teenth century, armies of 150,000 were known; while Napoleon had an
army of 750,000. In 1870, there were armies of two and a half millions.
But in the present war there are ten million fighting men in each camp
(Chapter Five and Chapter Six). The increase is colossal, and quite
recent. Even if we take into account the possibility of a struggle in
the near future between Europeans and Mongols, a proportional increase
could not continue beyond a generation or two, for the whole population
of the globe would not suffice to furnish such armies.

But Nicolai is not appalled by the titanic dimensions of the monster he
is fighting. Indeed, this very fact gives him confidence in the ultimate
victory of his cause. For biology has revealed to him the mysterious law
of giganthanasia. One of the most important principles of paleontology
teaches that all animals (with the exception of insects, which, for this
very reason, are, with the brachiopods, the oldest families on the
globe), all species, tend throughout the centuries to grow larger and
larger until, of a sudden, when they seem greatest and strongest, their
forms disappear from the geological record. In nature it is always the
large forms that die. That which is large must die for the reason that,
in conformity with the imperious law of growth, the day comes when it
exceeds the limits of its primordial possibilities. Thus is it, writes
Nicolai, with war. Along the boundless field-grey battle lines, thrills
the warning of the coming Twilight of the Gods. Everything beautiful and
characteristic in the war of ancient days has vanished. Gone is the gay
camp life, gone are the motley uniforms, gone is single combat--gone, in
a word, are the show features. The battlefield, now, has become little
more than an accessory. In former days the scene of battle used to be
selected with care, for then the rival armies manoeuvred for position.
To-day the soldiers settle down haphazard and dig themselves in. The
essential work is carried on elsewhere, by the provision of finance,
munitions, food supply, railways, etc. In place of the one man of genius
as general, we have now the impersonal machinery of the general staff.
The old lively, joyous war is dead.--It may be that even yet war has not
attained its zenith. In the present war there are still neutrals, and
perhaps Freiligrath was right in holding that there must first be some
battle in which the whole world will share. But if so, that will