Johann Shiller

The History of the Thirty Years' War
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.
                
 
 
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