First Battle of the Marne

The First Battle of the Marne was a battle of the First World War fought from 5 to 12 September 1914. The German army invaded France with a plan for winning the war in 40 days by occupying Paris and destroying the French and British armies (Allies/Entente). The Germans had initial successes in August. They were victorious in the Battles of Mons and the Frontiers and overran a large area of northern France and Belgium. In what is called the Great Retreat the Germans pursued the retreating Franco-British forces more than 250 km (160 mi) southward. The French and British halted their retreat in the Marne River valley while the Germans advanced to 40 km (25 mi) from Paris.

Quotes

• I don't know who won the Battle of the Marne. But if it had been lost, I know who would have lost it.
  • Marshal Joseph Joffre, quoted in Sewell Tyng, The Campaign of the Marne (1935), p. 350

• The driven and defeated line stood at last almost under the walls of Paris; and the world waited for the doom of the city. The gates seemed to stand open; and the Prussian was to ride into it for the third and the last time: for the end of its long epic of liberty and equality was come. And still the very able and very French individual on whom rested the last hope of the seemingly hopeless Alliance stood unruffled as a rock, in every angle of his sky-blue jacket and his bulldog figure. He had called his bewildered soldiers back when they had broken the invasion at Guise; he had silently digested the responsibility of dragging on the retreat, as in despair, to the last desperate leagues before the capital; and he stood and watched. And even as he watched the whole huge invasion swerved.
  Out through Paris and out and round beyond Paris, other men in dim blue coats swung out in long lines upon the plain, slowly folding upon Von Kluck like blue wings. Von Kluck stood an instant; and then, flinging a few secondary forces to delay the wing that was swinging round on him, dashed across the Allies' line at a desperate angle, to smash it in the centre as with a hammer. It was less desperate than it seemed; for he counted, and might well count, on the moral and physical bankruptcy of the British line and the end of the French line immediately in front of him, which for six days and nights he had chased before him like autumn leaves before a whirlwind. Not unlike autumn leaves, red-stained, dust-hued, and tattered, they lay there as if swept into a corner. But even as their conquerors wheeled eastwards, their bugles blew the charge; and the English went forward through the wood that is called Creçy, and stamped it with their seal for the second time, in the highest moment of all the secular history of man.
  But it was not now the Crecy in which English and French knights had met in a more coloured age, in a battle that was rather a tournament. It was a league of all knights for the remains of all knighthood, of all brotherhood in arms or in arts, against that which is and has been radically unknightly and radically unbrotherly from the beginning. Much was to happen after—murder and naming folly and madness in earth and sea and sky; but all men knew in their hearts that the third Prussian thrust had failed, and Christendom was delivered once more. The empire of blood and iron rolled slowly back towards the darkness of the northern forests; and the great nations of the West went forward; where side by side as after a long lover's quarrel, went the ensigns of St. Denys and St. George.
  • G. K. Chesterton, The Crimes of England (1915), ch. 10

External links

• Arthur Quiller-Couch (ed.) The Oxford Book of English Prose (1925), no. 590