FRANCE: Joffre

5 minute read
TIME

The French are fond of almost nobody, but they have been fond of Joseph Jacues Césaire Joffre ever since Paris was saved at the Battle of the Marne.

Who won the battle is not the piont. That will all be threshed out again for the hundredth time when Marshal Joffre’s memoirs are published posthumously.

The point is that last week all France learned with an emotion hardly to be conveyed in words that on Dec. 19 the Marshal had sustained an amputation of his right foot, had been suffering the most terrible pain, yet had commanded:

“Do not let people know until Christmas has passed.” ‘ Such a man the French called “Papa” Joffre, and he responded with a fatherly love. The announcement, by his doctors, that in their opinion the death of Marshal Joffre was imminent cast a shadow deeper and more appalling than any since the War.

Clemenceau was the “Tiger,” the atheist, the master. Foch was the strategist, the Catholic, the messiah of battle whose military vision seemed to come at times from a Supernatural Power. Also a Catholic,* also at times a masterful man, Joffre could fail of the highest achievements and yet be loved, as a father who has not wholly succeeded is loved by his children. On Jan. 12, 1852, to a mother who bore eleven children, the future Marshal Joffre was born at Rivesaltes in the eastern Pyrenees. In 1870 Joffre took a student’s furlough from the École Polytechnique to fight in the defense of Paris, unsuccessfully. With soldiering in his blood, he went to the Far East, assisted at the French occupation of Formosa in 1885. Eight years later he performed the feat described in his book My March on Timbuktu. Starting down the left bank of the River Niger on Dec. 27. 1893, he marched and skirmished 813 kilometres (504 mi.) in 48 days, entered on Feb. 12, 1894 “The Town of Timbuktu, the Meeting Place of Camel and Canoe,”† Steady promotion carried Joseph Joffre by 1911 to the post of Chief of the French General Staff “at only 59.” What he called “Plan 17” was soon ready. He merely pulled out and unfolded it when Germany declared war. As the German armies advanced, Joffre tried to outflank their right (seaward) wing, they tried to outflank his left (seaward) wing and the two flanking operations (both perfectly sound) became “the race to the sea.” Nobody won the race. It merely strung out the fighting lines. Terrible pounding began. The armies of France were forced back and back.

Better than anyone else the Commander-in-Chief knew how near he and his country were to defeat and ruin every day, every hour. . Enemies of “Papa” Joffre say with cutting sarcasm that, “his greatest attribute as a commander was calm.” Calmly he flung this division to certain death, calmly he learned that another had broken through, calmly he received the best news and the worst. Whenever the panicky politicians in Paris telephoned him, the sound of his voice and what he said was always reassuring. It is for that that “the people” are still grateful. They feel that without Joffre in 1914 they might have gone mad. Of the victory at the Marne, Marshal Joffre said a few months ago putting volumes into the words: “If I had lost, how many people do you think would have claimed that they lost?”

With Paris safe, Generals Gallieni and Sarrail began a campaign to undermine Joffre’s prestige which lasted some two years. As time passed and Joffre did not win the War, as rumors flew that he had not properly laid out the defenses of Verdun, and as the Allied offensive on the Somme failed at frightful cost, Joffre was “promoted” (retired) from the post of Commander-in-Chief to something created on the spot called “Adviser to the Government in Matters Concerning the Direction of the War.” Finally this sop was replaced by the baton of Marshal. To “Papa” Joffre the supreme military honor came as a sad pseudo-climax, a kind pretense that his power had not been taken away. There was nothing left to do, no further service he could perform for France, except to ride through the streets of U. S. cities in 1917, cheered to the echo, inspiring men to volunteer and fight for Democracy. Again last week the crowds of Paris saluted “Papa” Joffre, but in heart-wrung silence. They stood in a drizzling rain in Rue Oudinot, outside the hospital of St.

Jean-de-Dieu, waiting for the sad sentence that they knew was inevitable. They learned that he had received the last sacrament. Twice they heard that he was in a final coma.

Twice the doughty Joffre rallied. To the amazement of physicians, a flush of color mounted to the soldier’s chalky cheeks. He even took a little food and mineral water, and replied to questions with an apparently understanding “Oui.” But the few who were allowed to visit him refused to be buoyed by hope. They could but quote the doctors: “The Marshal is still fighting. His resistance is astonishing, but it is the end.”

* Known as a “free-thinker” for most of his life, Atv. Joffre was converted two years ago. At that time he and Mme Joffre. long married civilly, underwent an ecclesiastical ceremony.

† So called because, located at an extremity north of the Sahara Desert, it is also only a few miles Kiver Niger. Present population, 7,000 humans who supply the wants of many thousands of caravan camels, 18,000 caravan and river traders yearly, also weave cotton, make pottery, do leatherwork, pluck a little embroidery.-

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