First World War Centennial

XX

AT LAWYERS' LUNCHEON AT THE BILTMORE HOTEL

friday, may 11th

My Dear Brethren:

AS your president, Mr. Wickersham, has just said, we have been received since land­ing on American soil by governors of states, mayors of your largest cities; we have re­ceived from them the most cordial welcome, to say nothing of the welcome which we met in the streets of the cities from the entire popu­lation. And yet I must say that, however great the swelling pride which overflows my heart may be, it would not be complete had I been un­able to receive, through stress of other engage­ments, the amiable and gracious invitation which you addressed to me while I was still in Washing­ton.

It seems to me that something would have been lacking in my life, in my career, if in passing through this great city of New York, where nearly six thousand of my brethren work and are the honour of the bar of the United States, I had not been accorded the honour of meeting them, of hearing their authorized representatives, and of shaking their loyal hands. And just now your president, in enumerating the titles, to which I owe the inestimable honour of being received to­day as your guest, was careful to recall, and in this I agree with him, the title which is the highest. Yes, indeed, for twenty-five years I have been engaged in politics; and far be it from me to pass a disdainful judgment on political activities, for I received, while still young, from French Democ­racy, without meriting it, every favour and every smile of fortune. Yes, indeed, it is not I who can forget that for nearly twenty-five years 1 have had the honour to be one of its elect, and that for more than ten years I have had the honour of being admitted to the Councils of our Government. I cannot forget any of the stages which I have passed through, either as Minister of Works, as Minister of Public Instruction, as President of the Council, or as Minister of Foreign Affairs, or as Minister of Justice. Allow me to tell you what I have so often repeated to my French compatriots; the title which I hold in the highest esteem, which stirs my heart most, which more than all appeals to my soul, is your title, is mine, is the one which we have conquered by the joy of work; it is the title of Advocate at the Parisian Bar. It is to it that I owe what you owe to yours, advo­cates of the Bar of New York, the proud and sub­stantial independence which assures a tranquil life in the midst of storms. It is to it that I owe what you owe to your profession: the honour of bringing before the courts and before justice the grievances and claims of litigants. Oh, I know very well by how many detractors, perhaps in America, at any rate in France, our profession is surrounded. And yet I maintain that there is no prouder or more noble profession. We are not only lawyers, who have studied the law in its text and given ourselves up to the abstract play of logic on the day when we were admitted to plead before the courts. No: there is no greater or more noble mission than ours. We receive in our offices suffering fellow-beings, who bring to us, their lawyers, transformed into confidants and confessors, their sentiments and their interests. During nights and days of work we endeavour to rise to the height of our mission by preparing for the court and presenting to it the supreme arguments of the cause we believe just. And while the magistrates deliberate, anxiety fills our brain; anguish our hearts. We constantly ask ourselves if we have really fulfilled our high mission; for that mission is not merely to defend the individual. How many times in our career have we not been confronted with greater perils? That which constitutes the nobility of our task is that, when we have taken up a cause which we have found just, we defend it against the ignor­ance of the masses, against popular passion, and against the tyranny of the mighty. Above all men, the lawyer is he who can maintain in the face of popular clamour the spirit of justice and truth. His is not only a private mission. We are not merely professional men attached to our offices, in our place of residence. I dare to say, without lack of respect for the illustrious magistrates who are gathered here, and whom I thank for their presence, which is an honour to the bar of New York and the Parisian bar—I dare say that the magistracy itself, whatever may be its knowledge, whatever its ability, whatever may be the con­scientiousness with which it studies matters, the skill which it has attained by virtue of its long-pursued studies, the magistracy itself, in truth, could not fulfil its high mission if, beside it, we did not fulfil another.

What is it that constitutes the courage of the magistrate, his independence; what is it, after deliberation, which causes him to feel the serenity of the judge when he has pronounced sentence? It is because he has heard the lawyers; it is because such and such a lawyer has laid the truth at the feet of justice; it is because he has not the right to consider more than the lawyers have told him, and that, after all, if the lawyer has not risen to the height of his mission, the responsibility is not the judge's. So that to the social mission of the judge, who expounds the law, is added the social mission of the lawyer, who enables the judge to perceive the truth amid the complexities of a conflict, amid all the difficulties of a suit, in the minute analysis of all the causes raised by a pro­ceeding.

Herein lies the grandeur of our rôle, and that explains to you, brethren of New York, why the French democracy has so often called upon the bar of France, asking its aid in the demo­cratic councils of the Chamber, of the Senate, or in the Councils of the Government. The docu­mentary evidence we bring, as we have just said, is no longer that of private citizens, but that of all France; and with it we bring our professional virtues, our love of truth, our love of justice, the patient interpretation of texts, our earnest desire to transmit to the minds of those who surround us the knowledge which we ourselves have been able to acquire.

Permit me, then, to thank you for your presence in this hall, for this immense audience which hears me, to whom I can say that never more than to-day have I so much regretted my inability to speak your beautiful language, in order that I might express to you with the clearness and pre­cision which your language affords, the sentiments which fill my heart.

Let me say, however, that to have been received by you will be one of the most cherished memories of my life. And let me add that I shall not leave this hall filled with exaggerated pride or with ex­cessive vanity. Indeed, although this opportu­nity enables you to address your eulogies to me, I do not apply them to myself; but to the great judicial family to which, for thirty years, I have belonged, to the Parisian bar. And from this platform I may be allowed to review my past, to recall from the distant past, when I was still young, those difficult stages of my hard career, that bitterness which young lawyers in hours of dis­couragement, which you, also, have known, when, in spite of talent, in spite of hard work, in spite of daily effort, it seems that a reputation is unattain­able, and that one is doomed to failure.

Allow me to look back into this struggling career in which I was accompanied and encouraged by all my masters, some of whom have passed away, and whose memory I salute. And permit me to turn again to Mr. Guthrie, who just now rendered homage to the Parisian bar, of which I am a mem­ber. Ah, yes, this Parisian bar, as well as that of all France, is peopled with young men who de­voted their hearts to the future. Before them a great career lay open. They were satisfied to work peaceably in their study for the purpose of attain­ing fortune, either great or small; in any case, to make their lives a credit to them. They were quietly working there in the month of July, 1914, and the summer, with its bright, clear days, after a year of work, called them to their vacations. Then was heard the call to arms. The first cannon shot resounded. The tragic hour in our history had come. The horizon became suddenly dark­ened and was zigzagged by the flashes of the tragic struggle, and all these young men, doffing the lawyer's robe, seizing arms, left to join the colours, to rejoin their regiments. And you were right just now, my dear comrade, in rendering homage, not only to the lawyers, but to all those men of the liberal professions who, in France, joined the col­ours, in company with peasants and working men. Yes, it was an admirable example of national unity and sacred union which glorious France offered the world. Not a man, whatever his rank, whether he wears the apron of the working man or the blouse of the peasant, whether he wears the robe of the magistrate or that of the lawyer, not a man, whether rich or poor, failed in his duty. And at the same hour, on the same day, all bowing their heads to the level of the bloody trenches, all together forming the democratic army, the great army of citizens all went together, to represent France before the enemy. But what am I saying? My words are untrue. I lessen their role; I lessen their mission. They did not represent France alone. They felt they were bound to our national history by more than one tie. The soldiers of 1914, doubtless, were the soldiers of 1914. They defended our territory, our invaded land. That they did; but can you believe that discipline, that the apprehension of danger, can you believe that the orders given by our officers to our soldiers, sufficed to give birth to the heroism they dis­played? No. What caused the army to line up was that it was an army of citizens as well as of soldiers; it was because in reviewing the past it saw a past filled with glory; it was because it did not wish to be unworthy of its great ancestors who suffered and fought on French soil; in a word, our national army knew that it was defending the principles of justice and humanity to which you have rendered so deserved an homage. And that is what, in the towns I have passed through, how­ever feeble my voice may be, in the midst of im­mense throngs gathered before me, that is what I have said. My words came from the depths of my heart You were right, my dear brother, my illustrious brother, illustrious judge of the Su­preme Court, you were right to say that we had finally found the means of appealing directly to the heart of America. And do you not think that I was unaware of that? Do you imagine that I have not felt that my words penetrated the souls of those who surrounded me? Do you imagine that an orator of our profession could speak effi­ciently through habit alone, by his individual thought, without feeling consciences and hearts stirred around him? Yes, it is because I felt in you a heart that beat with mine, because my feel­ings corresponded with yours, because my emotion rose to the height of yours, because yours rose to the height of mine, that we understood one another and that in spite of the difference in language which expresses the soul, we clearly saw one soul, the same, the same in France as in America.

Your attitude to-day, like the attitude which I have already spoken of, has been outlined by Mr. Hughes. He said, and I repeat it; It is not an abstract greeting which the French Mission has brought to America. No; we are not here merely to exchange expressions of international friendship; we have not come merely for the purpose of shak­ing hands with you; we have not come here to salute you; nor to become intoxicated by the clamorous acclamations which greet us in your streets. We have come here to reach your souls, to reach your hearts. Yes, this I say, we have come, however unworthy we may be of our mission, to show you the great soul of wounded France, of suffering France, of eternal France. All the orators who have preceded me upon this platform have accorded us too much praise to permit me, with modesty, to attempt to surpass your eulogy. You have shown the French isolated at the be­ginning of the war, sleeping in muddy and bloody trenches, fighting night and day, constantly, not only for themselves, but for humanity. You have looked upon the French Army as the van­guard of all the armies of free men. Yes, indeed, yours are true words. For the last three years we have been fighting for liberty; we are upholding in the breeze under shot and shell the banner of universal democracy. May free men now rise and come to our side! For the honour of humanity let us not be alone in this fight. Come to us, American brothers, whose hearts have been riveted to ours ever since Lafayette with his French sol­diers landed upon your soil and lent the aid of his arms to American independence. It is not for France; it is not for you; it is not for England; it is not for Russia; no, it is not for the nations; it is for the whole world; it is for all humanity.

And Mr. Hughes has just truly said that he could not conceive the existence of a country without international law. In truth, it would be a mere jungle in which there would be neither laws nor judges, and where he who entered it might at each step risk assassination. And I say to you; what avail your peaceful studies and ours, what avails it to open the files of our clients, what avails it to invent codes for the determination of individual conflicts? What avails it to plead individual causes before judges, if the great cause of humanity is not gained by our arms, by our soldiers?

Then, let us close our brief-cases. Let us turn from the study of the law, so long as human right has not obtained the satisfaction to which it is entitled. And since, in the history of the world, no progress can be initiated unless it is born in pain, since human and eternal right can only prevail after immense hecatombs of the dead have been piled up around it, let us tender our pious homage to those who have fallen for the holy cause, and create in ourselves a heart of iron, a heart inaccessible to fear and sorrow; let us con­tinue our road to the end, to the end of the war, to the victory of justice and democracy.