No More Learning

To enjoy the regal dignity a few years sooner, he had
shackled the free exercise of its prerogatives. The slender portion of
independence left him by the growing power of the Estates, was still
farther lessened by the encroachments of his relations. Sickly and
childless he saw the attention of the world turned to an ambitious heir
who was impatiently anticipating his fate; and who, by his interference
with the closing administration, was already opening his own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





BOOK II.



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the Emperor’s cabinet, the ruin of Frederick had been resolved upon
long before fortune had decided against him; but it was only after this
event that they ventured to direct against him the thunders of arbitrary
power.