There is a phrase – “murder your darlings” – that writers are required to keep in mind. Typically credited to William Faulkner, it was first offered by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch in his book The Art of Writing, published in 1916.
 
The full quote from Sir Arthur’s book offers meaningful perspective: “If you here require a practical rule of me, I will present you with this: ‘Whenever you feel an impulse to perpetrate a piece of exceptionally fine writing, obey it—whole-heartedly—and delete it before sending your manuscript to press. Murder your darlings.”
 
I spend a lot of my time these days re-writing and editing, working to shape my book into the finished product I will be proud of and anxious to share with the world. It’s getting close, but there are still a number of rough edges. Quite often during my initial writing, I would find interesting details and cram them into my story, planning to smooth them out later. Most of those details enhance the story I am writing. (I hope)! Some, however, like my introductory sketch of General Maxime Weygand, who led the French military in June and July 1940, remain interesting, but no longer fit so neatly into my finished story. The following vignette is a darling that deserves to be murdered. Before I consign this corpse to the limbo of my hard drive however, I wanted to share it with you.
 

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Maxime Weygand, who had been called back into service from retirement to lead France to victory, was enveloped in mystery and intrigue from the day he was born. He never knew the identity of either of his parents. Whispered rumors swirled for his entire life that he was the illegitimate son of King Leopold II of Belgium, or perhaps the bastard offspring of Archduke Maximilian, Emperor of Mexico. His bloodlines were perpetually murky on both sides. His mother might have been an Austrian lady in waiting or a king’s Polish mistress. Weygand was the last name of a French accountant who adopted him when he reached adulthood.
 
Indisputably Belgian-born - on January 21, 1867 - Weygand was granted admission to France’s equivalent of West Point - the French military academy at Saint-Cyr - as a titre etranger – a foreigner.

The diminutive, bow-legged Weygand, stood 5 feet tall and weighed 120 pounds. His deep-set eyes, high cheekbones, and inverted-V mustache forged a resemblance to a perennially quizzical fox. Even at the age of 73, the newly appointed generalissimo (nominal commander of the French army, air force and navy) displayed the vigor of a much younger man, racing up the stairs at his army headquarters four at a time.
 
One prime minister (Georges Clemenceau) considered Weygand “the most intelligent officer in the French Army.” Another (Paul Reynaud) credited him only with the ability to explain things well and leave his listeners with “the impression that they themselves are intelligent.”

He achieved distinction during the First World War, not on the Battlefield, but as a staff officer to Marshal Ferdinand Foch, the Supreme Allied Commander. Weygand and Foch, fervent Catholics, knelt together at early Mass before the onset of each day's carnage. Clemenceau, an atheist, declared that Weygand was "up to his neck in priests."
  
Britain’s General Edward Louis Spears, detested Weygand and belittled his lack of a battlefield command: “War to him was a map with lines and squares on it, brightened perhaps by little flags on pins.” The hostility was mutual. Spears sensed disdain “as perceptible as is sulphuric acid.”
 
After the war, Weygand travelled to Poland, where he had been asked to advise the Polish Army in their battle against the Bolsheviks. The French general expected to take command of the Polish army until the army’s actual commander-in-chief, Jozef Pilsudski, asked “How many divisions did you bring?," and Weygand had none to show.
 
Weygand returned to France and led the French Army as Chief of Staff and vice president of the Supreme War Council. He retired from the military in 1935 at the age of 68. General Maurice Gamelin, who succeeded Weygand as Chief of Staff, led the French military during the early months of hostilities.
 
Meanwhile, Weygand was recalled to active service in a lesser role in August 1939, just before Germany’s invasion of Poland. He was appointed commander-in-chief of the Orient Theatre of Operations, with his headquarters in the French colony of Syria.
 
After France lost unthinkable amounts of territory to the German invaders in a single week of battle, General Gamelin was sacked. Weygand was summoned from Syria on May 17, 1940 and asked to once again lead the French Army and prove his mettle on the battlefields of France.
  
It did not take long for the virus of pessimism that had infested the halls of government and the army’s headquarters since the start of the war to infect Weygand. After he suggested to Poland’s exiled Commander-in Chief Wladyslaw Sikorski that France was doomed to a long period of suffering as penance for decades of self-indulgence. Sikorski scolded him: “As a Catholic you may talk like that, but not as a Commander-in-Chief.”
 

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Thanks for reading,
Bill