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 Petain.
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 Petain 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.
Petain 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, Petain 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. Petain 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 Gallieni 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 Gallieni'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 Gallieni,
Gouraud and Marchand.