All in a Life-time

by Henry Morgenthau; French Strother

At all these ceremonies, including the reception of the men at the dock, and even at the special dinner given to a select seventy at Sherry’s, the lead was always given to that great citizen and grand old man of American private and public life, the late Joseph H. Choate. There never was any doubt as to who should be selected to match the generations of culture and statecraft so ably represented by Balfour, the nephew of Salisbury, the vivid French eloquence so charmingly illustrated by Viviani, and the French eminence in the art of war which Marshal Joffre, the hero of the Marne, so adequately typified. Joseph H. Choate was preëminently the man whom we could proudly call upon; who in his own person combined all the requisites of social grace, intellectual power, and international distinction.

The climax of the entertainments offered our guests was a great dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria, at which Mr. Choate presided. As I was also a member of all the committees, and was in addition an ex-Ambassador, I was constantly at his side. I know of no one, either in my own experience or in history, who at that advanced age, was his equal in youthful energy, in ebullition of spirits, in consummate geniality, and spontaneity of wit; nor any one who so wonderfully combined the learned lawyer, the able diplomat, and the democratic citizen. He was universally recognized as the “highest type of living American,” and we were proud to match him against the world.

When he made his speech with Joffre, Viviani, and Balfour at his side, and delivered that famous message to the officials at Washington: “For God’s sake, hurry up,” and was greeted with the thunderous applause that followed, he reached the pinnacle of his career. As he stood there looking at that audience, radiating forth one of his beaming smiles, full of human sympathy, of hope and faith in America, it thrilled the audience and gave to the British and French representatives an unmistakable assurance that America was with them, and would stay with them to the finish. It was a glorious and most fitting close to Choate’s great career to be permitted to use his last thoughts and energies, in his eighty-fourth year, for the welfare of his country. A few days later, while the effect of his last speech was still penetrating into the farthest corners of the earth, he passed away, mourned by all.

In June, 1917, the President asked me to go abroad upon a secret diplomatic errand, which I am not even yet at liberty to disclose, further than to say that I learned that what the President hoped for could not be accomplished, and after a few days I proceeded to Paris.

This was one of the great hours of history. General Pershing had arrived with his little staff of officers and a few regiments of American Regular soldiers. This was America’s first pledge toward the promise of military aid, which was speedily to be redeemed in terms of two millions of American troops in France, and final victory in the war. I dined with Ambassador Sharp; and in his home I met General Pershing, Thomas Nelson Page, our Ambassador to Italy, and other prominent Americans. I renewed old acquaintances in the American colony at Paris, and soon learned the immense significance of the appearance of our soldiers in France. It was now the middle of July, and only a little earlier the French people had almost seemed to falter in their struggle. France seemed to have been bled white by three years of devastating war. Frenchmen were saying that it was as well to die on their doorsteps as to be led to useless slaughter at the front. The French Government was making a final desperate effort to restore the nation’s confidence. Joffre in May had pleaded at Washington for American troops—“No matter how few you send, only give us the sight of Americans in uniform on the streets of Paris.”

I now had the privilege of watching, from the most favourable point of vantage, a critical test of the national psychology which the French Government made in July, 1917. With a profound sense of dramatic values, they had arranged that the American troops should be exhibited to the French public on their Independence Day, July 14th, as units of a great patriotic parade. To make sure that they might accurately gauge the psychological effect, the President’s reviewing stand was placed in Vincennes, where the people had suffered greatly from the privations of the war, and where disaffection was rife. I received an invitation to witness the parade from the President’s reviewing stand, and Ambassador Sharp, General Pershing, and I were the only Americans so favoured. We were arranged around President Poincaré, with Monsieur Painlevé, Minister of War, and others. M. Painlevé afterward told me that he and the President of the Republic had headed the procession while it was passing through the poorer quarters of the city, to test the attitude of the people before they had tasted the enthusiasm which the sight of troops would naturally arouse, and that they had been encouraged by receiving everywhere a cordial and even a hearty reception. Nevertheless, I could plainly see the evidences of nervousness amongst the French officials—a nervousness which grew more intense as the military parade approached. It was somewhat relieved as the French soldiers marched by, and were greeted by the hearty cheers of the people. It disappeared entirely when our splendid Americans swung past the reviewing stand. The enthusiasm of the spectators then passed all bounds. To the French officials this approval of the populace meant relief from a heart-breaking anxiety: to us Americans who stood with them it was an occasion for patriotic pride. To see the flag of our young nation in this old capital of Europe, and behind it those two thousand splendid examples of our young manhood, so erect in carriage, and so lithe in motion—their faces so eager and intelligent—their whole bearing so proudly representative of the millions that were to follow them, and to see how much their presence meant to rulers and people alike—all this made a picture that filled us with happiness. The effect upon the French nation was instantaneous and electrical. From despair, they changed overnight to fresh hope and confidence. Though they then only hoped for one third of a million reinforcements within a year, and little dreamed of the marvel which was actually performed of bringing two million men speedily to France, they were nevertheless enthusiastic over the prospect. Responsible Frenchmen urged me to advise President Wilson to assert himself at once as the leader of the whole alliance against Germany; and responsible Britons soon afterward added that they, as well as the French, would welcome a unified control of the Allies’ political policy with President Wilson in command. I think it profoundly significant, in view of the later course of events, that the European nations thus early conceded the necessity that Americans should lead.

I was still further informed of the real thoughts of the French officials when a few days later I dined with Painlevé, who spoke with deep appreciation of the help which America was beginning now to extend. He spoke quite freely of the recent disaffection that had come among the French people after three years of terrible fighting and heavy losses, and with gratification of the change that had come over public opinion with the arrival of the American troops. He covered at length the dangerous situation on the Russian front, the blunder committed at the beginning of the war in the failure of the Entente fleet properly to pursue the Goeben and the Breslau, the capture of which would have kept Turkey out of the war and spared them the difficult problem of the Balkans. He discussed also the difficulties of the French in governing their colonies and dependencies; and, with special significance, he declared that negotiations for peace with Germany could not be commenced before the complete evacuation of all the territory then occupied by the enemy.

Painlevé was especially solicitous regarding our ability to solve the problem of transportation of men and munitions to France. He was concerned over our ability to drill into a real army more than two hundred and fifty thousand men within a year. He asked eagerly about President Wilson’s character, especially whether I thought he had the determination which, now that we had entered the war, would cause him to see it through with energy. He feared, from the hesitancy that we had displayed before entering, that we might be planning a lukewarm effort. He was delighted when I assured him of the iron resolution of President Wilson, and of the habit of the American people, once aroused, to see a fight through to the finish.

In the course of that evening (Saturday), he asked me whether I had posted myself on the military conditions in France. I told him I had projected a trip to the British front, and was only waiting for the arrangements to be completed. He asked me whether I would not like to see something else in the meantime, and I replied that I should like very much to see the French front, and especially to visit the parts of Alsace which the French had at last reunited to France. He was somewhat taken aback when, having asked me when I should like to go, I replied on the following Monday. Nevertheless, he proved himself possessed of a capacity for prompt action and execution. At ten o’clock on Monday morning, there appeared at my hotel a very dapper French officer. He saluted, introduced himself as Captain Jaubert of General Headquarters, and added: “At your command. I am to accompany you on your mission—your visit to the front.” A few moments later, a heavy-set, very intelligent-looking man, in the garb of a chauffeur, presented himself, likewise came to attention, saluted, and informed us that the car was ready. Shortly thereafter, we were on our way.

Our party consisted of Captain Jaubert, my old friend Schmavonian of the American Embassy at Constantinople, Professor Herbert Adams Gibbons, and myself. Our first objective was Gondrecourt, the camp and headquarters of the then tiny American Expeditionary Force. Our route took us through that part of the battlefield of the Marne which was nearest to Paris, and as we sped along, Jaubert explained to us, by means of sketches traced on the window glass with his forefinger, the tactics of that battle.