No More Learning

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.