the
issue in a letter to Roosevelt, stating that although he appreciated the Sovi-
ets’ realistic endorsement of Badoglio and the monarchy, he was afraid this
was no mere realpolitik, for “their aim m[ight] be a Communist Italy.”4
Both Badoglio and Renato Prunas, the general secretary of the Italian For-
eign Ministry who reportedly had kept an open channel with the Russians,
feigned surprise at the Soviet offer, denying rumors that it had come at
their request, while admitting they could not reject it. They also promptly
took advantage of it to seek membership in the Advisory Council and
Allied status for Italy.5
The Anglo-Americans were correct in assessing the Soviets’ primary
motive: the pursuit of parity with the two occupying powers in Italy. Bogo-
molov and his superior, Vyacheslav Molotov, immediately claimed this as
their country’s right toward a former enemy. Washington and London also
made much of Russia’s strategic goals. Moscow requested air facilities in
Southern Italy, so it could succor as well as keep in check Tito’s forces in
Yugoslavia. The British feared for their control of the Mediterranean.
Indeed, recent accounts based on Soviet archival material reveal that
Moscow did calculate that a more self-confident, and eventually stronger
Italy could help counterbalance British power in the Mediterranean.6
The second gain for the Soviets was political: they made no secret that
they favored a Popular Front government in Italy. This was the argument
Deputy Foreign Minister Andrei Vishinsky officially presented as the pri-
mary explanation for the Soviet move. He argued that it was necessary to
put an end to the squabbles between the government of Badoglio and the
Committee of National Liberation (CLN)—a six-party informal democratic
junta in liberated Italy—thus creating the unity necessary to fight more res-
olutely against the Nazi-Fascists, a unity that the ACC, itself a divided
Council, seemed uninterested in promoting.7 Obviously, Moscow also
wanted to hasten the Italian campaign and the opening of the second front
in France. But the most relevant result of the Soviet move remained the
political one: the endorsement of Badoglio’s authority allowed the much
heralded return of the Italian Communist leader Palmiro Togliatti from his
exile in Moscow at the end of March.
The head of the PCI startled almost everybody, including many of his
own party comrades, when, a few days later he announced his intention of
serving in the government and under the king. In April the forces of the
CLN joined the Badoglio regime, which became a six-party coalition
including Socialists, Communists and pro-Republic independents such as
Croce and Sforza, all agreed on postponing the discussion on the country’s
next institutions (monarchy or republic) until the end of the war. A first
example of the PCI’s parliamentary tactics, Togliatti’s action, in conjunction
with the Soviet de facto recognition of Badoglio, raised fears among the
Anglo-Americans of a Communist fifth-column plot in Italy. These con-
cerns became graver during the following months, as Togliatti kept gaining
prestige and credit among the Italian masses for having bridged the politi-
cal impasse.8 These developments overshadowed the fact that the Soviet
Union decided to send an ambassador to Italy only when the other Allies
did, and that it withdrew its air forces from Southern Italy at the end of
Tito’s campaign.
Italian Schemes. Soviet designs, however, had to be assessed in conjunc-

tion with a close analysis of the Italian government’s intentions. The West
thought that Badoglio or Prunas bore some responsibility for the recogni-
tion operation. The French delegate to the ACI, René Massigli, immediately
noted how important the question of status was for the Italians, who had
been “treated as minors [but] had suddenly succeeded in acquiring the
stature of adults.” What struck the French representative as well as his col-
leagues in the ACI was the subtle maneuver with which the Italian govern-
ment had bypassed the machinery of Allied control, presenting its own
diplomatic initiative as a Soviet one.9
Indeed, the main architect of the whole operation was Renato Prunas. In
January, he had contacted Vishinsky and convinced him to recognize the
Italian government, using a mixture of flatteries—he praised Russia’s enor-
mous contribution to the war effort and ascendancy as Europe’s greatest
power—and hints—he stated that Italy would realistically consider cooper-
ation with that power, especially after receiving such an unsatisfactory
treatment from the Anglo-Americans.10 It was true that Italy had counted
on Soviet strength and prestige to put pressure on the United States and
Great Britain. But that was the end of it. Russian recognition had to be
instrumental to obtain “a parallel gesture” from London and Washington—
as Prunas explained in one of his memoranda for Badoglio—with conse-
quent revision of the armistice terms. Italy had no intention of increasing
Soviet influence over the peninsula beyond what was necessary to reach
that goal. It was for this reason that Prunas insisted that the initiative
should appear Russian. An ostensibly unsolicited Soviet attempt to change
the balance of power in Italy was more likely to scare the other Allies into
concessions.11
The Old Game 51
While Bogomolov and Vishinsky continued to be cautious, soon admit-

ting that the Italian diplomat had first approached them, Prunas himself
launched alarming appeals to the American and British representatives. On
March 21, he told the ACC Deputy President, General Mason MacFarlane,
that the Russians were ready to go beyond mere recognition and seek a
treaty of friendship on the model of the Soviet-Czech accord of the previ-
ous December—an allegation that Bogomolov later denied. Prunas added
that thanks to the popularity of its diplomatic initiative, the Soviet Union
was likely to expand its influence informally, particularly in the North, the
area politically dominated by the leftist Resistance forces. Finally the gen-
eral secretary emphasized that the “Italian government wished to base the
rehabilitation of the country upon closer association with the United States
and Great Britain” but that “it felt . . . it was being pushed in the oppo-
site direction.” The solution would be to make the Anglo-Americans just as
popular by granting a “more liberal and humane armistice.”
It was at this point that Badoglio started pressing the United States for a
response. At first, his tactic was very similar to that of his Foreign Min-
istry’s secretary general. On March 22, he told U.S. chargé Selden Chapin
that he could not refuse the “extended hand of friendship” from the Soviet
Union, while the other Allies “continued to regard the Italian people as a
defeated nation, in spite of ‘co-belligerency;’ ” he also emphasized that,
though he appreciated America’s efforts in providing food supplies to Italy,
“there were times when bread was not enough to rebuild a nation.” Allied
status, the chief of the provisional junta insisted, and freedom to conduct
foreign policy would help restore Italy’s political unity.12
After Togliatti’s return to Italy, these appeals escalated into Badoglio’s
mentioned invitation to the United States to assume a hegemonic position
in the peninsula and to establish a privileged partnership with his govern-
ment.13 Regardless of the preference for America’s democratic model, it
seemed clear to the Italian provisional government that only the United
States had the power and disinterested attitude necessary to restore the
country’s economy and international position: “We Italians like to deal with
Americans,” Badoglio told Robert Murphy, then U.S. political adviser at
the Allied Headquarters, “and we think we know that our economic future
is bound with the West. We can hope little or no material support from the
Soviet Union for many years to come and also but little from Great
Britain.” Yet why should Washington care? Because, Badoglio reiterated,
“the Mediterranean w[ould] become the pivot in the future of a huge new
European-African politico-economic set-up in which Italy [was going] to
play a certain role.”14
America’s Response. Secretary of State Cordell Hull as well as President

Roosevelt dismissed Italy’s blackmail to obtain recognition as an Ally—
despite pressures from the main American representatives in the Allied
councils (Alexander Kirk, Selden Chapin, and Robert Murphy) to fulfill the
Italian request at least in part, perhaps granting “associate power” status.
While Washington was relatively indifferent to the whole question, it had
to consider how such a concession would alienate the victims of Italian
aggression, among them France, Greece, and Yugoslavia. At best, Cordell
Hull contemplated minor revisions of armistice clauses, such as that which
maintained prisoners of war status for Italians who were already con-
tributing to the Allied cause.15
The most remarkable feature of Roosevelt’s reply to Badoglio’s appeals
on April 30 was its tone, the way it harped on the issue of national pride.
The president cleverly did not question the marshall’s argument about
Italy’s future Mediterranean role. He simply stated that “it [was] for the
Italians themselves to prove that they [did] not seek spurious rehabilitation
through external acts but Italy’s national and international regeneration
through their own courageous efforts.”16 That was an invitation to shoul-
der responsibilities worthy of an ally, especially if the “want-to-be-ally”
continued to brag about its “pivotal” role in the region’s security. The Ital-
ians still had to prove their total dedication to the Allied cause. Recognition
and concessions would come as a consequence, not as a preliminary to
action. Roosevelt’s reply was a double rejoinder against Badoglio’s pre-
sumption about Italy’s present role and his eagerness to cooperate with the
future dominant power in the Mediterranean.
According to several State Department officials, Badoglio was treading a
dangerous path when he hinted that he “was forced to rely upon [the dom-
inant] Mediterranean power for friendship and protection.”17 Having
drawn the Soviet Union into the region, Italy now seemed to present the
uncomfortable alternative of being another Czechoslovakia or a faithful but
extremely dependent ally—and probably a demanding one, trying to use
that dependency to redress old scores with its traditional Mediterranean
competitors.
While prodding the Italians to take their destiny in their own hands, high
ranking British and American officials were studying all possible ways to
fend off Moscow’s initiative. London discarded Cordell Hull’s idea of
coopting the Soviets with a minimal concession, the introduction of one of
their representatives on the ACC’s Political Section (a body designated to
handle the relations between the United Nations and Italy).18 But the British
did compromise on the issue that had most divided them from Washington:
Churchill and his foreign secretary, Anthony Eden, finally admitted that an
unreformed monarchy would cause instability in Italy and thus play in the
hands of Togliatti and the Russians; they instead encouraged the abdication
of King Victor Emanuel in favor of his son Umberto, who became Lieu-
tenant of the Realm pending a decision on the country’s institutions by a
Constituent Assembly to be elected at war’s end. For the same reason, once
Rome was liberated in June, they also reluctantly joined the Americans in
The Old Game 53
endorsing a new government under the CLN leader Ivanoe Bonomi, who
was not as compromised by association with the previous regime as their
favorite candidate, Badoglio.19
From a personal point of view, the Italian marshall’s success in forming a
six-party coalition in April and in drawing the Anglo-Americans’ attention,
thanks to the Soviet recognition, had been a Pyrrhic victory. The most
remarkable international result was the one he had called for: America’s
influence did grow in the peninsula at British expense. But paradoxically
this happened at Badoglio’s own expense too. Moreover, Togliatti and the
PCI were still the most popular elements in the new coalition.
Having resolved their differences over Italian politics, the Anglo-Americans
also tried to address the social problems that seemed to benefit the Commu-
nists. The root of the problem, according to Washington and London, was
less political (the national appeal of the PCI and the Resistance fighters) than
economic. The idea that Communism thrives in conditions of economic dis-
tress was not new and seemed accurately reflected in the Italian situation.
Indeed the left-wing parties were easily combining their newly found patriot-
ism and their call for social justice: they emphasized the link between the peo-
ple’s material conditions and the Allies’ restrictions, such as the imposition of
an unfavorable exchange rate, the limitations on trade, the troops’ payments
depleting the country’s financial resources and setting inflationary trends in
the liberated areas. Several American and British officials had for some time
told their leaders that by lifting those restrictions they would at the same time
curb Communist influence and counterbalance the rejection of Italy’s request
for Allied status. The Americans concluded that whichever nation—probably
the United States—offered Italy economic assistance would become dominant
in that region.20 Under electoral pressure and at his diplomats’ urging Roo-
sevelt turned economic concessions to Italy into a prominent feature of the
joint Hyde Park Declaration of September 26: he promised the Italians indus-
trial reconstruction, aid, and food supplies through UNRRA, and the cancel-
lation of the Trading with the Enemy Acts.21
Although these adjustments failed to guarantee Italy’s economic stability,
the White House correctly assumed that the majority of Italians would be
grateful for such assistance. Most Italians increasingly saw American GIs as
freedom and wealth incarnate. The Americans were wrong, however, to
expect that economic relief would supersede any other claim from the Ital-
ian government. During the negotiations for the Italian peace treaty, the
Anglo-Americans continued to believe that economic concessions could
make up for Italy’s subordinate status, its losses of territories and colonies.
This was a mistake, first because, until the ratification of the peace treaty
in 1947, the United States provided only short-term relief measures; and
second, because the Western Allies continued to ignore Italian leaders’
objections that “bread was not enough to rebuild a nation,” to use
Badoglio’s expression.22
Indeed, the political concessions of the Hyde Park Declaration—a greater

administrative autonomy for Italy and the renaming of the Allied Control
Commission as “Allied Commission”—fell far short of the Allied status Ital-
ian leaders demanded. So did the “parallel gesture” Prunas had planned for:
in early October, Great Britain and the United States resumed full diplomatic
relations with Italy, appointing two diplomats, Sir Noel Charles and Alexan-
der Kirk, to the rank of ambassadors. This step prompted the recognition of
the Italian government by the other United Nations.23 That gesture failed to
change the substance of the armistice regime, the Italian representatives com-
plained. So they decided to keep using the Soviet Union as an instrument to
reach a better peace settlement. For this reason, in May they had sent Pietro
Quaroni, one of Italy’s best diplomats, to Moscow, with the assignment of
working patiently toward strict cooperation but free of entanglements.24
France Outraged. Meanwhile, the French were the only ones in the
Allied coalition to overestimate the recognition the Italian government had
just obtained. De Gaulle had been pursuing the same goal fruitlessly since
early that year. An editorial in the left-wing newspaper Franc Tireur
reflected the sentiment of the provisional government, quipping that after
the allies recognized all the ex-enemies, and perhaps even the “Papuans,
Hottentots, and the Laps,” the French “[would] at least get a look in.”
France started dreading any possible “demotion” to the same rank as Italy,
if not lower—an anxiety that would continue plaguing the Fourth Repub-
lic. Besides the desire to maintain superiority over the “lesser Latin sister,”
the French resented the other Allies’ generosity toward a former enemy,
with obvious misgivings about the future treatment of Germany.25 De
Gaulle’s demand for recognition had bounced against the reservations of
the Anglo-Americans, and particularly of President Roosevelt, about the
democratic nature of the CFLN, even after it had become a more represen-
tative coalition government in September 1944. At the end of October, Gen-
eral Eisenhower, following talks with a desperate de Gaulle, pointed out to
the State Department that lack of diplomatic recognition would allow “the
forces of disorder to take advantage”of the situation. Ike then added that
“if France [fell] into the orbit of any other country the other countries of
Western Europe [would] do the same”—he meant a Soviet orbit by way of
the PCF’s increasing power. The official recognition from Washington
finally arrived on October 23, two weeks after the Allies’ diplomatic
exchange with Rome.26 De Gaulle, determined to rapidly restore France’s
great power rank, immediately worked on a state visit to Moscow. The fact
that the Allies had treated the French less seriously than the Italians in part
motivated such a move.27
Ancien Jeu. If de Gaulle’s assumption was that traditional alliances were

the best way to restore France’s status and security, then he could have rein-
The Old Game 55
forced the entente with London. In November Churchill paid him a visit in
Paris, hailing the “resurrection” of a great power. Yet de Gaulle dismissed
the possibility of full solidarity while Britain and France clashed over issues
in Europe and in the Mediterranean, and while the British premier stuck to
strict cooperation with Roosevelt. For de Gaulle it was evident that the
British still “considered themselves players of a game to which [the French]
were not admitted.”28 Russia was the other traditional European ally of
France, and now happened to be the one with fewer causes of controversy
with Paris. That the East was under an immoral, totalitarian dictator made
little difference, since de Gaulle, like Roosevelt, viewed Stalin as a prag-
matic nationalist above all, with whom it was possible to make deals.
Rather the French leader wanted to prevent the dictator from striking the
wrong deals with the West, such as the Churchill-Stalin percentage division
of influence over Eastern and Southern Europe of the previous October.
But the future of Germany more than the fate of Eastern Europe made
France’s status inextricable with its security. De Gaulle hoped to use the
alliance with Russia to gain leverage against the British and the Americans
in the negotiations on Germany, and particularly to secure the left bank of
the Rhine.29 The Soviet Union naturally shared with France the goal of keep-
ing Germany down. But this common interest had a broader implication. De
Gaulle primarily wanted to offset the hierarchy among allies. And in order
to gain respect from the Western allies, France’s relationship with the Soviet
Union had to appear more friendly than it actually was. Like Badoglio, the
French leader believed he could extract concessions from the Anglo-Saxon
allies by threatening to succumb to Soviet influence. This psychological tac-
tic illustrated the paradox of de Gaulle’s policy, and perhaps of old-Europe
power politics in general. As historian Robert Aron described it best, the
paradox was that the General treated those he considered “first class” allies
“roughly, uncompromisingly, and often brutally, because he [was] sure that
a feeling of kinship [would] survive all the squabbles and storms,” while
with the “transient or doubtful allies,” with whose ideologies and faiths
France had nothing in common, he cloaked his criticism “in amiability and
approaches” putting on “a smiling mask while he prepare[d] a snare for
them and maneuver[ed] to make use of them.”30 De Gaulle’s ideological
commitment to Western democracy and civilization was so strong as to
overwhelm any specific common interest over Germany he might have with
the Soviet Union; but in the short term he had to be a realist with Moscow,
if he wanted to turn the vague ideological solidarity with Washington and
London into a working relationship based on security guarantees.
According to early historical accounts, domestic politics was the pri-
mary motive behind de Gaulle’s approach to the Soviet Union. Because
one third of the coalition government were Communists, de Gaulle
thought it necessary to secure their support. The president of the Provi-
sional Government wanted to tame Communist influence and neutralize
the party’s organization of the Milices Patriotiques, strong in South and

Central France. He counted on Stalin’s help to moderate the PCF in
exchange for the return from exile of the party’s leader, Maurice Thorez—
who had deserted from the French army and sought refuge in the Soviet
Union in 1939. After receiving an official pardon from Paris on Novem-
ber 6, Thorez replicated Togliatti’s move, and announced he would coop-
erate with a unity government, placing national resurrection and the fight
against Germany above revolution.31 The Communists too had caught on
with the rhetoric of grandeur.
Despite all calculations of interest, however, the chief reason for going to
Moscow was symbolic. As Foreign Minister Bidault put it, “the spectacle
counted more than the agreement itself.”32 France could not expect long-
term commitments from Russia on Germany, especially because France had
little to offer in return: it promised no imminent breakup with the Anglo-
Saxons, had little power or willingness to make concessions in Eastern
Europe, and, for the time being, could only reassert its rather obvious deter-
mination to fight against the common enemy, but, like Italy, with the scarce
military means it could muster. Given these considerations, appearance
seemed to be the only backing Moscow could provide. This had been evi-
dent since the beginning of the Grand Alliance in 1941, when Soviet ambas-
sador to London Ivan Maisky responded to de Gaulle’s pressing request for
support with nothing more than gestures: a public statement from the
Kremlin in favor of the restoration of France’s independence and greatness
after the war, but no promise that Russia would insure French territorial
possessions or claims.33
With this premise in mind, de Gaulle himself presented his initiative to
the Consultative Assembly as a demonstration of symbolic grandeur. He
announced that his government was “beginning to possess means of diplo-
matic action worthy of France,” and could make France “one of the great-
est States.”34 From Moscow he expected formal endorsement of his nation
as a major power. The treaty with the Soviet Union was to resemble the
Anglo-Soviet pact of 1942, thus guaranteeing formal equal status among
the three European powers and opening the door to France’s participation
in the Great Allies’ summits. But was it also an instrument to gain inde-
pendence from the United States?
Despite de Gaulle’s animosity with Roosevelt, no rift between a French-
led Europe and America was in sight. By 1944 the goal of independence
was more rhetorical than substantial, for its main purpose was to create a
climate of self-confidence among the French people. A feeling of insecurity
and dependence, the General believed, would be deleterious to the Franco-
American relationship. Appearance and rhetoric were for the moment suf-
ficient to suppress that feeling, while de Gaulle was all too aware of the
necessity to maintain a strong American presence in the European conti-
nent.35 As noted, the French leader was by this time repeatedly reassuring
The Old Game 57
the United States of his loyalty, while pointing out the dangers of commu-
nist takeover, if his authority did not receive unconditional endorsement.
In this case too, archival research in Moscow has permitted at least a pre-
liminary analysis of Stalin’s motives. While for de Gaulle the full coopera-
tion with the PCF was a secondary issue, the Soviet dictator expected to
gain influence in French internal politics using Popular Front tactics, as he
was doing in Italy. Stalin’s dream of driving a wedge between France and
the United States died early. But not until his actual exchanges with de
Gaulle did he abandon his hope to obtain from France, as from Britain, a
recognition of Soviet interests in Eastern Europe, and in Poland in particu-
lar. Most important, Stalin was determined to exploit de Gaulle’s desire for
greater rank in order to hinder the consolidation of a Western bloc. Krem-
lin officials even echoed the French leader’s best expectations about rank
becoming role, as they speculated that, certainly more than Italy, a restored,
self-reassured and friendly France would counterbalance the Anglo-Saxon
powers in Europe.36
George Kennan, the chief Soviet expert at the State Department, observed
that beyond immediate reasons of military strategy, what motivated
Moscow were considerations of status. Stalin intended to advance France’s
rank primarily as an encouragement to stand up against German power, but
at the same time he was unwilling to introduce another actor in Germany
for the postwar settlement, for it would “encumber existing agreements.”
But even more tellingly, Kennan argued “the Kremlin welcome[d] the
visit . . . as a gesture of courtesy and recognition of Russian prestige
rather than as the occasion for any particularly fruitful or significant dis-
cussions.”37 The Russians’ inferiority complex toward the Anglo-Saxons,
and, even more, Stalin’s personal desire to be Roosevelt’s and Churchill’s
peer mirrored the French leader’s aspirations. This meeting was to nurture
both leaders’ craving for prestige.
In any case, the United States worried less about the specific motives for
the Franco-Soviet rapprochement than about its broader implications for
American postwar plans. In Paris few officials immediately recognized the
possible consequences of the government’s obsession with rank. In Novem-
ber, the secretary general of the French Foreign Ministry, Jean Chauvel,
almost echoing his Italian counterpart, bragged that de Gaulle’s imminent
trip to Moscow had awakened the United States from its passivity toward
France. But, he warned, that move could just as well alienate the Ameri-
cans. Washington feared that the Soviet-British pact in 1942, Churchill’s
visit to Paris, and the French entente with the Kremlin portended the
resumption of the “ancien jeu” of Europe’s balance of power geared toward
military alliances. This would imperil the system based on international
cooperation that had just received its baptism at the Dumbarton Oaks Con-
ference. Chauvel correctly assessed America’s and Roosevelt’s personal
attachment to the concept of collective security versus alliance politics. As
a consequence of de Gaulle’s “ancien jeu,” he concluded, the United States

might withdraw into isolationism again, instead of becoming more involved
on France’s side.
Most U.S. officials also reflected on the more immediate risks of the
Franco-Soviet alliance. Secretary Stettinius dreaded the return to the Euro-
pean Concert of Powers not only for its inherent instability, but also because,
given the actual distribution of power, the Soviet Union would have domi-
nated the Continent. Conversely, the Russians, according to Ambassador
Harriman, might unwittingly underscore France’s ambition to create its own
sphere of interest in Western Europe. In this case, de Gaulle’s reasoning
appeared quite subtle: in Moscow, after his conversations with Stalin, he told
the U.S. ambassador that, among other things, he had intended to expose the
Soviets’ aggressive policy, thus creating fear among the smaller Western
European nations, which consequently “w[ould] look to France to lead and
cement” them against the threat from the East.38 Whether the French, or,
more likely, the Russians gained the upper hand in Europe after these nego-
tiations, the American project of collective security seemed in danger of
abortion. If that happened, the majority of the American public, as Chauvel
assumed, would have called for a return to isolationism.
The United States nurtured fewer apprehensions about the consequences
of the treaty for domestic politics in France. The French government seemed
less subject than the squabbling Italians to the risk of a Communist
takeover. If little else, Ambassador Caffery observed, a charismatic leader
such as de Gaulle did outshine whatever appeal Maurice Thorez could
have. Also, the fact that the PCF had accepted participation in the provi-
sional government before the party leader’s return from Moscow was reas-
suring: the link between de Gaulle’s foreign policy and the actions of the
PCF was not as close as that between Badoglio’s choices and the PCI’s
strategies. But de Gaulle could also have become too complacent. Caffery
noted that the French leader decided to take a long trip to Russia during a
time in which France was “only relatively tranquil.” While the political sit-
uation in France was far better than in Belgium, Greece, and Italy, risks
abounded, as the French Resistance groups were not fully reconciled, and
Germany remained unpredictable in Belgian territory. While no major mil-
itary or political reverse occurred in France during de Gaulle’s absence,
American diplomats continued to view the General’s behavior as somewhat
irresponsible.39
The main features of the Franco-Soviet Treaty, signed on December 10,
finally revealed the price de Gaulle had to pay for the sake of recognition
and status. The pact was a pledge of mutual support against German
aggression. The French pinned their best hopes on the wording of article 3,
which stated the reciprocal commitment to take “all measures necessary to
eliminate any new threat coming from Germany, and to oppose any initia-
tive” that would make that possible.40 But de Gaulle received no promise
The Old Game 59
from Stalin that Russia would act in concert with France on the German
peace settlement. Indeed, the treaty seemed to privilege Moscow’s concerns
about Germany’s “military” threat, as it committed the two parties even to
a possible preventive attack on Germany. This was a heavy demand on the
much less powerful French. In addition, de Gaulle had to yield on Poland.
Though refusing to grant formal recognition to the Soviet-controlled Lublin
committee, he agreed to exchange representatives with Warsaw, first among
the Western leaders to do so.41
A “Modified” Ancien Jeu. But in order to make full sense of de Gaulle’s

decisions, two other aspects must be emphasized. First, France’s search for
status and its promotion of an American presence in the continent continued
to be complementary. Roosevelt had no basis to fear that the Franco-Soviet
treaty could usher in the old Concert of Europe. De Gaulle refused to extend
the agreement to Great Britain, as he did not trust the degree of British com-
mitment against Germany. Most importantly, the General did not want to
create a European pole separate from the United States. He conceived the
expansion of the Franco-Soviet alliance by degrees: a tripartite alliance, the
second stage, would be possible only after France settled pending issues with
Great Britain, and on condition that it would lead to a third stage, in which
the “United Nations pact, in which America would play a decisive role”
would “crown the entire edifice.” Bidault gave similar reassurances to a U.S.
representative that his government would not shun collective security.42
Second, Kennan had been correct noting that to Paris the symbol of the
Franco-Soviet treaty was more important than its achievements. Much of
de Gaulle’s aspiration reached fulfillment when Bogomolov—then ambas-
sador to Paris—declared in a press conference that the agreement under-
scored France’s primary role in the organization of future Europe. Many
French shared the opinion of the daily Le Monde, when it described the
pact as “a dazzling sign of [France’s] renaissance and her reappearance in
the rank of the great powers.” The French ambassador to Moscow, Roger
Garreau, devoted his best efforts to creating the appropriate ceremony and
protocol, so that France “w[ould] not lose face after the successful visit of
Churchill.”43 At the Kremlin, de Gaulle repeatedly flattered his interlocu-
tors proposing toasts to “long live heroic Stalingrad!” and “long live Soviet
Russia!” Ambassador Caffery decided to respond with a shower of reas-
surances that the United States too wanted to see France independent,
strong, and prosperous again, counting on the fact that this was mainly a
battle of words in any case.44
A SOBER REASSESSMENT
Both the French and the Italians soon abandoned their expectations that
the Russians would continue to be so gracious and supportive. A few years
after Soviet recognition of the Badoglio government, Stalin reportedly took

the habit of assailing his advisers’ mistaken evaluations with the quip: “it’s
like those predictions about Italy.”45 At that time, the dictator resented
Italy’s decision to become a “stooge” of American capitalism under the
Marshall Plan. But his comment reflected his disappointment in 1944 over
the failure of the Italian campaign to come to a rapid conclusion after the
Soviet recognition of the Badoglio junta, and over the PCI’s inability to gain
enough clout in Italian politics. Italy and France shared the main reasons
why they never obtained Soviet support.
The equivalence between rank and role was undisputable from Moscow’s
viewpoint. It took only a few days for the Italian chargé to Moscow, Qua-
roni, to find out that Foreign Minister Molotov wanted exactly the same
thing as Roosevelt from Italy: a demonstration of its value in battle, the
proof that the Italians could master their own destiny. The Soviet Union
had done enough, and could not give unconditional support to Italy’s
release from the armistice conditions. Despite the Italians’ protests that it
was exactly the armistice that prevented their military contribution to war
against Mussolini and the Germans, nobody in Moscow expected Italy to
contribute something significant in the first place. But Russian demands for
an adequate Italian participation in the war persisted, particularly after the
first Allied landings in Normandy and the massive transfer of U.S. troops
from Italy to the French battlefields. To the Russians, the opening of the
second front meant that the Italian campaign was increasingly secondary,
and for this reason too, one that Italy should strive to conclude almost on
its own.46 The Italians understood not only how little Moscow thought of
them, but also that the Soviet Union respected military power even more
than the other Allies did. No diplomatic or political skill in Rome could
replace that.
The Russians did not consider France’s contribution to its own liberation
satisfactory either. In February, Ambassador Garreau, frantically searching
for an endorsement from Moscow to balance his country’s exclusion from
Yalta, noted that the Central Committee of the PCSU had modified its war
slogans: it now placed France in the highest rank of fighters against the
“Germano-Fascists,” together with the Big Three, and no longer in the
“lower” group of “friendly peoples,” which included nations such as
Poland, Czechoslovakia, and Yugoslavia. However, while the Kremlin
referred to the “armies” of Britain and the United States, it appealed to the
“people” of France, suggesting that the independent militias of the Resis-
tance were more important and effective than the official army of the pro-
visional government. Indeed, among the three leaders at Yalta, Stalin was
the most determined to bar France from the club. Only after British insis-
tence at both Yalta and Potsdam did the Soviets agree to give France an
occupation zone, a seat in the Allied Control Commission, and a share in
The Old Game 61
the German reparations.47 Ostensibly, Stalin disregarded France because it

lacked military strength.
The dictator concurred with Roosevelt on de Gaulle’s lack of realism.
Even more than Roosevelt, Stalin measured the power and worth of a nation
in terms of weapons, divisions, machinery and—for Russia especially—
blood. In Moscow, Lacouture reports, de Gaulle had as usual talked about
“imponderables, ideas, myths and words.” With only ten divisions in the
field, one quarter of what each of the main Russian and British generals had
under his command, France could claim no right to participate in summits
based on military power. Stalin’s contempt might also in part be ascribed to
his psychology of the “newcomer” to the “aristocracy” of world diplomacy.
Since the Soviet leader had sought recognition as much as de Gaulle, he must
have found it rather reassuring to look down upon his immediate inferiors
in the military or diplomatic hierarchy of the Grand Alliance.48
Dissatisfaction with French and Italian military contributions to the com-
mon cause was only the most explicit reason for Moscow to turn its back
on both nations. Russian security and political designs in Eastern Europe,
however, provided the main motive. Contrary to what Italian and French
leaders had anticipated, the Soviet Union showed respect for the Anglo-
American “sphere of influence” in the West. Stalin did not want to create
precedents that would justify his Western Allies’ interference with Soviet
interests in Eastern Europe. The French and Italian governments had
believed that formal recognition would give them a chance to maneuver
more freely between the superpowers, even as they were already aligning
themselves with the West.
De Gaulle soon realized that his ambitions to great power status became
first and foremost a means for Stalin to justify Soviet aims in Eastern
Europe. Arguing that France did not deserve great power status more than
Poland did, the Soviet dictator initially countered French membership in the
German Reparations Commissions with a request on behalf of Poland for
the same privilege. Rather than a reward to two “powers,” it was implied,
this would be a position granted to two respective “clients” from each
sphere of influence. Moreover, in Stalin’s view, this would signify equal dig-
nity for the control system he was establishing in the East as the one the
Anglo-Americans had supposedly promoted in the West.49
For Italy, the case of do ut des was even more manifest, since Stalin had
no doubt that the Italian government was as much a client of the Anglo-
Americans as the Eastern European countries were soon to be Moscow’s
own. From as early as June 1944 Molotov had clarified to Quaroni that he
would not risk alienating his Western Allies for the sake of Italy’s aspira-
tions. The Italian diplomat bitterly concluded that, for the Soviets, former
German satellites such as Roumania and Bulgaria counted more than Italy.
It is even plausible to establish a direct connection between the Soviet
recognition of Badoglio’s government and Churchill’s initiative to strike

the famous percentage deal with Stalin—the first acknowledgment of the
Continental separation and a blueprint for the Soviet dictator’s future
actions in the East.50
During the following two years France, more obstinately than Italy,
refused to forsake its vision of a restored European balance of power—a
restoration that was supposed to derive from its first diplomatic move with
Moscow. The French persistently claimed the use of German resources for
their own reconstruction, while the Soviets preferred to dismantle German
industry. Paris kept negotiating with the governments of Eastern Europe, in
order to recreate the pre-World War II cordon sanitaire meant to contain
both Germany and the Soviet Union and demanded participation in the
peace treaties with Germany’s Danubian-Balkan satellites—countries the
French had not fought, but the fate of which a “great power” was entitled
to discuss. Italy was just as anachronistic in hoping that the preservation of
its colony in Libya, with all its symbolic and balance of power values, could
result from its “Russian diplomacy.”51
Instead Moscow continued to turn those expectations on their heads. At
first, while upholding the division of Europe, the Russians did not desist
from using French and Italian claims as wedge issues among Western Allies;
and actually the argument of the spheres of influence served this purpose
nicely. The Soviets blamed their own lack of support for those claims on the
objections from the other Big Powers. Moscow argued that it could not
exert any influence against British and American determination to reject
French requests on the Rhineland or an Italian trusteeship on Libya.52
France and Italy both suffered greater diplomatic losses once Moscow
consolidated its control over Eastern Europe and, no longer concerned
with reciprocal concessions with the West, turned more openly hostile
toward both countries. After setting up Communist regimes in Bulgaria
and Roumania in mid-1945, the Soviet Union began treating Italy as the
Anglo-Americans regarded those Soviet satellites. As Quaroni noted in
October 1945, his country could not expect any help from the Russians at
the peace table because they were now determined to “show [their] friends
that [their] protection [was] worth no less than the American protec-
tion”—which, he acknowledged, meant that they would concede nothing
to Italy until the West would recognize the “Sovietization” of those
friends.53 With that premise and facing Western leaders who no longer
wanted to “baby” them, the Soviets at the various Councils of Foreign
Ministers obstructed the peace settlement with Italy, vetoed Italian requests
for UN membership, proposed to give Trieste to the Yugoslavs (driving the
whole issue to a stalemate), and demanded from Rome the most exacting
reparations for their country and other victims of Fascist aggression. They
finally pursued their own victor’s share, requesting a trusteeship on the
Libyan region Tripolitania.54
The Old Game 63
At the same time the Soviets attacked France’s great power pretensions,
using its request to discuss the peace treaties with the German satellites as
a pretext to interrupt the London Conference of Foreign Ministers in
October 1945. By the end of that year Molotov accused Bidault of sup-
porting Soviet policies only “five per cent” while the French foreign min-
ister privately growled that the Russians “hate us.” Finally Germany,
where Franco-Russian interests had met, became the main cause for their
divorce. By mid-1946 Molotov began to advocate a unified central admin-
istration, a move largely meant to counter the Anglo-American decision to
join their two zones of occupation, but which would end up hurting above
all French interests in the Ruhr and the Rhineland. France did reject both
the Bizone and the Soviet project but started cooperating with the Anglo-
Americans (the Bizone had 78% of the country’s coal and 80% of its
steel).55 As the last straw, at the end of that year the Russians denounced
France’s unilateral introduction of a custom barrier in the Saar, while the
British and the Americans condoned it.56 If France had signed a treaty with
the Soviet Union primarily to gain leverage vis-à-vis the Anglo-Saxons on
the German question, it failed to achieve its goal also because of its own
presumption that Moscow would grant concessions for the sake of main-
taining a partner on the Western border of Germany, as if this had been the
alliance of 1893–94.
As the Italians and the French saw their hopes of playing the “ancien jeu”
fading quickly, they reexamined their position in the emerging Cold War.
Both produced increasingly sober assessments of their nations’ limits and of
their own wrong steps; and both began to adapt to a new concept of
national rebirth and reputation based more on internal democracy and
reconstruction than on external manifestations of power.
Even at what seemed the peak of their respective cooperation with
Moscow, neither the Italians nor the French tried a policy of perfect equi-
librium. They always acknowledged that any restoration of their status—
particularly as such status was becoming inextricable from internal recon-
struction—depended on their ability to establish closer ties with the
United States.
In August 1944, Prime Minister Bonomi launched Italy’s most explicit
appeal to the Soviet “empire.” In a letter to Stalin he extolled all the virtues
of the Soviets, from their “dazzling victories” to their “wise and humane
[sic] occupation regime in the territories their troops [were] gradually liber-
ating,” and called for help against the cumbersome and oppressive admin-
istration by the ACC. There was apparently little difference between this
letter and the messages the prime minister had sent to Roosevelt and
Cordell Hull a few days earlier, asking for “support and assistance” from
the “great and free North American Republic,” the most “disinterestedly
close” to the Italians. In fact the letter to Stalin was merely soliciting a heav-
ier Soviet presence in the Italian peace negotiations. While calling for a
closer relationship with Moscow, Bonomi specified that he was not trying
to capitalize on inter-Allied divisions and fears, and especially that he
wished to maintain the strictest cooperation with the United States, “with-
out whose economic power no reconstruction would be possible.”57
While never as ingratiating as the Italian premier, de Gaulle and Bidault
did feign to ignore the immediate difficulties with Moscow, striving to
maintain a cordial relationship with Molotov and Ambassador Bogomolov.
But such efforts were meant primarily for domestic consumption. As
Bidault confessed to Ambassador Caffery in June 1946, the French govern-
ment since the end of the war had feared not Germany per se, but rather a
“Sovietized Germany.” However, to French public opinion he “c[ould] not
say that out loud. [He] must still talk of the German menace.” De Gaulle
himself never hid the fact that he preferred to cooperate with the Ameri-
cans, although he continued to contemplate the United States’ presence in
Europe in old-fashioned terms, as “establish[ing] . . . the conditions of a
necessary balance of power.”58
Both Paris and Rome only slowly surrendered their hope that the United
States would balance the Soviet Union without limiting the Europeans’
margin for maneuver. France and Italy did, however, differ on how much
American presence to invite. This difference eventually informed their
respective views on Western integration and how their status and leverage
could be improved in that process. In mid-1945 de Gaulle began to talk of
an independent European “third force” between the two superpowers. This
idea was behind his decision to improve relations with London. After Pots-
dam, it was clear that the British, due to their own notions of continental
balance, were among the Allies the most conciliatory to French demands on
Germany. For that reason, during the following months, the French gov-
ernment rushed a settlement on the Levant—meanwhile Britain too started
looking for cooperation to stymie Soviet attempts to gain access to the
Turkish Straits. The compromise on Syria and Lebanon recognized British
prominence in the region, but it also opened the path toward the Dunkirk
Treaty of 1947, which apparently had less to do with the emerging Cold
War than with the old goal of containing Germany. Furthermore, the first
projects for customs unions between France and its Western neighbors, pos-
sibly with British endorsement (in September 1946 Churchill gave his
famous speech in Zurich calling for European unity) underscored the search
for economic stability and a “European voice” as independent as possible
from the two superpowers.59
Italy too in the following two years welcomed French projects of customs
union as a first step toward a broader European cooperation. Fear of hav-
ing a subordinate role in the new Europe, however, made Italy far less keen
than France on the European “third force,” which clearly London or Paris
would have dominated. This suspicion grew when France, while supporting
Italian Mediterranean claims at the Paris peace conference, and while invit-
The Old Game 65
ing a special entente with Rome, maintained its demands on reparations

and border adjustments against the “former aggressor.”60 Because of its
weaker position vis-à-vis France or Britain and because of enduring rival-
ries with them, Italy continued to invite an American presence in Europe
with fewer conditions than its northern neighbor.
In France and Italy, however, growing economic dependence on the
United States frustrated not only those who dreamed of a European “third
force” but also those who thought such a “third force” could follow a polit-
ical middle path between East and West. Shortly before de Gaulle’s visit to
Washington in August 1945, a report from the Quai d’Orsay emphasized
that the Soviet Union was “industrially incapable of furnishing us with the
equipment necessary to rebuild our industry” and that France must there-
fore cooperate with the United States. It was this awareness that induced
the French to modify even their firmest objectives with regard to Germany:
instead of advocating political independence for the Ruhr, they started talk-
ing of economic controls over the region and consistently moved toward tri-
zonal cooperation with the Anglo-Americans.61 In Italy, Quaroni, together
with Foreign Minister De Gasperi, and his successor, Sforza, kept trying to
convince the Soviets that economic dependency on the United States would
not necessarily turn Italy into a strategic “bulwark posed against the Slavic
regions.” But in the notes to one another they expressed certainty that soon
the alignment with Washington would be complete.62 War-devastated Rus-
sia, unable to supply loans, and always privileging commercial relations
with its Eastern European neighbors, did little or nothing to validate Italian
and French leftist propaganda, which glorified the importance of trade with
the Socialist “motherland,” rich with raw materials and agricultural prod-
ucts.63
While thus shifting French and Italian focus on the task of reconstruc-
tion, the failure of the “old game” also prompted a growing number in Italy
and France to advocate moral prestige for their nations as opposed to the
traditional power measures of grandeur. Quaroni’s comments during his
mission in Moscow are among the best examples of Italy’s new emphasis on
its rebirth as a democratic and “moral” power. He constantly warned that
Italy, due to its bad reputation as a “clever” maneuverer “fishing in trou-
bled waters,” must above all “persuade the world that [it] had truly broken
with its past.” The ambassador thus disavowed his role as broker with the
Russians, while Italian leaders increased references to their country’s
improved moral and democratic standards, and repeatedly pledged alle-
giance to the Atlantic Charter and to European cooperation.64
In France, several representatives from the center and moderate left par-
ties started questioning de Gaulle’s exclusive reliance on power politics. The
Christian Democrats of the Mouvement Républicain Populaire (MRP),
though maintaining close ties with the General, pointed to their tradition as
a pluralist party and opposed the Gaullist idea of a centralized state with
the consequently inflated self-importance and self-glorification of the state’s

chief representatives. In December 1945, party leader Christian Pineau,
head of the parliamentary Financial Commission, recommended cuts in the
military budget, which he thought had grown too great due to the Franco-
Soviet treaty and the government’s German policy: he bluntly remarked that
“the politics of grandeur are not the politics of bluster, the politics of the
swollen-headed frog.” Socialist leader Daniel Mayer echoed the Italians
when, following de Gaulle’s resignation a few days later, he reminded the
Assemblée that the nation should base its reputation on democracy and
morality in addition to the traditional economic and military measures of
power.
These appeals found their best audience in the United States, for in the
American view they represented one step toward collective security and
European self-reliance. Ambassador Caffery praised the wisdom of those
French politicians who finally agreed with him that French greatness could
be achieved above all through internal harmony and international cooper-
ation.65 France, still too proud to “bow,” needed American prodding
toward that alternative prestige more than Italy did.
According to common wisdom, France and Italy did not firmly align
themselves with the West until the Moscow conference of 1947 and Rome’s
internal debate on the Atlantic Pact in the summer of 1948 respectively.
These were indeed turning points. Bidault, in his memoirs, still portrayed
the Moscow CFM as France’s last chance for “non-alignment between East
and West.” On that occasion he fully understood that following such a pol-
icy “the French nation would soon become isolated, powerless and weak.”
Quaroni, two years after the end of his unproductive mission to Moscow,
reminded those who still hesitated applying for membership in the Atlantic
Alliance, “the truth is that we, like all other European nations, are no
longer independent . . . we are as free to approach Russia as Poland is to
approach the United States.”66 Until 1947–48, prominent members of both
governments continued to toy with the idea of combining the legacy of the
Resistance with that of the old European balance of power in order to find
an independent path to recovery and security.
But it is evident that the “ancien jeu” had from its start concealed a desire
to secure American aid and protection. The mistaken assumption of those
who propounded that “jeu” was that the promotion of America’s presence in
the Continent could be obtained free of subservience to America’s whims. Old-
style power diplomacy from a severely weakened international position was
counterproductive. The French and the Italians failed to comprehend that real-
ity largely because they were blinded with illusions of grandeur and prestige.
It was not thanks to their contacts with Moscow that the French and the
Italians obtained concessions from the Americans and the British at Yalta,
Potsdam, and the CFM meetings. The geographic position and vulnerabil-
The Old Game 67
ity to Communist subversion of Italy and France sufficiently motivated

Washington and London to welcome their most urgent claims. It was
France’s desperate need for coal in the winter of 1946–47, together with
the continuous strength of the PCF, that induced even the most stubborn
U.S. officials to accept reluctantly French unilateral detachment of the Saar
or to contemplate the possibility of international controls on the Ruhr.
And it was France’s central position in the Continent that compelled the
British to seek its cooperation for their own game of European balance of
power, and in January 1945 led the State Department to recommend treat-
ment of the French on the basis of their potential power rather than their
present strength. Togliatti’s return to Rome in the spring of 1944 spurred
the U.S. government to take the initiative in Italy and the State Department
to advocate a “sound American policy to help Italy again become self-
supporting and economically independent as quickly as possible.” The
possibility that Italy could fall into Communist hands, either through sub-
version or, in a more remote scenario, through military invasion across the
“Lubjiana gap,” led the mentioned SWNCC report of June 1945 to urge
some degree of military cooperation with Rome and a favorable settlement
on the Trieste dispute.67
The British and the Americans had listened to the appeals from Rome
and Paris, but only to those that highlighted the two countries’ political
instability. And while the threat of Communism guaranteed support from
London and Washington, it also induced them to reject some of the most
significant power claims from the French and the Italians. By 1946, British
Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin had become wary of Soviet influence in
France through the Communist Party. He justified his reluctance to pro-
mote full diplomatic cooperation with Paris with his feeling that at each
talk there would be “a third Great Power in the cupboard.” Similarly, Caf-
fery referred to the PCF as the “Soviet Trojan horse” of French politics,
after its success at the November elections. In a memorandum to Washing-
ton, the embassy’s second secretary, Norris Chipman argued that Thorez
was forcing on the government reconciliation with the Soviets’ position on
the Ruhr and other German issues. Italy saw its dreams of keeping some
colonies vanishing in part because of the Communist internal threat. “What
if a Communist Italy ended up controlling both sides of the Mediter-
ranean?” was a question common to Anglo-Americans’ reasoning. Or—as
the main American point on the issue had been all along since 1942—what
if Italy’s devastated economy could no longer shoulder the burden of colo-
nial responsibilities, thus causing social unrest and Communist takeover?68
French and Italian diplomatic maneuvers with Moscow had not only
called international attention to their own Communist parties, but also
coated that danger with an aura of intrigue, which intensified British and
American diffidence toward the two countries. Until the expulsion of the
Communists from the Ramadier government in May 1947, Caffery and the
State Department urged caution in making concessions to France, whose

ambivalence between East and West they still overestimated and ascribed
directly to the influence of the PCF. Italy’s tendency to “switch sides” had
become a cliché, as Quaroni had correctly pointed out, widely shared
among U.S. representatives. For example, in 1946, Secretary of State James
Byrnes complained about the Italians’ ingratitude at the Paris Peace Con-
ference, when they protested against a proposed settlement for Trieste; he
suspected that, under Togliatti’s initiative, they might even make their own
deal with Yugoslavia and the Soviet Union.69
All these misgivings about Communist clout may have been overstated.
But it is true that from the domestic viewpoint as well the “old game” had
backfired, as the Communist parties recouped more prestige than the gov-
ernment leaders themselves. Certainly, de Gaulle’s charisma still dwarfed
that of Maurice Thorez. But by 1946 the General had stepped down from
power, while the PCF had become the largest party of the Fourth Republic.
The PCI’s membership skyrocketed from few thousands in 1944 to over
two million by 1946. Both parties profited not only from social discontent
during the difficult times of reconstruction, but also, and perhaps more
from their new credentials as national, even patriotic parties, worthy
guardians of national independence and grandeur. Regaining their reputa-
tion would have been difficult if not impossible for them without the unwit-
ting help of the two nations’ leaders and diplomats in 1944.
America’s reactions to French and Italian diplomatic “gambles” with
Russia show that there was no possibility to recreate the old balance of
power within the imminent superpower confrontation. By attempting to do
it, France and Italy actually introduced the Cold War in their political
debate, inadvertently simplifying the terms of that debate. This justified
America’s assistance and intervention, as most of the Italian and French
moderate leaders had wanted, but almost solely on the basis of anticom-
munism, which was not the only kind of support those leaders had sought.
In particular, the assumption that economic distress was fertile ground for
Communist triumphs directed America’s intervention almost exclusively
toward economic aid. It was a safe and often wise assumption, but it neg-
lected issues of security and national pride that the French and Italian gov-
ernments had tirelessly propounded. In the final analysis, Italy and France
increased their own dependence on Washington instead of gaining margins
of diplomatic maneuver.
While between 1947 and 1950 the French and Italian governments issued
more explicit invitations for American economic and military hegemony
over Western Europe, they still expected their cooperation with Washington
would also assist them in their struggle for greater status. Indeed the main
political forces in both nations, sobered from their dream of resurrecting
old balance of power policies, began to convince themselves that the emerg-
ing Western interdependence could still be reconciled with their goals of
The Old Game 69
prestige or, according to some of their most prominent leaders, could even
help them to redefine their countries’ notions of prestige.
NOTES
1. Werth, France, 1945–1955, p. 232n.
2. Qtd. Lacouture, De Gaulle. The Ruler, p. 45; Duroselle, France and the United
States, pp. 171–175; on Italy Ennio Di Nolfo (ed.) L’ Italia e gli Stati Uniti durante
l’amministrazione Truman. Milan: Franco Angeli, 1976, pp. 7–10.
3. A concise discussion and partial revision of French historiography on this issue
in Soutou, “France,” pp. 96–104; cf. Annie Lacroix-Riz, La choix de Marianne
Paris: Messidor, 1985. The most notable work supporting the “neutralist” thesis on
Italy is Roberto Morozzo della Rocca, La politica estera italiana e l’Unione Soviet-
ica (1944–1948). Roma: La Goliardica, 1985.
4. Chapin to Sec. State, March 9, 1944, Chapin to Sec. State, March 10;
Churchill to Roosevelt, March 13; Eden to Clark (Moscow), March 12, FRUS,
1944, III, pp. 1038–44, 1046; Bruno Arcidiacono, “L’Italia fra sovietici e
angloamericani: la missione di Pietro Quaroni a Mosca (1944–1946),” in Ennio Di
Nolfo, Romain H. Rainero, and Brunello Vigezzi (eds.), L’Italia e la politica di
potenza in Europa (1945–1950). Florence: Marzorati, 1987, pp. 93–95. On previ-
ous disputes between the Soviets and the Anglo-Americans on Italy, cf. Miller, The
United States and Italy, pp. 68–76.
5. Chapin to Sec. State, March 11, 12, 20, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, pp. 1041–3
and 1068–9; preparing Prunas’ disclaimer: Memo Prunas, Jan. 10, 1944 in Minis-
tero degli Affari Esteri (MAE), Renato Prunas, Collana di testi diplomatici, n. 2.
Rome: Tipografia del M.A.E.,1974, p. 51.
6. Chapin to Sec. State, March 10, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, pp. 1039–41; Winant
(London) to Sec. State, March 16, 1944, 865.01, RG 59, NA; Michail Narinski, “La
politica estera sovietica verso l’Europa occidentale (1941–1945),” in Elena Aga-Rossi
and Gaetano Quagliarello (eds.), L’altra faccia della luna: I rapporti tra PCI, PCF e
Unione Sovietica. Bologna: Il Mulino, 1997, pp. 37–42; Elena Aga-Rossi and Victor
Zaslavski, Togliatti e Stalin: Il PCI e la politica estera staliniana negli archivi di Mosca.
Bologna: Il Mulino, 1997, pp. 68–69; Silvio Pons, “Stalin, Togliatti, and the Origins of
the Cold War in Europe, Journal of Cold War Studies, vol. 3, 2, Spring 2001.
7. Ambassador Gromyko to Sec. State, March 19, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III,
pp. 1062–5; tel. A/30 Hull to Reinhardt, March 25, 1944, 865.01, RG 59, NA.
8. On the PCI’s changing strategy: Chapin to Sec. State, March 24, 1944, 865.01,
RG 59, NA; tel.1083 Chapin to Sec. State, Apr. 3, 865.01, RG 59, NA; Harriman
(Moscow) to Sec. State, Apr. 4, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, pp. 1089–90; cf. Ennio Di
Nolfo, “La svolta di Salerno come problema internazionale,” Storia delle relazioni
internazionali, 1985, 1, pp. 17–18; Roberto Gualtieri, Togliatti e la politica estera
italiana. Dalla Resistenza al trattato di pace 1943–1947. Roma: Editori Riuniti,
1995, pp. 24–27; on increasing PCI influence see Memo ACC, Apr. 19, 1944, FRUS,
1944, III, pp. 1112–4.
9. Massigli in Chapin to Sec. State, March 15, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, p. 1052;
cf. C. Hull to Harriman, March 18, 1944, pp. 1061–2; Hull to various embassies,
March 11, 1944, 865.01, NA.
10. Memo Prunas Jan. 10, 1944, Renato Prunas, pp. 51–52.
11. Ibidem; cf. Mario Toscano, Designs in Diplomacy. Pages from European
Diplomatic History in the Twentieth Century. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press,
1970, pp. 271–275 and 284–294.
12. First quote from Chapin to Sec. State, March 21, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III,
pp. 1069–70; second quote from Memo Conv. Prunas, Samuel Reber and Harold
Caccia, March 20, 1944, Renato Prunas, pp. 57–58; cf. Di Nolfo. “La Svolta di
Salerno,” p. 14. On how Vishinsky denied the Czech-Italian analogy see Harriman
to Sec. State, March 27, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, pp. 1079–80; on Badoglio: Chapin
to Sec. State, March 22, pp. 1070–1.
13. See esp. Badoglio to Roosevelt, Apr. 3, 1944, cited in chap. 1; cf. Murphy to
Sec. State, Apr. 22, 1944, III, pp. 1102–4; Cordell Hull, The Memoirs of Cordell
Hull, vol. II. New York: Macmillan., 1948, pp. 1554–5.
14. Murphy to Sec. State, Apr. 22, 1944, cit., p. 1103.
15. Hull to Brandt, May 11, 1944, cit.; cf. Hull, Memoirs, II, p. 1559, on British
objections too. Ellwood argues that the British were at this point ready to grant
“Associate Power” status to Italy, but only if Italy pledged territorial surrenders in
the colonies, Yugoslavia and the Greek islands: Ellwood, Italy, 1943–1945, p. 99.
16. Roosevelt to Badoglio, Apr. 30, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, p. 1106; on pressures
from other officials see esp. Brandt (Naples) to Sec. State (reporting from Kirk),
May 3 and 5, 1944 pp. 1106–10; tel. 127 Murphy to Sec. State, Apr. 28, 1944,
865.01, RG 59, NA.
17. Qtd. (added emphasis) tel. signed RHG, Jr. to Reber (Algiers) March 27, 1944,
865.01/2233, RG 59, NA; cf. Chapin to Sec. State, March 22, 1944, FRUS, 1944,
III, pp. 1071–2.
18. Tel. 1158 Harriman to Hull, Apr. 3, 1944, 865.01/2292, RG 59, NA; Hull to
Harriman, Apr. 13, 20, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, pp. 1097 and 1102–3.
19. Cf. Anthony Eden, The Memoirs of Anthony Eden. The Reckoning. Boston:
Houghton Mifflin Co., 1965, p. 439; Miller, The United States and Italy, pp. 93–95;
MacFarlane to Wilson, June 12, 1944, 1000/136/116, RG 331, NA; Chapin to Sec.
State, Apr. 14, 1944, Brandt to Sec. State, May 27, 1944, Chapin to Sec. State, June
10, 1944; FRUS, 1944, III, pp. 1097–1100, 1119–21 and 1125–6.
20. See for ex. Harrison (Bern) to Sec. State, Apr. 13, 1944, 865.01, RG 59, NA;
British Aide-Memoire to Dept. State, May 25, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, pp. 1116–8;
Aga Rossi, Rapporto Stevenson, cit.; Gat, Britain and Italy, pp. 74–75; Harper,
America and the Reconstruction of Italy, pp. 24–27.
21. Text in Sec. State to Kirk, Sept. 26, 1944, frus, 1944, III, pp. 1153–4; cf. Miller,
The United States and Italy, pp. 112–116.
22. See for ex. Mtg. De Gasperi-Byrnes, Aug. 22, 1946, Office of WEA and Italy
Lot Files 1943–1951, b. 1, RG 59, NA; Poggiolini, Diplomazia della transizione,
pp. 45–46 and 77; Prime Minister Bonomi also firmly denounced the indefinite sub-
jection of a “civilised people like the Italians to a state of tutelage and minority:”
Bonomi to Hull, July 22, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, at p. 1143.
23. See docs. in FRUS, 1944, III, pp. 1151–8 and Kirk to Sec. State, pp. 1185–6.
24. Toscano, Designs in Diplomacy, pp. 352–354.
25. Franc Tireur qtd. in Funk, Charles de Gaulle, p. 292; tel. 834, Chapin to Sec.
State, March 14, 1944, 865.01, RG 59, NA; Crane Brinton writes: “because the
French too have their peck order of nationalities, in which the Italians stand—or
The Old Game 71
stood in those days—much lower below them, the very equation of France and Italy
under AMGOT [Allied Military Government in Occupied Territories] was an
offense to them”: Brinton, The Americans and the French, p. 89.
26. Eisenhower qtd. in Caffery to Sec. State, Oct. 20, 1944, FRUS, 1944 III,
pp. 742–3; see also Roosevelt to Churchill, May 12, 27, 1944, Chapin to Sec. State,
Sept. 15, 1944, and Hull to Roosevelt, Sept. 17, 1944, all in pp. 683, 692, 733–4
and 735–6; on recognition: Acting Sec. State to Caffery, Oct. 21, and Chapin to Sec.
State, Oct. 22, 23, 1944, pp. 744–8; cf. de Gaulle, Salvation, pp. 48–50; de Gaulle
consistently used the argument of the Communist threat to obtain recognition: Led-
widge, De Gaulle, pp. 186–187.
27. “Note sur les rapports franco-sovietiques de 1941 à 1944,” Oct. 25, 1944,
Série Z [hereafter not mentioned] Europe, Sous-Série URSS 1944–49, vol. 51,
AHMAE; de Gaulle claimed he responded to an invitation from Moscow: de Gaulle,
Salvation, pp. 61–62; for a realist account of Soviet-French relations during the war
see Georges-Henri Soutou, “General de Gaulle and the Soviet Union, 1943–5: Ide-
ology or European Equilibrium,” in Francesca Gori and Silvio Pons (eds.), The
Soviet Union and Europe in the Cold War, 1943–53. London, New York: Macmil-
lan, St. Martin’s Press, 1996; cf. Henri-Christian Giraud, “Les rélations de Gaulle-
Staline pendant la guerre,” in Stephane Courtois and Marc Lazar (eds.), 50 ans
d’une passion française: De Gaulle et les communistes. Paris: Balland, 1991.
28. Qtd. in Lacouture, De Gaulle. The Ruler, p. 44; cf. de Gaulle, Salvation,
pp. 54–60.
29. Ibidem; cf. Soutou, “de Gaulle and the Soviet Union,” pp. 316–325.
30. Aron, An Explanation of de Gaulle, p. 137; see also Chauvel (Paris) to
Embassy Moscow, Nov. 27, 1944, Europe, URSS 1944–49, vol. 51, AHMAE.
31. Philippe Robrieux, Histoire intérieure du parti communiste. Paris: Fayard,
1981, pp. 24 ff.; Philippe Buton, “Le Parti communiste français à la Libération,
stratégie et implantation,” L’Information Historique, 51 (1989); cf. Chauvel (Paris)
to Emb. Moscow, Dec. 2, 1944, Europe, URSS 1944–49, vol. 51, AHMAE, report-
ing Thorez’s revelations that de Gaulle had pursued the agreement with Moscow
and not vice-versa.
32. Qtd. Bidault, Resistance, p. 70; cf. tel. 727, Roger Garreau (Amb. Moscow) to
MAE, Nov. 20, 1944, Europe, URSS 1944–49, vol. 51, AHMAE; Herbert Luethy,
France Against Herself. New York: Praeger, 1955, p. 112.
33. A copy of de Gaulle’s letter to Maisky of September 26, 1941 is in Europe,
URSS 1944–49, vol. 51, AHMAE; see also “Note sur les rapports franco-sovietiques
. . . ” cit. cf. Soutou, “de Gaulle and the Soviet Union,” pp. 310–312.
34. De Gaulle, Salvation, p. 60.
35. Cf. de Gaulle, Salvation, pp. 94–95; Gordon, A Certain Idea of France, p. 21.
36. Cf. esp. F. Lévêque, “La place de la France dans la stratégie sovietique de la fin
de la guerre en Europe (fin 1942–fin 1945)”, Materiaux pour l’histoire de notre
temps, 36, 1994, pp. 28–33; Narinski, “La politica estera sovietica.”
37. Tel. 4527 Kennan to Sec. State, Nov. 27, 1944, 851.01, RG 59, NA; on other
Soviet reasons as perceived by de Gaulle and other Western allies: tel. 4580 Kennan to
Sec. State, Nov. 30; “Note sur les rapports franco-sovietiques,” cit.; “Note VI.6: ‘La
politique sovietique,’ ” no date, Sécrétariat Général [hereafter SG] 1945–1966, dossier
[d.]16 (URSS), AHMAE; on Stalin’s views: Dimitri A. Volkogonov, Stalin: Triumph
and Tragedy. New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 1991, chap. 50; Edvard Radzinski, Stalin.
New York: Doubleday, 1996, chap. 25; Isaac Deutscher, Stalin. A Political Biography.
New York: Oxford University Press (2nd ed.), 1967, p. 526; Amos Perlmutter, FDR
and Stalin: A Not So Grand Alliance, 1943–1945. Columbia: University of Missouri
Press, 1993, pp. 203–206; on Stalin’s “national pride:” Robert C. Tucker, Stalin in
Power. The Revolution From Above, 1928–1941. New York: W. W. Norton & Co.,
1990, p. 43.
38. Chauvel to Garreau, Nov. 27, 1944, URSS 1944–49, vol. 51, AHMAE; tel.
460 Stettinius to Caffery, Nov. 17, 1944, tel. 4700 Harriman to Stettinius, Dec. 8,
1944, 851.01, RG 59, NA; cf. Caffery to Stettinius, Nov. 9, 1944; on Roosevelt’s
concern about a possible demise of collective security as a consequence of the
Franco-Soviet treaty: Roosevelt to Churchill, Dec. 6, 1944, FRUS, Malta and Yalta,
p. 291; tel. 2802 Stettinius to Harriman, Dec. 8, 1944, 851.01, RG 59, NA.
39. Tels. 620, 784, 806, Caffery to Sec. State, Nov. 21, Dec. 3, Dec. 5 1944,
851.01, RG 59, NA.
40. Text in DePorte, De Gaulle’s Foreign Policy, pp. 78–79.
41. See tel. 30, Bidault to General Juin (Chief of Staff), Jan. 9, 1945, Europe, URSS
1944–49, vol. 51, AHMAE; cf. Soutou, “France,” p. 99; de Gaulle, Salvation,
pp. 74–83; on de Gaulle’s full understanding of the Soviet threat only by 1945:
Soutou, “General de Gaulle and the Soviet Union,” cit.; for an exaggerated account
of Soviet clout in Paris, also emphasizing the role played in this event by Maurice
Dejean, at the time de Gaulle’s main foreign policy adviser: Thierry Wolton, La
France sous influence. Paris-Moscou, 30 ans de relations secrètes. Paris: Grasset,
1997, pp. 46–53.
42. De Gaulle, Salvation, pp. 76–77 (qtd. passage at p. 77); cf. tel. 2802 Stettinius
to Harriman, Dec. 8, 1944, cit; tel. 519, Massigli (London) to MAE, Dec. 4, 1944,
Europe, URSS 1944–49, vol. 51, AHMAE; on Bidault’s reassurances see tel. 829,
Morris (Teheran) to Sec. State, Dec. 14, 1944, 851.01, RG 59, NA.
43. Tel. 727 Garreau to MAE, Nov. 20, 1944, Europe, URSS 1944–1949, vol. 51,
AHMAE; on Bogomolov’s statement and the press’ reactions: DePorte, De Gaulle’s
Foreign Policy, pp. 79–80.
44. Tel. 4599 Kennan to Sec. State, Dec. 2, 1944, 851.01. RG 59, NA; tel. 4770
Harriman to Sec. State, Dec. 12, 1944; tels. 620 and 784 Caffery to Sec. State, Nov.
21, Dec. 3, 1944, cit.
45. Qtd. in Poggiolini, Diplomazia della transizione, p. 138.
46. Tel. 7 Quaroni to MAE, June 5, 1944, Direzione Generale Affari Politici [here-
after DGAP], 1931–45, URSS, b. 44, f. 1, ASMAE; cf. Arcidiacono, “l’Italia fra
sovietici e angloamericani,” pp. 100–102; Toscano, Designs in Diplomacy,
pp. 302–303.
47. Tel. 501/2 Garreau to MAE, Feb. 22, 1945, Europe, URSS, vol. 51, AHMAE;
Soutou, “de Gaulle and the Soviet Union,” pp. 325–326; Lacouture, De Gaulle. The
Ruler, pp. 56–57.
48. Mtg. Roosevelt-Stalin, Feb. 4, 1945 and First Plenary Meeting, Feb. 4, 1945,
Bohlen Minutes, FRUS, Malta and Yalta, pp. 570–580; Robert E. Sherwood, Roo-
sevelt and Hopkins. New York: Harper and Row, p. 394; qtd. Lacouture, De Gaulle:
The Ruler, pp. 53 and 57; cf. Volkogonov, Stalin, chap. 50; Deutscher, Stalin, p. 526.
49. Memo Bohlen, May 7, 1945, FRUS, 1945, III, pp. 1208–10.
50. Quaroni to MAE, Aug. 23, 1944, DGAP, URSS, b. 44, f. 1, ASMAE; Rep.
143/17 by Quaroni, Apr. 23, 1945, DGAP, URSS, b. 45, f. 1, ASMAE.; Morozzo
The Old Game 73
della Rocca, La politica estera italiana e l’Unione Sovietica, p. 43; Ellwood, Italy,
1943–1945, pp. 116–118; on Stalin’s skepticism about the strength of the PCI and
acceptance of Anglo-American influence in Italy: Paolo Spriano, Stalin and the
European Communists. London: Verso, 1985, pp. 211–212; on Stalin’s reassur-
ances: Stalin to Roosevelt, Dec. 2, 3, 1945, FRUS, Malta Yalta, pp. 288–9.
51. French Delegation at CFM, Sept. 20, 1945, FRUS, 1945, II, pp. 285–7; Y.
Lacaze, “Edouard Benes et la France Libre à la lumière des documents diplomatiques
Français,” Revue d’histoire diplomatique, 97 (1983), pp. 279–321; Young, France,
The Cold War, pp. 80–82, 123–125; Memo Conv. Sept. 22, 1945, Attlee to Truman,
Sept. 23, 1945, FRUS, 1945, II, pp. 313–5, 331–3; Gianluigi Rossi, L’Africa italiana
verso l’indipendenza, 1941–1949. Milano: Giuffré, 1980, pp. 243–256.
52. Tel. 591–600 Garreau to Bidault, March 2, 1945, Europe, URSS 1944–49, vol.
51, AHMAE; on Ruhr: Bidault to Embassy Moscow, Aug. 26, 1945, Y Interna-
tionale, vol. 126, AHMAE.
53. Report 935/419, Quaroni to MAE, Oct. 14, 1945, DGAP, Italia, 1945, b.
100/1, f.1; cf. Arcidiacono, “L’Italia fra sovietici e angloamericani,” pp. 115–121;
Acheson to Kirk, Oct. 2, 1945, Gallman to Sec. State, Oct. 12, 1945, FRUS, 1945,
IV, pp. 1057, 1063–4.
54. U.S. Delegation Record, CFM, Apr. 26, 1946, FRUS, 1946, II, pp. 112–121;
Memo by Soviet Delegation at CFM, Apr. 26, 1946, U.S. Delegation Record, CFM,
May 6, 1946, Report to the CFM by Committee of Reparations, May 7, 1946, all
in Idem, pp. 126–127, 249–256, 291–296; Poggiolini, Diplomazia della transizione,
esp. pp. 93–110, and 142 ff.
55. Caffery to Sec. State, Oct. 5, 1945, FRUS, 1945, II, 558–9; Moscow Embassy
to MAE, Oct. 17, 1945, Europe, URSS, vol. 52, AHMAE; Massigli to MAE, Oct.
7, 1946, Papiers d’Agents [PA], 93, Massigli, AHMAE; Jean Chauvel, Commentaire
Vol. 2 d’Alger à Berne. Paris: Plon, 1972, pp. 185–186; Young, France, The Cold
War, p. 73 (Bidault quoted).
56. Murphy to Sec. State, Dec. 27, 1946, Byrnes to Clay, Dec. 30, 1946, FRUS,
1946, V, pp. 656–8; Bidault to MAE, Jan. 18, 1947, Europe, URSS, vol. 52,
AHMAE; on these events: Young, France, The Cold War, pp. 107–114, 129,
143–144; Luethy, France Against Herself, pp. 344 ff.; F. Roy Willis, The French in
Germany, pp. 41–44.
57. Letter Bonomi to Stalin, Aug. 7, 1944, CS, b. 3, f. 9, ACS; qtd. passage from
Bonomi to Roosevelt, July 2, 1944, FRUS, 1944, III, pp. 1139–40; see also Bonomi
to Hull, July 22, 1944, pp. 1142–4; tel. 47 Quaroni to MAE, Sept. 2, 1944, DGAP,
URSS 1944, b. 44, f. 1.
58. Qtd. Charles de Gaulle, Lettres, Notes et Carnets, vol. 5, juin 1943 - mai 1945.
Paris: Plon, 1983, pp. 424–5. Bidault with Caffery qtd. in tel. 2724, Caffery to
Sec.State, June 5, 1946, 851.00, RG 59, NA. Before the London CFM, de Gaulle
was particularly worried about Soviet strides in the Danubian area, and repeatedly
urged Washington to restore a closer Franco-American cooperation: Caffery to Sec.
State, Apr. 11, 1945 and May 5, 1945, 851.71, FG 59, NA.
59. On the Levant: Memo by G. Allen, July 23, 1945, FRUS, Conference of Berlin,
II, pp. 317–9; DePorte, De Gaulle’s Foreign Policy, pp. 150–151; on early references
to European “third force” Massigli to MAE, Sept. 5, 1946, Y Internationale, vol.
287, AHMAE; John W. Young, Britain, France, and the Unity of Europe
1945–1951. Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1984, pp. 20–42.
60. Pietro Nenni, Tempo di Guerra Fredda: Diari, 1943–1956. Milan: SugarCo,
1981, pp. 136–139; Pierre Guillen, “Le déclin de la puissance italiènne à la fin de la
seconde guerre mondiale,” Relations Internationales, 9, 1977.
61. Memo Political Affairs Bureau, July 20, 1945, Y Internationale, vol. 7,
AHMAE; Hitchcock, France Restored, p. 81.
62. Report 142/16, Quaroni to MAE, Apr. 24, 1945, DGAP, URSS 1945, b. 47, f.
9, ASMAE; De Gasperi to Quaroni, Aug. 31, 1945 and Sforza to Moscow Embassy,
(June 1947), CS, b.3, f.9, ACS; see also Memo Conv. by Dowling, Dec. 28, 1945,
FRUS, 1945, IV, p. 1100.
63. As the Socialist Party leader, Pietro Nenni, found out when, as foreign minis-
ter in early 1946 he vainly tried to balance Premier De Gasperi’s imminent request
for a U.S. loan with a parallel petition for Russian wheat: Nenni, Tempo di guerra
fredda, pp. 301–2; Di Nolfo, Le paure e le speranze pp. 181–182.
64. Report 61/2, Quaroni to Bonomi, Aug. 8, 1944, DGAP URSS 1944, b. 44, f.
1, ASMAE; cf. Arcidiacono, “l’Italia fra sovietici e anglo-americani,” pp. 105ff.
65. Capelle, The MRP and French Foreign Policy, pp. 19–20; Pineau qtd. in
Robert Frank, “The French Dilemma: Modernization with Dependence or Indepen-
dence and Decline,” in Becker and Knipping, Power in Europe?, p. 265; D. Mayer
in Young, France, The Cold War, p. 93; tel. 158 Caffery to Sec. State, Jan. 10, 1946,
851.00, RG 59, NA; see precedents and esp. Caffery’s admiration for Léon Blum:
tels. 2895, 4944 Caffery to Sec. State, May 23, Aug. 15, 1945, 851.41, RG 59, NA.
66. Bidault, Resistance, p. 149; Quaroni qtd. in Tarchiani, Dieci anni, p. 154.
67. See Doc. by State Department and SWNCC cited in chap. 1; document from
State Department qtd. in Ellwood, Italy, 1943–1945, p. 109; cf. Memo Conv. by
Sec. State, Apr. 20, 1947, FRUS, 1947, II, pp. 367–70; tel. 3175 Caffery to Sec.
State, Aug. 8, 1947, 711.51, RG 59, NA.
68. Bevin qtd. in Young, France, The Cold War, p. 122; Caffery qtd. in Wall, Mak-
ing of Postwar France, p. 48; Memo Norris Chipman, Nov. 23, 1946, FRUS, 1946,
V, pp. 471–7; Dunn to Acheson, Feb. 4, 1946, WEA, Italy 1943–1951, RG 59, NA;
Memo U.S. Delegation at CFM, May 15, 1946, FRUS, 1946, II, pp. 423–4; Byrnes,
Speaking Frankly, pp. 148–149.
69. Caffery to Sec. State, Feb. 7, 1947, and Memo Conv. by Sec. State, Feb. 12,
1947 FRUS, 1947, II, pp. 154–8; Mtg. Tarchiani-Byrnes, July 19, 1946, 865.00, RG
59, NA; cf. Quartararo, Italia e Stati Uniti, pp. 121 ff.; Memo Chipman, cited in
previous note, on French and Italian governments’ compromises and “intrigues”
with Thorez and Togliatti respectively.
3
Mastering Interdependence?
Status, the “Third Force,”
and the Western Alliance
A SELF-RELIANT THIRD FORCE?

On July 8, 1948, at one of the meetings of the Washington Exploratory
Talks for an Atlantic Alliance, the chief American representative, Acting
Secretary of State Robert Lovett, gave his assessment of a “hypothetical
nation in Western Europe,” which he called “Neuralgia.” This nation, he
explained, “was prepared resolutely to defend itself if it could obtain appro-
priate assistance.” Lovett went on saying that if “Neuralgia” “saw the U.S.
associated with some European group to which it was not a party it might
see only two alternatives, either to yield to Soviet pressure, or to appeal
piecemeal to the U.S. for military assistance.” In order to avert either alter-
native, the United States had by that time resolved to participate in Europe’s
collective security arrangements.
Lovett’s “diagnosis” of Europe’s security problems in “neurological”
terms made obvious the link between self-esteem and self-reliance in
Europe. Those problems were presumably a symptom of a short-term,
pathological condition to be cured, not the basis for a long-term alliance.
While accepting overseas commitments, Washington remained devoted to
the idea of creating an integrated, self-reliant Western Europe that would
do away with the need for constant American assistance. That had been
the main purpose of the Marshall Plan. Two months after its announce-
ment, State Department Soviet expert Charles Bohlen wrote: “our main
preoccupation now is just how to help Western Europe get on its feet
without committing ourselves to another dreary round of charity hand-

outs which would postpone and not cure.”1
The American-sponsored economic and defense integration of Western
Europe had as its basic intent allowing the Old Continent to rediscover its
own strength and equilibrium, and to share the burdens of containment—
a solution by which America combined self-interest with its values of
democracy and self-determination. Rather than establish its own sphere of
influence in Europe, the United States through the 1950s attempted to
restore “independent” centers of power. This independence did not entail
positions incompatible with those of the United States, nor was it supposed
to detract from the “interdependence” of a U.S.-dominated world capital-
ism. Even as the hegemonic power of the West, the United States was ready
to accept diversity. In January 1948, while the Europeans were entering
negotiations for a Western Alliance in Washington, John D. Hickerson,
Director of the State Department’s Office of European Affairs, envisioned
“a third force which was not merely the extension of US influence but a real
European organization strong enough to say ‘no’ both to the Soviet Union
and to the United States, if our actions should seem so to require.” It was
also clear that the third force was to be centered around a revitalized Ger-
man state, provided, as George Kennan argued, that the new alignment
would restore “a balance of power in Europe without permitting Germany
to become again the dominant power.”2
The Europeans hesitated, however, to make themselves as accountable as
many American officials had wished. With the North Atlantic Treaty and the
Military Assistance Program of 1949, the United States failed to motivate
the Europeans to achieve strategic self-sufficiency and had to resign itself to
establishing a dependent sphere of influence. As John Gaddis has pointed
out, “the hard reality was that Britain, France and their smaller neighbors
preferred the known risks of a Europe divided into Soviet and American
spheres of influence to the imponderables of a unified ‘third force’ that could
conceivably fall under German or even Russian control.”3 Indeed, the Euro-
peans proved incapable of overcoming their ancient rivalries, but were able
to adapt to and even promote dependence on the United States.
Another explanation of the Europeans’ decision to turn down projects
for a “military” third force is that they had an “economic” third force in
mind. As Alan Milward and other European scholars have suggested, the
Western European states’ self-limited military sovereignty was a necessary
step toward “economic” sovereignty, for it allowed them to free up
resources for reconstruction, which was a process essentially autonomous
from the United States. Even more important, the protection of this eco-
nomic sovereignty allowed the nation states and their bureaucracies to
strengthen themselves within the framework of interdependence. Through
the very process of integration, the European nation states were able to
recreate themselves as functional units and to retain virtually all their
Mastering Interdependence? Status, the “Third Force,” and the Western Alliance 77
power.4 While Gaddis might be too pessimistic, and Milward’s “revisionist”

school too optimistic about the Europeans’ ability to “pull themselves
together,” both theses point out that a genuine European third force never
emerged, and that the defense of national sovereignties remained the cen-
tral concern of Europe’s national governments.
Yet we cannot make full sense of these results without explaining the
impact status considerations had on some crucial decisions in Western
Europe. This is especially pertinent to France and Italy, since they placed the
main obstacles in the way of an autonomous European security system—
and, in the early 1950s, shared the main responsibility for the collapse of
the French-born project for an integrated army, known as European
Defense Community. So how did issues of status match or distort the two
governments’ perceptions of security and their rivalry with other European
states? How and to what extent did France and Italy view their promotion
of an American sphere of influence as a way to fulfill their national ambi-
tions? How did they cope with the ensuing contradictions? And finally, how
did the Americans’ notions of French and Italian concern for status help or
mislead their effort to reconstruct an autonomous Europe?
To be sure, neither France nor Italy ignored the potential for a European
third force. After war’s end the debate on integration quickly heated up in
both countries, even before the Americans decided to advance it; but just as
quickly that debate assumed a nationalist connotation, compounded by
Cold War ideological divisions. Indeed most political forces advocating the
third force believed that continental integration would best serve their
national and ideological goals, helping them to create a Socialist, or a
Gaullist, or a Christian Democratic patrie.
As early as 1945, Socialists in both countries joined hands with the more
radical representatives of the British Labor party by invoking the creation
of a third force able to reject American capitalism as well as Soviet Bolshe-
vism (some of these “neutralists” were rather trying to derail “Western”
integration).5 From the Christian Democratic ranks Georges Bidault and
several Italian Catholic leaders envisioned a Christian bloc of nations as the
best possible coalition against the Communist peril. Other Christian
Democrats, particularly the left wing of the party in Italy, were almost
equally hostile to Marxist and American materialism and came much closer
to the Socialist idea of a neutral third force, possibly mediating between the
two superpowers. So did, for similar reasons, left-of-center politicians in
both countries. Many of these representatives significantly believed an
unconditional alignment with the West would damage “national dignity.”6
Certainly de Gaulle agreed with that premise. As noted, he was one of the
earliest and most fervent paladins of a European third force. This was con-
sistent with his efforts to revive a balance of power in Europe maneuvering
between the United States and the Soviet Union, and with France in a posi-
tion of continental leadership.7
By 1947, government leaders in Rome and Paris began to fear that their
coalition partners from the moderate left, with their pro-neutralist inclina-
tions, would turn Europe’s federation projects into easy prey for the Com-
munist forces. For this reason above all, the conservatives, even those who
were not unconditionally pro-American, ended up favoring the Atlantic
option over the third force. In the aftermath of the Truman Doctrine, sev-
eral French Socialists of the SFIO and Christian Democrats of the MRP sig-
nificantly abandoned their idea of a neutral third force. The Cominform
campaign against the Marshall Plan confirmed their resolve to strengthen
their ties with Washington. Some of them still advocated a third force
chiefly to expose the Soviets’ tendency to ‘divide and rule’ and “to draw
some Eastern Europeans back into the [Western]fold,” as Bidault—still
dreaming a revival of a French-guided “Little Entente”—told President Vin-
cent Auriol shortly after the secretary of state’s Harvard Speech.8 This sug-
gestion showed that the “old game” had already yielded to the logic of
spheres of influence.
Indeed more than other nations in Europe, France’s and Italy’s role in
continental integration was to be affected by their tendency to establish a
client-patron relationship with the United States. Such a relationship crys-
tallized for both nations before the implementation of the Marshall Plan. It
is beyond the scope of this work to analyze the evolution of the U.S. finan-
cial commitment to European economic recovery and the use France and
Italy made of American aid before and after the establishment of the Euro-
pean Recovery Program (ERP). It will be sufficient to highlight the impor-
tance of the first French and Italian requests for long-term U.S. economic
assistance, and to show how the reconstruction process confirmed a pattern
of reciprocal perceptions between France and Italy on one side and the
United States on the other, that had emerged during the days of the Libera-
tion, and that peculiarly revolved around issues of status. This brief excur-
sion into the theme of economic rehabilitation provides a background that
will help clarify the two nations’ roles in the debate around European secu-
rity and integration.
STATUS, ECONOMIC RECOVERY, AND THEIR CONTRADICTIONS

Neither France nor Italy accepted their economic dependence on the
United States as reason for utter deference to American hegemony. The cen-
trist forces in both the French and Italian governments in fact strove to pres-
ent the Truman administration’s eagerness to come to their rescue as a polit-
ical feat, a sign of international recognition of their legitimacy, vitality, and
promise. Moreover, both argued that economic recovery, even if U.S.-
driven, might also be viewed as the best avenue to greater status. The “mod-
ernizers” in both countries purveyed economic cooperation with the United
States as indispensable means to regain a competitive position in Europe,
and consequently a role of continental leadership (for France) or equality

with the major European states (for Italy). So the interrelation between
recovery within an integrated West and status increasingly gained credit in
both nations.
Centrist leaders, however, continued to rely on their “tyrannical weak-
ness” to draw America’s attention. The two nations’ political instability, not
the promise of good investment, provided the rationale for U.S. loans and
aid that preceded congressional approval of the Marshall Plan in 1948.
French and Italian leaders themselves were painfully aware of their ambiva-
lence between manipulation and subordination. Often, their own hopes for
prestige and revival thanks to U.S. aid mixed with their discontent for their
dependence on that aid and Washington’s whims. While the majority lead-
ers were haunted by this inconsistency, representatives from the opposition
parties, or from traditionally oriented economic forces, conceived their
resistance against foreign influence and “Americanization” as the true
defense of national prestige. Thus, through the early 1950s the link between
status and the policies of reconstruction did become stronger, but not with-
out deep uncertainties and controversies.
It is instructive to reexamine the purposes and results of the official vis-
its that the French Socialist leader Léon Blum and the Italian prime minis-
ter Alcide De Gasperi paid to the United States respectively in March–May
1946 and January 1947; for these two episodes set the pattern of ambiva-
lence between subordination and pursuit of status.
Begging with Honor? The two statesmen sought to secure substantial

long-term loans from the United States. Undeniably, most of their demands
went unheeded. Several historians add that both leaders—but especially De
Gasperi—made agreements that politically subjected their countries to
Washington.9 What has remained understated is that the main purpose of
the two missions was to win America’s trust and commitment. Regardless
of the immediate results, the establishment of such trust was supposed to
signal the United States’ recognition of the two countries as viable partners
and, even more importantly for the two statesmen, its endorsement of the
centrist forces they represented as the only legitimate and reliable ones.
To be sure the disastrous economic conditions in France and Italy pro-
vided the immediate motivation for Blum and De Gasperi’s appeals to the
United States. Even more alarmingly, the situation had granted the Com-
munists success in both countries’ first electoral tests at the municipal
level.10
But beyond the economic and political emergency, the two missions were
meant to lay the groundwork for the two nations’ reconstruction and for
their resumption of a competitive position in Europe. Accompanying the
“Ambassador Extraordinary” (as Blum, not a cabinet member, was ranked
for the occasion) was the architect of France’s Modernization Plan, Jean
Monnet, whose task it was to convince American political and financial

authorities that his dirigistes projects were reliable and worth long-term
credits. At home, upon his appointment as Planning Commissioner in Jan-
uary 1946, Monnet significantly argued that only by improving and mod-
ernizing its economy could the nation achieve independence, grandeur, and
a position of leadership in Europe. Moreover, he led a group of economists
and politicians who embraced the so-called “Atlanticist” strategy, which
relied on American aid as the main source of French recovery. This group
opposed the “Nationalists,” who wanted to jump start both French econ-
omy and status by punishing Germany and exploiting its resources. Thus
for the first time the French debated two radically different notions of
grandeur, one based on managing interdependence and another founded on
traditional chauvinism. In Monnet’s estimate French dependence on the
United States was to last five years. The acquisition of American equipment,
supplies, and know-how, he believed, would enable France to generate its
own investments, industrialize, and ultimately become powerful by itself. In
response to the “Nationalists,” the Planning Commissioner predicted his
project would allow France to overtake German prominence on the Conti-
nent in a relatively short time.11
De Gasperi had no analogous plan to publicize in Washington, but some
of the leading Italian industrialists had already come up with their own ideas
of modernization. They wanted to develop an export-oriented economy
within an integrated European market. For these staunch laissez-faire advo-
cates only by dismantling autarky could Italy reconstruct as efficiently and
competitively as the other economies of the Continent. Notable exceptions
such as FIAT managing director, Vittorio Valletta, and steel “baron,” Oscar
Sinigaglia, favored planning and, like Monnet, wanted to base it on a stable
cooperation with America’s finance. De Gasperi’s Christian Democrats
endorsed the pro-laissez faire forces, while sharing with the “planners” the
determination to obtain foreign credits.12 Beyond political and economic cal-
culations, this decision significantly underscored Italy’s discourse on prestige
both as a fully restored democracy—in this case with the rejection of Fascist
corporatism—and a worthy ally of the new hegemonic power.
The difference between what the French and the Italians had sought and
what they obtained was staggering: $650 million compared to the $3.5 bil-
lion Monnet had dreamed of; and $100 million out of the $940 million
Italy had initially requested—credits that barely allowed the two countries
to survive another winter. Besides that, the terms of the loans were far from
favorable.13 The accords Léon Blum signed with Secretary of State Byrnes
on May 28, 1946, became famous for another clause that justified, accord-
ing to most French public opinion, America’s economic and cultural impe-
rialism: a considerable cut of import restrictions on Hollywood films.14
These meager results notwithstanding, what counted most for Blum and De
Gasperi was that they had opened an aid “channel” with Washington and had
received an endorsement, no matter how vague and cautious, of their nations’

economic projects. And even if the financial accomplishment remained ques-
tionable, a far more consequential issue was political trust. The two statesmen
achieved a personal success, thanks in particular to their charisma and a thor-
ough public relations strategy;15 by extension, they also obtained an unprece-
dented political commitment from the Truman administration.
The decision to appoint Léon Blum as special envoy came from the Quai
d’Orsay and the ambassador to Washington Henri Bonnet. They calculated
that most Americans would feel empathy for Blum’s experience as a pris-
oner in a Nazi concentration camp and admire his record as the Socialist
leader who had first broken the alliance with the PCF.16 The old leader, with
his magnetism, met their highest expectations. On his initiative, he
exploited his ties with former ambassador to Paris, William Bullitt, Wall
Street financial institutions, and the Jewish community in order to launch
his appeal, which aptly combined the plea of the weak with a dignified por-
trait of his country’s potential, thanks to the Modernization Plan.17
De Gasperi’s success was even more remarkable, since he had no specific
economic plan to win America’s confidence. His anti-Communist rhetoric
found a responsive Republican-dominated Congress. The prime minister
also used all possible channels to help reinforce the internationalist estab-
lishment in Washington: he persuaded the mass media to publicize Italy’s
troubles, encouraged the Italian-American prominenti and the Catholic
Church to raise funds for the Christian Democrats, took the opportunity to
make transatlantic broadcasts to Italy, and in New York’s Italian commu-
nity conducted a campaign which was, in James Miller’s words, “a model
of ethnic politics.”18
Certainly, the two statesmen’s lobbying yielded extraordinary results. The
triumph of “appearances” had, as expected, an immediate resonance among
the French and the Italians. After De Gasperi returned home with the reas-
surance that “an independent U.S. Agency considered Italy worth a credit
risk of $100 million,” Ambassador Tarchiani gloated this was a “political
sign” and that the relative smallness of the figure did not substantially affect
that political result. Even more notably, Marxist economist Antonio Pesenti
stressed that, while receiving little substance, De Gasperi’s mission thrived
on the Americans’ profusion of pro-Italian sentiments. On his return home
Blum had been feted with similar fanfare.19 But above all the two statesmen’s
American “campaigns” helped accelerate the formation of the Cold War
bipartisan consensus in Washington. Focusing on an anti-Communist
agenda, such a consensus allowed the State Department to take the main ini-
tiative in American foreign economic policy, and thus favor political criteria
over economic ones in granting financial assistance abroad. The risk of inter-
nal subversion in France and Italy prompted U.S. diplomats to advocate aid
“in terms of its political importance,” as Ambassador Caffery first argued in
February 1946, rather than according to financial solvency. The Truman
administration, previously uncommitted to any specific party in the two lib-

erated countries, gradually became persuaded that no appealing alternatives
existed to the centrist forces in France and Italy.20 In sum, the new French
and Italian postwar regimes experienced for the first time a considerable
political leverage in Washington.
But this success carried its own contradictions. No revelry over appear-
ances could conceal the modest achievement of substance. A majority of
French and Italians did admire the international stature their leaders had
acquired with their trips to the United States. But celebrations immediately
proved deceptive for Léon Blum and his Socialist Party (SFIO). The loan
was too little too late to dispel French voters’ discontent over the Socialist-
led government’s inability to tame inflation. The national elections in June
1946 rewarded the MRP and the Communists, and Blum’s rival, Georges
Bidault, became prime minister. Worse still, the loans did not prevent the
two nations’ economies from deteriorating again during the second half of
1947. Moreover, the opposition parties saw Washington’s increased control
more than its demonstration of trust as the main “political sign” of these
two missions. The political debate became polarized, often reduced to a
mere local replica of the Cold War, a situation harming the two nations’
stability and consequently their status and leverage.
This suggests another clear contradiction of Blum and De Gasperi’s polit-
ical success. Their political influence was more typical of Washington’s
clients than of its partners. This is notable in how anxious American advo-
cates of the two nations argued their case. Ironically they were even more
zealous than the two leaders about matters of appearance. Partly this was
to compensate for the little substantial concessions they could offer. But
especially, these “psychological” arguments highlighted the political
“fragility” more than the potential strength of France and Italy.
Ambassador Caffery was particularly keen on the Communist menace.
Two months before Blum’s arrival, he argued that without a loan public
discouragement in France could “reach the point where extremists
appear[ed] to offer the only chance for improvement” not only “in material
things,” but also “in leadership.” Later, Undersecretary for Economic
Affairs William Clayton overcame the objections of those, like Secretary of
Treasury Fred Vinson, who still favored economic considerations, and
those, like Secretary of Commerce Henry Wallace and Federal Reserve
chairman Marriner Eccles, who worried that a “political” loan aimed at
influencing foreign elections could backfire under charges of Yankee “impe-
rialism.” Clayton retorted that it was impossible to separate political from
economic considerations when thinking about Europe and that U.S. credit
was also a matter of confidence in the French, thus a tribute to their pride,
which would counterbalance their resentment against American intrusion.21
At the same time, Eccles and Vinson conceded that political considerations
required assistance to Italy “even though it [was] a bad risk” economically.
The Italian government seemed less sensitive than the French to infringe-
ments of sovereignty. This “flexibility” was largely due to Italy’s eagerness
to be welcome again in the community of Western European democracies.
With the imminent Italian national elections, then scheduled for 1947, a
display of American faith in Italy’s future seemed all the more urgent. On
the eve of De Gasperi’s visit, John Hickerson concluded that the loan was
above all the “barometer of American confidence in Italy” and that the Ital-
ian prime minister felt it “ha[d] acquired an importance far beyond its
financial significance.”22
This emphasis on formal recognition easily degenerated into trivial hom-
age to French and Italian need for prestige. As Irwin Wall has pointed out,
the red-carpet treatment reserved for Léon Blum was the veneer hiding the
little money the State Department could “shake loose” from Congress. It
was the imminent visit of De Gasperi that inspired Walter Dowling’s rec-
ommendation to satisfy the “wops.” His “recipe” consisted of a “judicious
mixture of flattery, moral encouragement and considerable material aid;”
the flattery was crucial, as Dowling believed that Byrnes’ handshake with
De Gasperi at the Paris Peace Conference “meant as much to the Ital-
ians . . . as all the assistance from UNRRA.”23 While a little simplistic,
these analyses confirmed Washington’s focus on the low morale of France
and Italy.
Blum and De Gasperi, for their parts, displayed leverage as “clients”
more specifically by establishing with their “protector” the terms of their
countries’ political stabilization. It is now widely recognized that the Amer-
icans carefully avoided asking either statesman to expel the Communists
from the French and Italian governments as condition for the loans.24 It is
also true, however, that both the French and the Italian leaders themselves
hinted that the loans would encourage their governments to get rid of the
Communists.25 Although the French and the Italian governments kept pro-
ceeding cautiously in that direction, and although American officials’ pres-
sures on De Gasperi to oust the PCI increased in the months following his
trip to the United States, it was clear that Rome and Paris’ parallel action
in May 1947 was rooted in their own invitation for American political, as
well as economic help.
In the final analysis, Blum and De Gasperi influenced Washington’s deci-
sions more than vice-versa. Yet, this did not mean that they avoided sub-
ordination to the powerful ally. Both statesmen had gone to Washington
not only to “beg” for money but also to lay the basis for the restoration of
their countries’ international status. Closer association with the United
States was, in their expectations, going to guarantee both material benefits
and greater leverage versus the other Western European states. They out-
did themselves, though, in stressing the fragility of their political position
more than their countries’ economic prospects. As a result, Washington
continued to pay most attention to the weakness of the French and Italian
governments, with persistent misgivings about their possible role in

Europe’s integration. The two nations’ management of the European
Recovery Program, the way it differed from the expectations of the Amer-
ican administrators, confirmed those doubts.
Reconstruction, Status, and Traditions. The Marshall Plan, though

failing in the short term to create a multilateral system of trade and pay-
ments and to integrate the European markets, did provide the “crucial mar-
gin” that made European recovery and, by the end of the 1950s, self-help
possible;26 it generated the spectacle of a “vigorous, prosperous, forward-
looking civilization” across the fence for eyes in Eastern Europe to witness,
as George Kennan had augured; it strengthened centrist coalitions, particu-
larly in politically fragile France and Italy; and it helped mollify French atti-
tude on Germany.27 But the limits of America’s influence were just as impor-
tant. Historians now overwhelmingly concur that the governments of
Western Europe tailored the Marshall Plan to their specific needs and
national agendas.
There is no need here to recount Europe’s economic adaptations of the
neoliberal agenda of the Economic Cooperation Administration (ECA—the
new Washington agency administering the Plan). Notably, Italy continued
to combine corporatist elements and classical liberalism against the Keyne-
sian recipes of the American advisers, while France used the ERP funds
mainly to finance Monnet’s Modernization Plan, which diverged from ECA
officials’ investment priorities.28 But the two governments’ resistance to
American pressure cannot be placed in full perspective without accounting
for the status considerations that informed both their own outlook and
Washington’s reactions.
It was first for the sake of appearances that the French and Italian gov-
ernments gained substantial leverage. Since ECA’s pressures had at first gal-
vanized Communist and Gaullist propaganda against U.S. interference, in
the end Washington preferred to compromise with Italy’s monetary regime
and with France’s inadequate budget reforms. After all, the Marshall Plan
confirmed the tendency in Washington to advance aid mostly for political
purposes.29 In the long term it was clear that political stabilization in France
and Italy had to be founded on economic reform. But the immediate imper-
ative was to shore up the two nations’ fragile governments, granting them
large economic autonomy.
Concerns about rank affected reconstruction also in that they reinforced
the French and Italian leaders’ “nationalist” interpretation of the ERP’s
promotion of “self-help.” According to the Americans, that concept was to
provide the basis for the full integration, economic and political, of West-
ern Europe. French and Italian statesmen espoused multilateral cooperation
not to supersede the nation-state but because they expected it would give
their countries a competitive edge versus other European economies. Even
when they ostensibly embraced federalism their aim was not so much the
integration of Europe as the integration of their nation in Europe—of
course high in the pecking order.30
Italy took the Marshall Plan as an opportunity to offset the most humil-
iating features of the peace treaty: a disarmed Italy, deprived of its colonies
and excluded from Trieste for an indefinite time, could at least count on
being equal partner with the other democracies in the coordinated recon-
struction effort. Foreign Minister Carlo Sforza considered Italy’s partici-
pation in the Organization for European Economic Cooperation (OEEC—
the sixteen nations council established in April 1948 to oversee and
coordinate Marshall aid) as the country’s first chance to regain interna-
tional acceptance and even equal rank with the other large Western Euro-
pean nations. He did not conceal his hopes of renegotiating the colonial
and Trieste issues.31
Similarly, France viewed the establishment of the OEEC as a chance to
recoup its power and influence as the leading nation of European federation
projects. Following Monnet’s precepts, the French immediately heralded
economic integration, advocating strong institutions with wide-ranging
powers, including the political level. But, rather than simply accelerate the
pace of European federation, they wanted to use powerful institutions to
keep the initiative and play “arbiter” of German reintegration in Europe’s
economy. As a memorandum from the Quai d’Orsay put it, the priority was
to make sure “that the recovery of Germany not gain a step upon our
own.” Inconsistent with its enthusiasm about a European economic “third
force,” France refused to accept the inclusion of a restored German state in
the original OEEC. From late 1948, the Queille-Bidault government, con-
scious of the potential superiority of German industry, subordinated Euro-
pean integration and trade liberalization to the “harmonization of the
[French and German] economies,” (that is, internationalization of the
Ruhr).32 At the same time, France took the opportunity to pose as
spokesman for the minor powers, accelerating the negotiations for a cus-
toms union with Italy and the Benelux. In most respects this claim of rep-
resenting Europe signaled France’s growing realization that it could not
gain prestige and power on its own, but might attain both as leader of a
continental coalition.33
It is also significant that the other ERP recipients joined the United
States in favoring Germany’s revival and in opposing France’s attempts to
utilize the Marshall Plan for its own continental hegemonic design. In
1947 they immediately objected to French desire to fund the costly Mon-
net Plan through American aid. Rome especially kept a wary eye on
France, much as Paris did with Germany. But what hurt Paris most was
British opposition to France’s integration plans and to their corollary of
German subordination. Only in cooperation with London and the sterling
economy could the French have hoped to empower the OEEC and to
become at the same time a full-fledged member of the great powers club.
Britain’s stand further motivated France to pursue membership in that club
currying special favor with America.
Conscious of this reliance on U.S. support, ECA officials ingeniously
turned the theme of grandeur against French obstructionism on the Ruhr:
they repeatedly warned France that without serious reform the nation could
no longer count on a large ERP share, losing ground to Germany, and
would jeopardize American endorsement of French leadership in promoting
European unity.34 While this blackmail worked in obtaining concessions
from Paris on German industrial production in the short term, it also left a
residue of resentment that would corrupt Franco-American relations once
the two countries undertook steps toward Europe’s strategic integration.
The contrast between ERP policies and status considerations was finally
most apparent among French and Italian “traditionalists.” Many business
and political representatives in both countries identified national prestige
and the protection of national identity with the preservation of ancestral
traditions and old practices in the economy. For this reason they posed a
proud resistance against the American “productivist,” mass-consumption
model. They were the orthodox entrepreneurs, whose “feudal mentality”
ECA officials vehemently denounced. Joining those entrepreneurs were the
vast ranks of the little bourgeoisie, with their political advocates, who
claimed independence above all, even at the price of economic stagnation.
Several accounts of Italian postwar economy have shown that,
although the ECA campaign to introduce scientific management in Euro-
pean industries—the so-called “productivity drives”—matched the needs
of Italy’s large corporations, the overwhelming majority of Italian firms,
due to their small size, valued the old “human relations” between the
untrained padrone and his workers. Richard Kuisel has effectively
described French ambivalence toward America as model and as menace.
The massive cultural and informational campaign the United States
mounted to advertise the benefits of the Marshall Plan, successful at the
popular level and with the modernizers à-la-Monnet, further provoked
local traditional elites to side with the Communists and their denuncia-
tions of Americans as “dominateurs.”35
American officials for their part kept stereotyping French and Italian
business communities as traditionalist and inefficient. ECA representatives
criticized their lack of dynamism, their Malthusianism, their phony pater-
nalism. They made jokes about the French businessmen’s tardiness and
morbid attachment to social status. Even the pro-laissez-faire Henry J.
Tasca, U.S. Treasury representative at the Rome embassy, lambasted the
“disorganized and disoriented” Italian industrialists and landholders for
their lack of “social responsibilities.” For many Americans the “monopo-
listic structure, practices and outlook” of Italian industry, were “a heirloom
of the 13th century.”36 Marshall planners never tired of admonishing
French and Italian politicians that their nations’ power and prestige would
benefit from industrial development and technocratic efficiency, as the
American experience had demonstrated.
But many French and Italian conservatives reversed that argument. Resis-
tance to change and innovation was for them another way to assert their
nations’ role as true representatives of Western Civilization, whether they
did it from a laissez-faire, or Catholic, or simply a nostalgic viewpoint. One
problem with this argument was that American aid—which even backward-
looking entrepreneurs and politicians demanded—and cultural influence—
which they tried to shun—could be hardly separated, since American cul-
ture was founded on the pillars of market economy and mass consumerism.
Moreover, the Marshall Plan was so inextricably mixed with the message of
liberty and Western constitutionalism versus Soviet totalitarianism in the
East that most Western Europeans could not disavow the ascendancy of
America’s world view, once they acknowledged its economic leadership.
The French and Italians’ emphasis on being the most legitimate representa-
tives of Western culture, again, as at war’s end, reflected their attempt to use
“historic” value to counter the leverage of those who enjoyed economic and
military mastery: the only immediate avenue to prestige for the presently
powerless was the celebration of a glorious past. The ultimate paradox was
that this desire for independence from America, espousing backward modes
of production, would prolong economic dependency and powerlessness.
The debate around this issue continued after the end of the Marshall Plan,
especially in France, where by the mid–1950s the Poujadists, political
spokesmen of the most conservative petits bourgeois, made electoral strides
with slogans such as that calling for “a new freedom—the freedom to be
inefficient.”37
Despite squabbles between Americans with a “missionary” impulse and
local authorities, a technocratic elite did finally emerge as the dominant
economic actors in France and Italy by the early 1950s. Scientific manage-
ment and corporative collaboration, as Charles Maier and Michael Hogan
have argued, helped transform political problems into technical ones and to
diminish the role of class conflict in the French and Italian economies. The
managerial approach to reconstruction benefitted from the appearance of
new rulers in both nations, who refrained from an “independentist” rheto-
ric as the only avenue to prestige. Stanley Hoffmann has pointed out an
important passage of power in France: from the leaders who had been
deeply involved in the battle for status as exiles in London or Algiers to
those (Robert Schuman, Antoine Pinay, Pierre Mendès France) who, acting
in the back stage, had acquired better understanding of the advantages of
interdependence. In Italy, at that same time, mounting mass protest against
the deflationary measures of the pro-free market representatives justified
the rise to prominence in the DC party of leaders (Giovanni Gronchi, Gior-
gio La Pira, Amintore Fanfani) who advocated public intervention in the
economy and, like Monnet or Schuman, embraced interdependence within

Europe and across the Atlantic as the main key to national grandeur.38
In the final analysis, the ECA officials’ success in establishing a symbiotic
relationship with local elites had limitations. First of all, both countries’ early
resistance to American pressures and manipulation of U.S. economic aid left
a legacy of reciprocal diffidence. Second, despite the relative success of the
“productivity drives,” reform and employment remained sluggish in both
countries through the late 1950s; those limits confirmed the Americans’
doubts that France and Italy were economically or politically viable enough
to assume the leadership in European integration—and these doubts further
hindered the transition for French and Italian leaders from nationalism to
international statesmanship as main basis of their quest for prestige. Third,
the main French and Italian leaders, from the early phase of the ERP, pre-
ferred the “Atlantic” dimension of interdependence over the “European”
one: they persistently conceived U.S. economic—much as the military—assis-
tance as the main vehicle for a “balanced” continental integration, a concept
that protracted their countries’ dependence on Washington. Finally, whether
they wanted to conceal that dependence or tried to manipulate it for their
own ends, they placed conditions at every step toward Europe’s integration.
“THIRD FORCE” AND “ATLANTIC” CHOICES

Accepted wisdom of the Atlantic Alliance was that it was conceived to
“keep the Germans down and the Russians out.” The second important
aspect was that the United States viewed the emerging alliance primarily as
a “morale-booster,” particularly for countries most directly threatened by
the Soviet Union or by internal subversion. Of course, under such an
agenda, the Atlantic Pact was destined to hinder progress toward a Euro-
pean “third force.” Still unexplored is how France and Italy sought to rec-
oncile their status ambitions with their promotion of an American hege-
mony over Western Europe, and how their attempts, combined with their
weaknesses, contributed to frustrating Washington’s preference for a
covenant based on self-help.
France and Western Solidarity. The paternity of NATO is undoubtedly

attributed to British Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin. But it is now widely
recognized that the French preceded the British by a few weeks in late 1947
requesting miliary assistance from Washington. Then they immediately
joined Bevin, proposing a European security system under American lead-
ership.39 What motivated French actions along this front was a growing
fear of being “demoted,” and therefore “neglected.” The French felt they
were losing their edge regarding the German question. In July 1947 the
Anglo-Americans agreed to increase the industrial output in the Bizone and
began to restore economic and administrative controls to the Germans.
German revival seemed to overshadow the forthcoming benefits of the

Marshall Plan. Furthermore, it could provoke the Russians—especially
after the London Council of Foreign Ministers of December 1947 doomed
the last chance for compromise—or worse, it could fall into the wrong
hands, for Moscow could seduce Germany by championing reunification
and strike another “Rapallo.” Meanwhile, the United States had offered
insufficient safeguards: its “peripheral strategy” marked the defense line at
the Pyrenees and the English Channel, planning “liberation” instead of
“protection” of the European continent, or relying on the nuclear deterrent
at best. An alliance seemed to the French the best way to secure greater
U.S. commitment.
But that was only the first step toward recovery of status and influence.
First, military aid meant also “financial” aid, relieving a budget strained by
colonial possessions and the mounting war in Indochina. American support
in Europe—and possibly in the Union Française—would allow France to
maintain its status as imperial power, its clearest advantage vis-à-vis Ger-
many. Second, as one of the founders of the alliance, France could attain
parity with the Anglo-American “club,” and from that position secure a
defense line as far East as possible, on the Rhine or the Elbe, while retain-
ing controls over German production and disarmament.40
The way in which the French government issued its “invitation” was
also telling. Paris combined the typical blackmail of the weak with its
claims of grandeur. In November, in the midst of the anti-Marshall insur-
rectional strikes, Prime Minister Paul Ramadier and other leaders warned
Ambassador Caffery that they needed to compromise with the still power-
ful left and right oppositions and could not commit themselves politically
until the “military line coincide[d] with the political line” in Europe. At the
same time, they promised a defense contribution worthy of la grande
nation. Boasting about the success obtained in mobilizing the army against
Communist strikers, they pledged to provide “valuable elements” in a
defense organization, but only if they were revitalized with U.S. aid.
Nobody, they specified, could “be expected to be heroic unless there [was]
some chance of success.” Two months later, to press their point against the
“aloof” Americans, the French characteristically alluded to a civilizational
wasteland. America needed Europe and needed to protect France in par-
ticular. With a peripheral strategy, Foreign Minister Bidault and Minister
of Defense Pierre-Henri Teitgen told their American counterparts in Janu-
ary, “the United States, after its victory, would have only Asiatics and
Africans and Colonial natives with whom to cooperate in the task of world
reconstruction.”
This kind of “civilizational” appeal reached its climax after the Com-
munist coup in Czechoslovakia on February 24. The following week, the
French foreign minister wrote an impassioned letter to Secretary Marshall.
The emphasis here was on passing the “torch” from Paris to Washington,
a prelude to partnership for the common cause more than an act of sub-
mission. As the leader of the “last” and most vulnerable “frontier” of
Western democracy, Bidault requested “reassurances on the political
ground [the Italian national elections were imminent], and, as soon as pos-
sible on the military ground, that the old and the new world will cooper-
ate in strict solidarity for the protection of the only worthy civilization.”
Although representing a weakened and prostrate nation, the foreign min-
ister seemed to echo Victor Hugo’s words: “France, France, sans toi le
monde serait seul” (the world would be alone without you). What was the
ultimate purpose of this line of argument? Bidault sought consistency
between his plea for help and his call for tripartite political and military
consultations among the French, the British and the U.S. government. It
was the first of several attempts from Paris to establish a three-power
directorate of the West. In this body, France would be the voice for the
whole Western European continent.41
Ostensibly, the French also resolved to form a European system of
alliance based on self-help, first signing the Dunkirk Treaty with Great
Britain, then extending the geographic and strategic scope of that entente
through the Brussels Treaty of March 1948. But the resulting Western
Union was a pretty anemic defense system, mainly “a device to entangle the
United States in European affairs,” especially from the French viewpoint.
Under the Brussels Treaty the French felt they would become the cannon
fodder of Western Europe. By promoting an American presence in the Con-
tinent, they expected more respect for their role and security from both
Britain and the United States.42 The very theme of “Western solidarity”
helped France to dispel the humiliation that came from needing foreign
assistance, as well as to justify concessions it would have to make in a bind-
ing alliance. By emphasizing “solidarity” Paris enhanced the aspects of
interdependence more than its deference to the hegemon, and consequently
the considerable incentives it expected from the United States. Paul
Ramadier, as defense minister at the end of 1948, best summarized French
goals during the Atlantic negotiations: “we will accept neither the idea of
going it alone nor the policy of being a satellite. We will choose solidarity,
which will give us the power to make others respect our independence
[emphasis added].”43
Such considerations underscore why the French had endorsed the Lon-
don accords of June 1948 for the restoration of sovereignty in West Ger-
many. Apparently, it was a surrender for French diplomacy. The three West-
ern occupation powers announced the creation of a provisional
government—not as decentralized as France had wished—which was to
convene a Constituent Assembly by September; it also ruled out the possi-
bility of a detachment of the Rhineland, and for the Ruhr, it set up an emas-
culated International Authority. Undoubtedly, leaders in Paris finally came
to the conclusion Raymond Aron had reached as early as February 1947
when, from the columns of the radical paper Combat, he had warned: “if
Germany is not reconstructed with us, it will be reconstructed against us.”44
A memorandum from the Quai d’Orsay after the agreements suggested
how France was in fact reevaluating its status within Western solidarity: “to
refuse to ratify this accord,” the document read, “would be equivalent to
France renouncing its role in the continent” and the possibility of Franco-
German cooperation.45 Furthermore, even from their rearguard negotiating
position, the French expected they could reap concessions from the United
States, based on their country’s presumed indispensability to the Western
alliance. In a report at the eve of the conference in London in April, Bidault
wrote that France should no longer worry about suppressing German
recovery, but concentrate on forming a cooperative European scheme, using
firm international controls over its resources. The French priority at the
conference was rather to prevent “any sort of German rearmament or
reconstruction of its military potential” and to prolong the occupation
regime as much as possible. While relegating Germany as the “economic”
arsenal of Europe, France would attain security and leadership in Europe,
both of them through American guarantees.46
Not satisfied by “informal” British and American reassurances to hold a
defensive line on the Rhine, the French escalated their demands for U.S. mil-
itary supplies and “formal” guarantees, and, as the Soviet Union started
blocking Western access to Berlin, they reiterated their request for a tripar-
tite command. Between August and September, Paris even threatened that
the fulfillment of its requests was its precondition for signing the Pact. Even
though the French never seriously considered going neutral, they simply
believed they could do some hard bargaining in return for their concessions
on Germany. Clearly, their demands for U.S. forces on the Rhine, for a
“special” bilateral arms deal with Washington, and for a unified command
(the strongest form of entanglement) demonstrated that their need for
American presence and their fears of staying out of a Western group were
greater than ever.47 Above all, France believed that only as one of the lead-
ers in the alliance could it retain continental supremacy. The Atlantic nego-
tiations, therefore, illustrated most apparently France’s realization that rank
and security could not be separated.
The United States had a different view of the problem. A State Depart-
ment memorandum summarized that “France [was] animated more by
fearfulness of its own weakness vis-à-vis a revived Germany than by con-
fidence in the strength of a Western Europe into which at least Western
Germany has been integrated.”48 This was the core of the “third force”
theme. Its advocates, Kennan in the forefront, contended that France’s
status concerns distorted instead of complemented its security interests.
To set draconian limits on German revival, Kennan and others argued,
would hamper Europe’s recovery, thus favoring the Kremlin’s game more
than the West. Whatever progress the French made toward compromise
on Germany’s economic revival, there remained two main problems from

the American point of view.
First, in Washington’s plans, the link between German economic recov-
ery and its contribution to European security had to be more direct than the
French were ready to concede. As early as April 1947, a memorandum from
the Joint Chiefs of Staff maintained that no European army deprived of
German industrial capabilities could “be expected to withstand the armies
of our ideological opponents” until the United States could muster the
forces for a counterattack. For Ernest Bevin, German inclusion in a defense
pact had to be even more imminent. As soon as he had his common defense
proposal ready, he recommended German participation, at least at a later
date, for without it “no Western system [could] be complete.”49 The French,
as noted, were not opposed to the integration of Western Europe per se.
Also, Robert Schuman, the Alsatian MRP leader holding the foreign min-
istry from July 1948, showed his preference for reconciliation and began to
contemplate a role for France as the main architect of continental integra-
tion, yet possibly preventing the creation of centralized German institu-
tions.50 Ultimately, what Paris found so vexing were Anglo-Americans’
efforts to reintegrate Germany as an “equal.”
The second problem, according to Washington, was that France made its
great power status dependent on America’s security and financial
“umbrella.” Its pleading for immediate military supplies, ironclad guaran-
tees, and staff talks portended the worst kind of entanglement for the
United States: the burden of dependent allies who all the same claimed an
equal say at the decision-making level. From Washington’s standpoint, Euro-
pean autonomy was to be a safeguard against American over-extension, not
a chance for America’s partners to preserve international clout while elud-
ing their responsibility as great powers. This was not only a budgetary
problem. The Americans also believed that sharing the burden of contain-
ment with other centers of power would be a more efficient strategy. If too
dependent on the United States, the other world key economic powers
would fail to develop their potential to become effective bulwarks against
Soviet expansion or political advances of their own Communist parties.
Ultimately, friendly, autonomous nations would be more reliable than
dependent allies. These were practical considerations. But emphasis on a
European third force also helped highlight American idealism and turn it
into a psychological weapon: in a confrontation where ideology played a
critical role, it was crucial to contrast a pluralist, flexible West to a mono-
lithic, “satellized” East.51
Of course, if the French leaders could have demonstrated that their
nation was the most viable champion of an autonomous European force,
the United States would have reconsidered its case on Germany, or Great
Britain. But economically and politically France continued to be very frag-
ile. Throughout 1948, it displayed the worst record of inflation among the
ERP countries, and by the end of that year Communist-led strikes resumed
with a vengeance. During the summer, at the peak of the Berlin crisis, the
Fourth Republic offered one of its first and poorest spectacles of instability,
with three cabinets in rapid succession.
In September, the chief of the ECA mission in Paris, David K. E. Bruce,
observed that French “political instability [was] root of [the] failure to deal
constructively with [the] economic situation” and that “the steady deterio-
ration of confidence” was a “menace not alone to French economy but to
the whole European recovery effort.” Worse still, Washington continued to
overstress Bidault’s comment of two years earlier that a lot of the French
leaders’ talk of security against Germany was for domestic consumption. So
it was easy to conclude that, haunted by political instability, those leaders
preferred to seek immediate legitimacy by complying with the nation’s col-
lective fears rather than taking the more difficult route of educating the pub-
lic. In other words, they showed poor statesmanship in the eyes of the Amer-
icans, too poor to assume command in Europe. In October John Hickerson
gave his scathing judgment on France’s incompetence as master of European
integration: “the French,” he wrote “are temperamentally selfish, individu-
alistic and reluctant to cooperate with anyone . . . Since the second world
war they have been demoralized and exhausted . . . ;” their franc could be
restored, their security needs satisfied, but “there [was] little anyone outside
France [could] do toward obtaining a French government in which anyone
[could] have confidence.” The French ambassador to Washington, Henri
Bonnet had for some time feared that government instability and declining
reputation of statesmanship might alienate any form of American support.52
That perhaps could have been the case, if those in Washington who
pressed for European self-help had their way. But precisely because the
French problem appeared so much as one of diminishing self-esteem, the
thesis that prevailed was that of reassuring Paris with a few important
incentives. Already, as we have seen, the Anglo-Americans were considering
a forward defense strategy in the Continent. Then, in September came the
first tangible concession: President Truman finally approved the reequip-
ment of three French divisions in Germany. It was far less than Paris had
requested, but even “token shipments” would have an inspiring effect on
French public opinion, as Averell Harriman, then director of the U.S. For-
eign Aid program, concluded. In December, Lovett concurred that both the
ERP and arms deliveries to France had a fundamentally political goal: not
to let the ally “succumb to [internal] Communism.” Furthermore, the act-
ing secretary of state admitted that “France [was] the keystone of Conti-
nental Western Europe.” While France’s bid for a three power world direc-
torate remained in a limbo, what already seemed certain was that its role in
the Atlantic Pact would be a prominent one.53
These conclusions indicated the growing American persuasion that the
alliance should be above all a “morale-booster.” That idea held a firm
position in Washington after the Czech coup had highlighted the danger of
a Soviet “fifth column” strategy in Europe. Instability in France and Italy,
next to Soviet encroachments in Norway and the Berlin blockade, became
a chief source of concern at the Exploratory Talks.54
To be sure, restoring self-esteem might ideally be reconciled with the
promotion of self-help in Europe. That was supposedly the second purpose
of the “morale boosting” operation. In particular, material and status con-
cessions to Paris were meant to encourage French reconciliation with the
recovery of Germany. As Lovett observed in his December memorandum:
“The crux of the problem is French concern over Germany’s rapidly reviv-
ing economic power and the high level, relative to France, which it must be
allowed to reach if Germany is to become self-sustaining. We must take all
possible steps to allay French fears consistent with conditions which would
give Germany a chance for economic recovery.”
In fact, once the issue of self-esteem waxed so pervasive, the goal of self-
help became elusive. By emphasizing the risk of internal subversion, the
negotiations fell even deeper into the cycle of dependency: each nation had
more leeway in assessing its domestic threats over its external ones; also,
dependency and internal oppositions tended to feed on each other. Further-
more, there was no guarantee yet that the French would accept all condi-
tions on German reconstruction, while it seemed certain, as Kennan
insisted, that a military buildup would divert energy from Europe’s eco-
nomic rehabilitation.55
Such emphasis on dependency did not bode well for French ambitions of
continental leadership either. Only Bidault’s and Bonnet’s calls for rescue
had received attention in Washington, not their promise of turning their
nation into Europe’s bulwark. Rather than the leader of Europe’s resur-
gence, France appeared as one of its weak links.
But before taking the French story to its conclusion, we must turn to the
issue of Italian participation in the alliance, for by the end of 1948, France’s
struggle for status and security had become inextricable with that issue.
Indeed, at no other time would French and Italian status ambitions be so
conveniently linked. During the phase of the “old game” the two nations
had analogous but no shared goals. In 1949, their diplomatic ambitions
finally converged. However, Italy remained more wary of its European com-
petitors, mainly of France, than of the distant and “detached” hegemon.
Italy as “Neuralgia”? Lovett’s label of “Neuralgia” best fitted Italy in

1948. Throughout that year, the Mediterranean country suffered from an
isolation complex, seemingly debating the two alternatives Washington
dreaded most: drifting into neutrality (or even into the Soviet sphere of
influence as it seemed possible until its national elections in April) or, more
credibly, appealing to the United States for separate aid. Italy’s fear of being
excluded indicated how much status concerns informed the whole debate in
Rome: they drove the Italian government’s initial hesitations, its unrealistic
expectations about negotiating its candidacy, and ultimately its final yearn-
ing to be among the original signatories of the treaty. Yet how and to what
ends did those concerns work, how did they merge with the French ones,
and how did they affect Washington’s choices?
Italy’s inclusion in the Atlantic Pact presented several problems: first of
all it was not a North Atlantic country; second, its contribution to a com-
mon defense scheme would be irrelevant, due to the limitations on its rear-
mament sanctioned by the peace treaty of 1947; third, even more than in
France, the presence of a strong Communist party prevented Italy’s partic-
ipation in the Exploratory Talks, especially before the electoral test of
April 1948.
The Italians, on their part, had several reasons for hesitation. Before the
April elections, De Gasperi favored caution, since the Communist party
could easily denounce any “warmongering” choice by the government.56
The public had a natural aversion to military alliances, a few years after a
disastrous war. Most officials assumed that the country’s security needed
economic and political solutions, not military ones—this persuasion would
later help the Italians define the ultimate ends of their status policies.
However, Rome wavered mainly because, like Paris, it wanted to set a
price for its adherence. Following Bevin’s proposal in January, Foreign Min-
ister Carlo Sforza declared that his country would be “happy to cooperate
with all her force (but) on a footing of equality, even in the organizing
stage.” This hint at a revision of the peace treaty was too arrogant to be
welcomed by the five Brussels nations, who refused to include Italy in the
original group. After overcoming the hurdle of the April elections, De
Gasperi presented his country’s candidacy to the Western group again.57
Partly as a consequence of the electoral success, the government’s demands
for equal status and revision of the peace treaty—particularly the
colonies—became even more audacious. At the same time, De Gasperi and
other Italian officials made it clear that the Brussels Treaty had no value for
them without American guidance. It was obvious that Rome, like Paris,
expected little or no protection from its European partners, still resented
their attitude at the Peace Conference, and as usual, assumed the United
States, the distant “hegemon,” would be more disinterested and generous.
As a result the Western Union powers kept Italy on hold regarding the Brus-
sels Treaty, while opposing its direct access to an Atlantic system. This atti-
tude confirmed the Italians’ diffidence toward their Anglo-French “allies,”
and fostered their suspicion that Europe would be divided along a North-
South line between first and second rank partners of the United States.58
Italy’s aspiration to be equal to the English and the French and its reliance
on the United States to achieve that goal became even more apparent when
Rome seemed to accept isolation. For a few weeks, in the summer of 1948,
the Italian government, like the French, ostensibly explored a neutral
option. The plan for what Rome called an “armed neutrality”59 entailed a
bilateral deal with the United States for a partial rearmament, free of the
entanglements of an alliance. The word “neutrality,” therefore, should not
be interpreted literally. By no means did Italy take a middle position
between East and West.
De Gasperi and Sforza faced a mounting Communist campaign against
the Western alliance, as well as increasing dissent from their coalition mem-
bers—even among left-wing Christian Democrats—and the nationalists.
None of the moderate or right-wing opponents to an alliance was ready to
give up U.S. aid, though. To the foreign minister, a U.S.-supported “armed
neutrality” seemed the best solution to satisfy those groups.
However, this bilateral deal was not conceived to isolate the country from
the rest of Europe. On the contrary, the main purpose of De Gasperi,
Sforza, and several Italian diplomats was that of achieving equality with the
members of the Western alliance through a privileged cooperation with the
United States. This objective was founded on two assumptions: that the
United States was ready to revise the Italian peace treaty and that American
planners would deem the Italian peninsula strategically crucial.60 What mat-
tered most, if the United States provided sufficient protection against possi-
ble threats from Tito or the PCI, the Italians would be able to focus on the
economy. The government sincerely believed it was possible to remain a full
European partner through the OEEC—Sforza was at this time soliciting the
transformation of the Marshall Plan into the nucleus for a European polit-
ical union—while staying clear of military integration. This was the vision
that was emerging in Rome: an exclusive entente with the United States
would in itself be an indication of improved status; from such a position
Italy would be able to negotiate not only its security but also its economic
and political integration in Europe, truly as a peer of Europe’s leaders and
with the consequent material advantages. At home this result would war-
rant the Italian government prestige and foster consensus more than if
Rome had unconditionally accepted an Atlantic Pact.61
Italy’s desire to enter the “inner circle” of European powers was perhaps
best demonstrated by its adamant rejection of a separate Mediterranean
security system as an alternative to either a special deal with the United
States or, later, to its participation in the North Atlantic Treaty. London
especially, inspired by Turkish and Greek proposals, had envisioned that
separate arrangement as the best way to incorporate “indirectly” Italy and
those countries into the Western defense system.62 But this indirect coverage
was not welcome in Rome. A separate defense system would have served
British or French imperial interests first and foremost, while excluding Italy
from a more substantial share of American aid. Even worse, it would have
prevented the Italians from claiming equal partnership, or any part at all,
in Western European political and economic integration. That project, in
sum, was the antithesis of Rome’s own plan for a separate deal, the “armed
neutrality,” in that it preserved a very tenuous connection with Washington

and kept Italy at the margins of Western Europe.63
The Italian leaders’ reasoning may have followed an impeccable logic,
but the premise was flawed. Their belief that America would be willing to
boost Italy’s status so fully was disingenuous at best. Such misperception in
part can be ascribed to those leaders’ faith that the Americans would always
be more accommodating than the other potential allies. What also made the
Italian rulers lose some sense of diplomatic reality was their desperate hope
that a special deal with Washington, prestigious per se, would almost
overnight build consensus at home.
To American eyes, Rome’s “armed neutrality” debate envisioned the very
piecemeal approach to U.S. military assistance that would undermine the
integrationist impulse Washington was trying to instill among Western
Europeans. Even more sobering for Italian leaders was the realization that
the defense of their country was not as vital to U.S. planners as they had
believed. In October, Ambassador Tarchiani, following conversations with
Pentagon authorities, revealed the limits of their continental strategy,
“almost” committed to defense at the Rhine, but definitely still leaving the
Italian peninsula prey to foreign invasion.64 The implied hierarchical dis-
tinction between the Mediterranean and the more “vital” European heart-
land clearly persisted. Italy deserved emergency interventions—the kind of
scenarios the newborn CIA and Kennan’s Policy Planning Staff were at this
time contemplating against a possible Communist seizure of power—but
there was no promise of any permanent defense commitments. Even the
French, at least throughout 1948, disregarded the “sorellité latine,” since,
as Hickerson observed later, they wanted to “avoid having their share of the
US arms pie reduced by cutting another slice.”65
As a candidate for membership in the Atlantic Pact, Italy had only few
advocates in Washington. And virtually all American officials would
have preferred its adherence to the Brussels Treaty first, for they feared
that the whole concept of a North Atlantic community—a way to limit
U.S. commitments—would otherwise be upset. Although the British had
initially championed a separate Mediterranean security system for Italy,
it was Washington that quickly took the helm of that project. Kennan,
always worried about over-extending American commitments, embraced
it from late 1948. President Truman himself preferred that idea as late as
February 1949.66
Even Italy’s most fervent American supporters, such as John Hicker-
son, repeatedly urged the government in Rome to lower its expectations
and to stop placing conditions for its adherence to any alliance. Simply,
if Italy wanted to be part of Europe, it had to be satisfied with its second-
rank position within the Atlantic Pact. Most Italian diplomats started
pressing their government, arguing that no participation in the economic
and political integration of the continent would be possible without first
“unconditionally” accepting this military “entanglement.”67 Tarchiani,

as usual, preferred to cultivate the American representatives by stressing
the domestic situation rather than great power claims. When the ambas-
sador presented his government’s request in January, he simply stated
that the PCI “would have a field day” if the country stayed out; he made
no mention of Trieste or the peace treaty. But this modesty, leaders in
Rome believed, was only temporary. They had to put their foot in the
door, before again launching their bid for greater status.68 For now,
partly out of sincere fear of internal subversion, partly as a leverage so
successfully tested with Washington, they continued to evoke the Com-
munist specter.
They were right about America’s main concerns. As the Joint Chiefs of
Staff acknowledged in early 1949, despite Italy’s “doubtful [military]
value,” it was politically important to have the country among the original
members of the Atlantic Alliance. By pointing out that Communist takeover
in Rome was possible, Hickerson and his allies at the State Department con-
vinced the administration and Congress to include Italy in the Pact. Dean
Acheson, the new secretary of state as of January 1949, gradually became
persuaded that “a rebuff would increase the Communist influence in Italy
and discredit the present government and its pro-Western policies.”69 Not
only De Gasperi’s, but American credibility was at stake.
Moreover, this question of credibility warranted a token concession of
prestige, to assuage the Italians’ feelings of isolation, and at the same time
to preempt further “irresponsible” requests such as that of “armed neutral-
ity.” From October 1948, the ambassador to Rome, James Dunn, had taken
on a difficult task: he had to dispel the Italians’ idea that American interest
in the country was “secondary or sentimental” while reminding them that
the United States would provide no “economic and military aid” before
“real and effective European unity” was achieved. Thanks to Dunn’s
efforts, the State Department and the Pentagon welcomed Italy’s decision to
send its Chief of Staff, General Efisio Marras, to Washington for clarifying
talks in December. That visit was the military equivalent of De Gasperi’s
trip in 1947: the Americans made vague promises to defend the entire Ital-
ian peninsula; Marras pledged vaguely to heed Washington’s advice. But all
this amounted to a great public relations campaign that intimidated the Ital-
ian Communists, satisfied the Italian military’s proverbial vanity, and over-
came the last hesitations among its ranks about joining the Western
alliance.70 The United States carefully calibrated this concession of status—
and accordingly of security—to Italy, by granting only what would be suf-
ficient to forestall the danger of internal subversion.
Latin Partners? Besides fear of a Communist takeover, another reason

for including Italy in NATO was France. By the end of 1948, the French
had begun to champion Rome’s candidacy, even threatening to stay out if
their request went unheeded. What made them change their minds about
the value of their southern neighbor? The most widely acknowledged rea-
son is that they had “Algeria in mind.” At the Washington Security Talks
the French saw an opportunity to obtain treaty coverage for their precious
North African possessions. But such extension could not be justified with-
out Italy as an original signatory. This desire to have Algeria protected was
in itself mainly a matter of status, for it implied Western recognition of the
French Union and of France as a world power. But just as relevant is the
fact that Paris sensed an imminent demotion of its status in Europe. Its sup-
port of Italy was also a response to the progressive shift of American and
British concerns toward the Scandinavian region during the latter part of
1948. Besides losing the prospect of a privileged deal with Washington, the
northward extension might also confirm that the distinction between first
and second rank allies ran along a North-South line, with France precari-
ously hanging in between. In sum, it seemed that in order to claim its right
to establish a tripartite leadership of the alliance, France needed to advance
Italy’s rank as well. To make its argument more poignant, the Quai d’Or-
say pointed out that a collapse of self-confidence in Rome would harm
French politics as well.71
The French and the Italians thus had a common cause, but their ultimate
purposes remained antithetical. French generosity toward Italy was aimed
at preventing exactly what Rome was pursuing: equality among major
allies. Interestingly, while the Quai d’Orsay and French military officials
flattered their Italian counterparts with references to the “Latin sisterhood”
against the Anglo-Saxon entente, the French government on March 26
signed a very diluted version of the Customs Union between the two coun-
tries, essentially aborting the project.72 By sponsoring Italy, France tried to
make sure it would have a grateful partner in the alliance; its own claim to
the top of the Western hierarchy could benefit from its role as guardian of
Mediterranean interests. Of course, Rome remained diffident toward its
transalpine friend.
France’s blackmail had worried Washington’s officials. To avert any pos-
sibility of French neutrality, no matter how remote, it seemed wise to grant
Paris additional incentives. Furthermore, the Americans had by now
understood Schuman’s design of keeping an independent West Germany in
check within an Atlantic framework, and concluded that the integration of
a democratic Germany into Western Europe would be possible only if
France felt secure and, at least nominally, at the summit of the alliance.73
In March Charles Bohlen suggested turning a renewed French project for
a three power directorate managing Western strategy at a global level into
a “Steering Group” with functions limited to the area covered by the Pact.
This was a compromise between the Anglo-American Chiefs of Staff, who
saw no advantage in sharing their worldwide responsibilities with the
“inadequate” French, and the State Department, which argued that “the
political purposes of [the Atlantic] Pact would be destroyed if France felt

she was excluded from the top military planning.”74
Fragile Allies. The way the United States saw it, France and Italy’s sta-
tus concerns in the late 1940s stemmed more than ever from their inferior-
ity complex and political fragility. That fragility, to be sure, awarded the
French and Italian governments considerable diplomatic victories. Paris
obtained treaty coverage for Algeria, the set-up of a Military Assistance
Program, with half of the first $1 billion pledged to its forces, and Wash-
ington’s promise of a tripartite executive body of the alliance. More impor-
tantly, the restoration of sovereignty and the cancellation of reparations in
West Germany occurred within the Atlantic framework, as Schuman had
wished: the Basic Law of the Federal Republic of Germany was approved a
few days after signing the Atlantic Pact in April; with the Petersberg proto-
cols in November, the Western occupying powers put an end to reparations
and invited the new German state in the Council of Europe, an organiza-
tion linked to NATO and aimed at forming a European economic and polit-
ical union; in return they obtained Bonn’s commitment to cooperate on
demilitarization with the Military Security Board and to join the Interna-
tional Authority of the Ruhr (IAR), which set up limits on steel produc-
tion.75 At the same time, as most American officials had predicted, Paris
was more prone to accommodation with its neighbor, thanks to the boost
French security and status had received from the Atlantic Alliance.
Original membership in the Atlantic Pact was the ultimate demonstration
of Italy’s return into the fold of Western European democracies, a prestige-
boost in itself. This recognition also lifted Italy’s hopes of obtaining a quick
and favorable settlement on Trieste, and perhaps some colonial recovery.
Even more crucial, original membership opened up its long-sought oppor-
tunity to resume a role in European politics. That the alliance provided the
context for Franco-German reconciliation was a welcome prospect in Rome
as well: because of its peculiar background as former Axis power, then co-
belligerent, Italy viewed itself as a potential mediator on German issues.
Exclusion from the Brussels Treaty was no handicap to the Italians’ pursuit
of a Western European identity, since they still counted on America’s sup-
port to achieve that goal (Italy too entered the Council of Europe in May).76
But naturally, weakness also undermined the two nations’ more ambi-
tious claims of status. From Paris, Caffery argued that the signature of the
Treaty was “only half the battle to defeat [a] basic feeling of insecurity in
this country,” which rested “on a widespread realization of France’s mili-
tary weakness and of [the] fact that this weakness cannot be remedied with-
out US help.” French participation in the alliance’s Steering Committee
(later named Standing Committee), as Bohlen had recommended, involved
no recognition of France as a world power, despite its military engagement
in Indochina. To the French this was another example of Anglo-Saxon
ostracism.77 Meanwhile, the fact remained that Paris had to make conces-
sions on Germany that its people still had a hard time digesting.
Italy had hoped that original membership would entail equal status with
the great powers of Europe. But those powers repeatedly frustrated Italian
requests to join the Steering Committee. In June Defense Minister Ran-
dolfo Pacciardi warned Washington that the Italian public opinion and
Armed Forces “would regard Italy’s subordination to France as a blow.”
When later that year NATO established regional defense planning groups,
Rome added its bid to the Western European committee, but obtained a
command role only in the Southern Europe-Western Mediterranean com-
mittee. The gap between Northern and Southern Europe seemed confirmed
not only in terms of rank but also in NATO’s strategic order of priority.
Despite American promises of protecting the entire peninsula, the Italians
felt that if they were cut off from the Western European Group the Italo-
Yugoslav border would be neglected; even worse, Italy might be marginal-
ized from the Continent’s political and economic integration. The Ameri-
cans time and again reassured that Italy would not be excluded from
continental integration or defense. They rather reversed Rome’s argument:
if it persisted in its unrealistic claims of rank, it might alienate the other
powers. In August an exasperated Acheson reminded the Italians “that
owing to their former status they certainly [did] not . . . enjoy full confi-
dence and respect [of] all Parties.”78
Also troubling for both France and Italy was that their left and right-wing
oppositions denounced membership in NATO not only as a partial surren-
der of sovereignty but even of national identity. But the French government
had a more solid case than its Italian counterpart. Prospects for Paris to
assume a leading role in Europe under the Atlantic framework seemed plau-
sible; the very escalation of the Cold War enhanced the potential of France
as Europe’s strategic and political lynchpin, thus reinforcing mutual
dependence with the United States.79 Italy was weaker and relatively mar-
ginal to the perceived main area of Cold War conflict. Also, because of the
massive American interference in its domestic politics during the campaign
for the 1948 elections, the Atlantic choice could more easily appear as the
ultimate outcome of a series of “impositions” from the United States. Most
Italian analysts have agreed that Rome’s acceptance of the Atlantic Pact was
“the last step in the country’s process of de-nationalization” during the
Cold War. The Manichean division of Italy between pro-Soviets and a pro-
Americans seemed established, with the DC stigmatized as the partito amer-
icano. In an effort to refute such label, De Gasperi at the Parliament intro-
duced the treaty “not as an act of necessity or submission . . . but as a
chance to add to this alliance our thrust for peace . . . and all of [Italy’s]
vital civilizational contributions.” NATO, in other words, would
strengthen, not suppress Italy’s identity, and, even more ideally for a party
still struggling to demonstrate that it was the quintessential “Italian” party,
it would help highlight the ascendancy of that identity as “Catholic,”

through Rome’s message of “Christian” peace. De Gasperi was perhaps
correct in assuming that Italy’s international role—and the Christian
Democrats’ political fortunes—could benefit more from NATO member-
ship than from neutrality. But the opportunity to prove this would not
emerge until the late 1950s, when the main focus of the Cold War tem-
porarily moved from Central Europe to the Mediterranean.80
For the United States, it all boiled down to two simple conclusions:
France and Italy had already obtained rank and recognition beyond what
their actual power should warrant them; but if their self-confidence contin-
ued to plummet, it might be necessary to grant further concessions. The two
allies’ self-confidence was the most crucial basis for their recovery, and con-
sequently, for their contribution to Europe’s integration.
TOWARD A “NEW GAME”

In the postwar period, France and Italy had lost the illusion that they
could replicate the “old game” of European balance of power within the
emerging bipolarism of the Cold War. The negotiations for an Atlantic
Pact—together with the establishment of the ERP—offered them an alter-
native. They began to adapt to their diminished stature and to embrace
interdependence at the strategic level, much as they were learning to do in
the economic field. And they started viewing interdependence as a new
avenue to continental leadership (for France) or to equality with the other
great powers (for Italy).
Also, their goals of rank became increasingly intertwined with their pro-
motion of U.S. hegemony over Europe. European and Atlantic integration
must not be separate, leaders of both nations maintained, for the United
States was to be the main protector against the Soviet threat as well as the
ultimate arbiter of their power disputes with other European nations, hope-
fully favoring their own claims. The “empire by invitation” thesis has con-
centrated on Europe’s “collective” call for U.S. assistance and leadership,
but it has understated the “competitive” nature of that invitation. Indeed,
more often than not, the traditional rivalries among the larger Western
European nations were compounded by their competition for American
favor. Each one hoped to achieve a privileged cooperation with the power
they were now inviting as their “hegemon.” A special partnership with the
new leader of the free world not only seemed to offer security and economic
benefits; it was also the only option left to declining powers in their quest
for prominence in Europe. Washington agreed with the idea of strong trans-
Atlantic ties, provided that the Europeans would not use them as pretext to
delay self-help or harmonious continental integration. But the way France
and Italy combined their dependence on the United States and their status
ambitions favored exactly such a delay.
The problem of reconciling reassurance and self-reliance in Europe

became immediately apparent with the passage of the Military Assistance
Program, significantly renamed Mutual Defense Assistance Program when
it was presented in Congress in August 1949. The MDAP was supposed to
complement Europe’s recovery efforts. Like the ERP, in the short-term it
served primarily to stiffen the morale of fragile governments and to thwart
internal subversion. In the long-term, the Program was to augment Western
European military capabilities (also, by creating a stronger sense of com-
munity) so that the European allies could hold out on the Rhine. But the
first purpose ended up hindering the second one: once military aid was
identified as a morale-booster, it became difficult to draw limits and to
avoid manipulation, especially from shaky French and Italian governments.
This focus on the psychological aspect turned the MDAP into a “symbolic
act,” as Chester Pach has described it, which “required frequent repetition,
lest the cessation of aid destroy the foreign confidence that the United States
had so sedulously tried to nurture.”81
Italy persistently eluded America’s promotion of self-help, particularly in
the military field. Conscious of the limits the peace treaty or the economy
imposed on the country’s armed forces, confronted with a war-wary public
and still strong qualms about NATO from his own party ranks, De Gasperi
downplayed the military aspects of the alliance when he announced it in
Parliament. Already in the negotiating phase, the Italian government had
eagerly endorsed article 2 of the Pact, a rather vague formula that recom-
mended economic cooperation among the members of the alliance. Besides
preempting internal criticism, that campaign reflected the government’s,
and even more, the DC’s growing belief that Italy’s best chance to improve
its position within NATO was by emphasizing the non-military aspects of
the Cold War and by championing multilateralism. The promotion of arti-
cle 2 would thus highlight Rome’s “civilizational” contribution, in De
Gasperi’s grandiloquent words, while placing the financial burden of the
alliance on America’s shoulders. Indeed, transferring the main initiative for
economic cooperation from the OEEC to the North Atlantic Treaty would
have considerably diluted the achievements toward a self-reliant Europe the
Marshall Plan had so far attained. It is no accident that third force advo-
cates fought most resolutely against the insertion of article 2 in the Treaty.
Kennan and Bohlen agreed with Rome that no military pact should inter-
fere with Europe’s economic recovery; but they also sensed the Europeans
might use that reasoning to rip the economic benefits from the alliance,
while the United States would be outspending militarily. Although the Ital-
ians claimed no interest in military power, they simply wanted Washington
to pay for their rearmament.82 Despite American misgivings, during the
1950s Italy spearheaded a campaign for the implementation of article 2.
France’s case was more complex. Facing the double threat of a resurgent
Germany and Soviet invasion, the French were justifiably more concerned
than the Italians about their security. But Paris looked beyond pursuing
guarantees from its allies. Like the Italians, the French interpreted the
Atlantic Alliance as an instrument to throw the burden of rearmament on
the United States, thus freeing up resources to bolster the nation’s colonial
power status and, even more important, its economic prominence in the
continent. The Americans were developing their own way of manipulating
French sense of prestige by appealing to France’s high regard for its military
glories. In January 1949, the then Deputy to the Assistant Secretary of State
for Economic Affairs, Paul H. Nitze argued that “only the motivation of
national pride might be strong enough to support an increased military pro-
gram involving sacrifices on the part of the French people;” the “sense of
participation,” so coveted in Paris, must be complemented with “sacrifice”
in order to build a “sound psychological foundation for an expanded
defense program,” thus the morale necessary to resist Soviet aggression.
Nitze finally suggested basing U.S. assistance “upon increased military
budget appropriations by individual Western Union countries.” The French
immediately resisted such conditions, which they saw in fact as hurting
their national pride—and their security—as they realized that the MDAP
tended to relegate their nation as the “provider of infantry,” letting the
British rely on the Royal Navy and the United States on strategic bombing.
But this feeling of military inferiority had a profound impact on France’s
reelaboration of its status policies. In light of its limited leverage in military
affairs, Paris became even more determined to pursue economic and politi-
cal leadership on the Continent. Between 1949 and 1950 it tried to per-
suade the British to strengthen the Council of Europe, an organization that
could usher European integration on French terms, with a disarmed, eco-
nomically tamed Germany. By keeping the Germans “down,” and main-
taining the Council’s close identification with NATO, this plan was not
meant to loosen, but actually bolster the “partnership” with the United
States acquired through participation in the Standing Group.83 Since Britain
turned down this design, Paris then conceived the alternative project of a
Coal and Steel Community.
If France and Italy used the MDAP to boost their status, security, and
internal stability, they also had to reckon with the inevitable subordination
that their demands entailed. Both subordinated their “projected military
expenses on an undisclosed amount of American aid” as Irwin Wall has
written about the French. The irony was that by doing so they “invited
Americans to scrutinize every category of their budget to find the funds nec-
essary for defense,” thus allowing “an unprecedented degree of U.S. con-
trol.” As a consequence, both France and Italy became increasingly sensi-
tive to the superpower’s encroachments in their affairs and not quite as
grateful as Washington expected. Hence status concerns in some cases led
the French and Italians to resist rather than promote or manipulate U.S.
hegemony. Indeed France’s resentment against American pressures for its
defense expenses became notorious. In Italy, the United States obtained mil-
itary bases—the quid pro quo of “mutual”assistance—only by 1951, after
long negotiations with the reluctant Italian leaders, sensitive to the opposi-
tions’ charges of subservience.84
Broadly speaking, between the late 1940s and early 1950s the vicious
cycle of “invitation and pride” continued, and even got worse. This
meant that French and Italian progress toward mastering—or even sim-
ply understanding—interdependence was all but smooth. More than ever
the French and Italian governments had to rely on American support to
pursue their ambitions in Europe. But the promotion of American hege-
mony amplified their inferiority complex, making them perversely more
sensitive to matters of traditional prestige founded on nationalism.
France’s obsession with maintaining great power status and Italy’s fixa-
tion about reaching equal rank with France thus became stronger during
the first phase of Western integration. So the leaders of both countries
began rather slowly to equate prestige with their potential but still elu-
sive role as masters of that integration, while they still pursued more
immediate rewards and recognition, in Indochina for example, or in the
dispute over Trieste.
In the early 1950s, however, France did proceed with determined efforts to
achieve continental leadership through interdependence, devising the Schu-
man Plan and the European Defense Community project. Britain’s abdication
from Europe by itself would not have induced France to take the initiative;
Paris found the necessary encouragement from the prominent role it had
acquired in NATO. The best opportunity for Italy to exploit interdependence
to enhance its own international stature came in the second half of the 1950s,
as a result of the decolonization crisis in the Mediterranean. In both cases the
United States welcomed the two allies’ diplomatic activism, using it to bolster
the morale and prestige of their moderate coalitions, but tried to restrain the
intra-European rivalry that became part of the “new game.”
NOTES
1. Minutes Fourth Mtg. Washington Exploratory Talks, July 8, 1948, FRUS,
1948, III, qtd. p. 167; Bohlen to J. C. Grew, Aug. 27, 1947, Bohlen Records, Gen-
eral Correspondence, b. 1, RG 59, NA.
2. Memo Conv. by Hickerson, Jan. 21, 1948; Kennan to Sec. State, FRUS, 1948,
III, pp. 9–12 and 7–8. Best accounts on the “third force” are Gaddis, The Long
Peace, chap. 3; We Now Know: Rethinking Cold War History, Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1997, pp. 37–39; Lundestad ‘Empire’ by Integration, pp. 54–57; Barnet, The
Alliance, pp. 110–118; Harper, Visions of Europe, pp. 122–132; Thomas A.
Schwartz, America’s Germany: John J. McCloy and the Federal Republic of Ger-
many. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991, pp. 18–19, 44–45; Pierre
Melandri, Les Etats Unis face à l’unification de l’Europe, 1945–1954. Paris, Edi-
tions A. Pedone, 1980, pp. 34–35.
3. Gaddis, The Long Peace, p. 65.

4. Cf. esp. Alan S. Milward and Vibeke Sorensen, “Interdependence or integra-
tion? A National Choice,” and Federico Romero, “Interdependence and Integration
in American Eyes: from the Marshall Plan to Currency Convertibility,” both in Alan
S. Milward et al. (eds.), The Frontier of National Sovereignty, cit.; Alan S. Milward,
The European Rescue of the Nation State. London: Routledge, 1992; Martin J.
Dedman, The Origins and Development of the European Union, 1945–95: A His-
tory of European Integration. London: Routledge, 1996, pp. 46 ff.; Federico
Romero, “L’Europa come strumento di nation-building. Storia e storici dell’Italia
repubblicana,” Passato e Presente, XIII (1995), n. 36; Bernard Brunetau, “The Con-
struction of Europe and the Concept of the Nation State,” Contemporary European
History, 2000, 2. On NATO freeing up resources for the economy: Sergio Romano’s
comments in David W. Ellwood (ed.), The Marshall Plan Forty Years After: Lessons
for the International System Today. Bologna: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1988,
pp. 104–105; cf. Charles S. Maier, “Supranational Concepts and National Conti-
nuity in the Framework of the Marshall Plan,” in Charles S. Maier and Stanley
Hoffmann, The Marshall Plan: A Retrospective. Boulder: Westview, 1984.
5. Cf. esp. Jean-François Durantin, “Les conceptions européennes des neutralistes
français vis-à-vis du conflit Est-Ouest au début de la guerre froide,” in Maurice
Vaïsse (ed.), Le pacifisme en Europe des années 1920 aux années 1950. Brussels:
Bruylant, 1993, pp. 351–357; Frederick F. Ritsch, The French Left and the Euro-
pean Idea, 1947–1949. New York: Pageant Press, 1966, pp. 19–26; René Girault,
“La sinistra europea di fronte alla crisi del dopoguerra,” and R. Steininger, “L’In-
ternazionale socialista dopo la seconda guerra mondiale,” in Marta Petricioli (ed.),
La sinistra europea nel secondo dopoguerra 1943–1949. Florence: Sansoni, 1981,
pp. 249–251 and 142–143; David Dilks, “Britain and Europe, 1948–1950: The
Prime Minister, The Foreign Secretary and the Cabinet,” in Poidevin, Histoire de
début; general assessment: John W. Young, Cold War Europe, 1945–1991: A Polit-
ical History. 2d ed. London: E. Arnold, 1996, pp. 40–42.
6. Cf. esp. Georges-Henri Soutou, “Georges Bidault et la construction
européenne, 1944–1954,” in Serge Bernstein, Jean-Marie Mayeur, and Pierre Milza
(eds.), Le MRP et la construction européenne. Brussels: Complexe, 1993;
Formigoni, “La sinistra cattolica e il Patto atlantico,” pp. 659–660; Vezzosi, “La
sinistra democristiana tra neutralismo e patto atlantico,” pp. 197–201.
7. Also in 1945–46, the influential paper Le Monde, under the direction of for-
mer Resistance leader Hubert Beuve-Méry, became the main advocate of a European
economic and political aggregate independent from Moscow as well as Washington.
8. Ritsch, The French Left and the European Idea, pp. 151–154; Girault, “La sin-
istra europea,” pp. 249–252; Brian Jenkins, Nationalism in France. Class and
Nation since 1789. New York: Routledge, 1990, p. 160; Bidault in Auriol, Journal
de Septennat, 1947, pp. 349–352, also in Young, France, the Cold War, p. 156.
9. Most of the cited works on France and Italy emphasize the two missions’ lim-
ited economic achievements. On political subordination: Annie Lacroix-Riz, “Nego-
ciation et signature des Accords Blum-Byrnes (octobre ’45 - mai ’46) d’aprés les
Archives du MAE,” Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, 31 (1984), 3;
Rioux, The Fourth Republic, p. 84; Elgey, La république des illusions, pp. 139–141;
Severino Galante, La fine di un compromesso storico. DC e PCI nella crisi del 1947.
Milano: Franco Angeli, 1980, introd.; Roberto Faenza and Marco Fini, Gli ameri-
cani in Italia. Milan: Feltrinelli, 1976.
10. For detailed descriptions of those conditions and consequent fears of political
subversion see esp. tel. 158 Caffery to Sec. State, Jan.10, 1946, 851.00, RG 59, NA;
Rioux, The Fourth Republic, pp. 66–68; Vera Zamagni, “Betting on the Future. The
Reconstruction of Italian Industry, 1946–1952,” in Becker and Knipping, Power in
Europe?, pp. 283–285; Mario De Cecco, “Economic Policy in the Reconstruction
Period, 1945–1951,” in Woolf, The Rebirth of Italy, pp. 158–170; Antonio Gam-
bino, Storia del dopoguerra dalla liberazione al potere DC. Bari: Laterza, 1975,
pp. 314–318.
11. Monnet, Memoirs, pp. 232–249; Philippe Mioche, “Le démarrage du Plan
Monnet,” Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, 31 (1984), 3, pp. 398 ff.;
Richard F. Kuisel, Capitalism and the State in Modern France: Renovation and Eco-
nomic Management in the Twentieth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1981, pp. 219–225; John S. Hill, “American Efforts to Aid French Recon-
struction Between Lend-Lease and the Marshall Plan,” Journal of Modern History,
64 (September 1992), pp. 509–517; Frances M. B. Lynch, “Resolving the Paradox
of the Monnet Plan: National and International Planning in French Reconstruc-
tion,” Economic Historical Review, 37 (1984), 2; Michel Margairaz, “Autour des
accords Blum-Byrnes: Jean Monnet entre le consensus national et le consensus atlan-
tique,” Histoire, Economie et Société, 3, 1982; François Duchene, Jean Monnet.
The First Statesman of Interdependence. New York: Norton, 1994.
12. Key to Sec. State, Sept. 5, 1946, FRUS, 1946, V, pp. 930–2; De Cecco, “Eco-
nomic Policy,” pp. 160–163; Harper, America and the Reconstruction, pp. 67–69,
101–103; E. Mantovani, “L’industria dall’economia di guerra alla ricostruzione,” in
Pierluigi Ciocca and Gianni Toniolo (eds.), L’economia italiana nel periodo fascista.
Bologna: Il Mulino, 1976.
13. Cf. texts (with conditions but also additional concessions from the U.S.):
FRUS, 1946, V, pp. 461–4, 1947, III, pp. 859–61; Memo by Moore, Jan. 8, 1947,
pp. 852–4; Truman to President De Nicola, Jan. 20, 1947, Public Papers of the Pres-
idents of the United States [hereafter PP], Harry S. Truman, vol. 1947 p. 105; tel.
3356–7 Bidault to Bonnet, May 28, 1946, Amérique 1944–52, vol. 246, AHMAE;
L. Pietromarchi to Sforza, Sept. 8, 1948, CS, b. 4, ACS.
14. It is interesting to note that, facing a mounting Communist-led propaganda
against the Hollywood invasion, the State Department pressed a reluctant Motion
Picture Association to revise the Blum-Byrnes accords on cinema in 1948, allowing
France to raise Europe’s highest protectionist quota of national showings: cf. J.
Portes, “Les origines de la légende noire des accords Blum-Byrnes sur le cinema,”
Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, 33 (1986), 2, esp. pp. 326–7; Wall,
Making of Postwar France, pp. 113–126. The U.S. applied a similar leniency on Ital-
ian quota restrictions. Italy could also count on the commercial success of “neore-
alism,” a success which for political reasons the State Department was willing to
encourage: cf. Carl E. Milliken (MPA) to George R. Canty, (Assist. Chief Telecom.
Division Dept. State), March 6, 1945, tells. 272, 720 Kirk (Rome) to Sec. State, Jan.
18 and Feb. 10, 1946 865.4061 MP, RG 59, NA; Letter Murphy to Benton, Nov.
6, 1945, cit. in chap. 1; Christopher Wagstaff, “Italy and the Post-War Cinema Mar-
ket,” in Duggan and Wagstaff, Italy in the Cold War, pp. 103–105.
15. As recognized in Jean Lacouture, Léon Blum. New York: Holmes & Meier,
1982, pp. 486–487 and Di Nolfo, Le paure e le speranze, pp. 235–237.
16. Cf. Note by “Direction Générale des Etudes et Recherches de la Présidence du
Gouvernement Provisoire,” Feb. 21, 1946, Amérique 1944–52, E-U, vol. 246,
AHMAE; tel. 780 Lacoste (reporting Bonnet) to Bidault, Apr. 9, 1946; on America’s
initial puzzlement about Blum’s appointment as envoy: Lacroix-Riz “Négociation et
signature,” pp. 423–4.
17. Lacouture, Léon Blum, p. 486–7; Leon Blum, L’Oeuvre de Léon Blum, Vol. 6,
1945–1947. Paris: Albin Michel, 1958, pp. 190–1 and 199; tel. 2895 Caffery to Sec.
State, May 23, 1945, 851.00, RG 59, NA; tel. 2631-4 Bonnet to MAE, May 22,
1946, Amérique 1944–52, E-U, vol. 246, AHMAE. On foreign influence over
America’s bureaucratically fragmented government in the early Cold War cf. Ernest
R. May, “The American Commitment to Germany, 1949–1955,” Diplomatic His-
tory, 1989, 4.
18. Alberto Tarchiani, America-Italia. Le dieci giornate di De Gasperi negli Stati
Uniti. Milan: Rizzoli, 1947, pp. 60–71; Miller, The United States and Italy,
pp. 217–218; Harper, America and the Reconstruction, pp. 111–116; Giulio
Andreotti, De Gasperi visto da vicino. Milan: Rizzoli, 1987, pp. 120–5; Maria
Romana Catti-De Gasperi, De Gasperi scrive. Corrispondenza con capi di stato,
cardinali, politici, giornalisti, diplomatici. Brescia: Morcelliana, 1981, Vol. 2,
pp. 127–9; Ortona, Anni d’ America, 1, pp. 179–180; Federica Pinelli, “L’Italia vista
dal ‘New York Times’ 1947–1951,” Italia Contemporanea, 193, December 1993,
pp. 668–9; Mtg. Tarchiani-Marshall, Feb. 28, 1947, 711.65, RG 59, NA.
19. First quote is by Donato Menichella, Director of the Bank of Italy, in Memo
by McGhee, Jan. 7, 1947, FRUS, 1947, III, at p. 848; cf. Mtg. De Gasperi-Clayton,
Jan. 14, 1947, 033.6511, RG 59, NA; Tarchiani in Ortona, Anni d’America, 1,
p. 184; Pesenti in Miller, The United States and Italy, p. 219; Lacouture, Léon Blum.
pp. 487 ff.
20. Qtd. Caffery to Sec. State, Feb. 9, 1946, FRUS, 1946, V, pp. 412–3; cf. Hill,
“American Efforts,” pp. 508–509; Leon Martel, Lend Lease, Loans, and the Com-
ing of the Cold War. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, chaps. 6–7; on Truman admin-
istration’s new commitment cf. Charles S. Maier, “Revisionism and the Interpreta-
tion of Cold War Origins,” in The origins of the Cold War and Contemporary
Europe. New York: New Viewpoints, 1978; James E. Miller, “Roughhouse Diplo-
macy: The United States Confronts Italian Communism, 1945–1958,” Storia delle
relazioni internazionali, 1989, 2, p. 289. The centrist coalition in France was known
as “third force” (between the PCF and the Gaullists), but to avoid confusion with
the main theme of this chapter I omitted that definition.
21. Caffery to Sec. State, Feb. 9, 1946, cit.; Minutes NAC mtgs., Apr. 25, 1946 and
May 6, 1946, FRUS, 1946, V, pp. 431–4, 440–6.
22. Minutes NAC mtgs., March 4, 1946 and Apr. 19, 1946, FRUS, 1946,
pp. 894–7, 902–6; Memo by Hickerson, Jan. 6, 1947, FRUS, 1947, III, pp. 837–8.
23. Wall, Making of Postwar France, pp. 52–53; Dowling to F. Matthews, Nov.
21, 1946, cit. in chap. 1.
24. On France: cf. tel. 3666 Caffery to Sec. State, July 26, 1946, 851.51, RG 59,
NA; Washington showed caution at the National Advisory Council meetings during
the negotiations of the Blum-Byrnes agreements: see for ex. NAC Mtg., May 6,
1946, FRUS, 1946, V, pp. 440–6. Most historians of France now (with above cited
exceptions) acknowledge that Washington exerted no political pressure. On Italy:

Key to Sec. State, Sept. 5, 1946, FRUS, 1946, V, pp. 930–2; Tarchiani, America-
Italia, pp. 67–8; James E. Miller, “Taking Off the Gloves: The U.S. and the Italian
Elections of 1948,” Diplomatic History, 1983, 1, p. 38.
25. On Blum’s “hints:” Caffery to Sec. State, May 7, 1946, and Mtg. with Blum
May 23, 1946, FRUS, 1946, V, pp. 447–9, 451–2; tel. 5129 Merchant to Sec. State,
May 15, 1946, 851.51, RG 59, NA; on similar exhortation from Bidault: tel. 3879
Caffery to Sec. State, Aug. 25, 1946, 851.00, RG 59, NA; on De Gasperi’s cf. Key
to Sec. State, Sept. 5, 1946, cit.; Tarchiani, America-Italia.
26. Qtd. S. A. Shucker, comment on Charles S. Maier, “The Two Postwar Eras and
the Conditions of Stability in Twentieth Century Western Europe,” American His-
torical Review, , 86 (1981), 2, p. 357; cf. esp. Immanuel Wexler, The Marshall Plan
Revisited: The European Reconstruction Program in Economic Perspective. West-
port, CT: Greenwood Press, 1983, pp. 249–255.
27. Kennan in Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, p. 45; on coalitions see Michael
J. Hogan, The Marshall Plan: America, Britain and the Reconstruction of Western
Europe. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987, conclusions and p. 431;
Maier, “The Two Postwar Eras;” on France and Germany: Wall, Making of Post-
war France, pp. 77–95; John Gimbel, The Origins of the Marshall Plan. Stanford,
CA: Stanford University Press, 1976.
28. Cf. esp. Harper, America and the Reconstruction, chap. 10; Zamagni, “Betting
on the Future,” pp. 286–290; Bruno Bottiglieri, La politica economica dell’Italia
centrista (1948–1958). Milan: Edizioni Comunità, 1984, pp. 107–117; Kuisel, Cap-
italism and the State, pp. 237–249; Wall, Making of Postwar France, chap. 6;
François Bloch-Lainé and Jean Beauvier, La France restaurée 1944–1954: Dialogue
sur le choix d’une modernisation. Paris: Fayard, 1986; Ellwood, Rebuilding Europe,
pp. 17, 144–149.
29. Maier, “The two Postwar Eras,” p. 444; Rosaria Quartararo, “L’Italia e il
Piano Marshall, 1947–1952,” Storia Contemporanea, XV (1984), 4, pp. 658 ff.,
669 ff.; Milward The Reconstruction, pp. 5, 113–125. On controversy over French
and Italian use of the counterpart funds: Chiarella Esposito America’s Feeble
Weapon: Funding the Marshall Plan in France and Italy, 1948–1950. Westport,
CT: Greenwood Press, 1994; Memo Stibravy to Unger (SE), March 4, 1949,
865.00, RG 59, NA.
30. Milward, The Reconstruction, pp. 492–500; Milward, Rescue of the Nation
State; Romero, “L’Europa come strumento di nation-building.”
31. Sforza, Cinque Anni pp. 41–42; cf. Christopher Seton-Watson, “La politica
estera della repubblica italiana,” in Richard J. B. Bosworth and Sergio Romano, La
politica estera italiana, 1860–1985. Bologna: Il Mulino, 1991, p. 339; Antonio Var-
sori “Italy’s Policy towards European Integration (1947–58),” in Duggan and
Wagstaff, Italy in the Cold War, pp. 50–51.
32. See esp. William I. Hitchcock, “France, the Western Alliance, and the Origins of
the Schuman Plan,” Diplomatic History, 1997, 4, pp. 612–613 (Quai d’Orsay doc.
qtd. p. 612); cf. Memo MAE, Apr. 30 1948, Europe 1944–1949, Généralités, vol. 22,
AHMAE, also here at p. 612; Monnet, Memoirs, pp. 271–277; Vaïsse and Melandri,
“France: From Powerlessness,” p. 469; Hogan, Marshall Plan, pp. 65–68; Lynch,
“Restoring France,” p. 64; Gerard Bossuat, “Le poids de l’aide américaine sur la poli-
tique économique et financière de la France en 1948,” Relations Internationales, 37,
Spring 1984, pp. 17–36; Gerard Bossuat, L’Europe des français, 1943–1959. La IVe
République aux sources de l’Europe Communautaire. Paris: Publications de la Sor-
bonne, 1996, pp. 151–163.
33. Guillen, “Le Projet d’Union Economique;” Hoffmann, “Paradoxes,”
pp. 54–55, 62; cf. Kuisel, Capitalism and the State, pp. 244–249.
34. Varsori, “L’Italia nel sistema internazionale,” p. 23. Economic integration, it
should be reminded, offered scant advantages to the Commonwealth-oriented
market, and political federation was anathema for a British empire that relied more
on its Atlantic and imperial ties than on its bonds with the European continent.
Furthermore, neither the prospect of a European parliament crowded with Com-
munist deputies from France and Italy, nor that of a Christian Democratic major-
ity in the executive appealed to the Labor government of Clement Attlee: see esp.
Mtg. Bohlen-Bevin, Oct. 4, 1948, Bohlen Records, b. 4, RG 59, NA; Milward, The
Reconstruction chap. 5; Young, France, Britain and the Unity of Europe,
pp. 122–124; Raymond Aron, Les articles de politique internationale dans Le
Figaro de 1947 à 1977, tome 1, La guerre froide (juin 1947 à mai 1955), (ed. by
G.-H. Soutou). Paris: Editions de Fallois, 1990, pp. 97–100.
35. Vera Zamagni, “American Influence on the Italian Economy (1948–1958),” in
Duggan and Wagstaff, Italy in the Cold War, pp. 83–86; Pier Paolo D’Attorre, “ERP
aid and the Politics of Productivity in Italy during the 1950s,” Project Paper n. 15,
EUI, Florence, 1985; Francesco Malgeri, Storia della Democrazia Cristiana, vol. 2,
De Gasperi e l’eta’ del centrismo. Rome: Cinque Lune, 1988, pp. 61–63; Kuisel,
Seducing the French, chap. 4; on ECA campaign Albert Hemsing, “The Marshall
Plan’s European Film Unit, 1948–1955: a memoir and filmography,” Historical
Journal of Film, Radio and Television, 14 (1994), 3; Pisani, The CIA and the Mar-
shall Plan, cit.; Richard Pells, Not Like Us. How Europeans Have Loved, Hated,
and Transformed American Culture since World War II. New York: Basic Books,
1997, pp. 55–57.
36. Kuisel, Seducing the French, pp. 84–89; Tasca in Harper, America and the
Reconstruction, p. 157; second quote from David W. Ellwood, “Italy, Europe and
the Cold War: The Politics and Economics of Limited Sovereignty,” in Duggan and
Wagstaff, Italy in the Cold War, p. 36; George Kennan saw a connection between
“the profound exhaustion of [Europe’s] physical plant” and that of its “spiritual
vigor,” when in the spring of 1947 he recommended an economic aid program:
Paper PPS “Aid to Western Europe,” May 23, 1947, FRUS, 1947, III, pp. 223–230
(qtd. p. 225).
37. Qtd. in Kuisel, Capitalism and the State, p. 271; cf. D’Attorre, “Il Piano Mar-
shall,” pp. 542–4.
38. Hogan, Marshall Plan, p. 19; Charles S. Maier, “The Politics of Productivity;
Foundations of American International Economic Policy after World War II,” Inter-
national Organization, vol. 31 (1977, Fall, pp. 610–8; Charles S. Maier, In Search
of Stability: Explorations in Historical Political Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1988; cf. Federico Romero, The United States and the European
Trade Union Movement, 1944–1951. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina
Press, 1992, conclusions; Kuisel, Capitalism and the State, pp. 249–255; Alain Lip-
ietz, “Governing the Economy in the Face of International Challenge: From
National Developmentalism to National Crisis,” in James F. Hollifield and George
Ross (eds.), Searching for the New France. London: Routledge, 1991; Michele Sal-
vati Economia e politica in Italia da dopoguerra a oggi. Milan: Garzanti, 1984,

pp. 52–55.
39. See esp. Wall, Making of Postwar France, pp. 130–131; Leffler, A Preponder-
ance of Power, p. 202–203; Georges-Henri Soutou, “La sécurité de la France dans
l’après guerre,” in Maurice Vaïsse et al. La France et l’OTAN, 1949–1996. Paris:
Editions Complexe, 1996.
40. Cf. Memo MacArthur, Jan. 29, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 617–22; cf. Doug-
las to Marshall, Feb. 25, 1948, pp. 87–8; tel. 9880 Caffery to Sec. State, Nov. 12,
1947, 851.00, RG 59, NA.
41. Quotes from tel. 9880 Caffery to Sec. State, cit.; Memo MacArthur, Jan. 29,
1948, cit.; a copy of Bidault’s letter of March 4, 1948 is in PA, H. Bonnet, Vol. 1,
AHMAE; cf. Editorial Note, FRUS, 1948, III, p. 38; cf. similar position by de Gaulle
in Charles de Gaulle, Discours et messages: Dans l’attente, 1946–1948. Paris: Plon,
1970, pp. 169 ff.; Wall, Making of Postwar France, overestimates American respect
for French military potential.
42. Qtd. Lawrence S. Kaplan “An Unequal Triad: the United States, West Union
and NATO,” in Riste, Western Security, p. 107; cf. René Massigli, Une comédie des
erreurs: souvenirs et réflexions sur une étape de la construction européenne. Paris:
Plon, 1978, pp. 133–135; Pierre Guillen, “France and the Defense of Western
Europe: From the Brussels Pact (March 1948) to the Pleven Plan (October 1950),”
in Norbert Wiggershaus and Roland G. Forster, The Western Security Community.
Common Problems and Conflicting National Interests During the Foundation
Phase of the North Atlantic Alliance. Oxford: Berg, 1993, pp. 126–130; a different
view: Howorth, “France and European Security.”
43. Doc. qtd. in Guillen, “France and the Defence of Western Europe,”
pp. 125–126.
44. Qtd. in Ritsch, The French Left, p. 76.
45. Memo cited in Young, France, the Cold War, p. 195; cf. Auriol, Journal de
Septennat, 1948, p. 241; text of London Accords in Final Communiqué, June 7,
1948, FRUS, 1948, II, pp. 313–7; cf. Hitchcock, France Restored, pp. 93–97; for
thesis emphasizing surrender see esp.: Young above; Raymond Poidevin, “Ambigu-
ous Partnership: France, the Marshall Plan and the Problem of Germany,” in
Charles S. Maier and Gunter Bischoff (eds.), The Marshall Plan and Germany. New
York: Berg, 1991.
46. Note Bidault (London) to several ambassadors, Apr. 19, 1948, Fonds Vincent
Auriol, 552 AP, b. 71, AN; cf. Memo MAE, May 7, 1948, Y Internationale, 1944–49,
vol. 381, AHMAE; Douglas to Marshall, March 2, 1948, FRUS, 1948, II, p. 111.
47. On first ideas of hard-bargaining and renewal of request for tripartite com-
mand see Bonnet to Bidault, May 19, 1948, PA, H. Bonnet, Vol. 1, AHMAE; for
subsequent requests : Caffery to Marshall, June 29, 1948, Mtg. Lovett-Bonnet, Aug.
20, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 142–3, 214–21; Reid, Time of Fear, pp. 113–117;
Leffler, Preponderance of Power, pp. 216–217; Norbert Wiggershaus, “The Other
‘German Question’. The Foundation of the Atlantic Pact and the Problem of Secu-
rity Against Germany,” in Di Nolfo, The Atlantic Pact Forty Years Later,
pp. 121–122.
48. Policy Statement Dept. State, Sept. 20, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 651–9.
49. Memo JCS in Gaddis, The Long Peace, pp. 59–60; Memo Bevin, Jan. 13,
1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 4–6; cf. Pierre Melandri, “Europe and America
1948–1950: An Unequal Relationship,” in Wiggershaus and Foerster, The Western

Security Community, p. 294.
50. Cf. Memo Direction d’Europe, Dec. 13, 1948, Y Internationale, 1944–49, vol.
318, AHMAE; on Schuman: Raymond Poidevin, “Le facteur Europe dans la poli-
tique allemande de Robert Schuman,” in Poidevin (ed.), Histoire des débuts,
pp. 311–326.
51. On self-reliance as best weapon against Communist propaganda in France and
Italy: tel. 2969 Caffery to Sec. State, July 26, 1947, 851.00, RG 59, NA; Bohlen to
Kennan, Oct. 2, 1947, Bohlen Records, b. 6, RG 59, NA; cf. Gaddis, We Now Know,
chap. 2 (comparing America’s and Russia’s management of their “empires”); general
assessments of the importance of democratic ideals as drive to American expansion-
ism: Smith, America’s Mission; Ninkovich, Modernity and Power, chaps. 5, 6.
52. Bruce to Hoffman (Administrator ECA), Sept. 14, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III,
pp. 649–651; Bonnet, Aug. 27, 1948, cit. in Young, France, the Cold War, p. 200;
cf. Auriol, Journal, 1948, pp. 453–9; Hickerson to Labouisse (Coordinator of For-
eign Aid), Oct. 12, 1948, and Memo Labouisse and Moore, Oct. 16, 1948, FRUS,
1948, III, pp. 666–70; Bidault cit. in previous chap.
53. Harriman to Marshall, July 14, 1948, Lovett to Caffery, Sept. 20, 1948, Lovett
to Harriman, Dec. 3, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 183–4, 253, 306.
54. Hickerson to Marshall, March 8, 1948, Marshall to Truman, March 12, 1948,
FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 40–2, 49–50; cf. Memo by Participants in the Washington
Security Talks, Sept. 9, 1948, Idem, pp. 237–45; on NATO as a “morale-booster”
see also Thomas G. Paterson, Meeting the Communist Threat. Truman to Reagan.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988, chap. 3.
55. Memo Lovett to Harriman, Dec. 3, 1948, at p. 309; cf. Kennan to Sec. State,
Sept. 17, 1948, PPS Records, Chron. Series, b. 33, RG 59, NA; on NATO as way
to reconcile France to German recovery cf. esp. Leffler, A Preponderance of Power,
pp. 207, 230–232, 277–282; Timothy P. Ireland, Creating the Entangling Alliance:
The Origins of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. Westport: Greenwood
Press, 1981; cf. Kennan, Memoirs, 1925–1950, p. 410.
56. Tel. 326 Dunn to Sec. State, Jan. 23, 1948, “710 Italy,” Rome Embassy Files,
RG 84, NA (Sforza quoted); 137th Mtg. PPS, March 17, 1948, PPS Records
1947–1953, b. 32, RG 59, NA; cf. Antonio Varsori, “La scelta occidentale dell’
Italia (1948–1949),” Part I, Storia delle relazioni internazionali, 1985, 1,
pp. 102–109; Pietro Pastorelli, “La crisi del marzo 1948 nei rapporti italo-americani,”
Nuova Antologia, CXIV 1979, no. 2132.
57. Mtg. Tarchiani-Hickerson, Apr. 27, 1948, III, pp. 793–6; tel. 354 Sforza to
Gallarati Scotti (London), May 7, 1948, Ambasciata Londra [hereafter AL], b.
1360, f. 1, ASMAE; cf. Timothy E. Smith, The United States, Italy and NATO,
1947–1952. London: Macmillan Press, 1991, pp. 56–58.
58. Cf. tel. 326 Dunn to Sec. State, Jan. 23, 1948, cit.; Memo Achilles, May 7,
1948, Hickerson to Acting Sec. State, Oct. 7, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 115–6,
pp. 260–2; Rossi, L’Africa italiana, pp. 366–396; Pastorelli, La politica estera ital-
iana, pp. 212–216; Mario Toscano, “Appunti sui negoziati per la partecipazione
dell’Italia al Patto atlantico,” in Pagine di storia diplomatica contemporanea, Vol. 2,
Origini e vicende della II guerra mondiale. Milan: Giuffré, 1963, pp. 448–452.
59. On “armed neutrality” see esp. Varsori, “La scelta occidentale,” I,
pp. 136–159; Brunello Vigezzi, “La politica estera italiana e le premesse della scelta
atlantica,” in La dimensione atlantica e le relazioni internazionali nel dopoguerra

(1947–1949). Milan: Jaca, 1987.
60. Tarchiani was initially optimistic about American willingness to defend Italy ,
especially after the April elections: tel. 16523 Tarchiani to MAE, Apr. 24, 1948 and
Report 4404/1675 Tarchiani to Sforza, May 6, 1948, Fondo Cass., b. 7, ASMAE;
Mtg. Tarchiani-Hickerson, Apr. 27, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 793–6; cf. Sforza to
various embassies, Aug. 31, 1948, AP, b. 410, ASMAE; on internal debate best are
Guido Formigoni, La Democrazia Cristiana e l’alleanza occidentale 1943–1953.
Bologna: Il Mulino, 1996, chap. 3; and Giovanni Di Capua, Come l’Italia aderì al
Patto Atlantico. Rome: EBE, 1971, pp. 95–121.
61. Sforza, Cinque Anni, pp. 71–80, 483–496. Skeptical about an “armed neu-
trality,” the ambassador to London, Tommaso Gallarati Scotti, put Sforza’s ideal-
ism, as well as the other Europeans’ desire to integrate, into perspective: “all we do
in Europe,” he wrote in August, “is an appearance meant to mask more or less sub-
tly a race to reap as big a share as possible of American military aid.”: to Sforza,
Aug. 10, 1948, Fondo Cass., b. 7, ASMAE.
62. First proposals: Memo by Marshall, Aug. 7, 1947, FRUS, 1947, V, pp. 285–6;
Memo J. D. Jernegan, Feb. 4, 1948, and Lovett to Embassy in Greece, Apr. 3 and
5, 1948, FRUS, 1948, IV, pp. 41–2 and 69–71; see also Smith, The US, Italy and
NATO, pp. 69–70; on Great Britain: Bullock, Ernest Bevin, pp. 526–528, 620, 624.
63. Dunn to Sec. State, Sept. 15, Oct. 22, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 252–3,
809–11; Memo Defense Ministry to MAE, Feb. 11, 1948, DGAP 1946–50, USA, b.
29, ASMAE; Quaroni to Sforza, Nov. 3, 1948, AP, b. 405, ASMAE; reply Sforza to
Quaroni, no date, AL, b. 1360, f. 1, ASMAE; Tarchiani to Sforza, Jan. 6, 1949, AP,
b. 444, ASMAE; cf. Varsori, “La scelta occidentale,” II, pp. 316–317, 324–325.
64. Tarchiani to Sforza, Oct. 22, 1948, AP, b. 410, ASMAE; Gallarati Scotti to
Sforza, Aug. 10, 1948, cit.; cf. Memo by Participants in Washington Security Talks,
Sept. 9, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 237–45; Hickerson to McWilliams, Nov. 24,
1948, Records WEA, Italy 1943–51, b. 1, RG 59, NA.
65. Kennan to Sec. State, March 15, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 848–9; CIA,
“Italy”, Apr. 10, 1948, Declassified Documents Reference System [DDRS], Wash-
ington D.C.: Carrolton Press, Vol. 1978, doc. 225A; CIA, “Review of the World
Situation,” May 12, 1948, DDRS, 1977, doc.179D.
66. Marshall to Emb. Paris, May 6, 1948; Lovett to Emb. Belgium, Nov. 22, 1948,
FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 114–4, 282–3; Memo Kennan, Nov. 24, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III,
pp. 283–9; Kennan, Memoirs, 1925–1950, pp. 411–412; Mtg. Acheson-Truman,
Feb. 28, 1949, Tarchiani to Acheson, March 1, 1949, FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 125–6.
67. Memo Hickerson, Oct. 7, 1948, cit.; Lovett to Embassy in Italy, Oct. 26, 1948,
FRUS, 1948, III, p. 267; Tarchiani to Sforza, Oct. 5, 1948, AP, b.410, ASMAE; Var-
sori, “La scelta occidentale,” part II.
68. Dunn to Sec. State, Jan. 10 and 12 (qtd.), FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 18, 23–4;
Tarchiani, Dieci Anni, pp. 158–159; Smith, The US, Italy and NATO, pp. 76–77.
69. Hickerson to Williams, Nov. 27, 1948, PPS Records, 1947–53, b.27, NA;
Memo JCS to Forrestal, Jan. 5, 1949, FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 10–13; Acheson, Present
at the Creation, p. 279; Memo Acheson, March 2, 1949, cit; Reid, Time of Fear,
pp. 210–211; cit; cf. Timothy E. Smith, “The Fear of Subversion: The United States
and the Inclusion of Italy in the North Atlantic Treaty,” Diplomatic History, 7
(1983), 2; Quartararo, Italia e Stati Uniti, pp. 235–260.
70. Dunn to Sec. State, Oct. 22, 1947, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 809–11; Walworth
Barbour (Chief Division South European Affairs) to Col. F. J. Grailing (GSC, Dept.
of the Army), Nov. 10, 1948 and tel. 4432 Dunn to Sec. State, Nov. 24, 1948, both
in 033.6511, RG 59, NA; Leopoldo Nuti, “La missione Marras, 2–22 dicembre
1948,” Storia delle relazioni internazionali, 1987, 2.
71. The French also argued that the Italian Po valley, access to Southern France,
should remain closed to Communist invasion. On French support of Italy cf. Memo
Acheson, March 2, 1949, cit.; Armand Bérard, Un ambassadeur se souvient. Vol. 2.
Washington et Bonn 1945–1955. Paris: Plon, 1978, pp. 181 ff.; Auriol, Journal,
1949, p. 113; Reid, Time of Fear, pp. 203–210; Wall, Making of Postwar France,
pp. 145–146; on attempts to link the Italian and the Norwegian membership cf.
FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 122–135.
72. On this last point see esp. Note Secretariat Général, Nov. 27, 1948, Mtg. Gen.
Billotte-Gen. Marras, Dec. 17, 1948, PA, Bonnet, vol.1, AHMAE; Memo Conv.
Bohlen-Schuman, Nov. 20, 1948, Bohlen Records, Memo series, b. 4, NA; Maurice
Vaïsse, “George Bidault, ministre des affaires étrangères et l’Italie,” in Duroselle and
Serra, Francia e Italia, pp. 306–307.
73. Cf. Memo Conv. by Sec. State, Feb. 14, 1949, FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 108–10; Ire-
land, Creating the Entangling Alliance, pp. 108–112.
74. Mtg. Bohlen-Bonnet, Jan. 3, 1949, Bohlen Records, Memo series, b. 4, NA; tel.
10153 Bonnet to MAE, Feb. 19, 1949, PA, Bonnet, vol. 1, AHMAE; Memo Sec.
State, February 14, 1949; Hickerson to Sec. State, Feb. 17, 1949; Memo Bohlen to
Sec. State, March 31, 1949 (qtd.); FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 107–8, 120–1, 255–7; cf.
Melandri and Vaïsse, “France: From Powerlessness,” p. 469; Guillen, “France and
the Defence,” pp. 131–132.
75. Memo Caffery and Harriman to Schuman, March 3, 1949; Acheson to Emb.
in France, July, 8, 1949, FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 148–50, 309; on German agreements:
Auriol, Journal, 1949, pp. 400 ff.; Acheson, Present at the Creation, pp. 286–301;
Schwartz, America’s Germany, pp. 80–83.
76. Cf. Pierre Guillen “L’Italie et le problème allemand, 1945–1955,” Relations
Internationales, 1987, autumn, pp. 269–275; Varsori, “la scelta occidentale,” II,
pp. 364–368.
77. Caffery to Sec. State, Apr. 7, 1949, FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 288–9; Melandri,
“France and the Atlantic Alliance,” pp. 268–9.
78. Cf. Mtg. G. W. Perkins (Assist. Sec. Eur.) Tarchiani, Sept. 8, 1949 and Mtg.
Mario Luciolli (Counselor Italian Embassy) L. Unger (WE) Oct.13, 1949, both in
Records WEA, Italy 1943–51, b. 1, NA; Pacciardi and Acheson qtd. in Smith, The
US, Italy and NATO, pp. 97, 99, and chap. 5.
79. Cf. Marc Trachtenberg, A Constructed Peace: The Making of the European
Settlement, 1945–1963. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999, p. 77; Brian
Jenkins and Nigel Copsey, “Nation, Nationalism and National Identity in France,”
in Jenkins and Sofos, Nation and Identity in Contemporary Europe, pp. 114–115.
80. Qtd. Silvio Lanaro, Storia dell’Italia repubblicana: Dalla fine della guerra agli
anni novanta. Venice: Marsilio, 1993, p. 148; qtd. De Gasperi’s speech of May 15,
1949, in De Gasperi, Discorsi politici, Vol. 1, p. 235; on DC as “the Italian party”
see also Guido Formigoni, L’Italia dei cattolici: Fede e nazione dal Risorgimento alla
Repubblica. Bologna: Il Mulino, 1998; Agostino Giovagnoli, Il partito italiano: La
Democrazia Cristiana dal 1942 al 1994. Rome: Bonacci, 1996.
81. Qtd. Chester J. Pach, Jr., Arming the Free World. The Origins of the United
States Military Assistance Program, 1945–1950. Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, 1991, p. 230 (also chaps. 5 and 7); cf. Lawrence S. Kaplan, A Com-
munity of Interests: NATO and the Military Assistance Program, 1948–1951.
Washington DC: Office Secretary of Defense, Historical Office, 1980, esp. p. 70;
Policy Papers by Foreign Relations Assistance Correlation Committee, Feb. 7, July
1, 1949, FRUS, 1949, I, pp. 250–7, 347–9.
82. The last portion of Article 2 reads: “[The Parties] will seek to eliminate con-
flict in their international economic policies and will encourage economic coopera-
tion between any or all of them.” Memo Bohlen for Acheson, Feb. 21, 1949, Bohlen
Records, Correspondence, b.1, NA; on U.S. views of the OEEC: Dunn to Sec. State,
Sept. 13, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 252–3; cf. Alan S. Milward, “NATO, OEEC,
and the Integration of Europe,” in Heller and Gillingham, NATO. The Founding.
On Italian views of MDAP: Lorenza Sebesta, “American Military Aid and European
Rearmament: the Italian Case,” pp. 284, 290; Antonio Varsori, “L’Italia fra alleanza
atlantica e CED (1949–1954),” Storia delle relazioni internazionali, 1988, 1,
pp. 132–134; on DC internal discord: Formigoni, La Democrazia Cristiana e l’al-
leanza, chap. 5; Gianni Baget Bozzo, Il partito cristiano al potere. La DC di De
Gasperi e Dossetti, 1945–1954. 2d ed. Florence: Vallecchi, 1978.
83. Memo Nitze, Jan. 31, 1949, FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 54–60; cf. Memo Conv. by
Acheson, Apr. 1, 1949, pp. 265–6; P. Guillen, “France and the Defence of Western
Europe,” pp. 140–142; on French dependence on U.S. military aid: Jean Doise and
Maurice Vaïsse, Diplomatie et outil militaire. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1987,
pp. 401–420; on attempt to strengthen the Council of Europe: Hitchcock, “Origins
of the Schuman Plan” pp. 625–626; Melandri, Les Etats-Unis face à l’unification,
pp. 38–40.
84. Wall, Making of Postwar France, p. 200; Smith, The US, Italy, and NATO,
pp. 118–119.
4
Mastering Interdependence?
Status, Nationalism, and the
European Army Plan
To David K. E. Bruce, the most francophile American ambassador to Paris

since Thomas Jefferson, the glory of France seemed to shine in all its splen-
dor again in May of 1950. Elated at Robert Schuman’s proposal for a Euro-
pean coal and steel pool, he praised France for having resumed “[her] nat-
ural leadership” of the Continent, becoming a “standard to which her
neighbors might rally.” The French plan was the first convincing demon-
stration that “nationalism [was] not the main spring of all action” anymore
in Europe, as Secretary of State Acheson rejoiced a year later, and that a
“new loyalty” toward continental integration was emerging. Such loyalty
was not to detract from national distinction, as General Eisenhower
reminded Charles de Gaulle in April 1952, a few weeks before the treaty for
a European Defense Community (EDC) was signed in Paris. By taking the
flag of European unity, the NATO commander added seductively, France
would prove “her long tradition of bold and imaginative leadership.” Such
prestige would also provide security, for France “would never fear the Ger-
mans” within a federation that “she had brought about.”1
Several studies on this phase of European integration concede that pres-
tige was a major impulse behind France’s and Italy’s choices. But the analy-
sis of such matters of prestige has been confined to the domestic dimension,
stressing the two nations’ internal divisions on issues of national sover-
eignty as the prime cause of the EDC failure.2
In works that place the EDC debate within the international context, how-
ever, the issue of prestige, or status, becomes elusive. The main narrative
accounts by Eric Fursdon, Armand Clesse, and Antonio Varsori do highlight

the competition between France and Germany, but, at best, only hint at the
degree to which perceptions of rank within NATO shaped French or Italian
decisions.3 Other studies by William Hitchcock and Jasmine Aimaq do
underscore France’s quest for leadership, and reveal the diplomatic acumen
of French leaders in the way they manipulated their American ally. But nei-
ther author explores the role status played in this diplomacy. Aimaq portrays
the EDC as a bargaining ploy that served French colonial ambitions, but, for
all her attention on perceptions, she neglects the connection between those
ambitions and French concerns about its rank in Europe and at the global
level. Hitchcock contends that the French leaders resorted to the “more sub-
tle kinds of power visible within the institutions of the new Europe,” because
they faced a “world order in which power counted for so much and tradi-
tional status so little.”4 This implies that France’s adaptation to interde-
pendence was incompatible with its old goals of grandeur.
But status did matter, even when leaders in France and Italy embraced
and “subtly” manipulated interdependence. For the most part, that manip-
ulation and the two nations’ status concerns were complementary. Yet such
complementarity was not immune from inconsistency, as both governments
used federalism and nationalism interchangeably for their self-promotion.
Status was a crucial, though often understated, motive behind both France’s
proposal for a European Army—together with its corollary, particularly
sponsored by Italy, of a European Political Community (EPC)—and the two
nations’ subsequent failure to ratify the plan. Indeed, both in France and in
Italy the very notion of prestige became increasingly identified with inter-
national statesmanship, albeit with many inconsistencies along the way.
The United States, for its part, tried to take advantage of that evolution.
FRANCE’S QUEST FOR LEADERSHIP

The Schuman Plan gave birth to the first Continental union—by 1951
named European Coal and Steel Community—and signaled France’s rise to
the role of natural leader of European integration. Britain had abdicated
that role, much to the surprise of Paris. Too bound to the Commonwealth,
the sterling area, and the special entente with the United States, London
shied away from inordinately strong ties with the Continent.5
The idea of transforming the Ruhr authority into an international pool
of all Western European coal and steel—an idea Jean Monnet first broached
to U.S. ambassador to London Lewis Douglas in early 1948—was the coup
de genie that reportedly made a Franco-German war “not simply unthink-
able, but materially impossible.” But there were two other crucial implica-
tions for Paris. First, France believed that it could maintain its political
leadership in the Continent only through the build-up of a powerful Euro-
pean economic bloc. As a military power France was weak—it had yet to
Mastering Interdependence? Status, Nationalism, and the European Army Plan 119
recover from the debacle of 1940 and had committed its scarce resources to
Indochina. Moreover, Jean Monnet’s own philosophy of grandeur, so pred-
icated on economic recovery, depended on French political skills (the abil-
ity to forge Europe’s institutions) and on the resources of others, namely
Germany and the United States. Second, and in connection with this
reliance on others, the Schuman Plan envisioned a powerful economic bloc
but without a separation between Europeanism and Atlanticism. Indeed, as
a European initiative framing a Franco-German rapprochement, the plan
satisfied Washington and strengthened Franco-American relations as well.
This rediscovered entente with the United States was the most important
achievement for France, especially as it seemed to erode Britain’s privileged
position in the alliance, while enabling Paris to assume the initiative of a
Franco-German balance of power.6
French leadership in Europe continued to depend on France’s association
with the United States and, through NATO’s command structure, on its
being recognized as a world power. That is why, in late 1950, Paris wel-
comed so enthusiastically the consolidation of NATO and the establishment
of the Standing Group, as well as a larger American role in the OEEC.7
Without such guarantees, Schuman would have hardly pursued other inte-
gration plans. So Monnet’s “Atlanticist” model of integration became inter-
twined with French grandeur. But to understand why that model became
accepted on both sides of the Atlantic, one must analyze how status con-
siderations shaped French fears and hopes from the Schuman Plan to the
EDC project.
Integration and the Atlantic Framework. The first factor that favored
Monnet’s designs was the devaluation of the pound in September 1949—a
sign of London’s unequivocal refusal to integrate with the continental pow-
ers. The British move, coupled with a U.S.-orchestrated devaluation of the
German mark, caused inflationary pressures and labor unrest in France.
Worse still, while London had shunned consultation with its European
associates, it had acted in close cooperation with Washington, rekindling
French fears that the Anglo-Americans would consolidate their special
entente, withdraw from the continent, and leave France alone to deal with
Germany. Moreover, the United States’ leniency toward the British and the
Germans (which was indeed meant to prevent the creation of a closed ster-
ling area and help Europe to cover the dollar gap), seemed to portend
American preference for Bonn’s continental leadership over Paris.8
U.S. reactions confirmed French apprehensions. After the devaluation
“shock,” Acheson urged Schuman to take the lead to “integrate the Ger-
man Federal Republic promptly and decisively into Europe,” warning that
the Germans might otherwise take a “dangerous nationalist turn.” The new
American High Commissioner, John D. McCloy, argued that the “struggle
for the soul of Faust” might be lost if West Germany was not granted equal
partnership in the economic field. Paris yielded, signing the Petersberg pro-
tocols, which virtually stopped the dismantling of German industry, in
return for Bonn’s acceptance of the Ruhr Authority and disarmament.9 But
American pressures, together with growing German assertiveness, also
accelerated the French debate on European integration.
While promoting integration, France made sure to reinforce transatlantic
ties, not only by encouraging a completed NATO, but also trying to improve
the organization in a way that would raise its own status and yet conceal its
low military capability. In April Georges Bidault, as vice-president of the
Council, paralleled Schuman’s initiative with a renewed proposal for a tri-
partite “High Atlantic Command,” this time coordinating defense and eco-
nomic affairs. Such promotion of rank would have allowed France to mon-
itor even more tightly economic Western integration, while preserving its
reliance on U.S. aid. Bidault thus hoped to throw the burden of rearmament
on its allies, especially Washington, while eluding their demands for a Ger-
man military contribution. Little came out of this proposal. Secretary Ache-
son simply promised more consultations within the North Atlantic Council,
the supreme body of NATO, and better coordination among the organiza-
tion’s financial and defense committees.10
Acheson’s response demonstrated America’s increasing ability to finesse
French concerns of status. The secretary of state viewed Bidault’s proposal
as an opportunity to give the French a “semblance” of leadership, which
might actually make them more amenable to German rearmament. A bet-
ter example of America’s growing awareness of French status policies was
an exchange that took place between George Kennan and Charles Bohlen
in the aftermath of the British devaluation. The PPS director was frustrated
by what he called French “neuroses” over Anglo-Saxon conspiracies. The
United States, he remarked, had done everything possible to give the
French “courage and self-confidence in their own dealings with the Ger-
mans.” But if they still went “into hysterics” over a disarmed and parti-
tioned Germany, Kennan wondered, would they “show greater capacity
for leadership and initiative in Europe” once the Germans “emerge[d]
from many of the present controls and handicaps?” Charles Bohlen, now
sharing the State Department’s prevailing skepticism about a European
“third force,” reproached Kennan for following the still widespread ten-
dency to label the feelings of France and other continental nations “as the
product of psychological jitters,” and to justify Britain’s “reservations and
inhibitions,” which, like those of the French, stemmed from deluded
dreams of world mastery. In fact, he argued, “French ‘hysteria’ or neuro-
sis [was] rooted in a very cold-blooded, realistic appraisal of the probable
result” of an American withdrawal from the Continent, which would be a
“German-dominated coalition.”11 Bohlen was not merely presuming
French “realpolitik.” His point was to suggest that Washington had to rec-
ognize the link between France’s concerns over status and its security.
Italy’s Wary Integrationism. Ambitions of rank weighed heavily in

Italy’s reactions to the Schuman Plan. Those reactions foreshadowed
Rome’s more crucial attitude during the EDC debate. The idea of economic
integration within an Atlantic framework elicited great enthusiasm among
the Italians. Rome shared with Paris the hope that the ECSC would expand
economic cooperation not only in Europe but across the Atlantic as well,
while preventing an American monopoly over German resources. Just as
notably, the desire to be on equal footing with France and Germany was
behind Italy’s support of the pool; fear of being marginalized was strong in
Rome, especially after the French Assembly had buried the Franco-Italian
Customs Union. To be sure, the Italian government saw a potential for a
Europe ruled by a coalition of Christian Democratic parties, hence the
prospect of greater prestige and legitimacy for De Gasperi at home. But
above all, as Foreign Minister Carlo Sforza calculated, Italy’s enthusiasm
about integration might help secure America’s special favor. Washington
welcomed the fact that emulation and fear of a Franco-German hegemony
encouraged Italy’s “federative” impulse.12 What remained understated was
that those same feelings of inferiority could lead the Italians in the opposite
direction: Rome might hinder union projects that would relegate it further
into its secondary rank.
Integration and Rearmament. French hopes of controlling Germany’s

economic and military revival through the Schuman Plan were rather short-
lived. With the outbreak of the Korean war in June 1950, the Truman
administration shifted its attention from economic integration to military
preparedness in Europe. The Anglo-Americans now explicitly campaigned
for Bonn’s contribution to Western defense, even membership in NATO. By
September, Washington was asking for up to ten German divisions to be
assigned to a unified NATO command.13
America’s ultimate goal was to foster Europe’s self-reliance; but, as
usual, it was necessary first to reassure the Europeans, and particularly the
French. This reassurance came through the NSC 68 report, the National
Security Council’s recipe for massive U.S. rearmament, and its offspring,
an expanded military assistance program for Western Europe. For the fol-
lowing year, France received the largest share of U.S. aid. Only after the
French “put their military house in order” with American help, Ambas-
sador Douglas explained in July, could they be persuaded to accept Ger-
man rearmament.14
But perhaps the best way to reassure the French was by giving them the
lead. The United States encouraged them to promote German military con-
tribution within a European integration plan, as they had done with the
coal and steel pool. Earlier that year Bidault had told Bruce that he would
accept “some form of German rearmament,” but not Bonn’s inclusion in
NATO. By August the main American officials involved, Douglas, Bruce,
and McCloy had concurred that the initiative for a European Army should
appear all French. In September, Bruce wrote that if Schuman “could relay
to his cabinet a course of action inspired by us but giving the French gov-
ernment opportunity to assert [its] Continental leadership, we
might . . . obtain happy and even unexpected results.” The “appearance”
of leadership, the ambassador anticipated, would help win the approval of
the most dogmatic and chauvinistic Frenchmen, such as Defense Minister
Jules Moch.15
So even though the French had conceived the plan for a European army,
the final impulse came from the Americans, who drew their own distinction
between rank and role: France’s rank would at first be hollow, an “appear-
ance” of leadership satisfying its prestige, while in fact the United States
would determine the final outcome; eventually France’s role would be com-
mensurate to its acceptance of a burden-sharing notion of the alliance, as
well as equality of rights for Germany. France, in sum, could become the
main vehicle of European integration, but only at considerable cost and
without a chance to “hegemonize” Europe and to share world responsibil-
ities with Britain and the United States.
The thinking in Paris was a mirror opposite. When the French rejected
the first American proposal for German rearmament under NATO, they
clearly indicated that they continued to conceive U.S. assistance and their
nation’s position of leadership in the organization as inextricable. Most
French officials, to be sure, quailed at a revived Wehrmacht, since they still
viewed the Germans as precariously balanced between revanchism and
openness to Moscow’s seduction. But what Paris dreaded most was German
rearmament as a prelude to an Anglo-American withdrawal from the Con-
tinent.16 This would not only damage France’s security, but also its “mem-
bership” in the club of world powers, and all the political and economic
assets that derived from such membership.
That was also why, before launching their European army project, the
French again struggled to secure their “Atlantic” position. During the sum-
mer, Bidault, together with the new prime minister, René Pleven, countered
American pressures for an increased military effort with a renewed request
for a tripartite management of the alliance. The new proposal envisioned
that the three powers administer a common defense fund to which each
country would contribute on the basis of its national income—of course
that meant the United States would carry a vastly disproportionate burden.
This was France’s most determined as well as paradoxical attempt at using
its weakness (its poor budget condition) to reshape NATO’s power direc-
torate. It floundered against American opposition. In another bid to
strengthen tripartite cooperation later that year, Jules Moch tried to set up
regular meetings among French, British, and American defense representa-
tives for the exchange of military and technological information. Such dis-
cussions were intended to lessen France’s impression of being confined as a
continental power and merely a provider of infantry. But since Moch could
not prove that the French Defense Ministry was immune from Communist
infiltration, the meetings soon became intermittent.17 After failing to con-
solidate the three-power club the French tackled the idea of a European
army with uncertainty.
The plan they finally came up with was an institutional twin of the coal
and steel pool. On October 24, Pleven announced his project to the
National Assembly: it called for the merging of military budgets, arms pro-
grams, and national forces into a European Army under a European Min-
ister of Defense, who in turn would be responsible to a Council of Minis-
ters from participating countries. Two parts of the plan were calculated to
preserve France’s status vis-à-vis Germany: troops engaged overseas would
be exempt from integration; and some provisions secured coordination with
NATO strategic planning.
Secretary Acheson initially recoiled at what appeared a bit too obviously
as a scheme to defer German involvement in the Atlantic system—one that
“accorded to Germany a second-class status.” But then he resolved to seek
a compromise. In December, the American Deputy Representative on the
North Atlantic Council, Charles Spofford worked out a revised version of
Pleven’s proposal. While maintaining safeguards and limitations on Bonn’s
contribution, the new plan allowed Germany to raise forces in the interim
period; it also strengthened the Atlantic framework by further integrating
NATO under a Supreme Commander (SACEUR), the first being Dwight
Eisenhower. Eisenhower’s Command was yet another reassurance of Amer-
ica’s commitment. This was how Acheson at least presented it the follow-
ing July, arguing that European integration must occur under the protective
“NATO umbrella.”18
In fact, what mattered most was the reinforcement of Germany. The
Spofford compromise was only a step toward a truly autonomous third
force. Eisenhower, Bruce, and McCloy, fervent paladins of this idea, fore-
saw that a European federated army would make American withdrawal
from the Continent possible in a few years. To back up this point, the Amer-
icans described France’s need for self-esteem in a way that blended Kennan’s
view of French “moods” with Bohlen’s effort to understand French security
concerns: U.S. support of the plan, as Ambassador at Large to NATO Philip
Jessup put it in January, would give the French enough prestige “to combat
[their] psychological depression” and increase their “will to resist” against
the enemy. At the end of July the Truman administration began to pin its
hopes on the creation of a European army with a vaguely defined Anglo-
American logistic backing.19
Apparently, the American champions of a European army followed on the
heels of Jean Monnet, who had helped mastermind this integration as well.
In fact, the French Commissioner had never intended to create an
“autonomous” European army. With his faith in “Atlantic” interdependence
unabated, Monnet had conceived a European federated army as “a strength-

ened component of the Atlantic world under American leadership,” as
Gérard Bossuat has described it.20 Yet this was not the kind of “umbrella”
Spofford or Acheson then envisioned. For Monnet, as for the rest of the
French government, integration should enhance, not diminish the French
role in NATO. The link between the EDC and NATO was supposed to
ensure that U.S. assistance to France in particular remain unvaried, while
helping Europe to maintain a “double containment” of Germany and the
Soviet Union. In sum, only as a continental hegemon and one of the big three
NATO powers—both unattainable goals without constant American sup-
port—would France accept German rearmament.
By the summer of 1951 the American idea of the EDC instead preserved
all the authority of the Supreme Commander without the expected advan-
tages: the United States pressed for a revitalized Germany, hinting that
France would be left alone to face it, with Washington and London as dis-
tant arbiters and masters of world politics.21 This was the general reason for
the French government’s progressive loss of faith in its own plan. The nego-
tiations, complicated by growing difficulties overseas, confirmed its misgiv-
ings. It is instructive to highlight how a French sense of declining status
deeply affected the debate.
A German Model of “Transatlanticism.” Clearly the Germans had ral-

lied to the French proposal because they saw it as the best possible basis to
negotiate full recovery of their sovereignty. Conscious of the need to reduce
Europe’s and especially French fears of German preponderance, Chancel-
lor Konrad Adenauer regarded integration as the only way to consolidate
ties with the West and gain freedom of action at the same time. The Chan-
cellor, along with McCloy and Acheson, insisted that an equality of rights
would warrant Germany’s firm alignment with the West. He contended
that full sovereignty—the end of the occupation statute—within an inte-
grated Europe was the only solution between a nationalist resurgence and
timid submission to a French-dominated supranational entity. Privately
Adenauer reckoned that only in the framework of Western integration
could Germany’s economic potential be unleashed. With time, economic
power would beget political influence. Also, if Bonn espoused federalism,
now the cornerstone of U.S. policy in Europe, the Americans would show
even greater solidarity, improving Germany’s chances for continental
prominence.22
In a few months, Germany reaped several concessions. Late in 1951,
under threat of Adenauer’s walkout from the negotiations, Paris acquiesced
to the set-up of German divisions, the very solution the original French plan
was meant to avert. The following May, the Chancellor obtained the exten-
sion of NATO’s guarantee over German territory (actually a step toward
NATO membership), and, what politically counted most, the promise that
the occupation would end when Germany joined the European Army. This
promise was sanctioned in the “contractual agreements,” signed almost
simultaneously with the EDC Treaty at the end of that month. The tripar-
tite occupation of Germany was “one of the French ‘Great Power’ status
symbols,”23 and the contractual agreements reminded France that it owed
that position largely to the expediency of Anglo-American benevolent
diplomacy.
Much more than a “symbol” was at stake. The prospect of German con-
tinental supremacy based on a special bond with Washington seemed to
Paris almost as pernicious as the specter of a German-Russian entente.
French officials thought the Americans naive enough to foster inadvertently
German revanchism in the East.24 But, compounding the French leaders’
concerns about security was their unconcealed fear of losing privileged
access to Washington, and consequently what they regarded as their
nation’s “natural” claim to continental and even world leadership.
Above all, a Bonn-Washington “entente” might corrupt France’s own
notion of “transatlantic” integration. Indeed, Adenauer’s way of gaining
American favor was as troublesome as the substantial implications of that
favor. Thanks to its potential strength and relative political stability, Ger-
many could with ease yield to America’s will. Adenauer managed to shun
the virulent nationalism of his main opponent, the Social Democratic leader
Kurt Schumacher, showing, as he put it, that “patience [was] the sharpest
weapon of the defeated.” His behavior, like that of Churchill after the war,
was another reminder for French leaders that more prosperous and solid
nations than their own could afford compliance and even a certain meek-
ness toward the hegemonic power. Those statesmen appeared dangerous
not only because their conduct by contrast highlighted how divided and
quarrelsome the French were, but also for the different concept of alliance
they suggested.
American presence was supposed to bring benefits as well as certain
inevitable humiliating conditions. For a nation as politically polarized as
France, Bonn and London’s relative acceptance of the second element, albeit
temporary, intensified the danger of internal collapse. Nationalism was a
greater necessity for a state “too poor to be able to bow,” as de Gaulle had
said, even under the American protection the French so querulously invited.
NATO was actually the arena of solidarity the French centrist parties had
elected to “make others respect our independence” in Ramadier’s words of
1948. That is why for example, in June 1951, the French representative at the
Atlantic Council, Hervé Alphand, alerted the Foreign Ministry that “it was
increasingly important to explain . . . NATO airfields, NATO infrastructure
to the French people, portraying them as a triumph of French diplomacy,
which had requested and finally obtained such protection.” Losing the appear-
ance of leadership in the EDC, he warned a month later, was as harmful as los-
ing its substantial privileges. France could be in charge if it was “recognized”
as the undisputable driving force of the European Army. Implicit in this obser-
vation was the deep-seated belief of most French leaders that only their nation
could bring European unity, which in the long term might improve Europe’s
power differential with Washington. Echoing de Gaulle, some French officials
suggested that appearance would help create power, and a veritable European
third force, linked yet not subordinated to America. Bonn’s diplomacy for the
moment entailed a docile Europe (where France’s great power ambitions
would be tamed), and for the long-term an independent Germany free to bend
America and Europe to its own national agenda.25
Refuting German “Meekness”? With this prospect dangling over their

heads, the French kept trying to dismiss German “moral” redemption, but
with very limited success. For instance, at the Lisbon Conference of the
North Atlantic Council in February 1952, France obtained the pledge of a
disproportionate German financial contribution to the EDC. This demand
was based on two premises meant to accentuate French “moral” superior-
ity: first, Germany owed more because it was the “former enemy” Europe
was now ready to defend; and second, France deserved special regard as the
nation carrying “special burdens” in Indochina and courageously fighting
along a Cold War front. But, as a powerful counterpoint to this discrimi-
nation, the most striking result of the Lisbon conference was the endorse-
ment of Germany’s right to raise units at the division level.26
French efforts to underline Germany’s potential for either revanchism or
realpolitik toward Moscow misfired even worse. French officials
denounced Adenauer’s resistance against the “europeanization” of the Saar
region as a sign of German nationalist resurgence. But in early 1952 the
French government appeared the more jingoist of the two, as it tightened its
hold on the district. Even a sympathetic Bruce mused that the “Saar affair
show[ed] in very characteristic fashion how certain blunders and certain
French distrust nurture [a] demanding type of German.”27
The French also kept warning about a possible Soviet-German alignment.
But when Stalin called for the neutralization and reunification of Germany
in his famous note of March 10, 1952, the French Foreign Ministry,
together with the Foreign Office, seemed to take the Soviet offer seriously.
Adenauer was much more wary. Schuman assured Washington that he was
merely trying to prevent the Russians from monopolizing the reunification
issue and avert a much dreaded prospect of a neutralized Germany with a
national army. But undeniably the French remained among the Western
allies the most determined to explore détente with Moscow before rearm-
ing Germany. Washington ascribed this French attitude to the usual neu-
tralist pressures and, significantly, to French nationalism, increasingly
focused against American control. By contrast, Adenauer had repeatedly
reassured U.S. officials that his country had fewer neutralist temptations
than France and Italy, since it was “free from Communist infection.”28
Maintaining World Power Status. German revival could have been

more manageable for French leaders if they had been able to consolidate
their country’s position in the great powers club. The Pleven Plan was based
on the assumption that Great Britain would be coopted into the European
Army or that at least some form of automatic guarantee could be obtained
from London and Washington. The link between security and rank was
tighter than ever on this issue. At the end of 1951, after London announced
it would not join the European Army, Paul Reynaud, the leading French
conservative at the ECSC Assembly, warned that if the French Army was
submerged into a European force while the British Army was not, the
Assemblée Nationale would reject the project “and no one, in their heart of
hearts, would blame it.” Britain, everybody in Paris agreed, was a necessary
counterweight to German power. Most important, Reynaud’s indignation
typified France’s concerns about being confined to a union with the “conti-
nentals,” the “club of the defeated nations.” Meanwhile, Washington made
things worse, as it kept stigmatizing France’s “foot-dragging” while show-
ing sympathy for Britain’s hesitations.29
Fearing demotion, the French reiterated their basic thesis: the preserva-
tion and even improvement of NATO’s summit mechanisms must parallel
the establishment of the European Army. Accordingly, at the eve of the Lis-
bon Conference, the Quai d’Orsay rejected proposals from various quarters
for the assignment of a single European representation at the Atlantic
Council. France simply could not relinquish its privileged membership in
the Standing Group. That membership was the last anchor of its Army’s
national identity, and the best credential for its world power status. More-
over, only by cooperating at this level with the British and the Americans
could France contain their ambitions, which seemed increasingly aimed at
supplanting its interests overseas.
Particularly in response to the Anglo-Americans’ tendency to establish a
condominium of sorts in the Eastern Mediterranean, Paris solicited Ameri-
can firmer control over that area and obtained the extension of SACEUR’s
authority to NATO’s entire Southern Flank. The “invitation” was thus con-
firmed and even reinforced. A more powerful Supreme Commander, how-
ever, was not supposed to “unseat the Standing Group,” as the French del-
egation to the Atlantic Council specified in April 1952, but help it to
develop its “original vocation [sic]” as a worldwide strategic planning body.
Moreover, only with such an expanded role would membership in the
Standing Group be precluded to the other European powers which had no
responsibilities outside the continent. Neither Italy, nor Germany, if a
NATO member in the future, could thus claim equal status.30
France further contended that its “crusade” in Indochina did prove its
world power status—a status that still hinged on American cooperation.
Paris demanded separate assistance from Washington for its overseas obli-
gations, in addition to its share of U.S. aid to the EDC. This emphasis on
what Schuman called France’s “five years of sacrifices” in East Asia had
two motivations: the fear that a European army would be dominated by
Germany, should the French keep fighting in Indochina (or that in an effort
to match the Germans militarily, “the French would lose their economic
lead over them”); and the attempt at portraying all challenges to the French
empire as a Cold War development—the common cause for which Wash-
ington and Paris should pull their resources together.31 Either motive
reflected France’s continuous belief that the Empire was still its best vehicle
to influence in the world.
French Status, America’s Burdens. Washington appositely reversed this

perspective, arguing that Paris should focus primarily on its more limited
goals as a European power. Dreams of imperial grandeur hindered the
buildup of an effective European force, especially if France insisted on the
correlation between its contributions and those of Germany. The United
States would, however, shore up France’s European and overseas commit-
ments, as long as the French served the collective interests of the West in
Indochina, not their own. Since the beginning of 1950, Washington had
vastly expanded its assistance to the embattled French, and at the same time
it had exhorted them to grant independence to Vietnam under Emperor Bao
Dai. Since France evoked the specter of the Communist monolith, the
Americans argued, the French should then accept to fight for the establish-
ment of a pro-Western independent nation rather than the preservation of
an unpopular colonial regime. At the 1952 Lisbon Conference, Washington
pledged special aid to France, including Indochina—yet not as much as the
French had expected; nor enough to quell their resentment of American
pressures. In October, President Vincent Auriol complained that while
France had paid an exorbitant amount “for the freedom of the West” in
Indochina, “the nation of the rights of man” was “put on trial in the United
Nations” (on the issue of independence in North Africa).32
It is significant that, while U.S. political pressures hurt French self-
esteem, Paris’ status policies had the effect of increasing American financial
and military commitments to Europe and France in particular. So in the end
Washington had neither the benefit of a more self-confident France nor that
of a diminished burden.
Besides Indochina, there were two other ways in which French status
concerns led to greater concessions. The first one was rather indirect.
French pursuit of a privileged position prompted the minor powers
involved in the EDC project to invoke a strong link between the European
Army and the Anglo-Americans. The Benelux states and Italy waited for
Washington’s endorsement of the project before giving their assent. Still, the
Benelux countries remained rather anxious about the idea of a European
Army, mostly because they regretted the absence of their traditional protec-
tor, Britain. At the same time, they dreaded falling under the hegemony of
a “sinking power” like France, as in late 1951 the secretary general of the
Dutch Foreign Ministry acrimoniously put it. To overcome the hesitations
of the Dutch and Belgians, Washington specified that the EDC would most
likely enjoy U.S. assistance. Ironically, in an effort to bring the Europeans
together and to assuage their fears about French hegemonic designs, the
United States had to vow its indefinite intervention in their affairs. In an
even more paradoxical twist, its aid priority to the EDC, calculated to cre-
ate consensus, was to become another issue of contention with French lead-
ers, who increasingly felt blackmailed, worried that their nation would lose
its “due” share of financial assistance, and would consequently be placed at
the same level as the other “continentals.”33
In order to combat those feelings and prevent a complete breakdown of
the EDC Conference in early 1952, the United States gave France additional
incentives. This was the most direct impact French status concerns had on
American commitments. Along with Great Britain, the United States prom-
ised to stay in Germany “as long as it appear[ed] necessary” to prevent Ger-
man secession from the European army. Washington also helped the French
obtain a British pledge of “automatic” armed assistance to all EDC parties.
But this was only for the duration of NATO, that is, twenty years (the EDC
had a fifty-year term). Under such limitations, this commitment was still a
meager consolation for the French. And, as Massigli noted, there was no
reassurance that France’s relations with the other two members of the
Standing Group would not be loosened. Paris then requested further inter-
locking guarantees among the Brussels Treaty, NATO and the EDC, espe-
cially in regard to NATO’s American commanders. Acheson decided to
promise additional support and, as a face-saving device for Adenauer, a sep-
arate protocol for safeguarding Berlin.34
The EDC Treaty was signed on May 27, with much public fanfare, but
still a good deal of private skepticism on the French side. Leaders in Paris
conceived the period between the signature and the ratification of the treaty
as another bargaining opportunity, a necessary time lag to extract more
concessions from the United States. After ratification, they believed, the
opportunity would be lost, and the EDC, as they saw it, would lead almost
certainly to unconditional German rearmament.35
Public Opinion and National Honor. But even the most fervent inte-
grationists, such as Schuman, knew that no amendment short of an almost
complete transformation of the treaty would be sufficient to win domestic
approval. Internal repercussions of the EDC as much as its international
vicissitudes corroded their faith in their own idea. The French leaders’ con-
cerns for security and status seemed to pale in comparison with the French
generals’ and the French people’s attachment to national identity and pres-
tige. The Pleven Plan was, as Georges-Henri Soutou has called it, a “mon-
stre juridique et politique,” oblivious of the main currents of opinion
among the French public and the Army. It failed to take into account, in
Edward Fursdon’s words, “France’s immemorial military traditions, the
sanctity of its army’s flag and uniform, and its revulsion to the whole idea
of a European defence force.”36 Most top military officials, including the
highest authority, General Pierre Alfonse Juin—Commander in Chief of
NATO’s Central European Sector from 1951—relentlessly portrayed the
Armée as the abiding symbol of the nation’s pride and glory. It is interest-
ing to note that the “symbolic,” or nominal loss of authority seemed to
these officials far more appalling than the “substantial” dependence on the
United States they engendered with their requests for help and advice,
especially in Indochina. The few who favored the EDC, such as General
Paul Ely—a friend of Eisenhower—significantly conceived the European
Army as an independent “third force,” in which the French contribution
would be predominant. It is also noteworthy that the Army’s characteris-
tic attachment to its glorious traditions—and to the empire, another sym-
bol of the past—became even more morbid as a consequence of the recent
defeat. Like the politicians, the military leaders cherished the nation’s past
in a desperate attempt to overcome its present weakness and their own
feelings of inferiority.37
Politics did not bode well for the EDC either. De Gaulle’s Rassemblement
du Peuple Français (RPF) made its triumphal entry in the National Assem-
bly, gaining over 21 percent at the elections of June 1951. This shift to the
right, together with steady popular support for the Communists, indicated
that the public condemned the government’s apparent “subservience” to
American interests. A supranational army was anathema to Charles de
Gaulle. For the sake of national independence, and confident of France’s
military potential, he was ready to accept a European defense force made
of strong independent states, including a rearmed Germany. Integration, he
believed, had become a snare Washington set on France to deprive it of its
equality with Britain and the United States and to include Germany in an
ultimate Anglo-Saxon entente. Along with most of France’s top military and
government officials, de Gaulle knew that to become “independent” and
one of the great powers, France had to rely heavily on U.S. aid for the time
being; but more tenaciously than government leaders, he considered such
aid as a contribution to the “common cause.” American refusal to grant as
much as France needed was therefore yet another offense to the nation lead-
ing the battle for Western Civilization in Indochina.
The Gaullist rebellion exacerbated the anti-American tones of French
nationalism in this period and, Ambassador Bruce pointed out, ultimately
played into the hands of the Communists. Certainly, it sowed further uncer-
tainty and divisions in the centrist coalition. The main Radical Party lead-
ers, Pierre Mendès France and Edouard Herriot, shared the RPF’s resent-
ment against American impositions. The Christian Democrats, sensitive to
criticism from the right, had a divided soul on supranationality; Bidault in
particular had never shared Schuman’s enthusiasm about the EDC and was
ready to strike deals with the Gaullists. Most Socialists posed as zealous
integrationists: this meant they wanted all—that is, inclusion of Great
Britain—or nothing. Worried about being outflanked by Communist prop-
aganda, they were also first to explore the possibility of compromise with
Moscow.38
The government of Antoine Pinay in the second half of 1952 epitomized
the main inconsistency of the centrist coalition. A conservative with pop-
ulist leanings, the prime minister relied on Gaullist backing and promised
to lessen the effects on the French economy of an American-imposed rear-
mament, relaunch the country’s consumer sector, and resist the interna-
tional anticolonial campaign. In order to do all this, however, he had to ask
for more American military assistance, which Washington would grant on
the usual conditions, in particular progress on the EDC treaty. This in turn
caused further indignation in the prime minister against U.S. pressures.
Pinay faced the same problem as previous French leaders; he only carried it
to its extreme consequences. Caught between a demanding public opinion
and the nation’s limited resources, he undertook the impossible task of
“combin[ing] a hat-in-hand attitude with national dignity,” as the paper
Combat quipped.39
A similar ambivalence regarding the issue of French honor was thus fos-
tered in Washington. James Dunn, then ambassador to Paris, understood
that the issue was more prominent than ever. On October 11 he concluded:
If we are to maintain and strengthen our Atlantic partnership, we have got to treat
our partners as truly partners. We must use our great strength and influence very
gently and tactfully. We must consult our partners more and earlier in [the] formu-
lation of our own policies. We must be careful not to give [the] impression of inter-
vening in their internal affairs and not to ask them to do things we are not prepared
to do ourselves.
A few weeks later, an embittered Acheson specified that the French idea of
honor and partnership presumed unlimited U.S. backing as much as tact
and respect: “while we are able to support them and agree with them up to
90% of their views and wishes,” he fumed, “we cannot do so 100%.”40
More enthusiastic about European federalism and more fiscally conserva-
tive than its predecessor, the Eisenhower administration would be even less
patient with Paris.
ITALY’S REACTIONS: THE QUEST FOR HARMONY?

With its characteristic opportunism, Italy sought to improve its interna-
tional position by following the main power. It hesitated to embrace the
EDC until Washington did. What was new, in its acceptance of a European
Army, was that the De Gasperi cabinet became plus realiste que le roi, the
most ardently integrationist among the allies. Yet this position was moti-
vated for the most part by Italy’s obdurate attempt to reach equality with
the major European powers—it was not, however, immune from grave con-
tradictions.
NATO First. Reliance on American hegemony remained Italy’s policy. De

Gasperi repeatedly specified that the European Army should remain under
NATO control. Through the Atlantic Pact Italy was seemingly attaining its
goals of status, security, and internal stability. European integration outside
NATO might shortchange the cooperation with Washington that the Ital-
ians had so doggedly pursued. Rome welcomed in principle a defense line
at the Elbe river. But without U.S. protection such defense made little sense
for Italy, since the Pleven Plan resumed the Brussels Treaty’s focus on cen-
tral Europe at the expense of the Mediterranean. Italy’s fear of being neg-
lected was clearly combined with its feelings of inferiority. Rome knew that
the French and the Germans would dominate the community, much as the
British controlled the Western Union. The influential conservative leader
Giovanni Malagodi argued in July 1951 that, once the EDC was estab-
lished, the other European nations, and probably the United States, would
“assist us only in case of internal strife or severe political difficulties (to be
repressed in case of need by units ‘of foreign language’ stationed in Italy).”41
Equal partnership entailed a patient work of prevention, not repression.
The Italians believed that Washington, under an EDC scheme, might easily
opt for the latter, treating Italy more like a client than a partner.
To avert such prospect, the Italians concluded, required not only rein-
forcing NATO but expanding it south. De Gasperi eagerly backed Turkish
and Greek requests to join the alliance in September 1951. The prime min-
ister’s motivations resembled those of France when it supported Rome’s
candidacy in 1948: the alliance with Ankara and Athens increased the
importance of the Mediterranean area of defense, and, even more, of Italy
as the hinge between NATO’s Northern and Southeast sectors. Such a role
would also give Italy greater say on Yugoslavia (Rome resented U.S.-led
negotiations to associate its number one enemy with NATO). After the
inclusion of Greece and Turkey in the alliance, the Italian government
dropped its last objections to the EDC project.42
Military or Political? Italian leaders were realistic enough not to rely

primarily on the promotion of their nation as a “military” power. They
actually conceived NATO reinforcement as a guarantee of continuous
American military assistance. Even after Washington had persuaded the
British and the French to remove the peace treaty’s military restrictions,
Italy continued to expect U.S. aid for its rearmament.43 While the EDC con-
firmed the military emphasis of Western integration, the Italians kept press-
ing for economic and political integration, which better served both Italy’s
ambitions of rank and its economic interests.
The Italian government argued that the main risk it faced was that of
internal subversion, not foreign attack. A military build-up, it reiterated,
would divert basic resources from the country’s economic recovery, thus
rekindle social tension and benefit the Communists. Moves toward rear-
mament also corroborated Communist charges of the government’s sub-
servience to American “orders.” Rome’s argument became stronger once
the possibility of Soviet action in Europe to capitalize on the outbreak of
the Korean war subsided. At the Atlantic Council held in Ottawa in Sep-
tember 1951, De Gasperi began Italy’s long campaign for the implementa-
tion of NATO’s article 2, which called for closer economic collaboration
among allies. During a visit to Washington a few days later, the prime min-
ister told Acheson that Italy had supported Greek and Turkish NATO mem-
bership not so much in order to strengthen the military aspect of the
alliance as to improve economic cooperation between Northern and South-
ern Europe.44
The Italian government was even more explicit on recouping prestige as
a universally recognized democratic nation. It was for this reason, for
example, that Italy showed more flexibility than France on German reha-
bilitation. A morally restored Germany reflected well on Italy’s own full
redemption in the eyes of the world. The restoration of Italy’s military
rights, De Gasperi specified to Acheson, were not sufficient to “correct [its]
moral position.” Admission to the United Nations was needed as well. The
prime minister reproached the West for failing to press Moscow hard
enough to surrender its veto.45
Rome’s position on the EDC blended two images of Italy, as a morally
redeemed nation, and as a champion of cooperation in the Western alliance.
In the fall of 1951 Italy became the main sponsor of the plan’s expansion
toward a European Political Community (EPC).46 Within a political com-
munity, Italy believed it could better safeguard its interests, press for the
economic aspects of European cooperation and downplay military con-
cerns. Through the very authority De Gasperi would gain by outdoing
France and other partners as architect of integration, the Italian govern-
ment might enjoy greater international leverage. In a way, the diplomacy
and prestige of ideas was supposed to compensate for the diplomacy and
prestige of power which Italy did not have.
Italy’s EPC, America’s Burdens. Several American officials, with Eisen-

hower leading the way, were enthusiastic about European federalism, but
skeptical about the intentions of the Europeans, and of the Italians in par-
ticular. To be sure, Washington noted that a new form of “European patri-
otism was now overlapping nationalism,” as the French delegate Hervé Alp-
hand reported in August 1951, with a tendency among the three main
contracting nations, France, Italy, and Germany, to emulate one another in

advancing Continental union.47 But the State Department kept suspecting
that Rome’s initiative was, more or less consciously, another delaying tactic.
By the time De Gasperi started campaigning for the EPC, Washington con-
cluded that the French and the Italians in particular had an “insatiable
appetite” for economic reconstruction and the large amounts of U.S. aid it
required, and that they made that the essential “prerequisite to a greater
defense effort.”48 The Americans thus confirmed that the price for becoming
a “partner” was the assumption of more responsibility; rank—or decision-
making power—ultimately had to be commensurate with role—or military
contribution—in a fast-recovering Europe.
That is why a few months earlier Washington, while satisfied with a
morally restored Italy, had also tried to bolster the ally’s military reputation,
both by pressing for the lifting of peace treaty restrictions and by paying
homage to the Italian armed forces. Eisenhower rushed to Italy shortly after
his appointment as Supreme Commander. In Rome he declared that what had
prevented the Italians from showing their military value in the last two wars
was the lack of a “good cause” and “good leaders,” both of which they now
possessed.49 While this acknowledgment worked as a morale-booster, it failed
to prod the Italian government into spending considerably more on defense.
EPC and Nationalism. Italy’s drive for greater economic and political
integration would have probably enjoyed a better reception in the United
States, had the Italian government not contradicted that position with its
nationalist stance over Trieste. During his visit in Washington in September,
De Gasperi hinted that he would not introduce the EDC Treaty in Parlia-
ment before obtaining a satisfactory settlement on the disputed area. Status
in Italy, as in France, maintained strong jingoistic accents that clearly ran
against the Italians’ quest for prestige through “European” patriotism.
Nationalism was in part a way for the Italian government to offset its image
as NATO’s ultra-loyalist, and to preempt Communist propaganda. And
even though the prime minister had built a solid constituency among the
Italian youth for his EPC project, the majority of the Italian public was
experiencing a nationalist revival. The State Department had started ana-
lyzing the nationalist phenomenon as early as the summer of 1950, ascrib-
ing it to Italy’s “almost miraculous” economic recovery, the open sore of the
colonial and Trieste questions and, not least, a natural end to the “period
of self-vilification” that followed the shameful performance of the Fascist
regime. In January 1952, Ambassador Dunn began to report frantically
about this situation: “the astonishing economic recovery of Italy,” he wrote,
“ha[d] concealed the relatively much slower program in psychological and
moral recovery.” All parties, he added, “increasingly rel[ied] on [a] nation-
alist appeal as [a] measure of self-assertion and to distract [the public] from
internal difficulties.” Worst of all, after so many years of American con-

trols, even Italian moderates and right-wingers started imitating many of
the worst examples of French anti-Americanism. The government in Rome
felt “the need” for at least an apparent independence toward the United
States, Dunn concluded.50
After the signing of the EDC Treaty, Italy escalated its demands for inter-
national recognition through UN membership and a favorable settlement
on its Northeastern borders. As the alarm over Soviet intentions continued
to diminish, the center-left parties voiced their opposition to the idea of a
militarized community, while nationalists of all colors dictated the public
mood with their obsession on Trieste. Italian patriotism no longer blamed
the Soviets but the Western powers for their failure to deliver what they had
promised to Italy since 1945, finding particular fault with the Allies’ obvi-
ous attempts to seduce Yugoslavia. Pressed politically, De Gasperi had to
resort to populist appeals.51
But nationalist demagoguery also played into the hands of the Commu-
nists. Worse still, Italy might begin to slide toward conciliation with the
Soviets. Even as staunch an anti-Communist as Ambassador Tarchiani wel-
comed a Soviet invitation in June 1952 to drop the reciprocal vetoes against
Italian, Bulgarian, and Roumanian UN membership.
The United States realized that it needed to assuage Italy’s resurgent
pride. On September 4, the U.S. assistant secretary of state for European
affairs, James Bonbright recommended a rapid settlement on Trieste, and,
especially, the extension of economic aid to Italy “in an amount sufficient
to prevent feelings of national affront and renewed suspicion of a lack of
regard for Italy as a member of the Western alignment.”
The subversive potential of Communist “nationalism” became particu-
larly acute by 1952. It was certainly in James Dunn’s mind when, in his
October memorandum, he urged the administration to provide an appear-
ance of partnership with France and Italy. By treating the two allies as sup-
plicants, he warned, Washington would “give ammunition . . . to Com-
mie charges that we dominate Eur[opean] ‘satellites.’ ” 52 Drawing domestic
support away from the French and Italian Communists would dramatically
improve the chances for EDC ratification. Dunn hoped Washington would
continue to confront the Communist brand of nationalism in Western
Europe, as it had done since the end of the war. The problem was much
more urgent by the early 1950s because, even though the PCI’s and PCF’s
patriotic credentials were not as strong as in the postwar period, the dis-
ruptiveness of their nationalist propaganda reached its peak. The French
and Italian governments’ drive for European integration lent the Commu-
nist parties a chance to pose a more assertive definition of their nations’
identities and prestige. In order to understand the Communist campaign, it
is important to review the origins of “red grandeur.”
CONFRONTING COMMUNIST NATIONALISM

Background. The appeal of the French and Italian Communist parties
was emotional as much as economic. By identifying capitalist oppression
with American “domination,” that appeal combined a promise of material
improvement with a defense of national independence. The two parties
could project an idealistic image of a Soviet-dominated world, since
Moscow was at safe distance, and overemphasize the oppressive nature of
the American presence.
Thanks to their record during the Resistance and their government roles
from 1944, the PCF and PCI projected themselves as national parties that
attracted supporters from the middle class as well as the working class.
Being a leftist had always been a sort of badge of honor in France; in the
aftermath of the Fascist experience, it became that way for many Italians as
well.53 With right-wing nationalism discredited, the PCF and, even more,
the PCI appealed to many intellectuals, who were only too eager to reject
their own bourgeois past as the main culprit for Europe’s recent tragedy. In
addition, anti-Americanism was an entrenched tradition among intellectu-
als in both countries. Posing as true guardians of national aspirations, the
PCF and PCI almost fulfilled Antonio Gramsci’s dream of “cultural hege-
mony,” at least until the mid-1950s. Their electoral strides seemed to prove
the Italian philosopher’s belief that cultural influence—or prestige—must
precede the attack on the economic “structures” of capitalism.54
The two parties reinforced their patriotic credentials by embracing the
rhetoric of national prestige. At the 1944 PCF Congress Thorez began to
mimic de Gaulle, declaring that “the independence of France and the
restoration of its grandeur, sacred vow of all our heroes, must be the lead-
ing principle of the future foreign policy of the country.” In competition
with Vichy first, then with de Gaulle, the PCF claimed to be the true heir of
Joan of Arc: Thorez, the fils du peuple, the Communists insisted, was the
spiritual equivalent of la fille du peuple, a comparison which also stressed
the inherent “patriotism” of the working class. Likewise, the PCI repeatedly
evoked its Resistance record as a continuation of the Risorgimento. Togli-
atti claimed the task of restoring national pride among the Italian youth
after “the vacuum created by the collapse of Fascism.” He also argued that
Italy could aspire to real grandezza only if it “let its most progressive forces,
that is, the working class and its vanguard, lead the nation.”55
All this emphasis on national identity and grandeur was, for sure, incon-
sistent with the two parties’ allegiance to Moscow. But since France and
Italy were in the Western camp, the Communists of both countries enjoyed
the advantage of not having to confront their promise of an alternative
world with everyday reality. Expulsion from the government in 1947 gave
them another pretext to portray themselves as the “lonely and stalwart
defenders” of national sovereignty.56
The United States immediately recognized the multiple threat posed by

the two Communist parties. At first Washington considered Communist
nationalism to be a tactical diversion from the ultimate goal of “interna-
tional” revolution.57 Most U.S. diplomats in Rome and Paris, however, soon
realized that the Italian and French Communists’ nationalist rhetoric was a
threat in itself, regardless of its function as a cover for insurrection schemes.
The PCF could easily exploit the nation’s fears of Germany to gain popu-
larity and cripple Western integration plans. The battle against the “Ger-
man menace” still evoked France’s deepest patriotism. That feeling now sig-
nificantly coincided with the Soviet Union’s rhetoric and rationale for its
own expansion. “The Soviet Trojan horse in France,” Ambassador Caffery
wrote in 1947, “is so well camouflaged that millions of communist mili-
tants, sympathizers, and opportunists have been brought to believe that the
best way to defend France is to identify French national interests with the
aims of the Soviet Union.” Between 1945 and 1947, the Italian Commu-
nists and Socialists championed the wartime Grand Alliance rather than a
straightforward adherence to Moscow, arguing that a minor power like
Italy would enjoy greater status and greater margin for maneuver as a non-
aligned nation.58
Background II: The Strategy of “Indirection.” Through the 1940s
Washington devised a few contingency plans against possible insurrections,
but mostly resorted to economic rehabilitation as the best weapon to bol-
ster the legitimacy of the moderate and conservative parties in both coun-
tries. Yet the Americans had to fight not only for the stomachs but also for
the hearts and minds of the Europeans, by cloaking their influence, making
aid look less conditional, the political and strategic alliance with Paris and
Rome less imposing, and generally by convincing the French and the Ital-
ians that American hegemony respected pluralism. The United States,
according to George Kennan, would prove its pluralism exactly by avoid-
ing any highly publicized interference in the two nations. The solution to
those nations’ problems had to be, or appear, as much as possible an indige-
nous one. Consequently, Washington held a prudent attitude during the
French and Italian government crises that led to the expulsion of the
extreme left parties in May 1947. Rather America’s mission, Kennan reit-
erated at the end of 1947, was to strengthen, through economic and diplo-
matic support, the “natural forces of resistance within each respective coun-
try the communists are attacking.”59
So once the United States became more involved to fight against Com-
munist influence, it did so indirectly, through secret funding, advice, and
other forms of covert support, and by letting local anti-Communist forces
carry out public actions. The most successful of such operations, the CIA’s
secret funding of the centrist parties for the Italian elections of 1948,
seemed to prove the point.60
Even the propaganda publicizing the benefits of U.S. economic aid fol-
lowed an indirect approach: although Washington—in cooperation with
Hollywood—orchestrated the publicity campaign for the Marshall Plan, it
preferred to use the local governments, labor groups, and media networks
to carry out the job. Recovery, too, had to appear as indigenous as possi-
ble, a national success achieved in cooperation, not under the direction of
the United States.61
The United States hoped that by bolstering the reputation of French and
Italian centrist parties as true representatives of their nations’ interests, it
would expose the contradiction between the PCF’s and PCI’s nationalist
stance and their subservience to Moscow. The PCI and PCF were particu-
larly damaged by their regimentation under the Cominform (a renewed ver-
sion of the Comintern). At the first meeting of the organization in Septem-
ber 1947, Soviet official Andrei Zhdanov instructed the French and Italian
Communists to hold “aloft the banner of defence of national independence
and sovereignty in their countries.”62 Evidently, the two parties’ nationalism
appeared “commanded,” as their insurrectionary strikes of late 1947
against the Marshall Plan demonstrated.
Integration vs. Communist “Grandeur.” Despite this handicap, the

French and Italian Communists continued their strong nationalist appeal,
particularly capitalizing on their nations’ uncertainties about European
integration. By joining a Western economic and military system, the two
parties argued, France and Italy had capitulated to American interests. The
French Communists dismissed the Marshall Plan as the latest Anglo-Saxon
scheme to rehabilitate Germany at the expense of France’s industrial poten-
tial and grandeur. Similarly, the PCI claimed that the ERP belittled Italy’s
role in Europe by confirming American hegemony, electing France and
Great Britain as America’s “second-rate imperialist powers,” and casting
Italy as the “loser in the scramble for American money.”63
Progress toward the rehabilitation of West Germany and prospects
toward its rearmament lent the French Communists a fresh opportunity to
accuse Schuman and Bidault of selling out national interests and provoking
another war. From the time of the London Accords of 1948 the Gaullists
and the Communists found themselves in an odd alliance against “Bidault’s
German policy,” as Ambassador Caffery noted with alarm. In Italy, as we
noted, the Communists demonized the government’s “warmongering”
adhesion to NATO, exploiting the Italian public’s aversion to military
alliances. And with Tito’s “heresy” in full bloom by 1948, the PCI could
more comfortably combine allegiance to Moscow and nationalist claims
against Yugoslavia, now even guilty of making deals with NATO.64
Thanks primarily to these antimilitary campaigns, the two Communist
parties managed to maintain international prominence and a vast national
audience. To be sure, the impetus for the peace strategy came from the Com-
inform, which sponsored the establishment of the World Movement of Peace

Partisans in April 1949, and promoted the famous Stockholm Appeal of the
following March, calling for disarmament and a ban on nuclear weapons.
Although Soviet intentions were obvious—to block the Atlantic Pact, then to
derail German rearmament—the movement galvanized the progressive pub-
lic opinion in Europe. Thanks to the campaign’s lure, the association of dis-
armament with totalitarian Communism became less manifest. Taking the
initiative for a peace ballot in their countries, the French and Italian Com-
munists gathered a number of signatures far beyond that of their party affil-
iation. By early 1951 the Peace Movement, especially in France, targeted the
EDC, with a success almost equaling that of the Stockholm Appeal.65
These propaganda victories allowed Communist leaders to harmonize the
various strings of their “grandeur” policies: Thorez and Togliatti stood at
the helm of an international movement, an alternative to that of Monnet,
Schuman, or De Gasperi; they used pacifism to emphasize their commit-
ment to national independence against American imperialism; and as the
“natural” defenders of the economically oppressed, they complemented
their patriotism with a display of concern for their countries’ welfare,
allegedly threatened by a U.S.-imposed rearmament effort. The Communist
discourse was thus a blend of three different notions of prestige: national-
istic, moral, and economic.
While easing the French and Italian Communists from their political iso-
lation, this campaign hardly portended imminent electoral reversals. It
could however sabotage the European defense effort. The call for peace was
“a powerful propaganda vehicle,” Caffery had noted early in 1949, for “it
coincide[d] with the deep and instinctive aspirations of the [French]
masses.” That propaganda for sure reinforced the French and Italian gov-
ernments’ tendency to use diplomatic blackmail during the EDC negotia-
tions. French leaders constantly adduced Communist and Gaullist anti-
Americanism as main reasons for procrastinating. De Gasperi tried to
convince Truman that if the peace campaign could be offset with allied con-
cessions on Trieste, the PCI’s nationalist appeal would be thwarted, and
“the remaining problem in Italy w[ould] be largely economic”—evidently,
in the prime minister’s view, easier to tackle. Moreover, for the sake of play-
ing off the Communist campaign, Paris and Rome seemed dangerously
prone to appeasement with Moscow. At least that was how the United
States interpreted the French response to the Kremlin’s 1952 proposal on
Germany; or how, a year earlier, the State Department had taken a sugges-
tion from Carlo Sforza to test Soviet intentions by announcing a “non-
aggression pact.” Finally, the danger of the French and Italian Communists’
peace offensive lay in its success as much as in its failure: this campaign,
American diplomats started warning as early as 1949, could be the two par-
ties’ last attempt to pull out of their political isolation; if it resulted in a
debacle, the Communists could resort to violence.66
The PSB and the Struggle for European Integration. All these risks
prompted the Truman administration to perfect its own instruments of psy-
chological warfare. Still uncomfortable with adopting the enemy’s own
methods—“propaganda,” with all its pejorative connotations, simply
seemed “un-American”—the United States preferred to launch its psycho-
logical offensive in the West (and across the Iron Curtain), using its method
of “indirection.” Washington tried to counter the two Communist parties
by resorting to all indigenous means available in France and Italy, from gov-
ernment to private associations, and from organized groups to the media.67
The United States began to strike back at the Communist Peace Movement
as early as 1949, helping to organize parallel pacifist campaigns under the
leadership of pro-Western groups, the most dynamic of which was the Union
Démocratique pour la Paix et la Liberté in France. By the early 1950s the pur-
pose of these organizations became not only to denounce the deceitfulness of
Communist propaganda, but also to rally French, Italian, and German public
opinion, especially the youth, around the banner of European integration.68
The United States needed to forestall Soviet “phony” pacifism, and
simultaneously tame its own allies’ nationalist resurgence, which the PCF
and PCI so easily brandished against the European Defense project. By
stressing the identification of pacifism with Western integration, Washing-
ton also meant to encourage statesmen such as Schuman and De Gasperi to
aspire to international prestige as leaders of the European movement rather
than as guardians of national prerogatives.
Significantly it was at the onset of the EDC debate that the Truman
administration undertook a thorough coordination of its anti-Communist
offensive. In April 1951 the president authorized the creation of a Psycho-
logical Strategy Board (PSB) as an annex to the National Security Council,
including the under secretary of state, the deputy secretary of defense and
the CIA director.69 By the end of 1951 this board relaunched a campaign for
peace and European integration, while developing more specific plans for
the reduction of Communist power in France and Italy. By sponsoring var-
ious information and education programs—through the local media and
the activities of the United States Information and Education (USIE)—the
PSB targeted public opinion. Through secretly coded projects (“Cloven” for
France, “Demagnetize” for Italy), it helped the governments in Paris and
Rome to take bold measures, such as the removal of Communists from key
political or military offices, the passage of electoral laws that granted a
prize to coalition parties, restrictions on leftist-oriented press, a distribution
of Off-Shore Procurement contracts that discriminated against industries
where communist trade unions were predominant, the banning of certain
demonstrations, raids on the two parties’ headquarters, and seizure of their
paramilitary capabilities. This last measure was important to preclude any
insurrection the Communists might have been tempted to wage in case their
anti-EDC campaign failed.70
These plans thus dealt with a variety of issues, but the main thrust of the
PSB remained to maneuver French and Italian nationalism, or at least to sti-
fle Communist attempts of exploiting nationalist feelings. The 1951 elec-
toral tests underscored an obvious nationalist turn in both France and Italy.
This made the French and Italian governments more jealous than usual of
their sovereignty. The Truman administration for its part confirmed that it
had to keep its propaganda role as invisible as possible. This caution had to
be applied to all the PSB campaigns, from the most innocent ones to the
repressive measures of “Cloven” and “Demagnetize.” In order to avoid
leaks that would surely have tarnished the image of the United States as well
as that of the French and Italian administrations, only a handful of officials
in Washington and in the embassies had complete knowledge of the opera-
tions. The ambassadors were the sole links between the PSB and the gov-
ernments in Rome and Paris. But while potentially in charge of the opera-
tions, the two chief diplomats never took their task beyond “discreet
stimulation,” as James Dunn put it in July 1952. Sometimes, the United
States found itself rejecting requests from French and Italian officials
(whose “jealous” protection of national sovereignty was not always consis-
tent) for more overt forms of support. By leaning too heavily on Washing-
ton, even the “hard-fisted” Pinay government might “dampen its ardor” in
cracking down on the Communists, Ambassador Dunn observed, and “put
the blame on us in case of failure.”71
While operating behind the scenes, the United States encouraged Italian
and French leaders to couch the assault on Communism in terms of
national security. The two governments needed to revamp their image as
undisputable guardians of national sovereignty. Helping this argument,
raids on Communist Party headquarters revealed the intimate role the
Soviet Union played in the PCI’s and PCF’s strategies plans and tactics. The
most famous of such raids led to the arrest of PCF’s leader Jacques Duclos
on charges of conspiracy in May 1952. Three months later the PSB panel in
Paris concluded:
by pointing out its pro-Soviet and anti-militarist activities [the Peace Campaign], the
Government has been endeavoring to undermine other principal sources of the
[Communist] Party’s strength—its guise of being merely a leftist French political
party and its false reputation for patriotism . . . This type of campaign is particu-
larly timely in view of the current resurgence of French nationalistic sentiment.
Just as important, exposing the Communists as Soviet pawns allowed the

French and Italian governments to strike a middle path between two
extreme options: indiscriminate repression of the Communist parties, which
could alienate support from the center-left, and radical reform, which
appeared premature, given the growing strength of the right-wing parties.
Unfortunately, entrenched conservative leaders, especially in Italy, tended to
adduce the Cold War dichotomy as a pretext to neglect “basic structural

distortions and inequalities,” which the PSB considered, next to left-wing
nationalism, a main cause of Communist strength.72
With domestic reform thus limited, the PSB’s struggle for the “hearts and
minds” remained a strenuous one. Both propaganda and repressive measures
had a limited effect, as Dunn reported from Rome in January 1952, partly
because standards of living were still low in France and Italy, and because
both countries’ government coalitions suffered from factional divisions, while
the extreme left profited from its self-discipline and demagoguery. The Eisen-
hower administration tried to improve America’s ability to conduct psycho-
logical warfare by restoring the main initiative for psychological strategies to
the State Department in late 1953 with a new Operations Coordinating
Board (OCB), but without appreciable results.73 Inexperience and lack of the
“political instrumentalities” available to the Soviet Union, as Dunn saw it,
certainly marred U.S. propaganda. In addition, psychological warfare and the
strategy of “indirection” had inherent drawbacks.
The main trouble with covert operations was that they easily lent them-
selves to manipulation by their beneficiaries. Rather than creating self-
reliant political allies, the strategy of indirection tended to reinforce a
patron-client relationship, with all the reciprocal blackmails typical of
dependency, as the campaign for the Italian elections of 1948 had made
obvious. Depicting themselves as America’s safest political asset, the Chris-
tian Democrats persisted in their tyrannical weakness. Taking U.S. support
for granted, they failed to adopt the social reforms that certainly would
have drawn part of the left away from Communist control. Above all, by
relying so heavily on Washington, the Christian Democrats undermined the
primary purpose of psychological warfare, which was to accrue their polit-
ical prestige and legitimacy. This paradox became even more apparent as
information about covert operations, inevitably, slipped out.74
Psychological warfare had shortcomings in its overt aspects as well. Under
the Eisenhower administration, it assumed more rigid anti-Communist
tones, with a particular emphasis on public posturing, as exemplified by the
famous “brinkmanship” of Secretary of State John Foster Dulles. In addi-
tion, the fact that French and Italian leaders persisted in their dependence on
U.S. support ironically made them more sensitive to the increasingly domi-
neering aspects of American propaganda. Eisenhower’s first ambassador to
Italy, Clare Boothe Luce, is a case in point.
A devout Catholic and fervent anti-Communist, Clare Luce confronted
“atheistic” Marxism in Italy with all the tenacity of a crusader. Although
her alarms were often exaggerated, she found little obstruction from Wash-
ington, not only because of Dulles’ own obsession with Communism, but
also because she was in the White House inner circle of “psychological war-
riors.” Among these advisers were media magnate Henry Luce (the ambas-
sador’s husband), and his closest collaborator, Charles D. Jackson, who
served as the president’s special assistant for psychological warfare.75 Clare

Luce’s public pronouncements on Italian politics became notorious demon-
strations of Yankee presumption. As soon as the ambassador arrived in
Italy, she plunged herself into the campaign for the national elections: dur-
ing an infamous speech Luce gave in Milan in May 1953, she threatened to
cut off U.S. aid in case of victory by either the left or the extreme right. The
Communists exploited the gaffe to heap scorn at American imperialism and
its servants. Although Luce denied her responsibility for the Christian
Democrats’ setback at the polls, Italian government leaders could not hide
their embarrassment and resentment over her unsolicited intrusion in the
country’s political debate. In the following years, for the most part psycho-
logical warfare in Italy consisted of Luce’s bitter confrontations with the
PCI and rather unproductive covert efforts by CIA’s William Colby to pro-
mote a reform-oriented centrist coalition. Although the ambassador coop-
erated with the CIA, her public poses and her sympathy for the most con-
servative groups ended up hindering Colby’s activities.76
France did not host such an outspoken U.S. ambassador, but anti-
Americanism had deeper roots there, and cultural traditions kept clash-
ing with the importation of the “American way of life.” A PSB report in
February 1953 acknowledged that the French resented “coca-colonization”
and the modern economic world the United States symbolized.77 Intellectu-
als in both France and Italy, in particular, remained a group fiercely
opposed to American influence. This was an important battle; George Ken-
nan had already recognized by 1949 that, in the advanced countries of the
West, Communism capitalized on the alienated intelligentsia as much as on
workers’ discontent. By the mid-1950s, the cultural predominance of the
left remained one of the most “stubborn facts of political life in France and
Italy,” as Clare Luce wrote to Secretary Dulles.78
This did not mean that the Communists could win the political battle.
The danger of a Communist takeover had faded since 1948 in both coun-
tries. In fact, the right-wing parties had made progress.79 Washington’s fear
was that national reassertion—confirmed by right wing electoral strides—
in combination with the resilient cultural and political influence of the left
could conceivably produce a proneutralist consensus in France and Italy, or
at least, deter the two governments’ efforts toward Western integration and
the EDC. In Italy, neutralism might continue to exploit popular revulsion
toward military alliances. In France, it might thrive on the antipragmatic
intellectual tradition which, as the Psychological Strategy Board noted in
1953, signified not only anti-Americanism but also an old-fashioned view
of power, based on political more than on economic factors. That view
made negotiations for an EDC all the more difficult, for by insisting on the
value of its historical experience, spiritual influence and imperial status,
France overestimated its bargaining possibilities. Under the same presump-
tion, the French might even revert to the old game of maneuvering between
West and East. In the final analysis, both France and Italy might resume the
old game because, as the PSB saw it, their pursuit of rank together with the
twin resilience of their communists and nationalists, turned the two allies’
“understanding and feelings of the immediate Russian danger many degrees
below [Washington’s] own.”80
STATUS, THE NEW LOOK, AND THE DEATH OF THE EDC

It is widely acknowledged that the Eisenhower administration marked
the apex of American hegemony over Europe, while the Cold War equilib-
rium reached a relative stability. Yet, partly because of that stabilization,
Washington’s relations with its European allies became increasingly prob-
lematic and even acrimonious during the debate on the EDC ratification,
and later, the Suez crisis.
The Eisenhower administration, more than its predecessor, sensed the
danger of declining cohesion and morale among the European allies. As
Frank Ninkovich has noted, the new president “worried constantly that
‘lethargy and inaction in Europe . . . would allow that continent to fall
into Soviet hands.’ ” European unification was for him a matter of faith as
much as a strategic solution. From 1951 Eisenhower thought that America’s
task was to provide the “enlightened leadership” that would inspire and
help rebuild the “European spirit” necessary to achieve that unification. As
president he became one of the strongest advocates of European federalism.
Secretary of State John Foster Dulles as well grew so committed to the idea
of a European defense force that he regarded the prospect of its demise in
the name of the old-style nationalistic balance of power as a sign of
Europe’s “moral decrepitude.”81
Quarrelsome Allies. Western Europeans did not feel so lethargic and inse-
cure as “Ike” portrayed them. Rather, the governments of Western Europe
felt less compelled to do their own part in the common defense because they
perceived a diminished threat from the East, while they took U.S. commit-
ment almost for granted, thanks also to the nomination of the first truly inter-
nationalist candidate on the Republican ticket. Upon taking office, Eisen-
hower denounced Europe’s abuse of American generosity, protesting,
I get weary of the European habit of taking our money, resenting any slight hint as
to what they should do, and then assuming, in addition, full right to criticize us as
bitterly as they may desire. In fact, it sometimes appears that their indulgence in this
kind of criticism varies in direct ratio to the amount of help we give them.
Worse still, both Eisenhower and Dulles felt that through manipulation,
criticism, or a combination of both, the Europeans might end up embrac-
ing neutralism.82
From Rome in August 1953, Clare Luce reminded the president that
“Italy [did] not wish to abandon NATO, but she [did] wish it to be . . . less
of an ‘American Show.’ ” Toward the last phase of the EDC debate, the
ambassador defined “Europe’s neutralism” primarily as an attempt “to
make it impossible for America to go it alone and equally possible for her
to make America go along with her.” Neutralism, in other words, stemmed
from Europe’s reinvigorated nationalism. But, Luce added, in France and
Italy, where the left was strong, such nationalism/neutralism could ulti-
mately lead to “pro-Russian policies.”
Equally ominous was Europe’s questioning of Washington’s “enlight-
ened” leadership. Most French in particular reciprocated Dulles’ preaching
with their own moral indignation against the politics of McCarthyism.
After the execution of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg in 1953, Paris accused
“the world’s leading democracy” of indulging in a “behavior which the
French associate[d] with dictatorship,” as James Dunn reported. “To the
extent that they have lost faith in us as the symbol of freedom and toler-
ance,” special assistant John W. Hanes warned Dulles a year later, “French-
men tend to start looking elsewhere for the protection of their national
security. ‘Elsewhere’ is the East, which means a neutralist search for ‘re-
insurance.’ ”83
Whether it saw the Europeans as lethargic or restless, the Eisenhower
administration understood that catering to France’s and Italy’s needs for
reassurance and prestige might help win the few additional French and Ital-
ian parliamentary votes necessary to ratify the EDC treaty. One way to con-
front European nationalism and its neutralist connotations, some U.S.
diplomats argued, was paradoxically to encourage it and then let it burn
out quickly. In October 1952 the second secretary of the embassy in Paris,
Martin F. Herz—who remained in office under the new administration—
devised his “cure” to rekindle French pro-EDC “dynamism.” Expanding on
Ambassador Dunn’s recommendations of non-interference, Herz noted that
“American sponsorship or advocacy of the EDC [was] counterproductive”;
allowing a measure of anti-Americanism, he added, would be more benefi-
cial than threatening France with ostracism and the prospect of separate
German rearmament. For:
the combination of a certain anti-American sentiment with advocacy of European

integration, is, as a matter of fact, the strongest possible basis on which EDC could
be sold to the French. Such an attitude accommodates the inferiority feelings of the
French on the material plane and their feelings of superiority as far as political acu-
men and their qualities for leadership are concerned, by making it appear as though
Europe collectively would be able to achieve what France alone is unable to obtain,
namely a position of substantial equality in its dealings with the US and with the
Soviets . . . . If the European idea were sold to Frenchmen as a means to achieve
a supranational “greatness” in world politics that France has been unable to find on
the national plane, and if above all it were defended as the best means of prevent-
ing alleged American designs for a direct alliance with Germany, such an argumen-
tation would have a large potential appeal here.
Herz’s perceptive analysis underscored the fundamental need to reorient

the French quest for status toward policies of interdependence—or “supra-
national greatness.” Of course to do that the United States would have to
resume Hickerson’s and Kennan’s arguments in favor of a third force.
Would such third force, partly created in the name of “anti-Americanism,”
set Europe on a neutralist path? Herz’s response was optimistic: since any
such union would increasingly become subject to German influence,
“France would all the more attempt to strengthen her ties with the U.S. and
Britain both in NATO and elsewhere in the world,” and it “would
no[longer] behave erratically and neurotically.” “Therefore,” he concluded,
“even if the EDC were to be initially endorsed out of an attitude of ‘Third
Force’ sentiment, the prospects are that such a sentiment would lessen as
EDC becomes a reality.”84
No U.S. official dared contemplate a dose of anti-Americanism as a “vac-
cine” for Italy, due to the extreme polarization of Italian politics. Never-
theless Clare Luce, echoing opinions of several European specialists at the
State Department, urged a more “respectful” attitude toward Italy’s grow-
ing national assertiveness, and even toward its desire to open trade with the
East. The ambassador was ready to lower pressures on the EDC matter; and
in order to placate the Italians’ feelings of inferiority, she insisted on a
prompt settlement of the Trieste dispute and on providing “diplomatic
mechanisms [that permitted] the smaller nations (especially Italy) to be
more ‘in’ on major military planning and political decisions affecting
Europe.”85
NATO Hierarchy? Unfortunately, several aspects of Eisenhower’s grand

strategy could hardly be reconciled with his willingness to satisfy the French
and Italian need for greater national assertion and prestige. Termed as the
“New Look,” the strategy aimed at regaining the initiative against the
Soviet Union, while reducing the costs. This would be possible by selecting
the means of response to aggression, instead of multiplying them as the pol-
icy of NSC 68 had done. Rather than matching each of the adversary’s chal-
lenges, the new administration would seek ways to apply its major strengths
against Soviet weaknesses. Although this “asymmetrical” response did
select liberally among various means—such as the expansion of alliances,
psychological warfare, a calibrated use of covert actions, plans to exploit
divisions in the Communist camp—its most prominent feature, and the one
on which the Eisenhower presidency especially relied to ease the U.S.
budget, was the threat to use nuclear weapons, or, in Dulles’ words, the
“deterrent of massive retaliatory power.” Even though the president and the
secretary soon recognized the shortcomings of massive retaliation as a

response to “local” conflicts, and noticed the anxiety nukes aroused among
public opinion in allied countries, the New Look remained identified with
its increase of nuclear capabilities and reduction of conventional forces.86
Reducing conventional spending was not just a financial matter. If the
United Sates was turned into a garrison-state, Eisenhower believed, it would
not only be debilitated, but democracy itself would be impaired. America
would thus lose its credibility as the economic and social model for the free
world. Unrestrained spending might also prompt an isolationist mood.
The European allies realized that Eisenhower’s support for an EDC was
mostly motivated by his desire to cut down U.S. troops in the Continent, or,
as he put it as late as November 1955, to allow the United States “to sit
down and relax somewhat.” The president, naturally, brandished the “third
force” argument, telling the Europeans that by sharing defense responsibil-
ities they would gain more independence, self-respect, and a role commen-
surate with their aspirations.87
But to European leaders, in Paris and Rome especially, the New Look
promised less a genuine third force than the hierarchical division of tasks
among allies they so obstinately tried to prevent. The French and the Ital-
ians thus retorted against Eisenhower’s fiscal conservatism that their need
to protect their democracy and standards of living was more urgent, con-
tending that Western Europe, more than the United States, should be the
showcase of economic success of the free world. Pierre Mendès France,
shortly before taking the helm of the French government in June 1954,
invoked the “magnet” theory, which argued that the West could by way of
example draw Eastern Europe away from Moscow’s subjugation: “eco-
nomic and social progress,” he wrote to Prime Minister Joseph Laniel, “can
become a powerful propaganda weapon abroad; facts and figures illustrat-
ing them cross frontiers like missiles which strike the minds.” The Italian
government also maintained that Moscow was far more vulnerable to the
economic than the military integration of Europe.88 Leaders in Rome and
Paris insisted that “economic” cooperation with America should be pre-
served next to the “military” alliance.
The New Look’s plan to protect Europe with a “nuclear umbrella”
accentuated NATO’s hierarchy. The French were disappointed by Eisen-
hower’s renewed emphasis on the EDC as a provider of ground troops,
while Britain and the United States took care of naval and air cover. Since
the British had entered the “club,” detonating their first atomic bomb in
1952, the French resented even more than in the past their demotion to the
alliance’s “infantry.” Moreover, with its own nuclear technology in
progress, France worried that the EDC would force it to share its secrets
with the other members, especially the Germans, while Britain and the
United States, as a French military memorandum remarked, would main-
tain an “absolute independence” in the atomic field.89
Three-Power Directorate Again. Georges Bidault, back to the Quai

d’Orsay in the government of René Mayer from January 1953, immediately
tried to erase the inequality within the Standing Group by resuming his
cherished project of a three-power directorate on world affairs. In March
Dulles rejected any such formal machinery; but the French foreign minister
responded that informal meetings would do the same. Finally, when
NATO’s Big Three convened in Bermuda at the end of that year to discuss
the German problem and other issues, the French enjoyed neither formal
nor informal parity with the Anglo-Americans. The uninspiring Bidault
could not measure up to World War II “giants” Churchill and Eisenhower,
or join their old comradery. The British leader for his part insisted on keep-
ing the French delegation out of several discussions on Commonwealth and
atomic issues.90
The apparent consolidation of the Anglo-American special relationship
through 1953–54 prodded France to request much closer British coopera-
tion with the EDC, a stronger American guarantee through tighter links
between NATO and the European Army, a settlement of the Saar dispute,
and “additional protocols” to the EDC to safeguard its special position,
particularly in the empire. While the other EDC partners fulfilled some of
the French requests by late 1953, Paris never secured the desired level of
association with the Anglo-Americans.
That issue was part of a vicious cycle: while Winston Churchill confirmed
that British presence in the Continent would be coterminous with the EDC,
he also made it clear that Britain would withdraw its troops whenever the
United States decided to do so. But the desire to withdraw was supposedly
the reason that Washington pressed the Europeans to build up an integrated
army. France would remain at a disadvantage in relation to Britain. With-
out its own army, an American official reported in November 1953, France
felt it “would no longer have a strong voice in international diplomacy,
while the United Kingdom would retain its army and its position.” Not the
least, a greater solidarity among the Standing Group powers would be an
additional safeguard to the more intimate relationship Adenauer enjoyed
with the new American administration, especially with the secretary of
state.91
Even France’s pleas for U.S. assistance in Indochina, reaching panicky
levels during the siege of the French stronghold at Dien Bien Phu in the first
months of 1954, were consistent with its quest for recognition as one of the
Big Three Western powers. Bidault stubbornly compared the role and des-
tiny of the French Union to that of the British Commonwealth, pointing out
that while focusing on Europe, France had “never intended to compromise
its position in the world, nor abandon its responsibilities” toward its
colonies. Paris insisted that the United States should provide the same
unconditional support to France as it did to British interests in the Middle
East. As Laniel told a U.S. diplomat, Dien Bien Phu had a “tremendous
symbolic value” for the French, and its fall would probably compromise the
EDC treaty in the National Assembly. Secretary Dulles drew conclusions
diametrically opposed to those of the French leaders about their country’s
role in the world. France, he believed, had “reached a position where the
government [was] no longer capable of taking hard decisions required of [a]
great power” and its “weakness would leave [a] vacuum in Asia, Africa and
the continent in which our enemies would be tempted to move.”92
Some “Old Game” Revival. Status concerns were also behind France’s
approach to détente with Moscow. French leaders wanted to test the Krem-
lin’s peace initiatives (clearly calculated to derail the EDC) not simply to
avoid undue provocations or the danger of a reunified Germany “under”
Russian control, but also to reassert their independence within the Western
alliance. Under pressure from the still influential de Gaulle, they became
again sensitive to the idea of an old-style balance of power. In October
1953, the chief Gaullist spokesman, Gaston Palewski, explained to an
American official that the French main task should be to “control the dan-
gerous dynamics of Germany,” by reviving four power contacts with
Moscow. Through those contacts, Paris might also press for a confederated,
not supranational, Europe that would include some countries of the East
and keep the Germans as junior partners.
While not sharing with the Gaullist party the illusion of resuming an
“Eastern” approach, the French government became convinced that it was
the best candidate for brokering détente with Moscow. Or at least it strove
to show French public opinion that it could lead this major diplomatic ini-
tiative before others did it on their terms. Indeed the French public, tired of
bloodshed in Indochina, seemed ready to welcome the nation’s “leadership”
in pacifism both as a wise choice of security and as a source of prestige
other than the mission civilisatrice.93
Anxiety over Anglo-Saxon privileges, colonial concerns, and a measure of
“old game” policy all converged in the choices of Pierre Mendès France,
who took the lead of the French government in June 1954. Anticipating the
ways of de Gaulle’s regime four years later, the energetic prime minister
courageously liquidated an increasingly unpopular colonial war, focusing
instead on French quest for leadership in Europe. That quest, he thought,
should no longer be anchored on a European Army project that now bla-
tantly shortchanged French international status and clearly undermined
French political cohesion. In August, Mendès France proposed new proto-
cols that virtually erased the supranational features of the EDC Treaty and
granted a veto power to France. This change was essential, he lectured the
other members at the last EDC conference in Brussels, to secure the
National Assembly’s ratification. The prime minister’s hope that the other
partners would comply testifies more to his conscious attempt to overcome
a sense of national decline than to his faith in the nation’s grandeur. As it
turned out, he faced anger and recriminations from the Americans and the
other five EDC members.94
Mendès France did not make things easier by telling an astounded Dulles
that he would accept Molotov’s latest invitation for a summit. The prime
minister declared that he intended to “expose” Soviet designs and throw the
responsibility for the failure of the talks to the Russians. But Washington
had long suspected the Radical leader focused too much on independence
from the United States and too little on the perils of “appeasement.” The
Americans resented his “selling out” Indochina at the Geneva Conference
in July 1954. Rather than maneuvering the Russians, Dulles thought, the
French might become their main accomplices in dividing the Western
alliance.95
The policy of Mendès France, in sum, appeared to the Americans as a
step back from Schuman’s understanding of the benefits of integration for
French status. French illusions of grandeur, the Eisenhower cabinet con-
cluded, were paradoxically “defeatist,” for the source of Europe’s strength
lay in its unity, not in old illusions of mastering the Continent’s balance of
power. Even more, a united Western Europe under the EDC, as the NSC
had argued in August 1953, would usher in the pan-European “confedera-
tion” the Gaullists dreamed of, for it would “exert a strong and increasing
attraction on Eastern Europe, thus weakening the Soviet position there and
accelerating Soviet withdrawal from that area.”96 Naturally, U.S. forces on
the Continent would have to be considerably reduced for this American ver-
sion of the “magnet theory” to work out. But the French continued to
believe in their full sovereignty and privileged status in NATO, both to be
assisted by U.S. power.
Starting a “Policy of Presence.” The New Look’s tendency to create a

hierarchy of sorts in the Atlantic Alliance, and even more, French reactions
to that tendency had severe repercussions on Italy. The Italians had
denounced the Bermuda Conference as a violation of representation princi-
ples within the EDC. In their view the summit presaged America’s surren-
der to French requests of a three-power directorate. It was at this time that
Italian leaders officially began their “policy of presence,” claiming it was
their right to demand consultation on every security issue. Privately, Italian
leaders admitted that their country’s relevance to German or Middle East-
ern affairs was limited compared to that of France and Britain. Regardless
of such considerations Rome worried that with a stronger Standing Group,
the alliance would neglect the questions that really mattered to Italy, as
Paris demonstrated by its indifference to Italian appeals for help on Trieste.
Even with respect to the EDC ratification, Italy and France never coordi-
nated their diplomacy, or their delaying tactics. This lack of contact con-
firmed the Italians’ concerns that they had little leverage even with their
closest European partner.97
The Italian government countered British and French attempts to

improve connections with Washington by trying to establish close ties of its
own. One issue of use was the premature détente with the Soviets. In June
1953, De Gasperi blamed Churchill’s “appeasing” attitude toward the Rus-
sians for fostering the PCI’s respectability at the eve of the elections that
marked a setback for the centrist coalition and, he appositely told the U.S.
ambassador, consequently a setback for European federalism. His succes-
sors, Giuseppe Pella and Mario Scelba, accused the French government’s
“Russian policy” with similar vehemence. Italian leaders, to be sure, sin-
cerely worried about losing ground to the Communists. But they posed as
staunch cold warriors mainly in order to cultivate a closer partnership with
the United States and greater status in the alliance. They also tried to divert
American attention from their own responsibility for delaying the EDC and
from their own “opening to the left” (that’s how several Christian Dem-
ocrats from 1953 called their plans aimed at including the Socialist party in
the government coalition.)98
“Agonizing Reappraisal?” Perhaps even more than the policies, the style
of the New Look had a negative impact on French and Italian attitudes
toward the EDC. The Eisenhower administration’s emphasis on regaining
the initiative in the Cold War hinged on a firmer command of the alliance.
Dulles used his trips abroad more to communicate decisions he had already
made in Washington than to conduct genuine consultations with the allies.
Worse still, the Eisenhower administration, against the advice of Martin
Herz, James Dunn, and other diplomats, exerted all kinds of pressures on
the allies to ratify the EDC. Sometimes it would try cajolery, exhorting
French or Italian statesmen to resume their “inspirational” leadership on
European matters. More often it resorted to threats: after hinting on several
occasions that the United States would adopt an alternative strategy, Dulles
launched his famous ultimatum in December 1953, announcing that he
might be forced into an “agonizing reappraisal” of America’s commitments
to Europe—most likely a resumption of a peripheral strategy. The follow-
ing April the administration endorsed the Richards Amendment to the
Mutual Security Act, pledging greater military assistance to the countries
that had ratified the EDC.99
Foot-dragging and persistent demands put America’s patience to the test.
Even the pro-French David Bruce—whom Eisenhower had appointed U.S.
observer to the EDC Interim Committee—soon had second thoughts on
Herz’s call for non-interference. By the end of 1953, he believed pressures
would be appropriate. Finally in March 1954 he vented the anger of a
betrayed friend and perceptively cabled to Secretary Dulles:
After almost two years [of] experience with French instability of political purpose on
EDC we have a proper right to demand an answer from a nation whose standing
among one of the three great Western powers has been almost entirely dependent on
our good offices [italics added]. . . . We have tried reason, persuasion, generosity,
understanding, sympathy, patience: all have failed and I see no alternative but to deal
with [the] French as cold bloodedly as they deal with us.
Having thus emphasized the link between France’s status and its need for
U.S. “good offices,” the special envoy recommended unilateral Anglo-
American measures in Germany and a suspension of military supplies to
France. Eisenhower echoed his adviser, blurting out “must we go on forever
coddling the French?” The administration was almost as exasperated with
the Italians, accusing them of hypocrisy on political integration as long as
they “blackmailed” the allies on Trieste. But neither the president nor
Dulles in the end accepted Bruce’s suggestions. This was not because they
had suddenly understood the futility of pressure tactics, but because they
believed that any hint of a NATO solution for the Germans would prove
their diminished faith in the EDC and justify French demands for a com-
promise. Washington had virtually staked American credibility on the idea
of a federated Europe.100
With the United States championing European unity, the French con-
firmed their impression that the EDC was no longer their creature. But lead-
ers in Paris also realized that neither Dulles nor the Pentagon seriously con-
templated any alternative to the EDC. Moreover, they were confident that
nobody in Washington would deny that their nation was the keystone to
European security, even though it was still clear that the United States
would use the EDC to distinguish between nuclear and non-nuclear pow-
ers. So by the spring of 1954 Paris was on its own considering the possible
alternatives to the European Army that the State Department was still dis-
carding.101
Italy took the “agonizing reappraisal” more seriously. As a country that
had barely made it into NATO, it feared isolation more than France did. A
peripheral strategy, Italian leaders worried, would rely primarily on bases
in Spain and on a Balkan alliance centered around Belgrade. That latter
prospect made Italy even more intransigent about a solution for Trieste
before the ratification of the EDC treaty.102
In the final analysis, America’s threats of an “agonizing reappraisal”
illustrated to both France and Italy the connection between their status and
security concerns. France was unwilling to accept second-class status as a
continental and non-nuclear power. Italy dreaded being marginalized from
Europe and shortchanged in favor of its neighbor and adversary.
It is somewhat ironic that the Eisenhower administration, so keen on
restoring its allies’ self-esteem and self-reliance, adopted a policy bound to
lower America’s assistance as well as to sharply define NATO’s hierarchy, a
twin solution that France and Italy regarded as American dominance with-
out benefits. It is even more ironic that the French and the Italians inter-
preted the New Look in just that way because of their inflated emphasis on
rank. Indeed marrying status ambitions with security concerns did not
always produce favorable results.
Flaws in “Nationalist” Status Policies. The French and Italian leaders

overestimated their negotiating power on the EDC precisely because they
were too focused on pursuing rank. Moreover, since the European Army
project so deeply affected issues of sovereignty, leaders of both countries too
frequently viewed their goals of prestige through the prism of old-fashioned
nationalism, losing sight of their pursuit of reputation as masters of inte-
gration. This resort to “jingoism” was obviously meant to coax or refute
nationalists of all colors. But the policy misfired: it undermined the EDC
option even when this was attainable, and it rekindled old nationalist rival-
ries with France’s and Italy’s respective main competitors. So, for example,
the leaders that succeeded Pleven and Schuman became too sensitive to the
Gaullist campaign for the survival of la grande nation and kept trying to
make the EDC acceptable to the right-wing opposition, even after the mod-
erate left, generally favorable to supranationality, regained some influence
at the end of 1953. Paris’ nationalist orientation and the demise of the EDC
also let the chance for a “Europeanized” Saar slip away and allowed Ger-
many to reannex the district following a referendum in October 1955.103
In Italy, after the 1953 elections, a weakened Christian Democratic
Party opted for a nationalist image in order to strengthen its leadership.
The new prime minister, Giuseppe Pella tried to gain prestige and rally
support around his shaky coalition government by adopting a tougher
stance on Trieste not only against the Yugoslavs but even toward the
Anglo-Americans. This animosity culminated in a bloody confrontation
between Italian demonstrators and occupation troops in the border city
on November 8, 1953. After the incident, the allies intensified their con-
tacts with Belgrade for a Balkan treaty, while Washington placed less con-
fidence in Italy’s post-De Gasperi leadership.104
The paradox that French and Italian goals of status were so intertwined
with their need for American assistance was in this case even more blatant
than usual. To some extent, France used the EDC project to extract more
U.S. aid in Indochina. But this very need for assistance shaped American
negative perceptions of the mission civilisatrice and of French power in
general—perceptions that were to affect the contrasts between the two
allies in the following years.
The Italian leaders’ desire to stand high in America’s favor even induced
them to reevaluate the overbearing Ambassador Clare Luce. Someone so
prominent in Ike’s entourage, several officials in Rome thought, could draw
Washington’s attention to Italy as never before. The ambassador did press
the Eisenhower administration to satisfy Italy’s “national” ambitions, on
Trieste above all. Washington’s top-level involvement was for leaders in
Rome a result of prestige in itself. But again, U.S. attention could go both
ways. For all her passion in upholding Italy’s case, Clare Luce remained the
most glaring example of American heavy-handed meddling in Italian
affairs. The merits of having her as a privileged diplomatic channel with
Washington were generally overwhelmed by the disadvantages.105
So France’s and Italy’s attachment to nationalism as source of prestige,
whether it manifested itself in anti-American or pro-American ways, did
not work as planned. But French and Italian leaders also continued to pur-
sue status through interdependence and to gain prestige as masters of inter-
dependence. This policy however, as conceived in Paris and Rome, kept
containing several contradictions.
REDESIGNING INTERDEPENDENCE
The French National Assembly finally rejected the EDC Treaty on August
30, 1954. But it took only a few weeks to create an alternative solution to
German rearmament. The Paris agreements of the following October sanc-
tioned the adherence of the German Federal Republic to NATO and to the
Brussels Treaty, which, including also Italy, was renamed Western European
Union, a loose cooperative organization compared to the EDC.
The idea of a NATO solution actually originated in Paris. The military
circles around General Alfonse Juin first suggested it early in 1954. The
Quai d’Orsay anxiously began to examine it during the summer; and
Mendès France finally adopted it as a fall-back option to the compromise
he tried to work out at the Brussels Conference of August 1954. The French
premier then persuaded Anthony Eden to propose the new plan. Since the
allies still suspected France of wanting to harness NATO, it was wiser to
have Britain identified with the new project.106
The creation of a German national army was the very reality France had
tried to prevent since 1950. But the new project did not simply reestablish
a Wehrmacht. With the Western European Union, France obtained many of
the benefits it had sought through its diluted version of the EDC at the
Brussels Conference: German rearmament in a European framework (the
new treaty established among other things a system of arms control aimed
at curbing Germany’s military production), the abolition of supranational-
ity, British participation, and American “entanglement” to the Continent
through the NATO formula (the WEU maintained close coordination with
SACEUR). As Georges-Henri Soutou has noted, the French wanted prima-
rily to “anchor Germany to the West” and assure Atlantic cooperation; they
did not pursue “une vision de Troisième Force.” The WEU, in Paris’ view,
was also crucial to secure for la grande nation its due place in the Anglo-
Saxon world-directorate of the alliance and to gain access to nuclear capa-
bility (in September the government officially launched the French nuclear
program).107
The ultimate advantage for both France and Italy, as well as the rest of con-
tinental Western Europe, was that by tying the United States “militarily” to
NATO, they could focus on economic integration. The ECSC Messina Con-
ference of June 1955 “relaunched” Europe, by adopting a functionalist
approach that led to the creation of EURATOM and of the Common Market
(EEC) two years later. Still reaping benefits from cooperation with the United
States (especially EURATOM) the two organizations could be seen as the basis
for the “economic” third force many Europeans, from Monnet to De Gasperi
had had in mind all along. Even better, under such auspices European inte-
gration was a fine example of “soft power”: using their political and diplo-
matic skills, the French and the Italians contributed substantially to design
institutions that would best serve their national interests, marshaling both
European and U.S. resources. “Hard power” would come as a consequence.
Italy immediately saw Europe as a vehicle to reach “European” levels—that is
to measure up to the European great powers. For France the complementarity
of grandeur and European integration seemed increasingly plausible.108
Apparently such “mastery” of interdependence was promising for U.S.
purposes as well. The Americans, despite their initial anxiety about several
protectionist provisions of the Common Market, concluded that an “eco-
nomic” European third force would offer more benefits than disadvantages
to the Western alliance: a revived and tamed German powerhouse, political
stability, even the prospect that Western prosperity would exert a “magnet”
force on Eastern European countries (as French and Italian leaders had sug-
gested). Besides, the Eisenhower administration was confident that the
Europeans, wishing to preserve strong trans-Atlantic ties above all, would
soon bend to American pressures to adopt free trade.109
But things were not so ideal. Indeed, from the start of the EDC debate,
the complementarity of French grandeur and European integration had
been anything but clear-cut. Italy too had earned very little reputation from
its sponsoring of an EPC. For both nations the whole idea of anchoring
their status to their role in European integration had been marred by per-
sistent problems and deep contradictions. The main problem was that the
EDC, especially under the New Look strategy, confirmed an “Anglo-
Saxon” leadership in the Western alliance; the French and the Italians thus
concluded that through the creation of a European Army, they would miss
many of the opportunities—especially
opportunities—especially the economic and the nuclear
ones—offered
ones— by Western interdependence. Adenauer’s own ingratiating
attitude toward Washington only deepened those fears in both Paris and
Rome. The French in particular dreaded the German chancellor’s sugges-
tion that his nation, like Britain, was strong enough “to be able to bow” to
America, and even to induce the rest of continental Europe to do the same;
for weaker, internally divided France—and Italy—the transatlantic partner-
ship had first to appear as close to genuine partnership as possible, in order
to actually become that way. These perceptions were even more revealing
of France’s and Italy’s failures, respectively, to define clearly their discourse
on prestige through interdependence. Primarily, interdependence still meant
continuous pursuit of America’s special favor, hence their demand for U.S.
assistance, which prolonged the pattern of dependency. Secondly, the very
prospect of supranationality had further galvanized right-wing, as well as
left-wing nationalism in both countries; this in turn prodded French and
Italian government leaders too often to reevaluate their “nationalist” cre-
dentials over those they were acquiring as architects of integration. Under
pressure from those same oppositions French and Italian leaders made their
first approaches to détente look like the old game of balance of power—or
so, at least the Americans viewed moves such as Sforza’s call for a non-
aggression pact in 1951 or Mendès France’s conduct at the 1954 Geneva
Conference.
Even the WEU and EEC solutions did not fully establish France’s prestige
as master of interdependence. By insisting on a three-power directorate, the
French revealed more their need for American assistance and their fear of
isolation than their potential as equal partners with the British and Ameri-
cans. Indeed, the French leaders embraced the WEU under the constant
threat of exclusion. As Mendès France warned the National Assembly in
December 1954, without an “unquestionable” ratification of the Paris
Agreements, France would lose the confidence of the allies and its negoti-
ating power at the next summits. Paris did not rule out the possibility of a
separate treaty between the Anglo-Americans and West Germany. And even
though officials at the Quai d’Orsay disparaged the threat of American
withdrawal from the Continent, they foresaw that Dulles’ pronouncements
might induce Britain to seek a stronger nuclear partnership with Washing-
ton.110 That was precisely what happened. NATO’s adoption of nuclear
strategy with the document MC-48 in December 1954 did not lead to
France’s inclusion in the Anglo-Saxon club; on the contrary, it shifted the
power of the alliance disproportionately to the United States, with Britain
as “brilliant second.”111
France’s role as leader of European integration was even more eclipsed by
its colonial decline. Washington kept questioning France’s world power sta-
tus: from late 1954 it frustrated French endeavors to preserve some influ-
ence in Indochina; and, more important for Paris, it gave rare and luke-
warm support to the French “colonial” cause in North Africa. Struggling to
maintain the empire, France relied increasingly on defiant nationalism to
regain its status, a conduct that, compounded by the Fourth Republic’s
institutional weakness and need for America’s help, proved fatally counter-
productive for those who represented the French constitutional status quo.
The Italians did not participate in the “relaunching” of Europe with the
confidence of the “equal.” The WEU frustrated their vision of a politically
federated Europe—or rather deprived them of the possibility to pose as
“main architects” of an integrated Europe. At the same time, Italy, like

France, kept showing its need for U.S. support, welcoming the WEU’s
strong link with Washington. Several Italian officials even thought wishfully
that the WEU would soon allow the extension of the Standing Group to
Italy and Germany. But even the most optimistic among them could not
hide their anxiety that the new organization might shortchange Italian secu-
rity and status interests, by shaping a Franco-British “entente,” or leading
to a Washington-Bonn “axis.”
Despite all these misgivings, during the late 1950s Italy enjoyed its best
chance to improve its international leverage and even to master interde-
pendence. Free from the obsession on Trieste after the successful settlement
of October 1954, immune from the colonial “stigma,” and finally a mem-
ber of the United Nations, Italy could gain prestige and influence, as the
new ambassador to Washington Manlio Brosio put it in March 1955, by
“show[ing] more initiative and responsibility within the North American
[sic] alliance.”112 Rome was going to combine its promotion of American
hegemony to the Middle East with a self-appointed role as main vehicle for
integration between the Mediterranean and Europe. France and Italy thus
competitively pinned their hopes for greater status on their alternative
Mediterranean visions. Neither one achieved the expected results.
NOTES
1. Bruce to Sec. State, May 11, 1950, FRUS, 1950, III, pp. 696–7; U.S. Deleg.,
First Mtg. CFM, Sept. 10, 1951, FRUS, 1951, III, at p. 1230; Memo De Gaulle-
Eisenhower, Apr. 20, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1200–3; Bruce as “fran-
cophile”: Acheson, Present at the Creation, p. 294; Wall, Making of Postwar
France, p. 154; Nelson D. Lankford, The Last American Aristocrat: The Biography
of Ambassador David K. E. Bruce. Boston: Little Brown and Co., 1996.
2. Among the works cited in this chapter, esp. those by Fursdon, Bernstein, Fau-
vet, and Canavero.
3. Edward Fursdon, The European Defence Community: A History. London:
Macmillan, 1980; (short version as “The Role of the European Defence Community
in European Integration,” in Heller and Gillingham, NATO); Armand Clesse, Le
Projet de la C.E.D. du Pleven Plan au “crime” du 30 aôut: histoire d’une malen-
tendu européen. Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1989 (Clesse offers a global approach and
yet almost ignores status considerations at the diplomatic level); cf. also Daniel
Lerner, “La France dans l’arène mondiale,” in Raymond Aron and Daniel Lerner,
(eds.) La Querelle de la C.E.D. Paris: Librairie Armand Colin, 1956; Varsori “L’I-
talia fra Alleanza Atlantica e CED,” cit.
4. Aimaq, For Europe or Empire?; Hitchcock, France Restored, qtd. pp. 208–209.
5. Cf. Geoffrey Warner, “The Labour Government and the Unity of Western
Europe, 1945–51,” in Ritchie Ovendale (ed), The Foreign Policy of the British
Labour Government, 1945–1951. Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1984;
Edmund Dell, The Schuman Plan and the British Abdication of Leadership in
Europe. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995.
6. René Massigli—ambassador to London—reminded the Foreign Ministry that

a coal and steel pool was the best way to “enlist” Germany and its resources in
Western defense short of its participation in NATO: Massigli to “Direction d’Eu-
rope,” Apr. 18, 1950, PA, 271-Massigli, vol. 70, AHMAE; cf. Hitchcock, “Origins
of the Schuman Plan,” pp. 629–630; Bossuat, L’Europe des français, pp. 165–178,
highlights the security dimension of the plan. On Monnet’s role cf. esp. Eric Rous-
sel, Jean Monnet. Paris: Fayard, 1996, pp. 484–489, 519–529.
7. Bruce to Sec. State, Sept. 23, 1949, FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 663–5; Lundestad,
Empire by Integration, pp. 38–39, 138–139; Lankford, The Last American Aristo-
crat, pp. 220–223.
8. Cf. Bruce to Sec. State, Sept. 22, 23, 1949, FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 661–4; Sum-
mary Mtg. U.S. Ambassadors in Paris, Oct. 22, 1949, pp. 491–2; cf. Bossuat, L’
Europe des français, pp. 142–143; Leffler, A Preponderance of Power, pp. 314–319.
9. Acheson to Bruce, Oct. 19, 1949, FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 469–70; Oct. 30, 1949,
FRUS, 1949, III, pp. 622–5; McCloy qtd. Summary Mtg. U.S. Ambassadors at
Paris, Oct. 21–22, 1949, FRUS, 1949, IV, at pp. 485–7; Klaus Schwabe, “The
United States and European Integration: 1947–1957,” in Clemens Wurm (ed.),
Western Europe and Germany. The Beginnings of European Integration,
1945–1960. Oxford: Berg, 1995, pp. 125–126; Gillingham, Coal, Steel,
pp. 169–177; for French reactions cf. Auriol, Journal du Septennat, 1949,
pp. 400–406.
10. Bruce to Sec. State, Apr. 15, 20, and Acheson to Bruce, Apr. 21, May 15, 1950,
FRUS, 1950, III, pp. 54–50, 103–105; Bidault, Resistance, p. 177.
11. Acheson, May 15, cit.; Kennan to Bohlen and Bohlen to Kennan, Oct. 12 and
29, 1949, Bohlen Recs., Gen. Corresp. 1946–9, b. 1, RG 59, NA.
12. Dunn to Acting Sec. State, May 5, 1950, FRUS, 1950, III, pp. 91–3; Varsori,
“Italy’s Policy toward European Integration,” pp. 55–56; Ruggero Ranieri, “L’Italia
e i negoziati del Piano Schuman,” in Di Nolfo, Rainero, Vigezzi, L’Italia e la polit-
ica di potenza 1945–50, pp. 547–573; on last point cf. Mtg. Ortona-Whitman
(EUR/RA), Oct. 26, 1950, Records WEA, Italy 1943–51, b. 7, NA.
13. Memo Bohlen and Memo Acheson, July 13 and 14, 1950, FRUS, 1950, I,
pp. 342–5; Mtg. Foreign Ministers and High Commissioners, Sept. 14, 1950, and
NAC first session, FRUS, 1950, III, pp. 293–303, 311–4. For the impact of the
Korean war on the European defense debate cf. William Stueck, The Korean War.
An International History. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995.
14. Douglas to Sec. State, July 12; Aug. 8, FRUS, 1950, III, 205–7; Samuel F. Wells,
Jr., “The First Cold War Buildup: Europe and U.S. Strategy and Policy, 1950–53,”
in Riste, Western Security, pp. 185–8.
15. Bruce to Sec. State, Apr. 22, 1950, Memo Acheson, July 13, 1950; Mcloy to
Sec. State, Aug. 3, 1950, Bruce to Sec. State, Sept. 22, FRUS, 1950, III, pp. 60–62,
167–8, 180–2, 311–4.
16. On French attitude toward German rearmament before September cf. Guillen,
“France and the Defence of Western Europe,” pp. 143–144; Schwartz, America’s
Germany, pp. 116–117; Norbert Wiggershaus, “The Decision for a West German
Defence Contribution,” in Riste, Western Security, pp. 198 ff.; Fursdon, The Euro-
pean Defence Community, chap. 2.
17. Bruce to Sec. State, July 20 and 28, and Acheson to Emb. Paris, August, 1,
1950, FRUS, 1950, III, , pp. 134–5, 151–8, 170–1; on Moch’s proposal: Memo
Fisher Howe to Bonbright (WE), Sept. 27, 1950, and Memo W. Park Armstrong to
Bruce, Nov. 15, 1950, 751.00, RG 59, NA.
18. On delaying tactic of the French cfr Acheson to Bruce, Oct. 27, qtd. Acheson
to Bruce, Nov. 29, 1950, FRUS, 1950, III, 410–2, 496–8; Georges-Henri Soutou,
“France and the German Rearmament Problem, 1945–1955,” in Robert Ahman,
Adolf M. Birke, and Michael Howard (eds.), The Quest for Stability. Problems of
West European Security 1918–1957. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993;
Harper, Visions of Europe, pp. 291–299; on “umbrella”: Acheson and Lovett to
Truman, July 30, 1951, FRUS 1951, III, pp. 849–52.
19. Bruce to Sec. State, Nov. 17, 1950, FRUS, 1950, III, pp. 465–7; July 3, 19,
1951, FRUS, 1951, III, 805–12 and 839–4; Jessup to Sec. State, Jan. 24, 1951,
FRUS, 1951, IV, pp. 297–300; Lankford, The Last American Aristocrat, pp. 232–9.
Bonnet felt the Americans adopted the EDC mainly out of fear that “their own
power would decline if they could not discharge some of the commitments they
ha[d] made” tel. 4558 Bonnet to Schuman, Oct. 5, 1950, Amérique 1944–52, E–U,
vol. 118, AHMAE.
20. Monnet, Memoirs, pp. 336–350; Bossuat, L’Europe des français, pp. 185–193
(qtd.192); Philippe Vial, “Jean Monnet, un père pour la CED?” in Girault and
Bossuat, Europe brisée, Europe retrouvée, cit.
21. On link as guarantee unvaried amount of aid cf. Bruce to Sec. State, Dec. 12,
1951, FRUS, 1951, III, pp. 961–2; on SHAPE as guarantee U.S. control: Interim
Report of Delegations . . . , July 24, 1951, pp. 843–6; cf. Note 2 Comité Minis-
teriel sur l’organisation de la CED, Dec. 6, 1951, SG, dossier [d.] 63 (CED),
AHMAE.
22. On equality encouraging German alignment see esp. Acheson to Bruce, June
28, 1951; McCloy to Acheson, Dec. 19, 1951, FRUS, 1951, III, pp. 801–5,
1739–41; cf. Wiggershaus, “The Decision for a West German Defence Contribu-
tion,” pp. 205–211; H. Jungers-Kusters, “West Germany’s Foreign Policy in West-
ern Europe, 1949–1958: The Art of the Possible,” in Wurm, Western Europe and
Germany, pp. 64–66; for thesis stressing how the Germans relied on solidarity with
Washington cf. David Clay Large, Germans to the Front: West German Rearma-
ment in the Adenauer Era. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press,
1996.
23. Fursdon, “The Role of the EDC,” p. 226; best on contractuals is Schwartz,
America’s Germany; last quote from Melandri, “France and the Atlantic Alliance
1950–53,” p. 271; cf. Note by Delegation at Interim Council NATO, Apr. 16, 1952,
F60, b. 3056, AN.
24. Cf. esp. Jean Daridan (Chargé in Washington) to Schuman, Oct. 5, 1950; tel.
5862, Bonnet to Schuman, Dec. 7, 1950, Amérique 1944–52, vol. 116; tel. 2575/96,
Apr. 2, 1951, vol.122; Note by Alphand (French Permanent Representative at
NAC), Aug. 14, 1951, SG, d. 62 (CED), AHMAE; Massigli to Parodi (Secretary
General Foreign ministry), March 4, 1951, Fonds Alexandre Parodi, PA 26, Fonda-
tion des Sciences Politiques, Paris [hereafter FSP].
25. Alphand in McCloy to Sec. State, June 4, 1951, FRUS, 1951, I, pp. 785–6;
Note by Alphand, Aug. 14, 1951, cit.; see also Bonnet to Schuman, Aug. 3, 1951,
Amérique 1944–52, vol. 118, AHMAE; on German compliance with the United
States cf. Grosser, The Western Alliance, esp. pp. 83 ff. and conclusions; Adenauer
qtd. in Barnet, The Alliance, p. 55.
26. Mtg. Moch, Parodi, Alphand, et. al., March 30, 1951, SG, d. 62 (CED),
AHMAE; Note by French Delegation at Interim Council NATO, Aug. 29, 1951,
Papiers Pleven [hereafter PP] AP 45, b. 560, d. 2, AN; Summary Mtg. “Comité
interministeriel sur la CED,” Nov. 7, 1951, Presidence du Conseil. Secrétariat
Général du Gouvernement (Pacte Atlantique, Réarmamament et CED) F60 [here-
after only this reference number], b. 3060, AN; Letters Schuman to Acheson, Aug.
26, 1951, FRUS, 1951, III, pp. 1188–91.
27. Tel. Bruce to Sec. State, Feb. 4, 1952, Paris Embassy, EDC and Rel. Intl. Org.,
RG 84, NA; cf. F. Roy Willis, France, Germany and the New Europe, 1945–1967.
London: Oxford University Press, 1968, pp. 70–79; Jacques Freymond, Le conflit
sarrois, 1945–1955. Brussels: L’Institut de Sociologie Solvay, 1959.
28. Cf. CIA-RR 36–50, “Neutrality and Third Force Tendencies in Western
Europe,” ORE files, NA; Bohlen to Jessup, March 9, 1951, Bohlen Recs., Memo
Series, b. 5; Ridgway Knight to Bonbright, March 7, 1952, 751.00, NA; Soviet
notes: Memo Alphand, May 10, 1952, SG, d. 64 (CED), AHMAE; cf. George-Henri
Soutou, “La France et les notes sovietiques de 1952 sur l’Allemagne,” Revue de
l’Allemagne, 20 (1988), 3; Large, Germans to the Front, pp. 145–149; Adenauer in
Barnet, The Alliance, p. 57.
29. Reynaud qtd. in Fursdon, “The Role of the EDC,” p. 227; on French pressures
on London cf. esp. tels. in collection PA, 271 - Massigli, vol. 70, AHMAE; on club
of “continentals” see tel. 2999-3011 Massigli, July 31, 1951, ivi; Massigli to Par-
odi, June 6, 1952, Fonds Parodi, PA 26, fonds 41, FNSP; Dunn to State, July 25,
1952, FRUS, 1952–54, pp. 1234–5; Cogan, Oldest Allies, Guarded Friends,
pp. 78–79.
30. Cf. Note for the President by General Secretary Staff, Jan. 19, 1952, SG, d. 64,
AHMAE; note French Delegation, Apr. 16, 1952, cit.; Note President of the Coun-
cil’s Sec. Gen. for NATO affairs, Aug. 13, 1951, F60, b. 3056, AN; Memo Dept.
State, March 1951, FRUS, 1952–54, at pp. 358–62.
31. Schuman Report to NAC, Nov. 27, FRUS, 1951, III, pp. 933–46; “economic
lead” qtd. Fursdon, “The Role of the EDC,” p. 233; Mtg. Bohlen-Daridan, Feb. 7,
1952, FRUS, 1952–54, V, p. 610–1.
32. Cf. docs. in previous note; on Indochina diverting resources from EDC see esp.
Bruce to Acting Sec. State, and Acting Sec. State to Bruce, Nov. 1, 1951, FRUS,
1951, III, pp. 908–11; Bruce to Acting Sec. State, Nov. 10, 13, and 17, 1951, FRUS,
1951, IV, pp. 437–44; Tel. Conv. Acheson-Lovett, Feb.12, 1952, 751.00, RG 59,
NA; on link between U.S. aid, Indochina and the EDC see esp. Aimaq, For Europe
or Empire?, Wall, Making of Postwar France, ch. 8 (Auriol qtd. p. 231); Lawrence
S. Kaplan “La France, l’OTAN, et l’Indochine française,” in Lawrence S. Kaplan,
Denise Artaud, Dîen Bîen Phu: L’Alliance Atlantique et la défense du Sud-Est Asia-
tique. Lyon: La Manufacture, 1989; cf. Lloyd Gardner, Approaching Vietnam: From
World War II Through Dien Bien Phu, 1941–1954. New York: Norton, 1988,
pp. 54 ff.
33. Chapin (The Hague) to Sec. State, Oct. 17, Trimble (The Hague) to Sec. State,
Dec. 22, 1951 (qtd.), FRUS, 1951, III, pp. 888–91 and 978–80; Bruce to Dept.
State, Jan. 3; Acheson to Emb. Paris, May 3; Chapin to Dept. State, May 22, 1952,
FRUS, 1952–54, V, pp. 572–6, 647–9, 672–3; on “blackmail”: tel. 3256 Acheson to
Bruce, Dec. 21, 1951, Paris Emb. (EDC) RG 84, NA.
34. Mtg. R. Schuman, M. Schumann and A. Eden, March 21, 1952, SG, d. 64
(CED), AHMAE; Anthony Eden, Full Circle. The Memoirs of Rt. Hon. Sir Anthony
Eden. London: Cassels, 1960, p. 42; Note by Massigli for President of the Council,
March 21, 1952, PA, 271 - Massigli, vol. 70, AHMAE; interlocking guarantees and
Berlin: Acheson to Bruce, May 3, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, pp. 647–9.
35. Cf. Letter Gen. De Larminat to Minister of Defense and Minister Foreign
Affairs, Apr. 18, 1952, SG, d. 63 (CED), AHMAE; Dunn to Dept. State, June 20,
1952, FRUS, 1952–54, V, pp. 688–90; tel. 7555, Bruce to Acheson, June 24, 1952,
751.00, RG 59, NA.
36. Georges-Henri Soutou, L’alliance incertaine. Les rapports politico-stratégique
franco-allemands, 1954–1996. Paris: Fayard, 1996, p. 13; Fursdon “The Role of the
EDC,” p. 221.
37. Tel. 25 Ely to Pleven, January 9, 1951; Juin to Mayer, March 23, 1953, PP, 560
AP, b. 45, 51, AN; Excerpts Mtg. “Commission d’études du Traité sur la CED,”
Sept. 16, 1952, F60, b. 3059, AN; Letter De Larminat, Apr. 16, 1952, cit.; on Ely
and Laval cf. Bossuat, L’Europe des français, pp. 218–219.
38. On 1951 elections: Memo by G. McGuthrie (WEA), June 21, 1951, FRUS,
1951, IV, pp. 383–8, 395–7; on de Gaulle’s ideas on EDC cf. Maurice Vaïsse, “Gen-
eral de Gaulle and the Defence of Europe (1947–58),” in Varsori (ed.), Europe
1945–1990. The End of an Era?, pp. 173–177; on MRP: Soutou, “Bidault et la con-
struction européenne,” pp. 300 ff. On SFIO: Oakley (Geneva) to Emb. Paris, March
27, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, V, pp. 623–4; on Radicals cf. docs. in Fonds E. Daladier,
AP 496, b.60, AN; Serge Bernstein, “The Perception of French Power by the Politi-
cal Forces,” in Di Nolfo Power in Europe?, and Jacques Fauvet, “Naissance et mort
d’un traité: du Plan Pleven au vote du 30 décembre 1954,” in Aron and Lerner, La
Querelle de la C.E.D.
39. Dunn to Dept. State, Oct. 24, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1268–70; Werth,
France, 1945–1955, pp. 564–596 and Wall, Making of Postwar France
pp. 227–232; Combat qtd. from Harper, Visions of Europe, p. 321.
40. Dunn to Dept., Oct. 11, Acheson to Dunn, Nov. 8, 1952, FRUS, 52–54, VI,
pp. 1256–9, 1276–8.
41. Tel. 10/40 Cavalletti (Paris) to MAE, June 2, 1951; rep. 554 Quaroni to De
Gasperi, Aug. 2, 1951; rep. 2817 Malagodi to De Gasperi and Pella, July 28, 1951,
FC, b. 23, ASMAE; Cavalletti’s and Malagodi’s reports also in Varsori, “L’Italia fra
Alleanza Atlantica e CED,” pp. 138–142; Italy opposed the idea of a single Euro-
pean minister of Defense, knowing it could not aspire to that position: Bruce to
Acheson, May 9, 1951, FRUS 1951, III, pp. 783–4.
42. Cf. Tel. 444/C Tarchiani to MAE, March 17, 1951; tel. 722/388 Pietromarchi
(Ankara) to MAE, Apr. 14, 1951, FC, b. 7; FRUS, 1951, III, p. 719. in part.; Maria
Antonia Di Casola, “La contribution de l’Italie pour l’admission de la Turquie à
l’OTAN,” Il Politico, 1991, 4, pp. 691–700. On fear of Yugoslavia: telesp. 642/e
Delegation to Belgrade to MAE, Apr. 16, 1951, FC, b. 7; Giampaolo Valdevit,
“Italia, Yugoslavia, sicurezza europea: la visione americana (1948–1956),” in
Marco Galeazzi (ed.) Roma-Belgrado. Gli anni della guerra fredda. Ravenna:
Longo Editore, 1995, pp. 48–49; Beatrice Heuser, Western Containment, Policies
of the Cold War: The Yugoslav Case, 1948–1953. London: Routledge, 1989,
pp. 162–4 and 172.
43. On U.S. assistance: Mesta (Luxembourg) to Sec. State (reports conversation)

Eisenhower-De Gasperi, Jan. 19, 1951, FRUS, 1951, III, pp. 438–44; Sebesta, L’Eu-
ropa indifesa, pp. 164–184. On Italian rearmament cf. Smith, The US, Italy and
NATO, pp. 142–165.
44. On budget and concerns about internal subversion: Mtg. De Gasperi-Acheson,
Sept. 24, 25, 1951, FRUS, 1951, IV, pp. 681–7 and 706–13; U.S. Delegation TCC
to Acting Sec. State, Dec. 5, 1951, 1951, III, pp. 363–8; Antonio Varsori, “Italy and
Western Defence 1948–55: The Elusive Ally,” in Heuser, Securing Peace in Europe,
pp. 203–204; on NATO’s Art. 2: Catti De Gasperi, De Gasperi scrive, pp. 234–6,
and De Gasperi-Acheson, cit. above at p. 685.
45. De Gasperi-Acheson, at pp. 683–4; cf. Quaroni to De Gasperi, May 22, 1952,
DGAP 1950–57, USA, b.131, ASMAE. In May Spofford wrote that lifting “only”
the treaty’s military clauses could actually rekindle the Communist peace campaign
and make De Gasperi look too subservient to U.S. orders. The treaty, he specified,
had a moral and psychological significance for the Italians; for this reason, he con-
cluded, they insisted on the “status” their country would achieve as a UN member
and chief sponsor of NATO’s article 2: Spofford to Acheson, May 11, 1951, FRUS,
1951, IV, pp. 606–11. On German rehabilitation cf. Lamberto Berti, “L’Italia e la
Germania: l’atteggiamento della diplomazia italiana 1950–1952,” Storia delle
relazioni internazionali, 1990, 1.
46. Cf. Varsori, “Italy’s Policy Towards European Integration,” p. 59; Pietro Pas-
torelli, “La politica europeistica dell’Italia negli anni ‘50,” Storia Contemporanea,
1986, 3; Alfredo Breccia, L’Italia e la difesa dell’Europa. Alle origini del Piano
Pleven. Roma: Istituto di Studi Europei A. De Gasperi, 1984, p. 59; sympathetic
view of Italy’s federalist project in Daniela Preda, Storia di una speranza. La
battaglia per la CED e la Federazione Europea. Milan: Jaca Book, 1990.
47. Qtd. note by Alphand, Aug. 14, 1951, cit.; cf. tel. 193 Alphand to various
embassies, Oct. 18, 1951, SG, d. 63 (CED), AHMAE.
48. Qtd. Acting US Special Rep. in Europe (Porter) to Acting Adm. for Economic
Coop. (Bissel), Sept. 6, 1951, FRUS, 1952–54, V, pp. 265–7; Background Paper by
Dept. State, Jan. 31, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, V, pp. 597–605; Preda, Storia di una
speranza, pp. 112–124; Fursdon, The European Defence Community, pp. 212–217.
Italy’s reluctance to underwrite the common budget provisions for the EDC seemed
to prove the “rhetorical” aspects of its Europeanism: cf. tel. 457 Taviani to Lom-
bardo, Oct. 17, 1951, and note by Magistrati, Jan. 2, 1952, FC., b. 23, ASMAE.
49. In May 1951 Dunn concluded: “the absence of action on our part re. the
Treaty may arouse the latent suspicion prevalent here that we do not seriously count
upon Italy playing an important role in Western Defense with a consequent diminu-
tion [of] Italian willingness to make the necessary sacrifices for rearmament”: Dunn
to Sec. State, May 28, 1951, IV, pp. 614–6; on Eisenhower’s trip: Mtg. at White
House, Jan. 31, 1951, FRUS, 1951, III, at pp. 452–3; Dunn to Emb. UK, June 6,
1951, FRUS, 1951, IV, pp. 617–8; cf. comments in tel. 165 EU, Fouques Duparc to
MAE, Jan. 26, 1951, E.-U., vol. 116, AHMAE.
50. Mtg. De Gasperi-Truman, Sept. 25, 1951, FRUS, 1951, IV, pp. 699–705; on
EPC’s appeal: Mtg. De Gasperi-Acheson, Sept. 24, cit. (p. 686); Memo J. D. Neal to
Williamson-WE, July 7, 1950, Rec. Office WEA, Italy 1943–51, RG 59, NA; Dunn
to Sec. State, Jan. 21, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, pp. 1565–9.
51. On center-left parties and EDC: Mtg. Horsey, Davis, Matteotti, May 9, 1952,
Rec. WEA, Office of Ital. and Austrian Affairs 1949–53, b. 8, RG 59, NA. Even
Tarchiani blamed Washington for ignoring his country’s “legitimate” need for
greater recognition: Perkins (WE) to Acheson, July 29, 1952, 611.65, RG 59, NA;
Mtg. Tarchiani-Acheson, July 30, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1587–91; cf.
rep. 976, Quaroni to De Gasperi, Oct. 23, 1952, FC, b. 7, ASMAE; Baget Bozzo, Il
partito cristiano al potere, pp. 321–353 (on DC dissent); Giampaolo Valdevit, La
Questione di Trieste 1941–1954. Politica internazionale e contesto locale. Milan: F.
Angeli, 1985, pp. 220 ff.
52. Mtg. Matthews-Tarchiani, June 12, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1578–9;
Bonbright to Acheson, Sept. 4, 1952, 765.00, RG 59, NA; Dunn to Sec., Oct. 11, cit.
53. Paolo Spriano, Storia del PCI, vol. 5 La Resistenza. Togliatti e il partito nuovo.
Turin: Einaudi, 1975; Wall, French Communism in the Era of Stalin, pp. 21–22, 33,
116–117; Edward Mortimer, The Rise of the French Communist Party, 1920–1947.
London, Boston: Faber & Faber, 1984, pp. 310–313; on Left as a “badge of honor”
cf. Winock, Parlez-moi de la France, p. 154; Jenkins, Nationalism in France,
pp. 149–160.
54. Cf. Stephen Gundle, “The Legacy of the Prison Notebooks: Gramsci, the PCI
and Italian Culture in the Cold War Period,” in Duggan and Wagstaff, Italy in the
Cold War, pp. 136–147; Marcello Flores, “Il PCI, Il PCF, gli intellettuali:
1943–1950,” in Aga-Rossi and Quagliarello, L’altra faccia della luna; Nicola Ajello,
Intellettuali e PCI, 1944–1958. Bari: Laterza, 1979; David Caute, Communism and
the French Intellectuals, 1914–1960. New York: Macmillan, 1964, chap. 6 and
pp. 237–258; Michel Antoine Burnier, Les Existentialistes et la politique. Paris: Gal-
limard, 1966; Tony Judt, Past Imperfect: French Intellectuals 1944–1956. Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1992.
55. First quote from Donald Sassoon, One Hundred Years of Socialism: The West
European Left and the Twentieth Century. New York: The New Press, 1996, p. 183;
on myth of Joan of Arc cf. Dominique Colas, “Logique et symbolique de la nation
chez de Gaulle et les communistes,” in Courtois and Lazar, 50 ans d’une passion
française, p. 159; Pierre Nora, “Gaullists and Communists,” in Nora, Realms of
Memory, vol. 3; quotes by Togliatti from Palmiro Togliatti, Opere 1944–1955, vol.
IV. Rome: Editori Riuniti, 1984, pp. 145–6 and 375, also Gentile, La grande Italia,
pp. 321–332; Galli della Loggia, Morte della patria, p. 63.
56. Elena Aga-Rossi and Victor Zaslavski, “L’URSS, il PCI e l’Italia: 1944–48,”
Storia Contemporanea, 1994, 6, pp. 939–942 (see also expanded version, Togliatti
e Stalin: Il PCI e la politica estera staliniana negli archivi di Mosca. Bologna: Il
Mulino, 1997); Alfred J. Rieber, Stalin and the French Communist Party,
1941–1947. New York: Columbia University Press, 1962, chaps. 7–8; Severino
Galante, “The Genesis of Political Impotence. Italy’s Mass Political Parties in the
Years between the Great Alliance and the Cold War”; Serge Bernstein, “French
Power Seen by the Political Parties After World War II,” both in Becker and Knip-
ping, Power in Europe? pp. 189–190 and 175; last quote from Miller, “Roughhouse
Diplomacy,” p. 297.
57. Intelligence report n. 141 signed “n.b.c.” in Caffery to Byrnes, July 30, 1945,
851.00B, RG 59, NA; Memo Chipman, Nov. 23, 1946, FRUS, 1946, V, pp. 471–7;
cf. Edward Rice-Maximin, “The United States and the French Left, 1945–1949: the
View from the State Department,” Journal of Contemporary History, 1984, 4,

pp. 731–734; Miller, The United States and Italy, pp. 191–193.
58. Caffery to Sec. State, Feb. 19, 1947, FRUS, 1947, III, pp. 690–2; tel. A-468
Kirk to Sec. State, July 13, 1945; tel. 2344, May 8, 1946, 865.00, NA; Severino
Galante, Il partito comunista e l’integrazione europea. Il decennio del rifiuto:
1947–1957. Padua: Liviana Editrice, 1988, pp. 31–32; Nenni, Tempo di guerra
fredda, pp. 133–141. Of course reconciling nationalism and loyalty to Moscow was
not always that easy. The Soviet Union’s anticolonial campaign, its opposition to a
French-dominated Ruhr or to an Italian annexation of Trieste, were quite embar-
rassing for Thorez and Togliatti. Yet, on those issues, France and Italy found a great
deal of Anglo-American obstruction too. This gave the Communists a chance to
deflect public attention away from Soviet vetoes and toward London’s and Wash-
ington’s attempts at supplanting French or Italian national interests, especially in
North Africa: cf. Caffery to Sec. State, Apr. 8, July 12, 1946, FRUS, 1946, V,
pp. 422–5, 465–6; Dowling to Matthews Feb. 21, 1946, 740.0011(EW) Peace, RG
59, NA; Spriano, Storia del PCI, 5, pp. 435 ff.; tel. 5244 Bonnet to MAE, Nov. 24,
1946, Amérique 1944–52, vol. 124; Rieber, Stalin and the French Communist Party,
pp. 313–322.
59. Kennan in Gaddis, The Long Peace, p. 154. The State Department was
opposed to shows of force: Memo J. E. Hoover (FBI) to F. B. Lyon (Chief Division
Foreign Activity Correl., Dept. State), June 21, 1946, 865.00B, RG 59, NA; Hick-
erson to Matthews, May 29, 1946, 851.00B NSC 1/1 Nov. 24 1947, FRUS, 1948,
III, pp. 724–6: Memo I. N. P. Stokes to Kennan, Oct. 20, 1947, PPS Recs., b.18.
60. Miller, “Taking Off the Gloves,” cit., and Trevor Barnes, “The Secret Cold
War: the CIA and American Foreign Policy in Europe, 1945–1956,” The Historical
Journal, 1981, 2, part 1, pp. 408–413.
61. Pisani, The CIA and the Marshall Plan, pp. 91–92, 117–118; Albert Hemsing,
“The Marshall Plan’s European Film Unit, 1948–1955: A Memoir and Filmogra-
phy,” Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television, 1994, 3.
62. Cf. Nataliia I. Egorova, “Stalin’s Foreign Policy and the Cominform,
1947–53,” and Anna Di Biagio, “The Marshall Plan and the Founding of the Com-
inform, June–September 1947,” both in Gori and Pons, The Soviet Union and
Europe in the Cold War, cit; for a balanced view: Silvio Pons, L’impossibile egemo-
nia: L’URSS, il PCI e le origini della guerra fredda (1943–1948). Rome: Carocci,
1999; Zdhanov qtd. in Spriano, Stalin and the European Communists, p. 298.
63. Tel. NIACT 2855 Caffery to Sec. State, July 17, 1947, 711.51, RG 59, NA;
Marshall to Lovett, Dec. 10, 1947, FRUS, 1947, III, pp. 813–5; on Italy: tel. 1816
Dunn to Sec. State, July 3, 1947, 865.00; Memo Conv. by Acting Sec. State, Aug.
28, 1947, FRUS, 1947, III, pp. 957–9; Donald Sassoon, The Strategies of the Ital-
ian Communist Party: From the Resistance to the Historic Compromise. New York:
St. Martin’s Press, 1981, pp. 69–70 (qtd. Franco Rodano: “scramble . . .”);
Galante, Il Partito comunista e l’integrazione pp. 43–44.
64. Tel. 2920 Caffery to Sec. State, June 2, 1948, 851.00; tel. 1440 Dunn to Sec.
State, Apr. 1, 1948, 865.00, RG 59, NA; Memo Conv. by Sec. State, March 29,
1949, FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 253–4; NSC 67/1, Apr. 21, 1951, FRUS, 1950, III,
pp. 1486–91; cf. Galeazzi, “Togliatti fra Tito e Stalin,” pp. 109–116; P. Pallante,
“La politica dei comunisti italiani dopo la ‘svolta’ jugoslava,” Storia Contempo-
ranea, 1987, 4.
65. Philippe Buton, “Le pacifisme communiste de la seconde guerre mondiale à la

guerre froide,” in Vaïsse, Le Pacifisme en Europe, pp. 318–322; Wall, French Com-
munism in the Era of Stalin, pp. 97–99, 136–137; Sassoon, One Hundred Years of
Socialism, pp. 221–222; Marc Lazar, Maisons rouges. Les partis communistes
français et italien de la Libération à nos jours. Paris: Aubier, 1992, p. 308.
66. Caffery to Sec. State, Feb. 28, 1949, 851.00; Mtg. De Gasperi-Truman,
Sept. 25, cit, qtd. p. 701; Sforza: qtd. J. H. F. Ferguson to Greene (WE), Apr. 13,
1951, PPS Recs., b. 18, RG 59, NA. On “last resort”: Bruce to Sec. State, Oct. 7,
Dec. 22, 1949, FRUS, 1949, IV, pp. 668–9, 689–91; Dunn to State, Feb. 25, 1951,
FRUS, 1951, IV, pp. 568–9.
67. Cf. Edward P. Lilly, “The Psychological Strategy Board and its Predecessors:
Foreign Policy Coordination, 1938–1953,” in Gaetano L. Vincitorio, Studies in
Modern History. New York: St. John’s University Press, 1968, pp. 361–363; Walter
L. Hixson, Parting the Curtain. Propaganda, Culture and the Cold War,
1945–1961. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997, pp. 11–16; S. Lucas, “Campaigns
of Truth: The Psychological Strategy Board and the American Ideology,
1951–1953,” International History Review, 1996, 2.
68. Caffery to Sec. State, March 18, 1949, 851.00B, RG 59, NA; Progress Report
on various Psychological Operation in France and Italy, by Operations Coordinating
Board [OCB], Feb. 23, 1954, White House Office [hereafter, WHO], NSC Staff, OCB
Central Files, b. 82, Dwight D. Eisenhower Library, Abilene, KS [hereafter DDEL].
69. Cf. sources cit. in note 67 (esp. Lilly, pp. 363 ff and Hixson, pp. 16–19); cf.
DDRS, 1996, 2901D.
70. PSB D-4 “Role of the PSB,” Sept. 28, 1951, PSB Records, b.1, RG 59, NA; PSB
D-14 “Psychological Operations for the Reduction of Communist Power in
France”; PSB D-15 “Psychological Operations [ . . . ] in Italy,” Jan. 1952; cf. Wall,
Making of Postwar France, pp. 213 ff. An excellent study on Demagnetize is Mario
Del Pero, “The United States and Psychological Warfare in Italy, 1948–1955,” The
Journal of American History, 87, 4, Spring 2001.
71. First quote tel. 280, Dunn to Sec. State, July 11, 1952, PSB Records, b. 1 RG
59, NA; cf. tel. 1690 Bruce to Sec. State, Dec. 27, 1951; tel. 377 Ellsworth Bunker
to Sec. State, July 24, 1952; PSB D-29, “Evaluation of the Psychological Effect of
U.S. National Effort in Italy,” Feb. 26, 1953, all in Idem; qtd. desp. 1237, Dunn to
Sec. State, Aug. 20, 1952 in PSB Recs., cit. above; on these “invitations” also PSB
D-29 cit. above.
72. Panel qtd. in desp. 1237 Dunn to Sec. State, Aug. 20, cit; on “middle path” L.
E. Thompson to H. Freeman Matthews, Aug. 23, 1951, 765.001; last quote Bon-
bright to Acting Sec. State, Feb. 20, 1952, PSB, b. 1, RG 59, NA.
73. Dunn to Dept. State, Jan. 21, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1565–9; Dunn to
Sec. State, Aug. 26, 1952, 511.51, RG 59, NA; on demise PSB: Lilly, “The PSB and
Its Predecessors,” pp. 378 ff., and Rhodri Jeffreys-Jones, The CIA and American
Democracy. 2d ed. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998, pp. 83–86.
74. William R. Corson, The Armies of Ignorance. The Rise of the American Intel-
ligence Empire. New York: The Dial Press, 1977, p. 299; CIA, “Review of the
World Situation . . . “ May 12, 1948, DDRS, 1977, 179D; Miller, “Taking Off the
Gloves,” pp. 53–55.
75. On inner circle: Hixson, Parting the Curtain, pp. 22–37; Blanche W. Cook,
The Declassified Eisenhower. A Startling Reappraisal of the Eisenhower Presidency.
New York: Penguin, 1984, pp. 123–127; Ralph G. Martin, Henry and Clare: An
Intimate Portrait of the Luces. New York: G. P. Putnam & Sons, 1991, pp. 301 ff.
76. See Luce’s disclaimers in Luce to Jackson, June 18, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, VI,
pp. 1612–3; cf. Ortona, Anni d’America, 2, pp. 16–19, 57–76; Miller, “Roughhouse
Diplomacy,” pp. 303–309; William Colby and Peter Forbath, Honorable Men. My
Life in the CIA. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1978, pp. 108–127; Barnes, “The
Secret Cold War,” part 2, pp. 663–664.
77. PSB D-37, “Evaluations of the Psychological Impact of U.S. Foreign Economic
Policies and Programs in France,” Feb. 9, 1953, WHO, NSC Staff, PSB, b. 14,
DDEL.
78. Memo Kennan to Hooker, Oct. 17, 1949, cit.; Luce to Dulles, June 15, 1956,
John Foster Dulles Papers [hereafter JFD], Gen. Correspondence and Memoranda,
b. 2, DDEL.
79. For comparisons between Communist and Gaullist nationalism see esp. Nora,
“Gaullists and Communists”; Jenkins, Nationalism in France, pp. 160–161; Serge
Bernstein, “Le parti communiste français et de Gaulle sous la IVe République,” and
Stephane Courtois, “Gaullisme et le communisme: la double résponse à la crise d’i-
dentité française,” both in Courtois and Lazar, 50 ans d’une passion française; sim-
ilar observations on the PCI and right-wing nationalism: Gentile, La grande Italia,
pp. 329 ff.
80. Intelligence Rep. 6410, cit.; PSB D-29, cit; on neutralism and perceptions of
power in France see PSB D-37 (last quote also in Wall, Making of Postwar France,
p. 218); PSB D-29.
81. Ninkovich, Modernity and Power, pp. 212–214; on Ike’s support of European
federalism and Dulles’ position: Louis Galambos (ed.), The Papers of Dwight D.
Eisenhower. NATO and the Campaign of 1952, XII. Baltimore: J. Hopkins Uni-
versity Press, 1989, doc. 578; cf. Lundestad, The American ‘Empire’, pp. 70–71;
Pascaline Winand, Eisenhower, Kennedy and the United States of Europe. New
York: St. Martin’s Press, 1993, pp. 29–34.
82. Eisenhower qtd. in Stephen E. Ambrose, Eisenhower: The President. New
York: Simon and Schuster, 1984, pp. 143–144. Europeans feeling reassured: Memo
759 Gen. Ely to Minister Defense, Dec. 1, 1952, F60, b. 3059, AN; Dwight D.
Eisenhower, The White House Years: Mandate for Change, 1953–1956. Garden
City: Doubleday, 1963, pp. 13–22; Peter Lyon, Eisenhower: Portrait of the Hero.
Boston: Little Brown, 1974, pp. 425–432; on Dulles: Dulles to Eisenhower, Sept. 6,
1953, FRUS, 1952–54, II, pp. 457–9; Towsend Hoopes, The Devil and John Foster
Dulles. Boston: Little Brown & Co, 1973, p. 171.
83. Luce to Dept. State, Aug. 7, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1624–1630 (qtd.
p. 1626); Memo Luce to Eisenhower, Aug. 20, 1954 (first quote at pp. 22–23), and
Aug. 31, 1954 (qtd.) Ann Whitman files [AW] Administration Series [AS], b. 25,
DDEL.; Dillon to Dept. State, Aug. 4, 1953 (qtd.), Hanes to Dulles, Apr. 3, 1954,
(qtd.) FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1372–5, 1405–7.
84. Herz to Dept. State, Oct. 12, 1952, Paris Emb., Recs. EDC and Intl. Org., b. 1,
RG 84, NA.
85. Luce to Dept. State, Aug. 7, 1953, cit.; cf. R. B. Knight to Bonbright, Oct. 29,
1952, 611.65, RG 59, NA.
86. For description of asymmetrical response: Gaddis, Strategies of Containment,
pp. 145–161; cf. Eisenhower, Mandate for Change, p. 446; Saki Dockrill, Eisen-
hower’s New Look National Security Policy, 1953–61 New York: St. Martin’s Press,
1996. Allies’ reactions: Dulles to Eisenhower, Sept. 6, 1953, cit.; Ninkovich, Moder-
nity and Power, pp. 207 ff.
87. Emmet J. Hughes, The Ordeal of Power: A Political Memoir of the Eisenhower
Years. New York: Atheneum, 1963, pp. 71–72; Gaddis, Strategies of Containment,
pp. 133–135; on Ike and withdrawal from Europe cf. Winand, Eisenhower,
Kennedy and U.S. of Europe, p. 36; Trachtenberg, A Constructed Peace,
pp. 147–156; last quote in Edit. Note, FRUS, 1955–57, IV, p. 349.
88. Cf. Mtg. Pinay-Dulles, Oct. 2, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1389–1391; Let-
ter Mendès France to Laniel, May 21, 1954, in JFD, Gen. Correspondence and
Memo, b. 3, DDEL; rep. 283 Quaroni to MAE, Feb. 27, 1954, DGAP, ASMAE.
89. Note 114 by “Administrateur Général délégué du Gouvernement et le Haut
Commissaire” to Bidault, March 1, 1954 (qtd.), and Note for Secretary General,
March 15, 1954, SG, d. 70 (CED IV), AHMAE; cf. Trachtenberg, A Constructed
Peace, pp. 146–200; Varsori, “L’Italia fra alleanza atlantica e CED,” pp. 151–152;
Thomas H. Etzold, “The End of the Beginning . . . NATO’s Adoption of Nuclear
Strategy,” in Riste, Western Security, pp. 295–300; for a quick background cf. Mar-
cel Duval and Pierre Melandri, “Les Etats-Unis et la prolifération nucléaire: le cas
français,” Revue d’histoire diplomatique, 1995, 3, pp. 194–196.
90. Dunn to Dept. State, Feb. 17, 1953, Dulles to Emb. Paris, March 26, 1953, US
Delegation at Tripartite Foreign Minister Mtg. at Dept. State, Oct.18, 1953, FRUS,
1952–54, V, pp. 732–3,781–4, 826–7; Dulles to Emb. Paris, March 27, 1953,
FRUS, 1952–54, VI, 1331–4; On Bermuda mtgs. See vol. V, pp. 1710 ff. and com-
ments in Oral History [OH] 102 (Robert R. Bowie), DDEL. Bidault attended the
summit, instead of Prime Minister Joseph Laniel, who was ill.
91. Dulles to Emb. Paris, Feb. 18, 1953; Mtg. W. D. Fisher (WEA) with M. Faure
(French delegate at UNGA), Nov. 30, 1953 (qtd.); Paper by Dept. State, Jan. 1954,
all in FRUS, 1952–54, V, pp. 734–7, 856–8, 873–4; Rep. 1680, Dec. 31, 1953,
“Salient Psychological Factors in the EDC Ratification in France,” (p. 7), 751.5, RG
59, NA; cf. Hitchcock, France Restored, pp. 175–180; on Adenauer’s leverage in
Washington: Bidault to Bonnet, July 25, 28, 1953, SG, d. 69 (CED III), AHMAE;
Hans J. Grabbe, “Konrad Adenauer, John F. Dulles and West German-American
Relations,” in Richard H. Immerman (ed.). John Foster Dulles and the Diplomacy
of the Cold War. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990.
92. Bidault to various embassies, Feb. 16, 1953 (qtd.), SG, d. 69, AHMAE; Memo
by Fisher, Nov. 30, 1953, cit.; qtd. Memo Conv. by MacArthur, Apr. 23, 1954,
FRUS, 1952–54, V, pp. 942–6 (qtd. 944); qtd. Dulles to Dept. State, Apr. 13, 1954,
pp. 930–1; Eisenhower to Gruenther, Apr. 26, 1954; see also, June 8, 1954, AS,
b. 16, DDEL; detailed accounts on Dien Bien Phu and its impact on U.S.-French
relations in Wall, Making of Postwar France, pp. 246–262, and Artaud and Kaplan,
Dîen Bîen Phu, cit.; cf. Georgette Elgey, La République des contradictions,
1951–1954. 2nd ed. Paris: Fayard, 1993, pp. 619–638.
93. R. P. Joyce (Paris) to Dept. State, Oct. 8 1953, Paris Emb., EDC and Intl. Org.,
RG 84, NA; Memo Alphand, Sept. 25, 1953; tel. 7432, Bonnet to MAE, Oct. 10,
1953, SG, d. 69 (CED III) AHMAE.
94. Brussels Conference see esp. Documents Diplomatiques Français [hereafter
DDF], 1954, I. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1987, docs. 66, 69, 70, 71, 80, 81;
Pierre Mendès France, Oeuvres Complètes, 3, Gouverner, c’est choisir, 1954–55.
Paris: Gallimard, 1986, pp. 226 ff.; cf. Memo Herz, Sept.16, 1954, FRUS, 1952–54,
V, pp. 1094–1113. Generally on Mendès France’s foreign policy: Renè Girault (ed.),
Pierre Mendès France et le role de la France dans le monde. Grenoble: Presses Uni-
versitaires de Grenoble, 1991.
95. DDF, 1954, doc. 49, Note du Président, Aug. 8, and doc. 63 Mendès France to
Bonnet, Aug. 13; doc. 70, Bonnet to Mendès France, Aug. 16; On U.S. opinion
about Mendès France and on Geneva cf. Dillon to Dept. State, Dulles to Emb. Paris,
Aug. 12, 1954, FRUS, 1952–54, pp. 1026–33; Mendès France, Oeuvres, 3,
pp. 119–123; for general view see essays by René Girault and Pierre Melandri in
François Bedarida and Jean-Pierre Rioux (eds.), Pierre Mendès France et le Mendè-
sisme. Paris: Fayard, 1985.
96. NSC 160/1, Aug. 17, 1953, AW, NSC Series, Policy Papers Subs., DDEL.
97. Merchant to Sec. State, July 6, 1953; tel. 405 Durbrow to Sec. State, July 31,
1954, 611.65, Subject Files Italian Affairs 1944–56, b. 13, RG 59, NA; Note by
Office I, “Direzione Generale Cooperazione Internazionale,” March 11, 1954, FC,
“Italia - CED,” b. 27, ASMAE; on France as the coldest ally on Trieste see esp. Qua-
roni to Pella, Sept. 11, 1953, FC, “Francia-CED,” b. 25, ASMAE; on lack of coor-
dination for ratification: tel. 21/0316 Note by Magistrati, Jan. 23, 1953, FC, b. 25,
“Francia-CED,” ASMAE; tel. 147-152 Fouques-Duparc (Rome) to MAE, March 5,
1954, SG, d. 70 (CED IV), AHMAE.
98. Luce to Dulles, June 21, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, VI: 1614–7; U.S. Delegation
at NAC to Dept. State, Dec. 14, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, V, p. 457; Luce to Eisen-
hower, Aug. 31, 1954, FRUS, 1952–54, VIII, p. 509; cf. Alfredo Canavero, “La
politica estera di un ministro degli interni. Scelba, Piccioni, Martino, e la politica
estera italiana,” Storia delle relazioni internazionali, 1990, 1, p. 81; on first steps
“opening to the left”: Gianni Baget-Bozzo, Il partito cristiano e l’apertura a sinistra.
Florence: Vallecchi, 1978, pp. 3–18; Nenni, Tempo di guerra fredda, pp. 590–601.
99. Cf. Ortona, Anni d’America, 2, p. 14; Immerman, John Foster Dulles, introd.
On cajoling: tel. 581-9 Bonnet to MAE, Jan. 30, 1953, Amérique 1952–63, vol.
373, AHMAE; Eisenhower to Laniel, Sept. 20, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, V, pp. 812–3;
Dulles to Achilles, Feb. 16, 1954, AW, Dulles-Herter, b. 2, DDEL; tel. 21/1165
Tarchiani to MAE, FC., b. 25, “USA-CED,” ASMAE. On threats cf. Merchant to
Dulles, Nov. 20, 1953; Memo Conv. Sec. State, Feb. 17, 1954, FRUS, 1952–54, V,
pp. 853–4, 875–7; cf. Winand, Eisenhower, Kennedy, and the U.S. of Europe,
pp. 34–57; Melandri, Les Etats-Unis face à l’Europe, pp. 418–430; Brian R.
Duchin, “The Agonizing Reappraisal: Eisenhower, Dulles and the European
Defence Community,” Diplomatic History, 1992, 2.
100. On Bruce cf. tel. 59 Bruce to Dulles, Oct.1, 1953, Paris Emb., EDC, b. 1, RG
59, NA; OH 243 (Robert Thayer, Assistant Emb. Paris), DDEL; Bruce to Dept.
State, March 21, 1954 (qtd.); 187th Mtg. NSC (Eisenhower qtd.), March 4, 1954;
Dulles to Emb. Paris, June 25, 1954 FRUS, 1952–54, V, pp. 901–904, 886–7,
983–4. On Italy: Dillon to Dept. State, Sept. 20, 1953; Dulles to Scelba, Apr. 10,
1954, Idem, pp. 808–12, 929–30; Rep. 2151 Tarchiani to Piccioni, Feb. 18, 1954,
FC, b. 27, “USA-CED,” ASMAE.
101. On U.S. discarding alternatives: Memo Fueller to Bowie (PPS), Dec. 10, 1953,
FRUS, 1952–54, V, pp. 711–7, 863–5; Memo Jackson to the President, Feb. 6,
1954, VI, pp. 1399–1402; Gruenther to J. B. Conant (High Commissioner for Ger-
many), Nov. 20, 1953, Gruenther Papers, NATO series, b.1, DDEL; Massigli to
Parodi, Dec. 10, 1953, SG, d. 69 (CED III) AHMAE; OH 175, L. Merchant,
pp. 38–39, SGML.
102. Tel. 283 Quaroni to MAE, Feb. 27, 1954, cit.; tel. 21/0751, Tarchiani to Pic-
cioni, March 10, 1954, FC, b. 27, “USA-CED,” ASMAE; and docs. in FRUS,
1952–54, VIII, pp. 416–22.
103. On efforts to please de Gaulle cf. critical remarks in Note Bonnet, Jan. 3,
1953, PA, 271-Bonnet, vol.1, AHMAE; Dillon to Dept. State, Sept. 20, 1953, Memo
Achilles, Dec. 15, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, V, pp. 808–12, 868–70; on Saar: Paper
Dept. State, Nov. 18, 1953, pp. 841–51; Note “Status of Negotiations . . . ”
March 17, 1954, Paris Emb., EDC, b. 1, RG 59, NA.
104. Cf. Diego De Castro, La questione di Trieste. L’azione politica e diplomatica
italiana dal 1943 al 1954. Trieste: LINT, 1981, pp. 265–277, 822–823; Massimo De
Leonardis, La “diplomazia atlantica” e la soluzione del problema di Trieste
(1952–1954). Napoli: ESI, 1992; Heuser, Western Containment, p. 183.
105. On Luce’s role, Italian hopes of using her influence and Washington’s reac-
tions: Gruenther to C. B. Luce March 3 1953, Gruenther Papers, Gen. Correspon-
dence, b. 11; OH 220 (C. B. Luce), pp. 45–50; Mtg. Eisenhower-Dulles, Oct. 6,
1953, JFD, Chronol. Series, Telephone Conv. Subs., b. 1, DDEL; E. J. Hughes to
Luce, July 15, 1953, C. B. Luce Papers, b. 604, Library of Congress [hereafter LC];
De Ferraris (N. Y.) to Tarchiani, Jan. 6, 1953; tel. 3238 Rossi Longhi to MAE, FC,
b. 4 (C. Luce), ASMAE; NSC 5411/2, pp. 40–46 of version from NA, NSC series,
RG 273; Eisenhower, Mandate for Change, pp. 409 and 416; see also Brogi, L’Italia
e l’egemonia americana, pp. 97–100.
106. Juin to Laniel, Jan. 27, 1954, Pleven Papers, 560AP, b. 51, AN; Georges-
Henri Soutou “La France, l’Allemagne et les accords de Paris,” Relations Interna-
tionales, 1987, winter, pp. 459–460 (though he does not attribute as much impor-
tance to this initiative). Note Jureconsulte du Dept., Sept. 8, 1954; Mendès France
to Massigli, Sept. 8, 1954, DDF, doc. 150 and annexe doc. 154; Summary Mtg.
Mendès France, Churchill, Eden, Aug. 23, 1954, SG, d. 73 (CED IV); tel. 2489-94
Massigli to MAE, June 18, 1954, PA, 271-Massigli, vol. 71 AHMAE. On Eden’s
hesitations cf. Aldrich (UK) to Emb. Paris, July 12, 1954, FRUS, 1952–54, V,
pp. 1016–8; for an account particularly favorable to Mendès France cf. Hitchcock,
France Restored, pp. 192–202.
107. Cf. esp. Soutou, “Accords de Paris”; Soutou, L’Alliance incertaine, pp. 26–36;
A. Coutrot, “La politique atomique sous le gouvernement Mendès France,” in
Bedarida and Rioux, Mendès France et le mendésisme; stressing nuclear power as
instrument of grandeur esp. Hecht, The Radiance of France, cit.
108. See Milward, European Rescue of Nation-State, chap. 4; Pierre Guillen,
“Europe as a Cure for French Impotence? The Guy Mollet Government and the
Negotiations of the Treaties of Rome,” in Di Nolfo, Power in Europe?; Romero,
“L’Europa come strumento,” p. 32; Jolyon Howorth, “France and European Secu-
rity, 1944–1994: Re-Reading the Gaullist ‘Consensus,’ ” in Tony Chafer and Brian
Jenkins (eds.), France, From the Cold War to the New World Order. London:
Macmillan, 1996, p. 18; Ghislain Sayer, “le Quai d’Orsay et la construction de la
Petite Europe: l’avènement de la Communauté économique européenne
(1955–1957),” Relations Internationales, 101, spring 2000. For a different thesis
see Moravcsik, The Choice of Europe, cit., and Michael Burgess, Federalism and the
European Union: The Building of Europe, 1950–2000. London, New York: Rout-
ledge, 2000.
109. Cf. Harper, American Visions of Europe, p. 323; on subsequent perceptions:
Romero, “Interdependence and Integration,” pp. 165–174; Winand, Eisenhower,
Kennedy and the U.S. of Europe, pp. 72–80; Lundestad, Empire by Integration,
pp. 49–57.
110. Note “Secretariat Génerale,” Jan. 15, 1954; Note “Direction Générale Affaires
Politiques - Europe Centrale,” March 29, 1954; Bonnet to MAE, June 25, 1954, SG,
d. 70 (CED IV) AHMAE; Mendès France cit. in Pondaven, Le Parlement et la poli-
tique extérieure, pp. 109–110.
111. Cf. Massigli to Mendès France, Jan. 7, 1955, DDF, 1955, 1, doc. 16; Marc
Trachtenberg, “The Nuclearization of NATO and US-Western European Rela-
tions,” in Heller and Gillingham, NATO.
112. Rep. 15490/1967 BabuscioRizzo (Bad Godesberg) to Piccioni, Sept. 9, 1954;
tel. 21/2271 Magistrati to MAE, Nov. 2, 1954; tel. 3725/1805 Zoppi to Martino,
July 21, 1955; Brosio to Martino, March 2, 1955, DGAP, Italia, b. 331, ASMAE.
5
Mediterranean “Missions”
At Dien Bien Phu, the French Armée lost more than ten thousand men.* It
was the worst defeat a Western regular army ever suffered at the hands of a
colonial resistance movement. The Algerian revolt, latent for several years
and an open war after November 1, 1954, was to be just as devastating for
France, its empire, and even more for the institutions of the Fourth Republic.
But the French were not ready to surrender Algeria the same way they sur-
rendered Vietnam. For they believed that their mission civilisatrice had
reached its zenith in North Africa, transmitting institutions and culture to a
population of bedouins. Further, the French unyielding gospel was that Alge-
ria, with over one million European “colons” was France. These myths were
compounded by France’s realization that North Africa was the last bastion of
the empire (significantly, French resurrection in World War II had started
from Algiers) and that the Algerian rebellion was the ultimate challenge to its
status as a world power. Consequently this was also what many French saw
as their last chance to preserve the nation’s true identity, for, as Pierre Nora
has put it, “the often denounced introversion of the traditional French system
of identity depended on a capacity for extroversion on a world scale.”
Considerations of rank and prestige molded France’s efforts to retain
Algeria more than they influenced its conduct in Southeast Asia. In the sum-
mer of 1954 François Mitterand, then minister of Interior, blamed the “dirty
war” in Indochina for making France “miss her European rendezvous and
*The figure includes allied indigenous troops, as well as prisoners who died in
Vietminh prision camps: see www.dienbienphu.org.
neglect her African mission.” A few months later, former governor general
of Algeria Marcel-Edmond Naegelen warned the National Assembly that
the loss of Northern Africa would mean “letting France fall into the rank
of a secondary power, even of a vassal power.” “What is at stake,” he
declared, “is not only our prestige, but also our national independence.”
Most French people continued to subscribe to these views, though not
with the same fervor as their representatives. So the politicians—across the
spectrum, including several Communists—outdid the public more than
usual in embracing the myth of grandeur.1 Since the Fourth Republic was a
shaky regime, upholding that myth appeared to be the quickest way to
maintain its international as well as internal legitimacy. But by relying so
much on imperial grandeur, the regime also raised the symbolic value of
colonialism to the level of an absolute, staking its survival on it.
Historians have widely conceded that prestige was crucial in the Algerian
crisis and that it hindered sober counsels in Paris. What needs to be
explained is how France specifically tied together its status policies in NATO
and the empire, and how the United States reckoned with that tendency.2
It is also important to test how decolonization, in conjunction with a cru-
cial phase of European integration, offered Washington another chance to
encourage its allies to explore different venues of national prestige, based
less on power and coercion than on morality, democracy, and interdepend-
ence. Western Europe’s rehabilitated democracies, Germany and Italy,
“free” from colonial dreams, now emerged as models of that path. Italy was
the more determined of the two to assert itself as a mediating power par
excellence in the Mediterranean. So Italy aptly presented itself as the
guardian of a Mediterranean “mission” that, alternatively to the British or
French imperial “mission,” emphasized the advantages of commercial
expansion and multilateral cooperation. In the final analysis, though,
Rome’s combination of “moral righteousness” and opportunism yielded as
little as Paris’ imperial resistance.
IMPERIAL DECLINE
Upon taking office, John Foster Dulles immediately recognized the impe-
rial priorities of the French: they had “no desire to hold Indochina,” he said
at a meeting of State Department officials and the Joint Chiefs of Staff on
January 28, 1953, “except for the effect that the loss of Indochina would
have in North Africa.” “They feel North Africa is vital,” his deputy, H.
Freeman Matthews added, “otherwise they would become a country like
Belgium.” The fear of demotion was particularly acute among the French
in light of the EDC negotiations, and because of their deep-seated convic-
tion that Europe and France’s Mediterranean possession constituted a unit,
as conceded in the Atlantic Treaty. Without “political, economic and demo-
graphic” alliance between Northern Africa and Western Europe, a memo-
Mediterranean “Missions” 173
randum from the Quai d’Orsay had argued a few months earlier, there
would be no real third force between a “Russified Asia and the American
continent.” As the pivot between the two continents, France would be the
natural leader of this third bloc. After the European army project had
foundered, and partly because of that, France kept pinning its status on that
“indissoluble” imperial link. Ambassador Douglas Dillon sharpened
Dulles’ argument in May 1955, as the Algerian conflict began escalating:
“North Africa has always been far more important than Indochina in
French thinking,” he wrote, “not only in Paris but throughout [the]
provinces. [The] French believe that their very existence as a factor on the
European and world scenes depends on their position in North Africa.”3
Surely, geostrategic and economic interests provided a powerful motiva-
tion for retaining the colonies. But France’s “obsession” with Algeria was
more a matter of national pride. Some U.S. officials speculated that having
abdicated Indochina, French nationalism needed a natural outlet, which it
found in its almost “illogical” resistance to the aspirations of the Arab peo-
ples. This was a reductionist view, to be sure. But there was a general con-
sensus in Washington that France’s self-perception as a “factor” in world
politics was quite at odds with “Anglo-Saxon” pragmatic considerations.
Regardless of their “Eurafrican” third force dreams, the French appeared
bizarrely galvanized by the possession of an empire that was obviously
draining their nation’s resources: “nationalism grows when French power
ebbs” a study from the Psychological Strategy Board reported in February
1953; “it is not so much the potential benefit of overseas territories, but the
liability itself which becomes an integral part of the French concept of
power, of a patrimony of prestige which France cannot renounce without
losing its self-respect.”4
Dillon and his colleagues at the embassy in Paris drew the conclusion that
in North Africa more than anywhere else the French needed American help
but would resent American interference. In November 1952 James Dunn
had argued that psychological support of the French in North Africa
“would cost [the United States] nothing financially.” This argument still
seemed plausible in 1954.5 But American leaders recognized that the
“moral” and probably “strategic” price Washington would have to pay for
backing European colonialism unconditionally was too high. The Eisen-
hower administration, prompted by America’s own tradition of anticolo-
nialism and by Soviet opportunist propaganda against Western imperialism,
found itself caught between the irreconcilable desires to satisfy Arab nation-
alism and to preserve the alliance with France. That dilemma cannot be
properly explained without dealing with prestige factors in Franco-Ameri-
can mutual perceptions.
The “pragmatic” Americans grew increasingly at odds with what they
saw as France’s almost “spiritual” attachment to its colonial grandeur. The
problem was compounded by the fact that the Arab elites of North Africa
had been schooled in French nationalism. Ironically this meant that, like
their teachers, the Arabs often subordinated economic imperatives (which
might have justified slower emancipation from France) to the “spiritual”
appeal of self-determination. The pragmatic Americans’ work of reconcili-
ation thus became even more arduous.
Before the Algerian War. Even before the Algerian rebellion, all the
ambiguities of France’s prestige policy converged in its management of
North African emancipation. Leaders in Paris recognized that their empire
had to be justified in the Cold War context, a notion confirming that rank,
in Europe as well as in Africa, might be preserved and even advanced only
in cooperation with the United States; at the same time, the specific cir-
cumstances of French colonial demise induced those leaders to link their
prestige to defying the American “challenge.”
Imperial decline for the French bore the imprint of the 1940 debacle.
Their “hypersensitivity” and failure to meet a changing world could be
largely ascribed to their “psychosis of defeat,” observed Julius Holmes in
1955, when he was U.S. minister in Tangier. By contrast with Great Britain,
where decolonization appeared a part of a continuing process that had
started before the war, the 1940 “shock of catastrophe,” as historian Jean-
Baptiste Duroselle calls it, induced the French to see colonial rebellions as
another unmitigated disaster. When the Americans invaded North Africa,
with all their impressive equipment and their democratic appeal, they further
diminished the Arabs’ respect for their debilitated, reactionary colonial
rulers. At the Casablanca Conference of 1943, President Roosevelt promised
to support the sultan of Morocco’s bid for independence—an act the French
deplored as an example of brazen and irresponsible anticolonialism.6
American interference continued unabated after the war. The French
repeatedly protested Washington’s indifference toward, if not encourage-
ment of, contact between American diplomats and nationalist movements
such as the Istiqlal in Morocco and the Neo-Destour in Tunisia. The U.S.
government, for its part, relentlessly pressured the French to grant reforms
and at least dominion status to the two protectorates. Such contacts and
pressures, the French believed, more than offset whatever support Wash-
ington offered to their nation’s position in North Africa, no matter how
substantial that was. Paris remained convinced that the Americans bore a
major responsibility for the events that ultimately led to the independence
of Morocco and Tunisia by 1956.7
Indeed, nowhere else did American help come with so many strings
attached: in the colonies even more than in the “metropole,” ECA officials
required the French government to comply with their advice on economic
and political reform. Leaders in France harbored a lingering suspicion, then
turned into a myth, that America’s political and business leaders acted in
concert to supplant Europe’s colonial interests in the Arab world.
Paris, however, did not reject American aid in North Africa. As in

Indochina, if perhaps with more discretion, the French invited U.S. cooper-
ation through the application of Truman’s Point IV program (the first
global development strategy, announced in the president’s inaugural speech
of 1949). Welfare, French leaders argued, would be the best barrier to
Soviet influence in the region. But they also wanted to use aid as an instru-
ment of pressure, to force the local elites to cooperate with the metropole,
not as a means to their rapid emancipation.
The French regarded U.S. aid as a means not only to retain their domi-
nance in the region but also to bolster their reputation both in the eyes of
the Americans and the colonial peoples. To Washington they wanted to
prove that their own modernization programs—heavily financed from the
U.S.—provided the best solution to poverty in Morocco and Tunisia. To
their protectorates they wanted to show that the benevolent initiative was
all French; hence, they insisted on discretion from Washington. If aid to
those countries carried an American label, an OCB report commented in
1955, then local populations might draw the conclusion that France was
“unable to provide for their basic needs and their economic development.”
In the early 1950s, thanks to the progress of the Monnet Plan and a lead-
ing role in European integration, France exercised considerable leverage on
Washington. In December 1951 Ambassador Bonnet gloated that Africa
could no longer be “led to recovery by profiting from Europe’s weakness”
and that American public opinion had started to believe in the future of the
French Union.8 Even in relation to North Africa, France’s initiative in
Europe thus became less a proclamation of independence from the Ameri-
can hegemon than another step toward winning its favor.
In the hopes of drawing more American attention and aid, the French
resorted to invoking the specter of Communism. While that strategy had
worked in Indochina, it seemed to be far less effective in regard to Arab
nationalism. Paris cited Mossadegh’s new regime in Iran and the appeals
of Egypt’s King Farouk [sic] to Moscow as examples of Soviet influence in
most colonial resistance movements, particularly illustrating the Kremlin’s
expansionism in the Mediterranean. To corroborate their argument,
French leaders insisted on two points: that the religious fanaticism of
movements such as the Istiqlal reinforced their anti-Westernism and
pushed them into a marriage of convenience with the main enemy of the
West, its atheism notwithstanding; and that nationalism would fragment
the Arab world, making it more vulnerable to Soviet penetration. Even if
Arab elites did not flirt with Moscow, Bonnet maintained in April 1951,
their personal ambitions and feudal outlook made the situation ripe for
Communist revolution. All these arguments were calculated to reinforce
the validity of the French mission and to portray France as a most valuable
agent against the “red” peril. Only French tutelage, Paris insisted, pro-
vided the African continent with the cohesion, sustainable growth, and
social progress that would prevent Communism. While conceding the

obvious shortcomings of Moroccan or Tunisian societies, the Americans
candidly retorted that by repressing legitimate demands for self-determi-
nation, France would end up throwing moderate Arab nationalists into
Moscow’s arms.9
The French wish to dictate terms of cooperation with the United States in
North Africa was partly rooted in their belief that the Anglo-Saxons had
unjustly evicted them from the Near East. Briefly in 1950 the French
thought that the Americans and the British would help return France to a
prominent position in the region. With the Tripartite Declaration of May
1950, which gave birth to the Near East Armament Coordinating Commit-
tee (NEACC), the three powers committed themselves to limit and control
arms trade and to oppose any aggression by one country in the region
against another. Ostensibly this came close to the kind of directorate Paris
eagerly advocated. But the formal machinery soon provided a means to rein
in France’s freedom of action instead of recognizing its restored role in the
Near East. London and Washington continued to cooperate exclusively,
keeping France out of the crucial discussions that led to the project for a
Middle East Command in 1953, to the creation of the Baghdad Pact in
1954 and to several plans aimed at maintaining revolutionary Egypt tied to
the West.
Washington consistently dismissed French objections to this exclusion.
The peoples of the Near East, it contended, nurtured resentment toward
their former “tyrant” mixed with disrespect toward its present decline. In
the end, U.S. officials argued, letting France discuss matters of a region that
it no longer ruled would justify permanent consultations on every possible
issue: “we are not going to have a three-cornered world outfit,” Paul Nitze
railed at a JCS-State joint meeting immediately following the much publi-
cized Anglo-American summit at Malta in 1951.10 For Washington France
had already lost its world power status.
Making things worse, French and American claims to universalism col-
lided in North Africa like nowhere else. The Americans believed that
France, blinded by its colonial chimera, had failed to live up to its tradition
as the nation of the Rights of Man. Having seized the torch as leader of the
free world, the United States emphasized the universal value of self-deter-
mination for which it stood, while downplaying its own “collusion” with
the colonial powers. The French, who had since the Revolution identified
the nation with the state more than with ethnicity, tended to underrate eth-
nic nationalism; conversely they believed their own nationhood depended
on their continuous capacity to extend abroad the Republican ideal that
since the Revolution had legitimized their state. Albert Camus’ most
famous novels, with their systematic nullification of Arab characters, were
highly symbolic of France’s unease with the erosion of its national “des-
tiny.” Inasmuch as the French vaunted their own experience and self-
appointed role as guarantors of democracy for immature peoples, they

regarded the United States in North Africa as an ignorant, clumsy giant
wandering in a glass house. Interestingly, both Paris and Washington justly
accused each other of a tendency to apply to all external problems the same
formulas that had worked at home. But the French reminded the Americans
that they lacked “historical” consciousness, that they had forgotten their
own revolution was one of “colons,” and above all that they should respect
centuries of French experience in international diplomacy.
Particularly in North Africa, French leaders insisted, their expertise was
irreplaceable, and their mission far from complete. Some claimed that the
nation of Enlightenment had a natural affinity with the logic and abstract
nature of Islamic culture; others by contrast posed as latter-date crusaders,
shielding Christian civilization from the “Orientals” (Muslims, Soviets, or
both). The theme of French “cultural mission” was no mere rhetoric, as
André Nouschi has noted, for it countered the growing international
unpopularity of colonialism, hence—one should add—justifying “morally”
as well as “historically” France’s world power status.11
In the court of public opinion, however, the French “mission” in the
Mediterranean came under scrutiny. In 1952, the Afro-Asian delegates at
the United Nations managed to place the crisis in North Africa on the Gen-
eral Assembly’s agenda for the first time. Despite the veto power it enjoyed
as a member of the Security Council, France read the possibility of official
condemnation from the majority of the international community as an
unbearable stigma and an intolerable pressure. Prestige as a democracy and
inviolability as a great power went hand in hand for the nation of the
Rights of Man.
Faced with such circumstances, the French acknowledged American
influence at the UN and its role in shaping world opinion, and asked
Washington to intercede on their behalf. The Americans did, but they also
abstained during the vote for a resolution on the Tunisian crisis, confirm-
ing Paris’ perception that their support was at best ambivalent. As Henri
Bonnet explained in a memorandum to Schuman in April 1952, the
United States itself was struggling to maintain its credibility among Afro-
Asian peoples.12
France’s accent on moral and historic grandeur was aimed at internal pol-
itics as well. Under the banner of the mission civilisatrice, the French gov-
ernment could rally virtually all political forces, including those which, con-
sistent with their philosophy, should have favored self-determination. The
Socialists above all posed as guardians of democracy against North Africa’s
return to religious obscurantism. Even the Communists, by the early 1950s,
while naturally rejecting the war against Ho Chi Minh, began to justify
postponement of emancipation in North Africa with their own “mission-
ary” argument: the nationalist movements there represented the bourgeoisie
and had not absorbed Lenin’s anti-imperialist message yet.13
The faith in the nation’s universalism was most enduring among French
military leaders, a group that had always strongly identified with the
empire. Moreover, many of the military leaders posed as the stalwart pro-
tectors of French honor and glory, and even of the whole Western heritage.
They also hoped that quelling “Moscow-inspired” independence move-
ments would erase the shame of 1940 and quickly restore the nation’s pres-
tige and improve its position within NATO. Yet, as the EDC debate had
shown, military engagements overseas threatened to undermine that posi-
tion. Unable to assume full responsibility in Europe and Southeast Asia at
the same time, France had failed to earn its claim to world leadership. The
French had even less of a chance for success when they tried to use a strong
stand in Algeria to bolster their position in NATO.14
Washington did not change its basic approach to French colonialism dur-
ing the Algerian war. By focusing on the main themes identified above—
U.S. interference, European integration, French exclusion from the Near
East, the “specter” of Communism, “universal” missions—we can put into
perspective America’s response to France’s status considerations and to
their possible impact on the Western alliance.
Interference and Invitation. Because Algeria was a formal colony, and

not a protectorate as were Morocco and Tunisia, the French denounced any
American attempt to influence the conflict there as an intrusion in their
internal affairs. Most U.S. officials, while realizing that those claims of
Franco-Algerian institutional unity were meaningless, recommended
“patience, tolerance and encouragement,” as Theodore Achilles, then min-
ister of embassy in Paris, put it in January 1956. The stakes were high, the
diplomat explained, especially considering that France’s decline as a world
power “which [was] now clear to almost all Frenchmen, had [already] less-
ened [their] interest in and regard for NATO.” At the same time Ambas-
sador Dillon went as far as to urge some kind of “ringing declaration” of
support to stave off the mounting anti-American sentiments among the
French, who had become increasingly persuaded that the United States
planned to evict them from North Africa.
Dillon’s pressure on Washington reached a crescendo in early 1956. The
new government of Socialist Guy Mollet had introduced an electoral reform
plan for Algeria, soon watered down under pressure from the right. With a
statement of support from Washington, the ambassador argued, the pro-
gressive forces in France might gain enough confidence to launch a more
daring reform program. After receiving authorization from the State
Department, Dillon made a speech on March 20 to the Anglo-American
press in Paris, announcing that his government stood “solidly behind
France in the search of a liberal and equitable solution to the problems of
Algeria.” But the statement was hardly the kind of full endorsement Paris
expected, and led only to “a brief honeymoon,” as Irwin Wall has described
it, before the escalation of the Algerian conflict and the Suez crisis damaged
Franco-American relations again.15
The Eisenhower administration kept cautiously avoiding any “official”
interference. For example it did not condemn the French when, in October
1956, they arrested Ahmed Ben Bella and five other leaders of the Algerian
rebellion after hijacking the airplane on which they were traveling to a Con-
ference in Tunisia. Despite requests from Tunisia and Morocco to intervene
for the release of the prisoners, Washington stayed out of the affair, fearing
an anti-American backlash in France. Dillon reminded the State Depart-
ment that “French attachment to NATO [was] already worn out by [the]
Suez Affair.” A few months later, the Americans turned down an invitation
from the British for joint arbitration of the Algerian conflict, partly because,
following Suez, they preferred to avoid close association with London; but
also because they realized the French would perceive the move as an impo-
sition. A Moroccan-Tunisian mediation plan, which had been in store for
several months, seemed less likely to offend either side’s pride. It would also
keep it a “family” affair, as members of Mollet’s cabinet strongly argued.
(With the conflict in Algeria intensifying in 1957 these mediation efforts,
however, stalled).16
The French had much more reason to resent “unofficial” American inter-
vention. The examples of such interference were numerous. The American
Federation of Labor and the Congress of Industrial Organizations used the
same strategy in North Africa as they had in France: by supporting the mod-
erate Western-oriented trade unions and their own campaign for Algerian
independence, the American unions planned to curb the influence of the rad-
ical nationalists. The State Department and the U.S. delegation at the UN
maintained informal contacts with Algerian rebels of the National Libera-
tion Front (FLN), thus granting them tacit recognition. The most influential
American media openly advocated their cause. As soon as the oil was dis-
covered in Algeria in 1956, the French noticed with alarm that some Anglo-
American companies conducted their “shady deals” with the revolutionar-
ies, trading support to their movement in return for a promise of contracts.
Worst of all, American backing of France at the UN started dwindling by
late 1956. The French deplored these developments not so much because
they reiterated America’s traditional anticolonialism, but because they
revealed Washington’s diminishing faith in their efforts to retain Algeria.17
From mid-1957, that lack of faith induced the United States to act more
directly to keep North Africa in the Western camp. Military assistance
proved essential to secure Morocco’s and Tunisia’s pro-Western orientation.
Washington would have preferred to relegate this to the French, but Rabat’s
and Tunis’ support of the Algerian rebels made that prospect impossible. As
a result, the Eisenhower administration proceeded on its own. In April it
opened a renegotiation of the U.S.-French agreements of 1950–51 for bases
in Morocco with King Mohammed V, before Paris could revise defense
arrangements with the newly independent country. Later that year, with
Britain, it supplied arms to Tunisia. While reluctantly accepting the U.S.-
Moroccan military talks, the French government took the arms deal as an
affront. Accusing the two allies not only of supplanting French interests but
also of procuring weapons that almost surely would be turned over to the
FLN, Premier Felix Gaillard threatened to withdraw from NATO. He did
not follow up on his threat though: as a sign of protest there was only a
walkout of the French delegation at a NATO parliamentary meeting in
December. Because the French saw the problem mostly as an offense to their
national honor, they had missed the subtlety of the American move. Rather
than “conspiring” with the British to replace France, the United States had
responded to repeated appeals for assistance from Tunis and Rabat. The
stakes were high, as Tunisian leader Habib Bourguiba hinted he might turn
to the Soviets or to Nasser’s Egypt for help.18
U.S. economic assistance to Tunisia and Morocco evolved along similar
lines. At first, shunning Truman’s Point IV policy, the Eisenhower adminis-
tration counted on private investments and trade rather than aid to secure
stability in developing countries. By placing a special emphasis on burden-
sharing, Washington contended that the former colonial power should
assume responsibility for the welfare of these nations. Eisenhower was par-
ticularly insistent on letting France “maintain a certain position” in
Morocco and Tunisia “so that she w[ould] help them to meet their finan-
cial deficits.”
But the Algerian war was taking a heavy toll on French finances. And
Paris also withheld assistance because of the collaboration between the
FLN and leaders of Morocco and Tunisia. French arrogance in turn pushed
Bourguiba and Mohammed V to invite Washington to take up the slack.
Resorting to their own “tyrannical weakness,” they stressed that otherwise
pro-Nasser or pro-Soviet factions would take over their governments.
Morocco further blackmailed Washington by postponing the base deal. The
two countries had no qualms about replacing French rule with the loose
hegemony of the distant, powerful, and more “benevolent” United States.
They told Washington to stop considering them the “economic vassal[s] of
France.”19 By late 1957, the U.S. ambassador to Paris, Amory Houghton
worried that without continuous and generous French programs to the
Maghreb area, France and the United States were “likely to be drawn into
[a] position of rivalry which is contrary to both our interests and desires.”
Nevertheless, Washington had to step in. It granted far less than Rabat and
Tunis had pleaded for, enough however to have the desired psychological
effects there, and the undesired ones in France.20
The Eisenhower administration changed its mind also about the most
direct kind of diplomatic interference: a mediation of the North African
conflict. To be sure, it still rejected any idea of direct arbitration of the
Franco-Algerian war. But it decided to join the British in a “good offices”
mission following an air raid on February 8, 1958, by French forces on the

Tunisian border town of Sakiet-Sidi-Youssef, which Algerian rebels
allegedly used as a base. There were several reasons for sponsoring recon-
ciliation between Paris and Tunis. First, incensed by France’s use of U.S.
equipment against innocent civilians, Washington had fewer scruples about
assuming a “firm and frank attitude” with the ally. Second, without a rapid
settlement of the incident the war might escalate, to the advantage of pan-
Arabism, or worse, the Soviet Union. Third, mediation seemed urgent to
preserve Bourguiba’s Western orientation as well as his moderating influ-
ence on the FLN. Fourth, if France returned to good terms with Tunis, it
was more likely to resume the main responsibility for financial assistance to
its former protectorates. Last but not least, Secretary Dulles made it clear
he was doing a favor to France in preventing a Tunisian recourse to the UN.
But the choice of Under Secretary of State Robert Murphy as head of the
mission was quite unfortunate. Undoubtedly an expert in French affairs, he
was also the man who had favored Vichy over de Gaulle and who viewed
the current Socialist leaders in Paris as “ruthless” and “intellectually inso-
lent.” Siding with the Tunisians and even suggesting that France should
negotiate with the FLN, Murphy exacerbated the animosity with his French
interlocutors. Washington nevertheless endorsed his conclusions in April
and imposed an unfavorable compromise on the Gaillard cabinet, which
immediately fell under widespread criticism at home. Beyond Murphy’s and
Washington’s worst expectations, the event started the spiral that led to the
collapse of the Fourth Republic.21
All this is not to say that the French government rejected any American
role in North Africa. Although the French were far more sensitive there
than in Indochina about publicizing American assistance, they nevertheless
demanded it with almost equal persistence. They wanted NATO solidarity
(which meant U.S. aid) in Algeria, without NATO interference. For exam-
ple, at first they were hesitant about using military supplies from the MDAP
for fear of alienating Washington. But already in the spring of 1955 they
asked, and obtained permission to recycle U.S. helicopters from the
Indochina war.22 Given the risk of a UN debate on the Algerian crisis, Paris
regarded an Anglo-American arbitration as a lesser evil. Indeed the French
solicited Washington’s initiative, provided it would be kept secret. Above
all, by promoting stealth negotiations, France was also hoping to improve
three power cooperation outside NATO (the directorate), without suffering
its main drawback, internationalization of a conflict they still considered a
domestic affair.23
Even U.S. economic assistance to the Maghreb area was a welcomed
prospect in Paris, under certain conditions. The French wished the United
States to join them in pressuring Morocco and Tunisia by dangling aid to
them without actually delivering it, the same way, together with the
British, it had done toward Egypt. But ultimately France was ready to
accept a certain American economic presence in the region. By cooperating

with Washington in underdeveloped countries—even its former protec-
torates—it hoped to continue to benefit indirectly from U.S. economic
assistance, which by the mid-1950s was clearly giving priority to Third
World areas.
The French also intended to prevent America’s “bilateral” aid policy
toward Arab countries. In May 1956, Foreign Minister Christian Pineau
submitted to the North Atlantic Council a multilateral aid plan for various
underdeveloped regions. Of course the United States would have carried the
main burden. In June, Pineau failed to persuade Dulles that his plan would
be the best propaganda counterattack against the Soviets.24 Nevertheless
France—like Italy, as shown below—continued to envision multilateral aid
to Third World areas as a means to preserve its status in NATO, and
through that position to extend economic cooperation among Atlantic
allies. Such cooperation in turn was supposed to preserve French status and
influence among its former colonies, preempting American bilateralism.
Finally, Dillon’s 1956 declaration of support to the French cause in
Algeria came under heavy solicitation from Paris. The French demanded
an endorsement from the Western hegemon that they could proudly flag
at the United Nations and at home as proof that their nation was still a
world power.25
In the final analysis, France was willing to accept and even promote a cer-
tain cooperation with the United States in North Africa, but with virtually
no strings attached; it also tried hard to avert the overwhelming political and
economic influence that a far greater power—and a far more welcome one
in the region—would normally gain from such cooperation. Such ideas
revealed the unrealistic position typical of a declining power that nurtured a
mixture of fear of imminent collapse and faith in resurrection. The Ameri-
cans found charges of maliciously supplanting French interests unjust and
misleading. Murphy viewed this propensity “to place the onus for the French
predicament in Algeria . . . on the United States” as a “psychological phe-
nomenon” that resulted from France’s own “frustration” for not finding a
solution and from “a natural human tendency to blame a benefactor.” But
even more sympathetic U.S. diplomats and Eisenhower himself reiterated
that the French were ungrateful, that America had no intention of replacing
them in North Africa (“on the contrary we want them to keep playing a
major role there,” the president insisted as late as December 1957), and that
whatever happened in that region rather proved their inability to shoulder
the responsibility—and wisdom—of world leadership.26
Integration and Leverage. The French had learned that their country
exercised real leverage toward the United States when it held the reins of
European integration. With the Western European Union treaty ratified, it
became apparent that France could no longer keep the Americans hostage
to its decisions regarding German rearmament. Washington could thus con-

centrate on “restor[ing] its own prestige in the Afro-Asiatic world” as
Holmes and other U.S. officials insisted by mid-1955. Perhaps more impor-
tant, as the French ambassador to London René Massigli warned Paris
shortly before the ratification of the WEU, by entering NATO Germany
enjoyed not only a material recovery but a “moral” one as well, at a
moment in which the events in North Africa threw French morality into
question. And as France began to send NATO contingents to fight in Alge-
ria early in 1955, it found itself once again accused of dismantling the main
Cold War front, thus of forsaking its potential role as Western Europe’s
defense linchpin.27
After the relaunching of Europe at the Messina Conference, the French
tried to wed their European and colonial interests, and by doing so, to
recapture influence in Washington. As early as April 1952, Bonnet had
speculated that a “Europe-Africa movement to which every African terri-
tory would be invited to join” would first of all create a “common front”
with which Paris and London could better face Washington’s pressure to
“decolonize”(at that point the French still hoped that Britain would become
closely associated with the EDC). Furthermore, a Eurafrican project would
draw the support of American leaders, such as Eisenhower, who had
embraced European federalism. The power of such appeal depended on
France’s ability to portray colonialism as a unifying element against the
forces of ethnic disintegration, or worse, the creation of a Muslim bloc hos-
tile to the West. While upholding the “third force” concept, the Eurafrican
project was expected to generate a more profitable cooperation with the
United States, aimed at economically and strategically strengthening the
North African region against the Soviet threat. The keystone of such inte-
gration would be, of course, Algeria.
It was not a new idea. The “myth” of Eurafrica was born with the first
visions of a European federation between the two World Wars. It finally
became a concrete plan in October 1956, when the government of Guy
Mollet proposed to extend the EEC to the French Union in Africa. Though
opening its African markets to the other five partners, Paris still counted on
orchestrating all development projects. Such projects, the prime minister
believed, would prove to the world that the French Union was the sole vehi-
cle to real emancipation, economic and social, of North Africa.28 Ideally the
plan for Eurafrica blended together mastery of interdependence and old-
style nationalism as sources of French world power status. In fact, it
revealed France’s inconsistency between European statesmanship and colo-
nial grandeur.
As the French had anticipated, the Eisenhower administration welcomed
their initiative. Dulles in particular recognized that Africa was “the big hin-
terland of Europe” and praised Eurafrica as a geopolitical entity that would
“open up . . . new and exciting vistas.” But his expectations ran opposite
to those of the French: before endorsing the project the United States had
to make sure it would be “a device for transferring the present colonial rela-
tionship into a partnership on more equal terms.” Instead it soon became
evident that France, unable to finance its own empire, was trying to do it
by association with its European partners. Worse, Paris seemed to subordi-
nate its cooperation with the Common Market in Europe to that associa-
tion. Rather than allowing Germany to play a pivotal role in development
projects—a role that Bonn was increasingly demanding—the French tried
to preempt it by way of integration.
Indeed, this was the core of the problem. Obsessed with counterbalanc-
ing the growing weight of Germany in Europe and in the alliance, the
French remained convinced that Algeria was vital to their nation’s status as
a world power. But the war in Algeria precipitated the crisis of the French
budget.29 This further increased France’s dependence on the United States,
proving the futility of the French claim to world mastery. Instead of con-
solidating a third force, “Eurafrica” was likely to make Europe more vul-
nerable (with the diversion of French troops) and still reliant on the United
States. As the French resented such dependence, Washington concluded,
they might then be tempted to make deals with the Russians; or more likely,
by clinging to their crumbling empire, they might let it fall prey to Soviet
influence.
Exclusion from the Middle East. The Suez crisis is universally known as
the watershed that marked the end of Great Britain and France as world
powers. What is worth emphasizing here is France’s unreadiness to adapt to
that reality, an attitude compounded by its old feeling of exclusion from the
Anglo-American “club.” Parity with the Anglo-Americans in the Middle
East was, in Paris’ vision, one of the best means not only to bolster France’s
imperial mission, but also to maintain a status above that of Germany.
But the Algerian war confirmed the Anglo-Americans’ resolution to keep
France, the most discredited power among the Arabs, out of permanent
consultations on the Middle East. From January 1955, the State Depart-
ment together with the British Foreign Office began to analyze warily
French ambitions in that region. While establishing military relations with
Israel, Paris also cultivated Syrian and Lebanese opposition to the Baghdad
Pact (which the French portrayed as a British hegemonic design in the
region, detrimental to Western Cold War strategy). To avert such disruptive
tactics, Washington and London agreed to exchange some information with
the French about the Middle East. But the Anglo-Americans still denied
France full partnership, an option they deemed of no strategic advantage
and politically too costly.30
France took Nasser’s nationalization of the Suez canal in July 1956 as an
opportunity for a comeback in the region. The idea of a punitive Anglo-
French-Israeli expedition against Egypt originated in Paris and quickly
drew enthusiastic support from British prime minister Anthony Eden. The
Mollet-Pineau cabinet and the French military conceived the operation pri-
marily as a strike against the nation that provided the main financial and
political support to the Algerian rebellion. Moreover, the French thought
that by consolidating their friendship with Israel, they could get a firmer
foothold in the region. Finally, Guy Mollet, sincerely dedicated to the
relaunching of Europe, hoped that this alignment with Britain would
strengthen the ties between the Commonwealth and the Continent. Confi-
dent that the United States would give its assent to the fait accompli, the
French premier also envisioned the operation against Egypt as a renewed
chance to promote a “Big Three” NATO directorate.31
Underlying French actions was the hope that distinction in arms would
restore Anglo-American respect in France’s command role within and out-
side NATO. For the army the delusion of grandeur reached a climax. On
November 4, General André Beaufre, French commander of the expedition,
thus addressed his troops: “France and the world have their eyes on
you. . . . If necessary, you will repeat the exploits of your forebears
[Napoleon] on Egyptian soil.”32
The Suez war came to an abrupt end after a few days, under the com-
bined pressure of the Soviet Union and the United States. It is widely
acknowledged now that, more than Moscow’s hint of “nuking” the aggres-
sors, it was Washington’s suspension of financial and oil assistance to its
allies that forced them to declare a cease-fire. The British, mired in one of
their worst financial crises—partly caused by the Suez operation—gave in
first, dragging the reluctant French in compliance with American
“orders.”33
As early as November 10, the Quai d’Orsay provided a lucid analysis of
the Suez operation. A memorandum from its Direction Générale Politique
admitted French blunders, particularly that of having irreparably antago-
nized the Arab peoples. But it also included stern rebukes of the British deci-
sion to leave France in the lurch one more time, and the American decision
to abandon its two most precious allies. The Quai d’Orsay also recognized
that the crisis had revealed “with implacable clarity that the security of
France depend[ed] entirely on the American alliance” and that France and
Great Britain were “no longer able to influence seriously world affairs.”
This realization had been latent since de Gaulle and Bidault’s failure to play
the Russian “card” between 1944 and 1947. But this time France felt the
burden of dependence on Washington more heavily than ever, since its need
for American support clashed with its rising expectations as a nation no
longer in the throes of postwar reconstruction, and because Suez marked
the climax of years of disagreement with the United States on colonial
issues. French “resentful nationalism,” as Maurice Vaïsse has noted, began
at Suez, not with the Fifth Republic. But because it was born of resentment,
it “led the country to an even deeper involvement in the Algerian war.”
Worse still for the stability of the Fourth Republic, the French Army
blamed the failure of the Suez operation on the government as much as on
the Anglo-Americans. The Army was an institution, as Raymond Aron
described it, “steeped in its past glories and . . . determined to put an end
to the chain of humiliations.” In his memoirs, de Gaulle thus portrayed its
attitude in the late 1950s: “ . . . haunted by fear of another Indo-China,
another military reverse inflicted on its colours, the army, more than any
other body, felt a growing resentment against a political system which was
the embodiment of irresolution.”34
The politicians in Paris found additional reasons for nurturing their own
rancor against London and Washington. It took only a few weeks for the
Anglo-Americans to restore their entente. With Anthony Eden, America’s
main culprit for the Suez collusion, out of the way, the new premier, Harold
Macmillan resumed the cooperation with the United States in the Middle
East, albeit from an inevitably subordinate position. While seizing the main
initiative in the region with the Eisenhower Doctrine, Washington was
reluctant to fill yet another strategic vacuum left by Britain and welcomed
sharing responsibilities and burdens with its old ally. Meeting at Bermuda
the following March, Macmillan and Eisenhower restored the “special rela-
tionship,” pledging economic and strategic cooperation in the Middle East
and permanent consultations on world affairs.35
Guy Mollet also tried to dispel the Suez incident when he paid a visit to
the White House in February 1957. On that occasion the prime minister
offered his good offices on virtually every pending issue in the Middle East.
The State Department concurred with Ambassador Dillon that reconcilia-
tion with Paris was urgent. France had just begun suffering the economic
effects of the Suez crisis, including oil shortages and spiraling inflation, and
considered resorting to protectionist measures. Worse, because of their cri-
sis of adjustment to “second or third rank,” as Dillon specified, the French
were in an “abnormal” state of mind, still angry, “bordering on traumatic
shock,” and ready to reconsider their NATO commitments. However, on
the eve of Mollet’s visit, Secretary Dulles wrote to the president that the
purpose of this exchange should be the “restoration of normal and friendly
relations” between the two countries “without reviving the ‘Big Three’ con-
cept [emphasis added],” which unfortunately was foremost in the French
premier’s mind.36
Paris concluded that the Anglo-Americans were jealously guarding their
newly combined preserve in the Middle East and perhaps were even cov-
eting the Saharan oil. More crucial, once again, as in 1944–45, London
had proven that it could obtain results by “bowing” to Washington. With
its unstable politics, fear of power demotion and indomitable faith in
national assertion, France, as ever, could not afford to bow. This became
evident from the way France began references to European autonomy
within NATO.
As a consequence of the Suez crisis, Mollet ostensibly reevaluated the

advantages of interdependence, accelerating the process of European inte-
gration. It was primarily to encourage this French reorientation away
from the empire toward Europe that the Eisenhower administration had
rushed to pacify Mollet and had even approved in principle the idea of
Eurafrica. But France embraced the EEC out of its usual confrontational
attitude: having realized that NATO solidarity did not apply outside the
area of the alliance, the French made their new bid for world power sta-
tus through a potential European “third force,” this time more independ-
ent than Ike or Dulles hoped for. For this same reason, France speeded up
its atomic program undertaking a tripartite nuclear cooperation with Italy
and Germany. The idea in Paris was once again to rein in German poten-
tial for strategic autonomy and use that cooperation to produce a French-
led “European” force de frappe. And it was also in order to compensate
for Germany’s probable growth within the EEC, that France became more
resolute on Algeria.37
The Communist Specter. The Algerian National Liberation Front was

more radical than its Moroccan and Tunisian counterparts, its relationship
with Nasser more intimate. But in this case—as in that of Egypt—there was
no evidence that the Kremlin was the main instigator of an essentially
nationalist, Muslim rebellion. Yet the French used several arguments to cor-
roborate their point.
The Communist Party of Algeria was quite small, but by 1956 it had
made some inroads in the insurrectionary movement. French propaganda
also stressed the FLN’s terrorist tactics as evidence that the rebels could not
become moderate and pro-Western. But France’s most cogent argument was
the growing connection between Third World emancipation and Moscow,
particularly following the Bandung Conference of April 1955, which, under
the leadership of Nasser, Tito, and Nehru, gave birth to the non-aligned
movement. Soon after that conference, Nikita Khrushchev announced the
extension of Russian economic assistance to participating countries. It soon
became clear in which direction most non-aligned nations were leaning. If
not explicitly Communist, Paris insisted, the movements of national libera-
tion were open to Soviet indoctrination. In November 1956, the French
ambassador to Moscow, Maurice Dejean, together with Foreign Minister
Pineau mused that the anticolonial struggle had awaken from their “tor-
por” peoples “otherwise resigned to their destiny”; such political excite-
ment made them “susceptible to the teachings of Marxism-Leninism even if
at first, their outlook [was] purely nationalist.” The preference Arab lead-
ers had for Moscow seemed confirmed after the Suez crisis. “Islam and
Communism have seemingly ceased to be in contradiction,” the Quai d’Or-
say observed, “[for] Russia has gained enormous prestige [among Arabs]
after rescuing Nasser.” Knowing how tenuous the link between Third
World nationalism and Moscow could still appear, Mollet contended that
the Algerian rebels, many of whom had served in Indochina, took Mao
Zedong as main Marxist model for their fight against the “white man.”38
The French were not lucky. Washington had so far displayed a “prag-
matic ability to deal with [Third World] neutralism on its merits,” as H. W.
Brands has argued. And, despite Dulles’ apparent phobia for the Commu-
nist monolith, the Eisenhower administration acted “in a remarkably non-
ideological fashion” toward Third World nationalism. Even the Eisenhower
Doctrine, passed in Congress as an aid package and military assistance to
Arab countries threatened by Communist infiltration, targeted primarily
pan-Arabism and aimed at isolating, then seducing Nasser.39
The Algerian rebels adamantly refuted French charges that they served
either Egypt’s or Russia’s interests. After the Suez crisis, FLN leader Ferhat
Abbas rushed to give such reassurances to State Department officials in
Washington. To strengthen his point, the Algerian rebel announced he
would favor a merger between Morocco, Tunisia, and Algeria, which
together could act as the link between the West and the Middle East.
Although Washington still harbored some skepticism about the moderation
of the FLN, it did see the potential advantage of Abbas’ offer. The project
for an independent North African federation, under study during the fol-
lowing years, seemed a great strategic opportunity, especially if, as
expected, it was going to have Bourguiba at its helm. Eisenhower in partic-
ular tried to oppose to Nasser an alternative leader in the Arab world, one
with unassailable pro-Western credentials.40
In its effort to entice the North African peoples, the United States of
course ran the risk of compromising the vital alliance with France. Egya
Sangmuah has pointed out that “Eisenhower ‘understood’ nationalist aspi-
rations in the colonies and, although bent on containing Communism, sat-
isfied these aspirations even to the extent of disregarding the wishes of
European allies.” It would be more accurate to say that the White House
calculated whether neutralism had better chances of developing and of
turning pro-Soviet, in France or in North Africa. U.S. perceptions of French
status goals were central to such assessment.
In the aftermath of Suez, Dillon warned Washington again that France, fac-
ing “a substantial number of further humiliations” could be capable of “retir-
ing into neutralistic isolation.” Moreover, he and other American officials
feared that, in Algeria, as in Indochina before, the French could desperately
seek a deal with Moscow that might allow them to retain their colony. Also,
a “popular front” solution always lurked behind French political instability,
especially after, late in 1957, the PCF tactically became more strongly pro-
colonial. But Dillon soon thereafter added a reassuring note: the “wave of
anti-Americanism [might] well subside [in France],” he wrote, because of
French “mercurial public and governmental opinion . . . with its special
bias and egocentric viewpoint.” The State Department underwrote this point,
especially after Gaillard’s empty threat to withdraw from NATO in Novem-

ber 1957. As Dulles had anticipated “the situation would be bad for a while”
but “the French would get over it since they needed our help.”41
In North Africa it was a different matter. Reversing France’s argument,
Washington insisted that the French colonial war was not against an
already existing Soviet-Arab coalition, but that it might create one, rallied
behind the banner of national liberation. North Africa was still wobbling
between East and West. America’s all too new friendship with leaders in
Tunisia and Morocco needed to be cultivated. As the State Department legal
adviser Loftus Becker summarized the situation in April 1958: “if Bour-
guiba falls, it is almost certain that North Africa would change its align-
ment . . . if we exert more pressure on the French, it is less certain that
they would leave NATO.”42
Washington thus saw a contradiction in French status policy: France
cared about appearances—which meant standing up to America in defense
of French colonies—but ultimately this would not divert their attention
from matters of substance, and particularly that NATO was more necessary
to France, even to its “grandeur,” than France was to NATO. This reason-
ing, however, might turn out to be too simplistic. As Dillon tirelessly
warned, the line between appearance and substantial interests was more
blurred for France than for any other ally: world power status was to most
French leaders inextricably linked to the nation’s basic security and eco-
nomic needs. And, granted that France would always come back into the
Western fold, the question was on what terms, as a politically weak, petu-
lant, quarrelsome ally or as a hard-headed but reliable partner. This would
become for Washington the core question during the final crisis of the
Fourth Republic.
Competing “Missions.” Because it was so embattled and sensitive to

decline, France raised its claim to universality to an article of faith during
the Algerian war. A leading role for France was in the interest of all human-
ity, the military and the politicians alike insisted.
Writing to Eisenhower in November 1956, Generals Juin and Weygand
summarized their viewpoint on Algeria: France was “making an effort to
preserve there, against the worst incitements to racial struggle and religious
fanaticism, a profoundly humane task which the Arab governments ha[d]
been incapable of performing at home.” How would the nation of the
Droits de l’Homme justify its repression of self-determination in North
Africa? Leaders in Paris—Socialist Mollet in the forefront—made a distinc-
tion between national independence and individual freedom: if they
achieved the former, the politically immature Algerians would sacrifice the
latter. Furthermore, most French representatives grew to believe that in
Algeria they were defending not only “Mother France” but all of Western
Civilization from the Islamic-Communist tide.
The Americans labeled France as “highly idealistic about the empire,”

“living in a dream world,” and judged its “nationalistic tendencies” as bor-
dering on the “irrational.” What seemed ominous for French stability and
Mediterranean security, as the Operation Coordinating Board noted in Feb-
ruary 1958, was that “the natural characteristic of stubborn courage and
confidence in France’s historic role ha[d] made it hard [for the French] to
adopt timely compromises.” Earlier, Julius Holmes had reproached the
nation of the “Revolution, the Rights of Man, Descartes, etc.” for becom-
ing “allergic to change.”43
Whatever the validity of these judgments, the United States proposed its
“peaceful” remedy, economic aid, to quell Third World unrest, in contrast
with France’s repressive methods. Clearly, the Americans contended, the
Cold War had assumed a new connotation. Through aid policies, the United
States and the Soviet Union competed for the hearts and minds of the devel-
oping nations, as the case of Nasser’s Egypt demonstrated.44
The French concluded that Washington was not merely urging modera-
tion on them. They took their ally’s suggestions also as a portent that the
appeal of the American “dream” could easily eclipse their own less showy
but far “deeper” work of education in North Africa. America’s threat to
French interests in the region was interchangeably economic and cultural,
for the United States’ culture epitomized modern capitalism. For this reason
the French embassy in Washington relentlessly solicited the Quai d’Orsay
to speak with the Americans in their own terms, emphasizing the economic
benefits France could secure for the North African peoples (significantly
Paris had neglected publicizing this aspect of the mission civilisatrice).
Pineau’s plan for coordinated assistance to the Third World ostensibly
followed America’s advice; but besides placing the main financial onus on
Washington, it did not promise full emancipation from the Union
Française.
Other French officials fought America’s pontificating: Robert Lacoste,
upon his appointment as Governor General of Algeria in February 1956,
took a chance to strike back publicly at U.S. anticolonialism criticizing how
the “Land of the Free” treated its Indians and Blacks. Two years later Hervé
Alphand, then ambassador to Washington, sarcastically observed that in an
attempt to make friends everywhere, in Europe and in the Third World, the
Americans had “ended up making themselves hated by everybody.”45
Alphand’s remark had a grain of truth. After all, in the eyes of the Arabs,
the United States remained France’s main ally. But it was also true that cred-
ibility toward world opinion and its main arena, the United Nations,
became an increasingly important factor in American foreign policy. As
early as November 1955 the U.S. Permanent Representative at the UN,
Henry Cabot Lodge, argued that getting involved in a “big fight in [the]
defense of French colonialism” in the General Assembly would be “most
harmful to the American position throughout the non-white world.” Even
the sympathetic Dillon a year later admitted that it would be damaging to

support France’s “frozen” position on the Algerian debate. In July 1957 the
deputy assistant secretary of state for Near Eastern and African Affairs,
William Rountree, reported that the UN Arab delegates were willing to
trade their support on the Hungarian question for that of the United States
on Algeria. The Arabs were obviously banking on the superpowers’ rivalry.
But their request presaged a breakup of the Soviet-Arab entente at the
United Nations. Rountree added that it was no longer realistic “to put all
our chips on the Mollet [reform] program” for Algeria. At the UN fall 1957
session the Afro-Asian block came close to passing a resolution in favor of
Algerian self-determination. The United States did muster the votes for a
watered-down version; but it also intensified its pressure on France to aban-
don its inflexibility on the issue (only in 1959 did de Gaulle accept the UN
debate on Algerian independence in principle).46
Finally, highly symbolic of Washington’s self-appointed role as beacon
for the emancipating countries and of the widening gap it created with
Paris was a much publicized Senate speech by John F. Kennedy on July 2,
1957. The Democratic Senator castigated French colonialism and the
Eisenhower administration for not taking a firmer position against it. The
tirade struck Paris for its harsh comments on French injustice in Algeria,
for the resonance it had around the world, and for its assertion that in its
best interest too France should forsake colonialism in favor of “economic
interdependence” with North Africa. Despite Dulles’ apologies for the
interference and his dismissal of Kennedy’s speech as a preelectoral move,
it was undeniable that, in extreme tones, the Senator had voiced the mes-
sage that the U.S. government more softly had been trying to convey to
Paris: the days of colonialism were numbered, and France had better adapt
to the less ambitious task of mastering interdependence in Europe as well
as in North Africa.
By late 1957 the Algerian war had become “internationalized” despite
French efforts to keep it a domestic affair. Through TV images of the
famous Battle of Algiers and its atrocities, through the efforts of the Arab
delegates at the United Nations, and not the least, through public criticism
from the United States and from European allies, the “world had taken
notice,” as Alistair Horne has put it. As most French leaders had feared, the
mission civilisatrice had fallen into disgrace.47
A MEDITERRANEAN “VOCATION”
Italy was no economic powerhouse by the mid-1950s. Yet it was show-
ing the first signs of a formidable recovery. Through the period from 1948
to 1963 its GNP enjoyed rates of growth that were paralleled in Europe
only by Germany. For both former Axis powers that was a catch-up phe-
nomenon, since their economies had been more severely affected by the war
and by the production restrictions imposed by the victors. Yet the Germans,
and especially the underrated Italians found the rapidity of such phenome-
non striking, even exhilarating. By the end of the 1950s, commentators
hailed the German and Italian “economic miracles.”48
These results, together with Italy’s long-sought UN membership, nour-
ished many Italian leaders’ international ambitions. The new President of
the Republic, Giovanni Gronchi, time and again struck the American audi-
ence with bold assertions about the consideration the United States owed
his country with its “50 million people and such a geographic and strategic
position.” Gronchi, together with the president of the Italian State oil
industry (ENI), Enrico Mattei, and other dominant left-wing Christian
Democrats posed as champions of national—or nationalist—aspirations.
The clear intent of all these leaders was to overcome Italy’s ancestral inferi-
ority complex. As State Department advisor Lloyd Free noted in 1956, “the
very fact that Italians [felt] subservient render[ed] them acutely sensitive on
the subject of national dignity.”49
While helping to relaunch Europe (from Messina to the Treaty of Rome),
Italian leaders sought opportunities for national reassertion in the Mediter-
ranean. That was the arena where Rome had traditionally conducted its
power politics. Although any emphasis on a special role in the Mediter-
ranean was somewhat reminiscent of the Fascist myth of mare nostrum, this
time Italy naturally had no aggressive design. Its self-assigned mission was
that of mediating conflicts in the area, becoming the ideal diplomatic bridge
between the Arabs and the West. That role would first of all bolster Italy’s
“moral” prestige as a renewed and prosperous democracy. Of course such
regained reputation would also make it easier for the Italians to obtain a
lion’s share in the Middle Eastern oil and trade markets.
But most important of all, Italy conceived its status policy in the Mediter-
ranean with an eye on its rank among European powers. In Rome the offi-
cials and politicians who opposed a “Mediterranean” policy argued that it
would neglect European integration; in fact, proponents of such policy fol-
lowed an essentially European “design.” Most of them expected that by
establishing a privileged partnership with the United States—rising hege-
mon in the Mediterranean—Italy would improve its status within NATO
and consequently its negotiating position versus the other EEC members. It
was true, however, that by adopting an assertive Mediterranean policy Italy
risked alienating its French and British allies. More than ever, Rome’s ambi-
tions depended on a careful balance between national assertion and manip-
ulation of interdependence.
Finally, Italy’s Mediterranean diplomacy and national assertiveness fol-
lowed domestic goals: many of its advocates wanted to establish a dialogue
with non-aligned leader Nasser as a step toward the “opening to the left,”
the operation that aimed at extending the government coalition to the
proneutral Socialist Party. The discourse on “national dignity” that
informed such diplomacy was in itself a powerful appeal to Italy’s leftist

champions of greater autonomy toward NATO. Washington naturally was
alarmed by this last implication of Rome’s Mediterranean policy.
Mediterranean “Vocation”: the Precedents. Italy’s pursuit of a privi-

leged cooperation with the United States in the Mediterranean was not new.
Badoglio had sought one as early as 1944. During the postwar settlement,
Italy, however, had nothing else to offer but colonial ambition, desperately
trying to obtain at least a trusteeship over Libya. Since possession of an
empire was still the undisputed measure of power and rank in Europe, com-
petition with the other Mediterranean masters, Britain and France, could be
set only in these terms. But by engaging in it, Italy made its impotence all
the more evident.50
Turning necessity into virtue, Italian leaders quickly came to view the loss
of their colonies as a blessing. This became evident in 1949, after the UN
General Assembly put an end to Rome’s last hope, rejecting even the con-
solation prize—a mandate over Tripolitania—that Bevin had agreed to pro-
pose for Italy. Foreign Minister Sforza then declared at the Parliament that
the government would immediately advocate the full independence of
Libya, for it was “our moral duty and political interest” to do so. At the
same time, Italy abandoned its postwar confrontational attitude with the
colonial powers, trying to preserve and expand the country’s commercial
interests in the Mediterranean. As Sforza told James Dunn the following
April, Rome was now seeking an economic role in Libya, “establishing [a]
mutually profitable trade” in cooperation with the British. More strikingly,
the Libyans themselves ostensibly forgot the recent past and welcomed
stronger economic ties with Rome, presumably to prevent an Anglo-French
preponderance in North Africa.51
Indeed Italy had contemplated the possibility of economic cooperation
beyond Europe since the founding of the OEEC. Sforza immediately told
the British that the OEEC would be ideal for sponsoring development proj-
ects in North Africa. Still premature by 1947, this idea nevertheless laid the
basis for Italy’s Mediterranean policy of the late 1950s.52
Even more important for Rome was the search for a common under-
standing on decolonization with the United States. Sforza’s advocacy of
Arab emancipation as a “moral duty” in 1949 was partly designed to
captivate America’s anticolonialism; his inquiries about development
projects were meant to carve a niche for Italy within the Point IV pro-
gram. The Korean conflict, and Truman’s consequent emphasis on rear-
mament, overshadowed that program, particularly in North Africa and
the Middle East, where Washington gave priority to the establishment of
an effective defense system, in cooperation with the British. Italy, never
as concerned about external threats, and the least prone of NATO mem-
bers to raise its military budget, did not cheer these developments. Above
all, the Anglo-American military cooperation highlighted its second-class

status as a nation that could offer no contribution for the defense of the
Middle East. Lower rank, many in Rome believed, would entail fewer
economic opportunities as well. It was no accident that in 1951, De
Gasperi’s attempt to promote NATO’s article 2 on economic and cultural
cooperation coincided with the Italian government’s first statements
about its special competence in Mediterranean affairs or, as it became
known, its “Mediterranean vocation.”53
In September the Italian under secretary for foreign Affairs, Paolo Emilio
Taviani chose Bari’s Fiera del Levante, a trade fair displaying Italy’s con-
tacts with the Eastern Mediterranean, to announce his government’s ambi-
tion to become the “natural bridge between the West and the Muslim
world.” Such a role, De Gasperi immediately confirmed in a speech at the
Senate and in talks with State Department officials, found its justification
in several factors: Italy’s geographic position, its long tradition of cultural
ties with the Islamic area, and above all, the friendly relations it enjoyed
with most Arab countries, thanks to its “providential” exclusion from the
ranks of imperial powers. Of all NATO countries, the prime minister sug-
gested, Italy was in the best position to mediate controversies in the area;
together with Washington it could help reconcile the most disgruntled Arab
nations to the West. Insisting on economic measures as the best instrument
of containment, Rome posed as the ideal messenger of U.S.-sponsored proj-
ects of cooperation. Conversely, the Italian prime minister warned Acheson,
if NATO continued to privilege military alliances in the Middle East, the
Arabs might accuse the West of reinforcing colonial prerogatives.54
Ultimately, Italy tried to portray itself as the bearer of an alternative “civ-
ilizing” mission. In contrast to France especially, it flaunted its capacity to
influence peacefully Islamic cultures. Without hiding its opportunism, it
presented its quick abjuration of colonialism as an example of flexibility, an
adaptation, it argued, that came easy for a nation with such a long experi-
ence of foreign despotism. Contending that militarization of the Atlantic
Alliance was an instrument of conservatism, most DC and left-of-center
leaders also regarded their “mission” as one of indirectly reorienting NATO
toward reform: solidarity between the wealthy and the poor nations could
improve social and economic cooperation among Western allies as well.
These practical ends aside, Italy’s “missionary” vision, like French colo-
nialism, relied on culture and symbols as its main instruments. For Italy,
even more crucially than for France, this resort to its “civilizational” value
helped to offset its lack of material power. The Church and the organized
Catholic forces in Italy had since the Risorgimento tried to enhance their
influence internally and internationally by arguing that the nation’s
(Catholic) spiritual force, not its material power, was at the core of its iden-
tity and international role. By the mid-1950s, the influential Cardinal Gio-
van Battista Montini (who would become Pope Paul VI), echoing the rhet-
oric of the leading Christian Democrats, advanced the image of a Catholic

and democratic Italy entitled to exert its international appeal through moral
rather than material power.55
But the description of the “Mediterranean vocation” as a clear, consistent
design should not be taken too far. Italian leaders careened in every direc-
tion in their desperate search for greater rank. Their criticism of military
alliances often seemed motivated by their resentment for being excluded. As
early as 1951, for example, they unsuccessfully asked to participate in the
negotiations for a Middle East Command—later renamed Middle East
Defense Organization (MEDO)—taking place among Turkey, Britain, and
the United States, and aimed primarily at coopting Egypt, already the undis-
puted leader of the Arab nations. After Nasser turned down the offer and
the Eisenhower administration shifted its strategy to the Northern Tier,
which led to the creation of the Baghdad Pact in 1954, Rome continued to
hedge its bets: publicly Prime Minister Mario Scelba was almost as critical
as the French toward Britain’s “imperialist” designs; but during his visit to
Washington in March 1955, he cautiously inquired about Italy’s possible
association with the Pact. On that occasion, the State Department Director
of Near Eastern Affairs, Ben Dixon contemptuously remarked that Italy
wished to participate in every organization “only for reasons of prestige”
without being able to contribute anything in return.56
Clearly, Italian leaders pinned their personal ambitions on the politica di
presenza; worse, they perpetuated the national cult for bella figura, which
placed ceremony above substance. And they seemed unable or unwilling to
decide how to pursue prestige, by approaching the Arabs or through an
entente with the dominating powers of the Middle East. But despite these
uncertainties, Italy’s Mediterranean policy had some coherent elements and
less empty rhetoric than it appeared.
By trying to join military alliances in the Middle East, Italy intended to
reinforce the connection between NATO’s Southern and Central European
flanks. Without that connection the MEDO or the Baghdad Pact were likely
to favor British interests in the Mediterranean and further reduce Italy’s role
and perhaps security in the Western alliance. Moreover, a Mediterranean
project under the aegis of NATO would secure American hegemony in the
region, always a better prospect for Rome than a condominium among
France, Britain, and the United States. Not the least, Italian membership in
MEDO especially could provide an alternative to the rapprochement
between Italy and Yugoslavia, on which Rome’s allies insisted. Eisenhower
and Dulles in particular contended that only Rome’s reconciliation with Tito
could help make NATO’s Southern flank stronger. The two U.S. leaders
envisioned such an entente as a necessary hinge with the Balkan Treaty
Yugoslavia was negotiating with Greece and Turkey. But the Italians
objected not only because of the unresolved (until September 1954) dispute
over Trieste; they also feared losing a substantial part of U.S. assistance in
favor of Belgrade. At base, they argued, it would have been hard to explain
to the Italian people how Tito’s Communism could pay better rewards than
their loyalty to Washington.57 (Rome felt vindicated when Yugoslavia drifted
away from the West soon after signing the Balkan Treaty in August 1954.)
So participation in defense arrangements in the Middle East, even
together with colonial powers, was supposed to serve Italy’s ultimate pur-
poses: it would enable it to consult more frequently with Washington; it
would increase its rank within NATO and the OEEC. Only from that posi-
tion, many in Rome believed, could Italy then better advance the psycho-
logical and economic dimensions of Western strategy.
This coherence was even clearer in light of Italy’s refusal to enter any
defense arrangement that would hinder its potential role as the “diplomatic
bridge” between the Arabs and the West. Such was the Balkan Treaty for
example. Its two main members, Turkey and Yugoslavia, were respectively
too hostile and too friendly to Arab nationalism.58 For similar reasons, dur-
ing the early 1950s Rome rejected Spain’s campaign for a Mediterranean
pact binding the two nations together with most Arab countries, plus
Greece, Turkey, and Iran. Though it still retained a protectorate over
Morocco, Franco’s regime had quickly reevaluated its stance toward Arab
nationalism, establishing friendly relations with most Middle Eastern coun-
tries and claiming a competence in Islamic affairs similar in many respects
to Italy’s Mediterranean “vocation.” The difference was that Madrid
offered no link between the Mediterranean and Europe. As the continent’s
“pariah,” even after its treaty for bases with the United States in 1953,
Spain conceived of the Mediterranean pact as a means to end its diplomatic
isolation, to strengthen its ties with Washington but also to exclude France,
its main rival, from the region. The Italians persuaded the Americans that
there was no advantage in a Mediterranean design disconnected from West-
ern integration.59 Persistently Rome refused any Mediterranean project that
would separate Southern Europe from the North and thus nullify the main
rationale for its own early adherence to the Atlantic Treaty.
Italy showed coherence also in recognizing its limits. It was always care-
ful not to offend its powerful European allies, especially during the crucial
phases of the EDC negotiations. That is why in 1951 De Gasperi, facing
London’s objections, promptly withdrew his first arbitration offer between
Britain and Egypt and soon thereafter declined an invitation from Bour-
guiba to mediate a Franco-Tunisian dispute.60 And it was due in part to its
weakness that Italy embraced a policy of concord and multilateralism (epit-
omized by NATO’s article 2). Furthermore, such caution was strictly corre-
lated to Italy’s desire to be a fully accepted member of the international
democratic community. A diplomacy of concord seemed the best avenue to
redemption and to UN membership.
Such an approach, nevertheless, might overemphasize Italy’s weakness:
mediation, without the means of a great power might seem a non-policy;
by advocating multilateralism, a minor power highlighted the lack of its

individual leverage. Interestingly, in September 1951, U.S. Assistant Secre-
tary of State George C. McGhee found that the only advantage to having
De Gasperi mediate was that Arab nations no longer feared Italy. Harm-
lessness helped Rome to make friends across the Mediterranean, but it also
naturally limited its leverage. Washington perhaps did not understand that
its own endorsement could have added that power. But the Italians for
their part failed to send convincing signals: they insisted on their “spiri-
tual” connection with the Arabs or on their diplomatic inventiveness—
Italy’s potential elements of soft power and consequent prestige—yet
showed no evidence of either one. In August 1951, from Paris, Ambas-
sador Pietro Quaroni cynically described in a memorandum the prevailing
mindset in Rome: “we brag about being born-diplomats,” he wrote “and
claim that diplomatic skills can do anything; but diplomacy cannot replace
the realities of [military and economic] power.” Dean Acheson castigated
the Italians for failing to reckon with those realities. As early as November
1950, he complained about the Italian leaders’ tendency to place their
undefined pursuits of prestige ahead of internal reconstruction or Euro-
pean integration. Most U.S. diplomats often argued that Italy rather
sought shortcuts to recovery through a “special” relation with Washing-
ton.61 What the Americans failed to fully comprehend until the mid-1950s
was how intertwined Italy’s policy of prestige was with its goals of recov-
ery and political equilibrium.
Rising Expectations. The first steps of Italy’s Mediterranean “vocation”

had been cautious. But by the mid-1950s, Rome assumed a bolder attitude
for several reasons. Economic recovery, the resolution of the Trieste dispute,
and access to UN membership, to be sure, were the paramount ones. But a
more significant reason was a shift in the Cold War toward events in the
Mediterranean. Since this change was related to the emancipation of the
Third World, it also entailed a reevaluation of the psychological and eco-
nomic strategies the Italians so strongly advocated. This stance in turn
improved Italy’s reputation for its moderating role in NATO, at a time in
which the French and the British clung to their vain hopes of imperial
revival. Furthermore, Germany’s entry into NATO, and the possibilities it
opened for Bonn’s foreign policy, impelled Italy to preempt German com-
petition in the Mediterranean by seeking a privileged contact with the
United States.
Italy’s new initiatives also derived from its political shifts. With the end
of the De Gasperi era, the latent divisions within Italian leadership emerged
more sharply. To be sure, all shades of opinion, except for the pro-Soviet
left, emphasized the necessity for more national initiative within NATO; the
pursuit of greater international status became central for many politicians.
But the question was how to go about it. Most government leaders thought
the Mediterranean “vocation” should remain essentially a means to ame-

liorate allied cooperation, with Italy as its pivot. But several influential rep-
resentatives of the center-left believed Italy’s status could not improve with-
out gaining some autonomy from NATO. Washington started worrying
about the ambivalence of leaders such as the new DC party secretary,
Amintore Fanfani, whom the U.S. embassy labeled as the “man of the
Left,” or the vocal President Gronchi, who often engaged with Clare Luce
in prima donna confrontations.62
Most U.S. officials in Washington and Rome thought America had per-
haps given the Italians too much while “teaching” them too little. Influ-
enced by Clare Luce’s reports, they blamed leaders in Rome for their inabil-
ity to translate economic progress—or rather, American munificence—into
a political asset. In a 1955 study, Lloyd Free drew the conclusion that
$3.5 billion of U.S. aid and grants had “failed [to] infuse dynamism and the
spirit of democracy” in Italy. With her usual gusto, Luce added that “so
long as the Italian constitution permits the C.P., Socialists, Neo-Fascists and
Monarchists to wield their razors legally on the corpus of the Italian Gov-
ernment, the U.S. blood bank—economic or political—can never succeed in
bringing roses to the waxen cheeks of Italian ‘democracy.’ ”63 Under this
prevailing state of mind, Washington confirmed its view that its allies’
ingratitude was often directly proportional to America’s commitment. Some
officials suggested that the price of restoring the allies’ self-confidence was
their decreased loyalty.64
Gronchi was a case in point. He resembled some of the most defiant
French leaders, even in the way he took America’s support for granted. Dur-
ing a much publicized visit in Washington in early 1956 he spoke in good
faith about fighting communism at home and improving bilateral coopera-
tion in the Mediterranean. But he also openly advocated recognition of
Communist China, consideration of Soviet proposals on Germany, and a
lift on OEEC trade restrictions with the Communist bloc.65
Even more, oil tycoon Enrico Mattei became the symbol of Italy’s “rebel-
lion” against American “preponderance.” The entrepreneur had used Mar-
shall funds to consolidate the State oil industry and his own power as well.
By the early 1950s he mustered all his political leverage to frustrate bids
from U.S. oil companies to drill into the Italian soil (which was believed to
contain some phosphates). In 1954, facing rejection from the Abadan Con-
sortium in Iran, he began to act independently in defiance of the “Seven Sis-
ters,” as he famously nicknamed the oil cartel dominating the Middle East.
For Mattei the Mediterranean “vocation” combined opportunism and sin-
cere faith in his self-appointed role as the Western paladin of Arab emanci-
pation. While that presaged enough trouble, the domestic impact of Mattei
seemed even more alarming to American officials. Together with Fanfani
and other political allies, the ENI director curbed private enterprise in favor
of state industry. And, worst of all, as Henry J. Tasca reported from Rome
in 1955, Mattei was probably the main financial source of the “opening to
the left.”66
Italy’s moderates for their part continued to rely on manipulation of the
hegemon. Like Gronchi, they demanded institutionalized consultations, yet
without being as critical of NATO choices as the president. But they offered
nothing in return for their request. The conservative leader Gaetano Mar-
tino, who held the post of foreign minister for three years from September
1954, became the main international advocate of NATO’s article 2. In May
1956 the North Atlantic Council finally introduced the issue on its agenda,
charging a “Three Wise Men” committee (including Martino, Canada’s
Lester Pearson and Norway’s Halvard Lange) to draft a detailed proposal.
While satisfying the allies with such an official seal, Washington aimed at
shelving the issue as quickly as possible. In a letter to Eisenhower on May 5,
a skeptical and acid John Foster Dulles commented:
All of our allies are willing to follow the Italian lead and have NATO turned into
an economic organization which can probably extract a little more money out of the
United States; but when it comes to doing anything to develop Western European
unity or any real cohesion with respect to policies vis-à-vis the Soviet Union, then
there is very marked evasiveness. I believe we shall get in some form recognition of
the need to develop purposes of NATO along other than military lines . . . But the
decision will, I am afraid, be expressed in rather grudging and minimum terms that
hardly are responsive to our hopes or the needs of the situation.
That was what happened at the next NAC in December. The United States
turned down the Three Wise Men’s report, with the exception of a vague
commitment for more consultations from all allies. This commitment was
meant as a warning to the French and the British in the aftermath of their
Suez collusion, rather than as a pledge from Washington. Dulles reiterated
that due to its worldwide responsibilities, the United States could not sub-
ordinate all its decisions to previous NATO consultations.67
Washington nevertheless had already tried to find ways to satisfy and at
the same time harness Italy’s desire for prominence in the Mediterranean.
By 1955, with revolutionary Egypt drifting into the Soviet camp and Arab-
Israeli tension mounting, the Eisenhower administration felt ready to wel-
come any suggestion or initiative from NATO countries. In particular, it
was important to show to the Arabs that the Western alliance was not a
monolith obsessed with anticommunism or inspired by British and French
imperialism. And precisely because this had to be a demonstration of West-
ern “pluralism,” Italy seemed useful as an autonomous actor in the region,
rather than as an associate of the British, French, and Americans. For this
reason by the end of that year, the under secretary of state for Near Eastern
Affairs, George Allen, urged the Italians to refrain from their repeated sug-
gestions of co-sponsored mediation efforts in the region. By remaining
uncommitted, Allen specified, Rome could offer its good offices later, per-
haps under the aegis of the United Nations, an option no less prestigious
than participation in great power summits. On the other hand, if Italy
insisted on participating in such summits then it should demonstrate some
“audacity, publicly disagreeing on something with the Anglo-Americans,”
as CIA and State Department officials told Ambassador Brosio time and
again.68 And yet, those moderate Italian leaders Washington had tried to
buttress were still prudent toward their European partners. While friendly
with the Arabs, they did not want to approach them independently. Their
main goal was to improve the country’s role within NATO by joining the
powers’ summits on Mediterranean affairs. Italy’s rulers thus corroborated
Washington’s view that the appearance of being consulted was all they
cared about. In the end there was a touch of irony in the need the Ameri-
cans felt to beg those apprehensive leaders to show some disagreement with
their allies.
It was also true that such encouragement could easily play into the hands
of Italian “nationalists.” While a show of Western pluralism was likely to
counter Soviet appeal in the Middle East, leaders such as Gronchi or Mat-
tei appeared too rebellious even for Washington’s tolerance of dissent. Their
action could indeed rekindle anti-Americanism both among the Arabs and
in Italy. There seemed to be no middle path in Rome between the overly
cautious, almost sycophantic, and the overly critical, almost impudent.
America’s judgment of Italy’s potential role in the Mediterranean thus
remained suspended.
Italy’s hesitations and contradictions were best exemplified in its sole case
of participation in a great powers’ organization for the Middle East. In
November 1955, Foster Dulles invited Brosio to join as a permanent mem-
ber the Committee of Ambassadors, an interim of the Near East Arms
Coordinating Committee (NEACC). The secretary of state recognized that
Italy was “emerging as a prominent supplier of arms to the Middle East,”
and that it was necessary to channel that arms trade according to political
criteria. However, this invitation was mainly a prestige reward. And Dulles
was willing to be flexible with the Italians on those political criteria, since
an illustration of autonomy could give them enough publicity at home to
lessen the influence of the most dangerous among the leaders of the DC left.
Still, the Italian government complained that there was little prestige to
gain from such an off-stage organ as the Committee of Ambassadors. Full
participation in the NEACC would have been a different matter. In order to
obtain it, like the other members, Italy was required to pledge armed inter-
vention against any nation that violated the armistice lines of the 1948
Arab-Israeli conflict. But no Italian leader would have dared getting the
country involved in a military action. Martino and Brosio also shied away
from that prospect for fear of spoiling the “good image” Italy had recently
acquired among the Arabs.69
The decision to stay out of the NEACC epitomized the problem with Ital-
ian foreign policy: in its attempt not to offend anyone Italy remained para-
lyzed; despite the persistent claim of its natural competence in Mediter-
ranean affairs, it showed no forceful initiative, an essential prerequisite of
the prestige the government judged so imperative. Italy’s very emphasis on
its “good image” with everyone, that is, on its moral prestige, revealed its
powerlessness, as George McGhee had suggested, rather than leading to its
empowerment.
Suez: Italy’s Opportunity? The Egyptian crisis offered the Italian gov-
ernment its first real chance to solve its foreign policy impasse and to
strengthen its ties with the United States. Italy had a say in the resolution
of the Suez dispute not only because it ranked above France as the fourth
user of the Canal, but also because its vaunted Mediterranean “vocation”
and its emphasis on international arbitration found renewed appeal in
Washington.
Rome argued that its cordial relations with Nasser might help to recon-
cile the dictator to the West or, at least, to reduce his hostility. As to inter-
national arbitration, Dulles’ sincere faith in the role of the United Nations
also seemed propitious to the Italians, especially considering how that faith
put the secretary of state at odds with the French and the British on the Suez
affair.70 In the end, Rome’s moderation and balanced judgment, standing in
contrast with French and British recklessness, seemed less a rhetorical plat-
itude than a concrete contribution to NATO’s cohesion. The Italians thus
fancied promoting their country as America’s privileged ally in the Mediter-
ranean. But the United States mostly cared about the domestic ramifications
of the Suez crisis for Italy: faced with a potential crisis of the alliance, Ital-
ian leaders and diplomats who had previously lavished sympathy on
Nasser, reevaluated their Atlantic priorities and became more determined to
rein in those in the government who were too “open” to the Socialist left.
Italy was relevant in the Suez debate more for what it tried to do than for
what it accomplished. At both London Conferences of the Canal Users,
Martino showed the degree of autonomy the Americans had for some time
encouraged him to assume. The foreign minister criticized both of Dulles’
proposals—for an International Authority and the second one for a Canal
Users Association (SCUA)—and presented amendments containing broader
recognition of Egypt’s sovereignty. These compromises, Martino argued,
would be no surrender to Nasser, but acts of realism. Moreover, they could
help preempt the rise of a common front between the Soviets and the Afro-
Asian bloc at the United Nations. Regarding the SCUA in particular, the
foreign minister recommended a more flexible method of toll payment (and
a few days later the United States on its own came up with a similar solu-
tion). For Italy this was not only a matter of commercial interest but also
an attempt to prevent an armed conflict, since the French and the British
had made it clear that they considered the SCUA proposal to be an ultima-
tum. Regardless of Italy’s usual caution and opportunism, what mattered
for Washington was that the Italian government could help moderate
France and Britain, and especially that it could exhibit an autonomous ini-
tiative to its increasingly demanding public opinion.71
Clearly Rome was seeking an entente with the United States. Most reas-
suring for Washington, DC party secretary Fanfani revealed that this was
his main purpose. Visiting with Eisenhower in August, the DC leader unex-
pectedly presented no objection to U.S. foreign policy. Instead, he reiterated
the traditional Italian invitation to extend American control over the
Mediterranean. His only difference with Martino was his anticolonial rhet-
oric. Knowing of Fanfani’s good reputation in Cairo, Dulles decided to test
his mediation offers, albeit with caution. In late September, Fanfani’s spe-
cial envoy, Raimondo Manzini received permission from Washington only
“to inquire” about Nasser’s intention. The secretary of state then decided
together with Eisenhower to rely on UN general secretary Dag Ham-
marskjold as a more appropriate authority for mediation.72
In the aftermath of the Suez conflict Italy’s task was, according to the
Political Affairs Bureau of the Foreign Ministry in Rome, “to foster the
reestablishment of Allied unity . . . by joining the United States with an
autonomous action of balance and reconciliation in Europe as well as in the
Near East.” Some representatives emphasized cooperation with Washing-
ton. Staunch “anticolonialists,” such as Brosio and Fanfani, rejoiced at the
fact that all Europeans (that is the French and the British too) “must now
follow U.S. leadership.” Martino, together with Prime Minister Antonio
Segni guided a majority of “pro-Europeans,” who worried that the United
States, keen on “courting the Afro-Asians, might let Europe down a little
bit.”73 But this difference of opinion was more apparent than real. Both
groups wanted to safeguard NATO while promoting Italy as America’s
main Mediterranean partner. Such partnership, they all agreed, would
entail consultations on every European question. Not surprisingly then, the
Segni government invoked its active role at the Suez Conferences as a
precedent for its right to participate in the Four Power Working Group on
German disarmament. To make their candidacy for the “club” more
appealing, the Italians did not hesitate to point out that France’s design was
to set European integration on an independent path under its hegemony. To
keep the European Community within the Atlantic framework, the Italian
government avowed, the United States could count on Rome.74
Italy’s expectations rose also thanks to post-Suez developments. In
December, Martino and Gronchi made a highly publicized trip to Bonn to
discuss Mediterranean affairs. Reconciliation among allies at the NAC
meeting in January occurred officially under the auspices of the Three Wise
Men’s report. And the Eisenhower Doctrine nourished Italy’s best hopes.
The president’s program marked the American ascendancy in the Middle
East Rome had long exhorted. Most Italian officials also noted with satis-
faction that, despite its anticommunist rhetoric, the Doctrine adopted a
rather flexible approach to Arab nationalism and rested on psychological
and economic means more than military intervention; those who had feared
America’s abandonment of Europe appreciated Eisenhower’s highly selec-
tive aid criteria. Even better, since the Doctrine stressed the danger of Soviet
expansion in the Mediterranean, Rome understood Eisenhower’s basic
“eurocentric” motivation: as in 1947, it was necessary to protect Europe by
filling a vacuum created by British retreat elsewhere. Before launching his
program, Ike had told Dulles he had “no intention of standing idly by to
see the Southern flank of NATO completely collapse through Communist
penetration and success in the Middle East.”75
But “protection” of NATO’s Southern flank did not necessarily entail
great power “partnership.” Even though the Mediterranean had taken an
unprecedented priority in U.S. foreign policy, Washington saw nothing to
gain in consulting Italy on matters in which an Italian economic or strate-
gic contribution would be minimal at best. During the Suez crisis Clare
Luce and Secretary Dulles did not spare their praise of Rome’s diplomatic
“maturity.” But this resulted in no privileged contact on Mediterranean
affairs. Although in Bonn Gronchi had agreed with Adenauer to coordinate
their countries’ action in the Near East together with the Americans, par-
ticularly through joint development programs, Germany did not follow up
on its pledge. In May, the German foreign minister, Heinrich von Brentano
discussed with Dulles possible “joint ventures” in the Near East between
Bonn and Washington without envisioning any Italian contribution. He
also significantly objected to an Italian membership in the Four Power
working group, arguing that Europe’s minor powers simply had “to accom-
modate themselves” to a renewed Franco-German cooperation. The ulti-
mate irony for Rome was that the allied reconciliation it had so eagerly her-
alded at the post-Suez NAC allowed France and Britain to restore promptly
cordial relations with Washington (Italy overestimated the impact of Mol-
let’s trip to the United States in February).76
Most American officials in the end contemplated the possibility of closer
partnership with Rome only insofar as it would affect Italy’s political equi-
librium. As early as May 1956, at the eve of Italian municipal elections, the
chargé d’affaires at the Rome embassy, John D. Jernegan had urged Wash-
ington to refrain from any “direct action” to influence the vote. The United
States, the diplomat argued, had lost the power “to affect directly [Italy’s]
internal affairs.” In order to “keep the Italians in line,” he concluded, the
United States could give them some token recognition of their growing role
in the Mediterranean or grant some limited application of NATO’s article 2.
The notion of Italy, the first test-ground of CIA intervention, as a “client”
was about to be banished. Covert funding of the center-left parties did con-
tinue, with Ambassador Luce trying “to do anything to strengthen [Social
Democratic leader] Saragat.” But Washington was slowly becoming per-

suaded that the best way to stabilize Italy and to secure its loyalty was to
treat it as a “partner” (at least in appearance), rewarding some of its gov-
ernment’s international policy efforts. Dulles had already acted along those
lines, inviting Italy to participate in the NEACC. It was for the same rea-
son, that, together with Clare Luce, the secretary of state commended Mar-
tino’s contribution to the resolution of the Suez crisis.77
The Meanings of Italy’s “Neo-Atlanticism.” Most Italian leaders, while

sensitive to homage and flatteries from the “hegemon,” nurtured greater
ambitions. They were disappointed by the virtual American rejection of
NATO’s article 2, of permanent consultations, and above all of cooperation
with Rome in the Middle East. As a consequence Gronchi, Mattei, and Fan-
fani, who claimed more autonomy within NATO and the right to expand
Italian influence in the Moslem world, increased their political ascendancy.
Starting in May 1957, a new government was under another moderate,
Adone Zoli. But as a one-party minority cabinet, it had all the characteris-
tics of the caretaker and became hostage of external pressure from the
increasingly powerful DC left. Almost to the same extent as the last weak
cabinets of the Fourth Republic, it was forced to play upon nationalist sen-
timents to remain in power until the next election, in 1958. Significantly,
Foreign Minister Giuseppe Pella, a pro-NATO “orthodox” who neverthe-
less as prime minister in 1953 had resorted to populism on the Trieste issue,
baptized his program as “neo-Atlantic.”
There was nothing shockingly new about Italy’s “neo-Atlanticism.” With
greater determination than in the previous years Rome reiterated its appeal
for an economic reorientation of the alliance. Far from questioning Ameri-
can hegemony, Italy confirmed its search for collaboration with Washing-
ton in the Mediterranean, this time with more emphasis on the “wrongs”
of the imperial powers.
But, as a U.S. Intelligence Report of January 1958 recognized, bolder
assertion of old goals was indeed a novelty, and Pella’s declaration stressed
“Italy’s national interests more than the free world’s ideological struggle
with the Soviet bloc.” As usual, Italy linked its national resurgence to the
prospect of a special collaboration with the United States. But the invitation
had lost much of its subordinate character: Rome obviously hinted that if
it did not receive adequate recognition from the hegemon, then it would
pursue its Mediterranean interests on its own, or that it would carry on the
project of trilateral nuclear cooperation with the French and the Germans
(indeed, the Italians used the French plan as a bargaining chip to obtain a
double-key nuclear deterrent from the United States). So Italy’s temptation
to drift into neutralism seemed greater than in the past and dangerously
parallel to that of France. This was because it drew upon “nationalist” sen-
timents, now finding their expression and opportunity in a pro-Arab policy,
which in turn worked as an appeal to the pro-neutral Italian left. Moreover,

as Clare Luce had noted earlier, nationalism in Italy since World War II was
dominated by the left rather than by its discredited right. Finally, it was
clear that Gronchi and Mattei, main supporters of the “opening to the left,”
were the real force and inspiration behind Pella’s program.78
This is not to say that Gronchi and Mattei and their DC followers were
ready to abjure the alliance with Washington. On the contrary, never had
this faction of the Christian Democrats, traditionally critical of America’s
Protestant-Capitalist ethic, been so close to promoting American hegemony.
But this did not exclude that, like most French leaders, they would combine
their “invitation” with a presumption of dictating conditions or moving
NATO’s political balance to the left. With their independent acts, they
aimed at gaining a position of strength from which they could better nego-
tiate their cooperation with the United States. So the problem, as Washing-
ton saw it, was not that Gronchi and Mattei embraced neutralism, but that
with their ambivalence toward NATO and their nationalist posturing they
could inadvertently bring about neutralism in Italy and perhaps elsewhere
as well.
In September 1957, Mattei triumphantly breached the Seven Sisters’
monopoly with his famous 75-25 profit-share contract with Iran. In this
case the tycoon, confronted with continuous rebuffs from Washington,
resorted to the extreme option of neo-Atlanticism: an independent, disrup-
tive action. Yet he meant it less as a declaration of war against American
interests than as a dramatic move to boost his leverage with U.S. business
for future cooperation.79
While the American oil companies bore their grudge against Italy’s eco-
nomic interference, in Washington the main preoccupation was about the
political impact of Mattei’s activities. The economy followed the inexorable
laws of competition, as Eisenhower reminded his cabinet; after all, the pres-
ident remarked, Mattei’s “75-25” deal replaced the “50-50” contract which
ARAMCO had introduced with the same ruthlessness a few years earlier to
seize Saudi Arabian oil. In any event, there was no sign that the Italian pres-
ence in the Middle Eastern oil market would become relevant. But with the
region in a politically inflamed atmosphere, a contract so favorable to a
producing country might rekindle the Arabs’ nationalistic fervor. The shah
of Iran, Reza Pahlavi to be sure was no revolutionary. But Mattei had suc-
cessfully exploited the monarch’s resentment of the United States for not
making him the privileged recipient of the Eisenhower Doctrine and for not
granting him more authority in the Baghdad Pact. Reza repeatedly threat-
ened to abandon the alliance and sell out to the Bandung group. Galvanized
by the oil deal with ENI, the shah became even more demanding. During
the following months Mattei extended his operations to North Africa, not
hesitating to shore up extreme nationalist groups, such as the FLN.80 So as
a consequence of Mattei’s personal “crusade,” the United States was likely
to face blackmail from its friends in the Middle East and even more daunt-
ing challenges from pan-Arabist groups.
At the domestic level the neutralist implications of Mattei’s activity were
more implicit yet more menacing. The government celebrated Mattei’s Iran-
ian deal with a state visit in Teheran, during which Gronchi did not mince
criticism against the Anglo-American “neocolonial” oil monopoly. Regard-
less of the opportunism reflected in these statements, what worried Wash-
ington was that even that celebration confirmed that the real power in Rome
resided with Gronchi and Mattei, the two strongest advocates of the “open-
ing to the left.” Worse still was the institutional aberration: a weak govern-
ment awarded the levers of its foreign policy to the president, whose pow-
ers, according to the constitution, were only ceremonial, and to the director
of the country’s main State enterprise. The government’s diminished author-
ity might further play into the hands of the pro-neutral Socialists.81
The tendency of status concerns to feed neutralism in Italy of course
depended largely on the evolution of the debate between the country’s
Socialist parties, the PSI and PSDI. The idea of a broad Italian center-left
coalition was no taboo for the Eisenhower administration. Several U.S. offi-
cials understood that the whole “opening to the left” operation was based
on the assumption that it would drive a wedge between the Socialists of
Pietro Nenni and the PCI. The Socialist leader had indeed started breaking
loose from Togliatti since the Twentieth CPSU Congress. Following the
Hungarian uprising, Nenni undertook negotiations with Giuseppe Saragat
for a possible reunification with the Social Democrats (which was accom-
plished only by 1962). And during 1957 the PSI leader gave his assent to a
“strictly defensive” NATO and to EURATOM. As early as June 1956, CIA’s
Allen Dulles contemplated the possibility that enlisting a reunified Socialist
party into the government would isolate the PCI.82
The Americans, however, would have felt more comfortable if Saragat’s
PSDI had dominated the process. They did not trust Nenni, who had
accepted NATO only as a lesser evil while still advocating neutralism, and
worse still, marrying his neutralist campaign with that of influential
Aneurin Bevan of the British Labor Party. In Washington’s opinion the
Socialist leader embodied all the worst of Italian opportunism and planned
to put his machiavellian tactics at the service of the Kremlin. But his party
was far stronger than the PSDI. And worst of all, nationalists like Gronchi
and Mattei were not pleased with Saragat’s weakness and “subservient”
attitude toward the United States. They found more affinity with Nenni’s
personality if not ideology. Fanfani himself, though more moderate than his
two party allies, was still undecided between Nenni and Saragat. All three
DC leaders felt confident that once they let Nenni in the government they
could bridle him. But there was no guarantee that the opposite would not
happen, that the Socialist leader, harping on wounded national pride,
would not set the country on a neutralist path.83
Less aggressive ways existed in which Italy might have underscored its
Mediterranean “mission.” Foreign Minister Pella tried to follow Mar-
tino’s footsteps, devising at the end of 1957 a complex multilateral pro-
gram for the development of the Middle East. The “Pella Plan” envisioned
a common fund managed by the OEEC members to grant low interest
loans to all countries in that region. Most of the financing would occur
through the recycling of the dollar loans Marshall recipient nations owed
to the United States. As insurance for reimbursement the lending countries
would obtain rights on the Middle Eastern subsoil. The plan, in Pella’s
view, was supposed to replace the Eisenhower Doctrine and its “strictly
political” criteria.
Above all, the “Pella Plan” confirmed Italy’s recognition of interdepend-
ence and of its possible uses to bolster both its economy—by becoming co-
investor in the Middle East—and its prestige—by finally acting as a
“bridge” between Islam and the West, and consequently, reaching a higher
rank in the Western alliance. Rome fully realized that a nation’s rise in sta-
tus in Europe increasingly depended on its capacity to master interdepend-
ence, even outside the continent; that is why it felt so hard pressed to pre-
empt analogous initiatives from the French (Christian Pineau’s project) and
especially from the Germans, on whose economic potential and popularity
among the Arabs Washington seemed to rely. According to the ambassador
to Bonn, Umberto Grazzi, if Italy failed to push for its own project, it would
soon have to “endorse a [development] plan leading to a German-American
entente.”84
The United States was by then examining several projects for multilateral
aid to the Third World. Causing this departure from bilateralism was a mild
recession in the American economy in contrast with economic resurgence in
Europe, where the postwar dollar-gap was finally covered. The “Pella
Plan,” though, was one of the least attractive projects under Washington’s
scrutiny. While placing the major burden on the U.S. Treasury (which
expected returns from the Marshall Plan), it granted Washington no equiv-
alent control. Pella’s argument that the Eisenhower Doctrine was more
expensive to the U.S. than his own project was to no avail. His plan seemed
rather an attempt to reintroduce the notion of NATO’s economic coopera-
tion (article 2), this time with less emphasis on American leadership and
more on European control.85
Another problem with Pella’s plan was that it did not conceal political
criticism of the Eisenhower Doctrine for having overreacted to an alleged
Communist plot in Syria. With his initiative, the foreign minister intended
to press Eisenhower to resume a more flexible approach toward Arab
nationalism. This reasoning revealed how even Italy’s moderate leaders
were tempted to use some anti-American rhetoric in order to gain popular-
ity at home. In the end, the United States realized how important the whole
matter was for Pella in terms of prestige. Dulles ostensibly took the plan
seriously, discussing it with some Arab governments, and paying public

tribute to the Italian diplomatic initiative. He then let the other OEEC
members discard the proposal a few months later. (Significantly in 1959 the
United States sponsored the transformation of the OEEC into an Organi-
zation for Economic Cooperation and Development—OECD—which con-
tained several of Pella’s suggestions but secured more control from Wash-
ington, liberalization of trade, and greater German participation.)86
In giving his recognition to Pella’s initiative the secretary of state had fol-
lowed the advice of John Jernegan, who had resumed and sharpened his argu-
ment of a year earlier. “A natural resurgence of Italian national pride” was not
a new thing, the chargé wrote to Dulles on September 11; but it was “becom-
ing more important because of [the] relative weakness” of the government,
which benefited Gronchi and Mattei. For this reason, he recommended that
the United States, together with France and Britain make “greater show of
informing and consulting the Italians on all matters affecting the Middle
East,” lest “we risk [a] serious weakening of [the] excellent cooperation West-
ern Europe and NATO have hitherto received from Italy.” He then concluded:
By informing, consulting, encouraging and suggesting we would appease national

pride, remove pretext for uncoordinated actions and give Fo[reign] Off[ice] and
other realistic elements ammunition to defend themselves against free wheeling
Gronchi et al. . . . Although I fully realize difficulties and disadvantages of han-
dling ME questions in consultation with countries which have limited capacity [to]
assist but considerable [to] capacity obstruct or cause delay, I consider in this case
it would be lesser of evils [to] take Italy at least partially into partnership.
Eisenhower himself earlier that year had assigned to Dulles a broad man-
date to find ways to “give the Italians an additional dose of prestige within
NATO.”87
The best “cure” for Italian politics apparently continued to be the show
of that “damn pro-Italianism” Walter Dowling had championed a decade
earlier. In this case though, as Jernegan recommended, Washington would
shore up its friends in Italy by focusing almost exclusively on their interna-
tional ambitions. It was somewhat ironic that, as Jernegan specified in his
note of 1957, such ambitions became so intertwined with Italy’s Byzantine
political dealings, and that the Italian leaders’ struggle for higher rank in
NATO boiled down to a matter of internal politics more than even they
meant it. Washington became fully aware of this paradox when, in the fol-
lowing year, it dealt with Fanfani’s dynamic leadership.
Both France’s attachment to its imperial status and Italy’s Mediterranean

“vocation” contained a great deal of wishful thinking. Both policies, to be
sure, aimed at improving each nation’s security and economic interests.
Retaining Algeria was in part a form of French resistance against the idea
of an Anglo-American directorate of the Western alliance, and against the

security limitations—especially lack of control on the nuclear deterrent—
this would entail for France; by 1956, the fight for a French Algeria
appeared also as a guarantee against Anglo-American neocolonial replace-
ment of French oil interests. Italy’s Mediterranean “vocation” obviously
was supposed to warrant greater security for the Italian peninsula as well
as to clear the path for a more conspicuous Italian economic presence in the
Middle East, or even for a prominent Italian role in international economic
cooperation.
And yet in this context both nations failed to establish a clear link
between their status concerns and their strategic-economic interests.
France’s attachment to its imperial status was so strong that the United
States perceived it as bordering on the irrational, and as actually subordi-
nating French core interests to an ill-defined notion of prestige. Italy had a
greater chance to marry its status ambitions with its strategic and economic
goals; but its hesitation to turn a more prominent rank into a responsible
role, best exemplified by its half-hearted participation in the NEACC,
revealed its inability to connect appearance with substance.
Above all for both France and Italy these Mediterranean “missions”
were desperate attempts to overcome their national inferiority complex
and to improve their respective positions in NATO’s hierarchy. Conse-
quently, those “missions” were also supposed to prop up the legitimacy of
the governments in times of grave instability for the ruling majorities in
both countries.
What did this mean for the Western alliance? In comparison, Italian
opportunism seemed to offer more stability to NATO than French anachro-
nism. Although Italian policy was precariously balanced between the two
notions of prestige founded respectively on nationalism and on interna-
tional statesmanship, Rome explored the latter option more clearly than
Paris. And even though Italy’s Mediterranean activism could at times be a
nuisance to U.S. diplomacy, it never jeopardized America’s vital interests as
much as France’s conduct in North Africa did. Even on the “opening to the
left,” the Eisenhower administration was perhaps more alarmist than it
needed to be.
It is legitimate to question whether Washington missed some opportuni-
ties when it discarded the two allies’ ostensible promotion of greater inter-
dependence and transatlantic cooperation for the Mediterranean area.
France’s “Eurafrican” project perhaps had such potential. Italy, for its part,
promised that inside the circle of great powers it would make sure that the
EEC would not break its transatlantic ties. But too clearly these proposals
revealed more the two nations’ overreaching ambitions than concrete oppor-
tunities for the Western alliance. “Eurafrica” soon proved to be a sham that
would have served Paris’ colonial interests. Italy’s claim seemed more credi-
ble, but Washington realized that no special relationship with the Italians
was necessary to maintain the European “third force” within the Atlantic
framework. Also, Rome’s internationalism, which the Eisenhower adminis-
tration certainly appreciated, often concealed manipulation of America’s aid
no less than France’s imperial policy. The Pella Plan obviously did not envi-
sion the kind of transatlantic cooperation the Americans hoped for.
The same can be said about a possible missed opportunity with Italy’s
plans of mediation between the West and the Arabs. Perhaps they could
have been tested. But the main impression in Washington was that there
was nothing to test, since the Italians had not proven yet that their compe-
tence or influence in Arab affairs were so special as they claimed.
By 1957 Italy could consider itself better off in the Western alliance than
it had been before the Egyptian crisis: its diplomacy had caught Washing-
ton’s attention as never before; and its economic opportunities did grow, as
Mattei’s activities demonstrated. But these achievements led to none of the
changes in NATO’s hierarchy the Italian leaders dreamed of; nor did they
significantly bolster the legitimacy of the Christian Democrats at home.
Naturally for both France and Italy, institutional instability was a major
obstacle to their respective ambitions. France’s volatile governments were
forced to play upon nationalist feelings to boost their fortune; thus they
assumed a counterproductive confrontational attitude toward the United
States. Italy’s Mediterranean vocation could not be taken seriously while
the Italian government was so weak, irresolute, divided, and tempted to use
that “vocation” for similar nationalist purposes, and worse, in conjunction
with the Socialists. In 1958, the prospect of strong leadership in both coun-
tries appeared, especially to the United States, as the most immediate way
not only to enhance their prestige but also to channel their status ambitions
toward safer options.
NOTES
1. Nora, “The Era of Commemoration,” cit., p. 633; quotes by Mitterand and
Naegelen respectively in Horne, Alistair Horne, A Savage War of Peace: Algeria,
1954–1962. (2nd ed.) London: Penguin Books, 1987, p. 69, and Charles-Robert
Ageron, “ ‘L’Algérie dernière chance de la puissance française.’ Etude d’un mythe
politique (1954–1962),” Relations internationales, 57, spring 1989, p. 113; on
French public opinion: Charles-Robert Ageron, La décolonisation française. Paris:
Armand Colin, 1994, pp. 163–164; Martin Evans, The Memory of Resistance:
French Opposition to the Algerian War (1954–1962). Oxford: Berg, 1997; for back-
ground cf. esp. Pierre Miquel, La guerre d’Algérie. Paris: Fayard, 1993.
2. Irwin Wall and Egya N. Sangmuah in their works cited in this chapter provide
only a few hints on how such perceptions affected U.S.-French diplomatic relations.
On importance of prestige for France in Algeria see esp. works by Charles-Robert
Ageron, Maurice Vaïsse, Gérard Bossuat, René Girault, Pierre Guillen, Stanley Hoff-
mann, and Michael Harrison, cited in this chapter.
3. Mtg. State-MSA- JCS, Jan. 28, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, V, at p. 715; Note for
Schuman, April 18, 1952, PA, 73-Schuman, vol. 7, AHMAE; on need for national-
ist outlet for ex. Memo R. B. Knight to Bonbright, March 7, 1952, 751.00, RG 59,
NA; Memo Holmes (Tangier) to Dept. State, Sept. 29, 1955, FRUS, 1955–7, XVIII,
pp. 105–10; qtd. tel. 5241 Dillon to Dulles, May 28, 1955, 751S.00, RG 59, NA.
4. PSB D-37, Feb. 9, 1953, cit. in previous chapter, qtd. p. 10; cf. Eisenhower to
Gruenther, Nov. 30, 1954, AW, AS, b.16, DDEL.
5. Dillon to Dulles, May 28, 1955, cit.; Dillon to Dept. State, March 21, 1953,
FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1311–2; idem June 5, 1955, OCB Report on NSC 5436/1,
FRUS, 1955–57, XVIII, pp. 95–7, 88–91, cf. Achilles to State, April 20, 1955, cit.;
Dunn to Dept. State, Nov. 3, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1270–2.
6. Holmes to Dulles, Sept. 29, 1955, cit.; Duroselle, “Changes in French Foreign
Policy Since 1945,” pp. 318–320, 340–343; cf. Raymond F. Betts, France and
Decolonization, 1900–1960. London: Macmillan, 1991, pp. 66–77; on FDR and
the Sultan: Robert Murphy, Diplomat Among Warriors. London: Collins, 1964,
pp. 216–217.
7. On interference by local U.S. officials: “Note pour la direction d’Amérique,”
Oct. 10, 1945; tel. 1864, F. Lacoste (Rabat) to Bidault, Oct. 21, 1946, Amérique,
E–U, vol. 124; rep. 36-G Guillaume to Schuman, Oct. 29, 1951, PA, Schuman, vol.
6, AHMAE; Note Military Governor Fezzan to Governor General Algeria and Res-
ident General Tunis, Dec. 11, 1949, Fonds Auriol, 552 AP, b. 78, AN; on Marshall
Plan in North Africa see esp. Bossuat, La France, l’aide américaine, pp. 521–611;
on U.S. interest in preserving French North Africa but pressures for reform: Mtg.
Allen (British Emb.) - H. S. Villard, (NEA,) April 14, 1947, Recs. WEA 1947–51,
French Desk, b. 1, NA; PPS-25, March 22, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 682–9; Mtg.
Schuman-Acheson et al., May 28, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, XI, pp. 767–9; tel.
6324/30 Bonnet to Schuman Sept. 12, 1951, Amérique, vol. 125, AHMAE; Irwin
M. Wall, “The United States, Algeria, and the Fall of the Fourth Republic,” Diplo-
matic History, 1994, 4, pp. 492–493.
8. Cf. Bossuat, La France, l’aide américain; Annie Lacroix-Riz, Les Protectorats
d’Afrique du Nord entre la France et Washington. Paris: Editions L’Harmattan,
1988, emphasizes the Americans’ interest in replacing France in the region; on invi-
tation and Point IV: Mtg. G. Van Laetham (2nd Sec. French Emb.)-R. A. Hare (Dep.
Assist. Sec. NEA), Apr. 20, 1950, Recs. WEA 1947–51, French Desk, b. 1, NA;
Summary Rec. Colonial Policy Talks with the French, July 11, 1950, Acheson Recs.,
Subject Files, b. 13, RG 59, NA; OCB Report on NSC 5436/1, cit., p. 91; tel. 5645
Bonnet to Schuman, Dec. 21, 1951, Amérique, vol. 126, AHMAE; cf. Nicholas
Eberstadt, Foreign Aid and the American Purpose. Washington D.C.: American
Enterprise for Public Policy Research, 1988, pp. 25–34.
9. Guillaume to Schuman, Oct. 29, 1951, cit.; Summary Rec. of Colonial Policy
Talks, July 11, 1950, cit.; Report Mtg. Bonnet-MacGhee, Apr. 25, 1951; tel.
6023/8 Bonnet to Schuman, Aug. 23, 1951, cit. By 1952 President Auriol, whose
staunch imperialism at times puzzled his fellow Socialists, portrayed France’s posi-
tion around the world as the main Western pillar against the Communist tide; cf.
Vincent Auriol, Mon Septennat: 1947–1954. Journal entries selected by P. Nora
and J. Ozouf. Paris: Gallimard, 1970, p. 44; Werth, France, 1945–1955,
pp. 348–349.
10. W. Scott Lucas, “NATO, ‘Alliance’ and the Suez Crisis,” in Heuser and
O’Neill, Securing Peace in Europe, pp. 262–264; PSB D-22 “Psychological Strategy
Program for the Middle East,” Feb. 6, 1953, PSB files, Executive Secretary, RG 59,
NA; Ed. Note (Nitze qtd.), and Mtg. Acheson-Schuman, March 30, 1951, FRUS,
1951, IV, pp. 328–9, 369–74.
11. Cf. PSB D-37, cit.; Holmes to Dulles, Sept. 29, 1955, cit.; n. 2031 Bonnet to
Schuman, Apr. 25, 1952; n. 544 Bonnet to Bidault, Feb. 10, 1954, Amérique
1952–63, vol. 340; tel. 1440 Bonnet to Bidault, July 7, 1947, Amérique 1944–52,
vol. 106 AHMAE; Ageron, “ ‘L’Algérie dernière chance”; on French idea of nation-
hood and consequent messianic impulse cf. Brubaker, Citizenship and Nationhood
in France and Germany, pp. 7–8; Aimaq, For Europe or Empire?, pp. 78–80; on
affinity with Islam cf. Luethy, France Against Herself, p. 245; defenders of Chris-
tianity: Rep. 36-G Guillaume, cit.; Hoffmann, “Paradoxes,” p. 85; André Nouschi,
“France, the Empire and Power (1945–1949),” in Becker and Knipping, Power in
Europe?, p. 480; cf. Carl L. Brown, “France and the Arabs: An Overview,” in Carl
L. Brown and Matthew S. Gordon (eds.) Franco-Arab Encounters. Beirut: Ameri-
can University of Beirut, 1996.
12. Cf. Lacroix-Riz, Les Protectorats pp. 102 ff.; Ingrid Geay, “Les recours suc-
cessifs de la Tunisie à l’ONU de 1949 à 1962,” Revue d’histoire diplomatique,
1996, 3/4; Juin to Schuman, July 10,1951, cit.; tel. 6324/30, Bonnet to Schuman,
Sept. 12, 1951, Amérique, vol.125, AHMAE; Dunn to Dept. State, Oct. 27, 1952,
751.00, RG 59, NA.
13. On Socialists cf. Girault, “La sinistra europea di fronte alla crisi,”
pp. 254–255; on PCF: Wall, French Communism in the Era of Stalin, pp. 182–188;
Jacques Jurquet, Années de feu: Algérie, 1954–1956. Paris: Harmattan, 1997.
14. Cf. tel. 1103 Juin to Schuman, June 30, 1951, Amérique, vol. 125, AHMAE
(General Juin was a native of Bône in Algeria); Hoffmann, “Paradoxes,” pp. 83–85;
Harrison, The Reluctant Ally, pp. 14–16, 40–44; cf. Raoul Girardet, La crise mili-
taire française 1945–1962. Paris: FNSP, 1964.
15. Achilles to Dept. State, Jan. 17, 1956, FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, at pp. 27–9;
Dillon to Dept. State, Feb. 21, 1956, FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, pp. 32–3; March 2,
1956, 751.00; March 16, 751S.00, RG 59, NA; cf. Wall, “U.S., Algeria,” pp. 493,
and 497–9 (also statement by Dillon qtd. from here).
16. M’hammed Yazid (FLN) to Eisenhower, Oct. 23, 1956; Dulles to Emb. Libya,
Oct. 26, FRUS, 1955–57, XVIII, pp. 246–8; tel. 165 Jones (Tunis) to Dept. State,
Oct. 22; tel. 205 Cannon (Rabat) to Dept. State, Oct. 22; tel. 1894 Dillon to Dept.
State, Oct. 23; tel. 13144 Dulles to various emb., Oct. 24, 1956, 751S.00, RG 59,
NA; on mediation: tel. 02097 Dulles to Dillon, Apr. 4, 1957; Mtg. J. E. Coulson
(UK Embassy) J. W. Jones (Acting Assist. Sec. European Affairs), July 3, 1957; tel.
6068 Houghton to Dulles, May 28, 1957, 751S.00, RG 59, NA; Lalouette (Rabat)
to Savary, Apr. 18, 1956, DDF 1956, I, doc. 253.
17. On trade unions: Mtg. G. Meany (president AFL), W. Reuter (pres. CIO), R.
Murphy (Deputy Under Sec. State), Oct. 18, 1955, 751S.00; tel. 4018 Dillon to Sec.
State, March 5, 1956, 751.00, NA; tel. 7207 Lucet to MAE, Dec. 12, 1957,
Amérique, vol. 343, AHMAE; Pierre Melandri, “La France et le ‘jeu double’ des
Etats-Unis,” in Jean-Pierre Rioux (ed.), La guerre d’Algérie et les français. Paris:
Fayard, 1990, pp. 433–434; on FLN contacts with U.S. cf. Mtg. Alphand-Elbrick
(Assist. Sec. State), Jan. 31, 1958, 751S.00, NA; Melandri, cit. above; on oil com-
panies: Horne, A Savage War, p. 242 (also on Italian oil tycoon Enrico Mattei’s sup-
port to the FLN); general on U.S. informal interference and U.S. media: cf. Hervé
Alphand, L’étonnement d’être: Journal, 1939–1973. Paris: Fayard, 1977, p. 277;
Couve de Murville (Washington), June 3, 1955; Pinay to de Guiringaud (S. Fran-
cisco), June 22, 1955, DDF, 1955, I, docs. 314, 354.
18. Moroccan bases cf. Dulles to Emb. Morocco, Apr. 22, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57,
XVIII, pp. 569–71; on Tunisian arms deal cf. Palmer (Deputy Asst. Sec. State Afri-
can Affairs) to Jones (Tunis), Dec. 18, 1956, FRUS, 1955–57, XVIII, pp. 658–9;
Egya N. Sangmuah, “Eisenhower and Containment in North Africa, 1956–1960,”
The Middle East Journal, 1990, 1, pp. 83–86; Melandri, “La France et le ‘jeu dou-
ble’,” p. 438; Dulles to Emb. Paris, Sept. 12, 1957; Dulles to Emb. Tunisia, Nov. 13,
1957, FRUS, XVIII, pp. 688–9, 755.
19. Burton I. Kaufman, Trade and Aid: Eisenhower’s Foreign Policy, 1953–1961.
Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1982, pp. 35–57; Sangmuah, “Eisen-
hower and Containment in North Africa,” pp. 81–83; Pierre Guillen, “La politique
française en Tunisie et au Maroc,” in Rioux, La guerre d’Algérie, pp. 466–468; 298th
NSC Mtg., Sept. 27, 1956, (Eisenhower qtd.); Dulles to Emb. Morocco, Dec. 8, 1956;
Cannon to Dept. State, May 8, 1957; Mtg. Bourguiba-Eisenhower, Nov. 21, 1956;
Jones to Dept. State, Sept. 4, 1957 (qtd.) all in FRUS, 1955–57, XVIII, pp. 133,
552–4, 574, 656–8, 679–83; tel. 5188 Yost (Paris) to Dulles, Apr. 9, 1957, 751S.00.
20. Tel. 2108 Houghton to Sec. State, Oct. 25, 1957, 751.00, RG 59, NA; on Alge-
ria depleting budget and pressure from U.S. to take measures about it: tel. 5141/44
Lucet to MAE, Aug. 12, 1957, Amérique, b. 343, AHMAE; Gerard Bossuat, “Guy
Mollet: La puissance française autrement,” Relations Internationales, 57, spring
1989, p. 46; Horne, A Savage War, pp. 238–239.
21. Quote from JCS in Sangmuah, “Eisenhower and Containment,” p. 87; Memo
Holmes to Dulles Feb. 20, 1958; Herter to Emb. Tunisia, Feb. 13, 1958; Dulles to
Emb. Tunisia, March 1, 1958; Herter to Tunisia, March 13, and Apr. 18, 1958,
FRUS, 1958–60, XIII, pp. 626–8, 825–6, 831, 836–7; DDF, 1958, I, Docs. 158,
159, 165, 238; cf. Alphand, L’étonnement d’être, pp. 145, 151; qtd. Murphy, Diplo-
mat Among Warriors, p. 382; Wall, “U.S., Algeria,” pp. 503–505; Cogan, Oldest
Allies, Guarded Friends, pp. 110–117.
22. “Note Services des Pactes,” May 24, 1955; Pinay to Couve de Murville, May
26, 1955, DDF, 1955, I, docs. 299, 300; Memo Elbrick to Dulles, March 25, 1958,
FRUS, 1958–60, XIII, p. 631.
23. Cf. tels. 6068 and 2730, Houghton to Dept. State., May 28, and Nov. 27,
1957, 751S.00; tel. 5110 Yost to Dept. State, Apr. 4, 1957 (on tripartitism), 611.51,
RG 59, NA.
24. Couve de Murville to MAE, May 13, 1955, Amérique, vol. 427; Note Direc-
tion Générale Politique Amérique, Dec. 7, 1956, Amérique, vol. 342, AHMAE;
Memo of Conversations, June 18–19, 1956, FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, at pp. 62–70
(on Pineau Plan); Edit. Note, FRUS, 1958–60, XIII, pp. 628–9.
25. Dillon to Dept. State, June 5, 1955, cit.; tel. 6068 Houghton, May 28, 1957, cit.
26. Murphy to Acting Sec. State, March 3, 1956; Dillon to State, March 3, 1956,
AW, Intl. Series, b. 12, DDEL; Dulles to Emb. Paris, Dec. 16, 1957 (Eisenhower
qtd.), 751S.00, RG59, NA; on “syndrome of decline” esp. Pierre Milza, “Public
Opinion and Perception of Power in France at the End of the Fourth Republic,
(1954–58),” in Di Nolfo, Power in Europe?
27. Cf. OCB Report, June 1, 1955, cit.; qtd. Holmes to Dulles, Sept. 29, 1955, cit.;
Massigli to MAE, Jan. 7, 1955; Pinay to Couve de Murville, May 26; “Note pour
la Direction Politique,” June 3, DDF, 1955, 1, docs. 16, 300, 315; tel. 5232 Dillon
to Dept. State, May 27, 1955, 751S.00, NA; Gen. Jean Valluy to Gen. Lawton
Collins, March 12, 1956, AW, Intl. Series, b. 12, DDEL.
28. N. 2031 Bonnet to Schuman, Apr. 25, 1952, cit.; Charles-Robert Ageron,
“L’idée d’Eurafrique et le débat colonial franco-allemand de l’entre-deux-guerres,”
Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, July–September 1975; Bossuat, “Guy
Mollet,” pp. 31–35; Serge Bernstein and Pierre Milza, “Les forces politiques
françaises entre l’humiliation et la volonté de grandeur (1956–1962),” Relations
Internationales, 57, spring 1989, p. 13; on MRP in particular: Frédéric Turpin, “Le
Mouvement Républicain Populaire et l’avenir de l’Algérie (1947–1962),” Revue
d’histoire diplomatique, 1999, 2.
29. Qtd. Mtg. Dulles, Krekeler (German Ambassador) Feb. 11, 1957, FRUS,
1955–57, IV, pp. 523–4; qtd. Memo Dulles for Eisenhower, Feb. 23, 1957, FRUS,
1955–57, XXVII, pp. 104–5; NIE 22–57, Aug. 13, 1957, Idem, at pp. 150–158; cf.
Romero “Interdependence and Integration in American Eyes,” p. 170.
30. Mtg. E. Shuckburg (Foreign Office), J. D. Jernegan (NEA), Jan. 28, 1955,
751S.00, NA; Dulles to Emb. Iran, Feb. 18, 1955; Memo Conv. Dept. State, June
24, 1955, FRUS, 1955–57, XII, pp. 20–1, 112–21; NIE 30–55, June 21, 1955,
Idem, at pp. 78, 88, 92; Dulles to Dept. State, Nov. 3, 1955, FRUS, 1955–57, XIV,
pp. 705–7; Maurice Vaïsse, “France and the Suez Crisis,” in William R. Louis and
Roger Owen (eds.), Suez 1956. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989, p. 139; on Anglo-
American exclusiveness in the Near East during this period cf. esp. W. Scott Lucas,
Divided We Stand: Britain the United States and the Suez Crisis. London: Houder
& Stoughton, 1991 and Peter L. Hahn, The United States, Great Britain, and Egypt,
1945–1956: Strategy and Diplomacy in the Early Cold War. Chapel Hill: University
of North Carolina Press, 1991.
31. Cf. esp. Vaïsse, “France and the Suez Crisis,” cit.; Christian Pineau, 1956:
Suez. Paris: Laffont, 1976; Michael Bar-Zohar, Ben Gurion. London: Weidenfield &
Nicholson, 1978, pp. 228 ff.; Geoffrey Warner, “Aspects of the Suez Crisis,” in Di
Nolfo, Power in Europe?, pp. 53–56 (on French hopes for revived entente with
Britain); on misleading attitude of Washington, especially of Dulles, inflating
Franco-British self-confidence see esp. Donald Cameron Watt, “Demythologizing
the Eisenhower Era” in William R. Louis, H. Bull (eds.), The “Special Relation-
ship”: Anglo-American relations Since 1945. Oxford: Clarendon Press 1986, pp. 70
ff.; William R. Louis, “Dulles, Suez and the British,” in Immerman, John Foster
Dulles, cit.
32. Joint Rep. Defense, Chief of Staff, Navy, Aug. 9, 1956, SG, d. 82 (Suez),
AHMAE; Alphand to MAE, Oct. 30, 1956, DDF, 1956, III, docs. 61, 62; Baufre
qtd. in Horne A Savage War of Peace, p. 163.
33. Cf. esp. Diane B. Kunz, The Economic Diplomacy of the Suez Crisis. Chapel
Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991, (see in partic. pp. 113–114, arguing
that the France’s decision to take a loan from the IMF before the expedition made
her relatively resistant to American economic pressure); cf. Sherman Adams, First-
hand Report: The Story of the Eisenhower Administration. New York: Harper and
Brothers, 1961, pp. 260–270; Donald Neff, Warriors at Suez: Eisenhower takes
American into the Middle East. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1981, pp. 424 ff.;
Keith Kyle, Suez. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1991, chaps. 25, 26; Cole C.
Kingseed, Eisenhower and the Suez Crisis of 1956. Baton Rouge, LA: Louisiana
University Press, 1995.
34. Note Direction Générale Politique, Nov. 10, 1956, DDF, 1956, III, doc.158;
Vaïsse, “Post-Suez France,” in Louis and Owen, Suez, p. 339; Charles de Gaulle,
Memoirs of Hope: Renewal and Endeavor. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1971,
p. 15, also in Horne, A Savage War of Peace, p. 176 (Aron, La tragédie algérienne.
Paris, 1957 qtd. here on p. 175).
35. Cf. Harold Macmillan, Riding the Storm. 1956–1959. London: Macmillan
Press, 1971, pp. 174 ff and 249–269; Eisenhower recalled Bermuda as “the most
successful conference . . . I had attended since the close of World War II”: Dwight
D. Eisenhower, The White House Years: Waging Peace, 1956–1961, Garden City:
Doubleday, 1965, p. 124; Lord Beloff, “The Crisis and Its Consequences for the
British Conservative Party,” in Louis and Owen, Suez, pp. 333–334; Nigel J. Ash-
ton, Eisenhower, Macmillan and the Problem of Nasser: Anglo-American Relations
and Arab Nationalism, 1955–59. London: Macmillan, 1996; Ray Takeyh, The Ori-
gins of the Eisenhower Doctrine: The US, Britain, and Nasser’s Egypt, 1953–57.
New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000.
36. Dillon to Dept. State, Nov. 27, 28 (qtd.), 1956; Mtg. Dulles-Alphand, Jan. 22,
1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, pp. 86–91, 96–8; Dulles to Eisenhower, Feb. 23,
1957, cit.; cf. Note générale sur la politique Américaine, May 31, 1957, Amérique,
vol. 340, AHMAE.
37. Highlighting French reasons for focusing on Europe: tel. 4018 Yost to Sec.
State, Feb.11, 1957, 611.51, RG 59, NA; cf. Vaïsse, “Post-Suez France”; Soutou,
L’Alliance incertaine, chap. 3; Leopoldo Nuti, “Le role de l’Italie dans les négocia-
tions trilatérales, 1957–1958”; Colette Barbier, “Les négociations franco-germano-
italiennes en vue de l’établissment d’une cooperation militaire nucléaire au cours des
années 1956–1958,” both in Revue d’histoire diplomatique, 1990, 1–2.
38. On PCA-FLN links, terrorism and U.S. reactions cf. desp. 138 Clark (Algiers)
to Dept. State, March 16, 1955; Mtg. Ben Bella-David G. Nes (First Sec. Emb.
Tripoli), Dec. 6, 1955, 751S.00, RG 59, NA; Mtg. Alphand-Murphy, June 14, 1957,
FRUS, 1955–57, XVIII, pp. 264–6; on consequences Bandung: Jacob J. Kaplan, The
Challenge of Foreign Aid. New York: Praeger, 1968, pp. 45–46; Dejean to Pineau,
Nov. 14, 1956, DDF, 1956, III, doc. 182; Note Diréction Générale Politique, Nov.
10, cit.; Dillon to Dept. State, March 13, 1956 (Mollet qtd.), FRUS, 1955–57,
XXVII, pp. 44–6.
39. H. W. Brands, The Specter of Neutralism: The United States and the Emer-
gence of the Third World 1947–1960. New York: Columbia University Press, 1989,
pp. 308, 9; cf. Immerman, John Foster Dulles.; Hahn, The U.S., Great Britain and
Egypt; William Stivers, “Eisenhower and the Middle East,” in David Mayers and
Richard A. Melanson (eds.), Reevaluating Eisenhower. Chicago: University of Illi-
nois Press, 1987; Ali E. H. Dessouki, “Nasser and the Struggle for Independence,”
in Louis and Owen, Suez, pp. 39–40; for old argument showing Eisenhower as
inflexible on neutralism cf. Robert J. McMahon, “Eisenhower and Third World
Nationalism: A Critique of the Revisionists,” Political Science Quarterly 101
(1986), 3; Stephen G. Rabe, “Eisenhower Revisionism: A Decade of Scholarship,”
Diplomatic History, 1993, 1; Paterson, Meeting the Communist Threat,
pp. 177–189.
40. Abbas in Mtg. at State Dept., Nov. 29, 1956, FRUS, 1955–57, XVIII,
pp. 255–8. The king of Saudi Arabia, Abdul Aziz ibn Saud, was Ike’s first candidate
as leader of the Arabs, but eventually failed the test due to internal problems and to
disputes with the British: Mtg. White House, Oct. 8, 1956, AW, DDE Diary Series,
b. 9, DDEL; Mtg. White House Feb. 19, 1957, FRUS, XIII, pp. 481–3; Notes by
Berding for Press Conf. by Sec. State, Apr. 3, 1958, JFD papers, b. 133, SGML; on
Bourguiba: Cannon to Dept. State, May 6, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XVIII pp. 664–8;
A. Dulles to NSC, 358th Mtg., March 13, 1958, NSC Series, b. 9, DDEL.
41. Qtd. Sangmuah, “Eisenhower and Containment,” p. 76; Dillon, Nov. 28,
1956, cit.; on PCF: Dillon to H. Hoover, Jr., Nov. 19, 1956, Recs. State Dept. Par-
ticipation in OCB and NSC 1947–63, b. 89; Mtg. Under Sec. State-Paul Devinat
(French Radical Socialist) Dec. 9, 1957, 611.51, RG 59, NA; Dillon’s second quo-
tation: tel. 2671, Dillon to Sec. State, Nov. 29, 1956, qtd. Tel. Conv. Dulles-Eisen-
hower, Nov.11, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XVIII, p. 741; NSC 5721/1, Oct. 19, 1957,
FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, pp. 181–193. On PCF cf. René Dazy, Le parti et le tout: le
PCF et la guerre franco-algerienne. Paris: Syllepse, 1990.
42. Dulles at NSC 356th Mtg. Feb. 27, 1958, FRUS, 1958–60, XIII, at p. 759;
Memo by Dept. State, Apr. 2, 1958, pp. 838–40 (Becker qtd.); cf. Pierre Melandri
and Maurice Vaïsse, “la boite à chagrin,” in Rioux, La guerre d’Algerie, p. 371.
43. Juin and Weygand to Eisenhower, Nov. 30, 1956, AW, Intl. Series, b. 12,
DDEL; Boussuat, “Guy Mollet,” pp. 26–27; Ageron, “L’Algérie dernière chance,”
p. 119; Pineau to Various Emb., Apr. 13,1957,DDF, 1957, I, doc. 312; first quote:
Staff Study attached to NSC 5614/1, Oct. 3, 1956, p. 22, NSC Records, RG 273,
NA; second quote: tel. 195 Clark to Dept. State, Jan. 4, 1957, 751S.00; third and
fourth quotes: OCB, “Operations Plan for France,” Feb. 28, 1958, pp. 3–4, Recs.
State Dept. participation in OCB and NSC 1947–63, b. 18, RG 59, NA; Memo
Holmes to Sec. State, Sept. 29, 1955, cit., p. 109–10.
44. Cf. Walter LaFeber, America, Russia and the Cold War, 1945–1990. (6th ed.).
New York: McGraw Hill, 1991, pp. 174 ff.; William J. Burns, Economic Aid and
American Foreign Policy Toward Egypt, 1955–1981. Albany: State University of
New York, 1985, pp. 49 ff.
45. Tel. 2184-94 Alphand to MAE (Mtg. with Eisenhower, Dulles and Figaro cor-
respondent Serge Groussard), Apr. 25, 1958, Amérique 1952–63, vol. 334,
AHMAE; on pressures to publicize the French Union’s economy cf. records by Bon-
net, Couve de Murville, Alphand, in above AHMAE collection and in DDF; on
Lacoste see Horne, A Savage War of Peace, p. 154; cf. Dillon to State, March 13,
1956 (on Mollet’s resentment), cit.; Alphand, L’étonnement d’être, p. 316. On
French double identity as dominator (as colonial power) and dominated (by Amer-
ican capitalism and modernism) see Kristin Ross, Fast Cars, Clean Bodies: Decolo-
nization and the Reordering of French Culture. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995.
On intellectual debate cf. Mohammed Khane, “Le Monde and the Algerian War
during the Fourth Republic,” in Alec G. Hargreaves, Michael J. Heffernen (eds.),
French and Algerian Identities from Colonial Times to the Present. Lewiston: E.
Mellen Press, 1993.
46. Lodge to Dept. State, Oct. 5, Nov. 1, 1955 (qtd.), Dillon to State, Nov. 21,
1956, Memo Wilcox to Dulles, Dec. 9, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XVIII, pp. 225–6,
230, 250–1, 299–300; Memo Rountree to Wilcox, July 15, 1957, 751S.00, RG 59,
NA; on Lodge, H. W. Brands, Cold Warriors: Eisenhower’s Generation and Amer-
ican Foreign Policy. New York: Columbia University Press, 1988, pp. 167–171; for
overview: Maurice Vaïsse “La guerre perdue à l’ONU?,” in Rioux, La guerre d’Al-
gérie, pp. 451–462.
47. Alphand to Pineau, June 29, 1957, DDF, 1957, I, doc. 491; Memo Dulles-
Alphand, July 1, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XVIII, pp. 270–1; cf. Lucet to Pineau, Aug.
2, 1957, Amérique, vol. 343, AHMAE; Horne, A Savage War of Peace, chap. 11;
Melandri, “La France et le ‘jeu double,’ ” pp. 437–438; on UN impact cf. also
Samya el-Machat, Les Etats-Unis et l’Algérie: De la méconnaissance à la reconnais-
sance, 1945–1962. Paris: L’Harmattan, 1996.
48. Cf. Michele Salvati, Economia e Politica in Italia dal dopoguerra a oggi.
Milan: Garzanti, 1984, pp. 47–58; Vera Zamagni, “Un’analisi critica del miracolo
economico italiano,” in Di Nolfo, et al. L’Italia . . . 1950–60.
49. Gronchi qtd. in Leo J. Wollenborg, Stars, Stripes and Italian Tricolor: The
United States and Italy, 1946–1989. New York: Praeger, 1990, p. 22; cf. Mtg.
Gronchi-Eisenhower, Feb. 28, 1956, FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, pp. 337–9; qtd. Lloyd
A. Free, Renzo Sereno, Italy: Dependent Ally or Independent Partner? Princeton:
Institute for International Social Research, 1956, p. 60.
50. Cf. Rossi, L’Africa italiana, cit. pp. 578–579; Adstans (P. Canali), Alcide De
Gasperi nella politica estera italiana (1944–1953). Milan: Mondadori, 1953,
p. 222; Bruna Bagnato, Vincoli europei, echi mediterranei. L’Italia e la crisi francese
in Marocco e Tunisia. Florence: Ponte alle Grazie, 1991, pp. 19–22.
51. Note by Sforza, no date (June–July 1947), CS, b. 3, f. 9, ACS; second quote in
Paolo Cacace, Venti anni di politica estera italiana (1943–1963). Rome: Bonacci,
1986, p. 344; on cooperation: Dunn to Dulles, Apr.15, 1950, FRUS, 1950, V,
p. 1620; Sforza, Cinque anni a Palazzo Chigi, p. 162; cf. Bagnato, Vincoli europei,
pp. 28–37; Maria Grazia Enardu, “Una politica per l’Oriente: due visioni a con-
fronto,” in Di Nolfo, et al. L’Italia . . . 1945–50.
52. Douglas to Marshall, March 6, 1948, FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 843–5; Antonio
Varsori, “L’incerta rinascita di una ‘tradizionale amicizia:’ i colloqui Bevin-Sforza
dell’ottobre 1947,” Storia Contemporanea, 1984, 4.
53. On consolidation of Anglo-American defense cooperation especially in Libya
cf. Bourgerie (Director Office African Affairs) to Palmer (First Sec. Embassy in UK),
Dec. 11, 1950, FRUS, 1950, V, pp. 1638–9; David R. Devereux, The Formulation
of British Defence Policy toward the Middle East, 1948–1956. London: Macmillan,
1990; Hahn, The U.S., Great Britain and Egypt, pp. 109–154.
54. Taviani from Sebesta, L’Europa indifesa, p. 138; U.S. Minutes De Gasperi’s
Second Formal Mtg., Sept. 25; Mtg. De Gasperi-Truman, Sept. 25, 1951, FRUS,
1951, IV, pp. 695–705; cf. Giorgio Rumi, “Opportunismo e profezia. Cultura cat-
tolica e politica estera italiana, 1949–1963,” Storia Contemporanea, 1981, 4–5,
pp. 814–815.
55. On this last point see Formigoni, L’Italia dei cattolici, pp. 53–57, and Gentile,
La Grande Italia, pp. 302–309 (Montini quoted).
56. V. L. Collins to Byroade, Sept. 11, 1952; Memo Conv. State Dept. Sept. 25,
1952, Recs. WEA, Subj. Files 1941–54, Office Italian and Austrian Affairs, b. 10;
Third US-French Foreign Minister Mtg., March 27, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, IX,
pp. 358–61; on Italy and MEDO cf. also Sebesta, L’Europa indifesa, pp. 138–139;
on Baghdad Pact: qtd. Memo Dixon, March 24, 1955, Italian Desk Files, b. 20, RG
59, NA; cf. Memo Conv. Dept. State, June 24, 1955, FRUS 1955–57, XII, p. 115.
57. Cf. Collins to Byroade, Sept.11, 1952, cit.; on failed entente Rome-Belgrade cf.
Eisenhower, Mandate for Change, p. 414; Dulles to Emb. Turkey, Feb. 8, 1953, JFD,
Gen. Correspondence and Memo series, DDEL; Dulles to Dept. State, Apr. 24,
1954, FRUS, 1952–54, VIII, pp. 416–8; Elena Calandri, “The Neglected Flank?
NATO and the Mediterranean, 1949–1956,” in Heuser and O’Neill, Securing Peace
in Europe, pp. 180–182; Italian objections: Note Political Office Ministry Foreign
Affairs, Dec. 24, 1952, DGAP, ASMAE; Mtg. Bonbright - Luciolli, May 18, 1954,
Italian Desk, b.15, NA; Luce to Dept. State, May, 4, 1954, FRUS,1952–54, VIII,
pp. 419–22; Heuser, Western Containment, pp. 170–171.
58. Magistrati to Brosio, Feb. 3, 1955, DGAP, 1951–57, b. 368, ASMAE; Brogi,
L’Italia e l’egemonia americana, pp. 177–178.
59. See “Dopo il viaggio di Martin Artajo,” editorial of Esteri, 1952, 9; Taliani to
Zoppi, Jan. 31, 1952, FC, b. 32, pos. 3000 (Italia-Spagna); tel. 1731 Tarchiani to
MAE, Feb. 10, 1954, DGAP, b. 977, ASMAE; Shannon Fleming, “North Africa and
the Middle East,” in James W. Cortada, Spain and the Twentieth Century World:
Essays on Spanish Diplomacy. London: Aldwick Press, 1980, pp. 133–43; A. Mar-
quina, Espana en la politica de seguridad occidental (1939–1986). Madrid: EME,
1986, pp. 312–313; Juan Carlos Pereira, “Spain’s Changing Role in International
Relations in the 1950s,” in Varsori, Europe 1945–1990.
60. Bruna Bagnato, “Bourguiba in Italia nel 1951: decolonizzazione e alleanze ital-
iane,” Storia delle relazioni internazionali, 1988, 2.
61. McGhee in U.S. Minutes De Gasperi’s Second Mtg. Sept. 25, 1951, cit., p. 695;
Quaroni (Paris) to MAE, Aug. 3, 1951, FC, b. 7, ASMAE; Acheson in Smith, The
U.S., Italy and NATO, p. 132; cf. Luce to Dulles, Aug. 7, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54,
VI, pp. 1624–30.
62. Qtd. Ortona, Anni d’America, 2, p. 58; cf. Durbrow to Dept. State, Aug. 20,
1954, FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1696–8; desp. 433 Williamson to Dept. State, Sept.
1, 1954, 765.00, RG 59, NA; on Gronchi and Luce esp. Memo OCB, May 3, 1955,
OCB f., b.111, DDEL, and Ortona above, pp. 128–129.
63. Lloyd Free, “Italian Political Behavior and Psychological Diagnosis,” enclosed
in letter Luce to Eisenhower, Apr. 11, 1955 (qtd.), AW, Intl. Series, b. 30, DDEL; cf.
Tasca to Merchant, June 28, 1955, WEA, Italian Desk, folder “Luce,” RG 59, NA.
64. On this last point see 230th NSC Mtg. Jan. 5, 1955, FRUS, 1955–57, XIX,
p. 19 (Allen Dulles’ remarks); Free and Sereno, Italy, Dependent Ally.
65. Mtg. Gronchi-Eisenhower, Feb. 28, 1956, cit.; Giovanni Gronchi, Discorsi
d’America. Milan: Garzanti, 1956, pp. 15–27; H. Hoover to Emb. Rome, March 6,
1956, 765.11, RG 59, NA; OCB “Progress Report,” Aug. 8, 1956, (NSC 5411/2)
RG 273, NA; Ortona, Anni d’America, 2, pp. 151–176; Bedeschi Magrini, “Spunti
revisionistici nella politica estera di Giovanni Gronchi,” in Di Nolfo et al. L’I-
talia . . . 1950–60.
66. Marcello Colitti, Energia e sviluppo in Italia. La vicenda di Enrico Mattei.
Bari: De Donato, 1979, pp. 201–204.; Luigi Bazzoli, Riccardo Renzi, Il miracolo
Mattei. Sfida e utopia del petrolio italiano nel ritratto di un incorruttibile corruttore.
Milan: Rizzoli, 1984, pp. 166–176; Paul Frankel, Mattei, Oil, Power and Politics.
New York: Praeger, 1966, pp. 94–96, 140; on Mattei’s internal activities: Tasca to
Henry Luce, Aug. 24, 1954; Jones (WEA) to Durbrow, Sept. 16, 1954, FRUS,
1952–54, VI, pp. 1699–1700, 1700–2; Tasca to Merchant, June 28, 1955, Italian
Desk, folder “Luce,” RG 59, NA.
67. US Delegation at NAC to Dept. State, Dec. 17, 1955; Dulles to Eisenhower,
May 5, 1956, FRUS, 1955–57, IV, pp. 41–4, 75; Dulles to Cutler, Jan. 14, 1957,
WHO, Staff Sec., Intl. Trips and Mtgs., b. 3, DDEL.
68. Tel. 17058/4658 Brosio to Martino, Nov. 29, 1955; Quaroni to Martino Apr.
6, 1956, DGAP, b. 1093; Brosio to MAE, Feb. 22 and 29, 1956, DGAP, b.440,
ASMAE; Memo Elbrick (WEA) to Dulles, Feb. 29, 1956, 765.11, RG 59, NA.
69. Memo Conv. Geneva, Nov. 9, 1955; Mtg. at Dept. State, Nov. 20, 1955, FRUS,
1955–57, XIV, pp. 720–3, 790–2; Mtg. Dulles-Eisenhower, Oct. 19, 1955 (on Dulles’
flexibility), JFD, Memo Series, Mtgs. with President Subs., b. 3, DDEL; Martino to
Brosio, Feb. 4; Brosio to Martino, Feb. 7, 1956, DGAP, b. 1093, ASMAE.
70. On this last point see esp. Louis, “Dulles, Suez, and the British,” pp. 143–148;
Zoppi (London) to Martino, Sept. 1, 1956, DGAP, b. 1062; Ortona to Martino
Aug. 29, 1956, SG, b. 77 (Italia-USA) ASMAE.
71. Notes on Conversations Dulles-Martino, Aug. 15 and 20, 1956, DGAP,
b. 1053, ASMAE; Dulles to Eisenhower, Aug. 21, 1956, FRUS, 1955–57, XVI,
pp. 253–4; on SCUA and Italian position: Dulles to Dept. State, Sept. 20, 1956;
Report Exec. Secretariat Dept. State, Sept. 25, 1956, pp. 528–9, 571–3; Zoppi to
Martino, Sept. 24; Quaroni to MAE, Oct. 2, 5, 1956, DGAP, b. 1062, ASMAE; on
evolving American position on SCUA: Robert R. Bowie, “Eisenhower Dulles and
the Suez Crisis,” in Louis and Owen, Suez 1956, pp. 204–206.
72. On visit: tel. 728 Ortona to MAE, Aug. 27, 1956, cit.; Memo Conv. Aug. 27,
1956, FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, pp. 375–8; Mtg. Fanfani-Dulles, Aug. 27, 1956,
765.00, RG 59, NA; on mediation: Fanfani to Eisenhower, Sept. 27, 1956, AW, Intl.
Series, b. 30, DDEL; Manzini to Ellsworth Bunker, Oct. 10, 1956, JFD, b. 118,
SGML; Mtg. Eisenhower-Dulles, Oct. 2, 1956, FRUS, 1955–57, XVI, pp. 625–6.
73. Note “Ufficio III” DGAP, Dec. 4, 1956; Brosio to MAE, Nov. 29, 1956 (sec-
ond quote), DGAP, b. 439, ASMAE; Ortona, Anni d’America, 2, p. 217 (third
quote); Mtg. Luce, Segni, Gronchi, Nov. 15, 1956, 611.65, RG 59, NA.
74. Burke Elbrick to Dulles, Jan. 17, 22, 1957, Office WEA, Decimal Files Austria-
Italy, b. 3, RG 59, NA; Quaroni to Martino, Dec. 3, Brosio to Martino, Dec. 11,
1956, DGAP, b. 439, ASMAE.
75. On Italian reactions to the Eisenhower Doctrine: Brosio to MAE, Jan. 11,
1957, DGAP, b. 439, ASMAE; Zellerbach to Dulles, 611.80, RG 59, NA; on selec-
tive criteria: tel. 688 Martino to Brosio, Jan. 18, 1957, Telegrammi Ordinari [here-
after TO], Ambasciata Washington, ASMAE; Kaufman, Trade and Aid, pp. 109 ff.;
qtd. Eisenhower to Dulles, Dec. 12, 1956, AW, Dulles-Herter Series, b. 6, DDEL.
76. Luce to Eisenhower, Aug. 25, 1956, AW, AS, b. 25; Tel. Conv. Dulles-
Ellsworth-Bunker, Oct. 3, 1956, JFD, Gen. Correspondence Series, b.5, DDEL; Mtg.
Gronchi-Adenauer, and Mtg. Martino-Adenauer-Von Brentano, Dec. 6, 1956, SG,
folder Martino, b. 117, ASMAE; Mtg. Von Brentano-Dulles, et al., May 4, 1957,
FRUS, 1955–57, XXVI, pp. 230–143 (qtd. 233); Dulles to Eisenhower, May 3,
1957, AW, Dulles-Herter Series, b. 6, DDEL; on Mollet’s visit: tel. 4294 Brosio to
MAE, Feb.27 1957, TO, Washington, ASMAE.
77. Jernegan to J. W. Jones (WEA), May 17, 1956, and Luce to Dulles, Oct. 10,
1956, 611.65, RG 59, NA; on CIA’s “Civic Action” program for the center-left
forces in Italy cf. chap. 4.
78. Cf. Intelligence Report n.7641, “ ‘Neo-Atlanticism’ as an Element in Italy’s For-
eign Policy,” Jan. 10, 1958, OIR files, NA; Memo Sec. State Special Assistant for Intel-
ligence (Cumming) to Undersec. State (Herter), Aug. 20, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XII,
pp. 937–8; Luce to Eisenhower, Aug. 31, 1954, cit.; on origins “Neo-Atlanticism” see
also Brunello Vigezzi, “L’Italia e I problemi della ‘politica di potenza’ dalla crisi della
CED alla crisi di Suez,” in Di Nolfo et al., L’Italia . . . 1950–60, pp. 18–22. Pella
argued that his “neo-Atlanticism” was a weapon to defeat Italy’s “anti-Atlanticists:”
Giuseppe Pella, “Gli orientamenti della politica estera italiana,” Relazioni inter-
nazionali, 34, XXI, 1957; see also Maria Rosaria Grieco, “Politica estera italiana e
mondo cattolico: la parabola del neoatlantismo negli anni ’50,” in Salvatore Minolfi
(ed.), L’Italia e la NATO: Una politica estera nelle maglie dell’alleanza. Napoli:
CUEN, 1993.
79. Mtg. Perrone, M. W. Williams, G. Mouser (GTI), Jan. 21, 1958, 865.00, RG
59, NA; on this point see esp. Leonardo Maugeri, L’arma del petrolio. Questione
petrolifera, guerra fredda e politica italiana nella vicenda di Enrico Mattei. Florence:
Loggia dei Lanzi, 1994. Arguing that Mattei opposed the U.S. is Daniel Yergin, The
Prize: The Epic Quest for Oil, Money and Power. New York: Simon and Schuster,
1991, p. 504. The new ambassador to Rome James D. Zellerbach remained quite
hostile to Mattei: Zellerbach to Dulles, March 28, 1958, 611.65, NA.
80. Minutes 337 Mtg. NSC, Sept. 23, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, p. 424;
Memo Elbrick to Dulles, Sept. 25, 1957 (encl. OCB Report “Mattei-Iranian Oil
Deal,” Sept. 3), 765.13, RG 59, NA; Frankel, Mattei, pp. 116–117; Maugeri,
L’arma del petrolio, pp. 142–143; on the shah cf. Note DGAP on Gronchi’s and
Pella’s trip to Iran, Sept. 13, 1957, SG, Gab. A/52, b. 129, ASMAE; Barry Rubin,
Paved with Good Intentions. The American Experience in Iran. New York: Oxford
University Press, 1980, pp. 91–102; James Goode, The United States and Iran: In
the Shadow of Mussadiq. New York; St. Martin’s Press, 1997; Dulles commented
that the shah fancied himself as a “military genius” and wanted no more no less
than command of the Baghdad Pact: Dulles (Teheran) to Eisenhower, Jan. 28, 1958,
AW, Dulles-Herter, b. 7, DDEL. Mattei’s deals in North Africa: Report DGAP
Annex n. 5 to Fanfani’s trip to U.S. SG, Gab A/52, b. 130 ASMAE; desp. 195 Sohm
to Dept. State, Aug. 12, 651.65, RG 59, NA.
81. Note DGAP, Sept. 13, 1957, cit.; tel. 2408 Pietromarchi (Ankara), Oct. 10,
1957, SG, Gab. A/52, b. 129, ASMAE; Mtg. Pella-Dulles, Sept. 25, 1957, FRUS,
1955–57, XII, pp. 945–6; on power Gronchi and Mattei: tel. 470 Zellerbach to
Dulles, Aug. 7, 1957, 865.2553; J. W. Jones to Under Sec. State, Aug. 29, 1957,
enclosed Progress Report on 5411/2, section “Mattei’s threat,” Records State Dept.
Participation in OCB and NSC, b. 21, NA; Nico Perrone: Mattei, il nemico italiano:
politica e morte del presidente dell’ENI attraverso i documenti segreti, 1945–1962.
Milan: Leonardo, 1989, pp. 97–131.
82. Cf. Intelligence Report May 6, 1957, “Western European Socialism: Italy,”
OIR files, NA; Progress report on NSC 5411/2, Feb. 13, 1957, RG 273, NA; Galli,
Storia del Partito Socialista Italiano, pp. 221–2; Nenni, Tempo di Guerra Fredda,
pp. 748–50; A. Dulles in Memo 289th mtg. NSC, June 28, 1956, FRUS, 1955–57,
XXIV, pp. 118–23; Robert V. Fisher, “Foreign Policy as Function of Party Politics:
Italy, the Atlantic Alliance and the Opening to the Left, 1953–1962,” Ph.D. thesis,
Harvard University, 1995.
83. OIR report, May 6, 1957, cit.; 298th Mtg. NSC, Sept. 27, 1956, DDRS, 1980,
doc. 382C; Mtg. Saragat-Dulles, Sept. 10, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII,
pp. 425–7; Jernegan to Dept. State, Feb. 21, 1958 (on weakness Saragat), 765.00,
RG 59, NA; on entente with Bevan for project of a “neutral belt” in Central Europe:
Pietro Nenni, I nodi della politica estera italiana. Milan; SugarCo, 1974,
pp. 146–147; on tendencies in DC left: Baget Bozzo, Il partito cristiano e l’apertura,
p. 100, 104–108; tels. 4357 and 4479, Zellerbach to Dept. State, Apr. 30, May 9,
1957, 765.00, RG 59, NA; cf. Maurizio Degli Innocenti, Storia del PSI, vol. III. Dal
dopo-guerra ad oggi. Bari: Laterza, 1993, pp. 224 ff.; Nuti, Gli Stati Uniti e l’aper-
tura a sinistra, pp. 53–67 and 109–112.
84. Annex 1 Visit Pella in the U.S. of Sept. 1957, drafted Dec. 1957, SG, Gab A/52,
b. 119, f. 2, ASMAE; cf. Ortona, Anni d’America, 2, pp. 256–9, 427–30; Elbrick to
Dulles, Nov. 27, 1957, 611.65, RG 59, NA. On competition with the Germans and
their “Colombo Plan” for the Middle East cf. Note Office III DGAP, March 1956
and Grazzi (Bonn) to MAE, Apr. 10, 1956, DGAP, b.1092, ASMAE; Ernst O. Czem-
piel, “Germany and the Third World: The Politics of Free Trade and the Free
Hand,” in Wolfram F. Hanrieder (ed.), West German Foreign Policy: 1949–1979,
Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1980, pp. 181–182. For a more detailed argument
and further annotations on this issue: Brogi, L’Italia e l’egemonia americana,
pp. 280–292.
85. Tels. 1072, 1082, Brosio to MAE, Dec. 8, 10 1957, TO, Washington, ASMAE;
Dulles to Emb. Rome, Nov. 22, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XII, 661–2; cf. Kaufman,
Trade and Aid, pp. 100–101; Brands, Cold Warriors, pp. 174–175.
86. Brosio to MAE, Dec. 8, 1957, cit.; Dulles to Emb. Rome, Nov. 22, 1957, cit.;
Mtg. Pella-Dulles, and Mtg. Cattani-Dillon, Dec. 6, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XII,
pp. 663–8; Memo Elbrick to Dulles, Oct. 29, 1957, 611.41; Mtg. Fawzi-Dulles,
Dec. 9, 1957, 611.74, RG 59, NA; Douglas Little, “Cold War and Covert Action:
The United States and Syria, 1945–1958,” The Middle East Journal, 1990, 1; on
OECD: Romero, “Interdependence and Integration,” pp. 176–8.
87. Jernegan to Dulles, Sept. 11, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, pp. 428–9; Mtg.
Eisenhower-Dulles, Feb. 5, 1957, DDRS, 1989, doc. 3426.
6
A Question of Leadership
In the late 1950s Sofia Loren became one of the few known Italian celebri-
ties in the United States. By then, Hollywood had triumphantly inducted
her in its collection of stars; the popular magazine Look dedicated an
August 1957 cover to her, hailing the “Americanization” of the Italian
artist. That same month, Egidio Ortona, minister of the Italian embassy in
Washington, decided to “borrow” the actress from the set of the film
House Boat to honor her with a banquet. In his memoirs he fondly
describes this initiative as a “public relations coup.” Never had so many
Congressmen and White House officials attended a public function at the
Italian embassy. Sofia Loren’s beauty and glamour seemed to mesmerize
Richard Nixon too. Escorted by Ortona, the actress paid an official visit
to the vice-president, who gladly accepted her invitation to include Italy in
his next state trip to Europe. Several officials in Rome criticized Ortona’s
decision to give the 22-year-old star so much political exposure. Their
objection was justified: Sofia Loren was an excellent emblem of the
renewed appeal of Italian popular culture, even of its happy marriage with
Hollywood; but her extraordinary “flirt” with Washington’s political
world highlighted by contrast the inadequacy of Italy’s regular diplomatic
channels. Like every anecdote, the episode has a symbolic significance. It
is only a slight exaggeration to argue that the institutions in Rome were so
debunked, the politicians so anonymous, that Italian diplomacy had to
resort to the magnetic presence of a famous actress to attract the attention
of America’s leaders.
Just as significantly at that time in France the majority of the public

believed that the views of actor and singer Yves Montand “held more
importance than the utterances of statesmen,” as Frank Costigliola has
noted.1 Like other engagés entertainers, Montand had gained popular
respect in a measure directly proportional to the obscurity and seeming
incompetence of the politicians.* Like in Italy, the public in France viewed
political instability, social inequities, and the state’s failure to defend the
honor of the nation primarily as a result of a factionalized regime that was
unable to produce adequate leadership.
INSTABILITY AND STAGNATION

During a conversation with Ambassador Douglas Dillon in January
1957, General de Gaulle remonstrated that all along the United States had
propped up the Fourth Republic and would continue to rescue it because it
found a weak regime “easy to handle.” As the ambassador objected to such
charges, the French leader retorted that even though perhaps it was never
America’s “conscious” desire to have dependent allies, it was certainly its
“natural instinct” as a superpower.2 In fact Washington had been frustrated
by the fragile coalition governments and parliamentary fragmentation of its
two weak European allies.
The introduction of proportional representation was for Italy a natural
exorcism of its totalitarian experience and for France a remedy against the
ills of the “Constituency poll,” which during the Third Republic had
favored regional and parochial interests over national ones. But the new
constitutional rule also produced the “regime of the parties” de Gaulle so
furiously denounced. Party interest, patronage, and even “backstairs
intrigues,” as historian Robert Aron called them, invariably interfered with
government efficiency in both countries. Perhaps more importantly, “parti-
tocracy” often rewarded the mediocre over the extraordinary. For example,
Americans were never enthusiastic about Georges Bidault. In their view the
MRP general secretary presided over a galaxy of men of greater stature,
such as René Mayer, René Pleven, and Robert Schuman. The venerable
Léon Blum, one of Ambassador Caffery’s favorites, was so much above the
squabbles of his own Socialist Party that he could not dominate it. In 1954,
Pierre Mendès France, a dynamic personality who restored some credibility
in the prime minister’s office, for that very reason ended up alienating
*Montand’s anti-Americanism did not prevent him from becoming a Hollywood

star as well. In the 1959 movie Let’s Make Love, he upheld French grandeur in
a different manner: he played the role of a French millionaire, directing his
multinational empire from his Manhattan tower, determined nevertheless to
seduce a Broadway dancer (Marilyn Monroe) not with his money but solely
with his French charm.
A Question of Leadership 225
several less remarkable party leaders, who precipitated his downfall. In

Italy, even a preeminent statesman as De Gasperi endorsed the patronage
on which his party thrived, and which ultimately weakened his own lead-
ership by the early 1950s. Following his death in 1954, power arrange-
ments within the DC placed colorless personalities such as Segni or Zoli at
the helm of the government. This in turn caused an institutional imbalance,
since the prime ministers were outflanked by more outstanding leaders,
such as Gronchi, Fanfani, and even the State entrepreneur Mattei, who
inflated their own prerogatives.3
Partitocracy, with its corollaries of weak leadership, patronage, and the
juggling of cabinets, also rekindled the public’s traditional loathing for
political institutions in both countries. As Ambassador Bonnet sadly com-
mented in 1953, the American press had a tendency to ridicule the
ephemeral governments of the Fourth Republic, not the least because the
average Frenchman himself regarded the state as a “bureaucratie repug-
nante.” With their characteristic propensity for clichés, Washington offi-
cials worried that the French and Italian governments, being unable to
inspire the public and win its trust, would perpetuate the lack of discipline
that seemed so “innate” in Latin peoples. State Department analyses recur-
rently described party patronage and tax evasion as mutually nourishing in
both countries. One major concern that Jefferson Caffery, David Bruce, and
Clare Luce above all expressed was that without more forceful leaders, the
“undisciplined” French and Italians would keep eluding the sense of
“national duty” in the economy and in politics, and thus be easy prey for
the Communists.4
The local governments’ lack of resolution to contain Communism indeed
at times provoked American interference to a degree that few on either side
of the unequal alliance really wished. In May 1946, for example, President
Truman granted discretionary authority to the U.S. military commander in
Europe to move troops from Germany in case the PCF staged an insurrec-
tion, since the French government was presumably unable to repress it on
its own.5 It is also plausible to regard a suggestion by George Kennan to
outlaw the Italian Communist Party in 1948 as less a spurt of authoritari-
anism on his part than as the consequence of his frustration with the local
elites, especially with the way they avoided responsibility and used their
vulnerability to extract concessions from the United States. Likewise, from
1953, Clare Luce, who certainly had fewer qualms than Kennan about
America’s right to intervene, decided to blackmail the Italian government by
limiting Off-Shore Procurement contracts until it would take measures to
purge its bureaucracy and state industry from Communist presence (Prime
Minister Scelba complied the following year).6
To be sure, the United States also recognized that there was a certain
“static quality” in the French and Italian governments: despite their quick
turnover, they preserved the same people in power; also what really mattered
seemed to be the continuity of the coalitions they represented. But the elec-
tions of 1951 in France, increasing the polarization between the right and
left parties, foreshadowed the possible rupture of that continuity. This would
happen especially if de Gaulle, returning to power, decided, as many in Paris
predicted, to outlaw the Communist Party, thus tempting the Socialists to
“go underground and to affiliate in some forms with the PCF,” as Bruce
observed at the end of that year. In Italy the center was more consolidated.
But from 1953, after failing to strengthen the ruling coalition with a new
electoral law, the government began relying on increasingly unstable majori-
ties. Also, more than in France, the “static quality” of the Italian government
approximated political “stagnation.” The fact that political stagnation could
cause cabinet instability in a strongly ideologized party system was quite
obvious; yet to most American officials it remained an exotic phenomenon
often beyond comprehension.7
Continuity between government coalitions and within the government
bureaucracy could be an element of overall stability. It allowed the economy
to perform better than it would elsewhere with such a rapid turnover of
leaders. But it did not produce the statesmanship necessary for France and
Italy to face major international tests. Weak, transient leaders were unable
to educate their parliaments and public opinion about the big choices in for-
eign policy. Washington constantly reprehended the crippling effect such
inability had on the rest of the alliance. Feeble governments and anxious
leaders, Kennan noted in the summer of 1947, made coordination of Mar-
shall aid almost impossible in Europe. The “pathetic weakness” of those
leaders, the PPS director said, might eventually hamper his own designs for
a European third force. Lack of statesmanship in France and Italy, accord-
ing to Foster Dulles, had not only compounded but in several cases had even
created the problems of the EDC debate. In late 1954, Churchill and Eisen-
hower feared that the “tyrannical weakness of the French chamber” might
again play a dirty trick on the Western European Union treaty as it had on
the EDC. Finally, according to a NSC Staff study of 1956, the French gov-
ernment tried to fend off its own weakness and instability by becoming
almost irrationally intransigent on alternatives to the Union Française.8
It was true that the United States did everything it could to shore up the
French and Italian regimes. But that choice was not a superpower’s “natural
instinct,” not the least because dependent allies were often the hardest to
manage. The United States rather acted that way because French and Italian
leaders were able to persuade Washington that there was no appealing alter-
native to their rule. The Americans always hoped that both countries’ insti-
tutions could be reformed, allowing for stronger executive power. Even bet-
ter, more dynamic or charismatic leaders would guarantee for both countries
a greater international prestige that might “heal” their sore self-esteem,
which had so easily translated into either timidity or “resentful” nationalism.
What remains curious, however, is why the Americans accepted in France

the leader they had for long regarded as too authoritarian, unrealistically
ambitious, and even incompetent, and in Italy a man whom they had mis-
trusted from the moment he had taken over the DC party, due to his “left-
ist” leaning and his sympathy for Third World neutralism.
Recent historiography has provided some insight into the case of Charles
de Gaulle. Particularly valuable are the analyses by Irwin Wall, Frederic
Bozo, and Pierre Melandri for the connection they established between
America’s reliance on de Gaulle and its perceptions of the Algerian crisis.9
Yet these scholars largely fail to place that issue in the context of America’s
management of the Western alliance. Moreover, other new instructive ques-
tions must be addressed: to what extent did Washington compare the situ-
ations in France and Italy in 1958? How much did it expect to control de
Gaulle and Fanfani? Did improved relations with Washington inflate the
two leaders’ illusions of rank? How did their respective “philosophy” of
power and prestige differ from the pragmatism prevailing in Washington
and what reciprocal misperceptions did such a difference cause? How did
the United States actually manipulate the two leaders’ ambitions of pres-
tige? And finally, why was Fanfani not as successful as expected—or, why
did this “parallel” solution fail to work for Italy?
THE FRENCH “SAVIOR”

The Gaullist Alternative Before Suez and Algeria. The idea of a
“Gaullist” solution to French instability was not new. American officials
had contemplated it since the birth of the Fourth Republic. Already in late
1947, faced with the crisis of the Ramadier cabinet and the wave of Com-
munist insurrectionary strikes, Ambassador Caffery reluctantly considered
endorsing the candidacy of de Gaulle, provided this would not mark the
end of the Fourth Republic. To the ambassador’s relief the situation
improved before the General resolved to step in. Also, de Gaulle appeared
reluctant to take power during times of misery, with the country still so
dependent on the United States. He rather would wait, the U.S. embassy
concluded, until the Fourth Republic wore itself out dealing with the eco-
nomic wreckage.10
For a while de Gaulle’s hands-off attitude was to the Americans addi-
tional evidence of his irresponsibility: by harboring hopes that economic
disruption would precipitate the political disintegration of the regime, the
General failed to imagine how much this would benefit the Communists;
furthermore, with his corporatist views and threats to outlaw the PCF, de
Gaulle not only revealed an authoritarian streak but seemed very likely to
alienate the working class and the moderate Socialist Party, the support
of which the Americans deemed necessary to a stable democratic French
government. Instead of the man who would bring about national unity, by
1948 de Gaulle seemed to Caffery a “catalyst of further division and disin-
tegration” in French society.
Particularly worrisome was the fact that the General called for national
unity by “beating the chauvinistic drums,” as Bruce remarked in 1951 at
the peak of the EDC debate: such appeal nourished the “constant tempta-
tion” of the average Frenchman to view the Cold War not as the con-
frontation between the totalitarian and the free worlds but as a “struggle
between two world powers whose actions his own nation cannot influence.”
This viewpoint might have in turn plunged France into either apathy or
rebellion, both of which would be pernicious to the Atlantic Alliance. The
main problem lay in the philosophy and style of leadership underlying de
Gaulle’s grandeur: the French leader’s “mystical” ideas about his country’s
world mission seemed of little use to stave off the threat of Communist sub-
version; pragmatic, day-to-day economic stabilization, Washington
thought, must take priority over status concerns. De Gaulle woefully lacked
basic economic and administrative notions; and worse, most U.S. officials
noted, he was surrounded by self-seeking advisers, who were often as
incompetent on administrative issues as he was.11
Yet, while proscribing any official contact with de Gaulle through the
mid-1950s, Washington continued to view him as the “needed leader,” pro-
vided he would get rid of his “penchant for dictatorship,” as Acting Secre-
tary of State Lovett put it in late 1947. Most U.S. officials calculated that
even the mere presence of de Gaulle as the strong man waiting to take over
French politics could in itself be an asset: it was sometimes a pressure suf-
ficient to goad the French government into some inventive action, particu-
larly with respect to Western integration (during the EDC debate, however,
such pressure worked against the American viewpoint). In general, Wash-
ington noted that the RPF, with its electoral successes, served as a warning
to the fragile Fourth Republic, and helped “prevent the regime from yield-
ing too far to its vice of inter-party quarreling.”12
Actually, as Jean-Pierre Rioux has argued, the General throughout his
“exile” from the government—and starting from 1953, from the political
scene tout court—had no clear plan for a return to power. Waiting on the
sidelines, he took the opportunities as they appeared. But as a charismatic
leader, de Gaulle believed that his greatest chance lay only in a situation of
national emergency. As Jean Lacouture explains, the General had with-
drawn from power in 1946 with the expectation he might be begged to
return as the savior of the nation—probably, he thought then, “against a
new invasion,” from Russia. He did not imagine that he would be called to
rescue France from itself, from the specter of a coup d’état, and in general
from a misleading dream of imperial grandeur that he himself had elevated
to an article of faith during his first government.13
The Eisenhower administration began to reestablish contacts with de

Gaulle in the spring of 1956, not out of sudden respect for his mysticism
and defiance, but because of the instability—and defiance—of the Fourth
Republic governments. This is not to say that the Americans immediately
underwrote a possible change of the regime. In April de Gaulle for his part
informed Dillon that, despite his return to political activism, he was not
seeking office but only trying to give good advice to Mollet.14 By the fol-
lowing year, the United States found, under closer scrutiny, that a dose of
the General’s arrogance was probably necessary to heal French feelings of
insecurity. Some in Washington hoped that, like every cure, Gaullism would
be temporary; but in general the Eisenhower administration understood
that de Gaulle, precisely because of his idealism and self-appointed role as
savior of the country, would have a better perception than his predecessors
of France’s long-term national interest in foreign policy, and for that reason
his tenure in office might exceed the immediate emergency. Washington
grew more tolerant of the General’s aggressive style of leadership and pol-
icy of grandeur also because, with France in a relatively stabilized economic
and security position, they appeared less irresponsible than they did in the
reconstruction period. Also, it became gradually clear that Gaullism had
never substantially threatened the Cold War balance and would do even less
harm in the late 1950s.
The issue of grandeur, therefore, and more precisely the different direc-
tions a policy of grandeur would take under the last leaders of the Fourth
Republic or under de Gaulle, crucially informed the change of regime and
also the United States’ acceptance and, to some extent, encouragement of
such change.
Fragility and Grandeur. The Eisenhower administration, as noted,

tended to minimize the danger that the Fourth Republic might turn neutral.
Yet, especially after Suez, the French continued to threaten such a policy
shift, thus confirming, in America’s eyes, their tendency to “blackmail” the
superpower or use it as a scapegoat. Failing to follow up on their threats,
the fragile French cabinets further proved their weakness to the world and
to their public. In April 1958 Dulles summed up the problem, chastising the
French Constitution for producing such a fragmented political system that
made it almost impossible for any government to stay in power unless it
embraced a nationalistic foreign policy. And, as the secretary observed dur-
ing the Suez crisis, even when those leaders rebelled against American
“impositions,” they “unfortunately” could not be “regarded as strong men
who spoke clearly for their governmen[t.]”15
There was indeed evidence that forces outside the French government
guided its Algerian policy. In October 1956, Mollet seemed to have been
unaware or at least to have lost control of the French operation that led to
the arrest of Ben Bella. According to an American report, the Algerian gov-
ernor general, Robert Lacoste, had given the final OK, leaving Mollet no
other choice but to approve it, “because of [the] French wave of chauvin-
ism.” The Sakiet incident of a year and a half later occurred under similar
circumstances. Local commanders interpreted orders from Defense Minis-
ter Jacques Chaban-Delmas with extreme discretion. Premier Gaillard first
admitted to Ambassador Houghton that the raid had been a mistake, but
Chaban-Delmas contradicted him, giving his own belated endorsement to
the action.16
From Washington’s viewpoint there was no worse scenario for France than
that of such governmental disarray, of feeble, petulant statesmen following
and inflating rather than heading and harnessing their country’s nationalist
outcry.17 In the aftermath of Suez, the Americans reached the conclusion that
the main threat to French institutions came no longer from the Communist
party but from the growing extreme right. By November 1956, Ambassador
Dillon began to point out the danger that disgruntled generals in Algeria
might create “some type of Fascist movement . . . largely anti-US and isola-
tionist.” It was not a new prospect. As early as during the EDC debate in
1953 the CIA had gathered evidence that the French military had contingency
plans for a coup d’état in Paris. Reporting to the National Security Council
in January 1957, Allen Dulles warned that rebellion was likely “if the Alger-
ian situation became sour.” A military dictatorship was the kind of “irra-
tional reaction” Washington feared from the French people, who refused to
accept the “naked problem” (the abandonment of their empire) once it began
“to stare them in the face,” as the American consul in Algiers described the
situation at the end of that year.18
It was primarily the prospect of a military insurrection—compounded
by concerns over French “irrationality”—that led Washington to discard
the options available within the Fourth Republic’s regime. Dillon anx-
iously favored the “progressive” Guy Mollet. Mendès France, according to
some U.S. officials, enjoyed a good chance to lead a stable government,
since he was a stronger than average leader, balanced on the left and
uncharacteristically pragmatic. And through the peak of the crisis in May
1958, Eisenhower kept inquiring about President René Coty as a possible
alternative to de Gaulle, while Ambassador Houghton wished to support
René Pleven’s last bid for prime minister. In regard to all these leaders
Washington’s main conclusion was the same: they lacked sufficient author-
ity over the military.19
Grandeur under the Fourth Republic also had a chance of becoming syn-
onymous with left-wing neutralism. Naturally, it could not be ruled out
that, in reaction to the right-wing resurgence, the Socialists might revert to
a Popular Front strategy. In particular, after the military had carried out
their coup in Algiers on May 13, Jacques Soustelle, one of the rebel leaders,
and other Gaullist representatives circulated rumors that the leader of the
SFIO’s left wing, Jules Moch, then Interior minister, was preparing a resist-
ance front with the Communists. While unfounded, the charges illustrated
how much the Algerian affair had aggravated the polarization of French
politics. Although the chance of a Communist-dominated countercoup was
minimal, the Fourth Republic during its last two years seemed far too
tempted by a Popular Front option. Dulles figured by February 1958 that
such a coalition would be able to “liquidate the Algerian affair,” but unfor-
tunately it “was likely to liquidate NATO as well.” A French Popular Front
could have fatal repercussions in Europe, the secretary added two months
later. It might jeopardize the leadership of Adenauer and the continental
integration movement which Dulles now identified with the chancellor; the
secretary of state could not forget that the “EDC received its death blow
from the left wing government that liquidated the Indochina war.”20
Self-Confident Grandeur. But what evidence did the United States have
that de Gaulle would not be just as calamitous to Western integration? And
why should Washington favor the man whom most right extremists emu-
lated and in whose name the generals finally waged their uprising on May
13? The second question partly answered itself. Thanks to the respect, and
in some cases adoration he enjoyed among the military, de Gaulle was the
only person who could quell a right-wing rebellion. Following the coup,
Gaullist senator Michel Debré promptly reassured the Americans that le
général was not part of the conspiracy; if he had not condemned the rebels
it was partly because Prime Minister Pierre Pfimlin had not done so either,
partly for tactical reasons. The truth, many in Paris and Washington were
ready to concede, was that the General manipulated the threat from the
insurrectionary leaders and that, as Jean Lacouture has contended, he was
“detached from intrigues but not from news.”21 After de Gaulle took power
at the end of May, the State Department still noted with optimism that the
top French military authorities closest to the prime minister—Juin, Ely, Val-
luy, Lorillot—were also strong NATO supporters. Some in Washington
plausibly speculated that de Gaulle’s insistence on granting the French mil-
itary a greater role in NATO was in part his way of diverting the generals’
attention from Algeria, even a sort of compensation for the inevitable con-
cessions they would have to make there.22
Above all, what prevented de Gaulle from endorsing the rebels was his
faith in the supremacy of the State and in national unity. Since the highest
institutions had become so decrepit, the General felt it was his “duty” to
“restore” them, and especially to restore their link to the people. He
branded military dictatorship as “heresy,” a harbinger of the most appalling
scenarios: to de Gaulle it was the solution typical of lesser, unstable nations;
it would foment more divisions in the country; and overnight it could
erase the glory of France in the eyes of the world and its standing among
the great powers. Most significant was the explanation that on May 21,
Jean Monnet, certainly not a Gaullist disciple, provided to Ambassador

Houghton: de Gaulle, he said, was convinced that no army coup could
secure “an effective change in the Constitution which [would] permit
workable and durable governments;” especially, he was too “conscious of
his place in history” to accept coming to power by unconstitutional means.
Washington welcomed the fact that even the General’s narcissism could
help preserve French democracy. In July, Foster Dulles concluded that de
Gaulle was “all that stands between France and chaos.”23
A leader in firm control of the situation was likely to achieve the degree
of flexibility in foreign and internal policy that the Fourth Republic had
seemingly lost. In the aftermath of the Sakiet incident, Dulles reiterated that
the weak, beleaguered governments of that regime would not “dare to be
bold and liberal” in Algeria. De Gaulle had, of course, always come across
as the “master of inflexibility.” But Washington gathered that, once he
assumed a position of power and responsibility, he would clearly identify
France’s main objectives and interests. His confrontational attitude toward
Washington would be based far less on resentful anti-Americanism—as that
of his predecessors—than on renewed national pride.24
As early as May 1956 the General reassured the Americans that he would
reject the policy of “assimilation” and “integration” in Algeria. After the
fall of the Mollet cabinet in May 1957, the U.S. embassy in Paris reported
that many French representatives believed that the “Algerian problem
appear[ed] unsolvable without the presence of a strong man at the head of
the . . . government who could impose his will on all political parties.”
De Gaulle might even reach the ideal solution according to many U.S. offi-
cials: France “freed” from its colonies but able to retain a certain degree of
control (and responsibility) over the newly emancipated nations. Only the
General had the “ability and the prestige,” the embassy report concluded,
“to put over the only possible program that would guarantee some sort of
future, close relationship between France and Algeria while giving the
Moslems the self-government they strive for.”25
De Gaulle did hope for “some sort of federation,” a North African union
(as Abbas and Bourguiba had first suggested) linked to France “yet retain-
ing certain attributes of independence.” His liberalism on this issue derived
largely from his “European” priority: while the empire had in the past
helped improve France’s position in the Continent, it seemed now to para-
lyze its action there. Moreover, the need to surrender Algeria could be trans-
muted into an act of generosity. By resisting the inevitable, the leaders of the
Fourth Republic had lost initiative, the most important element of a great
power policy. It was preferable that decolonization came from Paris and not
as a result of a nationalist movement’s pressure.26
Additional reassurance came from the main North African representa-
tives and FLN leaders, who, by late May, confided to American officials
that they trusted de Gaulle more than anyone else in Paris. The Tunisian
and Moroccan governments, which at first worried that a military junta

might take over in France and attempt to seize back lost territories in North
Africa, soon rested assured that the General would rein in his subordinates
and implement a liberal program in Algeria.27
Finally, De Gaulle decided to abandon French Algeria because he believed
that modernization was the real mark of French grandeur, next to its capac-
ity to regain the initiative in Europe and to set a moral example for the
world. As Brian Jenkins has argued, “by turning his back on the archaic
colonial legacy, [the French leader] was also renouncing a traditional France
that still clung to the economic and social structures of the past.”28
Grandeur and Interdependence. De Gaulle proved to be more flexible

than expected on NATO affairs as well. The prospect of French secession
from the alliance under a Gaullist regime had long haunted Washington.
But during the May crisis members of the General’s entourage guaranteed
the U.S. Embassy that he would press for some change of “form,” while
“the substance would remain the same.” It was a credible pledge, given
the French leader’s exceptional concern for appearances. France’s bid for
nuclear status was not solely a matter of form to be sure. But the French
nuclear program seemed unstoppable in any case. At least, as the assis-
tant secretary for European Affairs Charles B. Elbrick observed on May
27, through the resumption of NATO’s Big Three meetings, which de
Gaulle was certainly going to demand, France’s nuclear autonomy could
be contained.29
Granting some satisfaction on form was also likely to preclude any temp-
tation the General might harbor to renew the “old game,” conducting his
own détente policy with Moscow. On the day de Gaulle took power, Dulles
wrote to Ike in haste: “he is an unusual man and, unless we deal with him
as such, others, perhaps the Russians, will have their way with him.” But a
month later Houghton specified that de Gaulle’s pursuit of status and inde-
pendence would keep France tied to the West: concerned about his “repu-
tation as ‘man of honor,’ ” de Gaulle would not break his promise with the
allies; also, his priority was to improve France’s status in the alliance not to
withdraw in splendid—and unrealistic—neutrality.30
European integration did not seem doomed either. De Gaulle’s position on
supranationality remained negative. But the Americans themselves no longer
considered European federalism a matter of life or death; they had also
learned that any attempt to influence the process tended to backfire. Moreover,
leaders of the Fourth Republic had offered no better prospects than de Gaulle,
since they thought of the EEC along protectionist lines, and since they did
not rule out a Popular Front coalition that would endanger the European
leadership of Adenauer. De Gaulle’s spokesmen assured the United States
that their leader favored European integration, provided it would be
divested of its supranational features. Immediately upon assuming power,
the General further demonstrated his European “priority” by contacting

Chancellor Adenauer in order to lay out a common EEC policy. On June 5,
von Brentano told Dulles that “if France under de Gaulle became a stronger
nation, everyone [in Europe] would be gratified.” There was little doubt in
Bonn that strength and self-confidence would make the General more flex-
ible than in the past on European integration. Had he not already proven
his adaptability when in 1946 he had given a blank check to Monnet on his
Modernization Plan? Ultimately, as several authors have recently acknowl-
edged, de Gaulle’s idea of independence never entailed “the belief that
national isolation was possible in the modern world.”31
While recognizing interdependence, the new leadership in Paris was
likely to become increasingly self-reliant toward the United States. De
Gaulle’s immediate reason for liquidating Algeria was to acquire more self-
sufficiency within NATO and thus justify his self-assertiveness in foreign
policy. Also, Washington officials no longer saw him as an incompetent
surrounded by a cabinet of amateurs. Once in charge, they thought, de
Gaulle would compensate for his shortcomings by picking, even from out-
side his party, the appropriate advisers. Furthermore, a respected and pop-
ularly acclaimed leader would not need to fill his cabinet with “yes men.”
In sum, De Gaulle’s grandeur policy, under the circumstances that led to
the creation of the Fifth Republic, became far more pragmatic than it had
been during the postwar period. France’s path to self-reliance would nec-
essarily involve some conflict with U.S. interests, but at least de Gaulle
offered, in Houghton’s words, “a strong and responsible government
which . . . could be depended on.” The fact that during the first years of
the new regime France’s economic resurgence became wedded with sym-
bols of grandeur—the fastest train in Europe, the most silent and slickest
jet aircrafts, the creation of a space research agency—further persuaded the
Americans about the Gaullist thesis that the two aspects were inextricably
correlated.32
Man for the Emergency? The formation of the new cabinet was per-
haps the most crucial test of de Gaulle’s pragmatism and flexibility. The
United States was at first still worried about his possible impact on
domestic politics; but those fears soon turned into America’s best hopes.
On May 16, Colonel Henri Tournet, one of the General’s confidants, told
Dillon the United States should stop being alarmed about a possible Fas-
cist dictatorship. De Gaulle “is no Franco,” the officer protested, “he
[rather] wants a strong democracy” and a constitution similar to that of
the United States. Washington began to understand de Gaulle’s commit-
ment to “public-spirited statesmanship,” as Daniel Mahoney has called it.
This definition meant that the true man of character, the true “spokesman
for grandeur” would not be tempted by tyranny, for the greatness of the
nation was possible “only if it respect[ed] human liberty.” In de Gaulle’s
view, French grandeur was closely related to the national tradition of

democracy and human rights. And French nationalism, which he claimed
to embody, was based on Rousseau’s concept of the general will, and
almost never displayed the “organicist” and racial connotations of other
nationalist ideologies. As Pierre Nora has described him, de Gaulle repre-
sented “a subtle reinvestment of the monarchic image in support of the
democratic system.” Such reinvestment also allowed the leader to neu-
tralize the traditional antiparliamentarism of most of the French right and
at the same time to reassure most of those on the left who nurtured appre-
hensions about his authoritarianism.33
During the May crisis, de Gaulle dispelled America’s misgivings by keep-
ing contacts with the Socialists and particularly with Guy Mollet. Such
exchanges not only provided additional reassurance that the General would
disapprove of the idea of a military junta; it was, more importantly, a
demonstration of his ability to compromise with the political parties he had
constantly reviled and thus avoid a traumatic break with the past regime.
His first cabinet contained only two Gaullists and included representatives
from the old order such as Pierre Pfimlin and Antoine Pinay. Ambassador
Houghton was elated, as were most French left-of-center leaders. The
Americans would keep suspecting the General’s penchant for authoritari-
anism, but the way he mastered his access to power confirmed that a strong
and self-confident government in France was also likely to stay democratic.
Further, by coopting the moderate left, that government was able to isolate
the PCF as no other previous coalition had managed to do.34
Such trust in the “man above the parties” also stemmed from persistent
images of the French people that, curiously enough, de Gaulle and his
American counterparts shared. The General had always claimed that the
French were naturally “volatile” and quarrelsome, and that only a man
who inspired a more profound sense of national consciousness—or
grandeur—would be able to transcend their traditional divisions. The
Americans were so exasperated with French “parliamentary” politics that
they disregarded the authoritarian implications of the Gaullist thesis. Many
believed a strong-hand was needed to impose some discipline on the French.
Eisenhower had followed such logic from the early days of his administra-
tion: writing to NATO Commander Alfred Gruenther in 1953, he had
quipped that the French needed “a sort of evangelical uprising, following a
Billy Sunday or a Pied Piper” to overcome “their attitude of cynical disgust”
toward their government.35
But a “Pied Piper” might play his tune, accomplish his task, and then gra-
ciously exit. De Gaulle was the type of leader necessary for the emergency,
in 1958 as he had been in 1944. He was the man for epic challenges. And,
as he had confided to his son Philippe when he first retired in February
1946, “one cannot be the man for the great storms and the man for the
squalid deals.” Americans concurred with that view. On May 27, 1958,
Elbrick, sharing the hopes of many other State Department officials, pre-
dicted that “de Gaulle w[ould] not last forever and [might] decide to with-
draw from the scene after a limited period of time.” In inviting Eisenhower
to deal with the “unusual man,” Foster Dulles also emphasized the
“unusual circumstances” that had made such a comeback possible. Noth-
ing precluded that the chief who stood “between France and chaos” would
have to pull back after solving the immediate problem, and would be
replaced by a leader more fit for the everyday administration of the coun-
try, someone like René Coty for example. Was this view inconsistent with
Washington’s point about the need to teach the French discipline and
respect for their government, a process that naturally would require time?
Not necessarily, since U.S. officials had often referred to “shock therapy”
as a remedy to straighten out the French.36 It is also plausible to conclude
that to the pragmatic Americans it seemed inconceivable that a leader so
prone to elitism and mysticism might last very long. Washington did prize
charisma. As the leader for the emergency de Gaulle evoked the case of
Franklin D. Roosevelt, the American “savior.” But that comparison high-
lighted how the U.S. president remained in power for so long thanks to his
pragmatism and the longevity of an emergency; the French leader soon
quelled the emergency, and, because of that success, he might give up the
pragmatism that had characterized his first months in office.
By the end of the summer, however, Washington had realized that de
Gaulle “would be around for a while.” For months after the French had
approved the new Constitution at the referendum of September 28, the
U.S. press was, as Ambassador Alphand described it, “dithyrambique”
about the new président. In 1959, Time magazine elected him its “man of
the year.”37
Whether they were truly enthusiastic or soberly realistic about the
Gaullist solution, Americans did not hide their preference for the man who
would save France from herself. Relations with him would be, in Elbrick’s
words, “admittedly difficult.” But, as Irwin Wall has put it, Washington
realized “it would do better with a stable political order in France, even one
that threatened to clash with American policies, than to continue dealing
with the shifting cabinets that were increasingly tempted to play upon irra-
tional anti-American sentiment in order to preserve themselves in power.”
The Fourth Republic was, no less than its successor, obsessed with obtain-
ing recognition as a great power, but it used the issue primarily to bolster
its weak leadership thus perpetuating the national inferiority complex.
The United States never went as far as intentionally undermining the sta-
bility of the Fourth Republic. But during the May crisis, under the threat
that the military coup might reach Paris, the Eisenhower administration
exercised a restraint that ultimately favored de Gaulle’s exploitation of that
“scare.” This decision reflected the United States’ growing realization that
its direct interference in the internal affairs of its European allies tended to
be counterproductive. It is legitimate, however, to question to what extent

such decision was dictated by an American desire to see French politics sta-
bilized under a firm leadership.
For his part, de Gaulle repeatedly tried to win America’s favor. As early
as January 1957 he told Dillon that regardless of Washington’s shortcom-
ings, he thought “it was a great blessing to the world that the U.S. existed
today as it does” and again pledged his eternal “friendship.” But despite his
reiterated “invitations” to cooperate, all contacts with the American
embassy had to remain secret, as Houghton explained during the May cri-
sis, for de Gaulle was “anxious [to] avoid any appearance of having made
overtures” to the United States.38 For a leader intent on rescuing France
from its own inferiority complex any evidence of help from a superpower
would have had the most deleterious effects. De Gaulle’s attitude, in this
respect, was the same as in 1944, when he had asked for a show of Amer-
ican “logistics” under a French flag at the Liberation parades. Certainly,
this time French pride would overwhelm French “invitation” for an Amer-
ican presence. But Washington simply concluded that France could now
afford and even needed a dose of self-confidence. As to de Gaulle’s
grandeur, the Americans hoped it would steer an economically restored
France toward leadership of continental integration and a role in fostering
transatlantic interdependence rather than toward a revival of the old Euro-
pean balance of power; or to put it another way, they hoped that the Gen-
eral would identify prestige with international statesmanship more than
with old-fashioned chauvinism.
A “DE GAULLE” FOR ITALY?

The Ambitious “Insider.” Amintore Fanfani waited until the national
elections of 1958 to place his bid for a premiership that, he hoped, was to
last a full parliamentary term. His previous attempt in 1954 had been foiled
by the conservatives and, not the least, by Clare Luce. But in four years Fan-
fani had consolidated his power in the Christian Democratic party and won
more confidence from the United States.
In some respects these two achievements could be contradictory, since
Washington had traditionally despised power-seekers such as Fanfani for
furthering the factionalism already inherent in that party. Back in 1952,
Ambassadors James Dunn and Ellsworth Bunker had reported that the Ital-
ian centrist coalition’s “bickering and maneuvering for place and for party
and personal advantage” created irreparable divisions in the common anti-
Communist front. Furthermore, such “jockeying for position” prevented
those representatives from giving a “dramatic lead to public opinion or to
take [the] kind of forceful actions which would draw support away from
[the] Communists.” Fanfani’s left-wing group of Iniziativa Democratica was
known for underplaying the confrontation with the PCI and for “flirting”
with the Nenni Socialists. In the early 1950s it represented the main chal-
lenge to De Gasperi’s leadership and, for this reason, appeared as one of the
most deleterious elements of factional power among Christian Democrats.39
By the time Fanfani became prime minister in June 1958, the United
States had grown convinced that the ambitious “insider” of the Italian
party system could also rejuvenate it, thus guaranteeing internal stability
and a more effective contribution to the Western alliance. From the time of
the Suez crisis, Fanfani had bridged the gap with Washington, showing that
his project for a center-left coalition did not affect his pro-Americanism.
Indeed the DC secretary became the foremost champion of the opportunis-
tic alignment with the United States founded on the “Mediterranean voca-
tion.” His decision to include the Social Democrats in his government
against President Gronchi’s advice was an additional assurance that he was
now determined to isolate the Nenni Socialists, possibly also in order to
render them more malleable. By naming his economic program “progress
without adventures” Fanfani clearly projected the image of a moderate
reformer, with a strong preference for “technocracy,” and little of the ideo-
logical impulse Luce and others at the Rome embassy had feared. (Only his
plan to nationalize the energy services and other key industries caused some
concern in Washington).
Above all, the Americans compared the situation in Italy to that of
France. As odd as the comparison between the charismatic de Gaulle and a
shrewd manipulator of “partitocracy” as Fanfani might seem, Washington
nevertheless regarded the two leaders as different “cures” for similar prob-
lems. The two leaders had an analogous determination to stabilize politics
through firm command, as well as through steadfast pursuit of greater
diplomatic initiative and international prestige. Those commonalities
appeared evident to Allen Dulles, who spent three weeks in September
between Paris and Rome specifically to assess the two allies’ parallel trend
in leadership. The CIA director became confident that Fanfani might enjoy
the same success as had de Gaulle and that both leaders would manage to
isolate the Communist parties. As he reported to the NSC in October, Italy
had “the best government since De Gasperi” and Fanfani was “very astute,
very friendly to the United States and strongly anti-Communist.”40
Astuteness, sagacity, even a dose of wile were the qualities a leader
seemed to need to rule effectively in Italy, as reports from the U.S. embassy
in Rome began to suggest right after the formation of the Fanfani cabinet.
Although Italy, like France, desperately sought parliamentary stability, it
was not within the same context. Moreover, Italy’s experience with author-
itarianism had been disastrous. Fascism not only had been oppressive; it
had also reduced the whole idea of an authoritarian leader in Italy into a
“comic opera.” But if Americans did not welcome the “man of destiny” as
in France, they still hoped for somebody able to take charge of the situation
as well as to maneuver and dominate intraparty squabbles.41 Fanfani was

not given to grand visions like de Gaulle, nor did he suffer (or benefit) from
the same messianic complex. But he evidently had a good streak of egocen-
trism and seemingly unlimited ambitions. The prime minister’s concentra-
tion of power was unprecedented in democratic Italy, save De Gasperi’s
provisional government of 1945: besides retaining his post as party secre-
tary Fanfani also assumed the portfolio of foreign minister. Sharing a
predilection for foreign policy with de Gaulle, as well as the idea that the
state’s successful international action was its greatest source of legitimacy,
the DC leader sought to dominate foreign affairs. He promptly demoted his
political adversaries in the foreign service and appointed his “lieutenants”
to the most important offices and embassies. His energy at work soon
became legendary in Rome’s circles: friends and foes alike dubbed the five-
foot-tall leader the “little engine”; intolerant of those at the foreign ministry
without his same stamina, he had their offices locked and their keys with-
drawn if they failed to show up by 8 A.M.42
The most crucial impact of such vigor and forcefulness, from Washing-
ton’s viewpoint, was on the DC party itself. Ideologically Fanfani came to
approximate the middle-way the Americans had been looking for between
the conservatives and the Base faction of Gronchi and Mattei. Even the reli-
gious fervor of Fanfani’s Iniziativa Democratica seemed an asset, for, by
brandishing Catholicism as one of his political weapons, the DC leader was
now in a position to control the power of the Vatican instead of depending
on it. Tempering his religious devotion with his pragmatism and reformist
outlook, he took advantage of the rift that was emerging within the Church
itself between progressives and conservatives. Most U.S. officials actually
hoped for a balanced situation, whereby Fanfani would reduce the unnatu-
ral political leverage of Vatican conservatives who in turn would still exert
a moderating influence on the “devout” prime minister.43
So all these characteristics pointed in the direction of a strong leadership,
a prestige factor in itself, which in addition would make the Italian govern-
ment’s bid for greater international status more credible and consistent.
And most important, the prime minister’s very closeness to Gronchi and
Mattei’s position seemingly enabled him to bridle their neutralist impulse.
The government’s program of nationalization of certain energy sectors and
its emphasis on a Mediterranean foreign policy reinforced the entente
between the prime minister and Mattei. But it soon transpired that Fanfani,
keen on establishing a special cooperation with the United States, would
consistently foster the ENI director’s own inclination toward that goal. The
new government’s show of initiative in foreign policy even more clearly lim-
ited Gronchi’s activism in that field. For this reason, the U.S. First Secretary
at the Rome embassy, Earl Sohm urged the State Department to be “toler-
ant, considerate and sympathetic” toward Fanfani’s international activism
even if he seemed too friendly to Arab nationalism. “Gronchi’s influence,”

Sohm argued along the lines of John Jernegan’s thesis “may well decline at
the same time the [foreign] policy [of the government] is becoming more
acceptable to him.”44
The Opportunity. President Eisenhower was already moving in that

direction. By mid-July a new crisis in the Middle East allowed room for
experimentation with the Italian prime minister. Eisenhower had just
responded to pressing appeals from Camille Chamoun, the embattled
Lebanese president, by applying his Doctrine against what appeared to
be a pan-Arab offensive targeting Lebanon, Jordan, and Iraq. A joint
U.S.-British military intervention rapidly quelled the attempted coups in
Beirut and Amman. But the situation in the Middle East remained unsta-
ble, and this in part motivated the U.S. president to put Fanfani’s vaunted
competence in Mediterranean affairs to the test. At the end of July Eisen-
hower received the prime minister with great ceremony.
What the American president had in mind, however, was mainly Italian
domestic politics: Ike was still determined to grant the Italian moderates an
“additional dose of prestige,” as he had told Secretary Dulles a year earlier;
and the energetic prime minister seemed the best and safest candidate for
that concession. So, as in the case of France, the issue of stability in Italy
hinged on a careful calibration of concessions of prestige, letting the right
leader brandish grandeur and even a certain degree of autonomy from the
United States.
For his part, Fanfani confirmed Italy’s propensity to seek greater rank by
association with American hegemony. As proof of his pro-Atlantism, two
weeks earlier the premier had lent the airport of Capodichino as a staging
base for U.S. military operations in Lebanon. Also, in Washington he car-
ried on negotiations undertaken by his predecessors for the installation of
medium range ballistic missiles (IRBM) on Italian territory. Finally, in his
talks with Dulles and Eisenhower, the Italian leader stressed the Soviet peril
in the Mediterranean, arguing that the “heart of the problem” was Nasser’s
close relationship with Moscow.45 Such a stance, based on a special entente
with Washington, seemed incongruous with Fanfani’s tenacious advocacy
of flexibility toward Arab nationalism. Even worse, it might come across as
a demonstration of Italian subservience rather than partnership with the
United States.
As Jernegan and Gaston Palewski (the French ambassador to Rome) had
already noticed in June, Fanfani coherently aimed at increasing the role of
NATO in order to prevent the “ ‘Big Three’ formula” de Gaulle was likely
to revive. Moreover, the Italian leader used his argument of the Cairo-
Moscow connection to draw the conclusion that the West must “arabize”
the problem, that is, accept and even endorse Nasser’s neutralism, lest Egypt
fall utterly under Soviet control. To help accomplish this goal Fanfani renewed
the Italian proposal for a development program in the Near East. Unlike
Pella a few months earlier, the prime minister carefully presented only a
vague blueprint, and avoided insisting on Europe’s primary control of the
plan, or considering the Arabs’ collaboration with the West as a condition
for receiving assistance. He instead recommended that the United Nations
manage the new project so as to safeguard its “neutrality”; the West, and
the United States in particular, would have received the main credit for the
initiative in any case. As a political condition the prime minister envisioned
a “non-aggression pact” among the Middle Eastern countries (including
Israel) enforced by the UN. That pact would naturally hinge on the good
offices of “impartial” nations such as Italy, Fanfani told the president,
announcing that he had already started an attempt at reconciling Israel’s
Ben Gurion with King Hussein of Jordan.46 This offer of mediation was the
crucial point to the Italian prime minister. Fanfani confirmed that Italy’s
best chance for greater status lay in its ability to shape international com-
promises, and in particular in its potential as diplomatic and strategic
bridge between NATO and the Middle East. While preserving a good dose
of nationalism, the Italian leader primarily tried to project his reputation as
an international statesman. Given the combination between Italy’s
improved economic conditions and its more dynamic leadership, this time
there seemed to be no risk that the Italian appeal to international arbitra-
tion would come across as a dull initiative typical of the small power.
Thanks to well-calculated timing and the favorable predisposition of
Eisenhower, Fanfani found Washington uncharacteristically attentive to Ital-
ian ideas. Despite the immediate success of the American intervention in
Lebanon, the White House worried about the long-term consequences of
that operation. The United States was certain to antagonize Arab national-
ism, since it had rescued the Christian government in Beirut and had coor-
dinated actions with the British to save the Jordanian monarchy. As early as
July 18 Eisenhower contemplated a reevaluation of his Middle East strategy,
downplaying military means and targeting more directly pan-Arab propa-
ganda: “we should be able” he wrote to Macmillan, “to do [a better propa-
ganda job] in regions where the particular theme of extreme Pan-Arabism
and anti-Israelism does not carry much weight, and where more emphasis
can be put upon nationalism which, in fact, Soviet Communism tries to
destroy.” America’s next step, he added, would be to relaunch economic
development projects, including Egypt again. Later that year the NSC con-
firmed that there was an opportunity to “normalize” relations with Nasser.47
A revitalized economic aid policy, coupled with the attempt to reach an
understanding with the Egyptian leader, reflected Fanfani’s thesis. Further-
more, in the midst of national economic recession, the Eisenhower admin-
istration was finally opting for a multilateral approach to development
managed jointly by the World Bank and the United Nations’ agencies but
aimed at drawing a substantial European participation. As the president
declared at a press conference on August 20, rather than dealing “com-

pletely on a bilateral nationalistic basis” the United States was “better
advised to attempt to use some collective organization” in the Middle East.
A week earlier he had announced at the UN General Assembly the creation
of a Development Authority for the region. The project contained several of
Fanfani’s suggestions, though Washington had framed it on its own. But
Eisenhower sent the prime minister a draft of the American plan out of
respect for Italy’s intellectual contribution—a gesture that the Italian gov-
ernment overestimated as a sign of a dawning special relationship.48
Fanfani saw an even greater opportunity in the U.S. president’s increased
emphasis on psychological strategy. Intent on launching a grandiose prop-
aganda move in the Middle East, Eisenhower overruled John Foster Dulles,
who still favored a rigid approach to Nasser. For Italy, a psychological
strategy seemed the best avenue toward its own self-assertion in the region,
since it favored diplomatic initiative over power policy. Drawing on his
profoundly religious outlook, Fanfani added that this approach would also
benefit from the “spiritual” connection between Italy, the “cradle” of
Christianity, and Islam. The combination of diplomatic inventiveness and
moral authority might defy the rules of material power and thus lay the
ground for Italy’s greater status.
Eisenhower was less optimistic about Italy’s potential, and yet he was still
determined to boost Fanfani’s personal prestige. For that reason largely, he
subscribed to most of the Italian leader’s views. Also Ike was concerned
with his own legacy and hoped to project himself as a “spiritual” and
peaceful leader of the free world. As he confided to his speech writer Emmet
J. Hughes in November, “he had long been pondering the need to assert
American purposes, before all the world, in terms more proud, and in
measures less mean, than sheer material might;” he was groping for a way
“to give practical testimony to the higher kind of power—and the ‘spiritual
values’—that inspired all civilizations based upon a religious faith.” Propa-
ganda and openness to negotiation with America’s adversaries in Moscow
or in Cairo would be a first step to translate such faith “in the most earthy
way possible;” and “if we begin to do this,” the president told Hughes, “we
can get a lot of others—fellows like Macmillan, Fanfani and Diefenbaker—
truly to join us.”49
The Italian prime minister drew all the advantage he could from this
“affinity” with Ike. During his visit to Washington in July, he obtained from
the president a pledge of consultations with Rome on Mediterranean
affairs. Eisenhower made sure such contacts would be informal, so as to
preempt Italy from insisting on participation in great power summits. But
Fanfani looked at informality as an even greater privilege, comparable to
the offhand consultations between London and Washington, and as an
implicit rebuff of de Gaulle’s plans for a NATO directorate. And in Octo-
ber Eisenhower gave the Italian leader a stronger mandate than in 1956 for
a possible mediation with Egypt. There was no official seal yet. The White
House very cautiously recommended a mere inquiry of Nasser’s intentions.
The Italian premier was optimistic though, and insisted he would try to rec-
oncile Nasser not only to Washington but to Israel as well.50
Downfall. But Fanfani had not convinced all political circles in Wash-
ington. The most conservative ones in Congress and at the State Depart-
ment, rallying behind the still influential Clare Boothe Luce, argued that the
Italian statesman was treading on thin ice. Instead of taming Gronchi and
Mattei, they thought, he seemed likely to fall victim to their neutralist
“plots.” By favoring Nasser, Fanfani was only going to precipitate the
“opening” to the Nenni Socialists. Luce and her friends concluded that a
machiavellian who so recklessly “purged” the foreign ministry of his oppo-
nents simply could not be relied upon. In late November, the influential
columnist Cyrus L. Sulzberger laid out these arguments in a series of edito-
rials in the New York Times. His sources of inspiration, it was later known,
were the Luces and the politicians and diplomats Fanfani had cast out from
the Foreign Ministry.
Meanwhile the administration had already mobilized to prop up the Ital-
ian leader. First to take the initiative was the U.S. ambassador to Rome
James D. Zellerbach, a former director of the ECA program in Italy who
showed more open-mindedness than Clare Luce on Italian reformism and
“Mediterranean vocation.” A few days before the appearance of
Sulzberger’s articles, the ambassador praised the prime minister in a speech
at San Francisco’s World Affairs Council of Northern California: Italy’s
diplomatic initiatives, he contended, were a sign of its “maturity” and
renewed “self-confidence,” and a sound demonstration of “pluralism” for
the Western alliance. Even more remarkable, Secretary Dulles himself issued
a rebuttal of the New York Times’ editorials, by endorsing the Italian “new
course” at a press conference: “if . . . Italy,” he declared “is seeking to
develop closer ties with the Arab countries, that is something that we would
look upon with favor and not in any way as incompatible with its relation-
ship with NATO.”51
Yet neither Zellerbach nor Dulles could rescue Fanfani from his internal
adversaries. In fact, their intervention rekindled the domestic political strife
that hinged so much on the prime minister’s Mediterranean diplomacy. By
the end of November the American ambassador reported that the days of
the Italian government were numbered. He admitted he had trouble defend-
ing Fanfani’s “arbitrary methods” and the way he had “rearranged” the
Italian Foreign Ministry.
Indeed the United States had overestimated the potential of a statesman
who often acted like an American-style “party boss” to accrue his power.
Even in Italy a leader’s “astuteness” could work only if backed by his
charisma, as De Gasperi had demonstrated. Fanfani’s high-handedness and
arrogance made things worse: more than France, Italy had built an immu-
nity against anything even vaguely evoking authoritarianism. Even Fan-
fani’s efforts to improve the DC’s grass-root organizations and the state eco-
nomic sector ironically backfired: such change nourished regional bossism
and “systematic clientele networks,” which ultimately undermined not only
the government’s reform programs but also its capacity to wield power or
even to create a modicum of political cohesion.52
By the time Fanfani traveled to Egypt in January 1959, the Eisenhower
administration had lost all faith in the Italian leader’s capacity to reform his
nation. Nor did Washington trust Nasser yet. Eisenhower, therefore, did not
confirm any official endorsement of the premier’s mediation effort. This
was to a certain extent a vicious circle, for without American support Fan-
fani could not achieve the prestige that would perhaps increase his political
leverage at home and in Egypt. His trip to Cairo was further handicapped
by Nasser’s recognition of East Germany a few days before, a gesture that
widened the rift between the Egyptian leader and the West. The Italian pre-
mier’s ambitious plan to mediate on every regional problem—Western rela-
tions with pan-Arabism, the Arab-Israeli conflict, the Algerian war—
appeared ludicrous in this context. The failure of Fanfani’s “mission” to
Cairo ultimately allowed the right-wing DC leaders to torpedo his govern-
ment. In February, a “back to normalcy” cabinet of Antonio Segni, with
Pella again heading the Foreign Ministry, elicited neither grief nor enthusi-
asm in Washington.53 Some U.S. officials were actually relieved that Italy
postponed its “opening to the left” and kept a low profile on Mediter-
ranean affairs while the main Cold War theater shifted back to Central
Europe. Italy’s subsequent attempts to manipulate interdependence—par-
ticularly through the OECD—would no longer be linked to a pursuit of sta-
tus and greater initiative as consistently as its Neo-Atlanticist policy of the
late 1950s.
EPILOGUE: CONTAINING FRENCH “GRANDEUR”

From the early days of de Gaulle’s return to power the Eisenhower
administration knew that France would again champion a three-power
directorate for NATO. At the eve of the French leader’s visit to Washington
in July, the president and John Foster Dulles discussed the idea and con-
cluded that it was “completely unrealistic,” especially if it meant the cre-
ation of a “Western atomic ‘standing group.’ ” Both U.S. leaders hoped that
on the other hand “de Gaulle’s pride and sense of . . . grandeur” could be
satisfied in other ways: by exchanging some nuclear information for exam-
ple and emphasizing the “double-key” arrangement which the installation
of IRBMs on French soil might have entailed; or by granting some kind of
informal consultations on world affairs, while encouraging a revived role of
France as leader of the EEC. This last suggestion in particular confirmed
that the Eisenhower administration was hoping to channel French ambi-

tions toward the construction of a federated Europe, in which status would
no longer be based on national or nationalist agendas—certainly a propo-
sition hard to get through with de Gaulle. But especially Eisenhower and
Dulles’ reflections revealed that, like their predecessors in 1945, they
believed that the General might be content with a token recognition of
French prestige. It was a reductionist interpretation, disparaging as usual
the French leader’s “symbolic” view of power. In fact, even more than dur-
ing the postwar era, de Gaulle’s yearning for symbols of power was now
firmly anchored to his strategic and political plans, which required more
than “flatteries” and token concessions.
During his talks with Dulles in July, de Gaulle made it clear that he would
welcome the IRBMs only if France could have “control over the custody
and disposition of these weapons” (clearly no aspiring world power could
do without nuclear power status) and that he would not be satisfied with a
more prominent role within NATO, because the organization as such was
“not presently satisfactory.” He then suggested that “the NATO area
should extend to Africa and to the Middle East.” Ostensibly the two lead-
ers agreed that a tripartite world directorate could exist in practice without
being formalized.54
But the revision of the MacMahon Act on nuclear proliferation in terms
favorable to Great Britain (sanctioned with a bilateral agreement on July 3)
and America’s rejection of any French diplomatic contribution to the
Lebanon crisis convinced de Gaulle that nothing short of institutionalized
tripartitism could enable him to achieve parity with the Anglo-Saxons.
Through that formal mechanism, France would establish cooperation with
Washington as equal partner, gain a power of veto in the alliance compara-
ble to that it enjoyed as a permanent member of the UN Security Council,
and generally secure world power status. As the French leader stated in his
famous memorandum of September 17 addressed to Eisenhower and
Macmillan, France could no longer consider NATO “in its present form”
sufficient for the “security of the free world and notably its own.” He thus
urged the set-up of an Anglo-French-American organization “to take joint
decisions affecting world security” and “to establish strategic plans of
action, notably with regard to the employment of nuclear weapons.”
This request for a “world directorate” went beyond anything the Amer-
icans had expected. France demanded veto power over the U.S. nuclear
deterrent anywhere in the world.55 Moreover, with this request de Gaulle
showed how he could merge his mystical vocation with the essence of the
realpolitiker. His very idea of French grandeur induced him to paint the
rest of the world as an ensemble of nations driven by historical goals more
than, according to Dullesian rhetoric, a system of two alliances forged by
their respective ideologies. Only by divorcing the Russian nationalist threat
from that of Soviet ideology could France resume a role similar to that it
held as member of the Concert of Powers, and foster multipolarism in

world affairs.
There was a flavor of the “old game” in the world directorate project.
This did not mean that de Gaulle had already planned to withdraw from
NATO, and for that purpose submitted to Washington and London a
clearly unacceptable proposal. He sincerely wanted to reform the alliance,
not bury it. Franco-American cooperation was too crucial for a nation that
claimed a world role while facing imperial collapse. In the context of such
decline, de Gaulle was searching for whatever status and autonomy would
be possible within the existing reality of bipolarism. So the September mem-
orandum confirmed that the best France could aspire to was a redefinition,
through a three-power directorate, of the terms of American hegemony, and
wait for more favorable times when such hegemony could be openly chal-
lenged. Even considering that the Cold War had reached a relative stabi-
lization, and that the power disparity between Europe and the United States
was no longer as staggering as in 1945–47, de Gaulle knew that a full
revival of the old game of balance of power policy was unrealistic. So with
his memorandum he tried to base French grandeur not only on nationalism
but also on his capacity to master the growing interdependence at the global
level and more specifically in the Western alliance.56
The United States for its part manipulated status politics in Europe as a
way to turn down de Gaulle’s demands. It invoked NATO orthodoxy and
intra-NATO competition, the two forces which from opposite directions
had previously hindered France’s drive for continental supremacy. From as
early as July, Dulles tried to foil the French leader’s scheme with assurances
that the NATO Council had since the Suez crisis improved its consultation
mechanism, as well as with warnings that a triumvirate would mortify Ger-
many and Italy, who would as a consequence become restive. De Gaulle
confidently replied that he could allay those two allies’ dissatisfaction. In
fact, he came up against their jealousy.
The French premier’s first meeting with Chancellor Adenauer on Sep-
tember 14 at Colombey was immediately celebrated as an historical land-
mark setting up a Franco-German entente in the name of European inte-
gration. But it was also an exercise in deception. The chancellor got the
wrong impression that de Gaulle was “not a nationalist” and reacted with
rage when he learned, a few days later, of the plan for a world directorate.57
Fanfani, who had earlier discussed European cooperation with de Gaulle,
felt misled as well. Indeed, the Italian premier had even anticipated the Sep-
tember memorandum and had from the start unleashed all his diplomatic
energy to counter French ambitions.
It was in part for that reason that, immediately after taking office, Fan-
fani embarked with great zeal on his Mediterranean diplomacy and helped
relaunch multilateral cooperation. Both actions were supposed to
strengthen NATO’s cohesion—brandishing article 2 and consolidating the
Southern flank—and to emphasize at the same time Italy’s potential contri-

bution outside the NATO area, thus justifying Rome’s inclusion in whatever
directorate, formal or informal, might emerge from the alliance. In October,
Fanfani asked Ambassador Brosio to stress the importance of Allied unity
versus a world power directorate, and to warn Eisenhower that the tri-
umvirate would have a disintegrative effect, “alienating” the minor allies.
Indeed, Italy’s resistance to a French hegemonic thrust in Europe was
even more useful to the Americans than German objections. While Bonn
might have more legitimately claimed the right to be included in the direc-
torate, it was easier for the Americans to object to the French proposal by
arguing that an Italian “policy of presence” would have to be taken into
account, making such “formal extension of the NATO area . . . quite
impractical,” noted Dulles and British Ambassador Harold Caccia.58 Italy’s
weakness more than its potential thus helped contain French ambitions.
Even the negotiations for the deployment of IRBMs in Italy had an anal-
ogous, if more indirect impact on the directorate project. Fanfani was not
simply genuflecting to what de Gaulle now denounced as a humiliating and
dangerous “American show.” In one respect Italy did not differ from
France: the French too had at first hoped to bargain their way to nuclear
power status through the installation of IRBMs. But Italy, unlike France,
had no nuclear program of its own (especially after de Gaulle jettisoned the
Franco-German-Italian joint venture in June), hence its less demanding atti-
tude on the issue of control of the weapons. The IRBMs were, together with
the “Mediterranean vocation,” Rome’s best bet to get a say on nuclear
strategy, improve its cooperation with the United States and its status in the
alliance. Accordingly, Italy tried to extract concessions in return for its “ser-
vice,” requesting more U.S. assistance for its conventional forces and a
larger role in future East-West summits. U.S. negotiators, as Philip Nash has
argued, used the negotiations with the Italians “partly to goad the French”
into accepting the missiles. One should add that the Italians hoped to
demonstrate to Paris that their compliance with American leadership could
yield better results than French antagonism. It was the same argument that
the more authoritative Churchill and Adenauer had used before. Now Fan-
fani seemed to suggest that even “poorer” France and Italy could afford to
“bow” a little to the hegemon in order then to manipulate it. Early in 1959
Dulles considered rewarding Rome with a greater role in allied consulta-
tions. Italy had little to celebrate though, for its rank in the alliance did not
improve significantly.59
America’s attempts at dissuading de Gaulle came to naught. On October
20, in his reply to the French leader, Eisenhower reiterated his point about
the susceptibility of minor allies, stressing that the triumvirate would be
deleterious to the “developing intimacy among all the members of NATO.”
The president in particular underlined arguments Dulles had laid out ear-
lier that summer: the emergence of independent nuclear efforts within
NATO, the secretary maintained, would be “dissipating and wasteful;”

worse, France’s atomic capability would certainly have a tempting effect on
Germany. Dulles had also pointed out to de Gaulle that “a world role for
France could only come about pari passu with [its] internal strengthening
and recovery.”60
It was true that France could hardly justify its vocation as a world power.
De Gaulle, however, had reversed Dulles’ argument about recovery: France
needed to be a world power; “unless the French people felt that,” the
French president said, “[the country] would quickly degenerate.” The U.S.
leaders’ response was bound to rub in the reality the French seemed unable
to accept: that France was on a par with the other Continental powers, as
one of the “intimate” group in the Atlantic Council, and like the others in
that group, deprived of nuclear capability. Although Washington knew that
no substitute of a formal directorate would satisfy de Gaulle, the Americans
nevertheless advanced such an alternative at the end of 1958, as a series of
informal tripartite exchanges between the State Department and the French
and British ambassadors.61 Disappointed by that solution, the French leader
proceeded to loosen its cooperation with NATO, withdrawing the French
fleet from the Western Mediterranean Command in 1959.
De Gaulle’s emphasis on France’s need to “feel” like a world power, how-
ever, proved that on one point the United States had been correct all along:
the leader of the new French regime nurtured an implacable obsession for
appearances. Although prestige for de Gaulle was never an end in itself,
during his first years in office he continued to concentrate on symbols more
than substance.62 This attitude had important consequences. As Richard
Kuisel has perceptively noted “de Gaulle’s affirmation of national pride
served in the long run to dampen French combativeness toward the United
States and subdue the country’s assertiveness in world affairs.” Kuisel sug-
gests that “the nation needed . . . a strong dose of self-confidence before
it could gracefully accept its diminished rank.” Probably, as Maurice Vaïsse
has concluded with the General’s own words, France needed “a great
national ambition in order to mask its decline,” or to “overcome its [cur-
rent] mediocrity.”63
Both points underline the notion that de Gaulle’s foreign policy followed
a domestic priority. The French leader aimed at overcoming the country’s
historical divisions and political weakness through a “liturgy of national
interest,” as Philip Cerny has called it. But in order to boost national unity
and self-esteem, de Gaulle’s foreign policy did not need to strongly alter the
substantive power relations between the United States and France. Such
unrealistic endeavor would have been counterproductive. Instead de Gaulle
engaged in a “symbolic” confrontation with the United States and always
carefully avoided bringing its disagreements with Washington to the break-
ing point. The force de frappe, the withdrawal from the Mediterranean
Command, the removal of U.S. bases from French territory, France’s cultural
activism in the Third World counted more as “symbols” of greatness and

independence than for their immediate utilitarian purpose.64 They also by
necessity complemented de Gaulle’s sincere recognition of interdependence.
Under the Fifth Republic, France tried to blend together modernization,
nationalist grandeur, mastery of interdependence, and, after decolonization,
even its moral and cultural authority as the nation that now justifiably
could vaunt its tradition as patrie of the Rights of Man: all these sources of
prestige often kept colliding among themselves and with the realities of
power, but certainly not to the same extent as they had during the Fourth
Republic, and surely not enough to impede France from assuming an inter-
national influence disproportionate to its actual power. Or rather, since
diplomatic influence is in itself a form of power, de Gaulle largely proved
his main assumption that prestige could not only precede but also produce
power. And not the least, the French leader’s challenges had a deep psycho-
logical impact on the United States, at a time in which American foreign
policy became so captivated by the issue of “credibility” (Vietnam). On bal-
ance, de Gaulle’s antagonism toward Washington in the 1960s and Ameri-
can capacity to accommodate it (for the most part) had a salutary effect on
NATO, corroborating its image as a pluralist alliance.65
For its part, Italy found little solace in the fact that its traditional rank as
the “greatest” of Europe’s small powers could help reduce France’s hege-
monic ambitions in the Continent. Its effort to reach a closer partnership
with Washington by mastering international arbitration and multilateral
aid programs was also rather futile. In 1959 Segni and Pella relaunched the
Italian campaign for development programs coordinated between NATO
and the EEC. The creation of the OECD that year (which went into effect
in 1961) fulfilled many of Italy’s economic goals, but not its search for
prominence in NATO’s hierarchy. Ironically, Fanfani’s own experience as
prime minister in 1958, despite intense efforts in foreign affairs, had also
created the premise for such modest diplomacy, since the DC party secre-
tary failed to reform—or even aggravated—the political and institutional
system that condemned Italian statesmen and their international action to
mediocrity.
In the early 1960s Fanfani returned to dominate the political scene and,
with the endorsement (for the most part) of the Kennedy administration
and the blessing of Pope John XXIII, managed to accomplish the long-
sought “opening to the left.” For the American president, a center-left
solution in Italy enhanced the progressive image of his “New Frontier,”
helped precipitate the PSI-PCI divorce (the PSI for its part made a notable
departure from its neutralist position of the 1950s) and posed an ideal
counterbalance to de Gaulle’s and Adenauer’s conservatism. Despite these
auspices, no special U.S.-Italian relationship emerged, partly because of
Vietnam, partly because the center-left experiment failed to bring as many
reforms as expected or to diminish the strength and leverage of the PCI.66
Political polarization and the ruling coalition’s squabbles continued to

pose insurmountable obstacles to an active foreign policy in Italy, even as
an improved economy could have afforded the country a greater role in
international affairs. Contrary to France, most of what Italy achieved in
the following decades, especially in the economy, derived less from its
“policy of presence” than from its capacity to work behind the stage and
its continuous ability to shape compromises, which, as it became clear,
reflected not so much its ability to mediate as rather its careful avoidance
of any antagonism.
Although Rome’s “policy of presence” would never again come so close
to reflecting the responsibility of an actual role as during the phase of
Neo-Atlanticism, the Italian foreign policy of the late 1950s nevertheless
left a durable legacy in Italian-American relations. Most notably, Wash-
ington realized from the late 1950s that it had to refrain from openly
interfering in Italian politics and thus no longer treated its ally like a
client, but more like a partner. Moreover, even when Italy complied with
most American decisions in international affairs, its aspiration to do so as
a special partner, particularly in Mediterranean affairs, continued; and as
a partner, Rome also expected some margin for autonomy, whether for
economic or prestige reasons, as was the case with several governments’
pro-Arab policy notably dissenting from the “hegemon’s orders.”
American “containment” of French grandeur in 1958 clearly illustrated
the limits of Washington’s capacity to accommodate its allies at a time in
which the borderline between concessions of rank and those of role had
become more blurred than ever. That episode on the other hand also
showed America’s capacity to manipulate the Europeans’ struggle for
rank. It was somewhat ironic that the United States, in order to preserve
allied cohesion in 1958, had to “divide and rule,” pitting against French
ambitions Germany’s and Italy’s respective claims of status. But the main
European nations themselves had demonstrated time and again that their
decisions to integrate were compounded and often motivated by their
rivalry and by their jostling for a privileged partnership with Washington.
Perhaps American “containment” of French grandeur reinforced de
Gaulle’s determination to loosen NATO cohesion and to challenge Euro-
pean supranationality. But the creation of a tripartite world directorate
would have done a worse damage, alienating Germany, Italy, and the
other smaller allies, diminishing the effect of nuclear deterrence, and lend-
ing Third World countries ammunition for their charges against Western
“neo-imperialist” domination. As long as intra-European rivalries contin-
ued, the United States remained the ultimate arbiter of the distinction,
however blurred, between their rank and their role, or rather of the extent
to which its allies’ rank could exceed their role without causing disruption
in the Western alliance and even elsewhere.
NOTES
1. Ortona, Anni d’America, 2, pp. 244–248; Frank Costigliola, “France between
the Superpowers,” in Robert S. Jordan (ed.), Europe and the Superpowers. Essays
on European International Politics. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1991, p. 115.
2. Dillon to Dept. State, Jan. 10, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, pp. 93–6.
3. Aron, An Explanation of de Gaulle, p. 91; on Bidault: Bruce to Sec. State, Nov.
5, 1949, 851.00; Bruce to Sec. State, March 31, 1950, 751.00; on Mendès France:
tel. 1840 Dillon to Sec. State, Oct. 30, 1954, 751.00, RG 59, NA; cf. Hoffmann,
Decline or Renewal, pp. 88–89; Tom Bottomore, Elites and Society. 2d. London,
New York: Routledge, 1993, pp. 56–57; Italy: tel. 746 Luce to Dulles, Aug. 24,
1954, 765.00, RG 59, NA; Allum, “The Changing Face of Christian Democracy;”
Mantovani, Gli eredi di De Gasperi; Giorgio Galli, Storia della Democrazia Cris-
tiana. Bari: Laterza, 1978; Galli della Loggia, “Morte della patria,” p. 150.
4. Bonnet to Bidault, Sept. 10, 1953, Amérique 1952–63, vol. 329, AHMAE; cf.
Caffery to Sec. State, Aug. 30, 1947 (qtd. “national duty,”); Memo R. B. Knight to
Emb. Paris, Sept. 10, 1947, FRUS, 1947, III, pp. 730–2, 739–42; Bruce to Sec. State,
Sept. 2, 1951, FRUS, 1951, IV, at p. 418; PSB D-29, Feb. 26, 1953, cit.; Memo L.
A. Free “Italian Political Behavior,” cit.; Eisenhower to Dulles, March 16, 1954,
AW, Dulles-Herter Series, b. 2, DDEL; Memo Luce, Nov. 3, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54,
VI, 1632–3; cf. Luethy, France Against Herself, p. 123, who comments that about
one-third of the electorate endorsed the constitution of the Fourth Republic “as the
lesser evil,” nearly one-third rejected it, and “the remainder were bewildered or dis-
gusted, or simply stayed indifferently at home.”
5. Cf. FRUS, 1946, V, pp. 434–8; Hickerson to Matthews, May 29, 1946,
851.00B, RG 59, NA.
6. Kennan to Sec. State, March 15, 1948, cit.; Harper, American Visions, p. 202;
on Luce: Luce to State, Dec. 15, 1954, FRUS, VI, pp. 1713–5; Ortona, Anni
d’America, 2, pp. 57–76; Canavero, “La politica estera di un ministro degli interni,”
pp. 86–89.
7. On France cf. NSC 5721/1, Oct. 19, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, at
pp. 181–3; Bruce to Dept. State, Dec. 20, 1951, FRUS, 1951, IV, p. 467; Maurice
Duverger (ed.), Partis politiques et classes sociales en France. Paris: Colin, 1955.
On Italy: Dunn to Dept. State, Jan 21, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1565–9; tel.
5211, Luce to Dept. State, 765.00, RG59, NA; Baget Bozzo, Il partito cristiano al
potere, part 2.
8. Kennan report, Sept. 4, 1947, FRUS, 1947, III, pp. 397–405; Dulles to Luce,
March 19, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, V, pp. 777–8; Churchill to Eisenhower and
Eisenhower to Churchill, Dec. 7 and 14, 1954, FRUS, 1952–54, pp. 1056–60 also
highlighted in Lundestad The American ‘Empire’, p. 80; Staff Study attached to
NSC 5614/1, Oct. 3, 1956, cit.; cf. Pondaven, Le Parlement et la politique
extérieure, chap. 4.
9. Wall, “The United States, Algeria, and the Fall of the Fourth Republic;” Fred-
eric Bozo and Pierre Melandri, “La France, devant l’opinion américaine: le retour
de De Gaulle début 1958- printemps 1959,” Relations Internationales, 1989, sum-
mer, pp. 195–215.
10. See esp. Wall, Making of Postwar France, pp. 81–87; Lacouture, De Gaulle.
The Ruler, pp. 141–147.
11. Tel. 4855 Caffery to Sec. State, Sept. 27, 1946, 851.00, RG 59, NA; Caffery to
Sec. State, April 11, 1947, FRUS, 1947, III, pp. 697–8; Feb. 14, 1948, FRUS, 1948,
III, pp. 625–6; qtd. Bruce to Sec. State, Sept. 2, 1951, FRUS, 1951, IV, at pp. 420–1;
cf. Bruce to Dept. State, Dec. 20, 1951, cit. In 1948, John Hickerson had lambasted
the General’s incompetence with his own sexist remark, writing: “he talks about eco-
nomics as a woman talks of carburetors”: Hickerson to Emb. Paris, Oct. 5, 1948,
FRUS, 1948, III, pp. 666–7; Ledwidge, De Gaulle, pp. 214–215; for a view of de
Gaulle as a “pragmatist” at least from the mid-1950s cf. Vaïsse, La grandeur (obvi-
ously, though, the General failed to convey this image to the Americans).
12. Lovett to Emb. Paris, Oct. 25, 1947, FRUS, 1947, III, pp. 790–2; Acting Sec.
State to U.S. Special Representative in Europe (Harriman), Dec. 3, 1948, FRUS, 1948,
III, pp. 307–8; qtd. Ledwidge, De Gaulle, p. 214; cf. Bruce to Sec., Sept. 2, 1951, cit.
13. Jean-Pierre Rioux, “De Gaulle in Waiting, 1946–1958,” in Gough and Horne,
De Gaulle and Twentieth Century France, pp. 35 ff; Douglas Johnson, “De Gaulle
and France’s Role in the World,” p. 87; de Gaulle, Salvation, p. 309; Lacouture, De
Gaulle. The Ruler, p. 123.
14. Tel. 4807 Dillon to Sec. State, April 16, 1956, 751.00, RG 59, NA.
15. Dulles to Emb. Bonn, April 2, 1958, FRUS, 1958–60, VII, pp. 4–5; Dulles’
remarks at 299th Mtg. NSC, Oct. 4, 1956, AW, NSC, b. 8, DDEL; cf. Wall, “U.S.,
Algeria,” p. 500; Vaïsse, “Post-Suez France.”
16. Memo Wilkins to Rountree, Oct. 26, 1956; Memo by Col. Doyle (SHAPE Liai-
son Officer) to Defense Dept., March 26, 1958, 751S.00, RG 59, NA; cf. Wall,
“U.S., Algeria,” pp. 493–495; on Bella’s arrest cf. Y. Courière, La guerre d’Algérie,
1954–1957, I, Paris: 1990, pp. 755–757.
17. Brian Jenkins writes that the “ ‘nationalisms’ [from various parties] of the
Fourth Republic had a strangely shallow and ephemeral character, lacking in ideo-
logical substance and coherence. They appear to have been provoked above all by
external factors, by perceptions of France’s changed status within the international
community, rather than by internal dynamics of class which was so central to
nationalist ideology in earlier times”: Jenkins, Nationalism in France, p. 165.
18. Tel. 2669 Dillon to Dept. State, Nov. 29, 1956 751.00, RG 59, NA; 151st mtg
NSC (reporting CIA evidence of coup plans), June 25, 1953, AW, NSC, b. 4; 311th
Mtg. Jan. 31, 1957, AW, NSC, b. 8, DDEL; Memo J. V. Imhof to M. Looram
(WEA), Dec. 4, 1956, 751S.00, RG 59, NA.
19. On Dillon cf. previous chap., and Bossuat, “Guy Mollet,” pp. 47–48; on
Mendès France: desp. 1523 Robert P. Joyce (Counselor Emb. Paris) to Dept. State,
Feb. 6, 1956, 751.00, RG 59, NA; on Coty: Eisenhower to Dulles, Jan. 11, 1958,
AW, Intl. Series, b. 12; 367th Mtg., May 29, 1958, AW, NSC, b. 9, DDEL; on
Pleven: tel. 5099 Houghton to Sec. State, May 7, 1958, 751.00, RG 59, NA; cf.
Paul-Marie de la Gorce, Apogée et mort de la IVe République, 1952–1958. Paris:
Grasset, 1979, pp. 516–517.
20. Tel. 470 Lyon (Consul Algiers) to Dept. State, May 25, 1958, 751S.00; Mtg.
Alphand-Dulles, May 21, 1958, 751.00, RG 59, NA; cf. Wall, “U.S., Algeria,”
pp. 506–509; on Popular Front: desp. 1663 R. P. Joyce (Paris) to Dept. State, Feb.
23, 1956, 751.00, RG 59, NA; NSC 5721/1, cit.; Dulles at 356th NSC Mtg.,
Feb. 27, 1958, AW, NSC, b. 9, DDEL; Dulles to Emb. Bonn, Apr. 2, 1958, cit.
21. Memo by E. H. Germann (Conv. Gen. Ely - Gen. Norstad) May 22, 1958,
Norstad Papers, b. 47, DDEL; Houghton to Dept. State, May 15, 1958, FRUS,
1958–60, VII, pp. 9–10; Dulles to Emb. Paris, May 18, 1958, 751.00, RG 59, NA;
on Debré cf. Wall, “U.S., Algeria,” p. 507; de Gaulle’s manipulation of the coup: qtd.
Lacouture, De Gaulle. The Ruler, p. 165; cf. Odile Rudelle, Mai 1958: de Gaulle et
la République. Paris: Plon, 1988, pp. 107–110; Shennan, De Gaulle, pp. 80–81.
22. Memo B. E. L. Timmons to C. B. Elbrick, June 2, 1958, Records WEA, Sub-
ject Files, France, 1944–60, b. 2, RG 59, NA; OIR Rep. 7823, “The Threat from
the Extreme Right to French Institutions,” Oct. 27, 1958, pp. 30–31, OIR files, NA.
23. Tel. 5434 Houghton to Sec. State, May 21, 1958, 751.00, RG 59, NA; Memo
of Conference Dulles-Eisenhower, July 3, 1958, FRUS, 1958–60, VII pp. 50–2. As
Michel Winock has observed, there was no chance that de Gaulle might turn into
another Boulanger; the military was an instrument to him, but “the French people
saw that this man, military to the core, would never let his conduct be imposed by
the ‘colonels’ ”: Winock, Nationalism, Anti-Semitism and Fascism in France, p. 305;
cf. de Gaulle, Memoirs of Hope: Renewal and Endeavor. New York: Simon and
Schuster, 1971, pp. 17–18; Discours et Messages, t. III, May 15, 1958, p. 3; for gen-
eral thesis see also Christophe Nick. Resurrection: naissance de la Ve République:
un coup d’État democratique. Paris: Fayard, 1998.
24. Memo Tel. Conv. Dulles-Eisenhower, Feb. 9, 1958, FRUS, 1958–60, XIII,
pp. 821–2; cf. Grosser, Affaires Extérieures, p. 11; Michael Harrison, “French Anti-
Americanism under the Fourth Republic and the Gaullist Solution,” in Lacorne,
Rupnik, and Toinet, The Rise and Fall of Anti-Americanism, cit.
25. Achilles to Dept. State, May 2, 1956; J. K. Emmerson (Paris) to Dept. State,
June 21, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XXVII, pp. 49–50, 127–30; Alphand, l’étonnement
d’être, p. 282.
26. De Gaulle, Memoirs of Hope, pp. 58 ff.; cf. Michel Winock, “De Gaulle and
the Algerian Crisis, 1958–1962,” in Gough and Horne, De Gaulle and Twentieth
Century France pp. 72–74; Jean Daniel, De Gaulle et l’Algérie. Paris: Seuil, 1986;
Alfred Grosser, “La France en Occident et en Algérie,” in Rioux, La guerre d’Algérie
et les français, p. 387; on taking initiative cf. Johnson “De Gaulle and France’s
Role,” p. 90.
27. Tel. 1563 Jones (Tunis) to Dept. State, May 16; Mtg. Mongi Slim-Dulles, May
17; tel. 426 Lyon (Algiers) to Dept. State, May 23; tel. 1314 Cannon to Dept. State,
May 22, 1958, 751S.00, RG 59, NA; Dulles to Emb. Tunisia, June 27, 1958, FRUS,
1958–60, XIII, pp. 848–9; Wall, “U.S. Algeria,” pp. 508–509; Lacouture, De
Gaulle. The Ruler, pp. 161–2.
28. Jenkins, Nationalism in France, p. 176.
29. Tel. 5299 Houghton to Dept. State, May 16, 1958, 751.00, RG 59, NA;
Houghton to Dept. State, May 21; Elbrick to Herter, May 27; Houghton to State,
June 30, 1958 FRUS, 1958–60, VII, pp. 13–5, 17–20, 45–8. The United States
hoped to concede only an informal and loose sort of directorate, which would be
sufficient to harness French nuclear ambitions.
30. Qtd. Dulles to Eisenhower, May 29, 1958, WHO, Staff Sec., b. 3, DDEL; cf.
Dejean (Moscow) to MAE, June 14, DDF, 1958, II, doc. 415; that a flirt between de
Gaulle and Khrushchev was unlikely became evident after the approval of the new
French Constitution project, which Moscow condemned as repressive (toward the
PCF): Mtg. J. Laloy - W. J. Stoessel, Jr., Oct.2, 1958, FRUS, 1958–60, VII, pp. 86–8.
31. Cf. tel. 2690-3 Alphand to MAE, May 21, 1958, Amérique 1952–63, vol. 334,
AHMAE; Elbrick to Herter, May 27, cit., p. 19; Dillon to State Dept., May 24; tel.
3532 Trimble (Bonn) to State Dept., May 31; Mtg. Von Brentano-Dulles, June 5,
1958, 751.00, RG 59, NA; qtd. Gordon, A Certain Idea of France, p. 21; Lacou-
ture, De Gaulle.The Ruler, pp. 333 ff.; Bossuat, L’Europe des français, pp. 379–399;
cf. Winand, Eisenhower, Kennedy and the U.S. of Europe, chaps. 9–10; Lundestad,
‘Empire’ by Integration, pp. 58–62.
32. B. E. L. Timmons to Elbrick, June 2, 1958, cit.; Houghton to Dept. State, May
21, cit.: Bozo and Melandri, “La France devant l’opinion américaine,”
pp. 207–208; on grandeur and technological achievements under the Fifth Republic
see also Vaïsse, La grandeur, p. 43.
33. Tel. 5299 Dillon to Sec. State, May 16, cit.; Daniel J. Mahoney, De Gaulle:
Statesmanship, Grandeur and Modern Democracy. Westport CT: Praeger, 1996,
qtd. pp. 2, 18, see also chaps. 2 and 5; Nora, “Gaullists and Communists,” p. 234;
on de Gaulle’s neutralization of right and left oppositions: Jenkins and Copsey,
“Nation, Nationalism, and National Identity,” p. 110; de Gaulle, Memoirs of Hope,
pp. 18 ff.; Hans Kohn, Nationalism: Its Meaning and History. Princeton, NJ: Van
Nostrand, 1965, pp. 20–22.
34. Houghton to Dept. State, May 15, 1958, FRUS, 1958–60, VII, pp. 9–10; tel.
5624, May 29, 1958, 751.00, NA; OIR Rep. 7823, Oct. 27, cit.; however, Wash-
ington did not rule out the possibility that such cooption might precipitate a schism
within the SFIO, letting its left wing “go the way of the Nenni Socialists” as Allen
Dulles’ argued in 371st Mtg. NSC, July 5, 1958, AW, NSC, b. 10, DDEL.
35 Qtd. de Gaulle, Memoirs of Hope, p. 19; Cerny, The Politics of Grandeur, p. 4;
Eisenhower to Gruenther, June 22, 1953, Adm. Series, b. 16, DDEL.
36. Qtd. de Gaulle, Lettres, notes, et carnets. Vol. 6, p. 190; cf. Shennan, De
Gaulle, pp. 56–58,162–163; Elbrick to Herter, May 27, cit., p. 18; Dulles to Eisen-
hower, May 29, 1958, cit; Mtg. Dulles-Eisenhower, July 3, 1958, cit.; on shock ther-
apy cf. Costigliola, “Tropes of Gender and Pathology,” p. 174.
37. First quote in Bozo and Melandri, “La France devant l’opinion américaine,”
p. 203, (see also p. 206); tel. 6373/7 Alphand to MAE, Oct. 29, 1958, Amérique,
vol. 334, AHMAE qtd. also in Wall, “U.S., Algeria,” p. 510; cf. tel. 2939/40 Alp-
hand to MAE June 3, 1958.
38. Qtd. Wall, “U.S., Algeria,” p. 492; cf. Bozo and Melandri, “La France devant
l’opinion américaine;” NSC 5721/1, cit.; Dillon, Jan.10, 1957, cit., p. 95; Houghton
to Dept. State, May 21, 1958, cit.
39. Cf. Baget Bozzo, Il partito cristiano e l’apertura a sinistra, pp. 124–136; Qtd.
Dunn to Dept. State, Jan. 21, 1952 cit. pp. 1567–8; Ellsworth Bunker to Dept. State,
May 20, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, VI, pp. 1573–7; Alan S. Zuckerman, The Politics
of Faction: Christian Democratic Rule in Italy. New Haven: Yale University Press,
1979.
40. On previous assessments of Fanfani cf. chap. 5; on his coalition and program:
Biographical Note Fanfani, by Asst. Sec. Jandrey, July 27, 1958, 765.13; OIR
Report 7870, “The Outlook for Italy,” Dec. 10, 1958, pp. 26–8, OIR files, NA;
Mtg. Fanfani-Zellerbach, June 18, 1958, FRUS, 1958–60, VII, 2, pp. 458–62; Baget
Bozzo, Il partito cristiano e l’apertura a sinistra, pp. 135–136; Giorgio Galli, I par-
titi politici italiani, 1943–1991. Dalla resistenza all’Europa integrata. Milan: Riz-
zoli, 1991, pp. 115–116; qtd. A. Dulles at 381st NSC Mtg., Oct.2, 1958, AW, NSC,
b. 10, DDEL.
41. Note Jaundrey, July 27, 1958, cit.; desp. 178 and 263 E. D. Sohm to Dept.
State, Aug.11 and 27, 1958, 765.13; tel. 1927 Zellerbach to Dept. State, Nov. 25,
1958, desp. 757 H. G. Torbert, Jr. to Dept. State, Dec. 23, 1958, 765.00 RG 59,
NA; cf. H. Stuart Hughes, The United States and Italy. Cambridge: Harvard Uni-
versity Press, 1979, p. 212; definition “comic opera” see Duggan, “Legacy of Fas-
cism,” p. 8. On general impact of Gaullism on Italy and Italian fear of its “author-
itarian” implications: Pietro Scoppola, La Repubblica dei partiti: Profilo storico
della democrazia in Italia (1945–1990). Bologna: Il Mulino, 1990.
42. Cf. NA docs. previous note; Interview Horace Torbert Jr., Nov. 2, 1965, OH,
pp. 2–3, SGML; Piero Ottone, Fanfani. Milan: Longanesi, pp. 114–116; Cacace,
Venti anni di politica estera, p. 508.
43. Zellerbach to Dept. State, July 25, 1958, 765.00 RG 59, NA; OIR rep. 7870,
p. 24; Baget Bozzo, Il partito cristiano e l’apertura, pp. 124–127; Kogan, The Poli-
tics of Italian Foreign Policy, pp. 81 ff. After the 1953 elections Fanfani had already
begun to create grass-roots organization to counterbalance the Catholic collateral
organizations: Allum, “Changing Face of Christian Democracy,” p. 125.
44. OIR rep. 7870, pp. 40–41; desp. 263 Sohm to Dept. State, Aug. 27, 1958, cit.;
desp. 397 A. V. Nyren (2nd Sec. Rome Emb.), to Dept. State, Sept. 22, 1958,
865.2553; Report by DGAP “Ricerche petrolifere dell’ENI in Marocco,” Aug. 3,
1958, in folder “Viaggio di Fanfani negli USA,” SG, Gab. A/52, b. 130, ASMAE;
tel. G307 Zellerbach to Dulles, Jan. 16, 1959, 765.00 RG 59, NA; Maugeri, L’arma
del petrolio, p. 184; on Gronchi: qtd. desp. 263 above; also tel. G-123 Zellerbach
to Dulles, Sept. 9, 1958, 665.00, NA.
45. Mtg. Fanfani-Dulles, others and Mtg. Fanfani-Eisenhower, July 29, 30, 1958,
FRUS, 1958–60, VII, pp. 466–73; on Capodichino and IRBM bases cf. Memo U.S.
Rep. at Military Com. Standing Group NATO for JCS, July 22, 1958. CCS 381,
b. 92, RG 218, NA; J. F. Dulles to A. Dulles, July 29, 1958, JFD, Tel. Calls Series,
b. 8, DDEL.
46. Tel. G-153 Jernegan to Dulles, June 14, 1958, 651.65, RG 59, NA; Palewski
to MAE, June 29, 1958, Italie, vol. 279, AHMAE; Briefing on Fanfani’s Conversa-
tions, July 31, 1958, 611.65, RG 59, NA; Mtg. Eisenhower-Dulles-Fanfani, July 30,
1958 (version not in FRUS), AW, Intl. Series, b. 30, DDEL; Ortona, Anni d’Amer-
ica, 2, pp. 310–314.
47. Cf. comments in Eisenhower, Waging Peace, pp. 266 ff.; Murphy, Diplomat
Among Warriors, pp. 502 ff.; Brands, Cold Warriors, pp. 102–111; Idem, The
Specter of Neutralism, pp. 295–7; Erika G. Alin, The United States and the 1958
Lebanon Crisis: American Intervention in the Middle East. Lanham, MD, 1994;
Eisenhower to Macmillan, July 18, FRUS, 1958–60, XI, pp. 330–1; NSC 5820/1,
Nov. 4, 1958, NSC Recs., b.75, RG 273, NA.
48. The Development Authority, however, drew heavily from the suggestions of
adviser C. D. Jackson, World Bank director Eugene Black, and from a study by
MIT’s Max F. Millikan and Walt W. Rostow: Walt W. Rostow, The Diffusion of
Power: An Essay in Recent History. London: Macmillan, 1963; cf. Brands, Cold
Warriors, pp. 130–131; Kaufman, Trade and Aid, pp. 49–50 and 159–161; Memo
Jackson, “A Follow Through Eisenhower’s Speech,” August (no date), 1958, AW,
Adm. Series, “Jackson Folder,” DDEL; Address at UN, Aug. 13; Press Conference,
Aug. 20, PPDE, 1958, pp. 606–17, 624; “I tre motivi del successo di Fanfani negli
Stati Uniti,” Esteri, 1958, 15.
49. Briefing on Fanfani’s Conv., cit., p. 2; George Lenczowski, American Presi-

dents in the Middle East. Durham: Duke University Press, 1990, pp. 42–45. Most
indicative of Italy’s “spiritual” power was a series of Christian-Islamic cultural con-
ferences that Fanfani’s closest collaborator and friend Giorgio La Pira sponsored
from 1957 as mayor of Florence. The American Consul, William Fisher argued that
such initiative provided one of the “best propaganda platforms” for U.S. policies in
the Middle East: Fisher to Dept. State, May 7, 1957, 765.00, RG 59, NA.
50. Joint Statement Fanfani-Eisenhower, July 30, 1958, PPDE, 1958, pp. 574–5;
tel. 541 Houghton to Dulles, Aug. 12, 1958, 651.65, RG 59, NA; Fanfani at Wash-
ington Press Club, July 31, 1958, SG, Gab.A/52, b. 130, ASMAE; on mediation:
Mtg. Stevenson-Fanfani, Aug. 23, 1958, A. E. Stevenson Papers, b. 757, SGML;
Mtg. Torbert-Fanfani, Oct. 3, 1958, 765.13 RG 59, NA; Mtg. Council of Ministers,
Sept. 10, 1958, Presidenza del Consiglio, b. 58, ACS; tel. 423 Fanfani to Brosio,
Nov. 1, 1958, TO, Washington, ASMAE.
51. See desp. 306, 536 Sohm to Dept. State, Sept. 5, Oct. 24, 1958, 665.00,
RG 59, NA; see esp. Cyrus L. Sulzberger, “America and the Italian Mau-Mau,” in
The New York Times, Nov. 24, 1958; Speech Zellerbach in Current Documents,
Dept. of State Publ. 7101. Washington D.C.: Historical Office of the Department of
State, 1961; speech Dulles in tel. 1955 Dulles to Zellerbach, Nov. 26, 1958, 765.00.
52. Tel. 1633 Zellerbach to Dulles, Nov. 25; Jernegan to Dulles, Nov. 28, 1958,
765.00; Memo L. Merchant to Under Secretary of State, Dec. 31, 1958, 765.00,
RG 59, NA; qtd. Allum, “Changing Face of Christian Democracy,” p. 125.
53. Desp. 2012, 2032, Hare (Cairo) to Dulles, Jan. 8, 12, 1959, 665.80; tel. 2610
Houghton to Dulles, Jan. 17, 1959, 651.65; tel. 2036 Zellerbach to Dept. State, Jan.
13, 665.86B, RG 59, NA; cf. Fanfani to Brosio, Nov. 1, 1958, cit. Baget Bozzo, Il
partito cristiano e l’apertura, pp. 151–157; on new government: Zellerbach to Dept.
State, March 19, 1959, 665.00, NA.
54. Memo of Conference with the President, July 3, 1958, cit.; Mtg. Dulles-de
Gaulle, July 5, After-Luncheon Conv., July 5, and Mtg. Elbrick-Alphand, July 9,
1958, FRUS, 1958–60, VII, 2, pp. 50–67, 71–6; on IRBMs and France in general
see also Trachtenberg, A Constructed Peace, pp. 178–200.
55. Text in FRUS, 1958–60, VII, 2, pp. 81–3; cf. tel. 3629, Alphand to MAE, June
27, 1958, Amérique vol. 334, AHMAE; Duval and Melandri, “Les Etats-Unis et la
prolifération nucléaire,” pp. 199–200; Maurice Vaïsse, “Aux origines du mémoran-
dum de septembre 1958,” Relations Internationales, 58, summer 1989; Idem “Un
dialogue des sourds: les relations franco-américaines de 1957 à 1960,” Relations
Internationales 68, winter 1991; Ledwidge, De Gaulle et les américains: Conversa-
tions avec Dulles, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Rusk. Paris: Flammarion, 1984, pp. 14–30.
56. On de Gaulle using the Memorandum to “bury” NATO see esp. John New-
house, De Gaulle and the Anglo-Saxons. New York: Viking Press, 1970, pp. 78 ff.;
slightly different observations in Grosser, “La France en Occident et en Algérie,”
p. 384; Costigliola, France and the United States, pp. 123–124; cf. de Gaulle, Mem-
oirs of Hope, pp. 199 ff.; tel. 6714–7, Alphand to Couve de Murville, Nov. 20,
1958, SG, Entretiens et messages, vol. 6 bis, AHMAE; Mtg. Laloy-Stoessel, Oct. 2,
1958, FRUS, 1958–60, VII, 86–8; Vaïsse, La grandeur, pp. 114–125 (Vaïsse places
more emphasis on de Gaulle’s struggle for independence from the start, but also rec-
ognizes his sober realism).
57. Memos Conversations, July 5, 1958, cit.; Edit. Note, FRUS, 1958–60, VII, 2,
p. 76; Newhouse, De Gaulle and the Anglo-Saxons, p. 73; Ledwidge, De Gaulle,
pp. 261–262.
58. Tel. G-123 Jernegan to Dulles, June 14, 1958, cit.; Mtg. Brosio-Eisenhower,
Oct. 6; Mtg. Dulles-Caccia, Oct. 9, 1958, FRUS, 1958–60, VII, 2, pp. 88–93; see
also Memo Deputy Assistant. Sec. State Eur. Affairs (Jandrey) to Dulles, Oct. 9;
Dulles (Rome) to Dept. State, Oct. 18, 1958, Idem, pp. 95–7, 105–7; Brosio to
MAE, Nov. 22, 1958, TO, Washington, ASMAE.
59. Tel. 4593 Dulles to Emb. Paris, June 7, 1958; Thurston (Counselor Embassy
Paris) to Norstad, July 15, 1958; tel. 493 Houghton to Dulles, Aug. 8, 1958; Zeller-
bach to Eisenhower, Sept. 3, 1958; Thurston to Dulles, Oct. 6, 1958, all in L.
Norstad Papers, b. 89, DDEL; Philip Nash, The Other Missiles of October. Chapel
Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1997, pp. 45–53, 68–73; Leopoldo Nuti,
“Italy and the Nuclear Choices of the Atlantic Alliance, 1955–1963,” in Heuser and
O’Neill, Securing Peace in Europe.
60. Eisenhower to de Gaulle, Oct. 20, 1958 (emphasis added), FRUS, 1958–60,
VII, 2, pp. 108–9; qtd. Memo Confer. with the President, July 3, 1958, cit.; qtd.
Memo After-Luncheon Conv., July 5, cit.
61. Memo After-Luncheon Conv. July 5, cit.; on alternative: Memo Elbrick to
Dulles, Recs. WEA, France, Subject, 1944–60, b. 2, RG 59, NA; tel. 6714–7 Alp-
hand to MAE, Nov. 28, 1958, cit.; Alphand to MAE, Dec. 4, 1958, DDF, 1958, II,
doc. 390; cf. FRUS, 1958–60, VII, 2, pp. 128 ff. (passim); Memo C. D. Jackson to
J. K. Jessup, May 28, 1958, Jackson papers, b. 46, DDEL (Jackson worried that the
State Department would treat de Gaulle with old prejudices).
62. Maurice Vaïsse distinguishes de Gaulle’s “declaratoire” policy of the
1958–1963 period from his “opératoire” policy of the period after 1963: La
grandeur, p. 52.
63. Kuisel, Seducing the French, pp. 152–153; Vaïsse, La grandeur, quotes at
p. 682; cf. Mahoney, De Gaulle, p. 14; Hoffmann, France: Decline or Renewal?
p. 378; Brian Jenkins in Nationalism in France argues that de Gaulle’s policy was
basically a “self-delusion, a rhetorical device which drew a veil over the realities of
France’s deep integration within the western capitalist bloc and the relative weak-
ness of her industrial and military resources” (p. 178).
64. Cerny, The Politics of Grandeur, pp. 4–6; cf. Gordon, A Certain Idea,
pp. 29–30, 36–40; Harrison, “French Anti-Americanism”; on avoiding the breaking
point: Melandri, “Troubled Friendship,” p. 125.
65. Klaus Schwabe (“Atlantic Partnership and European Integration,” in Lun-
destad, No End to Alliance, p. 72) argues that even through the difficult 1960s the
United States remained confident that the Atlantic community was “based on com-
mon values, which precluded fundamental clashes of interests” and that de Gaulle
“still respected the principles that underlay the notion of Atlantic partnership.” Cf.
Frederic Bozo, Two Strategies for Europe: De Gaulle, the United States, and the
Atlantic Alliance. Lanham, MD.: Rowman & Littlefield, 2001.
66. Mtg. Eisenhower, Segni, Herter, Pella, Sept. 30, 1959, AW, Intl. Series, b. 30, f.
2, DDEL; Kaufman, Trade and Aid, pp. 182 ff.; Winand, Eisenhower, Kennedy, and
the U.S. of Europe, pp. 128–137. On Kennedy and “opening to the left” cf. esp.
Nuti, Gli Stati Uniti e l’apertura a sinistra.
Conclusions
At the end of World War II, Charles de Gaulle strongly conveyed to the
leaders of the Grand Alliance the notion that prestige for a devastated
France was a substitute rather than a complement of power. He soon found
out that the Italians, as well as his successors in the Fourth French Repub-
lic, shared this assumption, thus also its corollary that higher rank might
not only precede but also produce power.
Yet what did French and Italian statesmen specifically obtain in their
reliance on international status? How constructive or misleading for their
nation’s interests were their assumptions on prestige? And what lessons did
they and their American counterparts learn from these status policies?
Prestige: Its Achievements and Its Drawbacks. First, a policy of pres-

tige was supposed to heal deep divisions in France and Italy and allow the
ruling parties to approximate political consensus. The establishment of
legitimacy among French and Italian leaders would in turn help their coun-
tries to find a clearer sense of national purpose. Charles de Gaulle, Alcide
De Gasperi, and Robert Schuman best utilized their achievements of status
to boost their own legitimacy as well as their capacity for national vision.
For many others—from Bidault to Mollet in France, and from Badoglio to
Fanfani in Italy—the benefits of prestige were short-lived at best.
French and Italian statesmen also calculated how prestige, beyond its imme-
diate political purposes, could serve their nations’ security and economic inter-
ests. Only as an equal in rank to Great Britain and the United States could
France hope to secure their commitment to its security, to maintain its conti-
nental supremacy over Germany, and to win American endorsement of the
Union Française. By the mid-1950s France’s directorate proposals also aimed
at compensating for the growing intimacy between Germany and the United
States. At the same time, those demands for world power status were meant
to preempt what the French saw as an Anglo-American collusion to supplant
their colonial preserves, especially in North Africa. To most French leaders,
moreover, the empire had a practical value as much as a symbolic one, for
without it they could not legitimately aspire to master world strategy. And
many in Paris regarded the “Eurafrican” project as the nucleus of a veritable
third force under French control, privileging French economic and strategic
interests.
For the Italians, original membership in the Atlantic Alliance was not
only a matter of recognition but also the best way to gain a sizable share of
U.S. aid and strategic support. Their refusal to subscribe to a separate
defense system for the Mediterranean, as well as their request to participate
in NATO’s Central European Command and Steering Committee, were
meant to cover not only the psychological but also the strategic and eco-
nomic gap between Northern and Southern Europe. In most respects,
Rome’s Mediterranean “vocation,” with its related advocacy of NATO’s
article 2, had that same purpose. In particular, Italian leaders intensified
contacts with Islam not simply as a policy of presence or to break away
from the European continent, but in order to enhance their country’s role
in Europe and to improve economic cooperation among Western allies.
Both Italy and France opposed any attempt to build a hierarchy of
powers through the EDC not only because of their captivation with the
rhetoric of status, but also to avoid a division of tasks between the “con-
tinentals” and the Anglo-Americans that seemed to jeopardize their own
security and economic interests. The French dreaded the prospect of pro-
viding Europe’s shock troops, while the Italians feared that European
integration at the military level would create privileged partnerships
between their Northern allies and Washington and would overshadow
the economic and psychological cooperation that best suited Italy’s inter-
ests. In this context, even French and Italian fixations with issues such as
the Saar or Trieste were dictated by economic and security imperatives as
much as by considerations of national honor.
French and Italian efforts to modernize the economy inevitably sacrificed
some of their independence. But following one of Jean Monnet’s arguments,
many politicians and entrepreneurs of both countries advanced moderniza-
tion as the best avenue to grandeur. So the recent argument that through a
sort of “Copernican revolution” French and Italian statesmen of this period
shifted their priority from power policy to internal reconstruction must be
amended:1 these two priorities became intertwined rather than antithetical.
And those statesmen did see prestige as the most immediate way to tran-
Conclusions 261
scend the traditional social and political divisions that hindered the two
countries’ economic performance.
For both nations, however, the pursuit of prestige was at crucial times
short-sighted and inconsistent with their ultimate interests. Until 1949,
French leaders, hinging their nation’s status on a punitive and nationalist
approach to the German question, failed to envision alternative ways to
harness the power of a revitalized Germany that would be more beneficial
to their country’s economy and security. Later, France’s inflexibility on its
sovereign rights during the EDC debate ironically increased its depend-
ence on U.S. help; it also brought Bonn and Washington closer together.
And finally, the French leaders’ anachronistic attachment to the Empire
compromised their European priorities instead of serving them. By sur-
rendering the Empire in Indochina and especially Algeria they actually
improved their country’s international standing and its autonomy vis-à-vis
the United States.
Italy’s demand for a semblance of colonial power status in the late 1940s
was counterproductive. Its stubbornness on Trieste eclipsed its contribution
to European integration. With their jingoist explosion in 1953, Italian lead-
ers not only forswore any possibility of future cooperation with Tito but
alienated their Western allies as well. Later, the “Mediterranean vocation”
risked subordinating the conspicuous, if less showy and immediate assets of
European cooperation to uncertain ones in the Middle East. It also threat-
ened to become an instrument that Italian “neutralists” could use to manip-
ulate the nation’s ruling coalition.
Finally, in both France and Italy, those who conceived prestige as protec-
tion of national traditions at all costs failed to see the benefits of modern-
ization. For they staunchly upheld their nation’s heritage, even when this
meant, as the famous Poujadist slogan put it, the “freedom to be inefficient.”
Using counterfactual hypotheses helps to assess even better the advan-
tages and drawbacks of French and Italian policies of prestige. It is espe-
cially plausible to wonder whether that emphasis on prestige induced the
United States to make concessions to its two allies. Certainly the poor eco-
nomic conditions and political weakness of France and Italy provided a
basic motivation for such help. But the picture would be incomplete with-
out considering the French and Italian leaders’ insistence on status, which
indeed, especially from Washington’s viewpoint, became indistinguishable
from their pleas based on their political fragility. Emphasis on rank rein-
forced France’s candidacy to the Allied Control Council for Germany and
even determined its promotion as one of the five UN “policemen”; it is hard
to imagine how, without that emphasis, France could have obtained so
quickly the set-up of a Standing Group within NATO, or for how long it
would have been able to delay German rearmament. And de Gaulle’s prom-
ise of restoring French self-esteem through grandeur was of course his main
diplomatic weapon in winning America’s confidence in 1958.
Italy would have stood a much slimmer chance to become one of

NATO’s original members, had it not persuasively shown the link
between the threat of subversion and its need for recognition; it is unde-
niable that such link also prompted the United States to favor Italy on Tri-
este at crucial political junctures; and had Italy’s “Mediterranean voca-
tion” not reflected so much the nation’s need for prestige, it would have
hardly induced the Eisenhower administration to reevaluate its forms of
intervention in Italian affairs. This reevaluation was only the most explicit
manifestation of a trend in U.S. conduct toward both French and Italian
politics during the 1950s: considerations of prestige with respect to both
countries crucially reoriented America’s options toward “indirect” rather
than direct interference in their internal affairs.
Contrariwise, one may wonder, the French and the Italians might have
handled specific situations better than they did had they not been so
attached to prestige. For example, would both nations have obtained more
substantial concessions from their Anglo-Saxon allies between 1944 and
1947 if they had not focused on recognition, and as a consequence had not
attempted to maneuver between the superpowers? Would France have
enjoyed greater leverage during the EDC debate if it had not so often
declared its dread with being equated with the “defeated continentals”? Did
the search for prestige lead Fanfani to inflate his mediation efforts in the
Middle East beyond what he could handle? Wasn’t this diplomatic “over-
stretch,” more than American shortsightedness, the main cause of a missed
opportunity for the West to benefit from Italy’s “Mediterranean vocation”?
And generally, was it not evident that neither France nor Italy increased
their leverage by referring to their historical value or their past glories? In
fact in most cases such emphasis backfired, underlining by contrast the two
nations’ present weakness.
The record on balance appears favorable to France’s and Italy’s policies
of status. Those policies enabled them to extract considerable concessions
from the United States, sometimes at the expense of their most direct adver-
saries. In particular, the French managed to delay the resurgence of a pow-
erful Germany until they were sure that they could play the leading role in
European integration, while Italy avoided being marginalized from the
Western alliance, or being shortchanged in favor of Yugoslavia. However,
since both France and Italy failed to achieve their ultimate objectives—
respectively world power status and equality with the European great
powers—one should conclude that prestige did not produce as much power
as they had expected. There was no significant change in the power and
diplomatic hierarchy of the West.
Alternative Forms of Prestige. While France and Italy affected the

Western alliance through their policies of status, that search for prestige
also helped transform their international conduct and internal politics. The
Conclusions 263
advantages of Western interdependence became manifest to French and Ital-

ian leaders around the same time, after they failed to revive the “old game.”
By trying to promote their national rank through interdependence, and by
thus refining their notions of national prestige with an added emphasis on
international statesmanship, France and Italy not only broadened their pos-
sibilities for an international role, but even corroborated the democratic
connotations of their nationalism.
To be sure, all political forces in both countries, from the far right to the
extreme left had their own brand of nationalism and consequent liturgy of
prestige, privileging alternatively military values, or the sacredness of cer-
tain traditions, or anti-Americanism; but the ruling parties of the center
were those who most keenly reconciled national aspirations and interde-
pendence. So both the French and Italian governments immediately tried to
use the OEEC to bolster their power and rank aspirations. And Atlantic sol-
idarity, as Paul Ramadier stated in 1948, became the best avenue to “make
others respect [French] independence.” France began earning prestige as a
“master of interdependence” with the Schuman Plan; Italy reached the peak
of its prestige in analogous terms when it proposed development programs
for the Middle East in the late 1950s.
There was a correlation between this new kind of prestige and demo-
cratic nationalism. Here we can draw an important conclusion using the
distinction Michel Winock has made with regard to France—but the same
point can be made about Italy—between “open” and “closed” nationalism:
the former stemmed from the optimistic philosophy of the Enlightenment
and from memories of the Revolution, while the latter was based on a pes-
simistic vision of historical evolution and was bent on protecting and
immunizing the collective against all agents of corruption.2 Even though
Italy and especially France maintained a combination of both kinds of
nationalism, their evolving notions of prestige between the late 1940s and
the 1950s progressively favored the extroverted democracy of “open”
nationalism over the perils of introverted authoritarianism of “closed”
nationalism. The best case in point is Charles de Gaulle: his outlook in
1958 apparently synthesized both brands of nationalism; but there is evi-
dence that his return to power was made possible by his more manifest
adherence to “open” nationalism and by his adaptation to mastery of inter-
dependence as the main means to advance French grandeur.
Italy did not achieve the same “mastery”of interdependence as France. But
the main source of prestige for the Italians lay in their ability to blend
together their country’s moral recovery and their capacity to “engineer,” if
not master, international cooperation. It was Italy’s weaker condition and its
position by 1943 as a moral and military pariah that forced its leaders to
seek acceptance among democratic nations more than the French needed to,
and to equate prestige with such achievement. Powerlessness and the need
for moral recovery then prompted the Italians to embrace multilateralism
and international arbitration, and to try to build their reputation as paladins

of concord. As a result Rome championed initiatives such as the European
Political Community, the development of NATO’s article 2, and mediation
proposals for the Middle East. Yet this stress on morality and arbitration
was a paradox, not so much because it came from a country that had previ-
ously ignored the rules of the international community, as because it was
meant to transform Italy’s relative weakness (or harmlessness) into an asset.
Indeed, Italy sported its protective modesty as a sign of moral superiority—
the “Mediterranean vocation” was the best example of such attitude, par-
ticularly toward the colonial powers.
But while moral redemption was itself a remarkable result of prestige, the
premise that it was largely based on Italy’s harmlessness also revealed a
drawback: weakness and political instability made Italy’s policy of concord
appear more like the stale and timid diplomacy typical of the minor power,
thus frequently turning the Italian leaders’ reference to their “policy of pres-
ence” into a hollow claim.3 Germany, another “redeemed” nation, but also
more powerful and more politically stable than Italy, immediately obtained
much greater leverage once it adopted a similar policy of concord.4
Status and Invitation. In most cases, France and Italy attuned their pur-
suit of status to their promotion of American hegemony over Europe. Their
need for economic and military assistance made such dependence
inevitable. But from as early as 1944, both nations tried to use the dawn-
ing Cold War to boost their international position as well. They understood
that only cooperation with the Western superpower would secure their
international “rebirth,” which for the French meant resuming continental
leadership, and for the Italians avoiding ostracism from the inner circle of
European powers. Indeed this study has underlined the competitive charac-
ter of Europe’s invitation to the United States. The French and Italian
rivalry with the other European states was compounded by a nagging infe-
riority complex toward the Anglo-Saxons.
France and Italy followed a parallel path in promoting American presence
in Europe. They did it at first by using their diplomatic deals with Moscow
as signals to Washington; but their illusion that the old European Concert of
powers could be replicated within the Cold War bipolarity faded quickly.
Their attempt to play that “old game” actually deepened their dependence
on the United States to an extent even their most pro-American representa-
tives would have preferred to avoid. Fully recognizing such dependence by
the late 1940s, the French and Italian governments embraced European inte-
gration under America’s aegis as a means to satisfy their traditional ambi-
tions of respectively continental leadership and equality.
As they competed to gain America’s special favor, both governments
strove to turn their “submission” to the United States into a “partnership.”
And while it was virtually impossible to obtain American protection free of
Conclusions 265
Washington’s conditions, Italian and especially French leadership naturally

resisted America’s demands. Such acts of resistance reflected in part efforts
to fend off charges of weakness made by domestic opponents.
So French and Italian policies of prestige had two dimensions: the inter-
national one that mostly profited from cooperation with the United States;
and the domestic one, that frequently stood in contrast with their promo-
tion of U.S. hegemony. But that paradox can be described in a different
way: exactly because they promoted U.S. hegemony, French and Italian
leaders expected also to determine some crucial ways in which such hege-
mony should develop. This became immediately evident at the end of the
war, when de Gaulle and Badoglio combined their appeals to the United
States with demands of a prominent role in Europe’s restoration. The
recently argued dichotomy between “invitation” and “challenge” is there-
fore inaccurate.5 French and Italian leaders could at the same time invite the
United States and disagree with some important American international
choices: the examples of Gronchi, Fanfani, Bidault, and de Gaulle are
among the most telling ones.
Obviously, the Italians and the French differed in their degree of resist-
ance to U.S. conditions. “Flexible” and weaker Italy pursued association
with the United States with fewer qualms than “quarrelsome” and stronger
France. One explanation of the difference between Italy and France might
be in the former’s tendency to join the powerful, and to see in that associa-
tion in itself a source of prestige, and with the French tendency to guard
their worldwide “mission.” But it is more plausible to conclude that from
its position as the first of the minor powers Italy saw a better chance of
advancing its status in a Western alliance firmly under the distant and rela-
tively benevolent American hegemon, than in an alliance structured as a
two or three-power directorate, which would magnify the hierarchy among
European nations.
The Broader Question. Both the achievements and the limits of French
and Italian status policies illustrated the complexity of the reciprocal influ-
ence, or “double-flow,” between major and minor allies, as they revealed a
fundamental distinction between rank and role. America’s concessions of
prestige to its allies might at first sight appear as yet another sign of its lim-
ited influence. In fact, through calibrated concessions, Washington tested,
and often even regulated its allies’ determination to equate the privileges of
rank with the responsibilities of role; or sometimes, the Americans simply
decided that rank (appearance) should be a substitute for role (substance).
It was true that the United States was neither “omnipotent” nor “marginal”
to European politics and foreign policies; but the recent historiography has
overemphasized the limits of America’s influence, even arguing that the
European allies significantly contested American hegemony, and that they
extracted from Washington more than the Americans obtained from them.6
A different paradigm that incorporates an analysis on prestige provides a

more balanced answer: the Europeans—from the most “flexible” to the
most “quarrelsome”—were neither “subservient” nor capable of changing
the power relations with the hegemon or with one another as much as they
wanted.
In Rome and Paris the notion that prestige should produce power almost
exponentially was more often a reflection of vague hopes than of a clear
design. Frequently, influential leaders and diplomats felt skeptical about sta-
tus policies or were discouraged by their actual results. As Pierre Mendès
France told the National Assembly in June 1953, “sacrifices accepted or bat-
tles won in the past can stand as examples but they cannot form barter money
for our diplomacy;” or, as Ambassador Quaroni even more poignantly com-
mented in 1951, Italy’s “claim that diplomatic skills [could] do anything”
made no sense, for diplomacy would not “replace the realities of power.”7
Even the concessions—of rank or role—that the French and the Italians
obtained from the United States cannot be regarded as an unquestionable
indication of their capacity to engineer the terms of American hegemony.
Ironically, many of those concessions can be seen rather as further proof of
American ascendancy. For, as Geir Lundestad has put it, “U.S. efforts to
control and dominate [italics added] were, of course, based on American
values, in the same way other powers exercised domination based on theirs
[and] on the American side, these values left a wide scope for European self-
organization.”8 French and Italian policies of prestige in a paradoxical twist
lent the United States an important means to accentuate the values of free-
dom, tolerance, and federalism that made the solid foundation of its hege-
monic rule.
America’s Management of Prestige. Besides trying to boost the self-

esteem of its two most politically fragile European allies, or using the dis-
tinction between rank and role to its own advantage, the United States
developed specific tactics in dealing with French and Italian policies of pres-
tige. Those tactics served America’s general designs in Europe, particularly
that of turning the recovery of its allies’ self-esteem into a basis for their
self-reliance.
While the United States continued to indulge in prejudices about the two
“Latin” peoples’ character, it gradually refined its understanding of the
motivations behind French and Italian policies of prestige. Most of the
experts on France and Italy at the State Department (and even several non-
specialists, such as Paul Nitze, James Dunn, and John Jernegan) clearly
grasped the importance of those status considerations and came up with
perceptive suggestions on how to manipulate them. Leaders in Washington,
while not fully adopting their advisers’ recommendations, at least accepted
them as blueprints for their own calculated actions. Their maneuvers thus
became increasingly subtle and sophisticated.
Conclusions 267
Washington started with simple cures, such as an attitude of “damn pro-

Italianism” to shore up Italy’s moderate coalition, or the decision to treat
France “on the basis of its potential” rather than actual strength so as to
obtain its full cooperation in the peace process; but then refined diplomatic
actions in order to encourage the two nations’ contribution to the creation
of a Western European “third force” that would nevertheless remain under
America’s aegis. In particular, Washington estimated that by making the
French appear more in charge of the integration process than they actually
were, France would assume a constructive initiative in Europe in conjunc-
tion with Germany, while it would surrender its idea of maintaining a world
power status. At the same time, in order to preempt Italy’s “narrow-
minded” status concerns over Trieste, Washington encouraged De Gasperi to
pursue his own European federalist idea as an alternative, more “envision-
ing” status policy. During the Algerian war, the United States strove to reori-
ent the French mission civilisatrice toward the acceptance of some kind of
“commonwealth”; simultaneously, it coopted Italian diplomatic activism in
the Middle East in an effort to tame the most “neutralist” aspects of Rome’s
neo-Atlanticist policy. By 1958, Washington even used Italy’s desire for pres-
tige as one of the main arguments to reject de Gaulle’s idea of a three power
directorate, and indeed to curb both Rome’s and Paris’ inflated aspirations.
Of course the Americans did not always have a clear idea of how to
manipulate French and Italian status concerns; and sometimes they failed to
acknowledge the connection the two allies established between those con-
cerns and their security interests. So the United States suffered some
remarkable setbacks, such as the EDC fiasco, or the drawn-out Trieste dis-
pute and the consequent Italian refusal to cooperate with the Balkan Treaty
powers. Above all, America’s effort to restore French and Italian self-esteem
was often inconsistent with its purpose of encouraging their self-reliance,
for in order to build the two allies’ confidence Washington had to give them
repeated reassurances and demonstrations of its own commitment.
In the final analysis, American responses to French and Italian status con-
cerns indicated that the United States helped the two allies to recover
enough self-esteem to cope with their own decline. Washington understood
that France and Italy needed more self-confidence in order to accept a lesser
role. De Gaulle’s handling of Algeria and Italy’s own “Mediterranean voca-
tion” as substitute of its former status as colonial power were excellent
examples of adaptations to a lesser role without loss of self-esteem. More
important, although Rome and Paris advanced the idea of mastery of inter-
dependence as an alternative source of prestige, the Americans enthusiasti-
cally embraced that idea and continued to press the argument even while
the French and Italian statesmen remained constantly tempted to bolster
their reputation through the immediate rewards of nationalism.
From America’s viewpoint, results of prestige in France and Italy were also
to provide a basis for social reform. The very idea of replacing jingoism with
international statesmanship favored a “progressive” outlook in the two

countries. More specifically, U.S. policies of “indirection” against the PCF
and PCI were to boost the prestige of French and Italian rulers so that they
could more confidently adopt reformist policies; the Americans expected the
same from endorsing the prestige policies of de Gaulle or Fanfani in 1958.
But clearly U.S. attempts to connect prestige and reform were less successful
in Italy than in France.
Prestige and National Identity. The crisis of self-esteem in France and

Italy during the early Cold War was naturally intertwined with their crises
of national identity. Their inferiority complex and consequent pursuit of
prestige were in themselves symptoms of their uncertain national identities.
The question I addressed here is how much the very necessity for the French
and Italians to seek a better status in association with the hegemon aggra-
vated or resolved their identity crisis.
The Western alliance came to Europe with a heavy dose of Americanization—
the diffusion of American political and cultural values—which was perhaps
the most preponderant trait of American power. This aspect has led several
scholars to stigmatize NATO as a form of negation of national identities in
Europe. Obviously, France’s discomfort with having to “beg” the United
States had a lot to do with the cultural dissonance between the two coun-
tries; and only Charles de Gaulle, as Richard Kuisel has shown, was able to
improve France’s self-confidence enough to help it deal with Americaniza-
tion and even to adapt it to French culture. For Italy, several historians con-
tend, the situation was much worse: as Silvio Lanaro has argued, “NATO
was the last step in the country’s process of de-nationalization.” Italy, in this
view, surrendered its sovereignty—and much of its identity—to the hege-
mon more than any other Western ally.9
The difference between many French leaders’ “resistance” and most Ital-
ian rulers’ “capitulation” to the “threat” of Americanization cannot be
fully explained without clarifying how notions of status related to the
French and the Italian nation-state respectively. In France, national identity
was a construct from above: the nation essentially coincided with the state.
Therefore General de Gaulle was correct in assuming that French national
identity could be restored only if the state provided a sense of national pur-
pose and ambition. In Italy, where the state had traditionally failed to shape
a national identity, and where a culture of separate allegiances had been
thriving for centuries, the whole discourse on prestige after World War II
seemingly served narrower purposes. That became evident when Fanfani’s
ambitious foreign policy reinforced the Italian political culture of “par-
titism” and “clientelism”—the nemesis, according to de Gaulle, of grandeur
policy. Moreover, without a strong sense of the state, it was more plausible
for Italian statesmen than for their French counterparts to project their own
success and power through their intimate involvement with the powerful
Conclusions 269
hegemon. This association could be just a mere “policy of presence.” The

fact that France was the least of the great powers and Italy the first of the
European minor powers also determined a different attitude since, as Frank
Costigliola has suggested, “participating in the NATO club could be a
heady experience” for officials from minor powers, “who thereby gained an
opportunity to associate on a nominally equal basis with some of the most
powerful leaders in the world.”10
This study, however, has suggested not only how France’s and Italy’s dif-
ferent power position and experience in national identity determined their
respective ways of inviting an American “presence” in Europe. By focusing
on status concerns, it has also revealed that NATO, at least as much as
European integration, reinforced rather than it hindered the search for a
genuine national sovereignty, and consequently a national identity in both
France and Italy. Indeed in many respects, nationalism was more direct and
immediate under NATO than under the integrated institutions of Europe.
For it was through NATO, more coherently than through continental inte-
gration, that the European powers conducted their struggle for greater sta-
tus and consequently greater self-esteem; their pursuit of America’s special
favor compounded their own rivalries, thus increasing their tendency to
claim their respective nations’ distinctiveness.
The adherence to NATO may have stifled Italy’s cultural identity, but for
that same reason, as Lanaro admits, it also made Italian culture less provin-
cial. Then, one must add, if the Italian culture became more extroverted, so
did the Italian “culture of foreign policy:” it was thanks to its association
with NATO that Rome fully “democratized” its foreign policy and began
to shape projects of multilateral cooperation, and to conceive a role for
itself as diplomatic bridge between the West and the Arab nations. These
initiatives, next to Italian contributions to European integration, provided
the government at least with a modicum of national purpose, an important
premise to a stronger national identity.
France regained its great power status, several historians argue, thanks to
the bipolarism of the Cold War, which allowed it to exploit a space for
maneuver between the rival blocs.11 Ironically, the bipolarism that de Gaulle
strove to banish also nurtured his leverage. And, as this study has shown,
more than the exploitation of U.S.-Soviet rivalry, it was the association with
NATO—no matter how troublesome and often because it was so trouble-
some—that enabled France to find its way to national reassertion. Not by
accident, the end of the Cold War has renewed France’s uncertainty about
its international role and has consequently reignited the debate on identity
for the nation that demands a state with an unquestionable purpose and
vision.
***
Overall French and Italian policies of prestige and the American response
to them cemented the Atlantic Alliance; for they reinforced a sense of
transatlantic partnership, even though they frequently underscored patterns

of dependence (status “in association” with the hegemonic power). Also
important for the stability of the alliance, those policies provided French
and Italian statesmen with the additional domestic legitimacy they needed
at crucial moments.
As to the effects of status policies on French and Italian international
role, they can be condensed into two cardinal points: first, those policies
failed as attempts to modify the power hierarchy of the Western alliance;
but, second, they successfully helped the two nations to recover enough self-
esteem to accept their role as middle powers, and consequently to shift their
notions of prestige from an exclusive reliance on power policies to a mix-
ture of nationalism and international statesmanship.
French and Italian statesmen today still tend to pursue their far-fetched
goal of changing the Western power hierarchy, obtaining the same results as
in the period examined in this study. Italy’s participation in the G-7 (now
G-8) group, for example, has not fulfilled the Italian leaders’ expectations
of enjoying full equality with the other European members; and France’s
President Chirac has for some time coveted a return to NATO, claiming
again a sort of Anglo-French-American “directorate” as a condition, only
to clash against Washington’s objections that Italy and, even more impor-
tant now, Europe’s power house, Germany, would oppose such an artificial
distinction. These patterns of diplomacy have been so persistent since the
creation of NATO that one is tempted to say plus ça change, plus c’est la
meme chose.
But at the same time both France and Italy now see even more clearly the
advantages for their prestige and power of mastering interdependence.
Chirac’s proposal might be an attempt to renegotiate the terms of the
alliance, allowing France to resume the helm of a truly autonomous Euro-
pean military system. Indeed, since the early 1950s, France has continued
to project its alternative vision of grandeur as the main architect of Euro-
pean integration and possibly of a European bloc (even under a shared
Franco-German leadership). Moreover, France has also maintained some of
its world power status through a “neo-imperialist” strategy, preserving an
informal but pervasive presence in its former colonies. Both policies are
examples of ways to promote French rank through interdependence; and
both policies aim at maximizing the benefits of French cooperation with the
United States, still essential to France for a greater world role.12
Italy has continued to seek its own chance for greater status through mul-
tilateralism as well. Nothing has recently galvanized Italy’s national fervor
and pride more than its successful struggle to enter the European common
currency. And NATO’s new emphasis on peacekeeping operations has not
only given Italy an opportunity to assume a certain military role in the
alliance, but it has added significance to Italy’s discourse on its role as diplo-
matic bridge-builder. Rome’s reputation as diplomatic “mediator” has
Conclusions 271
received another boost from its effective use of its position as a G-7 member
to forge relations with states on the fringes of the international community,
such as Korea, Iran, and Libya; these moves have cleared the path for greater
European leverage against U.S. economic sanctions against those countries.13
While deeming cooperation with Washington still essential to its status ambi-
tions, Italy has nevertheless found a diplomatic niche for greater assertiveness
and prestige within the post-Cold War growing global interdependence.
The French and Italian transition from chauvinism to international
statesmanship as main source of prestige was largely an indigenous phe-
nomenon. But the United States certainly played a crucial role, applying
pressure, providing incentives, and giving inspiration to both nations to
move in that direction. Today, Washington has a clear interest in reinforc-
ing that trend, prodding the European Union to go beyond economic inte-
gration toward greater coordination—and responsibility—in military and
foreign policy affairs as well, still within an Atlantic framework and with
the United States as primus inter pares.
America could apply the lessons it learned from its interaction with
French or Italian prestige policies to its relations outside Western Europe as
well. Clearly issues of status are reemerging powerfully in the age of glob-
alization, crisis of national identities, and ethnic exclusion. The discourse
on status has become particularly intense today in nations that, like France
and Italy in post-World War II, suffer from power decline and/or an inferi-
ority complex: most obvious examples are the campaigns for Greater Rus-
sia, or Chinese and Indian competitive claims of representing Asia, or, of
course, India flexing its newly found nuclear muscles as symbols of status
as much as security devices. Each challenge has specific, complex charac-
teristics; also these nations are far from being as like-minded with the
United States as France and Italy during the Cold War. But prestige follows
some universal rules the United States must reckon with. Certainly Amer-
ica’s civilizational triumphalism in a one-superpower world is not going to
help smooth things out, even if the American model of democracy and
power is so widely admired. The United States has tended to exclude
nations like Russia, India, and China from international decision making,
thus galvanizing their prestige rhetoric based on jingoism. Even without
going all the way toward accommodating Russian, Chinese, or Indian poli-
cies, Washington may at least satisfy in part their rank ambitions by involv-
ing them to a greater extent in international diplomacy—through, for
example, a more officialized G-8, or permanent trade relations with Beijing,
or development programs for South Asia coordinated with New Delhi. By
giving these nations a sense of “shared” leadership in global interdepend-
ence, the United States might refocus their prestige concerns toward inter-
national, democratic statesmanship, or at least to adopt an “open” rather
than a “closed” nationalism. These broad hypotheses are the only sugges-
tions the historian can provide at this point.
NOTES
1. Robert Frank applies the definition of “Copernican revolution” to France in
La hantise du déclin, pp. 138–139; for similar theses: Lynch, France and the Inter-
national Economy, and Romero, “L’Europa come strumento di nation-building.”
2. Winock, Nationalism, Anti-Semitism and Fascism in France, introduction; on
different brands of nationalism and their relation with internationalism: Jenkins,
Nationalism in France, pp. 191–193.
3. Cf. Spotts and Wieser, Italy, A Difficult Democracy, p. 264; Bosworth, Italy
and the Wider World, p. 56.
4. Germany and Japan, as Charles Maier has written, have changed from “military-
bureaucratic establishments, pursuing objectives of prestige and expansion, call[ing]
upon the resources of production for statist ends . . . [into] political economies in
which the concept of state has become virtually otiose”: Maier, “The Politics of Pro-
ductivity,” p. 629; cf. Grosser, The Western Alliance, introduction. Even more accu-
rate would be to conclude that those two nations have earned prestige, only no
longer with their nationalist, militarist pursuits but thanks to their economic per-
formance.
5. Among recent accounts upholding this dichotomy see esp. Costigliola, The
Cold Alliance and Perrone, Il nemico italiano; favorable to that thesis but more bal-
anced: Hitchcock, France Restored.
6. The distinction between “omniponent” and “marginal” is in Nuti, Gli Stati
Uniti e l’apertura a sinistra, p. 676; see other sources stressing the Europeans’ lever-
age in Introduction.
7. Mendès France qtd. in Wight, Power Politics, p. 98; Quaroni qtd. here in chap.
5. Archival records from both countries abound with objective, sober assessments
of the “realities of [world] power” by diplomats who were least committed to and
blinded by political struggles at home.
8. Lundestad, “Empire” by Integration, p. 2.
9. Cf. Nora, “The Era of Commemoration”; Winock, Parlez-moi de la France,
conclusions; Jenkins and Copsey, “Nation, Nationalism and National Identity in
France”; Kuisel, Seducing the French; on Italy: qtd. Lanaro, Storia dell’Italia repub-
blicana, p. 148; William Brierley and Luca Giacometti, “Italian National Identity
and the Failure of Regionalism,” in Jenkins and Sofos, Nation and Identity in Con-
temporary Europe; Gentile, La grande Italia, pp. 290–299; Rusconi, Se cessiamo di
essere una nazione, pp. 33–39.
10. Frank Costigliola, “Culture, Emotion, and the Creation of the Atlantic Iden-
tity, 1948–1952,” in Lundestad, No End to Alliance, p. 24.
11. Lanaro, Storia dell’Italia repubblicana, p. 157; cf. Gentile, La Grande Italia,
pp. 257 ff. and for an emphasis on European integration as the context that made
Italian foreign policy less “provincial,” Romero, “L’Europa come strumento di
nation-building”; on France: Jenkins and Copsey, “Nation, Nationalism and
National Identity in France,” p 114; Howorth, “France and European Security
1944–1994”; Anton W. DePorte, “The Foreign Policy of the Fifth Republic:
Between the Nation and the World,” in Hollifield and Ross, Searching for the New
France.
12. On Chirac’s attempt to obtain U.S. recognition of a “European military iden-
tity” see Melandri, “Troubled Friendship,” p. 129; for general aspects cf. “Why It’s
Conclusions 273
Not a New Cold War: Secondary Powers and the New Geopolitics,”
http://www.stratfor.com, March 6, 2000; Anthony Chafer and Brian Jenkins,
“France: From the Cold War to the New World Order,” in Jenkins and Sofos,
Nation and Identity in Contemporary Europe, pp. 118–119; Hollifield and Ross,
Searching for the New France, introduction. In the 1990s the French have revived
their nationalist posturing, but, as several authors observe, such attitude is less
about foreign policy and more about issues of culture (particularly the danger of
“Americanization” in the new world order) cf. Richard F. Kuisel, “American His-
torians in Search of France: Perceptions and Misperceptions,” and Eric Fassin,
“Fearful Symmetry: Culturalism and Cultural Comparison After Tocqueville,” both
in French Historical Studies, 19, 2 (Fall 1995).
13. Cf. editorial “Italy: Thinking Bigger,” The Economist, October 16, 1999;
“Italy Brings North Korea Out of Isolation,” http://www.stratfor.com, Janu-
ary, 6, 2000.
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VI. ARTICLES AND UNPUBLISHED ESSAYS

The complete citations for books are provided in Section V, above.
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Quaroni a Mosca (1944–1946).” in Di Nolfo, Rainero, and Vigezzi, L’Italia e
la politica di potenza . . . 1945–1950.
Bagnato, Bruna. “La politica araba dell’Italia vista da Parigi (1949–1955),” Storia
delle Relazioni Internazionali, V (1989), 1.
Barbier, Colette. “Les négociations franco-germano-italienne en vue de l’établisse-
ment d’une cooperation militaire nucleaire au cours des années 1956–1958,”
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Barié, Ottavio. “L’adesione dell’Italia al Piano Marshall: scelta del sistema economico-
politico occidentale?” Storia delle relazioni internazionali, VII (1991), 1.
Barnes, Trevor. “The Secret Cold War: the CIA and American Foreign Policy in
Europe, 1946–1956,” The Historical Journal, 24 (1981), 2.
Bedeschi-Magrini, Anna. “Spunti revisionistici nella politica estera di Giovanni
Gronchi,” in Di Nolfo, Rainero, and Vigezzi, L’Italia e la politica di
potenza . . . 1950–1960.
Bernstein, Serge. “Le parti communiste français et de Gaulle sous la IVe République;
confrontations et convergences,” in Courtois, and Lazar, 50 ans d’une passion
française.
Bernstein, Serge. “The Perception of French Power by the Political Forces,” in Di
Nolfo, Power in Europe?
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Bernstein, Serge. “French Power Seen by the Political Parties After World War II,”
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Bernstein, Serge, and Pierre Milza. “Les forces politiques françaises entre l’humilia-
tion et la volonté de grandeur (1956–1962),” Relations Internationales, 57,
Spring 1989.
Berti, Lamberto. “L’Italia e la Germania: l’atteggiamento della diplomazia italiana
dal 1950 al 1952,” Storia delle relazioni internazionali, 1990, 1.
Bianchini, Stefano. “I mutevoli assetti balcanici e la contesa italo-jugoslava
(1948–1956),” in Galeazzi, Roma Belgrado.
Bossuat, Gérard. “Le poids de l’aide américaine sur la politique économique et
financière de la France en 1948,” Relations Internationales, 37, Spring 1984.
Bossuat, Gérard. “Guy Mollet: la puissance française autrement,” Relations Inter-
nationales, 57, Spring 1989.
Bozo, Frederic, and Pierre Melandri. “La France devant l’opinion américaine: le
retour de de Gaulle, début 1958–printemps 1959,” Relations Internationales,
58, Summer 1989.
Breccia, Alfredo. “L’adesione dell’Italia al Patto atlantico,” Rivista di studi politici
internazionali, 1974, 1.
Brierley, William, and Luca Giacometti. “Italian National Identity and the Failure
of Regionalism,” in Jenkins, and Sofos, Nation and Identity in Contemporary
Europe.
Brogi, Alessandro. “Using the Hegemon: Italy, the United States, and the Mediter-
ranean during the Eisenhower Administration,” in Petricioli and Varsori, The
Seas as Europe’s External Borders and Their Role in Shaping a European Iden-
tity.
Brogi, Alessandro. “Ike and Italy: The Eisenhower Administration and Italy’s ‘Neo-
Atlanticist’ Agenda,” Journal of Cold War Studies, 2, Spring 2002.
Brown, L. Carl. “France and the Arabs: An Overview,” in Brown, and Gordon,
Franco-Arab Encounters.
Brunetau, Bernard. “The Construction of Europe and the Concept of the Nation
State,” Contemporary European History, Vol. 9 (2000), 2.
Burr, William. “Marshall Planners and the Politics of Empire: The United States and
French Financial Policy, 1948,” Diplomatic History, 1991, 4.
Buton, Philippe. “Le Parti communiste français à la Libération, stratégie et implan-
tation,” L’Information Historique, 51 (1989).
Buton, Philippe. “Le Pacifisme Communiste de la seconde guerre mondiale à la
guerre froide,” in Vaïsse Le Pacifisme en Europe.
Calandri, Elena. “The Neglected Flank? NATO and the Mediterranean,
1949–1956,” in Heuser, and O’Neill, Securing Peace in Europe.
Canavero, Alfredo. “La politica estera di un ministro degli Interni: Scelba, Piccioni,
Martino, e la politica estera italiana,” Storia delle Relazioni Internazionali, VI
(1990), 1.
Canavero, Alfredo. “Nenni, I socialisti italiani e la politica estera,” in Di Nolfo,
Rainero, and Vigezzi, L’Italia e la politica di potenza . . . 1945–1950.
Chafer, Anthony, and Brian Jenkins, “France: From the Cold War to the New
World Order,” in Jenkins, and Sofos, Nation and Identity in Contemporary
Europe.
296 Bibliography
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’50,” in Di Nolfo, Rainero, and Vigezzi, L’Italia e la politica di potenza . . .
1950–1960.
Colas, Dominique. “Logique et symbolique de la nation chez de Gaulle et les com-
munistes,” in Courtois, and Lazar, 50 ans d’une passion française.
Costigliola, Frank. “Tropes of Gender and Pathology in the Western Alliance,”
Diplomatic History, 1997, 2.
Costigliola, Frank. “France between the Superpowers,” in Jordan, Europe and the
Superpowers.
Costigliola, Frank. “Culture, Emotion, and the Creation of the Atlantic Identity,
1948–1952,” in Lundestad, No End to Alliance.
Courtois, Stephane. “Gaullisme et le communisme: la double résponse à la crise
d’intentité française,” in Courtois, and Lazar, 50 ans d’une passion française.
Czempiel, Ernst O. “Germany and the Third World: The Politics of Free Trade and
the Free Hand,” in Hanrieder, West German Foreign Policy: 1949–1979.
D’Attore, Pier Paolo. “ERP Aid and the Politics of Productivity in Italy during the
1950s,” Project Paper n. 15, European University Institute, Florence, 1985.
D’Attorre, Pier Paolo. “Sogno americano e mito sovietico nell’Italia contempo-
ranea,” in D’Attorre, Nemici per la pelle.
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Index
Abbas, Fehrat, 188, 232 Allied Control Commission (also,

Acheson, Dean G., 98, 101, 117, 119, Allied Commission–Italy), 33–34, 37,
133; and France’s directorate 41 n.24, 49, 54, 60, 63
proposals, 120; and German Alphand, Hervé, 125, 133, 190, 236
rearmament, 123–24, 131; and “Americanization.” See under France and
Italy’s great power claims, 194, 197 Italy, perceptions of American Society
Achilles, Theodore, 178 American Federation of Labor, 179
Adenauer, Konrad, 231, 233, 249; de Anti-Americanism (in France and Italy),
Gaulle, summits with, 234, 246; and 134–35, 139, 143, 145–46, 188,
German rearmament, 124, 126, 129; 226, 232, 263
and Saar, 126; and U.S. hegemony, ARAMCO, 205
125, 148, 155, 247 Arch of Triumph, 28
Aimaq, Jasmine, 118 Aron, Raymond, 90, 186
Alexander, Harold, 33, 36, 45 n.69 Aron, Robert, 55, 224
Algeria, 99–100, 261; Communist Atlantic Alliance. See Western Alliance;
party in, 187–88; May1958 coup, North Atlantic Treaty Organization
231, 233, 235–37; reform in, 178; Attlee, Clement, 46 n.80, 110 n.34
revolt in, 171; war in, 179–81, Auriol, Vincent, 78, 128, 211 n.9
183–85, 189, 191, 209–10, 232,
267. See also North Africa (French Baghdad Pact, 176, 184, 195, 205
colonies) Badoglio, Pietro, 19, 259; provisional
Allen, George V., 199–200 government, 19–22; recognition by
Allied Control Authority (Germany), Soviet Union, 47, 49–50, 53; and
35, 37, 261 U.S. hegemony, 20–23, 51, 193, 265
306 Index
Balkan Treaty, 152–53, 195–96, 267 Bruce, David K. E.: chief of ECA
Bandung Conference, 187, 205 mission in Paris, 93; ambassador to
Bao Dai, 128 Paris, 117, 121–23, 126, 130;
Barzini, Luigi, 1 observer at EDC interim committee,
Beaufre, André, 185 151–52; and French political
Becker, Loftus E., 286 instability, 225, 228
Belgium, 58 Brussels, Treaty of, 90, 95, 97,
Bell for Adano, A, 28 100, 132
Ben Bella, Ahmed, 179, 230 Bulgaria, 61–62
Ben-Gurion, David, 241 Bullit, William, 81
Benelux, 85, 128–29 Bunker, Ellsworth, 237
Bergson, Henri, 30 Byrnes, James, 21, 68, 83
Berlin: Blockade, 91, 93–94; and
EDC, 129 Caccia, Sir Harold, 247
Bermuda summit: (of 1953), 148, 150; Caffery, Jefferson, 14, 25–26; and
(of 1957), 186 Communist threat in France, 35,
Beuve-Méry, Hubert, 106 n.7 67–68, 81–82, 137–39; and France’s
Bevan, Aneurin, 206 Great Power status, 38, 59, 66, 100,
Bevin, Ernest, 46 n.80, 67, 88, 92 evaluates de Gaulle, 227–28; and
Bidault, Georges, 32, 66, 82, 138, 185, French political instability, 58,
224; and German rearmament, 121, 224–25
130; and European integration, Calleo, David, 10 n.2
77–78; and French Union, 148; and Camus, Albert, 176
prestige, 259; proposing three power Cavour, Count of, Camillo Benso, 48
directorates, 90, 120, 122, 148; and Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), 97,
treaty with the Soviet Union, 47, 56, 137, 143, 230
59, 63–64; and Western alliance, Cerny, Philip G., 248
89–91, 94, 265 Chaban-Delmas, Jacques, 230
Blum, Léon, 79–83, 224. See also Chamoun, Camille, 240
Blum-Byrnes agreements Chapin, Selden, 51–52
Blum-Byrnes agreements (1946), 32, Charles, Sir Noel, 45 n.69, 54
80–83, 107, n.14. See also Léon Chauvel, Jean, 57–58
Blum China, 9, 198, 271
Bogomolov, Aleksandr, 48, 51, 59, 64 Chipman, Norris, 67
Bohlen, Charles E., 75, 99; and French Chirac, Jacques, 270
diplomacy, 120, 123; and “third Churchill, Winston S., 17, 31, 36, 64,
force” (European), 103 151, 226, 247; at Bermuda summit,
Bonbright, James, 135 148; Hyde Park Declaration (on
Bonomi, Ivanoe, 53, 63–64, 70 n.22 Italy), 34; percentage deal with
Bonnet, Henri, 81, 93, 225; and Stalin, 55, 61; and Soviet recognition
decolonization, 175, 177, 183; and of Italy, 49, 52
EDC, 159 n.19; and U.S. aid, 94 Clay, Lucius D., 36
Bourguiba, Habib, 180–81, 188–89, Clayton, William, 82
196, 232 Clesse, Armand, 118
Bozo, Frederic, 227 “Cloven,” 140–41
Brands, H. W., 188 Colby, William, 143
Brosio, Manlio, 157, 247; and Colonna di Paliano, Ascanio, 20
“Mediterranean vocation,” 200, 202 Cominform, 78, 138
Index 307
Comité Français de Libération 237, 247–50, 265, 268–69; and

Nationale (CFLN), 30, 54 Yalta Conference, 17, 32
Committee of National Liberation Dejean, Maurice, 72 n.41, 187
(CLN) (Italy), 49–50, 53 Debré, Michel, 231
Congress of Industrial “Demagnetize,” 140–41
Organizations, 179 Democrazia Cristiana (Italian Christian
Constituent Assembly (Italy), 29, 52 Democrats); factions in, 237–39,
Costigliola, Frank, 224, 269 244; and “Mediterranean vocation,”
Coty, René, 230, 236 194–95; and “opening to the left,”
Council of Europe, 104 151, 205, 237–38, 243–44; and
Council of Foreign Ministers, meetings: “third force” (European), 77–78;
London (1945), 63; Moscow (1947), and Trieste dispute, 153; and U.S.
66; London (1947), 89 hegemony, 205; and U.S. support,
Croce, Benedetto, 35, 50 81–83, 142; and Western alliance,
Czechoslovakia, 52, 60; 96, 101–3
coup 89, 94 Development Authority, 242
Diefenbaker, John G., 242
Darlan, François, 30 Dien Bien Phu, 148, 171
de Beauvoir, Simone, 18 Dillon, Douglas C., 173, 186, 188–89,
De Gasperi, Alcide, 21–22, 29, 121, 191, 224, 228, 230, 237; declaration
224, 237–39, 254 n.39, 244; and in support of French Algeria,
EDC-EPC, 132, 134–35, 139–40, 178–79, 182
151, 155, 267; and “Mediterranean Di Nolfo, Ennio, 23
vocation,” 194, 196–97; and Dixon, Ben F., 195
NATO’s article 2, 133, 194; and Douglas, Lewis W., 118, 121
prestige, 259; and U.S. aid, 79–83; Dowling, Walter C., 28, 33, 208
and U.S. hegemony, 65; and Western Duclos, Jacques, 141
alliance, 95–96, 98, 101–3 Dulles, Allen W., 44 n.53, 206, 230,
de Gaulle, Charles, 1, 25–27, 31, 66, 238, 254 n.34
68, 117, 125–26, 185–86; and Dulles, John Foster, 142, 188, 195,
Algerian war, 191, 231–34, 236, 242; and EDC, 144, 151–52; and
267; compared to F. D. Roosevelt, France’s claims to Great Power
29–30, 236; compared to Fanfani, status, 148–49, 186, 226, 244–47;
238–39; and EDC, 130, 149; and and French decolonization, 172,
European integration, 233–34, 250; 181–84, 191; and French
and Fourth Republic, 16–17, 40 n.7, instability/Gaullist solution, 229,
224, 226–29, 232; on grandeur, 14, 231–33, 236; and Italy’s
16–18, 26, 39 n.2, 228, 234–35, “Mediterranean vocation,” 200–202,
245, 248–49, 259, 263, 268; and 207–8, 240–41, 243, 247; and New
Fifth Republic, 235, 249; and Look strategy, 146–47; and NATO’s
Liberation, 14–16, 237; and postwar article 2, 199; and Suez crisis, 201–2;
purges, 35; supported by U.S., 227, and Western alliance, 144–45, 156
234, 236–37, 261; and “third force,” Dunkirk, Treaty of, 64, 90
(European), 64, 77; and “Three Dunn, James C., 266; ambassador to
Power” directorate, 233, 242, Paris, 131, 145, 151, 173;
244–48, 267; treaty with the Soviet ambassador to Rome, 98, 134–35,
Union (1944), 15, 47, 54–61; and 141, 193, 237
U.S. hegemony, 15–16, 56–57, 233, Duroselle, Jean-Baptiste, 174
308 Index
East Germany, 244 in Near East, 202, 241, 243–44; and

Eccles, Marriner, 82 “Mediterranean vocation,” 204,
Economic Cooperation Administration, 238–43, 262; “opens to the left,”
84, 174 249; as prime minister and foreign
Eden, Anthony, 52, 154, 185–86 minister, 237–244 passim, 249, 254
Egypt, 176, 181, 188, 190, 194, 196, n.39, 259; and “Three Power”
199, 201–2, 240–41, 244. See also directorate, 240, 242, 246–47; and
Suez Crisis; Nasser, Gamal Abdal U.S. hegemony, 239–40, 247, 265
Eisenhower Doctrine, 186, 188, 205, Farouk, King, 175
240; Italian reactions to, 202–3, 207 Fascism (Italy), 24, 34–35, 238
Eisenhower, Dwight D., 54, 117, 148, Fifth Republic, French. See France
195; and French decolonization, 180, Fisher, William, 256 n.49
182, 189; and French instability, Fourth Republic, French. See France
230, 235–36; and European Franc Tireur, 54
integration, 133–34, 144, 147, 152, France, 52; communist subversion, risk
226; and Italy’s “Mediterranean of, 35–36, 67–68, 79, 126; compared
vocation,” 202, 205, 208, 240–42, to Italy, 26, 57–69, 78–79, 83–88,
244; Liberation of France, 14; and 101–5, 118, 143–44, 152, 155–56,
Middle East strategy, 240–42, 244; 208–10, 238, 240, 268–70;
NATO commander, 123, 134; and decolonization and imperial power
New Look strategy, 146–47, 151; status, 128, 149, 156, 171–91
and “third force,” 123–24, 147; and passim, 202, 209, 260–61; and EDC,
“Three Power” directorate, 244–45, 77, 125–131, 147–55, 260–62;
247–48. See also Eisenhower economic growth, 234, 237, 260;
Doctrine and European integration, 77–78,
Elbrick, Charles B., 233, 236 85–88, 104, 118–19, 122, 134, 155,
Ely, Paul, 130, 231 182–84, 262–64; exclusion from
Eurafrican projects, 183–84, 187, summits, 25–26, 28, 31–32, 60–61,
209, 260 176, 186, 245–48; Fifth Republic,
EURATOM, 155 234, 249; Fourth Republic, 27,
European Advisory Commission, 93,171–72, 181, 186, 227, 230–32,
31, 37 236, 249, 251 n.5; and German
European Coal and Steel Community rearmament, 122–24, 187; and
(ECSC), 117–19, 155, 263 Germany, postwar settlement of, 31,
European Defense Community, 77, 54–55, 62–67, 80, 85–86, 88–94,
117, 123–35 passim, 140–43, 100, 126, 148, 261–62; Great
145–55 passim, 183, 228 Britain, relations with, 64, 67,
European Economic Community 85–86; inclusion among Great
(EEC), 155–56, 187, 233–34 Powers, 31–32, 37–38, 119, 127–28,
European Political Community, 118, 148, 203, 261, 270; and
133–34, 155, 264 international interdependence, 6, 80,
European Recovery Program. See 102, 105, 118, 156, 183, 246, 249,
Marshall Plan 263, 267, 270; Italy, relations with,
64–65, 85, 97, 99, 121, 150, 187,
Fanfani, Amintore, 87, 198, 206, 208, 240; Liberation, 14–15, 18–19;
225, 227, 268; compared to de mission civilisatrice, 13, 29–31, 153,
Gaulle, 238–39; connection with 171, 177, 190–91; and multilateral
Mattei, 198, 239; mediation attempts aid, 182, 270; nationalism in, 6, 27,
Index 309
29, 126, 130, 141, 153, 173, 185, 91, 261; in World War II, 58. See
235, 252 n.17, 263; national identity also postwar settlement under
in, 26, 86–87, 101, 171, 268–69; various countries; West Germany
nuclear power status, 147, 154, 156, Gildea, Robert, 18
187, 233, 245, 247–48; perceptions Gilpin, Robert, 4
of American society, 26–27, 79, 145, Giraud, Henri, 30
268, 273 n.12; public opinion in, Gramsci, Antonio, 36, 136
18–19, 129–31, 225; purges, Grazzi, Umberto, 207
postwar, 34–35; pursuit of prestige, Great Britain, 25; aid to Tunisia, 180;
1–9, 17, 18, 26, 37–39, 63–66, and decolonization 174, 184–86,
79–80, 87–88, 105, 118, 153–56, 194, 196, 202; and EDC, 129, 148;
172, 209, 237, 249, 259–66, and European integration, 85–86,
268–70; requests for U.S. aid, 78–83, 110 n.34, 118–20; France, relations
127–28, 131, 134, 153, 181–82; with, 64, 67; and German
Resistance, 56; in Security Council, rearmament, 121; Germany, postwar
37–38; style of foreign policy, 1, 3–4, settlement of, 63, 88; Italy, postwar
16–17; and “third force” treatment of, 33, 70 n.15, 97; in the
(European), 77–78, 88; Third Middle East, 195; nuclear power
Republic, 224; treaty with Soviet status, 147, 156, 245; Soviet
Union, 54–59, 264; and U.S. recognition of Italy, reactions to, 49,
hegemony, 17, 48, 64–68, 77–78, 88, 54; special relationship with the
90, 102–5, 175, 264, 268, 270; and United States, 148, 176, 186,
Western alliance, 78, 88–94, 98–101, 203, 260
119, 127, 263, 270; in World War II, Greece, 52, 58, 132–33, 195–96
13–14, 30. See also Algeria; French Gronchi, Giovanni, 87, 192, 225;
Union; French Ministry of Foreign contrast with C. Luce, 198; and
Affairs; Indochina; North Africa; “Mediterranean vocation,” 200,
Three-Power Directorate 202–4, 206, 208, 239–40; and
Francis I, 48 “opening to the left,” 205–6,
Franco, Francisco, 196 238–39, 243; and U.S. hegemony,
Free, Lloyd A., 192 265; visits Washington, 198
French Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 65; Grosser, Alfred, 40 n.7, 40 n.13
and decolonization, 173, 185, 187; Gruenther, Alfred M., 235
and EDC, 127; and Italy, 99, 240;
and U.S. aid, 81, 85; and Western Hammarskjold, Dag, 202
alliance, 91, 99, 156; and WEU, 154 Hanes, John W., 145
French Union, 89, 99, 175, 183, Harper, John L., 23
190, 226 Harriman, Averell W., 58, 93
Fursdon, Eric, 118, 130 Hawtrey, Ralph, 4
Herriot, Edouard, 130
G-7 (G-8), 270–71 Herz, Martin F., 145–46, 151
Gaddis, John L., 76–77 Hickerson, John D., 76, 83, 93, 252
Gaillard, Felix, 180–81, 189, 230 n.11; favors Italy in NATO, 97–98
Gallarati Scotti, Tommaso, 113 n.61 Hitchcock, William I., 118
Garreau, Roger, 59–60 Ho Chi Minh, 177
Geneva Conference (1954), 150, 156 Hogan, Michael J., 87
Germany, 3, 6, 25, 36; postwar Hoffmann, Stanley, 87
settlement of, 37–38, 48, 54–55, 63, Holmes, Julius C., 174, 183, 190
310 Index
Hopkins, Harry, 25–26 192–210 passim, 241–43, 247,

Horne, Alistair, 191 260–64, 267; and multilateral aid,
Hughes, Emmet J., 242 196, 207–8, 241–42, 249, 263, 269;
Houghton, Amory, 180, 230, nationalism in, 6, 24, 27, 134–35,
232–35, 237 141, 146, 153, 263; national identity
Hugo, Victor, 90 in, 26, 86–87, 101, 268–69; nuclear
Hull, Cordell, 34, 51 cooperation with France, 187, 204,
Hussein, King, 241 247; peace treaty, 37, 48; perceptions
of American society, 26–27, 79, 268;
India, 9, 271 prestige as renewed democracy,
Indochina, 37, 89, 100, 119, 126–28, 20–22, 26, 34, 65, 80, 83, 133, 192,
130, 148–50, 156, 172–73, 175, 263–64; “policy of presence,” 150,
188, 261 195, 250, 264, 269; public opinion
Intermediate Range Ballistic Missiles in, 19–20, 24–25, 192, 202, 225;
(IRBM), 240, 244–45, 247 purges, postwar, 34–35; pursuit of
International Authority of the Ruhr prestige, 1–9, 21–22, 26, 37–39, 63,
(IAR), 100 66–67, 79–80, 87, 96, 105, 118, 153,
Iran, 195, 198, 205, 271. See also 155–57, 195, 209, 241, 249, 259–66,
Mattei, Enrico 268–71; recognized by Soviet Union,
Iraq, 240 48–54, 60–62, 264; requests for U.S.
Israel, 185, 199, 241, 243 aid, 78–84, 132, 134; Resistance, 24;
Istiqlal, 174–75 and Schuman Plan, 121; style of
Italian State Oil Industry (ENI), 192. foreign policy, 1, 3–4, 22–23, 241,
See also Mattei, Enrico 250; and “third force” (European),
Italy: armed neutrality proposal, 96–98; 77–78, 88; and Trieste dispute, 38,
armistice, 37–38, 41 n.24, 50; “co- 62, 67–68, 85, 100, 135, 152–53,
belligerence,” 19–21, 32, 37; colonies, 157, 195, 197, 260–62, 267; UN
settlement of, 33, 62, 67, 85, 100, membership, 34, 37, 62, 133–35,
193, 261; communist subversion, risk 156, 192, 196; and U.S. hegemony,
of, 23, 29, 35–36, 67–68, 79, 133; 19–22, 29, 48, 51, 64–68, 78, 80, 88,
compared to France, 26, 34, 57–69, 102–5, 192, 195, 197, 247, 250,
78–79, 83–88, 101–5, 118, 143–44, 264–65, 268–69; and WEU, 156–57;
152, 155–56, 194, 208–10, 238, 240, and Western alliance, 88, 95–105,
244, 268–70; economic growth, 132, 260, 262; in World War II,
191–92, 197; elections of 1948, 29, 19–20. See also Democrazia
95, 101, 137, 142; and EDC, 77, Cristiana; European Political
128, 131–135, 147, 150–55, 260; and Community; NATO, article 2
European integration, 77–78, 85–88, of; Neo-Atlanticism
118, 264, 269; France, relations with,
64–65, 85, 97, 99, 121, 150, 187, Jackson, Charles D., 142
240; Germany, relations with, 100; Japan, 3, 21, 272 n.4
and Great Powers summits, 127, 200, Jefferson, Thomas, 29
202–3, 242, 246–48, 250, 260, 270; Jenkins, Brian, 233, 252 n.17, 257
and international interdependence, 6, n.63
102, 105, 118, 156, 207, 263, 267, Jernegan, John D., 203, 208, 240, 266
270–71; and Mediterranean Pact Jessup, Philip, 123
proposals, 96–97, 196, 260; and John XXIII (Pope), 249
“Mediterranean vocation,” 172, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 92, 98
Index 311
Jordan, 240–41 MacFarlane, Mason, 51

Juin, Pierre Alfonse, 130; and MacMahon Act, 245
decolonization, 189, 212 n.14, 231; Macmillan Harold, 45 n.69, 186,
and WEU, 154 241–42
Mahoney, Daniel J., 234
Kennan, George F., 57, 59; and Maier, Charles S., 87, 272 n.4
communism in France and Italy, 137, Maisky, Ivan, 56
143, 225; and French diplomacy, Malagodi, Giovanni, 132
120, 123; and Italy in NATO, 97; Malta summit, 176
and “third force” (European), 76, Manzini, Raimondo, 202
84, 91, 94, 103, 226 Mao, Zedong, 188
Kennedy, John F., 191, 249 Marras, Efisio, 98
Khrushchev, Nikita S., 187 Marshall, George C., 89
Kirk, Alexander, 52, 54 Marshall Plan, 75–76, 78–79, 84–88,
Korea (North), 271 93, 138
Korean War, 121, 133, 193 Martino, Gaetano: and NATO’s article
Kuisel, Richard F., 86, 248, 268 2, 199; and NEACC, 200; and Suez
crisis, 201–4
Lacoste, Robert, 190, 230 Massigli, René, 50, 158 n.6, 129, 183
Lacouture, Jean, 18, 45 n.76, 228, 231 Mattei, Enrico, 192, 200, 204, 208,
La Guardia, Fiorello, 27 225, 239; oil deals, 198, 205–6, 210;
Lanaro, Silvio, 268–69 and “opening to the left,” 198,
Lange, Halvard, 199 205–6, 243
Laniel, Joseph, 147–48, 167 n.90 Matthews, H. Freeman, 172
La Pira, Giorgio, 87, 256 n.49 Mauriac, François, 18
Lebanon, 32, 64, 240–41, 245 Mayer, Daniel, 66
Le Monde, 59, 106 n.7 Mayer, René, 148, 224
Lend Lease Aid, 38 MC-48, 156
Libya, 33, 62, 193, 271. See also Italy, McCloy, John D., 119, 122–24
colonies, settlement of McGhee, George C., 197, 201
Lincoln, George A., 5 Melandri, Pierre, 227
Lodge, Henry Cabot, Jr., 190 “Mediterranean vocation.” See Italy
London Accords (1948), 90 Mendès France, Pierre, 87, 147, 266;
Long, Breckinridge, 20 and EDC, 130; favored by U.S.
Loren, Sofia, 223 officials, 230; as prime minister,
Lorillot, Henri, 231 149–50, 224; and WEU,
Lovett, Robert, 75, 154, 156
93–94, 228 Messina Conference, 155, 183
Luce, Clare Boothe: fights PCI, Middle East Command, 176, 195
142–43, 203–4, 225; Italian Middle East Defense Organization, 195
democracy, analyzed by, 198, 225; Milices Patriotiques, 56
Italian nationalism, analyzed by Military Assistance Program (to
145–46, 205; opposes Fanfani, Europe), 76, 100, 103–4; Richards
237–38, 243; praises Martino, Amendment, 151
203–4; reevaluated by DC leaders, Miller, James E., 81
153–54 Milward, Alan S., 76–77
Luce, Henry, 142, 243 Mitterand, François, 171
Lundestad, Geir, 7, 266 Moch, Jules, 122–23, 231
312 Index
Modernization Plan. 79, 81, 84–86, Nitze, Paul H., 104, 176, 266
175, 234. See also Monnet, Jean Nixon, Richard M., 223
Mohammed V, King, 179–80 Nora, Pierre, 17, 171, 235
Molotov, Vyacheslav, 49, 60–61, 63–64 North Africa (French colonies), 37,
Mollet, Guy, 178, 183, 185–89, 203, 156, 172–78, 182, 191, 193;
229–30, 232; and de Gaulle, 235; federation project, 188, 232; wooed
and prestige, 259 by United States, 179–80, 188–90.
Monnet, Jean, 17, 88, 155; analyzes de See also Algeria; Morocco; Tunisia
Gaulle, 232; Modernization Plan, North Atlantic Treaty Organization,
79–80, 260; and Pleven Plan, 76, 154; article 2 of, 133, 194, 204,
123–24; and Schuman Plan, 118 247, 260, 264; France’s withdrawals
Monroe, Marilyn, 224 from, 248–49; integration, 123;
Montand, Yves, 224 coordination with EDC, 129. See
Montini, Giovan Battista, 194 also Western Alliance
Morgenthau, Hans, 4 Norway, 94
Morgenthau, Henry, 45 n.75 Nouschi, André, 177
Morocco, 174–75, 178–79, 188, 196; NSC 68, 121, 146
bases deal with U.S., 179–80; Nye, Joseph S., Jr., 5
collaborates with FLN, 180; U.S. aid
to, 180. See also North Africa Off-Shore Procurement (OSP), 140, 225
(French colonies) Operations Coordinating Board (OCB),
Mossadegh, Mohammed, 175 142, 175, 190
Mouvement Républicain Populaire Open City, 28
(MRP), 65, 82; and EDC, 130–31; Organization for European Economic
and “third force” (European), 77–78 Cooperation (OEEC), 85–86, 96,
Murphy, Robert, 51–52, 181–82 103, 119, 193, 198, 207–8. See also
Mussolini, Benito, 4, 19–20, 24, 26, 60 Marshall Plan
Organization for Economic
Naegelen, Marcel-Edmond, 172 Cooperation and Development
Napoleon I, 13, 185 (OECD), 208, 244, 249
Napoleon, Louis (Napoleon III), 13 Organski, A. F. K., 5
Nash, Philip, 247 Ortona, Egidio, 223
Nasser, Gamal Abdal, 180, 184,
187–88, 192, 201–2, 240–44 Pacciardi, Randolfo, 101
National Liberation Front (FLN), Pach, Chester J., Jr., 103
179–81, 187–88, 205, 232. Padelford, Norman J., 5
See also Algeria Pahlavi, Reza, 205, 220 n.80
National Security Council (NSC), Palewski, Gaston, 149, 240
226, 241 Pan-Arabism, 181, 188, 241
Near East Arms Coordinating Parti Communiste Français (PCF), 54,
Committee (NEACC), 176, 200–201, 57, 67–68, 81–82,136–143, 225,
204, 209 268; and decolonization, 177, 188;
Nehru, Jawaharlal, 187 and European integration, 138–143;
Nenni, Pietro, 74 n.63, 206, 238, 243 expulsion from government, 83, 137;
Neo-Atlanticism (Italian), 204–5, 244, targeted by de Gaulle, 226–27, 235.
250, 267 See also Thorez, Maurice
Neo-Destour, 174 Partito Comunista Italiano (PCI), 23,
Neorealism, Italian, 28, 107 n.14 53, 60, 68, 95–96, 136–143, 206,
Ninkovich, Frank A., 144 225, 237, 250, 268; and European
Index 313
integration, 138–143; expulsion from Rhineland. See Germany, postwar

government, 83, 137. See also settlement under various countries
Togliatti, Palmiro Roosevelt, Franklin D., 15, 17, 20, 28,
Partito Socialista Democratico Italiano 32, 45 n.75, 54–55; assistance to
(PSDI), 206, 238 Italy, 26; compared to de Gaulle,
Partito Socialista Italiano (PSI); and 29–30, 236; and decolonization,
European integration, 77; and 174; Hyde Park Declaration (on
“opening to the left,” 192, 206, 238, Italy), 34, 53–54; Soviet deal with
243, 249. See also Nenni, Pietro France, 59; Soviet recognition of
Pearson, Lester, 199 Italy, reactions to, 51–52
Pella, Giuseppe: as prime minister, 151, Rosenberg, Julius and Ethel, 145
153; as foreign minister, 204, 207–8, Rossellini, Roberto, 28
241, 244 Roumania, 61–62
Pella Plan, 207–8, 210 Rountree, William M., 191
Pesenti, Antonio, 81 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 235
Petacci, Claretta, 20 Ruhr. See Germany, postwar settlement
Pfimlin, Pierre, 231, 235 under various countries
Pinay, Antoine, 87, 131, 141, 235 Russia, 9, 271. See also Soviet Union
Pineau, Christian, 66, 182, 187, 207 Russet, Bruce, 5
Pleven Plan. See European Defense
Community Saar. See Germany, postwar settlement
Pleven, René, 122–23, 224, 230 under various countries
Poincaré, Raymond, 48 Sakiet-Sidi-Youssef, 181, 230, 232
Point IV Program, 175, 180, 193 Sangmuah, Egya N., 188, 210 n.2
Poland, 57, 59–61, 66 Santoro, Carlo Maria, 9
Policy Planning Staff, 97 Saragat, Giuseppe, 204, 206
Potsdam Conference, 32, 38 Saud, ibn Abdul Aziz, King, 216 n.40
Potsdam Declaration (on Italy), 34, 37 Savinio, Alberto, 24
Prestige: definitions, 4–9, 21–22, 63–66, Scelba, Mario, 151, 195, 225
80, 88, 118, 172, 209, 237, 263–64, Schumacher, Kurt, 125
267, 269–71; theories on, 4–7. See Schuman Plan. See European Coal and
also under names of specific countries Steel Community
Prunas, Renato, 49–50 Schuman, Robert, 87–88, 126, 138,
Psychological Strategy Board (PSB), 224; and EDC, 128–29; and
140–44; and French colonialism, 173 European integration, 92, 117, 140;
and prestige, 259; and Western
Quai d’Orsay. See French Ministry of alliance, 99–100
Foreign Affairs Schwabe, Klaus, 257 n.65
Quaroni, Pietro, 266; and Soviet Segni, Antonio, 202, 225, 244
recognition of Italy, 54, 60–63, Section Française Internationale
65–66; and “Mediterranean Ouvrière (French Socialists) 82; and
vocation,” 197 decolonization, 177; and European
Queuille, Henri, 85 integration, 77–78, 131; and
Popular Front prospects, 227,
Ramadier, Paul, 89–90, 125, 227, 263 230–31, 254 n.34
Rassemblement du Peuple Français Sforza, Carlo, 23, 36, 50, 65, 139, 156;
(RPF), 130, 228 and decolonization, 193; and
Reynaud, Paul, 127 European integration, 85, 121; and
Rioux, Jean-Pierre, 19, 228 Western alliance, 95–96
314 Index
Sinigaglia, Oscar, 80 “Third Force” (European), 75–77, 187

Sohm, Earl, 239 Thorez, Maurice, 56, 58, 67–68, 164
Soustelle, Jacques, 230 n.58; and French prestige, 136, 139.
Soutou, Georges-Henri, 129, 154 See also Parti Communiste Français
Soviet Union, 38; anticolonial, 164 Three-Power directorate, 90, 99, 148,
n.58, 173, 190; and German 156, 181, 185, 240, 244–48, 250,
rearmament, 126, 149–150; and 260, 267, 270. See also France;
Germany, postwar settlement of 55, Bidault, Georges; de Gaulle, Charles
57, 62–64, 91; Italy, postwar Tito (Josip Broz), 49–50, 96, 138, 187,
settlement of, 62; recognition of 196, 261
Italian provisional government, 23, Togliatti, Palmiro, 49–50, 52–53, 60,
47–54, 60–62, 264; treaty with 67–68, 164 n.58; and Italian
France (1944), 47, 54–61, 264; XX prestige, 136, 139. See also Partito
CPSU Congress, 206 Comunista Italiano
Spain, 152, 196 Tournet, Henri, 234
Spofford, Charles, 123–24, 162 n.45 Trieste. See Italy
Stalin, Joseph, 28, 57; and German Tripartite Declaration (1950), 176
rearmament, 126; percentage deal Tripolitania, 62, 193
with Churchill, 55, 61–62; Truman, Harry S., 26, 32, 35, 139,
recognition of Italy, 61–62; treaty 193; aid to France, 93; and Italy in
with France (1944), 61; worshiped NATO, 97; and PCF threat, 225; and
by Italian Communists, 25. See also PSB, 140
Soviet Union Truman Doctrine, 78
State Department: and French coup in Tunisia, 174–75, 178–79, 188;
Algeria, 231; and French role in the collaborates with FLN, 180; U.S. aid
Middle East, 184; and German to, 180. See also North Africa
question, 91; and Italian nationalism, (French colonies)
134; and Italy in NATO, 98; and Turkey, 132–33, 195–96
NATO, 99, 248
Status. See Prestige Union Démocratique pour la paix et la
Stockholm Appeal, 139 Liberté, 140
Stone, Ellery W., 33, 36 Union Française. See French Union
Stettinius, Edward, 31, 58 United Nations Organization, 32, 177,
Stuttgart, 35 190–91, 241–42
Suez Canal Users Association (SCUA), United Nations Relief and Recovery
201–2 Agency (UNRRA), 38, 53, 83
Suez Crisis, 179, 184–88, 201–4, 229, United States: aid (economic, military)
238, 246 to France, 36–38, 79, 81–88, 93,
Sulzberger, Cyrus L., 243 121, 128–29, to Italy, 36–38, 53, 79,
Syria, 32, 64; U.S. intervention 81–88; communist threat in France
in, 207 and Italy, 67–68, 81–84, 94,
98,137–44, 268; and French
Tarchiani, Alberto, 23, 29, 36, 37–38, decolonization, 128, 173–80,
81, 135; and Western alliance, 97–98 188–91; and German rearmament,
Tasca, Henry J., 86, 198 121–24, 267; Germany, postwar
Taviani, Paolo Emilio, 194 settlement of, 86, 88, 100; and EDC,
Teitgen, Pierre-Henri, 89 129; and European integration,
Index 315
84–88, 103, 119–20, 150, 152, 155, Wall, Irwin M., 83, 104, 178, 210 n.2,
267; and Italian candidacy to 227, 236
NATO, 97–98, 101, 262; and Italy’s Wallace, Henry A., 82
“Mediterranean vocation,” 199–200, Werth, Alexander, 47
239, 267; perceptions of French West Germany: birth of, 90, 100; and
prestige policies, 2, 8, 25–39, 82–83, decolonization, 172, 184, 197, 203,
104, 122, 145– 46, 150, 172–74, 207; economic growth, 191–92,
189, 209–10, 227, 229, 234, 245, 272 n.4; and European integration,
261–62, 265–68, of Italian prestige 134; in NATO, 127, 154, 183, 197,
policies, 2, 8, 25–39, 82–83, 145–46, 246, 248, 250, 270; rearmament,
197, 209–10, 227, 240, 261–62, 91, 121–35 passim, 138, 146; Saar,
265–68; postwar purges in France reannexed, 153; and U.S.
and Italy, 34–36; as sole superpower, hegemony, 125–26, 260–61, 264.
271; Soviet recognition of Italy, See also Germany, postwar
reactions to, 49, 51–54, 67–69; settlement
Soviet treaty with France, reactions Western Alliance, 209; founding,
to, 57–59, 67–69; and Trieste 75–76, 88–89, 94; and de Gaulle’s
dispute, 135, 267; and Western September memorandum, 245–47,
alliance, 8, 75–76, 89, 92–94, 250; and EDC, 155; and U.S.
98–105, 144, 246–50, 262, 265–68, hegemony, 76–77, 268, 270–71. See
270–71; views of French and Italian also North Atlantic Treaty
societies, 26–31, 86–87, 225; See Organization
also NATO; Three-Power Western European Union (WEU)
Directorate; Western Alliance 154–57, 182, 226
Umberto, Lieutenant of the Realm of Western Union. See Brussels, Treaty of
Italy, 52 Weygand, Maxime, 189
Winock, Michel, 253
Vaïsse, Maurice, 185, 248, 256 n.56, n.23, 263
257 n.62 Wohlforth, William C., 5
Val d’Aosta, 32, 35 World Movement of Peace Partisans,
Valletta, Vittorio, 80 139–40
Valluy, Jean, 231
Varsori, Antonio, 118 Yalta Conference, 17, 28, 31
Vatican, 27, 194, 239 Yugoslavia, 6, 9, 49, 52, 60, 62, 132,
Vichy (regime of), 18, 26, 30, 34–35, 138, 195–96. See also Balkan Treaty;
45 n.75 Italy, and Trieste dispute
Victor Emanuel, King, 52
Vietnam, 249. See also Indochina Zeldin, Theodore, 44 n.60
Vinson, Fred, 82 Zellerbach, James D., 243
Vishinsky, Andrei, 49–51 Zhdanov, Andrei, 138
Von Brentano, Heinrich, 203, 234 Zoli, Adone, 204, 225
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALESSANDRO BROGI, educated in Italy and the United States, has pub-
lished in both countries. He teaches U.S. Foreign Relations and Interna-
tional History at Yale University, where he is also a fellow in International
Security Studies.

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A QUESTION

Turbulence in the Pacific: Japanese-U.S. Relations During World War I

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available.

Copyright © 2002 by Alessandro Brogi

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001034584

First published in 2002

Praeger Publishers, 88 Post Road West, Westport, CT 06881

Printed in the United States of America

The paper used in this book complies with the

1 Invitation and Pride 13

2 The Old Game 47

3 Mastering Interdependence? Status, the “Third Force,”

4 Mastering Interdependence? Status, Nationalism,

5 Mediterranean “Missions” 171

6 A Question of Leadership 223

This series furthers historical writing that is genuinely international in scope

ACC Allied Control Commission (in Italy)

MDAP Mutual Defense Assistance Program

Luigi Barzini, one of Italy’s best-known journalists, was a keen observer of

Defining and Redefining Prestige. The main reasons and purposes of

to minor powers as well. Norman Padelford and George Lincoln stress

Second, as a sort of “backup notion,” in case prestige did not produce

persistency of intra-European rivalries in their very act of “invitation”: pre-

America’s Management of Prestige. Naturally the manipulation

The Broader Question. These observations on reciprocal manipulation

Invitation and Pride

One of France’s most celebrated monuments is the Arc de Triomphe. A net-

other country.” However, he specified to Ambassador Caffery on May 5: “if

Continuity of Themes. An enduring myth that de Gaulle himself inau-

civilizational values tended to reflect a Manichean view likely to reinforce

Consensus? What about public opinion? Certainly, the Parisians’ enthu-

The Quest for Legitimacy. Italy’s provisional governments sought inter-

France, primarily because the provisional government could claim a very

Promoting U.S. Hegemony. In his search for rank and legitimacy,

return to the basic rules of Western democracy—the kind of pledge he was

Moral Prestige. While dreaming of great power status, Italian rulers

on their country’s “re-conversion” to democracy. Italy proved its new look

Continuity of Themes. But in here lay the main contradiction of Italian

Italy’s use of its own “tyrannical weakness “ compounded the “invitation/

Consensus? But hadn’t the Italian people in fact repudiated grandeur?

From an American perspective, particularly after Europe’s self-inflicted

instruments for a possible candidacy as great powers: a modern economy

Roosevelt dismissed de Gaulle ostensibly because the French general’s

to their political stability, as Washington soon acknowledged. This was the

Balance of Power. The issue of self-esteem became interlaced with that of

Holding Communism in Check. The need to forestall Communist sub-

role” to veto projects for a coordinated administration of the four zones,

It was through a combination of economic assistance and support for an

Consiglio dei Ministri, dipartimento per l’informazione e l’editoria, 1996,

The Old Game

In December 1944, Charles de Gaulle together with Foreign Minister

relations amounted to official recognition even without that formal seal.

Italian Schemes. Soviet designs, however, had to be assessed in conjunc-

While Bogomolov and Vishinsky continued to be cautious, soon admit-

America’s Response. Secretary of State Cordell Hull as well as President

Indeed, the political concessions of the Hyde Park Declaration—a greater

Ancien Jeu. If de Gaulle’s assumption was that traditional alliances were

the party’s organization of the Milices Patriotiques, strong in South and

a consequence of de Gaulle’s “ancien jeu,” he concluded, the United States

A “Modified” Ancien Jeu. But in order to make full sense of de Gaulle’s

after Soviet recognition of the Badoglio government, Stalin reportedly took

the German reparations.47 Ostensibly, Stalin disregarded France because it