Front matter (continued 3)

When Von Kluck marched straight upon Paris as if to devour it and turned aside to the south-east, he gave Galliéni, as we have said, the opportunity he sought. It is, of course, wrong to assume that the Germans suddenly changed their plan; this was not so, unless they wished to fly in the face of all accepted rules of war. It is highly dangerous to neglect one's main objective, the crushing of an enemy, for a subsidiary one. And if the Germans had entered Paris without defeating the Allies, they would have committed a heavy blunder. Heaven-born commanders like Napoleon could afford to take the risks and by their genius escape; lesser men have to abide by the rules of the game. Yet the Germans, proud in their superiority of numbers and equipment, might have supposed that they could detach part of their forces to finish off the Allies and with the remainder occupy the city. After all, strategy is a matter of common sense, and the plain man can see the danger to a general of entering a city whilst his enemy is at large, powerful enough to imprison him within the walls and to cut his communications. To a strategist of Galliéni's calibre the problem was perfectly clear.

What he could not know, however, was the exact intentions of the Germans: whether they were going to attack the Home Army and simultaneously enter the city, or whether they would relinquish occupation until they had made certain of the destruction of the Allies. To meet the alternative he employed his habitual energy and resource; he was prepared for the two events. Even after the battle he took unlimited precautions, accumulating vast stocks of fodder and cattle in the Bois de Boulogne, until the famous playing-ground looked like a western cattle-ranch; he took, also, a careful census of the city, so that food might be apportioned to the population. As a military precaution he continued to construct trenches and defences of all sorts. Why did he pursue this mole-like activity of throwing up earth, since the danger was past? Galliéni had a double purpose: to reassure Parisians against the return of the Germans and to train the young soldier in the art of modern war. And so he built endless lines of trenches, until the country round Paris from Beauvais in the north to Fontainebleau in the south was scored and ribbed with excavations. In their depths he hid monstrous black cannon, ready to belch flame and disappear again into their pits. He left nothing to chance.

A year after his appointment to the Governorship, he rose to the higher plane of Minister of War. The Viviani Cabinet had quietly given way to the Briand Administration, and, with that thoroughness of which the French are capable in great crises, they began to reconstruct their military organisation. His new post gave Galliéni a vast rôle, in which his lively temper and insatiable capacity for work found full employment. His part in the battle of the Marne had become known, and enhanced his reputation. It was realised that he had acted with immense decision. Thus he became newly popular with the Parisians, and his singular features—the eyes gleaming behind the glasses as if they were unsleeping in vigilance—were reproduced everywhere. His popularity threatened to rival that of Joffre, except that Joffre appealed more subtly and invariably to the army. The new Minister, however, was more Parisian than the Generalissimo, more distinctly Latin—Parisian, also, in a certain truculence more affected than real, for Galliéni is a tender-hearted man, a little diffident outside the strict orbit of his duty. He was particularly strenuous in his dealings with the embusqué. That furtive creature, who shelters behind the flag, was brought forth from his snug post in the rear. Several hundreds found employment at the Ministry of War; thousands more were scattered up and down the country in dépôts, in stores and factories, in headquarters of commanders. Galliéni routed them out mercilessly, and sent one hundred and fifty thousand of them to their regiments. From his own ministry in the Rue St. Dominique, one chilly November morning, there emerged a melancholy column of five hundred military clerks, who wended their way to the grey lines of the trenches, abominably wet and dismal, in contrast with those comfortable Ministerial quarters. The Minister's implacability pleased both Paris and the country. Both were ready to do their duty, but needed to be told that there was perfect equality in everything and no preferential treatment. Galliéni struck pitilessly at abuses. A Territorial officer who drove his superior's car was punished as firmly as a médecin major who showed undue favour to certain of his patients and retarded their return to the Front. At times, no doubt, the Minister was guilty of exaggeration; but even this was typically French and was better than inactivity. In calling up auxiliaries (men exempted from military service because of physical defects) he overlooked the economic needs of the country; but these matters were soon put right.

He proved the foe of red tape and routine. He opened windows in his Ministry, which had been closed for years, and let in fresh air. He broke down the methods of the Circumlocution Office, doing away with useless labour, installing typewriters and feminine secretaries, the wives and daughters of those who had fallen in the field, and thus relieving many men for purely military duties. "Simpler methods," he cried to all who would hear; "I want results"; and, of course, he obtained them. Then he suppressed recommendations. To Parliament, a little dubious and jealous of its privileges, he explained that, whilst open to proper representations from every soldier, he could not listen to interested recommendations. He re-established the sovereign power of discipline, but at the same time constituted himself a court for the correction of abuse of authority. In the Chamber he conquered sympathies, though obviously uncomfortable in the atmosphere. I saw him the day after his maiden speech as Minister and congratulated him on his success. "Ah, if you only knew how much this sort of thing costs me," he said, "you would not talk of my success," and he shrugged his shoulders with a gesture half-humorous, half-ironical. The soldier pleased in the tribune because of his directness and vibrant patriotism; but when Socialists interrupted him it was plain that he chafed at the restrictions of time and place which prevented him from making suitable reply! On one occasion he was about to leave the House because of the behaviour of the Socialists, and was induced with difficulty by M. Viviani to return to his place on the Front Bench. Unconsciously he had repeated the protest of General Pau a few years before. It was unfortunate that it was not more effective, for the opposition of the Socialists arose over a question of regulating the hours of cafés in Marseilles—palpitating subject in time of a national war! The Minister was happiest when dealing with the incorporation of the 1917 class—lads of eighteen who were going to the Front. The Senate before whom he spoke appreciated his patriotic quality, and the fact that, though a disciplinarian and an energetic commander, he yet kept in his heart the sense of sacrifice of young lives given to the country.

In every department Galliéni laboured to promote efficiency and to perfect the great machine in his hands. By some he was reproached for living voluntarily in the great white light of publicity, but Galliéni knew that unless he had the public emphatically on his side his reforms could be crushed by politics. When once he had established his right to freedom of action, then no political cabal, thinking of its influence at the polls, could pull him down. It was for this reason that he took the public into his confidence, so that it might know that the best was being done that could be done. If Galliéni showed no mercy to the shirker, it was because he wished to encourage the peasant in the trenches and the mechanic in the factory by the thought that there was justice for all and favouritism for none. Much of his work was accomplished without the least blare of trumpets or the smallest paragraph in the Press. He reorganised the medical service of the army in the sense of bringing hospitals into line with authority, and suppressed the laisser-aller of the amateur and philanthropic institution.

Though not in the ordinary sense a social figure—indeed, he is the despair of hostesses—Galliéni has social graces and an artistic side to his character wanting from the more burly figure of General Joffre. Though he keeps his counsel in all professional matters, he is not naturally silent; he has a dozen interests, not exclusively military, and touches life at all points. As a young man, following his studies in the military school, he consorted with a literary set in the Latin Quarter, and the friends of his youth were Ernest Daudet and Jean Richepin. He reads and speaks several languages, believing that one should go direct to one's authorities, and his conversation is informed with study, reflection and travel. He is the type of the modern soldier: savant, philosopher and metaphysician. A wide experience and intellectual tastes have given him toleration, but he has none for incapacity and dereliction of duty. Though accused of overweening ambition, he is ambitious only to serve the country. "For an old man like myself, death on the battlefield would be a recompense," he said on a recent occasion. "I should die in defending Paris with the enthusiasm of a young lieutenant." This is the spirit which flamed from the historic poster on the walls of Paris at the moment when the Government departed to Bordeaux: "I have received a mandate to defend Paris, and I intend to fulfil it to the end...."

It was patriotism which induced him to accept the heavy succession of the Ministry of War from M. Millerand. Years before he had been offered the post, but declined it "because it meant presence in the Chamber." But the war changed everything; it was impossible to urge personal reasons when the country was at stake. But he knows so little of political labels that he makes his friends laugh in confusing one kind of Republican with another. To him they are all the same, provided they have the national interests at heart. For this reason he was equally friendly with men of such divergent tendencies as Gambetta, Jules Simon, Waldeck-Rousseau and Albert de Mun. It is because of his many-sided appeal that he inspires collaborators with peculiar devotion. Two qualities outstand: his perennial youth, represented by a figure which might be that of a young cavalry officer, though he has passed the age limit, and a scientific precision of thought which means that in everything he is clear, precise, and piercing, like a sword-blade.

Illness caused him, unfortunately, to relinquish his post at the Ministry of War in the spring of 1916, after a few months of strenuous work, but his influence remains as that of a good patriot inexorable in his country's service.

CHAPTER XI

GALLIÉNI AND HIS COLONIAL EXPERIENCE

If General Galliéni allowed his mind to take a retrospective turn in the intervals of his intensive work at the Ministry of War, there must have opened to him a dazzling prospect of colonial enterprise and adventure. And in the picture would appear a gallery of celebrities, brown, black and yellow, as well as white. The man who made the profoundest impression on his character was certainly Faidherbe, type of the serious Frenchman, whose spectacles added to the natural gravity of his face. His work as pioneer had ceased before Galliéni's had commenced, but his influence remained, powerful for good, and vitalising in its effect on the young mind. He realised that when you beat back barbarism you must attach the native to the flag and give him new objects for devotion. Before the War of 1870, he was engaged in conquering the Niger Basin. Galliéni was destined to complete that work. Like his master, as he called Faidherbe, he was inspired by the great English explorers, Mungo Park and Livingstone. The latter was discovering Lake Ngami when Galliéni was born.

Faidherbe fought in the War of 1870 as commander of the Northern Army, and won two rare successes against the Germans at Bapaume and Pont Noyelles. Then he retired to senatorial and academic honours, and Briere de L'Isle reigned in his stead as Governor of Senegal. Galliéni joined him from his peaceful garrison of the Île Reunion. There he could have lazed and luxuriated to his heart's content, for there was nothing to do, but that was not his nature. He preferred to give himself to professional studies and to fit himself for the colonial career, for which he felt already a vocation, if not a positive predestination. In Senegal the opportunity came early to display his talents both as soldier and organiser. Ahmadou, son of El Hadj Oumar, founder of a Mussulman empire in Central Africa, was endeavouring to maintain his position by terrorism. An English expedition from Gambia looked like barring the way to French expansion in the Hinterland, and the Senegal Government felt there was no time to be lost. Galliéni, now a captain, fitted out his expedition, which started from Bakel in 1880. He took with him presents to placate Ahmadou, for the object of the mission was more political than military. We have a picturesque account of it, with geographical and ethnological details and amusing sketches of negro chieftains from the pen of Galliéni himself. He showed as much erudition as enthusiasm for his work, and did credit to La Flèche, the military school where he passed his boyhood, and St. Cyr, whence he graduated, as sub-lieutenant, on the very day—July 15, 1870—when war broke out with Germany. He was a real "son of a cartridge pouch," as the phrase is, for his father, of an old Italian family, was the last commandant of a French garrison on the Spanish side of the Pyrenees.

The Captain underwent many perils in his search for Ahmadou. His column was ambushed and half its effectives killed. The remainder took refuge in a valley, and the exultant enemy crowned the heights. Captain Galliéni, with the decision that always has distinguished him, advanced with a single interpreter to parley with the foe. The latter was so impressed with his valour that it let him continue his journey. But Ahmadou was coy, and hid himself in his capital of Segou, which he did not allow the mission to approach. For seven or eight months Galliéni and his companions were practically prisoners of the irascible Sultan, who sent each morning to tell them that they would be executed that day—news that affected them less than the deprivation of salt, to which they were subjected. Finally, by much patience, Galliéni wrung a treaty from his captor, giving France access to and commercial rights over the river from its source to Timbuctoo. It was a great stroke, and bore witness to the soldier-diplomat's courage and persistence.

Whilst waiting for the good pleasure of the negro Sultan, Galliéni was not wasting time. He was taking stock of the country, of its resources and its inhabitants, particularly in view of the extension of the railway from Kayes (the capital of Senegal), which was at the basis of French policy in the Soudan. The young officer's account of his travels brought him fame in France, the Gold Medal of the Geographical Society, the red ribbon of the Legion, and the rank of Major in the army. Though Ahmadou's trickery had somewhat compromised the success of the mission, important results had been attained, notably in knowledge of the country, and in providing facilities for the line. He was to see Ahmadou again.

He had returned to Paris for a few months' repose, and then had gone to the Antilles. Yet the Soudan called him irresistibly. His work there was not complete. He was now Lieutenant-Colonel and Governor of French Soudan. Ahmadou was at his old tricks; he menaced the colony from the north, whilst new adversaries arose in Mahmadou-Lamine, who had excited the fanaticism of his followers, and had put a small community in Senegal to fire and sword; in his son Soybou, who operated on the right bank of the Senegal; and Samory, a rather famous chief, who was suspiciously active in the south. It took Colonel Galliéni two campaigns to settle the agitation. The first campaign was both military and diplomatic. In its former character it had Mahmadou and his depredations as its punitive purpose; in its latter capacity it carried proposals to Samory to grant access to the Niger over his territory. Against Mahmadou, Galliéni proceeded with great vigour. On Christmas Day, 1880, two columns converged under the walls of his stronghold Diamou, about 125 miles from Bakel. The town was taken, but the chief had flown. However, the expedition was a fine piece of organisation, and no French column had ventured hitherto as far from its base; Galliéni had sown his rear with a succession of posts.

He parleyed more than he fought. It was his principle to conciliate rather than arouse opposition by strong measures. He founded a school for hostages, and sent the sons of the chiefs there as an excellent way of extending French influence, and established "villages of liberty," where freed slaves could live in peace and till the soil, thus promoting economic development and the repopulation of devastated areas.

The second campaign, undertaken in 1887-8, was just as active as the first and just as fruitful in results. In the interval, numerous missions of a politico-geographical character were organised. Swamps were drained, bridges thrown over streams, roads traced, and posts founded. Negotiations were resumed with Ahmadou. Soybou, who had continued his violence, was captured and given a soldier's death, out of respect for his youth and personal courage, and thus, like a good Mussulman, he entered into the Paradise of Mahomet, with the indispensable tuft of hair. It was a chivalrous concession that gained for the Governor new suffrages amongst the tribesmen. Nor did the young chieftain long precede his father to the bourne of defeated rebels, for Mahmadou-Lamine, was presently trapped to his last hiding-place and killed. Galliéni completed his military measures by building a large fort to dominate the district, and then pushed the railway up to Bafoulabé, a considerable performance in a bare, desert country. Remarkable changes took place in the character of the people in a very few years. The Colonel gained more territory by persuasion and negotiation than with the sword. He added 900,000 square kilometres to the French colonial domain, and 2,600,000 to its inhabitants. He was the real creator of the French Soudanese Empire, and laid the foundations of its political and administrative organisation. The results of his experience were embodied in a brilliant book: Two Campaigns in the French Soudan.

Now he was again in France, a full Colonel, commanding a regiment in the colonial army which he joined on leaving St. Cyr in the War of 1870. With that gallant force, popularly known as the "Porpoises," he was present at the heroic defence of Bazeilles, a hamlet near Sédan, by the famous Blue Division. The Division burnt its last cartridges before yielding to the overwhelming numbers of the Germans, who made prisoners of the survivors. Amongst them was Galliéni. He was interned in Germany, just long enough to enable him to learn the language of the conquerors. It was an early proof of his intellectual alertness.

The black faces of the Senegalese must now give way, in his colonial recollections, to the Mongolian type of Indo-China. The Black Flags over-ran Tonking. They were evidently encouraged by Chinese gold. Every day the list of their crimes lengthened: posts attacked, villages laid waste. No part of the colony, even the most settled, was free from them. Galliéni received orders from the Home Government to restore order and tranquillity. The officer, now with an established colonial reputation, began a systematic study of the problem. He found that his predecessor, Colonel Pennequin, had written a work from which it appeared that the French were putting their money on the wrong horse in giving dominance to a race which was merely one of the three principal ethnical elements of the country. Injustice was created by this illogical preference, and tyranny had grown up. Colonel Galliéni re-established the balance by placing the races on a footing of equality. Then he attacked the question of the pirates. He discovered that economic conditions were partly responsible, and that brigandage flourished in particular soils. He set to work to change the temper of the people, to reorganise resources and to group and satisfy local demands for labour and self-development.

To his policy was given the name of "Spots of Oil." It happily expressed the system, which consisted in planting small posts in a region and advancing them gradually towards the interior, so that the radius was continually extended. He made instructors, agriculturists and mechanics of his white non-commissioned officers in these military posts. Both teachers and taught delighted in the arrangement, and the work proceeded rapidly. He was repeating in Asia the methods he had carried out so successfully in the Soudan. Against the pirates he acted with great energy, rounding them up with mobile columns until they were forced to yield. Upon the northern frontier leading into China he planted a triple line of block-houses linked by telephone, heliograph and pigeon post. To this day the installation remains, attesting the soundness of the defence against Chinese bands. And his friendship and understanding with Marshal Sou, the mandarin who represented the Son of Heaven as governor of Kang Tsei, was largely instrumental in stamping out piracy. The wily Oriental learned to esteem the high intelligence and energy of his white neighbour. With the capture of De Tham, the most formidable pirate, the activity of these hordes ceased, and in four years Galliéni had established peace. His doctrine had again prevailed: Draw the sword as little as possible; fight energetically when you have to fight, but whenever the occasion offers, discuss, negotiate, inspire sympathy; and, above all, civilise.

But Galliéni's chief work was done in Madagascar; it was the coping-stone of his colonial edifice. Civil administration had broken down in the island. Notwithstanding a costly expedition, French influence was practically confined to the capital, Antananarivo, and revolt had broken out behind the advancing columns. The island, indeed, was seething with insurrection, and the new Resident, or Governor as he was soon to be, discovered that the Hovas were partially responsible for this state of things. Though they were given special privileges by the French—again in defiance of ethnology—they were unworthy of them. Galliéni, acting as he had done in Tonking, treated them as he did the other sections of the population. Fearing to alarm local sentiment, he called a halt in some reforms inaugurated by his predecessor and retarded the liberation of slaves, for which both masters and servants were unprepared. He began gradually to institute reforms, and to carry out the pacification of the island. He colonised with brains, in fact. Occasionally, he had to use force and show that he intended that French suzerainty should be a reality and not a mere shadow, such as Queen Ranavalona apparently regarded it. Two Ministers paid the penalty of their conspiracy before the Queen was invited to depart and take up her residence in Algeria as the permanent guest of the Republic. These measures received the belated approval of Parliament, though it had hesitated to take the initiative.

Having got the government of the island into his hands, Galliéni proceeded to apply his system in all its completeness. His most successful experiment was the division of the island into districts, each in charge of a commandant. To these commandants he sent recommendations worthy to rank with the best efforts of Roman Proconsuls. They were penetrated with good sense, enlightenment and precision. "When you root out a nest of pirates, think of the market you must plant on the morrow," was one of his instructions. Another was: "Every advance made must be with a view to the permanent occupation of the country." Both admirably expressed his policy. He believed in markets and schools, in roads and bridges, as instruments of domination.

His fashion of securing collaboration was also crowned with success. With great care he selected his lieutenants, and then allowed them a free hand. He refused to burden his mind with details, and left himself free to reflect upon and discuss the larger issues. Thus, he summoned an authority on horse-breeding, and gave him carte blanche, within certain financial limits, to establish a stud-farm and provide the island with cavalry. "Give me your report in two years' time," he said; "meantime, do the best you can." At the appointed hour the report was forthcoming, and the Governor proceeded to act upon it. It was typical of his modus operandi. This faith in his entourage, after having tested capacity and fidelity, was justified by its results.

His governorship of the island lasted nine years, and its effects were so satisfactory that it seemed as if a miracle had happened. Then, at his own request, he was nominated inspector of troops in Western and Eastern Africa, in the Antilles and Pacific. Thus his colonial career was rounded out, and his title confirmed of "the great French coloniser." In each of his posts, whether in the Soudan, in Tonking, or Madagascar, he had shown capacity and resourcefulness, an earnest and intelligent enthusiasm which had triumphed over obstacles, because science was joined to energy and knowledge to practical principles. Thus the empire he founded was not built upon sand, but upon the bed-rock of native welfare and material advancement. His success in dealing with natives arose as much from his sympathy as from his determination to study the character and antecedents of his administrés with the care with which the physician studies the details of the case upon which he is engaged. Thus success came not as something due to fortune or caprice, but as a definite and calculated result.

Home again after more than thirty years of distinguished colonial service, Galliéni, now a General of Division, was given the 13th Army Corps at Clermont Ferrand, and later the 14th Army Corps at Lyons, carrying with it the eventual command of the army in the Alps. In 1908 he was called to the Superior Council of War. A year or two before the Great War, which was to give him his crowning position of responsibility at the Ministry in the Rue St. Dominique, he took part in the grand manoeuvres in Touraine, and succeeded not only in out-manoeuvring "the enemy," but positively in capturing the General-in-Chief and his staff. Paris laughed long over the episode; the victorious General was anticipating his laurels in actual war.

CHAPTER XII

THE HERO OF THE OURCQ

Four-and-forty years he had waited for that tragic moment: the crossing of the frontier by the Germans for the second time. Through long years of monotonous preparation he had been buoyed up by the thought of serving his country in his country's greatest need. And now the opportunity had come—almost too late, for his normal career had finished two years before. But the old soldier in him arose and refused to be comforted by a country gentleman's occupations, which had filled his retirement. There was great work afoot; he must offer his sword to France. To his friends it did not seem that Michel Joseph Maunoury had greatly changed since the time when he was a spruce artillery captain, and student of the Staff College. Hair, moustache, and goatee beard had changed to white, of course, but the figure remained as slim and alert as in the old days when he galloped each morning in the Bois. Whatever the weather, he appeared in the allées, sitting his horse like a Centaur, and getting himself fit for the great day which he saw by his prophetic vision could not be very far off. He was haunted by the idea of la revanche, and was too honest to conceal it. The word was not popular with politicians. No public man dared utter it, save Deroulede and his League of Patriots thundering against national apathy and supineness in their orations of July 14. General Bailloud, who afterwards distinguished himself in Sarrail's retreat through Macedonia, was punished for saying to his Army Corps at Nancy that the time would come when they would win back the Lost Provinces.

That Maunoury continually thought of these things is clear from the General Order that he issued to the Sixth Army on September 10 after the battle of the Marne. It is dated from his Headquarters at Claye, near Meaux: "The Sixth Army has just sustained, during five entire days, without any intermission or slackening, a struggle against a numerous adversary whose moral has been exalted by success. The struggle has been severe; the losses under fire, the fatigue due to want of sleep and, sometimes, want of food, have surpassed imagination. You have supported all with a valour, a firmness and endurance that words are powerless to glorify as they deserve. Comrades, the General-in-Chief asked you in the name of the patrie to do more than your duty; you have responded beyond what seemed to be possible. Thanks to you, victory has crowned our standards. Now that you know its glorious satisfaction, you will allow it no longer to escape you. As for myself if I have done anything worthy, I have been recompensed by the greatest honour which could have befallen me in my long career, that of commanding men like you. It is with a lively emotion that I thank you for what you have done, for the revenge for 1870, towards which all my energies and all my efforts have been directed for forty-four years, is due to your efforts."

The document is a real profession of faith. It bespeaks the man and his mission, his courage, his modesty, his patriotism, his long-suffering in the Cause. The Order was wrongly attributed to Joffre, because he had added some phrases at the end to express appreciation of the part played by the Sixth Army in keeping engaged a notable portion of the German forces on the Ourcq Front; but none who knew Maunoury and his intimate opinions could question its authenticity. When he signed the Order he wore for the first time (though he had possessed it since 1911) the modest little bronze medal, with its green and black ribbon, which commemorates 1870. Thus were linked in his mind the two dates—1870 and 1914—the one disaster and the other its vindication. Maunoury had every reason to remember 1870. He was an officer-cadet at the time, studying at the engineering and artillery school at Metz, the forerunner of Fontainebleau. When war broke out he was appointed to a battery, and arrived in Paris with it on the very day, September 14, when the Republic was proclaimed. He had no idea, as he marched through the streets with his men, that the Empire had fallen to a new form of government. But he was to see the popular temper even more sharply represented than that. At the gates of Paris was fought the battle of Champigny, and there Maunoury lost his fellow-officers and remained alone with a remnant of his battery. Then the rising tide of the Commune caught him in Paris, unwarned of the retirement of the Regular Army to Versailles. He and his men only escaped from the mob by disguising themselves in mufti and walking singly through the gates.

Happily, he was spared the horrors of a second siege—that of Paris in the hands of the Commune. The first had left poignant memories never to be effaced. Yet his vocation was so firmly fixed that he was not to be turned from it even by this discouraging commencement. The possibility of avenging national humiliation braced his energies and kept him continually at work preparing for the inevitable day through more than two score years. He became one of the most authoritative teachers of the army. At St. Cyr, which he had attended as student, he became professor, and when Fontainebleau started its artillery course, it was he who directed it for the benefit of subalterns. Whilst he was professing artillery at St. Cyr, a great controversy raged on the subject. It was clear that France had been out-classed by Germany in field-guns; it was one of the causes of her defeat. The guns were more powerful, more accurately aimed, and more quickly served. The Germans had learnt the art of shooting, which the French had neglected. Though the De Reffye cannon was much better than its predecessor—a muzzle-loader, firing an eight-pound shell, which broke only at two distances—it was still far behind the German arm. The young war professor pronounced strongly in favour of power. The field-gun, above all, must be all-powerful, he said; mobility could come afterwards. The rival camp protested that mobility should come first; you could mass your light and handy guns and obtain the power required. But Maunoury unveiled what he considered to be the sophistry of this argument. The result of all this heat was the 75 mm., a model field-gun, which wrought wonders for France in the Great War. But its efficiency was not unconnected with an excellent shell.

Though he had studied deeply the lessons of 1870, Maunoury was not cast down by them, but rather stimulated to greater effort. Immediately after the war he wrote to his family a letter which shows his faith in his country's renaissance. "The frightful catastrophe leaves France mutilated, but she is not stricken to death. All can be repaired if she really wishes it." That was the language of a soldier and optimist, but it interpreted exactly the spirit of his countrymen and, above all, the capacity of their eventual leaders. He was well placed to form such an opinion, for, as General of Division, he became Director of the War School, and upon its benches sat the future commanders of French armies. Napoleon in his time made use of the material to his hand, often untrained scientifically—the soldier of fortune, of practical experience—but he held always that the best officer came from the Schools. And this generalisation is true to-day, truer than ever, because of the new character of war. Maunoury set himself against mere specialisation, and, though he became an expert, as we have seen, he enlarged his scope by studying tactics and then applied them in the field, by commanding first the Fourteenth Army Corps at Marseilles, and secondly the famous Twentieth Corps at Nancy, which looked directly in the face of the foe. As colonel he had commanded artillery at Vincennes.

He seemed to have written "finis" to the more active part of his career when he became Governor of Paris, but even in this post of pure routine in peace time, he invented methods of reform. He objected to the slackness that prevailed, and circularised against the slovenliness of soldiers' dress in the streets, and even on the parade-ground. He tried to revive officers' interest in the morning ride in the Bois. Paris was amused and at the same time satisfied with a circular issued during the winter of 1911-12, which expressed surprise that the Governor met so few officers on wet and cold mornings in the Bois. Between the lines you could read his contempt for softness. Even in his most strenuous student days he had always kept himself fit by constant physical exercise. At the Cavalry School at Saumur, he was noted for his good riding; in the Bois his elegant, upright figure was a reproach against the carelessness of some officers.

He objected to laissez-aller in any branch of the army. Discipline was as important as guns and ammunition, he thought. Nor did he mean mere respect for established things or strict obedience to superiors. He meant that discipline of the mind which accepted principles and policies—the unity of military doctrine; he meant a constant training of officers in grand manoeuvres, that each might be accustomed to responsibility in the common scheme. Only by incessant practice could one attain perfection. And behind the discipline there must be patriotism. His example and enthusiasm infected the Paris garrison; in two years he had achieved marvels. And then the night parades, inaugurated by M. Millerand in concert with the Governor, aroused civilian enthusiasm for the army. Once more the streets of Paris resounded with the cry: "Vive l'armée." Under the old régime it had become almost seditious as a sentiment, but now the whole street hummed and sang the Sambre et Meuse, and marched in rhythm with the beating drums and shrieking fifes. Even blasés Parisians in the cafés and restaurants stood on their feet as the tattoo passed and the red-coated orchestras broke into a rapturous Marseillaise, with accompanying cheers. The fond of Paris is always patriotic whatever the surface currents.

When war fell out of a blue sky, Maunoury was tending his roses in his garden in the quiet village of Mer, near Blois. A few months before, his neighbours had asked him to stand for Parliament in the interest of the Three-Years Law; but he declined. Perhaps his near view of politics, as Commandant of the Guard of the Senate, had not conduced to a respect for them. In any case, he preferred his open-air life and his country pursuits to the feverish atmosphere of political Paris. When he went to the Luxembourg, where is situated the Senate, it was to attend a course on arboriculture—not to pay court to politicians. These he has kept always at a distance. It needed a war to wrest him from his gardening and agriculture, tastes the stronger for being hereditary. His family was long settled in the Loir-et-Cher, and one of his uncles had allowed Pasteur to experiment upon his flocks when investigating cattle-diseases.

The old ardour returned at the call of duty. First came dépot work, important even if lacking glory, and then the command of an army at Verdun for the eastern offensive. Alas! it was unsuccessful, and Maunoury's, with the other French Armies, was soon in retreat towards the south. But the watchful eye of Joffre remarked an attempt on the part of Von Kluck, commanding the First German Army, to envelop the left wing (the English Army) of the Allies. He sent Maunoury to support the wing. The troops detrained at Montdidier, to the south of Amiens. They arrived by divisions, and were flung, one after the other, into the battle-line—a difficult and dangerous process under fire. Von Kluck disregarded the army forming in front of his right, as if it did not exist, and concentrated his attention on the English force, which he wished to crush. Maunoury's orders were to fall back on Paris to form the siege garrison. When the order reached him, he ejaculated, "Heaven forbid! Anything but that." His memory went back to 1870, and there was revived the old anguish at the misfortunes of his country. None the less, he refused to lose heart, and kept a bold front to the enemy, retiring in splendid order after holding each line as long as possible.

Galliéni had seen the enemy's move from north to east and noted its strategic consequences. He communicated his impressions to the Commander-in-Chief, and Maunoury's army, hastily reconstituted and now composed of 100,000 men, was thrust again into an offensive against the flank-guard of Reservists which was protecting Von Kluck's columns as they glided past Paris. The assemblage of that army and its rapid transport to the strategic points constitutes one of the romances of the war.

The Sixth Army was composed of divers elements, most of which had suffered greatly from the fighting in the east and north. The cavalry, too, was fatigued by its long march from Charleroi. One of its important bodies was General Lamaize's corps, formed of two divisions of reserves, which had lost heavily in Lorraine. They had fought also at Amiens, whither they had been transported by train, and then they marched on foot to Dammartin, to the north of Meaux, which was one of the points of concentration. To these divisions was added a brigade of Moroccan infantry. The second considerable element was the Seventh Army Corps, which had battled, also, in the east before reaching the Amiens district. One of its divisions was commanded by General de Villaret, who later was to be wounded with Maunoury at Soissons. Two divisions, which had fought at Cambrai in French Flanders, and had been much cut up; a division from Algeria which had just arrived in Paris; the Fourth Army Corps from Lorraine where it had lost many men; a cavalry brigade and the First Corps of Cavalry, consisting of three divisions; a brigade of Marine Fusiliers, two-and-a-half battalions of Zouaves and a brigade of Spahis (native cavalry from Algeria) were also joined to the force under Maunoury. The fixed garrison of Paris consisted of four divisions of Territorials, who were also employed in outpost work along the line of contact.

The army was ordered to act in co-operation with the English, who had assembled in the Coulommiers district; but, unfortunately, there seems not to have been quite the co-operation needed between the two forces, though Maunoury detached a division to the help of the ally. The Sixth Army began the attack on the afternoon of September 5. In moving to their positions, the troops found the enemy's reserves strongly occupying villages to the left of Meaux. The General-in-chief's dispositions were not entirely realized, and some critics blame what they call the hesitancy of the English in assuming a vigorous offensive. In any case the Operations, after severe fighting, were generally crowned with success, and a great part of the credit of the battle of the Marne is due to the resourcefulness and skill of Maunoury. An incident in the battle was the arrival of reinforcements in 1,100 taxicabs, mobilised by General Galliéni, in order to transport the Seventh Infantry Division to the left wing of the Sixth Army. The infantry arrived with great promptitude by this means, and was able at dawn on the morrow to enter into action. Having distinguished himself in the defence of Paris, Maunoury was given the command of an army at Soissons. There he was wounded during the Spring of 1915, whilst making an inspection of the trenches with General de Villaret, who was also injured by the same bullet. General Maunoury's right eye was lost and the left affected. It meant that he could no longer hold his command at the Front, and this fine old soldier, who had done so much for the French Army, again became Governor of Paris, after an interval of three years. Some have blamed him for exposing himself in the first-line trenches only thirty metres from the enemy, but his principle always had been that the Commander-in-Chief should share danger with his troops. It is characteristic of him that he did not shrink from all the consequences of such a theory. There was something a little touching in the circumstances that in the twilight of his own life, after a brilliant day, he came to watch over Paris—la ville lumière—plunged into the deep shadows of a precautionary darkness. And then when his own light faded into a perpetual obscurity, he retired once again into the peace—alas! the disabled peace—of private life, a sad but glorious end for an old soldier.

CHAPTER XIII

THE MILITARY POWER OF ENGLAND

To convert an army of a few hundred thousands into a mighty machine of millions—what achievement! And this, in a few months. To clothe, equip, and supply these men with munitions—an even greater task! Yet this England did; and French military critics were amazed at an exploit unequalled in the world's history. The little band of men who fought so gallantly at Mons, and whose opportune arrival helped to turn the first tide of invasion, have grown and increased to the gigantic British Army of to-day. Nothing delighted the French as much as the establishment of Conscription in England. It seemed to them like the gauge of England's seriousness. With their clear minds they had long realised that the voluntary system was inadequate to furnish the necessary resources to the army in time of war. True, the French, in their impatience to see England scientifically increase her army, forgot how slowly was evolved their own system of national service. Although, as we have seen, the Convention, in a moment of revolutionary fervour, decreed that it was the duty of every one to serve the State, a national system of compulsion, applicable to everybody, was not resorted to until more than fifty years after the Napoleonic Wars, and France had suffered defeat from conscripted armies. Then, in its form, compulsion became a drastic measure from which none escaped; but, even here, nearly another fifty years was necessary to implant and make good the system of absolute equality. Thus the French opinion which carped at England for her slowness in taking up an equal burden in the field was not quite mindful of French military history. These critics had not realised that the completeness of the French national military service had been the growth of many years, and that a vast national army could not spring into being at the mere waving of a wand; and hence it was impossible for England, even with the resources of her vast Empire, to have taken, from the start, an equal share in the war. Even had England adopted compulsion at the beginning of the war, there were corps of instructors to form, barracks to build, training-grounds to be found. These difficulties were quite apart from equipment, which hinged largely upon the supply of labour for the making of rifles. Lastly, there was the supreme difficulty of the higher command. Generals and staff-officers cannot be turned out with the speed of drill-sergeants. Happily the Press, instead of inflaming the spirit of criticism, set to work to explain the difficulties under which England laboured by reason, even, of the character of her institutions slowly evolved by the centuries. Both M. Cruppi and M. Henry Davray emphasised England's marvellous achievement in raising and equipping so vast an army, even before she adopted the principle of Conscription, and appreciated the difficulty of accommodating compulsory service to the notion of that individual liberty which is the corner-stone of English national life. It was clear that a certain section of the British public confounded a national army, formed for a definite national purpose, with militarism of the Prussian type, and, therefore, had created a bogey which it was necessary to knock down before the principle of obligation could be accepted by a free and enlightened people. And it is typical of the conduct of the present war in England that it was the voice of the people themselves, the clamour of the man-in-the-street, which forced the Government to a decision. When the war broke out many thousands of Englishmen voluntarily sacrificed their careers to join the army. But in so doing they insisted that the manhood remaining in the country should be forced to do likewise. And the man who stayed at home? Was he averse from Conscription? Almost without exception the men who stayed turned to Westminster and said, "Fetch me if you really want me. Fetch me if the need is honestly great." No, the great British public—the men in the trenches, the men at home, and the women (above all, the women) insisted upon Conscription. It was Westminster that slept; Westminster that hesitated, Westminster (slow as ever in learning to "trust the people") that mumbled about votes when, even in those first days of the war, they could have insured probably speedy victory! Only when forced by the man-in-the-street did the Government act. Throughout the first stages of the war, the British Government, instead of leading public opinion, was driven by it. But in the eyes of a foreign nation, a country, unfortunately, has only the prestige of its Government, and the French, chafing against our slowness to adopt compulsion, little knew that John Bull himself was fighting, through a maze of lawyers' arguments, for that very principle. The farm labourer who, at the beginning of things, asked, "Why can't they treat us all alike?" had his finger upon the pulse of the nation while the politicians hesitated and gambled with time. Their fatal lethargy contrasted ill with the patriotism of France, who, twelve months before, imposed upon herself a system of national service of the most complete character. No partial exemptions were allowed either in the interests of education or any of the liberal careers or even of poor widows' sons. The terms of service, too, were equally long for infantry as for cavalry. In Germany a larger and superabundant population allowed a fairly wide system of exemptions. Until before the Great War, certain categories of men were not called up; the infantry served only two years, and students benefited by a one-year system. French people do not always realise, I think, the immense price they have paid to escape from a repetition of the events of 1870. They have not realised how seriously has been impeded their own progress, thanks to the heavy strain placed upon their resources in men. It has meant the withdrawal of practically all the valid young men of the country from industry and commerce for the preparation of war. It has meant the retardation of marriages and a limited birth-rate, because young people could not marry until comparatively late; it has meant, also, that the smallest proportion of the country was in a condition to emigrate, for emigration takes place in the years of one's youth. Thus the French social and industrial system was under the domination of military exigencies, and France has made heavy sacrifices to escape from what she most dreads: the Prussian yoke.

The enthusiasm in France was, then, immense, when England finally decided to become an ally in the only true sense of the word: to impose upon herself a burden equal to that borne by her friends. But France breathed a sigh of bitter disappointment (disappointment which, it is fair to say, was shared by the majority of Englishmen), at the large number of exemptions at first granted; and the excuses offered by English statesmen by no means assuaged the irritation felt both at home and abroad. For instance, "the maintenance of essential trade" had a sort of ironic ring to the French whose trade, either essential or inessential, was hardly maintained at all. They listened with a little smile of mockery whilst the British Minister spoke rather glibly, as it seemed to them, concerning the necessity of England being in a position to lend money to the Allies. There was a feeling, perhaps, that if they had suffered more, they would have been more anxious to end the war, and would have talked with less assurance of the necessity of possessing money whereby they could lend it to other combatants. The large proportion of conscientious objectors, also, presented a strange and sinister spectacle to the French, and assuredly so curious an attitude would not have been tolerated in France in the stress of a national war. It seemed a monstrous proposition that a class of society should have been allowed to accumulate wealth and a vast prosperity under the protection of the flag, and yet decline in the hour of need to bear arms from religious scruples. To the alert intelligence of the French, this was a grotesque and illogic situation, though they themselves remembered that they had had in the past their strict religious sects, including the Calvinists and the Camarists. The good-will of the English people as a whole, however, was shown by the zeal with which this question of national service was taken up and adopted by a country naturally hostile to any interference with the old principle of voluntary enlistment; and the position would have been clearer to the French had they realised that the driving power in England was being supplied by the individual and not by the Government. The principle of Conscription was not advocated by Ministers; it was forced upon them. In small matters, as in great, the individual took upon himself responsibility. Frail, delicate women went without butter on their bread and little children denied themselves sweets. In France there was no evidence of any such personal sacrifice. People lived as well as they could afford. Why? Because they relied upon their Government to enforce any necessary sacrifices, and the individual, having confidence in its Government, felt no personal responsibility.

It is refreshing to turn from the question of Conscription, befogged as it was by the stifling atmosphere of Westminster, to our army, working under the stars, rubbing shoulders with our Allies in the trenches, and, amid the bursting shells, establishing friendships and understandings that are not couched in lawyers' language. There in Northern France a brotherhood has sprung into being which laughs at the arm-chair critics and takes no count of the blunders of politicians. But the arm-chair critic exists in France (as in England), and his garrulity in clubs and public places is by no means restrained by his lack of a real understanding of military affairs. Let us admit at once that the British Army has suffered from over prestige in the popular imagination of France; the French people thought that England's help would be sumptuous, colossal, spontaneous and irresistible; and disappointment inevitably followed this exaggerated idea of the military assistance we should be able to give at the beginning of the war. One heard much criticism in France—indeed, one heard much the same in England: "Why did the English, for so long a time, take so small a share of the battle-line?" "Where were Kitchener's great armies that were to join with the French to drive the Germans back to Berlin?" "Why did not the English create a diversion while the French were fighting at Verdun?" Such murmurings and complaints followed the relief and joy which welcomed the arrival of the British armies in France, and, among the uninformed portion of the population, resulted in a certain cooling off in the sentiment of friendliness. It was useless to urge that the British Expeditionary Force could not achieve the impossible; that an army cannot be built in a night; that General Joffre was responsible for the general direction of operations, and that the British could make no offensive that he did not decree. French popular opinion persisted in believing in the god their imagination had created, and bitterly proclaimed its feet to be of clay. But such is the work of the arm-chair critic all the world over. It is his business to destroy confidence, to find fault, to shake friendships; and of far more real value is the opinion of the French military command of our army in the field. Here, again, we must be prepared to hear some criticism—but considered criticism that weighs difficulties and estimates conditions. The French military observer notes an absence of good staff work on the English side, and he begins to account for it by saying that, to form a staff is a long and expensive process involving extensive scientific studies. Now it is apparent that, up to the time of the Great War, the profession of arms attracted rather the high-spirited and sporting type of man than the scientific student. In consequence, these excellent sportsmen were at a disadvantage, perfectly easy to comprehend, with the continental soldier. They had not had the same training. It was impossible for them to enter at once into the conception of men who had been making war scientifically—at least on paper—for many years. Excellent spade-work was done at Aldershot, but the General Manoeuvres could not be compared in military utility with those conducted in Germany and France. Moreover, a long course is necessary in military history, for without this one glances at the map and finds nothing; there is no spirit of comparison available, such as history brings forth. On the other hand, if one has the sense of comparison developed by long and varied reading, the result is of the utmost value. One is able to say, "Napoleon did so and so in certain circumstances; what is there to prevent the modern commander from imitating him?" But without the knowledge such comparison is impossible.

It is alleged against our leaders that they were not sufficiently elastic and did not always allow themselves to be guided by circumstances. They formed a rigid rule and would not depart from it. They did not change their plans with the required promptitude when the necessity arose for such a change. They were not supple enough, not adaptable in their minds. Of the immense and epic bravery of the English there was no question. "They know how to die," said a General to me, and the commendation expresses a universal opinion. There is something particularly Anglo-Saxon in the quality of this bravery. They stood resolutely to the guns, when perhaps it would have been better to temper valour with a little prudence. It seems to be part of our steadfastness never to draw back that we may leap the better; it is part of our magnificent quality to hold fast that we may be faithful to the end. Sometimes there is a pathetic side to this characteristic, as when a sentry posted outside British Headquarters was left standing in the road after the retreat of the officers, because he had not received his marching orders. That is typical of the British temperament with all its sublime self-abnegation; it is characteristic of the British leader, and it is certain that, in the eyes of the French observer, some element of suppleness might with advantage replace a little of our British stubbornness.

Of the new armies sent out by England I have heard nothing but praise. General Bonnal, the former director of the War School, writes: "Our dear Allies are as brave, if not braver, than we; and the athletic sports which they cultivate enable them to surmount material obstacles. Their moral has never ceased to be splendid and is always accompanied by unchanging good humour and gaiety." He, too, finds fault with some of the staff work, but universal is the commendation of the smartness and efficiency of English company officers, and particularly of the new class of officer, the student type—young men from the Universities who exhibit great facility with maps and show an immediate comprehension of the exigencies of modern scientific warfare.

But when we have left behind the arm-chair critic and the military critic we shall find that the British Army, small or great, has made a vast impression upon our neighbours, and the lilt of our pipes and the echo of Tipperary will linger in the lanes when the boom of the cannon has died away. Long will the "poilu" recall such exploits as those of the teams of grenade-throwers in the British trenches, who were much praised by Foch for their amazing work and the speed they showed in it, reminiscent of the dash and energy of a crack football team; and long will the French Army covet the equipment and smartness of the British soldier. It has been the grand chic to imitate the English officer as much as possible by the arrangement of straps and buttons and the rest; and some French Generals, particularly Gouraud (who was Commander-in-Chief in the Dardanelles and saw much of the British Army at work), have expressed to me their admiration for British smartness. "The British soldier looks smart even in his shirt-sleeves!" observed Gouraud.

In the matter of uniform, the war has provided a remarkable instance of the French ability to adapt oneself to new circumstances. When hostilities began, the French were still wearing their red and blue uniforms, and some of the dashing young officers went into battle at Charleroi with white gloves and plumes. Against them the Germans sent wave after wave of men in the invisible grey-green uniform. From the point of view of equipment the French were much behind us, and their red and blue uniforms were ludicrously inadequate for modern warfare, and contrasted unfavourably with the German grey-green and our own khaki. But this the French quickly realised, and in the middle of the battle adopted horizon blue, which, though it soiled quickly, was, at least, an excellent uniform from the point of view of not being too conspicuous.

As to the services rendered by the Navy, the French, like the English, have not been permitted to lift the veil of secrecy which has cloaked the operations. The newspapers, particularly the Temps, have extolled its efficiency and have assured the French public that the seas were being swept. But they did not see the sweeper, and, therefore, were not always aware how excellently the job was done. Nor is the question of imports of such urgency in France as in England, as the amount of wheat brought into the country is infinitely less, and, without difficulty, could be supplied at home.

To sum up one's impression of French sentiment towards England during the first eighteen months of war one is bound to admit a certain element of disappointment, due, undoubtedly, to ignorance and misconception. The French public expected—as did we—a dramatic naval action to begin with. This Germany's cautious tactics denied. Furthermore, our Allies did us the compliment of imagining we could achieve the impossible; and when it was found that our small Expeditionary Force could take but a slight share in the operations, attention in France was concentrated upon our National Service system, and exasperation grew as our politicians played with the issues of life and death. But this irritation is merely superficial, and is evidence of the strain felt by a highly strung, nervous people, forced to stand still, for long months, while part of their beloved country lay under the heel of the invader. Nothing can ever change the deep and lasting friendship between two peoples who have borne the same burden, shared the same horror, nursed the same hopes and fears. The understanding between England and France is no longer simply an entente; it is a brotherhood of tears.

CHAPTER XIV

SOME TYPES OF COMMANDERS

The Generalissimo was, in a certain sense, less known than any of his Generals, for though much had been written of him, but little was really apprehended of his silent and uncommunicative nature. As the head of a powerful and almost anonymous organisation, he lived in a semi-seclusion. No politician could boast that he had his ear, for he kept himself rigidly from such influences. His popularity with the masses was remarkable, and his name became a symbol for economy in lives. None the less he dwelt apart in an atmosphere removed from all clamour and excitation, apparently unconscious of the intrigues about him. This segregation carried with it the disability of its advantage, for it involved a certain inaccessibility to political necessities, which even the strongest commander has to consult at times. "Moral effect" had infinitely less weight with him than military utility; indeed, it seemed hardly to exist in his vocabulary, and probably he bracketed this species of popularity and concession to the crowd with that private and subterranean influence of which he was perpetually afraid. Rigid in his solitariness he watched the conflagration from a lonely hill, silhouetted against the glowing sky, and none could say that he had pierced to his inmost thoughts. Nor in the greater part of his career had he been in close touch with army life, for his occupations took him to distant climes where he engaged in road and railway, bridge and even town construction, thus removing him from military routine and strengthening those powers of reflection and cold, dispassionate survey which are his chief claims to a grateful consideration. And, doubtless, the desert and the jungle taught him nervelessness and that calmness which no vibration of calamitous events could shake.

De Castelnau, the second in command, presented a complete contrast with his chief. His character is open, his oratory at once humorous and compelling. Though a strict Catholic and attending Mass every day, his tolerance enabled him to employ as aides-de-camp two officers of the Alsatian Lutheran Church. His military science is so sure that he seems to divine in advance the plans of the enemy, and his experience of camps and courts, following on his missions to foreign countries, has given him the widest grasp of political affairs which in reality lie in the region of strategy. Probably the most accomplished General in the French Army, to him is attributed the plan of the great offensive designed for the Autumn of 1916.

The events of Verdun gave prominence to the personality of Pétain. Before the great attack by the Germans on the fortress, he was unknown except to those in close touch with the army. In a few weeks, he had become world-famous. His rapid promotion was due to the perspicacity of de Castelnau, who had the general direction of the line from Soissons to Verdun. The second in command observed the vast German preparations, the accumulation of guns and the massing of infantry, and with the assent of the Generalissimo, set Pétain to work to stem the tide of the enemy advance. With characteristic energy the new-comer flung himself into the task. Urgency was necessary, for it was a question of days. Divisions were hurried up to reinforce the thin line of 12,000 men, garrisoning the twenty miles chiefly threatened by the Germans; heavy artillery was got together, sometimes improvised from forts and warships, and an immense accumulation was made of machine and field guns. Fortunately, the German attack was delayed by bad weather, giving the French greater time to increase their fortifications, and when the battle opened, a week later, the defenders were in a good position to resist the first awful thrust of the German battalions. None the less, the big guns of the enemy were superior in range and were more mobile than the French. This defect was partially compensated by moving back the French line, by employing the 75's as if they were machine-guns, and yet, in other directions, so cunningly concealing them that their fire could not be silenced.

The new commander of armies has the gift of inspiring the enthusiasm of his men. They are ready to die for him; to go anywhere at his bidding. His magnetism was as strongly exercised upon the students of the Ecole de Guerre, where, in a memorable series, he lectured on infantry action. There is something in his manner, in his appearance, which excites the respectful attention of his listeners, who soon learn to regard him as a master. And the frank, clear, piercing eyes, the serene forehead, the handsome face barred by the moustache, wheat-coloured like the hair, until two score years and the Great War turned it to trey, seem the outward expression of the character. He has the personality of great leaders, and those tense and tragic weeks at Verdun served to emphasise it. Personal influence counted for more, perhaps, than actual matter in his discourse. Clarity was its strong point, and an unerring touch which dissipated difficulties and revealed as by inspiration, in the classic battles of the world, the causes of victory and of defeat. Pétain sought the personal factor in all these great contests. He gave no mere record of facts, but studied the psychology of commanders, his conclusions representing original research and an untiring quest for truth. Character meant achievement, and the absence of it disaster. There could be no more pointed lesson to give to students of the art of war.

He was known as a man of exceptional talent by those with whom he came into close personal contact. His criticism of manoeuvres in which he engaged with his regiment was suggestive and stimulating, and pointed to rare gifts of discernment. But if his reputation became strong in technical quarters, it did not involve promotion. He was still Colonel, mature and a little disappointed and even contemplating retirement, when war broke out. But contact with realities revealed his worth, and his ascension from the Great Retreat to the prodigious battle of Verdun was a record in rapidity. Placed in charge of the Fourth Brigade of Infantry, he received three days later the command of the Fifth Division. On October 25, 1914, he was given the 33rd Army Corps, which covered itself with glory at Carency, Notre Dame de Lorette, and Ablain. Officially a divisionnaire, on April 30, 1915, Pétain became Chief of the Second Army, with which he led the great offensive in Champagne. He pierced the German lines with such speed and thoroughness that the plan of attack was somewhat compromised, for the General Staff had counted on a slower development. Thus the movement was stopped, though attended with great success.

Courteous in speech, he has yet a soldier's dislike for subtle and tortuous phraseology, and his whole tendency is to speak his mind. The result, however justly phrased, was not always palatable to authority, and, indeed, a plain statement of the truth is rarely a passport to official favour. His energy is legendary, and the effect of this is heightened by the appearance of youth conveyed by the pink-and-white complexion and the slim figure. As a young man, he is said to have danced all night at a military ball at Marseilles, until tired stewards came to him in the morning to ask him to desist out of pity for the musicians! Again at Arras, when in command of the 33rd Regiment of Infantry, he is said to have been requested by his landlord to depart, because his skipping in the morning annoyed the occupant of a flat below him! Thereupon, says the chronicler, he removed to a house set in a garden, where, presumably, there were no neighbours to annoy. The story is probably apocryphal, but it represents the energy of the man. Though he does not skip, he keeps himself fit by physical exercises. He considers that a General's vigour and power of resistance are as important as his mental equipment. To assure this nice balance of mind and body, a system must be resorted to. If one weighs food for the war charger, why not for the warrior? That is his argument, and he acts upon it. No leader in the French Army has more persistently trained himself to support the rigour of a campaign, and none shows a greater activity. In the Champagne offensive, he ran three miles over rough ground at the head of his troops.

His principle is to leave nothing to chance, but to oversee and control everything. Thus, at the height of the bombardment of Verdun, he surprised his officers by visiting them in the most exposed positions. During the battle, he used an armoured machine-gun car as his moving Headquarters, sleeping there and conducting his business from it. At another stage in the gigantic battle he sat for five days and nights at his desk regulating details—proof of his powers of endurance. He drives like the wind over any road, leaving even racing motorists aghast at his speed. He is reputed to have used up a dozen chauffeurs in as many weeks. One said, pathetically, that he did not mind taking his chance of being killed in the trenches, but to drive for the General was like courting death. Pétain believes in sharing danger as he shares discomfort with his troops. As a Colonel he was often to be seen on the parade ground in bad weather without an overcoat—as an example to his men. If he has a deep and clear sense of his responsibilities, he is neither sad nor taciturn in private life. He enjoys social intercourse and is a charming conversationalist. Though unmarried, he adores children, and a friend tells me that he saw him when Colonel of a regiment romping joyously with children on his back.

His superiority as a soldier comes from his instant vision. He sees a problem with such sureness, that his words bear the look of prophecy. Long before the war, he told a young lieutenant of cavalry that he would regret his arm, for upon the infantry, he said, would fall the brunt as well as the glory of the next war. His prevision showed that his thoughts were directed towards war when others probably were thinking only of their own affairs.

Calmness and equality of temper are the characteristics of General Roques, who succeeded General Galliéni as Minister of War. Possessing as great will power as his predecessor, he has a quiet and attractive way of gaining his ends without compromising their essential character. He finds the formula suitable to the occasion, and possesses the ideal temperament for a Minister of the Republic. Like Joffre, he has passed the greater part of his career in the colonies, where he learned the same lessons of self-reliance and of organisation. Like Joffre, too, he worked as an engineer in Madagascar, helping the future Generalissimo to build Diego Suarez, and afterwards linking by railway Antananarivo with the sea. Seven fruitful years in Madagascar were prefaced by similar periods in Algeria and Tonking and an expedition with General Dodds to Dahomey, which he undertook soon after leaving the Polytechnique.

Succeeding Joffre as Director of Engineers at the Ministry of War, he became Director of Aeronautics at the moment when France began to realise the military possibilities of the aeroplane. General Roques's spirit of organisation was as potent at the Rue Saint-Dominique as in command of troops. Mounting by the usual stages of Division, Army Corps, and Army, he distinguished himself in the two latter situations on active service, and in the former at manoeuvres one year before the Great War. For his personal bravery and skill in the field he received the War Cross and the Grand Cross of the Legion. With the dust of Verdun still upon him he took charge of Galliéni's portfolio and soon showed a vivid sense of the realities of modern war. His conciliation and tact and his quiet mastery of details earned for him the good-will and confidence of the army and of his subordinates. To that perfect mastery over himself which is necessary to mastery over others, he added a decision of character invaluable in high responsibility. He is of the school of Generals formed overseas. Of such are Joffre and Galliéni, Gouraud and Marchand.

Gouraud resembles Pétain in his judgment and charm as well as in his power over men. He inspires devotion, and carries the secret of command in a splendid face and figure. The empty right sleeve is a touching testimony to his valour, and for months he walked limping with a stick, for his right thigh and left leg had been injured also at the Dardanelles—the place of his dismemberment. It was after a day's bombardment and the Commander-in-Chief was watching the embarkation of wounded on a hospital ship, for there was no place to put them on that rocky shore, searched minutely by the enemy shells. One breaking from a Turkish naval gun threw the General over a wall and inflicted the injuries I have described. On the way home by ship to Marseilles, gangrene supervened in the arm, demanding its amputation.

I saw him just after his recovery when, with a glad note in his voice, he announced his approaching return to the Front. In conversation with him one realised why he was called the "lion of the Argonne." There is something king-like in his looks—the brown beard, and the manly, well-formed features—and you are certain that the khaki tunic covers a lion's heart. His whole career has been of the noble sort: whether tracking Samory, the negro chieftain, into the recesses of his virgin forest, where he captured him after he had waged fitful war with France for seventeen years; or whether he was leading a sortie from Fez and clearing a savage horde from its walls. For this latter feat he gained the three stars at a time of life when most French officers have not reached a colonelcy. When the Great War broke out Gouraud hastened from Morocco to the east of France, where he led Colonial troops in unexampled feats of bravery. He was shot in the shoulder, but bullets cannot stop such a man; he seems to bear a charmed life as he passes heedlessly amidst a storm of flying, shrieking metal. His heroic soul is unmoved by the Inferno of the battle. Even the worst inventions of the devil are powerless against this perfect knight, dressed in the invincible and shining armour of his faith and patriotism.

It was good to hear him speak of his career as simply as if he were relating the banal life of some village attorney. Perhaps an ancestor who served in Napoleon's artillery, or a great-uncle who helped the Duc d'Aumale to conquer Algeria, were in measure responsible for his military tastes. Certainly he did not get them from his father following the pacific profession of a doctor in a Paris hospital. At sixteen or seventeen years of age the Tonking campaign attracted him with its promise of adventure, but his youthful imagination was mainly fired by reading the travels and explorations of Livingstone, of Cameron, Stanley, Brazza and Galliéni. And the Colonies, whatever their bad old reputation in France for forming soldiers who were theatrical and had no notion of modern warfare, since they fought against savages, has proved in this war the nursery of manly virtues. Therein a man learns courage and endurance, self-reliance and a faculty for improvising everything. It has produced men of the type of Marchand, one of the most romantic figures that ever donned the uniform of the Republic. His hold over his men is quite extraordinary; they are ready to follow him into the jaws of death. His exploits in the Soudan recall a time when there was no smile on the face of John Bull as he looked across to France. A poet in his ideality and lyric quality, he has the sublime courage of the Early Christian, the personal sway of the born leader, the heart and tenderness of a woman.

No French general has come into closer contact with the English than Foch, for his army neighboured theirs for long months together, and none has a higher opinion of their qualities or was more sensible of the vast improvement effected in their fighting methods during the progress of the war. Foch is one of the most learned of the chiefs of the army; he directed the War School during a period of his career, and his lectures on the art of leading troops in battle are models of their kind. When war broke out, he was commanding at Nancy the 20th Army Corps, which includes the famous Iron Division. As disciplinarian he offers no excuses for himself or for others for any failure in duty; and there is no soldier, if it is not Pétain, who has adapted his science more successfully to the problems of a twentieth-century war. Looking forty-five, though twenty years older, he is of those who prepared assiduously for the great day of the battle. Alas! his own family were early victims of it, for at Charleroi fell his son and his son-in-law. Amongst his officers at Nancy was General Balfourier in charge of a brigade. Tall and slim and dark until active service had whitened his hair, Balfourier has the perfect manners of a man of the world. You would take him for a courtier if you did not know that he was a soldier and a particularly brave one. The Tsar's congratulations reached him in the midst of the gigantic battle of Verdun, where he had handled the 20th Corps with such skill and daring as to attract universal attention. There was always a perfect union between his infantry and artillery. He and his wife kept open house at Nancy to the officers under his command, and their handsome fortune enabled them to entertain lavishly both here and at their residence at Chantilly. The General's father was as far removed from Gouraud's from the trade of arms, for he followed the unlikely profession of a notary; but both obeyed the call to a soldier's life and achieved an equal distinction.

These, then, are the men who have led France to victory. To-morrow others will spring from her fruitful soil and represent her courage, her hope, and her resourcefulness. The Great War has demonstrated the adaptability of the race. It is perennial in its freshness and inspiration.

CHAPTER XV

CHARACTERISTICS OF THE FIGHTING

When the German horde surged upon Verdun, and was hurled back; when, again and again, they swept to the attack and left their dead piled high before the might and heroism of France—then was it most clearly demonstrated that the days of old-fashioned forts were no more. The fortress of stone crumbles before the mighty guns of to-day, and the hideous machines of war, belching forth tons of metal, grind steel and concrete into dust. Before Verdun it was proved that the fortress of France was the soul of her soldiers: a fortress that the mightiest guns could not shake nor all the horrors of modern warfare humble. To the armed barbarity of science the French soldier opposed his chest, and barbarism was swept back. That is the first lesson of the war of millions. In spite of all the fearful war machines—the huge guns, the gas, the liquid fire, engines of destruction before which man is as puny as a fly—in spite, too, of the impersonal strategy that moves regiments as pieces in a game of chess and seems to take no stock of the little soul of a man, yet, after all, it is the man that counts. Both combatants can pour out money, both can heap up matériel, but the side that can expend the richest store of heroism is the side that will win. This personal element in the battle of to-day was the only factor overlooked by the war expert. Bloch, the great Russian writer on military science, foresaw only one end to fighting, and that was immobilisation, for each side would sit down in trenches and wait for the other; but the strange thing was that this new game of sap and mine, by a curious détour, conducted to the old hand-to-hand encounters, in which the right arm played the determining part and even the bowie-knife was resuscitated as a deadly weapon, so that we seemed to live again in the days of Fenimore Cooper and the Indian fights; and though the Germans sent at our trenches liquid fire, asphyxiating gases, flying torpedoes and all manner of explosives, all this science was accompanied by ambuscades, by acts of treachery and ruses de guerre not unworthy of the Redskin in the most romantic pages of the novelist. Thus modern civilisation and savagery met and shook hands as men of the same family, unconscious of any difference in their mental equipment, unembarrassed certainly by any divergence in Kultur. And perhaps because of this personal factor in the fighting, which it was thought would be blotted out and suppressed in modern warfare, there was developed an individual courage so remarkable and romantic as to be unbelievable in its splendour, its intensity, and its quality of rich lavishness. Never since the world began has there been such an étalage of personal valour, such outpouring of splendid deeds of indomitable and deathless daring. Seemingly in the sombre monotony of modern warfare there could arise no glorious exploit, and yet the trenches were frequently the unlikely frame of the most palpitating and stupendous defiance of man's nervous system. For the weak envelope triumphed by the grace of the soul; and man, though his teeth chattered by the mere brutal concussion of monstrous weapons, yet showed in his moral resistance a wealth and splendour of achievement unknown to the old and picturesque days. Thus, though the nations warred in such incredible masses that there seemed no room for personal bravery, yet never before had it been so richly poured out, so that even the spies were brave and went to their doom with hands untied and eyes unbandaged in utter calmness. Never in the history of warfare has there been a more splendid show of every human quality, whether fighting this desperate affair of the trenches or out in the open, under the pitiless rain of unheard-of bombardments, as at Verdun, where, in one single day, were fired 3,000,000 shells. And if there had never been a greater squandering of metal than in this Titanic conflict of the arsenals, there had never been a greater expenditure of those splendid treasures of sacrifice, or such a vast extravagance of youth and manhood, gold and precious stones from the treasury of all the manly virtues.

But if Bloch had discounted the personal element of modern warfare, his theories otherwise were justified by events. The Germans knew their Bloch and heartily believed his doctrine, but in the opening stages of the battle they made a desperate effort to escape from his conclusions. They began in what Mr. Wells in a famous chapter called the "1900 spirit," that is to say, they were convinced that neither England nor France was alive to the latest trench warfare. Their first methods, the precipitate attack, massed movements and enveloping tactics, were dictated by the thought that their adversaries were old-fashioned fighters who had not learned this doctrine of the squatting war, who had not, in fact, read their Bloch or drawn from him the lessons the Germans had. And so they fought in the open in these first phases of the campaign, trusting by their force and speed, superior leadership and brutal shock tactics to bear down the Allies before they were prepared to meet them. And, of course, they were greatly aided in this traditional method of fighting by the fact that they had been allowed to build unchallenged strategic railways to their frontiers, which enabled them to pour a million men into the country, instead of the 300,000 that the French General Staff expected by the northern route.

The ready adaptation of the Allies to the new exigencies of war forced the Germans to rush to earth. There came a change so sudden that it seemed as if one had jumped literally from one century to another. "We have driven them underground," said M. Paul Deschanel, the eloquent President of the Chamber. But after they sank into the earth the Germans still made desperate efforts to escape Bloch's conclusion: that immobility which he predicted as being the inevitable result of the conflict of armed nations. They endeavoured by their inventive genius to break that immobility. By asphyxiating gas, by liquid fire, by aerial warfare (especially against England), did they seek, as Mr. Wells points out, to create, such diversion as would avoid so barren a conclusion to armed effort.

With the second phase of the battle the pulsing, stirring features of the old warfare largely disappeared. There was no longer the crowded rustle of the ranks, except when men crept in the semi-darkness from their trenches and attacked in the open against barbed wire and murderous missiles. The long, sinuous line of red, with its sheen and shimmer of weapons glancing back the sun, gay plumes to give a nodding note of youth, almost of feminine finery, had passed to the limbo of military museums and the pages of the historians of past battles. None of these things; instead, men in musty garments, covered with dust in summer or the mud of winter rains, and, in place of the cavalry charge in the open, the terrible twilight war began. Those who waged it shirked the daylight, dwelt in pits and crouched in dark ramparts as if the sight of God's good sun shamed them. Gone was the brave display riotous in colour and glory, glittering from ten thousand points. In its place was a lone and dismal landscape, a drab expanse of trenches interminably long; of furrows deeply drawn through the earth hiding living grain in their depths. Singular country, like some vast cemetery, stretching indefinitely towards a dull horizon dead in its outer aspects, and yet hiding in its bowels the quick and the dead, the living happily outnumbering those who live no more. Of course, the great novelty of the war was its vast length of front. In France it stretched from the North Sea to the rocky ramparts of Switzerland, 700 kilometres across the fair land of France; and if one counted all the ramifications and convolutions, then 10,000 kilometres represented the sum of this amazing and ceaseless industry which turned soldiers into navvies; moreover, this trench warfare was universal where fighting occurred, and was not special merely to Belgium and France, for it existed in Russia, in Mesopotamia, and the Balkans. A French Army Corps numbers 35,000 men, and, taking the general character of the ground, the parts that can be naturally defended with those that require barricades of barbed wire and other obstacles to reinforce their strength, this Army Corps can hold a line of ten kilometres. Thus 2,000,000 men is about the normal garrison of a line of 500 kilometres. But it must not be supposed that the lines are uniform; they vary considerably. For instance, where the ground is steep and rocky, the defence is rendered easier and the guards of the first trench may be less numerous than in cases where the conditions are more favourable to attack. But such matters are settled by the local commandant, who takes into consideration all the conditions and makes his dispositions accordingly. There are parts of the line where it is not necessary to place men because the parts are enfiladed by cannon, and other places where every mechanical means has been resorted to for strengthening the trenches. The telephone is largely used, and is linked with advanced posts, called postes d'écoute, where the observer can note the least activity in the enemy's trenches. Thus the men guarding the first-line trenches can be sensibly reduced, leaving a greater proportion to remain in the second-line trenches and in rest chambers dug out of the earth at the ends of the lines. Of course, the trenches vary considerably, and the commander takes note of the character of the soil. He makes use of a hill-side, even of the ditches with embankments on the side of the road, of every natural conformation of the soil, and the number of men necessary to defend the line varies according to these circumstances.

It is true, certainly, that trench warfare has inflicted a great loss of the picturesque, of glittering movements, of kaleidoscopic effects which turned and twisted into wonderful pictures; the picture to-day is replaced by a melancholy waste of earth scored and humped into mounds.

Within was life, and no end to labour, for there were trenches, always more trenches to be dug as the line swayed or curved in new forms, yielding to pressure or being broken by it. And in the trenches themselves there was a perpetual search for improvement, and the longer the troops stayed there, the more highly organised became their abodes. If there was not an abundance of hot water there was generally enough of cold, and gas on every floor; alas! too much of it. There were wooden floors and wooden walls and pictures, and even sculpture adorned them. In these subterranean passages dwelt our men in a kind of heroic enjoyment Of a battle without issue, of a sort of deadly ding-dong, only varied by the blackening of the sky with the monstrous smoke of projectiles that count a man a mere atom in their whirlwind path—fearful engines that lay waste the country, that reduce villages to a hopeless jumble of stones and bent iron and splintered wood, with derisive-looking chimneys floating in a troubled sea, like derelicts in the track of a tornado.

It was clear that in this squatting war all traditions had crumbled hopelessly and wilted away. The monstrous engines belched fire and destruction. From the caverns themselves, deeply cut in the once fertile fields, issued a storm of shot and shell from machine-guns, from mortars of an old-fashioned type, from cannon of the newest type—every imaginable engine of destruction, down to the old hand-grenade, again in usage from a distant past—a past so ancient that Scott reminds us in Rob Roy that "in those days this description of soldiers" (i.e. the Grenadiers) "actually carried that destructive species of firework from which they derive their name." Thus every device known to man's inventive and destructive brain was directed into a new and diabolical channel, and from time to time the vast engines employed emitted a rending noise as if the earth were spitting flame and its rocky ribs had shattered into quivering fragments—a volcano in its most fearful mood, sending forth a mad jumble of rocks and a living stream of lava devastating and devouring.

A gaunt and desolate country haunted by the melancholy crows, resounding with clacking detonations of fusillades and a hoarse bass of heavy cannon, is the place of invisible war. One rubs shoulders with it without being aware of it. One comes suddenly upon it in all innocence. A journalistic friend, at the beginning of the war, dashed into its area all unknowing that he had come on top of it. To his unpractised eye the lines were no more clearly marked than the Equator or the North Pole. And, of course, every effort is made to conceal the battle-field. Beet-root grows riotously on battlements, guns hide behind trees and are covered with branches, so that the airman, peering from his height, sees nothing but the flicker of leaves. The line hides itself as soon as it fights, and without loss of time prepares against a possible retreat. That is the method of it. Should it be driven back, there are strong positions in the rear for the rallying, for the defence à outrance, and for the counter-attack. Fronts have two or three lines of shelter trenches, deep enough to cover a man and generally a yard in width. These trenches are proportioned to the effectives employed. They contain redoubts and blockhouses where guns are placed; they are linked by zigzag paths, and, as a last resort, with a trench of cement, a veritable fortress where are cannon as well as machine-guns. These covered over and fortified trenches nearly always contain rest chambers and magazines for rifles and the different sorts of ammunition required.

The lesson of this trench warfare, therefore, is that if a combatant retires before it is too late he has every chance to survive to fight another day; and he has all the more chance of a new offensive, or at least of maintaining a strong defensive, if he retires in the direction of his resources, or what is called his line of operation, whence he receives his munitions, food and material of war. He retires from the battle, therefore, at the psychological moment when he sees he is likely to be overwhelmed, and reconstitutes himself in the rear. The opening phases of 1914 gave us two parallel retreats: from the Belgian frontier to the Seine by the Allies, and from the Marne to the Aisne by the Germans. The campaign in Poland also showed a similar disposition, and the Russians reformed their line and beat the Germans after they retreated before them. Therefore a mere retreat may be, literally, little more than a strategic movement in the rear. It does not mean, certainly, that all is lost or that the position of the retreating force is one of utter hopelessness.