XI
AT ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI
SUNDAY, MAY 6TH
Ladies and Gentlemen:
I WISH my voice were powerful enough, and I wish my words could be expressed in your own language, so clear and ringing, so that they might reach across this hall and at the same time find a way to your hearts. But still, for only a few minutes, allow me to voice to-night, not only in my name, but in all my countrymen's name, to whom you have given such a hearty welcome, a welcome so worthy of France, the feelings of emotion and pride which are swelling up in our souls.
We are happy to find ourselves in this great city of St. Louis. Amidst your welcome, we shall not forget that if to-day living men stand up to escort us, we also find here the shades of our ancestors, of the first Frenchmen who found themselves in this city. We are happy to meet here people of all races, merged into the very heart of the fatherland, merged into the life of this city, and we know that, whoever they may be, they remain unflinchingly faithful to their American fatherland in this vast conflict, faithful to the country of which, first of all, they are sons.
And I am also happy, for my part, to speak here under the auspices of Mr. Long, our friend, your representative, and the descendant of that illustrious family, one of whom has a statue on one of your squares. I am happy to greet the venerable and distinguished mother of the Assistant Secretary of the Department of State, who, ever since we landed on American soil, has stretched out to us brotherly hands, and in whose heart we feel the love he bears to France, our motherland.
Here, ladies and gentlemen, you have not lost the memory of the great historical event which took place here a few months ago. It is in this hall, where you now sit, that was held the Democratic Convention which nominated as its Presidential candidate your illustrious fellow countryman. President Wilson. At that time his own party, and you, ladies, and you also, citizens, you did not realize that war was so near at hand: you were hoping you might long enjoy the blessings of peace, and at that very moment you were going through the same drama that we, the French people, went through three years ago. France, generous and pacific France, who had made supreme sacrifices for the peace of the world, who turned toward humanity with feelings of love, who had one thought only: to bring forth liberty for all nations,—this very same France was attacked, and then she rose for the defence of her honour and of her independence.
For nearly three years, with her faithful allies, but, at the start of the conflict, almost alone, she has been struggling breast against breast, hand against hand, weapon against weapon. For close upon three years, in the deep trenches, the sons of France held in check the enemies who were striving to invade her: for close upon three years, immortal France, faithful at all times to herself, preserving her sacred image pure through all storms, the France of to-day, worthy of the France of the past, raises the flag which is torn by shot and shell, but which is yet held aloft by the valiant hands of her soldiers.
And, a few minutes ago, in that touching ceremony, touching as are all those earnest and solemn ceremonies in which soldiers speak a plain and laconic language, but a language which comes from the depth of their hearts, when, in the name of the Fifth Regiment of St. Louis, one of your officers handed to Marshal J off re the flag which he at once returned with a few earnest words, it seemed to me that I was witnessing a spectacle comparable to that which I witnessed on the soil of France. How often have we seen our Generals hand over flags to our children: how often have we seen our children leave for the hell of the fighting line, their heads erect, their hearts full of a virile joy, for they knew they were defending their motherland. All of them, they kept their eyes fixed on the flag, on the flag which is the symbol of liberty and justice.
And, just as we were able to preserve the flag from any stain, just as our children would rather die where they stood than permit that sacred flag to fall to the ground, just as we realized that it was the soul of the motherland that was being carried forward in the folds of the tricolour flag; in the same way—because all people are one in that—it is the soul of the American fatherland which shines radiant through the Stars of the American Flag, and Mr. Mayor was right when he said that already it is bringing us the promise of final victory. To-morrow that flag will be waved on the battlefields. To-morrow it will also know the glory of conflict. Oh, it was never meant to sleep in peace in a hall, to be placed over a monument and to feel only the gentle breath of a pacific wind. Because it was the symbol of a free fatherland, it was meant to face the risks of the battlefields, and to return in glory, so that you may keep it in a temple high enough and sacred enough to render it the homage which is due to it. Au revoir, then, Soldiers of the Fifth Regiment, sons of the American fatherland, you who tomorrow, clothed in warlike uniform, will bring to the battlefield all the courage which you have shown for one hundred and forty years. Au revoir, soldiers of the American fatherland. Perhaps you will meet over there across the Atlantic Ocean, the sons of the French motherland, the sons of the Allies. All together, you will march to the fight. And why will you march to the fight? Is it in order to rend others, is it to conquer territory, is it to wrench away with robber hands, a province or a city? No, No. It is not thus we wage war; we wage war for justice, for universal democracy, for right, in order that autocracy may perish, in order that at last free men may draw free breath in the full enjoyment of peace and in the pursuit of their labours.