No More Learning

The one party promised
restitution, the other forgiveness. All laid down their arms. The
storm of war once more rolled by, and a temporary calm succeeded. The
insurrection in Bohemia then broke out, which deprived the Emperor of
the last of his hereditary dominions, but in this dispute neither the
Union nor the League took any share.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The father of Ferdinand was the Archduke Charles of Carniola, Carinthia,
and Styria, the youngest brother of the Emperor Maximilian II. ; his
mother a princess of Bavaria. Having lost his father at twelve years of
age, he was intrusted by the archduchess to the guardianship of her
brother William, Duke of Bavaria, under whose eyes he was instructed and
educated by Jesuits at the Academy of Ingolstadt. What principles he
was likely to imbibe by his intercourse with a prince, who from motives
of devotion had abdicated his government, may be easily conceived. Care
was taken to point out to him, on the one hand, the weak indulgence of
Maximilian’s house towards the adherents of the new doctrines, and the
consequent troubles of their dominions; on the other, the blessings of
Bavaria, and the inflexible religious zeal of its rulers; between these
two examples he was left to choose for himself.
Formed in this school to be a stout champion of the faith, and a prompt
instrument of the church, he left Bavaria, after a residence of five
years, to assume the government of his hereditary dominions. The
Estates of Carniola, Carinthia, and Styria, who, before doing homage,
demanded a guarantee for freedom of religion, were told that religious
liberty has nothing to do with their allegiance. The oath was put to
them without conditions, and unconditionally taken. Many years,
however, elapsed, ere the designs which had been planned at Ingolstadt
were ripe for execution. Before attempting to carry them into effect,
he sought in person at Loretto the favour of the Virgin, and received
the apostolic benediction in Rome at the feet of Clement VIII.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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