April 24, 2013

FINEST HOUR 150, SPRING 2011

BY PAUL ALKON

Dr. Alkon, a Churchill Centre Academic Adviser, is Leo S. Bing Professor Emeritus of English and American Literature at the University of Southern California. He has published books on Samuel Johnson, Daniel Defoe and science fiction, along with Winston Churchill’s Imagination (2006). He won the Somervell Award for his Lawrence of Arabia features appearing in Finest Hour 119 in 2003.

Franceʼs “Tiger” at 76 was more than a decade older than Churchill when he reached the pinnacle; but Churchill was 77 when he reached the pinnacle the second time. There is little doubt that Churchill patterned his leadership after that of the great Frenchman he admired.

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Churchill was an ardent though not uncritical Francophile. At the heart of his admiration for France was Georges Clemenceau—as a friend and, more importantly, as a hero and teacher extraordinaire of how to conduct politics in war and peace. That Churchill was the best of all Clemenceau’s students is more than I am able to argue. But it is beyond question that Churchill was Clemenceau’s most important Anglo-Saxon pupil.[1]

Their affinities were apparent to Churchill very soon after they met during World War I, and are even more apparent as we look back at their lives now. Both were prolific writers. Both were effective speakers. Both were interested in painting—Churchill as a gifted amateur artist, Clemenceau as a connoisseur and champion of Claude Monet. Both were fearless men of high principles willing to speak up for them even at great political cost. Both were skillful politicians persistently involved in trying to shape events for the better. Both had remarkably long careers in public life, marked by intervals in high office and intervals in the political wilderness when history seemed to be passing them by. Both were elderly men—Clemenceau 76 years old, Churchill 65—when finally called to the summit of power as prime minister in order to avert defeat by the Germans. Both rejected calls for a negotiated settlement and insisted that nothing less than victory was acceptable.

Their previous experiences served them well. After qualifying as a doctor of medicine, Clemenceau in 1865 went to the United States, where he was a teacher and also a journalist reporting on the aftermath of America’s Civil War for a French newspaper before returning home. He entered politics as Mayor of Montmartre in 1870 during the chaos following France’s defeat in the Franco-Prussian War. His political career spanned the tumultuous years from that period to his retirement in 1920, acclaimed by then as le père la victoire, the father of victory—the man who had made victory possible for France in 1918.

Churchill was commissioned a Second Lieutenant of Cavalry upon graduation from Sandhurst in 1895, fought in several of Britain’s “little wars” from then until he entered Parliament in 1900, primarily earned his keep as war correspondent, biographer, historian and essayist, and at last became Prime Minister on 10 May 1940 to preside over the perilous time that he soon defined as the British Empire’s finest hour.

Churchill’s first lengthy encounter with Clemenceau was on 30 March 1918, as the allied front line was bending before the German offensive that had started the previous week. Lloyd George had dispatched Churchill to learn what he could about French dispositions and intentions. Clemenceau—although nicknamed “The Tiger” for his political ferocity—readily agreed not only to provide information but to take Churchill along on a tour of front-line headquarters to find out at first hand. The next day, in a letter dated 31 March, Churchill described to his wife the tour and his vivid impressions of Clemenceau:

Yesterday was vy interesting, for I saw with Clemenceau all the commanders—Haig, Foch, Pétain, Weygand, Rawlinson etc; & heard from each the position explained. The old man is vy gracious to me & talks in the most confidential way. He is younger even than I am! and insisted on being taken into the outskirts of the action wh was proceeding N of Moreuil. Seely’s Brigade had just stormed the wood above the village & were being attacked by the Huns there. Stragglers, wounded horses, blood & explosives gave a grim picture of war. I finally persuaded the old tiger to come away from what he called “un moment délicieux.”

We dined with Pétain in his sumptuous train and I was much entertained by Clemenceau. He is an extraordinary character, every word he says—particularly general observations on life & morals is worth listening to. His spirit & energy indomitable. 15 hours yesterday over rough roads at high speed in motor cars. I was tired out—& he is 76!

He makes rather the same impression on me as Fisher: but much more efficient, & just as ready to turn round & bite! I shall be vy wary.[2]

After the war Churchill set down at greater length his memories of that encounter, in an essay whose final version was titled “A Day with Clemenceau” and published in 1932 in Churchill’s collection Thoughts and Adventures.

This account opens “early in the morning” of 28 March 1918 as Churchill, summoned by Lloyd George, finds “him in bed, a grey figure amid a litter of reports and telegrams” that give no clear picture of the alarming new battle in France.[3]

Churchill tells of their dialogue, of his journey to and across France to Paris in dreary rain, of “the terrible tide of German advance,” of the desperate scraping together of every available man to meet it, and at British General Headquarters where he stopped en route—”how oddly the calm, almost somnolence, of this supreme nerve-centre of the Army contrasted with the gigantic struggle shattering and thundering on a fifty-thousand yard front fifty or sixty miles away” where “one of the largest and most bloody and critical battles in the history of the world” was taking place (T&A, 166). The scene is thus set with a prelude explaining the high  takes for all concerned as Germany seems on the brink of victory. Churchill next tells how, at the appointed hour of 8am on the morning of March 30th, at the French Ministry of War, he found waiting “five military motor-cars, all decorated with the small satin tricolours of the highest authority.” He continues:

Monsieur Clemenceau, punctual to the second, descended the broad staircase of the Ministry, accompanied by his personal General and two or three other superior officers. He greeted me most cordially in his fluent English.

“I am delighted, my dear Mr. Wilson (sic) Churchill, that you have come. We shall show you everything. We shall go together everywhere and see everything for ourselves. We shall see Foch. We shall see Debeney. We shall see the corps Commanders, and we will also go and see the Illustrious Haig, and Rawlinson as well. Whatever is known, whatever I learn, you shall know.” (T&A, 168)

Here Churchill deftly characterizes Clemenceau’s willingness to cooperate fully with his British ally, and also his jovial affability, made even more endearing by the comic touch of his mistake about Churchill’s first name—which, later on, he got right. Churchill added this detail about the name to the essay’s final version for Thoughts and Adventures, apparently recollecting it only as he revised the last draft. Also made clear by the picture of Clemenceau’s grand entrance toward cars displaying emblems of “the highest authority” is his easy but firm command of the situation and his sang-froid at what was in fact one of the war’s most desperate moments no less for him than for France and England.

The rest of Churchill’s essay amplifies this portrait of a lovable happy warrior, raising morale by radiating courage, confidence, and good cheer while also making command decisions at the highest level. Churchill provides no account of those “general observations on life and morals” that had so impressed him on that day according to his letter to Clementine. Instead Churchill dwells on what might be called the less philosophical side of a man who was indeed often inclined to general observations about life and morals, as witness among other works Clemenceau’s La Mélée Sociale (The Social Struggle) and his two-volume philosophical and scientific testament, Au Soir de la Pensée (To the Evening of Thought). Rather than such fare, Churchill shows what are in effect a series of verbal snapshots of Clemenceau in action that day.

At British Fourth Army Headquarters “about twelve miles south of Amiens,” General Rawlinson “received Clemenceau with the sincere respect and evident affection which the personality of the ‘Tiger,’ above all his fellow-countrymen, always extorted from the leading soldiers of the British Army” (T&A, 171-72). When General Rawlinson sets out a “substantial” lunch for his guests, “Clemenceau would not have this until his contribution of chicken and sandwiches of the most superior type had been produced from the last of his cars” (T&A, 172).

Here is Clemenceau as generous, well-prepared gourmet and bon vivant basking in British affection as well as respect. Here too (characteristically) is Churchill as connoisseur of good dining. After lunch the most important conference of the day—and a very important one for the war—takes place off stage, as Clemenceau retires to a room alone with the commander of all the British armies, Sir Douglas Haig, who has just arrived. Neither Churchill nor we at second hand are privy to what was said in that room where, as the essay earlier makes clear, the British would try to obtain desperately needed French reinforcements. We know from other sources that many French generals were reluctant to make such arrangements. Churchill reports only the results and aftermath: “Very soon Clemenceau returned with Sir Douglas Haig. Evidently all had gone well. The Tiger was in the greatest good humour. Sir Douglas, with all his reserve, seemed contented” (T&A, 173).

Then, in Boswellian mode, Churchill recreates a dialogue between Clemenceau and General Rawlinson, omitting anything said by General Haig, who vanishes from the scene without further notice.

“Very well,” said Clemenceau in English to the company, “then it is all right. I have done what you wish. Never mind what has been arranged before. If your men are tired and we have fresh men near at hand, our men shall come at once and help you. And now,” he said, “I claim my reward.” “What is that, sir?” asked Rawlinson. “I wish to pass the river and see the battle.” The Army commander shook his head. “It would not be right for you to go across the river,” he said. “Why not?” “Well, we are not at all sure of the situation beyond the river. It is extremely uncertain.”

“Good,” cried Clemenceau. “We will re-establish it. After coming all this way and sending you two divisions, I shall not go back without crossing the river. You come with me, Mr. Winston Churchill (this time he got it right); and you Loucheur. A few shells will do the General good,” pointing gaily to his military Chef de Cabinet. So we all got into our cars again and set off towards the river and the cannonade. (T&A, 173-74)

Here, as in other episodes of this day, Churchill shows Clemenceau wearing a public face of assurance and insouciance, whatever might have been his worries about severe military setbacks at the front and political battles behind the lines that were in fact hardly less menacing to victory than the German assault. In this essay Churchill says nothing about Clemenceau’s dire political problems with defeatists, pacifists, and strikes in crucial armaments industries, although implying by silence on these topics that Clemenceau had any such difficulties well in hand.

Clemenceau’s courage and grace under pressure are also highlighted when Churchill quotes two of his remarks made in French when they had passed into the zone of artillery fire and arrived within a few hundred yards of the battle line. After “a shell burst among a group of led horses at no great distance,” scattering them and wounding some, Clemenceau—who had among other things once been a teacher of equitation—adroitly stops one of the injured animals:

The poor animal was streaming with blood. The Tiger, aged seventy-four [actually 76], advanced towards it and with great quickness seized its bridle, bringing it to a standstill. The blood accumulated in a pool upon the road. The French General expostulated with him, and he turned reluctantly toward his car. As he did so, he gave me a sidelong glance and observed in an undertone, “Quel moment délicieux!” (“How delicious,” T&A, 176)

As they all head afterwards to General Pétain’s head- quarters, Churchill, alone for a moment with Clemenceau, says: “‘This sort of excursion is all right for a single day: but you ought not to go under fire too often.” He replied “C’est mon grand plaisir ‘” (“It is my great pleasure,” T&A, 177).

In another of the essay’s major episodes, Churchill shows Clemenceau for once during that day revealing deep emotions without any attempt at concealment. Here, rather than disguise what he feels, Clemenceau makes a point of displaying his feelings with dramatic flair and in a typical French way that even his British audience is compelled—for once—to approve. This was in Beauvais at the headquarters of General Foch, where the inspection party was treated to one of his famous map demonstrations. Churchill recreates Foch’s demonstration at the map of each day’s German advance since March 21st to show that the attack is at last petering out:

And then suddenly in a loud voice, “Stabilization! Sure, certain, soon. And afterwards. Ah, afterwards. That is my affair.” He stopped. Everyone was silent.

Then Clemenceau, advancing, “Alors, Général, il faut que je vous embrasse.” (“So General, I must embrace you.”)

They both clasped each other tightly without even their English companions being conscious of anything in the slightest degree incongruous or inappropriate. These two men had had fierce passages in the weeks immediately preceding these events. They had quarrelled before; they were destined to quarrel again. But, thank God, at that moment the two greatest Frenchmen of this awful age were supreme— and were friends. No more was said. We all trooped down the stairs, bundled into our cars, and roared and rattled off again to the north. (T&A, 171)

Although in Thoughts and Adventures the encounter with Foch is followed by about seven pages recounting the other stops before returning to Paris, the dramatic embrace would have made an effective climax.[4]

“A Day with Clemenceau” certainly draws from that day as Churchill recounts important lessons in leadership that must have reinforced, although they hardly created, Churchill’s own methods: Clemenceau courageously sees for himself what is happening, inspires affection as well as respect, talks with his commanders, and displays both the authority and the will to make important military as well as other decisions.

The most significant contrast in the essay, implicit rather than explicitly remarked but nevertheless unmistakable, is that between the “grey” figure of Lloyd George in bed “amid a litter of reports and telegrams” which so bewilder him that he sends a subordinate off to gather facts; and Georges Clemenceau, a prime minister who tours the front himself to talk with his generals, sees what is happening, and makes important decisions on the spot.

Although Churchill also often read reports before getting out of bed in the morning, it was of course Clemenceau’s overall style of leadership, not that of Lloyd George, that was—far from coincidentally—Churchill’s method as prime minister.

“Very well,” said Clemenceau…our men shall come at once and help you. And now,” he said, “I claim my reward.” “What is that, sir?” asked Rawlinson. “I wish to pass the river and see the battle.” The Army commander shook his head. “It would not be right for you to go across the river,” he said. “Why not?” “Well, we are not at all sure of the situation beyond the river. It is extremely uncertain.” “Good,” cried Clemenceau. “We will re-establish it. After coming all this way and sending you two divisions, I shall not go back without crossing the river. You come with me, Mr. Winston Churchill (this time he got it right); and you Loucheur. A few shells will do the General good,” pointing gaily to his military Chef de Cabinet. So we all got into our cars again and set off towards the river and the cannonade.”

—WSC, Thoughts and Adventures

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ENDNOTES

1. Citations to CHAR with various reference numbers refer to documents, often untitled, in the Chartwell Papers, Churchill Archives Centre, Cambridge University. For prompt, courteous, and efficient help at the Archives I am grateful to Katharine Thomson. For enlightenment on matters of French language and culture I’m much indebted to my USC colleague Danielle Mihram. My footnotes are for FWK III.

2. Mary Soames, ed., Speaking for Themselves: The Personal Letters of Winston and Clementine Churchill (London: Doubleday, 1998), 206. Abbreviations in the passage are Churchill’s.

3. Winston S. Churchill, “A Day with Clemenceau,” Thoughts and Adventures (London: Thornton Butterworth, 1932), 165. Subsequent citations to this work are documented parenthetically in my text with the abbreviation T&A. The text of “A Day with Clemenceau” is available from the editor by email.

4. The essay did end with departure from Foch’s headquarters in its first published version, which occupies only one page in the August 1926 issue of Cosmopolitan (vol. 81, no. 2, p. 25), where it is titled “The Tiger and the Bulldog.” The bulldog of this version is General Foch. The essay was next published as “The Bulldog and the Tiger: A Day with Clemenceau amid the Bursting Shrapnel of the French Battlefields,” in Nash’s Pall Mall (March 1927), pp. 28-29 and 84-88. Both versions have facing photographs of Foch and Clemenceau. The 1927 version has all the episodes of the final version for Thoughts and Adventures, differing in only minor verbal ways except that here Clemenceau gets Churchill’s first name right every time. After the essay’s 1932 publication in Thoughts and Adventures, its most noteworthy later appearance, substantially unchanged, was in the 14 January 1940 issue of the Sunday Dispatch as “My 17 Fateful Hours with Clemenceau.” Surely this revival was part of Churchill’s long campaign to keep himself—and his potential virtues as a prime minister—in the public eye. 

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