FRANCE AND HER ARMY. E ACH nation of the civilised world
finds a separate inspiration for its sentimentality, and the sentiment of France is inspired by her Army. The sound of the trumpet stirs the Frenchman's blood to-day well-nigh as potently as in the hour of Napoleon's triumph. The National Fête of July, when Paris is packed with troops, is of all festivals the most adored by patriotic Parisians. At every season the sight of a uniform quickens enthusiasm, if it does not arouse a cry of " Vive l'Armee." Even when the Generals are in disgrace, the heart of France beats in loyalty to its favourite institution. The lamentable casuistry of M. Cavaignac is as powerless to alienate this profound affection as the narrow dogmatism of General Roget. Justice is nothing, truth is nothing, exclaims the average citizen, but the Army is inviolate and inviolable. When flagrant abuses are gently pointed out, a shameless attack is made, in the cant phrase, upon the silent and sacred defences of France. An officer, being incapable of wrong, is seldom called upon to defend himself, unless, indeed, he commits the wickedness of believing in Dreyfus's innocence ; and the mere title la Grande ifuee proves at once the strange sentiment that Frenchmen cherish for their Army, and the complete confidence they guard in their Army's honour.
Noble, brave, unselfish, proud, insulted,—these are, so to say, the counters of debate ; they are put upon the table whenever the game of controversy begins, and they are handed from one player to the other as solemnly as if they were the sound and current coin of the realm. But they are not mere counters ; they have at least the value of half- sincerity. No institution has ever been so lofty in character and achievement as the French Army is represented by its worshippers. The sentiment is as overcharged as the Spaniard's love of etiquette or the German's adoration of flaxen hair and blue eyes. And yet France does not lie when she employs words which have long since lost their meaning. For the truth is, she does love her Army, and she loves it with its faults of falsehood and dishonour thick upon it. Or rather, she lightly brushes away the faults, and tries to believe that the object of her idolatry is honourably pure. When General de Gallifet, the one great General of France whose reputation seems unstained, declared his faith in Colonel Picquart, a group of his colleagues implored him not to give evidence in the Colonel's favour, because they felt assured of Esterhazy's innocence. Of course they are not assured of Esterhazy's innocence at all, but they recog- nise that the corporate Army could not defend itself, and they are prepared to defend its most worthless member. Such is the anomalous view which France takes of her Army, and it is worth while to consider upon what ground, however shifty, this view is based. In the first place, France and the Army are indivisible. France is the Army, and the Army is France. With us the soldiers form a class apart, and our Army is, as it were, something not ourselves, for which we are proud to pay, and which defends our shores and keeps our Colonies. But our pride comes from the out- side ; a smart regiment is a splendid possession, which stirs a legitimate enthusiasm. The French citizen, on the other hand, worships his Army because, however humble he be, he forms part of it. For him to insult this national institution is to insult himself,—a vice akin to canni- balism. So he is quick to avenge the lightest word of reproach, and by an intimate vanity to declare that the Army, of which he is a willing or unwilling member, can do no wrong. Nor is the Frenchman's keen partisanship born of the " Affair." Some years ago a Jesuit Father, who to-day, of course, is ranged upon the side of the soldiers, condemned the system of military service in even stronger terms than those employed by M. Gohier, and he was deported from France. The justice of the punishment was never questioned ; every citizen knew that the Jesuit Father spoke the truth, and every citizen resented his interference. But in the years when the sabre and stoup were as yet unallied, the priest was not permitted to express an opinion upon that which did not concern him, and no sympathy was shown for the exiled Father.
And here we are encountered by a curious contradiction. The intelligent youth of France detests the oompnlsory service, and rebels furiously against the enforced discipline, so long as he is under the yoke. " Moi, je ne suis pas patriote," said a French private the other day to the present writer, and he explained his lack of patriotism by the long march and the short commons of the day before. Thereupon he began, after the wont of the French private, who is a student and who reads the reviews, to inveigh against the insolence of his non-commissioned officers, and the infamous food habi- tually set before him. It is wonderful,' said he in effect, that a Frenchman ever keeps his self-respect.' And maybe it is. But the point of interest is that three years hence this same private will in all probability applaud the system, which he now denounces with his best eloquence. Though now and again a man of letters, like M. Descaves or M. Courteline, may carry out of the Army a hatred of the military system, the vast majority of Frenchmen soften its bitter judg- ment. Time assuages the harshest impression, and egotism comes to the aid of kindly feeling. I have gone through it myself,' murmurs the soldier, and it did me no harm, and I am convinced that it is for the good of the country that every man should be a soldier.' Possibly involved with this new-born optimism is the selfish feeling, that which one man has endured may be endured by the rest. After all, where is the use of supporting hard- ship if others are to escape ? So have we heard the English boy, whose early years at a public school were not mere happiness, explain the advantages of a public school education, and it is the same spirit of unexalted altruism which preserves the general adoration of the French Army. This, then, is the primary reason why France cherishes a military ambition. Every man of full age is or has been a soldier ; his sons have served or are serving, and there is not a single citizen of the Republic, be he Senator or concierge, who does not know his drill and has not shuddered at the raucous voice of an intimidating sergeant.
But, it may be objected, the sentiment of universal service explains the admiration for the Tank-and-file ; it leaves un- explained the curious loyalty to the officers, who mistake their duty for intrigue. And, indeed, it is true that the real enthusiasm of France is for the piau-piou, the sturdy little hero, who will march wherever he is led. None the less, the uniform of the officer is not without its effect, and the free-born citizen metaphorically doffs his hat to any Colonel, because he symbolises the Army of his adoration. Thus there has grown up a feeling of solidarity. The officers share the selfish affection begot by compulsory ser- vice for a national institution. Moreover, it must be remembered that the officers constitute the only military class that exists in. France. We have our Tommy Atkins, who, whether his service be long or short, is a man apart. But in France Tommy Atkins does not exist, and the officer must perforce stand for the symbol of military ambition. Nor is his life so pleasant that we should grudge him this small measure of praise. He is ill-paid, and poorly encouraged. When he is quartered in a provincial town, he can do no more than play cards for a small stake, and pray for a rich marriage. Clubs and sport and polo, the common pursuits of the British officer, are denied him. He frequents cafés and swaggers before a docile population. If he do marry, he is generally compelled to ally himself with a daughter of the rich bourgeoisie, and his life necessarily lacks the dignity which should belong to it. All the officers who have taken part in the intrigues of the last few years have been men of narrow breeding and small intelligence. Henry was so gross a peasant, that we pity rather than condemn him. General Roget's brain is constructed upon so trivial a scale, that we do not understand his reasoning one whit, and it is not strange that Colonel Picquart, who argued as a man of the world, should have been condemned by this curious society. However, it is no part of our argument • to condemn the officers of the French Army. We would only point out that they are supported rather because they symbolise a cherished institution than for their own transcendent merit.
And lastly, be it remembered that underneath her assumed freedom France is still Monarchical. She is not, and she never has been, Republican in feeling. M. Anatole France has expressed the contradiction most admirably in his last book, wherein a pretended Jacobin declares that, while the Generals of France are the servants of the State, no loyal citizen can question the verdict of a Court-Martial. Governments may shift and change ; Empire may succeed. Monarchy, and in its turn give place to free institutions ; but the country remains the willing slave of pageantry and tradition. So we are asked to witness this strange spectacle : an emancipated State, established, according to the formula, without God or King, which for mere lack of authority bows the knee to the whispered sentence of seven prejudiced officers. And thus it will ever be, so long as there is a trumpet to sound in France, so long as there remains a drum whose roll shall enchant the ear of her martial citizens.
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