Grandeur and Misery of Victory E-Book

Georges Clemenceau

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Less a book than a pamphlet both melancholy and passionate, in which the sad controversies with Foch and Poincaré too often conceal the hard-hitting analyzes on the disastrous execution of the Treaty of Versailles. The Tiger had already perceived the march to war but also the death of the French language, the decolonization and the globalization of the power of America.

Leseprobe

EVENING IN VENDÉEAt the table under the window Clemenceau wrote much of his book.Looking up from his manuscript, he would see his rose-trees and,beyond, the ocean.From a photograph by H. Martin

GRANDEUR AND MISERY

OF  VICTORY

BY

GEORGES CLEMENCEAU

©2020 Librorium Editions

Printed in Great Britain atThe Ballantyne Pressby

Spottiswoode, Ballantyne & Co. Ltd.

FOREWORD

The Parthian, as he fled at full gallop, loosed yet one more shaft behind. At the moment when he was swallowed up in the perpetual night of the tomb Marshal Foch seems to have left a whole quiverful of stray arrows to the uncertain bow of a chance archer.

The present hour is not one for suggestions of silence. On every side there is nothing but talkers talking futile words, the sound of which perhaps charms crowds of the deaf. Perhaps that is why I have myself yielded to the universal impulse, with the excuse of preventing the absence of a reply from appearing to mean confirmation. Not that this matters to me so much as might be imagined. When a man has placed the whole interest of his life in action he is little likely to pause over unnecessary trifles.

When I saw this impudent farrago of troopers’ tales in which, in the cosy privacy of the barrack-room, the soldier is unconsciously seeking his revenge for conflicts with authority that did not always end in his favour, I might perhaps have been incapable of turning my back on my duty had not the breath of the great days magically fanned to new life the old, ever-burning flame of the emotions of the past.

What, my gallant Marshal, are you so insensible to the thrill of the great hours that you took ten years of cool and deliberate meditation to assail me for no other reason than a stale mess of military grousings? What is more, you sent another to the field of honour in your place—which is not done. Were you so much afraid of my counter-thrust? Or had it occurred to you that if, as was probable, I died before you, I should for ever have remained, post mortem, under the weighty burden of your accusations? My gallant Marshal, that would not have been like a soldier.

Ah, Foch! Foch! my good Foch! have you then forgotten everything? For my part, I see you in all the triumphant assurance of that commanding voice of yours, which was not the least of your accomplishments. We did not always agree. But the tilts we had at one another left no ill-feeling behind, and when tea-time came round you would give me a nudge and utter these words that were innocent of either strategy or tactics, “Come along! Time to wet our whistles.”

Yes, we used to laugh sometimes. There is not much laughing to-day. Who would have thought that for us those were, in a way, good times? We were living when the agony was at its worst. We had not always time to grumble. Or, if there were occasional grumblings, the arrival of tea put an end to them. There were displays of temper; but there was one common hope, one common purpose. The enemy was there to make us friends. Foch, the enemy is still there. And that is why I bear you a grudge for laying your belated petard at the gates of history to wound me in the back—an insult to the days that are gone.

I am sure that you did not remember my farewell to you. It was at the Paris Hôtel de Ville, and about a memorial tablet on which three of us were inscribed as having served our country well—a crying injustice to so many others. As we went away I laid my hand, as a friend might, on your breast, and, tapping your heart under the uniform, said, “Through it all, there’s something good in there.”

You found no answer, and it so happened that I was never to see you again except as you lay in state. What a stain on your memory that you had to wait so many years to give vent to childish recriminations against me through the agency of another, who, whatever his merits, knew not the War as you and I lived it! Worse still: when I went to America to take up the cudgels for France, accused of militarism, you allowed the New York Tribune to publish an interview in your name full of gross abuse of me, an interview which the writer of your Mémorial did not dare to print, but which I shall lay before the reader side by side with the letter in which you express your overflowing gratitude to me for having given you your Marshal’s staff. Our country will judge us.

As for myself, I am the man I have always been: with my virtues and failings, wholeheartedly at the service of my country, caring naught for the honours or for the steps in rank, with their appropriate emoluments, that weigh so heavily in the scales of success. Never has there been anyone who had power to confer a reward upon me. There is a strength in looking to no one but oneself for anything.

You have to your credit the Marne, the Yser, Doullens, and, of a surety, other battles besides. I forgave you a flagrant disobedience which, under anyone but me, would have brought your military career to an end. I saved you from Parliament in that bad business of the Chemin des Dames, which even now has not been altogether cleared up. Suppose I had sat still and said nothing; where would you be to-day?

Yet, when you had reached the highest honours, after a ten years’ silence, to wait till you had disappeared from the scene and then have me pelted out of your window with roadside pebbles—I tell you frankly it does not redound to your glory. How different were my feelings when I went to meditate beside you as you lay in state! Why must you, of your own accord and without the slightest provocation, strike this blow at your own renown?

It will not be gainsaid that it is my right, nay, my duty, to reply to an inquisitor who begins by establishing himself in a position aloof, remote, and under cover. I once had, and still have, a considerable reserve of silence at the service of my country. But, since the public could hardly fail to impute to faint-heartedness my failure to reply, I cannot remain speechless. You challenge me. Here I am.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

PAGE

I.

Introductory

13

II.

The Unity of Command

24

III.

The Chemin des Dames

43

IV.

The Employment of the American Contingents

58

V.

The Man-power Problem in England

89

VI.

The Armistice

98

VII.

Military Insubordination

115

VIII.

The Belgian Incident

128

IX.

The Peace Conference

134

X.

The Treaty: The Work of President Wilson

156

XI.

The Treaty: A Europe founded upon Right

170

XII.

The Treaty: An Independent Rhineland

193

XIII.

The Treaty: The Guarantee Pact

218

XIV.

Critics after the Event

235

XV.

German Sensibility

255

XVI.

The Mutilations of the Treaty of Versailles: Mutilation by America—Separate Peace

277

XVII.

The Mutilations of the Treaty of Versailles: Financial Mutilations

286

XVIII.

The Mutilations of the Treaty of Versailles: Locarno

300

XIX.

The Mutilations of the Treaty of Versailles: Germany arms. France disarms

317

XX.

The Mutilations of the Treaty of Versailles: The Organization of the Frontiers

334

XXI.

The Mutilations of the Treaty of Versailles: Defeatism

340

XXII.

The Retrograde Peace

355

XXIII.

The Unknown Warrior

368

Appendix I: The Unity of Command: March 1918. Memorandum to the Cabinet by Lord Milner on his Visit to France, including the Conference at Doullens, March 26, 1918.

380

Appendix II: The Problem of the Inter-Allied Debts. Open Letter from M. Clemenceau to President Coolidge

392

Index

395

Grandeur and Misery of Victory

CHAPTER IINTRODUCTORY

Ambitions and falterings—they belong to humanity in every age.

My relations with General Foch go back to a period long before the war that brought us together, different as we were, in common action in our country’s service. The newspapers have told how I appointed him Commandant of the École de Guerre, looking to his known capabilities without taking any notice of his relations with the Society of Jesus. As it chanced, matters really happened pretty much as the popular tale relates. Which is not usual. So I confirm the story of the two speeches we exchanged.

“I have a brother a Jesuit.”

“I don’t give a ——.”

I might have chosen a politer expression. But I was speaking to a soldier, and I meant to be understood. If it had no other merit my phrase had the advantage of being clear. Which might be taken as sufficient. General Picquart, the Minister of War, had very warmly recommended General Foch to me, to start a course in strategy, which the Minister, with the General specifically in mind, wished to set up. I asked nothing further. In similar circumstances I am not at all certain that some of my opponents would have been capable of following my example.[1]

Naturally I claim no particular merit for such a simple act of French patriotism. I belonged to the generation that saw the loss of Alsace-Lorraine, and never could I be consoled for that loss. And I here recall, with pardonable pride, that in 1908 I stood up against Germany in the Casablanca crisis, and that the Government of William II, after demanding apologies from us, was forced by my calm resistance to be satisfied with mere arbitration, as in any other dispute. We had not yet come to the days of the humiliating cession of an arbitrary slice of our Congo to Germany by M. Caillaux and his successor, M. Poincaré.

I will not try to hide the fact that I had one or two nights of uneasy slumbers. I was running a very formidable risk. The weak, who are usually the majority, were already quite prepared to repudiate me. Nevertheless, my country’s honour remained safe and intact in my hands.

If I had any relations with General Foch between those far-off days and the War I have kept no memory of them. He was not in politics, and had no need of me.

At Bordeaux, after the battle of the Marne, I received a letter from my brother Albert, who had enlisted, telling me that General Foch, who had never met him, had sent for him to whisper confidentially in his ear, “The War is now virtually ended.” That was perhaps going a little fast. No one assuredly felt that better than the General himself when once he had the military responsibility in his own hands. But the happy forecast was none the less justified by the event. It did honour to the soldier’s swift intuition.

It was impossible for me to feel better disposed toward the military chief who already held that the tide had definitely turned in the direction of victory. And so I was not surprised in evil days—at the close of 1914, when my thankless task kept me in severe opposition to the authorities—to receive a request from General Foch, again through my brother, for a private interview in the prefecture of Beauvais, then occupied by my friend M. Raux, who was later Prefect of Police.

In my simplicity I had thought that some important revelation would prove the justification for this unlooked-for step. So I came to the interview warm and expectant, to be chilled by the discovery that it was merely that I might be questioned, in war-time, by the head of an army, as to the more or less favourable attitude of the political world toward a recasting of the High Command, which interested my interlocutor in direct personal fashion.[2]

My general attitude was friendly but reserved. I was most certainly willing to trust the professional capabilities of the former Professor of Strategy at the École Supérieure de Guerre, but none the less I regretted his preoccupation with his purely personal interests. Thus I came away rather disappointed, and so ended this mysterious colloquy, without really beginning.

Later on, in 1916, another surprise was in store for me. For one day there arrived my Parliamentary colleague, M. Meunier-Surcouf, orderly officer to General Foch, bringing me a bust (in imitation terra-cotta) of his chief, with the latter’s compliments. I was astounded. What was I supposed to do in return? Questioned on this point, M. Meunier-Surcouf told me that a sculptor had been summoned to headquarters and given a commission to produce from a larger model fifteen copies of reduced size meant for various persons supposed to be influential. This was doing things in a big way. The whole affair may give rise to a smile. Still, the fact remains that such a proceeding might seem strange at the height of a war in which the very life of France was at stake. I had heard that kings used to send photographs to visitors with whom they were pleased. General Foch went as far as a bust, and I can aver that, for a man who never intrigues either with soldiers or civilians, it was a very embarrassing article.

More outspokenly candid than his chief, the orderly officer did not conceal from me that he was of the opinion that General Foch should be placed at the head of the French armies. I was far from being opposed to this. M. Meunier-Surcouf visited me again and again to confirm me in his views. He has been kind enough to make up from his notes a report from which I shall quote a few passages:

At 10 A.M. on April 15, 1916, I presented myself at M. Clemenceau’s house in the Rue Franklin; I had never had occasion to approach him previously.

What was it prompted me to pay him this visit?

It was because underneath the often violent polemics of the Homme Enchaîné there could be discerned in him an unmistakable love of France and an uncompromising desire for victory.

“I am old,” he said, “I don’t set much value on life, but I have sworn that my old carcase should hold out until victory is complete, for we shall have the victory, Monsieur Charles Meunier, we shall.”

In turn I put my interlocutor in possession of the military situation as it appeared to me from an examination of the facts. . . .

“I have seen around me,” I told him, “only one general who believes wholly and absolutely in our military victory, and that is General Foch: since to this indispensable belief he adds the qualities that make him one of the highest in his profession, he seems to me marked out to lead our armies, and the Government will find in him the firmest prop, and the most loyal too, in the difficult months that are approaching.

“I do not want you to believe merely that I am speaking of him as a devoted officer of his, a friend who has become attached to him during the eighteen months he has been by his side. I wish to base myself on facts.”

And I gave him my own account of the handling of the battle of the Marne, when Foch was in command of the Ninth Army, to which I was attached as officer in an artillery group of the 60th Reserve Division, and of the race to the sea that ended in the arrest of the German offensive in the north on November 15, 1914.

In these two actions there were revealed such qualities of the offensive spirit, for using and economizing reserves, of moral energy, and even of diplomacy, that it might be confidently affirmed that, while many of our generals had excellent qualities, General Foch seemed to stand in a superior category.

“In any case,” I added, “come and see him. You came twice close to us—I saw you—without stopping at our headquarters. I am of the firm belief that if you are working together, you at home and he in the Army, we shall be in the best position for achieving success in the end.

“The General’s talents for attack make him capable of gaining the victory, but he might lose a battle; it is indispensable that he should have by him some one able to shield him, to uphold him in such a contingency before the Chambers of Parliament,[3] before the country, of whose sensitiveness you are fully aware, and I think you are the very man needed for this purpose. It is time for you two to come to an understanding.”

I confess that the distribution of those busts gave me certain misgivings about the candidate for the post of Commander-in-Chief. A reminiscence of General Boulanger?

As he left me General Foch’s orderly said:

“It’s a promise, isn’t it?”

“I make no promises to anyone whatever,” I replied. “But I am well disposed. In any case, I shall not be consulted.”

Time goes on. A fresh surprise! One morning, at the end of 1916, I see General Foch himself enter my house in a state of great excitement.

“I have come straight from my headquarters,” he said, “where I have just had a visit from General Joffre. This is what he said to me:

“ ‘I am a most unhappy man. I am coming to entreat you to forgive a meanness I have just been guilty of. M. Poincaré sent for me, and gave me an order to relieve you of your command; I ought never to have consented. I gave way. I have come to beg your pardon.’ ”

And General Foch wound up with:

“And now I have come to ask your advice. What do you think I ought to do?”

Not a word of the cause of the calamity. That was a bad sign. I refrained from asking questions. Yet that was the real vital point of the business. But I thought I must spare the nerves of the general torn away from his soldiers.

“My dear friend,” I replied, “your duty is all clearly marked out for you. Rivalries that I know nothing about may have caused this momentary reverse. They cannot do without you. No fuss. Obey without arguing or recrimination. Go back quietly to your own home. Lie low. Perhaps you will be called back inside a fortnight.”

My forecast was a long way out, for the General remained limogé for several months.

Several months kicking his heels in meditation is a great deal for a gallant soldier who sees his comrades falling on the battlefield. Foch endured this trial without uttering a word. That was a feat which I appreciate at its full value.

In later years I told this story to Poincaré, who shrugged up his shoulders laughing, with the sole comment, “These generals! They are always the same.”

I was not greatly enlightened by that.

In November 1917 I found General Foch in Paris, as Chief of the General Staff; in a word, not in any active command. From Picquart’s report of him I had expected some dazzling display of military talents. Perhaps the last word had not been spoken.

M. Poincaré and Marshal Joffre certainly know all the details of this affair. There has been talk of an intrigue carried on by a politician general who put himself forward openly as a competitor of Foch, and who was at that time a frequent visitor to the Élysée. M. Painlevé has written that Foch was relieved of his command by Joffre for purely military reasons. And for his part Commandant Bugnet declares expressly that it was a question of the Somme offensive, a marked failure that it was later tried to pass off as a mere attempt to “ease Verdun.”

Unprovided with transport adequate for exploiting the break-through, the Somme offensive presents itself as an operation that failed. Certain leaders, when everything is over, too often have an explanation all cut and dried to justify a failure. In this way it is easy to get out of an awkward situation cheaply. There is nothing to be astonished at in those who pretended to have relieved Verdun none the less thinking themselves bound to ‘limoger’ Foch “for the sake of example.” Some day or other the affair will be cleared up. But it may be believed that there must have been very serious reasons to make M. Poincaré, who was very careful about questions of responsibility, withdraw the soldier of the Marne and the Yser from the fighting. In the end the two men understood each other, at which history will not be astonished.

For my part, as soon as I came to the Ministry, I naturally resumed my good relations with the new Chief of the General Staff. I still counted upon the effect of his strategic talents. As for him, with or without a bust, he had succeeded his old rival in the intimacy of the head of the State. Each henceforth played his part on the card of mutual confidence that he thought safest.

Before going further I make a point of expressly declaring that this book is not to be regarded as a series of memoirs. I have been called upon to reply upon certain points. I am replying, but without losing sight of the broad considerations that are essentially imposed in such a subject. During more than ten years I have preserved silence at all costs, despite the attacks that were never spared me, and it was most certainly not any fear of the fray that held me back.

I had simply considered that, in the anxious and dangerous situation into which our country had been brought, the utmost restraint and reserve was laid upon me—and to the last word of this book I shall regret departing from it. After the terrible loss of blood France has suffered it appears that she has reacted less virilely in peace than in the great days of her military trial. Her ‘rulers’ seem to have forgotten, all nearly in the same degree, that no less resolution is needed to live through peace than war. Perhaps even more, at certain moments. Some know as much who talk of action instead of acting. Whether in the Government, in Parliament, or in public opinion, I see everywhere nothing but faltering and flinching.

Our allies, dis-allied, have contributed largely to this result, and we have never done anything to deter them. England in various guises has gone back to her old policy of strife on the Continent, and America, prodigiously enriched by the War, is presenting us with a tradesman’s account that does more honour to her greed than to her self-respect.

Engrossed in her endeavours for economic reconstruction—alas! all too sorely needed—France is seeking in the graveyards of politics for human left-overs to make a pale shadow of what used to be. The vital spark is gone. An old, done man myself, here I find myself at grips with a soldier of the bygone days, who brings against me arguments within the comprehension of simple minds—now, when I had changed my workshop and meant to end my days in philosophy.

With far less wisdom, after ten years of reflection he chooses to hurl at me the ancient shell of a long-delayed attack, sparing himself, by deliberately and intentionally keeping under cover, all anxiety as to the inevitable reply. Thus, like a good strategist, he secured his rear before giving free vent to old grievances of the most virulent nature against me. To one who now seeks only rest this is of no great importance, but for a leader in war to let his battle lie dormant for ten years and then give a casual passer-by the task of stirring it into life, that is not the mark of a spirit sure of itself, nor of a magnanimous heart.

[1] In the case of a university appointment, in circumstances less serious, though still delicate enough, I fixed my choice in the same way on M. Brunetière, because he seemed to me the best-qualified candidate, although he was in declared opposition to my ideas. I take pride in this kind of behaviour, which is due to entire and perfect confidence in the ultimate emergence of truth through the free play of the human mind.

[2] A string of commonplaces about the War—our chances of success, what might be done. My interlocutor seemed to me short of ideas.

[3] My italics. M. Meunier-Surcouf had a premonition of the Chemin des Dames.

CHAPTER IITHE UNITY OF COMMAND

What was it that determined me to appoint General Foch to the Supreme Command? General Mordacq’s notes allow me to follow the battles of the future chief of the Allies.

After the battles in Lorraine, on August 29, 1914, General Foch relinquished the command of the Twentieth Army Corps, in order to take up that of an army detachment intended to cover the left of the Fourth Army more effectively, and to link it up with the Fifth. . . .

This detachment before long became the Ninth Army, at the head of which General Foch was to play an important part in the battle of the Marne. . . .

General Joffre, deeming “the strategical situation excellent and in accord with the dispositions aimed at,” issued orders, on the evening of September 4, to resume the offensive on the morning of the 6th, and to concentrate upon the German First Army the efforts of the Allied armies on the left wing. . . .

September the 6th sees the general launching of the attack. The Ninth Army is in the centre. It is precisely at this point the Germans are making their main effort. In reply to the manœuvre of Maunoury’s army on the German right, von Moltke orders Bulow’s army, which includes the Guard and the best German troops, to drive home the attack upon the French centre—that is to say, upon the Ninth Army. . . .

This army is stopped, and that at the height of its attack. Impossible for it to reach its objective, the district to the north of the Marais de Saint-Gond. At the end of the day it has barely struggled up to the southern fringe of the marshes. . . .

Its left wing, violently assailed, is fighting desperately at Mondement (the Moroccan division). The 42nd Division succeeds in driving the Guard back into the Marais de Saint-Gond. The Eleventh Army Corps, on the right, is holding out against the German attacks with difficulty.[1] . . .

September 9. The situation is becoming grave: the Prussian Guard have carried Fère-Champenoise by storm; the Ninth and Eleventh Army Corps are falling back. General Foch, unperturbed by the situation, sends a report to G.Q.G. which concludes, “I am giving fresh orders to resume the offensive.”[2]

And so, reinforced by the Tenth Army Corps, he launches a fresh counter-attack on Fère-Champenoise. . . .

September 10. He resumes the offensive along his whole front; after desperate fighting Fère-Champenoise is retaken. In the evening the Germans retreat, and are pressed back north of the Marais de Saint-Gond. . . .

September 11. Helped by a cavalry corps (under General de l’Espée), which General Joffre has placed at the disposal of General Foch, the pursuit begins in the direction of the Marne, which is reached by the Ninth Army on September 12, between Épernay and Châlons. Large numbers of prisoners are captured, and considerable quantities of stores and provisions.

The German High Command had ordered a general retreat on the evening of September 10.

After the battle of the Marne the German Staff had at once prepared a new enveloping movement against the French left wing. On its side the French High Command was trying to outflank the German right, which brought about the battles of Picardy and Artois and the “race to the sea.”

In the early days of October 1914 the situation was serious for the Allies: Lille threatened by the German cavalry, Flanders lying open, while the whole of the enemy forces were moving up more and more to the north, and threatening to break through the front at any moment.

It was at this juncture that General Joffre, on October 4, entrusted General Foch (whose Ninth Army had been broken up) with the task of co-ordinating all the forces engaged between the Oise and the sea—Castelnau’s and Maud’huy’s armies, a group of territorial divisions under General Brugère, and the Dunkirk garrison.

At the same time the English Army was transferred to Flanders (the Hazebrouck-Ypres region).

October 9. The fortress of Antwerp capitulates, and the Belgian field army which was surrounded there succeeds in reaching the coast, and, on October 11, occupies the region between Ypres and the sea. King Albert intimates that he will be happy to give his entire support to the co-ordination of the efforts of all the Allied forces which General Foch had been delegated to bring about.

The German Plan. After the fall of Antwerp the Germans, following their original plan, aimed at turning the position of the Allies by proceeding if necessary as far as the sea, and took Dunkirk, Boulogne, and Calais for their objective.

After the march to Paris came—as the German Press announced—the march to Calais. To attain their goal, the Germans concentrated no fewer than 600,000 men in Belgium and Flanders.

The French, warned of this huge manœuvre, brought up all their available reserves into Belgium.

October 20. The transport of the English Army has been achieved under favourable conditions. It is grouped entirely in the Ypres region.

The Belgian Army established the line of the Yser.

All these movements of the Belgian and English Armies were covered by the two French cavalry corps.

It may be said, then, that on October 20 the “race to the sea” was at an end, and the barrier established. It remained to hold it, and this was what brought on the battle of the Yser.

October 21. The situation of the Allies is as follows:

On the right, the English (three army corps).

In the centre, the French (three divisions, the marines, a Belgian brigade).

On the left, the Belgians (six divisions).

On the extreme left, the French 42nd Division.

Against which the Germans have at their disposal:

(i)

Six army corps belonging to the Fourth Army,

(ii)

Five army corps belonging to the Sixth Army.

October 22. To frustrate the German plan, General Foch, in conjunction with Field-Marshal Sir John French and King Albert, gives the order to attack. The battle of the Yser begins.

In the north the Belgians and French make a vigorous attack, but a violent German counter-attack, supported by a formidable weight of heavy artillery, cuts short their offensive, and they have speedily to resort to flooding the district in order to stay the onrush of the Germans. The lock-gates at Nieuport are opened, and the water covers the whole valley of the Yser between Nieuport and Dixmude.

October 30. The Germans, nevertheless, are still pressing on the attack; but they are brought to a stop, and on November 2 are forced to recross the Yser, abandoning part of their artillery.

Farther south, in the Ypres region, the English in turn have taken the offensive on October 23, making Courtrai their general objective. From the 23rd to the 28th of October the attack develops favourably, but on the latter date the Germans make a vigorous counter-attack with six army corps, and drive in the English front.

At this point General Foch puts the equivalent of three corps of French troops at the disposal of Field-Marshal Sir John French, but again the Germans attack in force and compel the Allies to fall back. Field-Marshal Sir John French now contemplates a withdrawal to the west of Ypres. General Foch succeeds in making him give up this idea—an act of capital importance which was the deciding factor of the battle. The Allies counter-attack and stop the German advance.

From the 1st to the 6th of November the battle rages along the whole front: but, despite the superhuman efforts of the Germans, they fail to break through. The fighting continues, but it may be said that the great battle of the Yser was at an end on November 15. The Germans have failed to get through and attain their objective—the sea. Their losses are enormous. The Guard has been decimated, and more than 250,000 men are gone. On the Allied side, too, casualties are heavy. Both sides are exhausted, but set about reorganizing.

This huge battle of the Yser was the end of the “race to the sea.” The Germans, after trying in vain to turn the Allies’ left, had undertaken this march nach Calais, which might, indeed, have procured them considerable advantages from a strategical point of view. On November 15, 1914, they were obliged to give up the attempt. This battle of Ypres, if not a victory for the Allies, who with their depleted ranks were unable to exploit it, was, beyond a shadow of doubt, a decided defeat for the Germans.

The success was definitely and distinctly due to General Foch, who, though without official status, had known how to impose his will upon the Allies in the conduct of operations by his energy, his tenacity, and his unfailing confidence. To sum up, it was he who at all points DIRECTED the gigantic battle of the Yser and won it. Had it been lost, it was he who would certainly have borne the responsibility.

It is not my intention here to picture the gloomy realities of our pre-War military position. We know that the first effect of our unpreparedness was to lay French territory open to the enemy. Up to the present nobody has come forward to accept responsibility for our lack of quick-firing heavy artillery, or for the scandalous shortage of machine-guns, mistakes so grave that, but for the rally on the Marne, our territories from the frontier to Paris would have been in the grip of the enemy. Admirable as was this recovery from our defeat, it could not exhaust the impetus of the enemy offensive. The result of the first battle was to determine that the War was to be fought out on French soil, where the hostile armies applied themselves to the systematic ravaging of our industrial towns and of our country districts, along with the enslavement of the people.

Who then was responsible for this initial blunder? Is it impossible to tell us, or, at any rate, to pretend to make inquiry? If the historian ever thinks of timidly putting this question I will take advantage of the fact and put another to him. Was it forbidden to forecast that Germany might dishonour her own signature by violating the neutrality of Belgium? And what could prevent her from taking certain military steps to that end? And who did not know the German state of mind? And who could believe that a moral obstacle was the kind that could stop men or rulers for a single moment? I have looked through Colonel Foch’s work on the principles of war. I saw with utter dismay that there was not a single word in it on the question of armaments. A metaphysical treatise on war! And yet it is not without importance to know if an attack with catapults or with quick-firing guns may call upon us to vary our means of defence. Questions of this nature really deserve some consideration.

What a difference in mentality on the two sides of the Rhine! In Germany every tightening up of authority to machine-drill men with a view to the most violent offensive; with us all the dislocations of easygoing slackness and fatuous reliance on big words.

The letters exchanged between the King of England and M. Poincaré at the moment of the declaration of war bear sufficient witness to the common distress of the peoples concerned. Skilful and discreetly worded, M. Poincaré’s letter was in substance a request for help. Friendly but evasive. King George’s reply amounted to a refusal for the moment. England, still less prepared than ourselves, was slow to understand that she was to play her part. Had she had but one hour of flinching, all might well have been lost. The violation of Belgian neutrality was to put an end to her hesitations.

There was a certain incoherence and confusion about the preliminary arranging of alliances for a war that could no longer be avoided. It could not be otherwise, seeing that the advantage of organized anticipation was altogether on the side of Germany, in whose hands lay the offensive. So the first impulse of the Allies in the critical hours was in the direction of a universal demand for one supreme military authority. But every army is the highest expression of nationality in action, and the heads of the national power it represents did not easily yield on this point, nay, it was even the American people, the least military of all, that raised the greatest difficulties at the decisive moment.

From the outset of the War popular feeling in France had placed the hope of success in unity of command; and when once experience and the logic of theory were both agreed on this point, nothing was left but to agree upon the choice of the Generalissimo.[3] There never was the shadow of a discussion, to my knowledge, as to the principle, any more than there was about the person to whom that high post could be entrusted.[4] There were no competitors. Only the name of Foch was uttered. The main point was that Foch had displayed qualities of the highest kind in desperate circumstances which, above everything, called for miracles of resistance, while Mangin, with his vehement temperament, had been able to work miracles in the offensive. Both had, by logical sequence, the grave defect of being unable to endure the civil power—when they did not need its support.

Pétain, who is no less great a soldier, has brilliant days, and is always steady. In perilous battles I found him tranquilly heroic—that is to say, master of himself. Perhaps without illusions, but certainly without recriminations, he was always ready for self-sacrifice. I have great pleasure in paying him this tribute. He has been greatly blamed for the pessimistic utterances of his headquarters staff. The truth was, I verily believe, that the very worst could not frighten him and that he had no difficulty in facing it with unshakable serenity. But his entourage were too prone to open their ears to croakings. A few embusqués on the Staff flourished these abroad, with deductions and conclusions that were not those of their chief—who remained unshakably a great soldier.

This frightful War brought us out good generals, and many of those who have the right to risk an opinion will perhaps tell us that Foch was the most complete of them all. Simple minds, which are the majority, love to judge men in the lump, by an approximate description that they like to think final and clinching. But human nature is too complex, too variable, to lend itself readily to these summary methods, which do not always enable the most earnest sincerity to discover the true formula to describe a living force. Did General Foch, who was by no means rich in subtleties of character, possess along with his strategic talents the diplomatic aptitudes essential to an international chief? But we must not anticipate.

The difficulty came mainly from the British side, where our military influence was all the greater, inasmuch as we made no parade of it. I remained very moderate in conversations on the matter, knowing, in any case, through our constant friend Lord Milner, that the problem was moving slowly but surely toward the happy solution.

There was a long way to go. We had had too many wars with the British for them readily to fall in with the idea of placing their soldiers under the command of a Frenchman.

The day[5] I first broached the subject to General Sir Douglas Haig, as I was breakfasting at his headquarters, the soldier jumped up like a jack-in-the-box, and, with both hands shot up to heaven, exclaimed:

“Monsieur Clemenceau, I have only one chief, and I can have no other. My King.”

A bad beginning. Conversations followed without result, until that day at Doullens, when under the pressure of events Lord Milner, after a short colloquy with Field-Marshal Haig, informed me that the opposition to the unity of command had been dropped.

The rest followed. But several stages more were needed to arrive at a formula that should approximately secure all the necessary conditions for increased efficiency through the single command. Resistance in England came not so much from the Army as from Parliament, and, most of all, from the ‘man in the street.’ The idea of seeing a French general commanding British generals was for a long time unendurable. The argument seemed more to the point when our joint failure of 1917, under the temporary command of General Nivelle, was pointed out. But that was nothing more than the outward semblance of an argument that held good because no one ventured to go absolutely to the bottom of it.

It was at Doullens that Foch, without anyone’s permission, laid hold of the command. For that minute I shall remain grateful to him until my last breath. We were in the courtyard of the mairie, under the eyes of a public stricken with stupefaction, which on every side was putting the question to us, “Will the Germans be coming to Doullens? Try to keep them from coming.” Among us there was silence, suddenly broken by an exclamation from a French general, who, pointing to Haig close by us, said to me in a low voice:

“There is a man who will be obliged to capitulate in open field within a fortnight, and very lucky if we are not obliged to do the same.”

From the mouth of an expert this speech was by no means calculated to confirm the confidence we wanted to hold on to at all costs.

There was a bustle, and Foch arrived, surrounded by officers, and dominating everything with his cutting voice.

“You aren’t fighting? I would fight without a break. I would fight in front of Amiens. I would fight in Amiens. I would fight behind Amiens. I would fight all the time.”[6]

No commentary is needed on that speech. I confess that for my own part I could hardly refrain from throwing myself into the arms of this admirable chief in the name of France in deadly peril.

At the moment when we had found Foch out of favour in the post of Chief of the General Staff he already had to his credit two great defensive actions of the utmost brilliance.

On the Marne and on the Yser he had reached the heights in the desperate resistance that, by the power of his word, had fixed Field-Marshal French on the field of battle, and by his mere example he had maintained his troops invincible under the terrific onslaught of the enemy. The Germans had determined to win at all costs. Immovable in this extremity of peril, Foch had flung in his men to the very limit of the wild gallantry that carries the fighting soldier beyond the demands of duty. On that day they all entered together into the glory of the heroes of antiquity.

At length, in the Doullens conference—March 26, 1918—the varying phases of which have been many times related,[7] in the end the following text was agreed upon:

General Foch is charged by the British and French Governments with co-ordinating the action of the Allied armies on the Western Front. For this purpose he will come to an understanding with the Generals-in-Chief, who are invited to furnish him with all necessary information.

This was merely a first step, but it was decisive. The title of Commander-in-Chief was not yet accepted by the English. At Beauvais[8] I proposed to entrust Foch with “the strategic command,” and the formula was accepted. The text of the new agreement was as follows:

General Foch is charged by the British, French, and American Governments with the duty of co-ordinating the action of the Allied armies on the Western Front, and with this object in view there is conferred upon him all the powers necessary for its effective accomplishment. For this purpose the British, French, and American Governments entrust to General Foch the strategic direction of military operations.

At the request of the English the following phrase was added:

The Commanders-in-Chief of the British, French, and American Armies shall exercise in full the tactical conduct of their Armies. Each Commander-in-Chief shall have the right to appeal to his Government if, in his opinion, his Army finds itself placed in danger by any instruction received from General Foch.

In order to define the advantages attached to the title that was finally obtained, I asked General Foch to write to the Allied Governments. In his letter he laid stress on this argument, “I have toPERSUADE, instead ofDIRECTING. Power of supreme control seems to me indispensable for achieving success.”

All that took time. At last, after continual pressing on my part, I obtained an answer from Mr Lloyd George: the British Government, he said, had no longer any objection to General Foch taking the title of Commander-in-Chief of the Allied armies in France.[9] On the same day our excellent General Bliss, after a conversation with General Mordacq at Versailles, sent me this message in the name of the President of the United States: “I guarantee that our Government will see nothing but advantage in the unity of command.”

For me it was less a matter of formulas than of the acts depending on them. Already at Clermont (Oise)[10] General Pershing had come to place himself at the disposal of his new chief in a moving speech, the memory of which has remained fresh and vivid in our hearts. At the same time Pétain too had come to take General Foch’s orders. On every side there was full harmony. We were on the threshold of decisive action.

What use was made of this higher command is a question that military history will have the task of clearing up. For many reasons I am not convinced that it actually played the decisive part public opinion is inclined to attribute to it. That history will have to be written by others than those who lived it. We must be told what amount of obedience was asked for and obtained, and in what circumstances, and for what results. We have not got so far as that yet.

It must indeed be said that in his exercise of the single command the Generalissimo at times gave way to hesitancies, to temperings of authority calculated to leave the desired and expected results in uncertainty. On the other hand, I think I can say that the commander of the British Army never submitted wholly to the instructions of General Foch, who was perhaps over-anxious to have no difficulty with the two great chiefs theoretically his subordinates.

Then came the evil day of the Chemin des Dames. To procure fresh effectives and to confirm General Foch’s authority[11] I had the following sentence inserted into the message sent by the heads of the Allied Governments to Mr Wilson:[12] “We consider that General Foch, who is conducting the present campaign with consummate skill, AND WHOSE MILITARY JUDGMENT INSPIRES US WITH THE UTMOST CONFIDENCE, DOES NOT EXAGGERATE THE NECESSITIES OF THE MOMENT.”

The chief trouble at this moment[13] came from Sir Douglas Haig, who, as usual, was unwilling to allow the Generalissimo to remove reserves from the English Army to use them on the French front.[14] The English desired first and foremost to protect the Channel ports. Nothing could be more natural. General Foch, who had French divisions in Flanders, did not wish to bring them away, because that was where he was expecting the German attack before and after the Chemin des Dames collapse. He informed me of the position. I had made it a fixed rule to abstain from all discussions of a purely military nature, but I had the right—it was even my duty—to make inquiries to discover whether the Supreme Command was functioning properly.

[1] September 7 and 8.

[2] These simple words at this critical moment display the character of the soldier.

[3] In an excellent article in the Revue des Deux Mondes (April 15, 1929) general Mordacq has elucidated this question in a remarkable manner. Subsequently he expanded this work in a volume in which General Foch is treated with the honour that is his due. Everybody knows that General Mordacq, one of our best generals of division, was the head of my military secretariat. I know those who have never forgiven him yet for that.

[4] Lord Milner had had the idea, in order to soothe the susceptibilities of the British soldier, of giving the title to me, so that the function might devolve upon Foch as Chief of the General Staff. It was never broached to me. Need I say that I should never have fallen in with this curious scheme?

[5] January 1918.

[6] I did not fail to report these words to the President of the Republic, who quoted them in his address to the great soldier when handing him the bâton of Maréchal de France, which I myself proposed for him.

[7] “. . . The meeting was fixed for eleven o’clock at Doullens, which was sensibly situated half-way between the English and French headquarters. At eleven o’clock precisely M. Clemenceau and I arrived at the Place de la Mairie, a square thenceforth historic. Shortly after came M. Poincaré, accompanied by General Duparge. . . . Field-Marshal Haig was there already, in conference in the mairie with his army commanders, Generals Home, Plumer, and Byng.

“Then came General Foch, calmer than ever, nevertheless not succeeding in hiding his ardent desire to see the Allies at last come to certain logical decisions. . . .

“Lastly, General Pétain arrived in his turn, anxious enough. . . .

“It was rather cold, and to keep ourselves warm we walked about in little groups in the square in front of the mairie, these little groups halting every now and then to talk together.

“The scene was not lacking in impressiveness and unusualness. Upon the highway, which runs along the square itself, there might be seen English troops retiring sedately, in perfect order, without showing the least trace of any emotion of any kind—the British imperturbability in the fullest acceptation of the word; then, seemingly nearer every moment, a violent cannonade: the German guns, which were, in fact, a few kilometres away, calling us back to reality and making us think of ‘the great game that was being played.’

“All those men in that modest little square, all those Frenchmen who fully understood the situation, were well aware of the importance of this day. That is why under a calm exterior the pangs of anxiety gnawed at every heart.

“But time was going on, and still the English did not arrive.

“Noon. . . . Still nobody. . . .

“At length, at five minutes after twelve, Lord Milner’s cars rolled up. General Wilson was with him.

“The Anglo-French conference then began, the time being twenty minutes past twelve.

“M. Clemenceau at once brought up the question of Amiens. Field-Marshal Haig declared that there had been a misunderstanding on the matter, that not only had he never thought of evacuating Amiens, but that it was his firm intention to bring together every division at his disposal to reinforce his right, which was obviously his weak spot, and consequently that of the Allies. His line would hold north of the Somme, that he guaranteed absolutely; but to the south of the river he could do nothing more; and besides he had placed all the remaining elements of the Fifth Army under General Pétain’s orders. . . . To which General Pétain replied, ‘There is very little of it left, and in strict truth we may say that the Fifth Army no longer exists.’ Field-Marshal Haig added further that he might perhaps be obliged to rectify his line before Arras, but that this was not yet certain: he even hoped it need not come to that. Those were the resources at his disposal; in his turn he asked the French to disclose theirs.

“General Pétain was then called upon. He explained the situation as he saw it, and as it really was—in other words, gloomy enough—and stressed all the difficulties he had been forced up against since March 21. He added that since the previous day, and the Compiègne interview, he had looked for all possible resources to cope with the situation, and that he was happy to be able to say that he would perhaps manage to throw twenty-four divisions into the battle, though, of course, these divisions were far from fresh, and most of them had just been fighting. In any case, he felt that in a situation of this kind it was essential not to be deceived by illusions, but to look realities in the face, and accordingly it must be realized that a fairly considerable time was necessary to get these units ready to take part in operations. At all events, he had done everything possible to send all available troops to the Amiens region, not hesitating even to strip the French front in the centre and east—even beyond what was prudent. He therefore asked that Field-Marshal Haig would be good enough to do the same on his side.

“Field-Marshal Haig replied that he would ask nothing better than to ‘do the same, but that unfortunately he had absolutely no reserves and that in England itself there were no men left capable of going into the line immediately.’