Paths of Glory

What happens when personal ambition and blind ideology combine with means of destruction that outstrip any notions of decency and fair-play, and the strategic awareness and competencies of those in power? That is the question, more or less, addressed by Humphrey Cobb’s Paths of Glory (1935).

Cobb’s novel was the source and inspiration for Stanley Kubrick’s widely acclaimed fourth feature film of the same name. The latter, in its extreme anti-war sentiment, fits in well with other Kubrick films such as Dr. Strangelove (1964) and Full Metal Jacket (1987), but with its bleak, taught story line, and its black-and-white, smack-you-in-the face realism, Paths of Glory occupies a unique space.

Kubrick was in his teens when he read Paths of Glory and was struck by the story line, the mere existence of which was a testament to the fascinating life of Humphrey Cobb. Cobb was born in Italy (1899) of American parents, schooled in England for his early years, and went to the United States for his secondary education. Expelled from school for insubordination (Who’s a budding anti-fascist, then?) at the age of 17, he went north to enlist in the Canadian armed forces, destination WWI Europe. He served for three years in a reconnaissance unit and notably saw action in the Battle of Amiens. Throughout he kept a meticulous war diary, and after the armistice returned to the United States where he worked a variety of jobs, most of them in commercial writing—advertising and the like.

Fifteen years later, Cobb read about a settlement in the so-called “Souain corporals affair”, which involved the posthumous pardons (along with compensation to the families) of four corporals who, in the early days of WWI, were selected at random from front-line units in the French army, court-martialed for cowardice, and summarily executed. An inveterate antifascist, Cobb was inspired to go back to his WWI diaries and recreate the story. The subsequent success of Paths of Glory propelled him into a lucrative career as a screenwriter in Hollywood. Which brings us to the story ....

The “Pimple” cannot be taken. Everyone knows it, from the French generals down to the conscripts, but this is World War I: 19th Century field tactics and romantic notions of valiant charges and la gloire still animate the hearts of the old generals at divisional headquarters. The Army Commander and the General of Division conclude that a determined bayonet attack will be just the thing to rout the “Boches” from the “Pimple” (“Anthill” in the film)—an elevated piece of terrain that is highly fortified and defended with artillery and machine gun emplacements. Its capture is essential not only to the success of a larger offensive, but also to the personal ambitions of the two generals involved.

In the next morning’s charge, the advancing soldiers are obliterated by enemy fire. The attack falters. The General of Division orders his own artillery to fire on the trenches of the French troops who are refusing to advance. The order is ignored. He then puts the entire division under arrest and vows to have one section from each company executed for cowardice (approximately 160 men). After some dickering the number is whittled down to four men to be randomly chosen from the sections that failed in the charge. The second half of the novel deals in agonizing detail with the aftermath and the fates of the hapless victims.

When the story was published, Humphrey Cobb was praised for the rich imagination evidenced in the writing. However, he insisted that he was simply reporting what happened and rendering the actual situations that he had experienced first-hand in the trenches.

What he created was an enduring picture of all the horrendous contradictions of modern warfare. Many young men, following the spirit of the times, signed up to fight for country—more often than not lured by the promise of excitement and glamour. A vast number were conscripts, who had no choice but to follow the dictates of government. Whatever the case, they were fed relentlessly into a broken and lethal war machine. The generals were at sea in this new type of conflict. In the absence of any enlightened strategy each side tried to outdo the other in the production of ordinance and in the sacrifice of men. And yet, in spite of not knowing what they were doing, the generals maintained a pretense of competence and control. As a consequence, some battles in the war saw over a million casualties, as soldiers gave up their lives for nothing.

Cobb’s protestations aside, he does, in fact, demonstrate a genius for describing and recounting. He captures the dialogues between the supercilious officers who try to justify their absurd decisions, and equally well the banter between the men in the trenches and stockades as they try to puzzle their way out of an inhuman situation. Scene transitions are deftly executed with very precise details taken from Cobb’s real-life experiences. The entire range of human thoughts and emotions—from vanity, self-deception, hopefulness, callousness, indifference, and indignation—are rendered through externals.

Paths of Glory is very much a novel of modern times and it speaks to us even now, almost a century later. The blinkered vanity and self-promotion at work in the generals in World War I and their casual indifference to human suffering are certainly the prototypes for the Bashar al-assads, the Rumsfelds, the Cheneys, and the Putins of our times. As evidence of the story’s powerful message, Kubrick’s film version was banned for twenty years in France and Switzerland, and in many American military establishments.

Fortunately, you can access the film version in the Lennoxville Library.