The First Battle of the Marne, 1914, WWI

France’s triumph shattered Germany’s dreams of a lightning-fast victory, plunging both nations into the unrelenting nightmare of four agonizing years of trench warfare, where every inch of muddy ground was paid for with rivers of blood. Had the Germans been victorious, it is unlikely that the German nation would have had much interest in Hitler's radical plans decades later.

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Marne, France. 5th - 10th September, 1914.
Allied Forces: 1,080,000 Soldiers
German Forces: 750,000 to 900,000 Soldiers

Additional Reading and Research:

• Dupuy, Trevor. A Genius for War.
• Kluck, Alexander. The March on Paris and the Battle of the Marne, 1914.
• Tuchman, Barbara. The Guns of August.
• Herwig, Holger. The Marne, 1914: The Opening of World War I and the Battle that Changed the World.
• Blond, Georges. The Marne. 

Transcript

To seek the true cause of World War I is like questioning the identity of Jack the Ripper or the burial place of Alexander the Great—an inquiry destined to plunge into a labyrinth of theories, each as compelling as it is contentious.

The explanations are myriad and complex: the seething French hunger for vengeance after their humiliating defeat in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-1871; the intricate web of alliances that fashioned an uneasy balance of power, stoked by France's determination to forge a coalition for the inevitable rematch with Germany; rampant nationalism, which fanned the flames of militarism and imperial conquest; the absence of strong leadership following the dismissal of Germany’s Iron Chancellor, Otto von Bismarck, who had been the only force capable of tempering Kaiser Wilhelm’s erratic aggression; Germany's ambition to build a navy to rival the British fleet; the vision of Mitteleuropa, a German-dominated economic bloc stretching from the North Sea to the Persian Gulf; the simmering ethnic conflicts in the Balkans that drew in their respective great power patrons, Austria-Hungary and Russia; and Britain’s quest for allies in an increasingly antagonistic world. Each of these factors—and perhaps all of them in concert—set the stage for a conflagration.

Whatever the social, political, economic, or military undercurrents may have been, with the benefit of hindsight, the outbreak of war appears not merely likely but inexorable.

This sense of inevitability only deepens when examining the German blueprint for victory, a meticulous plan devised by their vaunted General Staff—the very concept of which was a German invention, honed to near perfection over decades of preparation.

As early as 1894, Germany's General Staff, under the strategic genius of General Alfred von Schlieffen, crafted a masterstroke of invasion aimed at France. Though it underwent various modifications over the ensuing two decades, the offensive that Germany unleashed in August 1914 was but a variant of this time-worn yet formidable set of instructions.

France’s alliance with Russia all but ensured a war on two fronts, a scenario the German military was desperate to evade. Schlieffen's strategy hinged on the belief that Russia's cumbersome mobilization would take weeks, if not months, to complete. This afforded Germany a narrow window to strike a devastating blow against France, aiming to incapacitate it before Russia's vast armies could lumber into action.

Once France was decisively beaten, German forces would pivot eastward, prepared to crush the less formidable Russian army. To this end, the Schlieffen Plan dictated that only a skeleton force would guard the eastern frontier, with similarly scant defenses along the Franco-German border.

France’s own Plan XVII, conceived even before the Schlieffen Plan, envisioned a grand offensive thrust into Germany, albeit through a region infamous for its rugged and difficult terrain. German strategists were confident that a minimal contingent could hold this challenging terrain, allowing the main German force to sweep around the French left flank and race toward Paris. With the French army mired along the frontier, it would be unable to pivot quickly enough to safeguard the capital. The fall of Paris, echoing the defeat of 1871, would compel France to capitulate.

However, Schlieffen's plan carried a significant political complication. To bypass both the French army and the fortified defenses along the border, Germany's sweeping maneuver would need to violate the neutrality of Belgium, a nation whose sovereignty was protected by international treaties to which Germany itself was a signatory. The breach of any nation's neutrality was a rare and grave act, certain to provoke Great Britain, one of Belgium’s guarantors. Yet, if the plan unfolded with precision, France could be vanquished before Britain had time to mount a significant response.

With the Schlieffen Plan firmly in place and a web of international tensions stretched taut, all that remained was the spark that would ignite the conflagration. That catalyst arrived in Sarajevo, Bosnia, on June 28, 1914, when Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria was assassinated by a Serbian nationalist. Austria's call for retribution drew Russia into the fray to protect Serbia, while Germany's alliance with Austria made a conflict between Russia and Germany unavoidable, which in turn assured war between France and Germany. The intricate web of alliances woven over the past thirty years ensured that once two nations clashed, the resulting conflict would inevitably engulf all of Europe in its flames.

When Austria declared that Serbia had not met its ultimatum—an assertion debated ever since—the declarations of war began to unfold on July 28. By August 4, the major powers—Austria-Hungary, Russia, Germany, France, and Great Britain—had all plunged into war, dragging smaller nations like Serbia and Belgium into the maelstrom as well.

On August 4, 1914, German forces shattered the sanctity of Belgian neutrality as their First, Second, and Third Armies surged through the country, their sights set firmly on Paris. The original Schlieffen Plan had envisioned committing nearly 90 percent of Germany's military might to this audacious thrust. However, Schlieffen’s successor, Helmuth von Moltke, who took the reins as chief of the German General Staff in 1906, lacked both the boldness and strategic clarity of his predecessor. Moltke, perpetually cautious, had repeatedly revised the plan to station more troops in the east and along the Franco-German border, thereby significantly diluting the strength of the force advancing through Belgium from what Schlieffen had originally envisioned.

Despite these adjustments, the initial thrust proved effective. The French invasion was mired in the dense woods and steep hills of Alsace, while the German advance, though delayed, was only partially hindered by the unexpectedly fierce Belgian defense, centered around a chain of massive yet outdated forts. Moltke redirected divisions from his main offensive to neutralize these Belgian fortresses, a task that consumed valuable time and was not fully accomplished until late August. Complicating the German strategy further was the activity unfolding along the Franco-German frontier.

Moltke's redistribution of forces had bolstered the German defensive line, but not enough to capitalize on offensive opportunities as they arose—and arise they did. The Germans launched assaults against the startled French armies, compelling them to retreat to a series of fortified positions. However, the Germans lacked the necessary strength to break through these defenses. This allowed the French to shift forces westward to bolster the defense of Paris, taking advantage of the natural strength provided by their fortifications.

It quickly dawned on the French that Plan XVII was futile, and without an urgent defense of Paris, they faced a humiliating repeat of their defeat in 1870. At the helm of this desperate defense stood General Joseph Joffre. Joffre ordered the formation of a new force, the Sixth Army, while General Joseph Galliéni, the military governor of Paris, hastily assembled nearly every man of fighting age in the Paris region, positioning them to make a stand along the banks of the Marne River. This moment became a point of immense national pride for France. With the city’s taxis serving as impromptu troop transports, thousands of soldiers were ferried to the Marne, positioned directly in the path of the German advance. Thus, the "Taxis of the Marne" became immortalized in the annals of French heroism.

Meanwhile, British forces were arriving on the continent far sooner than the Germans had anticipated, while the main body of the French army was laboriously reversing course, straining to reach Paris in time. Though the Germans retained the momentum, it was steadily waning. Despite the tenacious Belgian resistance, the German advance remained a few days ahead of its timetable. The lackluster defensive efforts by the four-division British Expeditionary Force (BEF) and the French Fifth Army inadvertently enabled the German forces to progress more swiftly than their original plan had anticipated. Ironically, this acceleration became a hindrance, as German supply lines struggled to keep pace, leaving soldiers to face the growing hardships of hunger and exhaustion.

Once more, Moltke deviated from the principles of the Schlieffen Plan, inadvertently offering the French and British a crucial opening to counterattack. Rather than maintaining the sweeping "swinging door" maneuver that aimed to outflank the entire French army and sweep northward before turning west of Paris, Moltke ordered a contraction of the front, directing his forces toward encircling not Paris, but the fortress city of Verdun. This shift meant that instead of encircling Paris from the north and west, the German right flank would advance to the east of the city, inadvertently exposing itself as a vulnerable target. This exposed right flank extended towards the Marne River, precisely where the newly assembled Sixth Army was taking up its defensive positions.

With this turn of events, the Allies seized their chance to deliver a critical blow to the German campaign. The Sixth Army held firm along the Marne, as the French Fifth Army and the BEF halted their retreats and launched a counteroffensive against the exposed German right flank. From September 5 to 10, the German advance ground to a halt. Vulnerable on both its flank and rear, the German army was compelled to retreat. As both the Germans and the Allied forces of Britain and France entrenched themselves, the face of the war transformed, leading to four grueling years of trench warfare.

Equally pivotal to the early phase of World War I was the Battle of Tannenberg, fought in East Prussia between the forces of Germany and Russia. According to the Schlieffen Plan, Russia was to be restrained in the east while France was swiftly defeated in the west. Neutralizing Russia should have been straightforward, as the Germans anticipated that it would take the Russian armies weeks, if not months, to mobilize and advance. In response to desperate pleas from France, Tsar Nicholas II thrust his unprepared forces into action on August 17. Yet, the Germans were equally unprepared for such a swift Russian response.

The Russian offensive unfolded along two parallel fronts, separated by the vast marshy expanse surrounding the Masurian Lakes. General Paul Rennenkampf commanded the northern thrust, while General Alexander Samsonov led the southern advance. Both were seasoned veterans of the Russo-Japanese War, yet neither harbored any fondness for the other. Rennenkampf’s initial assault took the German commander, General Max von Prittwitz, by surprise, prompting him to hastily withdraw his forces. Prittwitz informed the German high command that he would need to fall back to the Vistula River to establish a defensive position, a maneuver possible only with reinforcements. However, by the following day, Prittwitz’s subordinates persuaded him to stand his ground, arguing that the separated Russian armies were unable to support one another.

Regrettably for Prittwitz, he had neither informed his subordinates of his communication with high command nor sent word up the chain that he had reconsidered his decision. Back at German headquarters in Coblenz, Moltke took two actions—one wise, the other less so. First, he decided to replace the anxious Prittwitz with a more aggressive and composed commander. Moltke’s choices were the retired yet highly respected Paul von Hindenburg as overall commander, with Erich von Ludendorff—recently celebrated for his heroic actions at the Battle of Liège—as his chief of staff. Together, Hindenburg and Ludendorff executed the plans devised by Prittwitz’s subordinates, delivering a devastating double envelopment against Samsonov’s forces at Tannenberg, before turning north to repel Rennenkampf.

The second, more detrimental action Moltke took was to heed Prittwitz's initial warnings by detaching troops from the French front to reinforce the German lines in the east. This withdrawal, coupled with the gradual dilution of the Schlieffen Plan that Moltke had enforced even before the war, nearly ensured the failure of Germany’s campaign in France. Ironically, the forces dispatched to the east arrived too late to participate in the German triumphs there.

The German triumph at Tannenberg was as pivotal as their setback on the Marne. Had the German forces suffered defeat at the hands of both the Russians and the French, it is almost certain that the German government would have sought to end the conflict rather than persist in the face of twin failures on two fronts. Conversely, if the Germans had emerged victorious against both the French and the Russians, the Allies would likely have conceded defeat. This blend of triumph and defeat ensured that the war would not be the swift and decisive campaign Germany had envisioned but rather a protracted, grueling struggle—defined by the grueling trench warfare in France and the back-and-forth maneuvering across the vast eastern European plains.

Results
Moltke, the German Chief of Staff, served as a living testament to the maxim that fortune favors the bold, for it was his timidity that ultimately sealed the fate of the Schlieffen Plan. Undoubtedly, the logistical failures that left frontline troops undersupplied, coupled with the diminishing communication between German headquarters and their advancing units, would have stymied the German campaign regardless of how effectively the Allies responded. Yet, it was Moltke’s consistent undermining of a strategy that should have secured a sweeping victory—driven by his own hesitations—that validated another adage: "never take counsel of your fears."

Legend holds that, on his deathbed in 1913, Schlieffen’s parting words were a simple yet profound directive: “Keep the right flank strong.” Schlieffen never lived to witness Moltke’s deviation from this crucial principle. Reflecting on the Schlieffen Plan, military historian Trevor Dupuy noted, “It was, in fact, the kind of strategic gamble of which Napoleon was so fond, in which even the worst outcome was not likely to be disastrous, and in which the possibility of a good outcome was extremely attractive” (Dupuy, A Genius for War, p. 143).

Certainly, the French were quick enough in their pivot from the frontier to confront the reduced German advance, and the Franco-British counterattacks effectively dismantled the Schlieffen Plan. Yet, in the final reckoning, it was Moltke’s own missteps that doomed the German strategy, leading to his dismissal on September 14. A more resolute and daring commander might well have succeeded, as evidenced by Germany’s swift and decisive victory over France in 1940. Undoubtedly, the blitzkrieg’s use of tank warfare hastened France’s collapse in 1940, but the crucial difference lay in Germany’s ability to concentrate solely on the frontlines without the distractions of an exposed rear, unlike in 1914.

The decisive knockout punch never landed, and the remainder of the war unfolded just as a few far-sighted individuals had predicted: firepower came to dominate the battlefield, with defensive strategies overwhelmingly trumping offensive maneuvers. Millions perished in fruitless attempts to seize mere scraps of territory, a grim reality that left deep scars on the European psyche, influencing nearly every major event on the continent for the next twenty years. Had the Schlieffen Plan been executed as originally intended, Germany might have swiftly vanquished France, dissuaded Britain from further engagement, and imposed a peace upon Russia far earlier than what ultimately transpired. Such a scenario raises questions: would it have accelerated the fall of the Tsar? Could it have lent support to the Menshevik Revolution, or perhaps even altered the course of the subsequent Bolshevik Revolution? Regardless of the impact on Russia, it seems almost certain that a victorious Germany would have had little interest in the radical vision Adolf Hitler would later espouse.