The Story of General Pershing

by Everett T. Tomlinson

Naturally the American soldiers followed this precedent and it was Marshal Joffre himself who led them to the crypt. The door is immense and heavy, and made of brass. Just before the great key was inserted in the lock and the massive door was slowly to swing open, Marshal Joffre and General Niox left General Pershing alone before it. Those who saw him report that General Pershing drew a deep breath and then without confusion or delay quickly turned the key in the lock of the great brass door.

In a small alcove within the crypt was the case which held Napoleon's sword. General Niox quietly unlocked this case and took out the famous sword and kissed it. Then he extended the sword to the American soldier. General Pershing received the weapon, for an instant held it at salute and then he too kissed the hilt. One cannot help wondering whether the impressive moment suggested to the General the mighty contrast between the aims of Napoleon and those which were guiding the United States in the desperate war in which she now was to share. Brilliant as Napoleon was, mighty strategist and soldier that he proved himself to be, it is difficult even for his warmest admirers to defend the principles (or explain the lack of them) that controlled him in his campaigns. On the other hand, Pershing was the representative of a nation which was to fight with its utmost power—not for conquest nor to overthrow its rivals. Vast sums were to be expended, millions of men were to respond to the call to the colors—for what? "To make the world a decent place to live in." The living and the dead met in the crypt of the Hotel des Invalides, but the aims that animated the two men—one in the early days of the preceding century, and the other in the year 1917—were as far removed from each other as the East is from the West.

A ceremony like that with which Napoleon's sword had been extended to General Pershing was also followed in the case of the cross of the Legion of Honor, the visitor holding it to his lips a moment and then passing it back to General Niox. A correspondent writing of the occasion says: "This was the most signal honor France ever bestowed upon any man. Before this occasion not even a Frenchman was permitted to hold the sacred relics in his hands. Kings and princes have been taken to the crypt that holds the body of the great Emperor, but they only viewed the sword and cross through the plate glass of the case in which they rested. The relics had not been touched since the time of Louis Philippe."

Next followed a formal call upon the American ambassador and then with lines of soldiers and the music of many military bands he was escorted to Elysée Palace, where formally he was to be presented to President Poincaré. Still the enthusiasm of the people endeavored to find expression. Flags and cheers were on every side. Flowers were cast upon the slowly advancing procession and there were many eager watchers, young and old alike, down whose cheeks unchecked tears were falling. The occasion was formal and stately, but its necessary formalities were not able to repress the deep emotions of the brave and valiant people.

Instead of the enthusiasm dying away it almost seemed as if it had increased in volume when General Pershing entered the diplomatic box that afternoon in the Chamber of Deputies. Premier Ribot was addressing the body when the General quietly and without any ostentation took the seat assigned him.

Speedily, however, the arrival of the American General became known in the chamber. The deputies leaped to their feet and cheered and then remained standing and continued their cheering. General Pershing was at last compelled to rise and bow to the assembly in acknowledgment of the remarkable greeting which he had received. Then the packed galleries took up the same theme. "Vive l'Amerique!" resounded loud and long and then was repeated again and again, as if the grateful spectators were fearful lest their former attempts to express their feelings had not been adequate. And all this applause was against every tradition and custom of the dignified Chamber of Deputies.

At last it was possible for the Premier to continue his address, but no longer was he speaking of Greece, as he had been when the Americans had entered, he now was doing his utmost to portray the might and the unselfish devotion of the nation across the sea whose leading soldier was now not only with them in soul, but also in body. He closed his eloquent address by quoting the words of President Wilson, "The day has come to conquer or submit. We will not submit; we will vanquish."

M. Viviani, who recently had visited the United States, was the speaker to follow the Premier. Eloquent, earnest, devoted—there is no one to whose words the Chamber usually is more willing to listen. Viviani at this time also spoke of the United States—its people, its President, its Army and its help, enlarging particularly on the principles for which both France and America were fighting.

When the eloquent speaker ended his address, almost as if the impulse had been kept too long under control, the Deputies again rose and cheered and continued their cheering for General Pershing, until at last once more he was compelled to rise and bow in his acknowledgment of the remarkable ovation he had received. And the cheers continued after he had gone.

Before the people of Paris, Joffre and Pershing stood together, each bare-headed, on the morning of June 15th. They were on the balcony of the Military Club. In the Place de l'Opera was a crowd assembled to do honor to the two military leaders—a public reception by the city. The wild cheering rose in waves. The excitement was intense. The hopes of the people, who, as one distinguished Frenchman said, "had surprised not only the world, but also their own nation by their bravery, determination and heroic endurance," were now keyed to the highest pitch. America was coming. Nay, America is here in the person of its commander, whose Alsatian ancestors years before had found a home in America. Surely the peoples were indeed one. "Vive l'Amerique!" "Vive Joffre!" "Vive Pershing!" It almost seemed as if the cheering would never stop.