Andre believed it his mission to extirpate all conservatism, whether Catholic or not, from the army.  In a few short months, by a campaign of delation and espionage, he had completely disorganized the army, the only really national institution left in France.  Officers of standing, suspected of any reactionary political tendency, were discharged by the thousand; and officers against whom no charge could be brought were refused ammunition, even though they were stationed at a ticklish point on the frontier.  At the same time a like disorganization was taking place in the navy, the evil genius of the Marine being the Minister Camille Pelletan.

Those who saw, in 1912, the ceremonies attendant on the deposition of the bones of Jean Jacques Rousseau in the Pantheon were sick at heart.  Never had the Government of France sunk so low.  The Royalists shouted, the extreme radicals hooted, and when the carriage of Fallieres passed, it was seen that humorists had somehow succeeded in writing jocose inscriptions on the presidential carriage.  The head of the French nation, a short, pudgy man, the incarnation of pontifying mediocrity, went by with an expression on his face like that of a terrified, elderly, pink rabbit.  The bescrawled carriage and its humiliated occupant passed by to an accompaniment of jeering.  Everybody—­parties and populace—­was jeering.  The scene was disgusting.

The election of Poincare, a man of genuine distinction, was a sign of better times.  Millerand became Minister of War, and began the reorganization of the army, thus making possible the victory of the Marne.  But a petty intrigue led by a group of radicals caused the resignation of this minister at a time when the First Balkan War threatened to engulf Europe.  The maneuver was inexcusable.  Messimy, an attache of the group who had led the attack, took Millerand’s place.  When the war broke out, Messimy was invited to make himself scarce, and Millerand returned to his post.  Thanks to him, the army was as ready as an army in a democratic country can be.

The France of 1915-16 is a new France.  The nation has learned that if it is to live it must cease tearing itself to pieces, and all parties are united in a “Holy Union” (l’Union Sacree).  Truce in the face of a common danger or a real union?  Will it last?  Alarmists whisper that when the war is over, the army will settle its score with the politicians.  Others predict a great victory for the radicals, because the industrial classes are safe at home making shells while the conservative peasants are being killed off in the trenches.  Everybody in France is saying, “What will happen when the army comes home?” There is to-day only one man in France completely trusted by all classes—­General Joffre, and if by any chance there should be political troubles after the war, the army and the nation will look to him.