recorded how, day after day, for weeks on end, French would answer the
most intricate questions on policy and tactics over the telephone with
scarcely a moment's delay. Such inhuman speed and accuracy of decision
link French with the greatest commanders of history.

There is just a suggestion of Napoleon too, in his habitual attitudes.
He usually stands with legs wide apart and arms folded either across
his chest or clasped behind his back. But the perfect cheerfulness of
his smile banishes any fear of Corsican churlishness of manner. It is
very certain that French is not feared by his staff: he is worshipped
by them. The reason for that is not far to seek. Although his temper
is irascible, it is not enduring. Often it will flash out in wrathful
words, but the storm is quickly over. Men of this choleric temper are
always beloved, for good humour inevitably underlies the ebullitions
of so light a rage. They never nurse hatreds nor brood over trifles.
Also they are healthily impervious to the wiles of flattery or the
snare of favouritism. There is nothing of the jealous and erratic
genius about French. To read his dispatches is to find praise lavishly
given to subordinates but no mention of self. For he looks after his
assistants and leaves his own record to fate. He has, indeed, mastered
the art of being great enough to allow others to be great. Hence the
excellence which always marks his General Staff.

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Such qualities must inevitably endear a General to his officers, to
the men who have to bear the brunt of their Chief's personality. But
do they appeal to the private? Both Napoleon and Wellington
indubitably took immense pains to surround themselves with a shroud of
mystery. Under their dark mantles, the ranks must feel, lay buried the