It was there that St. Louis is said to have held his famous open-air court of justice, which he established so that his subjects might come direct to him with their troubles and he, besides settling them, might learn at first hand what reforms were needed.

Five Kings of France died there (among them Charles VI, the mad king, and Charles IX, haunted by the horrors of the massacre on St. Bartholomew’s eve), and one King of England, Harry Hotspur.  King Charles V was born there.

From the days of Louis XI the castle has been used as a state prison.  Henry of Navarre was once a prisoner there, and so was the Grand Conde, and Diderot, and Mirabeau, and it was there that the young Duc d’Enghien was shot by Napoleon’s orders and to Napoleon’s everlasting regret.

The castle is now (and has been for many years) an arsenal and school of musketry, artillery, and other military services.  Before its firing squad perish many traitors to France, whose last glimpse of the country they have betrayed is in the courtyard of this ancient castle.

The vicinity is very lovely.  The Bois de Vincennes, on the edge of which the castle stands, is scarcely inferior to the Bois de Boulogne in charm.  We used to go out there, not infrequently, for luncheon, which we ate in a rustic summerhouse close to the edge of the lake, with many sociable ducks and swans bearing us company and clamoring for bits of bread.

It would be hard to imagine anything more idyllic, more sylvan, on the edge of a great city—­anything more peaceful, restful, anywhere.

Yet the whole locality was, even then, a veritable camp of Mars—­forts, barracks, fields for maneuvers and for artillery practice, infantry butts, rifle ranges, school of explosives; and what not.

France knew her need of protection—­and none of us can ever be sufficiently grateful that she did!

But she did not obtrude her defensive measures.  She seldom made one conscious of her military affairs.

In Germany, for many years before this war, remembrance of the army and reverence to the army was exacted of everyone almost at every breath.  Forever and forever and forever you were being made to bow down before the God of War.

In France, on the contrary, it was difficult to think about war—­even in the very midst of a place like Vincennes—­unless you were actually engaged in organizing and preparing the country’s defenses.

After three years at Vincennes, Ferdinand Foch was recalled to the army staff in Paris.  And on the 31st of October, 1895, he was made associate professor of military history, strategy, and applied tactics, at the Superior School of War.

He had then just entered upon his forty-fifth year; and the thoroughness of his training was beginning to make itself felt at military headquarters.

[1] I have found it interesting to compare the careers of Joffre and Foch from the time they were at school together, and I daresay that others will like to know what steps forward he was taking who is not the subject of these chapters but inseparably bound up with him in many events and forever linked with him in glory.