Told in gallant deeds

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near.”

A retreat, in ordinary language, means a falling back. There are, however, many ways of falling back; indeed, as in everything else, there is a right way and a wrong way. Sir John French’s gallant army, and the French forces under General Joffre, accomplished their retreat in the right way. Although at the time the enemy was quite unaware of it, everything was done according to a well-thought-out and careful plan; and, as you have seen, while this falling back movement was going on, our retreating army constantly turned, harried, and even forced back the advancing enemy.

The object of the Germans may be told very shortly. It was to reach Paris, to enter that great city in the guise of conquerors, conclude a hasty peace with France, and then rush back by train and motor lorry to fight the Russians. It will interest you to know how and why this plan miscarried.

What I am going to tell you illustrates the soundness of the wise old saying, “Speech is silvern, silence is golden.” Even Paris remained all unknowing of the clever plan formed by the Allies. That great and beautiful city believed herself to be doomed. The awful fate of the inhabitants of Louvain was thought by many Parisians to be the forerunner of what would happen to themselves. The French Government, that is the President and his Ministers, left the capital for the distant town of Bordeaux, and orders were given that all those inhabitants of Paris who had babies and little children should leave the city.

Though to the great majority of French people Paris is in a sense the capital of the civilised world, the nation made up its mind to sacrifice this beloved and beautiful city if the good of the country as a whole required it. They did not say anything of their resolve. They simply made it, and waited grimly for the end.

At last the German Army was within a day’s march of Paris. Pretty American girls who had acquaintances among the German officers actually received letters from them arranging to come to tea with them! Every soldier in the great German Army believed that in twenty-four hours he would be comfortably resting in the most luxurious quarters in Europe.

Then suddenly, it will never be known exactly how, but probably through their clever airmen, the enemy’s commanders learnt that, hidden safely in the Palace of Versailles and under the great trees of the park surrounding that palace, was a new French army of fresh troops. Had the Germans penetrated into Paris, this army would have cut off their retreat and caught them, according to the proverbial saying, “like rats in a trap.” So it was that, instead of making their triumphal entry into Paris, the rushing, oncoming hosts swerved to one side, and very soon there developed close to Paris the great fights which will live in history under the names of the Battle of Meaux and the Battle of the Marne.

Superior people rather despise those who believe in omens, but sometimes even the holy and the learned find great comfort in them.

The most notable scholars in France belong to the Academy of Inscriptions in Paris. Now, in spite of the fact that war was raging and the enemy close to the gates of their city, these learned men decided to hold their usual monthly meeting. The proceedings opened with the statement that there had just been presented to the Louvre a Greek statue of surpassing charm and interest, the first gift made to the Louvre Museum since the outbreak of the war. After a short pause, the speaker added the words, “Gentlemen, the statue is that of the Winged Victory.” And all these grave old scholars rose to their feet and cheered the omen to the echo!

It was near Meaux that the German Army, commanded by the skilful and resourceful General von Kluck, seems to have met quite unexpectedly the large reserves of men—perhaps it is a mistake to call them an army—which had been brought up there by General Joffre. There are certain other notable facts about this battle which make me wish you should specially remember it, and that though its glories were somewhat dimmed by the greater and more important Battle of the Marne.