In these early days Foch was on a par with the average schoolboy, neither better nor worse, if local records are to be believed. He did, however, win an honorable mention at Tarbes for good work in the general course, consisting of geography, history, Latin, and theology.
At twelve he began to show a decided bent for mathematics, that sine qua non of the successful soldier. He had also developed into a great reader, but preferred history to works of fiction. One of his chief military heroes was, quite naturally, Napoleon, and he must have taken part in imagination with the charge of the Old Guard at Waterloo, or thrilled at the tale of Austerlitz. But never in the wildest flights of his imagination could he have dreamed of commanding a far greater army than was ever assembled under the eagles of Napoleon.
In 1867, at the age of sixteen, another change came in his schooling. His father was stationed at St. Étienne near Lyons, and Ferdinand was entered at St. Michel, a Jesuit college near by. Here he studied for his university examinations, and made his choice of a life profession—and it is not strange to note that he decided to be a soldier. The choice made, his future studies, as is the way in French colleges, were planned to follow specialized lines. It was not alone necessary to choose the army, for example,—one must select a certain branch of the army. Foch's aptitude at mathematics led him to take up the artillery.
The principal school of this branch of the service was the École
Polytechnique, at Paris, but a stiff entrance examination was required
here. So Foch decided to do preliminary work at St. Clement's College,
Metz, a training school with a high reputation.
In those days the city and fortress of Metz were on French soil. This was just before the short but memorable Franco-Prussian War, but already the air was rife with rumors of an impending conflict. The French, however, were undisturbed. They thought, and expressed the open opinion that it would be fought out on the other side of the Rhine, and that the peace terms would be dictated in Berlin.
Metz! How much history does the name suggest in the light of the Great War! If the young artillery student could have foreseen the backward and forward swing of the pendulum, as exemplified in that ancient city, how his blood would have quickened!
The summer of 1870 arrived. Ferdinand Foch, a well-grown lad of nineteen, went home to St. Étienne on his first vacation. It had been his first year away from home, and there must have been a joyful reunion. But over the vacation season hung a war cloud. In the middle of July, France was persuaded to declare war. Her first great clash with Germany was on.
The news, however, was not displeasing to Ferdinand. He had supreme confidence in the ability of the trained French army to subdue the "Prussian militia." All France had been soundly fooled as to the extent of the German preparedness. Foch thought of Metz as the starting point of the war which was to wage its victorious course eastward. But the reverse soon proved to be the case. From Metz the Germans drove westward into France. The school at St. Clement was transformed into a military hospital. Ferdinand remained at home watching the turn of events with surprised eyes. When the defeat at Sedan came, in September, it seemed to him like the end of the world.
Then came the frantic call from Paris for new troops. Young Foch was one of the first to respond to this appeal. He could do his bit, at any rate, and once the Second Army was assembled, the invader would see! But alas! he was destined to do no fighting. For four months he remained with his regiment, a high private in the rear ranks, doing drill and garrison duty until peace was declared.
The war was over. France had concluded a shameful peace but one that was forced upon her. This sort of war had brought bitter disillusionment to a host of French boys, and they always thought in their hearts of the day of reckoning which must come later on—and hoped that they would be alive to see it. Such must have been the dream of Foch, the "sleeping firebrand."