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General Nivelle (see in Wikipedia), commander-in-chief of French forces 1916-1917

A leader; in the powerful bone structure of this wide clean-cut face, authority shines out. And most of all his clear direct expression is that of a man who has known at the darkest hour how to carry the burden of anguish of the whole of France, and of the whole world. He seems to be pursuing varied visions, fleeting images: gun batteries firing as if to empty their coffers on the hillsides of the Marne; the trenches of Verdun, distinguished by an unblemished glory, the summits of Douaumont and Vaux, appearing through the autumn mist, crowned with blue waves of our soldiers, and later the fine dream, the sublime hope out of which safety must emerge.
Under the high golden ceilings of Compiègne, in front of the trophies and outspread wings of victory, the great leader inclined his brow towards his maps, bent his Roman profile and lowered his eyes where the pure flame of faith burned. If it was not given to him to realise his dream, at least his honour remained intact, from having dared all for France, from having ridden the glorious chimera, and if he was cruelly disappointed, it was because his hopes were the noblest.