No More Learning

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 his own revenues; and, by his own example,
by brilliant promotions, and still more brilliant promises, he induced
all, who were able, to raise troops at their own expense. Whoever
raised a corps at his own cost was to be its commander. In the
appointment of officers, religion made no difference. Riches, bravery
and experience were more regarded than creed. By this uniform treatment
of different religious sects, and still more by his express declaration,
that his present levy had nothing to do with religion, the Protestant
subjects of the empire were tranquillized, and reconciled to bear their
share of the public burdens. The duke, at the same time, did not omit
to treat, in his own name, with foreign states for men and money. He
prevailed on the Duke of Lorraine, a second time, to espouse the cause
of the Emperor. Poland was urged to supply him with Cossacks, and Italy
with warlike necessaries. Before the three months were expired, the
army which was assembled in Moravia, amounted to no less than 40,000
men, chiefly drawn from the unconquered parts of Bohemia, from Moravia,
Silesia, and the German provinces of the House of Austria. What to
every one had appeared impracticable, Wallenstein, to the astonishment
of all Europe, had in a short time effected. The charm of his name, his
treasures, and his genius, had assembled thousands in arms, where before
Austria had only looked for hundreds. Furnished, even to superfluity,
with all necessaries, commanded by experienced officers, and inflamed by
enthusiasm which assured itself of victory, this newly created army only
awaited the signal of their leader to show themselves, by the bravery of
their deeds, worthy of his choice.

The duke had fulfilled his promise, and the troops were ready to take
the field; he then retired, and left to the Emperor to choose a
commander. But it would have been as easy to raise a second army like
the first, as to find any other commander for it than Wallenstein. This
promising army, the last hope of the Emperor, was nothing but an
illusion, as soon as the charm was dissolved which had called it into
existence; by Wallenstein it had been raised, and, without him, it sank
like a creation of magic into its original nothingness. Its officers
were either bound to him as his debtors, or, as his creditors, closely
connected with his interests, and the preservation of his power. The
regiments he had entrusted to his own relations, creatures, and
favourites. He, and he alone, could discharge to the troops the
extravagant promises by which they had been lured into his service. His
pledged word was the only security on which their bold expectations
rested; a blind reliance on his omnipotence, the only tie which linked
together in one common life and soul the various impulses of their zeal.
There was an end of the good fortune of each individual, if he retired,
who alone was the voucher of its fulfilment.

However little Wallenstein was serious in his refusal, he successfully
employed this means to terrify the Emperor into consenting to his
extravagant conditions. The progress of the enemy every day increased
the pressure of the Emperor’s difficulties, while the remedy was also
close at hand; a word from him might terminate the general
embarrassment. Prince Eggenberg at length received orders, for the
third and last time, at any cost and sacrifice, to induce his friend,
Wallenstein, to accept the command.

He found him at Znaim in Moravia, pompously surrounded by the troops,
the possession of which he made the Emperor so earnestly to long for.
As a suppliant did the haughty subject receive the deputy of his
sovereign. “He never could trust,” he said, “to a restoration to
command, which he owed to the Emperor’s necessities, and not to his
sense of justice. He was now courted, because the danger had reached
its height, and safety was hoped for from his arm only; but his
successful services would soon cause the servant to be forgotten, and
the return of security would bring back renewed ingratitude. If he
deceived the expectations formed of him, his long earned renown would be
forfeited; even if he fulfilled them, his repose and happiness must be
sacrificed. Soon would envy be excited anew, and the dependent monarch
would not hesitate, a second time, to make an offering of convenience to
a servant whom he could now dispense with. Better for him at once, and
voluntarily, to resign a post from which sooner or later the intrigues
of his enemies would expel him. Security and content were to be found
in the bosom of private life; and nothing but the wish to oblige the
Emperor had induced him, reluctantly enough, to relinquish for a time
his blissful repose. ”

Tired of this long farce, the minister at last assumed a serious tone,
and threatened the obstinate duke with the Emperor’s resentment, if he
persisted in his refusal. “Low enough had the imperial dignity,” he
added, “stooped already; and yet, instead of exciting his magnanimity by
its condescension, had only flattered his pride and increased his
obstinacy. If this sacrifice had been made in vain, he would not
answer, but that the suppliant might be converted into the sovereign,
and that the monarch might not avenge his injured dignity on his
rebellious subject. However greatly Ferdinand may have erred, the
Emperor at least had a claim to obedience; the man might be mistaken,
but the monarch could not confess his error. If the Duke of Friedland
had suffered by an unjust decree, he might yet be recompensed for all
his losses; the wound which it had itself inflicted, the hand of Majesty
might heal. If he asked security for his person and his dignities, the
Emperor’s equity would refuse him no reasonable demand. Majesty
contemned, admitted not of any atonement; disobedience to its commands
cancelled the most brilliant services. The Emperor required his
services, and as emperor he demanded them. Whatever price Wallenstein
might set upon them, the Emperor would readily agree to; but he demanded
obedience, or the weight of his indignation should crush the refractory
servant. ”

Wallenstein, whose extensive possessions within the Austrian monarchy
were momentarily exposed to the power of the Emperor, was keenly
sensible that this was no idle threat; yet it was not fear that at last
overcame his affected reluctance. This imperious tone of itself, was to
his mind a plain proof of the weakness and despair which dictated it,
while the Emperor’s readiness to yield all his demands, convinced him
that he had attained the summit of his wishes. He now made a show of
yielding to the persuasions of Eggenberg; and left him, in order to
write down the conditions on which he accepted the command.

Not without apprehension, did the minister receive the writing, in which
the proudest of subjects had prescribed laws to the proudest of
sovereigns. But however little confidence he had in the moderation of
his friend, the extravagant contents of his writing surpassed even his
worst expectations. Wallenstein required the uncontrolled command over
all the German armies of Austria and Spain, with unlimited powers to
reward and punish. Neither the King of Hungary, nor the Emperor
himself, were to appear in the army, still less to exercise any act of
authority over it. No commission in the army, no pension or letter of
grace, was to be granted by the Emperor without Wallenstein’s approval.
All the conquests and confiscations that should take place, were to be
placed entirely at Wallenstein’s disposal, to the exclusion of every
other tribunal. For his ordinary pay, an imperial hereditary estate was
to be assigned him, with another of the conquered estates within the
empire for his extraordinary expenses. Every Austrian province was to
be opened to him if he required it in case of retreat. He farther
demanded the assurance of the possession of the Duchy of Mecklenburg, in
the event of a future peace; and a formal and timely intimation, if it
should be deemed necessary a second time to deprive him of the command.

In vain the minister entreated him to moderate his demands, which, if
granted, would deprive the Emperor of all authority over his own troops,
and make him absolutely dependent on his general. The value placed on
his services had been too plainly manifested to prevent him dictating
the price at which they were to be purchased. If the pressure of
circumstances compelled the Emperor to grant these demands, it was more
than a mere feeling of haughtiness and desire of revenge which induced
the duke to make them. His plans of rebellion were formed, to their
success, every one of the conditions for which Wallenstein stipulated in
this treaty with the court, was indispensable. Those plans required
that the Emperor should be deprived of all authority in Germany, and be
placed at the mercy of his general; and this object would be attained,
the moment Ferdinand subscribed the required conditions. The use which
Wallenstein intended to make of his army, (widely different indeed from
that for which it was entrusted to him,) brooked not of a divided power,
and still less of an authority superior to his own. To be the sole
master of the will of his troops, he must also be the sole master of
their destinies; insensibly to supplant his sovereign, and to transfer
permanently to his own person the rights of sovereignty, which were only
lent to him for a time by a higher authority, he must cautiously keep
the latter out of the view of the army. Hence his obstinate refusal to
allow any prince of the house of Austria to be present with the army.
The liberty of free disposal of all the conquered and confiscated
estates in the empire, would also afford him fearful means of purchasing
dependents and instruments of his plans, and of acting the dictator in
Germany more absolutely than ever any Emperor did in time of peace. By
the right to use any of the Austrian provinces as a place of refuge, in
case of need, he had full power to hold the Emperor a prisoner by means
of his own forces, and within his own dominions; to exhaust the strength
and resources of these countries, and to undermine the power of Austria
in its very foundation.

Whatever might be the issue, he had equally secured his own advantage,
by the conditions he had extorted from the Emperor. If circumstances
proved favourable to his daring project, this treaty with the Emperor
facilitated its execution; if on the contrary, the course of things ran
counter to it, it would at least afford him a brilliant compensation for
the failure of his plans. But how could he consider an agreement valid,
which was extorted from his sovereign, and based upon treason? How could
he hope to bind the Emperor by a written agreement, in the face of a law
which condemned to death every one who should have the presumption to
impose conditions upon him? But this criminal was the most
indispensable man in the empire, and Ferdinand, well practised in
dissimulation, granted him for the present all he required.

At last, then, the imperial army had found a commander-in-chief worthy
of the name. Every other authority in the army, even that of the
Emperor himself, ceased from the moment Wallenstein assumed the
commander’s baton, and every act was invalid which did not proceed from
him. From the banks of the Danube, to those of the Weser and the Oder,
was felt the life-giving dawning of this new star; a new spirit seemed
to inspire the troops of the emperor, a new epoch of the war began. The
Papists form fresh hopes, the Protestant beholds with anxiety the
changed course of affairs.

The greater the price at which the services of the new general had been
purchased, the greater justly were the expectations from those which the
court of the Emperor entertained. But the duke was in no hurry to
fulfil these expectations. Already in the vicinity of Bohemia, and at
the head of a formidable force, he had but to show himself there, in
order to overpower the exhausted force of the Saxons, and brilliantly to
commence his new career by the reconquest of that kingdom. But,
contented with harassing the enemy with indecisive skirmishes of his
Croats, he abandoned the best part of that kingdom to be plundered, and
moved calmly forward in pursuit of his own selfish plans. His design
was, not to conquer the Saxons, but to unite with them. Exclusively
occupied with this important object, he remained inactive in the hope of
conquering more surely by means of negociation. He left no expedient
untried, to detach this prince from the Swedish alliance; and Ferdinand
himself, ever inclined to an accommodation with this prince, approved of
this proceeding. But the great debt which Saxony owed to Sweden, was as
yet too freshly remembered to allow of such an act of perfidy; and even
had the Elector been disposed to yield to the temptation, the equivocal
character of Wallenstein, and the bad character of Austrian policy,
precluded any reliance in the integrity of its promises. Notorious
already as a treacherous statesman, he met not with faith upon the very
occasion when perhaps he intended to act honestly; and, moreover, was
denied, by circumstances, the opportunity of proving the sincerity of
his intentions, by the disclosure of his real motives.

He, therefore, unwillingly resolved to extort, by force of arms, what he
could not obtain by negociation. Suddenly assembling his troops, he
appeared before Prague ere the Saxons had time to advance to its relief.
After a short resistance, the treachery of some Capuchins opens the
gates to one of his regiments; and the garrison, who had taken refuge in
the citadel, soon laid down their arms upon disgraceful conditions.
Master of the capital, he hoped to carry on more successfully his
negociations at the Saxon court; but even while he was renewing his
proposals to Arnheim, he did not hesitate to give them weight by
striking a decisive blow. He hastened to seize the narrow passes
between Aussig and Pirna, with a view of cutting off the retreat of the
Saxons into their own country; but the rapidity of Arnheim’s operations
fortunately extricated them from the danger. After the retreat of this
general, Egra and Leutmeritz, the last strongholds of the Saxons,
surrendered to the conqueror: and the whole kingdom was restored to its
legitimate sovereign, in less time than it had been lost.
Wallenstein, less occupied with the interests of his master, than with
the furtherance of his own plans, now purposed to carry the war into
Saxony, and by ravaging his territories, compel the Elector to enter
into a private treaty with the Emperor, or rather with himself. But,
however little accustomed he was to make his will bend to circumstances,
he now perceived the necessity of postponing his favourite scheme for a
time, to a more pressing emergency. While he was driving the Saxons
from Bohemia, Gustavus Adolphus had been gaining the victories, already
detailed, on the Rhine and the Danube, and carried the war through
Franconia and Swabia, to the frontiers of Bavaria. Maximilian, defeated
on the Lech, and deprived by death of Count Tilly, his best support,
urgently solicited the Emperor to send with all speed the Duke of
Friedland to his assistance, from Bohemia, and by the defence of
Bavaria, to avert the danger from Austria itself. He also made the same
request to Wallenstein, and entreated him, till he could himself come
with the main force, to despatch in the mean time a few regiments to his
aid. Ferdinand seconded the request with all his influence, and one
messenger after another was sent to Wallenstein, urging him to move
towards the Danube.

It now appeared how completely the Emperor had sacrificed his authority,
in surrendering to another the supreme command of his troops.
Indifferent to Maximilian’s entreaties, and deaf to the Emperor’s
repeated commands, Wallenstein remained inactive in Bohemia, and
abandoned the Elector to his fate. The remembrance of the evil service
which Maximilian had rendered him with the Emperor, at the Diet at
Ratisbon, was deeply engraved on the implacable mind of the duke, and
the Elector’s late attempts to prevent his reinstatement, were no secret
to him. The moment of revenging this affront had now arrived, and
Maximilian was doomed to pay dearly for his folly, in provoking the most
revengeful of men. Wallenstein maintained, that Bohemia ought not to be
left exposed, and that Austria could not be better protected, than by
allowing the Swedish army to waste its strength before the Bavarian
fortress. Thus, by the arm of the Swedes, he chastised his enemy; and
while one place after another fell into their hands, he allowed the
Elector vainly to await his arrival in Ratisbon. It was only when the
complete subjugation of Bohemia left him without excuse, and the
conquests of Gustavus Adolphus in Bavaria threatened Austria itself,
that he yielded to the pressing entreaties of the Elector and the
Emperor, and determined to effect the long-expected union with the
former; an event, which, according to the general anticipation of the
Roman Catholics, would decide the fate of the campaign.

Gustavus Adolphus, too weak in numbers to cope even with Wallenstein’s
force alone, naturally dreaded the junction of such powerful armies, and
the little energy he used to prevent it, was the occasion of great
surprise. Apparently he reckoned too much on the hatred which alienated
the leaders, and seemed to render their effectual co-operation
improbable; when the event contradicted his views, it was too late to
repair his error. On the first certain intelligence he received of
their designs, he hastened to the Upper Palatinate, for the purpose of
intercepting the Elector: but the latter had already arrived there, and
the junction had been effected at Egra.

This frontier town had been chosen by Wallenstein, for the scene of his
triumph over his proud rival. Not content with having seen him, as it
were, a suppliant at his feet, he imposed upon him the hard condition of
leaving his territories in his rear exposed to the enemy, and declaring
by this long march to meet him, the necessity and distress to which he
was reduced. Even to this humiliation, the haughty prince patiently
submitted. It had cost him a severe struggle to ask for protection of
the man who, if his own wishes had been consulted, would never have had
the power of granting it: but having once made up his mind to it, he
was ready to bear all the annoyances which were inseparable from that
resolve, and sufficiently master of himself to put up with petty
grievances, when an important end was in view.

But whatever pains it had cost to effect this junction, it was equally
difficult to settle the conditions on which it was to be maintained.
The united army must be placed under the command of one individual, if
any object was to be gained by the union, and each general was equally
averse to yield to the superior authority of the other. If Maximilian
rested his claim on his electoral dignity, the nobleness of his descent,
and his influence in the empire, Wallenstein’s military renown, and the
unlimited command conferred on him by the Emperor, gave an equally
strong title to it. If it was deeply humiliating to the pride of the
former to serve under an imperial subject, the idea of imposing laws on
so imperious a spirit, flattered in the same degree the haughtiness of
Wallenstein. An obstinate dispute ensued, which, however, terminated in
a mutual compromise to Wallenstein’s advantage. To him was assigned the
unlimited command of both armies, particularly in battle, while the
Elector was deprived of all power of altering the order of battle, or
even the route of the army. He retained only the bare right of
punishing and rewarding his own troops, and the free use of these, when
not acting in conjunction with the Imperialists.

After these preliminaries were settled, the two generals at last
ventured upon an interview; but not until they had mutually promised to
bury the past in oblivion, and all the outward formalities of a
reconciliation had been settled. According to agreement, they publicly
embraced in the sight of their troops, and made mutual professions of
friendship, while in reality the hearts of both were overflowing with
malice. Maximilian, well versed in dissimulation, had sufficient
command over himself, not to betray in a single feature his real
feelings; but a malicious triumph sparkled in the eyes of Wallenstein,
and the constraint which was visible in all his movements, betrayed the
violence of the emotion which overpowered his proud soul.

The combined Imperial and Bavarian armies amounted to nearly 60,000 men,
chiefly veterans. Before this force, the King of Sweden was not in a
condition to keep the field. As his attempt to prevent their junction
had failed, he commenced a rapid retreat into Franconia, and awaited
there for some decisive movement on the part of the enemy, in order to
form his own plans. The position of the combined armies between the
frontiers of Saxony and Bavaria, left it for some time doubtful whether
they would remove the war into the former, or endeavour to drive the
Swedes from the Danube, and deliver Bavaria. Saxony had been stripped
of troops by Arnheim, who was pursuing his conquests in Silesia; not
without a secret design, it was generally supposed, of favouring the
entrance of the Duke of Friedland into that electorate, and of thus
driving the irresolute John George into peace with the Emperor.
Gustavus Adolphus himself, fully persuaded that Wallenstein’s views were
directed against Saxony, hastily despatched a strong reinforcement to
the assistance of his confederate, with the intention, as soon as
circumstances would allow, of following with the main body. But the
movements of Wallenstein’s army soon led him to suspect that he himself
was the object of attack; and the Duke’s march through the Upper
Palatinate, placed the matter beyond a doubt. The question now was, how
to provide for his own security, and the prize was no longer his
supremacy, but his very existence. His fertile genius must now supply
the means, not of conquest, but of preservation. The approach of the
enemy had surprised him before he had time to concentrate his troops,
which were scattered all over Germany, or to summon his allies to his
aid. Too weak to meet the enemy in the field, he had no choice left,
but either to throw himself into Nuremberg, and run the risk of being
shut up in its walls, or to sacrifice that city, and await a
reinforcement under the cannon of Donauwerth. Indifferent to danger or
difficulty, while he obeyed the call of humanity or honour, he chose the
first without hesitation, firmly resolved to bury himself with his whole
army under the ruins of Nuremberg, rather than to purchase his own
safety by the sacrifice of his confederates.

Measures were immediately taken to surround the city and suburbs with
redoubts, and to form an entrenched camp. Several thousand workmen
immediately commenced this extensive work, and an heroic determination
to hazard life and property in the common cause, animated the
inhabitants of Nuremberg. A trench, eight feet deep and twelve broad,
surrounded the whole fortification; the lines were defended by redoubts
and batteries, the gates by half moons. The river Pegnitz, which flows
through Nuremberg, divided the whole camp into two semicircles, whose
communication was secured by several bridges. About three hundred
pieces of cannon defended the town-walls and the intrenchments. The
peasantry from the neighbouring villages, and the inhabitants of
Nuremberg, assisted the Swedish soldiers so zealously, that on the
seventh day the army was able to enter the camp, and, in a fortnight,
this great work was completed.

While these operations were carried on without the walls, the
magistrates of Nuremberg were busily occupied in filling the magazines
with provisions and ammunition for a long siege. Measures were taken,
at the same time, to secure the health of the inhabitants, which was
likely to be endangered by the conflux of so many people; cleanliness
was enforced by the strictest regulations. In order, if necessary, to
support the King, the youth of the city were embodied and trained to
arms, the militia of the town considerably reinforced, and a new
regiment raised, consisting of four-and-twenty names, according to the
letters of the alphabet. Gustavus had, in the mean time, called to his
assistance his allies, Duke William of Weimar, and the Landgrave of
Hesse Cassel; and ordered his generals on the Rhine, in Thuringia and
Lower Saxony, to commence their march immediately, and join him with
their troops in Nuremberg. His army, which was encamped within the
lines, did not amount to more than 16,000 men, scarcely a third of the
enemy.

The Imperialists had, in the mean time, by slow marches, advanced to
Neumark, where Wallenstein made a general review. At the sight of this
formidable force, he could not refrain from indulging in a childish
boast: “In four days,” said he, “it will be shown whether I or the King
of Sweden is to be master of the world. ” Yet, notwithstanding his
superiority, he did nothing to fulfil his promise; and even let slip the
opportunity of crushing his enemy, when the latter had the hardihood to
leave his lines to meet him. “Battles enough have been fought,” was his
answer to those who advised him to attack the King, “it is now time to
try another method. ” Wallenstein’s well-founded reputation required not
any of those rash enterprises on which younger soldiers rush, in the
hope of gaining a name. Satisfied that the enemy’s despair would dearly
sell a victory, while a defeat would irretrievably ruin the Emperor’s
affairs, he resolved to wear out the ardour of his opponent by a tedious
blockade, and by thus depriving him of every opportunity of availing
himself of his impetuous bravery, take from him the very advantage which
had hitherto rendered him invincible. Without making any attack,
therefore, he erected a strong fortified camp on the other side of the
Pegnitz, and opposite Nuremberg; and, by this well chosen position, cut
off from the city and the camp of Gustavus all supplies from Franconia,
Swabia, and Thuringia. Thus he held in siege at once the city and the
King, and flattered himself with the hope of slowly, but surely, wearing
out by famine and pestilence the courage of his opponent whom he had no
wish to encounter in the field.

Little aware, however, of the resources and the strength of his
adversary, Wallenstein had not taken sufficient precautions to avert
from himself the fate he was designing for others. From the whole of
the neighbouring country, the peasantry had fled with their property;
and what little provision remained, must be obstinately contested with
the Swedes. The King spared the magazines within the town, as long as
it was possible to provision his army from without; and these forays
produced constant skirmishes between the Croats and the Swedish cavalry,
of which the surrounding country exhibited the most melancholy traces.
The necessaries of life must be obtained sword in hand; and the foraging
parties could not venture out without a numerous escort. And when this
supply failed, the town opened its magazines to the King, but
Wallenstein had to support his troops from a distance. A large convoy
from Bavaria was on its way to him, with an escort of a thousand men.
Gustavus Adolphus having received intelligence of its approach,
immediately sent out a regiment of cavalry to intercept it; and the
darkness of the night favoured the enterprise. The whole convoy, with
the town in which it was, fell into the hands of the Swedes; the
Imperial escort was cut to pieces; about 1,200 cattle carried off; and a
thousand waggons, loaded with bread, which could not be brought away,
were set on fire. Seven regiments, which Wallenstein had sent forward
to Altdorp to cover the entrance of the long and anxiously expected
convoy, were attacked by the King, who had, in like manner, advanced to
cover the retreat of his cavalry, and routed after an obstinate action,
being driven back into the Imperial camp, with the loss of 400 men. So
many checks and difficulties, and so firm and unexpected a resistance on
the part of the King, made the Duke of Friedland repent that he had
declined to hazard a battle. The strength of the Swedish camp rendered
an attack impracticable; and the armed youth of Nuremberg served the
King as a nursery from which he could supply his loss of troops. The
want of provisions, which began to be felt in the Imperial camp as
strongly as in the Swedish, rendered it uncertain which party would be
first compelled to give way.

Fifteen days had the two armies now remained in view of each other,
equally defended by inaccessible entrenchments, without attempting
anything more than slight attacks and unimportant skirmishes. On both
sides, infectious diseases, the natural consequence of bad food, and a
crowded population, had occasioned a greater loss than the sword. And
this evil daily increased. But at length, the long expected succours
arrived in the Swedish camp; and by this strong reinforcement, the King
was now enabled to obey the dictates of his native courage, and to break
the chains which had hitherto fettered him.

In obedience to his requisitions, the Duke of Weimar had hastily drawn
together a corps from the garrisons in Lower Saxony and Thuringia,
which, at Schweinfurt in Franconia, was joined by four Saxon regiments,
and at Kitzingen by the corps of the Rhine, which the Landgrave of
Hesse, and the Palatine of Birkenfeld, despatched to the relief of the
King. The Chancellor, Oxenstiern, undertook to lead this force to its
destination. After being joined at Windsheim by the Duke of Weimar
himself, and the Swedish General Banner, he advanced by rapid marches to
Bruck and Eltersdorf, where he passed the Rednitz, and reached the
Swedish camp in safety. This reinforcement amounted to nearly 50,000
men, and was attended by a train of 60 pieces of cannon, and 4,000
baggage waggons. Gustavus now saw himself at the head of an army of
nearly 70,000 strong, without reckoning the militia of Nuremberg, which,
in case of necessity, could bring into the field about 30,000 fighting
men; a formidable force, opposed to another not less formidable. The
war seemed at length compressed to the point of a single battle, which
was to decide its fearful issue. With divided sympathies, Europe looked
with anxiety to this scene, where the whole strength of the two
contending parties was fearfully drawn, as it were, to a focus.

If, before the arrival of the Swedish succours, a want of provisions had
been felt, the evil was now fearfully increased to a dreadful height in
both camps, for Wallenstein had also received reinforcements from
Bavaria. Besides the 120,000 men confronted to each other, and more
than 50,000 horses, in the two armies, and besides the inhabitants of
Nuremberg, whose number far exceeded the Swedish army, there were in the
camp of Wallenstein about 15,000 women, with as many drivers, and nearly
the same number in that of the Swedes. The custom of the time permitted
the soldier to carry his family with him to the field. A number of
prostitutes followed the Imperialists; while, with the view of
preventing such excesses, Gustavus’s care for the morals of his soldiers
promoted marriages. For the rising generation, who had this camp for
their home and country, regular military schools were established, which
educated a race of excellent warriors, by which means the army might in
a manner recruit itself in the course of a long campaign. No wonder,
then, if these wandering nations exhausted every territory in which they
encamped, and by their immense consumption raised the necessaries of
life to an exorbitant price. All the mills of Nuremberg were
insufficient to grind the corn required for each day; and 15,000 pounds
of bread, which were daily delivered, by the town into the Swedish camp,
excited, without allaying, the hunger of the soldiers. The laudable
exertions of the magistrates of Nuremberg could not prevent the greater
part of the horses from dying for want of forage, while the increasing
mortality in the camp consigned more than a hundred men daily to the
grave.

To put an end to these distresses, Gustavus Adolphus, relying on his
numerical superiority, left his lines on the 25th day, forming before
the enemy in order of battle, while he cannonaded the duke’s camp from
three batteries erected on the side of the Rednitz. But the duke
remained immoveable in his entrenchments, and contented himself with
answering this challenge by a distant fire of cannon and musketry. His
plan was to wear out the king by his inactivity, and by the force of
famine to overcome his resolute determination; and neither the
remonstrances of Maximilian, and the impatience of his army, nor the
ridicule of his opponent, could shake his purpose. Gustavus, deceived
in his hope of forcing a battle, and compelled by his increasing
necessities, now attempted impossibilities, and resolved to storm a
position which art and nature had combined to render impregnable.

Intrusting his own camp to the militia of Nuremberg, on the fifty-eighth
day of his encampment, (the festival of St. Bartholomew,) he advanced
in full order of battle, and passing the Rednitz at Furth, easily drove
the enemy’s outposts before him. The main army of the Imperialists was
posted on the steep heights between the Biber and the Rednitz, called
the Old Fortress and Altenberg; while the camp itself, commanded by
these eminences, spread out immeasurably along the plain. On these
heights, the whole of the artillery was placed. Deep trenches
surrounded inaccessible redoubts, while thick barricadoes, with pointed
palisades, defended the approaches to the heights, from the summits of
which, Wallenstein calmly and securely discharged the lightnings of his
artillery from amid the dark thunder-clouds of smoke. A destructive
fire of musketry was maintained behind the breastworks, and a hundred
pieces of cannon threatened the desperate assailant with certain
destruction. Against this dangerous post Gustavus now directed his
attack; five hundred musketeers, supported by a few infantry, (for a
greater number could not act in the narrow space,) enjoyed the unenvied
privilege of first throwing themselves into the open jaws of death. The
assault was furious, the resistance obstinate. Exposed to the whole
fire of the enemy’s artillery, and infuriate by the prospect of
inevitable death, these determined warriors rushed forward to storm the
heights; which, in an instant, converted into a flaming volcano,
discharged on them a shower of shot. At the same moment, the heavy
cavalry rushed forward into the openings which the artillery had made in
the close ranks of the assailants, and divided them; till the intrepid
band, conquered by the strength of nature and of man, took to flight,
leaving a hundred dead upon the field. To Germans had Gustavus yielded
this post of honour. Exasperated at their retreat, he now led on his
Finlanders to the attack, thinking, by their northern courage, to shame
the cowardice of the Germans. But they, also, after a similar hot
reception, yielded to the superiority of the enemy; and a third regiment
succeeded them to experience the same fate. This was replaced by a
fourth, a fifth, and a sixth; so that, during a ten hours’ action, every
regiment was brought to the attack to retire with bloody loss from the
contest. A thousand mangled bodies covered the field; yet Gustavus
undauntedly maintained the attack, and Wallenstein held his position
unshaken.

In the mean time, a sharp contest had taken place between the imperial
cavalry and the left wing of the Swedes, which was posted in a thicket
on the Rednitz, with varying success, but with equal intrepidity and
loss on both sides. The Duke of Friedland and Prince Bernard of Weimar
had each a horse shot under them; the king himself had the sole of his
boot carried off by a cannon ball. The combat was maintained with
undiminished obstinacy, till the approach of night separated the
combatants. But the Swedes had advanced too far to retreat without
hazard. While the king was seeking an officer to convey to the
regiments the order to retreat, he met Colonel Hepburn, a brave
Scotchman, whose native courage alone had drawn him from the camp to
share in the dangers of the day. Offended with the king for having not
long before preferred a younger officer for some post of danger, he had
rashly vowed never again to draw his sword for the king. To him
Gustavus now addressed himself, praising his courage, and requesting him
to order the regiments to retreat. “Sire,” replied the brave soldier,
“it is the only service I cannot refuse to your Majesty; for it is a
hazardous one,”--and immediately hastened to carry the command. One of
the heights above the old fortress had, in the heat of the action, been
carried by the Duke of Weimar. It commanded the hills and the whole
camp. But the heavy rain which fell during the night, rendered it
impossible to draw up the cannon; and this post, which had been gained
with so much bloodshed, was also voluntarily abandoned. Diffident of
fortune, which forsook him on this decisive day, the king did not
venture the following morning to renew the attack with his exhausted
troops; and vanquished for the first time, even because he was not
victor, he led back his troops over the Rednitz. Two thousand dead
which he left behind him on the field, testified to the extent of his
loss; and the Duke of Friedland remained unconquered within his lines.

For fourteen days after this action, the two armies still continued in
front of each other, each in the hope that the other would be the first
to give way. Every day reduced their provisions, and as scarcity became
greater, the excesses of the soldiers rendered furious, exercised the
wildest outrages on the peasantry. The increasing distress broke up all
discipline and order in the Swedish camp; and the German regiments, in
particular, distinguished themselves for the ravages they practised
indiscriminately on friend and foe. The weak hand of a single
individual could not check excesses, encouraged by the silence, if not
the actual example, of the inferior officers. These shameful breaches
of discipline, on the maintenance of which he had hitherto justly prided
himself, severely pained the king; and the vehemence with which he
reproached the German officers for their negligence, bespoke the
liveliness of his emotion. “It is you yourselves, Germans,” said he,
“that rob your native country, and ruin your own confederates in the
faith. As God is my judge, I abhor you, I loathe you; my heart sinks
within me whenever I look upon you. Ye break my orders; ye are the
cause that the world curses me, that the tears of poverty follow me,
that complaints ring in my ear--‘The king, our friend, does us more harm
than even our worst enemies. ’ On your account I have stripped my own
kingdom of its treasures, and spent upon you more than 40 tons of gold;
--[A ton of gold in Sweden amounts to 100,000 rix dollars. ]--while from
your German empire I have not received the least aid. I gave you a
share of all that God had given to me; and had ye regarded my orders, I
would have gladly shared with you all my future acquisitions. Your want
of discipline convinces me of your evil intentions, whatever cause I
might otherwise have to applaud your bravery. ”

Nuremberg had exerted itself, almost beyond its power, to subsist for
eleven weeks the vast crowd which was compressed within its boundaries;
but its means were at length exhausted, and the king’s more numerous
party was obliged to determine on a retreat. By the casualties of war
and sickness, Nuremberg had lost more than 10,000 of its inhabitants,
and Gustavus Adolphus nearly 20,000 of his soldiers. The fields around
the city were trampled down, the villages lay in ashes, the plundered
peasantry lay faint and dying on the highways; foul odours infected the
air, and bad food, the exhalations from so dense a population, and so
many putrifying carcasses, together with the heat of the dog-days,
produced a desolating pestilence which raged among men and beasts, and
long after the retreat of both armies, continued to load the country
with misery and distress. Affected by the general distress, and
despairing of conquering the steady determination of the Duke of
Friedland, the king broke up his camp on the 8th September, leaving in
Nuremberg a sufficient garrison. He advanced in full order of battle
before the enemy, who remained motionless, and did not attempt in the
least to harass his retreat. His route lay by the Aisch and Windsheim
towards Neustadt, where he halted five days to refresh his troops, and
also to be near to Nuremberg, in case the enemy should make an attempt
upon the town. But Wallenstein, as exhausted as himself, had only
awaited the retreat of the Swedes to commence his own. Five days
afterwards, he broke up his camp at Zirndorf, and set it on fire. A
hundred columns of smoke, rising from all the burning villages in the
neighbourhood, announced his retreat, and showed the city the fate it
had escaped. His march, which was directed on Forchheim, was marked by
the most frightful ravages; but he was too far advanced to be overtaken
by the king. The latter now divided his army, which the exhausted
country was unable to support, and leaving one division to protect
Franconia, with the other he prosecuted in person his conquests in
Bavaria.

In the mean time, the imperial Bavarian army had marched into the
Bishopric of Bamberg, where the Duke of Friedland a second time mustered
his troops. He found this force, which so lately had amounted to 60,000
men, diminished by the sword, desertion, and disease, to about 24,000,
and of these a fourth were Bavarians. Thus had the encampments before
Nuremberg weakened both parties more than two great battles would have
done, apparently without advancing the termination of the war, or
satisfying, by any decisive result, the expectations of Europe. The
king’s conquests in Bavaria, were, it is true, checked for a time by
this diversion before Nuremberg, and Austria itself secured against the
danger of immediate invasion; but by the retreat of the king from that
city, he was again left at full liberty to make Bavaria the seat of war.
Indifferent towards the fate of that country, and weary of the restraint
which his union with the Elector imposed upon him, the Duke of Friedland
eagerly seized the opportunity of separating from this burdensome
associate, and prosecuting, with renewed earnestness, his favourite
plans. Still adhering to his purpose of detaching Saxony from its
Swedish alliance, he selected that country for his winter quarters,
hoping by his destructive presence to force the Elector the more readily
into his views.

No conjuncture could be more favourable for his designs. The Saxons had
invaded Silesia, where, reinforced by troops from Brandenburgh and
Sweden, they had gained several advantages over the Emperor’s troops.
Silesia would be saved by a diversion against the Elector in his own
territories, and the attempt was the more easy, as Saxony, left
undefended during the war in Silesia, lay open on every side to attack.
The pretext of rescuing from the enemy an hereditary dominion of
Austria, would silence the remonstrances of the Elector of Bavaria, and,
under the mask of a patriotic zeal for the Emperor’s interests,
Maximilian might be sacrificed without much difficulty. By giving up
the rich country of Bavaria to the Swedes, he hoped to be left
unmolested by them in his enterprise against Saxony, while the
increasing coldness between Gustavus and the Saxon Court, gave him
little reason to apprehend any extraordinary zeal for the deliverance of
John George. Thus a second time abandoned by his artful protector, the
Elector separated from Wallenstein at Bamberg, to protect his
defenceless territory with the small remains of his troops, while the
imperial army, under Wallenstein, directed its march through Bayreuth
and Coburg towards the Thuringian Forest.

An imperial general, Holk, had previously been sent into Vogtland with
6,000 men, to waste this defenceless province with fire and sword, he
was soon followed by Gallas, another of the Duke’s generals, and an
equally faithful instrument of his inhuman orders. Finally, Pappenheim,
too, was recalled from Lower Saxony, to reinforce the diminished army of
the duke, and to complete the miseries of the devoted country. Ruined
churches, villages in ashes, harvests wilfully destroyed, families
plundered, and murdered peasants, marked the progress of these
barbarians, under whose scourge the whole of Thuringia, Vogtland, and
Meissen, lay defenceless. Yet this was but the prelude to greater
sufferings, with which Wallenstein himself, at the head of the main
army, threatened Saxony. After having left behind him fearful monuments
of his fury, in his march through Franconia and Thuringia, he arrived
with his whole army in the Circle of Leipzig, and compelled the city,
after a short resistance, to surrender. His design was to push on to
Dresden, and by the conquest of the whole country, to prescribe laws to
the Elector. He had already approached the Mulda, threatening to
overpower the Saxon army which had advanced as far as Torgau to meet
him, when the King of Sweden’s arrival at Erfurt gave an unexpected
check to his operations. Placed between the Saxon and Swedish armies,
which were likely to be farther reinforced by the troops of George, Duke
of Luneburg, from Lower Saxony, he hastily retired upon Meresberg, to
form a junction there with Count Pappenheim, and to repel the further
advance of the Swedes.

Gustavus Adolphus had witnessed, with great uneasiness, the arts
employed by Spain and Austria to detach his allies from him. The more
important his alliance with Saxony, the more anxiety the inconstant
temper of John George caused him. Between himself and the Elector, a
sincere friendship could never subsist. A prince, proud of his
political importance, and accustomed to consider himself as the head of
his party, could not see without annoyance the interference of a foreign
power in the affairs of the Empire; and nothing, but the extreme danger
of his dominions, could overcome the aversion with which he had long
witnessed the progress of this unwelcome intruder. The increasing
influence of the king in Germany, his authority with the Protestant
states, the unambiguous proofs which he gave of his ambitious views,
which were of a character calculated to excite the jealousies of all the
states of the Empire, awakened in the Elector’s breast a thousand
anxieties, which the imperial emissaries did not fail skilfully to keep
alive and cherish. Every arbitrary step on the part of the King, every
demand, however reasonable, which he addressed to the princes of the
Empire, was followed by bitter complaints from the Elector, which seemed
to announce an approaching rupture. Even the generals of the two
powers, whenever they were called upon to act in common, manifested the
same jealousy as divided their leaders. John George’s natural aversion
to war, and a lingering attachment to Austria, favoured the efforts of
Arnheim; who, maintaining a constant correspondence with Wallenstein,
laboured incessantly to effect a private treaty between his master and
the Emperor; and if his representations were long disregarded, still the
event proved that they were not altogether without effect.

Gustavus Adolphus, naturally apprehensive of the consequences which the
defection of so powerful an ally would produce on his future prospects
in Germany, spared no pains to avert so pernicious an event; and his
remonstrances had hitherto had some effect upon the Elector. But the
formidable power with which the Emperor seconded his seductive
proposals, and the miseries which, in the case of hesitation, he
threatened to accumulate upon Saxony, might at length overcome the
resolution of the Elector, should he be left exposed to the vengeance of
his enemies; while an indifference to the fate of so powerful a
confederate, would irreparably destroy the confidence of the other
allies in their protector. This consideration induced the king a second
time to yield to the pressing entreaties of the Elector, and to
sacrifice his own brilliant prospects to the safety of this ally. He
had already resolved upon a second attack on Ingoldstadt; and the
weakness of the Elector of Bavaria gave him hopes of soon forcing this
exhausted enemy to accede to a neutrality. An insurrection of the
peasantry in Upper Austria, opened to him a passage into that country,
and the capital might be in his possession, before Wallenstein could
have time to advance to its defence. All these views he now gave up for
the sake of an ally, who, neither by his services nor his fidelity, was
worthy of the sacrifice; who, on the pressing occasions of common good,
had steadily adhered to his own selfish projects; and who was important,
not for the services he was expected to render, but merely for the
injuries he had it in his power to inflict. Is it possible, then, to
refrain from indignation, when we know that, in this expedition,
undertaken for the benefit of such an ally, the great king was destined
to terminate his career?

Rapidly assembling his troops in Franconia, he followed the route of
Wallenstein through Thuringia. Duke Bernard of Weimar, who had been
despatched to act against Pappenheim, joined the king at Armstadt, who
now saw himself at the head of 20,000 veterans. At Erfurt he took leave
of his queen, who was not to behold him, save in his coffin, at
Weissenfels. Their anxious adieus seemed to forbode an eternal
separation.

He reached Naumburg on the 1st November, 1632, before the corps, which
the Duke of Friedland had despatched for that purpose, could make itself
master of that place. The inhabitants of the surrounding country
flocked in crowds to look upon the hero, the avenger, the great king,
who, a year before, had first appeared in that quarter, like a guardian
angel. Shouts of joy everywhere attended his progress; the people knelt
before him, and struggled for the honour of touching the sheath of his
sword, or the hem of his garment. The modest hero disliked this
innocent tribute which a sincerely grateful and admiring multitude paid
him. “Is it not,” said he, “as if this people would make a God of me?
Our affairs prosper, indeed; but I fear the vengeance of Heaven will
punish me for this presumption, and soon enough reveal to this deluded
multitude my human weakness and mortality! ” How amiable does Gustavus
appear before us at this moment, when about to leave us for ever! Even
in the plenitude of success, he honours an avenging Nemesis, declines
that homage which is due only to the Immortal, and strengthens his title
to our tears, the nearer the moment approaches that is to call them
forth!

In the mean time, the Duke of Friedland had determined to advance to
meet the king, as far as Weissenfels, and even at the hazard of a
battle, to secure his winter-quarters in Saxony. His inactivity before
Nuremberg had occasioned a suspicion that he was unwilling to measure
his powers with those of the Hero of the North, and his hard-earned
reputation would be at stake, if, a second time, he should decline a
battle. His present superiority in numbers, though much less than what
it was at the beginning of the siege of Nuremberg, was still enough to
give him hopes of victory, if he could compel the king to give battle
before his junction with the Saxons. But his present reliance was not
so much in his numerical superiority, as in the predictions of his
astrologer Seni, who had read in the stars that the good fortune of the
Swedish monarch would decline in the month of November. Besides,
between Naumburg and Weissenfels there was also a range of narrow
defiles, formed by a long mountainous ridge, and the river Saal, which
ran at their foot, along which the Swedes could not advance without
difficulty, and which might, with the assistance of a few troops, be
rendered almost impassable. If attacked there, the king would have no
choice but either to penetrate with great danger through the defiles, or
commence a laborious retreat through Thuringia, and to expose the
greater part of his army to a march through a desert country, deficient
in every necessary for their support. But the rapidity with which
Gustavus Adolphus had taken possession of Naumburg, disappointed this
plan, and it was now Wallenstein himself who awaited the attack.