A GLIMPSE OF FRANCE
At Pontarlier, on the French frontier, a special train was
waiting for my party and into this train a German-American
inserted himself after first mixing his baggage with mine. I went
through the train and this enterprising gentleman and another
German-American were detained for some days at Pontarlier. One of
them, later, on reaching Spain, reported immediately to the head
of the German secret service there, thus justifying my suspicions.
Fortunately when he subsequently arrived in Spain we had already
sailed, so that if he bore any sinister message from Berlin to
the German agents in Spain to hinder our voyage, he was too late.
The night trip to Paris was uneventful. At the Gare St. Lazare we
were met by our Ambassador, Mr. Sharp, with several of his staff
and a representative of the French Foreign Office.
Paris was indeed a changed Paris since I had last seen it in
October of 1913. The pavement in the Place Vendôme, in front of
the Hotel Ritz, where we stopped, was full of holes, but
taxicabs, almost as extinct as the dodo in Berlin, rushed merrily
through the crowded streets. The boulevards were lively, full of
soldiers looking far more cheery, far more snappy, than the heavy
footed German soldiers who so painfully tramped down Unter den
Linden. Many soldiers were to be seen without an arm or leg,
something impossible in Germany where, especially in Berlin, it
has been the policy of the Government to conceal those maimed by
war from the people at home. Although constantly walking the
streets of Berlin I never saw a German soldier without an arm or
leg. Once motoring near Berlin I came upon a lonely country house
where, through the iron rails of the surrounding park, numbers of
maimed soldiers peered out, prisoners of the autocratic
government which dared not show its victims to the people.
At night in Paris the taxicabs and autos rushed dangerously
through streets darkened to baffle the Zeppelins. In the hotel
there was little heat, only wood fires in one's room. In the
homes a single electric light bulb was permitted for each room;
violation of this rule meant loss of electric light from that
apartment for three weeks.
In the Ritz Restaurant there were lights on the table only. And
the gloomy dining room, where a few Americans and British
officers and their families conversed in whispers, resembled but
little the gay resort so often filled, before the war, with
American millionaires. Olivier, the head waiter, appeared only at
night, absent during the day on war duties. No lights, no music,
it is hard to think of Paris without these, Paris which calls
itself the "Ville Lumière"--the City of Light.
On our first Sunday in Paris a grand concert was held in the
Trocadero--a great government owned auditorium on the banks of
the Seine,--under Canadian auspices. When Ambassador Sharp and I
entered the centre box the vast audience rose and cheered--a new
sensation for me to be so welcomed after my war-years in Berlin,
where I had been harried and growled at, the representative of a
hated people, of a people at once envied for their wealth, hated
because they had dared to keep their rights and treaties and sell
goods to the enemies of Germany, and despised because the Germans
believed them too rich and cowardly, too fat and degenerate, to
fight in the great war for the mastery of the world.
Lord Esher called on me at the hotel and invited me on behalf of
Field Marshal Haig, to visit the British line. I am sorry that I
did not have time to accept this invitation, especially as in
Germany I had not even heard the distant firing of cannon.
The Great General Headquarters at Charleville-Mézières where I
had visited Emperor William at the end of April, 1916, was only
about seventy kilometres from the battle front near Rheims. I was
naturally anxious to inspect, if not the front trenches, at least
the vicinity of the front, but the army officers attached to the
German Foreign Office, who had accompanied me, informed me that
the Chancellor had telephoned all the Generals in the vicinity to
ask permission for me to visit the lines but that not one of them
would permit me to visit his sector. This was a fairly certain
indication that sooner or later the hate for America must lead
to war or that the U-boat settlement made at the time was only a
stop gap until the increased number of submarines would enable
Germany to commence ruthless U-boat war once more in defiance of
law and humanity, and with a greater hope of military success.
Compared to Berlin, Paris seemed a land of abundance. In the
restaurants, however, the customer was limited to two courses,
but with the privilege of a second helping.
I called on Lord Bertie, the British Ambassador, to ask him to
convey my acknowledgments to the Honourable Arthur James Balfour,
from whom I had received a most complimentary communication. I
found him in the beautiful home of the British Embassy on the Rue
St. Honoré, a house so cold for want of coal that I was compelled
to make my visit short for fear of pneumonia.
With Mrs. Gerard we lunched with our friends from Berlin, Jules
Cambon, a former French Ambassador there, and his family, at the
La Rue restaurant, opposite the Madelaine. Cambon seemed as game
as ever, but fatigued.
Briand, who was then Premier, invited me to breakfast at the
Minister of Foreign Affairs. The other guests included our
Ambassador, Mr. Sharp, Cambon and the Ambassadors of Britain,
Italy, Russia and Japan and several distinguished Frenchmen.
[Illustration: AMBASSADORS WILLIAM G. SHARP AND JAMES W. GERARD
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN IN PARIS, FEBRUARY, 1917]
I did not sit next to Briand as I ranked after the Ambassadors
accredited to France, but after lunch I sat alone with him
before the fire in one of the large and beautiful salons and
there we had a long talk, as, naturally, he wanted to know about
the situation in Germany. He impressed me as a strong man, with
the vigour of an orator, a man of temperament, a man endowed by
nature to become a leader of the French--as the French were
before the war.
Lord Esher, at the request of General Lyautey, then at the head
of the military force of France, took me to see that General. I
had to wait for him some time, as he was appearing before a
committee of the Chamber of the Senate. His inability to agree
with the Chamber caused his resignation not long afterwards.
I was struck in France by the fact that the leaders, civil,
military and naval, seemed older than those in similar positions
in other countries.
The present Premier, Clemenceau, is an example of this fondness
of the French for government by old men. Clemenceau is seventy-six
years old, but is a vigorous fighter.
Mrs. Gerard and I lunched with Gabriel Hanotaux and his
attractive wife at their home. Cambon was there, and Ribot, since
become Premier of France, a good old man; also the Secretary of
the Navy and several learned French philosophers and members of
the Academy and one of the heads of the Credit Lyonnais, perhaps
the greatest financial institution of France.
War, war--who could talk of anything else? Hanotaux said that in
our time we had been unusually fortunate, unusually free from
war, that there was underneath France, underneath even the fair
city of Paris, under the smiling sunlit fields, another France, a
France of caves and catacombs, excavated by the poor people, the
plain people who, during the One Hundred Years' War, had sought
in marching armies, the far-riding plunderers and the depths of
the earth refuge from the harassing, camp followers, the roving
bands of "White Companies," the robber barons who, English and
French, Gascon and Norman, harried the lands of France.
I said that I had heard the statement made, and there seemed no
reason to doubt it, that since the birth of Christ the world has
only in one year out of every thirteen enjoyed a rest from war.
Mr. Fabre-Luce, Vice-President of the Credit Lyonnais, told us of
an interesting book written by a Russian and published before the
war which predicted much that has happened in this war with
almost the foresight of a Cassandra. I was so impressed that I
secured a copy.
This book, "The Future War," by Ivan Stanislavovich Bloch,
counsellor of the Russian Empire, and published in 1892, had so
great an effect on the Czar of Russia that it was the reading of
it which impelled him to call the Peace Conference at The Hague.
In the course of his book the author explains that it is
impossible for the Powers to continue longer in the path of
armaments and that they ought to look each other in the face and
demand where these great armaments and this extension of forces
are conducting them. He writes:
"How can one believe it possible to solve
international questions by means of the veritable
cataclysm which will constitute, with the present
means of destruction, war waged between the five
great Powers, by ten millions of soldiers?... In
this war explosives so powerful will be employed
that every grouping of troops on the flat country
or even under the protection of fortifications
will become almost impossible and that, therefore,
the preparations of this character made in
expectation of the war will become useless....
"The future war will see the use of a great
quantity of new aids to war, bicycles, pigeons,
telegraph, telephones, optical instruments and
photographic instruments for the purpose of
mapping from a great distance the positions
occupied by the enemy and means to observe the
movements of the enemy such as observing ladders,
balloons and so on....
"In the future war every body of troops holding
itself on the defensive or found taking the
offensive, when it is not the question of sudden
assault, will have to fortify itself in a chosen
position and the war will be confined principally
to the form of a series of combats in which the
possession of fortified positions will be
disputed, and in which the assailant will have to
meet the accessory defensives in the neighbourhood
of the fortifications such as barricades, barbed
wire, etc., the destruction of these objects
costing many victims.... The infantry, when on the
defensive, will dig itself in. The conduct of the
war will depend, in a large measure, on the
artillery."
According to our author, who foresaw "No Man's Land" between the
two opposing forces, "there will be formed a certain zone
absolutely impassable in consequence of the terrible fire with
which it will be inundated from a short distance from each side."
Bloch adds: "This war will last a long time and entire nations
will be seen in arms or rather the flower of each nation. Germany
will begin the war by throwing itself on France and then, using
the many German railroads, will turn against Russia. By virtue of
its military force Germany will take the initiative of operations
and will make the war on the two fronts."
His prophetic eye saw even the submarine war of the future. "It
will happen, possibly, that the future war will produce engines
of war completely unknown and unexpected up to the present time;
in any event one can foresee the advent in a short time of
submarines destined to carry below even ironclads, torpedoes
powerful enough to wreck the strongest ships."
He quotes the opinions of Jomini, who says that future armies
will not be composed of troops recruited voluntarily but of
entire nations called by a law to arms and who will not fight for
a change of frontier but for their existence. Jomini states "that
this state of affairs will bring us back to the third and the
fourth centuries, calling to our minds those shocks of immense
peoples who disputed among themselves the European continent,"
and "that if a new legislation and a new international law do not
come to put an end to these risings of whole peoples that it is
impossible to foresee where the ravages of future war will stop.
It will become a scourge more terrible than ever, because the
population of civilised nations will be cut down, while in the
interior of each nation the normal economic life will be
arrested, communications interrupted and if the war is prolonged
financial crises will come with a fearful rise in the price of
everything and famine with all its consequences."
Bloch, in depicting the future war, says that "in 1870, the
struggle was between two Powers, while in the war of the future
at least five great nations will take part without speaking of
the intervention of Turkey and England.... The comparing of the
coming war with any war of the past is impossible because the
increase in the effective fighting forces has been of a rapidity
so unexampled and this increase brings with it so great an
augmentation of expenditures and of victims that the future war
will have the character of a struggle for the existence of
nations.... It is true that the war of 1870 gave us something of
an example of this character. That was a war without mercy,
brought on by secular hate, a war of revenge on the part of the
Germans because of the ancient victories of the French, a war
where volunteers were shot and villages burned and where unheard
of exactions were imposed on the conquered whom the conqueror
sought to wrong and weaken for a long period of time. A new war
in Central Europe will be a second edition of the same struggle
but by how much will it not surpass the former wars by its
magnitude and by its length and by the means of destruction
employed."
Does not Bloch give a better prediction of this war than the
often quoted Bernhardi?
The table conversation at Hanotaux's was in French; few Frenchmen
and hardly any public men in France speak English.
At this lunch, Ribot, since Premier, said to me, "In men, in
fighting, we can hold out, but we must have help on the credit
side."
How much more than credit have we sent since to help beloved,
beleaguered France!
My interview with President Poincaré of France was set for
five-thirty in the Elysée Palace. I had to wait some minutes in
an ante-room, hung with splendid tapestries, where the secretary
in charge introduced me to Deschanel, the Secrétaire perpétuel of
the Academie Française, with whom I had a few minutes' talk.
The President sat in a small, beautifully decorated room in this
historical Elysée Palace. A small fire burned in the grate, a bit
of grateful warmth in almost coalless Paris. He, too, plied me
with questions, but not as closely as others, about the land I
had left behind. He spoke of a great gift of money made by James
Stillman, a fund to help the families of members of the Legion of
Honour.
Poincaré is a man of fifty-seven, wears a small beard growing
grey, and is a little under medium height (of this country) and
has much the manner of an American lawyer. What a contrast those
polite, agreeable Frenchmen were to the stiff, formal, overbearing
Germans. There are "well born" Germans with charming international
manners and the lower classes in Germany have kindly, natural
manners, but the manners of the minor members of the merchant
class and of the lesser officials is rude to boorishness.
And here I want to say a word about the democracy of my own
countrymen. Before the war and during it we entertained countless
Americans in the Embassy; all sorts and under a variety of
conditions, Jew and Gentile, business men and students,
travellers and musicians. They carried themselves with ease,
whatever the occasion. I was proud of them always and of our
system of education that had given them such pleasant equality.
After my arrival in Berlin a magnificent darkey, named George
Washington Bronson, called in search of a job. Over six feet four
and well built, I thought he would make an impressive appearance
opening carriage doors or taking hats in the hall. So I engaged
him. But he did not get on well with the other servants, and his
discharge followed. Great consternation was caused shortly
afterwards at our Lincoln day reception when Mrs. Gerard and the
ladies of the Embassy were receiving the American Colony, by the
report that George Washington, dressed up to the nines,
accompanied by a coloured friend, presenting the appearance of a
new red buggy, was on his way up stairs. I decided that on
Lincoln's birthday all were welcome; so George Washington and his
friend, resplendent, received the same greeting accorded all
Americans and the manners of George Washington excelled those of
a Grand Duke. But although one could see his mouth water, he did
not approach the table where our local Ruggles presided over the
refreshments. There was "that" about Ruggles' eye which told
George Washington he would have to "go to the mat" before his
former superior officer would serve him with champagne.
The cold in Paris was bitter, biting into the very bones, and all
classes of the population suffered intensely from the lack of
coal. In the theatres, for instance, there was absolutely no
heat. Theatrical performances were permitted in each theatre
three times a week. Evening dress was prohibited. I went to the
Folies Bergères, arriving so late that the crowded house had
warmed itself and it was possible to stay until the end in spite
of the want of ventilation.
At one of the theatres I arrived early, but the cold was so
bitter that even sitting in fur overcoat and with my hat on I was
so chilled I had to leave after twenty minutes. This play was a
_revue_, the actresses appearing in the scanty costumes peculiar
to that form of entertainment, but the cold was of such intensity
that they had added their street furs, presenting a curiously
comical effect.
I spoke to many of the soldiers in the streets. All were animated
by a new spirit in France, an obstinate calm, a determination to
see this thing through, to end forever the fear of Prussian
invasion which for so many years had impended. If any sign of
weakness was apparent it was among the financiers; not among the
poor and the men of the trenches.
At the railway station I talked with a blue-clad French soldier,
calm, witty, but determined. He said, "My family comes from the
East of France, my great grandfather was killed by the Prussians
in 1814, my grandfather was shot in his garden by the Prussians
in 1870, my father died of grief, in 1916, because my two sisters
in Lille fell into Prussian hands and were taken as their slaves
with all that that means. I have decided that we must end this
horror once and for all, so that my children can cultivate their
little fields without this constant haunting fear of the invading
Prussian."
We left Paris on the evening train for the Spanish border.
Newspaper men taking flashlights and "poilus" in uniform crowded
the station platform as the train with our still numerous party
pulled out.
How France has disappointed German expectations! France to-day is
not the France that calls out, "We are betrayed," and runs away
after the failure of its first assault. France to-day is a calm
France that seeks out its traitors, and deliberately punishes
them, that organises with an efficiency we once thought a
Prussian monopoly, a France that bleeds but fights on, a France
that, standing with its back to its beloved, sunny fields, with
many of her dearest sons dead, facing the Kaiser across No Man's
Land, cries boldly, bravely to the world, the war cry of Verdun,
"They shall not pass!"
But even while war goes on, even while the French poilus hold
fast the long battle line, the French people are beset within by
agents of the Kaiser. Face to face they are with the secret
agents, the spies, the informers, the buyers of newspapers and of
public men, the traffickers in honour who, behind French
citizenship or neutral passports, seek to divide France, to make
the soldier at the front feel that he is betrayed by traitors at
home, to render the French distrustful and suspicious of each
other and thus to strike as mortal a blow at the French defence
as was attempted at Verdun.
Bolo Pasha and all his tribe slip past trench and barbed wire and
do more damage than a German army corps to the cause of Liberty.