We know very well that this word is used in many significations which
are very different both in extent and nature, and that with many of
these significations it is a very difficult task to define the essence
of Genius; but as we neither profess to be philosopher nor grammarian,
we must be allowed to keep to the meaning usual in ordinary language,
and to understand by "genius" a very high mental capacity for certain
employments.

We wish to stop for a moment over this faculty and dignity of the mind,
in order to vindicate its title, and to explain more fully the meaning
of the conception. But we shall not dwell on that (genius) which has
obtained its title through a very great talent, on genius properly so
called, that is a conception which has no defined limits. What we have
to do is to bring under consideration every common tendency of the
powers of the mind and soul towards the business of War, the whole of
which common tendencies we may look upon as the ESSENCE OF MILITARY
GENIUS. We say "common," for just therein consists military genius,
that it is not one single quality bearing upon War, as, for instance,
courage, while other qualities of mind and soul are wanting or have a
direction which is unserviceable for War, but that it is AN HARMONIOUS
ASSOCIATION OF POWERS, in which one or other may predominate, but none
must be in opposition.

If every combatant required to be more or less endowed with military
genius, then our armies would be very weak; for as it implies a peculiar
bent of the intelligent powers, therefore it can only rarely be found
where the mental powers of a people are called into requisition and
trained in many different ways. The fewer the employments followed by a
Nation, the more that of arms predominates, so much the more prevalent
will military genius also be found. But this merely applies to its
prevalence, by no means to its degree, for that depends on the general
state of intellectual culture in the country. If we look at a wild,
warlike race, then we find a warlike spirit in individuals much more
common than in a civilised people; for in the former almost every
warrior possesses it, whilst in the civilised whole, masses are only
carried away by it from necessity, never by inclination. But amongst
uncivilised people we never find a really great General, and very seldom
what we can properly call a military genius, because that requires
a development of the intelligent powers which cannot be found in an
uncivilised state. That a civilised people may also have a warlike
tendency and development is a matter of course; and the more this is
general, the more frequently also will military spirit be found in
individuals in their armies. Now as this coincides in such case with the
higher degree of civilisation, therefore from such nations have issued
forth the most brilliant military exploits, as the Romans and the French
have exemplified. The greatest names in these and in all other nations
that have been renowned in War belong strictly to epochs of higher
culture.

From this we may infer how great a share the intelligent powers have
in superior military genius. We shall now look more closely into this
point.

War is the province of danger, and therefore courage above all things is
the first quality of a warrior.

Courage is of two kinds: first, physical courage, or courage in presence
of danger to the person; and next, moral courage, or courage before
responsibility, whether it be before the judgment-seat of external
authority, or of the inner power, the conscience. We only speak here of
the first.

Courage before danger to the person, again, is of two kinds. First, it
may be indifference to danger, whether proceeding from the organism of
the individual, contempt of death, or habit: in any of these cases it is
to be regarded as a permanent condition.

Secondly, courage may proceed from positive motives, such as personal
pride, patriotism, enthusiasm of any kind. In this case courage is not
so much a normal condition as an impulse.

We may conceive that the two kinds act differently. The first kind is
more certain, because it has become a second nature, never forsakes the
man; the second often leads him farther. In the first there is more
of firmness, in the second, of boldness. The first leaves the judgment
cooler, the second raises its power at times, but often bewilders it.
The two combined make up the most perfect kind of courage.

War is the province of physical exertion and suffering. In order not to
be completely overcome by them, a certain strength of body and mind is
required, which, either natural or acquired, produces indifference to
them. With these qualifications, under the guidance of simply a sound
understanding, a man is at once a proper instrument for War; and these
are the qualifications so generally to be met with amongst wild and
half-civilised tribes. If we go further in the demands which War makes
on it, then we find the powers of the understanding predominating. War
is the province of uncertainty: three-fourths of those things upon which
action in War must be calculated, are hidden more or less in the clouds
of great uncertainty. Here, then, above all a fine and penetrating mind
is called for, to search out the truth by the tact of its judgment.

An average intellect may, at one time, perhaps hit upon this truth by
accident; an extraordinary courage, at another, may compensate for the
want of this tact; but in the majority of cases the average result will
always bring to light the deficient understanding.

War is the province of chance. In no sphere of human activity is such a
margin to be left for this intruder, because none is so much in constant
contact with him on all sides. He increases the uncertainty of every
circumstance, and deranges the course of events.

From this uncertainty of all intelligence and suppositions, this
continual interposition of chance, the actor in War constantly finds
things different from his expectations; and this cannot fail to have an
influence on his plans, or at least on the presumptions connected
with these plans. If this influence is so great as to render the
pre-determined plan completely nugatory, then, as a rule, a new one must
be substituted in its place; but at the moment the necessary data are
often wanting for this, because in the course of action circumstances
press for immediate decision, and allow no time to look about for fresh
data, often not enough for mature consideration.

But it more often happens that the correction of one premise, and the
knowledge of chance events which have arisen, are not sufficient to
overthrow our plans completely, but only suffice to produce hesitation.
Our knowledge of circumstances has increased, but our uncertainty,
instead of having diminished, has only increased. The reason of this is,
that we do not gain all our experience at once, but by degrees; thus our
determinations continue to be assailed incessantly by fresh experience;
and the mind, if we may use the expression, must always be "under arms."

Now, if it is to get safely through this perpetual conflict with the
unexpected, two qualities are indispensable: in the first place an
intellect which, even in the midst of this intense obscurity, is not
without some traces of inner light, which lead to the truth, and then
the courage to follow this faint light. The first is figuratively
expressed by the French phrase coup d'oeil. The other is resolution.
As the battle is the feature in War to which attention was originally
chiefly directed, and as time and space are important elements in it,
more particularly when cavalry with their rapid decisions were the
chief arm, the idea of rapid and correct decision related in the first
instance to the estimation of these two elements, and to denote the
idea an expression was adopted which actually only points to a correct
judgment by eye. Many teachers of the Art of War then gave this limited
signification as the definition of coup d'oeil. But it is undeniable
that all able decisions formed in the moment of action soon came to be
understood by the expression, as, for instance, the hitting upon the
right point of attack, &c. It is, therefore, not only the physical, but
more frequently the mental eye which is meant in coup d'oeil. Naturally,
the expression, like the thing, is always more in its place in the field
of tactics: still, it must not be wanting in strategy, inasmuch as in it
rapid decisions are often necessary. If we strip this conception of that
which the expression has given it of the over-figurative and restricted,
then it amounts simply to the rapid discovery of a truth which to the
ordinary mind is either not visible at all or only becomes so after long
examination and reflection.

Resolution is an act of courage in single instances, and if it becomes a
characteristic trait, it is a habit of the mind. But here we do not
mean courage in face of bodily danger, but in face of responsibility,
therefore, to a certain extent against moral danger. This has been
often called courage d'esprit, on the ground that it springs from the
understanding; nevertheless, it is no act of the understanding on
that account; it is an act of feeling. Mere intelligence is still not
courage, for we often see the cleverest people devoid of resolution. The
mind must, therefore, first awaken the feeling of courage, and then be
guided and supported by it, because in momentary emergencies the man is
swayed more by his feelings than his thoughts.

We have assigned to resolution the office of removing the torments of
doubt, and the dangers of delay, when there are no sufficient motives
for guidance. Through the unscrupulous use of language which is
prevalent, this term is often applied to the mere propensity to daring,
to bravery, boldness, or temerity. But, when there are SUFFICIENT
MOTIVES in the man, let them be objective or subjective, true or false,
we have no right to speak of his resolution; for, when we do so, we put
ourselves in his place, and we throw into the scale doubts which did not
exist with him.

Here there is no question of anything but of strength and weakness. We
are not pedantic enough to dispute with the use of language about this
little misapplication, our observation is only intended to remove wrong
objections.

This resolution now, which overcomes the state of doubting, can only be
called forth by the intellect, and, in fact, by a peculiar tendency of
the same. We maintain that the mere union of a superior understanding
and the necessary feelings are not sufficient to make up resolution.
There are persons who possess the keenest perception for the most
difficult problems, who are also not fearful of responsibility, and yet
in cases of difficulty cannot come to a resolution. Their courage and
their sagacity operate independently of each other, do not give each
other a hand, and on that account do not produce resolution as a result.
The forerunner of resolution is an act of the mind making evident
the necessity of venturing, and thus influencing the will. This quite
peculiar direction of the mind, which conquers every other fear in man
by the fear of wavering or doubting, is what makes up resolution
in strong minds; therefore, in our opinion, men who have little
intelligence can never be resolute. They may act without hesitation
under perplexing circumstances, but then they act without reflection.
Now, of course, when a man acts without reflection he cannot be at
variance with himself by doubts, and such a mode of action may now
and then lead to the right point; but we say now as before, it is the
average result which indicates the existence of military genius. Should
our assertion appear extraordinary to any one, because he knows many a
resolute hussar officer who is no deep thinker, we must remind him that
the question here is about a peculiar direction of the mind, and not
about great thinking powers.

We believe, therefore, that resolution is indebted to a special
direction of the mind for its existence, a direction which belongs to
a strong head rather than to a brilliant one. In corroboration of this
genealogy of resolution we may add that there have been many instances
of men who have shown the greatest resolution in an inferior rank, and
have lost it in a higher position. While, on the one hand, they are
obliged to resolve, on the other they see the dangers of a wrong
decision, and as they are surrounded with things new to them, their
understanding loses its original force, and they become only the more
timid the more they become aware of the danger of the irresolution into
which they have fallen, and the more they have formerly been in the
habit of acting on the spur of the moment.

From the coup d'oeil and resolution we are naturally to speak of its
kindred quality, PRESENCE OF MIND, which in a region of the unexpected
like War must act a great part, for it is indeed nothing but a great
conquest over the unexpected. As we admire presence of mind in a
pithy answer to anything said unexpectedly, so we admire it in a ready
expedient on sudden danger. Neither the answer nor the expedient need be
in themselves extraordinary, if they only hit the point; for that which
as the result of mature reflection would be nothing unusual, therefore
insignificant in its impression on us, may as an instantaneous act of
the mind produce a pleasing impression. The expression "presence of
mind" certainly denotes very fitly the readiness and rapidity of the
help rendered by the mind.

Whether this noble quality of a man is to be ascribed more to the
peculiarity of his mind or to the equanimity of his feelings, depends
on the nature of the case, although neither of the two can be entirely
wanting. A telling repartee bespeaks rather a ready wit, a ready
expedient on sudden danger implies more particularly a well-balanced
mind.

If we take a general view of the four elements composing the atmosphere
in which War moves, of DANGER, PHYSICAL EFFORT, UNCERTAINTY, and CHANCE,
it is easy to conceive that a great force of mind and understanding is
requisite to be able to make way with safety and success amongst
such opposing elements, a force which, according to the different
modifications arising out of circumstances, we find termed by military
writers and annalists as ENERGY, FIRMNESS, STAUNCHNESS, STRENGTH OF MIND
AND CHARACTER. All these manifestations of the heroic nature might be
regarded as one and the same power of volition, modified according to
circumstances; but nearly related as these things are to each other,
still they are not one and the same, and it is desirable for us to
distinguish here a little more closely at least the action of the powers
of the soul in relation to them.

In the first place, to make the conception clear, it is essential to
observe that the weight, burden, resistance, or whatever it may be
called, by which that force of the soul in the General is brought to
light, is only in a very small measure the enemy's activity, the enemy's
resistance, the enemy's action directly. The enemy's activity only
affects the General directly in the first place in relation to his
person, without disturbing his action as Commander. If the enemy,
instead of two hours, resists for four, the Commander instead of
two hours is four hours in danger; this is a quantity which plainly
diminishes the higher the rank of the Commander. What is it for one in
the post of Commander-in-Chief? It is nothing.

Secondly, although the opposition offered by the enemy has a direct
effect on the Commander through the loss of means arising from prolonged
resistance, and the responsibility connected with that loss, and
his force of will is first tested and called forth by these anxious
considerations, still we maintain that this is not the heaviest burden
by far which he has to bear, because he has only himself to settle with.
All the other effects of the enemy's resistance act directly upon the
combatants under his command, and through them react upon him.

As long as his men full of good courage fight with zeal and spirit, it
is seldom necessary for the Chief to show great energy of purpose in the
pursuit of his object. But as soon as difficulties arise--and that must
always happen when great results are at stake--then things no longer
move on of themselves like a well-oiled machine, the machine itself then
begins to offer resistance, and to overcome this the Commander must have
a great force of will. By this resistance we must not exactly suppose
disobedience and murmurs, although these are frequent enough with
particular individuals; it is the whole feeling of the dissolution of
all physical and moral power, it is the heartrending sight of the bloody
sacrifice which the Commander has to contend with in himself, and
then in all others who directly or indirectly transfer to him their
impressions, feelings, anxieties, and desires. As the forces in one
individual after another become prostrated, and can no longer be excited
and supported by an effort of his own will, the whole inertia of the
mass gradually rests its weight on the Will of the Commander: by the
spark in his breast, by the light of his spirit, the spark of purpose,
the light of hope, must be kindled afresh in others: in so far only
as he is equal to this, he stands above the masses and continues to be
their master; whenever that influence ceases, and his own spirit is
no longer strong enough to revive the spirit of all others, the masses
drawing him down with them sink into the lower region of animal nature,
which shrinks from danger and knows not shame. These are the weights
which the courage and intelligent faculties of the military Commander
have to overcome if he is to make his name illustrious. They increase
with the masses, and therefore, if the forces in question are to
continue equal to the burden, they must rise in proportion to the height
of the station.

Energy in action expresses the strength of the motive through which the
action is excited, let the motive have its origin in a conviction of
the understanding, or in an impulse. But the latter can hardly ever be
wanting where great force is to show itself.

Of all the noble feelings which fill the human heart in the exciting
tumult of battle, none, we must admit, are so powerful and constant
as the soul's thirst for honour and renown, which the German language
treats so unfairly and tends to depreciate by the unworthy associations
in the words Ehrgeiz (greed of honour) and Ruhmsucht (hankering after
glory). No doubt it is just in War that the abuse of these proud
aspirations of the soul must bring upon the human race the most shocking
outrages, but by their origin they are certainly to be counted amongst
the noblest feelings which belong to human nature, and in War they are
the vivifying principle which gives the enormous body a spirit. Although
other feelings may be more general in their influence, and many of
them--such as love of country, fanaticism, revenge, enthusiasm of every
kind--may seem to stand higher, the thirst for honour and renown still
remains indispensable. Those other feelings may rouse the great masses
in general, and excite them more powerfully, but they do not give
the Leader a desire to will more than others, which is an essential
requisite in his position if he is to make himself distinguished in it.
They do not, like a thirst for honour, make the military act specially
the property of the Leader, which he strives to turn to the best
account; where he ploughs with toil, sows with care, that he may reap
plentifully. It is through these aspirations we have been speaking of
in Commanders, from the highest to the lowest, this sort of energy,
this spirit of emulation, these incentives, that the action of armies is
chiefly animated and made successful. And now as to that which specially
concerns the head of all, we ask, Has there ever been a great
Commander destitute of the love of honour, or is such a character even
conceivable?

FIRMNESS denotes the resistance of the will in relation to the force of
a single blow, STAUNCHNESS in relation to a continuance of blows. Close
as is the analogy between the two, and often as the one is used in place
of the other, still there is a notable difference between them which
cannot be mistaken, inasmuch as firmness against a single powerful
impression may have its root in the mere strength of a feeling, but
staunchness must be supported rather by the understanding, for the
greater the duration of an action the more systematic deliberation is
connected with it, and from this staunchness partly derives its power.

If we now turn to STRENGTH OF MIND OR SOUL, then the first question is,
What are we to understand thereby?

Plainly it is not vehement expressions of feeling, nor easily excited
passions, for that would be contrary to all the usage of language,
but the power of listening to reason in the midst of the most intense
excitement, in the storm of the most violent passions. Should this power
depend on strength of understanding alone? We doubt it. The fact that
there are men of the greatest intellect who cannot command themselves
certainly proves nothing to the contrary, for we might say that it
perhaps requires an understanding of a powerful rather than of a
comprehensive nature; but we believe we shall be nearer the truth if
we assume that the power of submitting oneself to the control of the
understanding, even in moments of the most violent excitement of the
feelings, that power which we call SELF-COMMAND, has its root in the
heart itself. It is, in point of fact, another feeling, which in strong
minds balances the excited passions without destroying them; and it is
only through this equilibrium that the mastery of the understanding is
secured. This counterpoise is nothing but a sense of the dignity of man,
that noblest pride, that deeply-seated desire of the soul always to act
as a being endued with understanding and reason. We may therefore say
that a strong mind is one which does not lose its balance even under the
most violent excitement.

If we cast a glance at the variety to be observed in the human character
in respect to feeling, we find, first, some people who have very little
excitability, who are called phlegmatic or indolent.

Secondly, some very excitable, but whose feelings still never overstep
certain limits, and who are therefore known as men full of feeling, but
sober-minded.

Thirdly, those who are very easily roused, whose feelings blaze up
quickly and violently like gunpowder, but do not last.

Fourthly, and lastly, those who cannot be moved by slight causes, and
who generally are not to be roused suddenly, but only gradually; but
whose feelings become very powerful and are much more lasting. These are
men with strong passions, lying deep and latent.

This difference of character lies probably close on the confines of
the physical powers which move the human organism, and belongs to that
amphibious organisation which we call the nervous system, which appears
to be partly material, partly spiritual. With our weak philosophy, we
shall not proceed further in this mysterious field. But it is important
for us to spend a moment over the effects which these different natures
have on, action in War, and to see how far a great strength of mind is
to be expected from them.

Indolent men cannot easily be thrown out of their equanimity, but we
cannot certainly say there is strength of mind where there is a want of
all manifestation of power.

At the same time, it is not to be denied that such men have a certain
peculiar aptitude for War, on account of their constant equanimity.
They often want the positive motive to action, impulse, and consequently
activity, but they are not apt to throw things into disorder.

The peculiarity of the second class is that they are easily excited
to act on trifling grounds, but in great matters they are easily
overwhelmed. Men of this kind show great activity in helping an
unfortunate individual, but by the distress of a whole Nation they are
only inclined to despond, not roused to action.

Such people are not deficient in either activity or equanimity in
War; but they will never accomplish anything great unless a great
intellectual force furnishes the motive, and it is very seldom that a
strong, independent mind is combined with such a character.

Excitable, inflammable feelings are in themselves little suited for
practical life, and therefore they are not very fit for War. They have
certainly the advantage of strong impulses, but that cannot long sustain
them. At the same time, if the excitability in such men takes the
direction of courage, or a sense of honour, they may often be very
useful in inferior positions in War, because the action in War over
which commanders in inferior positions have control is generally of
shorter duration. Here one courageous resolution, one effervescence
of the forces of the soul, will often suffice. A brave attack, a
soul-stirring hurrah, is the work of a few moments, whilst a brave
contest on the battle-field is the work of a day, and a campaign the
work of a year.

Owing to the rapid movement of their feelings, it is doubly difficult
for men of this description to preserve equilibrium of the mind;
therefore they frequently lose head, and that is the worst phase in
their nature as respects the conduct of War. But it would be contrary to
experience to maintain that very excitable spirits can never preserve
a steady equilibrium--that is to say, that they cannot do so even under
the strongest excitement. Why should they not have the sentiment of
self-respect, for, as a rule, they are men of a noble nature? This
feeling is seldom wanting in them, but it has not time to produce an
effect. After an outburst they suffer most from a feeling of inward
humiliation. If through education, self-observance, and experience of
life, they have learned, sooner or later, the means of being on their
guard, so that at the moment of powerful excitement they are conscious
betimes of the counteracting force within their own breasts, then even
such men may have great strength of mind.

Lastly, those who are difficult to move, but on that account susceptible
of very deep feelings, men who stand in the same relation to the
preceding as red heat to a flame, are the best adapted by means of
their Titanic strength to roll away the enormous masses by which we may
figuratively represent the difficulties which beset command in War. The
effect of their feelings is like the movement of a great body, slower,
but more irresistible.

Although such men are not so likely to be suddenly surprised by their
feelings and carried away so as to be afterwards ashamed of themselves,
like the preceding, still it would be contrary to experience to believe
that they can never lose their equanimity, or be overcome by blind
passion; on the contrary, this must always happen whenever the noble
pride of self-control is wanting, or as often as it has not sufficient
weight. We see examples of this most frequently in men of noble minds
belonging to savage nations, where the low degree of mental cultivation
favours always the dominance of the passions. But even amongst the most
civilised classes in civilised States, life is full of examples of this
kind--of men carried away by the violence of their passions, like the
poacher of old chained to the stag in the forest.

We therefore say once more a strong mind is not one that is merely
susceptible of strong excitement, but one which can maintain its
serenity under the most powerful excitement, so that, in spite of the
storm in the breast, the perception and judgment can act with perfect
freedom, like the needle of the compass in the storm-tossed ship.

By the term STRENGTH OF CHARACTER, or simply CHARACTER, is denoted
tenacity of conviction, let it be the result of our own or of
others' views, and whether they are principles, opinions, momentary
inspirations, or any kind of emanations of the understanding; but
this kind of firmness certainly cannot manifest itself if the views
themselves are subject to frequent change. This frequent change need
not be the consequence of external influences; it may proceed from
the continuous activity of our own mind, in which case it indicates a
characteristic unsteadiness of mind. Evidently we should not say of
a man who changes his views every moment, however much the motives of
change may originate with himself, that he has character. Only those
men, therefore, can be said to have this quality whose conviction is
very constant, either because it is deeply rooted and clear in itself,
little liable to alteration, or because, as in the case of indolent men,
there is a want of mental activity, and therefore a want of motives to
change; or lastly, because an explicit act of the will, derived from an
imperative maxim of the understanding, refuses any change of opinion up
to a certain point.

Now in War, owing to the many and powerful impressions to which the mind
is exposed, and in the uncertainty of all knowledge and of all science,
more things occur to distract a man from the road he has entered upon,
to make him doubt himself and others, than in any other human activity.

The harrowing sight of danger and suffering easily leads to the feelings
gaining ascendency over the conviction of the understanding; and in the
twilight which surrounds everything a deep clear view is so difficult
that a change of opinion is more conceivable and more pardonable. It is,
at all times, only conjecture or guesses at truth which we have to act
upon. This is why differences of opinion are nowhere so great as in War,
and the stream of impressions acting counter to one's own convictions
never ceases to flow. Even the greatest impassibility of mind is hardly
proof against them, because the impressions are powerful in their
nature, and always act at the same time upon the feelings.

When the discernment is clear and deep, none but general principles and
views of action from a high standpoint can be the result; and on
these principles the opinion in each particular case immediately under
consideration lies, as it were, at anchor. But to keep to these results
of bygone reflection, in opposition to the stream of opinions and
phenomena which the present brings with it, is just the difficulty.
Between the particular case and the principle there is often a
wide space which cannot always be traversed on a visible chain of
conclusions, and where a certain faith in self is necessary and a
certain amount of scepticism is serviceable. Here often nothing else
will help us but an imperative maxim which, independent of reflection,
at once controls it: that maxim is, in all doubtful cases to adhere to
the first opinion, and not to give it up until a clear conviction
forces us to do so. We must firmly believe in the superior authority of
well-tried maxims, and under the dazzling influence of momentary events
not forget that their value is of an inferior stamp. By this preference
which in doubtful cases we give to first convictions, by adherence to
the same our actions acquire that stability and consistency which make
up what is called character.

It is easy to see how essential a well-balanced mind is to strength of
character; therefore men of strong minds generally have a great deal of
character.

Force of character leads us to a spurious variety of it--OBSTINACY.

It is often very difficult in concrete cases to say where the one ends
and the other begins; on the other hand, it does not seem difficult to
determine the difference in idea.

Obstinacy is no fault of the understanding; we use the term as denoting
a resistance against our better judgment, and it would be inconsistent
to charge that to the understanding, as the understanding is the
power of judgment. Obstinacy is A FAULT OF THE FEELINGS or heart. This
inflexibility of will, this impatience of contradiction, have their
origin only in a particular kind of egotism, which sets above every
other pleasure that of governing both self and others by its own
mind alone. We should call it a kind of vanity, were it not decidedly
something better. Vanity is satisfied with mere show, but obstinacy
rests upon the enjoyment of the thing.

We say, therefore, force of character degenerates into obstinacy
whenever the resistance to opposing judgments proceeds not from better
convictions or a reliance upon a trustworthy maxim, but from a feeling
of opposition. If this definition, as we have already admitted, is of
little assistance practically, still it will prevent obstinacy from
being considered merely force of character intensified, whilst it is
something essentially different--something which certainly lies close
to it and is cognate to it, but is at the same time so little an
intensification of it that there are very obstinate men who from want of
understanding have very little force of character.

Having in these high attributes of a great military Commander made
ourselves acquainted with those qualities in which heart and head
co-operate, we now come to a speciality of military activity which
perhaps may be looked upon as the most marked if it is not the most
important, and which only makes a demand on the power of the mind
without regard to the forces of feelings. It is the connection which
exists between War and country or ground.

This connection is, in the first place, a permanent condition of War,
for it is impossible to imagine our organised Armies effecting any
operation otherwise than in some given space; it is, secondly, of the
most decisive importance, because it modifies, at times completely
alters, the action of all forces; thirdly, while on the one hand it
often concerns the most minute features of locality, on the other it may
apply to immense tracts of country.

In this manner a great peculiarity is given to the effect of this
connection of War with country and ground. If we think of other
occupations of man which have a relation to these objects, on
horticulture, agriculture, on building houses and hydraulic works, on
mining, on the chase, and forestry, they are all confined within very
limited spaces which may be soon explored with sufficient exactness.
But the Commander in War must commit the business he has in hand to a
corresponding space which his eye cannot survey, which the keenest zeal
cannot always explore, and with which, owing to the constant changes
taking place, he can also seldom become properly acquainted. Certainly
the enemy generally is in the same situation; still, in the first place,
the difficulty, although common to both, is not the less a difficulty,
and he who by talent and practice overcomes it will have a great
advantage on his side; secondly, this equality of the difficulty on both
sides is merely an abstract supposition which is rarely realised in the
particular case, as one of the two opponents (the defensive) usually
knows much more of the locality than his adversary.

This very peculiar difficulty must be overcome by a natural mental gift
of a special kind which is known by the--too restricted--term of
Orisinn sense of locality. It is the power of quickly forming a correct
geometrical idea of any portion of country, and consequently of being
able to find one's place in it exactly at any time. This is plainly
an act of the imagination. The perception no doubt is formed partly by
means of the physical eye, partly by the mind, which fills up what is
wanting with ideas derived from knowledge and experience, and out of the
fragments visible to the physical eye forms a whole; but that this whole
should present itself vividly to the reason, should become a picture, a
mentally drawn map, that this picture should be fixed, that the details
should never again separate themselves--all that can only be effected
by the mental faculty which we call imagination. If some great poet
or painter should feel hurt that we require from his goddess such an
office; if he shrugs his shoulders at the notion that a sharp gamekeeper
must necessarily excel in imagination, we readily grant that we only
speak here of imagination in a limited sense, of its service in a really
menial capacity. But, however slight this service, still it must be
the work of that natural gift, for if that gift is wanting, it would
be difficult to imagine things plainly in all the completeness of the
visible. That a good memory is a great assistance we freely allow, but
whether memory is to be considered as an independent faculty of the mind
in this case, or whether it is just that power of imagination which here
fixes these things better on the memory, we leave undecided, as in many
respects it seems difficult upon the whole to conceive these two mental
powers apart from each other.

That practice and mental acuteness have much to do with it is not to
be denied. Puysegur, the celebrated Quartermaster-General of the famous
Luxemburg, used to say that he had very little confidence in himself
in this respect at first, because if he had to fetch the parole from a
distance he always lost his way.

It is natural that scope for the exercise of this talent should increase
along with rank. If the hussar and rifleman in command of a patrol must
know well all the highways and byways, and if for that a few marks, a
few limited powers of observation, are sufficient, the Chief of an Army
must make himself familiar with the general geographical features of a
province and of a country; must always have vividly before his eyes
the direction of the roads, rivers, and hills, without at the same time
being able to dispense with the narrower "sense of locality" Orisinn.
No doubt, information of various kinds as to objects in general, maps,
books, memoirs, and for details the assistance of his Staff, are a great
help to him; but it is nevertheless certain that if he has himself a
talent for forming an ideal picture of a country quickly and distinctly,
it lends to his action an easier and firmer step, saves him from a
certain mental helplessness, and makes him less dependent on others.

If this talent then is to be ascribed to imagination, it is also almost
the only service which military activity requires from that erratic
goddess, whose influence is more hurtful than useful in other respects.

We think we have now passed in review those manifestations of the powers
of mind and soul which military activity requires from human nature.
Everywhere intellect appears as an essential co-operative force; and
thus we can understand how the work of War, although so plain and simple
in its effects, can never be conducted with distinguished success by
people without distinguished powers of the understanding.

When we have reached this view, then we need no longer look upon such a
natural idea as the turning an enemy's position, which has been done a
thousand times, and a hundred other similar conceptions, as the result
of a great effort of genius.

Certainly one is accustomed to regard the plain honest soldier as the
very opposite of the man of reflection, full of inventions and ideas, or
of the brilliant spirit shining in the ornaments of refined education of
every kind. This antithesis is also by no means devoid of truth; but it
does not show that the efficiency of the soldier consists only in his
courage, and that there is no particular energy and capacity of the
brain required in addition to make a man merely what is called a true
soldier. We must again repeat that there is nothing more common than to
hear of men losing their energy on being raised to a higher position,
to which they do not feel themselves equal; but we must also remind our
readers that we are speaking of pre-eminent services, of such as give
renown in the branch of activity to which they belong. Each grade of
command in War therefore forms its own stratum of requisite capacity of
fame and honour.

An immense space lies between a General--that is, one at the head of a
whole War, or of a theatre of War--and his Second in Command, for the
simple reason that the latter is in more immediate subordination to a
superior authority and supervision, consequently is restricted to a more
limited sphere of independent thought. This is why common opinion sees
no room for the exercise of high talent except in high places, and looks
upon an ordinary capacity as sufficient for all beneath: this is why
people are rather inclined to look upon a subordinate General grown grey
in the service, and in whom constant discharge of routine duties has
produced a decided poverty of mind, as a man of failing intellect, and,
with all respect for his bravery, to laugh at his simplicity. It is
not our object to gain for these brave men a better lot--that would
contribute nothing to their efficiency, and little to their happiness;
we only wish to represent things as they are, and to expose the error
of believing that a mere bravo without intellect can make himself
distinguished in War.

As we consider distinguished talents requisite for those who are to
attain distinction, even in inferior positions, it naturally follows
that we think highly of those who fill with renown the place of Second
in Command of an Army; and their seeming simplicity of character
as compared with a polyhistor, with ready men of business, or with
councillors of state, must not lead us astray as to the superior nature
of their intellectual activity. It happens sometimes that men import
the fame gained in an inferior position into a higher one, without in
reality deserving it in the new position; and then if they are not much
employed, and therefore not much exposed to the risk of showing their
weak points, the judgment does not distinguish very exactly what degree
of fame is really due to them; and thus such men are often the occasion
of too low an estimate being formed of the characteristics required to
shine in certain situations.

For each station, from the lowest upwards, to render distinguished
services in War, there must be a particular genius. But the title of
genius, history and the judgment of posterity only confer, in
general, on those minds which have shone in the highest rank, that of
Commanders-in-Chief. The reason is that here, in point of fact, the
demand on the reasoning and intellectual powers generally is much
greater.

To conduct a whole War, or its great acts, which we call campaigns, to
a successful termination, there must be an intimate knowledge of State
policy in its higher relations. The conduct of the War and the policy
of the State here coincide, and the General becomes at the same time the
Statesman.

We do not give Charles XII. the name of a great genius, because he could
not make the power of his sword subservient to a higher judgment and
philosophy--could not attain by it to a glorious object. We do not give
that title to Henry IV. (of France), because he did not live long
enough to set at rest the relations of different States by his military
activity, and to occupy himself in that higher field where noble
feelings and a chivalrous disposition have less to do in mastering the
enemy than in overcoming internal dissension.

In order that the reader may appreciate all that must be comprehended
and judged of correctly at a glance by a General, we refer to the first
chapter. We say the General becomes a Statesman, but he must not cease
to be the General. He takes into view all the relations of the State on
the one hand; on the other, he must know exactly what he can do with the
means at his disposal.

As the diversity, and undefined limits, of all the circumstances bring a
great number of factors into consideration in War, as the most of these
factors can only be estimated according to probability, therefore, if
the Chief of an Army does not bring to bear upon them a mind with an
intuitive perception of the truth, a confusion of ideas and views must
take place, in the midst of which the judgment will become bewildered.
In this sense, Buonaparte was right when he said that many of the
questions which come before a General for decision would make problems
for a mathematical calculation not unworthy of the powers of Newton or
Euler.

What is here required from the higher powers of the mind is a sense of
unity, and a judgment raised to such a compass as to give the mind an
extraordinary faculty of vision which in its range allays and sets aside
a thousand dim notions which an ordinary understanding could only bring
to light with great effort, and over which it would exhaust itself. But
this higher activity of the mind, this glance of genius, would still not
become matter of history if the qualities of temperament and character
of which we have treated did not give it their support.

Truth alone is but a weak motive of action with men, and hence there is
always a great difference between knowing and action, between science
and art. The man receives the strongest impulse to action through the
feelings, and the most powerful succour, if we may use the expression,
through those faculties of heart and mind which we have considered under
the terms of resolution, firmness, perseverance, and force of character.

If, however, this elevated condition of heart and mind in the General
did not manifest itself in the general effects resulting from it, and
could only be accepted on trust and faith, then it would rarely become
matter of history.

All that becomes known of the course of events in War is usually very
simple, and has a great sameness in appearance; no one on the mere
relation of such events perceives the difficulties connected with them
which had to be overcome. It is only now and again, in the memoirs of
Generals or of those in their confidence, or by reason of some special
historical inquiry directed to a particular circumstance, that a portion
of the many threads composing the whole web is brought to light. The
reflections, mental doubts, and conflicts which precede the execution
of great acts are purposely concealed because they affect political
interests, or the recollection of them is accidentally lost because they
have been looked upon as mere scaffolding which had to be removed on the
completion of the building.

If, now, in conclusion, without venturing upon a closer definition of
the higher powers of the soul, we should admit a distinction in
the intelligent faculties themselves according to the common ideas
established by language, and ask ourselves what kind of mind comes
closest to military genius, then a look at the subject as well as at
experience will tell us that searching rather than inventive minds,
comprehensive minds rather than such as have a special bent, cool rather
than fiery heads, are those to which in time of War we should prefer to
trust the welfare of our women and children, the honour and the safety
of our fatherland.