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The History of the Thirty Years' War

by Friedrich Schiller, Translated by Rev. A. J. W. Morrison, M.A.

June, 1996  [Etext #566]


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The History of the Thirty Years' War
by Friedrich Schiller, Translated by the Rev. A. J. W. Morrison, M.A.

[Johann Cristoph Friedrich von Schiller:  German Writer -- 1759-1805.]





[This is Volume I.  Hopefully the rest will follow.]





The History of the Thirty Years' War
by Frederick Schiller



Translated from the German by the Rev. A. J. W. Morrison, M.A.





Preface



The present is the only collected edition of the principal works of Schiller
which is accessible to English readers.  Detached poems or dramas have been
translated at various times, and sometimes by men of eminence,
since the first publication of the original works;
and in several instances these versions have been incorporated,
after some revision or necessary correction, into the following collection;
but on the other hand a large proportion of the contents have been
specially translated for this edition, in which category are
the historical works which occupy this volume and a portion of the next.

Schiller was not less efficiently qualified by nature for an historian
than for a dramatist.  He was formed to excel in all departments
of literature, and the admirable lucidity of style and soundness
and impartiality of judgment displayed in his historical writings
will not easily by surpassed, and will always recommend them
as popular expositions of the periods of which they treat.

Since the first publication of this edition many corrections and improvements
have been made, with a view to rendering it as acceptable as possible
to English readers.






Contents

History of the Thirty Years' War



Book I.

Introduction. -- General effects of the Reformation. -- Revolt of Matthias. --
The Emperor cedes Austria and Hungary to him. -- Matthias acknowledged
King of Bohemia. -- The Elector of Cologne abjures the Catholic Religion. --
Consequences. -- The Elector Palatine. -- Dispute respecting the Succession
of Juliers. -- Designs of Henry IV. of France. -- Formation of the Union. --
The League. -- Death of the Emperor Rodolph. -- Matthias succeeds him. --
Troubles in Bohemia. -- Civil War. -- Ferdinand extirpates
the Protestant Religion from Styria. -- The Elector Palatine, Frederick V.,
is chosen King by the Bohemians. -- He accepts the Crown of Bohemia. --
Bethlen Gabor, Prince of Transylvania, invades Austria. -- The Duke of Bavaria
and the Princes of the League embrace the cause of Ferdinand. -- The Union arm
for Frederick. -- The Battle of Prague and total subjection of Bohemia.


Book II.

State of the Empire. -- Of Europe. -- Mansfeld. -- Christian,
Duke of Brunswick. -- Wallenstein raises an Imperial Army at his own expense.
-- The King of Denmark defeated. -- Death of Mansfeld. -- Edict of Restitution
in 1628. -- Diet at Ratisbon. -- Negociations. -- Wallenstein deprived
of the Command. -- Gustavus Adolphus. -- Swedish Army. -- Gustavus Adolphus
takes his leave of the States at Stockholm. -- Invasion by the Swedes. --
Their progress in Germany. -- Count Tilly takes the Command
of the Imperial Troops. -- Treaty with France. -- Congress at Leipzig. --
Siege and cruel fate of Magdeburg. -- Firmness of the Landgrave of Cassel. --
Junction of the Saxons with the Swedes. -- Battle of Leipzig. --
Consequences of that Victory.


Book III.

Situation of Gustavus Adolphus after the Battle of Leipzig. --
Progress of Gustavus Adolphus. -- The French invade Lorraine. --
Frankfort taken. -- Capitulation of Mentz. -- Tilly ordered by Maximilian
to protect Bavaria. -- Gustavus Adolphus passes the Lech. --
Defeat and Death of Tilly. -- Gustavus takes Munich. -- The Saxon Army
invades Bohemia, and takes Prague. -- Distress of the Emperor. --
Secret Triumph of Wallenstein. -- He offers to Join Gustavus Adolphus. --
Wallenstein re-assumes the Command. -- Junction of Wallenstein
with the Bavarians. -- Gustavus Adolphus defends Nuremberg. --
Attacks Wallenstein's Intrenchments. -- Enters Saxony. --
Goes to the succour of the Elector of Saxony. -- Marches against Wallenstein.
-- Battle of Lutzen. -- Death of Gustavus Adolphus. -- Situation of Germany
after the Battle of Lutzen.


Book IV.

Closer Alliance between France and Sweden. -- Oxenstiern takes
the Direction of Affairs. -- Death of the Elector Palatine. --
Revolt of the Swedish Officers. -- Duke Bernhard takes Ratisbon. --
Wallenstein enters Silesia. -- Forms Treasonable Designs. --
Forsaken by the Army. -- Retires to Egra. -- His associates put to death. --
Wallenstein's death. -- His Character.


Book V.

Battle of Nordlingen. -- France enters into an Alliance against Austria. --
Treaty of Prague. -- Saxony joins the Emperor. -- Battle of Wistock gained
by the Swedes. -- Battle of Rheinfeld gained by Bernhard, Duke of Weimar. --
He takes Brisach. -- His death. -- Death of Ferdinand II. --
Ferdinand III. succeeds him. -- Celebrated Retreat of Banner in Pomerania. --
His Successes. -- Death. -- Torstensohn takes the Command. --
Death of Richelieu and Louis XIII. -- Swedish Victory at Jankowitz. --
French defeated at Freyburg. -- Battle of Nordlingen gained by Turenne
and Conde. -- Wrangel takes the Command of the Swedish Army. --
Melander made Commander of the Emperor's Army. -- The Elector of Bavaria
breaks the Armistice. -- He adopts the same Policy towards the Emperor
as France towards the Swedes. -- The Weimerian Cavalry go over to the Swedes.
-- Conquest of New Prague by Koenigsmark, and Termination of
the Thirty Years' War.






History of the Thirty Years' War in Germany.






Book I.




From the beginning of the religious wars in Germany, to the peace of Munster,
scarcely any thing great or remarkable occurred in the political world
of Europe in which the Reformation had not an important share.
All the events of this period, if they did not originate in,
soon became mixed up with, the question of religion,
and no state was either too great or too little to feel directly
or indirectly more or less of its influence.

Against the reformed doctrine and its adherents, the House of Austria
directed, almost exclusively, the whole of its immense political power.
In France, the Reformation had enkindled a civil war which,
under four stormy reigns, shook the kingdom to its foundations,
brought foreign armies into the heart of the country,
and for half a century rendered it the scene of the most mournful disorders.
It was the Reformation, too, that rendered the Spanish yoke intolerable
to the Flemings, and awakened in them both the desire and the courage
to throw off its fetters, while it also principally furnished them
with the means of their emancipation.  And as to England, all the evils
with which Philip the Second threatened Elizabeth, were mainly intended
in revenge for her having taken his Protestant subjects under her protection,
and placing herself at the head of a religious party which it was his aim
and endeavour to extirpate.  In Germany, the schisms in the church
produced also a lasting political schism, which made that country
for more than a century the theatre of confusion, but at the same time
threw up a firm barrier against political oppression.  It was, too,
the Reformation principally that first drew the northern powers,
Denmark and Sweden, into the political system of Europe; and while on
the one hand the Protestant League was strengthened by their adhesion,
it on the other was indispensable to their interests.  States which hitherto
scarcely concerned themselves with one another's existence,
acquired through the Reformation an attractive centre of interest,
and began to be united by new political sympathies.  And as through
its influence new relations sprang up between citizen and citizen,
and between rulers and subjects, so also entire states were forced by it
into new relative positions.  Thus, by a strange course of events,
religious disputes were the means of cementing a closer union
among the nations of Europe.

Fearful indeed, and destructive, was the first movement in which this
general political sympathy announced itself; a desolating war of thirty years,
which, from the interior of Bohemia to the mouth of the Scheldt,
and from the banks of the Po to the coasts of the Baltic,
devastated whole countries, destroyed harvests, and reduced towns and villages
to ashes; which opened a grave for many thousand combatants,
and for half a century smothered the glimmering sparks of civilization
in Germany, and threw back the improving manners of the country
into their pristine barbarity and wildness.  Yet out of this fearful war
Europe came forth free and independent.  In it she first learned
to recognize herself as a community of nations; and this intercommunion
of states, which originated in the thirty years' war, may alone be sufficient
to reconcile the philosopher to its horrors.  The hand of industry
has slowly but gradually effaced the traces of its ravages,
while its beneficent influence still survives; and this general sympathy
among the states of Europe, which grew out of the troubles in Bohemia,
is our guarantee for the continuance of that peace which was the result
of the war.  As the sparks of destruction found their way
from the interior of Bohemia, Moravia, and Austria, to kindle Germany,
France, and the half of Europe, so also will the torch of civilization
make a path for itself from the latter to enlighten the former countries.

All this was effected by religion.  Religion alone could have
rendered possible all that was accomplished, but it was far from being
the SOLE motive of the war.  Had not private advantages and state interests
been closely connected with it, vain and powerless would have been
the arguments of theologians; and the cry of the people would never have met
with princes so willing to espouse their cause, nor the new doctrines
have found such numerous, brave, and persevering champions.  The Reformation
is undoubtedly owing in a great measure to the invincible power of truth,
or of opinions which were held as such.  The abuses in the old church,
the absurdity of many of its dogmas, the extravagance of its requisitions,
necessarily revolted the tempers of men, already half-won with the promise
of a better light, and favourably disposed them towards the new doctrines.
The charm of independence, the rich plunder of monastic institutions,
made the Reformation attractive in the eyes of princes,
and tended not a little to strengthen their inward convictions.  Nothing,
however, but political considerations could have driven them to espouse it.
Had not Charles the Fifth, in the intoxication of success,
made an attempt on the independence of the German States, a Protestant league
would scarcely have rushed to arms in defence of freedom of belief;
but for the ambition of the Guises, the Calvinists in France
would never have beheld a Conde or a Coligny at their head.
Without the exaction of the tenth and the twentieth penny, the See of Rome
had never lost the United Netherlands.  Princes fought in self-defence
or for aggrandizement, while religious enthusiasm recruited their armies,
and opened to them the treasures of their subjects.  Of the multitude
who flocked to their standards, such as were not lured by the hope of plunder
imagined they were fighting for the truth, while in fact
they were shedding their blood for the personal objects of their princes.

And well was it for the people that, on this occasion, their interests
coincided with those of their princes.  To this coincidence alone
were they indebted for their deliverance from popery.  Well was it also
for the rulers, that the subject contended too for his own cause,
while he was fighting their battles.  Fortunately at this date
no European sovereign was so absolute as to be able, in the pursuit
of his political designs, to dispense with the goodwill of his subjects.
Yet how difficult was it to gain and to set to work this goodwill!
The most impressive arguments drawn from reasons of state
fall powerless on the ear of the subject, who seldom understands,
and still more rarely is interested in them.  In such circumstances,
the only course open to a prudent prince is to connect the interests
of the cabinet with some one that sits nearer to the people's heart,
if such exists, or if not, to create it.

In such a position stood the greater part of those princes who embraced
the cause of the Reformation.  By a strange concatenation of events,
the divisions of the Church were associated with two circumstances,
without which, in all probability, they would have had
a very different conclusion.  These were, the increasing power
of the House of Austria, which threatened the liberties of Europe,
and its active zeal for the old religion.  The first aroused the princes,
while the second armed the people.

The abolition of a foreign jurisdiction within their own territories,
the supremacy in ecclesiastical matters, the stopping of the treasure
which had so long flowed to Rome, the rich plunder of religious foundations,
were tempting advantages to every sovereign.  Why, then, it may be asked,
did they not operate with equal force upon the princes of the House
of Austria?  What prevented this house, particularly in its German branch,
from yielding to the pressing demands of so many of its subjects, and,
after the example of other princes, enriching itself at the expense
of a defenceless clergy?  It is difficult to credit that a belief
in the infallibility of the Romish Church had any greater influence
on the pious adherence of this house, than the opposite conviction had
on the revolt of the Protestant princes.  In fact, several circumstances
combined to make the Austrian princes zealous supporters of popery.
Spain and Italy, from which Austria derived its principal strength,
were still devoted to the See of Rome with that blind obedience which,
ever since the days of the Gothic dynasty, had been
the peculiar characteristic of the Spaniard.  The slightest approximation,
in a Spanish prince, to the obnoxious tenets of Luther and Calvin,
would have alienated for ever the affections of his subjects,
and a defection from the Pope would have cost him the kingdom.
A Spanish prince had no alternative but orthodoxy or abdication.
The same restraint was imposed upon Austria by her Italian dominions,
which she was obliged to treat, if possible, with even greater indulgence;
impatient as they naturally were of a foreign yoke, and possessing also
ready means of shaking it off.  In regard to the latter provinces, moreover,
the rival pretensions of France, and the neighbourhood of the Pope,
were motives sufficient to prevent the Emperor from declaring in favour
of a party which strove to annihilate the papal see, and also to induce him
to show the most active zeal in behalf of the old religion.
These general considerations, which must have been equally weighty
with every Spanish monarch, were, in the particular case of Charles V.,
still further enforced by peculiar and personal motives.
In Italy this monarch had a formidable rival in the King of France,
under whose protection that country might throw itself the instant
that Charles should incur the slightest suspicion of heresy.
Distrust on the part of the Roman Catholics, and a rupture with the church,
would have been fatal also to many of his most cherished designs.
Moreover, when Charles was first called upon to make his election
between the two parties, the new doctrine had not yet attained
to a full and commanding influence, and there still subsisted a prospect
of its reconciliation with the old.  In his son and successor,
Philip the Second, a monastic education combined with
a gloomy and despotic disposition to generate an unmitigated hostility
to all innovations in religion; a feeling which the thought that
his most formidable political opponents were also the enemies of his faith
was not calculated to weaken.  As his European possessions,
scattered as they were over so many countries, were on all sides exposed
to the seductions of foreign opinions, the progress of the Reformation
in other quarters could not well be a matter of indifference to him.
His immediate interests, therefore, urged him to attach himself devotedly to
the old church, in order to close up the sources of the heretical contagion.
Thus, circumstances naturally placed this prince at the head of the league
which the Roman Catholics formed against the Reformers.
The principles which had actuated the long and active reigns
of Charles V. and Philip the Second, remained a law for their successors;
and the more the breach in the church widened, the firmer became
the attachment of the Spaniards to Roman Catholicism.

The German line of the House of Austria was apparently more unfettered;
but, in reality, though free from many of these restraints,
it was yet confined by others.  The possession of the imperial throne --
a dignity it was impossible for a Protestant to hold,
(for with what consistency could an apostate from the Romish Church
wear the crown of a Roman emperor?) bound the successors of Ferdinand I.
to the See of Rome.  Ferdinand himself was, from conscientious motives,
heartily attached to it.  Besides, the German princes of the House of Austria
were not powerful enough to dispense with the support of Spain, which,
however, they would have forfeited by the least show of leaning towards
the new doctrines.  The imperial dignity, also, required them to preserve
the existing political system of Germany, with which the maintenance
of their own authority was closely bound up, but which it was the aim
of the Protestant League to destroy.  If to these grounds we add
the indifference of the Protestants to the Emperor's necessities
and to the common dangers of the empire, their encroachments on
the temporalities of the church, and their aggressive violence
when they became conscious of their own power, we can easily conceive
how so many concurring motives must have determined the emperors
to the side of popery, and how their own interests came to be
intimately interwoven with those of the Roman Church.  As its fate seemed
to depend altogether on the part taken by Austria, the princes of this house
came to be regarded by all Europe as the pillars of popery.  The hatred,
therefore, which the Protestants bore against the latter,
was turned exclusively upon Austria; and the cause became gradually confounded
with its protector.

But this irreconcileable enemy of the Reformation -- the House of Austria --
by its ambitious projects and the overwhelming force which it could bring
to their support, endangered, in no small degree, the freedom of Europe,
and more especially of the German States.  This circumstance could not fail
to rouse the latter from their security, and to render them vigilant
in self-defence.  Their ordinary resources were quite insufficient
to resist so formidable a power.  Extraordinary exertions were required
from their subjects; and when even these proved far from adequate,
they had recourse to foreign assistance; and, by means of a common league,
they endeavoured to oppose a power which, singly, they were unable
to withstand.

But the strong political inducements which the German princes had
to resist the pretensions of the House of Austria, naturally did not extend
to their subjects.  It is only immediate advantages or immediate evils
that set the people in action, and for these a sound policy cannot wait.
Ill then would it have fared with these princes, if by good fortune
another effectual motive had not offered itself, which roused the passions
of the people, and kindled in them an enthusiasm which might be directed
against the political danger, as having with it a common cause of alarm.

This motive was their avowed hatred of the religion which Austria protected,
and their enthusiastic attachment to a doctrine which that House
was endeavouring to extirpate by fire and sword.  Their attachment was ardent,
their hatred invincible.  Religious fanaticism anticipates
even the remotest dangers.  Enthusiasm never calculates its sacrifices.
What the most pressing danger of the state could not gain from the citizens,
was effected by religious zeal.  For the state, or for the prince,
few would have drawn the sword; but for religion, the merchant, the artist,
the peasant, all cheerfully flew to arms.  For the state, or for the prince,
even the smallest additional impost would have been avoided; but for religion
the people readily staked at once life, fortune, and all earthly hopes.
It trebled the contributions which flowed into the exchequer of the princes,
and the armies which marched to the field; and, in the ardent excitement
produced in all minds by the peril to which their faith was exposed,
the subject felt not the pressure of those burdens and privations under which,
in cooler moments, he would have sunk exhausted.  The terrors of
the Spanish Inquisition, and the massacre of St. Bartholomew's, procured for
the Prince of Orange, the Admiral Coligny, the British Queen Elizabeth,
and the Protestant princes of Germany, supplies of men and money
from their subjects, to a degree which at present is inconceivable.

But, with all their exertions, they would have effected little against a power
which was an overmatch for any single adversary, however powerful.
At this period of imperfect policy, accidental circumstances alone
could determine distant states to afford one another a mutual support.
The differences of government, of laws, of language, of manners,
and of character, which hitherto had kept whole nations and countries
as it were insulated, and raised a lasting barrier between them,
rendered one state insensible to the distresses of another,
save where national jealousy could indulge a malicious joy at the reverses
of a rival.  This barrier the Reformation destroyed.  An interest
more intense and more immediate than national aggrandizement or patriotism,
and entirely independent of private utility, began to animate
whole states and individual citizens; an interest capable of uniting
numerous and distant nations, even while it frequently lost its force
among the subjects of the same government.  With the inhabitants of Geneva,
for instance, of England, of Germany, or of Holland, the French Calvinist
possessed a common point of union which he had not with his own countrymen.
Thus, in one important particular, he ceased to be the citizen
of a single state, and to confine his views and sympathies
to his own country alone.  The sphere of his views became enlarged.
He began to calculate his own fate from that of other nations of the same
religious profession, and to make their cause his own.  Now for the first time
did princes venture to bring the affairs of other countries
before their own councils; for the first time could they hope
for a willing ear to their own necessities, and prompt assistance from others.
Foreign affairs had now become a matter of domestic policy,
and that aid was readily granted to the religious confederate which would have
been denied to the mere neighbour, and still more to the distant stranger.
The inhabitant of the Palatinate leaves his native fields to fight
side by side with his religious associate of France, against the common enemy
of their faith.  The Huguenot draws his sword against the country which
persecutes him, and sheds his blood in defence of the liberties of Holland.
Swiss is arrayed against Swiss; German against German, to determine,
on the banks of the Loire and the Seine, the succession of the French crown.
The Dane crosses the Eider, and the Swede the Baltic, to break the chains
which are forged for Germany.

It is difficult to say what would have been the fate of the Reformation,
and the liberties of the Empire, had not the formidable power of Austria
declared against them.  This, however, appears certain,
that nothing so completely damped the Austrian hopes of universal monarchy,
as the obstinate war which they had to wage against
the new religious opinions.  Under no other circumstances could
the weaker princes have roused their subjects to such extraordinary exertions
against the ambition of Austria, or the States themselves
have united so closely against the common enemy.

The power of Austria never stood higher than after the victory
which Charles V. gained over the Germans at Muehlberg.
With the treaty of Smalcalde the freedom of Germany lay, as it seemed,
prostrate for ever; but it revived under Maurice of Saxony,
once its most formidable enemy.  All the fruits of the victory of Muehlberg
were lost again in the congress of Passau, and the diet of Augsburg;
and every scheme for civil and religious oppression terminated in
the concessions of an equitable peace.

The diet of Augsburg divided Germany into two religious
and two political parties, by recognizing the independent rights and existence
of both.  Hitherto the Protestants had been looked on as rebels;
they were henceforth to be regarded as brethren -- not indeed
through affection, but necessity.  By the Interim*, the Confession of Augsburg
was allowed temporarily to take a sisterly place alongside of
the olden religion, though only as a tolerated neighbour.
To every secular state was conceded the right of establishing the religion
it acknowledged as supreme and exclusive within its own territories,
and of forbidding the open profession of its rival.  Subjects were to be free
to quit a country where their own religion was not tolerated.
The doctrines of Luther for the first time received a positive sanction;
and if they were trampled under foot in Bavaria and Austria,
they predominated in Saxony and Thuringia.  But the sovereigns alone were
to determine what form of religion should prevail within their territories;
the feelings of subjects who had no representatives in the diet were
little attended to in the pacification.  In the ecclesiastical territories,
indeed, where the unreformed religion enjoyed an undisputed supremacy,
the free exercise of their religion was obtained for all who had previously
embraced the Protestant doctrines; but this indulgence rested only
on the personal guarantee of Ferdinand, King of the Romans,
by whose endeavours chiefly this peace was effected; a guarantee, which,
being rejected by the Roman Catholic members of the Diet,
and only inserted in the treaty under their protest,
could not of course have the force of law.

* A system of Theology so called, prepared by order of the Emperor Charles V.
for the use of Germany, to reconcile the differences between
the Roman Catholics and the Lutherans, which, however, was rejected
by both parties -- Ed.

If it had been opinions only that thus divided the minds of men,
with what indifference would all have regarded the division!
But on these opinions depended riches, dignities, and rights;
and it was this which so deeply aggravated the evils of division.
Of two brothers, as it were, who had hitherto enjoyed a paternal inheritance
in common, one now remained, while the other was compelled to leave
his father's house, and hence arose the necessity of dividing the patrimony.
For this separation, which he could not have foreseen,
the father had made no provision.  By the beneficent donations
of pious ancestors the riches of the church had been accumulating
through a thousand years, and these benefactors were as much the progenitors
of the departing brother as of him who remained.  Was the right of inheritance
then to be limited to the paternal house, or to be extended to blood?
The gifts had been made to the church in communion with Rome,
because at that time no other existed, -- to the first-born, as it were,
because he was as yet the only son.  Was then a right of primogeniture
to be admitted in the church, as in noble families?  Were the pretensions
of one party to be favoured by a prescription from times when the claims
of the other could not have come into existence?  Could the Lutherans
be justly excluded from these possessions, to which the benevolence
of their forefathers had contributed, merely on the ground that,
at the date of their foundation, the differences between Lutheranism
and Romanism were unknown?  Both parties have disputed, and still dispute,
with equal plausibility, on these points.  Both alike have found it difficult
to prove their right.  Law can be applied only to conceivable cases,
and perhaps spiritual foundations are not among the number of these,
and still less where the conditions of the founders generally extended
to a system of doctrines; for how is it conceivable that a permanent endowment
should be made of opinions left open to change?

What law cannot decide, is usually determined by might,
and such was the case here.  The one party held firmly all that could
no longer be wrested from it -- the other defended what it still possessed.
All the bishoprics and abbeys which had been secularized BEFORE the peace,
remained with the Protestants; but, by an express clause,
the unreformed Catholics provided that none should thereafter be secularized.
Every impropriator of an ecclesiastical foundation,
who held immediately of the Empire, whether elector, bishop, or abbot,
forfeited his benefice and dignity the moment he embraced
the Protestant belief; he was obliged in that event instantly
to resign its emoluments, and the chapter was to proceed to a new election,
exactly as if his place had been vacated by death.  By this sacred anchor
of the Ecclesiastical Reservation, (`Reservatum Ecclesiasticum',)
which makes the temporal existence of a spiritual prince entirely dependent
on his fidelity to the olden religion, the Roman Catholic Church in Germany
is still held fast; and precarious, indeed, would be its situation
were this anchor to give way.  The principle of the Ecclesiastical Reservation
was strongly opposed by the Protestants; and though it was at last adopted
into the treaty of peace, its insertion was qualified with the declaration,
that parties had come to no final determination on the point.
Could it then be more binding on the Protestants than Ferdinand's guarantee
in favour of Protestant subjects of ecclesiastical states was upon
the Roman Catholics?  Thus were two important subjects of dispute
left unsettled in the treaty of peace, and by them the war was rekindled.

Such was the position of things with regard to religious toleration and
ecclesiastical property:  it was the same with regard to rights and dignities.
The existing German system provided only for one church, because one only
was in existence when that system was framed.  The church had now divided;
the Diet had broken into two religious parties; was the whole system
of the Empire still exclusively to follow the one?  The emperors had hitherto
been members of the Romish Church, because till now that religion
had no rival.  But was it his connexion with Rome which constituted
a German emperor, or was it not rather Germany which was to be represented
in its head?  The Protestants were now spread over the whole Empire,
and how could they justly still be represented by an unbroken line
of Roman Catholic emperors?  In the Imperial Chamber the German States
judge themselves, for they elect the judges; it was the very end
of its institution that they should do so, in order that equal justice
should be dispensed to all; but would this be still possible,
if the representatives of both professions were not equally admissible
to a seat in the Chamber?  That one religion only existed in Germany
at the time of its establishment, was accidental; that no one estate
should have the means of legally oppressing another, was the essential purpose
of the institution.  Now this object would be entirely frustrated
if one religious party were to have the exclusive power of deciding
for the other.  Must, then, the design be sacrificed, because that which
was merely accidental had changed?  With great difficulty the Protestants,
at last, obtained for the representatives of their religion
a place in the Supreme Council, but still there was far from being
a perfect equality of voices.  To this day no Protestant prince
has been raised to the imperial throne.

Whatever may be said of the equality which the peace of Augsburg
was to have established between the two German churches,
the Roman Catholic had unquestionably still the advantage.
All that the Lutheran Church gained by it was toleration;
all that the Romish Church conceded, was a sacrifice to necessity,
not an offering to justice.  Very far was it from being a peace between
two equal powers, but a truce between a sovereign and unconquered rebels.
From this principle all the proceedings of the Roman Catholics
against the Protestants seemed to flow, and still continue to do so.
To join the reformed faith was still a crime, since it was to be visited with
so severe a penalty as that which the Ecclesiastical Reservation
held suspended over the apostacy of the spiritual princes.
Even to the last, the Romish Church preferred to risk to loss of every thing
by force, than voluntarily to yield the smallest matter to justice.
The loss was accidental and might be repaired; but the abandonment
of its pretensions, the concession of a single point to the Protestants,
would shake the foundations of the church itself.  Even in the treaty of peace
this principle was not lost sight of.  Whatever in this peace was yielded
to the Protestants was always under condition.  It was expressly declared,
that affairs were to remain on the stipulated footing only till
the next general council, which was to be called with the view of effecting
an union between the two confessions.  Then only, when this last attempt
should have failed, was the religious treaty to become valid and conclusive.
However little hope there might be of such a reconciliation,
however little perhaps the Romanists themselves were in earnest with it,
still it was something to have clogged the peace with these stipulations.

Thus this religious treaty, which was to extinguish for ever
the flames of civil war, was, in fact, but a temporary truce,
extorted by force and necessity; not dictated by justice,
nor emanating from just notions either of religion or toleration.
A religious treaty of this kind the Roman Catholics were as incapable
of granting, to be candid, as in truth the Lutherans were unqualified
to receive.  Far from evincing a tolerant spirit towards the Roman Catholics,
when it was in their power, they even oppressed the Calvinists;
who indeed just as little deserved toleration, since they were unwilling
to practise it.  For such a peace the times were not yet ripe --
the minds of men not yet sufficiently enlightened.  How could one party
expect from another what itself was incapable of performing?
What each side saved or gained by the treaty of Augsburg,
it owed to the imposing attitude of strength which it maintained
at the time of its negociation.  What was won by force was to be
maintained also by force; if the peace was to be permanent,
the two parties to it must preserve the same relative positions.
The boundaries of the two churches had been marked out with the sword;
with the sword they must be preserved, or woe to that party
which should be first disarmed!  A sad and fearful prospect for
the tranquillity of Germany, when peace itself bore so threatening an aspect.

A momentary lull now pervaded the empire; a transitory bond of concord
appeared to unite its scattered limbs into one body, so that for a time
a feeling also for the common weal returned.  But the division had penetrated
its inmost being, and to restore its original harmony was impossible.
Carefully as the treaty of peace appeared to have defined the rights
of both parties, its interpretation was nevertheless the subject
of many disputes.  In the heat of conflict it had produced
a cessation of hostilities; it covered, not extinguished, the fire,
and unsatisfied claims remained on either side.  The Romanists imagined
they had lost too much, the Protestants that they had gained too little;
and the treaty which neither party could venture to violate,
was interpreted by each in its own favour.

The seizure of the ecclesiastical benefices, the motive which had
so strongly tempted the majority of the Protestant princes to embrace
the doctrines of Luther, was not less powerful after than before the peace;
of those whose founders had not held their fiefs immediately of the empire,
such as were not already in their possession would it was evident soon be so.
The whole of Lower Germany was already secularized; and if it were otherwise
in Upper Germany, it was owing to the vehement resistance of the Catholics,
who had there the preponderance.  Each party, where it was the most powerful,
oppressed the adherents of the other; the ecclesiastical princes
in particular, as the most defenceless members of the empire,
were incessantly tormented by the ambition of their Protestant neighbours.
Those who were too weak to repel force by force, took refuge
under the wings of justice; and the complaints of spoliation
were heaped up against the Protestants in the Imperial Chamber,
which was ready enough to pursue the accused with judgments,
but found too little support to carry them into effect.
The peace which stipulated for complete religious toleration for
the dignitaries of the Empire, had provided also for the subject,
by enabling him, without interruption, to leave the country in which
the exercise of his religion was prohibited.  But from the wrongs
which the violence of a sovereign might inflict on an obnoxious subject;
from the nameless oppressions by which he might harass and annoy the emigrant;
from the artful snares in which subtilty combined with power might enmesh him
-- from these, the dead letter of the treaty could afford him no protection.
The Catholic subject of Protestant princes complained loudly of violations
of the religious peace -- the Lutherans still more loudly of the oppression
they experienced under their Romanist suzerains.  The rancour and animosities
of theologians infused a poison into every occurrence, however inconsiderable,
and inflamed the minds of the people.  Happy would it have been
had this theological hatred exhausted its zeal upon the common enemy,
instead of venting its virus on the adherents of a kindred faith!

Unanimity amongst the Protestants might, by preserving the balance
between the contending parties, have prolonged the peace;
but as if to complete the confusion, all concord was quickly broken.
The doctrines which had been propagated by Zuingli in Zurich,
and by Calvin in Geneva, soon spread to Germany, and divided the Protestants
among themselves, with little in unison save their common hatred to popery.
The Protestants of this date bore but slight resemblance to those who,
fifty years before, drew up the Confession of Augsburg;
and the cause of the change is to be sought in that Confession itself.
It had prescribed a positive boundary to the Protestant faith,
before the newly awakened spirit of inquiry had satisfied itself as to
the limits it ought to set; and the Protestants seemed unwittingly to have
thrown away much of the advantage acquired by their rejection of popery.
Common complaints of the Romish hierarchy, and of ecclesiastical abuses,
and a common disapprobation of its dogmas, formed a sufficient centre of union
for the Protestants; but not content with this, they sought a rallying point
in the promulgation of a new and positive creed, in which they sought
to embody the distinctions, the privileges, and the essence of the church,
and to this they referred the convention entered into with their opponents.
It was as professors of this creed that they had acceded to the treaty;
and in the benefits of this peace the advocates of the confession
were alone entitled to participate.  In any case, therefore,
the situation of its adherents was embarrassing.  If a blind obedience
were yielded to the dicta of the Confession, a lasting bound would be set
to the spirit of inquiry; if, on the other hand, they dissented from
the formulae agreed upon, the point of union would be lost.
Unfortunately both incidents occurred, and the evil results of both were
quickly felt.  One party rigorously adhered to the original symbol of faith,
and the other abandoned it, only to adopt another with equal exclusiveness.

Nothing could have furnished the common enemy a more plausible defence
of his cause than this dissension; no spectacle could have been
more gratifying to him than the rancour with which the Protestants alternately
persecuted each other.  Who could condemn the Roman Catholics,
if they laughed at the audacity with which the Reformers had presumed
to announce the only true belief? -- if from Protestants they borrowed
the weapons against Protestants? -- if, in the midst of this
clashing of opinions, they held fast to the authority of their own church,
for which, in part, there spoke an honourable antiquity,
and a yet more honourable plurality of voices.  But this division
placed the Protestants in still more serious embarrassments.
As the covenants of the treaty applied only to the partisans
of the Confession, their opponents, with some reason, called upon them
to explain who were to be recognized as the adherents of that creed.
The Lutherans could not, without offending conscience,
include the Calvinists in their communion, except at the risk of converting
a useful friend into a dangerous enemy, could they exclude them.
This unfortunate difference opened a way for the machinations of the Jesuits
to sow distrust between both parties, and to destroy the unity
of their measures.  Fettered by the double fear of their direct adversaries,
and of their opponents among themselves, the Protestants lost for ever
the opportunity of placing their church on a perfect equality
with the Catholic.  All these difficulties would have been avoided,
and the defection of the Calvinists would not have prejudiced
the common cause, if the point of union had been placed simply
in the abandonment of Romanism, instead of in the Confession of Augsburg.

But however divided on other points, they concurred in this --
that the security which had resulted from equality of power
could only be maintained by the preservation of that balance.
In the meanwhile, the continual reforms of one party,
and the opposing measures of the other, kept both upon the watch,
while the interpretation of the religious treaty was a never-ending
subject of dispute.  Each party maintained that every step taken
by its opponent was an infraction of the peace, while of every movement
of its own it was asserted that it was essential to its maintenance.
Yet all the measures of the Catholics did not, as their opponents alleged,
proceed from a spirit of encroachment -- many of them were
the necessary precautions of self-defence.  The Protestants had shown
unequivocally enough what the Romanists might expect if they were
unfortunate enough to become the weaker party.  The greediness of the former
for the property of the church, gave no reason to expect indulgence; --
their bitter hatred left no hope of magnanimity or forbearance.

But the Protestants, likewise, were excusable if they too
placed little confidence in the sincerity of the Roman Catholics.
By the treacherous and inhuman treatment which their brethren in Spain,
France, and the Netherlands, had suffered; by the disgraceful subterfuge
of the Romish princes, who held that the Pope had power to relieve them
from the obligation of the most solemn oaths; and above all,
by the detestable maxim, that faith was not to be kept with heretics,
the Roman Church, in the eyes of all honest men, had lost its honour.
No engagement, no oath, however sacred, from a Roman Catholic, could satisfy
a Protestant.  What security then could the religious peace afford, when,
throughout Germany, the Jesuits represented it as a measure of
mere temporary convenience, and in Rome itself it was solemnly repudiated.

The General Council, to which reference had been made in the treaty,
had already been held in the city of Trent; but, as might have been foreseen,
without accommodating the religious differences, or taking a single step to
effect such accommodation, and even without being attended by the Protestants.
The latter, indeed, were now solemnly excommunicated by it in the name
of the church, whose representative the Council gave itself out to be.
Could, then, a secular treaty, extorted moreover by force of arms,
afford them adequate protection against the ban of the church; a treaty, too,
based on a condition which the decision of the Council seemed entirely
to abolish?  There was then a show of right for violating the peace,
if only the Romanists possessed the power; and henceforward the Protestants
were protected by nothing but the respect for their formidable array.

Other circumstances combined to augment this distrust.  Spain,
on whose support the Romanists in Germany chiefly relied, was engaged in
a bloody conflict with the Flemings.  By it, the flower of the Spanish troops
were drawn to the confines of Germany.  With what ease might they be
introduced within the empire, if a decisive stroke should render
their presence necessary?  Germany was at that time a magazine of war
for nearly all the powers of Europe.  The religious war had crowded it
with soldiers, whom the peace left destitute; its many independent princes
found it easy to assemble armies, and afterwards, for the sake of gain,
or the interests of party, hire them out to other powers.  With German troops,
Philip the Second waged war against the Netherlands, and with German troops
they defended themselves.  Every such levy in Germany was a subject of alarm
to the one party or the other, since it might be intended
for their oppression.  The arrival of an ambassador, an extraordinary legate
of the Pope, a conference of princes, every unusual incident, must,
it was thought, be pregnant with destruction to some party.  Thus,
for nearly half a century, stood Germany, her hand upon the sword;
every rustle of a leaf alarmed her.

Ferdinand the First, King of Hungary, and his excellent son,
Maximilian the Second, held at this memorable epoch the reins of government.
With a heart full of sincerity, with a truly heroic patience,
had Ferdinand brought about the religious peace of Augsburg, and afterwards,
in the Council of Trent, laboured assiduously, though vainly,
at the ungrateful task of reconciling the two religions.
Abandoned by his nephew, Philip of Spain, and hard pressed
both in Hungary and Transylvania by the victorious armies of the Turks,
it was not likely that this emperor would entertain the idea
of violating the religious peace, and thereby destroying his own painful work.
The heavy expenses of the perpetually recurring war with Turkey
could not be defrayed by the meagre contributions of his exhausted
hereditary dominions.  He stood, therefore, in need of the assistance
of the whole empire; and the religious peace alone preserved in one body
the otherwise divided empire.  Financial necessities made the Protestant
as needful to him as the Romanist, and imposed upon him the obligation
of treating both parties with equal justice, which, amidst so many
contradictory claims, was truly a colossal task.  Very far, however,
was the result from answering his expectations.  His indulgence of
the Protestants served only to bring upon his successors a war,
which death saved himself the mortification of witnessing.
Scarcely more fortunate was his son Maximilian, with whom perhaps
the pressure of circumstances was the only obstacle, and a longer life
perhaps the only want, to his establishing the new religion
upon the imperial throne.  Necessity had taught the father
forbearance towards the Protestants -- necessity and justice dictated
the same course to the son.  The grandson had reason to repent
that he neither listened to justice, nor yielded to necessity.

Maximilian left six sons, of whom the eldest, the Archduke Rodolph,
inherited his dominions, and ascended the imperial throne.
The other brothers were put off with petty appanages.  A few mesne fiefs
were held by a collateral branch, which had their uncle, Charles of Styria,
at its head; and even these were afterwards, under his son,
Ferdinand the Second, incorporated with the rest of the family dominions.
With this exception, the whole of the imposing power of Austria
was now wielded by a single, but unfortunately weak hand.

Rodolph the Second was not devoid of those virtues which might have gained him
the esteem of mankind, had the lot of a private station fallen to him.
His character was mild, he loved peace and the sciences,
particularly astronomy, natural history, chemistry, and the study
of antiquities.  To these he applied with a passionate zeal, which,
at the very time when the critical posture of affairs demanded
all his attention, and his exhausted finances the most rigid economy,
diverted his attention from state affairs, and involved him in
pernicious expenses.  His taste for astronomy soon lost itself in those
astrological reveries to which timid and melancholy temperaments like his
are but too disposed.  This, together with a youth passed in Spain,
opened his ears to the evil counsels of the Jesuits, and the influence
of the Spanish court, by which at last he was wholly governed.
Ruled by tastes so little in accordance with the dignity of his station,
and alarmed by ridiculous prophecies, he withdrew, after the Spanish custom,
from the eyes of his subjects, to bury himself amidst his gems and antiques,
or to make experiments in his laboratory, while the most fatal discords
loosened all the bands of the empire, and the flames of rebellion
began to burst out at the very footsteps of his throne.
All access to his person was denied, the most urgent matters were neglected.
The prospect of the rich inheritance of Spain was closed against him,
while he was trying to make up his mind to offer his hand
to the Infanta Isabella.  A fearful anarchy threatened the Empire,
for though without an heir of his own body, he could not be persuaded
to allow the election of a King of the Romans.  The Austrian States
renounced their allegiance, Hungary and Transylvania threw off his supremacy,
and Bohemia was not slow in following their example.  The descendant of
the once so formidable Charles the Fifth was in perpetual danger,
either of losing one part of his possessions to the Turks,
or another to the Protestants, and of sinking, beyond redemption,
under the formidable coalition which a great monarch of Europe had formed
against him.  The events which now took place in the interior of Germany
were such as usually happened when either the throne was without an emperor,
or the Emperor without a sense of his imperial dignity.  Outraged or abandoned
by their head, the States of the Empire were left to help themselves;
and alliances among themselves must supply the defective authority
of the Emperor.  Germany was divided into two leagues,
which stood in arms arrayed against each other:  between both, Rodolph,
the despised opponent of the one, and the impotent protector of the other,
remained irresolute and useless, equally unable to destroy the former
or to command the latter.  What had the Empire to look for
from a prince incapable even of defending his hereditary dominions against
its domestic enemies?  To prevent the utter ruin of the House of Austria,
his own family combined against him; and a powerful party threw itself
into the arms of his brother.  Driven from his hereditary dominions,
nothing was now left him to lose but the imperial dignity;
and he was only spared this last disgrace by a timely death.

At this critical moment, when only a supple policy, united with
a vigorous arm, could have maintained the tranquillity of the Empire,
its evil genius gave it a Rodolph for Emperor.  At a more peaceful period
the Germanic Union would have managed its own interests, and Rodolph,
like so many others of his rank, might have hidden his deficiencies
in a mysterious obscurity.  But the urgent demand for the qualities
in which he was most deficient revealed his incapacity.
The position of Germany called for an emperor who, by his known energies,
could give weight to his resolves; and the hereditary dominions of Rodolph,
considerable as they were, were at present in a situation to occasion
the greatest embarrassment to the governors.

The Austrian princes, it is true were Roman Catholics, and in addition
to that, the supporters of Popery, but their countries were far from being so.
The reformed opinions had penetrated even these, and favoured by
Ferdinand's necessities and Maximilian's mildness, had met with
a rapid success.  The Austrian provinces exhibited in miniature
what Germany did on a larger scale.  The great nobles and the ritter class
or knights were chiefly evangelical, and in the cities the Protestants had
a decided preponderance.  If they succeeded in bringing a few of their party
into the country, they contrived imperceptibly to fill all places of trust
and the magistracy with their own adherents, and to exclude the Catholics.
Against the numerous order of the nobles and knights,
and the deputies from the towns, the voice of a few prelates was powerless;
and the unseemly ridicule and offensive contempt of the former soon drove them
entirely from the provincial diets.  Thus the whole of the Austrian Diet had
imperceptibly become Protestant, and the Reformation was making rapid strides
towards its public recognition.  The prince was dependent on the Estates,
who had it in their power to grant or refuse supplies.  Accordingly,
they availed themselves of the financial necessities of Ferdinand and his son
to extort one religious concession after another.  To the nobles and knights,
Maximilian at last conceded the free exercise of their religion,
but only within their own territories and castles.  The intemperate enthusiasm
of the Protestant preachers overstepped the boundaries which prudence
had prescribed.  In defiance of the express prohibition, several of them
ventured to preach publicly, not only in the towns, but in Vienna itself,
and the people flocked in crowds to this new doctrine,
the best seasoning of which was personality and abuse.  Thus continued food
was supplied to fanaticism, and the hatred of two churches,
that were such near neighbours, was farther envenomed by the sting
of an impure zeal.

Among the hereditary dominions of the House of Austria,
Hungary and Transylvania were the most unstable, and the most difficult
to retain.  The impossibility of holding these two countries
against the neighbouring and overwhelming power of the Turks,
had already driven Ferdinand to the inglorious expedient of recognizing,
by an annual tribute, the Porte's supremacy over Transylvania;
a shameful confession of weakness, and a still more dangerous temptation
to the turbulent nobility, when they fancied they had any reason to complain
of their master.  Not without conditions had the Hungarians submitted
to the House of Austria.  They asserted the elective freedom of their crown,
and boldly contended for all those prerogatives of their order
which are inseparable from this freedom of election.  The near neighbourhood
of Turkey, the facility of changing masters with impunity,
encouraged the magnates still more in their presumption; discontented with
the Austrian government they threw themselves into the arms of the Turks;
dissatisfied with these, they returned again to their German sovereigns.
The frequency and rapidity of these transitions from one government
to another, had communicated its influences also to their mode of thinking;
and as their country wavered between the Turkish and Austrian rule,
so their minds vacillated between revolt and submission.
The more unfortunate each nation felt itself in being degraded into a province
of a foreign kingdom, the stronger desire did they feel to obey
a monarch chosen from amongst themselves, and thus it was always easy
for an enterprising noble to obtain their support.  The nearest Turkish pasha
was always ready to bestow the Hungarian sceptre and crown on a rebel
against Austria; just as ready was Austria to confirm to any adventurer
the possession of provinces which he had wrested from the Porte,
satisfied with preserving thereby the shadow of authority,
and with erecting at the same time a barrier against the Turks.
In this way several of these magnates, Batbori, Boschkai, Ragoczi, and Bethlen
succeeded in establishing themselves, one after another,
as tributary sovereigns in Transylvania and Hungary;
and they maintained their ground by no deeper policy
than that of occasionally joining the enemy, in order to render themselves
more formidable to their own prince.

Ferdinand, Maximilian, and Rodolph, who were all sovereigns
of Hungary and Transylvania, exhausted their other territories
in endeavouring to defend these from the hostile inroads of the Turks,
and to put down intestine rebellion.  In this quarter
destructive wars were succeeded but by brief truces,
which were scarcely less hurtful:  far and wide the land lay waste,
while the injured serf had to complain equally of his enemy and his protector.
Into these countries also the Reformation had penetrated;
and protected by the freedom of the States, and under the cover
of the internal disorders, had made a noticeable progress.
Here too it was incautiously attacked, and party spirit thus became
yet more dangerous from religious enthusiasm.  Headed by a bold rebel,
Boschkai, the nobles of Hungary and Transylvania raised the standard
of rebellion.  The Hungarian insurgents were upon the point of making
common cause with the discontented Protestants in Austria, Moravia,
and Bohemia, and uniting all those countries in one fearful revolt.
The downfall of popery in these lands would then have been inevitable.

Long had the Austrian archdukes, the brothers of the Emperor,
beheld with silent indignation the impending ruin of their house;
this last event hastened their decision.  The Archduke Matthias,
Maximilian's second son, Viceroy in Hungary, and Rodolph's presumptive heir,
now came forward as the stay of the falling house of Hapsburg.  In his youth,
misled by a false ambition, this prince, disregarding the interests
of his family, had listened to the overtures of the Flemish insurgents,
who invited him into the Netherlands to conduct the defence of their liberties
against the oppression of his own relative, Philip the Second.
Mistaking the voice of an insulated faction for that of the entire nation,
Matthias obeyed the call.  But the event answered the expectations
of the men of Brabant as little as his own, and from this imprudent enterprise
he retired with little credit.

Far more honourable was his second appearance in the political world.
Perceiving that his repeated remonstrances with the Emperor were unavailing,
he assembled the archdukes, his brothers and cousins, at Presburg,
and consulted with them on the growing perils of their house,
when they unanimously assigned to him, as the oldest,
the duty of defending that patrimony which a feeble brother was endangering.
In his hands they placed all their powers and rights,
and vested him with sovereign authority, to act at his discretion
for the common good.  Matthias immediately opened a communication with
the Porte and the Hungarian rebels, and through his skilful management
succeeded in saving, by a peace with the Turks, the remainder of Hungary,
and by a treaty with the rebels, preserved the claims of Austria
to the lost provinces.  But Rodolph, as jealous as he had hitherto
been careless of his sovereign authority, refused to ratify this treaty,
which he regarded as a criminal encroachment on his sovereign rights.
He accused the Archduke of keeping up a secret understanding with the enemy,
and of cherishing treasonable designs on the crown of Hungary.

The activity of Matthias was, in truth, anything but disinterested;
the conduct of the Emperor only accelerated the execution
of his ambitious views.  Secure, from motives of gratitude,
of the devotion of the Hungarians, for whom he had so lately obtained
the blessings of peace; assured by his agents of the favourable disposition
of the nobles, and certain of the support of a large party, even in Austria,
he now ventured to assume a bolder attitude, and, sword in hand,
to discuss his grievances with the Emperor.  The Protestants
in Austria and Moravia, long ripe for revolt, and now won over to the Archduke
by his promises of toleration, loudly and openly espoused his cause,
and their long-menaced alliance with the Hungarian rebels
was actually effected.  Almost at once a formidable conspiracy
was planned and matured against the Emperor.  Too late did he resolve
to amend his past errors; in vain did he attempt to break up
this fatal alliance.  Already the whole empire was in arms;
Hungary, Austria, and Moravia had done homage to Matthias,
who was already on his march to Bohemia to seize the Emperor in his palace,
and to cut at once the sinews of his power.

Bohemia was not a more peaceable possession for Austria than Hungary;
with this difference only, that, in the latter, political considerations,
in the former, religious dissensions, fomented disorders.
In Bohemia, a century before the days of Luther, the first spark
of the religious war had been kindled; a century after Luther,
the first flames of the thirty years' war burst out in Bohemia.
The sect which owed its rise to John Huss, still existed in that country; --
it agreed with the Romish Church in ceremonies and doctrines,
with the single exception of the administration of the Communion,
in which the Hussites communicated in both kinds.  This privilege
had been conceded to the followers of Huss by the Council of Basle,
in an express treaty, (the Bohemian Compact); and though it was afterwards
disavowed by the popes, they nevertheless continued to profit by it
under the sanction of the government.  As the use of the cup
formed the only important distinction of their body,
they were usually designated by the name of Utraquists;
and they readily adopted an appellation which reminded them
of their dearly valued privilege.  But under this title lurked also
the far stricter sects of the Bohemian and Moravian Brethren,
who differed from the predominant church in more important particulars,
and bore, in fact, a great resemblance to the German Protestants.
Among them both, the German and Swiss opinions on religion
made rapid progress; while the name of Utraquists, under which they managed
to disguise the change of their principles, shielded them from persecution.

In truth, they had nothing in common with the Utraquists but the name;
essentially, they were altogether Protestant.  Confident in the strength
of their party, and the Emperor's toleration under Maximilian,
they had openly avowed their tenets.  After the example of the Germans,
they drew up a Confession of their own, in which Lutherans
as well as Calvinists recognized their own doctrines, and they sought
to transfer to the new Confession the privileges of the original Utraquists.
In this they were opposed by their Roman Catholic countrymen,
and forced to rest content with the Emperor's verbal assurance of protection.

As long as Maximilian lived, they enjoyed complete toleration, even under
the new form they had taken.  Under his successor the scene changed.
An imperial edict appeared, which deprived the Bohemian Brethren
of their religious freedom.  Now these differed in nothing
from the other Utraquists.  The sentence, therefore, of their condemnation,
obviously included all the partisans of the Bohemian Confession.
Accordingly, they all combined to oppose the imperial mandate in the Diet,
but without being able to procure its revocation.
The Emperor and the Roman Catholic Estates took their ground
on the Compact and the Bohemian Constitution; in which nothing appeared
in favour of a religion which had not then obtained the voice of the country.
Since that time, how completely had affairs changed!
What then formed but an inconsiderable opinion, had now become
the predominant religion of the country.  And what was it then,
but a subterfuge to limit a newly spreading religion by the terms
of obsolete treaties?  The Bohemian Protestants appealed to
the verbal guarantee of Maximilian, and the religious freedom of the Germans,
with whom they argued they ought to be on a footing of equality.
It was in vain -- their appeal was dismissed.

Such was the posture of affairs in Bohemia, when Matthias,
already master of Hungary, Austria, and Moravia, appeared in Kolin,
to raise the Bohemian Estates also against the Emperor.
The embarrassment of the latter was now at its height.  Abandoned by
all his other subjects, he placed his last hopes on the Bohemians,
who, it might be foreseen, would take advantage of his necessities
to enforce their own demands.  After an interval of many years,
he once more appeared publicly in the Diet at Prague;
and to convince the people that he was really still in existence,
orders were given that all the windows should be opened in the streets
through which he was to pass -- proof enough how far things had gone with him.
The event justified his fears.  The Estates, conscious of their own power,
refused to take a single step until their privileges were confirmed,
and religious toleration fully assured to them.  It was in vain
to have recourse now to the old system of evasion.  The Emperor's fate
was in their hands, and he must yield to necessity.  At present, however,
he only granted their other demands -- religious matters he reserved
for consideration at the next Diet.

The Bohemians now took up arms in defence of the Emperor, and a bloody war
between the two brothers was on the point of breaking out.  But Rodolph,
who feared nothing so much as remaining in this slavish dependence
on the Estates, waited not for a warlike issue, but hastened to effect
a reconciliation with his brother by more peaceable means.
By a formal act of abdication he resigned to Matthias, what indeed
he had no chance of wresting from him, Austria and the kingdom of Hungary,
and acknowledged him as his successor to the crown of Bohemia.

Dearly enough had the Emperor extricated himself from one difficulty,
only to get immediately involved in another.  The settlement of
the religious affairs of Bohemia had been referred to the next Diet,
which was held in 1609.  The reformed Bohemians demanded the free exercise
of their faith, as under the former emperors; a Consistory of their own;
the cession of the University of Prague; and the right of electing
`Defenders', or `Protectors' of `Liberty', from their own body.
The answer was the same as before; for the timid Emperor was now
entirely fettered by the unreformed party.  However often,
and in however threatening language the Estates renewed their remonstrances,
the Emperor persisted in his first declaration of granting nothing
beyond the old compact.  The Diet broke up without coming to a decision;
and the Estates, exasperated against the Emperor, arranged a general meeting
at Prague, upon their own authority, to right themselves.

They appeared at Prague in great force.  In defiance of
the imperial prohibition, they carried on their deliberations
almost under the very eyes of the Emperor.  The yielding compliance
which he began to show, only proved how much they were feared,
and increased their audacity.  Yet on the main point he remained inflexible.
They fulfilled their threats, and at last resolved to establish,
by their own power, the free and universal exercise of their religion,
and to abandon the Emperor to his necessities until he should confirm
this resolution.  They even went farther, and elected for themselves
the DEFENDERS which the Emperor had refused them.  Ten were nominated
by each of the three Estates; they also determined to raise,
as soon as possible, an armed force, at the head of which Count Thurn,
the chief organizer of the revolt, should be placed as general defender
of the liberties of Bohemia.  Their determination brought the Emperor
to submission, to which he was now counselled even by the Spaniards.
Apprehensive lest the exasperated Estates should throw themselves
into the arms of the King of Hungary, he signed the memorable
Letter of Majesty for Bohemia, by which, under the successors of the Emperor,
that people justified their rebellion.

The Bohemian Confession, which the States had laid before
the Emperor Maximilian, was, by the Letter of Majesty,
placed on a footing of equality with the olden profession.  The Utraquists,
for by this title the Bohemian Protestants continued to designate themselves,
were put in possession of the University of Prague, and allowed a Consistory
of their own, entirely independent of the archiepiscopal see of that city.
All the churches in the cities, villages, and market towns,
which they held at the date of the letter, were secured to them;
and if in addition they wished to erect others, it was permitted
to the nobles, and knights, and the free cities to do so.  This last clause
in the Letter of Majesty gave rise to the unfortunate disputes
which subsequently rekindled the flames of war in Europe.

The Letter of Majesty erected the Protestant part of Bohemia
into a kind of republic.  The Estates had learned to feel the power
which they gained by perseverance, unity, and harmony in their measures.
The Emperor now retained little more than the shadow of
his sovereign authority; while by the new dignity of the so-called
defenders of liberty, a dangerous stimulus was given to the spirit of revolt.
The example and success of Bohemia afforded a tempting seduction
to the other hereditary dominions of Austria, and all attempted
by similar means to extort similar privileges.  The spirit of liberty spread
from one province to another; and as it was chiefly the disunion
among the Austrian princes that had enabled the Protestants so materially
to improve their advantages, they now hastened to effect a reconciliation
between the Emperor and the King of Hungary.

But the reconciliation could not be sincere.  The wrong was too great
to be forgiven, and Rodolph continued to nourish at heart
an unextinguishable hatred of Matthias.  With grief and indignation
he brooded over the thought, that the Bohemian sceptre was finally to descend
into the hands of his enemy; and the prospect was not more consoling,
even if Matthias should die without issue.  In that case, Ferdinand,
Archduke of Graetz, whom he equally disliked, was the head of the family.
To exclude the latter as well as Matthias from the succession to the throne
of Bohemia, he fell upon the project of diverting that inheritance
to Ferdinand's brother, the Archduke Leopold, Bishop of Passau,
who among all his relatives had ever been the dearest and most deserving.
The prejudices of the Bohemians in favour of the elective freedom
of their crown, and their attachment to Leopold's person,
seemed to favour this scheme, in which Rodolph consulted rather
his own partiality and vindictiveness than the good of his house.
But to carry out this project, a military force was requisite,
and Rodolph actually assembled an army in the bishopric of Passau.
The object of this force was hidden from all.  An inroad, however,
which, for want of pay it made suddenly and without the Emperor's knowledge
into Bohemia, and the outrages which it there committed,
stirred up the whole kingdom against him.  In vain he asserted his innocence
to the Bohemian Estates; they would not believe his protestations;
vainly did he attempt to restrain the violence of his soldiery;
they disregarded his orders.  Persuaded that the Emperor's object
was to annul the Letter of Majesty, the Protectors of Liberty
armed the whole of Protestant Bohemia, and invited Matthias into the country.
After the dispersion of the force he had collected at Passau, the Emperor
remained helpless at Prague, where he was kept shut up like a prisoner
in his palace, and separated from all his councillors.  In the meantime,
Matthias entered Prague amidst universal rejoicings, where Rodolph
was soon afterwards weak enough to acknowledge him King of Bohemia.
So hard a fate befell this Emperor; he was compelled, during his life,
to abdicate in favour of his enemy that very throne, of which he had been
endeavouring to deprive him after his own death.  To complete his degradation,
he was obliged, by a personal act of renunciation, to release his subjects
in Bohemia, Silesia, and Lusatia from their allegiance, and he did it
with a broken heart.  All, even those he thought he had most attached
to his person, had abandoned him.  When he had signed the instrument,
he threw his hat upon the ground, and gnawed the pen which had rendered
so shameful a service.

While Rodolph thus lost one hereditary dominion after another,
the imperial dignity was not much better maintained by him.
Each of the religious parties into which Germany was divided,
continued its efforts to advance itself at the expense of the other,
or to guard against its attacks.  The weaker the hand that held the sceptre,
and the more the Protestants and Roman Catholics felt they were left
to themselves, the more vigilant necessarily became their watchfulness,
and the greater their distrust of each other.  It was enough that the Emperor
was ruled by Jesuits, and was guided by Spanish counsels, to excite
the apprehension of the Protestants, and to afford a pretext for hostility.
The rash zeal of the Jesuits, which in the pulpit and by the press
disputed the validity of the religious peace, increased this distrust,
and caused their adversaries to see a dangerous design
in the most indifferent measures of the Roman Catholics.
Every step taken in the hereditary dominions of the Emperor,
for the repression of the reformed religion, was sure to draw the attention
of all the Protestants of Germany; and this powerful support
which the reformed subjects of Austria met, or expected to meet with
from their religious confederates in the rest of Germany,
was no small cause of their confidence, and of the rapid success of Matthias.
It was the general belief of the Empire, that they owed
the long enjoyment of the religious peace merely to the difficulties
in which the Emperor was placed by the internal troubles in his dominions,
and consequently they were in no haste to relieve him from them.

Almost all the affairs of the Diet were neglected,
either through the procrastination of the Emperor, or through the fault
of the Protestant Estates, who had determined to make no provision
for the common wants of the Empire till their own grievances were removed.
These grievances related principally to the misgovernment of the Emperor;
the violation of the religious treaty, and the presumptuous usurpations
of the Aulic Council, which in the present reign had begun to extend
its jurisdiction at the expense of the Imperial Chamber.  Formerly,
in all disputes between the Estates, which could not be settled by club law,
the Emperors had in the last resort decided of themselves,
if the case were trifling, and in conjunction with the princes,
if it were important; or they determined them by the advice of imperial judges
who followed the court.  This superior jurisdiction they had, in the end
of the fifteenth century, assigned to a regular and permanent tribunal,
the Imperial Chamber of Spires, in which the Estates of the Empire,
that they might not be oppressed by the arbitrary appointment of the Emperor,
had reserved to themselves the right of electing the assessors,
and of periodically reviewing its decrees.  By the religious peace,
these rights of the Estates, (called the rights of presentation
and visitation,) were extended also to the Lutherans,
so that Protestant judges had a voice in Protestant causes,
and a seeming equality obtained for both religions in this supreme tribunal.

But the enemies of the Reformation and of the freedom of the Estates,
vigilant to take advantage of every incident that favoured their views,
soon found means to neutralize the beneficial effects of this institution.
A supreme jurisdiction over the Imperial States was gradually and skilfully
usurped by a private imperial tribunal, the Aulic Council in Vienna,
a court at first intended merely to advise the Emperor in the exercise
of his undoubted, imperial, and personal prerogatives; a court,
whose members being appointed and paid by him, had no law but the interest
of their master, and no standard of equity but the advancement of
the unreformed religion of which they were partisans.
Before the Aulic Council were now brought several suits originating between
Estates differing in religion, and which, therefore, properly belonged to
the Imperial Chamber.  It was not surprising if the decrees of this tribunal
bore traces of their origin; if the interests of the Roman Church
and of the Emperor were preferred to justice by Roman Catholic judges,
and the creatures of the Emperor.  Although all the Estates of Germany
seemed to have equal cause for resisting so perilous an abuse,
the Protestants alone, who most sensibly felt it, and even these not all
at once and in a body, came forward as the defenders of German liberty,
which the establishment of so arbitrary a tribunal had outraged
in its most sacred point, the administration of justice.  In fact,
Germany would have had little cause to congratulate itself upon
the abolition of club-law, and in the institution of the Imperial Chamber,
if an arbitrary tribunal of the Emperor was allowed to interfere with
the latter.  The Estates of the German Empire would indeed
have improved little upon the days of barbarism, if the Chamber of Justice
in which they sat along with the Emperor as judges, and for which
they had abandoned their original princely prerogative, should cease to be
a court of the last resort.  But the strangest contradictions
were at this date to be found in the minds of men.  The name of Emperor,
a remnant of Roman despotism, was still associated with an idea of autocracy,
which, though it formed a ridiculous inconsistency with
the privileges of the Estates, was nevertheless argued for by jurists,
diffused by the partisans of despotism, and believed by the ignorant.

To these general grievances was gradually added a chain of singular incidents,
which at length converted the anxiety of the Protestants into utter distrust.
During the Spanish persecutions in the Netherlands,
several Protestant families had taken refuge in Aix-la-Chapelle,
an imperial city, and attached to the Roman Catholic faith,
where they settled and insensibly extended their adherents.
Having succeeded by stratagem in introducing some of their members
into the municipal council, they demanded a church and the public exercise
of their worship, and the demand being unfavourably received, they succeeded
by violence in enforcing it, and also in usurping the entire government
of the city.  To see so important a city in Protestant hands
was too heavy a blow for the Emperor and the Roman Catholics.
After all the Emperor's requests and commands for the restoration
of the olden government had proved ineffectual, the Aulic Council
proclaimed the city under the ban of the Empire, which, however,
was not put in force till the following reign.

Of yet greater importance were two other attempts of the Protestants
to extend their influence and their power.  The Elector Gebhard, of Cologne,
(born Truchsess* of Waldburg,) conceived for the young Countess Agnes,
of Mansfield, Canoness of Gerresheim, a passion which was not unreturned.
As the eyes of all Germany were directed to this intercourse,
the brothers of the Countess, two zealous Calvinists,
demanded satisfaction for the injured honour of their house, which,
as long as the elector remained a Roman Catholic prelate,
could not be repaired by marriage.  They threatened the elector
they would wash out this stain in his blood and their sister's,
unless he either abandoned all further connexion with the countess,
or consented to re-establish her reputation at the altar.
The elector, indifferent to all the consequences of this step,
listened to nothing but the voice of love.  Whether it was
in consequence of his previous inclination to the reformed doctrines,
or that the charms of his mistress alone effected this wonder, he renounced
the Roman Catholic faith, and led the beautiful Agnes to the altar.

* Grand-master of the kitchen.

This event was of the greatest importance.  By the letter of the clause
reserving the ecclesiastical states from the general operation
of the religious peace, the elector had, by his apostacy,
forfeited all right to the temporalities of his bishopric;
and if, in any case, it was important for the Catholics to enforce the clause,
it was so especially in the case of electorates.  On the other hand,
the relinquishment of so high a dignity was a severe sacrifice,
and peculiarly so in the case of a tender husband, who had wished to enhance
the value of his heart and hand by the gift of a principality.
Moreover, the Reservatum Ecclesiasticum was a disputed article
of the treaty of Augsburg; and all the German Protestants were aware
of the extreme importance of wresting this fourth* electorate
from the opponents of their faith.  The example had already been set
in several of the ecclesiastical benefices of Lower Germany,
and attended with success.  Several canons of Cologne had also
already embraced the Protestant confession, and were on the elector's side,
while, in the city itself, he could depend upon the support
of a numerous Protestant party.  All these considerations,
greatly strengthened by the persuasions of his friends and relations,
and the promises of several German courts, determined the elector
to retain his dominions, while he changed his religion.

* Saxony, Brandenburg, and the Palatinate were already Protestant.

But it was soon apparent that he had entered upon a contest which he
could not carry through.  Even the free toleration of the Protestant service
within the territories of Cologne, had already occasioned a violent opposition
on the part of the canons and Roman Catholic `Estates' of that province.
The intervention of the Emperor, and a papal ban from Rome,
which anathematized the elector as an apostate, and deprived him of all
his dignities, temporal and spiritual, armed his own subjects and chapter
against him.  The Elector assembled a military force;
the chapter did the same.  To ensure also the aid of a strong arm,
they proceeded forthwith to a new election, and chose the Bishop of Liege,
a prince of Bavaria.

A civil war now commenced, which, from the strong interest
which both religious parties in Germany necessarily felt in the conjuncture,
was likely to terminate in a general breaking up of the religious peace.
What most made the Protestants indignant, was that the Pope
should have presumed, by a pretended apostolic power, to deprive
a prince of the empire of his imperial dignities.  Even in the golden days
of their spiritual domination, this prerogative of the Pope had been disputed;
how much more likely was it to be questioned at a period when his authority
was entirely disowned by one party, while even with the other it rested
on a tottering foundation.  All the Protestant princes took up the affair
warmly against the Emperor; and Henry IV. of France, then King of Navarre,
left no means of negotiation untried to urge the German princes
to the vigorous assertion of their rights.  The issue would decide for ever
the liberties of Germany.  Four Protestant against three Roman Catholic voices
in the Electoral College must at once have given the preponderance
to the former, and for ever excluded the House of Austria
from the imperial throne.

But the Elector Gebhard had embraced the Calvinist, not the Lutheran religion;
and this circumstance alone was his ruin.  The mutual rancour
of these two churches would not permit the Lutheran Estates
to regard the Elector as one of their party, and as such to lend him their
effectual support.  All indeed had encouraged, and promised him assistance;
but only one appanaged prince of the Palatine House,
the Palsgrave John Casimir, a zealous Calvinist, kept his word.
Despite of the imperial prohibition, he hastened with his little army
into the territories of Cologne; but without being able to effect any thing,
because the Elector, who was destitute even of the first necessaries,
left him totally without help.  So much the more rapid was the progress
of the newly-chosen elector, whom his Bavarian relations and the Spaniards
from the Netherlands supported with the utmost vigour.  The troops of Gebhard,
left by their master without pay, abandoned one place after another
to the enemy; by whom others were compelled to surrender.
In his Westphalian territories, Gebhard held out for some time longer,
till here, too, he was at last obliged to yield to superior force.
After several vain attempts in Holland and England to obtain means
for his restoration, he retired into the Chapter of Strasburg, and died dean
of that cathedral; the first sacrifice to the Ecclesiastical Reservation,
or rather to the want of harmony among the German Protestants.

To this dispute in Cologne was soon added another in Strasburg.
Several Protestant canons of Cologne, who had been included in
the same papal ban with the elector, had taken refuge within this bishopric,
where they likewise held prebends.  As the Roman Catholic canons of Strasburg
hesitated to allow them, as being under the ban, the enjoyment
of their prebends, they took violent possession of their benefices,
and the support of a powerful Protestant party among the citizens
soon gave them the preponderance in the chapter.  The other canons thereupon
retired to Alsace-Saverne, where, under the protection of the bishop,
they established themselves as the only lawful chapter,
and denounced that which remained in Strasburg as illegal.  The latter,
in the meantime, had so strengthened themselves by the reception
of several Protestant colleagues of high rank, that they could venture,
upon the death of the bishop, to nominate a new Protestant bishop
in the person of John George of Brandenburg.  The Roman Catholic canons,
far from allowing this election, nominated the Bishop of Metz,
a prince of Lorraine, to that dignity, who announced his promotion
by immediately commencing hostilities against the territories of Strasburg.

That city now took up arms in defence of its Protestant chapter
and the Prince of Brandenburg, while the other party, with the assistance
of the troops of Lorraine, endeavoured to possess themselves
of the temporalities of the chapter.  A tedious war was the consequence,
which, according to the spirit of the times, was attended with
barbarous devastations.  In vain did the Emperor interpose with
his supreme authority to terminate the dispute; the ecclesiastical property
remained for a long time divided between the two parties,
till at last the Protestant prince, for a moderate pecuniary equivalent,
renounced his claims; and thus, in this dispute also, the Roman Church
came off victorious.

An occurrence which, soon after the adjustment of this dispute,
took place in Donauwerth, a free city of Suabia, was still more critical
for the whole of Protestant Germany.  In this once Roman Catholic city,
the Protestants, during the reigns of Ferdinand and his son,
had, in the usual way, become so completely predominant,
that the Roman Catholics were obliged to content themselves with a church
in the Monastery of the Holy Cross, and for fear of offending the Protestants,
were even forced to suppress the greater part of their religious rites.
At length a fanatical abbot of this monastery ventured to defy
the popular prejudices, and to arrange a public procession,
preceded by the cross and banners flying; but he was soon compelled
to desist from the attempt.  When, a year afterwards,
encouraged by a favourable imperial proclamation, the same abbot
attempted to renew this procession, the citizens proceeded to open violence.
The inhabitants shut the gates against the monks on their return,
trampled their colours under foot, and followed them home
with clamour and abuse.  An imperial citation was the consequence of this act
of violence; and as the exasperated populace even threatened to assault
the imperial commissaries, and all attempts at an amicable adjustment
were frustrated by the fanaticism of the multitude, the city was at last
formally placed under the ban of the Empire, the execution of which was
intrusted to Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria.  The citizens, formerly so insolent,
were seized with terror at the approach of the Bavarian army;
pusillanimity now possessed them, though once so full of defiance,
and they laid down their arms without striking a blow.
The total abolition of the Protestant religion within the walls of the city
was the punishment of their rebellion; it was deprived of its privileges,
and, from a free city of Suabia, converted into a municipal town of Bavaria.

Two circumstances connected with this proceeding must have strongly excited
the attention of the Protestants, even if the interests of religion had been
less powerful on their minds.  First of all, the sentence had been pronounced
by the Aulic Council, an arbitrary and exclusively Roman Catholic tribunal,
whose jurisdiction besides had been so warmly disputed by them;
and secondly, its execution had been intrusted to the Duke of Bavaria,
the head of another circle.  These unconstitutional steps seemed to be
the harbingers of further violent measures on the Roman Catholic side,
the result, probably, of secret conferences and dangerous designs,
which might perhaps end in the entire subversion of their religious liberty.

In circumstances where the law of force prevails, and security depends
upon power alone, the weakest party is naturally the most busy to place itself
in a posture of defence.  This was now the case in Germany.
If the Roman Catholics really meditated any evil against the Protestants
in Germany, the probability was that the blow would fall on the south
rather than the north, because, in Lower Germany, the Protestants
were connected together through a long unbroken tract of country,
and could therefore easily combine for their mutual support;
while those in the south, detached from each other,
and surrounded on all sides by Roman Catholic states,
were exposed to every inroad.  If, moreover, as was to be expected,
the Catholics availed themselves of the divisions amongst the Protestants,
and levelled their attack against one of the religious parties,
it was the Calvinists who, as the weaker, and as being besides
excluded from the religious treaty, were apparently in the greatest danger,
and upon them would probably fall the first attack.

Both these circumstances took place in the dominions of the Elector Palatine,
which possessed, in the Duke of Bavaria, a formidable neighbour, and which,
by reason of their defection to Calvinism, received no protection from
the Religious Peace, and had little hope of succour from the Lutheran states.
No country in Germany had experienced so many revolutions in religion
in so short a time as the Palatinate.  In the space of sixty years
this country, an unfortunate toy in the hands of its rulers, had twice adopted
the doctrines of Luther, and twice relinquished them for Calvinism.
The Elector Frederick III. first abandoned the confession of Augsburg,
which his eldest son and successor, Lewis, immediately re-established.
The Calvinists throughout the whole country were deprived of their churches,
their preachers and even their teachers banished beyond the frontiers;
while the prince, in his Lutheran zeal, persecuted them even in his will,
by appointing none but strict and orthodox Lutherans as the guardians
of his son, a minor.  But this illegal testament was disregarded
by his brother the Count Palatine, John Casimir, who, by the regulations
of the Golden Bull, assumed the guardianship and administration of the state.
Calvinistic teachers were given to the Elector Frederick IV.,
then only nine years of age, who were ordered, if necessary,
to drive the Lutheran heresy out of the soul of their pupil with blows.
If such was the treatment of the sovereign, that of the subjects
may be easily conceived.

It was under this Frederick that the Palatine Court exerted itself
so vigorously to unite the Protestant states of Germany in joint measures
against the House of Austria, and, if possible, bring about the formation
of a general confederacy.  Besides that this court had always been guided
by the counsels of France, with whom hatred of the House of Austria
was the ruling principle, a regard for his own safety urged him
to secure in time the doubtful assistance of the Lutherans
against a near and overwhelming enemy.  Great difficulties, however,
opposed this union, because the Lutherans' dislike of the Reformed
was scarcely less than the common aversion of both to the Romanists.
An attempt was first made to reconcile the two professions,
in order to facilitate a political union; but all these attempts failed,
and generally ended in both parties adhering the more strongly
to their respective opinions.  Nothing then remained but to increase
the fear and the distrust of the Evangelicals, and in this way
to impress upon them the necessity of this alliance.
The power of the Roman Catholics and the magnitude of the danger
were exaggerated, accidental incidents were ascribed to deliberate plans,
innocent actions misrepresented by invidious constructions,
and the whole conduct of the professors of the olden religion
was interpreted as the result of a well-weighed and systematic plan, which,
in all probability, they were very far from having concerted.

The Diet of Ratisbon, to which the Protestants had looked forward
with the hope of obtaining a renewal of the Religious Peace,
had broken up without coming to a decision, and to the former grievances
of the Protestant party was now added the late oppression of Donauwerth.
With incredible speed, the union, so long attempted, was now brought to bear.
A conference took place at Anhausen, in Franconia,
at which were present the Elector Frederick IV., from the Palatinate,
the Palsgrave of Neuburg, two Margraves of Brandenburg,
the Margrave of Baden, and the Duke John Frederick of Wirtemburg, --
Lutherans as well as Calvinists, -- who for themselves and their heirs
entered into a close confederacy under the title of the Evangelical Union.
The purport of this union was, that the allied princes should,
in all matters relating to religion and their civil rights,
support each other with arms and counsel against every aggressor,
and should all stand as one man; that in case any member of the alliance
should be attacked, he should be assisted by the rest with an armed force;
that, if necessary, the territories, towns, and castles of the allied states
should be open to his troops; and that, whatever conquests were made,
should be divided among all the confederates, in proportion to
the contingent furnished by each.

The direction of the whole confederacy in time of peace
was conferred upon the Elector Palatine, but with a limited power.
To meet the necessary expenses, subsidies were demanded,
and a common fund established.  Differences of religion
(betwixt the Lutherans and the Calvinists) were to have no effect
on this alliance, which was to subsist for ten years, every member
of the union engaged at the same time to procure new members to it.
The Electorate of Brandenburg adopted the alliance,
that of Saxony rejected it.  Hesse-Cashel could not be prevailed upon
to declare itself, the Dukes of Brunswick and Luneburg also hesitated.
But the three cities of the Empire, Strasburg, Nuremburg, and Ulm,
were no unimportant acquisition for the league, which was in great want
of their money, while their example, besides, might be followed
by other imperial cities.

After the formation of this alliance, the confederate states,
dispirited, and singly, little feared, adopted a bolder language.
Through Prince Christian of Anhalt, they laid their common
grievances and demands before the Emperor; among which the principal were
the restoration of Donauwerth, the abolition of the Imperial Court,
the reformation of the Emperor's own administration and that
of his counsellors.  For these remonstrances, they chose the moment
when the Emperor had scarcely recovered breath from the troubles
in his hereditary dominions, -- when he had lost Hungary and Austria
to Matthias, and had barely preserved his Bohemian throne
by the concession of the Letter of Majesty, and finally,
when through the succession of Juliers he was already threatened
with the distant prospect of a new war.  No wonder, then,
that this dilatory prince was more irresolute than ever in his decision,
and that the confederates took up arms before he could bethink himself.

The Roman Catholics regarded this confederacy with a jealous eye;
the Union viewed them and the Emperor with the like distrust;
the Emperor was equally suspicious of both; and thus, on all sides,
alarm and animosity had reached their climax.  And, as if to crown the whole,
at this critical conjuncture by the death of the Duke John William of Juliers,
a highly disputable succession became vacant in the territories
of Juliers and Cleves.

Eight competitors laid claim to this territory, the indivisibility of which
had been guaranteed by solemn treaties; and the Emperor, who seemed disposed
to enter upon it as a vacant fief, might be considered as the ninth.
Four of these, the Elector of Brandenburg, the Count Palatine of Neuburg,
the Count Palatine of Deux Ponts, and the Margrave of Burgau,
an Austrian prince, claimed it as a female fief in name of four princesses,
sisters of the late duke.  Two others, the Elector of Saxony,
of the line of Albert, and the Duke of Saxony, of the line of Ernest,
laid claim to it under a prior right of reversion granted to them
by the Emperor Frederick III., and confirmed to both Saxon houses by
Maximilian I.  The pretensions of some foreign princes were little regarded.
The best right was perhaps on the side of Brandenburg and Neuburg,
and between the claims of these two it was not easy to decide.  Both courts,
as soon as the succession was vacant, proceeded to take possession;
Brandenburg beginning, and Neuburg following the example.  Both commenced
their dispute with the pen, and would probably have ended it with the sword;
but the interference of the Emperor, by proceeding to bring the cause
before his own cognizance, and, during the progress of the suit,
sequestrating the disputed countries, soon brought the contending parties
to an agreement, in order to avert the common danger.
They agreed to govern the duchy conjointly.  In vain did the Emperor
prohibit the Estates from doing homage to their new masters;
in vain did he send his own relation, the Archduke Leopold,
Bishop of Passau and Strasburg, into the territory of Juliers, in order,
by his presence, to strengthen the imperial party.  The whole country,
with the exception of Juliers itself, had submitted to the Protestant princes,
and in that capital the imperialists were besieged.

The dispute about the succession of Juliers was an important one
to the whole German empire, and also attracted the attention
of several European courts.  It was not so much the question,
who was or was not to possess the Duchy of Juliers; -- the real question was,
which of the two religious parties in Germany, the Roman Catholic
or the Protestant, was to be strengthened by so important an accession --
for which of the two RELIGIONS this territory was to be lost or won.
The question in short was, whether Austria was to be allowed to persevere
in her usurpations, and to gratify her lust of dominion by another robbery;
or whether the liberties of Germany, and the balance of power,
were to be maintained against her encroachments.  The disputed succession
of Juliers, therefore, was matter which interested all who were favourable
to liberty, and hostile to Austria.  The Evangelical Union, Holland, England,
and particularly Henry IV. of France, were drawn into the strife.

This monarch, the flower of whose life had been spent in opposing
the House of Austria and Spain, and by persevering heroism alone
had surmounted the obstacles which this house had thrown between him
and the French throne, had been no idle spectator of the troubles in Germany.
This contest of the Estates with the Emperor was the means of giving
and securing peace to France.  The Protestants and the Turks
were the two salutary weights which kept down the Austrian power
in the East and West; but it would rise again in all its terrors,
if once it were allowed to remove this pressure.  Henry the Fourth
had before his eyes for half a lifetime, the uninterrupted spectacle
of Austrian ambition and Austrian lust of dominion, which neither adversity
nor poverty of talents, though generally they check all human passions,
could extinguish in a bosom wherein flowed one drop of the blood
of Ferdinand of Arragon.  Austrian ambition had destroyed for a century
the peace of Europe, and effected the most violent changes in the heart
of its most considerable states.  It had deprived the fields of husbandmen,
the workshops of artisans, to fill the land with enormous armies,
and to cover the commercial sea with hostile fleets.
It had imposed upon the princes of Europe the necessity
of fettering the industry of their subjects by unheard-of imposts;
and of wasting in self-defence the best strength of their states,
which was thus lost to the prosperity of their inhabitants.
For Europe there was no peace, for its states no welfare,
for the people's happiness no security or permanence,
so long as this dangerous house was permitted to disturb at pleasure
the repose of the world.

Such considerations clouded the mind of Henry at the close
of his glorious career.  What had it not cost him to reduce to order
the troubled chaos into which France had been plunged
by the tumult of civil war, fomented and supported by this very Austria!
Every great mind labours for eternity; and what security had Henry
for the endurance of that prosperity which he had gained for France,
so long as Austria and Spain formed a single power, which did indeed
lie exhausted for the present, but which required only one lucky chance
to be speedily re-united, and to spring up again as formidable as ever.
If he would bequeath to his successors a firmly established throne,
and a durable prosperity to his subjects, this dangerous power
must be for ever disarmed.  This was the source of that irreconcileable enmity
which Henry had sworn to the House of Austria, a hatred unextinguishable,
ardent, and well-founded as that of Hannibal against the people of Romulus,
but ennobled by a purer origin.

The other European powers had the same inducements to action as Henry,
but all of them had not that enlightened policy, nor that disinterested
courage to act upon the impulse.  All men, without distinction,
are allured by immediate advantages; great minds alone are excited
by distant good.  So long as wisdom in its projects calculates upon wisdom,
or relies upon its own strength, it forms none but chimerical schemes,
and runs a risk of making itself the laughter of the world;
but it is certain of success, and may reckon upon aid and admiration
when it finds a place in its intellectual plans for barbarism, rapacity,
and superstition, and can render the selfish passions of mankind
the executors of its purposes.

In the first point of view, Henry's well-known project of expelling
the House of Austria from all its possessions, and dividing the spoil
among the European powers, deserves the title of a chimera,
which men have so liberally bestowed upon it; but did it merit
that appellation in the second?  It had never entered into the head
of that excellent monarch, in the choice of those who must be
the instruments of his designs, to reckon on the sufficiency of such motives
as animated himself and Sully to the enterprise.  All the states
whose co-operation was necessary, were to be persuaded to the work
by the strongest motives that can set a political power in action.
From the Protestants in Germany nothing more was required than that which,
on other grounds, had been long their object, -- their throwing off
the Austrian yoke; from the Flemings, a similar revolt from the Spaniards.
To the Pope and all the Italian republics no inducement could be more powerful
than the hope of driving the Spaniards for ever from their peninsula;
for England, nothing more desirable than a revolution which should free it
from its bitterest enemy.  By this division of the Austrian conquests,
every power gained either land or freedom, new possessions or security
for the old; and as all gained, the balance of power remained undisturbed.
France might magnanimously decline a share in the spoil,
because by the ruin of Austria it doubly profited, and was most powerful
if it did not become more powerful.  Finally, upon condition of ridding Europe
of their presence, the posterity of Hapsburg were to be allowed
the liberty of augmenting her territories in all the other known
or yet undiscovered portions of the globe.  But the dagger of Ravaillac
delivered Austria from her danger, to postpone for some centuries longer
the tranquillity of Europe.

With his view directed to this project, Henry felt the necessity of taking
a prompt and active part in the important events of the Evangelical Union,
and the disputed succession of Juliers.  His emissaries were busy
in all the courts of Germany, and the little which they published
or allowed to escape of the great political secrets of their master,
was sufficient to win over minds inflamed by so ardent a hatred to Austria,
and by so strong a desire of aggrandizement.  The prudent policy of Henry
cemented the Union still more closely, and the powerful aid
which he bound himself to furnish, raised the courage of the confederates
into the firmest confidence.  A numerous French army,
led by the king in person, was to meet the troops of the Union
on the banks of the Rhine, and to assist in effecting the conquest
of Juliers and Cleves; then, in conjunction with the Germans,
it was to march into Italy, (where Savoy, Venice, and the Pope were even now
ready with a powerful reinforcement,) and to overthrow the Spanish dominion
in that quarter.  This victorious army was then to penetrate by Lombardy
into the hereditary dominions of Hapsburg; and there, favoured by
a general insurrection of the Protestants, destroy the power of Austria
in all its German territories, in Bohemia, Hungary, and Transylvania.
The Brabanters and Hollanders, supported by French auxiliaries,
would in the meantime shake off the Spanish tyranny in the Netherlands;
and thus the mighty stream which, only a short time before,
had so fearfully overflowed its banks, threatening to overwhelm
in its troubled waters the liberties of Europe, would then roll
silent and forgotten behind the Pyrenean mountains.

At other times, the French had boasted of their rapidity of action,
but upon this occasion they were outstripped by the Germans.
An army of the confederates entered Alsace before Henry made
his appearance there, and an Austrian army, which the Bishop
of Strasburg and Passau had assembled in that quarter for an expedition
against Juliers, was dispersed.  Henry IV. had formed his plan
as a statesman and a king, but he had intrusted its execution to plunderers.
According to his design, no Roman Catholic state was to have cause to think
this preparation aimed against itself, or to make the quarrel of Austria
its own.  Religion was in nowise to be mixed up with the matter.
But how could the German princes forget their own purposes
in furthering the plans of Henry?  Actuated as they were
by the desire of aggrandizement and by religious hatred, was it to be supposed
that they would not gratify, in every passing opportunity,
their ruling passions to the utmost?  Like vultures,
they stooped upon the territories of the ecclesiastical princes,
and always chose those rich countries for their quarters, though to reach them
they must make ever so wide a detour from their direct route.
They levied contributions as in an enemy's country, seized upon the revenues,
and exacted, by violence, what they could not obtain of free-will.
Not to leave the Roman Catholics in doubt as to the true objects
of their expedition, they announced, openly and intelligibly enough,
the fate that awaited the property of the church.  So little had Henry IV.
and the German princes understood each other in their plan of operations,
so much had the excellent king been mistaken in his instruments.
It is an unfailing maxim, that, if policy enjoins an act of violence,
its execution ought never to be entrusted to the violent;
and that he only ought to be trusted with the violation of order
by whom order is held sacred.

Both the past conduct of the Union, which was condemned even by several
of the evangelical states, and the apprehension of even worse treatment,
aroused the Roman Catholics to something beyond mere inactive indignation.
As to the Emperor, his authority had sunk too low to afford them any security
against such an enemy.  It was their Union that rendered the confederates
so formidable and so insolent; and another union must now be opposed to them.

The Bishop of Wurtzburg formed the plan of the Catholic union,
which was distinguished from the evangelical by the title of the League.
The objects agreed upon were nearly the same as those which constituted
the groundwork of the Union.  Bishops formed its principal members,
and at its head was placed Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria.
As the only influential secular member of the confederacy,
he was entrusted with far more extensive powers than the Protestants
had committed to their chief.  In addition to the duke's being
the sole head of the League's military power, whereby their operations
acquired a speed and weight unattainable by the Union,
they had also the advantage that supplies flowed in much more regularly
from the rich prelates, than the latter could obtain them from
the poor evangelical states.  Without offering to the Emperor,
as the sovereign of a Roman Catholic state, any share in their confederacy,
without even communicating its existence to him as emperor,
the League arose at once formidable and threatening; with strength sufficient
to crush the Protestant Union and to maintain itself under three emperors.
It contended, indeed, for Austria, in so far as it fought against
the Protestant princes; but Austria herself had soon cause
to tremble before it.

The arms of the Union had, in the meantime, been tolerably successful
in Juliers and in Alsace; Juliers was closely blockaded,
and the whole bishopric of Strasburg was in their power.
But here their splendid achievements came to an end.  No French army
appeared upon the Rhine; for he who was to be its leader,
he who was the animating soul of the whole enterprize, Henry IV., was no more!
Their supplies were on the wane; the Estates refused to grant new subsidies;
and the confederate free cities were offended that their money
should be liberally, but their advice so sparingly called for.
Especially were they displeased at being put to expense
for the expedition against Juliers, which had been expressly excluded from
the affairs of the Union -- at the united princes appropriating to themselves
large pensions out of the common treasure -- and, above all,
at their refusing to give any account of its expenditure.

The Union was thus verging to its fall, at the moment when the League
started to oppose it in the vigour of its strength.  Want of supplies
disabled the confederates from any longer keeping the field.
And yet it was dangerous to lay down their weapons in the sight
of an armed enemy.  To secure themselves at least on one side,
they hastened to conclude a peace with their old enemy, the Archduke Leopold;
and both parties agreed to withdraw their troops from Alsace,
to exchange prisoners, and to bury all that had been done in oblivion.
Thus ended in nothing all these promising preparations.

The same imperious tone with which the Union, in the confidence
of its strength, had menaced the Roman Catholics of Germany,
was now retorted by the League upon themselves and their troops.
The traces of their march were pointed out to them, and plainly branded
with the hard epithets they had deserved.  The chapters of Wurtzburg,
Bamberg, Strasburg, Mentz, Treves, Cologne, and several others,
had experienced their destructive presence; to all these the damage done
was to be made good, the free passage by land and by water restored,
(for the Protestants had even seized on the navigation of the Rhine,)
and everything replaced on its former footing.  Above all,
the parties to the Union were called on to declare expressly and unequivocally
its intentions.  It was now their turn to yield to superior strength.
They had not calculated on so formidable an opponent; but they themselves
had taught the Roman Catholics the secret of their strength.
It was humiliating to their pride to sue for peace,
but they might think themselves fortunate in obtaining it.
The one party promised restitution, the other forgiveness.
All laid down their arms.  The storm of war once more rolled by,
and a temporary calm succeeded.  The insurrection in Bohemia then broke out,
which deprived the Emperor of the last of his hereditary dominions,
but in this dispute neither the Union nor the League took any share.

At length the Emperor died in 1612, as little regretted in his coffin
as noticed on the throne.  Long afterwards, when the miseries
of succeeding reigns had made the misfortunes of his reign forgotten,
a halo spread about his memory, and so fearful a night set in upon Germany,
that, with tears of blood, people prayed for the return of such an emperor.

Rodolph never could be prevailed upon to choose a successor in the empire,
and all awaited with anxiety the approaching vacancy of the throne;
but, beyond all hope, Matthias at once ascended it, and without opposition.
The Roman Catholics gave him their voices, because they hoped the best
from his vigour and activity; the Protestants gave him theirs,
because they hoped every thing from his weakness.  It is not difficult
to reconcile this contradiction.  The one relied on what he had once appeared;
the other judged him by what he seemed at present.

The moment of a new accession is always a day of hope; and the first Diet
of a king in elective monarchies is usually his severest trial.
Every old grievance is brought forward, and new ones are sought out,
that they may be included in the expected reform; quite a new world
is expected to commence with the new reign.  The important services which,
in his insurrection, their religious confederates in Austria had rendered
to Matthias, were still fresh in the minds of the Protestant free cities,
and, above all, the price which they had exacted for their services
seemed now to serve them also as a model.

It was by the favour of the Protestant Estates in Austria and Moravia
that Matthias had sought and really found the way to his brother's throne;
but, hurried on by his ambitious views, he never reflected
that a way was thus opened for the States to give laws to their sovereign.
This discovery soon awoke him from the intoxication of success.
Scarcely had he shown himself in triumph to his Austrian subjects,
after his victorious expedition to Bohemia, when a humble petition awaited him
which was quite sufficient to poison his whole triumph.
They required, before doing homage, unlimited religious toleration
in the cities and market towns, perfect equality of rights
between Roman Catholics and Protestants, and a full and equal admissibility
of the latter to all offices of state.  In several places,
they of themselves assumed these privileges, and, reckoning on a change
of administration, restored the Protestant religion where the late Emperor
had suppressed it.  Matthias, it is true, had not scrupled to make use
of the grievances of the Protestants for his own ends against the Emperor;
but it was far from being his intention to relieve them.
By a firm and resolute tone he hoped to check, at once,
these presumptuous demands.  He spoke of his hereditary title
to these territories, and would hear of no stipulations
before the act of homage.  A like unconditional submission
had been rendered by their neighbours, the inhabitants of Styria,
to the Archduke Ferdinand, who, however, had soon reason to repent of it.
Warned by this example, the Austrian States persisted in their refusal;
and, to avoid being compelled by force to do homage, their deputies
(after urging their Roman Catholic colleagues to a similar resistance)
immediately left the capital, and began to levy troops.

They took steps to renew their old alliance with Hungary,
drew the Protestant princes into their interests, and set themselves
seriously to work to accomplish their object by force of arms.

With the more exorbitant demands of the Hungarians
Matthias had not hesitated to comply.  For Hungary was an elective monarchy,
and the republican constitution of the country justified to himself
their demands, and to the Roman Catholic world his concessions.  In Austria,
on the contrary, his predecessors had exercised far higher prerogatives,
which he could not relinquish at the demand of the Estates without incurring
the scorn of Roman Catholic Europe, the enmity of Spain and Rome,
and the contempt of his own Roman Catholic subjects.  His exclusively
Romish council, among which the Bishop of Vienna, Melchio Kiesel,
had the chief influence, exhorted him to see all the churches
extorted from him by the Protestants, rather than to concede one to them
as a matter of right.

But by ill luck this difficulty occurred at a time when the Emperor Rodolph
was yet alive, and a spectator of this scene, and who might easily
have been tempted to employ against his brother the same weapons
which the latter had successfully directed against him -- namely,
an understanding with his rebellious subjects.  To avoid this blow,
Matthias willingly availed himself of the offer made by Moravia,
to act as mediator between him and the Estates of Austria.
Representatives of both parties met in Vienna, when the Austrian deputies held
language which would have excited surprise even in the English Parliament.
"The Protestants," they said, "are determined to be not worse treated
in their native country than the handful of Romanists.  By the help
of his Protestant nobles had Matthias reduced the Emperor to submission;
where 80 Papists were to be found, 300 Protestant barons might be counted.
The example of Rodolph should be a warning to Matthias.  He should take care
that he did not lose the terrestrial, in attempting to make conquests
for the celestial."  As the Moravian States, instead of using their powers
as mediators for the Emperor's advantage, finally adopted the cause
of their co-religionists of Austria; as the Union in Germany came forward
to afford them its most active support, and as Matthias dreaded reprisals
on the part of the Emperor, he was at length compelled to make
the desired declaration in favour of the Evangelical Church.

This behaviour of the Austrian Estates towards their Archduke was now imitated
by the Protestant Estates of the Empire towards their Emperor,
and they promised themselves the same favourable results.  At his first Diet
at Ratisbon in 1613, when the most pressing affairs were waiting for decision
-- when a general contribution was indispensable for a war against Turkey,
and against Bethlem Gabor in Transylvania, who by Turkish aid had
forcibly usurped the sovereignty of that land, and even threatened Hungary --
they surprised him with an entirely new demand.  The Roman Catholic votes
were still the most numerous in the Diet; and as every thing was decided
by a plurality of voices, the Protestant party, however closely united,
were entirely without consideration.  The advantage of this majority
the Roman Catholics were now called on to relinquish;
henceforward no one religious party was to be permitted to dictate
to the other by means of its invariable superiority.  And in truth,
if the evangelical religion was really to be represented in the Diet,
it was self-evident that it must not be shut out from the possibility of
making use of that privilege, merely from the constitution of the Diet itself.
Complaints of the judicial usurpations of the Aulic Council,
and of the oppression of the Protestants, accompanied this demand,
and the deputies of the Estates were instructed to take no part
in any general deliberations till a favourable answer should be given
on this preliminary point.

The Diet was torn asunder by this dangerous division,
which threatened to destroy for ever the unity of its deliberations.
Sincerely as the Emperor might have wished, after the example
of his father Maximilian, to preserve a prudent balance
between the two religions, the present conduct of the Protestants
seemed to leave him nothing but a critical choice between the two.
In his present necessities a general contribution from the Estates
was indispensable to him; and yet he could not conciliate the one party
without sacrificing the support of the other.  Insecure as he felt
his situation to be in his own hereditary dominions, he could not but tremble
at the idea, however remote, of an open war with the Protestants.
But the eyes of the whole Roman Catholic world, which were attentively
regarding his conduct, the remonstrances of the Roman Catholic Estates,
and of the Courts of Rome and Spain, as little permitted him
to favour the Protestant at the expense of the Romish religion.

So critical a situation would have paralysed a greater mind than Matthias;
and his own prudence would scarcely have extricated him from his dilemma.
But the interests of the Roman Catholics were closely interwoven
with the imperial authority; if they suffered this to fall,
the ecclesiastical princes in particular would be without a bulwark
against the attacks of the Protestants.  Now, then, that they saw
the Emperor wavering, they thought it high time to reassure
his sinking courage.  They imparted to him the secret of their League,
and acquainted him with its whole constitution, resources and power.
Little comforting as such a revelation must have been to the Emperor,
the prospect of so powerful a support gave him greater boldness
to oppose the Protestants.  Their demands were rejected, and the Diet broke up
without coming to a decision.  But Matthias was the victim of this dispute.
The Protestants refused him their supplies, and made him alone suffer
for the inflexibility of the Roman Catholics.

The Turks, however, appeared willing to prolong the cessation of hostilities,
and Bethlem Gabor was left in peaceable possession of Transylvania.
The empire was now free from foreign enemies; and even at home,
in the midst of all these fearful disputes, peace still reigned.
An unexpected accident had given a singular turn to the dispute
as to the succession of Juliers.  This duchy was still ruled conjointly
by the Electoral House of Brandenburg and the Palatine of Neuburg;
and a marriage between the Prince of Neuburg and a Princess of Brandenburg
was to have inseparably united the interests of the two houses.
But the whole scheme was upset by a box on the ear, which,
in a drunken brawl, the Elector of Brandenburg unfortunately inflicted
upon his intended son-in-law.  From this moment the good understanding
between the two houses was at an end.  The Prince of Neuburg embraced popery.
The hand of a princess of Bavaria rewarded his apostacy,
and the strong support of Bavaria and Spain was the natural result of both.
To secure to the Palatine the exclusive possession of Juliers,
the Spanish troops from the Netherlands were marched into the Palatinate.
To rid himself of these guests, the Elector of Brandenburg
called the Flemings to his assistance, whom he sought to propitiate
by embracing the Calvinist religion.  Both Spanish and Dutch armies appeared,
but, as it seemed, only to make conquests for themselves.

The neighbouring war of the Netherlands seemed now about to be decided
on German ground; and what an inexhaustible mine of combustibles
lay here ready for it!  The Protestants saw with consternation
the Spaniards establishing themselves upon the Lower Rhine;
with still greater anxiety did the Roman Catholics see the Hollanders
bursting through the frontiers of the empire.  It was in the west
that the mine was expected to explode which had long been dug
under the whole of Germany.  To the west, apprehension and anxiety turned;
but the spark which kindled the flame came unexpectedly from the east.

The tranquillity which Rodolph II.'s `Letter of Majesty' had established
in Bohemia lasted for some time, under the administration of Matthias,
till the nomination of a new heir to this kingdom in the person of
Ferdinand of Gratz.

This prince, whom we shall afterwards become better acquainted with
under the title of Ferdinand II., Emperor of Germany, had,
by the violent extirpation of the Protestant religion within his
hereditary dominions, announced himself as an inexorable zealot for popery,
and was consequently looked upon by the Roman Catholic part of Bohemia
as the future pillar of their church.  The declining health of the Emperor
brought on this hour rapidly; and, relying on so powerful a supporter,
the Bohemian Papists began to treat the Protestants with little moderation.
The Protestant vassals of Roman Catholic nobles, in particular,
experienced the harshest treatment.  At length several of the former
were incautious enough to speak somewhat loudly of their hopes,
and by threatening hints to awaken among the Protestants
a suspicion of their future sovereign.  But this mistrust would never have
broken out into actual violence, had the Roman Catholics confined themselves
to general expressions, and not by attacks on individuals
furnished the discontent of the people with enterprising leaders.

Henry Matthias, Count Thurn, not a native of Bohemia, but proprietor
of some estates in that kingdom, had, by his zeal for the Protestant cause,
and an enthusiastic attachment to his newly adopted country,
gained the entire confidence of the Utraquists, which opened him the way to
the most important posts.  He had fought with great glory against the Turks,
and won by a flattering address the hearts of the multitude.
Of a hot and impetuous disposition, which loved tumult because his talents
shone in it -- rash and thoughtless enough to undertake things
which cold prudence and a calmer temper would not have ventured upon --
unscrupulous enough, where the gratification of his passions was concerned,
to sport with the fate of thousands, and at the same time politic enough
to hold in leading-strings such a people as the Bohemians then were.
He had already taken an active part in the troubles
under Rodolph's administration; and the Letter of Majesty which the States
had extorted from that Emperor, was chiefly to be laid to his merit.
The court had intrusted to him, as burgrave or castellan of Calstein,
the custody of the Bohemian crown, and of the national charter.
But the nation had placed in his hands something far more important --
ITSELF -- with the office of defender or protector of the faith.
The aristocracy by which the Emperor was ruled, imprudently deprived him
of this harmless guardianship of the dead, to leave him his full influence
over the living.  They took from him his office of burgrave,
or constable of the castle, which had rendered him dependent on the court,
thereby opening his eyes to the importance of the other which remained,
and wounded his vanity, which yet was the thing that made
his ambition harmless.  From this moment he was actuated solely
by a desire of revenge; and the opportunity of gratifying it
was not long wanting.

In the Royal Letter which the Bohemians had extorted from Rodolph II.,
as well as in the German religious treaty, one material article
remained undetermined.  All the privileges granted by the latter to
the Protestants, were conceived in favour of the Estates or governing bodies,
not of the subjects; for only to those of the ecclesiastical states
had a toleration, and that precarious, been conceded.
The Bohemian Letter of Majesty, in the same manner, spoke only of the Estates
and imperial towns, the magistrates of which had contrived to obtain
equal privileges with the former.  These alone were free to erect
churches and schools, and openly to celebrate their Protestant worship;
in all other towns, it was left entirely to the government
to which they belonged, to determine the religion of the inhabitants.
The Estates of the Empire had availed themselves of this privilege
in its fullest extent; the secular indeed without opposition;
while the ecclesiastical, in whose case the declaration of Ferdinand
had limited this privilege, disputed, not without reason,
the validity of that limitation.  What was a disputed point in
the religious treaty, was left still more doubtful in the Letter of Majesty;
in the former, the construction was not doubtful, but it was a question
how far obedience might be compulsory; in the latter, the interpretation
was left to the states.  The subjects of the ecclesiastical Estates in Bohemia
thought themselves entitled to the same rights which the declaration
of Ferdinand secured to the subjects of German bishops,
they considered themselves on an equality with the subjects of imperial towns,
because they looked upon the ecclesiastical property as part of
the royal demesnes.  In the little town of Klostergrab,
subject to the Archbishop of Prague; and in Braunau, which belonged to
the abbot of that monastery, churches were founded by the Protestants,
and completed notwithstanding the opposition of their superiors,
and the disapprobation of the Emperor.

In the meantime, the vigilance of the defenders had somewhat relaxed,
and the court thought it might venture on a decisive step.
By the Emperor's orders, the church at Klostergrab was pulled down;
that at Braunau forcibly shut up, and the most turbulent of the citizens
thrown into prison.  A general commotion among the Protestants
was the consequence of this measure; a loud outcry was everywhere raised
at this violation of the Letter of Majesty; and Count Thurn,
animated by revenge, and particularly called upon by his office of defender,
showed himself not a little busy in inflaming the minds of the people.
At his instigation deputies were summoned to Prague from every circle
in the empire, to concert the necessary measures against the common danger.
It was resolved to petition the Emperor to press for
the liberation of the prisoners.  The answer of the Emperor,
already offensive to the states, from its being addressed, not to them,
but to his viceroy, denounced their conduct as illegal and rebellious,
justified what had been done at Klostergrab and Braunau as the result
of an imperial mandate, and contained some passages that might be construed
into threats.

Count Thurn did not fail to augment the unfavourable impression
which this imperial edict made upon the assembled Estates.
He pointed out to them the danger in which all who had signed the petition
were involved, and sought by working on their resentment and fears
to hurry them into violent resolutions.  To have caused
their immediate revolt against the Emperor, would have been, as yet,
too bold a measure.  It was only step by step that he would lead them on
to this unavoidable result.  He held it, therefore, advisable first to direct
their indignation against the Emperor's counsellors; and for that purpose
circulated a report, that the imperial proclamation had been drawn up
by the government at Prague, and only signed in Vienna.
Among the imperial delegates, the chief objects of the popular hatred,
were the President of the Chamber, Slawata, and Baron Martinitz,
who had been elected in place of Count Thurn, Burgrave of Calstein.
Both had long before evinced pretty openly their hostile feelings
towards the Protestants, by alone refusing to be present at the sitting
at which the Letter of Majesty had been inserted in the Bohemian constitution.
A threat was made at the time to make them responsible
for every violation of the Letter of Majesty; and from this moment,
whatever evil befell the Protestants was set down, and not without reason,
to their account.  Of all the Roman Catholic nobles,
these two had treated their Protestant vassals with the greatest harshness.
They were accused of hunting them with dogs to the mass,
and of endeavouring to drive them to popery by a denial of the rites
of baptism, marriage, and burial.  Against two characters so unpopular
the public indignation was easily excited, and they were marked out
for a sacrifice to the general indignation.

On the 23rd of May, 1618, the deputies appeared armed, and in great numbers,
at the royal palace, and forced their way into the hall where
the Commissioners Sternberg, Martinitz, Lobkowitz, and Slawata were assembled.
In a threatening tone they demanded to know from each of them,
whether he had taken any part, or had consented to, the imperial proclamation.
Sternberg received them with composure, Martinitz and Slawata with defiance.
This decided their fate; Sternberg and Lobkowitz, less hated, and more feared,
were led by the arm out of the room; Martinitz and Slawata were seized,
dragged to a window, and precipitated from a height of eighty feet,
into the castle trench.  Their creature, the secretary Fabricius,
was thrown after them.  This singular mode of execution naturally
excited the surprise of civilized nations.  The Bohemians justified it
as a national custom, and saw nothing remarkable in the whole affair,
excepting that any one should have got up again safe and sound
after such a fall.  A dunghill, on which the imperial commissioners
chanced to be deposited, had saved them from injury.

It was not to be expected that this summary mode of proceeding
would much increase the favour of the parties with the Emperor,
but this was the very position to which Count Thurn wished to bring them.
If, from the fear of uncertain danger, they had permitted themselves
such an act of violence, the certain expectation of punishment,
and the now urgent necessity of making themselves secure, would plunge them
still deeper into guilt.  By this brutal act of self-redress,
no room was left for irresolution or repentance, and it seemed as if
a single crime could be absolved only by a series of violences.
As the deed itself could not be undone, nothing was left
but to disarm the hand of punishment.  Thirty directors were appointed
to organise a regular insurrection.  They seized upon
all the offices of state, and all the imperial revenues,
took into their own service the royal functionaries and the soldiers,
and summoned the whole Bohemian nation to avenge the common cause.
The Jesuits, whom the common hatred accused as the instigators
of every previous oppression, were banished the kingdom,
and this harsh measure the Estates found it necessary to justify
in a formal manifesto.  These various steps were taken for the preservation
of the royal authority and the laws -- the language of all rebels
till fortune has decided in their favour.

The emotion which the news of the Bohemian insurrection excited
at the imperial court, was much less lively than such intelligence deserved.
The Emperor Matthias was no longer the resolute spirit that formerly
sought out his king and master in the very bosom of his people,
and hurled him from three thrones.  The confidence and courage which
had animated him in an usurpation, deserted him in a legitimate self-defence.
The Bohemian rebels had first taken up arms, and the nature of circumstances
drove him to join them.  But he could not hope to confine such a war
to Bohemia.  In all the territories under his dominion,
the Protestants were united by a dangerous sympathy --
the common danger of their religion might suddenly combine them all
into a formidable republic.  What could he oppose to such an enemy,
if the Protestant portion of his subjects deserted him?
And would not both parties exhaust themselves in so ruinous a civil war?
How much was at stake if he lost; and if he won, whom else would he destroy
but his own subjects?

Considerations such as these inclined the Emperor and his council
to concessions and pacific measures, but it was in this very spirit
of concession that, as others would have it, lay the origin of the evil.
The Archduke Ferdinand of Gratz congratulated the Emperor upon an event,
which would justify in the eyes of all Europe the severest measures
against the Bohemian Protestants.  "Disobedience, lawlessness,
and insurrection," he said, "went always hand-in-hand with Protestantism.
Every privilege which had been conceded to the Estates by himself
and his predecessor, had had no other effect than to raise their demands.
All the measures of the heretics were aimed against the imperial authority.
Step by step had they advanced from defiance to defiance
up to this last aggression; in a short time they would assail
all that remained to be assailed, in the person of the Emperor.  In arms alone
was there any safety against such an enemy -- peace and subordination
could be only established upon the ruins of their dangerous privileges;
security for the Catholic belief was to be found only in the total destruction
of this sect.  Uncertain, it was true, might be the event of the war,
but inevitable was the ruin if it were pretermitted.
The confiscation of the lands of the rebels would richly indemnify them
for its expenses, while the terror of punishment would teach the other states
the wisdom of a prompt obedience in future."  Were the Bohemian Protestants
to blame, if they armed themselves in time against the enforcement
of such maxims?  The insurrection in Bohemia, besides,
was directed only against the successor of the Emperor, not against himself,
who had done nothing to justify the alarm of the Protestants.
To exclude this prince from the Bohemian throne, arms had before been taken up
under Matthias, though as long as this Emperor lived, his subjects had kept
within the bounds of an apparent submission.

But Bohemia was in arms, and unarmed, the Emperor dared not even
offer them peace.  For this purpose, Spain supplied gold,
and promised to send troops from Italy and the Netherlands.
Count Bucquoi, a native of the Netherlands, was named generalissimo,
because no native could be trusted, and Count Dampierre, another foreigner,
commanded under him.  Before the army took the field,
the Emperor endeavoured to bring about an amicable arrangement,
by the publication of a manifesto.  In this he assured the Bohemians,
"that he held sacred the Letter of Majesty -- that he had not formed
any resolutions inimical to their religion or their privileges,
and that his present preparations were forced upon him by their own.
As soon as the nation laid down their arms, he also would disband his army."
But this gracious letter failed of its effect, because the leaders
of the insurrection contrived to hide from the people
the Emperor's good intentions.  Instead of this, they circulated
the most alarming reports from the pulpit, and by pamphlets,
and terrified the deluded populace with threatened horrors
of another Saint Bartholomew's that existed only in their own imagination.
All Bohemia, with the exception of three towns, Budweiss, Krummau, and Pilsen,
took part in this insurrection.  These three towns, inhabited principally
by Roman Catholics, alone had the courage, in this general revolt,
to hold out for the Emperor, who promised them assistance.
But it could not escape Count Thurn, how dangerous it was
to leave in hostile hands three places of such importance,
which would at all times keep open for the imperial troops
an entrance into the kingdom.  With prompt determination
he appeared before Budweiss and Krummau, in the hope of terrifying them
into a surrender.  Krummau surrendered, but all his attacks
were steadfastly repulsed by Budweiss.

And now, too, the Emperor began to show more earnestness and energy.
Bucquoi and Dampierre, with two armies, fell upon the Bohemian territories,
which they treated as a hostile country.  But the imperial generals
found the march to Prague more difficult than they had expected.  Every pass,
every position that was the least tenable, must be opened by the sword,
and resistance increased at each fresh step they took, for the outrages
of their troops, chiefly consisting of Hungarians and Walloons,
drove their friends to revolt and their enemies to despair.
But even now that his troops had penetrated into Bohemia,
the Emperor continued to offer the Estates peace, and to show himself ready
for an amicable adjustment.  But the new prospects which opened upon them,
raised the courage of the revolters.  Moravia espoused their party;
and from Germany appeared to them a defender equally intrepid and unexpected,
in the person of Count Mansfeld.

The heads of the Evangelic Union had been silent but not inactive spectators
of the movements in Bohemia.  Both were contending for the same cause,
and against the same enemy.  In the fate of the Bohemians,
their confederates in the faith might read their own;
and the cause of this people was represented as of solemn concern
to the whole German union.  True to these principles, the Unionists supported
the courage of the insurgents by promises of assistance;
and a fortunate accident now enabled them, beyond their hopes, to fulfil them.

The instrument by which the House of Austria was humbled in Germany,
was Peter Ernest, Count Mansfeld, the son of a distinguished Austrian officer,
Ernest von Mansfeld, who for some time had commanded with repute
the Spanish army in the Netherlands.  His first campaigns
in Juliers and Alsace had been made in the service of this house,
and under the banner of the Archduke Leopold, against the Protestant religion
and the liberties of Germany.  But insensibly won by the principles
of this religion, he abandoned a leader whose selfishness denied him
the reimbursement of the monies expended in his cause,
and he transferred his zeal and a victorious sword to the Evangelic Union.
It happened just then that the Duke of Savoy, an ally of the Union,
demanded assistance in a war against Spain.  They assigned to him
their newly acquired servant, and Mansfeld received instructions to raise
an army of 4000 men in Germany, in the cause and in the pay of the duke.
The army was ready to march at the very moment when the flames of war
burst out in Bohemia, and the duke, who at the time did not stand in need
of its services, placed it at the disposal of the Union.
Nothing could be more welcome to these troops than the prospect of aiding
their confederates in Bohemia, at the cost of a third party.
Mansfeld received orders forthwith to march with these 4000 men
into that kingdom; and a pretended Bohemian commission was given
to blind the public as to the true author of this levy.

This Mansfeld now appeared in Bohemia, and, by the occupation of Pilsen,
strongly fortified and favourable to the Emperor, obtained a firm footing
in the country.  The courage of the rebels was farther increased
by succours which the Silesian States despatched to their assistance.
Between these and the Imperialists, several battles were fought,
far indeed from decisive, but only on that account the more destructive,
which served as the prelude to a more serious war.  To check the vigour
of his military operations, a negotiation was entered into with the Emperor,
and a disposition was shown to accept the proffered mediation of Saxony.
But before the event could prove how little sincerity there was
in these proposals, the Emperor was removed from the scene by death.

What now had Matthias done to justify the expectations which he had excited
by the overthrow of his predecessor?  Was it worth while to ascend
a brother's throne through guilt, and then maintain it with so little dignity,
and leave it with so little renown?  As long as Matthias sat on the throne,
he had to atone for the imprudence by which he had gained it.
To enjoy the regal dignity a few years sooner, he had shackled
the free exercise of its prerogatives.  The slender portion of independence
left him by the growing power of the Estates, was still farther lessened
by the encroachments of his relations.  Sickly and childless
he saw the attention of the world turned to an ambitious heir
who was impatiently anticipating his fate; and who, by his interference
with the closing administration, was already opening his own.

With Matthias, the reigning line of the German House of Austria
was in a manner extinct; for of all the sons of Maximilian,
one only was now alive, the weak and childless Archduke Albert,
in the Netherlands, who had already renounced his claims to the inheritance
in favour of the line of Gratz.  The Spanish House had also,
in a secret bond, resigned its pretensions to the Austrian possessions
in behalf of the Archduke Ferdinand of Styria, in whom the branch of Hapsburg
was about to put forth new shoots, and the former greatness of Austria
to experience a revival.

The father of Ferdinand was the Archduke Charles of Carniola, Carinthia,
and Styria, the youngest brother of the Emperor Maximilian II.; his mother
a princess of Bavaria.  Having lost his father at twelve years of age,
he was intrusted by the archduchess to the guardianship
of her brother William, Duke of Bavaria, under whose eyes
he was instructed and educated by Jesuits at the Academy of Ingolstadt.
What principles he was likely to imbibe by his intercourse with a prince,
who from motives of devotion had abdicated his government,
may be easily conceived.  Care was taken to point out to him, on the one hand,
the weak indulgence of Maximilian's house towards the adherents
of the new doctrines, and the consequent troubles of their dominions;
on the other, the blessings of Bavaria, and the inflexible religious zeal
of its rulers; between these two examples he was left to choose for himself.

Formed in this school to be a stout champion of the faith,
and a prompt instrument of the church, he left Bavaria,
after a residence of five years, to assume the government
of his hereditary dominions.  The Estates of Carniola, Carinthia, and Styria,
who, before doing homage, demanded a guarantee for freedom of religion,
were told that religious liberty has nothing to do with their allegiance.
The oath was put to them without conditions, and unconditionally taken.
Many years, however, elapsed, ere the designs which had been
planned at Ingolstadt were ripe for execution.  Before attempting
to carry them into effect, he sought in person at Loretto
the favour of the Virgin, and received the apostolic benediction in Rome
at the feet of Clement VIII.

These designs were nothing less than the expulsion of Protestantism
from a country where it had the advantage of numbers, and had been
legally recognized by a formal act of toleration, granted by his father
to the noble and knightly estates of the land.  A grant so formally ratified
could not be revoked without danger; but no difficulties could deter
the pious pupil of the Jesuits.  The example of other states,
both Roman Catholic and Protestant, which within their own territories
had exercised unquestioned a right of reformation,
and the abuse which the Estates of Styria made of their religious liberties,
would serve as a justification of this violent procedure.  Under the shelter
of an absurd positive law, those of equity and prudence might, it was thought,
be safely despised.  In the execution of these unrighteous designs,
Ferdinand did, it must be owned, display no common courage and perseverance.
Without tumult, and we may add, without cruelty,
he suppressed the Protestant service in one town after another,
and in a few years, to the astonishment of Germany,
this dangerous work was brought to a successful end.

But, while the Roman Catholics admired him as a hero,
and the champion of the church, the Protestants began to combine against him
as against their most dangerous enemy.  And yet Matthias's intention
to bequeath to him the succession, met with little or no opposition
in the elective states of Austria.  Even the Bohemians agreed
to receive him as their future king, on very favourable conditions.
It was not until afterwards, when they had experienced
the pernicious influence of his councils on the administration of the Emperor,
that their anxiety was first excited; and then several projects,
in his handwriting, which an unlucky chance threw into their hands,
as they plainly evinced his disposition towards them,
carried their apprehension to the utmost pitch.  In particular,
they were alarmed by a secret family compact with Spain, by which,
in default of heirs-male of his own body, Ferdinand bequeathed to that crown
the kingdom of Bohemia, without first consulting the wishes of that nation,
and without regard to its right of free election.  The many enemies, too,
which by his reforms in Styria that prince had provoked among the Protestants,
were very prejudicial to his interests in Bohemia; and some Styrian emigrants,
who had taken refuge there, bringing with them into their adopted country
hearts overflowing with a desire of revenge, were particularly active
in exciting the flame of revolt.  Thus ill-affected did Ferdinand find
the Bohemians, when he succeeded Matthias.

So bad an understanding between the nation and the candidate for the throne,
would have raised a storm even in the most peaceable succession;
how much more so at the present moment, before the ardour of insurrection
had cooled; when the nation had just recovered its dignity,
and reasserted its rights; when they still held arms in their hands,
and the consciousness of unity had awakened an enthusiastic reliance
on their own strength; when by past success, by the promises
of foreign assistance, and by visionary expectations of the future,
their courage had been raised to an undoubting confidence.
Disregarding the rights already conferred on Ferdinand,
the Estates declared the throne vacant, and their right of election
entirely unfettered.  All hopes of their peaceful submission were at an end,
and if Ferdinand wished still to wear the crown of Bohemia,
he must choose between purchasing it at the sacrifice of all
that would make a crown desirable, or winning it sword in hand.

But with what means was it to be won?  Turn his eyes where he would,
the fire of revolt was burning.  Silesia had already joined the insurgents
in Bohemia; Moravia was on the point of following its example.
In Upper and Lower Austria the spirit of liberty was awake,
as it had been under Rodolph, and the Estates refused to do homage.
Hungary was menaced with an inroad by Prince Bethlen Gabor,
on the side of Transylvania; a secret arming among the Turks
spread consternation among the provinces to the eastward;
and, to complete his perplexities, the Protestants also,
in his hereditary dominions, stimulated by the general example,
were again raising their heads.  In that quarter,
their numbers were overwhelming; in most places they had possession
of the revenues which Ferdinand would need for the maintenance of the war.
The neutral began to waver, the faithful to be discouraged,
the turbulent alone to be animated and confident.  One half of Germany
encouraged the rebels, the other inactively awaited the issue;
Spanish assistance was still very remote.  The moment which
had brought him every thing, threatened also to deprive him of all.

And when he now, yielding to the stern law of necessity,
made overtures to the Bohemian rebels, all his proposals for peace
were insolently rejected.  Count Thurn, at the head of an army,
entered Moravia to bring this province, which alone continued to waver,
to a decision.  The appearance of their friends is the signal of revolt
for the Moravian Protestants.  Bruenn is taken, the remainder of the country
yields with free will, throughout the province government and religion
are changed.  Swelling as it flows, the torrent of rebellion pours down
upon Austria, where a party, holding similar sentiments,
receives it with a joyful concurrence.  Henceforth, there should be
no more distinctions of religion; equality of rights should be guaranteed
to all Christian churches.  They hear that a foreign force has been
invited into the country to oppress the Bohemians.  Let them be sought out,
and the enemies of liberty pursued to the ends of the earth.
Not an arm is raised in defence of the Archduke, and the rebels, at length,
encamp before Vienna to besiege their sovereign.

Ferdinand had sent his children from Gratz, where they were no longer safe,
to the Tyrol; he himself awaited the insurgents in his capital.
A handful of soldiers was all he could oppose to the enraged multitude;
these few were without pay or provisions, and therefore
little to be depended on.  Vienna was unprepared for a long siege.
The party of the Protestants, ready at any moment to join the Bohemians,
had the preponderance in the city; those in the country had already begun
to levy troops against him.  Already, in imagination, the Protestant populace
saw the Emperor shut up in a monastery, his territories divided,
and his children educated as Protestants.  Confiding in secret,
and surrounded by public enemies, he saw the chasm every moment widening
to engulf his hopes and even himself.  The Bohemian bullets were already
falling upon the imperial palace, when sixteen Austrian barons
forcibly entered his chamber, and inveighing against him
with loud and bitter reproaches, endeavoured to force him into a confederation
with the Bohemians.  One of them, seizing him by the button of his doublet,
demanded, in a tone of menace, "Ferdinand, wilt thou sign it?"

Who would not be pardoned had he wavered in this frightful situation?
Yet Ferdinand still remembered the dignity of a Roman emperor.
No alternative seemed left to him but an immediate flight or submission;
laymen urged him to the one, priests to the other.  If he abandoned the city,
it would fall into the enemy's hands; with Vienna, Austria was lost;
with Austria, the imperial throne.  Ferdinand abandoned not his capital,
and as little would he hear of conditions.

The Archduke is still engaged in altercation with the deputed barons,
when all at once a sound of trumpets is heard in the palace square.
Terror and astonishment take possession of all present;
a fearful report pervades the palace; one deputy after another disappears.
Many of the nobility and the citizens hastily take refuge
in the camp of Thurn.  This sudden change is effected by a regiment
of Dampierre's cuirassiers, who at that moment marched into the city
to defend the Archduke.  A body of infantry soon followed;
reassured by their appearance, several of the Roman Catholic citizens,
and even the students themselves, take up arms.  A report which arrived
just at the same time from Bohemia made his deliverance complete.
The Flemish general, Bucquoi, had totally defeated Count Mansfeld at Budweiss,
and was marching upon Prague.  The Bohemians hastily broke up
their camp before Vienna to protect their own capital.

And now also the passes were free which the enemy had taken possession of,
in order to obstruct Ferdinand's progress to his coronation at Frankfort.
If the accession to the imperial throne was important for the plans
of the King of Hungary, it was of still greater consequence
at the present moment, when his nomination as Emperor would afford
the most unsuspicious and decisive proof of the dignity of his person,
and of the justice of his cause, while, at the same time,
it would give him a hope of support from the Empire.  But the same cabal
which opposed him in his hereditary dominions, laboured also to counteract him
in his canvass for the imperial dignity.  No Austrian prince, they maintained,
ought to ascend the throne; least of all Ferdinand, the bigoted persecutor
of their religion, the slave of Spain and of the Jesuits.  To prevent this,
the crown had been offered, even during the lifetime of Matthias,
to the Duke of Bavaria, and on his refusal, to the Duke of Savoy.
As some difficulty was experienced in settling with the latter
the conditions of acceptance, it was sought, at all events,
to delay the election till some decisive blow in Austria or Bohemia
should annihilate all the hopes of Ferdinand, and incapacitate him
from any competition for this dignity.  The members of the Union
left no stone unturned to gain over from Ferdinand the Electorate of Saxony,
which was bound to Austrian interests; they represented to this court
the dangers with which the Protestant religion, and even the constitution
of the empire, were threatened by the principles of this prince and
his Spanish alliance.  By the elevation of Ferdinand to the imperial throne,
Germany, they further asserted, would be involved in the private quarrels
of this prince, and bring upon itself the arms of Bohemia.
But in spite of all opposing influences, the day of election was fixed,
Ferdinand summoned to it as lawful king of Bohemia, and his electoral vote,
after a fruitless resistance on the part of the Bohemian Estates,
acknowledged to be good.  The votes of the three ecclesiastical electorates
were for him, Saxony was favourable to him, Brandenburg made no opposition,
and a decided majority declared him Emperor in 1619.
Thus he saw the most doubtful of his crowns placed first of all on his head;
but a few days after he lost that which he had reckoned among the most certain
of his possessions.  While he was thus elected Emperor in Frankfort,
he was in Prague deprived of the Bohemian throne.

Almost all of his German hereditary dominions had in the meantime
entered into a formidable league with the Bohemians, whose insolence now
exceeded all bounds.  In a general Diet, the latter, on the 17th of August,
1619, proclaimed the Emperor an enemy to the Bohemian religion and liberties,
who by his pernicious counsels had alienated from them the affections
of the late Emperor, had furnished troops to oppress them,
had given their country as a prey to foreigners, and finally,
in contravention of the national rights, had bequeathed the crown,
by a secret compact, to Spain:  they therefore declared
that he had forfeited whatever title he might otherwise have had to the crown,
and immediately proceeded to a new election.  As this sentence was pronounced
by Protestants, their choice could not well fall upon a Roman Catholic prince,
though, to save appearances, some voices were raised for Bavaria and Savoy.
But the violent religious animosities which divided
the evangelical and the reformed parties among the Protestants,
impeded for some time the election even of a Protestant king;
till at last the address and activity of the Calvinists carried the day
from the numerical superiority of the Lutherans.

Among all the princes who were competitors for this dignity,
the Elector Palatine Frederick V. had the best grounded claims
on the confidence and gratitude of the Bohemians; and among them all,
there was no one in whose case the private interests of particular Estates,
and the attachment of the people, seemed to be justified by so many
considerations of state.  Frederick V. was of a free and lively spirit,
of great goodness of heart, and regal liberality.  He was the head
of the Calvinistic party in Germany, the leader of the Union,
whose resources were at his disposal, a near relation of the Duke of Bavaria,
and a son-in-law of the King of Great Britain,
who might lend him his powerful support.  All these considerations
were prominently and successfully brought forward by the Calvinists,
and Frederick V. was chosen king by the Assembly at Prague,
amidst prayers and tears of joy.

The whole proceedings of the Diet at Prague had been premeditated,
and Frederick himself had taken too active a share in the matter
to feel at all surprised at the offer made to him by the Bohemians.
But now the immediate glitter of this throne dazzled him,
and the magnitude both of his elevation and his delinquency made
his weak mind to tremble.  After the usual manner of pusillanimous spirits,
he sought to confirm himself in his purpose by the opinions of others;
but these opinions had no weight with him when they ran counter to
his own cherished wishes.  Saxony and Bavaria, of whom he sought advice,
all his brother electors, all who compared the magnitude of the design
with his capacities and resources, warned him of the danger
into which he was about to rush.  Even King James of England preferred to see
his son-in-law deprived of this crown, than that the sacred majesty of kings
should be outraged by so dangerous a precedent.  But of what avail
was the voice of prudence against the seductive glitter of a crown?
In the moment of boldest determination, when they are indignantly rejecting
the consecrated branch of a race which had governed them for two centuries,
a free people throws itself into his arms.  Confiding in his courage,
they choose him as their leader in the dangerous career of glory and liberty.
To him, as to its born champion, an oppressed religion looks for shelter
and support against its persecutors.  Could he have the weakness
to listen to his fears, and to betray the cause of religion and liberty?
This religion proclaims to him its own preponderance,
and the weakness of its rival, -- two-thirds of the power of Austria
are now in arms against Austria itself, while a formidable confederacy,
already formed in Transylvania, would, by a hostile attack,
further distract even the weak remnant of its power.
Could inducements such as these fail to awaken his ambition,
or such hopes to animate and inflame his resolution?

A few moments of calm consideration would have sufficed to show
the danger of the undertaking, and the comparative worthlessness of the prize.
But the temptation spoke to his feelings; the warning only to his reason.
It was his misfortune that his nearest and most influential counsellors
espoused the side of his passions.  The aggrandizement of their master's power
opened to the ambition and avarice of his Palatine servants an unlimited field
for their gratification; this anticipated triumph of their church
kindled the ardour of the Calvinistic fanatic.  Could a mind so weak
as that of Ferdinand resist the delusions of his counsellors,
who exaggerated his resources and his strength, as much as they underrated
those of his enemies; or the exhortations of his preachers, who announced
the effusions of their fanatical zeal as the immediate inspiration of heaven?
The dreams of astrology filled his mind with visionary hopes;
even love conspired, with its irresistible fascination,
to complete the seduction.  "Had you," demanded the Electress,
"confidence enough in yourself to accept the hand of a king's daughter,
and have you misgivings about taking a crown which is voluntarily offered you?
I would rather eat bread at thy kingly table, than feast
at thy electoral board."

Frederick accepted the Bohemian crown.  The coronation was celebrated
with unexampled pomp at Prague, for the nation displayed all its riches
in honour of its own work.  Silesia and Moravia, the adjoining provinces
to Bohemia, followed their example, and did homage to Frederick.
The reformed faith was enthroned in all the churches of the kingdom;
the rejoicings were unbounded, their attachment to their new king
bordered on adoration.  Denmark and Sweden, Holland and Venice,
and several of the Dutch states, acknowledged him as lawful sovereign,
and Frederick now prepared to maintain his new acquisition.

His principal hopes rested on Prince Bethlen Gabor of Transylvania.
This formidable enemy of Austria, and of the Roman Catholic church,
not content with the principality which, with the assistance of the Turks,
he had wrested from his legitimate prince, Gabriel Bathori, gladly seized
this opportunity of aggrandizing himself at the expense of Austria,
which had hesitated to acknowledge him as sovereign of Transylvania.
An attack upon Hungary and Austria was concerted with the Bohemian rebels,
and both armies were to unite before the capital.  Meantime, Bethlen Gabor,
under the mask of friendship, disguised the true object
of his warlike preparations, artfully promising the Emperor
to lure the Bohemians into the toils, by a pretended offer of assistance,
and to deliver up to him alive the leaders of the insurrection.
All at once, however, he appeared in a hostile attitude in Upper Hungary.
Before him went terror, and devastation behind; all opposition yielded,
and at Presburg he received the Hungarian crown.  The Emperor's brother,
who governed in Vienna, trembled for the capital.  He hastily summoned
General Bucquoi to his assistance, and the retreat of the Imperialists
drew the Bohemians, a second time, before the walls of Vienna.
Reinforced by twelve thousand Transylvanians, and soon after joined
by the victorious army of Bethlen Gabor, they again menaced the capital
with assault; all the country round Vienna was laid waste,
the navigation of the Danube closed, all supplies cut off,
and the horrors of famine were threatened.  Ferdinand,
hastily recalled to his capital by this urgent danger,
saw himself a second time on the brink of ruin.  But want of provisions,
and the inclement weather, finally compelled the Bohemians
to go into quarters, a defeat in Hungary recalled Bethlen Gabor,
and thus once more had fortune rescued the Emperor.

In a few weeks the scene was changed, and by his prudence and activity
Ferdinand improved his position as rapidly as Frederick,
by indolence and impolicy, ruined his.  The Estates of Lower Austria
were regained to their allegiance by a confirmation of their privileges;
and the few who still held out were declared guilty of `lese-majeste'
and high treason.  During the election of Frankfort, he had contrived,
by personal representations, to win over to his cause
the ecclesiastical electors, and also Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria, at Munich.
The whole issue of the war, the fate of Frederick and the Emperor,
were now dependent on the part which the Union and the League should take
in the troubles of Bohemia.  It was evidently of importance to all
the Protestants of Germany that the King of Bohemia should be supported,
while it was equally the interest of the Roman Catholics to prevent
the ruin of the Emperor.  If the Protestants succeeded in Bohemia,
all the Roman Catholic princes in Germany might tremble for their possessions;
if they failed, the Emperor would give laws to Protestant Germany.
Thus Ferdinand put the League, Frederick the Union, in motion.
The ties of relationship and a personal attachment to the Emperor,
his brother-in-law, with whom he had been educated at Ingolstadt,
zeal for the Roman Catholic religion, which seemed to be
in the most imminent peril, and the suggestions of the Jesuits,
combined with the suspicious movements of the Union,
moved the Duke of Bavaria, and all the princes of the League,
to make the cause of Ferdinand their own.

According to the terms of a treaty with the Emperor,
which assured to the Duke of Bavaria compensation for all the expenses
of the war, or the losses he might sustain, Maximilian took, with full powers,
the command of the troops of the League, which were ordered to march
to the assistance of the Emperor against the Bohemian rebels.
The leaders of the Union, instead of delaying by every means
this dangerous coalition of the League with the Emperor,
did every thing in their power to accelerate it.  Could they,
they thought, but once drive the Roman Catholic League
to take an open part in the Bohemian war, they might reckon
on similar measures from all the members and allies of the Union.
Without some open step taken by the Roman Catholics against the Union,
no effectual confederacy of the Protestant powers was to be looked for.
They seized, therefore, the present emergency of the troubles in Bohemia
to demand from the Roman Catholics the abolition of their past grievances,
and full security for the future exercise of their religion.  They addressed
this demand, which was moreover couched in threatening language,
to the Duke of Bavaria, as the head of the Roman Catholics,
and they insisted on an immediate and categorical answer.
Maximilian might decide for or against them, still their point was gained;
his concession, if he yielded, would deprive the Roman Catholic party of its
most powerful protector; his refusal would arm the whole Protestant party,
and render inevitable a war in which they hoped to be the conquerors.
Maximilian, firmly attached to the opposite party from so many
other considerations, took the demands of the Union as a formal declaration
of hostilities, and quickened his preparations.  While Bavaria and the League
were thus arming in the Emperor's cause, negotiations for a subsidy
were opened with the Spanish court.  All the difficulties with which
the indolent policy of that ministry met this demand were happily surmounted
by the imperial ambassador at Madrid, Count Khevenhuller.
In addition to a subsidy of a million of florins, which from time to time
were doled out by this court, an attack upon the Lower Palatinate,
from the side of the Spanish Netherlands, was at the same time agreed upon.

During these attempts to draw all the Roman Catholic powers into the League,
every exertion was made against the counter-league of the Protestants.
To this end, it was important to alarm the Elector of Saxony
and the other Evangelical powers, and accordingly the Union were diligent in
propagating a rumour that the preparations of the League had for their object
to deprive them of the ecclesiastical foundations they had secularized.
A written assurance to the contrary calmed the fears of the Duke of Saxony,
whom moreover private jealousy of the Palatine, and the insinuations of
his chaplain, who was in the pay of Austria, and mortification at having been
passed over by the Bohemians in the election to the throne,
strongly inclined to the side of Austria.  The fanaticism of the Lutherans
could never forgive the reformed party for having drawn,
as they expressed it, so many fair provinces into the gulf of Calvinism,
and rejecting the Roman Antichrist only to make way for an Helvetian one.

While Ferdinand used every effort to improve the unfavourable situation
of his affairs, Frederick was daily injuring his good cause.
By his close and questionable connexion with the Prince of Transylvania,
the open ally of the Porte, he gave offence to weak minds;
and a general rumour accused him of furthering his own ambition at the expense
of Christendom, and arming the Turks against Germany.  His inconsiderate zeal
for the Calvinistic scheme irritated the Lutherans of Bohemia,
his attacks on image-worship incensed the Papists of this kingdom against him.
New and oppressive imposts alienated the affections of all his subjects.
The disappointed hopes of the Bohemian nobles cooled their zeal;
the absence of foreign succours abated their confidence.  Instead of
devoting himself with untiring energies to the affairs of his kingdom,
Frederick wasted his time in amusements; instead of filling his treasury
by a wise economy, he squandered his revenues by a needless theatrical pomp,
and a misplaced munificence.  With a light-minded carelessness,
he did but gaze at himself in his new dignity, and in the ill-timed desire to
enjoy his crown, he forgot the more pressing duty of securing it on his head.

But greatly as men had erred in their opinion of him,
Frederick himself had not less miscalculated his foreign resources.
Most of the members of the Union considered the affairs of Bohemia
as foreign to the real object of their confederacy; others,
who were devoted to him, were overawed by fear of the Emperor.
Saxony and Hesse Darmstadt had already been gained over by Ferdinand;
Lower Austria, on which side a powerful diversion had been looked for,
had made its submission to the Emperor; and Bethlen Gabor had concluded
a truce with him.  By its embassies, the court of Vienna had induced Denmark
to remain inactive, and to occupy Sweden in a war with the Poles.
The republic of Holland had enough to do to defend itself against
the arms of the Spaniards; Venice and Saxony remained inactive;
King James of England was overreached by the artifice of Spain.
One friend after another withdrew; one hope vanished after another --
so rapidly in a few months was every thing changed.

In the mean time, the leaders of the Union assembled an army; --
the Emperor and the League did the same.  The troops of the latter
were assembled under the banners of Maximilian at Donauwerth,
those of the Union at Ulm, under the Margrave of Anspach.
The decisive moment seemed at length to have arrived which was to end
these long dissensions by a vigorous blow, and irrevocably to settle
the relation of the two churches in Germany.  Anxiously on the stretch
was the expectation of both parties.  How great then was their astonishment
when suddenly the intelligence of peace arrived, and both armies separated
without striking a blow!

The intervention of France effected this peace, which was equally acceptable
to both parties.  The French cabinet, no longer swayed by the counsels
of Henry the Great, and whose maxims of state were perhaps not applicable
to the present condition of that kingdom, was now far less alarmed
at the preponderance of Austria, than of the increase which would accrue
to the strength of the Calvinists, if the Palatine house should be able
to retain the throne of Bohemia.  Involved at the time in a dangerous conflict
with its own Calvinistic subjects, it was of the utmost importance to France
that the Protestant faction in Bohemia should be suppressed
before the Huguenots could copy their dangerous example.  In order therefore
to facilitate the Emperor's operations against the Bohemians,
she offered her mediation to the Union and the League,
and effected this unexpected treaty, of which the main article was,
"That the Union should abandon all interference in the affairs of Bohemia,
and confine the aid which they might afford to Frederick the Fifth,
to his Palatine territories."  To this disgraceful treaty,
the Union were moved by the firmness of Maximilian,
and the fear of being pressed at once by the troops of the League,
and a new Imperial army which was on its march from the Netherlands.

The whole force of Bavaria and the League was now at the disposal
of the Emperor to be employed against the Bohemians,
who by the pacification of Ulm were abandoned to their fate.
With a rapid movement, and before a rumour of the proceedings at Ulm
could reach there, Maximilian appeared in Upper Austria,
when the Estates, surprised and unprepared for an enemy,
purchased the Emperor's pardon by an immediate and unconditional submission.
In Lower Austria, the duke formed a junction with the troops
from the Low Countries under Bucquoi, and without loss of time
the united Imperial and Bavarian forces, amounting to 50,000 men,
entered Bohemia.  All the Bohemian troops, which were dispersed
over Lower Austria and Moravia, were driven before them;
every town which attempted resistance was quickly taken by storm;
others, terrified by the report of the punishment inflicted on these,
voluntarily opened their gates; nothing in short interrupted
the impetuous career of Maximilian.  The Bohemian army,
commanded by the brave Prince Christian of Anhalt,
retreated to the neighbourhood of Prague; where, under the walls of the city,
Maximilian offered him battle.

The wretched condition in which he hoped to surprise the insurgents,
justified the rapidity of the duke's movements, and secured him the victory.
Frederick's army did not amount to 30,000 men.  Eight thousand of these
were furnished by the Prince of Anhalt; 10,000 were Hungarians,
whom Bethlen Gabor had despatched to his assistance.
An inroad of the Elector of Saxony upon Lusatia, had cut off all succours
from that country, and from Silesia; the pacification of Austria
put an end to all his expectations from that quarter; Bethlen Gabor,
his most powerful ally, remained inactive in Transylvania;
the Union had betrayed his cause to the Emperor.  Nothing remained to him
but his Bohemians; and they were without goodwill to his cause,
and without unity and courage.  The Bohemian magnates were indignant
that German generals should be put over their heads;
Count Mansfeld remained in Pilsen, at a distance from the camp,
to avoid the mortification of serving under Anhalt and Hohenlohe.
The soldiers, in want of necessaries, became dispirited;
and the little discipline that was observed, gave occasion to
bitter complaints from the peasantry.  It was in vain that Frederick made
his appearance in the camp, in the hope of reviving the courage
of the soldiers by his presence, and of kindling the emulation of the nobles
by his example.

The Bohemians had begun to entrench themselves on the White Mountain
near Prague, when they were attacked by the Imperial and Bavarian armies,
on the 8th November, 1620.  In the beginning of the action,
some advantages were gained by the cavalry of the Prince of Anhalt;
but the superior numbers of the enemy soon neutralized them.
The charge of the Bavarians and Walloons was irresistible.
The Hungarian cavalry was the first to retreat.  The Bohemian infantry
soon followed their example; and the Germans were at last
carried along with them in the general flight.  Ten cannons,
composing the whole of Frederick's artillery, were taken by the enemy;
four thousand Bohemians fell in the flight and on the field;
while of the Imperialists and soldiers of the League only a few hundred
were killed.  In less than an hour this decisive action was over.

Frederick was seated at table in Prague, while his army was thus
cut to pieces.  It is probable that he had not expected the attack
on this day, since he had ordered an entertainment for it.
A messenger summoned him from table, to show him from the walls
the whole frightful scene.  He requested a cessation of hostilities
for twenty-four hours for deliberation; but eight was all the Duke of Bavaria
would allow him.  Frederick availed himself of these to fly by night
from the capital, with his wife, and the chief officers of his army.
This flight was so hurried, that the Prince of Anhalt left behind him
his most private papers, and Frederick his crown.  "I know now what I am,"
said this unfortunate prince to those who endeavoured to comfort him;
"there are virtues which misfortune only can teach us,
and it is in adversity alone that princes learn to know themselves."

Prague was not irretrievably lost when Frederick's pusillanimity abandoned it.
The light troops of Mansfeld were still in Pilsen, and were not engaged
in the action.  Bethlen Gabor might at any moment have assumed
an offensive attitude, and drawn off the Emperor's army
to the Hungarian frontier.  The defeated Bohemians might rally.
Sickness, famine, and the inclement weather, might wear out the enemy;
but all these hopes disappeared before the immediate alarm.
Frederick dreaded the fickleness of the Bohemians, who might probably yield
to the temptation to purchase, by the surrender of his person,
the pardon of the Emperor.

Thurn, and those of this party who were in the same condemnation with him,
found it equally inexpedient to await their destiny within the walls
of Prague.  They retired towards Moravia, with a view of seeking refuge
in Transylvania.  Frederick fled to Breslau, where, however,
he only remained a short time.  He removed from thence to the court
of the Elector of Brandenburg, and finally took shelter in Holland.

The battle of Prague had decided the fate of Bohemia.
Prague surrendered the next day to the victors; the other towns followed
the example of the capital.  The Estates did homage without conditions,
and the same was done by those of Silesia and Moravia.  The Emperor allowed
three months to elapse, before instituting any inquiry into the past.
Reassured by this apparent clemency, many who, at first, had fled in terror
appeared again in the capital.  All at once, however, the storm burst forth;
forty-eight of the most active among the insurgents were arrested
on the same day and hour, and tried by an extraordinary commission,
composed of native Bohemians and Austrians.  Of these, twenty-seven,
and of the common people an immense number, expired on the scaffold.
The absenting offenders were summoned to appear to their trial,
and failing to do so, condemned to death, as traitors and offenders
against his Catholic Majesty, their estates confiscated,
and their names affixed to the gallows.  The property also of the rebels
who had fallen in the field was seized.  This tyranny might have been borne,
as it affected individuals only, and while the ruin of one enriched another;
but more intolerable was the oppression which extended to the whole kingdom,
without exception.  All the Protestant preachers were banished
from the country; the Bohemians first, and afterwards those of Germany.
The `Letter of Majesty', Ferdinand tore with his own hand, and burnt the seal.
Seven years after the battle of Prague, the toleration
of the Protestant religion within the kingdom was entirely revoked.
But whatever violence the Emperor allowed himself against
the religious privileges of his subjects, he carefully abstained from
interfering with their political constitution; and while he deprived them
of the liberty of thought, he magnanimously left them the prerogative
of taxing themselves.

The victory of the White Mountain put Ferdinand in possession
of all his dominions.  It even invested him with greater authority over them
than his predecessors enjoyed, since their allegiance had been
unconditionally pledged to him, and no Letter of Majesty now existed
to limit his sovereignty.  All his wishes were now gratified,
to a degree surpassing his most sanguine expectations.

It was now in his power to dismiss his allies, and disband his army.
If he was just, there was an end of the war -- if he was both
magnanimous and just, punishment was also at an end.  The fate of Germany
was in his hands; the happiness and misery of millions depended on
the resolution he should take.  Never was so great a decision resting
on a single mind; never did the blindness of one man produce so much ruin.






Book II.




The resolution which Ferdinand now adopted, gave to the war a new direction,
a new scene, and new actors.  From a rebellion in Bohemia,
and the chastisement of rebels, a war extended first to Germany,
and afterwards to Europe.  It is, therefore, necessary to take
a general survey of the state of affairs both in Germany
and the rest of Europe.

Unequally as the territory of Germany and the privileges of its members
were divided among the Roman Catholics and the Protestants,
neither party could hope to maintain itself against the encroachments
of its adversary otherwise than by a prudent use of its peculiar advantages,
and by a politic union among themselves.  If the Roman Catholics were
the more numerous party, and more favoured by the constitution of the empire,
the Protestants, on the other hand, had the advantage of possessing
a more compact and populous line of territories, valiant princes,
a warlike nobility, numerous armies, flourishing free towns,
the command of the sea, and even at the worst, certainty of support
from Roman Catholic states.  If the Catholics could arm Spain and Italy
in their favour, the republics of Venice, Holland, and England,
opened their treasures to the Protestants, while the states of the North
and the formidable power of Turkey, stood ready to afford them
prompt assistance.  Brandenburg, Saxony, and the Palatinate,
opposed three Protestant to three Ecclesiastical votes
in the Electoral College; while to the Elector of Bohemia,
as to the Archduke of Austria, the possession of the Imperial dignity
was an important check, if the Protestants properly availed themselves of it.
The sword of the Union might keep within its sheath the sword of the League;
or if matters actually came to a war, might make the issue of it doubtful.
But, unfortunately, private interests dissolved the band of union
which should have held together the Protestant members of the empire.
This critical conjuncture found none but second-rate actors
on the political stage, and the decisive moment was neglected because
the courageous were deficient in power, and the powerful in sagacity,
courage, and resolution.

The Elector of Saxony was placed at the head of the German Protestants,
by the services of his ancestor Maurice, by the extent of his territories,
and by the influence of his electoral vote.  Upon the resolution
he might adopt, the fate of the contending parties seemed to depend;
and John George was not insensible to the advantages which
this important situation procured him.  Equally valuable as an ally,
both to the Emperor and to the Protestant Union, he cautiously avoided
committing himself to either party; neither trusting himself
by any irrevocable declaration entirely to the gratitude of the Emperor,
nor renouncing the advantages which were to be gained from his fears.
Uninfected by the contagion of religious and romantic enthusiasm
which hurried sovereign after sovereign to risk both crown and life
on the hazard of war, John George aspired to the more solid renown
of improving and advancing the interests of his territories.
His cotemporaries accused him of forsaking the Protestant cause
in the very midst of the storm; of preferring the aggrandizement of his house
to the emancipation of his country; of exposing the whole Evangelical
or Lutheran church of Germany to ruin, rather than raise an arm in defence
of the Reformed or Calvinists; of injuring the common cause
by his suspicious friendship more seriously than the open enmity
of its avowed opponents.  But it would have been well if his accusers had
imitated the wise policy of the Elector.  If, despite of the prudent policy,
the Saxons, like all others, groaned at the cruelties
which marked the Emperor's progress; if all Germany was a witness
how Ferdinand deceived his confederates and trifled with his engagements;
if even the Elector himself at last perceived this -- the more shame
to the Emperor who could so basely betray such implicit confidence.

If an excessive reliance on the Emperor, and the hope of enlarging
his territories, tied the hands of the Elector of Saxony,
the weak George William, Elector of Brandenburg, was still more shamefully
fettered by fear of Austria, and of the loss of his dominions.
What was made a reproach against these princes would have preserved
to the Elector Palatine his fame and his kingdom.  A rash confidence
in his untried strength, the influence of French counsels,
and the temptation of a crown, had seduced that unfortunate prince into
an enterprise for which he had neither adequate genius nor political capacity.
The partition of his territories among discordant princes,
enfeebled the Palatinate, which, united, might have made a longer resistance.

This partition of territory was equally injurious to the House of Hesse,
in which, between Darmstadt and Cassel, religious dissensions
had occasioned a fatal division.  The line of Darmstadt, adhering to
the Confession of Augsburg, had placed itself under the Emperor's protection,
who favoured it at the expense of the Calvinists of Cassel.
While his religious confederates were shedding their blood
for their faith and their liberties, the Landgrave of Darmstadt
was won over by the Emperor's gold.  But William of Cassel,
every way worthy of his ancestor who, a century before,
had defended the freedom of Germany against the formidable Charles V.,
espoused the cause of danger and of honour.  Superior to that pusillanimity
which made far more powerful princes bow before Ferdinand's might,
the Landgrave William was the first to join the hero of Sweden,
and to set an example to the princes of Germany which all had hesitated
to begin.  The boldness of his resolve was equalled by the steadfastness
of his perseverance and the valour of his exploits.  He placed himself
with unshrinking resolution before his bleeding country,
and boldly confronted the fearful enemy, whose hands were still reeking
from the carnage of Magdeburg.

The Landgrave William deserves to descend to immortality
with the heroic race of Ernest.  Thy day of vengeance was long delayed,
unfortunate John Frederick!  Noble! never-to-be-forgotten prince!
Slowly but brightly it broke.  Thy times returned, and thy heroic spirit
descended on thy grandson.  An intrepid race of princes issues from
the Thuringian forests, to shame, by immortal deeds, the unjust sentence
which robbed thee of the electoral crown -- to avenge thy offended shade
by heaps of bloody sacrifice.  The sentence of the conqueror
could deprive thee of thy territories, but not that spirit of patriotism
which staked them, nor that chivalrous courage which, a century afterwards,
was destined to shake the throne of his descendant.
Thy vengeance and that of Germany whetted the sacred sword,
and one heroic hand after the other wielded the irresistible steel.
As men, they achieved what as sovereigns they dared not undertake;
they met in a glorious cause as the valiant soldiers of liberty.
Too weak in territory to attack the enemy with their own forces,
they directed foreign artillery against them, and led foreign banners
to victory.

The liberties of Germany, abandoned by the more powerful states,
who, however, enjoyed most of the prosperity accruing from them,
were defended by a few princes for whom they were almost without value.
The possession of territories and dignities deadened courage;
the want of both made heroes.  While Saxony, Brandenburg, and the rest
drew back in terror, Anhalt, Mansfeld, the Prince of Weimar and others
were shedding their blood in the field.  The Dukes of Pomerania,
Mecklenburg, Luneburg, and Wirtemberg, and the free cities of Upper Germany,
to whom the name of EMPEROR was of course a formidable one,
anxiously avoided a contest with such an opponent, and crouched murmuring
beneath his mighty arm.

Austria and Roman Catholic Germany possessed in Maximilian of Bavaria
a champion as prudent as he was powerful.  Adhering throughout the war
to one fixed plan, never divided between his religion
and his political interests; not the slavish dependent of Austria,
who was labouring for HIS advancement, and trembled before
her powerful protector, Maximilian earned the territories and dignities
that rewarded his exertions.  The other Roman Catholic states,
which were chiefly Ecclesiastical, too unwarlike to resist
the multitudes whom the prosperity of their territories allured,
became the victims of the war one after another, and were contented
to persecute in the cabinet and in the pulpit, the enemy whom
they could not openly oppose in the field.  All of them,
slaves either to Austria or Bavaria, sunk into insignificance
by the side of Maximilian; in his hand alone their united power
could be rendered available.

The formidable monarchy which Charles V. and his son
had unnaturally constructed of the Netherlands, Milan, and the two Sicilies,
and their distant possessions in the East and West Indies,
was under Philip III. and Philip IV. fast verging to decay.
Swollen to a sudden greatness by unfruitful gold, this power was now sinking
under a visible decline, neglecting, as it did, agriculture,
the natural support of states.  The conquests in the West Indies
had reduced Spain itself to poverty, while they enriched
the markets of Europe; the bankers of Antwerp, Venice, and Genoa,
were making profit on the gold which was still buried in the mines of Peru.
For the sake of India, Spain had been depopulated, while the treasures
drawn from thence were wasted in the re-conquest of Holland,
in the chimerical project of changing the succession to the crown of France,
and in an unfortunate attack upon England.  But the pride of this court
had survived its greatness, as the hate of its enemies
had outlived its power.  Distrust of the Protestants suggested to
the ministry of Philip III. the dangerous policy of his father;
and the reliance of the Roman Catholics in Germany on Spanish assistance,
was as firm as their belief in the wonder-working bones of the martyrs.
External splendour concealed the inward wounds at which the life-blood
of this monarchy was oozing; and the belief of its strength survived,
because it still maintained the lofty tone of its golden days.
Slaves in their palaces, and strangers even upon their own thrones,
the Spanish nominal kings still gave laws to their German relations;
though it is very doubtful if the support they afforded was worth
the dependence by which the emperors purchased it.  The fate of Europe
was decided behind the Pyrenees by ignorant monks or vindictive favourites.
Yet, even in its debasement, a power must always be formidable,
which yields to none in extent; which, from custom, if not from
the steadfastness of its views, adhered faithfully to one system of policy;
which possessed well-disciplined armies and consummate generals; which,
where the sword failed, did not scruple to employ the dagger;
and converted even its ambassadors into incendiaries and assassins.
What it had lost in three quarters of the globe, it now sought to regain
to the eastward, and all Europe was at its mercy, if it could succeed in
its long cherished design of uniting with the hereditary dominions of Austria
all that lay between the Alps and the Adriatic.

To the great alarm of the native states, this formidable power
had gained a footing in Italy, where its continual encroachments
made the neighbouring sovereigns to tremble for their own possessions.
The Pope himself was in the most dangerous situation;
hemmed in on both sides by the Spanish Viceroys of Naples on the one side,
and that of Milan upon the other.  Venice was confined between
the Austrian Tyrol and the Spanish territories in Milan.
Savoy was surrounded by the latter and France.  Hence the wavering
and equivocal policy, which from the time of Charles V. had been pursued
by the Italian States.  The double character which pertained to the Popes
made them perpetually vacillate between two contradictory systems of policy.
If the successors of St. Peter found in the Spanish princes
their most obedient disciples, and the most steadfast supporters
of the Papal See, yet the princes of the States of the Church
had in these monarchs their most dangerous neighbours,
and most formidable opponents.  If, in the one capacity, their dearest wish
was the destruction of the Protestants, and the triumph of Austria,
in the other, they had reason to bless the arms of the Protestants,
which disabled a dangerous enemy.  The one or the other sentiment prevailed,
according as the love of temporal dominion, or zeal for spiritual supremacy,
predominated in the mind of the Pope.  But the policy of Rome was,
on the whole, directed to immediate dangers; and it is well known
how far more powerful is the apprehension of losing a present good,
than anxiety to recover a long lost possession.  And thus
it becomes intelligible how the Pope should first combine with Austria
for the destruction of heresy, and then conspire with these very heretics
for the destruction of Austria.  Strangely blended are the threads
of human affairs!  What would have become of the Reformation,
and of the liberties of Germany, if the Bishop of Rome and the Prince of Rome
had had but one interest?

France had lost with its great Henry all its importance and all its weight
in the political balance of Europe.  A turbulent minority had destroyed
all the benefits of the able administration of Henry.  Incapable ministers,
the creatures of court intrigue, squandered in a few years
the treasures which Sully's economy and Henry's frugality had amassed.
Scarce able to maintain their ground against internal factions,
they were compelled to resign to other hands the helm of European affairs.
The same civil war which armed Germany against itself,
excited a similar commotion in France; and Louis XIII. attained majority
only to wage a war with his own mother and his Protestant subjects.
This party, which had been kept quiet by Henry's enlightened policy,
now seized the opportunity to take up arms, and, under the command
of some adventurous leaders, began to form themselves into a party
within the state, and to fix on the strong and powerful town of Rochelle
as the capital of their intended kingdom.  Too little of a statesman
to suppress, by a prudent toleration, this civil commotion in its birth,
and too little master of the resources of his kingdom
to direct them with energy, Louis XIII. was reduced
to the degradation of purchasing the submission of the rebels
by large sums of money.  Though policy might incline him,
in one point of view, to assist the Bohemian insurgents against Austria,
the son of Henry the Fourth was now compelled to be an inactive spectator
of their destruction, happy enough if the Calvinists in his own dominions
did not unseasonably bethink them of their confederates beyond the Rhine.
A great mind at the helm of state would have reduced
the Protestants in France to obedience, while it employed them to fight
for the independence of their German brethren.  But Henry IV. was no more,
and Richelieu had not yet revived his system of policy.

While the glory of France was thus upon the wane, the emancipated
republic of Holland was completing the fabric of its greatness.
The enthusiastic courage had not yet died away which,
enkindled by the House of Orange, had converted this mercantile people
into a nation of heroes, and had enabled them to maintain their independence
in a bloody war against the Spanish monarchy.  Aware how much they owed
their own liberty to foreign support, these republicans were ready
to assist their German brethren in a similar cause, and the more so,
as both were opposed to the same enemy, and the liberty of Germany
was the best warrant for that of Holland.  But a republic which had still
to battle for its very existence, which, with all its wonderful exertions,
was scarce a match for the formidable enemy within its own territories,
could not be expected to withdraw its troops from the necessary work
of self-defence to employ them with a magnanimous policy
in protecting foreign states.

England too, though now united with Scotland, no longer possessed,
under the weak James, that influence in the affairs of Europe
which the governing mind of Elizabeth had procured for it.  Convinced that
the welfare of her dominions depended on the security of the Protestants,
this politic princess had never swerved from the principle of promoting every
enterprise which had for its object the diminution of the Austrian power.
Her successor was no less devoid of capacity to comprehend,
than of vigour to execute, her views.  While the economical Elizabeth
spared not her treasures to support the Flemings against Spain,
and Henry IV. against the League, James abandoned his daughter,
his son-in-law, and his grandchild, to the fury of their enemies.
While he exhausted his learning to establish the divine right of kings,
he allowed his own dignity to sink into the dust;
while he exerted his rhetoric to prove the absolute authority of kings,
he reminded the people of theirs; and by a useless profusion,
sacrificed the chief of his sovereign rights -- that of dispensing with
his parliament, and thus depriving liberty of its organ.  An innate horror
at the sight of a naked sword averted him from the most just of wars;
while his favourite Buckingham practised on his weakness,
and his own complacent vanity rendered him an easy dupe of Spanish artifice.
While his son-in-law was ruined, and the inheritance of his grandson
given to others, this weak prince was imbibing, with satisfaction,
the incense which was offered to him by Austria and Spain.
To divert his attention from the German war, he was amused with the proposal
of a Spanish marriage for his son, and the ridiculous parent
encouraged the romantic youth in the foolish project of paying his addresses
in person to the Spanish princess.  But his son lost his bride,
as his son-in-law lost the crown of Bohemia and the Palatine Electorate;
and death alone saved him from the danger of closing his pacific reign
by a war at home, which he never had courage to maintain, even at a distance.

The domestic disturbances which his misgovernment had gradually excited
burst forth under his unfortunate son, and forced him, after some
unimportant attempts, to renounce all further participation in the German war,
in order to stem within his own kingdom the rage of faction.

Two illustrious monarchs, far unequal in personal reputation,
but equal in power and desire of fame, made the North at this time
to be respected.  Under the long and active reign of Christian IV.,
Denmark had risen into importance.  The personal qualifications
of this prince, an excellent navy, a formidable army, well-ordered finances,
and prudent alliances, had combined to give her prosperity at home
and influence abroad.  Gustavus Vasa had rescued Sweden from vassalage,
reformed it by wise laws, and had introduced, for the first time,
this newly-organized state into the field of European politics.
What this great prince had merely sketched in rude outline,
was filled up by Gustavus Adolphus, his still greater grandson.

These two kingdoms, once unnaturally united and enfeebled by their union,
had been violently separated at the time of the Reformation,
and this separation was the epoch of their prosperity.
Injurious as this compulsory union had proved to both kingdoms,
equally necessary to each apart were neighbourly friendship and harmony.
On both the evangelical church leaned; both had the same seas to protect;
a common interest ought to unite them against the same enemy.
But the hatred which had dissolved the union of these monarchies
continued long after their separation to divide the two nations.
The Danish kings could not abandon their pretensions to the Swedish crown,
nor the Swedes banish the remembrance of Danish oppression.
The contiguous boundaries of the two kingdoms constantly furnished materials
for international quarrels, while the watchful jealousy of both kings,
and the unavoidable collision of their commercial interests in the North Seas,
were inexhaustible sources of dispute.

Among the means of which Gustavus Vasa, the founder of the Swedish monarchy,
availed himself to strengthen his new edifice, the Reformation had been
one of the principal.  A fundamental law of the kingdom
excluded the adherents of popery from all offices of the state,
and prohibited every future sovereign of Sweden from altering
the religious constitution of the kingdom.  But the second son
and second successor of Gustavus had relapsed into popery,
and his son Sigismund, also king of Poland, had been guilty of measures
which menaced both the constitution and the established church.
Headed by Charles, Duke of Sudermania, the third son of Gustavus,
the Estates made a courageous resistance, which terminated, at last,
in an open civil war between the uncle and nephew,
and between the King and the people.  Duke Charles,
administrator of the kingdom during the absence of the king,
had availed himself of Sigismund's long residence in Poland,
and the just displeasure of the states, to ingratiate himself
with the nation, and gradually to prepare his way to the throne.
His views were not a little forwarded by Sigismund's imprudence.
A general Diet ventured to abolish, in favour of the Protector,
the rule of primogeniture which Gustavus had established in the succession,
and placed the Duke of Sudermania on the throne, from which Sigismund,
with his whole posterity, were solemnly excluded.  The son of the new king
(who reigned under the name of Charles IX.) was Gustavus Adolphus, whom,
as the son of a usurper, the adherents of Sigismund refused to recognize.
But if the obligations between monarchy and subjects are reciprocal,
and states are not to be transmitted, like a lifeless heirloom,
from hand to hand, a nation acting with unanimity must have the power
of renouncing their allegiance to a sovereign who has violated
his obligations to them, and of filling his place by a worthier object.

Gustavus Adolphus had not completed his seventeenth year,
when the Swedish throne became vacant by the death of his father.
But the early maturity of his genius enabled the Estates
to abridge in his favour the legal period of minority.
With a glorious conquest over himself he commenced a reign
which was to have victory for its constant attendant,
a career which was to begin and end in success.  The young Countess of Brahe,
the daughter of a subject, had gained his early affections,
and he had resolved to share with her the Swedish throne.  But,
constrained by time and circumstances, he made his attachment yield
to the higher duties of a king, and heroism again took exclusive possession
of a heart which was not destined by nature to confine itself
within the limits of quiet domestic happiness.

Christian IV. of Denmark, who had ascended the throne before the birth
of Gustavus, in an inroad upon Sweden, had gained some considerable advantages
over the father of that hero.  Gustavus Adolphus hastened to put an end
to this destructive war, and by prudent sacrifices obtained a peace,
in order to turn his arms against the Czar of Muscovy.
The questionable fame of a conqueror never tempted him to spend
the blood of his subjects in unjust wars; but he never shrunk from a just one.
His arms were successful against Russia, and Sweden was augmented
by several important provinces on the east.

In the meantime, Sigismund of Poland retained against the son
the same sentiments of hostility which the father had provoked,
and left no artifice untried to shake the allegiance of his subjects,
to cool the ardour of his friends, and to embitter his enemies.
Neither the great qualities of his rival, nor the repeated proofs of devotion
which Sweden gave to her loved monarch, could extinguish
in this infatuated prince the foolish hope of regaining his lost throne.
All Gustavus's overtures were haughtily rejected.  Unwillingly was this
really peaceful king involved in a tedious war with Poland,
in which the whole of Livonia and Polish Prussia were successively conquered.
Though constantly victorious, Gustavus Adolphus was always the first
to hold out the hand of peace.

This contest between Sweden and Poland falls somewhere about the beginning of
the Thirty Years' War in Germany, with which it is in some measure connected.
It was enough that Sigismund, himself a Roman Catholic, was disputing
the Swedish crown with a Protestant prince, to assure him the active support
of Spain and Austria; while a double relationship to the Emperor
gave him a still stronger claim to his protection.  It was his reliance
on this powerful assistance that chiefly encouraged the King of Poland
to continue the war, which had hitherto turned out so unfavourably for him,
and the courts of Madrid and Vienna failed not to encourage him
by high-sounding promises.  While Sigismund lost one place after another
in Livonia, Courland, and Prussia, he saw his ally in Germany
advancing from conquest after conquest to unlimited power.
No wonder then if his aversion to peace kept pace with his losses.
The vehemence with which he nourished his chimerical hopes blinded him to
the artful policy of his confederates, who at his expense were keeping
the Swedish hero employed, in order to overturn, without opposition,
the liberties of Germany, and then to seize on the exhausted North
as an easy conquest.  One circumstance which had not been calculated on --
the magnanimity of Gustavus -- overthrew this deceitful policy.
An eight years' war in Poland, so far from exhausting the power of Sweden,
had only served to mature the military genius of Gustavus, to inure
the Swedish army to warfare, and insensibly to perfect that system of tactics
by which they were afterwards to perform such wonders in Germany.

After this necessary digression on the existing circumstances of Europe,
I now resume the thread of my history.

Ferdinand had regained his dominions, but had not indemnified himself
for the expenses of recovering them.  A sum of forty millions of florins,
which the confiscations in Bohemia and Moravia had produced,
would have sufficed to reimburse both himself and his allies;
but the Jesuits and his favourites soon squandered this sum, large as it was.
Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria, to whose victorious arm, principally,
the Emperor owed the recovery of his dominions; who, in the service
of religion and the Emperor, had sacrificed his near relation,
had the strongest claims on his gratitude; and moreover,
in a treaty which, before the war, the duke had concluded with the Emperor,
he had expressly stipulated for the reimbursement of all expenses.
Ferdinand felt the full weight of the obligation imposed upon him
by this treaty and by these services, but he was not disposed to discharge it
at his own cost.  His purpose was to bestow a brilliant reward upon the duke,
but without detriment to himself.  How could this be done better
than at the expense of the unfortunate prince who, by his revolt,
had given the Emperor a right to punish him, and whose offences
might be painted in colours strong enough to justify the most violent measures
under the appearance of law.  That, then, Maximilian may be rewarded,
Frederick must be further persecuted and totally ruined;
and to defray the expenses of the old war, a new one must be commenced.

But a still stronger motive combined to enforce the first.
Hitherto Ferdinand had been contending for existence alone;
he had been fulfilling no other duty than that of self-defence.
But now, when victory gave him freedom to act, a higher duty
occurred to him, and he remembered the vow which he had made
at Loretto and at Rome, to his generalissima, the Holy Virgin,
to extend her worship even at the risk of his crown and life.
With this object, the oppression of the Protestants was inseparably connected.
More favourable circumstances for its accomplishment could not offer
than those which presented themselves at the close of the Bohemian war.
Neither the power, nor a pretext of right, were now wanting
to enable him to place the Palatinate in the hands of the Catholics,
and the importance of this change to the Catholic interests in Germany
would be incalculable.  Thus, in rewarding the Duke of Bavaria
with the spoils of his relation, he at once gratified his meanest passions
and fulfilled his most exalted duties; he crushed an enemy whom he hated,
and spared his avarice a painful sacrifice, while he believed he was winning
a heavenly crown.

In the Emperor's cabinet, the ruin of Frederick had been resolved upon
long before fortune had decided against him; but it was only after this event
that they ventured to direct against him the thunders of arbitrary power.
A decree of the Emperor, destitute of all the formalities required
on such occasions by the laws of the Empire, pronounced the Elector,
and three other princes who had borne arms for him at Silesia and Bohemia,
as offenders against the imperial majesty, and disturbers of the public peace,
under the ban of the empire, and deprived them of their titles
and territories.  The execution of this sentence against Frederick,
namely the seizure of his lands, was, in further contempt of law,
committed to Spain as Sovereign of the circle of Burgundy,
to the Duke of Bavaria, and the League.  Had the Evangelic Union been worthy
of the name it bore, and of the cause which it pretended to defend,
insuperable obstacles might have prevented the execution of the sentence;
but it was hopeless for a power which was far from a match
even for the Spanish troops in the Lower Palatinate, to contend against
the united strength of the Emperor, Bavaria, and the League.
The sentence of proscription pronounced upon the Elector
soon detached the free cities from the Union; and the princes quickly followed
their example.  Fortunate in preserving their own dominions,
they abandoned the Elector, their former chief, to the Emperor's mercy,
renounced the Union, and vowed never to revive it again.

But while thus ingloriously the German princes deserted
the unfortunate Frederick, and while Bohemia, Silesia, and Moravia
submitted to the Emperor, a single man, a soldier of fortune,
whose only treasure was his sword, Ernest Count Mansfeld, dared,
in the Bohemian town of Pilsen, to defy the whole power of Austria.
Left without assistance after the battle of Prague by the Elector,
to whose service he had devoted himself, and even uncertain
whether Frederick would thank him for his perseverance,
he alone for some time held out against the imperialists,
till the garrison, mutinying for want of pay, sold the town to the Emperor.
Undismayed by this reverse, he immediately commenced new levies
in the Upper Palatinate, and enlisted the disbanded troops of the Union.
A new army of 20,000 men was soon assembled under his banners,
the more formidable to the provinces which might be the object of its attack,
because it must subsist by plunder.  Uncertain where this swarm might light,
the neighbouring bishops trembled for their rich possessions, which offered
a tempting prey to its ravages.  But, pressed by the Duke of Bavaria,
who now entered the Upper Palatinate, Mansfeld was compelled to retire.
Eluding, by a successful stratagem, the Bavarian general, Tilly,
who was in pursuit of him, he suddenly appeared in the Lower Palatinate,
and there wreaked upon the bishoprics of the Rhine the severities he had
designed for those of Franconia.  While the imperial and Bavarian allies
thus overran Bohemia, the Spanish general, Spinola, had penetrated
with a numerous army from the Netherlands into the Lower Palatinate,
which, however, the pacification of Ulm permitted the Union to defend.
But their measures were so badly concerted, that one place after another
fell into the hands of the Spaniards; and at last, when the Union broke up,
the greater part of the country was in the possession of Spain.
The Spanish general, Corduba, who commanded these troops after the recall
of Spinola, hastily raised the siege of Frankenthal, when Mansfeld entered
the Lower Palatinate.  But instead of driving the Spaniards out
of this province, he hastened across the Rhine to secure for his needy troops
shelter and subsistence in Alsace.  The open countries on which this
swarm of maurauders threw themselves were converted into frightful deserts,
and only by enormous contributions could the cities purchase
an exemption from plunder.  Reinforced by this expedition,
Mansfeld again appeared on the Rhine to cover the Lower Palatinate.

So long as such an arm fought for him, the cause of the Elector Frederick
was not irretrievably lost.  New prospects began to open,
and misfortune raised up friends who had been silent during his prosperity.
King James of England, who had looked on with indifference while
his son-in-law lost the Bohemian crown, was aroused from his insensibility
when the very existence of his daughter and grandson was at stake,
and the victorious enemy ventured an attack upon the Electorate.
Late enough, he at last opened his treasures, and hastened to afford supplies
of money and troops, first to the Union, which at that time was defending
the Lower Palatinate, and afterwards, when they retired, to Count Mansfeld.
By his means his near relation, Christian, King of Denmark,
was induced to afford his active support.  At the same time,
the approaching expiration of the truce between Spain and Holland
deprived the Emperor of all the supplies which otherwise he might expect
from the side of the Netherlands.  More important still was the assistance
which the Palatinate received from Transylvania and Hungary.
The cessation of hostilities between Gabor and the Emperor
was scarcely at an end, when this old and formidable enemy of Austria
overran Hungary anew, and caused himself to be crowned king in Presburg.
So rapid was his progress that, to protect Austria and Hungary,
Boucquoi was obliged to evacuate Bohemia.  This brave general met his death
at the siege of Neuhausel, as, shortly before, the no less valiant Dampierre
had fallen before Presburg.  Gabor's march into the Austrian territory
was irresistible; the old Count Thurn, and several other
distinguished Bohemians, had united their hatred and their strength
with this irreconcileable enemy of Austria.  A vigorous attack
on the side of Germany, while Gabor pressed the Emperor on that of Hungary,
might have retrieved the fortunes of Frederick; but, unfortunately,
the Bohemians and Germans had always laid down their arms
when Gabor took the field; and the latter was always exhausted
at the very moment that the former began to recover their vigour.

Meanwhile Frederick had not delayed to join his protector Mansfeld.
In disguise he entered the Lower Palatinate, of which the possession
was at that time disputed between Mansfeld and the Bavarian general, Tilly,
the Upper Palatinate having been long conquered.  A ray of hope
shone upon him as, from the wreck of the Union, new friends came forward.
A former member of the Union, George Frederick, Margrave of Baden,
had for some time been engaged in assembling a military force,
which soon amounted to a considerable army.  Its destination
was kept a secret till he suddenly took the field and joined Mansfeld.
Before commencing the war, he resigned his Margraviate to his son,
in the hope of eluding, by this precaution, the Emperor's revenge,
if his enterprize should be unsuccessful.  His neighbour,
the Duke of Wirtemberg, likewise began to augment his military force.
The courage of the Palatine revived, and he laboured assiduously
to renew the Protestant Union.  It was now time for Tilly to consult
for his own safety, and he hastily summoned the Spanish troops, under Corduba,
to his assistance.  But while the enemy was uniting his strength,
Mansfeld and the Margrave separated, and the latter was defeated
by the Bavarian general near Wimpfen (1622).

To defend a king whom his nearest relation persecuted,
and who was deserted even by his own father-in-law, there had come forward
an adventurer without money, and whose very legitimacy was questioned.
A sovereign had resigned possessions over which he reigned in peace,
to hazard the uncertain fortune of war in behalf of a stranger.
And now another soldier of fortune, poor in territorial possessions,
but rich in illustrious ancestry, undertook the defence of a cause
which the former despaired of.  Christian, Duke of Brunswick,
administrator of Halberstadt, seemed to have learnt from Count Mansfeld
the secret of keeping in the field an army of 20,000 men without money.
Impelled by youthful presumption, and influenced partly by the wish of
establishing his reputation at the expense of the Roman Catholic priesthood,
whom he cordially detested, and partly by a thirst for plunder,
he assembled a considerable army in Lower Saxony, under the pretext
of espousing the defence of Frederick, and of the liberties of Germany.
"God's Friend, Priest's Foe", was the motto he chose for his coinage,
which was struck out of church plate; and his conduct belied one half at least
of the device.

The progress of these banditti was, as usual, marked by
the most frightful devastation.  Enriched by the spoils of the chapters
of Lower Saxony and Westphalia, they gathered strength
to plunder the bishoprics upon the Upper Rhine.  Driven from thence,
both by friends and foes, the Administrator approached
the town of Hoechst on the Maine, which he crossed after a murderous action
with Tilly, who disputed with him the passage of the river.
With the loss of half his army he reached the opposite bank, where he
quickly collected his shattered troops, and formed a junction with Mansfeld.
Pursued by Tilly, this united host threw itself again into Alsace,
to repeat their former ravages.  While the Elector Frederick followed,
almost like a fugitive mendicant, this swarm of plunderers
which acknowledged him as its lord, and dignified itself with his name,
his friends were busily endeavouring to effect a reconciliation
between him and the Emperor.  Ferdinand took care not to deprive them
of all hope of seeing the Palatine restored to his dominion.
Full of artifice and dissimulation, he pretended to be willing to enter
into a negotiation, hoping thereby to cool their ardour in the field,
and to prevent them from driving matters to extremity.  James I.,
ever the dupe of Spanish cunning, contributed not a little,
by his foolish intermeddling, to promote the Emperor's schemes.
Ferdinand insisted that Frederick, if he would appeal to his clemency,
should, first of all, lay down his arms, and James considered this demand
extremely reasonable.  At his instigation, the Elector dismissed
his only real defenders, Count Mansfeld and the Administrator,
and in Holland awaited his own fate from the mercy of the Emperor.

Mansfeld and Duke Christian were now at a loss for some new name;
the cause of the Elector had not set them in motion, so his dismissal
could not disarm them.  War was their object; it was all the same to them
in whose cause or name it was waged.  After some vain attempts
on the part of Mansfeld to be received into the Emperor's service,
both marched into Lorraine, where the excesses of their troops
spread terror even to the heart of France.  Here they long waited in vain
for a master willing to purchase their services; till the Dutch,
pressed by the Spanish General Spinola, offered to take them into pay.
After a bloody fight at Fleurus with the Spaniards,
who attempted to intercept them, they reached Holland,
where their appearance compelled the Spanish general forthwith
to raise the siege of Bergen-op-Zoom.  But even Holland was soon weary
of these dangerous guests, and availed herself of the first moment
to get rid of their unwelcome assistance.  Mansfeld allowed his troops
to recruit themselves for new enterprises in the fertile province
of East Friezeland.  Duke Christian, passionately enamoured
of the Electress Palatine, with whom he had become acquainted in Holland,
and more disposed for war than ever, led back his army into Lower Saxony,
bearing that princess's glove in his hat, and on his standards the motto
"All for God and Her".  Neither of these adventurers had as yet run
their career in this war.

All the imperial territories were now free from the enemy;
the Union was dissolved; the Margrave of Baden, Duke Christian, and Mansfeld,
driven from the field, and the Palatinate overrun by the executive troops
of the empire.  Manheim and Heidelberg were in possession of Bavaria,
and Frankenthal was shortly afterwards ceded to the Spaniards.  The Palatine,
in a distant corner of Holland, awaited the disgraceful permission to appease,
by abject submission, the vengeance of the Emperor; and an Electoral Diet
was at last summoned to decide his fate.  That fate, however,
had been long before decided at the court of the Emperor; though now,
for the first time, were circumstances favourable for giving publicity
to the decision.  After his past measures towards the Elector,
Ferdinand believed that a sincere reconciliation was not to be hoped for.
The violent course he had once begun, must be completed successfully,
or recoil upon himself.  What was already lost was irrecoverable;
Frederick could never hope to regain his dominions;
and a prince without territory and without subjects had little chance
of retaining the electoral crown.  Deeply as the Palatine had offended
against the House of Austria, the services of the Duke of Bavaria were
no less meritorious.  If the House of Austria and the Roman Catholic church
had much to dread from the resentment and religious rancour
of the Palatine family, they had as much to hope from
the gratitude and religious zeal of the Bavarian.  Lastly,
by the cession of the Palatine Electorate to Bavaria,
the Roman Catholic religion would obtain a decisive preponderance
in the Electoral College, and secure a permanent triumph in Germany.

The last circumstance was sufficient to win the support
of the three Ecclesiastical Electors to this innovation;
and among the Protestants the vote of Saxony was alone of any importance.
But could John George be expected to dispute with the Emperor a right,
without which he would expose to question his own title
to the electoral dignity?  To a prince whom descent, dignity,
and political power placed at the head of the Protestant church in Germany,
nothing, it is true, ought to be more sacred than the defence of the rights
of that church against all the encroachments of the Roman Catholics.
But the question here was not whether the interests of the Protestants
were to be supported against the Roman Catholics, but which of
two religions equally detested, the Calvinistic and the Popish,
was to triumph over the other; to which of the two enemies,
equally dangerous, the Palatinate was to be assigned; and in this clashing
of opposite duties, it was natural that private hate and private gain
should determine the event.  The born protector of the liberties of Germany,
and of the Protestant religion, encouraged the Emperor
to dispose of the Palatinate by his imperial prerogative;
and to apprehend no resistance on the part of Saxony to his measures
on the mere ground of form.  If the Elector was afterwards disposed to
retract this consent, Ferdinand himself, by driving the Evangelical preachers
from Bohemia, was the cause of this change of opinion; and, in the eyes
of the Elector, the transference of the Palatine Electorate to Bavaria
ceased to be illegal, as soon as Ferdinand was prevailed upon
to cede Lusatia to Saxony, in consideration of six millions of dollars,
as the expenses of the war.

Thus, in defiance of all Protestant Germany, and in mockery of
the fundamental laws of the empire, which, as his election,
he had sworn to maintain, Ferdinand at Ratisbon solemnly invested
the Duke of Bavaria with the Palatinate, without prejudice, as the form ran,
to the rights which the relations or descendants of Frederick
might afterwards establish.  That unfortunate prince thus saw himself
irrevocably driven from his possessions, without having been even heard
before the tribunal which condemned him -- a privilege which the law allows
to the meanest subject, and even to the most atrocious criminal.

This violent step at last opened the eyes of the King of England;
and as the negociations for the marriage of his son with the Infanta of Spain
were now broken off, James began seriously to espouse the cause
of his son-in-law.  A change in the French ministry had placed
Cardinal Richelieu at the head of affairs, and this fallen kingdom
soon began to feel that a great mind was at the helm of state.  The attempts
of the Spanish Viceroy in Milan to gain possession of the Valtelline,
and thus to form a junction with the Austrian hereditary dominions,
revived the olden dread of this power, and with it the policy
of Henry the Great.  The marriage of the Prince of Wales
with Henrietta of France, established a close union between the two crowns;
and to this alliance, Holland, Denmark, and some of the Italian states
presently acceded.  Its object was to expel, by force of arms,
Spain from the Valtelline, and to compel Austria to reinstate Frederick;
but only the first of these designs was prosecuted with vigour.
James I. died, and Charles I., involved in disputes with his Parliament,
could not bestow attention on the affairs of Germany.  Savoy and Venice
withheld their assistance; and the French minister thought it necessary
to subdue the Huguenots at home, before he supported the German Protestants
against the Emperor.  Great as were the hopes which had been formed from
this alliance, they were yet equalled by the disappointment of the event.

Mansfeld, deprived of all support, remained inactive on the Lower Rhine;
and Duke Christian of Brunswick, after an unsuccessful campaign,
was a second time driven out of Germany.  A fresh irruption of Bethlen Gabor
into Moravia, frustrated by the want of support from the Germans,
terminated, like all the rest, in a formal peace with the Emperor.
The Union was no more; no Protestant prince was in arms;
and on the frontiers of Lower Germany, the Bavarian General Tilly,
at the head of a victorious army, encamped in the Protestant territory.
The movements of the Duke of Brunswick had drawn him into this quarter,
and even into the circle of Lower Saxony, when he made himself
master of the Administrator's magazines at Lippstadt.  The necessity
of observing this enemy, and preventing him from new inroads,
was the pretext assigned for continuing Tilly's stay in the country.
But, in truth, both Mansfeld and Duke Christian had, from want of money,
disbanded their armies, and Count Tilly had no enemy to dread.  Why, then,
still burden the country with his presence?

It is difficult, amidst the uproar of contending parties,
to distinguish the voice of truth; but certainly it was matter for alarm
that the League did not lay down its arms.  The premature rejoicings
of the Roman Catholics, too, were calculated to increase apprehension.
The Emperor and the League stood armed and victorious in Germany
without a power to oppose them, should they venture to attack
the Protestant states and to annul the religious treaty.
Had Ferdinand been in reality far from disposed to abuse his conquests,
still the defenceless position of the Protestants was most likely to suggest
the temptation.  Obsolete conventions could not bind a prince who thought
that he owed all to religion, and believed that a religious creed would
sanctify any deed, however violent.  Upper Germany was already overpowered.
Lower Germany alone could check his despotic authority.  Here the Protestants
still predominated; the church had been forcibly deprived of most
of its endowments; and the present appeared a favourable moment
for recovering these lost possessions.  A great part of the strength
of the Lower German princes consisted in these Chapters,
and the plea of restoring its own to the church, afforded an excellent pretext
for weakening these princes.

Unpardonable would have been their negligence, had they remained inactive
in this danger.  The remembrance of the ravages which Tilly's army
had committed in Lower Saxony was too recent not to arouse the Estates
to measures of defence.  With all haste, the circle of Lower Saxony began
to arm itself.  Extraordinary contributions were levied, troops collected,
and magazines filled.  Negociations for subsidies were set on foot
with Venice, Holland, and England.  They deliberated, too,
what power should be placed at the head of the confederacy.
The kings of the Sound and the Baltic, the natural allies of this circle,
would not see with indifference the Emperor treating it as a conqueror,
and establishing himself as their neighbour on the shores of the North Sea.
The twofold interests of religion and policy urged them to put a stop
to his progress in Lower Germany.  Christian IV. of Denmark,
as Duke of Holstein, was himself a prince of this circle,
and by considerations equally powerful, Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden
was induced to join the confederacy.

These two kings vied with each other for the honour of defending Lower Saxony,
and of opposing the formidable power of Austria.  Each offered to raise
a well-disciplined army, and to lead it in person.  His victorious campaigns
against Moscow and Poland gave weight to the promises of the King of Sweden.
The shores of the Baltic were full of the name of Gustavus.
But the fame of his rival excited the envy of the Danish monarch;
and the more success he promised himself in this campaign,
the less disposed was he to show any favour to his envied neighbour.
Both laid their conditions and plans before the English ministry,
and Christian IV. finally succeeded in outbidding his rival.
Gustavus Adolphus, for his own security, had demanded the cession
of some places of strength in Germany, where he himself had no territories,
to afford, in case of need, a place of refuge for his troops.
Christian IV. possessed Holstein and Jutland, through which,
in the event of a defeat, he could always secure a retreat.

Eager to get the start of his competitor, the King of Denmark hastened
to take the field.  Appointed generalissimo of the circle of Lower Saxony,
he soon had an army of 60,000 men in motion; the administrator of Magdeburg,
and the Dukes of Brunswick and Mecklenburgh, entered into an alliance
with him.  Encouraged by the hope of assistance from England,
and the possession of so large a force, he flattered himself
he should be able to terminate the war in a single campaign.

At Vienna, it was officially notified that the only object
of these preparations was the protection of the circle,
and the maintenance of peace.  But the negociations with Holland, England,
and even France, the extraordinary exertions of the circle, and the raising
of so formidable an army, seemed to have something more in view
than defensive operations, and to contemplate nothing less
than the complete restoration of the Elector Palatine,
and the humiliation of the dreaded power of Austria.

After negociations, exhortations, commands, and threats had in vain
been employed by the Emperor in order to induce the King of Denmark
and the circle of Lower Saxony to lay down their arms, hostilities commenced,
and Lower Germany became the theatre of war.  Count Tilly,
marching along the left bank of the Weser, made himself master
of all the passes as far as Minden.  After an unsuccessful attack on Nieuburg,
he crossed the river and overran the principality of Calemberg,
in which he quartered his troops.  The king conducted his operations
on the right bank of the river, and spread his forces over
the territories of Brunswick, but having weakened his main body by
too powerful detachments, he could not engage in any enterprise of importance.
Aware of his opponent's superiority, he avoided a decisive action
as anxiously as the general of the League sought it.

With the exception of the troops from the Spanish Netherlands,
which had poured into the Lower Palatinate, the Emperor had hitherto
made use only of the arms of Bavaria and the League in Germany.
Maximilian conducted the war as executor of the ban of the empire,
and Tilly, who commanded the army of execution, was in the Bavarian service.
The Emperor owed superiority in the field to Bavaria and the League,
and his fortunes were in their hands.  This dependence on their goodwill,
but ill accorded with the grand schemes, which the brilliant commencement
of the war had led the imperial cabinet to form.

However active the League had shown itself in the Emperor's defence,
while thereby it secured its own welfare, it could not be expected
that it would enter as readily into his views of conquest.  Or,
if they still continued to lend their armies for that purpose,
it was too much to be feared that they would share with the Emperor
nothing but general odium, while they appropriated to themselves
all advantages.  A strong army under his own orders could alone free him
from this debasing dependence upon Bavaria, and restore to him
his former pre-eminence in Germany.  But the war had already exhausted
the imperial dominions, and they were unequal to the expense
of such an armament.  In these circumstances, nothing could be
more welcome to the Emperor than the proposal with which
one of his officers surprised him.

This was Count Wallenstein, an experienced officer,
and the richest nobleman in Bohemia.  From his earliest youth
he had been in the service of the House of Austria, and several campaigns
against the Turks, Venetians, Bohemians, Hungarians, and Transylvanians
had established his reputation.  He was present as colonel
at the battle of Prague, and afterwards, as major-general,
had defeated a Hungarian force in Moravia.  The Emperor's gratitude
was equal to his services, and a large share of the confiscated estates
of the Bohemian insurgents was their reward.  Possessed of immense property,
excited by ambitious views, confident in his own good fortune,
and still more encouraged by the existing state of circumstances,
he offered, at his own expense and that of his friends,
to raise and clothe an army for the Emperor, and even undertook
the cost of maintaining it, if he were allowed to augment it to 50,000 men.
The project was universally ridiculed as the chimerical offspring
of a visionary brain; but the offer was highly valuable, if its promises
should be but partially fulfilled.  Certain circles in Bohemia
were assigned to him as depots, with authority to appoint his own officers.
In a few months he had 20,000 men under arms, with which,
quitting the Austrian territories, he soon afterwards appeared
on the frontiers of Lower Saxony with 30,000.  The Emperor
had lent this armament nothing but his name.  The reputation of the general,
the prospect of rapid promotion, and the hope of plunder,
attracted to his standard adventurers from all quarters of Germany;
and even sovereign princes, stimulated by the desire of glory or of gain,
offered to raise regiments for the service of Austria.

Now, therefore, for the first time in this war, an imperial army
appeared in Germany; -- an event which if it was menacing to the Protestants,
was scarcely more acceptable to the Catholics.  Wallenstein had orders
to unite his army with the troops of the League, and in conjunction
with the Bavarian general to attack the King of Denmark.
But long jealous of Tilly's fame, he showed no disposition to share with him
the laurels of the campaign, or in the splendour of his rival's achievements
to dim the lustre of his own.  His plan of operations was
to support the latter, but to act entirely independent of him.
As he had not resources, like Tilly, for supplying the wants of his army,
he was obliged to march his troops into fertile countries
which had not as yet suffered from war.  Disobeying, therefore,
the order to form a junction with the general of the League,
he marched into the territories of Halberstadt and Magdeburg,
and at Dessau made himself master of the Elbe.  All the lands
on either bank of this river were at his command, and from them
he could either attack the King of Denmark in the rear, or, if prudent,
enter the territories of that prince.

Christian IV. was fully aware of the danger of his situation between
two such powerful armies.  He had already been joined by the administrator
of Halberstadt, who had lately returned from Holland; he now also
acknowledged Mansfeld, whom previously he had refused to recognise,
and supported him to the best of his ability.  Mansfeld amply requited
this service.  He alone kept at bay the army of Wallenstein upon the Elbe,
and prevented its junction with that of Tilly, and a combined attack
on the King of Denmark.  Notwithstanding the enemy's superiority,
this intrepid general even approached the bridge of Dessau,
and ventured to entrench himself in presence of the imperial lines.
But attacked in the rear by the whole force of the Imperialists,
he was obliged to yield to superior numbers, and to abandon his post
with the loss of 3,000 killed.  After this defeat, Mansfeld withdrew
into Brandenburg, where he soon recruited and reinforced his army;
and suddenly turned into Silesia, with the view of marching from thence
into Hungary; and, in conjunction with Bethlen Gabor, carrying the war
into the heart of Austria.  As the Austrian dominions in that quarter
were entirely defenceless, Wallenstein received immediate orders
to leave the King of Denmark, and if possible to intercept
Mansfeld's progress through Silesia.

The diversion which this movement of Mansfeld had made in the plans
of Wallenstein, enabled the king to detach a part of his force
into Westphalia, to seize the bishoprics of Munster and Osnaburg.
To check this movement, Tilly suddenly moved from the Weser;
but the operations of Duke Christian, who threatened the territories
of the League with an inroad in the direction of Hesse, and to remove thither
the seat of war, recalled him as rapidly from Westphalia.
In order to keep open his communication with these provinces,
and to prevent the junction of the enemy with the Landgrave of Hesse,
Tilly hastily seized all the tenable posts on the Werha and Fulda,
and took up a strong position in Minden, at the foot of the Hessian Mountains,
and at the confluence of these rivers with the Weser.  He soon made himself
master of Goettingen, the key of Brunswick and Hesse, and was meditating
a similar attack upon Nordheim, when the king advanced upon him
with his whole army.  After throwing into this place the necessary supplies
for a long siege, the latter attempted to open a new passage
through Eichsfeld and Thuringia, into the territories of the League.
He had already reached Duderstadt, when Tilly, by forced marches,
came up with him.  As the army of Tilly, which had been reinforced
by some of Wallenstein's regiments, was superior in numbers to his own,
the king, to avoid a battle, retreated towards Brunswick.
But Tilly incessantly harassed his retreat, and after three days' skirmishing,
he was at length obliged to await the enemy near the village of Lutter
in Barenberg.  The Danes began the attack with great bravery, and thrice did
their intrepid monarch lead them in person against the enemy; but at length
the superior numbers and discipline of the Imperialists prevailed,
and the general of the League obtained a complete victory.
The Danes lost sixty standards, and their whole artillery, baggage,
and ammunition.  Several officers of distinction and about 4,000 men
were killed in the field of battle; and several companies of foot,
in the flight, who had thrown themselves into the town-house of Lutter,
laid down their arms and surrendered to the conqueror.

The king fled with his cavalry, and soon collected the wreck of his army
which had survived this serious defeat.  Tilly pursued his victory,
made himself master of the Weser and Brunswick, and forced the king
to retire into Bremen.  Rendered more cautious by defeat,
the latter now stood upon the defensive; and determined at all events
to prevent the enemy from crossing the Elbe.  But while he threw garrisons
into every tenable place, he reduced his own diminished army to inactivity;
and one after another his scattered troops were either defeated or dispersed.
The forces of the League, in command of the Weser, spread themselves along
the Elbe and Havel, and everywhere drove the Danes before them.
Tilly himself crossing the Elbe penetrated with his victorious army
into Brandenburg, while Wallenstein entered Holstein to remove the seat of war
to the king's own dominions.

This general had just returned from Hungary whither he had pursued Mansfeld,
without being able to obstruct his march, or prevent his junction
with Bethlen Gabor.  Constantly persecuted by fortune, but always superior
to his fate, Mansfeld had made his way against countless difficulties,
through Silesia and Hungary to Transylvania, where, after all,
he was not very welcome.  Relying upon the assistance of England,
and a powerful diversion in Lower Saxony, Gabor had again broken the truce
with the Emperor.  But in place of the expected diversion in his favour,
Mansfeld had drawn upon himself the whole strength of Wallenstein,
and instead of bringing, required, pecuniary assistance.  The want of concert
in the Protestant counsels cooled Gabor's ardour; and he hastened, as usual,
to avert the coming storm by a speedy peace.  Firmly determined, however,
to break it, with the first ray of hope, he directed Mansfeld in the mean time
to apply for assistance to Venice.

Cut off from Germany, and unable to support the weak remnant of his troops
in Hungary, Mansfeld sold his artillery and baggage train, and disbanded
his soldiers.  With a few followers, he proceeded through Bosnia and Dalmatia,
towards Venice.  New schemes swelled his bosom; but his career was ended.
Fate, which had so restlessly sported with him throughout,
now prepared for him a peaceful grave in Dalmatia.  Death overtook him
in the vicinity of Zara in 1626, and a short time before him
died the faithful companion of his fortunes, Christian, Duke of Brunswick --
two men worthy of immortality, had they but been as superior to their times
as they were to their adversities.

The King of Denmark, with his whole army, was unable to cope with Tilly alone;
much less, therefore, with a shattered force could he hold his ground
against the two imperial generals.  The Danes retired from all their posts
on the Weser, the Elbe, and the Havel, and the army of Wallenstein
poured like a torrent into Brandenburg, Mecklenburg, Holstein and Sleswick.
That general, too proud to act in conjunction with another,
had dispatched Tilly across the Elbe, to watch, as he gave out,
the motions of the Dutch in that quarter; but in reality
that he might terminate the war against the king, and reap for himself
the fruits of Tilly's conquests.  Christian had now lost
all his fortresses in the German States, with the exception of Gluckstadt;
his armies were defeated or dispersed; no assistance came from Germany;
from England, little consolation; while his confederates in Lower Saxony
were at the mercy of the conqueror.  The Landgrave of Hesse Cassel
had been forced by Tilly, soon after the battle of Lutter,
to renounce the Danish alliance.  Wallenstein's formidable appearance
before Berlin reduced the Elector of Brandenburgh to submission,
and compelled him to recognise, as legitimate, Maximilian's title
to the Palatine Electorate.  The greater part of Mecklenburgh was now overrun
by imperial troops; and both dukes, as adherents of the King of Denmark,
placed under the ban of the empire, and driven from their dominions.
The defence of the German liberties against illegal encroachments,
was punished as a crime deserving the loss of all dignities and territories;
and yet this was but the prelude to the still more crying enormities
which shortly followed.

The secret how Wallenstein had purposed to fulfil his extravagant designs
was now manifest.  He had learned the lesson from Count Mansfeld;
but the scholar surpassed his master.  On the principle
that war must support war, Mansfeld and the Duke of Brunswick
had subsisted their troops by contributions levied indiscriminately
on friend and enemy; but this predatory life was attended with
all the inconvenience and insecurity which accompany robbery.
Like a fugitive banditti, they were obliged to steal through
exasperated and vigilant enemies; to roam from one end of Germany to another;
to watch their opportunity with anxiety; and to abandon
the most fertile territories whenever they were defended by a superior army.
If Mansfeld and Duke Christian had done such great things
in the face of these difficulties, what might not be expected
if the obstacles were removed; when the army raised was numerous enough
to overawe in itself the most powerful states of the empire;
when the name of the Emperor insured impunity to every outrage; and when,
under the highest authority, and at the head of an overwhelming force,
the same system of warfare was pursued, which these two adventurers
had hitherto adopted at their own risk, and with only an untrained multitude?

Wallenstein had all this in view when he made his bold offer to the Emperor,
which now seemed extravagant to no one.  The more his army was augmented,
the less cause was there to fear for its subsistence, because it could
irresistibly bear down upon the refractory states; the more violent
its outrages, the more probable was impunity.  Towards hostile states
it had the plea of right; towards the favourably disposed
it could allege necessity.  The inequality, too, with which it dealt out
its oppressions, prevented any dangerous union among the states;
while the exhaustion of their territories deprived them of the power
of vengeance.  Thus the whole of Germany became a kind of magazine
for the imperial army, and the Emperor was enabled to deal with
the other states as absolutely as with his own hereditary dominions.
Universal was the clamour for redress before the imperial throne;
but there was nothing to fear from the revenge of the injured princes,
so long as they appealed for justice.  The general discontent was directed
equally against the Emperor, who had lent his name to these barbarities,
and the general who exceeded his power, and openly abused the authority
of his master.  They applied to the Emperor for protection against
the outrages of his general; but Wallenstein had no sooner felt himself
absolute in the army, than he threw off his obedience to his sovereign.

The exhaustion of the enemy made a speedy peace probable;
yet Wallenstein continued to augment the imperial armies until they were
at least 100,000 men strong.  Numberless commissions to colonelcies
and inferior commands, the regal pomp of the commander-in-chief,
immoderate largesses to his favourites, (for he never gave less
than a thousand florins,) enormous sums lavished in corrupting the court
at Vienna -- all this had been effected without burdening the Emperor.
These immense sums were raised by the contributions levied from the lower
German provinces, where no distinction was made between friend and foe;
and the territories of all princes were subjected to the same system
of marching and quartering, of extortion and outrage.
If credit is to be given to an extravagant contemporary statement,
Wallenstein, during his seven years command, had exacted not less
than sixty thousand millions of dollars from one half of Germany.
The greater his extortions, the greater the rewards of his soldiers,
and the greater the concourse to his standard, for the world
always follows fortune.  His armies flourished while all the states
through which they passed withered.  What cared he for the detestation
of the people, and the complaints of princes?  His army adored him,
and the very enormity of his guilt enabled him to bid defiance
to its consequences.

It would be unjust to Ferdinand, were we to lay all these irregularities
to his charge.  Had he foreseen that he was abandoning the German States
to the mercy of his officer, he would have been sensible how dangerous
to himself so absolute a general would prove.  The closer the connexion became
between the army, and the leader from whom flowed favour and fortune,
the more the ties which united both to the Emperor were relaxed.
Every thing, it is true, was done in the name of the latter;
but Wallenstein only availed himself of the supreme majesty of the Emperor
to crush the authority of other states.  His object was to depress
the princes of the empire, to destroy all gradation of rank between them
and the Emperor, and to elevate the power of the latter above all competition.
If the Emperor were absolute in Germany, who then would be equal
to the man intrusted with the execution of his will?  The height to which
Wallenstein had raised the imperial authority astonished even
the Emperor himself; but as the greatness of the master was entirely the work
of the servant, the creation of Wallenstein would necessarily sink again
into nothing upon the withdrawal of its creative hand.  Not without an object,
therefore, did Wallenstein labour to poison the minds of the German princes
against the Emperor.  The more violent their hatred of Ferdinand,
the more indispensable to the Emperor would become the man who alone
could render their ill-will powerless.  His design unquestionably was,
that his sovereign should stand in fear of no one in all Germany --
besides himself, the source and engine of this despotic power.

As a step towards this end, Wallenstein now demanded the cession
of Mecklenburg, to be held in pledge till the repayment of his advances
for the war.  Ferdinand had already created him Duke of Friedland,
apparently with the view of exalting his own general over Bavaria;
but an ordinary recompense would not satisfy Wallenstein's ambition.
In vain was this new demand, which could be granted only at the expense
of two princes of the empire, actively resisted in the Imperial Council;
in vain did the Spaniards, who had long been offended by his pride,
oppose his elevation.  The powerful support which Wallenstein had purchased
from the imperial councillors prevailed, and Ferdinand was determined,
at whatever cost, to secure the devotion of so indispensable a minister.
For a slight offence, one of the oldest German houses was expelled
from their hereditary dominions, that a creature of the Emperor
might be enriched by their spoils (1628).

Wallenstein now began to assume the title of generalissimo of the Emperor
by sea and land.  Wismar was taken, and a firm footing gained on the Baltic.
Ships were required from Poland and the Hanse towns to carry the war
to the other side of the Baltic; to pursue the Danes into the heart
of their own country, and to compel them to a peace which might
prepare the way to more important conquests.  The communication between
the Lower German States and the Northern powers would be broken,
could the Emperor place himself between them, and encompass Germany,
from the Adriatic to the Sound, (the intervening kingdom of Poland
being already dependent on him,) with an unbroken line of territory.
If such was the Emperor's plan, Wallenstein had a peculiar interest
in its execution.  These possessions on the Baltic should, he intended,
form the first foundation of a power, which had long been the object
of his ambition, and which should enable him to throw off his dependence
on the Emperor.

To effect this object, it was of extreme importance to gain possession
of Stralsund, a town on the Baltic.  Its excellent harbour,
and the short passage from it to the Swedish and Danish coasts,
peculiarly fitted it for a naval station in a war with these powers.
This town, the sixth of the Hanseatic League, enjoyed great privileges
under the Duke of Pomerania, and totally independent of Denmark,
had taken no share in the war.  But neither its neutrality,
nor its privileges, could protect it against the encroachments
of Wallenstein, when he had once cast a longing look upon it.

The request he made, that Stralsund should receive an imperial garrison,
had been firmly and honourably rejected by the magistracy, who also refused
his cunningly demanded permission to march his troops through the town,
Wallenstein, therefore, now proposed to besiege it.

The independence of Stralsund, as securing the free navigation of the Baltic,
was equally important to the two Northern kings.  A common danger
overcame at last the private jealousies which had long divided these princes.
In a treaty concluded at Copenhagen in 1628, they bound themselves
to assist Stralsund with their combined force, and to oppose in common
every foreign power which should appear in the Baltic with hostile views.
Christian IV. also threw a sufficient garrison into Stralsund,
and by his personal presence animated the courage of the citizens.
Some ships of war which Sigismund, King of Poland, had sent
to the assistance of the imperial general, were sunk by the Danish fleet;
and as Lubeck refused him the use of its shipping,
this imperial generalissimo of the sea had not even ships enough
to blockade this single harbour.

Nothing could appear more adventurous than to attempt the conquest
of a strongly fortified seaport without first blockading its harbour.
Wallenstein, however, who as yet had never experienced a check,
wished to conquer nature itself, and to perform impossibilities.  Stralsund,
open to the sea, continued to be supplied with provisions and reinforcements;
yet Wallenstein maintained his blockade on the land side, and endeavoured,
by boasting menaces, to supply his want of real strength.
"I will take this town," said he, "though it were fastened by a chain
to the heavens."  The Emperor himself, who might have cause to regret
an enterprise which promised no very glorious result, joyfully availed himself
of the apparent submission and acceptable propositions of the inhabitants,
to order the general to retire from the town.  Wallenstein despised
the command, and continued to harass the besieged by incessant assaults.
As the Danish garrison, already much reduced, was unequal to the fatigues
of this prolonged defence, and the king was unable to detach
any further troops to their support, Stralsund, with Christian's consent,
threw itself under the protection of the King of Sweden.  The Danish commander
left the town to make way for a Swedish governor, who gloriously defended it.
Here Wallenstein's good fortune forsook him; and, for the first time,
his pride experienced the humiliation of relinquishing his prey,
after the loss of many months and of 12,000 men.  The necessity to which
he reduced the town of applying for protection to Sweden, laid the foundation
of a close alliance between Gustavus Adolphus and Stralsund,
which greatly facilitated the entrance of the Swedes into Germany.

Hitherto invariable success had attended the arms of the Emperor
and the League, and Christian IV., defeated in Germany, had sought refuge
in his own islands; but the Baltic checked the further progress of
the conquerors.  The want of ships not only stopped the pursuit of the king,
but endangered their previous acquisitions.  The union of the two
northern monarchs was most to be dreaded, because, so long as it lasted,
it effectually prevented the Emperor and his general from acquiring a footing
on the Baltic, or effecting a landing in Sweden.  But if they could succeed
in dissolving this union, and especially securing the friendship of
the Danish king, they might hope to overpower the insulated force of Sweden.
The dread of the interference of foreign powers, the insubordination
of the Protestants in his own states, and still more the storm
which was gradually darkening along the whole of Protestant Germany,
inclined the Emperor to peace, which his general, from opposite motives,
was equally desirous to effect.  Far from wishing for a state of things
which would reduce him from the meridian of greatness and glory
to the obscurity of private life, he only wished to change the theatre of war,
and by a partial peace to prolong the general confusion.  The friendship
of Denmark, whose neighbour he had become as Duke of Mecklenburgh,
was most important for the success of his ambitious views; and he resolved,
even at the sacrifice of his sovereign's interests, to secure its alliance.

By the treaty of Copenhagen, Christian IV. had expressly engaged
not to conclude a separate peace with the Emperor, without the consent
of Sweden.  Notwithstanding, Wallenstein's proposition was readily received
by him.  In a conference at Lubeck in 1629, from which Wallenstein,
with studied contempt, excluded the Swedish ambassadors who came to intercede
for Mecklenburgh, all the conquests taken by the imperialists
were restored to the Danes.  The conditions imposed upon the king were,
that he should interfere no farther with the affairs of Germany
than was called for by his character of Duke of Holstein;
that he should on no pretext harass the Chapters of Lower Germany,
and should leave the Dukes of Mecklenburgh to their fate.
By Christian himself had these princes been involved in the war
with the Emperor; he now sacrificed them, to gain the favour of the usurper
of their territories.  Among the motives which had engaged him
in a war with the Emperor, not the least was the restoration of his relation,
the Elector Palatine -- yet the name of that unfortunate prince
was not even mentioned in the treaty; while in one of its articles
the legitimacy of the Bavarian election was expressly recognised.
Thus meanly and ingloriously did Christian IV. retire from the field.

Ferdinand had it now in his power, for the second time,
to secure the tranquillity of Germany; and it depended solely on his will
whether the treaty with Denmark should or should not be the basis
of a general peace.  From every quarter arose the cry of the unfortunate,
petitioning for an end of their sufferings; the cruelties of his soldiers,
and the rapacity of his generals, had exceeded all bounds.  Germany,
laid waste by the desolating bands of Mansfeld and the Duke of Brunswick,
and by the still more terrible hordes of Tilly and Wallenstein, lay exhausted,
bleeding, wasted, and sighing for repose.  An anxious desire for peace
was felt by all conditions, and by the Emperor himself; involved as he was
in a war with France in Upper Italy, exhausted by his past warfare in Germany,
and apprehensive of the day of reckoning which was approaching.
But, unfortunately, the conditions on which alone the two religious parties
were willing respectively to sheath the sword, were irreconcileable.
The Roman Catholics wished to terminate the war to their own advantage;
the Protestants advanced equal pretensions.  The Emperor,
instead of uniting both parties by a prudent moderation, sided with one;
and thus Germany was again plunged in the horrors of a bloody war.

From the very close of the Bohemian troubles, Ferdinand had carried on
a counter reformation in his hereditary dominions, in which, however,
from regard to some of the Protestant Estates, he proceeded, at first,
with moderation.  But the victories of his generals in Lower Germany
encouraged him to throw off all reserve.  Accordingly he had it intimated
to all the Protestants in these dominions, that they must either abandon
their religion, or their native country, -- a bitter and dreadful alternative,
which excited the most violent commotions among his Austrian subjects.
In the Palatinate, immediately after the expulsion of Frederick,
the Protestant religion had been suppressed, and its professors expelled
from the University of Heidelberg.

All this was but the prelude to greater changes.  In the Electoral Congress
held at Muehlhausen, the Roman Catholics had demanded of the Emperor
that all the archbishoprics, bishoprics, mediate and immediate,
abbacies and monasteries, which, since the Diet of Augsburg,
had been secularized by the Protestants, should be restored to the church,
in order to indemnify them for the losses and sufferings in the war.
To a Roman Catholic prince so zealous as Ferdinand was, such a hint
was not likely to be neglected; but he still thought it would be premature
to arouse the whole Protestants of Germany by so decisive a step.
Not a single Protestant prince but would be deprived,
by this revocation of the religious foundations, of a part of his lands;
for where these revenues had not actually been diverted to secular purposes
they had been made over to the Protestant church.  To this source,
many princes owed the chief part of their revenues and importance.
All, without exception, would be irritated by this demand for restoration.
The religious treaty did not expressly deny their right to these chapters,
although it did not allow it.  But a possession which had now been held
for nearly a century, the silence of four preceding emperors,
and the law of equity, which gave them an equal right with the Roman Catholics
to the foundations of their common ancestors, might be strongly pleaded
by them as a valid title.  Besides the actual loss of power and authority,
which the surrender of these foundations would occasion,
besides the inevitable confusion which would necessarily attend it,
one important disadvantage to which it would lead, was,
that the restoration of the Roman Catholic bishops would increase
the strength of that party in the Diet by so many additional votes.
Such grievous sacrifices likely to fall on the Protestants,
made the Emperor apprehensive of a formidable opposition;
and until the military ardour should have cooled in Germany,
he had no wish to provoke a party formidable by its union,
and which in the Elector of Saxony had a powerful leader.  He resolved,
therefore, to try the experiment at first on a small scale, in order
to ascertain how it was likely to succeed on a larger one.  Accordingly,
some of the free cities in Upper Germany, and the Duke of Wirtemberg,
received orders to surrender to the Roman Catholics
several of the confiscated chapters.

The state of affairs in Saxony enabled the Emperor to make
some bolder experiments in that quarter.  In the bishoprics
of Magdeburg and Halberstadt, the Protestant canons had not hesitated
to elect bishops of their own religion.  Both bishoprics,
with the exception of the town of Magdeburg itself, were overrun
by the troops of Wallenstein.  It happened, moreover, that by the death
of the Administrator Duke Christian of Brunswick, Halberstadt was vacant,
as was also the Archbishopric of Magdeburg by the deposition
of Christian William, a prince of the House of Brandenburgh.
Ferdinand took advantage of the circumstance to restore the see of Halberstadt
to a Roman Catholic bishop, and a prince of his own house.
To avoid a similar coercion, the Chapter of Magdeburg hastened to elect
a son of the Elector of Saxony as archbishop.  But the pope,
who with his arrogated authority interfered in this matter,
conferred the Archbishopric of Magdeburg also on the Austrian prince.
Thus, with all his pious zeal for religion, Ferdinand never lost sight
of the interests of his family.

At length, when the peace of Lubeck had delivered the Emperor
from all apprehensions on the side of Denmark, and the German Protestants
seemed entirely powerless, the League becoming louder and more urgent
in its demands, Ferdinand, in 1629, signed the Edict of Restitution,
(so famous by its disastrous consequences,) which he had previously
laid before the four Roman Catholic electors for their approbation.
In the preamble, he claimed the prerogative, in right of his
imperial authority, to interpret the meaning of the religious treaty,
the ambiguities of which had already caused so many disputes,
and to decide as supreme arbiter and judge between the contending parties.
This prerogative he founded upon the practice of his ancestors,
and its previous recognition even by Protestant states.  Saxony had actually
acknowledged this right of the Emperor; and it now became evident
how deeply this court had injured the Protestant cause by its dependence
on the House of Austria.  But though the meaning of the religious treaty
was really ambiguous, as a century of religious disputes sufficiently proved,
yet for the Emperor, who must be either a Protestant or a Roman Catholic,
and therefore an interested party, to assume the right of deciding
between the disputants, was clearly a violation of an essential article
of the pacification.  He could not be judge in his own cause,
without reducing the liberties of the empire to an empty sound.

And now, in virtue of this usurpation, Ferdinand decided,
"That every secularization of a religious foundation, mediate or immediate,
by the Protestants, subsequent to the date of the treaty,
was contrary to its spirit, and must be revoked as a breach of it."
He further decided, "That, by the religious peace, Catholic proprietors
of estates were no further bound to their Protestant subjects
than to allow them full liberty to quit their territories."
In obedience to this decision, all unlawful possessors of benefices --
the Protestant states in short without exception -- were ordered,
under pain of the ban of the empire, immediately to surrender
their usurped possessions to the imperial commissioners.

This sentence applied to no less than two archbishoprics
and twelve bishoprics, besides innumerable abbacies.
The edict came like a thunderbolt on the whole of Protestant Germany;
dreadful even in its immediate consequences; but yet more so
from the further calamities it seemed to threaten.  The Protestants
were now convinced that the suppression of their religion
had been resolved on by the Emperor and the League, and that the overthrow
of German liberty would soon follow.  Their remonstrances were unheeded;
the commissioners were named, and an army assembled to enforce obedience.
The edict was first put in force in Augsburg, where the treaty was concluded;
the city was again placed under the government of its bishop, and six
Protestant churches in the town were closed.  The Duke of Wirtemberg was,
in like manner, compelled to surrender his abbacies.  These severe measures,
though they alarmed the Protestant states, were yet insufficient
to rouse them to an active resistance.  Their fear of the Emperor
was too strong, and many were disposed to quiet submission.
The hope of attaining their end by gentle measures,
induced the Roman Catholics likewise to delay for a year
the execution of the edict, and this saved the Protestants;
before the end of that period, the success of the Swedish arms
had totally changed the state of affairs.

In a Diet held at Ratisbon, at which Ferdinand was present in person
(in 1630), the necessity of taking some measures for the immediate restoration
of a general peace to Germany, and for the removal of all grievances,
was debated.  The complaints of the Roman Catholics
were scarcely less numerous than those of the Protestants,
although Ferdinand had flattered himself that by the Edict of Restitution
he had secured the members of the League, and its leader by the gift
of the electoral dignity, and the cession of great part of the Palatinate.
But the good understanding between the Emperor and the princes of the League
had rapidly declined since the employment of Wallenstein.
Accustomed to give law to Germany, and even to sway the Emperor's own destiny,
the haughty Elector of Bavaria now at once saw himself supplanted
by the imperial general, and with that of the League, his own importance
completely undermined.  Another had now stepped in to reap the fruits
of his victories, and to bury his past services in oblivion.
Wallenstein's imperious character, whose dearest triumph was in degrading
the authority of the princes, and giving an odious latitude
to that of the Emperor, tended not a little to augment the irritation
of the Elector.  Discontented with the Emperor, and distrustful
of his intentions, he had entered into an alliance with France,
which the other members of the League were suspected of favouring.
A fear of the Emperor's plans of aggrandizement, and discontent with
existing evils, had extinguished among them all feelings of gratitude.
Wallenstein's exactions had become altogether intolerable.
Brandenburg estimated its losses at twenty, Pomerania at ten,
Hesse Cassel at seven millions of dollars, and the rest in proportion.
The cry for redress was loud, urgent, and universal; all prejudices
were hushed; Roman Catholics and Protestants were united on this point.
The terrified Emperor was assailed on all sides by petitions
against Wallenstein, and his ear filled with the most fearful descriptions
of his outrages.  Ferdinand was not naturally cruel.  If not totally innocent
of the atrocities which were practised in Germany under the shelter
of his name, he was ignorant of their extent; and he was not long in yielding
to the representation of the princes, and reduced his standing army
by eighteen thousand cavalry.  While this reduction took place, the Swedes
were actively preparing an expedition into Germany, and the greater part
of the disbanded Imperialists enlisted under their banners.

The Emperor's concessions only encouraged the Elector of Bavaria
to bolder demands.  So long as the Duke of Friedland
retained the supreme command, his triumph over the Emperor was incomplete.
The princes of the League were meditating a severe revenge on Wallenstein
for that haughtiness with which he had treated them all alike.
His dismissal was demanded by the whole college of electors,
and even by Spain, with a degree of unanimity and urgency
which astonished the Emperor.  The anxiety with which Wallenstein's enemies
pressed for his dismissal, ought to have convinced the Emperor
of the importance of his services.  Wallenstein, informed of the cabals
which were forming against him in Ratisbon, lost no time in opening the eyes
of the Emperor to the real views of the Elector of Bavaria.
He himself appeared in Ratisbon, with a pomp which threw his master
into the shade, and increased the hatred of his opponents.

Long was the Emperor undecided.  The sacrifice demanded was a painful one.
To the Duke of Friedland alone he owed his preponderance; he felt how much
he would lose in yielding him to the indignation of the princes.
But at this moment, unfortunately, he was under the necessity
of conciliating the Electors.  His son Ferdinand had already been chosen
King of Hungary, and he was endeavouring to procure his election
as his successor in the empire.  For this purpose, the support of Maximilian
was indispensable.  This consideration was the weightiest,
and to oblige the Elector of Bavaria he scrupled not to sacrifice
his most valuable servant.

At the Diet at Ratisbon, there were present ambassadors from France,
empowered to adjust the differences which seemed to menace
a war in Italy between the Emperor and their sovereign.  Vincent,
Duke of Mantua and Montferrat, dying without issue, his next relation,
Charles, Duke of Nevers, had taken possession of this inheritance,
without doing homage to the Emperor as liege lord of the principality.
Encouraged by the support of France and Venice, he refused to surrender
these territories into the hands of the imperial commissioners,
until his title to them should be decided.  On the other hand,
Ferdinand had taken up arms at the instigation of the Spaniards,
to whom, as possessors of Milan, the near neighbourhood of a vassal of France
was peculiarly alarming, and who welcomed this prospect of making,
with the assistance of the Emperor, additional conquests in Italy.
In spite of all the exertions of Pope Urban VIII. to avert a war
in that country, Ferdinand marched a German army across the Alps,
and threw the Italian states into a general consternation.
His arms had been successful throughout Germany, and exaggerated fears
revived the olden apprehension of Austria's projects of universal monarchy.
All the horrors of the German war now spread like a deluge
over those favoured countries which the Po waters; Mantua was taken by storm,
and the surrounding districts given up to the ravages of a lawless soldiery.
The curse of Italy was thus added to the maledictions upon the Emperor
which resounded through Germany; and even in the Roman Conclave,
silent prayers were offered for the success of the Protestant arms.

Alarmed by the universal hatred which this Italian campaign had drawn
upon him, and wearied out by the urgent remonstrances of the Electors,
who zealously supported the application of the French ambassador,
the Emperor promised the investiture to the new Duke of Mantua.

This important service on the part of Bavaria, of course,
required an equivalent from France.  The adjustment of the treaty
gave the envoys of Richelieu, during their residence in Ratisbon,
the desired opportunity of entangling the Emperor in dangerous intrigues,
of inflaming the discontented princes of the League still more strongly
against him, and of turning to his disadvantage all the transactions
of the Diet.  For this purpose Richelieu had chosen an admirable instrument
in Father Joseph, a Capuchin friar, who accompanied the ambassadors
without exciting the least suspicion.  One of his principal instructions
was assiduously to bring about the dismissal of Wallenstein.
With the general who had led it to victory, the army of Austria
would lose its principal strength; many armies could not compensate
for the loss of this individual.  It would therefore be
a masterstroke of policy, at the very moment when a victorious monarch,
the absolute master of his operations, was arming against the Emperor,
to remove from the head of the imperial armies the only general who,
by ability and military experience, was able to cope with the French king.
Father Joseph, in the interests of Bavaria, undertook to overcome
the irresolution of the Emperor, who was now in a manner besieged
by the Spaniards and the Electoral Council.  "It would be expedient,"
he thought, "to gratify the Electors on this occasion,
and thereby facilitate his son's election to the Roman Crown.
This object once gained, Wallenstein could at any time
resume his former station."  The artful Capuchin was too sure of his man
to touch upon this ground of consolation.

The voice of a monk was to Ferdinand II. the voice of God.
"Nothing on earth," writes his own confessor, "was more sacred in his eyes
than a priest.  If it could happen, he used to say,
that an angel and a Regular were to meet him at the same time and place,
the Regular should receive his first, and the angel his second obeisance."
Wallenstein's dismissal was determined upon.

In return for this pious concession, the Capuchin dexterously counteracted
the Emperor's scheme to procure for the King of Hungary the further dignity
of King of the Romans.  In an express clause of the treaty just concluded,
the French ministers engaged in the name of their sovereign to observe
a complete neutrality between the Emperor and his enemies; while,
at the same time, Richelieu was actually negociating with the King of Sweden
to declare war, and pressing upon him the alliance of his master.
The latter, indeed, disavowed the lie as soon as it had served its purpose,
and Father Joseph, confined to a convent, must atone for the alleged offence
of exceeding his instructions.  Ferdinand perceived, when too late,
that he had been imposed upon.  "A wicked Capuchin," he was heard to say,
"has disarmed me with his rosary, and thrust nothing less
than six electoral crowns into his cowl."

Artifice and trickery thus triumphed over the Emperor, at the moment
when he was believed to be omnipotent in Germany, and actually was so
in the field.  With the loss of 18,000 men, and of a general who alone
was worth whole armies, he left Ratisbon without gaining the end
for which he had made such sacrifices.  Before the Swedes had vanquished him
in the field, Maximilian of Bavaria and Father Joseph had given him
a mortal blow.  At this memorable Diet at Ratisbon the war with Sweden
was resolved upon, and that of Mantua terminated.  Vainly had the princes
present at it interceded for the Dukes of Mecklenburgh;
and equally fruitless had been an application by the English ambassadors
for a pension to the Palatine Frederick.

Wallenstein was at the head of an army of nearly a hundred thousand men
who adored him, when the sentence of his dismissal arrived.
Most of the officers were his creatures: --  with the common soldiers
his hint was law.  His ambition was boundless, his pride indomitable,
his imperious spirit could not brook an injury unavenged.  One moment
would now precipitate him from the height of grandeur into the obscurity
of a private station.  To execute such a sentence upon such a delinquent
seemed to require more address than it cost to obtain it from the judge.
Accordingly, two of Wallenstein's most intimate friends were selected
as heralds of these evil tidings, and instructed to soften them
as much as possible, by flattering assurances of the continuance
of the Emperor's favour.

Wallenstein had ascertained the purport of their message
before the imperial ambassadors arrived.  He had time to collect himself,
and his countenance exhibited an external calmness, while grief and rage
were storming in his bosom.  He had made up his mind to obey.
The Emperor's decision had taken him by surprise before circumstances
were ripe, or his preparations complete, for the bold measures
he had contemplated.  His extensive estates were scattered
over Bohemia and Moravia; and by their confiscation, the Emperor might at once
destroy the sinews of his power.  He looked, therefore, to the future
for revenge; and in this hope he was encouraged by the predictions
of an Italian astrologer, who led his imperious spirit like a child
in leading strings.  Seni had read in the stars, that his master's
brilliant career was not yet ended; and that bright and glorious prospects
still awaited him.  It was, indeed, unnecessary to consult the stars
to foretell that an enemy, Gustavus Adolphus, would ere long
render indispensable the services of such a general as Wallenstein.

"The Emperor is betrayed," said Wallenstein to the messengers;
"I pity but forgive him.  It is plain that the grasping spirit of the Bavarian
dictates to him.  I grieve that, with so much weakness, he has sacrificed me,
but I will obey."  He dismissed the emissaries with princely presents;
and in a humble letter besought the continuance of the Emperor's favour,
and of the dignities he had bestowed upon him.

The murmurs of the army were universal, on hearing of the dismissal
of their general; and the greater part of his officers immediately quitted
the imperial service.  Many followed him to his estates
in Bohemia and Moravia; others he attached to his interests by pensions,
in order to command their services when the opportunity should offer.

But repose was the last thing that Wallenstein contemplated when he returned
to private life.  In his retreat, he surrounded himself with a regal pomp,
which seemed to mock the sentence of degradation.  Six gates led to the palace
he inhabited in Prague, and a hundred houses were pulled down to make way
for his courtyard.  Similar palaces were built on his other numerous estates.
Gentlemen of the noblest houses contended for the honour of serving him,
and even imperial chamberlains resigned the golden key to the Emperor,
to fill a similar office under Wallenstein.  He maintained sixty pages,
who were instructed by the ablest masters.  His antichamber was protected
by fifty life guards.  His table never consisted of less than 100 covers,
and his seneschal was a person of distinction.  When he travelled,
his baggage and suite accompanied him in a hundred wagons,
drawn by six or four horses; his court followed in sixty carriages,
attended by fifty led horses.  The pomp of his liveries,
the splendour of his equipages, and the decorations of his apartments,
were in keeping with all the rest.  Six barons and as many knights,
were in constant attendance about his person, and ready to execute
his slightest order.  Twelve patrols went their rounds about his palace,
to prevent any disturbance.  His busy genius required silence.
The noise of coaches was to be kept away from his residence,
and the streets leading to it were frequently blocked up with chains.
His own circle was as silent as the approaches to his palace;
dark, reserved, and impenetrable, he was more sparing of his words
than of his gifts; while the little that he spoke was harsh and imperious.
He never smiled, and the coldness of his temperament was proof
against sensual seductions.  Ever occupied with grand schemes,
he despised all those idle amusements in which so many waste their lives.
The correspondence he kept up with the whole of Europe was chiefly managed
by himself, and, that as little as possible might be trusted
to the silence of others, most of the letters were written by his own hand.
He was a man of large stature, thin, of a sallow complexion, with short
red hair, and small sparkling eyes.  A gloomy and forbidding seriousness
sat upon his brow; and his magnificent presents alone retained
the trembling crowd of his dependents.

In this stately obscurity did Wallenstein silently, but not inactively,
await the hour of revenge.  The victorious career of Gustavus Adolphus
soon gave him a presentiment of its approach.  Not one of his lofty schemes
had been abandoned; and the Emperor's ingratitude had loosened the curb
of his ambition.  The dazzling splendour of his private life
bespoke high soaring projects; and, lavish as a king, he seemed already
to reckon among his certain possessions those which he contemplated with hope.

After Wallenstein's dismissal, and the invasion of Gustavus Adolphus,
a new generalissimo was to be appointed; and it now appeared advisable
to unite both the imperial army and that of the League under one general.
Maximilian of Bavaria sought this appointment, which would have enabled him
to dictate to the Emperor, who, from a conviction of this,
wished to procure the command for his eldest son, the King of Hungary.
At last, in order to avoid offence to either of the competitors,
the appointment was given to Tilly, who now exchanged the Bavarian
for the Austrian service.  The imperial army in Germany,
after the retirement of Wallenstein, amounted to about 40,000 men;
that of the League to nearly the same number, both commanded
by excellent officers, trained by the experience of several campaigns,
and proud of a long series of victories.  With such a force,
little apprehension was felt at the invasion of the King of Sweden,
and the less so as it commanded both Pomerania and Mecklenburg,
the only countries through which he could enter Germany.

After the unsuccessful attempt of the King of Denmark to check
the Emperor's progress, Gustavus Adolphus was the only prince in Europe
from whom oppressed liberty could look for protection -- the only one who,
while he was personally qualified to conduct such an enterprise,
had both political motives to recommend and wrongs to justify it.
Before the commencement of the war in Lower Saxony,
important political interests induced him, as well as the King of Denmark,
to offer his services and his army for the defence of Germany;
but the offer of the latter had, to his own misfortune, been preferred.
Since that time, Wallenstein and the Emperor had adopted measures
which must have been equally offensive to him as a man and as a king.
Imperial troops had been despatched to the aid of the Polish king, Sigismund,
to defend Prussia against the Swedes.  When the king complained to Wallenstein
of this act of hostility, he received for answer, "The Emperor has
more soldiers than he wants for himself, he must help his friends."
The Swedish ambassadors had been insolently ordered by Wallenstein
to withdraw from the conference at Lubeck; and when, unawed by this command,
they were courageous enough to remain, contrary to the law of nations,
he had threatened them with violence.  Ferdinand had also insulted
the Swedish flag, and intercepted the king's despatches to Transylvania.
He also threw every obstacle in the way of a peace betwixt Poland and Sweden,
supported the pretensions of Sigismund to the Swedish throne,
and denied the right of Gustavus to the title of king.  Deigning no regard
to the repeated remonstrances of Gustavus, he rather aggravated the offence
by new grievances, than acceded the required satisfaction.

So many personal motives, supported by important considerations,
both of policy and religion, and seconded by pressing invitations
from Germany, had their full weight with a prince, who was naturally
the more jealous of his royal prerogative the more it was questioned,
who was flattered by the glory he hoped to gain as Protector of the Oppressed,
and passionately loved war as the element of his genius.  But,
until a truce or peace with Poland should set his hands free,
a new and dangerous war was not to be thought of.

Cardinal Richelieu had the merit of effecting this truce with Poland.
This great statesman, who guided the helm of Europe, while in France
he repressed the rage of faction and the insolence of the nobles,
pursued steadily, amidst the cares of a stormy administration,
his plan of lowering the ascendancy of the House of Austria.
But circumstances opposed considerable obstacles to the execution
of his designs; and even the greatest minds cannot, with impunity,
defy the prejudices of the age.  The minister of a Roman Catholic king,
and a Cardinal, he was prevented by the purple he bore from joining
the enemies of that church in an open attack on a power which had the address
to sanctify its ambitious encroachments under the name of religion.
The external deference which Richelieu was obliged to pay to the narrow views
of his contemporaries limited his exertions to secret negociations,
by which he endeavoured to gain the hand of others to accomplish
the enlightened projects of his own mind.  After a fruitless attempt
to prevent the peace between Denmark and the Emperor,
he had recourse to Gustavus Adolphus, the hero of his age.
No exertion was spared to bring this monarch to a favourable decision,
and at the same time to facilitate the execution of it.  Charnasse,
an unsuspected agent of the Cardinal, proceeded to Polish Prussia,
where Gustavus Adolphus was conducting the war against Sigismund,
and alternately visited these princes, in order to persuade them
to a truce or peace.  Gustavus had been long inclined to it,
and the French minister succeeded at last in opening the eyes of Sigismund
to his true interests, and to the deceitful policy of the Emperor.
A truce for six years was agreed on, Gustavus being allowed to retain
all his conquests.  This treaty gave him also what he had so long desired,
the liberty of directing his arms against the Emperor.
For this the French ambassador offered him the alliance of his sovereign
and considerable subsidies.  But Gustavus Adolphus was justly apprehensive
lest the acceptance of the assistance should make him dependent upon France,
and fetter him in his career of conquest, while an alliance
with a Roman Catholic power might excite distrust among the Protestants.

If the war was just and necessary, the circumstances under which
it was undertaken were not less promising.  The name of the Emperor,
it is true, was formidable, his resources inexhaustible,
his power hitherto invincible.  So dangerous a contest would have dismayed
any other than Gustavus.  He saw all the obstacles and dangers
which opposed his undertaking, but he knew also the means by which,
as he hoped, they might be conquered.  His army, though not numerous,
was well disciplined, inured to hardship by a severe climate and campaigns,
and trained to victory in the war with Poland.  Sweden,
though poor in men and money, and overtaxed by an eight years' war,
was devoted to its monarch with an enthusiasm which assured him
of the ready support of his subjects.  In Germany, the name of the Emperor
was at least as much hated as feared.  The Protestant princes only awaited
the arrival of a deliverer to throw off his intolerable yoke,
and openly declare for the Swedes.  Even the Roman Catholic states
would welcome an antagonist to the Emperor, whose opposition might control
his overwhelming influence.  The first victory gained on German ground
would be decisive.  It would encourage those princes who still hesitated
to declare themselves, strengthen the cause of his adherents,
augment his troops, and open resources for the maintenance of the campaign.
If the greater part of the German states were impoverished by oppression,
the flourishing Hanse towns had escaped, and they could not hesitate,
by a small voluntary sacrifice, to avert the general ruin.
As the imperialists should be driven from the different provinces,
their armies would diminish, since they were subsisting on the countries
in which they were encamped.  The strength, too, of the Emperor
had been lessened by ill-timed detachments to Italy and the Netherlands;
while Spain, weakened by the loss of the Manilla galleons, and engaged in
a serious war in the Netherlands, could afford him little support.
Great Britain, on the other hand, gave the King of Sweden hope
of considerable subsidies; and France, now at peace with itself,
came forward with the most favourable offers.

But the strongest pledge for the success of his undertaking
Gustavus found -- in himself.  Prudence demanded that he should embrace
all the foreign assistance he could, in order to guard his enterprise
from the imputation of rashness; but all his confidence and courage
were entirely derived from himself.  He was indisputably the greatest general
of his age, and the bravest soldier in the army which he had formed.
Familiar with the tactics of Greece and Rome, he had discovered
a more effective system of warfare, which was adopted as a model
by the most eminent commanders of subsequent times.  He reduced
the unwieldy squadrons of cavalry, and rendered their movements
more light and rapid; and, with the same view, he widened the intervals
between his battalions.  Instead of the usual array in a single line,
he disposed his forces in two lines, that the second might advance
in the event of the first giving way.

He made up for his want of cavalry, by placing infantry among the horse;
a practice which frequently decided the victory.  Europe first learned
from him the importance of infantry.  All Germany was astonished
at the strict discipline which, at the first, so creditably distinguished
the Swedish army within their territories; all disorders were punished
with the utmost severity, particularly impiety, theft, gambling, and duelling.
The Swedish articles of war enforced frugality.  In the camp,
the King's tent not excepted, neither silver nor gold was to be seen.
The general's eye looked as vigilantly to the morals as to the martial bravery
of his soldiers; every regiment was ordered to form round its chaplain
for morning and evening prayers.  In all these points the lawgiver was also
an example.  A sincere and ardent piety exalted his courage.  Equally free
from the coarse infidelity which leaves the passions of the barbarian
without a control, -- and from the grovelling superstition of Ferdinand,
who humbled himself to the dust before the Supreme Being,
while he haughtily trampled on his fellow-creature --
in the height of his success he was ever a man and a Christian --
in the height of his devotion, a king and a hero.  The hardships of war
he shared with the meanest soldier in his army; maintained a calm serenity
amidst the hottest fury of battle; his glance was omnipresent,
and he intrepidly forgot the danger while he exposed himself
to the greatest peril.  His natural courage, indeed, too often
made him forget the duty of a general; and the life of a king ended
in the death of a common soldier.  But such a leader was followed to victory
alike by the coward and the brave, and his eagle glance marked
every heroic deed which his example had inspired.  The fame of their sovereign
excited in the nation an enthusiastic sense of their own importance;
proud of their king, the peasant in Finland and Gothland joyfully contributed
his pittance; the soldier willingly shed his blood; and the lofty energy
which his single mind had imparted to the nation long survived its creator.

The necessity of the war was acknowledged, but the best plan of conducting it
was a matter of much question.  Even to the bold Chancellor Oxenstiern,
an offensive war appeared too daring a measure; the resources of
his poor and conscientious master, appeared to him too slender
to compete with those of a despotic sovereign, who held all Germany
at his command.  But the minister's timid scruples were overruled
by the hero's penetrating prudence.  "If we await the enemy in Sweden,"
said Gustavus, "in the event of a defeat every thing would be lost,
by a fortunate commencement in Germany everything would be gained.
The sea is wide, and we have a long line of coast in Sweden to defend.
If the enemy's fleet should escape us, or our own be defeated, it would,
in either case, be impossible to prevent the enemy's landing.
Every thing depends on the retention of Stralsund.  So long as this harbour
is open to us, we shall both command the Baltic, and secure a retreat
from Germany.  But to protect this port, we must not remain in Sweden,
but advance at once into Pomerania.  Let us talk no more, then,
of a defensive war, by which we should sacrifice our greatest advantages.
Sweden must not be doomed to behold a hostile banner; if we are vanquished
in Germany, it will be time enough to follow your plan."

Gustavus resolved to cross the Baltic and attack the Emperor.
His preparations were made with the utmost expedition,
and his precautionary measures were not less prudent
than the resolution itself was bold and magnanimous.  Before engaging in
so distant a war, it was necessary to secure Sweden against its neighbours.
At a personal interview with the King of Denmark at Markaroed,
Gustavus assured himself of the friendship of that monarch; his frontier
on the side of Moscow was well guarded; Poland might be held in check
from Germany, if it betrayed any design of infringing the truce.  Falkenberg,
a Swedish ambassador, who visited the courts of Holland and Germany,
obtained the most flattering promises from several Protestant princes,
though none of them yet possessed courage or self-devotion enough
to enter into a formal alliance with him.  Lubeck and Hamburg engaged
to advance him money, and to accept Swedish copper in return.
Emissaries were also despatched to the Prince of Transylvania,
to excite that implacable enemy of Austria to arms.

In the mean time, Swedish levies were made in Germany and the Netherlands,
the regiments increased to their full complement, new ones raised,
transports provided, a fleet fitted out, provisions, military stores,
and money collected.  Thirty ships of war were in a short time prepared,
15,000 men equipped, and 200 transports were ready to convey them
across the Baltic.  A greater force Gustavus Adolphus was unwilling
to carry into Germany, and even the maintenance of this
exceeded the revenues of his kingdom.  But however small his army,
it was admirable in all points of discipline, courage, and experience,
and might serve as the nucleus of a more powerful armament, if it once gained
the German frontier, and its first attempts were attended with success.
Oxenstiern, at once general and chancellor, was posted with 10,000 men
in Prussia, to protect that province against Poland.  Some regular troops,
and a considerable body of militia, which served as a nursery
for the main body, remained in Sweden, as a defence against a sudden invasion
by any treacherous neighbour.

These were the measures taken for the external defence of the kingdom.
Its internal administration was provided for with equal care.
The government was intrusted to the Council of State, and the finances
to the Palatine John Casimir, the brother-in-law of the King,
while his wife, tenderly as he was attached to her, was excluded from
all share in the government, for which her limited talents incapacitated her.
He set his house in order like a dying man.  On the 20th May, 1630,
when all his measures were arranged, and all was ready for his departure,
the King appeared in the Diet at Stockholm, to bid the States
a solemn farewell.  Taking in his arms his daughter Christina,
then only four years old, who, in the cradle, had been acknowledged
as his successor, he presented her to the States as the future sovereign,
exacted from them a renewal of the oath of allegiance to her,
in case he should never more return; and then read the ordinances
for the government of the kingdom during his absence,
or the minority of his daughter.  The whole assembly was dissolved in tears,
and the King himself was some time before he could attain
sufficient composure to deliver his farewell address to the States.

"Not lightly or wantonly," said he, "am I about to involve myself and you
in this new and dangerous war; God is my witness that _I_ do not fight
to gratify my own ambition.  But the Emperor has wronged me most shamefully
in the person of my ambassadors.  He has supported my enemies,
persecuted my friends and brethren, trampled my religion in the dust,
and even stretched his revengeful arm against my crown.
The oppressed states of Germany call loudly for aid, which, by God's help,
we will give them.

"I am fully sensible of the dangers to which my life will be exposed.
I have never yet shrunk from them, nor is it likely that I shall escape
them all.  Hitherto, Providence has wonderfully protected me,
but I shall at last fall in defence of my country.  I commend you
to the protection of Heaven.  Be just, be conscientious, act uprightly,
and we shall meet again in eternity.

"To you, my Counsellors of State, I address myself first.
May God enlighten you, and fill you with wisdom, to promote the welfare
of my people.  You, too, my brave nobles, I commend to the divine protection.
Continue to prove yourselves the worthy successors of those Gothic heroes,
whose bravery humbled to the dust the pride of ancient Rome.  To you,
ministers of religion, I recommend moderation and unity; be yourselves
examples of the virtues which you preach, and abuse not your influence
over the minds of my people.  On you, deputies of the burgesses,
and the peasantry, I entreat the blessing of heaven; may your industry
be rewarded by a prosperous harvest; your stores plenteously filled,
and may you be crowned abundantly with all the blessings of this life.
For the prosperity of all my subjects, absent and present,
I offer my warmest prayers to Heaven.  I bid you all
a sincere -- it may be -- an eternal farewell."

The embarkation of the troops took place at Elfsknaben,
where the fleet lay at anchor.  An immense concourse flocked thither
to witness this magnificent spectacle.  The hearts of the spectators
were agitated by varied emotions, as they alternately considered
the vastness of the enterprise, and the greatness of the leader.
Among the superior officers who commanded in this army were Gustavus Horn,
the Rhinegrave Otto Lewis, Henry Matthias, Count Thurn, Ottenberg,
Baudissen, Banner, Teufel, Tott, Mutsenfahl, Falkenberg, Kniphausen,
and other distinguished names.  Detained by contrary winds,
the fleet did not sail till June, and on the 24th of that month
reached the Island of Rugen in Pomerania.

Gustavus Adolphus was the first who landed.  In the presence of his suite,
he knelt on the shore of Germany to return thanks to the Almighty
for the safe arrival of his fleet and his army.  He landed his troops
on the Islands of Wollin and Usedom; upon his approach, the imperial garrisons
abandoned their entrenchments and fled.  He advanced rapidly on Stettin,
to secure this important place before the appearance of the Imperialists.
Bogislaus XIV., Duke of Pomerania, a feeble and superannuated prince,
had been long tired out by the outrages committed by the latter
within his territories; but too weak to resist, he had contented himself
with murmurs.  The appearance of his deliverer, instead of
animating his courage, increased his fear and anxiety.  Severely as
his country had suffered from the Imperialists, the risk of incurring
the Emperor's vengeance prevented him from declaring openly for the Swedes.
Gustavus Adolphus, who was encamped under the walls of the town,
summoned the city to receive a Swedish garrison.  Bogislaus appeared
in person in the camp of Gustavus, to deprecate this condition.
"I come to you," said Gustavus, "not as an enemy but a friend.
I wage no war against Pomerania, nor against the German empire,
but against the enemies of both.  In my hands this duchy shall be sacred;
and it shall be restored to you at the conclusion of the campaign, by me,
with more certainty, than by any other.  Look to the traces
of the imperial force within your territories, and to mine in Usedom;
and decide whether you will have the Emperor or me as your friend.
What have you to expect, if the Emperor should make himself master
of your capital?  Will he deal with you more leniently than I?  Or is it
your intention to stop my progress?  The case is pressing:  decide at once,
and do not compel me to have recourse to more violent measures."

The alternative was a painful one.  On the one side, the King of Sweden
was before his gates with a formidable army; on the other,
he saw the inevitable vengeance of the Emperor, and the fearful example
of so many German princes, who were now wandering in misery, the victims
of that revenge.  The more immediate danger decided his resolution.
The gates of Stettin were opened to the king; the Swedish troops entered;
and the Austrians, who were advancing by rapid marches, anticipated.
The capture of this place procured for the king a firm footing in Pomerania,
the command of the Oder, and a magazine for his troops.  To prevent a charge
of treachery, Bogislaus was careful to excuse this step to the Emperor
on the plea of necessity; but aware of Ferdinand's implacable disposition,
he entered into a close alliance with his new protector.
By this league with Pomerania, Gustavus secured a powerful friend in Germany,
who covered his rear, and maintained his communication with Sweden.

As Ferdinand was already the aggressor in Prussia, Gustavus Adolphus
thought himself absolved from the usual formalities, and commenced hostilities
without any declaration of war.  To the other European powers,
he justified his conduct in a manifesto, in which he detailed the grounds
which had led him to take up arms.  Meanwhile he continued his progress
in Pomerania, while he saw his army daily increasing.  The troops which had
fought under Mansfeld, Duke Christian of Brunswick, the King of Denmark,
and Wallenstein, came in crowds, both officers and soldiers,
to join his victorious standard.

At the Imperial court, the invasion of the king of Sweden
at first excited far less attention than it merited.  The pride of Austria,
extravagantly elated by its unheard-of successes, looked down with contempt
upon a prince, who, with a handful of men, came from an obscure corner
of Europe, and who owed his past successes, as they imagined, entirely to
the incapacity of a weak opponent.  The depreciatory representation
which Wallenstein had artfully given of the Swedish power,
increased the Emperor's security; for what had he to fear from an enemy,
whom his general undertook to drive with such ease from Germany?
Even the rapid progress of Gustavus Adolphus in Pomerania,
could not entirely dispel this prejudice, which the mockeries of the courtiers
continued to feed.  He was called in Vienna the Snow King,
whom the cold of the north kept together, but who would infallibly melt
as he advanced southward.  Even the electors, assembled in Ratisbon,
disregarded his representations; and, influenced by an abject complaisance
to Ferdinand, refused him even the title of king.  But while they mocked him
in Ratisbon and Vienna, in Mecklenburg and Pomerania,
one strong town after another fell into his hands.

Notwithstanding this contempt, the Emperor thought it proper
to offer to adjust his differences with Sweden by negociation,
and for that purpose sent plenipotentiaries to Denmark.
But their instructions showed how little he was in earnest in these proposals,
for he still continued to refuse to Gustavus the title of king.
He hoped by this means to throw on the king of Sweden the odium of being
the aggressor, and thereby to ensure the support of the States of the empire.
The conference at Dantzic proved, as might be expected, fruitless,
and the animosity of both parties was increased to its utmost
by an intemperate correspondence.

An imperial general, Torquato Conti, who commanded in Pomerania, had,
in the mean time, made a vain attempt to wrest Stettin from the Swedes.
The Imperialists were driven out from one place after another;
Damm, Stargard, Camin, and Wolgast, soon fell into the hands of Gustavus.
To revenge himself upon the Duke of Pomerania, the imperial general
permitted his troops, upon his retreat, to exercise every barbarity
on the unfortunate inhabitants of Pomerania, who had already suffered
but too severely from his avarice.  On pretence of cutting off the resources
of the Swedes, the whole country was laid waste and plundered;
and often when the Imperialists were unable any longer to maintain a place,
it was laid in ashes, in order to leave the enemy nothing but ruins.
But these barbarities only served to place in a more favourable light
the opposite conduct of the Swedes, and to win all hearts
to their humane monarch.  The Swedish soldier paid for all he required;
no private property was injured on his march.  The Swedes consequently
were received with open arms both in town and country,
whilst every Imperialist that fell into the hands of the Pomeranian peasantry
was ruthlessly murdered.  Many Pomeranians entered into the service of Sweden,
and the estates of this exhausted country willingly voted the king
a contribution of 100,000 florins.

Torquato Conti, who, with all his severity of character,
was a consummate general, endeavoured to render Stettin useless
to the king of Sweden, as he could not deprive him of it.
He entrenched himself upon the Oder, at Gartz, above Stettin, in order,
by commanding that river, to cut off the water communication of the town
with the rest of Germany.  Nothing could induce him to attack
the King of Sweden, who was his superior in numbers, while the latter was
equally cautious not to storm the strong entrenchments of the Imperialists.
Torquato, too deficient in troops and money to act upon the offensive
against the king, hoped by this plan of operations to give time for Tilly
to hasten to the defence of Pomerania, and then, in conjunction with
that general, to attack the Swedes.  Seizing the opportunity
of the temporary absence of Gustavus, he made a sudden attempt upon Stettin,
but the Swedes were not unprepared for him.  A vigorous attack
of the Imperialists was firmly repulsed, and Torquato was forced to retire
with great loss.  For this auspicious commencement of the war,
however, Gustavus was, it must be owned, as much indebted to his good fortune
as to his military talents.  The imperial troops in Pomerania
had been greatly reduced since Wallenstein's dismissal; moreover,
the outrages they had committed were now severely revenged upon them;
wasted and exhausted, the country no longer afforded them a subsistence.
All discipline was at an end; the orders of the officers were disregarded,
while their numbers daily decreased by desertion, and by a general mortality,
which the piercing cold of a strange climate had produced among them.

Under these circumstances, the imperial general was anxious
to allow his troops the repose of winter quarters, but he had to do
with an enemy to whom the climate of Germany had no winter.
Gustavus had taken the precaution of providing his soldiers
with dresses of sheep-skin, to enable them to keep the field
even in the most inclement season.  The imperial plenipotentiaries,
who came to treat with him for a cessation of hostilities,
received this discouraging answer:  "The Swedes are soldiers in winter
as well as in summer, and not disposed to oppress the unfortunate peasantry.
The Imperialists may act as they think proper, but they need not expect
to remain undisturbed."  Torquato Conti soon after resigned a command,
in which neither riches nor reputation were to be gained.

In this inequality of the two armies, the advantage was necessarily
on the side of the Swedes.  The Imperialists were incessantly harassed
in their winter quarters; Greifenhagan, an important place upon the Oder,
taken by storm, and the towns of Gartz and Piritz were at last abandoned
by the enemy.  In the whole of Pomerania, Greifswald, Demmin, and Colberg
alone remained in their hands, and these the king made great preparations
to besiege.  The enemy directed their retreat towards Brandenburg,
in which much of their artillery and baggage, and many prisoners
fell into the hands of the pursuers.

By seizing the passes of Riebnitz and Damgarden, Gustavus had opened
a passage into Mecklenburg, whose inhabitants were invited to return
to their allegiance under their legitimate sovereigns, and to expel
the adherents of Wallenstein.  The Imperialists, however,
gained the important town of Rostock by stratagem, and thus prevented
the farther advance of the king, who was unwilling to divide his forces.
The exiled dukes of Mecklenburg had ineffectually employed
the princes assembled at Ratisbon to intercede with the Emperor:
in vain they had endeavoured to soften Ferdinand, by renouncing
the alliance of the king, and every idea of resistance.  But,
driven to despair by the Emperor's inflexibility, they openly espoused
the side of Sweden, and raising troops, gave the command of them
to Francis Charles Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg.  That general made himself
master of several strong places on the Elbe, but lost them afterwards
to the Imperial General Pappenheim, who was despatched to oppose him.
Soon afterwards, besieged by the latter in the town of Ratzeburg,
he was compelled to surrender with all his troops.  Thus ended the attempt
which these unfortunate princes made to recover their territories;
and it was reserved for the victorious arm of Gustavus Adolphus
to render them that brilliant service.

The Imperialists had thrown themselves into Brandenburg, which now became
the theatre of the most barbarous atrocities.  These outrages were inflicted
upon the subjects of a prince who had never injured the Emperor, and whom,
moreover, he was at the very time inciting to take up arms
against the King of Sweden.  The sight of the disorders of their soldiers,
which want of money compelled them to wink at, and of authority
over their troops, excited the disgust even of the imperial generals;
and, from very shame, their commander-in-chief, Count Schaumburg,
wished to resign.

Without a sufficient force to protect his territories,
and left by the Emperor, in spite of the most pressing remonstrances,
without assistance, the Elector of Brandenburg at last issued an edict,
ordering his subjects to repel force by force, and to put to death
without mercy every Imperial soldier who should henceforth be detected
in plundering.  To such a height had the violence of outrage
and the misery of the government risen, that nothing was left
to the sovereign, but the desperate extremity of sanctioning private vengeance
by a formal law.

The Swedes had pursued the Imperialists into Brandenburg;
and only the Elector's refusal to open to him the fortress of Custrin
for his march, obliged the king to lay aside his design of besieging
Frankfort on the Oder.  He therefore returned to complete the conquest
of Pomerania, by the capture of Demmin and Colberg.  In the mean time,
Field-Marshal Tilly was advancing to the defence of Brandenburg.

This general, who could boast as yet of never having suffered a defeat,
the conqueror of Mansfeld, of Duke Christian of Brunswick, of the Margrave
of Baden, and the King of Denmark, was now in the Swedish monarch
to meet an opponent worthy of his fame.  Descended of a noble family in Liege,
Tilly had formed his military talents in the wars of the Netherlands,
which was then the great school for generals.  He soon found an opportunity
of distinguishing himself under Rodolph II. in Hungary, where he rapidly rose
from one step to another.  After the peace, he entered into the service of
Maximilian of Bavaria, who made him commander-in-chief with absolute powers.
Here, by his excellent regulations, he was the founder of the Bavarian army;
and to him, chiefly, Maximilian was indebted for his superiority in the field.
Upon the termination of the Bohemian war, he was appointed commander
of the troops of the League; and, after Wallenstein's dismissal,
generalissimo of the imperial armies.  Equally stern towards his soldiers
and implacable towards his enemies, and as gloomy and impenetrable
as Wallenstein, he was greatly his superior in probity and disinterestedness.
A bigoted zeal for religion, and a bloody spirit of persecution,
co-operated, with the natural ferocity of his character, to make him
the terror of the Protestants.  A strange and terrific aspect bespoke
his character:  of low stature, thin, with hollow cheeks, a long nose,
a broad and wrinkled forehead, large whiskers, and a pointed chin;
he was generally attired in a Spanish doublet of green satin,
with slashed sleeves, with a small high peaked hat upon his head,
surmounted by a red feather which hung down to his back.  His whole aspect
recalled to recollection the Duke of Alva, the scourge of the Flemings,
and his actions were far from effacing the impression.  Such was the general
who was now to be opposed to the hero of the north.

Tilly was far from undervaluing his antagonist, "The King of Sweden,"
said he in the Diet at Ratisbon, "is an enemy both prudent and brave,
inured to war, and in the flower of his age.  His plans are excellent,
his resources considerable; his subjects enthusiastically attached to him.
His army, composed of Swedes, Germans, Livonians, Finlanders,
Scots and English, by its devoted obedience to their leader,
is blended into one nation:  he is a gamester in playing with whom
not to have lost is to have won a great deal."

The progress of the King of Sweden in Brandenburg and Pomerania,
left the new generalissimo no time to lose; and his presence
was now urgently called for by those who commanded in that quarter.
With all expedition, he collected the imperial troops which were dispersed
over the empire; but it required time to obtain from the exhausted
and impoverished provinces the necessary supplies.  At last,
about the middle of winter, he appeared at the head of 20,000 men,
before Frankfort on the Oder, where he was joined by Schaumburg.
Leaving to this general the defence of Frankfort, with a sufficient garrison,
he hastened to Pomerania, with a view of saving Demmin, and relieving Colberg,
which was already hard pressed by the Swedes.  But even before
he had left Brandenburg, Demmin, which was but poorly defended
by the Duke of Savelli, had surrendered to the king, and Colberg,
after a five months' siege, was starved into a capitulation.
As the passes in Upper Pomerania were well guarded, and the king's camp
near Schwedt defied attack, Tilly abandoned his offensive plan of operations,
and retreated towards the Elbe to besiege Magdeburg.

The capture of Demmin opened to the king a free passage into Mecklenburg;
but a more important enterprise drew his arms into another quarter.
Scarcely had Tilly commenced his retrograde movement, when suddenly
breaking up his camp at Schwedt, the king marched his whole force
against Frankfort on the Oder.  This town, badly fortified, was defended by
a garrison of 8,000 men, mostly composed of those ferocious bands
who had so cruelly ravaged Pomerania and Brandenburg.  It was now attacked
with such impetuosity, that on the third day it was taken by storm.
The Swedes, assured of victory, rejected every offer of capitulation,
as they were resolved to exercise the dreadful right of retaliation.
For Tilly, soon after his arrival, had surrounded a Swedish detachment,
and, irritated by their obstinate resistance, had cut them in pieces to a man.
This cruelty was not forgotten by the Swedes.  "New Brandenburg Quarter",
they replied to the Imperialists who begged their lives, and slaughtered them
without mercy.  Several thousands were either killed or taken,
and many were drowned in the Oder, the rest fled to Silesia.
All their artillery fell into the hands of the Swedes.  To satisfy the rage
of his troops, Gustavus Adolphus was under the necessity of giving up the town
for three hours to plunder.

While the king was thus advancing from one conquest to another,
and, by his success, encouraging the Protestants to active resistance,
the Emperor proceeded to enforce the Edict of Restitution,
and, by his exorbitant pretensions, to exhaust the patience of the states.
Compelled by necessity, he continued the violent course which he had begun
with such arrogant confidence; the difficulties into which
his arbitrary conduct had plunged him, he could only extricate himself from
by measures still more arbitrary.  But in so complicated a body
as the German empire, despotism must always create
the most dangerous convulsions.  With astonishment, the princes beheld
the constitution of the empire overthrown, and the state of nature to which
matters were again verging, suggested to them the idea of self-defence,
the only means of protection in such a state of things.
The steps openly taken by the Emperor against the Lutheran church,
had at last removed the veil from the eyes of John George,
who had been so long the dupe of his artful policy.  Ferdinand, too,
had personally offended him by the exclusion of his son
from the archbishopric of Magdeburg; and field-marshal Arnheim,
his new favourite and minister, spared no pains to increase the resentment
of his master.  Arnheim had formerly been an imperial general
under Wallenstein, and being still zealously attached to him,
he was eager to avenge his old benefactor and himself on the Emperor,
by detaching Saxony from the Austrian interests.  Gustavus Adolphus,
supported by the Protestant states, would be invincible;
a consideration which already filled the Emperor with alarm.
The example of Saxony would probably influence others, and the Emperor's fate
seemed now in a manner to depend upon the Elector's decision.
The artful favourite impressed upon his master this idea
of his own importance, and advised him to terrify the Emperor,
by threatening an alliance with Sweden, and thus to extort from his fears,
what he had sought in vain from his gratitude.  The favourite, however,
was far from wishing him actually to enter into the Swedish alliance,
but, by holding aloof from both parties, to maintain his own importance
and independence.  Accordingly, he laid before him a plan, which only wanted
a more able hand to carry it into execution, and recommended him,
by heading the Protestant party, to erect a third power in Germany,
and thereby maintain the balance between Sweden and Austria.

This project was peculiarly flattering to the Saxon Elector,
to whom the idea of being dependent upon Sweden, or of longer submitting
to the tyranny of the Emperor, was equally hateful.  He could not,
with indifference, see the control of German affairs wrested from him
by a foreign prince; and incapable as he was of taking a principal part,
his vanity would not condescend to act a subordinate one.  He resolved,
therefore, to draw every possible advantage from the progress of Gustavus,
but to pursue, independently, his own separate plans.  With this view,
he consulted with the Elector of Brandenburg, who, from similar causes,
was ready to act against the Emperor, but, at the same time,
was jealous of Sweden.  In a Diet at Torgau, having assured himself
of the support of his Estates, he invited the Protestant States of the empire
to a general convention, which took place at Leipzig,
on the 6th February 1631.  Brandenburg, Hesse Cassel, with several princes,
counts, estates of the empire, and Protestant bishops were present,
either personally or by deputy, at this assembly, which the chaplain to
the Saxon Court, Dr. Hoe von Hohenegg, opened with a vehement discourse
from the pulpit.  The Emperor had, in vain, endeavoured to prevent
this self-appointed convention, whose object was evidently to provide for
its own defence, and which the presence of the Swedes in the empire,
rendered more than usually alarming.  Emboldened by the progress
of Gustavus Adolphus, the assembled princes asserted their rights,
and after a session of two months broke up, with adopting a resolution
which placed the Emperor in no slight embarrassment.  Its import was
to demand of the Emperor, in a general address, the revocation
of the Edict of Restitution, the withdrawal of his troops from
their capitals and fortresses, the suspension of all existing proceedings,
and the abolition of abuses; and, in the mean time, to raise an army
of 40,000 men, to enable them to redress their own grievances,
if the Emperor should still refuse satisfaction.

A further incident contributed not a little to increase the firmness
of the Protestant princes.  The King of Sweden had, at last,
overcome the scruples which had deterred him from a closer alliance
with France, and, on the 13th January 1631, concluded a formal treaty
with this crown.  After a serious dispute respecting the treatment
of the Roman Catholic princes of the empire, whom France took under
her protection, and against whom Gustavus claimed the right of retaliation,
and after some less important differences with regard to the title of majesty,
which the pride of France was loth to concede to the King of Sweden,
Richelieu yielded the second, and Gustavus Adolphus the first point,
and the treaty was signed at Beerwald in Neumark.  The contracting parties
mutually covenanted to defend each other with a military force,
to protect their common friends, to restore to their dominions
the deposed princes of the empire, and to replace every thing,
both on the frontier and in the interior of Germany, on the same footing
on which it stood before the commencement of the war.  For this end,
Sweden engaged to maintain an army of 30,000 men in Germany, and France agreed
to furnish the Swedes with an annual subsidy of 400,000 dollars.
If the arms of Gustavus were successful, he was to respect
the Roman Catholic religion and the constitution of the empire
in all the conquered places, and to make no attempt against either.
All Estates and princes whether Protestant or Roman Catholic,
either in Germany or in other countries, were to be invited to become parties
to the treaty; neither France nor Sweden was to conclude a separate peace
without the knowledge and consent of the other; and the treaty itself
was to continue in force for five years.

Great as was the struggle to the King of Sweden to receive subsidies
from France, and sacrifice his independence in the conduct of the war,
this alliance with France decided his cause in Germany.  Protected,
as he now was, by the greatest power in Europe, the German states
began to feel confidence in his undertaking, for the issue of which
they had hitherto good reason to tremble.  He became truly formidable
to the Emperor.  The Roman Catholic princes too, who, though they were anxious
to humble Austria, had witnessed his progress with distrust, were less alarmed
now that an alliance with a Roman Catholic power ensured his respect
for their religion.  And thus, while Gustavus Adolphus protected
the Protestant religion and the liberties of Germany against the aggression
of Ferdinand, France secured those liberties, and the Roman Catholic religion,
against Gustavus himself, if the intoxication of success should hurry him
beyond the bounds of moderation.

The King of Sweden lost no time in apprizing the members
of the confederacy of Leipzig of the treaty concluded with France,
and inviting them to a closer union with himself.  The application
was seconded by France, who spared no pains to win over the Elector of Saxony.
Gustavus was willing to be content with secret support, if the princes
should deem it too bold a step as yet to declare openly in his favour.
Several princes gave him hopes of his proposals being accepted
on the first favourable opportunity; but the Saxon Elector,
full of jealousy and distrust towards the King of Sweden,
and true to the selfish policy he had pursued, could not be prevailed upon
to give a decisive answer.

The resolution of the confederacy of Leipzig, and the alliance betwixt
France and Sweden, were news equally disagreeable to the Emperor.
Against them he employed the thunder of imperial ordinances,
and the want of an army saved France from the full weight of his displeasure.
Remonstrances were addressed to all the members of the confederacy,
strongly prohibiting them from enlisting troops.  They retorted
with explanations equally vehement, justified their conduct
upon the principles of natural right, and continued their preparations.

Meantime, the imperial generals, deficient both in troops and money,
found themselves reduced to the disagreeable alternative of losing sight
either of the King of Sweden, or of the Estates of the empire,
since with a divided force they were not a match for either.
The movements of the Protestants called their attention to the interior
of the empire, while the progress of the king in Brandenburg,
by threatening the hereditary possessions of Austria, required them
to turn their arms to that quarter.  After the conquest of Frankfort,
the king had advanced upon Landsberg on the Warta, and Tilly,
after a fruitless attempt to relieve it, had again returned to Magdeburg,
to prosecute with vigour the siege of that town.

The rich archbishopric, of which Magdeburg was the capital,
had long been in the possession of princes of the house of Brandenburg,
who introduced the Protestant religion into the province.  Christian William,
the last administrator, had, by his alliance with Denmark,
incurred the ban of the empire, on which account the chapter,
to avoid the Emperor's displeasure, had formally deposed him.
In his place they had elected Prince John Augustus,
the second son of the Elector of Saxony, whom the Emperor rejected,
in order to confer the archbishopric on his son Leopold.
The Elector of Saxony complained ineffectually to the imperial court;
but Christian William of Brandenburg took more active measures.
Relying on the attachment of the magistracy and inhabitants of Brandenburg,
and excited by chimerical hopes, he thought himself able to surmount
all the obstacles which the vote of the chapter, the competition of
two powerful rivals, and the Edict of Restitution opposed to his restoration.
He went to Sweden, and, by the promise of a diversion in Germany,
sought to obtain assistance from Gustavus.  He was dismissed by that monarch
not without hopes of effectual protection, but with the advice
to act with caution.

Scarcely had Christian William been informed of the landing of his protector
in Pomerania, than he entered Magdeburg in disguise.  Appearing suddenly
in the town council, he reminded the magistrates of the ravages
which both town and country had suffered from the imperial troops,
of the pernicious designs of Ferdinand, and the danger of
the Protestant church.  He then informed them that the moment of deliverance
was at hand, and that Gustavus Adolphus offered them his alliance
and assistance.  Magdeburg, one of the most flourishing towns in Germany,
enjoyed under the government of its magistrates a republican freedom,
which inspired its citizens with a brave heroism.  Of this they had already
given proofs, in the bold defence of their rights against Wallenstein, who,
tempted by their wealth, made on them the most extravagant demands.
Their territory had been given up to the fury of his troops,
though Magdeburg itself had escaped his vengeance.  It was not difficult,
therefore, for the Administrator to gain the concurrence of men
in whose minds the rememberance of these outrages was still recent.
An alliance was formed between the city and the Swedish king,
by which Magdeburg granted to the king a free passage through its gates
and territories, with liberty of enlisting soldiers within its boundaries,
and on the other hand, obtained promises of effectual protection
for its religion and its privileges.

The Administrator immediately collected troops and commenced hostilities,
before Gustavus Adolphus was near enough to co-operate with him.  He defeated
some imperial detachments in the neighbourhood, made a few conquests,
and even surprised Halle.  But the approach of an imperial army obliged him
to retreat hastily, and not without loss, to Magdeburg.  Gustavus Adolphus,
though displeased with his premature measures, sent Dietrich Falkenberg,
an experienced officer, to direct the Administrator's military operations,
and to assist him with his counsel.  Falkenberg was named by the magistrates
governor of the town during the war.  The Prince's army was daily augmented
by recruits from the neighbouring towns; and he was able for some months
to maintain a petty warfare with success.

At length Count Pappenheim, having brought his expedition against
the Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg to a close, approached the town.
Driving the troops of the Administrator from their entrenchments,
he cut off his communication with Saxony, and closely invested the place.
He was soon followed by Tilly, who haughtily summoned the Elector forthwith
to comply with the Edict of Restitution, to submit to the Emperor's orders,
and surrender Magdeburg.  The Prince's answer was spirited and resolute,
and obliged Tilly at once to have recourse to arms.

In the meanwhile, the siege was prolonged, by the progress of
the King of Sweden, which called the Austrian general from before the place;
and the jealousy of the officers, who conducted the operations in his absence,
delayed, for some months, the fall of Magdeburg.  On the 30th March 1631,
Tilly returned, to push the siege with vigour.

The outworks were soon carried, and Falkenberg, after withdrawing
the garrisons from the points which he could no longer hold,
destroyed the bridge over the Elbe.  As his troops were barely sufficient
to defend the extensive fortifications, the suburbs of Sudenburg and Neustadt
were abandoned to the enemy, who immediately laid them in ashes.
Pappenheim, now separated from Tilly, crossed the Elbe at Schonenbeck,
and attacked the town from the opposite side.

The garrison, reduced by the defence of the outworks,
scarcely exceeded 2000 infantry and a few hundred horse; a small number
for so extensive and irregular a fortress.  To supply this deficiency,
the citizens were armed -- a desperate expedient, which produced more evils
than those it prevented.  The citizens, at best but indifferent soldiers,
by their disunion threw the town into confusion.  The poor complained
that they were exposed to every hardship and danger, while the rich,
by hiring substitutes, remained at home in safety.  These rumours
broke out at last in an open mutiny; indifference succeeded to zeal;
weariness and negligence took the place of vigilance and foresight.
Dissension, combined with growing scarcity, gradually produced
a feeling of despondence, many began to tremble at the desperate nature of
their undertaking, and the magnitude of the power to which they were opposed.
But religious zeal, an ardent love of liberty, an invincible hatred
to the Austrian yoke, and the expectation of speedy relief,
banished as yet the idea of a surrender; and divided as they were
in every thing else, they were united in the resolve to defend themselves
to the last extremity.

Their hopes of succour were apparently well founded.  They knew that
the confederacy of Leipzig was arming; they were aware of the near approach
of Gustavus Adolphus.  Both were alike interested in the preservation
of Magdeburg; and a few days might bring the King of Sweden before its walls.
All this was also known to Tilly, who, therefore, was anxious
to make himself speedily master of the place.  With this view,
he had despatched a trumpeter with letters to the Administrator,
the commandant, and the magistrates, offering terms of capitulation;
but he received for answer, that they would rather die than surrender.
A spirited sally of the citizens, also convinced him that their courage
was as earnest as their words, while the king's arrival at Potsdam,
with the incursions of the Swedes as far as Zerbst, filled him
with uneasiness, but raised the hopes of the garrison.  A second trumpeter
was now despatched; but the more moderate tone of his demands
increased the confidence of the besieged, and unfortunately
their negligence also.

The besiegers had now pushed their approaches as far as the ditch,
and vigorously cannonaded the fortifications from the abandoned batteries.
One tower was entirely overthrown, but this did not facilitate an assault,
as it fell sidewise upon the wall, and not into the ditch.
Notwithstanding the continual bombardment, the walls had not suffered much;
and the fire balls, which were intended to set the town in flames,
were deprived of their effect by the excellent precautions
adopted against them.  But the ammunition of the besieged was nearly expended,
and the cannon of the town gradually ceased to answer the fire
of the Imperialists.  Before a new supply could be obtained,
Magdeburg would be either relieved, or taken.  The hopes of the besieged
were on the stretch, and all eyes anxiously directed towards the quarter
in which the Swedish banners were expected to appear.  Gustavus Adolphus
was near enough to reach Magdeburg within three days; security grew with hope,
which all things contributed to augment.  On the 9th of May, the fire
of the Imperialists was suddenly stopped, and the cannon withdrawn from
several of the batteries.  A deathlike stillness reigned in the Imperial camp.
The besieged were convinced that deliverance was at hand.
Both citizens and soldiers left their posts upon the ramparts
early in the morning, to indulge themselves, after their long toils,
with the refreshment of sleep, but it was indeed a dear sleep,
and a frightful awakening.

Tilly had abandoned the hope of taking the town, before the arrival
of the Swedes, by the means which he had hitherto adopted;
he therefore determined to raise the siege, but first to hazard
a general assault.  This plan, however, was attended with great difficulties,
as no breach had been effected, and the works were scarcely injured.
But the council of war assembled on this occasion, declared for an assault,
citing the example of Maestricht, which had been taken early in the morning,
while the citizens and soldiers were reposing themselves.
The attack was to be made simultaneously on four points; the night betwixt
the 9th and 10th of May, was employed in the necessary preparations.
Every thing was ready and awaiting the signal, which was to be given
by cannon at five o'clock in the morning.  The signal, however,
was not given for two hours later, during which Tilly,
who was still doubtful of success, again consulted the council of war.
Pappenheim was ordered to attack the works of the new town,
where the attempt was favoured by a sloping rampart, and a dry ditch
of moderate depth.  The citizens and soldiers had mostly left the walls,
and the few who remained were overcome with sleep.  This general, therefore,
found little difficulty in mounting the wall at the head of his troops.

Falkenberg, roused by the report of musketry, hastened from the town-house,
where he was employed in despatching Tilly's second trumpeter,
and hurried with all the force he could hastily assemble towards the gate
of the new town, which was already in the possession of the enemy.
Beaten back, this intrepid general flew to another quarter,
where a second party of the enemy were preparing to scale the walls.
After an ineffectual resistance he fell in the commencement of the action.
The roaring of musketry, the pealing of the alarm-bells,
and the growing tumult apprised the awakening citizens of their danger.
Hastily arming themselves, they rushed in blind confusion against the enemy.
Still some hope of repulsing the besiegers remained; but the governor
being killed, their efforts were without plan and co-operation, and at last
their ammunition began to fail them.  In the meanwhile, two other gates,
hitherto unattacked, were stripped of their defenders, to meet
the urgent danger within the town.  The enemy quickly availed themselves
of this confusion to attack these posts.  The resistance was nevertheless
spirited and obstinate, until four imperial regiments, at length,
masters of the ramparts, fell upon the garrison in the rear,
and completed their rout.  Amidst the general tumult, a brave captain,
named Schmidt, who still headed a few of the more resolute against the enemy,
succeeded in driving them to the gates; here he fell mortally wounded,
and with him expired the hopes of Magdeburg.  Before noon,
all the works were carried, and the town was in the enemy's hands.

Two gates were now opened by the storming party for the main body,
and Tilly marched in with part of his infantry.  Immediately occupying
the principal streets, he drove the citizens with pointed cannon
into their dwellings, there to await their destiny.  They were not long
held in suspense; a word from Tilly decided the fate of Magdeburg.

Even a more humane general would in vain have recommended mercy
to such soldiers; but Tilly never made the attempt.  Left by their
general's silence masters of the lives of all the citizens,
the soldiery broke into the houses to satiate their most brutal appetites.
The prayers of innocence excited some compassion in the hearts of the Germans,
but none in the rude breasts of Pappenheim's Walloons.  Scarcely had
the savage cruelty commenced, when the other gates were thrown open,
and the cavalry, with the fearful hordes of the Croats,
poured in upon the devoted inhabitants.

Here commenced a scene of horrors for which history has no language --
poetry no pencil.  Neither innocent childhood, nor helpless old age;
neither youth, sex, rank, nor beauty, could disarm the fury of the conquerors.
Wives were abused in the arms of their husbands, daughters at the feet
of their parents; and the defenceless sex exposed to the double sacrifice
of virtue and life.  No situation, however obscure, or however sacred,
escaped the rapacity of the enemy.  In a single church fifty-three women
were found beheaded.  The Croats amused themselves with throwing children
into the flames; Pappenheim's Walloons with stabbing infants
at the mother's breast.  Some officers of the League,
horror-struck at this dreadful scene, ventured to remind Tilly
that he had it in his power to stop the carnage.  "Return in an hour,"
was his answer; "I will see what I can do; the soldier must have some reward
for his danger and toils."  These horrors lasted with unabated fury,
till at last the smoke and flames proved a check to the plunderers.
To augment the confusion and to divert the resistance of the inhabitants,
the Imperialists had, in the commencement of the assault,
fired the town in several places.  The wind rising rapidly, spread the flames,
till the blaze became universal.  Fearful, indeed, was the tumult
amid clouds of smoke, heaps of dead bodies, the clash of swords,
the crash of falling ruins, and streams of blood.  The atmosphere glowed;
and the intolerable heat forced at last even the murderers to take refuge
in their camp.  In less than twelve hours, this strong, populous,
and flourishing city, one of the finest in Germany, was reduced to ashes,
with the exception of two churches and a few houses.  The Administrator,
Christian William, after receiving several wounds, was taken prisoner,
with three of the burgomasters; most of the officers and magistrates
had already met an enviable death.  The avarice of the officers
had saved 400 of the richest citizens, in the hope of extorting from them
an exorbitant ransom.  But this humanity was confined to the officers
of the League, whom the ruthless barbarity of the Imperialists caused
to be regarded as guardian angels.

Scarcely had the fury of the flames abated, when the Imperialists returned
to renew the pillage amid the ruins and ashes of the town.
Many were suffocated by the smoke; many found rich booty in the cellars,
where the citizens had concealed their more valuable effects.
On the 13th of May, Tilly himself appeared in the town,
after the streets had been cleared of ashes and dead bodies.
Horrible and revolting to humanity was the scene that presented itself.
The living crawling from under the dead, children wandering about
with heart-rending cries, calling for their parents;
and infants still sucking the breasts of their lifeless mothers.
More than 6,000 bodies were thrown into the Elbe to clear the streets;
a much greater number had been consumed by the flames.
The whole number of the slain was reckoned at not less than 30,000.

The entrance of the general, which took place on the 14th,
put a stop to the plunder, and saved the few who had hitherto contrived
to escape.  About a thousand people were taken out of the cathedral,
where they had remained three days and two nights, without food,
and in momentary fear of death.  Tilly promised them quarter,
and commanded bread to be distributed among them.  The next day,
a solemn mass was performed in the cathedral, and `Te Deum' sung amidst
the discharge of artillery.  The imperial general rode through the streets,
that he might be able, as an eyewitness, to inform his master that
no such conquest had been made since the destruction of Troy and Jerusalem.
Nor was this an exaggeration, whether we consider the greatness, importance,
and prosperity of the city razed, or the fury of its ravagers.

In Germany, the tidings of the dreadful fate of Magdeburg
caused triumphant joy to the Roman Catholics, while it spread
terror and consternation among the Protestants.  Loudly and generally
they complained against the king of Sweden, who, with so strong a force,
and in the very neighbourhood, had left an allied city to its fate.
Even the most reasonable deemed his inaction inexplicable;
and lest he should lose irretrievably the good will of the people,
for whose deliverance he had engaged in this war, Gustavus was under
the necessity of publishing to the world a justification of his own conduct.

He had attacked, and on the 16th April, carried Landsberg,
when he was apprised of the danger of Magdeburg.  He resolved immediately
to march to the relief of that town; and he moved with all his cavalry,
and ten regiments of infantry towards the Spree.  But the position which
he held in Germany, made it necessary that he should not move forward
without securing his rear.  In traversing a country where he was surrounded
by suspicious friends and dangerous enemies, and where a single
premature movement might cut off his communication with his own kingdom,
the utmost vigilance and caution were necessary.  The Elector of Brandenburg
had already opened the fortress of Custrin to the flying Imperialists,
and closed the gates against their pursuers.  If now Gustavus should fail
in his attack upon Tilly, the Elector might again open his fortresses
to the Imperialists, and the king, with an enemy both in front and rear,
would be irrecoverably lost.  In order to prevent this contingency,
he demanded that the Elector should allow him to hold the fortresses
of Custrin and Spandau, till the siege of Magdeburg should be raised.

Nothing could be more reasonable than this demand.  The services which
Gustavus had lately rendered the Elector, by expelling the Imperialists
from Brandenburg, claimed his gratitude, while the past conduct
of the Swedes in Germany entitled them to confidence.  But by the surrender
of his fortresses, the Elector would in some measure make the King of Sweden
master of his country; besides that, by such a step, he must at once
break with the Emperor, and expose his States to his future vengeance.
The Elector's struggle with himself was long and violent,
but pusillanimity and self-interest for awhile prevailed.
Unmoved by the fate of Magdeburg, cold in the cause of religion
and the liberties of Germany, he saw nothing but his own danger;
and this anxiety was greatly stimulated by his minister Von Schwartzenburgh,
who was secretly in the pay of Austria.  In the mean time,
the Swedish troops approached Berlin, and the king took up his residence
with the Elector.  When he witnessed the timorous hesitation of that prince,
he could not restrain his indignation:  "My road is to Magdeburg," said he;
"not for my own advantage, but for that of the Protestant religion.
If no one will stand by me, I shall immediately retreat,
conclude a peace with the Emperor, and return to Stockholm.  I am convinced
that Ferdinand will readily grant me whatever conditions I may require.
But if Magdeburg is once lost, and the Emperor relieved from all fear of me,
then it is for you to look to yourselves and the consequences."
This timely threat, and perhaps, too, the aspect of the Swedish army,
which was strong enough to obtain by force what was refused to entreaty,
brought at last the Elector to his senses, and Spandau was delivered
into the hands of the Swedes.

The king had now two routes to Magdeburg; one westward led through
an exhausted country, and filled with the enemy's troops, who might
dispute with him the passage of the Elbe; the other more to the southward,
by Dessau and Wittenberg, where bridges were to be found
for crossing the Elbe, and where supplies could easily be drawn from Saxony.
But he could not avail himself of the latter without the consent
of the Elector, whom Gustavus had good reason to distrust.
Before setting out on his march, therefore, he demanded from that prince
a free passage and liberty for purchasing provisions for his troops.
His application was refused, and no remonstrances could prevail on the Elector
to abandon his system of neutrality.  While the point was still in dispute,
the news of the dreadful fate of Magdeburg arrived.

Tilly announced its fall to the Protestant princes in the tone of a conqueror,
and lost no time in making the most of the general consternation.
The influence of the Emperor, which had sensibly declined
during the rapid progress of Gustavus, after this decisive blow
rose higher than ever; and the change was speedily visible
in the imperious tone he adopted towards the Protestant states.
The decrees of the Confederation of Leipzig were annulled by a proclamation,
the Convention itself suppressed by an imperial decree,
and all the refractory states threatened with the fate of Magdeburg.
As the executor of this imperial mandate, Tilly immediately ordered troops
to march against the Bishop of Bremen, who was a member of the Confederacy,
and had himself enlisted soldiers.  The terrified bishop
immediately gave up his forces to Tilly, and signed the revocation
of the acts of the Confederation.  An imperial army, which had lately
returned from Italy, under the command of Count Furstenberg,
acted in the same manner towards the Administrator of Wirtemberg.
The duke was compelled to submit to the Edict of Restitution,
and all the decrees of the Emperor, and even to pay a monthly subsidy
of 100,000 dollars, for the maintenance of the imperial troops.
Similar burdens were inflicted upon Ulm and Nuremberg,
and the entire circles of Franconia and Swabia.  The hand of the Emperor
was stretched in terror over all Germany.  The sudden preponderance,
more in appearance, perhaps, than in reality, which he had obtained
by this blow, carried him beyond the bounds even of the moderation which
he had hitherto observed, and misled him into hasty and violent measures,
which at last turned the wavering resolution of the German princes
in favour of Gustavus Adolphus.  Injurious as the immediate consequences
of the fall of Magdeburg were to the Protestant cause, its remoter effects
were most advantageous.  The past surprise made way for active resentment,
despair inspired courage, and the German freedom rose, like a phoenix,
from the ashes of Magdeburg.

Among the princes of the Leipzig Confederation, the Elector of Saxony and
the Landgrave of Hesse were the most powerful; and, until they were disarmed,
the universal authority of the Emperor was unconfirmed.
Against the Landgrave, therefore, Tilly first directed his attack,
and marched straight from Magdeburg into Thuringia.  During this march,
the territories of Saxe Ernest and Schwartzburg were laid waste,
and Frankenhausen plundered before the very eyes of Tilly,
and laid in ashes with impunity.  The unfortunate peasant paid dear
for his master's attachment to the interests of Sweden.  Erfurt,
the key of Saxony and Franconia, was threatened with a siege,
but redeemed itself by a voluntary contribution of money and provisions.
From thence, Tilly despatched his emissaries to the Landgrave,
demanding of him the immediate disbanding of his army,
a renunciation of the league of Leipzig, the reception of imperial garrisons
into his territories and fortresses, with the necessary contributions,
and the declaration of friendship or hostility.  Such was the treatment
which a prince of the Empire was compelled to submit to from a servant
of the Emperor.  But these extravagant demands acquired a formidable weight
from the power which supported them; and the dreadful fate of Magdeburg,
still fresh in the memory of the Landgrave, tended still farther
to enforce them.  Admirable, therefore, was the intrepidity
of the Landgrave's answer:  "To admit foreign troops into
his capital and fortresses, the Landgrave is not disposed;
his troops he requires for his own purposes; as for an attack,
he can defend himself.  If General Tilly wants money or provisions,
let him go to Munich, where there is plenty of both."
The irruption of two bodies of imperial troops into Hesse Cassel
was the immediate result of this spirited reply, but the Landgrave gave them
so warm a reception that they could effect nothing; and just as Tilly
was preparing to follow with his whole army, to punish the unfortunate country
for the firmness of its sovereign, the movements of the King of Sweden
recalled him to another quarter.

Gustavus Adolphus had learned the fall of Magdeburg with deep regret;
and the demand now made by the Elector, George William,
in terms of their agreement, for the restoration of Spandau,
greatly increased this feeling.  The loss of Magdeburg had rather augmented
than lessened the reasons which made the possession of this fortress
so desirable; and the nearer became the necessity of a decisive battle
between himself and Tilly, the more unwilling he felt to abandon
the only place which, in the event of a defeat, could ensure him a refuge.
After a vain endeavour, by entreaties and representations,
to bring over the Elector to his views, whose coldness and lukewarmness
daily increased, he gave orders to his general to evacuate Spandau,
but at the same time declared to the Elector that he would henceforth
regard him as an enemy.

To give weight to this declaration, he appeared with his whole force
before Berlin.  "I will not be worse treated than the imperial generals,"
was his reply to the ambassadors whom the bewildered Elector
despatched to his camp.  "Your master has received them into his territories,
furnished them with all necessary supplies, ceded to them every place
which they required, and yet, by all these concessions, he could not
prevail upon them to treat his subjects with common humanity.
All that I require of him is security, a moderate sum of money,
and provisions for my troops; in return, I promise to protect his country,
and to keep the war at a distance from him.  On these points, however,
I must insist; and my brother, the Elector, must instantly determine
to have me as a friend, or to see his capital plundered."  This decisive tone
produced a due impression; and the cannon pointed against the town put an end
to the doubts of George William.  In a few days, a treaty was signed,
by which the Elector engaged to furnish a monthly subsidy of 30,000 dollars,
to leave Spandau in the king's hands, and to open Custrin at all times
to the Swedish troops.  This now open alliance of the Elector of Brandenburg
with the Swedes, excited no less displeasure at Vienna,
than did formerly the similar procedure of the Duke of Pomerania;
but the changed fortune which now attended his arms,
obliged the Emperor to confine his resentment to words.

The king's satisfaction, on this favourable event, was increased by
the agreeable intelligence that Griefswald, the only fortress
which the Imperialists still held in Pomerania, had surrendered,
and that the whole country was now free of the enemy.
He appeared once more in this duchy, and was gratified at the sight
of the general joy which he had caused to the people.  A year had elapsed
since Gustavus first entered Germany, and this event was now celebrated
by all Pomerania as a national festival.  Shortly before, the Czar of Moscow
had sent ambassadors to congratulate him, to renew his alliance,
and even to offer him troops.  He had great reason to rejoice at
the friendly disposition of Russia, as it was indispensable to his interests
that Sweden itself should remain undisturbed by any dangerous neighbour
during the war in which he himself was engaged.  Soon after, his queen,
Maria Eleonora, landed in Pomerania, with a reinforcement of 8000 Swedes;
and the arrival of 6000 English, under the Marquis of Hamilton,
requires more particular notice because this is all that history mentions
of the English during the Thirty Years' War.

During Tilly's expedition into Thuringia, Pappenheim commanded in Magdeburg;
but was unable to prevent the Swedes from crossing the Elbe at various points,
routing some imperial detachments, and seizing several posts.  He himself,
alarmed at the approach of the King of Sweden, anxiously recalled Tilly,
and prevailed upon him to return by rapid marches to Magdeburg.
Tilly encamped on this side of the river at Wolmerstadt;
Gustavus on the same side, near Werben, not far from the confluence
of the Havel and the Elbe.  His very arrival portended no good to Tilly.
The Swedes routed three of his regiments, which were posted in villages
at some distance from the main body, carried off half their baggage,
and burned the remainder.  Tilly in vain advanced within cannon shot
of the king's camp, and offered him battle.  Gustavus, weaker by one-half
than his adversary, prudently declined it; and his position was too strong
for an attack.  Nothing more ensued but a distant cannonade,
and a few skirmishes, in which the Swedes had invariably the advantage.
In his retreat to Wolmerstadt, Tilly's army was weakened
by numerous desertions.  Fortune seemed to have forsaken him
since the carnage of Magdeburg.

The King of Sweden, on the contrary, was followed by uninterrupted success.
While he himself was encamped in Werben, the whole of Mecklenburg,
with the exception of a few towns, was conquered by his General Tott
and the Duke Adolphus Frederick; and he enjoyed the satisfaction of
reinstating both dukes in their dominions.  He proceeded in person to Gustrow,
where the reinstatement was solemnly to take place, to give additional dignity
to the ceremony by his presence.  The two dukes, with their deliverer
between them, and attended by a splendid train of princes,
made a public entry into the city, which the joy of their subjects
converted into an affecting solemnity.  Soon after his return to Werben,
the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel appeared in his camp, to conclude
an offensive and defensive alliance; the first sovereign prince in Germany,
who voluntarily and openly declared against the Emperor, though not
wholly uninfluenced by strong motives.  The Landgrave bound himself to act
against the king's enemies as his own, to open to him his towns and territory,
and to furnish his army with provisions and necessaries.  The king,
on the other hand, declared himself his ally and protector;
and engaged to conclude no peace with the Emperor without first obtaining
for the Landgrave a full redress of grievances.  Both parties honourably
performed their agreement.  Hesse Cassel adhered to the Swedish alliance
during the whole of this tedious war; and at the peace of Westphalia
had no reason to regret the friendship of Sweden.

Tilly, from whom this bold step on the part of the Landgrave was not
long concealed, despatched Count Fugger with several regiments against him;
and at the same time endeavoured to excite his subjects to rebellion
by inflammatory letters.  But these made as little impression as his troops,
which subsequently failed him so decidedly at the battle of Breitenfield.
The Estates of Hesse could not for a moment hesitate between their oppressor
and their protector.

But the imperial general was far more disturbed by the equivocal conduct
of the Elector of Saxony, who, in defiance of the imperial prohibition,
continued his preparations, and adhered to the confederation of Leipzig.
At this conjuncture, when the proximity of the King of Sweden
made a decisive battle ere long inevitable, it appeared extremely dangerous
to leave Saxony in arms, and ready in a moment to declare for the enemy.
Tilly had just received a reinforcement of 25,000 veteran troops
under Furstenberg, and, confident in his strength, he hoped either to disarm
the Elector by the mere terror of his arrival, or at least to conquer him
with little difficulty.  Before quitting his camp at Wolmerstadt,
he commanded the Elector, by a special messenger, to open his territories
to the imperial troops; either to disband his own, or to join them
to the imperial army; and to assist, in conjunction with himself,
in driving the King of Sweden out of Germany.  While he reminded him that,
of all the German states, Saxony had hitherto been most respected,
he threatened it, in case of refusal, with the most destructive ravages.

But Tilly had chosen an unfavourable moment for so imperious a requisition.
The ill-treatment of his religious and political confederates,
the destruction of Magdeburg, the excesses of the Imperialists in Lusatia,
all combined to incense the Elector against the Emperor.  The approach, too,
of Gustavus Adolphus, (however slender his claims were to the protection
of that prince,) tended to fortify his resolution.  He accordingly
forbade the quartering of the imperial soldiers in his territories,
and announced his firm determination to persist in his warlike preparations.
However surprised he should be, he added, "to see an imperial army
on its march against his territories, when that army had enough to do in
watching the operations of the King of Sweden, nevertheless he did not expect,
instead of the promised and well merited rewards, to be repaid
with ingratitude and the ruin of his country."  To Tilly's deputies,
who were entertained in a princely style, he gave a still plainer answer
on the occasion.  "Gentlemen," said he, "I perceive that
the Saxon confectionery, which has been so long kept back,
is at length to be set upon the table.  But as it is usual to mix with it
nuts and garnish of all kinds, take care of your teeth."

Tilly instantly broke up his camp, and, with the most frightful devastation,
advanced upon Halle; from this place he renewed his demands on the Elector,
in a tone still more urgent and threatening.  The previous policy
of this prince, both from his own inclination, and the persuasions
of his corrupt ministers had been to promote the interests of the Emperor,
even at the expense of his own sacred obligations, and but very little tact
had hitherto kept him inactive.  All this but renders more astonishing
the infatuation of the Emperor or his ministers in abandoning,
at so critical a moment, the policy they had hitherto adopted,
and by extreme measures, incensing a prince so easily led.  Was this
the very object which Tilly had in view?  Was it his purpose to convert
an equivocal friend into an open enemy, and thus to relieve himself
from the necessity of that indulgence in the treatment of this prince,
which the secret instructions of the Emperor had hitherto imposed upon him?
Or was it the Emperor's wish, by driving the Elector to open hostilities,
to get quit of his obligations to him, and so cleverly to break off at once
the difficulty of a reckoning?  In either case, we must be equally surprised
at the daring presumption of Tilly, who hesitated not, in presence of
one formidable enemy, to provoke another; and at his negligence in permitting,
without opposition, the union of the two.

The Saxon Elector, rendered desperate by the entrance of Tilly
into his territories, threw himself, though not without a violent struggle,
under the protection of Sweden.

Immediately after dismissing Tilly's first embassy, he had despatched
his field-marshal Arnheim in all haste to the camp of Gustavus, to solicit
the prompt assistance of that monarch whom he had so long neglected.  The king
concealed the inward satisfaction he felt at this long wished for result.
"I am sorry for the Elector," said he, with dissembled coldness,
to the ambassador; "had he heeded my repeated remonstrances,
his country would never have seen the face of an enemy, and Magdeburg
would not have fallen.  Now, when necessity leaves him no alternative,
he has recourse to my assistance.  But tell him, that I cannot,
for the sake of the Elector of Saxony, ruin my own cause,
and that of my confederates.  What pledge have I for the sincerity of a prince
whose minister is in the pay of Austria, and who will abandon me
as soon as the Emperor flatters him, and withdraws his troops
from his frontiers?  Tilly, it is true, has received a strong reinforcement;
but this shall not prevent me from meeting him with confidence,
as soon as I have covered my rear."

The Saxon minister could make no other reply to these reproaches,
than that it was best to bury the past in oblivion.

He pressed the king to name the conditions, on which he would
afford assistance to Saxony, and offered to guarantee their acceptance.
"I require," said Gustavus, "that the Elector shall cede to me
the fortress of Wittenberg, deliver to me his eldest sons as hostages,
furnish my troops with three months' pay, and deliver up to me
the traitors among his ministry."

"Not Wittenberg alone," said the Elector, when he received this answer,
and hurried back his minister to the Swedish camp, "not Wittenberg alone,
but Torgau, and all Saxony, shall be open to him; my whole family
shall be his hostages, and if that is insufficient, I will place myself
in his hands.  Return and inform him I am ready to deliver to him
any traitors he shall name, to furnish his army with the money he requires,
and to venture my life and fortune in the good cause.

The king had only desired to test the sincerity of the Elector's
new sentiments.  Convinced of it, he now retracted these harsh demands.
"The distrust," said he, "which was shown to myself when advancing
to the relief of Magdeburg, had naturally excited mine;
the Elector's present confidence demands a return.  I am satisfied,
provided he grants my army one month's pay, and even for this advance
I hope to indemnify him."

Immediately upon the conclusion of the treaty, the king crossed the Elbe,
and next day joined the Saxons.  Instead of preventing this junction,
Tilly had advanced against Leipzig, which he summoned to receive
an imperial garrison.  In hopes of speedy relief, Hans Von der Pforta,
the commandant, made preparations for his defence, and laid the suburb
towards Halle in ashes.  But the ill condition of the fortifications
made resistance vain, and on the second day the gates were opened.
Tilly had fixed his head quarters in the house of a grave-digger,
the only one still standing in the suburb of Halle:  here he signed
the capitulation, and here, too, he arranged his attack on the King of Sweden.
Tilly grew pale at the representation of the death's head and cross bones,
with which the proprietor had decorated his house; and, contrary to
all expectation, Leipzig experienced moderate treatment.

Meanwhile, a council of war was held at Torgau, between the King of Sweden
and the Elector of Saxony, at which the Elector of Brandenburg
was also present.  The resolution which should now be adopted,
was to decide irrevocably the fate of Germany and the Protestant religion,
the happiness of nations and the destiny of their princes.
The anxiety of suspense which, before every decisive resolve,
oppresses even the hearts of heroes, appeared now for a moment to overshadow
the great mind of Gustavus Adolphus.  "If we decide upon battle," said he,
"the stake will be nothing less than a crown and two electorates.
Fortune is changeable, and the inscrutable decrees of Heaven may,
for our sins, give the victory to our enemies.  My kingdom, it is true,
even after the loss of my life and my army, would still have a hope left.
Far removed from the scene of action, defended by a powerful fleet,
a well-guarded frontier, and a warlike population, it would at least be safe
from the worst consequences of a defeat.  But what chances of escape
are there for you, with an enemy so close at hand?"  Gustavus Adolphus
displayed the modest diffidence of a hero, whom an overweening belief
of his own strength did not blind to the greatness of his danger;
John George, the confidence of a weak man, who knows that he has a hero
by his side.  Impatient to rid his territories as soon as possible
of the oppressive presence of two armies, he burned for a battle,
in which he had no former laurels to lose.  He was ready
to march with his Saxons alone against Leipzig, and attack Tilly.
At last Gustavus acceded to his opinion; and it was resolved that the attack
should be made without delay, before the arrival of the reinforcements,
which were on their way, under Altringer and Tiefenbach.
The united Swedish and Saxon armies now crossed the Mulda,
while the Elector returned homeward.

Early on the morning of the 7th September, 1631, the hostile armies
came in sight of each other.  Tilly, who, since he had neglected
the opportunity of overpowering the Saxons before their union with the Swedes,
was disposed to await the arrival of the reinforcements, had taken up
a strong and advantageous position not far from Leipzig, where he expected
he should be able to avoid the battle.  But the impetuosity of Pappenheim
obliged him, as soon as the enemy were in motion, to alter his plans,
and to move to the left, in the direction of the hills which run
from the village of Wahren towards Lindenthal.  At the foot of these heights,
his army was drawn up in a single line, and his artillery placed
upon the heights behind, from which it could sweep the whole extensive plain
of Breitenfeld.  The Swedish and Saxon army advanced in two columns,
having to pass the Lober near Podelwitz, in Tilly's front.

To defend the passage of this rivulet, Pappenheim advanced at the head
of 2000 cuirassiers, though after great reluctance on the part of Tilly,
and with express orders not to commence a battle.  But, in disobedience
to this command, Pappenheim attacked the vanguard of the Swedes,
and after a brief struggle was driven to retreat.  To check the progress
of the enemy, he set fire to Podelwitz, which, however, did not prevent
the two columns from advancing and forming in order of battle.

On the right, the Swedes drew up in a double line, the infantry in the centre,
divided into such small battalions as could be easily and rapidly manoeuvred
without breaking their order; the cavalry upon their wings, divided in
the same manner into small squadrons, interspersed with bodies of musqueteers,
so as both to give an appearance of greater numerical force,
and to annoy the enemy's horse.  Colonel Teufel commanded the centre,
Gustavus Horn the left, while the right was led by the king in person,
opposed to Count Pappenheim.

On the left, the Saxons formed at a considerable distance from the Swedes, --
by the advice of Gustavus, which was justified by the event.
The order of battle had been arranged between the Elector
and his field-marshal, and the king was content with merely signifying
his approval.  He was anxious apparently to separate the Swedish prowess
from that of the Saxons, and fortune did not confound them.

The enemy was drawn up under the heights towards the west,
in one immense line, long enough to outflank the Swedish army, --
the infantry being divided in large battalions, the cavalry
in equally unwieldy squadrons.  The artillery being on the heights behind,
the range of its fire was over the heads of his men.  From this position
of his artillery, it was evident that Tilly's purpose was to await
rather than to attack the enemy; since this arrangement rendered it impossible
for him to do so without exposing his men to the fire of his own cannons.
Tilly himself commanded the centre, Count Furstenberg the right wing,
and Pappenheim the left.  The united troops of the Emperor and the League
on this day did not amount to 34,000 or 35,000 men; the Swedes and Saxons
were about the same number.  But had a million been confronted with a million
it could only have rendered the action more bloody, certainly not
more important and decisive.  For this day Gustavus had crossed the Baltic,
to court danger in a distant country, and expose his crown and life
to the caprice of fortune.  The two greatest generals of the time,
both hitherto invincible, were now to be matched against each other
in a contest which both had long avoided; and on this field of battle
the hitherto untarnished laurels of one leader must droop for ever.
The two parties in Germany had beheld the approach of this day with
fear and trembling; and the whole age awaited with deep anxiety its issue,
and posterity was either to bless or deplore it for ever.

Tilly's usual intrepidity and resolution seemed to forsake him
on this eventful day.  He had formed no regular plan for giving battle
to the King, and he displayed as little firmness in avoiding it.
Contrary to his own judgment, Pappenheim had forced him to action.
Doubts which he had never before felt, struggled in his bosom;
gloomy forebodings clouded his ever-open brow; the shade of Magdeburg
seemed to hover over him.

A cannonade of two hours commenced the battle; the wind,
which was from the west, blew thick clouds of smoke
and dust from the newly-ploughed and parched fields
into the faces of the Swedes.  This compelled the king
insensibly to wheel northwards, and the rapidity with which
this movement was executed left no time to the enemy to prevent it.

Tilly at last left his heights, and began the first attack upon the Swedes;
but to avoid their hot fire, he filed off towards the right,
and fell upon the Saxons with such impetuosity that their line was broken,
and the whole army thrown into confusion.  The Elector himself
retired to Eilenburg, though a few regiments still maintained their ground
upon the field, and by a bold stand saved the honour of Saxony.
Scarcely had the confusion began ere the Croats commenced plundering,
and messengers were despatched to Munich and Vienna
with the news of the victory.

Pappenheim had thrown himself with the whole force of his cavalry
upon the right wing of the Swedes, but without being able to make it waver.
The king commanded here in person, and under him General Banner.
Seven times did Pappenheim renew the attack, and seven times was he repulsed.
He fled at last with great loss, and abandoned the field to his conqueror.

In the mean time, Tilly, having routed the remainder of the Saxons,
attacked with his victorious troops the left wing of the Swedes.
To this wing the king, as soon as he perceived that the Saxons
were thrown into disorder, had, with a ready foresight,
detached a reinforcement of three regiments to cover its flank,
which the flight of the Saxons had left exposed.  Gustavus Horn,
who commanded here, showed the enemy's cuirassiers a spirited resistance,
which the infantry, interspersed among the squadrons of horse,
materially assisted.  The enemy were already beginning to relax the vigour
of their attack, when Gustavus Adolphus appeared to terminate the contest.
The left wing of the Imperialists had been routed; and the king's division,
having no longer any enemy to oppose, could now turn their arms
wherever it would be to the most advantage.  Wheeling, therefore,
with his right wing and main body to the left, he attacked the heights
on which the enemy's artillery was planted.  Gaining possession of them
in a short time, he turned upon the enemy the full fire of their own cannon.

The play of artillery upon their flank, and the terrible onslaught
of the Swedes in front, threw this hitherto invincible army into confusion.
A sudden retreat was the only course left to Tilly, but even this was
to be made through the midst of the enemy.  The whole army was in disorder,
with the exception of four regiments of veteran soldiers,
who never as yet had fled from the field, and were resolved not to do so now.
Closing their ranks, they broke through the thickest of the victorious army,
and gained a small thicket, where they opposed a new front to the Swedes,
and maintained their resistance till night, when their number was reduced
to six hundred men.  With them fled the wreck of Tilly's army,
and the battle was decided.

Amid the dead and the wounded, Gustavus Adolphus threw himself on his knees;
and the first joy of his victory gushed forth in fervent prayer.  He ordered
his cavalry to pursue the enemy as long as the darkness of the night
would permit.  The pealing of the alarm-bells set the inhabitants
of all the neighbouring villages in motion, and utterly lost
was the unhappy fugitive who fell into their hands.  The king encamped
with the rest of his army between the field of battle and Leipzig,
as it was impossible to attack the town the same night.
Seven thousand of the enemy were killed in the field, and more than 5,000
either wounded or taken prisoners.  Their whole artillery and camp fell
into the hands of the Swedes, and more than a hundred standards and colours
were taken.  Of the Saxons about 2,000 had fallen, while the loss
of the Swedes did not exceed 700.  The rout of the Imperialists
was so complete, that Tilly, on his retreat to Halle and Halberstadt,
could not rally above 600 men, or Pappenheim more than 1,400 --
so rapidly was this formidable army dispersed, which so lately
was the terror of Italy and Germany.

Tilly himself owed his escape merely to chance.  Exhausted by his wounds,
he still refused to surrender to a Swedish captain of horse, who summoned him
to yield; but who, when he was on the point of putting him to death,
was himself stretched on the ground by a timely pistol-shot.
But more grievous than danger or wounds was the pain of surviving
his reputation, and of losing in a single day the fruits of a long life.
All former victories were as nothing, since he had failed in gaining
the one that should have crowned them all.  Nothing remained
of all his past exploits, but the general execration which had followed them.
From this period, he never recovered his cheerfulness or his good fortune.
Even his last consolation, the hope of revenge, was denied to him,
by the express command of the Emperor not to risk a decisive battle.

The disgrace of this day is to be ascribed principally to three mistakes;
his planting the cannon on the hills behind him, his afterwards
abandoning these heights, and his allowing the enemy, without opposition,
to form in order of battle.  But how easily might those mistakes
have been rectified, had it not been for the cool presence of mind
and superior genius of his adversary!

Tilly fled from Halle to Halberstadt, where he scarcely allowed time
for the cure of his wounds, before he hurried towards the Weser
to recruit his force by the imperial garrisons in Lower Saxony.

The Elector of Saxony had not failed, after the danger was over, to appear
in Gustavus's camp.  The king thanked him for having advised a battle;
and the Elector, charmed at his friendly reception, promised him,
in the first transports of joy, the Roman crown.  Gustavus set out next day
for Merseburg, leaving the Elector to recover Leipzig.
Five thousand Imperialists, who had collected together after the defeat,
and whom he met on his march, were either cut in pieces or taken prisoners,
of whom again the greater part entered into his service.
Merseburg quickly surrendered; Halle was soon after taken,
whither the Elector of Saxony, after making himself master of Leipzig,
repaired to meet the king, and to concert their future plan of operations.

The victory was gained, but only a prudent use of it could render it decisive.
The imperial armies were totally routed, Saxony free from the enemy,
and Tilly had retired into Brunswick.  To have followed him thither
would have been to renew the war in Lower Saxony, which had scarcely recovered
from the ravages of the last.  It was therefore determined to carry the war
into the enemy's country, which, open and defenceless as far as Vienna,
invited attack.  On their right, they might fall upon the territories
of the Roman Catholic princes, or penetrate, on the left,
into the hereditary dominions of Austria, and make the Emperor tremble
in his palace.  Both plans were resolved on; and the question
that now remained was to assign its respective parts.  Gustavus Adolphus,
at the head of a victorious army, had little resistance to apprehend
in his progress from Leipzig to Prague, Vienna, and Presburg.
As to Bohemia, Moravia, Austria, and Hungary, they had been stripped
of their defenders, while the oppressed Protestants in these countries
were ripe for a revolt.  Ferdinand was no longer secure in his capital:
Vienna, on the first terror of surprise, would at once open its gates.
The loss of his territories would deprive the enemy of the resources
by which alone the war could be maintained; and Ferdinand would,
in all probability, gladly accede, on the hardest conditions,
to a peace which would remove a formidable enemy from the heart
of his dominions.  This bold plan of operations was flattering to a conqueror,
and success perhaps might have justified it.  But Gustavus Adolphus,
as prudent as he was brave, and more a statesman than a conqueror,
rejected it, because he had a higher end in view, and would not
trust the issue either to bravery or good fortune alone.

By marching towards Bohemia, Franconia and the Upper Rhine would be left
to the Elector of Saxony.  But Tilly had already begun to recruit
his shattered army from the garrisons in Lower Saxony, and was likely to be
at the head of a formidable force upon the Weser, and to lose no time
in marching against the enemy.  To so experienced a general,
it would not do to oppose an Arnheim, of whose military skill
the battle of Leipzig had afforded but equivocal proof;
and of what avail would be the rapid and brilliant career of the king
in Bohemia and Austria, if Tilly should recover his superiority in the Empire,
animating the courage of the Roman Catholics, and disarming,
by a new series of victories, the allies and confederates of the king?
What would he gain by expelling the Emperor from his hereditary dominions,
if Tilly succeeded in conquering for that Emperor the rest of Germany?
Could he hope to reduce the Emperor more than had been done,
twelve years before, by the insurrection of Bohemia, which had failed
to shake the firmness or exhaust the resources of that prince,
and from which he had risen more formidable than ever?

Less brilliant, but more solid, were the advantages which he had to expect
from an incursion into the territories of the League.  In this quarter,
his appearance in arms would be decisive.  At this very conjuncture,
the princes were assembled in a Diet at Frankfort, to deliberate upon
the Edict of Restitution, where Ferdinand employed all his artful policy
to persuade the intimidated Protestants to accede to a speedy
and disadvantageous arrangement.  The advance of their protector could alone
encourage them to a bold resistance, and disappoint the Emperor's designs.
Gustavus Adolphus hoped, by his presence, to unite the discontented princes,
or by the terror of his arms to detach them from the Emperor's party.  Here,
in the centre of Germany, he could paralyse the nerves of the imperial power,
which, without the aid of the League, must soon fall -- here,
in the neighbourhood of France, he could watch the movements
of a suspicious ally; and however important to his secret views it was
to cultivate the friendship of the Roman Catholic electors,
he saw the necessity of making himself first of all master of their fate,
in order to establish, by his magnanimous forbearance,
a claim to their gratitude.

He accordingly chose the route to Franconia and the Rhine;
and left the conquest of Bohemia to the Elector of Saxony.






Book III.




The glorious battle of Leipzig effected a great change in the conduct
of Gustavus Adolphus, as well as in the opinion which both friends and foes
entertained of him.  Successfully had he confronted the greatest general
of the age, and had matched the strength of his tactics
and the courage of his Swedes against the elite of the imperial army,
the most experienced troops in Europe.  From this moment he felt
a firm confidence in his own powers -- self-confidence has always been
the parent of great actions.  In all his subsequent operations
more boldness and decision are observable; greater determination,
even amidst the most unfavourable circumstances, a more lofty tone
towards his adversaries, a more dignified bearing towards his allies,
and even in his clemency, something of the forbearance of a conqueror.
His natural courage was farther heightened by the pious ardour
of his imagination.  He saw in his own cause that of heaven,
and in the defeat of Tilly beheld the decisive interference of Providence
against his enemies, and in himself the instrument of divine vengeance.
Leaving his crown and his country far behind, he advanced
on the wings of victory into the heart of Germany, which for centuries
had seen no foreign conqueror within its bosom.  The warlike spirit
of its inhabitants, the vigilance of its numerous princes,
the artful confederation of its states, the number of its strong castles,
its many and broad rivers, had long restrained the ambition of its neighbours;
and frequently as its extensive frontier had been attacked, its interior
had been free from hostile invasion.  The Empire had hitherto enjoyed
the equivocal privilege of being its own enemy, though invincible
from without.  Even now, it was merely the disunion of its members,
and the intolerance of religious zeal, that paved the way
for the Swedish invader.  The bond of union between the states,
which alone had rendered the Empire invincible, was now dissolved;
and Gustavus derived from Germany itself the power by which he subdued it.
With as much courage as prudence, he availed himself of all
that the favourable moment afforded; and equally at home in the cabinet
and the field, he tore asunder the web of the artful policy,
with as much ease, as he shattered walls with the thunder of his cannon.
Uninterruptedly he pursued his conquests from one end of Germany to the other,
without breaking the line of posts which commanded a secure retreat
at any moment; and whether on the banks of the Rhine,
or at the mouth of the Lech, alike maintaining his communication
with his hereditary dominions.

The consternation of the Emperor and the League at Tilly's defeat at Leipzig,
was scarcely greater than the surprise and embarrassment of the allies
of the King of Sweden at his unexpected success.  It was beyond
both their expectations and their wishes.  Annihilated in a moment
was that formidable army which, while it checked his progress
and set bounds to his ambition, rendered him in some measure dependent
on themselves.  He now stood in the heart of Germany, alone,
without a rival or without an adversary who was a match for him.
Nothing could stop his progress, or check his pretensions,
if the intoxication of success should tempt him to abuse his victory.
If formerly they had dreaded the Emperor's irresistible power,
there was no less cause now to fear every thing for the Empire,
from the violence of a foreign conqueror, and for the Catholic Church,
from the religious zeal of a Protestant king.  The distrust and jealousy
of some of the combined powers, which a stronger fear of the Emperor had
for a time repressed, now revived; and scarcely had Gustavus Adolphus merited,
by his courage and success, their confidence, when they began covertly
to circumvent all his plans.  Through a continual struggle
with the arts of enemies, and the distrust of his own allies,
must his victories henceforth be won; yet resolution,
penetration, and prudence made their way through all impediments.
But while his success excited the jealousy of his more powerful allies,
France and Saxony, it gave courage to the weaker, and emboldened them
openly to declare their sentiments and join his party.
Those who could neither vie with Gustavus Adolphus in importance,
nor suffer from his ambition, expected the more from the magnanimity
of their powerful ally, who enriched them with the spoils of their enemies,
and protected them against the oppression of their stronger neighbours.
His strength covered their weakness, and, inconsiderable in themselves,
they acquired weight and influence from their union with the Swedish hero.
This was the case with most of the free cities, and particularly with
the weaker Protestant states.  It was these that introduced the king
into the heart of Germany; these covered his rear, supplied his troops
with necessaries, received them into their fortresses, while they exposed
their own lives in his battles.  His prudent regard to their national pride,
his popular deportment, some brilliant acts of justice, and his respect
for the laws, were so many ties by which he bound the German Protestants
to his cause; while the crying atrocities of the Imperialists, the Spaniards,
and the troops of Lorraine, powerfully contributed to set his own conduct
and that of his army in a favourable light.

If Gustavus Adolphus owed his success chiefly to his own genius,
at the same time, it must be owned, he was greatly favoured
by fortune and by circumstances.  Two great advantages gave him
a decided superiority over the enemy.  While he removed the scene of war
into the lands of the League, drew their youth as recruits,
enriched himself with booty, and used the revenues of their fugitive princes
as his own, he at once took from the enemy the means of effectual resistance,
and maintained an expensive war with little cost to himself.  And, moreover,
while his opponents, the princes of the League, divided among themselves,
and governed by different and often conflicting interests,
acted without unanimity, and therefore without energy;
while their generals were deficient in authority, their troops in obedience,
the operations of their scattered armies without concert;
while the general was separated from the lawgiver and the statesman;
these several functions were united in Gustavus Adolphus,
the only source from which authority flowed, the sole object
to which the eye of the warrior turned; the soul of his party,
the inventor as well as the executor of his plans.  In him,
therefore, the Protestants had a centre of unity and harmony,
which was altogether wanting to their opponents.  No wonder, then,
if favoured by such advantages, at the head of such an army,
with such a genius to direct it, and guided by such political prudence,
Gustavus Adolphus was irresistible.

With the sword in one hand, and mercy in the other, he traversed Germany
as a conqueror, a lawgiver, and a judge, in as short a time almost
as the tourist of pleasure.  The keys of towns and fortresses were delivered
to him, as if to the native sovereign.  No fortress was inaccessible;
no river checked his victorious career.  He conquered by the very terror
of his name.  The Swedish standards were planted along the whole stream
of the Maine:  the Lower Palatinate was free, the troops of Spain and Lorraine
had fled across the Rhine and the Moselle.  The Swedes and Hessians
poured like a torrent into the territories of Mentz, of Wurtzburg,
and Bamberg, and three fugitive bishops, at a distance from their sees,
suffered dearly for their unfortunate attachment to the Emperor.
It was now the turn for Maximilian, the leader of the League,
to feel in his own dominions the miseries he had inflicted upon others.
Neither the terrible fate of his allies, nor the peaceful overtures
of Gustavus, who, in the midst of conquest, ever held out
the hand of friendship, could conquer the obstinacy of this prince.
The torrent of war now poured into Bavaria.  Like the banks of the Rhine,
those of the Lecke and the Donau were crowded with Swedish troops.
Creeping into his fortresses, the defeated Elector abandoned to the ravages
of the foe his dominions, hitherto unscathed by war, and on which
the bigoted violence of the Bavarians seemed to invite retaliation.
Munich itself opened its gates to the invincible monarch,
and the fugitive Palatine, Frederick V., in the forsaken residence
of his rival, consoled himself for a time for the loss of his dominions.

While Gustavus Adolphus was extending his conquests in the south,
his generals and allies were gaining similar triumphs in the other provinces.
Lower Saxony shook off the yoke of Austria, the enemy abandoned Mecklenburg,
and the imperial garrisons retired from the banks of the Weser and the Elbe.
In Westphalia and the Upper Rhine, William, Landgrave of Hesse,
rendered himself formidable; the Duke of Weimar in Thuringia,
and the French in the Electorate of Treves; while to the eastward
the whole kingdom of Bohemia was conquered by the Saxons.
The Turks were preparing to attack Hungary, and in the heart of Austria
a dangerous insurrection was threatened.  In vain did the Emperor
look around to the courts of Europe for support; in vain did he summon
the Spaniards to his assistance, for the bravery of the Flemings
afforded them ample employment beyond the Rhine; in vain did he call upon
the Roman court and the whole church to come to his rescue.
The offended Pope sported, in pompous processions and idle anathemas,
with the embarrassments of Ferdinand, and instead of the desired subsidy
he was shown the devastation of Mantua.

On all sides of his extensive monarchy hostile arms surrounded him.
With the states of the League, now overrun by the enemy, those ramparts
were thrown down, behind which Austria had so long defended herself,
and the embers of war were now smouldering upon her unguarded frontiers.
His most zealous allies were disarmed; Maximilian of Bavaria,
his firmest support, was scarce able to defend himself.  His armies,
weakened by desertion and repeated defeat, and dispirited by
continued misfortunes had unlearnt, under beaten generals,
that warlike impetuosity which, as it is the consequence,
so it is the guarantee of success.  The danger was extreme,
and extraordinary means alone could raise the imperial power
from the degradation into which it was fallen.

The most urgent want was that of a general; and the only one
from whom he could hope for the revival of his former splendour,
had been removed from his command by an envious cabal.
So low had the Emperor now fallen, that he was forced to make
the most humiliating proposals to his injured subject and servant,
and meanly to press upon the imperious Duke of Friedland the acceptance
of the powers which no less meanly had been taken from him.
A new spirit began from this moment to animate the expiring body of Austria;
and a sudden change in the aspect of affairs bespoke the firm hand
which guided them.  To the absolute King of Sweden,
a general equally absolute was now opposed; and one victorious hero
was confronted with another.  Both armies were again to engage
in the doubtful struggle; and the prize of victory, already almost secured
in the hands of Gustavus Adolphus, was to be the object of another
and a severer trial.  The storm of war gathered around Nuremberg;
before its walls the hostile armies encamped; gazing on each other
with dread and respect, longing for, and yet shrinking from,
the moment that was to close them together in the shock of battle.
The eyes of Europe turned to the scene in curiosity and alarm,
while Nuremberg, in dismay, expected soon to lend its name
to a more decisive battle than that of Leipzig.  Suddenly the clouds broke,
and the storm rolled away from Franconia, to burst upon the plains of Saxony.
Near Lutzen fell the thunder that had menaced Nuremberg;
the victory, half lost, was purchased by the death of the king.
Fortune, which had never forsaken him in his lifetime,
favoured the King of Sweden even in his death, with the rare privilege
of falling in the fulness of his glory and an untarnished fame.
By a timely death, his protecting genius rescued him from the inevitable fate
of man -- that of forgetting moderation in the intoxication of success,
and justice in the plenitude of power.  It may be doubted whether,
had he lived longer, he would still have deserved the tears which Germany shed
over his grave, or maintained his title to the admiration with which
posterity regards him, as the first and only JUST conqueror that the world
has produced.  The untimely fall of their great leader seemed to threaten
the ruin of his party; but to the Power which rules the world,
no loss of a single man is irreparable.  As the helm of war dropped
from the hand of the falling hero, it was seized by two great statesmen,
Oxenstiern and Richelieu.  Destiny still pursued its relentless course,
and for full sixteen years longer the flames of war blazed over the ashes
of the long-forgotten king and soldier.

I may now be permitted to take a cursory retrospect of Gustavus Adolphus
in his victorious career; glance at the scene in which he alone
was the great actor; and then, when Austria becomes reduced to extremity
by the successes of the Swedes, and by a series of disasters
is driven to the most humiliating and desperate expedients,
to return to the history of the Emperor.

As soon as the plan of operations had been concerted at Halle,
between the King of Sweden and the Elector of Saxony; as soon as the alliance
had been concluded with the neighbouring princes of Weimar and Anhalt,
and preparations made for the recovery of the bishopric of Magdeburg,
the king began his march into the empire.  He had here no despicable foe
to contend with.  Within the empire, the Emperor was still powerful;
throughout Franconia, Swabia, and the Palatinate, imperial garrisons
were posted, with whom the possession of every place of importance
must be disputed sword in hand.  On the Rhine he was opposed by the Spaniards,
who had overrun the territory of the banished Elector Palatine,
seized all its strong places, and would everywhere dispute with him
the passage over that river.  On his rear was Tilly, who was fast recruiting
his force, and would soon be joined by the auxiliaries from Lorraine.
Every Papist presented an inveterate foe, while his connexion with France
did not leave him at liberty to act with freedom against the Roman Catholics.
Gustavus had foreseen all these obstacles, but at the same time the means
by which they were to be overcome.  The strength of the Imperialists
was broken and divided among different garrisons, while he would
bring against them one by one his whole united force.
If he was to be opposed by the fanaticism of the Roman Catholics,
and the awe in which the lesser states regarded the Emperor's power,
he might depend on the active support of the Protestants,
and their hatred to Austrian oppression.  The ravages of the Imperialist
and Spanish troops also powerfully aided him in these quarters;
where the ill-treated husbandman and citizen sighed alike for a deliverer,
and where the mere change of yoke seemed to promise a relief.
Emissaries were despatched to gain over to the Swedish side
the principal free cities, particularly Nuremberg and Frankfort.
The first that lay in the king's march, and which he could not leave
unoccupied in his rear, was Erfurt.  Here the Protestant party
among the citizens opened to him, without a blow, the gates of the town
and the citadel.  From the inhabitants of this, as of every important place
which afterwards submitted, he exacted an oath of allegiance,
while he secured its possession by a sufficient garrison.  To his ally,
Duke William of Weimar, he intrusted the command of an army to be raised
in Thuringia.  He also left his queen in Erfurt, and promised to increase
its privileges.  The Swedish army now crossed the Thuringian forest
in two columns, by Gotha and Arnstadt, and having delivered, in its march,
the county of Henneberg from the Imperialists, formed a junction
on the third day near Koenigshofen, on the frontiers of Franconia.

Francis, Bishop of Wurtzburg, the bitter enemy of the Protestants,
and the most zealous member of the League, was the first to feel
the indignation of Gustavus Adolphus.  A few threats gained for the Swedes
possession of his fortress of Koenigshofen, and with it the key
of the whole province.  At the news of this rapid conquest,
dismay seized all the Roman Catholic towns of the circle.
The Bishops of Wurtzburg and Bamberg trembled in their castles;
they already saw their sees tottering, their churches profaned,
and their religion degraded.  The malice of his enemies had circulated
the most frightful representations of the persecuting spirit
and the mode of warfare pursued by the Swedish king and his soldiers,
which neither the repeated assurances of the king, nor the most
splendid examples of humanity and toleration, ever entirely effaced.
Many feared to suffer at the hands of another what in similar circumstances
they were conscious of inflicting themselves.  Many of the richest
Roman Catholics hastened to secure by flight their property, their religion,
and their persons, from the sanguinary fanaticism of the Swedes.
The bishop himself set the example.  In the midst of the alarm,
which his bigoted zeal had caused, he abandoned his dominions,
and fled to Paris, to excite, if possible, the French ministry
against the common enemy of religion.

The further progress of Gustavus Adolphus in the ecclesiastical territories
agreed with this brilliant commencement.  Schweinfurt,
and soon afterwards Wurtzburg, abandoned by their Imperial garrisons,
surrendered; but Marienberg he was obliged to carry by storm.  In this place,
which was believed to be impregnable, the enemy had collected a large store
of provisions and ammunition, all of which fell into the hands of the Swedes.
The king found a valuable prize in the library of the Jesuits,
which he sent to Upsal, while his soldiers found a still more agreeable one
in the prelate's well-filled cellars; his treasures the bishop had
in good time removed.  The whole bishopric followed the example
of the capital, and submitted to the Swedes.  The king compelled
all the bishop's subjects to swear allegiance to himself;
and, in the absence of the lawful sovereign, appointed a regency,
one half of whose members were Protestants.  In every Roman Catholic town
which Gustavus took, he opened the churches to the Protestant people,
but without retaliating on the Papists the cruelties which they had practised
on the former.  On such only as sword in hand refused to submit,
were the fearful rights of war enforced; and for the occasional
acts of violence committed by a few of the more lawless soldiers,
in the blind rage of the first attack, their humane leader
is not justly responsible.  Those who were peaceably disposed, or defenceless,
were treated with mildness.  It was a sacred principle of Gustavus
to spare the blood of his enemies, as well as that of his own troops.

On the first news of the Swedish irruption, the Bishop of Wurtzburg,
without regarding the treaty which he had entered into
with the King of Sweden, had earnestly pressed the general of the League
to hasten to the assistance of the bishopric.  That defeated commander had,
in the mean time, collected on the Weser the shattered remnant of his army,
reinforced himself from the garrisons of Lower Saxony, and effected
a junction in Hesse with Altringer and Fugger, who commanded under him.
Again at the head of a considerable force, Tilly burned with impatience
to wipe out the stain of his first defeat by a splendid victory.
From his camp at Fulda, whither he had marched with his army,
he earnestly requested permission from the Duke of Bavaria to give battle
to Gustavus Adolphus.  But, in the event of Tilly's defeat,
the League had no second army to fall back upon, and Maximilian
was too cautious to risk again the fate of his party on a single battle.
With tears in his eyes, Tilly read the commands of his superior,
which compelled him to inactivity.  Thus his march to Franconia was delayed,
and Gustavus Adolphus gained time to overrun the whole bishopric.
It was in vain that Tilly, reinforced at Aschaffenburg by a body of 12,000 men
from Lorraine, marched with an overwhelming force to the relief of Wurtzburg.
The town and citadel were already in the hands of the Swedes,
and Maximilian of Bavaria was generally blamed (and not without cause,
perhaps) for having, by his scruples, occasioned the loss of the bishopric.
Commanded to avoid a battle, Tilly contented himself with checking
the farther advance of the enemy; but he could save only a few of the towns
from the impetuosity of the Swedes.  Baffled in an attempt to reinforce
the weak garrison of Hanau, which it was highly important to the Swedes
to gain, he crossed the Maine, near Seligenstadt, and took the direction
of the Bergstrasse, to protect the Palatinate from the conqueror.

Tilly, however, was not the sole enemy whom Gustavus Adolphus met
in Franconia, and drove before him.  Charles, Duke of Lorraine,
celebrated in the annals of the time for his unsteadiness of character,
his vain projects, and his misfortunes, ventured to raise a weak arm
against the Swedish hero, in the hope of obtaining from the Emperor
the electoral dignity.  Deaf to the suggestions of a rational policy,
he listened only to the dictates of heated ambition;
by supporting the Emperor, he exasperated France, his formidable neighbour;
and in the pursuit of a visionary phantom in another country,
left undefended his own dominions, which were instantly overrun
by a French army.  Austria willingly conceded to him, as well as to
the other princes of the League, the honour of being ruined in her cause.
Intoxicated with vain hopes, this prince collected a force of 17,000 men,
which he proposed to lead in person against the Swedes.  If these troops
were deficient in discipline and courage, they were at least attractive
by the splendour of their accoutrements; and however sparing they were
of their prowess against the foe, they were liberal enough with it
against the defenceless citizens and peasantry, whom they were summoned
to defend.  Against the bravery, and the formidable discipline of the Swedes
this splendidly attired army, however, made no long stand.
On the first advance of the Swedish cavalry a panic seized them,
and they were driven without difficulty from their cantonments in Wurtzburg;
the defeat of a few regiments occasioned a general rout,
and the scattered remnant sought a covert from the Swedish valour
in the towns beyond the Rhine.  Loaded with shame and ridicule,
the duke hurried home by Strasburg, too fortunate in escaping,
by a submissive written apology, the indignation of his conqueror,
who had first beaten him out of the field, and then called upon him
to account for his hostilities.  It is related upon this occasion that,
in a village on the Rhine a peasant struck the horse of the duke
as he rode past, exclaiming, "Haste, Sir, you must go quicker
to escape the great King of Sweden!"

The example of his neighbours' misfortunes had taught
the Bishop of Bamberg prudence.  To avert the plundering of his territories,
he made offers of peace, though these were intended only to delay
the king's course till the arrival of assistance.  Gustavus Adolphus,
too honourable himself to suspect dishonesty in another, readily accepted
the bishop's proposals, and named the conditions on which he was willing
to save his territories from hostile treatment.  He was the more inclined
to peace, as he had no time to lose in the conquest of Bamberg,
and his other designs called him to the Rhine.  The rapidity with which
he followed up these plans, cost him the loss of those pecuniary supplies
which, by a longer residence in Franconia, he might easily have extorted
from the weak and terrified bishop.  This artful prelate
broke off the negotiation the instant the storm of war passed away
from his own territories.  No sooner had Gustavus marched onwards
than he threw himself under the protection of Tilly, and received the troops
of the Emperor into the very towns and fortresses, which shortly before
he had shown himself ready to open to the Swedes.  By this stratagem,
however, he only delayed for a brief interval the ruin of his bishopric.
A Swedish general who had been left in Franconia, undertook to punish
the perfidy of the bishop; and the ecclesiastical territory became
the seat of war, and was ravaged alike by friends and foes.

The formidable presence of the Imperialists had hitherto been a check
upon the Franconian States; but their retreat, and the humane conduct
of the Swedish king, emboldened the nobility and other inhabitants
of this circle to declare in his favour.  Nuremberg joyfully committed itself
to his protection; and the Franconian nobles were won to his cause
by flattering proclamations, in which he condescended to apologize
for his hostile appearance in the dominions.  The fertility of Franconia,
and the rigorous honesty of the Swedish soldiers in their dealings
with the inhabitants, brought abundance to the camp of the king.
The high esteem which the nobility of the circle felt for Gustavus,
the respect and admiration with which they regarded his brilliant exploits,
the promises of rich booty which the service of this monarch held out,
greatly facilitated the recruiting of his troops; a step which was
made necessary by detaching so many garrisons from the main body.
At the sound of his drums, recruits flocked to his standard from all quarters.

The king had scarcely spent more time in conquering Franconia,
than he would have required to cross it.  He now left behind him
Gustavus Horn, one of his best generals, with a force of 8,000 men,
to complete and retain his conquest.  He himself with his main army,
reinforced by the late recruits, hastened towards the Rhine
in order to secure this frontier of the empire from the Spaniards;
to disarm the ecclesiastical electors, and to obtain
from their fertile territories new resources for the prosecution of the war.
Following the course of the Maine, he subjected, in the course of his march,
Seligenstadt, Aschaffenburg, Steinheim, the whole territory on both sides
of the river.  The imperial garrisons seldom awaited his approach,
and never attempted resistance.  In the meanwhile one of his colonels
had been fortunate enough to take by surprise the town and citadel of Hanau,
for whose preservation Tilly had shown such anxiety.  Eager to be free
of the oppressive burden of the Imperialists, the Count of Hanau
gladly placed himself under the milder yoke of the King of Sweden.

Gustavus Adolphus now turned his whole attention to Frankfort,
for it was his constant maxim to cover his rear by the friendship
and possession of the more important towns.  Frankfort was among
the free cities which, even from Saxony, he had endeavoured to prepare
for his reception; and he now called upon it, by a summons from Offenbach,
to allow him a free passage, and to admit a Swedish garrison.
Willingly would this city have dispensed with the necessity of choosing
between the King of Sweden and the Emperor; for, whatever party
they might embrace, the inhabitants had a like reason to fear
for their privileges and trade.  The Emperor's vengeance
would certainly fall heavily upon them, if they were in a hurry
to submit to the King of Sweden, and afterwards he should prove unable
to protect his adherents in Germany.  But still more ruinous for them
would be the displeasure of an irresistible conqueror, who,
with a formidable army, was already before their gates, and who might
punish their opposition by the ruin of their commerce and prosperity.
In vain did their deputies plead the danger which menaced their fairs,
their privileges, perhaps their constitution itself, if, by espousing
the party of the Swedes, they were to incur the Emperor's displeasure.
Gustavus Adolphus expressed to them his astonishment that,
when the liberties of Germany and the Protestant religion were at stake,
the citizens of Frankfort should talk of their annual fairs,
and postpone for temporal interests the great cause of their country
and their conscience.  He had, he continued, in a menacing tone,
found the keys of every town and fortress, from the Isle of Rugen
to the Maine, and knew also where to find a key to Frankfort;
the safety of Germany, and the freedom of the Protestant Church,
were, he assured them, the sole objects of his invasion;
conscious of the justice of his cause, he was determined not to allow
any obstacle to impede his progress.  "The inhabitants of Frankfort,
he was well aware, wished to stretch out only a finger to him,
but he must have the whole hand in order to have something to grasp."
At the head of the army, he closely followed the deputies
as they carried back his answer, and in order of battle awaited,
near Saxenhausen, the decision of the council.

If Frankfort hesitated to submit to the Swedes, it was solely from fear
of the Emperor; their own inclinations did not allow them a moment to doubt
between the oppressor of Germany and its protector.  The menacing preparations
amidst which Gustavus Adolphus now compelled them to decide,
would lessen the guilt of their revolt in the eyes of the Emperor,
and by an appearance of compulsion justify the step which they willingly took.
The gates were therefore opened to the King of Sweden, who marched his army
through this imperial town in magnificent procession, and in admirable order.
A garrison of 600 men was left in Saxenhausen; while the king himself
advanced the same evening, with the rest of his army, against the town
of Hoechst in Mentz, which surrendered to him before night.

While Gustavus was thus extending his conquests along the Maine,
fortune crowned also the efforts of his generals and allies
in the north of Germany.  Rostock, Wismar, and Doemitz, the only strong places
in the Duchy of Mecklenburg which still sighed under the yoke
of the Imperialists, were recovered by their legitimate sovereign,
the Duke John Albert, under the Swedish general, Achatius Tott.
In vain did the imperial general, Wolf Count von Mansfeld,
endeavour to recover from the Swedes the territories of Halberstadt,
of which they had taken possession immediately upon the victory of Leipzig;
he was even compelled to leave Magdeburg itself in their hands.
The Swedish general, Banner, who with 8,000 men remained upon the Elbe,
closely blockaded that city, and had defeated several imperial regiments
which had been sent to its relief.  Count Mansfeld defended it in person
with great resolution; but his garrison being too weak to oppose
for any length of time the numerous force of the besiegers,
he was already about to surrender on conditions, when Pappenheim advanced
to his assistance, and gave employment elsewhere to the Swedish arms.
Magdeburg, however, or rather the wretched huts that peeped out miserably
from among the ruins of that once great town, was afterwards
voluntarily abandoned by the Imperialists, and immediately taken possession of
by the Swedes.

Even Lower Saxony, encouraged by the progress of the king,
ventured to raise its head from the disasters of the unfortunate Danish war.
They held a congress at Hamburg, and resolved upon raising three regiments,
which they hoped would be sufficient to free them from
the oppressive garrisons of the Imperialists.  The Bishop of Bremen,
a relation of Gustavus Adolphus, was not content even with this;
but assembled troops of his own, and terrified the unfortunate
monks and priests of the neighbourhood, but was quickly compelled
by the imperial general, Count Gronsfeld, to lay down his arms.
Even George, Duke of Lunenburg, formerly a colonel in the Emperor's service,
embraced the party of Gustavus, for whom he raised several regiments,
and by occupying the attention of the Imperialists in Lower Saxony,
materially assisted him.

But more important service was rendered to the king by the Landgrave William
of Hesse Cassel, whose victorious arms struck with terror
the greater part of Westphalia and Lower Saxony, the bishopric of Fulda,
and even the Electorate of Cologne.  It has been already stated
that immediately after the conclusion of the alliance between the Landgrave
and Gustavus Adolphus at Werben, two imperial generals, Fugger and Altringer,
were ordered by Tilly to march into Hesse, to punish the Landgrave
for his revolt from the Emperor.  But this prince had as firmly withstood
the arms of his enemies, as his subjects had the proclamations of Tilly
inciting them to rebellion, and the battle of Leipzig presently relieved him
of their presence.  He availed himself of their absence
with courage and resolution; in a short time, Vach, Muenden and Hoexter
surrendered to him, while his rapid advance alarmed the bishoprics of Fulda,
Paderborn, and the ecclesiastical territories which bordered on Hesse.
The terrified states hastened by a speedy submission to set limits to
his progress, and by considerable contributions to purchase exemption
from plunder.  After these successful enterprises, the Landgrave united
his victorious army with that of Gustavus Adolphus, and concerted with him
at Frankfort their future plan of operations.

In this city, a number of princes and ambassadors were assembled
to congratulate Gustavus on his success, and either to conciliate his favour
or to appease his indignation.  Among them was the fugitive King of Bohemia,
the Palatine Frederick V., who had hastened from Holland to throw himself
into the arms of his avenger and protector.  Gustavus gave him
the unprofitable honour of greeting him as a crowned head, and endeavoured,
by a respectful sympathy, to soften his sense of his misfortunes.
But great as the advantages were, which Frederick had promised himself
from the power and good fortune of his protector; and high as were
the expectations he had built on his justice and magnanimity,
the chance of this unfortunate prince's reinstatement in his kingdom
was as distant as ever.  The inactivity and contradictory politics
of the English court had abated the zeal of Gustavus Adolphus,
and an irritability which he could not always repress,
made him on this occasion forget the glorious vocation of protector
of the oppressed, in which, on his invasion of Germany, he had so loudly
announced himself.

The terrors of the king's irresistible strength, and the near prospect
of his vengeance, had also compelled George, Landgrave of Hesse Darmstadt,
to a timely submission.  His connection with the Emperor,
and his indifference to the Protestant cause, were no secret to the king,
but he was satisfied with laughing at so impotent an enemy.
As the Landgrave knew his own strength and the political situation of Germany
so little, as to offer himself as mediator between the contending parties,
Gustavus used jestingly to call him the peacemaker.  He was frequently
heard to say, when at play he was winning from the Landgrave,
"that the money afforded double satisfaction, as it was Imperial coin."
To his affinity with the Elector of Saxony, whom Gustavus had cause
to treat with forbearance, the Landgrave was indebted for the favourable terms
he obtained from the king, who contented himself with the surrender of
his fortress of Russelheim, and his promise of observing a strict neutrality
during the war.  The Counts of Westerwald and Wetteran also visited the King
in Frankfort, to offer him their assistance against the Spaniards,
and to conclude an alliance, which was afterwards of great service to him.
The town of Frankfort itself had reason to rejoice at the presence
of this monarch, who took their commerce under his protection,
and by the most effectual measures restored the fairs, which had been
greatly interrupted by the war.

The Swedish army was now reinforced by ten thousand Hessians,
which the Landgrave of Casse commanded.  Gustavus Adolphus had
already invested Koenigstein; Kostheim and Floersheim surrendered
after a short siege; he was in command of the Maine; and transports
were preparing with all speed at Hoechst to carry his troops across the Rhine.
These preparations filled the Elector of Mentz, Anselm Casimir,
with consternation; and he no longer doubted but that the storm of war
would next fall upon him.  As a partisan of the Emperor, and one of
the most active members of the League, he could expect no better treatment
than his confederates, the Bishops of Wurtzburg and Bamberg,
had already experienced.  The situation of his territories upon the Rhine
made it necessary for the enemy to secure them, while the fertility
afforded an irresistible temptation to a necessitous army.
Miscalculating his own strength and that of his adversaries,
the Elector flattered himself that he was able to repel force by force,
and weary out the valour of the Swedes by the strength of his fortresses.
He ordered the fortifications of his capital to be repaired with
all diligence, provided it with every necessary for sustaining a long siege,
and received into the town a garrison of 2,000 Spaniards,
under Don Philip de Sylva.  To prevent the approach of the Swedish transports,
he endeavoured to close the mouth of the Maine by driving piles,
and sinking large heaps of stones and vessels.  He himself, however,
accompanied by the Bishop of Worms, and carrying with him
his most precious effects, took refuge in Cologne, and abandoned
his capital and territories to the rapacity of a tyrannical garrison.
But these preparations, which bespoke less of true courage
than of weak and overweening confidence, did not prevent the Swedes
from marching against Mentz, and making serious preparations for an attack
upon the city.  While one body of their troops poured into the Rheingau,
routed the Spaniards who remained there, and levied contributions
on the inhabitants, another laid the Roman Catholic towns
in Westerwald and Wetterau under similar contributions.  The main army
had encamped at Cassel, opposite Mentz; and Bernhard, Duke of Weimar,
made himself master of the Maeusethurm and the Castle of Ehrenfels,
on the other side of the Rhine.  Gustavus was now actively preparing
to cross the river, and to blockade the town on the land side,
when the movements of Tilly in Franconia suddenly called him from the siege,
and obtained for the Elector a short repose.

The danger of Nuremberg, which, during the absence of Gustavus Adolphus
on the Rhine, Tilly had made a show of besieging, and, in the event
of resistance, threatened with the cruel fate of Magdeburg,
occasioned the king suddenly to retire from before Mentz.
Lest he should expose himself a second time to the reproaches of Germany,
and the disgrace of abandoning a confederate city to a ferocious enemy,
he hastened to its relief by forced marches.  On his arrival at Frankfort,
however, he heard of its spirited resistance, and of the retreat of Tilly,
and lost not a moment in prosecuting his designs against Mentz.
Failing in an attempt to cross the Rhine at Cassel, under the cannon
of the besieged, he directed his march towards the Bergstrasse,
with a view of approaching the town from an opposite quarter.
Here he quickly made himself master of all the places of importance,
and at Stockstadt, between Gernsheim and Oppenheim, appeared a second time
upon the banks of the Rhine.  The whole of the Bergstrasse was abandoned
by the Spaniards, who endeavoured obstinately to defend the other bank
of the river.  For this purpose, they had burned or sunk all the vessels
in the neighbourhood, and arranged a formidable force on the banks,
in case the king should attempt the passage at that place.

On this occasion, the king's impetuosity exposed him to great danger
of falling into the hands of the enemy.  In order to reconnoitre
the opposite bank, he crossed the river in a small boat;
he had scarcely landed when he was attacked by a party of Spanish horse,
from whose hands he only saved himself by a precipitate retreat.
Having at last, with the assistance of the neighbouring fishermen,
succeeded in procuring a few transports, he despatched two of them
across the river, bearing Count Brahe and 300 Swedes.
Scarcely had this officer time to entrench himself on the opposite bank,
when he was attacked by 14 squadrons of Spanish dragoons and cuirassiers.
Superior as the enemy was in number, Count Brahe, with his small force,
bravely defended himself, and gained time for the king to support him
with fresh troops.  The Spaniards at last retired with the loss of 600 men,
some taking refuge in Oppenheim, and others in Mentz.  A lion of marble
on a high pillar, holding a naked sword in his paw, and a helmet on his head,
was erected seventy years after the event, to point out to the traveller
the spot where the immortal monarch crossed the great river of Germany.

Gustavus Adolphus now conveyed his artillery and the greater part
of his troops over the river, and laid siege to Oppenheim, which,
after a brave resistance, was, on the 8th December, 1631, carried by storm.
Five hundred Spaniards, who had so courageously defended the place,
fell indiscriminately a sacrifice to the fury of the Swedes.  The crossing
of the Rhine by Gustavus struck terror into the Spaniards and Lorrainers,
who had thought themselves protected by the river from the vengeance
of the Swedes.  Rapid flight was now their only security;
every place incapable of an effectual defence was immediately abandoned.
After a long train of outrages on the defenceless citizens,
the troops of Lorraine evacuated Worms, which, before their departure,
they treated with wanton cruelty.  The Spaniards hastened
to shut themselves up in Frankenthal, where they hoped to defy
the victorious arms of Gustavus Adolphus.

The king lost no time in prosecuting his designs against Mentz,
into which the flower of the Spanish troops had thrown themselves.
While he advanced on the left bank of the Rhine, the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel
moved forward on the other, reducing several strong places on his march.
The besieged Spaniards, though hemmed in on both sides, displayed at first
a bold determination, and threw, for several days, a shower of bombs
into the Swedish camp, which cost the king many of his bravest soldiers.
But notwithstanding, the Swedes continually gained ground,
and had at last advanced so close to the ditch that they prepared seriously
for storming the place.  The courage of the besieged now began to droop.
They trembled before the furious impetuosity of the Swedish soldiers,
of which Marienberg, in Wurtzburg, had afforded so fearful an example.
The same dreadful fate awaited Mentz, if taken by storm;
and the enemy might even be easily tempted to revenge the carnage of Magdeburg
on this rich and magnificent residence of a Roman Catholic prince.
To save the town, rather than their own lives, the Spanish garrison
capitulated on the fourth day, and obtained from the magnanimity of Gustavus
a safe conduct to Luxembourg; the greater part of them, however,
following the example of many others, enlisted in the service of Sweden.

On the 13th December, 1631, the king made his entry into the conquered town,
and fixed his quarters in the palace of the Elector.  Eighty pieces of cannon
fell into his hands, and the citizens were obliged to redeem their property
from pillage, by a payment of 80,000 florins.  The benefits of this redemption
did not extend to the Jews and the clergy, who were obliged to make
large and separate contributions for themselves.  The library of the Elector
was seized by the king as his share, and presented by him to his chancellor,
Oxenstiern, who intended it for the Academy of Westerrah, but the vessel
in which it was shipped to Sweden foundered at sea.

After the loss of Mentz, misfortune still pursued the Spaniards on the Rhine.
Shortly before the capture of that city, the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel
had taken Falkenstein and Reifenberg, and the fortress of Koningstein
surrendered to the Hessians.  The Rhinegrave, Otto Louis,
one of the king's generals, defeated nine Spanish squadrons
who were on their march for Frankenthal, and made himself master
of the most important towns upon the Rhine, from Boppart to Bacharach.
After the capture of the fortress of Braunfels, which was effected
by the Count of Wetterau, with the co-operation of the Swedes,
the Spaniards quickly lost every place in Wetterau, while in the Palatinate
they retained few places besides Frankenthal.  Landau and Kronweisenberg
openly declared for the Swedes; Spires offered troops for the king's service;
Manheim was gained through the prudence of the Duke Bernard of Weimar,
and the negligence of its governor, who, for this misconduct,
was tried before the council of war, at Heidelberg, and beheaded.

The king had protracted the campaign into the depth of winter,
and the severity of the season was perhaps one cause of the advantage
his soldiers gained over those of the enemy.  But the exhausted troops
now stood in need of the repose of winter quarters, which,
after the surrender of Mentz, Gustavus assigned to them, in its neighbourhood.
He himself employed the interval of inactivity in the field,
which the season of the year enjoined, in arranging, with his chancellor,
the affairs of his cabinet, in treating for a neutrality
with some of his enemies, and adjusting some political disputes
which had sprung up with a neighbouring ally.  He chose the city of Mentz
for his winter quarters, and the settlement of these state affairs,
and showed a greater partiality for this town, than seemed consistent
with the interests of the German princes, or the shortness of his visit
to the Empire.  Not content with strongly fortifying it,
he erected at the opposite angle which the Maine forms with the Rhine,
a new citadel, which was named Gustavusburg from its founder,
but which is better known under the title of Pfaffenraub or Pfaffenzwang*.

--
*  Priests' plunder; alluding to the means by which
the expense of its erection had been defrayed.
--

While Gustavus Adolphus made himself master of the Rhine,
and threatened the three neighbouring electorates with his victorious arms,
his vigilant enemies in Paris and St. Germain's made use of every artifice
to deprive him of the support of France, and, if possible,
to involve him in a war with that power.  By his sudden and equivocal march
to the Rhine, he had surprised his friends, and furnished his enemies
with the means of exciting a distrust of his intentions.
After the conquest of Wurtzburg, and of the greater part of Franconia,
the road into Bavaria and Austria lay open to him through Bamberg
and the Upper Palatinate; and the expectation was as general,
as it was natural, that he would not delay to attack the Emperor
and the Duke of Bavaria in the very centre of their power,
and, by the reduction of his two principal enemies, bring the war
immediately to an end.  But to the surprise of both parties,
Gustavus left the path which general expectation had thus marked out for him;
and instead of advancing to the right, turned to the left,
to make the less important and more innocent princes of the Rhine
feel his power, while he gave time to his more formidable opponents
to recruit their strength.  Nothing but the paramount design
of reinstating the unfortunate Palatine, Frederick V., in the possession
of his territories, by the expulsion of the Spaniards, could seem to account
for this strange step; and the belief that Gustavus was about to effect
that restoration, silenced for a while the suspicions of his friends
and the calumnies of his enemies.  But the Lower Palatinate was now
almost entirely cleared of the enemy; and yet Gustavus continued to form
new schemes of conquest on the Rhine, and to withhold the reconquered country
from the Palatine, its rightful owner.  In vain did the English ambassador
remind him of what justice demanded, and what his own solemn engagement
made a duty of honour; Gustavus replied to these demands
with bitter complaints of the inactivity of the English court,
and prepared to carry his victorious standard into Alsace,
and even into Lorraine.

A distrust of the Swedish monarch was now loud and open,
while the malice of his enemies busily circulated the most injurious reports
as to his intentions.  Richelieu, the minister of Louis XIII.,
had long witnessed with anxiety the king's progress towards
the French frontier, and the suspicious temper of Louis rendered him
but too accessible to the evil surmises which the occasion gave rise to.
France was at this time involved in a civil war with her Protestant subjects,
and the fear was not altogether groundless, that the approach
of a victorious monarch of their party might revive their drooping spirit,
and encourage them to a more desperate resistance.  This might be the case,
even if Gustavus Adolphus was far from showing a disposition
to encourage them, or to act unfaithfully towards his ally,
the King of France.  But the vindictive Bishop of Wurtzburg,
who was anxious to avenge the loss of his dominions, the envenomed rhetoric
of the Jesuits and the active zeal of the Bavarian minister,
represented this dreaded alliance between the Huguenots and the Swedes
as an undoubted fact, and filled the timid mind of Louis
with the most alarming fears.  Not merely chimerical politicians,
but many of the best informed Roman Catholics, fully believed that the king
was on the point of breaking into the heart of France, to make common cause
with the Huguenots, and to overturn the Catholic religion within the kingdom.
Fanatical zealots already saw him, with his army, crossing the Alps,
and dethroning the Viceregent of Christ in Italy.  Such reports
no doubt soon refute themselves; yet it cannot be denied that Gustavus,
by his manoeuvres on the Rhine, gave a dangerous handle
to the malice of his enemies, and in some measure justified the suspicion
that he directed his arms, not so much against the Emperor
and the Duke of Bavaria, as against the Roman Catholic religion itself.

The general clamour of discontent which the Jesuits raised
in all the Catholic courts, against the alliance between France
and the enemy of the church, at last compelled Cardinal Richelieu
to take a decisive step for the security of his religion,
and at once to convince the Roman Catholic world of the zeal of France,
and of the selfish policy of the ecclesiastical states of Germany.
Convinced that the views of the King of Sweden, like his own,
aimed solely at the humiliation of the power of Austria,
he hesitated not to promise to the princes of the League,
on the part of Sweden, a complete neutrality, immediately they abandoned
their alliance with the Emperor and withdrew their troops.
Whatever the resolution these princes should adopt, Richelieu would
equally attain his object.  By their separation from the Austrian interest,
Ferdinand would be exposed to the combined attack of France and Sweden;
and Gustavus Adolphus, freed from his other enemies in Germany, would be able
to direct his undivided force against the hereditary dominions of Austria.
In that event, the fall of Austria was inevitable, and this great object
of Richelieu's policy would be gained without injury to the church.
If, on the other hand, the princes of the League persisted
in their opposition, and adhered to the Austrian alliance,
the result would indeed be more doubtful, but still France would have
sufficiently proved to all Europe the sincerity of her attachment to
the Catholic cause, and performed her duty as a member of the Roman Church.
The princes of the League would then appear the sole authors of those evils,
which the continuance of the war would unavoidably bring upon
the Roman Catholics of Germany; they alone, by their wilful and obstinate
adherence to the Emperor, would frustrate the measures employed
for their protection, involve the church in danger, and themselves in ruin.

Richelieu pursued this plan with greater zeal, the more he was embarrassed
by the repeated demands of the Elector of Bavaria for assistance from France;
for this prince, as already stated, when he first began to entertain
suspicions of the Emperor, entered immediately into a secret alliance
with France, by which, in the event of any change in the Emperor's sentiments,
he hoped to secure the possession of the Palatinate.  But though
the origin of the treaty clearly showed against what enemy it was directed,
Maximilian now thought proper to make use of it against the King of Sweden,
and did not hesitate to demand from France that assistance against her ally,
which she had simply promised against Austria.  Richelieu, embarrassed by
this conflicting alliance with two hostile powers, had no resource left
but to endeavour to put a speedy termination to their hostilities;
and as little inclined to sacrifice Bavaria, as he was disabled,
by his treaty with Sweden, from assisting it, he set himself,
with all diligence, to bring about a neutrality, as the only means
of fulfilling his obligations to both.  For this purpose,
the Marquis of Breze was sent, as his plenipotentiary,
to the King of Sweden at Mentz, to learn his sentiments on this point,
and to procure from him favourable conditions for the allied princes.
But if Louis XIII. had powerful motives for wishing for this neutrality,
Gustavus Adolphus had as grave reasons for desiring the contrary.
Convinced by numerous proofs that the hatred of the princes of the League
to the Protestant religion was invincible, their aversion to
the foreign power of the Swedes inextinguishable, and their attachment to
the House of Austria irrevocable, he apprehended less danger
from their open hostility, than from a neutrality which was so little
in unison with their real inclinations; and, moreover, as he was constrained
to carry on the war in Germany at the expense of the enemy,
he manifestly sustained great loss if he diminished their number
without increasing that of his friends.  It was not surprising, therefore,
if Gustavus evinced little inclination to purchase the neutrality
of the League, by which he was likely to gain so little,
at the expense of the advantages he had already obtained.

The conditions, accordingly, upon which he offered to adopt the neutrality
towards Bavaria were severe, and suited to these views.  He required
of the whole League a full and entire cessation from all hostilities;
the recall of their troops from the imperial army, from the conquered towns,
and from all the Protestant countries; the reduction of their military force;
the exclusion of the imperial armies from their territories,
and from supplies either of men, provisions, or ammunition.
Hard as the conditions were, which the victor thus imposed
upon the vanquished, the French mediator flattered himself
he should be able to induce the Elector of Bavaria to accept them.
In order to give time for an accommodation, Gustavus had agreed
to a cessation of hostilities for a fortnight.  But at the very time
when this monarch was receiving from the French agents repeated assurances
of the favourable progress of the negociation, an intercepted letter
from the Elector to Pappenheim, the imperial general in Westphalia,
revealed the perfidy of that prince, as having no other object in view
by the whole negociation, than to gain time for his measures of defence.
Far from intending to fetter his military operations by a truce with Sweden,
the artful prince hastened his preparations, and employed the leisure
which his enemy afforded him, in making the most active dispositions
for resistance.  The negociation accordingly failed, and served only
to increase the animosity of the Bavarians and the Swedes.

Tilly's augmented force, with which he threatened to overrun Franconia,
urgently required the king's presence in that circle; but it was necessary
to expel previously the Spaniards from the Rhine, and to cut off their means
of invading Germany from the Netherlands.  With this view, Gustavus Adolphus
had made an offer of neutrality to the Elector of Treves, Philip von Zeltern,
on condition that the fortress of Hermanstein should be delivered up to him,
and a free passage granted to his troops through Coblentz.  But unwillingly
as the Elector had beheld the Spaniards within his territories,
he was still less disposed to commit his estates to the suspicious protection
of a heretic, and to make the Swedish conqueror master of his destinies.
Too weak to maintain his independence between two such powerful competitors,
he took refuge in the protection of France.  With his usual prudence,
Richelieu profited by the embarrassments of this prince
to augment the power of France, and to gain for her an important ally
on the German frontier.  A numerous French army was despatched
to protect the territory of Treves, and a French garrison was received
into Ehrenbreitstein.  But the object which had moved the Elector
to this bold step was not completely gained, for the offended pride
of Gustavus Adolphus was not appeased till he had obtained a free passage
for his troops through Treves.

Pending these negociations with Treves and France, the king's generals
had entirely cleared the territory of Mentz of the Spanish garrisons,
and Gustavus himself completed the conquest of this district
by the capture of Kreutznach.  To protect these conquests,
the chancellor Oxenstiern was left with a division of the army
upon the Middle Rhine, while the main body, under the king himself,
began its march against the enemy in Franconia.

The possession of this circle had, in the mean time, been disputed
with variable success, between Count Tilly and the Swedish General Horn,
whom Gustavus had left there with 8,000 men; and the Bishopric of Bamberg,
in particular, was at once the prize and the scene of their struggle.
Called away to the Rhine by his other projects, the king had left
to his general the chastisement of the bishop, whose perfidy had excited
his indignation, and the activity of Horn justified the choice.
In a short time, he subdued the greater part of the bishopric;
and the capital itself, abandoned by its imperial garrison,
was carried by storm.  The banished bishop urgently demanded assistance
from the Elector of Bavaria, who was at length persuaded to put an end
to Tilly's inactivity.  Fully empowered by his master's order
to restore the bishop to his possessions, this general collected his troops,
who were scattered over the Upper Palatinate, and with an army of 20,000 men
advanced upon Bamberg.  Firmly resolved to maintain his conquest
even against this overwhelming force, Horn awaited the enemy
within the walls of Bamberg; but was obliged to yield to the vanguard of Tilly
what he had thought to be able to dispute with his whole army.
A panic which suddenly seized his troops, and which no presence of mind
of their general could check, opened the gates to the enemy,
and it was with difficulty that the troops, baggage, and artillery,
were saved.  The reconquest of Bamberg was the fruit of this victory;
but Tilly, with all his activity, was unable to overtake the Swedish general,
who retired in good order behind the Maine.  The king's appearance
in Franconia, and his junction with Gustavus Horn at Kitzingen,
put a stop to Tilly's conquests, and compelled him to provide
for his own safety by a rapid retreat.

The king made a general review of his troops at Aschaffenburg.
After his junction with Gustavus Horn, Banner, and Duke William of Weimar,
they amounted to nearly 40,000 men.  His progress through Franconia
was uninterrupted; for Tilly, far too weak to encounter an enemy
so superior in numbers, had retreated, by rapid marches, towards the Danube.
Bohemia and Bavaria were now equally near to the king, and,
uncertain whither his victorious course might be directed,
Maximilian could form no immediate resolution.  The choice of the king,
and the fate of both provinces, now depended on the road
that should be left open to Count Tilly.  It was dangerous,
during the approach of so formidable an enemy, to leave Bavaria undefended,
in order to protect Austria; still more dangerous, by receiving Tilly
into Bavaria, to draw thither the enemy also, and to render it the seat
of a destructive war.  The cares of the sovereign finally overcame
the scruples of the statesman, and Tilly received orders, at all hazards,
to cover the frontiers of Bavaria with his army.

Nuremberg received with triumphant joy the protector of
the Protestant religion and German freedom, and the enthusiasm of the citizens
expressed itself on his arrival in loud transports of admiration and joy.
Even Gustavus could not contain his astonishment, to see himself in this city,
which was the very centre of Germany, where he had never expected
to be able to penetrate.  The noble appearance of his person,
completed the impression produced by his glorious exploits,
and the condescension with which he received the congratulations
of this free city won all hearts.  He now confirmed the alliance
he had concluded with it on the shores of the Baltic, and excited the citizens
to zealous activity and fraternal unity against the common enemy.
After a short stay in Nuremberg, he followed his army to the Danube,
and appeared unexpectedly before the frontier town of Donauwerth.
A numerous Bavarian garrison defended the place; and their commander,
Rodolph Maximilian, Duke of Saxe Lauenburg, showed at first
a resolute determination to defend it till the arrival of Tilly.
But the vigour with which Gustavus Adolphus prosecuted the siege,
soon compelled him to take measures for a speedy and secure retreat,
which amidst a tremendous fire from the Swedish artillery
he successfully executed.

The conquest of Donauwerth opened to the king the further side of the Danube,
and now the small river Lech alone separated him from Bavaria.
The immediate danger of his dominions aroused all Maximilian's activity;
and however little he had hitherto disturbed the enemy's progress
to his frontier, he now determined to dispute as resolutely
the remainder of their course.  On the opposite bank of the Lech,
near the small town of Rain, Tilly occupied a strongly fortified camp,
which, surrounded by three rivers, bade defiance to all attack.
All the bridges over the Lech were destroyed; the whole course of the stream
protected by strong garrisons as far as Augsburg; and that town itself,
which had long betrayed its impatience to follow the example
of Nuremberg and Frankfort, secured by a Bavarian garrison,
and the disarming of its inhabitants.  The Elector himself,
with all the troops he could collect, threw himself into Tilly's camp,
as if all his hopes centred on this single point, and here the good fortune
of the Swedes was to suffer shipwreck for ever.

Gustavus Adolphus, after subduing the whole territory of Augsburg,
on his own side of the river, and opening to his troops a rich supply
of necessaries from that quarter, soon appeared on the bank
opposite the Bavarian entrenchments.  It was now the month of March,
when the river, swollen by frequent rains, and the melting of the snow
from the mountains of the Tyrol, flowed full and rapid
between its steep banks.  Its boiling current threatened the rash assailants
with certain destruction, while from the opposite side the enemy's cannon
showed their murderous mouths.  If, in despite of the fury
both of fire and water, they should accomplish this almost impossible passage,
a fresh and vigorous enemy awaited the exhausted troops
in an impregnable camp; and when they needed repose and refreshment
they must prepare for battle.  With exhausted powers they must ascend
the hostile entrenchments, whose strength seemed to bid defiance
to every assault.  A defeat sustained upon this shore would be attended
with inevitable destruction, since the same stream which impeded their advance
would also cut off their retreat, if fortune should abandon them.

The Swedish council of war, which the king now assembled,
strongly urged upon him all these considerations, in order to deter him
from this dangerous undertaking.  The most intrepid were appalled,
and a troop of honourable warriors, who had grown gray in the field,
did not hesitate to express their alarm.  But the king's resolution was fixed.
"What!" said he to Gustavus Horn, who spoke for the rest,
"have we crossed the Baltic, and so many great rivers of Germany,
and shall we now be checked by a brook like the Lech?"  Gustavus had already,
at great personal risk, reconnoitred the whole country,
and discovered that his own side of the river was higher than the other,
and consequently gave a considerable advantage to the fire
of the Swedish artillery over that of the enemy.  With great presence of mind
he determined to profit by this circumstance.  At the point where
the left bank of the Lech forms an angle with the right, he immediately caused
three batteries to be erected, from which 72 field-pieces
maintained a cross fire upon the enemy.  While this tremendous cannonade
drove the Bavarians from the opposite bank, he caused to be erected
a bridge over the river with all possible rapidity.  A thick smoke,
kept up by burning wood and wet straw, concealed for some time the progress
of the work from the enemy, while the continued thunder of the cannon
overpowered the noise of the axes.  He kept alive by his own example
the courage of his troops, and discharged more than 60 cannon
with his own hand.  The cannonade was returned by the Bavarians
with equal vivacity for two hours, though with less effect,
as the Swedish batteries swept the lower opposite bank, while their height
served as a breast-work to their own troops.  In vain, therefore,
did the Bavarians attempt to destroy these works; the superior fire
of the Swedes threw them into disorder, and the bridge was completed
under their very eyes.  On this dreadful day, Tilly did every thing
in his power to encourage his troops; and no danger could drive him
from the bank.  At length he found the death which he sought,
a cannon ball shattered his leg; and Altringer, his brave companion-in-arms,
was, soon after, dangerously wounded in the head.  Deprived of
the animating presence of their two generals, the Bavarians gave way at last,
and Maximilian, in spite of his own judgment, was driven to adopt
a pusillanimous resolve.  Overcome by the persuasions of the dying Tilly,
whose wonted firmness was overpowered by the near approach of death,
he gave up his impregnable position for lost; and the discovery by the Swedes
of a ford, by which their cavalry were on the point of passing,
accelerated his inglorious retreat.  The same night, before a single soldier
of the enemy had crossed the Lech, he broke up his camp,
and, without giving time for the King to harass him in his march,
retreated in good order to Neuburgh and Ingolstadt.  With astonishment
did Gustavus Adolphus, who completed the passage of the river
on the following day behold the hostile camp abandoned;
and the Elector's flight surprised him still more, when he saw the strength
of the position he had quitted.  "Had I been the Bavarian," said he,
"though a cannon ball had carried away my beard and chin,
never would I have abandoned a position like this, and laid open my territory
to my enemies."

Bavaria now lay exposed to the conqueror; and, for the first time,
the tide of war, which had hitherto only beat against its frontier,
now flowed over its long spared and fertile fields.  Before, however,
the King proceeded to the conquest of these provinces,
he delivered the town of Augsburg from the yoke of Bavaria;
exacted an oath of allegiance from the citizens; and to secure its observance,
left a garrison in the town.  He then advanced, by rapid marches,
against Ingolstadt, in order, by the capture of this important fortress,
which the Elector covered with the greater part of his army,
to secure his conquests in Bavaria, and obtain a firm footing on the Danube.

Shortly after the appearance of the Swedish King before Ingolstadt,
the wounded Tilly, after experiencing the caprice of unstable fortune,
terminated his career within the walls of that town.  Conquered by
the superior generalship of Gustavus Adolphus, he lost,
at the close of his days, all the laurels of his earlier victories,
and appeased, by a series of misfortunes, the demands of justice,
and the avenging manes of Magdeburg.  In his death,
the Imperial army and that of the League sustained an irreparable loss;
the Roman Catholic religion was deprived of its most zealous defender,
and Maximilian of Bavaria of the most faithful of his servants,
who sealed his fidelity by his death, and even in his dying moments
fulfilled the duties of a general.  His last message to the Elector
was an urgent advice to take possession of Ratisbon, in order to maintain
the command of the Danube, and to keep open the communication with Bohemia.

With the confidence which was the natural fruit of so many victories,
Gustavus Adolphus commenced the siege of Ingolstadt, hoping to gain the town
by the fury of his first assault.  But the strength of its fortifications,
and the bravery of its garrison, presented obstacles greater
than any he had had to encounter since the battle of Breitenfeld,
and the walls of Ingolstadt were near putting an end to his career.
While reconnoitring the works, a 24-pounder killed his horse under him,
and he fell to the ground, while almost immediately afterwards
another ball struck his favourite, the young Margrave of Baden,
by his side.  With perfect self-possession the king rose,
and quieted the fears of his troops by immediately mounting another horse.

The occupation of Ratisbon by the Bavarians, who, by the advice of Tilly,
had surprised this town by stratagem, and placed in it a strong garrison,
quickly changed the king's plan of operations.  He had flattered himself
with the hope of gaining this town, which favoured the Protestant cause,
and to find in it an ally as devoted to him as Nuremberg, Augsburg,
and Frankfort.  Its seizure by the Bavarians seemed to postpone
for a long time the fulfilment of his favourite project of making himself
master of the Danube, and cutting off his adversaries' supplies from Bohemia.
He suddenly raised the siege of Ingolstadt, before which he had wasted
both his time and his troops, and penetrated into the interior of Bavaria,
in order to draw the Elector into that quarter for the defence
of his territories, and thus to strip the Danube of its defenders.

The whole country, as far as Munich, now lay open to the conqueror.
Mosburg, Landshut, and the whole territory of Freysingen, submitted;
nothing could resist his arms.  But if he met with no regular force
to oppose his progress, he had to contend against a still more implacable
enemy in the heart of every Bavarian -- religious fanaticism.
Soldiers who did not believe in the Pope were, in this country,
a new and unheard-of phenomenon; the blind zeal of the priests
represented them to the peasantry as monsters, the children of hell,
and their leader as Antichrist.  No wonder, then, if they thought themselves
released from all the ties of nature and humanity towards this brood of Satan,
and justified in committing the most savage atrocities upon them.
Woe to the Swedish soldier who fell into their hands!  All the torments
which inventive malice could devise were exercised upon these unhappy victims;
and the sight of their mangled bodies exasperated the army
to a fearful retaliation.  Gustavus Adolphus, alone, sullied the lustre
of his heroic character by no act of revenge; and the aversion which
the Bavarians felt towards his religion, far from making him depart
from the obligations of humanity towards that unfortunate people,
seemed to impose upon him the stricter duty to honour his religion
by a more constant clemency.

The approach of the king spread terror and consternation in the capital,
which, stripped of its defenders, and abandoned by its principal inhabitants,
placed all its hopes in the magnanimity of the conqueror.
By an unconditional and voluntary surrender, it hoped to disarm his vengeance;
and sent deputies even to Freysingen to lay at his feet the keys of the city.
Strongly as the king might have been tempted by the inhumanity
of the Bavarians, and the hostility of their sovereign, to make a dreadful use
of the rights of victory; pressed as he was by Germans to avenge
the fate of Magdeburg on the capital of its destroyer, this great prince
scorned this mean revenge; and the very helplessness of his enemies
disarmed his severity.  Contented with the more noble triumph
of conducting the Palatine Frederick with the pomp of a victor
into the very palace of the prince who had been the chief instrument
of his ruin, and the usurper of his territories, he heightened the brilliancy
of his triumphal entry by the brighter splendour of moderation and clemency.

The King found in Munich only a forsaken palace, for the Elector's treasures
had been transported to Werfen.  The magnificence of the building
astonished him; and he asked the guide who showed the apartments
who was the architect.  "No other," replied he, "than the Elector himself." --
"I wish," said the King, "I had this architect to send to Stockholm."
"That," he was answered, "the architect will take care to prevent."
When the arsenal was examined, they found nothing but carriages,
stripped of their cannon.  The latter had been so artfully concealed
under the floor, that no traces of them remained; and but for
the treachery of a workman, the deceit would not have been detected.
"Rise up from the dead," said the King, "and come to judgment."
The floor was pulled up, and 140 pieces of cannon discovered,
some of extraordinary calibre, which had been principally taken
in the Palatinate and Bohemia.  A treasure of 30,000 gold ducats,
concealed in one of the largest, completed the pleasure
which the King received from this valuable acquisition.

A far more welcome spectacle still would have been the Bavarian army itself;
for his march into the heart of Bavaria had been undertaken chiefly
with the view of luring them from their entrenchments.  In this expectation
he was disappointed.  No enemy appeared; no entreaties, however urgent,
on the part of his subjects, could induce the Elector to risk
the remainder of his army to the chances of a battle.  Shut up in Ratisbon,
he awaited the reinforcements which Wallenstein was bringing from Bohemia;
and endeavoured, in the mean time, to amuse his enemy and keep him inactive,
by reviving the negociation for a neutrality.  But the King's distrust,
too often and too justly excited by  his previous conduct,
frustrated this design; and the intentional delay of Wallenstein
abandoned Bavaria to the Swedes.

Thus far had Gustavus advanced from victory to victory, without meeting
with an enemy able to cope with him.  A part of Bavaria and Swabia,
the Bishoprics of Franconia, the Lower Palatinate, and the Archbishopric
of Mentz, lay conquered in his rear.  An uninterrupted career of conquest
had conducted him to the threshold of Austria; and the most brilliant success
had fully justified the plan of operations which he had formed
after the battle of Breitenfeld.  If he had not succeeded to his wish
in promoting a confederacy among the Protestant States, he had at least
disarmed or weakened the League, carried on the war chiefly at its expense,
lessened the Emperor's resources, emboldened the weaker States,
and while he laid under contribution the allies of the Emperor,
forced a way through their territories into Austria itself.
Where arms were unavailing, the greatest service was rendered
by the friendship of the free cities, whose affections he had gained,
by the double ties of policy and religion; and, as long as he should maintain
his superiority in the field, he might reckon on every thing from their zeal.
By his conquests on the Rhine, the Spaniards were cut off
from the Lower Palatinate, even if the state of the war in the Netherlands
left them at liberty to interfere in the affairs of Germany.
The Duke of Lorraine, too, after his unfortunate campaign,
had been glad to adopt a neutrality.  Even the numerous garrisons
he had left behind him, in his progress through Germany,
had not diminished his army; and, fresh and vigorous as when he first began
his march, he now stood in the centre of Bavaria, determined and prepared
to carry the war into the heart of Austria.

While Gustavus Adolphus thus maintained his superiority within the empire,
fortune, in another quarter, had been no less favourable to his ally,
the Elector of Saxony.  By the arrangement concerted between these princes
at Halle, after the battle of Leipzig, the conquest of Bohemia
was intrusted to the Elector of Saxony, while the King reserved for himself
the attack upon the territories of the League.  The first fruits
which the Elector reaped from the battle of Breitenfeld,
was the reconquest of Leipzig, which was shortly followed by the expulsion
of the Austrian garrisons from the entire circle.  Reinforced by the troops
who deserted to him from the hostile garrisons, the Saxon General, Arnheim,
marched towards Lusatia, which had been overrun by an Imperial General,
Rudolph von Tiefenbach, in order to chastise the Elector
for embracing the cause of the enemy.  He had already commenced
in this weakly defended province the usual course of devastation,
taken several towns, and terrified Dresden itself by his approach,
when his destructive progress was suddenly stopped, by an express mandate
from the Emperor to spare the possessions of the King of Saxony.

Ferdinand had perceived too late the errors of that policy,
which reduced the Elector of Saxony to extremities, and forcibly driven
this powerful monarch into an alliance with Sweden.  By moderation,
equally ill-timed, he now wished to repair if possible
the consequences of his haughtiness; and thus committed a second error
in endeavouring to repair the first.  To deprive his enemy
of so powerful an ally, he had opened, through the intervention of Spain,
a negociation with the Elector; and in order to facilitate an accommodation,
Tiefenbach was ordered immediately to retire from Saxony.
But these concessions of the Emperor, far from producing the desired effect,
only revealed to the Elector the embarrassment of his adversary
and his own importance, and emboldened him the more to prosecute
the advantages he had already obtained.  How could he, moreover,
without becoming chargeable with the most shameful ingratitude,
abandon an ally to whom he had given the most solemn assurances of fidelity,
and to whom he was indebted for the preservation of his dominions,
and even of his Electoral dignity?

The Saxon army, now relieved from the necessity of marching into Lusatia,
advanced towards Bohemia, where a combination of favourable circumstances
seemed to ensure them an easy victory.  In this kingdom, the first scene of
this fatal war, the flames of dissension still smouldered beneath the ashes,
while the discontent of the inhabitants was fomented by daily acts
of oppression and tyranny.  On every side, this unfortunate country
showed signs of a mournful change.  Whole districts had changed
their proprietors, and groaned under the hated yoke of Roman Catholic masters,
whom the favour of the Emperor and the Jesuits had enriched
with the plunder and possessions of the exiled Protestants.  Others,
taking advantage themselves of the general distress, had purchased,
at a low rate, the confiscated estates.  The blood of the most eminent
champions of liberty had been shed upon the scaffold; and such as by
a timely flight avoided that fate, were wandering in misery
far from their native land, while the obsequious slaves of despotism
enjoyed their patrimony.  Still more insupportable than the oppression
of these petty tyrants, was the restraint of conscience which was imposed
without distinction on all the Protestants of that kingdom.
No external danger, no opposition on the part of the nation,
however steadfast, not even the fearful lessons of past experience could check
in the Jesuits the rage of proselytism; where fair means were ineffectual,
recourse was had to military force to bring the deluded wanderers
within the pale of the church.  The inhabitants of Joachimsthal,
on the frontiers between Bohemia and Meissen, were the chief sufferers
from this violence.  Two imperial commissaries, accompanied by
as many Jesuits, and supported by fifteen musketeers, made their appearance
in this peaceful valley to preach the gospel to the heretics.
Where the rhetoric of the former was ineffectual, the forcibly quartering
the latter upon the houses, and threats of banishment and fines were tried.
But on this occasion, the good cause prevailed, and the bold resistance
of this small district compelled the Emperor disgracefully to recall
his mandate of conversion.  The example of the court had, however,
afforded a precedent to the Roman Catholics of the empire,
and seemed to justify every act of oppression which their insolence
tempted them to wreak upon the Protestants.  It is not surprising, then,
if this persecuted party was favourable to a revolution, and saw with pleasure
their deliverers on the frontiers.

The Saxon army was already on its march towards Prague, the imperial garrisons
everywhere retired before them.  Schloeckenau, Tetschen, Aussig, Leutmeritz,
soon fell into the enemy's hands, and every Roman Catholic place
was abandoned to plunder.  Consternation seized all the Papists of the Empire;
and conscious of the outrages which they themselves had committed
on the Protestants, they did not venture to abide the vengeful arrival
of a Protestant army.  All the Roman Catholics, who had anything to lose,
fled hastily from the country to the capital, which again
they presently abandoned.  Prague was unprepared for an attack,
and was too weakly garrisoned to sustain a long siege.
Too late had the Emperor resolved to despatch Field-Marshal Tiefenbach
to the defence of this capital.  Before the imperial orders could reach
the head-quarters of that general, in Silesia, the Saxons were already
close to Prague, the Protestant inhabitants of which showed little zeal,
while the weakness of the garrison left no room to hope a long resistance.
In this fearful state of embarrassment, the Roman Catholics of Prague
looked for security to Wallenstein, who now lived in that city
as a private individual.  But far from lending his military experience,
and the weight of his name, towards its defence, he seized
the favourable opportunity to satiate his thirst for revenge.
If he did not actually invite the Saxons to Prague, at least his conduct
facilitated its capture.  Though unprepared, the town might still hold out
until succours could arrive; and an imperial colonel, Count Maradas,
showed serious intentions of undertaking its defence.  But without
command and authority, and having no support but his own zeal and courage,
he did not dare to venture upon such a step without the advice of a superior.
He therefore consulted the Duke of Friedland, whose approbation
might supply the want of authority from the Emperor, and to whom
the Bohemian generals were referred by an express edict of the court
in the last extremity.  He, however, artfully excused himself,
on the plea of holding no official appointment, and his long retirement
from the political world; while he weakened the resolution of the subalterns
by the scruples which he suggested, and painted in the strongest colours.
At last, to render the consternation general and complete,
he quitted the capital with his whole court, however little he had to fear
from its capture; and the city was lost, because, by his departure,
he showed that he despaired of its safety.  His example was followed
by all the Roman Catholic nobility, the generals with their troops,
the clergy, and all the officers of the crown.  All night the people
were employed in saving their persons and effects.  The roads to Vienna
were crowded with fugitives, who scarcely recovered from their consternation
till they reached the imperial city.  Maradas himself,
despairing of the safety of Prague, followed the rest,
and led his small detachment to Tabor, where he awaited the event.

Profound silence reigned in Prague, when the Saxons next morning
appeared before it; no preparations were made for defence;
not a single shot from the walls announced an intention of resistance.
On the contrary, a crowd of spectators from the town, allured by curiosity,
came flocking round, to behold the foreign army; and the peaceful confidence
with which they advanced, resembled a friendly salutation,
more than a hostile reception.  From the concurrent reports of these people,
the Saxons learned that the town had been deserted by the troops,
and that the government had fled to Budweiss.  This unexpected
and inexplicable absence of resistance excited Arnheim's distrust the more,
as the speedy approach of the Silesian succours was no secret to him,
and as he knew that the Saxon army was too indifferently provided
with materials for undertaking a siege, and by far too weak in numbers
to attempt to take the place by storm.  Apprehensive of stratagem,
he redoubled his vigilance; and he continued in this conviction
until Wallenstein's house-steward, whom he discovered among the crowd,
confirmed to him this intelligence.  "The town is ours without a blow!"
exclaimed he in astonishment to his officers, and immediately summoned it
by a trumpeter.

The citizens of Prague, thus shamefully abandoned by their defenders,
had long taken their resolution; all that they had to do
was to secure their properties and liberties by an advantageous capitulation.
No sooner was the treaty signed by the Saxon general, in his master's name,
than the gates were opened, without farther opposition; and upon
the 11th of November, 1631, the army made their triumphal entry.
The Elector soon after followed in person, to receive the homage
of those whom he had newly taken under his protection; for it was only
in the character of protector that the three towns of Prague
had surrendered to him.  Their allegiance to the Austrian monarchy
was not to be dissolved by the step they had taken.  In proportion as
the Papists' apprehensions of reprisals on the part of the Protestants
had been exaggerated, so was their surprise great at the moderation
of the Elector, and the discipline of his troops.  Field-Marshal Arnheim
plainly evinced, on this occasion, his respect for Wallenstein.
Not content with sparing his estates on his march, he now placed guards
over his palace, in Prague, to prevent the plunder of any of his effects.
The Roman Catholics of the town were allowed the fullest liberty
of conscience; and of all the churches they had wrested from the Protestants,
four only were now taken back from them.  From this general indulgence,
none were excluded but the Jesuits, who were generally considered
as the authors of all past grievances, and thus banished the kingdom.

John George belied not the submission and dependence with which
the terror of the imperial name inspired him; nor did he indulge at Prague,
in a course of conduct which would assuredly have been pursued against himself
in Dresden, by imperial generals, such as Tilly or Wallenstein.
He carefully distinguished between the enemy with whom he was at war,
and the head of the Empire, to whom he owed obedience.  He did not venture
to touch the household furniture of the latter, while, without scruple,
he appropriated and transported to Dresden the cannon of the former.
He did not take up his residence in the imperial palace,
but the house of Lichtenstein; too modest to use the apartments of one
whom he had deprived of a kingdom.  Had this trait been related
of a great man and a hero, it would irresistibly excite our admiration;
but the character of this prince leaves us in doubt whether this moderation
ought to be ascribed to a noble self-command, or to the littleness
of a weak mind, which even good fortune could not embolden,
and liberty itself could not strip of its habituated fetters.

The surrender of Prague, which was quickly followed by that
of most of the other towns, effected a great and sudden change in Bohemia.
Many of the Protestant nobility, who had hitherto been wandering about
in misery, now returned to their native country; and Count Thurn,
the famous author of the Bohemian insurrection, enjoyed the triumph
of returning as a conqueror to the scene of his crime and his condemnation.
Over the very bridge where the heads of his adherents, exposed to view,
held out a fearful picture of the fate which had threatened himself,
he now made his triumphal entry; and to remove these ghastly objects
was his first care.  The exiles again took possession of their properties,
without thinking of recompensing for the purchase money
the present possessors, who had mostly taken to flight.
Even though they had received a price for their estates,
they seized on every thing which had once been their own;
and many had reason to rejoice at the economy of the late possessors.
The lands and cattle had greatly improved in their hands;
the apartments were now decorated with the most costly furniture;
the cellars, which had been left empty, were richly filled;
the stables supplied; the magazines stored with provisions.
But distrusting the constancy of that good fortune, which had so unexpectedly
smiled upon them, they hastened to get quit of these insecure possessions,
and to convert their immoveable into transferable property.

The presence of the Saxons inspired all the Protestants of the kingdom
with courage; and, both in the country and the capital, crowds flocked
to the newly opened Protestant churches.  Many, whom fear alone had retained
in their adherence to Popery, now openly professed the new doctrine;
and many of the late converts to Roman Catholicism gladly renounced
a compulsory persuasion, to follow the earlier conviction of their conscience.
All the moderation of the new regency, could not restrain the manifestation
of that just displeasure, which this persecuted people felt
against their oppressors.  They made a fearful and cruel use
of their newly recovered rights; and, in many parts of the kingdom,
their hatred of the religion which they had been compelled to profess,
could be satiated only by the blood of its adherents.

Meantime the succours which the imperial generals, Goetz and Tiefenbach,
were conducting from Silesia, had entered Bohemia, where they were joined
by some of Tilly's regiments, from the Upper Palatinate.  In order
to disperse them before they should receive any further reinforcement,
Arnheim advanced with part of his army from Prague, and made a vigorous attack
on their entrenchments near Limburg, on the Elbe.  After a severe action,
not without great loss, he drove the enemy from their fortified camp,
and forced them, by his heavy fire, to recross the Elbe,
and to destroy the bridge which they had built over that river.
Nevertheless, the Imperialists obtained the advantage in several skirmishes,
and the Croats pushed their incursions to the very gates of Prague.
Brilliant and promising as the opening of the Bohemian campaign had been,
the issue by no means satisfied the expectations of Gustavus Adolphus.
Instead of vigorously following up their advantages, by forcing a passage
to the Swedish army through the conquered country, and then, with it,
attacking the imperial power in its centre, the Saxons weakened themselves
in a war of skirmishes, in which they were not always successful,
while they lost the time which should have been devoted
to greater undertakings.  But the Elector's subsequent conduct
betrayed the motives which had prevented him from pushing his advantage
over the Emperor, and by consistent measures promoting the plans
of the King of Sweden.

The Emperor had now lost the greater part of Bohemia, and the Saxons
were advancing against Austria, while the Swedish monarch was rapidly moving
to the same point through Franconia, Swabia, and Bavaria.  A long war
had exhausted the strength of the Austrian monarchy, wasted the country,
and diminished its armies.  The renown of its victories was no more,
as well as the confidence inspired by constant success; its troops had lost
the obedience and discipline to which those of the Swedish monarch
owed all their superiority in the field.  The confederates of the Emperor
were disarmed, or their fidelity shaken by the danger
which threatened themselves.  Even Maximilian of Bavaria,
Austria's most powerful ally, seemed disposed to yield
to the seductive proposition of neutrality; while his suspicious alliance
with France had long been a subject of apprehension to the Emperor.
The bishops of Wurtzburg and Bamberg, the Elector of Mentz,
and the Duke of Lorraine, were either expelled from their territories,
or threatened with immediate attack; Treves had placed itself
under the protection of France.  The bravery of the Hollanders
gave full employment to the Spanish arms in the Netherlands;
while Gustavus had driven them from the Rhine.  Poland was still fettered
by the truce which subsisted between that country and Sweden.
The Hungarian frontier was threatened by the Transylvanian Prince, Ragotsky,
a successor of Bethlen Gabor, and the inheritor of his restless mind;
while the Porte was making great preparation to profit
by the favourable conjuncture for aggression.  Most of the Protestant states,
encouraged by their protector's success, were openly and actively declaring
against the Emperor.  All the resources which had been obtained
by the violent and oppressive extortions of Tilly and Wallenstein
were exhausted; all these depots, magazines, and rallying-points,
were now lost to the Emperor; and the war could no longer be carried on
as before at the cost of others.  To complete his embarrassment,
a dangerous insurrection broke out in the territory of the Ens,
where the ill-timed religious zeal of the government had provoked
the Protestants to resistance; and thus fanaticism lit its torch
within the empire, while a foreign enemy was already on its frontier.
After so long a continuance of good fortune, such brilliant victories
and extensive conquests, such fruitless effusion of blood,
the Emperor saw himself a second time on the brink of that abyss,
into which he was so near falling at the commencement of his reign.
If Bavaria should embrace the neutrality; if Saxony should resist
the tempting offers he had held out; and France resolve
to attack the Spanish power at the same time in the Netherlands,
in Italy and in Catalonia, the ruin of Austria would be complete;
the allied powers would divide its spoils, and the political system of Germany
would undergo a total change.

The chain of these disasters began with the battle of Breitenfeld,
the unfortunate issue of which plainly revealed the long decided decline
of the Austrian power, whose weakness had hitherto been concealed
under the dazzling glitter of a grand name.  The chief cause
of the Swedes' superiority in the field, was evidently to be ascribed
to the unlimited power of their leader, who concentrated in himself
the whole strength of his party; and, unfettered in his enterprises
by any higher authority, was complete master of every favourable opportunity,
could control all his means to the accomplishment of his ends,
and was responsible to none but himself.  But since Wallenstein's dismissal,
and Tilly's defeat, the very reverse of this course was pursued
by the Emperor and the League.  The generals wanted authority
over their troops, and liberty of acting at their discretion;
the soldiers were deficient in discipline and obedience; the scattered corps
in combined operation; the states in attachment to the cause;
the leaders in harmony among themselves, in quickness to resolve,
and firmness to execute.  What gave the Emperor's enemy
so decided an advantage over him, was not so much their superior power,
as their manner of using it.  The League and the Emperor did not want means,
but a mind capable of directing them with energy and effect.
Even had Count Tilly not lost his old renown, distrust of Bavaria
would not allow the Emperor to place the fate of Austria in the hands of one
who had never concealed his attachment to the Bavarian Elector.
The urgent want which Ferdinand felt, was for a general possessed
of sufficient experience to form and to command an army,
and willing at the same time to dedicate his services, with blind devotion,
to the Austrian monarchy.

This choice now occupied the attention of the Emperor's privy council,
and divided the opinions of its members.  In order to oppose one monarch
to another, and by the presence of their sovereign to animate the courage
of the troops, Ferdinand, in the ardour of the moment, had offered himself
to be the leader of his army; but little trouble was required
to overturn a resolution which was the offspring of despair alone,
and which yielded at once to calm reflection.  But the situation
which his dignity, and the duties of administration, prevented the Emperor
from holding, might be filled by his son, a youth of talents and bravery,
and of whom the subjects of Austria had already formed great expectations.
Called by his birth to the defence of a monarchy, of whose crowns
he wore two already, Ferdinand III., King of Hungary and Bohemia, united,
with the natural dignity of heir to the throne, the respect of the army,
and the attachment of the people, whose co-operation was indispensable to him
in the conduct of the war.  None but the beloved heir to the crown
could venture to impose new burdens on a people already severely oppressed;
his personal presence with the army could alone suppress
the pernicious jealousies of the several leaders, and by the influence
of his name, restore the neglected discipline of the troops
to its former rigour.  If so young a leader was devoid of the maturity
of judgment, prudence, and military experience which practice alone
could impart, this deficiency might be supplied by a judicious choice
of counsellors and assistants, who, under the cover of his name,
might be vested with supreme authority.

But plausible as were the arguments with which a part of the ministry
supported this plan, it was met by difficulties not less serious,
arising from the distrust, perhaps even the jealousy, of the Emperor,
and also from the desperate state of affairs.  How dangerous was it
to entrust the fate of the monarchy to a youth, who was himself in need
of counsel and support!  How hazardous to oppose to the greatest general
of his age, a tyro, whose fitness for so important a post had never yet
been tested by experience; whose name, as yet unknown to fame,
was far too powerless to inspire a dispirited army with the assurance
of future victory!  What a new burden on the country, to support the state
a royal leader was required to maintain, and which the prejudices of the age
considered as inseparable from his presence with the army!
How serious a consideration for the prince himself, to commence
his political career, with an office which must make him
the scourge of his people, and the oppressor of the territories
which he was hereafter to rule.

But not only was a general to be found for the army; an army must also
be found for the general.  Since the compulsory resignation of Wallenstein,
the Emperor had defended himself more by the assistance of Bavaria
and the League, than by his own armies; and it was this dependence
on equivocal allies, which he was endeavouring to escape,
by the appointment of a general of his own.  But what possibility was there
of raising an army out of nothing, without the all-powerful aid of gold,
and the inspiriting name of a victorious commander; above all,
an army which, by its discipline, warlike spirit, and activity,
should be fit to cope with the experienced troops of the northern conqueror?
In all Europe, there was but one man equal to this, and that one
had been mortally affronted.

The moment had at last arrived, when more than ordinary satisfaction
was to be done to the wounded pride of the Duke of Friedland.
Fate itself had been his avenger, and an unbroken chain of disasters,
which had assailed Austria from the day of his dismissal,
had wrung from the Emperor the humiliating confession, that with this general
he had lost his right arm.  Every defeat of his troops opened afresh
this wound; every town which he lost, revived in the mind
of the deceived monarch the memory of his own weakness and ingratitude.
It would have been well for him, if, in the offended general,
he had only lost a leader of his troops, and a defender of his dominions;
but he was destined to find in him an enemy, and the most dangerous of all,
since he was least armed against the stroke of treason.

Removed from the theatre of war, and condemned to irksome inaction,
while his rivals gathered laurels on the field of glory,
the haughty duke had beheld these changes of fortune with affected composure,
and concealed, under a glittering and theatrical pomp, the dark designs
of his restless genius.  Torn by burning passions within,
while all without bespoke calmness and indifference, he brooded over
projects of ambition and revenge, and slowly, but surely,
advanced towards his end.  All that he owed to the Emperor
was effaced from his mind; what he himself had done for the Emperor
was imprinted in burning characters on his memory.  To his insatiable thirst
for power, the Emperor's ingratitude was welcome, as it seemed
to tear in pieces the record of past favours, to absolve him from
every obligation towards his former benefactor.  In the disguise
of a righteous retaliation, the projects dictated by his ambition
now appeared to him just and pure.  In proportion as the external circle
of his operations was narrowed, the world of hope expanded before him,
and his dreamy imagination revelled in boundless projects, which,
in any mind but such as his, madness alone could have given birth to.
His services had raised him to the proudest height which it was possible
for a man, by his own efforts, to attain.  Fortune had denied him nothing
which the subject and the citizen could lawfully enjoy.
Till the moment of his dismissal, his demands had met with no refusal,
his ambition had met with no check; but the blow which,
at the diet of Ratisbon, humbled him, showed him the difference
between ORIGINAL and DEPUTED power, the distance between
the subject and his sovereign.  Roused from the intoxication
of his own greatness by this sudden reverse of fortune,
he compared the authority which he had possessed, with that which
had deprived him of it; and his ambition marked the steps which it had yet
to surmount upon the ladder of fortune.  From the moment he had so bitterly
experienced the weight of sovereign power, his efforts were directed
to attain it for himself; the wrong which he himself had suffered
made him a robber.  Had he not been outraged by injustice,
he might have obediently moved in his orbit round the majesty of the throne,
satisfied with the glory of being the brightest of its satellites.
It was only when violently forced from its sphere,
that his wandering star threw in disorder the system to which it belonged,
and came in destructive collision with its sun.

Gustavus Adolphus had overrun the north of Germany; one place after another
was lost; and at Leipzig, the flower of the Austrian army had fallen.
The intelligence of this defeat soon reached the ears of Wallenstein,
who, in the retired obscurity of a private station in Prague,
contemplated from a calm distance the tumult of war.  The news,
which filled the breasts of the Roman Catholics with dismay,
announced to him the return of greatness and good fortune.
For him was Gustavus Adolphus labouring.  Scarce had the king begun
to gain reputation by his exploits, when Wallenstein lost not a moment
to court his friendship, and to make common cause with this successful enemy
of Austria.  The banished Count Thurn, who had long entered the service
of Sweden, undertook to convey Wallenstein's congratulations to the king,
and to invite him to a close alliance with the duke.  Wallenstein required
15,000 men from the king; and with these, and the troops he himself
engaged to raise, he undertook to conquer Bohemia and Moravia,
to surprise Vienna, and drive his master, the Emperor, before him into Italy.
Welcome as was this unexpected proposition, its extravagant promises
were naturally calculated to excite suspicion.  Gustavus Adolphus
was too good a judge of merit to reject with coldness the offers of one
who might be so important a friend.  But when Wallenstein,
encouraged by the favourable reception of his first message,
renewed it after the battle of Breitenfeld, and pressed for a decisive answer,
the prudent monarch hesitated to trust his reputation
to the chimerical projects of so daring an adventurer,
and to commit so large a force to the honesty of a man who felt no shame
in openly avowing himself a traitor.  He excused himself, therefore,
on the plea of the weakness of his army which, if diminished by
so large a detachment, would certainly suffer in its march through the empire;
and thus, perhaps, by excess of caution, lost an opportunity
of putting an immediate end to the war.  He afterwards endeavoured
to renew the negociation; but the favourable moment was past,
and Wallenstein's offended pride never forgave the first neglect.

But the king's hesitation, perhaps, only accelerated the breach,
which their characters made inevitable sooner or later.
Both framed by nature to give laws, not to receive them,
they could not long have co-operated in an enterprise,
which eminently demanded mutual submission and sacrifices.
Wallenstein was NOTHING where he was not EVERYTHING; he must either act
with unlimited power, or not at all.  So cordially, too,
did Gustavus dislike control, that he had almost renounced
his advantageous alliance with France, because it threatened to fetter
his own independent judgment.  Wallenstein was lost to a party,
if he could not lead; the latter was, if possible, still less disposed
to obey the instructions of another.  If the pretensions of a rival would be
so irksome to the Duke of Friedland, in the conduct of combined operations,
in the division of the spoil they would be insupportable.  The proud monarch
might condescend to accept the assistance of a rebellious subject
against the Emperor, and to reward his valuable services with
regal munificence; but he never could so far lose sight of his own dignity,
and the majesty of royalty, as to bestow the recompense
which the extravagant ambition of Wallenstein demanded;
and requite an act of treason, however useful, with a crown.
In him, therefore, even if all Europe should tacitly acquiesce,
Wallenstein had reason to expect the most decided and formidable opponent
to his views on the Bohemian crown; and in all Europe he was the only one
who could enforce his opposition.  Constituted Dictator in Germany
by Wallenstein himself, he might turn his arms against him,
and consider himself bound by no obligations to one who was himself a traitor.
There was no room for a Wallenstein under such an ally; and it was,
apparently, this conviction, and not any supposed designs upon
the imperial throne, that he alluded to, when, after the death of
the King of Sweden, he exclaimed, "It is well for him and me that he is gone.
The German Empire does not require two such leaders."

His first scheme of revenge on the house of Austria had indeed failed;
but the purpose itself remained unalterable; the choice of means
alone was changed.  What he had failed in effecting with the King of Sweden,
he hoped to obtain with less difficulty and more advantage
from the Elector of Saxony.  Him he was as certain of being able to bend
to his views, as he had always been doubtful of Gustavus Adolphus.
Having always maintained a good understanding with his old friend Arnheim,
he now made use of him to bring about an alliance with Saxony,
by which he hoped to render himself equally formidable to the Emperor
and the King of Sweden.  He had reason to expect that a scheme, which,
if successful, would deprive the Swedish monarch of his influence in Germany,
would be welcomed by the Elector of Saxony, who he knew was jealous
of the power and offended at the lofty pretensions of Gustavus Adolphus.
If he succeeded in separating Saxony from the Swedish alliance,
and in establishing, conjointly with that power, a third party in the Empire,
the fate of the war would be placed in his hand; and by this single step
he would succeed in gratifying his revenge against the Emperor,
revenging the neglect of the Swedish monarch, and on the ruin of both,
raising the edifice of his own greatness.

But whatever course he might follow in the prosecution of his designs,
he could not carry them into effect without an army entirely devoted to him.
Such a force could not be secretly raised without its coming to the knowledge
of the imperial court, where it would naturally excite suspicion,
and thus frustrate his design in the very outset.  From the army, too,
the rebellious purposes for which it was destined, must be concealed
till the very moment of execution, since it could scarcely be expected
that they would at once be prepared to listen to the voice of a traitor,
and serve against their legitimate sovereign.  Wallenstein, therefore,
must raise it publicly and in name of the Emperor, and be placed at its head,
with unlimited authority, by the Emperor himself.  But how could this
be accomplished, otherwise than by his being appointed to the command
of the army, and entrusted with full powers to conduct the war.
Yet neither his pride, nor his interest, permitted him to sue in person
for this post, and as a suppliant to accept from the favour of the Emperor
a limited power, when an unlimited authority might be extorted from his fears.
In order to make himself the master of the terms on which he would resume
the command of the army, his course was to wait until the post should be
forced upon him.  This was the advice he received from Arnheim, and this
the end for which he laboured with profound policy and restless activity.

Convinced that extreme necessity would alone conquer
the Emperor's irresolution, and render powerless the opposition
of his bitter enemies, Bavaria and Spain, he henceforth occupied himself
in promoting the success of the enemy, and in increasing the embarrassments
of his master.  It was apparently by his instigation and advice,
that the Saxons, when on the route to Lusatia and Silesia,
had turned their march towards Bohemia, and overrun that defenceless kingdom,
where their rapid conquests was partly the result of his measures.
By the fears which he affected to entertain, he paralyzed every effort
at resistance; and his precipitate retreat caused the delivery of the capital
to the enemy.  At a conference with the Saxon general, which was held
at Kaunitz under the pretext of negociating for a peace,
the seal was put to the conspiracy, and the conquest of Bohemia
was the first fruits of this mutual understanding.  While Wallenstein
was thus personally endeavouring to heighten the perplexities of Austria,
and while the rapid movements of the Swedes upon the Rhine
effectually promoted his designs, his friends and bribed adherents in Vienna
uttered loud complaints of the public calamities, and represented
the dismissal of the general as the sole cause of all these misfortunes.
"Had Wallenstein commanded, matters would never have come to this,"
exclaimed a thousand voices; while their opinions found supporters,
even in the Emperor's privy council.

Their repeated remonstrances were not needed to convince
the embarrassed Emperor of his general's merits, and of his own error.
His dependence on Bavaria and the League had soon become insupportable;
but hitherto this dependence permitted him not to show his distrust,
or irritate the Elector by the recall of Wallenstein.  But now when
his necessities grew every day more pressing, and the weakness of Bavaria
more apparent, he could no longer hesitate to listen to the friends
of the duke, and to consider their overtures for his restoration to command.
The immense riches Wallenstein possessed, the universal reputation he enjoyed,
the rapidity with which six years before he had assembled
an army of 40,000 men, the little expense at which he had maintained
this formidable force, the actions he had performed at its head, and lastly,
the zeal and fidelity he had displayed for his master's honour,
still lived in the Emperor's recollection, and made Wallenstein seem to him
the ablest instrument to restore the balance between the belligerent powers,
to save Austria, and preserve the Catholic religion.  However sensibly
the imperial pride might feel the humiliation, in being forced to make
so unequivocal an admission of past errors and present necessity;
however painful it was to descend to humble entreaties,
from the height of imperial command; however doubtful
the fidelity of so deeply injured and implacable a character;
however loudly and urgently the Spanish minister and the Elector of Bavaria
protested against this step, the immediate pressure of necessity
finally overcame every other consideration, and the friends of the duke
were empowered to consult him on the subject, and to hold out the prospect
of his restoration.

Informed of all that was transacted in the Emperor's cabinet to his advantage,
Wallenstein possessed sufficient self-command to conceal his inward triumph
and to assume the mask of indifference.  The moment of vengeance
was at last come, and his proud heart exulted in the prospect
of repaying with interest the injuries of the Emperor.  With artful eloquence,
he expatiated upon the happy tranquillity of a private station,
which had blessed him since his retirement from a political stage.
Too long, he said, had he tasted the pleasures of ease and independence,
to sacrifice to the vain phantom of glory, the uncertain favour of princes.
All his desire of power and distinction were extinct:  tranquillity and repose
were now the sole object of his wishes.  The better to conceal
his real impatience, he declined the Emperor's invitation to the court,
but at the same time, to facilitate the negociations,
came to Znaim in Moravia.

At first, it was proposed to limit the authority to be intrusted to him,
by the presence of a superior, in order, by this expedient,
to silence the objections of the Elector of Bavaria.  The imperial deputies,
Questenberg and Werdenberg, who, as old friends of the duke, had been employed
in this delicate mission, were instructed to propose that the King of Hungary
should remain with the army, and learn the art of war under Wallenstein.
But the very mention of his name threatened to put a period
to the whole negociation.  "No! never," exclaimed Wallenstein,
"will I submit to a colleague in my office.  No -- not even
if it were God himself, with whom I should have to share my command."
But even when this obnoxious point was given up, Prince Eggenberg,
the Emperor's minister and favourite, who had always been the steady friend
and zealous champion of Wallenstein, and was therefore expressly sent to him,
exhausted his eloquence in vain to overcome the pretended reluctance
of the duke.  "The Emperor," he admitted, "had, in Wallenstein,
thrown away the most costly jewel in his crown:  but unwillingly
and compulsorily only had he taken this step, which he had since
deeply repented of; while his esteem for the duke had remained unaltered,
his favour for him undiminished.  Of these sentiments he now gave
the most decisive proof, by reposing unlimited confidence in his fidelity
and capacity to repair the mistakes of his predecessors,
and to change the whole aspect of affairs.  It would be great and noble
to sacrifice his just indignation to the good of his country;
dignified and worthy of him to refute the evil calumny of his enemies
by the double warmth of his zeal.  This victory over himself,"
concluded the prince, "would crown his other unparalleled services
to the empire, and render him the greatest man of his age."

These humiliating confessions, and flattering assurances, seemed at last
to disarm the anger of the duke; but not before he had disburdened his heart
of his reproaches against the Emperor, pompously dwelt upon his own services,
and humbled to the utmost the monarch who solicited his assistance,
did he condescend to listen to the attractive proposals of the minister.
As if he yielded entirely to the force of their arguments, he condescended
with a haughty reluctance to that which was the most ardent wish of his heart;
and deigned to favour the ambassadors with a ray of hope.
But far from putting an end to the Emperor's embarrassments,
by giving at once a full and unconditional consent, he only acceded
to a part of his demands, that he might exalt the value of that
which still remained, and was of most importance.  He accepted the command,
but only for three months; merely for the purpose of raising,
but not of leading, an army.  He wished only to show his power and ability
in its organization, and to display before the eyes of the Emperor,
the greatness of that assistance, which he still retained in his hands.
Convinced that an army raised by his name alone, would,
if deprived of its creator, soon sink again into nothing,
he intended it to serve only as a decoy to draw more important concessions
from his master.  And yet Ferdinand congratulated himself,
even in having gained so much as he had.

Wallenstein did not long delay to fulfil those promises which all Germany
regarded as chimerical, and which Gustavus Adolphus had considered
as extravagant.  But the foundation for the present enterprise
had been long laid, and he now only put in motion the machinery,
which many years had been prepared for the purpose.  Scarcely had
the news spread of Wallenstein's levies, when, from every quarter
of the Austrian monarchy, crowds of soldiers repaired to try their fortunes
under this experienced general.  Many, who had before fought
under his standards, had been admiring eye-witnesses of his great actions,
and experienced his magnanimity, came forward from their retirement,
to share with him a second time both booty and glory.  The greatness of
the pay he promised attracted thousands, and the plentiful supplies
the soldier was likely to enjoy at the cost of the peasant, was to the latter
an irresistible inducement to embrace the military life at once,
rather than be the victim of its oppression.  All the Austrian provinces
were compelled to assist in the equipment.  No class was exempt from taxation
-- no dignity or privilege from capitation.  The Spanish court,
as well as the King of Hungary, agreed to contribute a considerable sum.
The ministers made large presents, while Wallenstein himself
advanced 200,000 dollars from his own income to hasten the armament.
The poorer officers he supported out of hi