First World War Centennial

XVIII

AT THE CITY HALL, NEW YORK CITY

wednesday, may 9th

Gentlemen:

AT last, then, we have reached this great city whose splendours had already been described to us and irresistibly attracted us. In my own name, and in the name of my fellow countrymen, I am compelled to admit that in contrast with what usually happens in life, the reality far exceeds our expectations.

An eminent statesman, Mr. Choate, formerly your Ambassador in foreign lands, whose presence I am happy to greet here, has just said that he could find no proper language to express what America owes to France. If you, who have ex­tended so marvellous a welcome to us, can find no fit words, how can I, who with my fellow coun­trymen have received this welcome, ever hope to adequately express our gratitude for the magnifi­cent reception we have met?

We are at last arrived in this City Hall where Mayor Mitchel has received us with such charming courtesy, where in the name of the great city which he governs, he has been kind enough to ad­dress to us words, as grave as they were gracious; they touched at once our hearts and our minds. I thank him for having introduced us to the govern­ing body of this city to which I bow, to the senior General, to the General commanding the troops of the east, to the Admiral commanding the fleet at New York. And not without intention have you gathered in this City Hall, not only citizens and the members of the municipality, but also soldiers, army and navy commanders; thus you show the hour has come not for thought alone, but for action.

The efficiency of your magnificent administra­tion was known to us even before we thought of visiting this wonderful city. We knew the great­ness of the task that lies before a municipality which governs seven millions of men, that is to say, a population some kingdoms in Europe do not possess: we knew with what vigilance it administers formidable appropriations: we knew what it has done for the workers of this city; how it has organized this vast harbour of which it is so justly proud, from which, before the war, ships bearing the tricolour left, and from which others will leave under the same flag, plowing the waves in silent majesty. Yes, we were not ignorant of all you have done, and, when we reached your shores, we gazed with admiration at the Statue of Liberty which we had so often before seen depicted and which now sheds its light over the whoie world.

Be thanked, Mr. Mayor, and you also, Mr. Choate, for the words you have said: it is not us whom you welcome: it is not to us your words were addressed. Through our persons they go to France, and we need not say that we shall faith­fully repeat them, not only because they are gra­cious words dictated by international courtesy, but because they are strong and earnest words, clear-cut and durable as medals, if I may so say. Allow me to recall a few. You were right when you reminded me of the wonderful spectacle which France has given to the world for nearly three years: you were right when you said that the blood of France is being poured out like water. Yes, from all our wounds, from the open wounds of our soldiers has flowed the pure red blood of France. It has flooded our plains, from the very spots where formerly our farmers and our peasants and labourers were living in peace. And why was peace thus broken? And why does the invader so pollute our soil? We were a peace-loving na­tion, as peace-loving as yourselves; but you have seen for yourselves whether it is easy to remain faithful to one's dreams of universal peace. You cherished such dreams; you were a great people that had only one thought, humanity and justice; we were a free democracy, and we only had one thought, universal right and humanity. But Germany brutally attacked us, and we were com­pelled to rise in arms. You have paid full homage to what France did then. At the imperious call of duty, she fights: we fight for our territory, for our wealth, for our historical traditions, in order that the invader may not advance a single step farther on our sacred soil. Ah, yes! You recognize through the darkness of the storm the sacred radiance of her rights. France fights for the world: for justice: for humanity as a whole. And it is because she fights for these things that at last the American people has risen to bring her moral and material aid.

You said just now that sympathy was not enough. We are aware of the sympathy with which for one hundred forty years you have cheered the heart of France. We know that you were neither forgetful nor ungrateful. And just as on your public squares you have erected statues of Lafayette, you carry his memory in your hearts: we knew that a great free people, proud of its traditions and of its history, venerated the memory of a foreign general who in the dark hours before the birth of its independence, brought to it the courage of the sons of France and his genius. Since the beginning of the war we have received proofs of this sympathy in innumerable and gener­ous forms: we have received a proof of your brotherly affection in all the charitable gifts which our orphans and our wounded so often have held in their hands. But sympathy was too little. Now you look your future sorrows and your duty full in the face.

I can understand you should have hesitated before so terrible a duty, for war with its dangers and its horrors, its moaning widows, its premature deaths, its cradles, where only hope should dwell, not the woe and the calamity which have fallen on them: war is a terrible thing. Yes. But could there be anything more terrible for a people than to live without honour or independence? Just as you refused to allow your national honour to be humiliated by the insolent demands and sugges­tions of Germany, you refused to submit to break your plighted word. And when looking back over the events of the last two years, you saw how the small nations were oppressed and how great peoples like Russia, England, France, Italy, rushed to the defense of the rights of mankind, in order to save amid the destruction their national honour, you felt your conscience outraged; nay, it was already outraged when German aggression struck at your brothers. And it was even then an easy matter to those who knew the evolution of the American soul to foresee what would hap­pen, and what has actually happened since. All America has risen in arms. We have just visited the Middle West: we have just visited cities whose wild enthusiasm was manifested in the joyous acclamations of their men, women and children. We found everywhere, even in these very places where we had been told it would be lacking, the virile resolution of a whole people acclaiming our passage. And we find it here again in these streets of New York, in this great city where millions of men surge like the waves of the sea.

This, then, is what was in store for us in this city. We have received a brotherly welcome which has gone deep into our hearts. You may rest assured that we shall not forget it; and from the height on which I stand, across the distance which separates us from France, allow me to transmit to the coun­try whose sons we are, the full honour of the wel­come which we have met with. It alone deserves it. It has withstood everything: it has accepted everything, except shame, except humiliation; it has submitted to everything, except to kneel be­fore an enemy who thought it would be an easy matter to vanquish it. It has fought for the rights of men and for justice. And it is not only the army of France, but the whole people of France, which is up in arms to fulfill this duty.

We shall go back to our country bringing with us a moral and material help which will exalt our countrymen's souls which will make their wills more resolute still and their hearts beat with a stronger throb. We shall bring back to our country the unforgettable memory of these wonderful moments. We shall tell our fellow-citizens that the sacred name of France rang from millions and millions of mouths, that it is impossi­ble for them to realize the love, the veneration and respect you bear to the great moral entity which is called France. We shall tell it all.

And finally let me say, though I can hardly find words to express what I feel, and moreover, after so many speeches, I have almost reached the limits of human endurance, that we are all one in France, that a sacred unity prevails everywhere, and that there are no longer any distinctions of classes, religions, or opinions. All together, we fight under the same flag, ready to perish if neces­sary, but not before saving France. To hail this unity of the French people, I can do no better than stand here side by side as I do with the repre­sentatives of our government and people and army. It is with joy I thank the French Army, in this friendly land so closely linked with France, for its heroic achievements. Our army at the beginning of the war faltered under the most terrific onset ever met by men; but it rallied, and those young boys of twenty, with shining eyes, went out to fight and die for their motherland and for man­kind.

And who was it that led them? Who was it that with steady eye and cool head organized our resistance? I need not speak his name; it is enough to mention the Marne. At the same time, our sailors, like Admiral De Grasse, Rochambeau's companions, who, as you are aware, rendered the cause of independence, in the name of France, priceless services; our vigilant sailors keen, cour­ageous, kept watch day and night on their ships; they fought in the Adriatic under Admiral Choche­prat, who stands here on my left, while the marines were fighting in the trenches at Ypres.

For our army is the whole nation; it is democracy up in arms, defending its honour and its independ­ence. Our democracy, you recognize, has given the world a wonderful example; it did not wait for the hour of peril; it organized itself in advance; it had an army commanded by competent officers. And that is why it was able to stand firm; that is why 1 now hear the people in the streets exclaim when they see such of my companions as wear a uniform: "There are the men who saved the world." Yes, the soldiers of the Marne saved the world. But had it not been for conscription, had it not been that everybody in France answered the call to arms, what would have become of our country in spite of its spirit, its valour, its courage?

Such, citizens who are listening to me, is the great and serious lesson of the war. I have already said, but I shall repeat monotonously until all under­stand, that, so long as there is in the world a quar­relsome Germany, a group of men of prey, an unscrupulous and treacherous aggressor, there can be no safety for democracies. Would they pre­serve the treasure they guard for all humanity? Let them awake, let them rise, let them arm, with the solemn purpose never to wield the sword in any service but that of right.