No More Learning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His first scheme of revenge on the house of Austria had indeed failed;
but the purpose itself remained unalterable; the choice of means alone
was changed. What he had failed in effecting with the King of Sweden,
he hoped to obtain with less difficulty and more advantage from the
Elector of Saxony. Him he was as certain of being able to bend to his
views, as he had always been doubtful of Gustavus Adolphus. Having
always maintained a good understanding with his old friend Arnheim, he
now made use of him to bring about an alliance with Saxony, by which he
hoped to render himself equally formidable to the Emperor and the King
of Sweden. He had reason to expect that a scheme, which, if successful,
would deprive the Swedish monarch of his influence in Germany, would be
welcomed by the Elector of Saxony, who he knew was jealous of the power
and offended at the lofty pretensions of Gustavus Adolphus. If he
succeeded in separating Saxony from the Swedish alliance, and in
establishing, conjointly with that power, a third party in the Empire,
the fate of the war would be placed in his hand; and by this single step
he would succeed in gratifying his revenge against the Emperor,
revenging the neglect of the Swedish monarch, and on the ruin of both,
raising the edifice of his own greatness.
But whatever course he might follow in the prosecution of his designs,
he could not carry them into effect without an army entirely devoted to
him. Such a force could not be secretly raised without its coming to
the knowledge of the imperial court, where it would naturally excite
suspicion, and thus frustrate his design in the very outset. From the
army, too, the rebellious purposes for which it was destined, must be
concealed till the very moment of execution, since it could scarcely be
expected that they would at once be prepared to listen to the voice of a
traitor, and serve against their legitimate sovereign. Wallenstein,
therefore, must raise it publicly and in name of the Emperor, and be
placed at its head, with unlimited authority, by the Emperor himself.
But how could this be accomplished, otherwise than by his being
appointed to the command of the army, and entrusted with full powers to
conduct the war. Yet neither his pride, nor his interest, permitted him
to sue in person for this post, and as a suppliant to accept from the
favour of the Emperor a limited power, when an unlimited authority might
be extorted from his fears. In order to make himself the master of the
terms on which he would resume the command of the army, his course was
to wait until the post should be forced upon him. This was the advice
he received from Arnheim, and this the end for which he laboured with
profound policy and restless activity.

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

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

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

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

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

Wallenstein did not long delay to fulfil those promises which all
Germany regarded as chimerical, and which Gustavus Adolphus had
considered as extravagant. But the foundation for the present
enterprise had been long laid, and he now only put in motion the
machinery, which many years had been prepared for the purpose. Scarcely
had the news spread of Wallenstein’s levies, when, from every quarter of
the Austrian monarchy, crowds of soldiers repaired to try their fortunes
under this experienced general. Many, who had before fought under his
standards, had been admiring eye-witnesses of his great actions, and
experienced his magnanimity, came forward from their retirement, to
share with him a second time both booty and glory. The greatness of the
pay he promised attracted thousands, and the plentiful supplies the
soldier was likely to enjoy at the cost of the peasant, was to the
latter an irresistible inducement to embrace the military life at once,
rather than be the victim of its oppression. All the Austrian provinces
were compelled to assist in the equipment. No class was exempt from
taxation--no dignity or privilege from capitation. The Spanish court,
as well as the King of Hungary, agreed to contribute a considerable sum.
The ministers made large presents, while Wallenstein himself advanced
200,000 dollars from his own income to hasten the armament. The poorer
officers he supported out of his own revenues; and, by his own example,
by brilliant promotions, and still more brilliant promises, he induced
all, who were able, to raise troops at their own expense. Whoever
raised a corps at his own cost was to be its commander. In the
appointment of officers, religion made no difference. Riches, bravery
and experience were more regarded than creed. By this uniform treatment
of different religious sects, and still more by his express declaration,
that his present levy had nothing to do with religion, the Protestant
subjects of the empire were tranquillized, and reconciled to bear their
share of the public burdens. The duke, at the same time, did not omit
to treat, in his own name, with foreign states for men and money. He
prevailed on the Duke of Lorraine, a second time, to espouse the cause
of the Emperor. Poland was urged to supply him with Cossacks, and Italy
with warlike necessaries. Before the three months were expired, the
army which was assembled in Moravia, amounted to no less than 40,000
men, chiefly drawn from the unconquered parts of Bohemia, from Moravia,
Silesia, and the German provinces of the House of Austria. What to
every one had appeared impracticable, Wallenstein, to the astonishment
of all Europe, had in a short time effected. The charm of his name, his
treasures, and his genius, had assembled thousands in arms, where before
Austria had only looked for hundreds. Furnished, even to superfluity,
with all necessaries, commanded by experienced officers, and inflamed by
enthusiasm which assured itself of victory, this newly created army only
awaited the signal of their leader to show themselves, by the bravery of
their deeds, worthy of his choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He, therefore, unwillingly resolved to extort, by force of arms, what he
could not obtain by negociation. Suddenly assembling his troops, he
appeared before Prague ere the Saxons had time to advance to its relief.
After a short resistance, the treachery of some Capuchins opens the
gates to one of his regiments; and the garrison, who had taken refuge in
the citadel, soon laid down their arms upon disgraceful conditions.
Master of the capital, he hoped to carry on more successfully his
negociations at the Saxon court; but even while he was renewing his
proposals to Arnheim, he did not hesitate to give them weight by
striking a decisive blow. He hastened to seize the narrow passes
between Aussig and Pirna, with a view of cutting off the retreat of the
Saxons into their own country; but the rapidity of Arnheim’s operations
fortunately extricated them from the danger. After the retreat of this
general, Egra and Leutmeritz, the last strongholds of the Saxons,
surrendered to the conqueror: and the whole kingdom was restored to its
legitimate sovereign, in less time than it had been lost.

Wallenstein, less occupied with the interests of his master, than with
the furtherance of his own plans, now purposed to carry the war into
Saxony, and by ravaging his territories, compel the Elector to enter
into a private treaty with the Emperor, or rather with himself. But,
however little accustomed he was to make his will bend to circumstances,
he now perceived the necessity of postponing his favourite scheme for a
time, to a more pressing emergency. While he was driving the Saxons
from Bohemia, Gustavus Adolphus had been gaining the victories, already
detailed, on the Rhine and the Danube, and carried the war through
Franconia and Swabia, to the frontiers of Bavaria. Maximilian, defeated
on the Lech, and deprived by death of Count Tilly, his best support,
urgently solicited the Emperor to send with all speed the Duke of
Friedland to his assistance, from Bohemia, and by the defence of
Bavaria, to avert the danger from Austria itself. He also made the same
request to Wallenstein, and entreated him, till he could himself come
with the main force, to despatch in the mean time a few regiments to his
aid. Ferdinand seconded the request with all his influence, and one
messenger after another was sent to Wallenstein, urging him to move
towards the Danube.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little aware, however, of the resources and the strength of his
adversary, Wallenstein had not taken sufficient precautions to avert
from himself the fate he was designing for others. From the whole of
the neighbouring country, the peasantry had fled with their property;
and what little provision remained, must be obstinately contested with
the Swedes.