Veterans around the press table comment aloud: 'Too long.' In fact, the Chamber begins to be restless. We can see that the representatives of the people are impatient to talk; but on the whole, they show model restraint. M. Briand reaches the end of his discourse without interruption, and quickly leaves the platform, amid sufficiently prolonged applause. At once, the Chamber becomes noisy and disorderly, like school boys released at

recess.

We usually say that a ministerial programme means nothing. It consists of promises; and we judge cabinets by performances. The deputies, feeling, doubtless, that the new Premier's statement was a mere formality, listened with a slightly wearied air. Everyone knows that the present Chamber strives to be different from its predecessors. Elected under a more liberal franchise, composed for the most part of men new to the game of politics, it affects a particular interest in the general welfare. It was evidently guarding against seeming to throw itself into the arms of M. Briand. That gentleman, in turn, showed by his phlegmatic indifference, that he asked of the Chamber only the confidence due every new cabinet at the outset.

Did the attitude of Parliament betoken sagacity? That is by no means certain. It suggested an affected skepticism unrelated with actual conditions. Deputies who propose to outdo their predecessors, should have more faith in themselves.

However, the new Chamber has discovered that its task is by no means light, and possibly its confidence is somewhat shaken. I should have liked to see it more responsive to the ministerial programme. That would have

M. Briand stated clearly and precisely what he proposed to do. He cannot be accused of underrating his difficulties.

Methodically, he enumerated his tasks, one by one, in the order of their importance, explaining how he proposed to deal with each: German disarmament, reparations, the Eastern question, Bolshevism, the army law, financial and economic reconstruction, social reforms, administrative reforms, resuming relations with the Holy See, domestic policies. I could not see that he left us in the dark as to his proposals on any one of these burning questions. It would have been difficult to say more than he did in such a statement. Briand is too old an orator to waste eloquence on an occasion like this. He did not try to be brilliant, in order to invite applause. He chose a dry, matter-of-fact manner of presenting his proposals, in numbered paragraphs, setting forth plainly what he had in view.

Some of his statements seemed to me of exceptional gravity. For instance, referring to Germany he said: 'We have the power; we can, and we shall, employ it, if necessary, to enforce respect for all the engagements which have been signed. But Republican France is essentially pacifist, and it seeks to induce Germany to fulfil its obligations by peaceful means. France demands its due. It is reasonable. It does not demand what is impossible.' It would be difficult to misunderstand the sense and the significance of such a solemn declaration. Germany is not to be permitted to evade its obligations. It is given notice that our policy depends on its own policy, and that we shall not hesitate to adopt severe measures if it proves impossible to

avoid them. He said further: 'Under present conditions, we shall follow the policy of our predecessors in refusing to recognize the soviet government.'

This Chamber of Deputies contains so many young men that it is particularly responsive to eloquence. It is easily moved to applaud even contradictory arguments, if they are advanced by able orators. As I have already suggested, a minister cannot secure that body's support merely by laying his programme before it. It wants to be convinced. That is why the Cabinet statement, with its intentional business-like simplicity, left the members cold and somewhat disappointed.

However, they woke up later, when the speakers warmed to the debate. There, surely, were orators enough. A dozen had registered interpellations. Some of these had the modesty to withdraw. Others talked without having anything to say.

Then M. Pressemane appeared. His specialty is making scenes and sowing discord. He implored the Chamber with vehemence, with exaggerated gestures, with alternating appeals and indignation, to witness the untold infamies of the bourgeois government. He is a speaker skilful in exciting his auditors to anger. A dangerous orator he must be, in great public mass meetings, when facing a trusting and untutored audience. He is a master of invective. Nevertheless, he wasted his efforts this time.

The man who really profited by the unsteadiness of nerves aroused by Pressemane's Socialist harangue was M. Forgeot. That gentleman is a polished orator. His voice is clear, well-modulated, and incisive. His gestures are restrained, graceful, and always significant. He does not belong to the studied, affected school of speakers. He talks without declaiming,

but with vigor and persuasion. One notes that his speeches consist of two parts: first, a lucid, luminous statement of the problem he is discussing; second, a challenge to his opponents' logic, where he does not always disdain to resort to skilful sophisms. This is his moment of triumph. He becomes animated, alert, at once elusive and aggressive, and skilful the adversary who escapes his thrusts.

This time, he was in especially good form. Realizing that the Chamber was disposed to be ill-humored, he made a speech remarkably well calculated to undermine the confidence which the Cabinet demanded. Such speeches cannot be made impromptu. Forgeot knew, beforehand, what the Premier's statement would contain. He utilized to the utmost the advantage which a man with no responsibilities invariably has over a man who has every responsibility to bear. Discussing reparations, the speaker contrasted two attitudes: that of Poincaré, who wants us to exact the last ounce of flesh possible under the Treaty of Versailles, and that of Millerand, who considers it far safer to fix a definite sum. Should we scale down our payments? He concluded by asking which plan Briand proposed to follow.

Such a combination of malice and cleverness at once captivated the Chamber, which found itself in perfect agreement with the speaker, and fancied it had always agreed with him and wanted just what he did. The orator won new support with every word he uttered. Briand seemed already to be fading into the background of the Chamber's mind.

Suddenly, the charm was broken. Forgeot contrasted Catholicism and Bolshevism, invoking the first as the eternal defender of property, the true champion of conservatism. Why not utilize this tremendous force? But

that was too audacious a conception. The enthusiasm of the Chamber chilled. Men at once comprehended that the speaker was talking like a philosopher and not like a statesman, whose business it is to maintain a sure majority in a Republican parliament. His theories were ingenuous, but were they practical? Except for a few young deputies, easily captured by fair words and new theories, the members realized at once that no cabinet could follow the speaker's proposals and survive.

That is why, in spite of the vigorous applause he received, this brilliant orator did not win the day. He was merely its poet laureate.

Night brings counsel. Briand, who thoroughly knows men, let the Chamber meditate for that period on what had been said. But that was enough. The moment the session opened the next day, he mounted the platform.

As we watched him ascend the steps to the speaker's tribune, quietly, a little heavily, slightly bowed, we all instinctively divined the incomparable mastery which this man possesses over a Parliament which can hide no secrets from his eyes.

Immediately, perfectly sure of the effect he wished to produce, he placed himself by his attitude, his voice, his thought in complete opposition to the young deputy from the Marne, who had spoken yesterday, and to whom all knew he intended to reply. Forgeot had been brilliant, aggressive, self-confident; Briand was prudent, indulgent, almost paternal. He knows that young men like dramatic situations bold solutions, but that experience counsels prudence. Without being pedantic, with the utmost good nature, he gave the Chamber a lesson in political sagacity which was not lost. First, he confessed the profound emotion he felt in the presence of the

difficulties he had to resolve. His voice, his caressing inflections, expressed that emotion convincingly. But the Premier soon dropped that attitude. When you are devoting your whole soul to the service of your country, you must show yourself stouthearted. He intended to do the job in hand; and to do that well, he must have the full confidence of the Chamber.

Therefore, in order that he might receive this confidence, he wished first to reply to the criticisms of his cabinet selections: 'A ministerial crisis — it is the seventh which I have had the honor to resolve begins and ends with men. That is to say, it affords an opportunity for a manifestation of many noble and generous sentiments. Here and there, it also may arouse sentiments which are not quite noble.' I leave you to imagine the combination of malice and good humor in these words. The Chamber laughed. It was already conquered. His manner pleased the members. The siren which had been painted as so dangerous yesterday, no longer frightened them. As he proceeded with his speech, the deputies found their sympathy growing for this veteran statesman, who explained so simply how we may do good work even with the imperfect instruments we are forced to use in this world below.

But the philosophical optimist rapidly yielded to the responsible statesman. There are boundaries which cannot be crossed without compromising the security of the country. To counsel disorder is madness. Whenever it becomes necessary to repress disorder, the Premier will do his duty.

Passing to the foreign problem, Briand explained his views in further detail. France expects the just fruits of her victory. She seeks peace, but it would be intolerable for her to be made, after all her sacrifices, the dupe

of the nation which attacked her. France can rely upon her Allies; for she has never merited their confidence more than to-day. Going to the heart. of the question, the Premier discussed the methods of obtaining reparation. The speaker of yesterday seemed to fancy that we had the choice of only two opposing methods. The Premier thought that there was at least a third; 'Not a fixed sum. It is not a good time to try that, when Germany is at its worst. But Germany is rapidly recovering, and this is to our advantage as her creditor.' The thing to do now is to protect the rights of France, with proper reservations for the future. Does that mean abandoning the Peace Treaty? Not at all. 'Imperfect as is the Treaty, it includes means of enforcement which the parties interested should not hesitate to employ.' There you have Briand's method of accommodating our policy to the facts. The Premier insisted particularly on the need of determining the sanctions which must be employed against Germany, in case that country sought to evade its obligations.

Next, the Prime Minister addressed himself to domestic problems-first of all the Vatican. He had been accused of dodging that question in his official programme. He dealt with it this time as decisively as could be asked. It had not taken him until to-day to appreciate the advantage of direct relations with the Holy See:-'During the war, I had to enter by the postern gate. I would have preferred the portal of honor.' After this, we need not be surprised if he brings all the pressure possible to bear upon the Senate to hasten its decision. However, there is a world-wide difference between the Premier's Vatican policy and that advocated by Forgeot.

Here the Premier, stretching his hand toward the Chamber, traced the

plan of a majority which it is an honor for a Republican government to possess. At his gesture, doubts vanished. They say that the present Chamber is 'conservative.' Briand, apparently, wishes to do away with that objectionable term. He stated, boldly, that we must defend our social reforms as resolutely as we defend our political liberty, for which the Republic has bled. He placed the question frankly before the Chamber. He asked it to show whether it was as loyally Republican as he; or whether it wanted to retrace its steps to the past. The enthusiastic applause which greeted the orator when he concluded was sufficient answer. The vote which followed was merely a formality.

So we can say that the Briand Cabinet starts out with a perfect understanding. The Premier has won the majority he wished. He has revealed to the Chamber not only his policy, but what is more important, himself. We are justified in hoping for fruitful coöperation between Parliament and the new ministry.

[La Vanguardia (Barcelona Clerical and Financial Daily), December 11, 1920]

QUEUE PHILOSOPHY

BY FABIÁN VIDAL

OUR good citizens of Madrid have resigned themselves to queues. Though protesting against them vigorously at first, they have come to the conclusion that they cannot be abolished. Our Spanish post-war blundering has betrayed us into this absurd system of distribution.

One night I was returning from my club at three o'clock A.M. Queues were already beginning to form before the shops at that early hour. Ragged, hard featured women wrapped in shawls, untidy, shivering

children, old men shaken by incurable coughs, a few street urchins, who were saving a place to sell to some late comer, and a very few men in mufflers, were standing guard, stoically enduring the assaults of the frigid norther. The night was one to test their endurance. A Madrid winter is not a thing to be toyed with. A pale, icy moon peered, now and then, through the breaks in the drifting clouds, as if mocking, contemptuously, the unfortunates standing in wait for a precarious loaf.

How, indeed, do these poor people manage to stand the cold?

Here's an old woman, who has brought from home a piece of mat, a brazier, and a wooden stool. Fortified with these, and with a well-worn wrap drawn around her shoulders, and an enormous kerchief over her head, she gossips with the others as she waits. Somewhat further on, three others in the queue have started a little fire and invite their neighbors to share its warmth. At the end of the line, others warm themselves by beating their arms and stamping, meanwhile singing nonsense songs at the top of their voices.

St. John's night we go abroad,
We go abroad, we go abroad,
St. John's night we go abroad,
To get what we are after.

It is not St. John's night, but December. I cannot help but admire the cheerful patience of the poor people of Madrid.

Late the next afternoon, I watched another queue in front of a tobacco shop. More men were in this line, but boys and women were still in the majority. This is explained by the fact that workingmen and petty clerks are at their places of employment. So they send some member of their family to get the little package of cigarettes which is their principal bit of self-indulgence. I chatted a moment

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with a jolly, talkative workman's wife, who was evidently a veteran at the business.

'What is it you want to know? I spend my whole life out here on the sidewalk waiting for things. This morning I was up at five to buy bread, and got my turn at half-past nine. They allowed me two small loaves. Then, I went to the oil queue. At twelve o'clock I bought half a liter, and took advantage of the opportunity to get some potatoes. Then, I went home, cooked dinner, made up the beds, and swept and dusted things a bit, and came down here. I have been waiting, now, two hours. I fancy in two hours more I'll be able to get a package of cigarettes for my husband.'

And this thing goes on, day after day. I have seen queues in Paris and London. I have seen them likewise in Rome. These governments had introduced rationing in the public interest. There was a real lack of food and fuel. Only the authorities could provide these. People said: 'It's war,' and thought of the soldiers at the front of brothers and sons who were suffering incomparably worse hardships.

In

But in Spain, there is no sane reason for these absurd conditions no excuse for the chronic state of conflict between capital and labor. Most of our strikes are made by self-seeking, ambitious, local labor dictators. addition, our transportation system is out of joint. Added to that, our local governments make lamentable blunders. These things cause artificial scarcity, which drives our consumers to despair.

I do not know what the queues are like in other parts of Spain; but in Madrid they are a constant demonstration of the inexhaustible good nature of our people. When I watch them, I say to myself: 'How can they call a nation such as ours difficult to govern?'