LOOKING FOR PEACE

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 443, 27 August 1928, Page 1

LOOKING FOR PEACE

How a Treaty is Signed MAKING HISTORY IN PARIS This article is coyitributed by an editorial member of THE SL'X staff who attended the Peace Conference of Par. * with the Xew Zealand delegation in 1919, and saw the signing of the Treaty of Versailles. TO-DAY, in Paris, the Kellogg Pact to outlaw war will be signed in the Salle de l’Horloge by the plenipotentiary representatives of the leading Powers and associated nations. The ceremony will be marked with something of the traditional pomp that is characteristic of France generally and particularly of its eloquent capital on great occasions.

rpHE Salle de l’Horloge or Hall of the Clock (not the Cloak Hall as a Dunedin newspaper once interpreted it) where the American treaty for the renunciation of war will be signed, is an historic chamber in the French Foreign Office on the Quai d’ Orsay. Its fame is greater than its features. It looks out on the Seine and the glorious centre of Paris. To call it a hall is to be complimentary. It is merely a large, lofty room, not as commodious as the Council Chamber in the Auckland Town Hall.

But the Salle de l’Horloge is a hall of fate. It is the political heart of France and its beats, which influence all the diplomatic arteries of Europe and beyond, are measured by the ornate clock which gave the place its name. The ticking of time there often has registered the play of wisdom and wiles in the great game of international diplomacy. Signature and Sealing-Wax It was not to be expected that the Pact to outlaw war which may achieve with the United States what the American covenant of the League of Nations may not do without America would be given the same noble setting as that which made the signing o£ the Treaty of Versailles the greatest of all modern events. When the eager representatives of twentyseven Allied and Associated Powers and the unwilling representatives of Germany assembled in the magnificent Hall of Mirrors in the palace on a beautiful hillcrest, their purpose was to put a seal on peace and make an end of war for ever. To-day. old Allies and former enemies will inscribe their resolution and hope to prevent war. There is still a tremendous faith in signatures and sealing-wax. To-day the ceremony of outlawing war will be more subdued in expression of joy, less picturesque as a spectacle, and not quite so hysterically extravagant in idealism. There is only one point in this American treaty, and it may prove to be more penetrating and less brittle than most of the Wilsonian Fourteen Points which barbed the Treaty of Versailles. So there will be no fountains fashioning silver fleur-de-lis to mark the political creation of a new heaven and a new earth; no fleet of aircraft in an azure sky joyously pelting a tumultuous multitude with midsummer roses; and no unique procession of statesmen and soldiers in sombre and bright raiment, Princes of India in gorgeous turbans, Arabs flashing jewelled swords of Damascus, almond-eyed men from the Orient arrayed in Western dress, and hosts of happy warriors from the Seven Seas and all the continents and green isles of distant oceans. But Paris will be the same and even brighter than ever; Paris laughing in the sunshine, the sheen of chestnut folfage along the cannonlined slope of the Champs - Elysees reddening in the light of the sun westering behind the Arc de Triomphe now a monumental guard over

France’s Unknown Warrior; the glory of the Bois de Boulogne turning to russet beauty, wise and happy sippers of wines on the BoulevardT. the white domes of Sacre-Coeur above Montmartre, and shops and shops and fascinating women shopping, who will not be looking for peace. But let us slip into the Salle de FHorloge with the staid gentlemen wearing the inevitable frock coat and the conventional high hat. Immediately they will be enveloped in a graceful courtesy as friendly and as caressing as an embrace. There, about midway at the rectangular table, you may see Sir James Parr, with Auckland prosperity and confidence upon him like a decoration. He will represent this new nation and will be welcomed in many languages. It is customary to confirm the signature of each plenipotentiary with the imprint of his personal seal on wax. And all the seals are affixed to a horizon-blue ribbon which runs without a break from the first signature to the last so that the continuous chain of affirmation shall represent a perfect unity of spirit and resolve. • Seeking a Seal When it was announced at the Paris Congress that a personal seal was essential there was a flutter of consternation in the ultra-democratic camp of Dominion delegates. Statesmen like Botha. Hughes, Massey and others of their ilk had not then risen to the dignity of a family crest to use as a seal on great documents. What to do about it in so short a time for preparation? It fell-to the experience of the writer to seek an appropriate seal for the late Mr. Massey's use. What an experience and what a unique and happy solution of an embarrassing problem! The great shops wherein English was spoken could provide nothing distinctive within a fortnight. We had three daj-s only to spare. The French firms were patient, courteous and perfectly sympathetic, but quite unable to supply just the sort of seal that would serve Mr. Massey’s need. And he was becoming impatient sitting in his car while I searched scores of obscure shops like an archaeologist in a buried tomb. Finally, in a dingy diesinker's shop in the Rue Lafayette, I found in a tray of metal seals, medallions and copper curios, a soldier's tunic button in brass with a fern in relief upon it. Joy! ‘lt will have to do,” said Mr. Massey. srimlv. “It is at ' least emblematic of home.” And it had to do and did all that w'as required of it. The ferned button was stamped upon the Treaty of Ver- • sailles. It cost 2 francs 50 centimes. The franc at that time was valued at 32 to the British sovereign. Let young New Zealand work out the exact Dominion cost of sealing Mr. Massey’s signature to the greatest Treaty the world has ever known. Surely it is not necessary to refute again an Australian journalist's assertion that we r bought the button- *- seal in a pawnshop. —R.R.