capacity, but the very highest genius, in the chiefs. But are we justified in presuming, from what the world has seen of the French army since Waterloo, that the needed genius would be there? Can the most earnest, the most enthusiastic, the least reasoning friend of France pretend that the experience of the last fifty years justifies the hope that there is one single soldier in the French army who is capable of discharging so tremendous a task?
No.
It may, however, be urged — it has, indeed, been urged occasionally in private talks — that though, in scientific war, Germany is, for the moment, incontestably superior to France; though, in this generation, the thinking power of battle appears to lean most heavily to her side; yet that France has sometimes shown a might of an altogether special kind, a might peculiar to herself alone, a might which rides down obstacles and which extorts success from impossibility. Twice, in recent centuries, has that outbreaking potency revealed itself; it was awakened for the first time by Joan of Arc, for the second time by the French Revolution. It was the potency of an idea, of glowing ardors, of hot passions; it was resistless then: but would it conquer now? Are fervors capable of overthrowing science? The contrary result is probable. The conditions of war are so radically changed that emotions would only be in the way, and the more fervid they were the more cumbersome would they be. If some totally fresh sentiment, some unknown and uninvented quantity, some new "French fury," were to unveil itself tomorrow, it would simply break its heated head against the cold wall of science.
Neither strategically nor materially, nor even emotionally, can France expect, then, to fight her way into Germany in our time.
And the political obstacles in the way of an offensive war are not less important or less real. By the constitutional law of 16th July 1875, it is enacted that war can only be declared with the consent of the two Chambers. Under what conceivable circumstances is it to be imagined that the two Chambers would vote a voluntary attack on Germany? Where is the minister of war who will dare to proclaim once more that "France is ready"? Where is the president of the council who, "with a light heart," will mount into the tribune and call on France to fight again? No conditions are reasonably supposable under which all this could happen; and certainly? so long as the republic lasts, the world will see nothing of the kind. The republic has no dynastic interests to serve — no personal or special reasons for desiring a revanche. On the contrary, it has everything to lose by war: for if war produced victory, a successful general might make himself dictator; while, if it produced defeat, a Bonapartist quatre Septembre would immediately become possible.
And then, again, France longs earnestly for peace; she shrinks instinctively from all idea of conquest. Of course she would take back Alsace and Lorraine if she could get them; but would she provoke a war (even if she believed herself to be quite ready) for the sole purpose of regaining them? Solferino, Mexico, Mehtana, would not be voted now by the Parliament at Versailles — nor "Berlin" either.
One more point should be looked at, France has vainly sought for an ally since 1871. She has not found one in Europe: and perhaps it is lucky for her that she has failed; for we may rest assured that, if she had succeeded, the very instant the news got out that she had signed an offensive and defensive alliance — no matter with whom — the German armies would instantaneously have been mobilized and France have been invaded. She has, though, one unprovoking ally at her disposal — an ally who is waiting for her at home, and whose precious aid she would lose the very instant she crossed the frontier. - That ally is not a nation or a monarch, it is simply — distance.
France at home has every man at hand; France in Germany would be forced to leave a constantly increasing proportion of her soldiers behind her to guard the road she has followed. And, as the argument applies equally to both sides, it follows that just as France would lose by distance if she attacked Germany, so would she profit by it if she were herself attacked. It cannot be argued that the transfer of the German frontier to this side of the Vosges in any way diminishes the difficulty of distance for Germany; if she were to enter France again, she would have at once to contend with it — and it is in that fact that France would find her only probable ally.
These reasons are evident, simple, and real. Nobody will deny their truth. France cannot attack Germany.
But if she is attacked, she can, most certainly, defend herself. After six years of loitering, hesitating, and bungling, she has at last — almost in spite of herself — manufactured an enormous army. She
