A History of Germany from the Earliest Times to the Present Day

by Bayard Taylor

In spite of this temporary reverse, Ferdinand II. considered that his absolute power was established over all Germany. After consulting with the Catholic Chief-Electors (one of whom, now, was Maximilian of Bavaria), he issued, on the 6th of March, 1629, an "Edict of Restitution," ordering that all the former territory of the Roman Church, which had become Protestant, should be restored to Catholic hands. This required that two archbishoprics, twelve bishoprics, and a great number of monasteries and churches, which had ceased to exist nearly a century before, should be again established; and then, on the principle that the religion of the ruler should be that of the people, that the Protestant faith should be suppressed in all such territory. The armies were kept in the field to enforce this edict, which was instantly carried into effect in Southern Germany, and in the most violent and barbarous manner. The estates of 6,000 noblemen in Franconia, Würtemberg and Baden were confiscated; even the property of reigning princes was seized; but, instead of passing into the hands of the Church, much of it was bestowed upon the Emperor's family and his followers. The Archbishoprics of Bremen and Magdeburg were given to his son Leopold, a boy of 15! In carrying out the measure, Catholics began to suffer, as well as Protestants, and the jealousy and alarm of all the smaller States were finally aroused.

Wallenstein, while equally despotic, was much more arrogant and reckless than Ferdinand II. He openly declared that reigning princes and a National Diet were no longer necessary in Germany; the Emperor must be an absolute ruler, like the kings of France and Spain. At the same time he was carrying out his own political plans without much reference to the Imperial authority. Both Catholics and Protestants united in calling for a Diet: Ferdinand II. at first refused, but there were such signs of hostility on the part of Holland, Denmark, Sweden and even France, that he was forced to yield. The Diet met on the 5th of June, 1630, at Ratisbon, and Maximilian of Bavaria headed the universal demand for Wallenstein's removal. The Protestants gave testimony of the merciless system of plunder by which he had ruined their lands; the Catholics complained of the more than Imperial splendors of his court, upon which he squandered uncounted millions of stolen money. He travelled with 100 carriages and more than 1,000 horses, kept 15 cooks for his table, and was waited upon by 16 pages of noble blood. Jealousy of this pomp and state, and fear of Wallenstein's ambitious designs, and not the latter's fiendish inhumanity, induced Ferdinand II. to submit to the entreaties of the Diet, and remove him.

1630.

The Imperial messengers who were sent to his camp with the order of dismissal, approached him in great dread and anxiety, and scarcely dared to mention their business. Wallenstein pointed to a sheet covered with astrological characters, and quietly told them that he had known everything in advance; that the Emperor had been misled by the Elector of Bavaria, but, nevertheless, the order would be obeyed. He entertained them at a magnificent banquet, loaded them with gifts, and then sent them away. With rage and hate in his heart, but with all the external show and splendor of an independent sovereign, he retired to Prague, well knowing that the day was not far off when his services would be again needed.

Tilly was appointed commander-in-chief of the Imperial armies. At the very moment, however, when Wallenstein was dismissed, and his forces divided among several inferior generals, the leader whom the German Protestants could not furnish came to them from abroad. Their ruin and the triumph of Ferdinand II. seemed inevitable; twelve years of war in its most horrible form had desolated their lands, reduced their numbers to less than half, and broken their spirit. Then help and hope suddenly returned. On the 4th of July, 1630, Gustavus Adolphus, king of Sweden, landed on the coast of Pomerania, with an army of 15,000 men. As he stepped upon the shore, he knelt in the sight of all the soldiers and prayed that God would befriend him. Some of his staff could not restrain their tears; whereupon he said to them: "Weep not, friends, but pray, for prayer is half victory!"

Gustavus Adolphus, who had succeeded to the throne in 1611, at the age of 17, was already distinguished as a military commander. He had defeated the Russians in Livonia and banished them from the Baltic; he had fought for three years with king Sigismund of Poland, and taken from him the ports of Elbing, Pillau and Memel, and he was now burning with zeal to defend the falling Protestant cause in Germany. Cardinal Richelieu, in France, helped him to the opportunity by persuading Sigismund to accept an armistice, and by furnishing Sweden with the means of carrying on a war against Ferdinand II. The latter had assisted Poland, so that a pretext was not wanting; but when Gustavus laid his plans before his council in Stockholm, a majority of the members advised him to wait for a new cause of offence. Nevertheless, he insisted on immediate action. The representatives of the four orders of the people were convoked in the Senate-house, where he appeared before them with his little daughter, Christina, in his arms, asked them to swear fealty to her, and then bade them a solemn farewell. All burst into tears when he said: "perhaps for ever," but nothing could shake his resolution to undertake the great work.

1630. GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS.

Gustavus Adolphus was at this time 34 years old; he was so tall and powerfully built that he almost seemed a giant; his face was remarkably frank and cheerful in expression, his hair light, his eyes large and gray and his nose aquiline. Personally, he was a striking contrast to the little, haggard and wrinkled Tilly and the dark, silent and gloomy Wallenstein. Ferdinand II. laughed when he heard of his landing, called him the "Snow King," and said that he would melt away after one winter; but the common people, who loved and trusted him as soon as they saw him, named him the "Lion of the North." He was no less a statesman than a soldier, and his accomplishments were unusual in a ruler of those days. He was a generous patron of the arts and sciences, spoke four languages with ease and elegance, was learned in theology, a ready orator and—best of all—he was honest, devout and conscientious in all his ways. The best blood of the Goths from whom he was descended beat in his veins, and the Germans, therefore, could not look upon him as a foreigner; to them he was a countryman as well as a deliverer.

The Protestant princes, however, although in the utmost peril and humiliated to the dust, refused to unite with him. If their course had been cowardly and selfish before, it now became simply infamous. The Duke of Pomerania shut the gates of Stettin upon the Swedish army, until compelled by threats to open them; the Electors of Brandenburg and Saxony held themselves aloof, and Gustavus found himself obliged to respect their neutrality, lest they should go over to the Emperor's side! Out of all Protestant Germany there came to him a few petty princes whose lands had been seized by the Catholics, and who could only offer their swords. His own troops, however, had been seasoned in many battles; their discipline was perfect; and when the German people found that the slightest act of plunder or violence was severely punished, they were welcomed wherever they marched.

1631.