ing to the old methods of fifty and even a hundred years ago. Experts and technicians were no doubt consulted upon the matter, but in addition to the fact that many were chosen on purely political grounds, without regard to their professional capacities, their advice was often discarded when dealing with questions of the most vital interest to the world at large. The most important decisions were often made by the statesmen themselves, who were ill fitted, both by temperament and training, to deal with the intricate problems they had to solve.

Clemenceau is a great writer and in his own way, a great speaker. Both his style and eloquence bear the imprint of his peculiarly combative temperament.

By far his best articles were written in the heat of controversy, during the Dreyfus affair, for instance, when dealing with home affairs; in the Franco-German crises, when dealing with foreign ones.

He was one of the men who, during the Dreyfus affair, contributed most towards the final triumph of justice and truth, throwing himself body and soul into the fray.

For years he was always on the war-path, always ready to attack, alternately aiming terrible blows, now to the reactionary "Right," and, now to the socialist "Left."

The same is true of his oratorical powers. He cannot control himself, but must carry all before him, and grapple with his enemy. Always he must fight someone, or demolish something.

Humor and wit are favorite weapons of his. He is a past-master in the use of both. His witty sallies and sayings are always made on the spur of the moment, and pass into proverbs. They are terrible thrusts, often ferocious, often cynical.

The witty humorous side of his character is very pronounced. It is what adds so much spice to his conversation, so much charm to his manner.

When one studies the lives of French Statesmen throughout the centuries, one notices that they may be divided into two distinct categories. On the one hand the men who used to be known as the "Legists," in other words, men of juridical tendencies and training; on the other, the men of action and fighting instinct.

Poincaré admirably illustrates the first type of man; no one could better represent the second than Clemenceau.

It would be difficult indeed to find two men more diametrically opposed, whether in mind, habits or temperament.

The first is cold, even of freezing aspect, precise, fastidious and dry. He never leaves anything to chance. When he undertakes to do a thing, he studies it; compiles volumes about the matter, piling up notes more often than not, all done in his own hand-writing.

Those are the qualities, the methods of work, of lawyers who have a perfect passion for accumulating written documents, drawing all their arguments from them, and never formulating an assertion unless able immediately to produce the written proof thereof.

Clemenceau has, on the contrary, the most supreme contempt for the lawyer's written documents, arguments, and methods. He looks upon their jargon as perfectly useless, if not dangerous. For him nothing is of any account save mankind and life, the essential point being to remain in close touch with both. What is the use of burdening oneself with piles of documents that only serve to complicate matters without really helping to find a solution for them? One must rise above such trivial things, such mere detail, and view matters from a higher plane, and when difficulties arise, settle them man to man, after interviewing the chief person concerned.

That was Clemenceau's method during the Peace Congress. It was likewise Lloyd George's, who also professes to share the former's horror for bundles of papers and documents.

That was one of the reasons why, in spite of inevitable friction and discussion, these two men get on so well together. They have striking resemblances of character. Both have the same spontaneity, are quick and even impetuous. Neither is given to being fastidious nor heeding formalities. Both go straight for the obstacle, trying to overcome it after their own fashion, discarding all else. That disregard for documentation and notes was not without causing serious inconvenience. It was responsible for irresolution, forgetfulness and much disorder. For example, no minutes, or official reports were kept of the many meetings of the Council of Five (Clemenceau, Lloyd George, Wilson, the Italian and Japanese representatives) where the gravest interests of the world were settled. Which means that there remains no trace of them now. It was Penelope's web all over again, the work done the day before often running the risk of being all undone the next day!

A man like Poincaré has a distinct horror for such methods, or rather the lack of them. That is why he could never get on with Lloyd George. No sooner did he come into power than he made it clear that he intended substituting an exchange of notes, the traditional procedure of Diplomacy, to these erratic conferences that periodically took place in France, England and Italy. That simple proposal provoked Lloyd

George's anger, for he detests anything in the shape of a note, and still more anything resembling a Diplomat.

Poincaré, who is above all, a Jurist, has an inborn respect for all that is formal, precise, and constitutional.

As President of the Republic during the war, he often deeply deplored the strict limitations of his powers as Head of the Nation, bound by the tradition of French Law, that prevents any encroaching of the President upon the prerogatives of the all-powerful Cabinet. He deplored it, but accepted it, not as has been unjustly said, through weakness of character, but simply because he did not think it right to act otherwise.

The Law for him is the Law. It is a sacred obligation. The Head of the State like other citizens, even more so than others, ought to respect it.

It must be frankly admitted that a man like Clemenceau would not let any such scruples embarrass him. He would have swept them aside; taking the liberty of actually wielding a power that it was not his legally to do. He showed that plainly when he had Caillaux imprisoned.

Public opinion, that had during the war felt the necessity for a strong government, would most certainly have let him do as he wished.