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NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW

MARCH-APRIL-MAY, 1926

ARISTIDES THE SECOND

BRIAND AS PEACEMAKER OF EUROPE

BY THE EDITOR

THE members of the ill-omened Supreme Council assembled at the Quai d'Orsay on the left bank of the River Seine on the morning of a hot day in August, 1921. Immediately following the conventional greetings, promptly on the hour designated, at the instigation of the punctilious Curzon of Kedleston, the Rt. Hon. David Lloyd George, Prime Minister of England, chatting, laughing and twiddling his eyeglasses, led the way into the beautiful historic chamber of the palace, and the representatives took their places.

At the right of the President's chair sat Mr. Lloyd George himself, clad in a new morning suit, his abundant hair freshly trimmed and slightly tousled for the occasion; next to him the massive noble Lord, last of the small band of aristocrats who for so many years constituted the "ruling class" of England, stiff in his concealed steel braces, in a splendid frock coat of former days; and on his right the impressively gigantic Ambassador Harding, scion of the same stock as our own beloved President as of the time. At the left were M. Loucheur, ablest and richest of French financiers, immaculately attired; the great Marshal Foch in a glittering new uniform, and an alert, keen-visaged little General, also in blue and gold, whose name we must apologize for having forgotten.

BRIEF BIOGRAPHIES I.

Copyright, 1926, by North American Review Corporation. All rights reserved.
1

VOL. CCXXIII.-NO. 830

Flanking the British on the right were the ponderous Signor Bonomi, Prime Minister of Italy, his slightly bowed and very spare Foreign Secretary, the Marquess della Farretta, indubitably aristocratic and consciously superior, looking for all the world like the lamented Wayne Mac Veagh, and beyond them the Japanese-Viscount Ishii, who tied up our former Secretary Lansing in a knotty treaty while Ambassador in Washington, and Baron Hayashi, accomplished and trustworthy, brought over from London; at the left, the American representative and the Belgians-M. Jasper, agile in mind and body, and M. Theunis, taciturn and capable, as was recently noted in Washington, in matters pertaining to what Mr. George F. Baker, the Elder, calls "interest money". All were in raiment spick and span.

Suddenly the buzz of conversation ceased at the sound of a lithe, yet shambling, step across the dais, and Aristide Briand, for the seventh time Premier of France, in a wrinkled sack coat and baggy trousers, bowing easily and pleasantly, sank somewhat heavily into the President's chair. Many curious eyes rested and lingered upon his mobile countenance while, for several long seconds, he scanned meditatively the interesting diversity of faces confronting him. He looked like a brigand, but when presently he spoke it was with the voice of an angel. Simply and melodiously, in astonishingly few words, he set forth the purposes of the meeting; then, turning his head to the right, he nodded with friendly graciousness to the Prime Minister of England, leaned indolently back in his chair and half closed the lids of his eyes.

Not so much as a flicker relieved the impassiveness of M. Briand's countenance while Mr. Lloyd George was voicing ardent appreciation of the Premier's welcoming words, but the instant the great little Welshman, after pausing obviously for effect, declared with impressive solemnity that the occasion was one of the gravest, if not indeed actually the most momentous, in the history of the Council, the lids rose and an odd ray of light flashed from the expressive dark eyes. It was hardly a gleam, but rather the merest glint, of amusement, passing almost too quickly to be caught and quite unverified by lips hidden behind. a carefully stroked moustache. And yet to at least one painstaking

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