Clemenceau

Georges Clemenceau was appointed France’s Prime Minister on November 17 1917 (For more details about Clemenceau and also Lincoln, Churchill and Ben Gurion, see “Supreme Command” Eliot A Cohen: Simon & Schuster 2002)

Already 76 years old, he became leader of a country that had almost bled to death; its capital threatened and troops mutinous – few outside France today fully appreciate the enormity of the suffering that wonderful country endured in the First World War. In all, France lost nearly 1.5 million men, killed between 1914 and 1918. To put it perhaps more graphically, out of a population of just forty million (less than a quarter that of the USA), France’s losses per head of population were 180 times the total equivalent US losses throughout the Vietnam War. France in 1917 was on its knees.

Born in 1841, Clemenceau had trained as a doctor, travelled for four years to the United States and married an American. Returning to Paris, he began a life of politics, – he was Mayor of Montmartre – medicine and journalism. In this last he was a distinguished and open critic of cover–up and laissez faire in the government of the day. Supporting Dreyfus, it was his newspaper “L’Aurore” that published Emile Zola’s “J’Accuse”. Above all a centralist and pragmatist, he showed immense personal courage in defying the mob during the Commune, even to the point of risking his own life in attempting to save two officers from being lynched.

He had little respect for uniform or rank: “It takes more than a hat with gold braid to turn an imbecile into an intelligent man.”.

He also wrote: “There is no honour of the army, honour of the judiciary or the Council of State any more than there is an honour of farmers or cigar sellers” Clemenceau’s defining characteristic was to “keep in touch”. Lincoln had done this a little earlier by means of his own intelligence staff, lodged with General Grant, and via the new technology of the telegraph. Clemenceau did it by the even more direct means of visiting the front lines in person. On 30 March 1918, at the height of a devastating German offensive in France, the new British minister of munitions, Winston Churchill, went to France at the request of Prime Minister, Lloyd George. The heaviest blows had fallen on Britain’s Fifth Army, but the French had also fallen back, yielding to a German attack of unprecedented ferocity and technical skill. Allied lines were crumbling and a cataclysmic battle outside Paris loomed. Accompanied by Georges Clemenceau, the small party visited the British High Command, which asked urgently for French reinforcements. Churchill described the next scene (“Amid These Storms: Thoughts and Adventures, A Day with Clemenceau” Winston Churchill: New York, Charles Scribner’s Sons.)

“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 [British Fourth Army Commander, General Sir Henry] 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 .... and you, Loucheur. A few shells will do the general good,” pointing gaily to his military chef de cabinet.

Bowing to force majeure, General Rawlinson provided an escort and the party set off, reaching a position from which they could see the last British soldiers – a thin line about three hundred yards away on a ridge. Clemenceau descended from his car, and with him the rest of the party.

He remained for about a quarter of an hour questioning the strategies and admiring the scene. No shell burst nearer to us than a hundred yards. Loucheur and Clemenceau were in the highest spirits and as irresponsible as schoolboys on a holiday. But the French Staff officers were increasingly concerned for the safety of their prime minister. They urged me to persuade him to withdraw. There was nothing more to see, and we had far to go before our tour of inspection was finished. The old Tiger was at that moment shaking hands with some weary British officers who had recognised and saluted him. We gave these officers the contents of our cigar–cases. I then said that I thought we ought to be off. He consented with much good humor. As we reached the road, a shell burst among a group of led horses at no great distance. The group was scattered. A wounded and riderless horse came in a staggering trot along the road towards us. The poor animal was streaming with blood. The Tiger, aged seventy–four, 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 towards his car. As he did so, he gave me a sidelong glance and observed in an undertone, “Quel moment délicieux!”

This episode points up several aspects of Clemenceau. In the first place, his determination to be visible, to show his support. There is also his relish for being there and finding out. This was no sound bite piece of attention–grabbing “spin”. Shining through Churchill’s prose is the Tiger’s evident concern, not so much for his own men on this occasion, as for the weary British soldiers. In stark contrast to Field Marshal Haig, who loathed the French and only once ever visited the Front, and then without making contact with his men, Clemenceau was to visit the front lines and his men roughly once every week!

Here is a man able to communicate by force of humour and wit. And here too is a man capable of having his way. There is no acquiescence to generals or gold braid. Finally here is an example of Clemenceau just “taking trouble”. By regularly going to the Front, he could note the performance of his generals and the morale of his men. “Taking trouble”, by the way, characterises the style of other great leaders: Wellington and the care with which he chose the terrain at Waterloo; Ulysses S Grant swimming and walking through the rivers surrounding Shilo, to check potential escape routes for his opponents, the Confederate army; and Montgomery transforming army manoeuvres from a glorified sports day into a seminal part of training for battle, are three who come to mind.

Clemenceau used his visits to listen and to learn, and then showed no hesitation in confronting the difficult decision he had to take. He replaced exhausted or second–rate officers, and was ruthless in establishing a new leadership for France’s battered armies, again, a characteristic common to many other leaders – Churchill’s reputation was for shifting commanders until he had surrounded himself with a team that satisfied him.

Clemenceau formed his own small and close–knit team of trusties; in his case, Jean–Jules–Henri Mordacq and Georges Mandel. Mordacq was the bridge between political and military strategy. Mandel became the Prime Minister’s administrative head in France.

And finally, as a journalist, it is perhaps no surprise that Clemenceau’s ability to communicate with words was a formidable part of his stature as a leader. Cohen quotes several instances – let two suffice here:

On November 19 1917, he addressed the Chamber of Deputies: He would give “Everything for France, bleeding in its glory…. the hour has come to be French, and simply French, with the pride to say that that suffices.”. He came to be seen as the spirit of roaring defiance, the “Father of Victory”, in much the same way Churchill would be forty years later. Clemenceau’s refrain “Je fais la guerre” reverberated throughout France.

“The Germans can take Paris, that won’t stop me making war! We will fight them on the Loire, on the Garonne if we have to, and even on the Pyrénées. As for making peace, never! They will never get that from me!”

There is a foreshadowing here of Churchill’s no less clear resolve, and of his eloquent “We will fight them on the beaches” speech to the British House of Commons on June 4 1940: “We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be.” and then, before a stunned and silent house of parliament, in Britain’s darkest hour, and after a pause, Churchill roared out his defiance: “We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.”

There is also the same dramatic use of archetypal names: Paris, the Loire, the Garonne and the Pyrénées, that mark Martin Luther King’s no less poetic and fervent use of Georgia, Alabama. Mississippi and Pennsylvania. Having a resolute vision, being visible, staying in touch, taking trouble, listening, learning, confronting difficult decisions, forming a critical support team, communicating – the characteristics of Clemenceau are almost all of physical momentum, taking action. It is no coincidence that he was also physically strong and fit, making his own work–out every day.

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