No More Learning

Satisfied that the enemy’s despair would dearly
sell a victory, while a defeat would irretrievably ruin the Emperor’s
affairs, he resolved to wear out the ardour of his opponent by a tedious
blockade, and by thus depriving him of every opportunity of availing
himself of his impetuous bravery, take from him the very advantage which
had hitherto rendered him invincible. Without making any attack,
therefore, he erected a strong fortified camp on the other side of the
Pegnitz, and opposite Nuremberg; and, by this well chosen position, cut
off from the city and the camp of Gustavus all supplies from Franconia,
Swabia, and Thuringia. Thus he held in siege at once the city and the
King, and flattered himself with the hope of slowly, but surely, wearing
out by famine and pestilence the courage of his opponent whom he had no
wish to encounter in the field.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But in this expectation he was disappointed; for the king, instead of
advancing to meet him at Weissenfels, made preparations for entrenching
himself near Naumburg, with the intention of awaiting there the
reinforcements which the Duke of Lunenburg was bringing up. Undecided
whether to advance against the king through the narrow passes between
Weissenfels and Naumburg, or to remain inactive in his camp, he called a
council of war, in order to have the opinion of his most experienced
generals. None of these thought it prudent to attack the king in his
advantageous position. On the other hand, the preparations which the
latter made to fortify his camp, plainly showed that it was not his
intention soon to abandon it. But the approach of winter rendered it
impossible to prolong the campaign, and by a continued encampment to
exhaust the strength of the army, already so much in need of repose.
All voices were in favour of immediately terminating the campaign: and,
the more so, as the important city of Cologne upon the Rhine was
threatened by the Dutch, while the progress of the enemy in Westphalia
and the Lower Rhine called for effective reinforcements in that quarter.
Wallenstein yielded to the weight of these arguments, and almost
convinced that, at this season, he had no reason to apprehend an attack
from the King, he put his troops into winter-quarters, but so that, if
necessary, they might be rapidly assembled. Count Pappenheim was
despatched, with great part of the army, to the assistance of Cologne,
with orders to take possession, on his march, of the fortress of
Moritzburg, in the territory of Halle. Different corps took up their
winter-quarters in the neighbouring towns, to watch, on all sides, the
motions of the enemy. Count Colloredo guarded the castle of
Weissenfels, and Wallenstein himself encamped with the remainder not far
from Merseburg, between Flotzgaben and the Saal, from whence he purposed
to march to Leipzig, and to cut off the communication between the Saxons
and the Swedish army.

Scarcely had Gustavus Adolphus been informed of Pappenheim’s departure,
when suddenly breaking up his camp at Naumburg, he hastened with his
whole force to attack the enemy, now weakened to one half. He advanced,
by rapid marches, towards Weissenfels, from whence the news of his
arrival quickly reached the enemy, and greatly astonished the Duke of
Friedland. But a speedy resolution was now necessary; and the measures
of Wallenstein were soon taken. Though he had little more than 12,000
men to oppose to the 20,000 of the enemy, he might hope to maintain his
ground until the return of Pappenheim, who could not have advanced
farther than Halle, five miles distant. Messengers were hastily
despatched to recall him, while Wallenstein moved forward into the wide
plain between the Canal and Lutzen, where he awaited the King in full
order of battle, and, by this position, cut off his communication with
Leipzig and the Saxon auxiliaries.

Three cannon shots, fired by Count Colloredo from the castle of
Weissenfels, announced the king’s approach; and at this concerted
signal, the light troops of the Duke of Friedland, under the command of
the Croatian General Isolani, moved forward to possess themselves of the
villages lying upon the Rippach. Their weak resistance did not impede
the advance of the enemy, who crossed the Rippach, near the village of
that name, and formed in line below Lutzen, opposite the Imperialists.
The high road which goes from Weissenfels to Leipzig, is intersected
between Lutzen and Markranstadt by the canal which extends from Zeitz to
Merseburg, and unites the Elster with the Saal. On this canal, rested
the left wing of the Imperialists, and the right of the King of Sweden;
but so that the cavalry of both extended themselves along the opposite
side. To the northward, behind Lutzen, was Wallenstein’s right wing,
and to the south of that town was posted the left wing of the Swedes;
both armies fronted the high road, which ran between them, and divided
their order of battle; but the evening before the battle, Wallenstein,
to the great disadvantage of his opponent, had possessed himself of this
highway, deepened the trenches which ran along its sides, and planted
them with musketeers, so as to make the crossing of it both difficult
and dangerous. Behind these, again, was erected a battery of seven
large pieces of cannon, to support the fire from the trenches; and at
the windmills, close behind Lutzen, fourteen smaller field pieces were
ranged on an eminence, from which they could sweep the greater part of
the plain. The infantry, divided into no more than five unwieldy
brigades, was drawn up at the distance of 300 paces from the road, and
the cavalry covered the flanks. All the baggage was sent to Leipzig,
that it might not impede the movements of the army; and the
ammunition-waggons alone remained, which were placed in rear of the
line. To conceal the weakness of the Imperialists, all the
camp-followers and sutlers were mounted, and posted on the left wing,
but only until Pappenheim’s troops arrived. These arrangements were
made during the darkness of the night; and when the morning dawned, all
was ready for the reception of the enemy.

On the evening of the same day, Gustavus Adolphus appeared on the
opposite plain, and formed his troops in the order of attack. His
disposition was the same as that which had been so successful the year
before at Leipzig. Small squadrons of horse were interspersed among the
divisions of the infantry, and troops of musketeers placed here and
there among the cavalry. The army was arranged in two lines, the canal
on the right and in its rear, the high road in front, and the town on
the left. In the centre, the infantry was formed, under the command of
Count Brahe; the cavalry on the wings; the artillery in front. To the
German hero, Bernard, Duke of Weimar, was intrusted the command of the
German cavalry of the left wing; while, on the right, the king led on
the Swedes in person, in order to excite the emulation of the two
nations to a noble competition. The second line was formed in the same
manner; and behind these was placed the reserve, commanded by Henderson,
a Scotchman.

In this position, they awaited the eventful dawn of morning, to begin a
contest, which long delay, rather than the probability of decisive
consequences, and the picked body, rather than the number of the
combatants, was to render so terrible and remarkable. The strained
expectation of Europe, so disappointed before Nuremberg, was now to be
gratified on the plains of Lutzen. During the whole course of the war,
two such generals, so equally matched in renown and ability, had not
before been pitted against each other. Never, as yet, had daring been
cooled by so awful a hazard, or hope animated by so glorious a prize.
Europe was next day to learn who was her greatest general:--to-morrow,
the leader, who had hitherto been invincible, must acknowledge a victor.
This morning was to place it beyond a doubt, whether the victories of
Gustavus at Leipzig and on the Lech, were owing to his own military
genius, or to the incompetency of his opponent; whether the services of
Wallenstein were to vindicate the Emperor’s choice, and justify the high
price at which they had been purchased. The victory was as yet
doubtful, but certain were the labour and the bloodshed by which it must
be earned. Every private in both armies, felt a jealous share in their
leader’s reputation, and under every corslet beat the same emotions that
inflamed the bosoms of the generals. Each army knew the enemy to which
it was to be opposed: and the anxiety which each in vain attempted to
repress, was a convincing proof of their opponent’s strength.

At last the fateful morning dawned; but an impenetrable fog, which
spread over the plain, delayed the attack till noon. Kneeling in front
of his lines, the king offered up his devotions; and the whole army, at
the same moment dropping on their knees, burst into a moving hymn,
accompanied by the military music. The king then mounted his horse, and
clad only in a leathern doublet and surtout, (for a wound he had
formerly received prevented his wearing armour,) rode along the ranks,
to animate the courage of his troops with a joyful confidence, which,
however, the forboding presentiment of his own bosom contradicted. “God
with us! ” was the war-cry of the Swedes; “Jesus Maria! ” that of the
Imperialists. About eleven the fog began to disperse, and the enemy
became visible. At the same moment Lutzen was seen in flames, having
been set on fire by command of the duke, to prevent his being outflanked
on that side. The charge was now sounded; the cavalry rushed upon the
enemy, and the infantry advanced against the trenches.

Received by a tremendous fire of musketry and heavy artillery, these
intrepid battalions maintained the attack with undaunted courage, till
the enemy’s musketeers abandoned their posts, the trenches were passed,
the battery carried and turned against the enemy. They pressed forward
with irresistible impetuosity; the first of the five imperial brigades
was immediately routed, the second soon after, and the third put to
flight. But here the genius of Wallenstein opposed itself to their
progress. With the rapidity of lightning he was on the spot to rally
his discomfited troops; and his powerful word was itself sufficient to
stop the flight of the fugitives. Supported by three regiments of
cavalry, the vanquished brigades, forming anew, faced the enemy, and
pressed vigorously into the broken ranks of the Swedes. A murderous
conflict ensued. The nearness of the enemy left no room for fire-arms,
the fury of the attack no time for loading; man was matched to man, the
useless musket exchanged for the sword and pike, and science gave way to
desperation.
Overpowered by numbers, the wearied Swedes at last retire
beyond the trenches; and the captured battery is again lost by the
retreat. A thousand mangled bodies already strewed the plain, and as
yet not a single step of ground had been won.

In the mean time, the king’s right wing, led by himself, had fallen upon
the enemy’s left. The first impetuous shock of the heavy Finland
cuirassiers dispersed the lightly-mounted Poles and Croats, who were
posted here, and their disorderly flight spread terror and confusion
among the rest of the cavalry. At this moment notice was brought the
king, that his infantry were retreating over the trenches, and also that
his left wing, exposed to a severe fire from the enemy’s cannon posted
at the windmills was beginning to give way. With rapid decision he
committed to General Horn the pursuit of the enemy’s left, while he
flew, at the head of the regiment of Steinbock, to repair the disorder
of his right wing. His noble charger bore him with the velocity of
lightning across the trenches, but the squadrons that followed could not
come on with the same speed, and only a few horsemen, among whom was
Francis Albert, Duke of Saxe Lauenburg, were able to keep up with the
king. He rode directly to the place where his infantry were most
closely pressed, and while he was reconnoitring the enemy’s line for an
exposed point of attack, the shortness of his sight unfortunately led
him too close to their ranks. An imperial Gefreyter,--[A person exempt
from watching duty, nearly corresponding to the corporal. ]--remarking
that every one respectfully made way for him as he rode along,
immediately ordered a musketeer to take aim at him. “Fire at him
yonder,” said he, “that must be a man of consequence. ” The soldier
fired, and the king’s left arm was shattered. At that moment his
squadron came hurrying up, and a confused cry of “the king bleeds! the
king is shot! ” spread terror and consternation through all the ranks.
“It is nothing--follow me,” cried the king, collecting his whole
strength; but overcome by pain, and nearly fainting, he requested the
Duke of Lauenburg, in French, to lead him unobserved out of the tumult.
While the duke proceeded towards the right wing with the king, making a
long circuit to keep this discouraging sight from the disordered
infantry, his majesty received a second shot through the back, which
deprived him of his remaining strength. “Brother,” said he, with a
dying voice, “I have enough! look only to your own life. ” At the same
moment he fell from his horse pierced by several more shots; and
abandoned by all his attendants, he breathed his last amidst the
plundering hands of the Croats. His charger, flying without its rider,
and covered with blood, soon made known to the Swedish cavalry the fall
of their king. They rushed madly forward to rescue his sacred remains
from the hands of the enemy. A murderous conflict ensued over the body,
till his mangled remains were buried beneath a heap of slain.

The mournful tidings soon ran through the Swedish army; but instead of
destroying the courage of these brave troops, it but excited it into a
new, a wild, and consuming flame. Life had lessened in value, now that
the most sacred life of all was gone; death had no terrors for the lowly
since the anointed head was not spared. With the fury of lions the
Upland, Smaeland, Finland, East and West Gothland regiments rushed a
second time upon the left wing of the enemy, which, already making but
feeble resistance to General Horn, was now entirely beaten from the
field. Bernard, Duke of Saxe-Weimar, gave to the bereaved Swedes a
noble leader in his own person; and the spirit of Gustavus led his
victorious squadrons anew. The left wing quickly formed again, and
vigorously pressed the right of the Imperialists. The artillery at the
windmills, which had maintained so murderous a fire upon the Swedes, was
captured and turned against the enemy. The centre, also, of the Swedish
infantry, commanded by the duke and Knyphausen, advanced a second time
against the trenches, which they successfully passed, and retook the
battery of seven cannons. The attack was now renewed with redoubled
fury upon the heavy battalions of the enemy’s centre; their resistance
became gradually less, and chance conspired with Swedish valour to
complete the defeat. The imperial powder-waggons took fire, and, with a
tremendous explosion, grenades and bombs filled the air. The enemy, now
in confusion, thought they were attacked in the rear, while the Swedish
brigades pressed them in front. Their courage began to fail them.
Their left wing was already beaten, their right wavering, and their
artillery in the enemy’s hands. The battle seemed to be almost decided;
another moment would decide the fate of the day, when Pappenheim
appeared on the field, with his cuirassiers and dragoons; all the
advantages already gained were lost, and the battle was to be fought
anew.

The order which recalled that general to Lutzen had reached him in
Halle, while his troops were still plundering the town. It was
impossible to collect the scattered infantry with that rapidity, which
the urgency of the order, and Pappenheim’s impatience required. Without
waiting for it, therefore, he ordered eight regiments of cavalry to
mount; and at their head he galloped at full speed for Lutzen, to share
in the battle. He arrived in time to witness the flight of the imperial
right wing, which Gustavus Horn was driving from the field, and to be at
first involved in their rout. But with rapid presence of mind he
rallied the flying troops, and led them once more against the enemy.
Carried away by his wild bravery, and impatient to encounter the king,
who he supposed was at the head of this wing, he burst furiously upon
the Swedish ranks, which, exhausted by victory, and inferior in numbers,
were, after a noble resistance, overpowered by this fresh body of
enemies. Pappenheim’s unexpected appearance revived the drooping
courage of the Imperialists, and the Duke of Friedland quickly availed
himself of the favourable moment to re-form his line. The closely
serried battalions of the Swedes were, after a tremendous conflict,
again driven across the trenches; and the battery, which had been twice
lost, again rescued from their hands. The whole yellow regiment, the
finest of all that distinguished themselves in this dreadful day, lay
dead on the field, covering the ground almost in the same excellent
order which, when alive, they maintained with such unyielding courage.
The same fate befel another regiment of Blues, which Count Piccolomini
attacked with the imperial cavalry, and cut down after a desperate
contest. Seven times did this intrepid general renew the attack; seven
horses were shot under him, and he himself was pierced with six musket
balls; yet he would not leave the field, until he was carried along in
the general rout of the whole army. Wallenstein himself was seen riding
through his ranks with cool intrepidity, amidst a shower of balls,
assisting the distressed, encouraging the valiant with praise, and the
wavering by his fearful glance. Around and close by him his men were
falling thick, and his own mantle was perforated by several shots. But
avenging destiny this day protected that breast, for which another
weapon was reserved; on the same field where the noble Gustavus expired,
Wallenstein was not allowed to terminate his guilty career.

Less fortunate was Pappenheim, the Telamon of the army, the bravest
soldier of Austria and the church. An ardent desire to encounter the
king in person, carried this daring leader into the thickest of the
fight, where he thought his noble opponent was most surely to be met.
Gustavus had also expressed a wish to meet his brave antagonist, but
these hostile wishes remained ungratified; death first brought together
these two great heroes. Two musket-balls pierced the breast of
Pappenheim; and his men forcibly carried him from the field. While they
were conveying him to the rear, a murmur reached him, that he whom he
had sought, lay dead upon the plain. When the truth of the report was
confirmed to him, his look became brighter, his dying eye sparkled with
a last gleam of joy. “Tell the Duke of Friedland,” said he, “that I lie
without hope of life, but that I die happy, since I know that the
implacable enemy of my religion has fallen on the same day. ”

With Pappenheim, the good fortune of the Imperialists departed. The
cavalry of the left wing, already beaten, and only rallied by his
exertions, no sooner missed their victorious leader, than they gave up
everything for lost, and abandoned the field of battle in spiritless
despair. The right wing fell into the same confusion, with the
exception of a few regiments, which the bravery of their colonels Gotz,
Terzky, Colloredo, and Piccolomini, compelled to keep their ground. The
Swedish infantry, with prompt determination, profited by the enemy’s
confusion. To fill up the gaps which death had made in the front line,
they formed both lines into one, and with it made the final and decisive
charge. A third time they crossed the trenches, and a third time they
captured the battery. The sun was setting when the two lines closed.
The strife grew hotter as it drew to an end; the last efforts of
strength were mutually exerted, and skill and courage did their utmost
to repair in these precious moments the fortune of the day. It was in
vain; despair endows every one with superhuman strength; no one can
conquer, no one will give way. The art of war seemed to exhaust its
powers on one side, only to unfold some new and untried masterpiece of
skill on the other. Night and darkness at last put an end to the fight,
before the fury of the combatants was exhausted; and the contest only
ceased, when no one could any longer find an antagonist. Both armies
separated, as if by tacit agreement; the trumpets sounded, and each
party claiming the victory, quitted the field.

The artillery on both sides, as the horses could not be found, remained
all night upon the field, at once the reward and the evidence of victory
to him who should hold it. Wallenstein, in his haste to leave Leipzig
and Saxony, forgot to remove his part. Not long after the battle was
ended, Pappenheim’s infantry, who had been unable to follow the rapid
movements of their general, and who amounted to six regiments, marched
on the field, but the work was done. A few hours earlier, so
considerable a reinforcement would perhaps have decided the day in
favour of the Imperialists; and, even now, by remaining on the field,
they might have saved the duke’s artillery, and made a prize of that of
the Swedes. But they had received no orders to act; and, uncertain as
to the issue of the battle, they retired to Leipzig, where they hoped to
join the main body.

The Duke of Friedland had retreated thither, and was followed on the
morrow by the scattered remains of his army, without artillery, without
colours, and almost without arms. The Duke of Weimar, it appears, after
the toils of this bloody day, allowed the Swedish army some repose,
between Lutzen and Weissenfels, near enough to the field of battle to
oppose any attempt the enemy might make to recover it. Of the two
armies, more than 9,000 men lay dead; a still greater number were
wounded, and among the Imperialists, scarcely a man escaped from the
field uninjured. The entire plain from Lutzen to the Canal was strewed
with the wounded, the dying, and the dead. Many of the principal
nobility had fallen on both sides. Even the Abbot of Fulda, who had
mingled in the combat as a spectator, paid for his curiosity and his
ill-timed zeal with his life. History says nothing of prisoners; a
further proof of the animosity of the combatants, who neither gave nor
took quarter.

Pappenheim died the next day of his wounds at Leipzig; an irreparable
loss to the imperial army, which this brave warrior had so often led on
to victory. The battle of Prague, where, together with Wallenstein, he
was present as colonel, was the beginning of his heroic career.
Dangerously wounded, with a few troops, he made an impetuous attack on a
regiment of the enemy, and lay for several hours mixed with the dead
upon the field, beneath the weight of his horse, till he was discovered
by some of his own men in plundering. With a small force he defeated,
in three different engagements, the rebels in Upper Austria, though
40,000 strong. At the battle of Leipzig, he for a long time delayed the
defeat of Tilly by his bravery, and led the arms of the Emperor on the
Elbe and the Weser to victory. The wild impetuous fire of his
temperament, which no danger, however apparent, could cool, or
impossibilities check, made him the most powerful arm of the imperial
force, but unfitted him for acting at its head. The battle of Leipzig,
if Tilly may be believed, was lost through his rash ardour. At the
destruction of Magdeburg, his hands were deeply steeped in blood; war
rendered savage and ferocious his disposition, which had been cultivated
by youthful studies and various travels. On his forehead, two red
streaks, like swords, were perceptible, with which nature had marked him
at his very birth. Even in his later years, these became visible, as
often as his blood was stirred by passion; and superstition easily
persuaded itself, that the future destiny of the man was thus impressed
upon the forehead of the child. As a faithful servant of the House of
Austria, he had the strongest claims on the gratitude of both its lines,
but he did not survive to enjoy the most brilliant proof of their
regard. A messenger was already on his way from Madrid, bearing to him
the order of the Golden Fleece, when death overtook him at Leipzig.

Though Te Deum, in all Spanish and Austrian lands, was sung in honour of
a victory, Wallenstein himself, by the haste with which he quitted
Leipzig, and soon after all Saxony, and by renouncing his original
design of fixing there his winter quarters, openly confessed his defeat.
It is true he made one more feeble attempt to dispute, even in his
flight, the honour of victory, by sending out his Croats next morning to
the field; but the sight of the Swedish army drawn up in order of
battle, immediately dispersed these flying bands, and Duke Bernard, by
keeping possession of the field, and soon after by the capture of
Leipzig, maintained indisputably his claim to the title of victor.

But it was a dear conquest, a dearer triumph! It was not till the fury
of the contest was over, that the full weight of the loss sustained was
felt, and the shout of triumph died away into a silent gloom of despair.
He, who had led them to the charge, returned not with them; there he lay
upon the field which he had won, mingled with the dead bodies of the
common crowd. After a long and almost fruitless search, the corpse of
the king was discovered, not far from the great stone, which, for a
hundred years before, had stood between Lutzen and the Canal, and which,
from the memorable disaster of that day, still bears the name of the
Stone of the Swede. Covered with blood and wounds, so as scarcely to be
recognised, trampled beneath the horses’ hoofs, stripped by the rude
hands of plunderers of its ornaments and clothes, his body was drawn
from beneath a heap of dead, conveyed to Weissenfels, and there
delivered up to the lamentations of his soldiers, and the last embraces
of his queen. The first tribute had been paid to revenge, and blood had
atoned for the blood of the monarch; but now affection assumes its
rights, and tears of grief must flow for the man. The universal sorrow
absorbs all individual woes. The generals, still stupefied by the
unexpected blow, stood speechless and motionless around his bier, and no
one trusted himself enough to contemplate the full extent of their loss.

The Emperor, we are told by Khevenhuller, showed symptoms of deep, and
apparently sincere feeling, at the sight of the king’s doublet stained
with blood, which had been stripped from him during the battle, and
carried to Vienna. “Willingly,” said he, “would I have granted to the
unfortunate prince a longer life, and a safe return to his kingdom, had
Germany been at peace. ” But when a trait, which is nothing more than a
proof of a yet lingering humanity, and which a mere regard to
appearances and even self-love, would have extorted from the most
insensible, and the absence of which could exist only in the most
inhuman heart, has, by a Roman Catholic writer of modern times and
acknowledged merit, been made the subject of the highest eulogium, and
compared with the magnanimous tears of Alexander, for the fall of
Darius, our distrust is excited of the other virtues of the writer’s
hero, and what is still worse, of his own ideas of moral dignity. But
even such praise, whatever its amount, is much for one, whose memory his
biographer has to clear from the suspicion of being privy to the
assassination of a king.

It was scarcely to be expected, that the strong leaning of mankind to
the marvellous, would leave to the common course of nature the glory of
ending the career of Gustavus Adolphus. The death of so formidable a
rival was too important an event for the Emperor, not to excite in his
bitter opponent a ready suspicion, that what was so much to his
interests, was also the result of his instigation. For the execution,
however, of this dark deed, the Emperor would require the aid of a
foreign arm, and this it was generally believed he had found in Francis
Albert, Duke of Saxe Lauenburg. The rank of the latter permitted him a
free access to the king’s person, while it at the same time seemed to
place him above the suspicion of so foul a deed. This prince, however,
was in fact not incapable of this atrocity, and he had moreover
sufficient motives for its commission.

Francis Albert, the youngest of four sons of Francis II, Duke of
Lauenburg, and related by the mother’s side to the race of Vasa, had, in
his early years, found a most friendly reception at the Swedish court.
Some offence which he had committed against Gustavus Adolphus, in the
queen’s chamber, was, it is said, repaid by this fiery youth with a box
on the ear; which, though immediately repented of, and amply apologized
for, laid the foundation of an irreconcileable hate in the vindictive
heart of the duke. Francis Albert subsequently entered the imperial
service, where he rose to the command of a regiment, and formed a close
intimacy with Wallenstein, and condescended to be the instrument of a
secret negociation with the Saxon court, which did little honour to his
rank. Without any sufficient cause being assigned, he suddenly quitted
the Austrian service, and appeared in the king’s camp at Nuremberg, to
offer his services as a volunteer. By his show of zeal for the
Protestant cause, and prepossessing and flattering deportment, he gained
the heart of the king, who, warned in vain by Oxenstiern, continued to
lavish his favour and friendship on this suspicious new comer. The
battle of Lutzen soon followed, in which Francis Albert, like an evil
genius, kept close to the king’s side and did not leave him till he
fell. He owed, it was thought, his own safety amidst the fire of the
enemy, to a green sash which he wore, the colour of the Imperialists.
He was at any rate the first to convey to his friend Wallenstein the
intelligence of the king’s death. After the battle, he exchanged the
Swedish service for the Saxon; and, after the murder of Wallenstein,
being charged with being an accomplice of that general, he only escaped
the sword of justice by abjuring his faith. His last appearance in life
was as commander of an imperial army in Silesia, where he died of the
wounds he had received before Schweidnitz. It requires some effort to
believe in the innocence of a man, who had run through a career like
this, of the act charged against him; but, however great may be the
moral and physical possibility of his committing such a crime, it must
still be allowed that there are no certain grounds for imputing it to
him. Gustavus Adolphus, it is well known, exposed himself to danger,
like the meanest soldier in his army, and where thousands fell, he, too,
might naturally meet his death. How it reached him, remains indeed
buried in mystery; but here, more than anywhere, does the maxim apply,
that where the ordinary course of things is fully sufficient to account
for the fact, the honour of human nature ought not to be stained by any
suspicion of moral atrocity.

But by whatever hand he fell, his extraordinary destiny must appear a
great interposition of Providence. History, too often confined to the
ungrateful task of analyzing the uniform play of human passions, is
occasionally rewarded by the appearance of events, which strike like a
hand from heaven, into the nicely adjusted machinery of human plans, and
carry the contemplative mind to a higher order of things. Of this kind,
is the sudden retirement of Gustavus Adolphus from the scene;--stopping
for a time the whole movement of the political machine, and
disappointing all the calculations of human prudence. Yesterday, the
very soul, the great and animating principle of his own creation;
to-day, struck unpitiably to the ground in the very midst of his eagle
flight; untimely torn from a whole world of great designs, and from the
ripening harvest of his expectations, he left his bereaved party
disconsolate; and the proud edifice of his past greatness sunk into
ruins. The Protestant party had identified its hopes with its
invincible leader, and scarcely can it now separate them from him; with
him, they now fear all good fortune is buried. But it was no longer the
benefactor of Germany who fell at Lutzen: the beneficent part of his
career, Gustavus Adolphus had already terminated; and now the greatest
service which he could render to the liberties of Germany was--to die.
The all-engrossing power of an individual was at an end, but many came
forward to essay their strength; the equivocal assistance of an
over-powerful protector, gave place to a more noble self-exertion on the
part of the Estates; and those who were formerly the mere instruments of
his aggrandizement, now began to work for themselves. They now looked
to their own exertions for the emancipation, which could not be received
without danger from the hand of the mighty; and the Swedish power, now
incapable of sinking into the oppressor, was henceforth restricted to
the more modest part of an ally.

The ambition of the Swedish monarch aspired unquestionably to establish
a power within Germany, and to attain a firm footing in the centre of
the empire, which was inconsistent with the liberties of the Estates.
His aim was the imperial crown; and this dignity, supported by his
power, and maintained by his energy and activity, would in his hands be
liable to more abuse than had ever been feared from the House of
Austria. Born in a foreign country, educated in the maxims of arbitrary
power, and by principles and enthusiasm a determined enemy to Popery, he
was ill qualified to maintain inviolate the constitution of the German
States, or to respect their liberties. The coercive homage which
Augsburg, with many other cities, was forced to pay to the Swedish
crown, bespoke the conqueror, rather than the protector of the empire;
and this town, prouder of the title of a royal city, than of the higher
dignity of the freedom of the empire, flattered itself with the
anticipation of becoming the capital of his future kingdom. His
ill-disguised attempts upon the Electorate of Mentz, which he first
intended to bestow upon the Elector of Brandenburg, as the dower of his
daughter Christina, and afterwards destined for his chancellor and
friend Oxenstiern, evinced plainly what liberties he was disposed to
take with the constitution of the empire. His allies, the Protestant
princes, had claims on his gratitude, which could be satisfied only at
the expense of their Roman Catholic neighbours, and particularly of the
immediate Ecclesiastical Chapters; and it seems probable a plan was
early formed for dividing the conquered provinces, (after the precedent
of the barbarian hordes who overran the German empire,) as a common
spoil, among the German and Swedish confederates. In his treatment of
the Elector Palatine, he entirely belied the magnanimity of the hero,
and forgot the sacred character of a protector. The Palatinate was in
his hands, and the obligations both of justice and honour demanded its
full and immediate restoration to the legitimate sovereign. But, by a
subtlety unworthy of a great mind, and disgraceful to the honourable
title of protector of the oppressed, he eluded that obligation. He
treated the Palatinate as a conquest wrested from the enemy, and thought
that this circumstance gave him a right to deal with it as he pleased.
He surrendered it to the Elector as a favour, not as a debt; and that,
too, as a Swedish fief, fettered by conditions which diminished half its
value, and degraded this unfortunate prince into a humble vassal of
Sweden. One of these conditions obliged the Elector, after the
conclusion of the war, to furnish, along with the other princes, his
contribution towards the maintenance of the Swedish army, a condition
which plainly indicates the fate which, in the event of the ultimate
success of the king, awaited Germany. His sudden disappearance secured
the liberties of Germany, and saved his reputation, while it probably
spared him the mortification of seeing his own allies in arms against
him, and all the fruits of his victories torn from him by a
disadvantageous peace. Saxony was already disposed to abandon him,
Denmark viewed his success with alarm and jealousy; and even France, the
firmest and most potent of his allies, terrified at the rapid growth of
his power and the imperious tone which he assumed, looked around at the
very moment he past the Lech, for foreign alliances, in order to check
the progress of the Goths, and restore to Europe the balance of power.





BOOK IV.



The weak bond of union, by which Gustavus Adolphus contrived to hold
together the Protestant members of the empire, was dissolved by his
death: the allies were now again at liberty, and their alliance, to
last, must be formed anew. By the former event, if unremedied, they
would lose all the advantages they had gained at the cost of so much
bloodshed, and expose themselves to the inevitable danger of becoming
one after the other the prey of an enemy, whom, by their union alone,
they had been able to oppose and to master. Neither Sweden, nor any of
the states of the empire, was singly a match with the Emperor and the
League; and, by seeking a peace under the present state of things, they
would necessarily be obliged to receive laws from the enemy. Union was,
therefore, equally indispensable, either for concluding a peace or
continuing the war. But a peace, sought under the present
circumstances, could not fail to be disadvantageous to the allied
powers. With the death of Gustavus Adolphus, the enemy had formed new
hopes; and however gloomy might be the situation of his affairs after
the battle of Lutzen, still the death of his dreaded rival was an event
too disastrous to the allies, and too favourable for the Emperor, not to
justify him in entertaining the most brilliant expectations, and not to
encourage him to the prosecution of the war. Its inevitable
consequence, for the moment at least, must be want of union among the
allies, and what might not the Emperor and the League gain from such a
division of their enemies? He was not likely to sacrifice such
prospects, as the present turn of affairs held out to him, for any
peace, not highly beneficial to himself; and such a peace the allies
would not be disposed to accept. They naturally determined, therefore,
to continue the war, and for this purpose, the maintenance of the
existing union was acknowledged to be indispensable.

But how was this union to be renewed? and whence were to be derived the
necessary means for continuing the war? It was not the power of Sweden,
but the talents and personal influence of its late king, which had given
him so overwhelming an influence in Germany, so great a command over the
minds of men; and even he had innumerable difficulties to overcome,
before he could establish among the states even a weak and wavering
alliance. With his death vanished all, which his personal qualities
alone had rendered practicable; and the mutual obligation of the states
seemed to cease with the hopes on which it had been founded. Several
impatiently threw off the yoke which had always been irksome; others
hastened to seize the helm which they had unwillingly seen in the hands
of Gustavus, but which, during his lifetime, they did not dare to
dispute with him. Some were tempted, by the seductive promises of the
Emperor, to abandon the alliance; others, oppressed by the heavy burdens
of a fourteen years’ war, longed for the repose of peace, upon any
conditions, however ruinous. The generals of the army, partly German
princes, acknowledged no common head, and no one would stoop to receive
orders from another. Unanimity vanished alike from the cabinet and the
field, and their common weal was threatened with ruin, by the spirit of
disunion.

Gustavus had left no male heir to the crown of Sweden: his daughter
Christina, then six years old, was the natural heir. The unavoidable
weakness of a regency, suited ill with that energy and resolution, which
Sweden would be called upon to display in this trying conjuncture. The
wide reaching mind of Gustavus Adolphus had raised this unimportant, and
hitherto unknown kingdom, to a rank among the powers of Europe, which it
could not retain without the fortune and genius of its author, and from
which it could not recede, without a humiliating confession of weakness.
Though the German war had been conducted chiefly on the resources of
Germany, yet even the small contribution of men and money, which Sweden
furnished, had sufficed to exhaust the finances of that poor kingdom,
and the peasantry groaned beneath the imposts necessarily laid upon
them. The plunder gained in Germany enriched only a few individuals,
among the nobles and the soldiers, while Sweden itself remained poor as
before. For a time, it is true, the national glory reconciled the
subject to these burdens, and the sums exacted, seemed but as a loan
placed at interest, in the fortunate hand of Gustavus Adolphus, to be
richly repaid by the grateful monarch at the conclusion of a glorious
peace. But with the king’s death this hope vanished, and the deluded
people now loudly demanded relief from their burdens.

But the spirit of Gustavus Adolphus still lived in the men to whom he
had confided the administration of the kingdom. However dreadful to
them, and unexpected, was the intelligence of his death, it did not
deprive them of their manly courage; and the spirit of ancient Rome,
under the invasion of Brennus and Hannibal, animated this noble
assembly. The greater the price, at which these hard-gained advantages
had been purchased, the less readily could they reconcile themselves to
renounce them: not unrevenged was a king to be sacrificed. Called on
to choose between a doubtful and exhausting war, and a profitable but
disgraceful peace, the Swedish council of state boldly espoused the side
of danger and honour; and with agreeable surprise, men beheld this
venerable senate acting with all the energy and enthusiasm of youth.
Surrounded with watchful enemies, both within and without, and
threatened on every side with danger, they armed themselves against them
all, with equal prudence and heroism, and laboured to extend their
kingdom, even at the moment when they had to struggle for its existence.

The decease of the king, and the minority of his daughter Christina,
renewed the claims of Poland to the Swedish throne; and King Ladislaus,
the son of Sigismund, spared no intrigues to gain a party in Sweden. On
this ground, the regency lost no time in proclaiming the young queen,
and arranging the administration of the regency. All the officers of
the kingdom were summoned to do homage to their new princess; all
correspondence with Poland prohibited, and the edicts of previous
monarchs against the heirs of Sigismund, confirmed by a solemn act of
the nation. The alliance with the Czar of Muscovy was carefully
renewed, in order, by the arms of this prince, to keep the hostile Poles
in check. The death of Gustavus Adolphus had put an end to the jealousy
of Denmark, and removed the grounds of alarm which had stood in the way
of a good understanding between the two states. The representations by
which the enemy sought to stir up Christian IV. against Sweden were no
longer listened to; and the strong wish the Danish monarch entertained
for the marriage of his son Ulrick with the young princess, combined,
with the dictates of a sounder policy, to incline him to a neutrality.
At the same time, England, Holland, and France came forward with the
gratifying assurances to the regency of continued friendship and
support, and encouraged them, with one voice, to prosecute with activity
the war, which hitherto had been conducted with so much glory. Whatever
reason France might have to congratulate itself on the death of the
Swedish conqueror, it was as fully sensible of the expediency of
maintaining the alliance with Sweden. Without exposing itself to great
danger, it could not allow the power of Sweden to sink in Germany. Want
of resources of its own, would either drive Sweden to conclude a hasty
and disadvantageous peace with Austria, and then all the past efforts to
lower the ascendancy of this dangerous power would be thrown away; or
necessity and despair would drive the armies to extort from the Roman
Catholic states the means of support, and France would then be regarded
as the betrayer of those very states, who had placed themselves under
her powerful protection. The death of Gustavus, far from breaking up
the alliance between France and Sweden, had only rendered it more
necessary for both, and more profitable for France. Now, for the first
time, since he was dead who had stretched his protecting arm over
Germany, and guarded its frontiers against the encroaching designs of
France, could the latter safely pursue its designs upon Alsace, and thus
be enabled to sell its aid to the German Protestants at a dearer rate.

Strengthened by these alliances, secured in its interior, and defended
from without by strong frontier garrisons and fleets, the regency did
not delay an instant to continue a war, by which Sweden had little of
its own to lose, while, if success attended its arms, one or more of the
German provinces might be won, either as a conquest, or indemnification
of its expenses. Secure amidst its seas, Sweden, even if driven out of
Germany, would scarcely be exposed to greater peril, than if it
voluntarily retired from the contest, while the former measure was as
honourable, as the latter was disgraceful. The more boldness the
regency displayed, the more confidence would they inspire among their
confederates, the more respect among their enemies, and the more
favourable conditions might they anticipate in the event of peace. If
they found themselves too weak to execute the wide-ranging projects of
Gustavus, they at least owed it to this lofty model to do their utmost,
and to yield to no difficulty short of absolute necessity. Alas, that
motives of self-interest had too great a share in this noble
determination, to demand our unqualified admiration! For those who had
nothing themselves to suffer from the calamities of war, but were rather
to be enriched by it, it was an easy matter to resolve upon its
continuation; for the German empire was, in the end, to defray the
expenses; and the provinces on which they reckoned, would be cheaply
purchased with the few troops they sacrificed to them, and with the
generals who were placed at the head of armies, composed for the most
part of Germans, and with the honourable superintendence of all the
operations, both military and political.

But this superintendence was irreconcileable with the distance of the
Swedish regency from the scene of action, and with the slowness which
necessarily accompanies all the movements of a council.

To one comprehensive mind must be intrusted the management of Swedish
interests in Germany, and with full powers to determine at discretion
all questions of war and peace, the necessary alliances, or the
acquisitions made. With dictatorial power, and with the whole influence
of the crown which he was to represent, must this important magistrate
be invested, in order to maintain its dignity, to enforce united and
combined operations, to give effect to his orders, and to supply the
place of the monarch whom he succeeded. Such a man was found in the
Chancellor Oxenstiern, the first minister, and what is more, the friend
of the deceased king, who, acquainted with all the secrets of his
master, versed in the politics of Germany, and in the relations of all
the states of Europe, was unquestionably the fittest instrument to carry
out the plans of Gustavus Adolphus in their full extent.

Oxenstiern was on his way to Upper Germany, in order to assemble the
four Upper Circles, when the news of the king’s death reached him at
Hanau.