Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (89 page)

Sir Henry gulped down the
rest of his drink. “Come on,” he said. “We must go to Paris. This may be just
the lever Galli
é
ni
needs to force Joffre’s hand.”

Two minutes later the
three of them were in the car. Again long columns of troops and streams of
refugees held them up infuriatingly; so it took them the best part of two hours
to cover the twenty-five miles to the capital. But by seven o’clock they
arrived at the Invalides, and at a quarter past were with Galli
é
ni.

The Governor was a tall,
thin, grey-haired man, with a heavy moustache, very big ears, and slender,
nervous hands. A pair of steel-rimmed pince-nez waggled insecurely on his
rather fleshy nose. He heard what they had to say, asked De Richleau a few
shrewd questions, then stood up and began to pace the room agitatedly,
muttering to himself: “So von Kluck has nothing behind him. Von Kluck has
nothing behind him. Nothing behind him. Nothing behind him.”

After a few moments he
suddenly turned, snatched up the telephone on his desk, and asked to be put
through to G.Q.G.

While a line was being
cleared for him, Sir Pellinore coughed and said in his appalling French: “We
were at G.Q.G. yesterday,
mon Général.
They told us there that Paris is to be declared an open city, and that Verdun
is to be surrendered. Can nothing be done to reverse these terrible decisions?”

Galli
é
ni
took off his pince-nez, and they waggled between his fingers with the strength
of his emotion. “It shall not be!” he cried. “As long as I am Governor of Paris
we shall hold it to the last man. And Verdun will not surrender! I have spoken
on the telephone with General Sarrail, who commands there. He declared to me
that his honour would never permit him to obey such an order.”

“Bon pour vous!”
exclaimed Sir Pellinore.
“Et bon pour Général Sarrail. Le
vieux esprit de France, eh! Jeanne d’Arc encore!”

The call came through. An
incredible conversation ensued. By every means known to the voluble and
emotional French, the Governor strove to stir the sluggish brain of his
phlegmatic
C. in C.
at the other end of the line. For twenty minutes he shouted, and at times
almost wept, into the telephone. He spoke of the honour of France, of the glory
of her Generals, of the bravery of her soldiers. He pleaded, threatened,
argued. He said that the blood of the dead on the fields of Lorraine cried
aloud for vengeance. Those who had sent them to die must not betray them. He
talked of the old days in Madagascar when Joffre had served under him; of
comradeship and loyalty; of death rather than dishonour.

At last his spate of
words began to cease for brief intervals and, instead, between pauses, he
uttered staccato exclamations. Then he put down the receiver. His face was pale
but triumphant as he turned to his visitors and cried:

“It is decided! I am
permitted to attack
north
of the Marne. The retreat is halted.
Voila!
The whole army of France turns about and faces her
enemies. Maunoury flings himself on von Kluck to-morrow, the 5th. General
battle is to be given at dawn on the 6th.”

Sir Henry Wilson jumped
to his feet, seized the astonished Frenchman in his arms, kissed him on both
cheeks, then swung him round in a dance—just as he was to do four years later,
when a Field Marshal, with Premier Clemenceau at Versailles in the hour of
final victory. Sir Pellinore shouted, “Bravo!” clapped his hands and gave De
Richleau a slap on the back that nearly knocked him over.

When their excitement had
subsided a little, the Governor said: “This chance will never come again. If
our blow against von Kluck’s flank fails, we shall have lost the war. Maunoury
needs every ounce of support we can give him. I shall strip Paris of her
garrison and send it to the front. And it must go to-night. I will commandeer
all the ’buses and taxi-cabs in Paris to transport it. The men must be in the
line by dawn to-morrow. Every man capable of bearing a rifle will be needed.
Every man!
Messieurs
,
I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But not a moment must be lost, and I
have much to do. You will excuse me now.”

As they left his quiet
room Joseph Simon Galli
é
ni
was already giving his first orders for the opening move of the battle that was
to have more far-reaching consequences than any since Waterloo—a battle that
would never have been fought but for his tenacity, courage and indomitable
spirit.

When they got outside,
the Duke said to Sir Henry: “You heard what he said. Can you sign me on as a
Tommy and get me a rifle?”

The General laughed. “No;
but I can make a better use of you than that. You talk French like a native,
and you’re one of the comparatively few people who know what is really
happening. You’ll be invaluable to us as a liaison officer between B. E. F. and
old Galli
é
ni.
For that sort of work it’s just as well that you should continue dressed as a
Brigadier. I’ll put that right with General French when we get back.”

“And what about me?”
boomed Sir Pellinore. “Don’t think you’re goin’ to leave me out of this. I may
not speak this French lingo over well; hut I’m a darn’ good shot, and it’s not
all that long ago they gave me a V.C.”

After considering for a
moment, Sir Henry said: “All right. Come back with us to G.H.Q. We’re quite
well off for riflemen; but we could use you in our Intelligence room. There are
plenty of younger men there who are worrying themselves sick to have a cut at
the Hun; and they are trained in modern tactics. We need them with the troops,
so it would be a real help if you relieved one of them.”

So they had a quick
dinner in Paris, then returned to Melun. The British Expeditionary Force was
still retreating, and it could not be stopped simply on a conversation between
Sir Henry Wilson and General Galli
é
ni.
But the retreat was slowed up, and in the early hours of the morning a dispatch
rider arrived with a request from General Joffre that the B. E. F. should halt,
turn about, and prepare to advance in a north-easterly direction on the 6th.

For those who knew the
inner picture, the days that followed were stupendously exciting. Maunoury’s
attack caught von Kluck by surprise, and on the following day his spearheads
were brought to a halt by the strong resistance of the B. E. F. One of his five
Army Corps had been shattered by Maunoury’s first onrush, so he was compelled
to turn sideways, then right round, which placed him facing north-west instead
of south-east. But in the meantime von Below’s Army, on his left, continued to
push south-eastwards, so a great gap thirty miles wide opened between them.
Into the gap poured the British and Franchet D’Esperey’s 5th Army, while Foch’s
9th Army took the weight of von Below’s continued attempts to advance.
Meanwhile, the four French Armies on the right of the line prevented all
attempts of the other five German Armies to break through, and gradually forced
them backwards.

It was a battle of
giants, but of tired giants. Both armies were near exhaustion even before it started:
the Germans from their month-long advance, the French from many casualties and
the depression that is inseparable from a prolonged retreat. Just a little more
weight on either side would have given the victory to whichever had it. As
things were, neither was any longer capable of rushing to the assault, but both
held their ground firmly, pressing on the other. For a time everything hung in
the balance, and all depended on through which of the closely locked armies a
sudden conviction would first run that it must give way because it could stand
the strain no longer.

De Richleau’s work took
him frequently to Paris, and it was on Monday the 8th—the critical day of the
battle—that at about six o’clock in the evening he went into the Ritz for a
drink before returning to Melun. As he walked through the lounge, and past a
table at which three smartly dressed women were sitting, he heard one of them
suddenly exclaim:

“Armand!
Mon Dieu!
Can it possibly be you?”

Pausing he found himself
facing a beautifully corseted lady with fine brown eyes, whose flawless
complexion belied her forty years.

“Why! Madeleine!” He
smiled as he bent to kiss the plump, heavily ringed hand she extended. “How
truly delightful to see you again.”

“But you! Back in Paris
after all these years!” With a fingertip she touched one of the scarlet tabs on
his khaki tunic. “And as a British General, too! This is a story that I cannot
wait one moment to hear. You must tell it to me over an
apéritif.”

Turning, she gave the two
women who were with her a charming smile and said: “
Mesdames
,
it is not every day that one meets again a friend of one’s youth. I feel sure
you will forgive me.” Then she stood up and the Duke, after bowing to her
friends, took her through to the ladies’ side of the bar.

She was several years
older than himself, and had already been married to the Marquis de Frontignac
when he had first known her. But that had not prevented her from teaching him
many pleasant things that a young man should know; and their love affair had lasted
considerably longer than most of his youthful peccadilloes. They had parted as
friends and, although they had not met for many years, still retained a deep
affection for one another.

Over their drinks he gave
her a suitable account of himself, and for half an hour or so they revived
happy memories of the good times they had had together. Then, on a sudden
inspiration, she said:

“Armand! I have an idea.
You can do me a great kindness, and I am sure you will not refuse. I have never
been blessed with children, so, now that I am no longer young, I devote myself
to charity. You must lunch with me one day soon, and that will enable me to
raise a lot of money.”

In his anomalous
position, to re-enter French society was the very last thing he wanted, but she
swiftly overruled his protests.

“Be silent please. I will
take no denial. You have already told me that as a liaison officer you have to
come to Paris every day; so you cannot plead the war to get out of it. Listen
now! You are a most romantic figure. Everyone who matters knows how you barely
escaped from France with your life. And now you come back to us as a gallant
soldier of our Allies. I know a score of wealthy women who would give their
eyes to meet you. I shall give a big luncheon party, and afterwards they will
give generous cheques to my charity for the privilege of having done so.”

Loath as he was to agree,
he felt that he could not possibly refuse such a request from so old and
intimate a friend; so they arranged that he should lunch at her house in the
Pare Morceau on the coining Friday.

Next day, the 9th of
September,
and the fortieth day
from the German order for mobilization, there came the first indications of the
turning of the tide. The Germans, now fully extended, fighting at a great
distance from their bases, without reinforcements to call upon, and in
desperate fear that their right wing would be completely rolled up, had had
enough. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, they began to retire
across the Marne and fall back on the Aisne. By the 10th, along the whole front
dog-tired French and British troops were staggering forward.

If only von Moltke had
retained the two Corps allocated to the investment of Namur, they could have
filled the fatal gap between the Armies of von Kluck and von Below. And four
other German Corps had been withdrawn for the Russian front. Had those 350,000
men still been in the west, the French could not conceivably have borne their
weight. Inevitably the French army would have been borne back, collapsed, and
forced to surrender. Had Joffre not thrown away 300,000 men in his senseless
assault on the great German fortress line in Lorraine, things would have gone
the other way. The exhausted Germans would not merely have been halted and
compelled to retire, but routed, and suffered so severe a defeat that the war
might have ended by Germany asking in September, 1914, for an armistice.

As it was, another four
years’ dogged, unending slaughter, had to be endured before the Kaiser’s mailed
fist was finally shattered. But the Germans never again reached the Marne.
Paris was saved, and new heart for future ordeals put into the French army.
Hour by hour tidings came in that one enemy division after another was giving
way; and as De Richleau received the news he felt more than ever that, however
hideous the deed he had done upon the train, he was absolved from blame.