ON the nineteenth day of June, 1914, six weeks before the declaration of war, I was named Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to France. I was then serving my third consecutive term in Congress from the Fourteenth Ohio District. At this time there were several posts of the first importance to be filled, and my name had been urged for Paris by Senator Pomerene and seconded by the Honourable Newton D. Baker, then Mayor of the City of Cleveland. My colleagues from Ohio, without my knowledge, had also recommended my selection to the President; and the Senate had paid me the compliment of confirming my nomination without the customary reference to a committee.

I tendered my resignation as a Member of the House of Representatives, and before I left Washington to make my final arrangements, Mr. Bryan, then Secretary of State, invited me to lunch with him at the University Club. It was to be quite intime, as M. Jusserand, the French Ambassador, was to be the only other guest.

During my six previous years in Congress, as a member of the Committee on Foreign Affairs, I had become pleasantly acquainted with a number of the members of the diplomatic corps. Even in those days, on account of the length of his distinguished service, M. Jusserand(1) was the Dean of the corps at Washington. I believe he had represented France there longer than any of his predecessors. His eminent ability and tact contributed quite as much as this unusual period of service to strengthen the bonds of warm attachment which have existed from the earliest days of the two Republics. Yet I do not recall that there had ever been a time when we conversed upon matters which affected our respective countries. Now it was different. I was soon to take my leave for France, and it was my duty to become au courant with all questions of mutual interest.

It was this thought that undoubtedly inspired Secretary Bryan in bringing us together. At that time, early in July, the only cloud on the horizon to disturb the entente cordiale seemed to be occasioned by the question of assessing proper valuations for customs duties on china imported from Limoges. This subject had been the cause of considerable vexation and some bitterness of feeling on the part of the Limoges manufacturers. There had furthermore been certain complications over Lyons silks. The zeal and fidelity with which M. Jusserand advanced the cause of his countrymen, during our conversation, was an eloquent testimony to the fact that long service abroad need not lessen nor in any way compromise a diplomat's sense of first duty to the Government which he represents.

From the consideration of plans to smooth out differences over customs valuations, to meeting conditions which a mighty war suddenly imposed within a space of only a few weeks, was a transition as great in its nature as it was unexpected in its coming. Not again during the entire period of my stewardship as Ambassador did I hear of the duties on the silks of Lyons or the china of Limoges.

The delay which followed before I departed for my post was due to the very long and serious illness of Mrs. Sharp, from which she was then slowly convalescing. Soon after my appointment, I acquainted the President and Secretary Bryan with this situation. Both assured me that a reasonable delay in reaching my post would be entirely acceptable. It is a fact that in Paris, up to within a few days of the declaration of war, some of those in a position to know best were the most sceptical as to its actual coming.(2) That some day the great tragedy was inevitable all conceded, believing the time for it had not yet come. The folly of it was too great to make such a thing credible to the minds of honest-thinking men.

It was with knowledge of the changed conditions which I was to face that I left my home in Elyria, Ohio, and embarked on August 26, 1914, on La France for my post in Paris, accompanied by my son George.

As yet, the hidden terrors of the submarine had not come to disturb the tranquillity of those who found it necessary to face the sea.. None who sailed as my fellow-passengers, however, were ignorant of the extreme gravity of the events which were so rapidly taking shape on the other side.

One of the Great Powers of Europe was seeking a death-grip at the throat of its intended victim.(3) The scenery in the great tragedy was being rapidly shifted, as if each new act demanded a change. The forts at Liege, after heroic resistance, had fallen. Even that brief interruption of the onward march of the enemy had, however, been as a veritable holding of the Pass of Thermopylae, by giving to the Allied forces time for preparation. Brussels had been occupied; the army of little Belgium had been rolled back, retreating on Antwerp as a better vantage-ground for future operations. Charleroi had followed Liege, and the gallant British troops outnumbered by more than two to one, had retreated from Mons. The advance forces of the enemy had already entered upon the soil of France. The seven days during which I was en route might hold the virtual decision of the war.

The situation was reflected in the character of our passenger list. Naturally, under such conditions, this was tinged with a decided military colour. Many of the younger men, French by birth or descent, were returning to do battle for their country. They had come from every quarter of America, and not even the parting with those most dear to them had dampened the enthusiasm with which they had received the call to arms.

The study of each of my fellow-passengers under such unusual conditions was interesting. In addition to the "reservists " there were those who had seen experience in other wars, veterans who were hurrying to the call to arms. Unconsciously, I could not but speculate upon what Fate had in store for them. Could I have looked into the future, which was to be so long obscured by the smoke of battle, as well as by the uncertainties of the outcome, my wonder would have grown.

The list of passengers included nurses and other relief workers on their way to missions of mercy, short as had been the progress of the conflict. They were the white-aproned and white-capped forerunners of those angels of mercy who later came over by the thousand to bind the wounds of dying heroes. Of war correspondents there were also a number, sent over by the big American dailies. During the months that followed, I learned from many sources of the splendid manner in which this class of men had discharged their missions. Their engagements at times required the hardest kind of work, not unmixed with danger. The Western world is indebted to them for the vast amount of information which only the exercise of the highest degree of enterprise and talent, could have supplied.

Not the least in interest of the experiences afforded by the motley lot of my fellow-passengers was that to be found in a coloured missionary, an aged Minister of the Gospel, who was returning to his field of work among the savage tribes of Africa. How incongruous the thought that, while his professedly Christianized white brothers dwelling in the enlightened countries of Europe were carrying on the most brutal war known to history for the extermination of their fellow-men, this aged missionary was to preach among his followers from darkest Africa the doctrine of brotherly love.

As I disembarked from La France at Havre, in the early morning of the second day of September, 1914, Mr. Osborne, our Consul, introducing himself to me, asked:

"Have you heard the latest reports? Do you know that the German troops are at the very gates of Paris?"

These questions came as a startling surprise. During the voyage, I had read only very brief wireless messages set forth in bulletins posted at the head of the staircase of the steamer. These, while not of a reassuring nature, had not given the slightest intimation of the real situation.

I shall never forget the scene indicative of gravely disturbed conditions which greeted us. The advance horde of unfortunate tourists, who had tarried so long in Paris to connect directly with any kind of craft that would carry them to England or to America, had already reached the city. The hotels were crowded. In the streets, the rich jostled the poor. Among the former was the head of one of, America's greatest steel corporations, who had engaged in advance most of the rooms in one of the more modern hotels for the accommodation of his numerous personnel. Many, having little money left after purchasing their return tickets, became dismayed at the thought of being compelled to remain at additional expense in a strange land.

There was in evidence everywhere that kind of hurlyburly the counterpart of which one might see in some new Western mining town where an Eldorado had been discovered. Surely the exactions of human nature were strangely modified by the stress of necessity. The discomforts of a cabin in the steerage looked very inviting to many who had never before understood the social problems which poverty imposes upon the immigrant. It is more than probable that in many such cases this experience had fallen to the lot of their ancestors who, a half century before, had come to America to seek those opportunities which their native land could not give.

While arrangements were being made for my departure for Paris, Major Henry, who had come down from that city on the previous day by direction of the American Embassy, asked me if I would not be interested in inspecting the French liner La Touraine, then about to sail. His mission was to examine steamship accommodations and to arrange, as far as possible, for the comfort of departing Americans. I gladly accepted his invitation.

The ship was one of the older class of French steamers. She was being fitted out in such a manner as to accommodate several times her normal passenger list. This was plainly evidenced when, on going through the vessel, I saw that from top to bottom, even to the very hold, improvised state-rooms were being made. Many of them had nothing but cloth partitions between them. Even in such compartments four or five passengers had to be contented during the voyage. But its bow was pointed westward, and to them that was homeward. Later in the war, not a few of them came back to tender their good offices of mercy in the manifold needs of France.

A distinguished fellow-passenger on the voyage over had been Mr. Robert Bacon,(4) former American Ambassador to France. One day, about midway on our voyage, he had introduced himself to me, and I then learned for the first time that he was on board. What his mission was, if he had any, in returning to Paris at that particular time, I never learned. I gathered from our talks, however, that he was simply one of the numerous Americans whose former temporary residence among the French people had drawn them to that country in its hour of need.

Hearing the alarming news of the enemy's progress, Mr. Bacon hesitated for no little time before coming to a decision. He said to me, "Just before I left New York, my wife made me promise that I would be back at the end of a month. I am greatly puzzled to know what to do, for I fear that if I once get into Paris I may not soon be able to get out again." Having in mind evidently the experience of the memorable siege of Paris in '70-71, and not being provided with a balloon like the one in which Gambetta made his sensational escape over the German lines, his concern was comprehensible. However, he decided to proceed on his journey, upon being assured by one of the attachés of the American Embassy, just coming on the scene, that the situation was not as critical as had been thought.

My own accepted obligation, regardless of the conditions which might confront me, was to proceed to Paris as quickly as possible. There was imposed on me but little responsibility in making the journey, accompanied, as I was, only by my eldest son, a boy not yet seventeen years of age. Travelling by railroad had already become uncertain, and there was also danger of bridges being blown up by advancing Uhlans(5) at different points along the line. To meet such an emergency, I was informed that M. Louis Jaray, of the Comité France-Amérique, was there with two military cars to convey us to Paris.(6) It was a generous thoughtfulness from an organization whose high purposes I came to know better in later days. Though I hope to take occasion in subsequent pages to refer more at length to the splendid work of the Comité France-Amérique,(7) I may here say that the acquaintance made with M. Jaray, that day, ripened into a sincere regard for one who so constantly showed his friendly interests in everything American. Of good family and independent means, he zealously devoted his time to advancing the work of the Society to which he had consecrated himself.

At about the same time a representative of the city of Havre came to present his compliments. He assured me that his good offices were at my disposal in any way that might be found useful---a manifestation of that spirit of goodwill and helpfulness which, during all the years of my stay to follow, I found exemplified in the conduct of French officials.

Leaving Havre about four o'clock on the afternoon of our arrival, two hours later we began the descent of the winding slope of the long, deeply shadowed hill which overlooks Rouen and the tortuous Seine. The fifty or more miles of country through which we had travelled were of incomparable beauty. A ride through Normandy in the harvest season indeed possesses peculiar attractiveness. If the orchards are famous for their wealth of bloom in the Spring, the ripening fruit of Autumn gives to the Norman country no less charm. A noted American divine has said that the only mistake which the Creator made, in the building of the world, was that he had not endowed apple blossoms with souls. His regret might have been all the more poignant could he have travelled through these orchards in their blossoming season. In all her diadem of jewels---the ancient Provinces of France, each with its wealth of tradition and charm of scenery---none is more beautiful than Normandy.

But if Nature, both in beauty of landscape and fertility of soil, has been so beneficent to France, no little of her interest to the traveller lies in the numerous châteaux and abbeys, whose foundations often date back to the days of her earliest kings. They bespeak a rare artistic conception which our modern architects have faithfully striven to imitate.

It was hard to believe, amid the scenes of pastoral beauty which revealed themselves to us at every turn in our winding road that afternoon, that the country was in a state of war. Such a horrible thing was in direct contradiction to every thought inspired by such an environment. But each moment drew us nearer to its reality. Even before the rising of tomorrow's sun the roar of the cannon of the enemy was to be faintly heard in the streets of Paris.

Late that afternoon we reached Rouen, the ancient capital of Normandy, rich in the tradition of mediaeval times, though the interest of the visitor is saddened by the martyrdom of Jeanne d'Arc, In passing through the narrow crowded streets, I could not resist the temptation to pause a few minutes on the broad open Place in front of the majestic pile of the Cathedral. Its very impressiveness impelled me to enter. As I stood within its portals among the crowded worshippers, for those brief moments, thoughts came to me which in future years I found best expressed by the lines of Maurice Barres, the noted French author and statesman, in his inspired little volume, "The Faith of France":

"From the dark shadows of our churches, the wax tapers burn---and the crowd presses forward to kneel beneath their light. The Protestant chapel resounds with exhortations, the ancient synagogue, with sounds of sorrow; and he who passes by these holy places, he who enters not, stands without and whispers a benediction. Houses of prayer, houses of refuge, we beseech you to aid the soldiers of France!"

But to-day young men were gathered there-those whom the call of duty would soon lead hence, never to return. Some were in the uniform of commissioned officers, others dressed as simple poilus. About them, kneeling in devotion or passing out as new ones came in to take their places, were dark-veiled women and old men bent with age---the mothers and fathers of young soldiers already at the front. He who would properly assess the heroic part played, in this great war, by the soldiers of France, must not ignore that element which contributed quite as much to its winning as their courage---their religious fervour, which seemed to gain strength from the very dangers before them. As our little party left the portals of that temple of worship, I carried away a lasting remembrance of the sweet music softly diffusing itself from the great organ above me. But I had witnessed also the visible evidence of that faith which did so much to sustain the spirit of France during the four awful years to follow.

Regaining our automobiles, we were soon rapidly crossing the long bridge over the Seine.

I shall never forget the incidents of our all-night ride which followed, so dramatically staged by the historic events of those early September days. Being the time of the harvest moon, its light shone with unusual brilliancy. Every village and hamlet through which we sped stood out with spectral vividness. We had now left behind us the only large city through which we were to pass until we should reach Paris, ninety miles away. Even before getting out of Havre we had already come to know that we were in a country in a state of war. Barricades of barbed wire and trunks of trees, in some cases covered with an impenetrable mass of pine boughs to obscure the view, had been hastily thrown across the highway before even the city limits had been reached. Only the narrowest possible space was left for the passage of vehicles in single file. Behind these barricades stood armed sentinels challenging the way.

Many times throughout the night similar experiences were encountered. Sometimes a more than usually obdurate guard was met with, who must be doubly sure not only that we were friends, but that he had fully discharged his own duties. The very air was tense with portent. Sensible that with each mile of our journey we were approaching toward the enemy's line of advance, caution was the watchword.

As the night wore on, the faint gleaming of the lights in the upper windows of the houses of the little villages through which we passed became less frequent. Only the fitful glow of some corner street-lamp was to be seen in most of these towns. Not until ten o'clock in the evening did we halt at an inn in the little town of Pacy-sur-Eure for a hastily improvised dinner. Even at that hour there were others being served, their military automobiles standing in the road. They were French officers charged with important duties.

A half-hour later we were again on our way. Occasionally, as we rounded a curve---straight streets are rare in French villages---and the chauffeur sounded his approach, a window in one of the low quaint buildings would here and there be raised, and the occupant, curious to know the cause of the noise, would protrude his head. As we proceeded southward, M. Jaray directed our course further away from the banks of the Seine. Since every hour was freighted with increasing uncertainty, and there was the probability of the enemy enveloping Paris from the north, this precaution was wisely taken.

While speeding along at a rapid rate at one point of the journey, having fallen into a slight slumber, I was suddenly awakened by a terrific bumping of our car; we had run off the roadway over a low curbing. Only the prompt action of the chauffeur, and the absence of the ever-present line of trees along the highway, saved us from serious consequences. It was explained that the chauffeur had himself fallen asleep, after having passed through forty-eight continuous waking hours, caused by his having spent the night before in bringing M. Jaray down to Havre to meet us.

I inquired of M. Jaray as to the propriety of my giving a pourboire to the chauffeur. He replied with much tact and characteristic politeness, that inasmuch as this soldier was one of the most prominent of the younger lawyers of Paris, he did not think any remuneration was expected. The fact was, that at that early stage of the war every Frenchman capable of military service had gone to the front, and I have no doubt but that my lawyer-chauffeur nobly did his part on the field of honour long before the war ended.

Some time after midnight we passed through the darkened streets of the ancient town of Dreux. We now turned sharply toward the east along the main travelled highway to Paris, fifty miles away. Next we went through St. Cyr, where is located one of the great military schools of France.

Soon after leaving this place, as yet long before sunrise, we were finally to meet the most inquisitive challenge of our journey. Already a score of barricades had been passed through the intermediation of our good friend of the France-Amérique. At Versailles, however, even his earnest representations failed to prevent our automobiles from being compelled to turn back to the office of the Préfet, and there wait until instructions by telephone had been given. For the time, we were prisoners of war. After a half-hour's delay we were permitted to go on.

THOUGH I should pass a hundred times the yellowed façade and the stately walls of the Palace of Versailles, I could never forget the impressive, almost unearthly appearance which it presented that night as we passed it in the lengthening shadows of the waning moonlight. Tragic though the history of this splendid pile has been, recording, as it unhappily does, some of the saddest experiences of the French people, yet hopes such as are found in the realm of dreams were here to become realities---and this time all for France. Had not Fate decreed that out of the sufferings of that hour and the sacrifices to be endured during the long struggle to follow, she was to help dictate, behind those walls, the terms of peace made possible by a victory incomparable in its achievements?

In this palace on the eighteenth of January, 1871, surrounded by Princes and Generals, King William of Prussia had been proclaimed German Emperor. The great drama which had been enacted here nearly forty-four years before was to have a recasting. But it must first call for the sacrifice of the lives of a million and a half of the bravest sons of France. And the lives of an equal number of her Allied defenders must also be thrown into this fiery crucible which was so to try the souls of men.

The ride into Paris some fifteen miles away was uneventful, and at four o'clock on the morning of Thursday, the third of September, our automobiles stopped in front of the Hotel Crillon, Place de la Concorde, which was to be my home until the other members of my family came to join me, early in the following Spring.

On the morning following my arrival, the German troops had reached the nearest point to Paris to which destiny had decreed they should come. On that very day, too, realizing that in union alone was their strength in the face of the imminent danger for them all, notice of the signing at London of the famous declaration of the "Triple Entente" had been sent out by M. Delcassé.(1)

The French Government---the President of the Republic, the Ministry and Parliament---had already left for Bordeaux, where a temporary capital was to be established. With them, except the American, had also departed the members of the diplomatic corps, representing both the Allied and most of the neutral Powers.

In the hushed quiet of those early morning hours, one heard in Paris the booming of the enemy cannon less than twenty miles away. During that day the Tauben of the Germans in unusual numbers had been flying high over the city, leisurely making their observations. Great crowds from the streets below had been watching with feverish interest their movements. But if their first appearance had created any alarm, curiosity soon got the better of it, even though it was known that some of them carried the bombs of destruction which had already found victims to mangle. At the end of a few days of such experiences, enterprising landlords found a profit in renting seats on their roofs to spectators who eagerly craned their necks in keen anticipation of being the first to see the coming of these enemy planes. Features of a regularly staged matinée were not absent.

Before the rising of another sun, the fate of Paris might be decided---or indeed, the fate of France and the Allied cause. The oncoming sweep of a million trained soldiers of the greatest military power in Europe must be stopped and turned back. By successfully holding their ground for another twenty-four hours, the Germans might be able to plant their big guns for the actual shelling of Paris. Had not everyone, even to the remotest parts of France, already heard of their "frightfulness"? Paris on that day, as for the next four years, was destined to be the focal point upon which the eyes the entire world were riveted.

How strangely was history repeating itself! Forty-four years before, even to the very day, the heart-breaking news had come to Paris of the fall of Sedan and the capture of the Emperor by this same enemy. The French army, under Marshal MacMahon, had suffered a disastrous defeat. The news was prophetic of the final triumph of Prussian arms. On the night of that never-to-be-forgotten day the Paris populace, amid scenes of greatest turmoil and passion, had cried "A bas Napoléon!" and the abdication of the Emperor had been demanded. So quickly did events move that on the following afternoon the brilliant Gambetta had dramatically proclaimed the birth of the new Republic of France before a great throng of people. After these many years, was the same fate to come again to French arms? Not so.

This time there was an unconquerable power behind them. It was the power of right. The consciousness of fighting under the banners of such a cause measured the difference between success and failure, victory and defeat. The spirit which inspired officer and poilu, now gathered to do battle on the fields of the Marne, was assuredly different from that which had imbued the followers of Napoleon III when he took command of his army late in July, 1870. From every lip came now the cry; "Union sacrée! " Along the Champs-Elysées was not heard, as on that other day, the expression of "A Berlin en huit jours! " But there was an exalted purpose to place upon the altars of sacrifice the last drop of French blood for the triumph of liberty, justice, and humanity. Not from the first crucial days until the end of the war was there a letting down of this spirit.

Just a month before, August 4, President Poincaré had addressed an epochal Message to Parliament. Every member of the Chamber of Deputies was standing and rapturously applauding, when Premier Viviani read the words in which the President voiced the feelings of the French people:(2)

"In the war which is beginning, France will have Right on her side, the eternal power of which cannot with impunity be disregarded by nations any more than by individuals. She will be heroically defended by all her sons; nothing will break their sacred union before the enemy; to-day they are joined together as brothers in a common indignation against the aggressor, and in a common patriotic faith.

"She is faithfully helped by Russia, her Ally; she is supported by the loyal friendship of England. And already, from all parts of the civilized world, sympathy and good wishes are being given to her. For to-day, once again, she stands before the Universe for liberty, justice, and reason.

"Haut les coeurs et vive la France !"(3)

No better interpretation of the purposes of the French nation could have been made than was contained in these words. Coming to know M. Poincaré as I did during the trying times to follow, they were indicative of that strength and poise which he brought to the support of his country during its hours of peril.

At this same memorable session of Parliament, M. René Viviani,(4) the Premier, in a speech of rare power and eloquence, had laid before the Chamber the tragic story leading up to the declaration of war. He read the letter which he had received the day before from Ambassador von Schoen, who had represented the Imperial German Government at Paris. In this letter the Ambassador had asked to be furnished with passports permitting him to leave France, and assuring his safe return to Germany. The Premier's speech was a masterly exposition of the relation and significance of each international event which had brought on the crisis. I do not recall, in reading the official accounts given by the several belligerent Powers of the actuating events, anything which surpasses the summary set forth in this speech of the Premier. In reading his peroration, those who are familiar with the style of oratory of the brilliant Viviani, quite in a class by itself, will again see before them the image of the great French orator. The uplifted arm, the whole figure trembling with emotion, the voice with such charm of melody, the rapid flow of words tumbling over each other like the waters of a Niagara, at times his face upturned as though he would draw his inspiration from the very skies---I have sometimes thought him to be a reincarnated Mirabeau.

On that day, swayed by their emotions, members of Parliament who had for years led bitterly opposing factions excitedly embraced each other. A common danger, a common love of country, had united France as never before.

Two days later, Mr. Asquith had defined with great clearness in the House of Commons the position of Great Britain. Von Bethmann-Hollweg, Chancellor of the Imperial German Government, had already made his appeal in the Reichstag, in which he had made the admission, as astonishing as it was frank, that necessity knowing no international law, the rights of Belgium as well as of Luxembourg had been wilfully violated by the armies of Germany. The Chancellor had also asserted that French airmen had already dropped bombs on railway tracks far into southern Germany. Perhaps no official declaration during the war was more vehemently contradicted. From intimate talks with French officials, including the positive statement made to me by Marshal Joffre, I am satisfied that there was never the slightest ground for such a charge.(5) At the time of this speech, not definitely aware of the future course of action of the British Government, the Chancellor had frankly accorded to Sir Edward Grey due praise for his earnest effort to avert the war.

But if the statesmen of the various belligerent countries had thus spoken, a great soldier of Britain had made a remarkable appeal to the troops of the British army. Through instructions issued by Lord Kitchener to every soldier in the expeditionary forces, a striking appeal had been made to the sense of duty to country. First pointing out to them the need of courage, energy, and patience, he counselled them by their conduct to show their character as true British soldiers to the peoples of the foreign countries in which they were to fight.

I know from a conversation held much later with General Pershing upon the subject of the Kitchener instructions that he was deeply impressed with them. He also made a stirring appeal to the manhood of the American soldier, This was printed under his picture and widely circulated. To the lasting credit of our American boys, amidst unusual temptations in a foreign land, be it said that the soldiers of no other belligerent country were better behaved than they.

During the thirty days preceding my arrival, the news dispatches every hour had told of fresh advances by the enemy, of new destructions of towns and of increased brutal outrages upon their defenceless people. There was nothing left to conjecture as to the fate which awaited towns yet untaken. The despairing cry of those already fallen had travelled fast and far. These were the crucial conditions that confronted Paris. For one who had been familiar with the everyday life of the city in times of peace, to understand the transformation which had come over a city, famed for the cosmopolitan crowds on its streets, its sociability and gaiety, the change in the appearance of everything, except its inanimate objects, could only be explained by the occurrence of events of dynamic import. The very knowledge that such conditions existed, and were soon to reach their climax, contributed in no little measure to the strangeness of everything about me.

Some three days after my arrival in Paris, I saw from my front windows, overlooking the Place de la Concorde, a most unusual sight; one to which the events of the following few days lent historic interest.

At about two o'clock in the morning, I was suddenly awakened by what was taking place on the streets below me. Not so much the volume of the noise as its peculiar character had aroused me from sound slumber. As I listened, it seemed as though some endless cortège of vehicles was passing monotonously by. Curious to know what was taking place, I arose and went to the windows.

There below me in the subdued light of the street lamps, I saw a most remarkable spectacle. Like two huge winding serpents one slowly coming from the Champs-Elysées diagonally across the Place de la Concorde to the rue Royale, the other extending from across the Seine over the Pont de la Concorde, I saw a line of automobiles and taxicabs, closely packed together. Except for the driver, they were all empty. How many had gone before I do not know, but certainly many hundreds were yet to come. After the automobiles came many open carriages, followed by a larger and more nondescript type of vehicle, each so close to the one in front that no one could have passed between them. It seemed that every sort of conveyance having wheels had been called into requisition. Though I realized that some movement of military importance was being carried out, yet not for some time afterwards did I learn that these vehicles had been employed in the transportation of the troops of Gallieni to fight in the battle of the Marne.

In the popular mind, there has been undoubtedly a great deal of exaggeration as to the importance which can be properly assigned to the part played by these troops. But the unusual manner of transporting them to the scene of action possesses an interest quite out of the ordinary, even among the many unique features which characterized the war. The unromantic fact remains that the execution of this plan for the transportation of men to the battle-front failed in a large measure of its main purpose of promptness. This was owing to numerous delays, breaking down of equipment, lack of sufficient gasoline, mistakes as to the proper roads, lack of unity in speed or co-ordination in movements, etc., compelling many of the troops to continue their march on foot, and stranding others so that they were found only after the. battle. This, however, in no way detracts from the originality and boldness of the conception.(6)

A little more than a week after witnessing this scene, I was given the opportunity of visiting this historic battlefield, at that time still uncleared of its dead.

Leaving Paris early in the morning, our party soon reached Meaux, which had been the nearest town of importance occupied by the German troops. The party included, besides my son and myself, Mr. Benjamin Conner, a prominent lawyer of Paris, and Mr. Oscar W. Underwood, Jr., son of the distinguished Senator from Alabama. Both of these young men later won distinction as soldiers in the American Army.

As we proceeded north from Meaux, it was as though we entered territory over which some mighty cyclone had passed; or as if some pent-up torrent, breaking away, had swept on, engulfing everything in its path, and then receding, had left a mountain of débris scattered promiscuously about. Strangely enough, here and there were wide places along the highway where one could look in vain across the fields for the footprints of horses or men. In their ripening products of husbandry, they were as calm and undisturbed as in the midst of some vale of peace. But as we went further north, the evidences of the terrible battle accumulated. It must have been terrific along the roadway itself, where hastily improvised defences and shallow trenches had temporarily afforded protection to the troops on either side. Great quantities of shell-cases and, cartridges were scattered about. Huge trees, thirty inches in, diameter, had been splintered by the bursting shells. In many instances they had been severed as though by the blows of an axe. A very inferno must have reigned at such points. Here along the roadway was a broken aeroplane, so full of holes that its sides presented the appearance of a sieve. Slim chance for the poor fellow who had guided it through the air---fallen as one of thousands.

But the tragic scene of our journey came when we found, as yet undisturbed, over portions of the battlefield, the bodies of many soldiers lying just as they had fallen, some with faces upturned to the pitiless rain of an equinoxial storm. In one part of the field I saw a row of corpses of French soldiers, placed side by side; near by, another of the Germans. Here was one whose age betokened a fireplace around which fatherless children were gathered waiting in vain for his coming---never to know when or where he had fallen. Others were of young men, the pride of their mothers' hearts. I was told that only a short distance to the west one single huge grave had been dug, in which the corpses of two thousand of these soldiers were buried. Bridges had been blown up, making a wide détour necessary. Some of the towns through which we passed had but roofless houses left, deserted by everything that had life to tell of the sweep of the contending forces. The Valley of the Marne, of such enchanting beauty a few days before, had been converted into a veritable Valley of Death.

Arriving at about noon in the little village of Courmelles, less than two miles from Soissons, we had reached the end of a journey the recollection of whose tragic scenes can never fade from my memory. Just opposite Soissons, the German troops were entrenched, and we immediately found ourselves witnesses to a fierce artillery duel. The sequel of the bombardment of this devoted town, noted even in the time of Clovis and Alaric the Visigoth, was to be written in the ruined streets, crumbling houses, and shattered Cathedral.

The sight that greeted us was a strange one. With the French troops were many colonials from Africa---Moroccans I would say. With the picturesque head-dress of their country, their loose-flowing military garb, their black, dwarfed beards and swarthy countenances, they were in strange contrast to the scene about them. A few weeks later I saw thousands of other dark-skinned warriors from the Far East riding so gracefully through the streets of Orléans, as they came up from the south, that they seemed to be a very part of the animals which bore them.

Just as our party alighted, two young Americans rushed out of the big doorway of one of the buildings near which we had left our car and excitedly greeted us as their deliverers. They then told us, with expressions of the greatest emotion, that they had been kept as prisoners for the preceding two days by the Army officers. They had unwittingly tempted fate by entering the military zone without due authority---and that too, so near to the firing line that our party was solemnly warned that stray enemy shells might find their way at any moment into our midst. One of these young men, Mr. Dewitt Poole, was at the time a vice-consul at Paris, and later won an enviable reputation as our chargé d'affaires at Moscow, from November, 1918 to June, 1919. The other was Mr. Charles Loeb, a prominent member of the Paris bar, Even our recognition of them, and vouching for their standing, failed to do more than ameliorate their condition temporarily.

In my effort to help them, there occurred a striking illustration of what a division of authority assumed or otherwise may do. Only its tragic consequences, for the time, to our unfortunate friends prevented it from partaking of the character of a comedy. Being told that the Colonel in command had his headquarters in a château but a short distance away, I called to explain to him the unpleasant situation of my countrymen.

It was my first experience with French military officers, and only the desire to be of help to Americans in a serious predicament seemed to justify my intercession. With no little embarrassment, after being ushered into the Colonel's presence and invited to be seated, I asked Mr. Conner to explain in his best French the object of my call.

The Colonel's manner was most cordial, and after hearing with every mark of sympathy the facts as they were told to him, he immediately consented to the release of the prisoners.

Quickly returning to the place where they were held, I made known the good news. It was greeted with a show of the greatest satisfaction by those to whom it meant so much. But their joy was short-lived. The other officer, by whose authority they had been detained, refused point-blank to let them accompany our party back to Paris. Again Mr. Conner's French was appealed to. With a due respect for the authority before which he was, having in mind the rules governing the offence of contempt of court, I am sure this American lawyer never pleaded with more earnestness for any client than he did that day for our friends. But it was all in vain.

Seeing the hopelessness of the situation, I assured the two young men that every endeavour would be made, upon my return to Paris, to secure their immediate release. That night, I caused news of their predicament---and in fact of their real danger, for they were charged with transgressing all military rules at a time when the fate of France hung in the balance---to be sent to the French authorities.

They were released on the following day.

Our party set out for the return trip to Paris. We had now before us a disagreeable ride of nearly seventy miles in a driving rain. As we proceeded time and again we encountered returning refugees, with their big two-wheeled wagons, pulled usually by one horse, sometimes by two in single file. These were piled high with the meagre furniture with which they had so hurriedly fled but a few days before. On top of this would be seated sometimes the entire family. Often behind such a load would follow the cow, their only remaining possession. To what were they returning? Alas! they were fortunate indeed if they found a roof to cover their heads. In many places not even standing walls remained of what were once their homes. Later, owing to the changing fortunes of war, many of these poor people were dispossessed twice, and in some instances three times, by the succeeding waves of the advancing and retreating forces. When the full inhumanity of this destructive warfare had been fairly launched, such returning refugees were lucky if they found even the agricultural implements and standing fruit-trees which had been the source of their livelihood. That night I returned to Paris with my first realization of what the war actually meant, and with a heart made heavy by the horrors that must follow such a beginning.

As typical of the experiences of some of these sufferers following the invasion of the German troops immediately preceding their reaching the Marne, I may relate the story which was told to me by an American, Major Sellers, himself a refugee for the time. Upwards of eighty years of age, this old patriot had fought in the American Civil War, enlisting as a private from my own State of Ohio. He was spending his declining years indulging his bent as an artist, among some of the charming scenes so often encountered in the byways of France. He lived in a small French town directly on the line of march of the Uhlans.

Having this old soldier-artist as a luncheon guest at the Embassy one day, I listened as he modestly told of the part which he and his niece, who lived with him, had played in those battle days of the Marne.

News of the advance had travelled very rapidly throughout that entire section, he explained. Many people had left their homes in terror. Others were compelled, for one cause or another, to remain behind and accept the fate of German occupation. Major Sellers and his niece had given their limited stock of food to fleeing refugees. First their own supply of provisions was exhausted; then this was supplemented by articles they were enabled to buy with the ready money in their possession. All went to alleviate the suffering of those who, in utmost distress, knew not which way to turn for food or shelter. From an unusual opportunity for observation, it is my pleasure to say that in so doing this Good Samaritan of American birth had but shown that altruism which everywhere characterized the acts of his countrymen during the war.

Being an American citizen, he had no concern for his personal safety.

"When I heard of the approach of the Germans through the vanguard of the fleeing people," he said, " I looked about me for an American flag, that I might place it over my doorway. No such thing was to be found. In a quandary as to how I might supply such a want, I seized a shingle and on this I painted an American flag and placed it on my easel. This I planted in a conspicuous place in my front yard. A little later the advancing column of the German army came sweeping through the town. As they came on, they took possession of this or that building, according to their needs, spreading terror among the people about them. As one of the officers halted before my cottage, I pointed to the emblem of my country, and said that, as an American citizen, I claimed immunity for myself and my property. I was quickly assured that no harm would come to me, but I must supply their wants of food from my garden. Some of these soldiers hurriedly helped themselves to such vegetables as they could find, and ravenously devoured them with great relish. They told me that they had had no food for several days."

Though his six feet of stature was bent with his burden of four-score years, the old veteran's voice was full and resonant. With deep-set eyes that looked straight at you, and a broad and firm chin sufficiently protruding to give indication of the fearlessness with which he might meet any danger, it is not surprising that but little persuasion was needed to compel both respect as well as protection from the hands of the Uhlans. They must have seen in this old man something of the fire and energy which had made him a valiant soldier on many a battlefield of another great war, more than a half-century before.

Much later, I had the opportunity of discussing at length with Marshal Joffre the stirring incidents of the battle which gave to him immortal fame, and to France the very freedom of her existence. Sitting in the modest front room of his comfortable Paris home, one afternoon, he told me a most interesting story of some of the outstanding events between the twenty-fifth of August and the tenth day of September, 1914, which blasted the ambitious hopes of an empire and at the same time furnished a fateful augury of its ultimate collapse.

I enjoyed that kind of friendship with the distinguished Marshal which only a long-standing mutual confidence can give. He was very fond of everything American, and his visit to our shores at a critical time during the progress of the war had only served to increase his admiration for our people and their institutions.

At the conclusion of my talk with the Marshal, he said to me: "There! I have told the whole story of the battle of the Marne for the first time," Perhaps this statement may explain an amusing story which I heard in connection with an account of the battle of the Marne, which an eloquent speaker was giving at a banquet on a certain occasion. The story goes that Marshal Joffre, being one of the honoured guests, after listening to the speech until its conclusion, turned around toward the gentleman sitting beside him and said: "I did not catch the name of the battle of which he was speaking. Will you please tell it to me?"

As I looked into those calm, blue eyes---which are said to go so often with military genius---and studied the latent force within that massive frame, I could well understand one of the reasons for the victory of the Marne. One might as well try to push over a building as try to move such a man against his will. Modest and simple to an almost extreme degree, his nature impresses one as being a natural force which exists as a matter of course. If men encounter it, they must choose either to be stopped or go around it. Slow and deliberate of speech, as if giving careful thought to each word, one is impressed with the conviction of hearing from the lips of such a man only the truth. There is no guile and no expression of feeling that would indicate unfounded prejudice.

Just as some little article of bric-à-brac might becomingly adorn the mantel of a small room, and would be equally inappropriate when placed in a large salon, so by the law of contraries Marshal Joffre seemed to me that day, in his small front parlour, to be out of the environment for which Nature intended him. He is one of those figures of heroic mould which, to be fully appreciated, must be seen with plenty of space about him. The corridors through which such a man passes should be wide and the ceilings high.

The Marshal told me that he had resolved that the Seine should be the utmost limit which the Germans might reach. The narrative was made more graphic by his taking a tablet of paper and drawing upon it with a pencil the location of the vital points of the attack. Notwithstanding their clear two hundred thousand superiority in numbers, the German troops were first checked, and then routed by the masterly strategy of Marshal Joffre, coupled with the unsurpassed valour of the French officers and the French poilus.

To say that long before the war France had not been concerned over the prospect of an invasion by Germany's armies from across neutral territory would be wholly incorrect. But would they come across Switzerland or Belgium? The shortest route to Paris was undoubtedly across a line extending from Verdun through Toul and Epinal. But the enemy knew that it was by no means the easiest, if the possible way. He considered it, therefore, a necessity from the purely military point of view to violate the neutrality of one or the other of these countries, if he were to reach the heart of France.

General Ludendorff, in his book dealing with his part in the great war, has told the world why the German armies had preferred to advance through Belgium.(7) While those armies would be bleeding to death before the fortresses on the Verdun-Belfort line, their right wing would have been attacked from Belgium and beaten by the combined Belgian, French, and English armies. They would also have lost, he added, the industrial region on the lower Rhine. Ultimate defeat would have been certain. The General states that Belgium had long been prepared for the German advance.

"The roads," he says; " had been systematically destroyed and barricaded, showing that a great deal of work had been done beforehand. No such obstacles could be found on the south-west frontier of Belgium. Why had not Belgium taken similar precautions against France?

And yet, what better proof could be furnished that France had never given the slightest cause for Belgium to fear a violation of her territory? On the other hand, the acts of Germany for a number of years preceding the war had indicated a possible programme of this kind on her part. Had not Jules Cambon more than a year before warned his Government at Paris of Germany's preparations?(8) It is indeed a significant fact, and I have it from the lips of Marshal Joffre, that when at one time, considerably antedating the war, France was reviewing Germany's actions with concern, and this very question of a possible necessity of French troops going through Belgium was raised, all such thought was promptly put out of mind by the French Government as something inconceivable. But he considered that all the railroads built by the Germans in that region showed their intention of violating Belgium, and that their platforms at places such as Malmédy were clearly designed for the use of large bodies of troops.

General Joffre had established his plan for the concentration of the French armies two or three years before the war, and this plan was carried out as foreseen when the war came. Long in advance he had felt it would be necessary to have two mobile armies, one for use in the direction of Metz and the other towards the North in case the Germans attacked through Belgium after all. But at the last moment he ordered the French line of sentinels to take up a position ten kilometres behind the frontier, from one end to the other, including Belgium, so as to avoid any possible accusations of a French violation of neutrality. The sentinels remained in this position until war was formally declared by Germany.

The French troops having then taken up their normal positions, it was learned that the German army was near Liège. General Joffre advised the Government in Paris to this effect,(9) and adapted his original plan by sending both his mobile armies north and placing a certain number of divisions so as to face northward against the Germans. But while attempting to turn the French line by passing through Belgium,(10) the Germans still had troops in sufficient numbers to operate on the Toul-Verdun-Epinal front, for they disposed of about forty-five army corps, and the French of only about twenty.

The Germans advanced, attacking Liege but moving on and reaching the heart of Belgium while Liége still held out. Hoping to envelop the French Left, they directed part of their troops towards Antwerp and then came straight on. But the French 5th Army was there, and a group of reserve divisions, to prevent the envelopment.

The battle of Mons-Charleroi followed, and the Anglo-French retreat became inevitable.

General Joffre had meanwhile taken divisions and army corps from his own army, and also an Algerian division, and had concentrated these at Amiens as a new 6th Army under General Maunoury,(11) ready to fall on the German Right under von Kluck. This had been possible because the railroads were still running for the transportation of troops from Nancy as well as Maubeuge. The French Right at Belfort and Nancy was weakened, but the forces left there held out.

In the very hour of the Allied retreat after the battle of Charleroi, the French Commander-in-Chief, having carefully elaborated his plans, had taken measures to defeat the enemy in a manner as effective as it was surprising---and this at a time when it was too late to draw out of the trap which had been set. In a word, a double programme was being prepared for the unwary von Kluck, of which he little dreamed.

One of the most thrilling parts of the Marshal's narrative that afternoon came when, asking him on what supposition he was making his plans to surprise the German commander, he said to me:

"I was counting upon the enemy making a certain mistake. If he made it, my plans would render success impossible for him. He made it, and his defeat came as the inevitable consequence."(12)

The Marshal's answer was as unemotional in manner as it was laconic. There was no show of exultation or of pride. If one expected a display of vanity in such a man, it would be not to know or understand him. Surely, all history shows no such example of a mistake with such important results. What stock of hopes had an ambitious Emperor, drunk with the anticipations of a victory almost within his grasp, laid in store for a spectacular entry into Paris-if possible, before forty days of the war had gone by? How baleful, to his country, the consequences which flowed from the fountain of such dreams of early conquest! What though a more patient, but less spectacular, course had dictated a surer plan of success by a gradual envelopment of the prey, if it were to be at the cost of such chimerical visions? No wonder that von Kluck himself, after the signing of the Armistice had left him free to tell the truth, should have hastened to disclaim the authorship of such a fatal blunder,(13)

While the world knows something of the part played in this victory by the courage of the French soldier, not so many are familiar with the strategy so brilliantly employed to von Kluck's undoing. What was this strategy and what was the "mistake" of von Kluck to which Marshal Joffre had referred?

On August 25 General Joffre had given his first orders for the preparation of the battle, although he did not know on what exact line he could take the offensive. Time for the desired opportunity to ripen was necessary. The Germans must advance enough for the situation to take shape before the Seine was reached. Because, as Marshal Joffre said to me: " had resolved that they must not get beyond the Seine." They made, however, their mistake permitting him to attack sooner than he had expected. On September 4 he learned from General Gallieni(14) that the Army under General von Kluck had deviated to the south-west. The same day, General Joffre issued the order for the general attack, saying:

"On the day of the 5th all troops shall take up their positions, to begin the attack on the morning of the 6th."

The world knows how completely successful was the dénouement of General Joffre's strategy---how brilliant the attack which came as the culmination of it all.

As a thunderbolt might come out of a clear sky, the new army under General Maunoury, having advanced rapidly southward and being added to General Gallieni's Paris garrison but retaining its quality of mobility, appeared free from the weariness of battle and long marches, and attacked the right wing of von Kluck at the moment when the latter was about to fall with his full might upon the French left flank, General Franchet d'Esperey's(15) Army, and the English Army under Marshal French.

This was the decisive factor in the Marne, although when speaking of the engagement Marshal Joffre did not fail to pay a tribute to all the Generals who had ably done their share in a great concerted action. For von Kluck, to meet the menace, had to withdraw vitally necessary divisions from his own centre and left flank, and during two entire days Maunoury's Army resisted the German attacks in all their strength, thus standing the hardest fighting in the battle.

The close was marked by the heroic stand and triumphant attack of General Foch's 9th Army, a small force improvised by General Joffre to fill a dangerous gap between Franchet d'Esperey's 5th Army and de Langle de Cary's(16) 4th Army. The action at the Marais de St. Gond turned the last tide in favour of France, while to the east the Armies of Dubail(17) and Sarrau(18) and de Castelnau(19) were holding the enemy back in that direction and preventing the arrival of reinforcements.

Von Kluck had to choose between an ignominious defeat or a retreat. The latter alternative prevailed. Despite the masterly order of retreat executed by von Kluck, it was, nevertheless, a defeat as crushing as it had been surprising. He was enabled to save his army, and the Germans continued the occupation for the following four years of a large portion of French territory; yet the golden opportunity to get to Paris, which for a brief moment had fairly lain in the outstretched hand of Germany, had been for ever lost-and with it the war.

I remember reading in one of the Paris papers a resentful disclaimer that Providence had had anything to do with shaping this epochal victory of the Marne; it was due entirely to the courage and prowess of the French soldier. While one might question whether the cause for which France fought would be lessened in any way by the fact that it had the approval and support of Providence, yet it cannot be denied that never in all the history of battles was strategy more successful, nor the defenders of their soil more brave.

Only once afterwards during those four years---in the early summer of 1918---was the capital in equal danger of being taken. If Fate had gone against France in the First Battle of the Marne, nothing could have averted a repetition of what had happened in the months of 1870 and 1871. Indeed, the consequences, compared with those of the Prussian War, would have been even more disastrous, and an irreparable blow dealt the world. The fortunes of no one battle ever possessed so much of portent to the cause of liberty and of human civilization. On the other hand, had the enemy succeeded in taking Paris in his great drive in 1918, it would have meant only a prolongation of the war until the full force of America's might could have been thrown into the scale.

The outcome of the battle of the Marne, in so far as its immediate military consequence was concerned, was epitomized in the message which Marshal Joffre was enabled to send to his Government, that he had driven the enemy back a distance of sixty kilometres.(20)

Some days after this interesting talk with Marshal Joffre, and shortly before taking my departure from France, I had a desire to go over again, in part, the identical route which I had taken across this historic field more than four and one-half years before.

Our party consisted of Colonel Fabry,(21) formerly of the staff of Marshal Joffre, Mr. Warrington Dawson, a very capable member of the staff of the Embassy, and my son George, who had accompanied me on my first trip. We were exceedingly fortunate in having with us Colonel Fabry. The Colonel had lost a leg early in the war in the Vosges, when he was leading his famous regiment of Chasseurs---called. "blue devils " by the Germans on account of their intrepid character and their dark blue uniforms. His perfect knowledge of every action since the war began was of the greatest advantage in explaining to me, as we progressed over the battlefield, the various positions of the French and British armies on the south and the advancing German armies on the north. Standing on the roadway, a distance of perhaps a mile north of where it crosses the Marne in the environs of the town of Meaux, we alighted from our military car to look over the country in connection with the comprehensive official war maps which he unfolded before us.

Our position was on a high table---and affording an excellent view of what might be considered the very centre of the battlefield. The scene was one of great charm in the early morning of that April day. The budding and leafing out of the trees, the song of the Spring birds, and the balminess of the sunshine, seemed to join in sweet harmony with the revivification of a country so long distraught by war. But the ravages of that Marathonian conflict might have occurred a hundred years before, judging by any visible evidence of its destructiveness in the appearance of the country about us, so rapidly does the healing grace of nature restore her own. A few miles to the south and east of us, just over the brow of the hills, we could see the ancient town of Meaux, with the rising towers of the fine cathedral for which it is noted.

That morning it appeared as some sleepy old town of bygone ages half awake, reposing in the bed of the valley. It was one of the few towns occupied by the Germans in the early days of the war which had escaped destruction.

From where we were standing, I could have heard the constant roar of the cannon of the contending forces both to the south and to the west. As I followed on the map the changing positions of the French troops, hurrying westward from east of Bar-le-Duc to fill up the gaps where required, and then of other divisions closing in on the following days from the south and the west, succeeded by the stubborn retreat of the German forces, it seemed very much to me as though I were seeing a cinematograph of the battle itself.

We continued our journey, soon entering the valley of the Ourcq. Here among these wooded hills General Franchet d'Esperey had brilliantly followed up the German retreat from the Marne.

Some miles further on, the roadway pierced the forest of Villers-Cotterets. So covered that day were their wooded slopes with wild flowers, that the temptation to stop our car and gather some of them was too great for me to resist. During all my stay in France, I had seldom had such an opportunity to enjoy this pleasure so abundantly afforded by the woods of my own native State. Gathering the flowers with the thought that I would take them back to Mrs. Sharp in Paris that evening, I little knew to what purpose they would so soon be devoted.

At the end of a half-hour pleasantly spent in this beautiful forest, we were again speeding on our way. We had gone but a few miles to the eastward when we saw ahead of us, on our right, a bare field rising high from the roadway, in which had been erected a great number of plain white crosses. Near the entrance had been raised a flagpole, from which was waving the American flag. For a considerable distance before reaching this point we had become painfully aware that another great battle had been waged here, with the highway as its centre. The broken and splintered trees, extending along the road for many rods; the perfect sea of shell-holes on each side of us as far as we could see; and even a portion of the forest itself through which we had passed, presenting a scene as though a tornado had swept it---all betokened the fierceness of the struggle. This little cemetery on the rising ground was its sequel. It told more graphically than words of the terrible sacrifice of human life which had been exacted.

Dismounting from the car, our little party silently and reverently entered the enclosure where was buried all that was mortal of seven hundred American heroes. Walking along the pathway at the head of these mounds, placed beside each other so closely as to prevent passage between, I distributed the wild flowers which I had just gathered. On each wooden cross was affixed a small metal tablet on which the soldier's name, rank, and service were given. Many of them had belonged to the famous First Division, which had so gallantly fought in this section in the decisive days of July, following the memorable battle of Château-Thierry.

Shortly before noon we arrived at the ruins of Soissons, a city of the antiquity of Roman days. It was within a mile or two of this place that I had come nearest to reaching the German lines, in my first trip across the fields of the Marne in the early days of the war. I had now made my second trip across the section of France which, as long as the memory of the great war shall endure, will be the scene of the pilgrimage of generations yet to come. On these fields they may well worship at the shrine of patriotism.

In grateful recognition of the supreme sacrifice made by these soldiers of the Marne in a cause which America, too, so splendidly championed, some of our own public-spirited men have already completed plans, supported by popular subscription, for the erection of a noble monument.(22) It was one of my pleasing, as well as one of my last acts before laying down the duties of my mission, to gather about me a number of prominent American residents of Paris, to arrange for this monument. Mr. Thomas W. Lamont, the eminent banker, had been the prime mover in this enterprise. I had asked M. Ribot to act upon this committee, that there might be linked together in carrying out such a project a common counsel and a common sentiment of representatives of both Republics. At our meeting there was the unanimous wish expressed to associate with this work also the two great marshals of France---Joffre and Foch, without whom there would have been neither the first nor the second victory of the Marne.