The Art of War. baron de Antoine Henri Jomini

I. and held France in his grasp. This movement carried the war into the Tyrol, and arrested the great conqueror in his career.

      In 1706, the Duke of Savoy, Victor Amadeus, by declaring himself hostile to Louis XIV., changed the state of affairs in Italy, and caused the recall of the French army from the banks of the Adige to the walls of Turin, where it encountered the great catastrophe which immortalized Prince Eugene.

      Enough has been said to illustrate the importance and effect of these opportune interventions: more illustrations might be given, but they could not add to the conviction of the reader.

ARTICLE VI.

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Aggressive Wars for Conquest and other Reasons.

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      There are two very different kinds of invasion: one attacks an adjoining state; the other attacks a distant point, over intervening territory of great extent whose inhabitants may be neutral, doubtful, or hostile.

      Wars of conquest, unhappily, are often prosperous—as Alexander, Cæsar, and Napoleon during a portion of his career, have fully proved. However, there are natural limits in these wars, which cannot be passed without incurring great disaster. Cambyses in Nubia, Darius in Scythia, Crassus and the Emperor Julian among the Parthians, and Napoleon in Russia, furnish bloody proofs of these truths.—The love of conquest, however, was not the only motive with Napoleon: his personal position, and his contest with England, urged him to enterprises the aim of which was to make him supreme. It is true that he loved war and its chances; but he was also a victim to the necessity of succeeding in his efforts or of yielding to England. It might be said that he was sent into this world to teach generals and statesmen what they should avoid. His victories teach what may be accomplished by activity, boldness, and skill; his disasters, what might have been avoided by prudence.

      A war of invasion without good reason—like that of Genghis Khan—is a crime against humanity; but it may be excused, if not approved, when induced by great interests or when conducted with good motives.

      The invasions of Spain of 1808 and of 1823 differed equally in object and in results: the first was a cunning and wanton attack, which threatened the existence of the Spanish nation, and was fatal to its author; the second, while combating dangerous principles, fostered the general interests of the country, and was the more readily brought to a successful termination because its object met with the approval of the majority of the people whose territory was invaded.

      These illustrations show that invasions are not necessarily all of the same character. The first contributed largely to the fall of Napoleon; the second restored the relation between France and Spain, which ought never to have been changed.

      Let us hope that invasions may be rare. Still, it is better to attack than to be invaded; and let us remember that the surest way to check the spirit of conquest and usurpation is to oppose it by intervention at the proper time.

      An invasion, to be successful, must, be proportioned in magnitude to the end to be attained and to the obstacles to be overcome.

      An invasion against an exasperated people, ready for all sacrifices and likely to be aided by a powerful neighbor, is a dangerous enterprise, as was well proved by the war in Spain, (1808,) and by the wars of the Revolution in 1792, 1793, and 1794. In these latter wars, if France was better prepared than Spain, she had no powerful ally, and she was attacked by all Europe upon both land and sea.

      Although the circumstances were different, the Russian invasion of Turkey developed, in some respects, the same symptoms of national resistance. The religious hatred of the Ottoman powerfully incited him to arms; but the same motive was powerless among the Greeks, who were twice as numerous as the Turks. Had the interests of the Greeks and Turks been harmonized, as were those of Alsace with France, the united people would have been stronger, but they would have lacked the element of religious fanaticism. The war of 1828 proved that Turkey was formidable only upon the frontiers, where her bravest troops were found, while in the interior all was weakness.

      When an invasion of a neighboring territory has nothing to fear from the inhabitants, the principles of strategy shape its course. The popular feeling rendered the invasions of Italy, Austria, and Prussia so prompt. (These military points are treated of in Article XXIX.) But when the invasion is distant and extensive territories intervene, its success will depend more upon diplomacy than upon strategy. The first step to insure success will be to secure the sincere and devoted alliance of a state adjoining the enemy, which will afford reinforcements of troops, and, what is still more important, give a secure base of operations, depots of supplies, and a safe refuge in case of disaster. The ally must have the same interest in success as the invaders, to render all this possible.

      Diplomacy, while almost decisive in distant expeditions, is not powerless in adjacent invasions; for here a hostile intervention may arrest the most brilliant successes. The invasions of Austria in 1805 and 1809 might have ended differently if Prussia had interfered. The invasion of the North of Germany in 1807 was, so to speak, permitted by Austria. That of Rumelia in 1829 might have ended in disaster, had not a wise statesmanship by negotiation obviated all chance of intervention.

      

ARTICLE VII.

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Wars of Opinion.

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      Although wars of opinion, national wars, and civil wars are sometimes confounded, they differ enough to require separate notice.

      Wars of opinion may be intestine, both intestine and foreign, and, lastly, (which, however, is rare,) they may be foreign or exterior without being intestine or civil.

      Wars of opinion between two states belong also to the class of wars of intervention; for they result either from doctrines which one party desires to propagate among its neighbors, or from dogmas which it desires to crush—in both cases leading to intervention. Although originating in religious or political dogmas, these wars are most deplorable; for, like national wars, they enlist the worst passions, and become vindictive, cruel, and terrible.

      The wars of Islamism, the Crusades, the Thirty Years' War, the wars of the League, present nearly the same characteristics. Often religion is the pretext to obtain political power, and the war is not really one of dogmas. The successors of Mohammed cared more to extend their empire than to preach the Koran, and Philip II., bigot as he was, did not sustain the League in France for the purpose of advancing the Roman Church. We agree with M. Ancelot that Louis IX., when he went on a crusade in Egypt, thought more of the commerce of the Indies than of gaining possession of the Holy Sepulcher.

      The dogma sometimes is not only a pretext, but is a powerful ally; for it excites the ardor of the people, and also creates a party. For instance, the Swedes in the Thirty Years' War, and Philip II. in France, had allies in the country more powerful than their armies. It may, however, happen, as in the Crusades and the wars of Islamism, that the dogma for which the war is waged, instead of friends, finds only bitter enemies in the country invaded; and then the contest becomes fearful.

      The chances of support and resistance in wars of political opinions are about equal. It may be recollected how in 1792 associations of fanatics thought it possible to propagate throughout Europe the famous declaration of the rights of man, and how governments became justly alarmed, and rushed to arms probably with the intention of only forcing the lava of this volcano back into