"For two years, the entire world paid an almost divine homage to the
victor of the Maine. The baggage-master literally bent under the
weight of the boxes, of the packages and letters which unknown people
sent him with a frantic testimonial of their admiration. I think that
outside of General Joffre, no commander in the war has been able to
realize a comparable idea of what glory is. They sent him boxes of
candy from all the great confectioners of the world, boxes of
champagne, fine wines of every vintage, fruits, game, ornaments and
utensils, clothes, smoking materials, inkstands, paperweights. Every
territory sent its specialty. The painter sent his picture, the
sculptor his statuette, the dear old lady a comforter or socks, the
shepherd in his hut carved a pipe for his sake. All the manufacturers
of the world who were hostile to Germany shipped their products,
Havana its cigars, Portugal its port wine. I have known a hairdresser
who had nothing better to do than to make a portrait of the General
out of hair belonging to persons who were dear to him; a professional
penman had the same idea, but the features were composed of thousands
of little phrases in tiny characters which sang the praise of the
General. As to letters, he had them in all scripts, from all
countries, written in every dialect, affectionate letters, grateful,
overflowing with love, filled with adoration. They called him Savior
of the World, Father of his Country, Agent of God, Benefactor of
Humanity, etc.... And not only Frenchmen, but Americans, Argentinians,
Australians, etc. etc.... Thousands of little children, without their
parents' knowledge, took pen in hand and wrote to tell him their love:
most of them called him Our Father. And there was poignancy about
their effusions, their adoration, these sighs of deliverance that
escaped from thousands of hearts at the defeat of barbarism. To all
these naif little souls, Joffre seemed like St. George crushing the