ent fight for liberty and civilization by those Americans who
remember that when we fought for our liberty France was not neutral, but
sent us Lafayette and Rochambeau, ships and soldiers. It is a message
of thanks from President Poincare to those Americans who found it less
easy to be neutral than to be grateful.

It was my good fortune to be presented by Paul Benazet, a close personal
friend of the President, and both an officer of the army and a deputy.
As a deputy before the war he helped largely in passing the bills that
called for three years of military service and for heavier artillery. As
an officer he won the Legion of Honor and the Cross of War. Besides
being a brilliant writer, M. Benazet is also an accomplished linguist,
and as President Poincare does not express himself readily in English,
and as my French is better suited to restaurants than palaces, he acted
as our interpreter.

The arrival of important visitors, M. Cambon, the former ambassador to
the United States, and the new prime minister, M. Briand, delayed our
reception, and while we waited we were escorted through the official
rooms of the Elysee. It was a half-hour of most fascinating interest,
not only because the vast salons were filled with what, in art, is most
beautiful, but because we were brought back to the ghosts of other days.

What we actually saw were the best of Gobelin tapestries, the best of
Sevres china, the best of mural paintings. We walked on silken carpets,
bearing the fleur-de-lis. We sat on sofas of embroidery as fine as an
engraving and as rich in color as a painting by Morland. The bright
autumn sunshine illuminated the ormulu brass of the First Empire, gilt
eagles, crowns, cupids, and the only letter of the alphabet that always
suggests one name.

Those which we brought back to the rooms in which once they lived,
planned, and plotted were the ghosts of Mme. de Pompadour, Louis XVI,
Murat, Napoleon I, and Napoleon III. We could imagine the first Emperor
standing with his hands clasped behind him in front of the marble
fireplace, his figure reflected in the full-length mirrors, his
features in gold looking down at him from the walls and ceilings. We
intruded even into the little room opening on the rose garden, where
for hours he would pace the floor.

But, perhaps, what was of greatest interest was the remarkable
adjustment of these surroundings, royal and imperial, to the simple and
dignified needs of a republic.