With the conclusion of hostilities, public opinion moved toward international limitation of arms. A conference was convened in Washington for the purpose of implementing Article 231 of the Treaty of Versailles, which had partially disarmed Germany as precursor to parallel disarmament by the victors.
The French Government was successful in obtaining a decision that land and air armaments would not be discussed—arms in which France at that time had superiority. On the other hand, England and the United States, which were withdrawing more and more into their own spheres, one into its commonwealth and the other into the American hemisphere, were interested primarily in naval armaments. So doing, they were abandoning Europe more or less to French influence.
It is very difficult to reduce armaments, particularly through the establishment of an hierarchy between nations, if disarmament is not wholeheartedly desired by all.
Both England and the United States had seen that submarines constituted a threat to the usual control of the seas by the larger naval powers, and they proposed that their construction and use be prohibited. This met opposition from the second-rank naval powers, for whom the submarine was an instrument of pressure and thus a means toward equalization. France for one refused to do away with the submarine, thereby drawing sharp rejoinders from the British. And partly as a consequence, France found herself, along with Italy, forced to accept a capital ships tonnage ratio of 1.75 to 3 for Japan and 5 for the United States and Great Britain.
Justifiable or not, in time of peace the political power of a nation, and hence her influence in world affairs, is often measured by the relative strength of her naval forces. With this limitation on her battleship tonnage, the measure of naval might at that time, France was deeply humiliated by the ratios of the Washington Treaty.
True, these ratios were fairly in accord with the relative strengths of the various navies at the end of the war. But during the war, with the French Army given industrial priority, the construction of capital ships in France had been suspended; in other countries, which had not been invaded, naval construction had been expedited. Moreover, parity with Italy failed to accord with tradition, or with the respective obligations of the two navies, or with the relative political power of the two countries. Nevertheless the French Government accepted the Washington Treaty ratios for capital ships—designedly offensive weapons—though it refused to limit cruisers and lighter craft, which were generally considered defensive weapons.
In actuality the capital ship limitation did not injure the French Navy, for the naval funds allotted from the war-exhausted treasury would not have permitted much more construction than was actually undertaken. But the blow to French naval pride—a blow for which they held the British responsible—caused ill feeling that lingered on until 1938 and Munich, with its ominous shadow of World War II.
In the opinion of one of the French Ministers, why should the French Navy build new combatant ships, anyway, since there would never be another war? Accordingly some twenty submarines and torpedo boats taken from the Germans, plus some dozen torpedo boats built in Japan and a few English sloops and several American dispatch boats, were amalgamated with what remained of the French Fleet to form the postwar French Navy. It was a navy of highly irregular composition and appearance, to say the least. And while there were enough ships to conduct a training program for officers, there were not enough to interest them in naval careers. The naval academy consisted of nothing more than temporary barracks. Pay schedules were not adjusted to compensate for devaluation of currency. Many officers left the service, and there was a constant shortage of personnel.
Within that decrepit body, however, the soul of the Navy persisted, the survivor of many trials and of more misunderstandings, sacrifices, and unmerited criticisms than glorious victories. But adversity had deeply impressed its officers with the conviction that despite its checkered history, the French Navy had served as an elite corps—few in numbers but of homogeneous organization, aloof from politics, always an example of efficiency and devotion in the critical hours of the destiny of France.
1 Samuel E. Morison, “The Battle That Set Us Free,” in the Saturday Evening Post, July 7, 1956.
The Navy on the Eve of the Second World War
In 1914 the French Navy consisted of 690,000 tons of combatant ships in commission, with an additional 257,000 tons under construction. At the time of the Washington Treaty of 1922, the combat fleet totalled only 485,000 tons in commission and a mere 25,000 tons under construction—an obvious indication that even obsolete ships were not being replaced. All of the other principal naval powers had emerged from the conflict larger and more modern. The French Navy lost forty per cent of its fighting strength, and the remaining Fleet units were ill assorted and decrepit. Morale was low. Neither the Government nor the public seemed to have any interest in naval affairs.
Nevertheless the Navy proved faithful to its trust. The funds which were allocated were spent wisely and in accordance with a carefully planned program. By comparison with other Government departments it revealed a constructive doctrine and an integrity that impressed even the members of Parliament. The Ministers of the Navy, who invariably entered office with prejudices against the seagoing service, became strong supporters. Among the best can be mentioned François Pietri, who served more than two years, and Georges Leygues, who died in his post in 1933 after having served as Naval Minister for more than seven years and through eight different changes of Government. It was Leygues who remarked to Lieutenant Commander Paul Auphan, “I served for fifteen or twenty years in practically every Ministry of the Republic before coming to the Navy. I found competent people everywhere. But here one is completely astounded to find his staff working indefatigably without demanding the Legion of Honor at the end of a month or a promotion at the end of three. What is most heart warming is the Navy’s discipline, loyalty, and absolutely unselfish devotion to duty!”
As his principal adviser and private secretary (Chef de Cabinet), Leygues, who was a deputy from the Department of Lot-et-Garonne, chose his godson and compatriot, François Darlan, at that time a commander. Darlan was the son of an influential member of Parliament who had been a Minister and Keeper of the Seals under the Third Republic. In spite of some shortcomings and a timidity which he hid under a brusque manner Darlan had a thorough knowledge of his profession, along with good commonsense and a quick mind. With his family connections he was naturally well known in political circles—something that is rarely a handicap in any country. With a mischievous sense of humor young Darlan would often introduce himself as “the naval officer with the greatest backing.” Be that as it may, Darlan’s position in the office of the Minister of the Navy insured that that service would at least receive a sympathetic hearing in Government circles—something which it had often lacked. So this teamwork of Darlan and Leygues, furthered by a succession of able Chiefs of the Navy General Staff—Admirals Louis Violette, Georges Durand-Viel, and, later, Darlan himself—achieved wonders in the revival of the Navy.
For instance, the Navy had long wanted the enactment of a law establishing the strength of the fighting fleet—personnel as well as ships—on which to base an orderly, year by year program of ship building.11 The Navy would then have had a solid base on which to negotiate at future disarmament conferences. The Navy failed to secure the enactment of such a law; the Army succeeded. The Navy had to content itself with empirical programs, established annually, and always subject to the hazards of parliamentary debate. In this manner, the Navy managed to obtain, between wars, the assent of ever-changing Parliaments for sixteen yearly programs for new combat construction and ten supplementary ones for auxiliaries—a total of 705,000 tons of combatant ships, plus 126 auxiliary craft.
In 1924 the Navy presented to Parliament a program calling for 175,000 tons of battleships, 60,000 tons of aircraft carriers, 360,000 tons of light craft, and 96,000 tons of submarines—a total of 691,000 tons of combatant ships (the same tonnage as in 1914, excluding auxiliaries). The program never passed.
Naturally