Picture him on the hill, in his long gray cloak and silver helmet, peering through his field-glasses into the valley, and confidently expecting to see his Bavarians drive the French before them. He sees the White Cuirassiers charge, and, as the brave men cheer and gallant horses thunder towards the enemy, he feels that nothing can resist them. To his dismay, they are hurled back with great slaughter, and a miserable remnant alone remains. Then the pitiless French guns begin to speak, and he sees his infantry mowed down like wheat before the reaper's sickle. He looks for victory; he sees defeat. Now the French begin to attack, and his Bavarians give way before their fierce onset. The time has come for him to seek safety in flight. A strange fatality seems to accompany him. Wherever he appears and commands in person, there you may look for disaster--whether in France or in Poland. He is a melancholy figure, flitting from East to West, feverishly inciting his armies to die for the Fatherland; dreaming great dreams of world conquest which can never be realized.
"Such," says the French official account, "was the seven days' battle in which more than two millions of men were engaged. Each army gained ground step by step--opening the road to its neighbour, supported at once by it, taking in flank the adversary which the day before it had attacked in front--the efforts of the one fitting in closely with those of the other.
"To give this victory all its meaning, it is necessary to add that it was gained by troops who for two weeks had been retreating, and who, when the order to attack was given, were found to be as ardent as on the first day. These troops had to meet the whole German army, and from the time they marched forward they never fell back again. In spite of the fatigue of our men, in spite of the power of the German heavy artillery, we took colours, guns, Maxims, shells, more than a million of cartridges, and thousands of prisoners. A German corps lost almost the whole of its artillery, which, from information brought by our airmen, was destroyed by our guns."
The battles of the Marne marked the turning-point in the campaign; the torrent of German advance had not only been stayed, but driven back. "The day of Sedan," 1st September, saw the German armies flushed with success, and confident of victory as rapid and complete as that of 1870. Nine days later their hopes were shattered: they were retreating northwards at full speed. Von Kluck's error of judgment, the fiery zeal of the British and French, General Foch's brilliant victory in the centre, and the wonderful working together of the Allied armies had wrought the miracle.