THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY I / EDITED, WITH CAREFUL REVISIONS AND NEW TRANSLATIONS, BY CHARLES J. HEMPEL, M.D. WITH PREFACE TO THE READER; NOTES AND APPENDIX ' TO “WIREMAN'S POEMS OF SCHILLER” COMPLETE IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. |jjjifl| |ttustrali Charles Y. bequeathed to his successor an autho¬ rity in these provinces, little inferior to that of a • limited monarchy. The prerogative of the crowm had gained a visible ascendency over the repub- , lican spirit, and that complicated machine could ■ now be set in motion, almost as certainly and ra¬ pidly as the most absolutely go\erned nation, The numerous nobility, formerly so pow'eiful, cheerfully accompanied their sovereign in his w r ars, or on the civil charges of the state coin ted , the approving smile of royalty. The crafty policy of the crown had created a new and imaginary ■ good, of which it was the exclusive dispenser. , New passions and new ideas of happiness sup- i planted, at last, the rude simplicity of republican virtue. Pride gave place to vanity, true liberty . to titles of honor, a needy independence to a luxu- . i rious servitude. To oppress or to plunder their , native laud, as the absolute satraps of an absolute i lord, was a more powerful allurement for the ava- HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 25 rice and ambition of the great, than in the general assembly of the state to share with the monarch a hundredth part of the supreme power. A large portion, moreover, of the nobility, were deeply sunk in poverty and debt. Charles V. had crip¬ pled all the most dangerous vassals of the crown, by expensive embassies to foreign courts, under the specious pretext of honorary distinctions. Thus, William of Orange was dispatched to Ger¬ many with the imperial crown, and Count Egmont to conclude the marriage contract between Philip and Queen Mary. Both also afterward accompa¬ nied the Duke of Alva to France, to negociate the peace between the two crowns, and the new alliance of their sovereign with Madame Eliza¬ beth. The expenses of these journeys amounted to three hundred thousand florins, toward which the king did not contribute a single penny. When the Prince of Orange was appointed generalis¬ simo, in the place of the Duke of Savoy, he was obliged to defray all the necessary expenses of his office. When foreign ambassadors or princes came to Brussels, it was made incumbent on the nobles to maintain the honor of their king, who himself always dined alone, and never kept open table. Spanish policy had devised a still more ingenious contrivance, gradually to impoverish the richest families of the land. Every year, one of the Castilian nobles made his appearance in Brussels, where he displayed a lavish magnifi¬ cence. In Brussels, it was accounted an indelible disgrace to be distanced by a stranger in such munificence. All vied to surpass him, and ex¬ hausted their fortunes in this costly emulation, while the Spaniard made a timely retreat to his native country, and by the frugality of four years, repaired the extravagance of one year. It was the foible of the Netherlandish nobility to contest with every stranger the credit of superior wealth, and of this weakness the government studiously availed itself. Certainly, these arts did not, in the sequel, produce the exact result that had been calculated on ; for these pecuniary burdens only made the nobility the more disposed for in¬ novation, since he who has lost all, can only be a gainer in the general ruin. The Romish Church had ever been a main sup¬ port of the royal power, and it was only natural that it should be so. Its golden time was the bondage of the human intellect, and like royalty, it had gained by the ignorance and weakness of men. Civil oppression made religion more neces¬ sary and more dear; submission to tyrannical power prepares the mind for a blind, convenient faith, and the hierarchy repaid with usury the services of despotism. In the states, the bishops and prelates were zealous supporters of royalty, and ever ready to sacrifice the welfare of the citi¬ zen to the temporal advancement of the church, and the political interests of the sovereign. Numerous and brave garrisons also held the cities in awe, which were at the same time di¬ vided by religious squabbles and factions, and consequently deprived of their strongest support'—• union among themselves. How little, therefore, did it require to insure this preponderance of Philip’s power, and how fatal must have been the folly by which it was lost. But Philip’s authority in these provinces, how¬ ever great, did not surpass the influence which the Spanish monarchy at that time enjoyed throughout Europe. No state ventured to enter the arena of contest with it. France, its most dangerous neighbor, weakened by a destructive war, and still more by internal factions, which boldly raised their heads during the fetble go¬ vernment of a child, was advancing rapidly to that unhappy condition, which, for nearly halt a century, made it a theatre of the most enormous crimes and the most fearful calamities. In Eng¬ land, Elizabeth could with difficulty protect her still tottering throne against the furious storms of faction, and her new church establishment against the insidious arts of the Romanists. That country still awaited her mighty call, before it could emerge from a humble obscurity, and had not yet been awakened, by the faulty policy of her rival, to that vigor and energy, with which it finally overthrew him. The Imperial family of Germany w T as united with that of Spain, by the double ties of blood and political interest; and the victorious progress of Soliman drew its at¬ tention more to the east than to the west of Eu¬ rope. Gratitude and fear secured to Philip the Italian princes, and his creatures ruled the Conclave. The monarchies of the North still lay in barbarous darkness and obscurity, or only just began to acquire form and strength, and were as yet unrecognized in the political system of Eu¬ rope. The most skillful generals, numerous armies accustomed to victory, a formidable marine, and the golden tribute from the West Indies, which now first began to come in regularly and certainly —what terrible instruments were these in the firm and steady hand of a talented prince ! Under such auspicious stars did King Philip commence his reign. Before we see him act, we must first look has¬ tily into the deep recesses of his soul, and we shall there find a key to his political life.' Joy and benevolence were wholly wanting in the com¬ position of his character. His temperament, and the gloomy years of his early childhood, denied him the former; the latter could not be imparted to him by men who had renounced the sweetest and most powerful of the social ties. Two ideas, his own self, and what was above that self, engrossed his narrow and contracted mind. Egotism and religion were the contents and the title-page of the history of his whole life. He was a King and a Christian, and was bad in both characters ; he never was a man among men, because he never condescended, but only ascended. His belief was dark and cruel ; for his divinity was a Being of terror, from whom he had nothing to hope but every thing to fear. To the ordinary man, the divinity appears as a comforter, as a saviour ; before his mind it was set up as an image of fear, a painful, humiliating check to his human omni¬ potence. His veneration for this Being was so much the more profound and deeply rooted, the less it extended to other objects. He trembled servilely before God, because God was the only being before whom he had to tremble. Charles V. was zealous for religion, because religion pro¬ moted his objects. Philip was so because he had 26 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. real faith in it. The former let loose the fire and the sword upon thousands for the sake of a dogma, while he himself, in the person of the Pope, his captive, derided the very doctrine for which he had sacrificed so much human blood. It was only with repugnance and scruples of con¬ science that Philip resolved on the most just war against the Pope; and resigned all the fruits of his victory, as a penitent malefactor surrenders his booty. The Emperor was cruel from calcula¬ tion, his son from impulse. The first possessed a strong and enlightened spirit, and was therefore, perhaps, the worse man ; the second, was narrow¬ minded and weak, but the most upright. Both, however, as it appears to me, might have been better men than they actually were, and still, on the whole, have acted on the very same principles. What we lay to the charge of per¬ sonal character of an individual is very often the infirmity, the necessary imperfection of universal human nature. A monarchy so great and so pow¬ erful, was too great a trial for human pride, and too mighty a charge for human power. To com¬ bine universal happiness with the highest liberty of the individual, is the sole prerogative of infi¬ nite intelligence, which diffuses itself omnipre- sently over all. But what resource has man, when placed in the position of omnipotence ? Man can only aid his circumscribed powers by classifica¬ tion ; like the naturalist, he establishes certain marks and rules, by which to facilitate his own feeble survey of the whole, to which all indivi¬ dualities must conform. All this is accomplished for him by religion. She finds hope and fear planted in every human breast; by making her¬ self mistress of these emotions, and directing their affections to a single object, she virtually transforms millions of independent beings into one uniform abstract. The endless diversity of the human will, no longer embarrasses its ruler— now there exists one universal good, one universal evil, which he can bring forward or withdraw at pleasure, and which works in unison with himself even when absent. Now a boundary is esta¬ blished, before which liberty must halt; a vene¬ rable, hallowed line, toward which all the various conflicting inclinations of the will must finally converge. The common aim of despotism and of priestcraft is uniformity, and uniformity is a ne¬ cessary expedient of human poverty and imper¬ fection. Philip became a greater despot than his father, because his mind was more contracted, or, in other words, he was forced to adhere the more scrupulously to general rules, the less capable he was of descending to special and individual ex¬ ceptions. What conclusion could we draw from these principles, but that Philip II. could not possibly have any higher object of his solicitude, than uniformity both in religion and in laws., be¬ cause without these he could not reign ? And, yet, he would have shown more mildness and forbearance in his government, if he had en¬ tered upon it earlier. In the judgment which is usually formed of this prince, one circumstance does not appear to be sufficiently considered in the history of his mind and heart, which, how¬ ever, in all fairness ought to be duly weighed. Philip counted nearly thirty years, when lie as¬ cended the Spanish throne, and this evirly matu¬ rity of his understanding had anticipated the pe¬ riod of his majority. A mind like his, conscious of its powers, and only too early acquainted with his high expectations, could not brook the yoke of childish subjection in which he stood ; the su¬ perior genius of the father, and the absolute au¬ thority of the autocrat, must have weighed hea¬ vily on the self-satisfied pride of such a son. The share which the former allowed him in the government of the empire, was just important enough to disengage his mind from petty pas¬ sions, and to confirm the austere gravity of his character, but also meagre enough, to kindle a fiercer longing for unlimited power. When he actually became possessed of uncontrolled au¬ thority, it had lost the charm of novelty. The sweet intoxication of a young monarch, in the sudden and early possession of supreme power; that joyous tumult of emotions, which opens the soul to every softer sentiment, and to which hu¬ manity has owed so many of the most valuable and the most prized of its institutions ; this pleasing moment had for him long passed by, or had never existed. His character was already hardened, when fortune put him to this severe test, and his settled principles withstood the col¬ lision of occasional emotion. He had had time, during fifteen years, to prepare himself for the change ; and instead of youthfully dallying with the external symbols of his new station, or of losing the morning of his government in the in¬ toxication of an idle vanity, he remained com¬ posed and serious enough, to enter at once on the full possession of his power, so as to revenge himself through the most extensive employment of it, for its having been so long withheld from him. THE TRIBUNAL OF THE INQUISITION. Philip II. no sooner saw himself, through the peace of Chauteau-Cambray, in undisturbed en¬ joyment of his immense territory, than he turned his whole attention to the great work of purify¬ ing religion, and verified the fears of his Nether¬ landish subjects. The ordinances, which his father had caused to be promulgated against heretics, were renewed in all their rigor; and terrible tribunals, to whom nothing but the name of inquisition was wanting, were appointed to watch over their execution. But his plan ap¬ peared to him scarcely more than half fulfilled, so long as he could not transplant ir.to these countries the Spanish Inquisition in its perfect form—a design in which the Emperor had already suffered shipwreck. This Spanish Inquisition is an ii stitution of a new and peculiar kind, which finds no prototype in the whole course of time, and admits of com¬ parison with no ecclesiastical nor civil tribunal. Inquisition has existed from the time when reason meddled with what is holy, and from the very commencement of skepticism and innovation; but it was in the middle of the thirteenth century, after some examples of apostasy had alarmed the hierarchy, that Innocent III. first erected for it a peculiar tribunal, and separated, in an unnatu¬ ral manner, ecclesiastical superintendence and in* HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 27 struction from its judicial and primitive office. In order to be the more sure that no human sen¬ sibilities, or natural tenderness, should thwart the stern severity of its statutes, he took it out of the hands of the bishops and secular clergy, who, by the ties of civil life, were still too much attached to humanity for his purpose, and consigned it to those of the monks, a half-denaturalized race of beings, who hud abjured the sacred feelings of nature, and were the servile tools of the Roman See. The Inquisition was received in Germany, Italy, Spain, Portugal, and France ; a Francis¬ can monk sat as judge in the terrible court, which passed sentence on the Templars. A few states succeeded either in totally excluding, or else in subjecting it to civil authority. The Netherlands bad remained free from it, until the government of Charles Y.; their bishops exercised the spiri¬ tual censorship, and in extraordinary cases, refe¬ rence was made to foreign courts of inquisition ; by the French provinces to that of Paris, by the German to that of Cologne. But the Inquisition which we are here speaking of, came from the west of Europe, and was of a different origin and form. The last Moorish throne in Granada had fallen in the fifteenth cen¬ tury, and the false faith of the Saracen had finally succumbed before the fortunes of Chris¬ tianity. But the gospel was still new, and but imperfectly established in this youngest of Chris¬ tian kingdoms, and in the confused mixture of heterogeneous laws and manners, the religions had become mixed. It is true, the sword of per¬ secution had driven many thousand families to Africa, but a far larger portion, detained by the love of climate and home, purchased remission from this dreadful necessity by a show of conver¬ sion, and continued at Christian altars to serve Mohammed and Moses. So long as prayers were offered toward Mecca, Granada was not sub¬ dued ; so long as the new Christian, in the retire¬ ment of his house, became again a Jew or a Mos¬ lem, he was as little secured to the throne as to the Romish See. It was no longer deemed suffi¬ cient to compel a perverse people to adopt the exterior forms of a new faith, or to wed it to the victorious church by the weak bands of ceremo¬ nials ; the object now was to extirpate the roots of an old religion, and to subdue an obstinate bias, which, by the slow operation of centuries, had been implanted in their manners, their lan¬ guage, and.their laws, and by the enduring influ¬ ence of a paternal soil and sky was still main¬ tained in its full extent and vigor. If the church wished to triumph completely over the opposing worship, and to secure her new conquest beyond all chance of relapse, it was indispensable that she should undermine the foundation itself on which the old religion was built. It was necessary to break to pieces the entire form of moral character, to which it was so closely and intimately attached. It was requi¬ site to loosen its secret roots from the hold they had taken in the innermost depths of the soul; to extinguish all traces of it, both in domestic life, and in the civil world ; to cause all recollec¬ tions of it to perish: and, if possible, to destroy the very susceptibility for its impressions. Coun¬ try and family, conscience and honor, the sacred feelings of society and of nature, are ever the first and immediate ties to which religion attaches itself, from these it derives while it imparts strength. This connection was now to be dis¬ solved, the old religion was violently to'be dissev¬ ered from the holy feelings of nature ; even at the expense of the sanctity itself of these emo¬ tions. Thus arose that Inquisition which, to dis¬ tinguish it from the more humane tribunals of the same name, we usually call the Spanish. Its founder was Cardinal Ximenes, a Dominican monk. Torquemada was the first who ascended its bloody throne, who established its statutes, and forever cursed his order with \jis bequest. Sworn to the degradation of the understanding, and the murder of intellect; the instruments it employed were terror and infamy. Every evil passion was in its pay; its snare was set in every joy of life. Solitude itself was not safe from it; the fear of its omnipresence fettered the freedom of the soul in its inmost and deepest recesses. It prostrated all the instincts of human nature before it, yielded all the ties which otherwise man held most sacred. A heretic forfeited all claims upon' his race ; the most trivial infidelity to his mother church divested him of the rights of his nature. A modest doubt in the infallibility of the pope, met with the punishment of parricide and the infamy of sodomy; its sentences re¬ sembled the frightful corruption of the plague, which turns the most healthy body into rapid putrefaction. Even the inanimate things belong¬ ing to a heretic were accursed ; no destiny could snatch the victim of the Inquisition from its sen¬ tence : its decrees were carried in force on corpses and on pictures ; and the grave itself was no asylum from its tremendous arm. The presump¬ tuous arrogance of its decrees, could only be surpassed by the inhumanity which executed them. By coupling the ludicrous with the terrible, and by amusing the eye with the strangeness of its processions, it weakened compassion by the gratification of another feeling; it drowned sym¬ pathy in derision and contempt. The delinquent was conducted with solemn pomp to the place of execution, a blood-red flag was displayed before him, the universal clang of all the hells accompa¬ nied the procession. First came the priests in the robes of the Mass, and singing a sacred hymn; next followed the condemned sinner, clothed in a yellow vest, covered with figures of black devils. On his head, he wore a paper cap surmounted by a human figure, around which played lambent flames of fire, and ghastly demons flitted. The image of the crucified Saviour was carried before, but turned away from the eternally condemned sinner, for whom salvation was no longer avail¬ able. His mortal body belonged to the material fire, his immortal soul to the flames of hell. A gag closed his mouth, and prevented him from alleviating his pain by lamentation, from awaken¬ ing compassion by his affecting tale, and from divulging the secrets of the holy tribunal. He was followed by the clergy in festive robes, by the magistrates and the nobility; the fathers, who had been his judges, closed the awful procession. It seemed like a solemn funeral procession, but 28 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. on looking for the corpse on its way to the grave, behold it was a living body, whose groans are now to afford such shuddering entertainment to the people. The executions were generally held on the high festivals, for which a number of such un¬ fortunate sufferers were reserved in the prisons of the holy house, in order to enhance the re¬ joicing by the multitude of the victims; and on these occasions, the king himself was usually pre¬ sent. He sat with uncovered head, on a lower chair than that of the Grand Inquisitor, to whom on such occasions he yielded precedence ; who, then, would not tremble before a tribunal, at which majesty must humble itself? The great revolution in the church accom¬ plished by Luther and Calvin, renewed the causes to which this tribunal owed its first origin : and' that which, at its commencement, was invented to clear the petty kingdom of Granada from the feeble remnant of Saracens and Jews, was now required for the whole of Christendom. All the Inquisitions in Portugal, Italy, Germany, and Prance, adopted the form of the Spanish; it fol¬ lowed Europeans to the Indies, and established in Goa a fearful tribunal, whose inhuman pro¬ ceedings make us shudder even at the bare recital. Wherever it planted its foot, devastation fol¬ lowed ; but in no part of the world did it rage so violently as in Spain. The victims are forgotten, whom it immolated ; the human race renews itself, and the lands, too, flourish again, which it has devastated and depopulated by its fury; but cen¬ turies will elapse, before its traces disappear from the Spanish character. A generous and enlight¬ ened nation has been stopped by it on its road to perfection ; it has banished genius from a re¬ gion where it was indigenous, and a stillness like that which hangs over the grave, has been left in the mind of a people who, beyond most others of our world, were framed for happiness and enjoyment. The first Inquisitor in Brabant was appointed by Charles Y. in the year 1522. Some priests were associated with him as coadjutors ; but he himself was a lavman. After the death of Adrian VI., his successor, Clement VII., appointed three Inquisitors for all the Netherlands; and Paul III. again reduced them to two, which number I continued until the commencement of the trou¬ bles. In the year 1530, with the aid and appro¬ bation of the states, the edicts against heretics were promulgated, which formed the foundation of all that followed, and, in which, also, express men¬ tion is made of the Inquisition. In the year 1550, in consequence of the rapid increase of sects, Charles V. was under the necessity of reviving and enforcing these edicts, and it was on this oc¬ casion that the town of Antwerp opposed the establishment of the Inquisition, and obtained an exemption from its jurisdiction. But the spirit of the Inquisition in the Netherlands, in accord¬ ance with the-genius of the country, was more humane than in Spain, and, as yet, had never been administered by a foreigner, much less by a Dominican. The edicts which were known to every body, served it as the rule of its decisions. On this very account, it was less obnoxious; be¬ cause, however severe its sentence, it did not appear a tool of arbitrary power, and it did not, like the Spanish Inquisition, vail iself in secrecy. Philip, however, was desirous of introducing the latter tribunal into the Netherlands, since it appeared to him the instrument best adapted to destroy the spirit of this people, and to prepare them for a despotic government. He began, therefore, by increasing the rigor of the religious ordinances of his father; by gradually extending the power of the inquisitors ; by making its pro¬ ceedings more arbitrary, and more independent of the civil jurisdiction. The tribunal soon wanted little more than the name, and the Dominicans, to resemble, in every point, the Spanish Inquisi¬ tion. Bare suspicion was enough to snatch a citizen from the bosom of public tranquillity, and from his domestic circle; and the weakest evi¬ dence was a sufficient justification for the use of the rack. Whoever fell into its abyss, returned no more to the world. All the benefits of the laws ceased for him ; the maternal care of justice no longer noticed him ; beyond the pale of his former world, malice and stupidity judged him ac¬ cording to laws which were never intended for man. The delinquent never knew his accuser, and very seldom his crime, a flagitious, devilish artifice, which constrained the unhappy victim to guess at his error, and in the delirium of the rack, or in the weariness of a long living interment, to acknowledge transgressions which, perhaps, had never been committed, or, at least, had never come to the knowledge of his judges. The goods of the condemned were confiscated, and the informer encouraged by letters of grace and rewards. No privilege, no civil jurisdiction, was valid against the holy power ; the secular arm lost for ever all whom that power had once touched. Its only share in the judicial duties of the latter was to execute its sentences with humble submissiveness. The consequences of such an institution were, of necessity, unnatural and horrible; the whole tem¬ poral happiness, the life itself, of an innocent man, was at the mercy of any worthless fellow. Every secret enemy, every envious person, had now the perilous temptation of an unseen and unfailing revenge. The security of property, the sincerity of intercourse, were gone ; all the ties of interest were dissolved ; all of blood and of affection were irreparably broken. An infectious distrust en¬ venomed social life ; the- dreaded presence of a spy terrified the eye from seeing, and choked the voice in the midst of utterance. No one believed in the existence of an honest man, or passed for one. himself. Good name, the ties of country, brotherhood, even oaths, and all that man holds sacred, were fallen in estimation. Such was the destiny to which a great and flourishing commer¬ cial town was subjected, where a hundred thou¬ sand industrious men had been brought together by the single tie of mutual confidence ; every one indispensable to his neighbor, and yet every one was now distrusted and distrustful. All attracted by the desire of gain, and repelled from each other by fear. All the props of society torn away, where social union was the basis of life and ex¬ istence. HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 29 OTHER ENCROACHMENTS ON THE CONSTITUTION OF THE NETHERLANDS. No wonder if so unnatural a tribunal, which had .proved intolerable, even to the more submissive spirit of the Spaniard, drove a free state to rebel¬ lion. But the terror which it inspired was in¬ creased by the Spanish troops, which, even after the restoration of peace, were kept in the coun¬ try, and, in violation of the constitution, garri¬ soned border towns. Charles Y. had been forgiven for this introduction of foreign armies, so long as the necessity of it was evident, and his good inten¬ tions were less distrusted. But now men saw in these troops only the alarming preparations of oppression, and the instruments of a detested hier¬ archy. Moreover, a considerable body of cavalry, composed of natives, and fully adequate for the protection of the country, made these foreigners superfluous. The licentiousness and rapacity, too, of the Spaniards, whose pay was long in arrear, and who indemnified themselves at the expense of the citizens, completed the exasperation of the people, and drove the lower orders to despair. Subsequently, when the general murmur induced the government to move them from the frontiers, and transport them into the islands of Zealand, where ships were prepared for their deportation, their excesses were carried to such a pitch, that the inhabitants left off working at the embank¬ ments, and preferred to abandon their native coun¬ try to the fury of the sea, rather than submit any longer to the wanton brutality of these lawless bands. Philip, indeed, would have wished to retain these Spaniards in the country, in order, by their presence, to give weight to his edicts, and to sup¬ port the innovations which he had resolved to make in the constitution of the Netherlands. He regarded them as a guarantee for the submission of the nation, and as a chain by which he held it captive. Accordingly, he left no expedient un¬ tried, to evade the persevering importunity of the states, who demanded the withdrawal of these troops; and for this end, he exhausted all the re¬ sources of chicanery and persuasion. At one time, he pretended to dread a sudden invasion by France, although, torn by furious factions, that country could scarce support itself against a do¬ mestic enemy ; at another time, they were, he said, to receive his son, Don Carlos, on the fron¬ tiers ; whom, however, he never intended should leave Castile. Their maintenance should not be a burden to the nation ; he himself would dis¬ burse all their expenses from his private purse. In order to detain them with the more appearance of reason, he purposely kept back from them their arrears of pay; for otherwise, he would as¬ suredly have preferred them to the troops of the country, whose demands he fully satisfied. To lull the fears of the nation, and to appease the general discontent, he offered the chief command of these troops to the two favorites of the peo¬ ple, the Prince of Orange and Count Egmont. Both, however, declined his offer, with the noble- minded declaration, that they could never make up their minds to serve contrary to the laws of the country. The more desire the king showed to have his Spaniards in the country, the more obstinately the states insisted on their removal. In the following Diet at Ghent, he was compelled, in the very midst of his courtiers, to listen to re¬ publican truth. “Why are foreign hands needed for our defense?” demanded the Syndic of Ghent. “ Is it that the rest of the world should consider us too stupid or too cowardly to protect ourselves ? Why have we made peace, if the burdens of war are still to oppress us? In war, necessity en¬ forced endurance; in peace, our patience is ex¬ hausted by its burdens. Or shall we be able to keep in order these licentious bands, which thine own presence could not restrain ? Here, Cam- bray and Antwerp cry for redress; there, Thion- ville and Marienburg lie waste; and, surely, thou hast not bestowed upon us peace, that our cities should become deserts, as they necessarily must if thou freest them not from these destroyers ? Perhaps thou art anxious to guard against sur¬ prise from our neighbors ? This precaution is wise; but the report of their preparations will long outrun their hostilities. Why incur a heavy expense to engage foreigners, who will not care for a country which they must leave to-morrow? Hast thou not still at thy command the same brave Netherlanders, to whom thy father intrusted the republic in far more troubled times ? Why shouldst thou now doubt their loyalty, which, to thy ancestors, they have preserved for so many centuries inviolate? Will not they be sufficient to sustain the war long enough to give time to thy confederates to join their banners, or to thy¬ self to send succor from the neighboring coun¬ try?” This language was too new to the king, and its truth too obvious, for him to be able at once to reply to it. “ I, also, am a foreigner,” he at length exclaimed, “and they would like, I sup¬ pose, to expel me from the country!” At the same time, he descended from the throne, and left the assembly; but the speaker was pardoned for his boldness. Two days afterward, he sent a message to the states, that if he had been ap¬ prised earlier that these troops were a burden to them, lie would have immediately made prepara¬ tion to remove them, with himself, to Spain. Now it was too late, for they would not depart unpaid ; but he pledged them his most sacred promise, that they should not be oppressed with this burden more than four months. Neverthe¬ less, the troops remained in this country eighteen months instead of four; and would not, perhaps, even then have left it so soon if the exigencies of the state had not made their presence indispensa¬ ble in another part of the world. The illegal appointment of foreigners to the most important offices of the country, afforded further occasion of complaint against the govern¬ ment. Of all the privileges of the provinces, none was so obnoxious to the Spaniards as that which excluded strangers from office, and none they had so zealously sought to abrogate. Italy, the two Indies, and all the provinces of this vast empire, were indeed open to their rapacity and ambition ; but from the richest of them all, an inexorable fundamental law excluded them. They artfully persuaded their sovereign, that his power in these countries would never be firmly established, so 30 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. long as he could not employ foreigners as his in¬ strument. The Bishop of Arras, a Burgundian by birth, had already been illegally forced upon the Flemings; and now the Count of Feria, a Castilian, was to receive a seat and voice in the council of state. But this attempt met with a bolder resistance than the king’s flatterers had led him to expect, and his despotic omnipotence was this time wrecked by the politic measures of William of Orange, and the firmness of the states. WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND COUNT EGMONT. By such measures, did Philip usher in his go¬ vernment of the Netherlands, and such were the grievances of the nation when he was preparing to leave them. He had long been impatient to cjuit a country where he was a stranger, where there was so much that opposed his secret wishes, and where his despotic mind found such un¬ daunted monitors to remind him of the laws of freedom. The peace with France, at last ren¬ dered a longer stay unnecessary ; the armaments of Soliraan required his presence in the south, and the Spaniards also began to miss their long-absent king. The choice of a supreme Stadtholder for the Netherlands, was the principal matter which still detained him. Emanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy, had tilled this place since the resignation of Mary, Queen of Hungary, which, however, so long as the king himself was present, conferred more honor than real influence. His absence would make it the most important office in the monarchy, and the most splendid aim for the am¬ bition of a subject. It had now become vacant through the departure of the duke, whom the peace of Chateau Cambresis had restored to his dominions. The almost unlimited power with which the supreme Stadtholder would be in¬ trusted, the capacity and experience which so ex¬ tensive and delicate an appointment required, but, especially, the daring designs which the govern¬ ment had in contemplation against the freedom of the country, the execution of which would de¬ volve on him, necessarily embarrassed the choice. The law, which excluded all foreigners from office, made an exception in the case of the su¬ preme Stadtholder. As he could not be, at the same time, a native of all the provinces, it was allowable for him not to belong to any one of them ; for the jealousy of the man of Brabant would concede no greater right to a Fleming, whose home was half a mile from his frontier, than to a Sicilian, who lived in another soil and under a different sky. But here the interests of the crown itself seemed to favor the appointment of a native. A Brabanter, for instance, who en¬ joyed the full confidence of his countrymen, if he became a traitor, would have half accomplished his treason, before a foreign governor could over¬ come the mistrust, with which his most insignifi¬ cant measures would be watched. If the govern¬ ment should succeed in carrying through its de¬ signs in one province, the opposition of the rest would then be a temerity, which it would be jus¬ tified in punishing in the severest manner. In the common whole, which the provinces now formed, their individual constitutions were, is a measure, destroyed ; the obedience of one would be a law for all, and the privilege, which one knew not how to preserve, was lost for the rest. Among the Flemish nobles, who could lay claim to the Chief Stadtholdership, the expecta¬ tions and wishes of the nation were divided between Count Egmont and the Prince of Orange, who were alike entitled to this high dignity—by illus¬ trious birth and personal merits, and by an equal share in the affections of the people. Their high rank placed them both near to the throne, and if the choice of the monarch was to rest on the wor¬ thiest, it must necessarily fall upon one of these two. As, in the course of our history, we shall often have occasion to mention both names, the reader cannot be too early made acquainted with their characters. William I., Prince of Orange, was descended from the princely German house of Nassau, which had already flourished eight centuries, had long disputed the pre-eminence with Austria, and had given one Emperor to Germany. Besides several extensive domains in the Netherlands, which made him a citizen of this Republic, and a vassal of the Spanish monarchy, he possessed also in France the independent princedom of Orange. William was born in the year 1533, at Dillenburg, in the country of Nassau, of a Countess Stolberg. His father, the Count of Nassau, of the same name, had embraced the Protestant religion, and caused his son also to be educated in it; but Charles V., who early formed an attachment for the boy, took him, when-quite young, to his court, and had him brought up in the Romish Church. This monarch, who already in the child discovered the future greatness of the man, kept him nine years about his person, thought him worthy of his personal instruction in the affairs of govern¬ ment, and honored him with a confidence beyond his years. He alone was permitted to remain in the Emperor’s presence, when he gave audience to foreign ambassadors—a proof that, even as a boy, he had already begun to merit the surname of the Silent. The Emperor was not ashamed even to confess openly, on one occasion, that this young man had often made suggestions which would have escaped his own sagacity. What ex¬ pectations might not be formed of the intellect of a man who was disciplined in such a school! William was twenty-three years old when Charles abdicated the government, and had al¬ ready received from the latter two public marks of the highest esteem. The Emperor had in¬ trusted to him, in preference to all the nobles of his court, the honorable office of conveying to his brother Ferdinand the imperial crown. When the Duke of Savoy, who commanded the imperial army in the Netherlands, was called away to Italy by the exigency of his domestic affairs, the Em¬ peror appointed him commander-in-chief, against the united representations of his military council, who declared it altogether hazardous to oppose so young a tyro in arms to the experienced generals of France. Absent, and unrecommended by any, he was preferred by the monarch to the laurel- crowned band of his heroes, and the result gave him no cause to repent of his choice. HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 31 The marked favor which the prince had en¬ joyed with the father, was, in itself, a sufficient ground for his exclusion from the confidence of the son. Philip, it appears, had laid it down for him¬ self as a rule, to avenge the wrongs of the Spanish nobility, for the preference which Charles V. had, on all important occasions, shown to his Flemish nobles. Still stronger, however, were the secret motives which alienated him from the prince. William of Orange was one of those lean and pale men, who, according to Caesar’s words, “s’eep not at night, and think too much,” and before whom the most fearless spirits quail. The calm tranquillity of a never-varying countenance, concealed a busy, ardent soul, which never ruffled even the vail behind which it worked, and was alike inaccessible to artifice and to love; a versa¬ tile, formidable, indefatigable mind, soft and duc¬ tile enough to be instantaneously moulded into all forms ; guarded enough to lose itself in none; and strong enough to endure every vicissitude of fortune. A greater master in reading and in winning men’s hearts, never existed than Wil¬ liam. Not that, after the fashion of courts, his lips avowed a servility to which his proud heart gave the lie; but because he was neither too sparing nor too lavish of the marks of his esteem, and through a skillful economy of the favors which mostly bind men, he increased his real stock in them. The fruits of his meditation were as perfect as they were slowly formed ; his re¬ solves were as steadily and indomitably accom¬ plished, as they were long in maturing. No ob¬ stacles could defeat the plan which he had once adopted as the best; no accidents frustrated it, for they all had been foreseen before they actually occurred. High as his feelings were raised above terror and joy, they were, nevertheless, subject in the same degree to fear; but his fear was earlier than the danger, and he was calm in tumult, be¬ cause he had trembled in repose. William la¬ vished his gold with a profuse hand, but he was a niggard of his moments. The hours of repast were the sole hours of relaxation, but these were exclusively devoted to his heart, his family, and his friends; this the modest deduction he allowed himself from the cares of his country. Here his brow was cleared with wine, seasoned with tem¬ perance, and a cheerful disposition ; and no se¬ rious cares were permitted to enter this recess of enjoyment. His household was magnificent; the splendor of a numerous retinue, the number and respectability of those who surrounded his person, n ade his habitation resemble the court of a so¬ vereign prince. A sumptuous hospitality, that master-spell of demagogues, was the goddess of his palace. Foreign princes and ambassadors found here a fitting reception and entertainment, which surpassed all that luxurious Belgium could elsewhere offer. A humble submissiveness to the government, bought off the blame and suspicion which this munificence might have thrown on his intentions. But this liberality secured for him the affections of the people, whom nothing grati¬ fied so much, as to see the riches of their country displayed before admiring foreigners, and the high pinnacle of fortune on which he stood, en¬ hanced the value of the courtesy to which he con¬ descended. No one, probably, was better fitted bv nature for the leader of a conspiracy, than William the Silent. A comprehensive and in¬ tuitive glance into the past, the present, and the future; the talent for improving every favorable opportunity; a commanding influence over the minds of men ; vast Schemes, which only when viewed from a distance show form and symme¬ try; and bold calculations, which were wound up in the long chain of futurity: all these facul¬ ties he possessed, and kept, moreover, under the control of that free and enlightened virtue, which moves with firm step, even on the very edge of the abyss. A man like this might, at other times, have re¬ mained unfathomed by his whole generation ; but not so by the distrustful spirit of the age in which he lived. Philip II. saw quickly and deeply into a character, which among good ones, most resem¬ bled his own. If he had not seen through him so clearly, his distrust of a man, in whom were united nearly all the qualities which he prized highest, and could best appreciate, would be quite inexplicable. But William had another and still more important point of contact with Philip II. He had learned his policy from the same master, and had become, it was to be feared, a more apt scholar. Not by making Machiavelli’s 'Prince ’ his study, but by having enjoyed the living in¬ struction of a monarch, who reduced the book to practice, had he become versed in the perilous arts by which thrones rise and fall. In him, Philip had to deal with an antagonist, who was armed against his policy, and who, in a good cause could also command the resources of a bad one. And it was exactly this last circumstance, which accounts for his having hated this man so im¬ placably above all others of his day, and his hav¬ ing had so supernatural a dread of him. The suspicion which already attached to the prince, was increased by the doubts which were entertained of his religious bias. So long as the Emperor, his benefactor, lived, William believed in the pope ; but it was feared, with good ground, that the predilection for the reformed religion, which had been imparted to his young heart, had never entirely left it. Whatever church he may, at certain periods of his life, have preferred, each might console itself with the reflection that none other possessed him more entirely. In latter years he went over to Calvinism with almost as little scruple, as, in his early childhood, he de¬ serted the Lutheran profession for the Romish. He defended the rights of the Protestants, rather than their opinions, against Spanish oppression ; not their faith, but their wrongs had made him their brother. These general grounds for suspicion, appeared to be justified by a discovery of his real intentions, which accident had made. William had remained in France, as hostage for the peace of Chateau Cambresis, in concluding which he had borne a part; and here, through the imprudence of Henry II., who imagined he spoke with a confidant of the King of Spain, he became acquainted with a secret plot, which the French and Spanish courts had formed against Protestants of both kingdoms. The prince hastened to communicate this impor- 32 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. tant discovery to his friends in Brussels, whom it so nearly concerned, and the letters which he ex¬ changed on the subject fell, unfortunately into the hands of the King of Spain. Philip was less surprised at this decisive disclosure of William’s sentiments, than incensed at the disappointment of his scheme ; and the Spanish nobles, who had never forgiven the prince that moment, when in the last act of his life the greatest of Emperors leaned upon his shoulders, did not neglect this favorable opportunity of finally ruining, in the good opinion of their king, the betrayer of a state secret. Of a lineage no less noble than that of William, was Lamoral, Count Egmont and Prince of Gavre, a descendant of the Dukes of Gueldres, whose martial courage had wearied out the arms of Austria. His family was highly distinguished in the annals of the country; one of his ancestors had, under Maximilian, already filled the office of Stadtholder over Holland. Egmont’s marriage with the Duchess Sabina of Bavaria, reflected additional lustre on the splen¬ dor of his birth, and made him powerful through the greatness of this alliance. Charles Y. had in the year 1516, conferred on him, at Utrecht, the order of the Golden Fleece ; the wars of this Em¬ peror were the school of his military genius, and the battle of St Quentin and Gravelines made him the hero of his age. Every blessing of peace, for which a commercial people feel most grateful, brought to mind the remembrance of the victory by which it was accelerated, and Flemish pride, like a fond mother, exulted over the illustrious son of their country, who had filled all Europe with admiration. Nine children who grew up under the eyes of their fellow citizens, multiplied and drew closer the ties between him and his fatherland, and the people’s grateful affection for the father was kept alive by the sight of those who were dearest to him. Every appearance of Egmont in public, was a triumphal procession ; every eye which was fastened upon him, recounted his history ; his deeds lived in the plaudits of his companions in arms ; at the games of chivalry, mothers pointed him out to their children. Affa¬ bility, a noble and courteous demeanour, the amiable virtues of chivalry, adorned and graced his merits. His liberal soul shone forth on his open brow; his frankheartedness managed his secrets no better than his benevolence did his estate, and a thought was no sooner his than it was the property of all. His religion was gentle and humane, but not very enlightened, because it derived its light from the heart, and not from his understanding. Egmont possessed more of con¬ science, than of fixed principles ; his head had not given him a code of its own, but had merely learned it by rote; the mere name of an action, therefore, was often with him sufficient for its condemnation. In his judgment, men were wholly bad or wholly good, and had either nothing bad or nothing good ; in this system of morals, there was no middle term between vice and virtue ; and consecpiently, a single good trait often decided his opinion of men. Egmont united all the emi¬ nent qualities which form the hero ; he was a Detter soldier than the Prince of Orange, but far inferior to him as a statesman ; the latter saw the world as it really was; Egmont viewed it in the magic mirror of an imagination, that embellished all that it reflected. Men, whom fortune has surprised with a reward, for which they can find no adequate ground in their actions, are, for the most part, very apt to forget the necessary con¬ nection between cause and effect, and to insert in the natural consequences of things a higher miraculous power, to which, as Caesar to his for¬ tune, they at last insanely trust. Such a charac¬ ter was Egmont. Intoxicated with the idea of his own merits, which the love and gratitude of his fellow citizens had exaggerated, he staggered on in this sweet reverie, as in a delightful world of dreams. He feared not, because he trusted to the deceitful pledge which destiny had given him of her favor, in the general love of the people, and he believed in its justice, because he himself was prosperous. Even the most terrible experi¬ ence of Spanish perfidy, could not afterward eradicate this confidence from his soul, and on the scaffold itself, his latest feeling was hope. A tender fear for his family kept his patriotic courage fettered by lower duties. Because he trembled for property and life, he could not venture much for the republic. William of Orange broke with the throne, because its arbitrary power was of¬ fensive to his pride ; Egmont was vain, and there¬ fore valued the favors of the monarch. The former was a citizen of the world ; Egmont had never been more than a Fleming. Philip II. still stood indebted to the hero of St. Quentin, and the supreme Stadtholdership of the Netherlands appeared the only appropriate reward for such great services. Birth and high station, the voice of the nation and personal abi¬ lities, spoke as loudly for Egmont as for Orange ; and if the latter was to be passed by, it seemed that the former alone could supplant him. Two such competitors, so equal in merit, might have embarrassed Philip in his choice, if he had ever seriously thought of selecting either of them for the appointment. But the pre-eminent quali¬ ties by which they supported their claim to this office, were the very cause of their rejection ; and it was precisely the ardent desire of the nation for their election to it, that irrevocably annulled their title to the appointment. Philip’s purpose would not be answered by a Stadtholder in the Netherlands who could command the good will and the energies of the people. Egmont’s de¬ scent from the Duke of Gueldres made him an hereditary foe of the house of Spain, and it seemed impolitic to place the supreme power in the hands of a man to whom the idea might occur of revenging on the son of the oppressor, the oppression of his ancestor. The slight put on their favorites could give no just offense either to the nation or to themselves, for it might be pretended that the king passed over both because he would not show a preference to either. The disappointment of his hopes of gaining the regency, did not deprive the Prince of Orange of all expectation of establishing, more firmly, his influence in the Netherlands. Among the other- candidates for this office, was also Christina, Du¬ chess of Lorraine, and aunt of the king, who, as 2—G. p. 34, HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 33 mediatrix of the peace of Chateau Cambresis, had rendered important service to the crown. William aimed at the hand of her daughter, and he hoped to promote his suit by actively inter¬ posing his good offices for the ‘mother; but he did not reflect that, through this very interces¬ sion, he ruined her cause. The Duchess Chris¬ tina was rejected, not so much for the reason al¬ leged, namely, the dependence of her territories on France made her an object of suspicion to the Spanish court, as because she was acceptable to the people of the Netherlands and the Prince of Orange. MARGARET OF PARMA, REGENT OF THE NETHER¬ LANDS. While the general expectation was on the stretch, as to whom the future destinies of the provinces would be committed, there appeared on the frontiers of the country the Duchess Marga¬ ret of Parma, having been summoned by the king from Italy, to assume the government. Margaret was a natural daughter of Charles V. and ©f a noble Flemish lady, named Yangeest, and born 1522. Out of regard for the honor of her mother’s house, she was at first educated in obscurity ; but her mother, who possessed more vanity than honor, was not very anxious to pre¬ serve the secret of her origin, and a princely edu¬ cation betrayed the daughter of the Emperor. While yet a child, she was intrusted to the Re¬ gent Margaret, her great aunt, to be brought up at Brussels, under her eye. This guardian she lost in her eighth year, and the care of her educa¬ tion devolved on Queen Mary of Hungary, the successor of Margaret in the regency. Her fa¬ ther had already affianced her, while yet in her fourth year, to a Prince of Ferrara; but this al¬ liance being subsequently dissolved, she was be¬ trothed to Alexander de Medicis, the new Duke of Florence, which marriage was, after the victo¬ rious return of the Emperor from Africa, actually consummated in Naples. In the first year of this unfortunate union, a violent death removed from her a husband who could not love her, and for the third time her hand was disposed of to serve the policy of her father. Octavius Farnese, a prince of thirteen years of age, and nephew of Paul III., obtained, with her person, the duchies of Parma and Piacenza as her portion. Thus, by a strange destiny, Margaret, at the age of ma¬ turity, was contracted to a boy, as in the years of infancy she had been sold to a man. Her dis¬ position, which was any thing but feminine, made this last alliance still more unnatural, for her taste and inclinations were masculine, and the whole tenor of her life belied her sex. After the example of her instructress, the Queen of Hun¬ gary, and her great aunt, the Duchess Mary of Bur¬ gundy, who met her death in this favorite sport, she was passionately fond of hunting, and had acquired in this pursuit such bodily vigor, that few men were better able to undergo its hardships and fatigues. Her gait itself was so devoid of grace, that one was far more tempted to take her for a disguised Vol. II.—3. man, than fora masculine woman ; and Nature, whom she had derided by thus transgressing the limits of her sex, revenged itself finally upon her by a disease peculiar to men'—the gout. These unusual qualities were crowned by a monkish superstition, which was infused into her mind by Ignatius Loyola, her confessor and teach¬ er. Among the charitable works and penances with which she mortified her vanity, one of the most remarkable was, that during Passion-week, she yearly washed, with her own hands, the feet of a number of poor men, (who were most strictly forbidden to cleanse themselves beforehand,) waited on them at table like a servant, and sent them away with rich presents. Nothing more is requisite than this last feature in her character, to account for the preference which the king gave her over all her rivals ; but his choice was at the same time justified by excel¬ lent reasons of state. Margaret was born and also educated in the Netherlands. She had spent her early youth among the people, and had ac¬ quired much of their national manners. Two regents, (Duchess Margaret, and Queen Mary of Hungary.) under whose eyes she had grown up, had gradually initiated her into the maxims by which this peculiar people might be most easily governed ; and they would also serve her as mo¬ dels. She did not want either in talents; and possessed, moreover, a particular turn for busi¬ ness, which she had acquired from her instruc¬ tors, and had afterward carried to greater per¬ fection in the Italian school. The Netherlands had been, for a number of years, accustomed to female government ; and Philip hoped, perhaps, that the sharp iron of tyranny, which he was about to use against them, would cut more gently, if wielded by the hands of a woman. Some regard for his father, who at the time was still living, and was much attached to Margaret, may have in a measure, as it is asserted, influ¬ enced this choice ; as it is also probable that the king wished to oblige the Duke of Parma, through this mark of attention to his wife, and thus to compensate for denying a request, which he was just then compelled to refuse him. As the ter¬ ritories of the duchess were surrounded by Philip’s Italian States, and at all times exposed to his arms, he could, with the less danger, intrust the supreme power into her hands. For his full secu¬ rity, her son, Alexander Farnese, was to remain at his court as a pledge for her loyalty. All these reasons were alone sufficiently weighty to turn the king’s decision in her favor ; but they became irresistible, when supported by the Bishop of Arras and the Duke of Alva. The latter, as it appears, because he hated or envied all the other competitors; the former, because even then, in all probability, he anticipated, from the wavering: disposition of this princess, abundant gratification for his ambition. Philip received the new regent on the frontiers- with a splendid cortege, and conducted her with, magnificent pomp to Ghent, where the States General had been convoked. As he did not in¬ tend to return soon to the Netherlands, he desired, before he left them, to gratify the nation for once, by holding a solemn diet, and thus giving a solemn 34 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. sanction and the force of law to his previous regu¬ lations. For the last time, he showed himself to his Netherlandish people, whose destinies were, from henceforth, to be dispensed from a mysteri¬ ous distance. To enhance the splendor of this solemn day, Philip invested eleven knights with the Order of the Golden Fleece, his sister being seated on a chair near himself, while he showed her to the nation as their future ruler. All the grievances of the people, touching the edicts, the inquisition, the detention of the Spanish troops, the taxes, and the illegal introduction of foreigners mi to the offices and administration of the country, were brought forward in this diet, and were hotly discussed by both parties; some of them were skillfully evaded, or apparently removed, others arbitrarily repelled. As the king was unacquainted with the language of the country, he addressed the nation through the mouth of the Bishop of Arras, recounted to them, with vain-glorious os¬ tentation, all the benefits of his government, as¬ sured them of his favor for the future, and once more recommended to the states, in the most earnest manner, the preservation of the Catholic faith, and the extirpation of heresy. The Spanish troops, he promised, should in a few months evacu¬ ate the Netherlands, if only they would allow him time to recover from the numerous burdens of the last w’ar, in order that he might be enabled to collect the means for paying the arrears of these troops; the fundamental laws of the nation should remain inviolate, the imposts should not be grievously burdensome, and the inquisition should administer its duties with justice and moderation. In the choice of a supreme stadtholder, he added, he had especially consulted the wishes of the nation, and had decided for a native of the country, who had been brought up in their manners and cus¬ toms, and was attached to them by a love to her native land. He exhorted them, therefore, to show their gratitude by honoring his choice, and obey¬ ing his sister, the duchess, as himself. Should, he concluded, unexpected obstacles oppose his return, he would send in his place his son, Prince Charles, who should reside in Brussels. A few members of this assembly, more coura¬ geous than the rest, once more ventured on a final effort for liberty of conscience. Every people, they argued, ought to be treated according to their natural character, as every individual must in accordance to his bodily constitution. Thus, for example, the south may be considered happy under a certain degree of constraint, which would press intolerably on the north. Never, they added, would the Flemings consent to a yoke under which, perhaps, the Spaniards bowed with patience; and rather than submit to it would they undergo any extremity, if it was sought to force such a yoke upon them. This remonstrance was supported by some of the king’s counselors, who strongly urged the policy of mitigating the rigor of religious edicts. But Philip remained inexor¬ able. Better not reign at all, was his answer, than reign over heretics ! According to an arrangement already made by Charles V., three councils or chambers were added to the regent, to assist her in the administration of state affairs. As long as Philip was himself present in the Netherlands, these courts had lost much of their power, and the functions of the first of them, the state council, were almost entirely suspended. Now, that he quitted the reins of government, they recovered their former import¬ ance. In the state council, which was to deli¬ berate upon war and peace, and security against external foes, sat the Bishop of Arras, the Prince of Orange, Count Egmont, the President of the Privy Council, Yiglius Van Zuichem, Van Aytta, and the Count of Barlaimont, President of the Chamber of Finance. All knights of the Golden Fleece, all privy counselors, and counselors of finance, as also the members of the great senate at Malines, which had been subjected by Charles V. to the privy council in Brussels, had a seat and vote in the Council of State, if expressly invited by the regent. The management of the royal revenues and crown lands was vested in the Chamber of Finance, and the Privv Council was occupied with the administration of justice, and the civil regulation of the country, and issued all letters of grace and pardon. The governments of the provinces, which had fallen vacant, were either filled up afresh, or the former governors were confirmed. Count Egmont received Flanders and Artois ; the Prince of Orange, Holland, Zea¬ land, Utrecht, and West Friesland ; the Count of Aremberg, East Friesland, Overyssel, and Groningen ; the Count of Mansfeld, Luxemburg ; Barlaimont, Namur; the Marquis of Bergen, Hainault, Chateau Cambresis, and Valenciennes ; the Baron of Montigny, Tournay and its depend¬ encies. Other provinces were given to some who have less claim to our attention. Philip of Mont¬ morency, Count of Hoorn, who had been succeeded by the Count of Megen in the government of Gueldres and Zutphen, was confirmed as admiral of the Belgian navy. Every governor of a pro¬ vince was, at the same time, a knight of the Golden Fleece, and member of the Council of State. Each had, in the province over which he presided, the command of the military force which protected it, the superintendence of the civil ad¬ ministration, and the judicature ; the governor of Flanders alone excepted, who was not allowed to interfere with the administration of justice. Bra¬ bant, alone, was placed under the immediate juris¬ diction of the regent, who, according to custom, chose Brussels for her constant residence. The induction of the Prince of Orange into his govern¬ ments was, properly speaking, an infraction of the constitution, since he was a foreigner ; but several estates which he either himself possessed in the provinces, or managed as guardian of his son, his long residence in the country, and, above all, the unlimited confidence the nation reposed in him, gave him substantial claims in default of a real title of citizenship. The military force of the Low Countries con¬ sisted, in its full complement, of three thousand horse. At present, it did not much exceed two thousand, and was divided into fourteen squad¬ rons, over which, besides the governors of the provinces, the Duke of Arschot, the Counts of Hoogstraten, Bostu, B-oeur, and Brederode held the chief command. This cavalry, which waa scattered through all the seventeen provinces, HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 35 was only to be called out on sudden emergencies. Insufficient as it was for any great undertaking, it was nevertheless, fully adequate for the main¬ tenance of internal order. Its courage had been approved in former wars, and the fame of its valpr was diffused through the whole of Europe. In addition to this cavalry, it was also proposed to levy a body of infantry, but, hitherto, the states had refused their consent to it. Of foreign troops, there were still some German regiments in the service, which were waiting for their pay. The four thousand Spaniards, respecting whom so many complaints had been made, were under two Spanish generals, Mendoza and Romero, and were in garrison in the frontier towns. Among the Belgian nobles, whom the king especially distinguished in these new appoint¬ ments, the names of Count Egmont and William of Orange stand conspicuous. However inveterate his hatred was of both, and particularly of the latter, Philip, nevertheless, gave them these public marks of his favor, because his scheme of vengeance was not yet fully ripe, and the people were en¬ thusiastic in their devotion to them. The estates of both were declared exempt from taxes, the most lucrative governments were entrusted to them; and by offering them the command of the Spaniards, whom he left behind in the country, the king flattered them with a confidence, which he was very far from really reposing in them. But at the very time, when he obliged the prince with these public marks of his esteem, he privately inflicted the most cruel injury on him. Appre¬ hensive lest an alliance with the powerful house of Lorraine might encourage this suspected vassal to bolder measures, he thwarted the negotiation for a marriage between him and a princess of that family, and crushed his hopes on the very eve of their accomplishment; an injury which the prince never forgave. Nay, his hatred to the prince on one occasion even got completely the better of his natural dissimulation, and seduced him iuto a step, in which we entirely lose sight of Philip II. When he was about to embark at Flushing, and the nobles of the country attended him to the shore, he so far forgot himself as roughly to accost the prince, and openly to accuse him of being the author of the Flemish troubles. The prince', answered temperately, that what had happened had been done by the states of their own sugges¬ tion, and on legitimate grounds. No, said Philip, seizing his hand and shaking it violently, not the states, but You! You! You ! The prince stood ni ite with astonishment, and without waiting for the king’s embarkation, wished him a safe journey and went back to the town. Thus the enmity which William had long har¬ bored in his breast against the oppressor of a free people, was now rendered irreconcilable by pri¬ vate hatred ; and this double incentive accelerated the great enterprise which tore from the Spanish crown seven of its brightest jewels. Philip had greatly deviated from his true char¬ acter, in taking so gracious a leave of the Nether¬ lands. The legal form of a diet, his promise to remove the Spaniards from the frontiers, the con¬ sideration of the popular wishes, which had led him to fill the most important offices of the coun¬ try with the favourites of the people, and finally, the sacrifice which he made to the constitution, in withdrawing the Count of Feria from the Coun¬ cil of State, were marks of condescension, of which his magnanimity was never again guilty. But, in fact, he never stood in greater need of the good will of the states, that with their aid he might, if possible, clear off the great burden of debt which was still attached to the Netherlands from , the former war. He hoped, therefore, by propitiating them through smaller sacrifices, to win approval of more important usurpations. H marked his departure with grace, for he knew in what hands he left them. The frightful scenes of death, which he intended for this unhappy people, were not to stain the splendor of majesty, which, like the Godhead, marks its course only with bene¬ ficence; that terrible distinction was reserved for his representatives. The establishment of the council of state was, however, intended rather to flatter the vanity of the Belgian nobility, than to impart to them any real influence. The historian Strada (who drew his information with regard to the regent from her own papers) has preserved a few r articles of the secret instructions, which the Spanish ministry gave her. Amongst other things it is there stated, if she observed that the councils were divided by factions, or what would be far worse, prepared by private conferences be¬ fore the session, and in league with one another, then she was to prorogue all the chambers, and dispose arbitrarily of the disputed articles in a more select council or committee.. In this select committee, which was called the Consulta, sat the Archbishop of Arras, the President Viglius, and the Count of Barlaimont. She was to act in the same manner if emergent cases required a prompt decision. Had this arrangement not been the work of an arbitrary despotism, it would perhaps have been justified by sound policy, and republi¬ can liberty itself might have tolerated it. In great assemblies, where many private interests and passions co-operate, where a numerous audience presents so great a temptation to the vanity of the orator, and parties often assail one another with unmannerly warmth, a decree can seldom be passed with that sobriety and mature deliberation which, if the members are properly selected, a smaller body readily admits of. In a numerous body of men, too, there is, we must suppose, a greater number of limited than of en¬ lightened intellects, who through their equal right of vote, frequently turn the majority on the side of ignorance. A second maxim which the regent was especially to observe, was to select the very members of council, who had voted against any decree, to carry it into execution. By this means, not only would the people be kept in ignorance of the originators of such a law, but the private quarrels also of the members would be restrained, and a greater freedom insured in voting in com¬ pliance with the wishes of the court. In spite of all these precautions, Philip would never have been able to leave the Netherlands with a quiet mind, so long as he knew that the chief power in the council of state, and, and the obedience of the provinces were in the hands of the suspected nobles. In order, therefore, to ap- 36 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. pease his fears from this quarter, and also, at the same time, to assure himself of the fidelity of the regent, he subjected her, and through her, all the affairs of the judicature, to the higher control of the Bishop of Arras. In this single individual, he possessed an adequate counterpoise to the most dreaded cabal. To him, as to an infallible oracle of majesty, the duchess was referred, and in him there watched a stern supervisor of her adminis¬ tration. Among all his cotemporaries, Granvella was the only one whom Philip II. appears to have excepted from his universal distrust; as long as he knew that this man was in Brussels, he could sleep calmly in Segovia. He left the Nether¬ lands ir September, 1559, was saved from a storm wdiich sank his fleet, and landed at Laredo, in Biscay, and in his gloomy joy thanked the Deity who had preserved him, by a detestable vow. In the hands of a priest, and of a woman, was placed the dangerous helm of the Netherlands; and the dastardly tyrant escaped in his oratory at Madrid the supplications, the complaints, and the curses of the people. BOOK II. CARDINAL GRANVELLA. Anthony Perenot, Bishop of Arras, subse¬ quently Archbishop of Malines, and Metropolitan of all the Netherlands, who, under the name of Cardinal Granvella, has been immortalized by the hatred of his cotemporaries, was born in the year 1516, at Besancon, in Burgundy. His father, Nicolaus Perenot, the son of a blacksmith, had risen by his own merits to be the private sec¬ retary of Margaret, Duchess of Savoy, at that time Regent of the Netherlands. In this post, he was noticed for his habits of business by Charles V., who took him into his own service, and em¬ ployed him in several important negotiations. For twenty years he was a member of the Em¬ peror’s cabinet, and filled the offices of privy coun¬ selor and keeper of the king’s seal, and shared in all the state secrets of that monarch. He ac¬ quired a large fortune. His honors, his influence, and his political knowledge, were inherited by his son, Anthony Perenot, who in his early years gave proofs of the great capacity, which subsequently opened to him so distinguished a career. Anthony had cultivated, at several colleges, the talents with which nature had so lavishly endowed him, and in some respects had an advantage over his father. He soon showed that his own abilities were suffi¬ cient to maintain the advantageous position, which the merits of another had procured him. He was twenty-four years old when the Emperor sent him as his plenipotentiary to the ecclesiastical council of Trent, where he delivered the first spe¬ cimen of that eloquence, which in the sequel gave him so complete an ascendency over two kings. Charles employed him in several difficult embas¬ sies, the duties of which he fulfilled to the satis¬ faction of his sovereign, and when finhlly, that emperor resigned the sceptre to his son, he made that costly present complete, by giving him a minister who could help him to wield it. Granvella opened his new career at once, with the greatest masterpiece of political genius, in passing so easily from the favor of such a father into equal consideration with such a son. And he soon proved himself deserving it. At the secret negotiations, of which the Duchess of Lor¬ raine had, in 1558, been the medium between the French and Spanish ministers at Peronne, he planned, jointly with the Cardinal of Lorraine, that conspiracy against the Protestants, which was afterward matured, but also betrayed, at Chateau Cambresis, where Perenot, likewise, assisted in effecting the so-called peace. A deeply penetrating, comprehensive intellect, an unusual facility in conducting great and intri¬ cate affairs, and the most extensive learning, were wonderfully united in this man, with persevering industry and never-wearying patience, while his enterprising genius was associated with thought¬ ful mechanical regularity*. Day and night, the state found him vigilant and collected; the most important and the most insignificant things were alike weighed by him with scrupulous attention. Not unfrequently he employed five secretaries at one time, dictating to them in different languages, of which he is said to have spoken seven. What his penetrating mind had slowly matured, acquired in his lips both force and grace, and truth, set forth by his persuasive eloquence, irresistibly car¬ ried away all hearers. He was tempted by none of the passions, which make .slaves of most men. His integrity was incorruptible. With shrewd penetration he saw through the disposition of his master, and could read in his features his whole train of thought, and, as it were, the approaching form in the shadow which outran it. With an ar¬ tifice rich in resources, he came to the aid of Philip’s more inactive mind, formed into perfect thought his master’s crude ideas while they yet hung on his lips, and liberally allowed him the glory of the discovery.' Granvella understood the difficult and useful art of depreciating his own talents; of making his own genius the seeming slave of another ; thus he ruled while he concealed his sway, and only in this manner could Philip II. be governed. Content with a silent but real power, he did not grasp insatiably at new and outward marks of it, which, wfith lesser minds, are ever the nnTM coveted objects : but every new distinction seemed to sit upon him as easily as the oldest. No wonder if such extraordinary endowments had alone gained him the favor of his master; but a large and valuable treasure of political secrets and experiences, which the active life of Charles Y. had accumulated, and had deposited in the mind of this man, made him indispensable to his suc¬ cessor. Self-sufficient as the latter was, and ac¬ customed to confide in his own understanding, his timid and crouching policy was fain to lean on a superior mind, and to aid its own irresolution not only by precedent, but also by the influence and example of another. No political matter which concerned the royal interest, even when Philip himself was in the Netherlands, was decided with¬ out the intervention of Granvella; and when the HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 37 king embarked for Spain, he made the new regent the same valuable present of the minister, which he himself had received from the emperor his father. Common as it is for despotic princes to bestow unlimited confidence on the creatures whom they have raised from the dust, and of whose greatness they themselves are, in a measure, the creators, the present is no ordinary instance; pre-eminent must have been the qualities, which could so far conquer the selfish reserve of such a character as Philip’s, as to gain his confidence, nay, even to win him into familiarity. The slightest ebullition of the most allowable self-respect, which might have tempted him to assert, however slightly, his claim to any idea which the king had once en¬ nobled as his own, would have cost him his whole influence. He might gratify, without restraint, the lowest passions of voluptuousness, of rapacity, and of revenge, but the only one in which he really took delight, the sweet consciousness of his own superiority and power, he was constrained carefully to conceal from the suspicious glance of the despot. He voluntarily disclaimed all the eminent qualities, which were already his own, in order, as it were, to receive them a second time from the generosity of the king. His happiness seemed to flow from no other source, no other person could have a claim upon his gratitude. The purple, which was sent to him from Rome was not assumed until the royal permission reached him from Spain; by laying it down on the steps of the throne, he appeared, in a mea¬ sure, to receive it first from the hands of Ma¬ jesty. Less politic, Alva erected a trophy in Antwerp, and inscribed his own name under the victory which he had won as the servant of the crown; but Alva carried with him to the grave the displeasure of his master. He had invaded with audacious hand the royal prerogative, by drawing immediately at the fountain of immor¬ tality. Three times, Granvella changed his master, and three times he succeeded in rising to the highest favor. With the same facility with which he had guided the settled pride of an autocrat, and the sly egotism of a despot, he knew how to manage the delicate vanity of a woman. His business be¬ tween himself and the regent, even when they were in the same house, was, for the most part, transacted by the medium of notes, a custom which draws its date from the time of Augustus and Tiberius. When the regent was in any perplex¬ ity, these notes were interchanged from hour to hour. He probably adopted this expedient in the hope of eluding the watchful jealousy of the no¬ bility, and concealing from them, in part, at least, bis influence over the regent. Perhaps, too, he also believed that, by this means, his advice would become more permanent; and, in case of need, this written testimony would be at hand to shield him from blame. But the vigilance of the nobles made this caution vain, and it was soon known in all the provinces, that nothing was determined upon without the minister’s advice. Granvella possessed all the qualities requisite for a perfect statesman in a monarchy governed by despotic principles, but was absolutely unqua¬ lified for republics which are governed by kings. Educated between the throne and the confessional, he knew of no other relation between man and man than that of rule and subjection ; and the innate consciousness of his own superiority gave him a contempt for others. His policy wanted pliabi¬ lity, the only virtue which was here indispensable to its success. He was naturally overbearing and insolent, and the royal authority only gave arms to the natural impetuosity of his disposition and the imperiousness of his order. He vailed his own ambition beneath the interests of the crown, and made the breach between the nation and the king incurable, because it would render him in¬ dispensable to the latter. He revenged on the nobility the lowliness of his own origin ; and, after the fashion of all those who have risen by their own merits, he valued the advantages ot birth below those by which he had raised himself to distinction. The Protestants saw in him their most implacable foe; to his charge were laid all the burdens which oppressed the country, and they pressed the more heavily because they came from him. Nay, he was even accused of having brought back to severity the milder sentiments, to which the urgent remonstrances of the states hat at last disposed the monarch. The Nether¬ lands execrated him as the most terrible enemy of their liberties, and the originator of all the mi¬ sery which subsequently came upon them. 1559. Philip had evidently left the provinces too soon. The new measures of the government were still strange to the people, and could receive sanction and authority from his presence alone; the new machines, which he had brought into play, required to be set in motion by a dreaded and powerful hand, and to have their first move¬ ments watched and regulated. He now exposed his minister to all the angry passions of the peo¬ ple, who no longer felt restrained by the fetters of the royal presence ; and he delegated to the weak arm of a subject the execution of projects, in which majesty itself, with all its powerful sup¬ ports might have failed. The land, indeed, flourished; and a general prosperity appeared to testify to the blessings of the peace which had so lately been bestowed upon it. An external repose deceived the eye, for within raged all the elements of discord. 11 the foundations of religion totter in a country, they totter not alone; the audacity which begins with things sacred ends with things profane. The successful attack upon the hierarchy had awakened a spirit of boldness, and a desire to as¬ sail authority in general, and to test laws as well as dogmas—duties as well as opinions. The fa¬ natical boldness, with which men had learned to discuss and decide upon the affairs of eternity, might change its subject matter; the contempt for life and property which religious enthusiasm had taught, could metamorphose timid citizens into foolhardy rebels. A female government of nearly forty years, had given the nation room to assert their liberty ; continual wars, of which the Netherlands had been the theatre, had introduced a license with them, and the right of the stronger had usurped the place of law and order. The provinces were filled with foreign adventurers 38 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANPfL and fugitives ; generally men bound by no ties of country, family, or property, who had brought with them, from their unhappy homes, the seeds of insubordination and rebellion. The repeated spectacles of torture and of death had rudely burst the tender threads of moral feeling, and had given an unnatural harshness to the national character. Still the rebellion would have crouched timor¬ ously and silently on the ground, if it had not' found a support in the nobility. Charles Y. had spoiled the Flemish nobles of the Netherlands by making them the participators .of his glory, by fostering their national pride, by the marked preference he showed for them over the Castilian nobles, and by opening an arena to their ambi¬ tion in every part of his empire. In the late war with France, they had really deserved this pre¬ ference from Philip ; the advantages which the king reaped from the peace of Chateau Cambresis were, for the most part, the fruits of their valor, and they now sensibly missed the gratitude on which they had so confidently reckoned. More¬ over. the separation of the German empire from the Spanish monarchy, and the less warlike spirit of the new government, had greatly narrowed their sphere of action, and except in their own country, little remained for them to gain. And Philip now appointed his Spaniards, where Charles Y. had employed the Flemings. All the passions, which the preceding government had raised and kept employed, still survived in peace ; and in default of a legitimate object, these un¬ ruly feelings found, unfortunately, ample scope in the grievances of their country. Accordingly, the claims and wrongs which had been long sup¬ planted by new passions, were now drawn from oblivion. By his late appointments, the king had satisfied no party ; for those even who obtained offices were not much more content than those who were entirely passed over, because they had calculated on something better than they got. William of Orange had received four govern¬ ments, (not to reckon some smaller dependencies which, taken together, were equivalent to a fifth,) but William had nourished hopes of Flanders and Brabant. He and Count Egmont forgot what had really fallen to their share, and only remembered that they had lost the regency. The majority of the nobles were either plunged into debt by their own extravagance, or had willingly enough been drawn into it by the government. Now that they were excluded from the prospect of lucrative appointments, they at once saw them¬ selves exposed to poverty, which pained them the more sensibly, when they contrasted the splendor of the affluent citizens with their own necessities. In the extremities to which they were reduced, many would have readily assisted in the commis¬ sion even of crimes ; how then could they resist the seductive offers of the Calvinists, who libe¬ rally repaid them for their intercession and pro¬ tection ? Lastly, many whose estates were past redemption, placed their last hope in a general devastation, and stood prepared, at the first favo¬ rable moment, to cast the torch of discord into the Republic. This threatening aspect of the public mind, was rendered still more alarming by the unfortunatt vicinity of France.* What Philip dreaded for the provinces, was there already accomplished. The fate of that kingdom prefigured to him the destiny of his Netherlands, and the spirit ’of rebellion found there a seductive example. A familiar state of things had, under Francis I. and Henry II., scattered the seeds of innovation in that kingdom ; a similar fury of persecution, and a like spirit of faction had encouraged its growth. Now, Hugue¬ nots and Catholics were struggling in a dubious contest, furious parties disorganized the whole monarchy, and were violently hurrying this once- powerful state to the brink of destruction. Here, as there, private interest, ambition, and party feel¬ ing might vail themselves under the names of re¬ ligion and patriotism, and the passions of a few citizens drive the entire nation to take up arms. The frontiers of both countries merged in Wal¬ loon Flanders ; the rebellion might, like an agi¬ tated sea, cast its waves as far as this: would a country be closed against it, whose language, manners, and character wavered between those of France and Belgium ? As yet, the government had taken no census of its Protestant subjects in these countries, but the new sect, it was aware, was a vast, compact republic, which extended its roots through all the monarchies of Christendom, and the slightest disturbance in any of its most distant members vibrated to its centre. It was, as it were, a chain of threatening volcanoes, which, united by subterraneous passages, ignite at the same moment with alarming sympathy. The Ne¬ therlands were, necessarily, open to all nations, becanse they derived their support from all. Was it possible for Philip to close a commercial state as easily as he could Spain ? If he wished to pu¬ rify these provinces from heresy, it was necessary for him to commence by extirpating it in France. It was in this state that Granvella found the Netherlands at the beginning of his administra¬ tion (1560). To restore to these countries the uniformity of papistry, to break the co-ordinate power of the nobility and the states, and to exalt the royal au¬ thority on the ruins of republican freedom, was the great object of Spanish policy, and the express commission of the new minister. But obstacles stood in the way of its accomplishment; to con¬ quer these demanded the invention of .new re¬ sources, the application of new machinery. The inquisition, indeed, and the religious edicts ap¬ peared sufficient to check the contagion of heresy; but the latter required superintendence, and the former able instruments, for its now extended jurisdiction. The church constitution continued the same as it had been in earlier times, when the provinces were less populous, when the church still enjoyed universal repose, and could be more easily overlooked and controlled. A succession of several centuries, which changed the whole interior form of the provinces, had left the form of the hierarchy unaltered, which, moreover, was protected from the arbitrary will of its ruler by the particular privileges of .the provinces. All the seventeen provinces were parceled out under four bishops, who had their seats at Arras. Tour- nay, Cambray, and Utrecht, and were subject to HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 39 the primates of Rheims and Cologne. Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, had, indeed, meditated an increase in the number of the bishops, to meet the wants of the increasing population, but, un¬ fortunately, in the excitement of a life of plea¬ sure, had abandoned the project. Ambition and lust of conquest withdrew the mind of Charles the Bold from the internal concerns of his king¬ dom, and Maximilian had already too many sub¬ jects of dispute with the states, to venture to add to their number by proposing this change. A stormy reign prevented Charles V. from the execution of this extensive plan, which Philip II. now undertook as a bequest from all these princes. The moment had now arrived when the urgent necessities of the church would excuse the inno¬ vation, and the leisure of peace favored its accom¬ plishment. With the prodigious crowd of people from all the countries of Europe who were crowd¬ ed together in the towns of the Netherlands, a multitude of religious opinions had also grown up; and it was impossible that religion could any longer be effectually superintended by so few eyes, as were formerly sufficient.. While the num¬ ber of bishops was so small, their districts must, of necessity, have been proportionably extensive, and four men could not be adequate to maintain the purity of the faith through so wide a dis¬ trict. The jurisdiction, which the archbishops of Cologne and Rheims exercised over the Neth¬ erlands, had long been a stumbling-block to the government, which could not look on this terri¬ tory as really its own property, so long as such an important branch of power was still wielded by foreign hands. To snatch this prerogative from the alien archbishops; by new and active agents to give fresh life and vigor to the superintendence of the faith, and, at the same time, to strengthen the number of the partisans of government at the diet, no more effectual means could be de¬ vised than to increase the number of bishops. Resolved upon doing this, Philip II. ascended the throne; but he soon found that a change in the hierarchy would inevitably meet with warm opposition from the states, without whose con¬ sent, nevertheless, it would be vain to attempt it. Philip foresaw that the nobility would never ap¬ prove of a measure which would so strongly augment the royal party, and take from the aris¬ tocracy the preponderance of power in the diet. The revenues, too, for the maintenance of these new bishops, must be diverted from the abbots and monks, and these formed a considerable part of the states of the realm. He had, beside, to fear the opposition of the Protestants, would not fail to act secretly in the diet against him. On these accounts, the whole affair was discussed at Rome with the greatest possible secresy. In¬ structed by, and as the agent of, Granvella, Francis Sonn.oi, a priest of Louvain, came before Paul IV., to inform him how extensive the prov¬ inces were, how thriving and populous, how luxu¬ rious in their prosperity. But, he continued, in the immoderate enjoyment of liberty the true faith is neglected, and heretics prosper. To ob¬ viate this evil the Romish See must have recourse to extraordinary measures. It was not difficult to prevail on the Romish pontiff to make a change, which would enlarge the sphere of his own juris¬ diction. Paul IV. appointed a tribunal of seven cardi¬ nals to deliberate upon this important matter; but death called him away, and he left to his successor, Pius IV., the duty of carrying their advice into execution. The welcome tidings of the pope’s determination reached the king in Zea¬ land, when he was just on the point of setting sail for Spain, and the minister was secretly charged with the dangerous reform. The new constitution of the hierarchy was published in 1560; in addition to the then existing four bishoprics, thirteen new ones were established, according to the number of seventeen provinces, and four of them were raised into archbishoprics. Six of these episcopal sees, viz., in Antwerp, Herzogenbusch, Ghent, Bruges, Ypres, and Ru- remonde, were placed under the archbishopric of Malines ; five others, Haarlem, Middelburg, Leu- warden, Deventer, and Groningen, under the arch¬ bishopric of Utrecht; and the remaining four, Arras, Tournay, St. Omer, and Namur, which lie nearest to France, and have language, character, and manners in common with that country, under the archbishopric of Cambray. Malines, situated in the middle of Brabant, and in the centre of all the seventeen provinces, was made the primacy of all the rest, and was, with several rich abbeys, the reward of Granvella. The revenues of the new bishoprics were provided by an appropriation of the treasures of the cloisters and abbeys, which had accumulated from pious benefactions during centuries. Some of the abbots were raised to the episcopal throne, and with the possession of their cloisters and prelacies, retained also the vote at the diet which was attached to them. At the same time, to every bishopric nine prebends were attached, and bestowed on the most learned jurisconsultists and theologians, who were to support the Inquisition and the bishop in his spiritual office. Of these, the two who were most deserving by knowledge, expe¬ rience, and unblemished life, were to be consti¬ tuted actual inquisitors, and to have had the first voice in the synods. To the archbishop of Ma¬ lines, as metropolitan of all the seventeen prov¬ inces, the full authority was given to appoint, or at discretion to depose, archbishops and bishops, and the Romish See only to give its ratification to his acts. At any other period, the nation would have re¬ ceived with gratitude, and approved of such a measure of church reform ; since it was fully called for by circumstances, was conducive to the inter¬ ests of religion, and absolutely indispensable for the moral reformation of the monkhood. Now the temper of the times saw in it nothing but a hateful change. Universal was the indignation with which it was received. A cry was raised that the constitution was trampled under foot, the rights of the nation violated, and that the Inqui¬ sition was already at the door, and would soon open here, as in Spain, its bloody tribunal. The people beheld with dismay these new servants of arbitrary power and of persecution. The nobility saw in it nothing but a strengthening of the royal 40 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. authority by the addition of fourteen votes in the states’ assembly, and a withdrawal of the firmest prop of their freedom, the balance of the royal and the civil power. The old bishops complained of the diminution of their incomes, and the cir¬ cumscription of their sees ; the abbots and monks had not only lost power and income, but had re¬ ceived in exchange rigid censors of their morals. Noble and simple, laity and clergy, united against the common foe, and while all singly struggled for some petty private interest, the cry appeared to come from the formidable voice of patriotism. Among all the provinces, Brabant was loud¬ est in its opposition. The inviolability of its church constitution was one of the important privileges which it had reserved in the remarkable charter of the “Joyful Entry”-—statutes which the sovereign could not violate, without releasing the nation from its allegiance to him. In vain did the university of Louvain assert, that in dis¬ turbed times of the church, a privilege lost its power, which had been granted in the period of its tranquillity. The introduction of,the new bish¬ oprics into the constitution was thought to shake the whole fabric of liberty. The prelacies, which were now transferred to the bishops, must hence¬ forth serve another rule than the advantage of the province of whose states they had been members. The once free patriotic citizens were to be instru¬ ments of the Romish See, and obedient tools of the archbishop, who again, as first prelate of Bra¬ bant, had the immediate control over them. The freedom of voting was gone, because the bishops, as servile spies of the crown, made every one fear¬ ful. “Who,” it was asked, “will after this ven¬ ture to raise his voice in Parliament before such observers, or, in their presence, dare to protect the rights of the nation against the rapacious hands of the government? They will trace out the resources of the provinces, and betray to the crown the secrets of our freedom and our prop¬ erty. They will obstruct the way to all offices of honor ; we shall soon see the courtiers of the king succeed the present men; the children of foreign¬ ers will, for the future, fill the Parliament, and the private interest of their patron will guide their venal votes.” “ What an act of oppres¬ sion,” rejoined the monks, “ to pervert to other objects the pious designs of our holy institutions, to contemn the inviolable wishes of the dead, and to take that which a devout charity had deposited in our chests for the relief of the unfortunate, and make it subservient to the luxury of bishops, thus inflating their arrogant pomp with the plunder of the poor?” Not only the abbots and monks, who really did suffer by this act of appropriation, but every family which could flatter itself with the slightest hope of enjoying, at some time or other, even in the most remote posterity, the benefit of this monastic foundation, felt this disappointment of their distant expectations as much as if they had suffered an actual injury, and the wrongs of a few abbot prelates became the concern of a whole nation. Historians have not omitted to record the co¬ vert proceedings of William of Orange during this general commotion, who labored to conduct to one end these various and conflicting passions. At his instigation, the people of Brabant peti¬ tioned the regent for an advocate and protector, since they alone, of all his Flemish subjects, had the misfortune to unite, in one and the same per¬ son, their counsel and their ruler. Had the de¬ mand been granted, their choice could fall on no other than the Prince of Orange. But Granvelia, with his usual presence of mind, broke through the snare. “The man who receives this office,” he declared in the state council, “ will, I hope, see that he divides Brabant with the king!” The long delay of the papal bull, which was kept back by a misunderstanding between the Romish and Spanish courts, gave the disaffected an oppor- tunity to combine for a common object. In per¬ fect secresy, the states of Brabant dispatched an extraordinary messenger to Pius IV., to urge their wishes in Rome itself. The ambassador was provided with important letters of recom¬ mendation from the Prince of Orange, and car¬ ried with him considerable sums to pave his way to the father of the church. At the same time, a public letter was forwarded from the city of Ant¬ werp to the King of Spain, containing the most urgent representations, and supplicating him to spare that flourishing commercial town from the threatened innovation. 'They knew, it was stated, that the intentions of the monarch were the best, and that the institution of the new bishops was likely to be highly conducive to the maintenance of true religion ; but the foreigners could not be convinced of this, and on them depended the prosperity of their town. Among them the most groundless rumors would be as perilous as the most true. The first embassy was discovered in time, and its object disappointed by the prudence of the regent; by the second, the town of Ant¬ werp gained so far its point, that it was to remain without a bishop, at least until the personal arrival of the king, which was talked of. The example and success of Antwerp gave the signal of opposition to all the other towns, for which a new bishop was intended. It is a re¬ markable proof of the hatred to the Inquisition, and the unanimity of the Flemish towns at this date, that they preferred to renounce all the ad¬ vantages which the residence of a bishop would necessarily bring to their local trade, rather than by their consent promote that abhorred tribunal, and thus act in opposition to the interests of the whole nation. Deventer, Ruremond, and Leu- warden, placed themselves in determined opposi¬ tion, and (1561) successfully carried their point; in the other towns, the bishops were, in spite of all remonstrances, forcibly inducted. Utrecht, Haarlem, St. Omer, and Middelburg were among the first which opened their gates to them ; the remaining towns followed their example; but in Malines and Herzogenbusch the bishops were re¬ ceived with very little respect. When Granvelia made his solemn entry into the former town, not a single nobleman showed himself, and his triumph was wanting in every thing that could make it real, because those remained away over whom it was meant to be celebrated. In the mean time, too, the period had elapsed within which the Spanish troops were to have left the country, and, as yet, there was no appearance HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 41 of their being withdrawn. People perceived with terror the real cause of the delay, and suspicion lent it a fatal connection with the Inquisition. The detention of these troops, as it rendered the nation more vigilant and distrustful, made it more difficult for the minister to proceed with the other innovations, and yet, he would fain not deprive himself of this powerful and apparently indispen¬ sable aid, in a country where all hated him, and in the execution of a commission to which all were opposed. At last, however, the regent saw herself compelled by the universal murmurs of discontent, to urge most earnestly upon the king the necessity of the withdrawal of the troops. “The provinces,” she writes to Madrid, “have unanimously declared that they would never again be induced to grant the extraordinary taxes re¬ quired by the government, as long as word was not kept with them in this matter. The danger of a revolt was far more imminent, than that of an attack by the French Protestants, and if a re¬ bellion was to take place in the Netherlands, these forces would be too weak to repress it, and there was not sufficient money in the treasury to enlist new.” By delaying his answer, the king still sought at least to gain time, and the reite¬ rated representations of the regent would still have remained ineffectual, if, fortunately for- the provinces, a loss, which he had lately suffered from the 'Turks, had not compelled him to employ these troops in the Mediterranean. He, there¬ fore, at last consented to their leaving; they were embarked 1561, in Zealand, and the exult¬ ing shouts of all the provinces accompanied their departure. Meanwhile, Granvella ruled in the council of state almost uncontrolled. All officers, secular and spiritual, were given away through him ; his opinion prevailed against the unanimous voice of the whole assembly. The regent herself was governed by him. He had contrived to manage so that her appointment was made out for two years only, and by this expedient he kept her always in his power. It seldom happened that any important affair was submitted to the other members, and if it really did occur, it was only such as had been long before decided, to which it was only necessary for formality’s sake to give their sanction. Whenever a royal letter was read, Yiglius received instructions to omit all such passages as were underlined by the minister, It often happened that this correspondence with Spain laid open the weakness of the government, or the anxiety felt by the regent, with which it was not expedient to inform the members, whose loyalty was distrusted. If again it occurred that the opposition gained a majority over the minis¬ ter, and insisted with determination on an article, which he could not well put off any longer, he sent it to the ministry at Madrid for their deci¬ sion, by which he at least gained time, and in any case was certain to find support. With the ex¬ ception of the Count of Barlaimont, the President Viglius, and a few others, all the other counsel¬ ors were but superfluous figures in the senate, aud the minister’s behavior to them marked the small value which he placed upon their friendship and adherence. No wonder that men, whose pride had been so greatly indulged by the flatter¬ ing attentions of sovereign princes, and to whom, as to the idols of their country, their fellow citi¬ zens paid the most reverential submission, should be highly indignant at this arrogance of a ple¬ beian. Many of them had been personally in¬ sulted by Granvella. The Prince of Orange wa3 well aware that it was he who had prevented his marriage with the Princess of Lorraine, and that he had also endeavored to break off the negotia¬ tions for another alliance with the Princess of Savoy. He had deprived Count Horn of the go¬ vernment of Gueldres and Zutphen, and had kept for himself an abbey, which Count Egmont had in vain exerted himself to obtain for a rela¬ tion. Confident of his superior power, he did not even think it worth while to conceal from the no¬ bility his contempt for them, and which, as the •rule, marked his whole administration; William of Orange was the only one with whom he deemed it* advisable to dissemble. Although he really believed himself to be raised far above all the laws of fear and decorum, still in this point, how¬ ever, his confident arrogance misled him, and he erred no less against policy than he sinned against propriety. In the existing posture of affairs, the government could hardly have adopted a worse measure than that of throwing disrespect on the nobility. It had it in its power to flatter the pre¬ judices and feelings of the aristocracy, and thus artfully and imperceptibly win them over to its plans, and through them, subvert the edifice of national liberty. Now it admonished them, most inopportunely of their duties, their dignity, and their power; calling upon them even to be pa¬ triots, and to devote to the cause of true great¬ ness, an ambition which hitherto it had inconsi¬ derately repelled. To carry into effect the ordi¬ nances, it required the active co-operation of the lieutenant governors; no wonder, however, that the latter showed but little zeal to afford this as¬ sistance. On the contrary, it is highly probable that they silently labored to augment the difficul¬ ties of the minister, and to subvert his measures, and, through his ill success, to diminish the king’s confidence in him, and expose his administration to contempt. The rapid progress which, in spite of those horrible edicts, the Reformation made during Granvella’s administration in the Nether¬ lands, is evidently to be ascribed to the lukewarm¬ ness of the nobility in opposing it. If the minis¬ ter had been sure of the nobles, he might have despised the fury of the mob, which would have impotently dashed itself against the dreaded bar¬ riers of the throne. The sufferings of the citizens lingered long in tears and sighs, until the arts and the example of the nobility called forth a louder expression of them. Meanwhile the inquisitions into religion were carried on with renewed vigor, by the crowd of new laborers, (1561, 1562.) and the edicts against heretics were enforced with fearful obedience. But the critical moment when this detestable re¬ medy might have been applied, was allowed to pass by; the nation had become too strong and vigor¬ ous for such rough treatment. The new religion could now be extirpated only by the death of all its professors. The present executions were but 42 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. bo many alluring exhibitions of its excellence, so many scenes of its triumphs and radiant virtue. The heroic greatness with which the victims died, made converts to the opinions for which they per¬ ished. One martyr gained ten new proselytes. Not in towns only, or villages, but on the very highways, in the boats and public carriages, dis- pites were held, touching the dignity of the pope, the saints, purgatory, and indulgences, and ser¬ mons were preached and men converted. From the country and from the towns, the common people rushed in crowds to rescue the prisoners of the Holy Tribunal from the hands of its satellites, and the municipal officers who ventured to sup¬ port it with the civil forces, *were pelted with stones. Multitudes accompanied the Protestant preachers, whom the Inquisition pursued, bore them on their shoulders to and from church, and at the risk of their lives, concealed them from their persecutors. The first province, which was seized with the fanatical spirit of rebellion, was, as had been expected, Walloon Flanders. A French Calvinist, by name Lannoi, set himself up in Tournay as a worker of miracles, where he hired a few women to simulate diseases, and to pretend to be cured by him. He preached in the woods near the town, drew the people in great numbers after him, and scattered in their minds the seeds of rebellion. Similar teachers appeared in Lille and Valenciennes, but in the latter place, the municipal functionaries succeeded in seizing the persons of these incendiaries. While, however, they delayed to execute them, their followers in¬ creased so rapidly, that they became sufficiently strong to break open the prisons, and forcibly de¬ prive justice of its victims. Troops at last were brought into the town, and order restored. But this trifling occurrence had, for a moment, with¬ drawn the vail which had hitherto concealed the strength of the Protestant party, and allowed the minister to compute their prodigious numbers. In Tournay alone, five thousand at one time had been seen attending the sermons, and not many less in Valenciennes. What might not be ex¬ pected from the northern provinces, where liberty was greater, and the seat of government more re¬ mote, and where the vicinity of Germany and Denmark multiplied the sources of contagion ? One slight provocation had sufficed to draw from ts concealment so formidable a multitude. How much greater, was perhaps, the number of those who, in their hearts, acknowledged the new sect, and only waited for a favorable opportunity to publish their adhesion to it. This discovery greatly alarmed the regent. The scanty obedience paid to the edicts, the wants of the exhausted treasury, which compelled her to impose new taxes, and the suspicious movements of the Hu¬ guenots on the French frontiers, still further in¬ creased her anxiety. At the same time, she received a command from Madrid to send off two thousand Flemish cavalry to the army of the Queen Mother in France, who in the distresses of the religious war, had recourse to Philip II. for as¬ sistance. Every affair of faith, in whatever land it might be, was made by Philip his own business. He felt it as keenly as any catastrophe which could befall his own house, and in such cases always stood ready to sacrifice his means to foreign necessities. If it were interested motives that here swayed him, they were at least kingly and grand, and the bold support of his principles wins our admiration, as much as their cruelty withholds our esteem. The regent laid before the Council of State the royal will on the subject of these troops, but with a very warm opposition on the part of the nobili¬ ty. Count Kgmont and the Prince of Orange declared that the time was ill chosen, for strip¬ ping the Netherlands of troops, when the aspect of affairs rendered rather the enlistment of new levies advisable. The movements of the troops in France momentarily threatened a surprise, and the commotions within the provinces demanded, more than ever, the utmost vigilance on the part of the government. Hitherto, they said, the German Protestants had looked idly on during the struggles of their brethren in the faith ; but will they continue to do so, especially when we are lending our aid to strengthen the enemy ? By thus acting, shall we not rouse their vengeance against us, and call their arms into the northern Netherlands ? Nearly the whole Council of State joined in this opinion, their representations were energetic and not to be gainsayed. The regent herself, as well as the minister, could not but feel their truth, and their own interests appeared to forbid obedience to the royal mandate. Would it not be impolitic to withdraw from the Inquisition its sole prop, by removing the larger portion of the army, and in a rebellious country to leave themselves without defense, dependent on the ar¬ bitrary will of an arrogant aristocracy? While the regent, divided between the royal commands, the urgent importunity of her council, and her own fears, could not venture to come to a deci¬ sion, William of Orange rose and proposed the assembling of the States General. But nothing could have inflicted a more fatal blow on the su¬ premacy of the Crown, than by yielding to this advice to put the nation in mind of its power and its rights. No measure could be more hazardous at the present moment. The danger which was thus gathering over the minister did not escape him ; a sign from him warned the regent to break off the consultation and adjourn the council. “The government,” he writes to Madrid, “can do nothing more injurious to itself than to consent to the assembling of the states. Such a step is at all times perilous, because it tempts the nation to test and restrict the rights of the crown ; but it is many times more objectionable at the present moment, when the spirit of rebellion is already widely spread amongst us, when the abbots, exas¬ perated at the loss of their income, will neglect nothing to impair the dignity of the bishops, when the whole nobility and all the deputies from the towns are led by the arts of the Prince of Orange, and the disaffected can securely reckon on the assistance of the nation.” This represen¬ tation, which at least was not wanting in sound sense, did not fail in having the desired effect on the king’s mind. The assembling of the states was rejected once and forever, the penal statutes HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 48 against the heretics were renewed in all their rigor, end the regent was directed to hasten the dispatch of the required auxiliaries. But to this the Council of State would not con¬ sent. All that she obtained was, instead of the troops, a supply of money for the Queen Mother, which at this crisis was still more welcome to her. In place, however, of assembling the states, and in order to beguile the nation with at least the semblance of republican freedom, the regent sum¬ moned the governors of the provinces and the knights of the Golden Fleece to a special congress at Brussels, to consult on the present dangers and necessities of the state. When the President Yiglius had laid before them the matters on which they were summoned to deliberate, three days were given to them for consideration. Dur¬ ing this time, the Prince of Orange assembled them in his palace, where he represented to them the necessity of coming to some unanimous reso¬ lution before the next sitting, and of agreeing on the measures which ought to be followed in the present dangerous state of affairs. The majority assented to the propriety of this course, only Barlaimont, with a few of the de¬ pendents of the Cardinal, had the courage to plead for the interests of the crown and of the minister. “ It did not behoove them,” he said, “ to interfere in the concerns of the government, and this previous agreement of votes was an illegal and culpable assumption, in the guilt of which he would not participate — a declaration which broke up the meeting without any conclusion be¬ ing come to. The regent, apprised of it by the Count Barlaimont, artfully contrived to keep the knights so well employed during their stay in the town, that they could find no time for coming to any further secret understanding ; in this session, however, it was arranged, with their concurrence, that Florence of Montmorency, Lord of Mon- tigny, should make a journey to Spain, in order to acquaint the king with the present posture of affairs. But the regent sent before him another messenger to Madrid, who previously informed the king of all that had been debated between the Prince of Orange and the knights, at the secret conference. The Flemish ambassador was flattered in Mad¬ rid with empty protestations of the king’s favor and paternal sentiments toward the Netherlands; while the regent was commanded to thwart, to the utmost of her power, the secret combinations of the nobility, and, if possible, to sow discord among their most eminent members. Jealousy, private interest, and religious differences, had long divided many of the nobles; their share in the common neglect and contempt with which they were treated, and a general hatred of the minister had again united them. So long as Count Eg- mont and the Prince of Orange were suitors for the regency, it could not fail "but that at times their competing claims should have brought them into collision. Both had met each other on the road to glory, and before the throne; both, again, met in the Republic, where they strove for the same prize, the favor of their fellow citizens. Such opposite characters soon became estranged, but the powerful sympathy of necessity as quickly reconciled them. Each was now indispensable to the other, and the emergency united these two men together with a bond which their hearts would never have furnished. But it was on this very uncongeniality of disposition that the regent based her plans ; if she could fortunately succeed in separating them, she would, at the same time, divide the whole Flemish nobility into two parties. Through the presents and small attentions, by which she exclusively honored these two, she also sought to excite against them the envy and dis¬ trust of the rest, and by appearing to give Count Egmont a preference over the Prince of Orange, she hoped to make the latter suspicious of Eg- mont’s good faith. It happened that at this very time she was obliged to send an extraordinary ambassador to Frankfort, to be present at the election of a Roman Emperor; she chose for this office the Duke of Arschot, the avowed enemy of the prince, in order, in some degree, to show in his case how splendid was the reward which hatred against the latter might look for. The Orange faction, however, instead of suffer¬ ing any diminution, had gained an important ac¬ cession in Count Horn, who, as admiral of the Flemish marine, had convoyed the king to Biscay, and now again took his seat in the Council of State. Horn’s restless and republican spirit readily met the daring schemes of Orange and Egmont, and a dangerous Triumvirate was soon formed by these three friends, which shook the royal power in the Netherlands, but which termi¬ nated very differently for each of its members. (1562.) Meanwhile, Montigny had returned from his embassy, and brought back to the Coun¬ cil of State the most gracious assurance of their monarch. But the Prince of Orange had, through his own secret channels of intelligence, received more credible information from Madrid, which entirely contradicted this report. By these means, he learned all the ill services which Gran- vella had done him and his friends with the king, and the odious appellations which w r ere there ap¬ plied to the Flemish nobility. There w'as no help for them so long as the minister retained the helm of government, and to procure his dismissal was the scheme, however rash and adventurous it ap¬ peared, which wholly occupied the mind of the Prince. It was agreed between him and Counts Horn and Egmont, to dispatch a joint letter to the king, and, in the name of the whole nobility, formally to accuse the minister, and press ener¬ getically for his removal. The Duke of Arschot, to w’hom this proposition was communicated by Count Egmont, refused to concur in it, haughtily declaring that he w r as not disposed to receive laws from Egmont and Orange; that he had no cause of complaint against Granvella, and that he thought it very presumptuous to prescribe to the king what ministers he ought to employ. Orange received a similar answer from the Count of Aremberg. Either the seeds of distrust which the regent had scattered amongst the nobility, had already taken root, or the fear of the minis¬ ter’s power outweighed the abhorrence of his measures; at any rate, the whole nobility shrunk back timidly and irresolutely from the proposal. This disappointment did not, however, discourage 44 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. them, the letter was written and subscribed by all three (1563). In it, Granvel.la was represented as the prime cause of all the disorders in the Netherlands. So long as the highest power should be intrusted to him, it would, they declared, be impossible for them to serve the nation and the king effectually ; on the other hand, all would revert to its former tranquillity, all opposition be discontinued, and the government regain the affections of the peo¬ ple, as soon as his majesty should be pleased to remove this man from the helm of the state. In that case, they added, neither exertion nor zeal would be wanting on their part to maintain in these countries the dignity of the king and the purity of the faith, which was no less sacred to them than to the Cardinal Granvella. Secretly as this letter was prepared, still the duchess was informed of it in sufficient time, to anticipate it by another dispatch, and to coun¬ teract the effect which it might have had on the king’s mind. Some months passed ere an answer came from Madrid. It was mild, but vague.— “The king,” such was its import, “was not used to condemn his ministers unheard, on the mere ac¬ cusations of their enemies. Common justice alone required that the accusers of the cardinal should descend from general imputations to special proofs, and if they were not inclined to do this in writing, one of them might come to Spain, where he should be treated with all respect. Besides this letter, which was equally directed to all three, Count Egmont further received an autograph letter from the king, wherein his majesty expressed a wish to learn from him in particular, what in the com¬ mon letter had been only generally touched upon. The regent, also, was specially instructed how she was to answer the three collectively, and the count singly. The king knew his man. He felt it was easy to manage Count Egmont alone ; for this reason he sought to entice him to Madrid, where he would be removed from the commanding guid¬ ance of a higher intellect. In distinguishing him above his two friends by so flattering a mark of his confidence, he made a difference in the relation in which they severally stood to the throne ; how could they, then, unite with equal zeal for the same object, when the inducements were no longer the same? This time, indeed, the vigilance of Orange frustrated the scheme; but the sequel of the his¬ tory will show that the seed which was now scat¬ tered, was not altogether lost. (1563.) The king’s answer gave no satisfaction to the three confederates ; they boldly determined to venture a second attempt. “It had,” they wrote, “ surprised them not a little, that his ma¬ jesty had thought their representations so un¬ worthy of attention. It was not as accusers of the ministers, but as counselors of his majesty, whose duty it was to inform their master of the condition of his states, that they had dispatched that letter to him. They sought not the ruin of the minister, indeed, it would gratify them to see him contented and happy in any other part of the world, than here in the Netherlands. They were, however, fully persuaded of this, that his continued presence there was absolutely incompatible with the general tranquillity. The present dangerous condition of their native country would allow non© of them to leave it, much less to take so long a journey as to Spain on Granvella’s account. If, therefore, his majesty did not please to comply with their written request, they hoped to be ex cused for the future from attendance in the senate, where they were only exposed to the mortification of meeting the minister, and where they could be of no service, either to the king or the state, but only appeared contemptible in their own sight. In the conclusion, they begged his majesty would not take ill the plain simplicity of their language, since persons of their character set more value on acting well, than on speaking finely.” To the same purport was a separate letter from Count Egmont, in which he returned thanks for the royal autograph. This second address was fol¬ lowed by an answer to the effect that, “ their re¬ presentations should be taken into consideration, meanwhile they were requested to attend the council of the state as heretofore.” It was evident that the monarch was far from intending to grant their request; they, therefore, from this time forth, absented themselves from the state council, and even left Brussels. Not having succeeded in removing the minister by lawful means, they sought to accomplish this end by a new mode, from which more might be ex¬ pected. On every occasion, they and their Ad¬ herents openly showed the contempt which they felt for him, and contrived to throw ridicule on every thing he undertook. By this contemptuous treatment they hoped to harass the haughty spirit of the priest, and to obtain through his mortified self-love, what they had failed in by other means. In this, indeed, they did not succeed; but the expedient on which they had fallen, led, in the end, to the ruin of the minister. The popular voice was raised more loudly against him, so soon as it was perceived that he had for¬ feited the good opinion of the nobles, and that men, whose sentiments they had been used blindly to echo, preceded them in detestation of him. The contemptuous manner in which the nobility now treated him, devoted him in a measure to the general scorn, and emboldened calumny, which never spares even what is holiest and purest, to lay its sacrilegious hand on his honor. The new constitution of the church, which was the great grievance of the nation, had been the basis of his fortunes—this was a crime that could not be for¬ given. Every fresh execution, and with such spectacles the activity of the inquisitors was only too liberal, kept alive and furnished dreadful ex¬ ercise to the bitter animosity against him, and at last custom and usage inscribed hismame on every act of oppression. A stranger in a land, into which he had been introduced against its will; alone among millions of enemies ; uncertain of all his tools; supported only by the weak arm of a distant royalty; maintaining his intercourse with the nation, which he had to gain, only by means of faithless instruments, all of whom made it their highest object to falsify his actions and misrepre¬ sent his motives; lastly, with a woman for his coadjutor, who could not share with him the burden of the general execration—thus he stood exposed to the wantonness, the ingratitude, the HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 45 faction, the envy, and ail the evil passions of a licentious, insubordinate people. It is worthy of remark, that the hatred which he had incurred, far outran the demerits which could be laid to his charge ; that it was difficult, nay impossible, for his accusers to substantiate, by proof, the general condemnation, which fell upon him from all sides. Before and after him, fanaticism dragged its vic¬ tims to the altar, before and after him civil blood flowed, the rights of men made a mock of, and men themselves rendered wretched. Under Charles V. tyranny ought to have pained more acutely through its novelty—under the Duke of Alva it was carried to far more unnatural lengths, in so much that Granvella’s administration, in com¬ parison with that of his successor, was even mer¬ ciful ; and yet we do not find that his cotemporaries ever evinced the same degree of personal exaspe¬ ration and spite against the latter, in which they indulged against his predecessor. To cloak the meanness of his birth in the splendor of high dig¬ nities, and by an exalted station to place him, if possible, above the malice of his enemies, the re¬ gent had made interest at Rome to procure for him the cardinal’s hat; but this very honor which con¬ nected him more closely with the papal court, made him so much the more an alien in the pro¬ vinces. The purple was a new crime in Brussels, and an obnoxious detested garb, which, in a mea¬ sure, publicly held forth to view the principles on which his future conduct would be governed. Neither his honorable rank, which alone often consecrates the most infamous caitiff, nor his talents which commanded esteem, nor even his terrible omnipotence, which daily revealed itself in so many bloody manifestations, could screen him from derision. Terror and scorn, the fearful and the ludicrous, were, in this instance, unnatur¬ ally blended.* Odious rumors branded his honor ; murderous attempts on the lives of Egmont and Orange were ascribed to him ; the most incredible things found credence; the most monstrous, if they referred to him, or were said to emanate from him, surprised no longer. The nation had already become uncivilized to that degree, where the most contradictory sentiments prevail side by side, and the finer boundary lines of decorum and moral feelings are erased. This belief in extraordinary crimes is almost invariably their immediate pre¬ cursor. But, with this gloomy prospect, the strange destiny of this man opens at the same time a grander view, which impresses the unprejudiced observer with pleasure and admiration. Here, he *' The nobility, at the suggestion of Count Egmont, caused their servants to wear a common livery, on which was embroidered a fool’s cap. All Brussels interpreted it for the cardinal’s hat, and every appearance of such a servant renewed their laughter; this badge of a fool’s cap, which was offensive to the court, was subsequently changed into a bundle of arrows—an accidental jest which took a very serious end, and probably was the origin of the arms of the republic. Vit. Vigl. T. ii. 35 Thuaji. 489. The respect for the cardinal sunk at last so low, that a caricature was publicly placed in his own hands, in which he was represented seated on a heap of eggs, out of which bishops were crawling. Over him hovered a devil with the inscription —“ This is my son; hear ye him T beholds a nation dazzled by no splendor, and re¬ strained by no fear, firmly, inexorably, and un- premeditatedly unanimous in punishing the crime which had been committed against its dignity, by the violent introduction of a stranger into the heart of its political constitution. We see him ever aloof, and ever isolated, like a foreign hostile body, ho¬ vering over a surface which repels its contact. The strong hand itself of the monarch, who was his friend and protector, could not support him against the antipathies of the nation, which had once resolved to withhold from him all its sym¬ pathy. The voice of national hatred was all- powerful, and was ready to forego even private interest, its certain gains; his alms even were shunned, like the fruits of an accursed tree. Like pestilential vapor, the infamy of universal repro¬ bation hung over him. In his case, gratitude be¬ lieved itself absolved from its duties; his adher¬ ents shunned him ; his friends were dumb in his behalf. So terribly did the people avenge the insulted majesty of their nobles and their nation on the greatest monarch of the earth. History has repeated this memorable example only once, in Cardinal Mazarin; but the instance differed according to the spirit of the two periods and nations. The highest power could not pro¬ tect either from derision ; but if France found vent for its indignation in laughing at its panta¬ loon, the Netherlands hurried from scorn to re¬ bellion. The former, after a long bondage under Richelieu, saw itself placed suddenly in unwonted liberty: the latter passed from ancient hereditary freedom into strange and unusual servitude ; it was as natural, that the Fronde should end again in subjection, as that the Belgian troubles should issue in republican independence. The revolt of the Parisians was the offspring of poverty : un¬ bridled, but not bold, arrogant, but without en¬ ergy, base and plebian, like the source from which it sprang. The murmur of the Netherlands was the proud and powerful voice of wealth. Licen¬ tiousness and hunger inspired the former; re¬ venge, life, property, and religion were the ani¬ mating motives of the latter. Rapacity was Ma- zarin’s spring of action ; Granvella’s. lust of power; the former was humane and mild, the lat¬ ter harsh, imperious, cruel. The French minister sought, in the favor of his queen, an asylum from the hatred of the magnates and the fury of the people; the Netherlandish minister provoked the hatred of a whole nation in order to please one man. Against Mazarin were only a few factions, and the mob they could arm ; an entire and united nation, against Granvella. Under the former, parliament attempted to obtain, by stealth, a power which did not belong to them ; under the latter, it struggled for a lawful author¬ ity which he insidiously had endeavored to wrest from them. The former had to contend with the princes of the blood and the peers of the realm, as the latter had with the native nobility and the states, but instead of endeavoring, like the former, to overthrow the common enemy, in the hope of stepping themselves into his place, the latter wished to destroy the place itself, and to divide a power which no single man ought to possess entire. 46 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. While these feelings were spreading among the people, the influence of the minister at the court of the regent began to totter. The repeated complaints against the extent of his power, must at last have made her sensible how little faith was placed in her own ; perhaps, too, she began to fear that the universal abhorrence, which attached to him, would soon include herself also, or that his longer stay would inevitably provoke the me¬ naced revolt. Long intercourse with him, his instruction and example, had qualified her to govern without him. His dignity began to be more oppessive to her as he became less necessary, and his faults, to which her friendship had hitherto lent a vail, became visible as it was withdrawn. She was now as much disposed to search out and enumerate these faults, as she formerly had been to conceal them. In this unfavorable state of her feelings toward the cardinal, the urgent and accu¬ mulated representations of the nobles began, at last, to find access to her mind, and the more easi¬ ly, as they contrived to mix up her own fears with their own. “It was matter of great astonish¬ ment,” said Count Egmont to her, “that to gra¬ tify a man who was not even a Fleming, and of whom, therefore, it must be well known that his happiness could not be dependent on the prosper¬ ity of this country, the king could be content to see all his Netherlandish subjects suffer, and this to please a foreigner, who if his birth made him a subject of the Emperor, the purple had made a creature of the court of Home.” “To the king alone,” added the count, “ was Gran- vella indebted for his being still among the living ; for the future, however, he would leave that care of him to the regent, and he hereby gave her warning.” As the majority of the nobles, dis¬ gusted with the contemptuous treatment which they met with in the Council of State, gradually withdrew from it, the arbitrary proceedings of the minister lost the last semblance of republican deliberation which had hitherto softened the odious aspect, and the empty desolation of the council chamber made his domineering rule appear in all its obnoxiousness. The regent now felt that she had a master over her, and from that moment the banishment of the minister was decided upon. With this object, she dispatched her private secretary, Thomas Armenteros, to Spain, to ac¬ quaint the king with the circumstances in which the cardinal was placed, to apprise him of the in¬ timations she had received of the intentions of the nobles, and in this manner, to cause the resolution for his recall to appear to emanate from the king himself. What she did not like to trust to a letter, Armenteros was ordered ingeniously to interweave in the oral communication, which the king would probably require from him. Armen¬ teros fulfilled his commission with all the ability of a consummate courtier; but an audience of four hours could not overthrow the work of many years, nor destroy in Philip’s mind his opinion of his minister, which was there unalterably esta¬ blished. Long did the monarch hold counsel with his policy and his interest, until Granvella himself came to the aid of his wavering resolution, and voluntarily solicited a dismissal, which, he feared, could not much longer be deferred. What the detestation of all the Netherlands could not effect, the contemptuous treatment of the nobility accomplished ; he was, at last, weary of a power which was no longer feared, and exposed him less to envy than to infamy. Perhaps, as some have believed, he trembled for his life, which was certainly in more than imaginary danger; perhaps he wished to receive his dismissal from the king, under the shape of a boon rather than of a sentence, and after the example of the Romans, meet with dignity a fate which he could no longer avoid. Philip, too, it would appear, preferred generously to accord to the nation a request, rather than to yield at a later period to a demand, and hoped at least to merit their thanks, by voluntarily conceding now what necessity would ere long extort. His fears prevailed over his obstinacy, and prudence over¬ came pride. Granvella doubted not for a moment what the decision of the king would be. A few days after the return of Armenteros, he saw humility and flattery disappear from the few faces, which had, till then, still servilely smiled upon him ; the last small crowd of base flatterers and eye-servants vanished from around his person; his threshold was forsaken ; he perceived that the fructifying warmth of royal favor had left him. Detraction, which had assailed him during his whole administration, did not spare him even in the moment of resignation. People did not scruple to assert that a short time before he laid down his office, he had expressed a wish to be reconciled to the Prince of Orange and Count Egmont, and even offered, if their forgiveness could be hoped for on no other terms, to ask pardon of them on his knees. It was base and coutemptible to sully the memory of a great and extraordinary man with such a charge, but it is still more so, to hand it down uncontradicted to posterity. Granvella submitted to the royal com¬ mand with a dignified composure. Already had he written, a few months previously, to the Duke of Alva, in Spain, to prepare him a place of refuge in Madrid, in case of his having to quit the Netherlands. The latter long bethought himself whether it was advisable to bring thither so dan¬ gerous a rival for the favor of his king, or to deny so important a friend such a valuable means of indulging his old hatred of the Flemish nobles. Revenge prevailed over fear, and he strenuously supported Granvella’s request with the monarch. But his intercession was fruitless. Armenteros had persuaded the king that the minister’s resi¬ dence in Madrid would only revive, with increased violence, all the complaints of the Belgian nation, to which his ministry had been sacrificed ; for then, he said, he would be suspected of poisoning the very source of that power, whose outlets only he had hitherto been charged with corrupting. He therefore sent him to Burgundy, his native place, for which a decent pretext fortunately pre¬ sented itself. The cardinal gave to his departure from Brussels the appearance of an unimportant- journey, from which he would return in a few days. At the same time, however, all the state counsel¬ ors, who, under his administration, had voluntarily HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 47 Excluded themselves from its sittings, received a command from the court to resume their seats in the senate at Brussels. Although the latter cir¬ cumstance made his return not very credible, nevertheless the remotest possibility of it sobered the triumph which celebrated his departure. The regent herself appears to have been undecided what to think about the report; for, in a fresh letter to the king, she repeated all the representa¬ tions and arguments, which ought to restrain him from restoring this minister. Granvella himself, in his correspondence with Barlaimont and Vig- lius, endeavored to keep alive this rumor, and at least to alarm with fears, however unsubstantial, the enemies whom he could no longer punish by his presence. Indeed, the dread of the influence of this extraordinary man was so exceedingly great, that, to appease it, he was at last driven even from his home and his country. After the death of Pius IV., Granvella went to Rome, to be present at the election of a new pope, and at the same time to discharge some commis¬ sions of his master, whose confidence in him re¬ mained unshaken. Soon after, Philip made him viceroy of Naples, where he succumbed to the seductions of the climate, and the spirit which no vicissitudes could bend voluptuousness overcame. He was sixty-two years old, when the king allowed him to revisit Spain, where he continued with un¬ limited powers to administer the affairs of Italy. A gloomy old age, and the self-satisfied pride of a sexagenarian administration made him a harsh and rigid judge of the opinions of others, a slave of custom, and a tedious panegyrist of past times. But the policy of the closing century had ceased to be the policy of the opening one. A new and younger ministry were soon weary of so imperious a superintendent, and Philip himself began to shun the aged counselor, who found nothing worthy of praise but the deeds of his father. Nevertheless, when the conquest of Portugal called Philip to Lisbon, he confided to the car¬ dinal the care of his Spanish territories. Finally, on an Italian tour, in the town of Mantua, in the seventy-third year of his life, Granvella terminated his long existence in the full enjoyment of his glory, and after possessing for forty years the un¬ interrupted confidence of his king. THE COUNCIL OF STATE. (1564.) Immediately upon the departure of the minister, all the happy results which were promised from his withdrawal were fulfilled. The disaffected nobles resumed their seats in the council, and again devoted themselves to the affairs of the state with redoubled zeal, in order to give no room for regret for him, whom they had driven away, and to prove, by the fortunate administration of the state, that his services were not indispensable. The crowd round the duchess was great. All vied with one another in readiness, in submission, and ?eal n her service; the hours of night were not allowed to stop the transaction of pressing busi¬ ness of state : the greatest unanimity existed be¬ tween the three councils, the best understanding between the court and the states. From the obliging temper of the Flemish nobility, every thing was to be had, as soon as their pride and self-will were flattered by confidence and obliging treat¬ ment. The regent took advantage of the first joy of the nation, to beguile them into a vote of cer¬ tain taxes, which, under the preceding administra¬ tion, she could not have hoped to extort. In this, the great credit of the nobility effectually sup¬ ported her, and she soon learned from this nation the secret, which had been so often verified in the German diet: that much must be demanded, in order to get a little. With pleasure did the regent see herself eman¬ cipated from her long thralldom ; the emulous in¬ dustry of the nobility lightened for her the burden of business, and their insinuating humility allowed her to feel the full sweetness of power. (1564.) Granvella had been overthrown, but his party still remained. His policy lived in his crea¬ tures, whom he left behind him in the privy coun¬ cil and in the chamber of finance. Hatred still smouldered amongst the factions, long after the leader was banished, and the names of the Orange and Royalist parties, of the Patriots and Cardi- nalists, still continued to divide the senate, and to keep up the flames of discord. Yiglius Van Zuichem Van Aytta, president of the privy coun¬ cil, state counsellor and keeper of the seal, was now looked upon as the most important person in the senate, and the most powerful prop of the crown and the tiara. This highly meritorious old man, whom we have to thank for some valuable contributions toward the history of the rebellion of the Low Countries, and whose confidential cor¬ respondence with his friends has generally been the guide of our narrative, was one of the greatest lawyers of his time, as well as a theologian and priest, and had already, under the emperor, filled the most important offices. Familiar intercourse with the learned men who adorned the age, and at the head of whom stood Erasmus of Rotterdam, combined with frequent travels in the imperial service, had extended the sphere of his informa¬ tion and experience, and in many points raised him in his principles and opinions above his co¬ temporaries. The fame of his erudition filled the whole century in which he lived, and has handed his name down to posterity. When in the year 1548, the connection of the Netherlands with the German empire was to be settled at the diet of Augsburg, Charles V. sent hither this statesman to manage the interests of the provinces ; and h:s ability principally succeeded in turning the nego- ciations to the advantage of the Netherlands. After the death of the emperor, Viglius was one of the many eminent ministers, bequeathed to Philip by his father, and one of the few in whom he honored his memory. The fortune of the min¬ ister Granvella, with whom he was united by the ties of an early acquaintance, raised him likewise to greatness ; but he did not share the fall of his patron, because he had not participated in his lust of power, nor, consequently, the hatred which at¬ tached to him. A residence of twenty years in the provinces, where the most important affairs were entrusted to him, approved loyalty to liis 48 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. king, and zealous attachment to the Roman Ca¬ tholic tenets, made him one of the most distin¬ guished instruments of royalty in the Netherlands. Viglius was a man of learning, but no thinker ; an experienced statesman, but without an enlight¬ ened mind ; of an intellect not sufficiently power¬ ful to break, like his friend Erasmus, the fetters of error, yet not sufficiently bad to employ it, like his predecessor, Granvella, in the service of his own passions. Too weak and timid to follow boldly the guidance of his reason, he preferred trusting to the more convenient path of con¬ science ; a thing was just, so soon as it became his duty; he belonged to those honest men, who are indispensable to bad ones ; fraud reckoned on his honesty. Half a century later, he would have received his immortality from the freedom which he now helped to subvert. In the Privy Council at Brussels, he was the servant of tyranny ; in the Parliament in London, or in the Senate at Am¬ sterdam he would have died, perhaps, like Thomas More or Olden Barneveldt. In Count Barlaimont, the President of the Council of Finance, the opposition had a no less formidable antagonist than in Viglius. Histo¬ rians have transmitted but little information re¬ garding the services and the opinions of this man. In the first part of his career, the dazzling great¬ ness of the Cardinal Granvella seems to have cast a shade over him ; after the latter had disap¬ peared from the stage, the superiority of the opposite party kept him down, but still the little that we do find respecting him, throws a favora¬ ble light over his character. More than once, the Prince of Orange exerted himself to detach him from the interests of the cardinal, and to join him to his own party—sufficient proof that he placed a value on the prize. All his efforts failed, which shows that he had to do with no vacillating char¬ acter. More than once, we see him alone, of all the members of the council, stepping forward to oppose the dominant faction, and protecting against universal opposition the interests of the crown, which were in momentary peril of being sacrificed. When the Prince of Orange had assembled the knights of the Golden Fleece in his own palace, with a view to induce them to come to a preparatory resolution for the abolition of the Inquisition, Barlaimont was the first to denounce the illegality of this proceeding, and to inform the regent of it. Some time after, the prince asked him if the regent knew of that assembly, and Barlaimont hesitated not a mo¬ ment to avow to him the truth. All the steps which have been ascribed to him bespeak a man, whom neither influence nor fear could tempt,— who, with a firm courage and indomitable con¬ stancy, remained faithful to the party which he had once chosen, but who, it must at the same time be confessed, entertained too proud and too despotic notions, to have selected any other. Amongst the adherents of the royal party at Brussels, we have further, the names of the Duke of Arschot, the Counts of Mansfield, Megen, and Aremberg—all three native Netherlander ; and therefore, as it appeared, bound equally with the whole Netherlandish nobility, to oppose the hier¬ archy and the royal power in their native country. So much the more surprised must we feel at their contrary behavior, and which is indeed the more remarkable, since we find them on terms of friend¬ ship with the most eminent members of the fac¬ tion, and any thing but insensible to the common grievances of their country. But they had not self-confidence nor heroism enough to venture on an unequal contest with so superior an antagonist. With a cowardly pru¬ dence they made their just discontent submit to the stern law of necessity, and imposed a hard sacrifice on their pride, because their pampered vanity was capable of nothing better. Too thrifty and too discreet, to wish to extort from the jus¬ tice or the fear of their sovereign the certain good which they already possessed from his voluntary generosity, or to resign a real happiness, in order to preserve the shadow of another, they rather employed the propitious moment, to drive a traffic with their constancy, which, from the general de¬ fection of the nobility, had now risen in value. Caring little for true glory, they allowed their ambition to decide which party they should take ; for the ambition of base minds prefers to bow beneath the hard yoke of compulsion, rather than submit to the gentle sway of a superior intellect. Small would have been the value/of the favor conferred, had they bestowed themselves on the Prince of Orange; but their connection with royalty made them so much the more formidable as opponents. There their names would have been lost among his numerous adherents, and in the splendor of their rival; on the almost deserted side of the court their insignificant merit acquired lustre. The families of Nassau and Croi, (to the latter belonged the Duke of Arschot,) had for several reigns been competitors for influence and honor, and their rivalry had kept up an old feud between their families, which religious differences finally made irreconcilable. The house of Croi, from time immemorial, had been renowned for its devout and strict observance of papistic rites and ceremonies; the Counts of Nassau had gone over to the new sect—sufficient reasons why Philip of Croi, Duke of Arschot, should prefer a party which placed him the most decidedly in opposition to the Prince of Orange. The court did not fail to take advantage of this private feud, and to oppose so important an enemy to the increasing influence of the house of Nassau in the republic. The Counts Mansfield and Megen had, till lately, been the confidential friends of Count Egmont. In common with him, they had raised their voice against the minister; had joined him in resisting the Inquisition and the edicts, and had hitherto held with him as far as honor and duty would permit. But at these limits the three friends now separated. Egmont’s unsuspecting virtue inces¬ santly hurried him forward on the road to ruin ; Mansfeld and Megen, admonished of the danger, began in good time to. think of a safe retreat. There still exist letters, which were interchanged between the Counts Egmont and Mansfeld, and which, although written at a later period, give us a true picture of their former friendship. “ If,” replied Count Mansfeld to his friend, who in an amicable manner had reproved him for his defec HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 49 tion to the king, “ if formerly I was of opinion that the general good made the abolition of the In¬ quisition, the mitigation of the edicts, and the removal of the Cardinal Granvella necessary, the king has now acquiesced in this wish, and removed the cause of complaint. We have already done too much against the majesty of the sovereign, and the authority of the church ; it is high time for us to turn, if we would wish to meet the king, when he comes, with open brow, and without anxiety. As regards my own person, I do not dread his vengeance; with confident courage I would, at his first summons, present myself in Spain, and boldly abide my sentence from his justice and goodness. I do not say this, as if I doubted whether Count Egmont can assert the same, but he will act prudently in looking more to his own safety, and in removing suspicion from his actions.” “ If I hear,” he says in conclusion, “ that he has allowed my admonitions to have their due weight, our friendship continues; if not, I feel myself in that case strong enough to sacrifice all human ties to my duty and to honor.” The enlarged power of the nobility exposed the Republic to almost a greater evil than that which it had just escaped by the removal of the minister. Impoverished by long habits of luxury, which at the same time had relaxed their morals, and to which they were now too much addicted, to be able to renounce them, they yielded to the perilous opportunity of indulging their ruling inclination, and of again repairing the expiring lustre of their fortunes. Extravagance brought on the thirst for gain, and this introduced bribery. Secular and ecclesiastical offices were publicly put up for sale ; posts of honor, privileges, and patents, were sold to the highest bidder; even justice was made a trade. Whom the Privy Council had con¬ demned, was acquitted by the Council of State ; and what the former refused to grant, was to be purchased from the latter. The Council of State, indeed, subsequently retorted the charge on the two other councils; but it forgot that it was its own example that corrupted them. The shrewd¬ ness of rapacity opened new sources of gain. Life, liberty, and religion were insured for a certain sum, like landed estates ; for gold, murderers and malefactors were free, and the nation was plun¬ dered by a lottery. The servants and creatures of state, counselors and governors of provinces, were, without regard to rank or merit, pushed into the most important posts ; whoever had a petition to present at court, had to make his way through the governors of provinces and their inferior servants. No artifice of seduction was spared to implicate in these excesses the private secretary of the duchess, Thomas Armenteros, a man up to this time of irreproachable character. Through pre¬ tended professions of attachment and friendship, they contrived to insinuate themselves into his confidence, and by luxurious entertainments to undermine his principles ; the seductive example infected his morals, and new wants overcame his hitherto incorruptible integrity. Pie was now blind to abuses in which he was an accomplice, and drew a vail over the crimes of others, in order at the same time to cloak his own. In connec¬ tion with him, they robbed the royal exchequer, VOL. II. - 1 , and defeated the objects of the government through a corrupt administration of its revenues. Meanwhile, the regent wandered'on in a fond dream of power and activity, which the flattery of the nobles artfully knew how to foster. The ambition of the factious played with the foibles of a woman, and with empty signs and an humble show of submission purchased real power from her. She soon belonged entirely to the faction, and had imperceptibly changed her principles. Diametri¬ cally opposing all her former proceedings, even in direct violation of her duty, she now brought before the Council of State, which was swayed by the faction, not only questions which belonged to the other councils, but also the suggestions which Yiglius had made to her in private, in the same way as formerly, under Granvella’s administration, she had improperly neglected to consult it at all. Nearly all business and all influence were now diverted to the governors of provinces. All peti¬ tions were directed to them, by them all lucrative appointments were bestowed. Their usurpations were indeed carried so far, that law proceedings were withdrawn from the municipal authorities of the towns, and brought before their own tribunals. The respectability of the provincial courts de¬ creased as theirs extended, and with the respect¬ ability of the municipal functionaries, the ad¬ ministration of justice and civil order declined. The smaller courts soon followed the example of the government of the country. The spirit which ruled the Council of State at Brussels, soon dif¬ fused itself through the provinces. Bribery, indulgences, robbery, venality of justice, were universal in the courts of judicature of the country; morals degenerated, and the new sects availed themselves of this all-pervading licentious¬ ness to propagate their opinions. The religious indifference or toleration of the nobles, who either themselves inclined to the side of the innovators, or, at least, detested the Inquisition as an instru¬ ment of despotism, had mitigated the rigor of the religious edicts ; and through the letters of in¬ demnity, which were bestowed on many Protest¬ ants, the holy office was deprived of its best vic¬ tims. In no way could the nobility more agreeably announce to the nation its present share in the government of the country, than by sacrificing to it the hated tribunal of the Inquisition—and to this, inclination induced them still more than the dictates of policy. The nation passed, in a mo¬ ment, from the most oppressive constraint of in¬ tolerance into a state of freedom, to which, howr ever, it had already become too unaccustomed to support it with moderation. The inquisiU rs, deprived of the support of the municipal authori¬ ties, found themselves an object of derision rather than of fear. In Bruges, the town council caused even some of their own servants to be placed in confinement, and kept on bread and water, for attempting to lay hands upon a supposed heretic. About this very time, the mob in Antwerp, having made a futile attempt to rescue a person charged with heresy from the holy office, there was pla¬ carded in the public market-place an inscription, written in blood, to the effect that a number of persons had bound themselves by oarth to avenge the death of that innocent person. 50 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. From flie corruption which pervaded the whole Council of the State, the Privy Council and the Chamber of Finance, in which Yiglius and Barlai- mont were presidents, had, as yet, for the most part kept themselves pure. As the faction could not succeed in insinuating their adherents into those two councils, the only course open to them, was, if possible, to render both inefficient, and to transfer their business to the Council of State. To carry out this design, the Prince of Orange sought to secure the co¬ operation of the other state counselors. “They were called, indeed, senators,” he frequently de¬ clared to his adherents, “ but others possessed the power. If gold was wanted, to pay the troops ; or when the question was, how the spreading heresy was to be repressed, or the people kept in order, then they were consulted ; although in fact they •were the guardians, neither of the treasury, nor of the laws, but only the organs, through which the other two councils operated on the state. And yet, alone, they were equal to the whole administration of the country, which had been uselessly portioned out amongst three separate chambers. If they would among themselves only agree to reunite to the Council of State these two important branches of government, which had been dissevered from it, one soul might animate the whole body.” A plan was preliminarily and secretly agreed on, in accordance with which twelve new knights of the Fleece were to be added to the Council of State, the administration of justice restored to the tribunal at Malines, to which it originally belonged, the granting of letters of grace, patents, and so forth, assigned to the president Yiglius, while the management of the finances should be committed to it. All the diffi¬ culties, indeed, which the distrust of the court, and its jealousy of the increasing power of the nobility would oppose to this innovation, were foreseen and provided against. In order to con¬ strain the regent’s assent, some of the principal officers of the army were put forward as a cloak, who were to annoy the court at Brussels with boisterous demands for their arrears of pay, and in case of a refusal to threaten a rebelllion. It was also contrived to have the regent assailed with numerous petitions and memorials, complain¬ ing of the delays of justice, and exaggerating the danger, which was to be apprehended from the daily growth of heresy. Nothing was omitted to darken the picture of the disorganized state of society, of the abuse of justice, and of the defi¬ ciency in the finances, which was made so alarm¬ ing that she awoke with terror from the delusion of prosperity in which she had hitherto cradled herself. She called the three councils together, to consult them on the means by which these disorders were to be remedied. The majority was in favor of sending an extraordinary ambassador to Spain, who, by a circumstantial and vivid delineation should make the king acquainted with the true position of affairs, and if possible prevail on him to adopt efficient measures of reform. This pro¬ position was opposed by Yiglius, who, however, had not the slightest suspicion of the secret designs of the faction. “ The evil complained of,” he said, “is undoubtedly great, and one which can no longer be neglected with impunity, but it is not irremediable by ourselves. The administration of justice is certainly crippled, but the blame of this lies with the nobles themselves ; by their contemp¬ tuous treatment they have thrown discredit on the municipal authorities, who, moreover, are very inadequately supported by the governors of pro¬ vinces. If heresy is on the increase, it is because the secular arm has deserted the spiritual judges, and because the lower orders, following the exam¬ ple of the nobles, have thrown off all respect for those in authority. The provinces are undoubtedly oppressed by a heavy debt, but it has not been accumulated, as alleged, by any malversation of the revenues, but by the expenses of former wars and the king’s present exigencies; still, wise and prudent measures of finance would, in a short time, remove the burden. If the Council of State would not be so profuse of its indulgences, its charters of immunity, and its exemptions; if it would commence the reformation of morals with itself, show greater respect to the laws, and do what lies in its power to restore to the municipal functionaries their former consideration ; in short, if the councils and the governors of provinces would only fulfil their own drities, the present grounds of complaint would soon be removed. Why, then, send an ambassador to Spain, when as yet nothing has occurred to justify so extraordi¬ nary an expedient ? If, however, the council thinks otherwise, he would not oppose the general voice; only he must make it a condition of his concurrence, that the principal instruction of the envoy should be, to intreat the king to make them a speedy visit.” There was but one voice as to the choice of an envoy. Of all the Flemish nobles, Count Egmont was the only one whose appointment would give equal satisfaction to both parties. His hatred of the inquisition, his patriotic and liberal sentiments, and the unblemished integrity of his character, gave to the republic sufficient surety for his con¬ duct, while, for the reasons already mentioned, he could not fail to be welcome to the king. More¬ over, Egmont’s personal figure and demeanor were calculated, on his first appearance, to make that favorable impression which goes so far toward winning the hearts of princes; and his engaging carriage would come to the aid of his eloquence, and enforce his petition with those persuasive arts, which are indispensable to the success of even the • most trifling suits to royalty. Egmont himself, too, wished for the embassy, as it would afford him the opportunity of adjusting, personally, matters with his sovereign. About this time, the Council, or rather Syncd, of Trent closed its sittings, and published its de¬ crees to the whole of Christendom. But these canons, far from accomplishing the object for which the synod was originally convened, and satisfying the expectation of religious parties, had rather widened the breach between them, and made the schism irremediable and eternal. The labors of the synod, instead of purifying the Romish Church from its corruptions, had only re¬ duced the latter to greater definiteness and pre¬ cision, and invested them with the sanction of authority. All the subtilties of its teaching, all HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 51 the arts and usurpations of the Roman See, which had hitherto rested more on arbitrary usage, were now passed into laws, and raised into a system. The uses and abuses which, during the barbarous times of ignorance and superstition, had crept into Christianity, were now declared essential parts of its worship, and anathemas were de¬ nounced upon all who should dare to contradict the dogmas, or neglect the observances of the Romish Communion. All were anathematized who should either presume to doubt the miracu¬ lous power of relics, and refuse to honor the bones of martyrs, or should be so bold as to doubt the availing efficacy of the intercession of saints. The power of granting indulgences, the first source of the defection from the See of Rome, was now pro¬ pounded in an irrefragable article of faith; and the principle of monasticism sanctioned by an ex¬ press decree of the synod, which allowed males to take the vows at sixteen, and females at twelve. And while all the opinions of the Protestants were, without exception, condemned, no indul¬ gence was shown to their errors or weaknesses, nor a single step taken to win them back by mild¬ ness to the bosom of the mother church. Amongst the latter, the wearisome records of the subtle de¬ liberations of the synod, and the absurdity of its decisions, increased, if possible, the hearty con¬ tempt which they had long entertained for Popery, and laid open to their controversialists new and hitherto unnoticed points of attack. It was an ill-judged step to bring the mysteries of the church too close to the glaring torch of reason, and to fight with syllogisms for the tenets of a blind relief. Moreover, the decrees of the council of Trent were not satisfactory even to all the powers in communion with Rome. France rejected them entirely, both because she did not wish to dis¬ please the Huguenots, and also because she was offended by the supremacy which the pope arro¬ gated to himself over the council; some of the Roman Catholic princes of Germany likewise de¬ clared against it. Little, however, as Philip II. was pleased with many of its articles, which trenched too closely upon his own rights, for no monarch was ever more jealous of his prerogative ; highly as the pope’s assumption of control over the council, and its arbitrary, precipitate dissolu¬ tion, had offended him ; just as was his indigna¬ tion at the slight which the pope had put upon his ambassador; he nevertheless acknowledged the decrees of the synod, even in its present form, because it favored his darling object—the extir¬ pation of heresy. Political considerations were all postponed to this one religious object, and he commanded the publication and enforcement of its canons, throughout his dominions. The spirit of revolt, which was diffused through the Belgian provinces, scarcely required this new stimulus. There the minds of men were in a fer¬ ment, and the character of the Romish Church had sunk almost to the lowest point of contempt in the general opinion. Under such circumstances, the imperious, and frequently injudicious, decrees of the council, could not fail of being highly offen¬ sive ; but Philip II. could not belie his religious character so far as to allow a different religion to a portion of his subjects, even though they might live on a different soil, and under different laws from the rest. The regent was strictly enjoined to exact in the Netherlands the same obedience to the decrees of Trent, which was yielded to them in Spain and Italy. They met, however, with the warmest opposi¬ tion in the Council of State at Brussels. “ The nation,” William of Orange declared, “neither would nor could acknowledge them, since they were, for the most part, opposed to the funda¬ mental principles of their constitution ; and. for similar reasons, they had even been rejected by several Roman Catholic princes.” The whole council, nearly, was on the side of Orange ; a decided majority were for entreating the king either to recall the decrees entirely, or, at least, to publish them under certain limitations. This proposition was resisted by Yiglius, who insisted on a strict and literal obedience to the royal com¬ mands. “ The church,” he said, “ had in all ages maintained the purity of its doctrines, and the strictness of its discipline, by means of such general councils. No more efficacious remedy could be opposed to the errors of opinion which had so long distracted their country, than these very decrees, the rejection of which is now urged by the Council of State. Even if they are occa¬ sionally at variance with the constitutional rights of the citizens, this is an evil which can easily be met by a judicious and temperate application of them. For the rest, it redounds to the honor of our sovereign, the King of Spain, that he alone, of all the princes of his time, refuses to yield his better judgment to necessity, and will not, for any fear of consequences, reject measures which the welfare of the church demands, and which the happiness of his subjects makes a duty.” But the decrees also contained several matters which affected the rights of the 'crown itself. Occasion was therefore taken of this fact, to propose that these sections, at least, should be omitted from the proclamation. By this means, the king might, it was argued, be relieved from these obnoxious and degrading articles by a happy expedient; the national liberties of the Netherlands might be advanced as the pretext for the omission, and the name of the republic lent to cover this encroachment on the authority of the Synod. But the king had caused the decrees to be received and enforced in his other dominions unconditionally; and it was not to be expected that he would give the other Roman Catholic powers such an example of opposition, and himself undermine the edifice whose founda¬ tion he had been so assiduous in laying. COUNT EGMONT IN SPAIN. Count Egmont was dispatched to Spain, to make a forcible representation to the king on the subject of these decrees ; to persuade him, if pos¬ sible, to adopt a milder policy toward his Pro¬ testant subjects, and to propose to him the incor¬ poration of the three councils, was the commis¬ sion he received from the malcontents. By the 52 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. regent, he was charged to apprise the monarch of the refractory spirit of the people ; to convince him of the impossibility of enforcing those edicts of religion in their full severity ; and lastly, to acquaint him with the bad state of the military defences, and the exhausted condition of the exchequer. The count’s public instructions were drawn up by the President Viglius. They contained heavy complaints of the decay of justice, the growth of heresy, and the exhaustion of the treasury. He was also to press urgently a personal visit from the Kiug to the Netherlands. The rest was left to the eloquence of the envoy, who received a hint from the regent, not to let so fair an oppor¬ tunity escape of establishing himself in the favor of his sovereign. The terms in which the count’s instructions, and the representations which he was to make to the king, were drawn up, appeared to the Prince of Orange far too vague and general. “The presi¬ dent’s statement,” he said, “of our grievances comes very far short of the truth. How can the king apply the suitable remedies, if we conceal from him the full extent of the evil ? Let us not represent the numbers of the heretics inferior to what it is in reality. Let us candidly acknow¬ ledge that they swarm in every province, and in every hamlet, however small. Neither let ns dis¬ guise from him the truth, that they despise the penal statutes, and entertain but little reverence for the government. What good can come of this concealment ? Let us rather openly avow to the king, that the republic cannot long continue in its present condition. The Privy Council, indeed, will perhaps pronounce differently, for to them the existing disorders are welcome. For what else is the source of the abuse of justice, and the uni¬ versal corruption of the courts of law, but its in¬ satiable rapacity? By what means can the pomp and scandalous luxury of its members, whom we have seen rise from the dust, be supported, if not by bribery? Do not the people daily complain that no other key but gold can open an access to them ; and do not even their quarrels prove how little they are swayed by a care for the common weal ? Are they likely to consult the public good, who are the slaves of their private passions ? Do they think, forsooth, that we, the governors of the provinces, are with our soldiers to stand ready at the beck and call of an infamous lictor? Let them set bounds to their indulgences and free pardons, which they so lavishly bestow on the very persons to whom we think it just and expe¬ dient to deny them. No one can remit the pun¬ ishment of a crime, without sinning against socie¬ ty, and contributing to the increase of the general evil. To my mind, and I have no hesitation to avow it, the distribution amongst so many coun¬ cils of the state secrets, and the affairs of govern¬ ment, has always appeared highly objectionable. The Council of State is sufficient for all the duties of the administration ; several patriots have al¬ ready felt this in silence, and now I openly declare it. It is my decided conviction, that the only sufficient remedy for all the evils complained of, is to merge the other two chambers in the Coun¬ cil of State. This is the point which we must endeavor to obtain from the king, or the present embassy, like all others, will be entirely useless and ineffectual.” The prince now laid before the assembled senate the plan which we have already described. Viglius, against whom this new pro¬ position was individually and mainly directed, and whose eyes were now suddenly opened, was over¬ come by the violence of his vexation. The agi¬ tation of his feelings was too much for his feeble body, and he was found, on the following morning, paralyzed by apoplexy, and in danger of his life. His place was supplied by Jaachim Hopper, a member of the Privy Council, at Brussels, a man of old-fashioned morals and unblamable integrity, the president’s most trusted and worthiest friend.* To meet the wishes of the Orange party, he made some additions to the instructions of the ambassa¬ dor, relating chiefly to the abolition of the Inqui¬ sition, and the incorporation of the three coun¬ cils, not so much with the consent of the regent, as in the absence of her prohibition. Upon Count Egmont taking leave of the president, who had recovered from his attack, the latter requested him to procure in Spain, permission to resign his appointment. His day, he declared, was past; like the example of his friend and predecessor Granvella, he washed to retire into the quiet of private life, and to anticipate the uncertainty of fortune. His genius warned him of impending storm, by which he could have no desire to be overtaken. Count Egmont embarked on his journey to Spain, in January, 1565, and w r as received there with a kindness and respect which none of his rank had ever before experienced. The nobles of Castile, taught by the king’s example to con¬ quer their feelings, or rather, true to his policy, seemed to have laid aside their ancient grudge against the Flemish nobility, and vied with one another in winning his heart by their affability. All his private matters were immediately settled to his wishes by the king, nay, even his expecta¬ tions exceeded ; and during the whole period of his stay, he had ample cause to boast of the hos¬ pitality of the monarch. The latter assured him in the strongest terms of his love for his Belgian subjects, and held out hopes of his acceding eventually to the general wish, and remitting somewhat of the severity of the religious edicts. At the same time, however, he appointed in Ma¬ drid a commission of theologians, to whom he propounded the question: “Is it necessary, to grant to the provinces the religious toleration they demand ?” As the majority of them were of opinion that the peculiar constitution of the Netherlands, and the fear of a rebellion, might well excuse a degree of forbearance in their case, the question was repeated more pointedly. “ He did not seek to know,” he said, “if he might do so, but if he must?” When the latter question was answered in the negative, he rose from his seat, and kneeling down before a crucifix, prayed * Vita Vigl. 89. The person, from whose memoirs I have already drawn so many illustrations of the times of this epoch. His subsequent journey to Spain gave rise to the correspondence between him and the presi¬ dent, which is one of the most valuable documents for our history. HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 53 in these words: “ Almighty Majesty, suffer me not at any time to fall so low as to consent to reign over those who reject thee !” In perfect accord¬ ance with the spirit of this prayer, were the mea¬ sures which he resolved to adopt in the Nether¬ lands. On the article of religion, this monarch had taken his resolution once forever ; urgent ne¬ cessity might, perhaps, have constrained him tem¬ porarily to suspend the execution of the penal statutes, but never, formally, to repeal them legally, or even to modify them. In vain did Eg- mont represent to him that the public execution of the heretics daily augmented the number of their followers, while the courage and even joy with which they met their death, filled the specta¬ tors with the deepest admiration, and awakened in them high opinions of a doctrine which could make such heroes of its disciples. This represen¬ tation was not indeed lost upon the king, but it had a very different effect from what it was in¬ tended to produce. In order to prevent these seductive scenes, without, however, compromising the severity of the edicts, he fell upon an expe¬ dient, and determined in future that the execu¬ tions should take place in private. The answer of the king on the subject of the embassy, was given to the count in writing, and addressed to the regent. The king, when he granted him an audience to take leave, did not omit to call him to account for his behavior to Grauvella, and al¬ luded particularly to the livery invented in deri¬ sion of the cardinal. Egmont protested that the whole affair had originated in a convivial joke, and nothing was further from their meaning than to derogate in the least from the respect that was due to royalty. “If he knew,” he said, “ that any individual among them had entertained such dis¬ loyal thoughts, he himself would challenge him to answer for it with his life.” At his departure, the monarch made him a pre¬ sent of 50,000 florins, and engaged, moreover, to furnish a portion for his daughter, on her mar¬ riage. He also consigned to his care the young Farnese of Parma, whom, to gratify the regent his mother, he was sending to Brussels. The king’s pretended mildness, and his professions of regard for the Belgian nation, deceived the openhearted Fleming. Happy in the idea of being the bearer of so much felicity to his native country, when, in fact, it was more remote than ever, he quitted Mad¬ rid, satisfied beyond measure to think of the joy with which the provinces would welcome the mes¬ sage of their good king ; but the opening of the royal answer in the Council of State at Brussels, disappointed all these pleasing hopes. “ Although in regard to the religious edicts,” this was its te¬ nor, “ his resolve was firm and immovable, and he would rather lose a thousand lives than consent to alter a single letter of it; still, moved by the representations of Count Egmont, he was, on the other hand, equally determined not to leave any gentle means untried to guard the people against the delusions of heresy, and so to avert from them that punishment which must otherwise in¬ fallibly overtake them. As he had now learned from the Count, that the principal source of the existing errors in the faith was in the moral de¬ pravity of the clergy, the bad instruction and the neglected education of the young, he hereby em¬ powered the regent to appoint a special commis¬ sion of three bishops, and a convenient number of learned theologians, whose business it should be to consult about the necessary reforms, in order that the people might no longer be led astray through scandal, nor plunge into error through ignorance. As, moreover, he had been informed that the public executions of the here¬ tics did but afford them an opportunity of boast¬ fully displaying a foolhardy courage, and of delud¬ ing the common herd by an affectation of the glory of martyrdom, the commission was to de¬ vise means for putting in force the final sentence of the Inquisition with greater secrecy, and there¬ by depriving condemned heretics of the honor of their obduracy.” In order, however, to provide against the commission going beyond its pre¬ scribed limits, Philip expressly required that the Bishop of Ypres, a man whom he could rely on as a determined zealot for the Romish faith, should be one of the body. Their deliberations were to be conducted, if possible, in secrecy, while the object publicly assigned to them should be the in¬ troduction of the Tridentine decrees. For this, his motive seems to have been twofold ; on the one hand, not to alarm the court of Rome bv the assembling of a private council; nor, on the other, to afford any encouragement to the spirit of rebellion in the provinces. At its sessions the duchess was to preside, assisted by some of the more loyally disposed of her counselors, and regu¬ larly transmit to Philip a written account of its transactions. To meet her most pressing wants, he sent her a small supply in money, lie also gave her hopes of a visit from himself; first, however, it was necessary that the war with the Turks, who were then expected in hostile force before Malta, should be terminated. As to the proposed augmentation of the Council of State, and its union with the Privy Council and Cham¬ ber of Finance, it was passed over in perfect si¬ lence : the Duke of Arschot, however, who is al¬ ready known to us as a zealous royalist, obtained a voice and seat in the latter. Yiglius, indeed, was allowed to retire from the Presidency of the Privy Council, but he was obliged, nevertheless, to continue to discharge its duties for four more years, because his successor, Carl Tyssenaque, of the Council for Netherlandish affairs in Madrid, could not sooner be spared. SEVERER RELIGIOUS EDICTS.—UNIVERSAL OPPOSI¬ TION OF THE NATION. Scarcely was Egmont returned, when severer edicts against heretics, which, as it were, pursued him from Spain, contradicted the joyful tidings which he had brought of a happy change in the sentiments of the monarch. They were at the same time accompanied with a transcript of the decrees of Trent, as they were acknowledged in Spain, and were now to be proclaimed in the Netherlands also ; with it came likewise the death warrants of some Anabaptists and other kinds of heretics. “The count had been beguiled,” Wil¬ liam the Silent was now heard to say, “ and do- 54 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. luded by Spanish cunning. Self-love and vanity have blinded his penetration ; for his own advan¬ tage he has forgotten the general welfare." The treachery of the Spanish ministry was now ex¬ posed, and this dishonest proceeding roused the indignation of the noblest in the land. But no one felt it more acutely than Count Egmont, who now perceived himself to have been the tool of Spanish duplicity, and to have become unwit¬ tingly the betrayer of his own country. “ These specious favors then," he exclaimed loudly and bitterly,” were nothing but an artifice, to expose me to the ridicule of my fellow-citizens, and to destroy my good name. If this is the fashiou after which the king purposes to keep the pro¬ mises which he made to me in Spain, let who will take FJTnders; for my part, I will prove by my retirement from public business that I have no share in this breach of faith.” In fact, the Spa¬ nish ministry could not have adopted a surer me¬ thod of breaking the credit of so important a man, than by exhibiting him to his fellow-citizens, who adored 'him, as one whom they had succeeded in deluding. Meanwhile the commission had been appointed, and had unanimously come to the following deci¬ sion : “ Whether for the moral reformation of the clergy, or for the religious instruction of the peo¬ ple, or for the education of youth, such abundant provision had already been made in the decrees of Trent, that nothing now was requisite but to put these decrees in force as speedily as possible. The imperial edicts against the heretics already, ought on no account to be recalled or modified ; the courts of justice, however, might be secretly instructed to punish with death none but obsti¬ nate heretics or preachers, to make a difference between the different sects, and to show conside¬ ration to the age, rank, sex, or disposition of the accused. If it were really the case, that public executions did but inflame fanaticism, then, per¬ haps, the unheroic, less observed, but still equally severe punishment of the galleys, would be well adapted to bring down all high notions of martyr¬ dom. As to the delinquencies which might have arisen out of mere levity, curiosity, and thought¬ lessness, it would perhaps be sufficient to punish them by fines, exile, or even corporal chastise¬ ment.” During these deliberations, which, moreover, it was requisite to submit to the king at Madrid, and to wait for the notification of his approval of them, the time passed away unprofitably, the pro¬ ceedings against the sectaries being either sus¬ pended, or, at least, conducted very supinely. Since the recall of Granvella, the disunion which prevailed in the higher councils, and from thence had extended to the provincial courts of justice, combined with the mild feelings generally of the nobles on the subject of religion, had raised the courage of the sects, and allowed free scope to the proselyting mania of their apostles. The in¬ quisitors, too, had fallen into contempt, in conse¬ quence of the secular arm withdrawing its sup¬ port, and in many places even openly taking their victims under its protection. The Roman Catho¬ lic part of the nation had formed great expecta¬ tions from the decrees of the Synod of Trent, as well as from Egmont’s embassy to Spain; but in the latter case, their hopes had scarcely been jus¬ tified by the joyous tidings which the Count had brought back, and, in the integrity of his heart, left nothing undone to make known as widely as possible. The more disused the nation had be¬ come to severity in matters pertaining to religion, the more acutely was it likely to feel the sudden adoption of even still more rigorous measures. In this position of affairs, the royal rescript ar¬ rived from Spain, in answer to the proposition of the bishops and the last dispatches of the regent. “Whatever interpretation (such was its tenor) Count Egmont may have given to the king’s verbal communications, it had never, in the re¬ motest manner, entered his mind to think of al¬ tering in the slightest degree the penal statutes which the Emperor, his father, had five-and-thirty years ago published in the provinces. These edicts he therefore commanded should henceforth be carried rigidly into effect, the Inquisition should receive the most active support from the secular arm, and the decrees of the Council of Trent be irrevocably and unconditionally acknow¬ ledged in all the provinces of his Netherlands. He acquiesced fully in the opinion of the bishops and canonists, as to the sufficiency of the Triden¬ tine decrees as guides in all points of reformation of the clergy or instruction of the people ; but he could not concur with them as to the mitiga¬ tion of punishment which they proposed, in con¬ sideration either of the age, sex, or character of individuals, since he was of opinion that his edicts were in no degree wanting in moderation. To nothing, but want of zeal and disloyalty on the part of the judges, could he ascribe the progress which heresy had already made in the country. In future, therefore, whoever among them should be thus wanting in zeal, must be removed from his office, and make room for a more honest judge. The Inquisition ought to pursue its appointed path firmly, fearlessly, and dispassionately, with¬ out regard to or consideration of human feelings, and was to look neither before nor behind. He would always be ready to approve of all its mea¬ sures, however extreme, if it only avoided public scandal." This letter of the king, to which the Orange party have ascribed all the subsequent troubles of the Netherlands, caused the most violent ex¬ citement amongst the state counselors, and the expressions which in society they either acciden¬ tally or intentionally let fall from them with re¬ gard to it, spread terror and alarm amongst the people. The dread of the Spanish Inquisition re¬ turned with new force, and with it came fresh ap¬ prehensions of the subversion of their liberties. Already the people fancied they could hear pri¬ sons building, chains and fetters forging, and see piles of fagots collecting. Society was occupied with this one theme of conversation, and fear kept no longer within bounds. Writings were affixed to houses of the nobles, in which they were called upon, as formerly Rome called on her Brutus, to come forward and save expiring free¬ dom. Biting pasquinades were published agaiust HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 55 the new bishops—tormenters as they were called; the clergy were ridiculed in comedies, and abuse spared the throne as little as the Romish See. Terrified by the rumors which were afloat, the regent called together all the counselors of state to consult them on the course she ought to adopt in this perilous crisis. Opinion varied and dis¬ putes were violent. Undecided between fear and duty, they hesitated to come to a conclusion, un¬ til, at last, the aged senator, Yiglius, rose and surprised the whole assembly by his opinion. “It would,” he said, “ be the height of folly in us to think of promulgating the royal edict at the pre¬ sent moment: the king must be informed of the reception which, in all probability, it will now meet. In the mean time, the inquisitors must be enjoined to use their power with moderation, and to abstain from severity.” But if these words of the aged president surprised the whole assembly, still greater was the astonishment when the Prince of Orange stood up and opposed his advice. “The royal will,” he said, “is too clearly and too pre¬ cisely stated ; it is the result of too long and too mature deliberation for us to venture to delay its execution, without bringing on ourselves the re¬ roach of the most culpable obstinacy.” “ That take on myself,” interrupted Yiglius, “ I oppose myself to his displeasure. If, by this delay, we purchase for him the peace of the Netherlands, our opposition will eventually secure for us the lasting gratitude of the king.” The regent al¬ ready began to incline to the advice of Viglius, when the prince vehemently interposing, “What,” he demanded, “ what have the many representa¬ tions which we have already made effected ? of what avail was the embassy we so lately dis¬ patched? Nothing! And what then do we wait for more? Shall we, his state counselors, bring upon ourselves the whole weight of his displeasure, by determining, at our own peril, to render him a service for which he will never thank us?” Un¬ decided and uncertain, the whole assembly re¬ mained silent: but no one had courage enough to assent to or reply to him. But the prince had appealed to the fears of the regent, and these left her no choice. The consequences of her unfor¬ tunate obedience to the king’s command will soon appear. But, on the other hand, if by a wise disobedience she had avoided these fatal conse¬ quences, is it clear that the result would not have been the same ? However, she had adopted the most fatal of the two counsels; happen what would, the royal ordinance was to be promul¬ gated. This time, therefore, faction prevailed, and the advice of the only true friend of the go¬ vernment who, to serve his. monarch, was ready to incur his displeasure, was disregarded. With this session terminated the peace of the regent; from this day the Netherlands dated all the trou¬ ble which uninterruptedly visited their country. As the counselors separated, the Prince of Orange said to one who stood nearest to him, “ Now will soon be acted a great tragedy.”* * The conduct of the Prince of Orange in this meeting of the Council has been appealed to by historians of the Spanish party as a proof of his dishonesty, and they have availed themselves over and over again to blacken his character. “He,” say they, “who had, invariably up to An edict, therefore, was issued to all the gov¬ ernors of provinces, commanding them rigorously to enforce the mandates of the emperor against heretics, as well as those which had been passed under the present government, the decrees of the Council of Trent, and those of the episcopal commission, which had lately sat to give all the aid of the civil force to the Inquisition, and also to enjoin a similar line of conduct on the officers of government under them. More effectually to secure their object, every governor was to select from his own council an efficient officer who should frequently make the circuit of the prov¬ ince. and institute strict inquiries into the obe¬ dience shown by the inferior officers to these com¬ mands, and then transmit quarterly to the capital an exact report of their visitation. A copy of the Tridentine decrees, according to the Spanish original, was also sent to the archbishops and bishops, with an intimation, that in case of their needing the assistance of the secular power, the governors of their dioceses, with their troops, were placed at their disposal. Against these de- crees no privilege was to avail; however, the king willed and commanded that the particular territo- this period, both by word and deed, opposed the measures of the court, so long as he had any ground to fear that the king’s measures could be successfully carried out, supported them now for the first time, when he was con¬ vinced that a scrupulous obedience to the royal orders would inevitably prejudice him. In order to convince the king of his folly in disregarding his warnings ; in order to be able to boast, ‘this I foresaw,’ and ‘I foretold . that,’ he was 4 willing to risk the welfare of his nation, for which alone he had hitherto professed to struggle. The whole tenor of his previous conduct proved that he held the enforcement of the edicts to be an evil; nevertheless, he at once becomes false to his own convictions, and fol¬ lows an opposite course; although, so far as the nation was concerned, the same grounds existed as had dictated his former measures; and he changed his conduct sim¬ ply that the result might be different to the king.” “It is clear, therefore,” continue his adversaries, “ that the welfare of the nation had less weight with him than his animosity to his sovereign. In order to gratify his hatred to the latter he does not hesitate to sacrifice the former.” But is it then true, that by calling for the promulgation of these edicts, he sacrificed the nation ? or, to speak more correctly, did he carry the edicts into effect by in¬ sisting on their promulgation ? Can it not, on the con¬ trary, be shown with far more probability, that this was really the only way effectually to frustrate them ? The nation was in a ferment, and the indignant people would (there was reason to expect, and as Viglius himself seems to have apprehended) show so decided a spirit of opposi¬ tion as must compel the king to yield. “Now,” says Orange, “my country feels all the impulse necessary for it to contend successfully with tyranny ! If I neglect the present moment, the tyrant will, by secret negotia¬ tion and intrigue, find means to obtain by stealth what by open force he could not. The same object will be steadily pursued, only with greater caution and forbear¬ ance ; but extremity alone can combine the people to unity of purpose, and move them to bold measures.” It is clear, therefore, that, with regard to the king, the prince did but change his language only; but that, as far as the people was concerned, his conduct was per¬ fectly consistent. And what duties did he owe the king, apart from those he owed the republic ? Was he to op¬ pose an arbitrary act in the very moment when it was about to entail a just retribution on its author? Would he have done his duty to his country, if he had deterred its oppressor from a precipitate step, which alone could save it from its otherwise unavoidable misery ? 56 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. rial rights of the provinces and towns should in no case be infringed. These commands, which were publicly read in every town by an herald, produced an effect on the people, which in the fullest manner verified the fears of the President Viglius and the hopes of the Prince of Orange. Nearly all the governors of provinces refused compliances with them, and threatened to throw up their appointments, if the attempt should be made to compel their obedience. “ The ordinance,” they wrote back, “ was based on a statement of the numbers of the sectaries, which was altogether false.* Jus¬ tice was appalled at the prodigious crowd of vic¬ tims which daily accumulated under its hands ; to destroy by the flames fifty or sixty thousand per¬ sons from their districts was no commission for them.” The inferior clergy too, in particular, were loud in their outcries against the decrees of Trent, which cruelly assailed their ignorance and corruption, and which moreover threatened them with a re for 01 they so much detested. Sacrificing therefore the highest interests of their church to their own private advantage, they bitterly reviled the decrees and the whole Council, and with liberal hand, scattered the seeds of revolt in the minds of the people. The same outcry was now revived, which the monks had formerly raised against the new bishops. The archbishop of Cambray suc¬ ceeded at last, but not without great opposition, in causing the decrees to be proclaimed. It cost more labor to effect this in Malines and Utrecht, where the archbishops were at strife with their clergy, who, as they were accused, preferred to involve the whole church in ruin, rather than submit to a reformation of morals. Of all the provinces, Brabant raised its voice the loudest. The states of this province appealed to their great privilege which protected their members from being brought before a foreign court of justice. They spoke loudly of the oath by which the king had bound himself to observe all their statutes, and of the conditions under which they alone had sworn allegiance to him. Louvain, Antwerp, Brussels, and Herzogenbusch, solemnly protested against the decrees, and trans¬ mitted their protests in distinct memorials to the regent. The latter, always hesitating and waver¬ ing, too timid to obey the king, and far more afraid to disobey him, again summoned her coun¬ cil, again listened to the arguments for and against the question, and at last, again gave her assent to the opinion, which, of all others, was the most perilous for her to adopt. A new refer¬ ence to the king in Spain was proposed at one moment; in the next, that the urgency of the * The number of the heretics was very unequally com¬ puted by the two parties, according as the interests and passions of either made its increase or diminution de¬ sirable, and the same party often contradicted itself, when its interest changed. If the question related to new measures of oppression, to the introduction of the inqui¬ sitional tribunal, e town of Brussels swarmed with ash-gray garments, such as were usually worn by mendicant friars and peni¬ tents. Every confederate put his whole family and domestics in this dress. Some carried wooden bowls thinly overlaid with plates of silver, cups of the same kind, and wooden knives ; in short, the whole paraphernalia of the beggar tribe, which they either fixed around their hats or sus¬ pended from their girdles. Bound their neck they wore a golden or silver coin, afterward called the Geusen penny, of which one side bore the effigy of the king, with the inscription, “ True to the king;” on the other side were seen two hands folded together, holding a wallet, with the words, “ as far as the beggar’s scrip.” Hence the origin of the name “ Gueux,” which was subsequently borne in the Netherlands by all who seceded from popery, and took up arms against the king. Before the confederates separated and dispersed among the provinces, they presented themselves once more before the duchess, in order to remind mr of the necessity of leniency toward the here¬ tics, until the arrival of the king’s answer from * “ But,” Egmont asserted in his written defense, “ we drank only one single, small glass, and thereupon they cried, ‘ long live the king and the Gueux !’ This was the irst time that I heard that appellation, and it certainly did not please me. But the times were so had, that one was often compelled to share in much that was against one’s inclination, and I knew not but I was doing an innocent thing.” Proces criminels des comtes d’Egmont, etc. 7. 1. Egmont’s defense, Hopper, 94. Strada, 127-130. Burgund, 185, 187. 2—G. p. 72, 2—E. p. 64 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 65 Spain, if she did not wish to drive the people to extremities. “ If, however,” they added, “ a con¬ trary behaviour should give rise to any evils, they at least must be regarded as having done their duty.” To this the regent replied, “ she hoped to be able to adopt such measures as would render it impossible for disorders to ensue ; but if, never¬ theless, they did occur, she could ascribe them to no one but the confederates. She, therefore, earnestly admouished them on their part to fulfill their engagements, but especially to receive no new members into the league, to hold no more private assemblies, and generally, not to attempt any novel and unconstitutional measures.” And in order to tranquilize their minds, she commanded her private secretary, Berti, to show them the letters to the inquisitors and secular judges, wherein they were enjoined to observe moderation toward all those who had not aggravated their heretical offenses by any civil crime. Before their departure from Brussels, they named four presidents from among their number, who were to take care of the affairs of the league; and also, particular administrators for each province. A few were left behind in Brussels, to keep a watch¬ ful eye on all the movements of the court. Brede- rode, Kuilemburg, and Bergen, at last quitted the town, attended by 550 horsemen, saluted it once more beyond the walls with a discharge of mus¬ ketry, and then the three leaders parted; Brederode taking the road to Antwerp, and the two others to Guelders. The regent had sent off an express to Antwerp, to warn the magistrate of that town against him ; on his arrival, more than a thousand persons thronged to the hotel where he had taken up his abode. Showing himself at a window, with a full wiue-glass in his hand, he thus addressed them : “ Citizens of Antwerp ! I am here at the hazard of my life and my property, to relieve you from the oppressive burden of the Inquisition. If you are ready to share this enterprise with me, and to acknowledge me as your leader, accept the health which I here drink to you, and hold up your hands in testimony of your approbation.” Hereupon he drank to their health, and all hands were raised amidst clamorous shouts of exultation. After this heroic deed, he quitted Antwerp. Immediately after the delivery of the “ Petition of the Nobles,” the regent had caused a new form of the edicts to be drawn up in the Privy Coun¬ cil, which should keep the mean between the commands of the king and the demands of the confederates. But the next question that arose was, to determine whether it would be advisable immediately to promulgate this mitigated form or moderation, as it was commonly called, or to sub¬ mit it first to the king for his ratification. The Privy Council, who maintained that it would be presumptuous to take a step so important and so contrary to the declared sentiments of the mon¬ arch, without having first obtained his sanction, opposed the vote of the Prince of Orange, who supported the former proposition. Besides, they urged there was cause to fear that it would not even content the nation. A “ Moderation,” de¬ vised with the assent of the states,* was what they particularly insisted on. In order, therefore, to \ 01*. II.— O gain the consent of the states, or rather to obtain it from them by stealth, the regent artfully pro¬ pounded the question to the provinces singly, and first of all to those which possessed the least free¬ dom, such as Artois, Namur, and Luxemburg. Thus she not only prevented one province en¬ couraging another in opposition, but also gained this advantage by it, that the freer provinces, such as Flanders and Brabant, which were pru¬ dently reserved to the last, allowed themselves to be. carried away by the example of the others. By a very illegal procedure, the representatives of the towns were taken by surprise, and their con¬ sent exacted before they could confer with their constituents, while complete silence was imposed upon them with regard to the whole transaction. By these means the regent obtained the uncon¬ ditional consent of some of the provinces to the “ Moderation,” and, with a few slight changes, that of other provinces. Luxemburg and Namur subscribed it without scruple. The states of Ar¬ tois simply added the condition, that false in¬ formers should be subjected to a retributive penalty ; those of Hainault demanded, that in¬ stead of confiscation of the estates, which directly militated against their privileges, another discre¬ tionary punishment should be introduced. Flan¬ ders called for the entire abolition of the Inqui¬ sition, and desired that the accused might be secured in right of appeal to their own province. The states of Brabant were outwitted by the in¬ trigues of the court. Zealand, Holland, Utrecht, Guelders, and Friesland, as being provinces which enjoyed the most important privileges, and which, moreover, watched over them with the greatest jealousy, were never asked for their opinion, 'fhe provincial courts of judicature had also been required to make a report on the projected amendment of the law, but we may well suppose that it was unfavorable, as it never reached Spain. From the principal clause of this “ Moderation,” which, however really deserved its name, we may form a judgment of the general character of the edicts themselves. “ Sectarian writers,” it ran, “the heads and teachers of sects, as also those who conceal heretical meetings, or cause any other public scandal, shall be punished with the gallows, and their estates, where the law of the province, permit it, confiscated ; but if they abjure their errors, their punishment shall be commuted into decapitation with the sword, and their effects shall be preserved to their families.” A cruel snare for parental affection ! Less grievous heretics, it was further enacted, shall, if penitent, be par¬ doned ; and if impenitent, shall be compelled to leave the country, without, however forfeiting i their estates, unless by continuing to lead others- astray, they deprive themselves of the benefit of this provision. The Anabaptists, however, were expressly excluded from benefiting by this clause; these, if they did not clear themselves by the most thorough repentance, were to forfeit their possessions ; and if, on the other hand, they relapsed after penitence, that is, were blacksliding heretics, they were to be put to death without mercy. The greater regard for life and property, which is observable in this ordinance as compared with the edicts, and which we might be tempted 66 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. to ascribe to a change of intention in the Spanish ministry, was nothing more than a compulsory step, extorted by the determined opposition of the nobles. So little, too, were the people in the Netherlands satisfied by this “ Moderation,” which, fundamentally, did not remove a single abuse, that instead of “ Moderation” (mitigation), they indignantly called it “ Mooderation,” that is, murdering. After the consent of the states had, in this manner, been extorted from them, the “ Modera¬ tion” was submitted to the Council of the State, and after receiving their signatures, forwarded to the king, in Spain, in order to receive from his ratification the force of law. The embassy to Madrid, which had been agreed upon with the confederates, was at the outlet in¬ trusted to the Marquis of Bergen,* who, how¬ ever, from a distrust of the present disposition of the king, which was only too well grounded, and from reluctance to engage alone in so delicate a business, begged for a coadjutor. He obtained one in the Baron of Montigny, who had previously been employed in a similar duty, and had dis¬ charged it with high credit. As, however, cir¬ cumstances had since altered so much, that he had just anxiety as to his present reception in Madrid, for his greater safety, he stipulated with the duchess that she should write to the monarch previously; and that he, with his companion, should, in the mean while, travel slowly enough to give time for the king’s answer reaching him en route. His good genius wished, it appeared, to save him from the terrible fate which awaited him in Madrid, for his departure was delayed by an unexpected obstacle, the Marquis of Bergen being disabled from setting out immediately, through a wound which he received from the blow of a tennis ball. At last, however, yielding to the pressing importunities of the regent, who was anxious to expedite the business, he set out alone, not as he hoped, to carry the cause of his nation, but to die for it. In the mean time, the posture of affairs had changed so greatly in the Netherlands, the step which the nobles had recently taken, had so nearly brought on a complete rupture with the government, that it seemed impossible for the Prince of Orange and his friends to maintain any longer the intermediate and delicate position which they had hitherto held between the country and the court, or to reconcile the contradictory duties to which it gave rise. Great must have Deen the restraint, which, with their mode of thinking, they had to put on themselves not to take part in this contest; much, too, must their natural love of liberty, their patriotism, and their principles of toleration have suffered from the constraint which their official station imposed upon them. On the other hand, Philip’s distrust, the little regard which now for a long time had been paid to their advice, and the marked slights which the duchess publicly put upon them, had greatly contributed to cool their zeal for the ser¬ vice, and to render irksome the longer continu- * This Marquis of Bergen is to be distinguished from Count William of Bergen, who was among the first who subscribed the covenant. Vigl. ad Hopper, Letter vii. ance of a part which they played with so much repugnance and with so little thanks. This feel¬ ing was strengthened by several intimations they received from Spain, which placed beyond doubt the great displeasure of the king at the petition of the nobles, and his little satisfaction with their own behavior on that occasion, while they were also led to expect that he was about to enter upon measures, to which, as favorable to tho liberties of their country, and for the most part friends or blood relations of the confederates, they could never lend their countenance or support. On the name, which should be applied in Spain to the confederacy of the nobles, it principally de¬ pended what course they should follow for the future. If the petition should be called rebellion, no alternative would be left them, but either to come prematurely to a dangerous explanation with the court, or to aid it in treating as enemies, those with whom they had both a fellow feeling and a common interest. This perilous alternative could only be avoided by withdrawing entirely from public affairs; this plan they had once before practically adopted, and under present circumstances, it was something more than a simple expedient. The whole nation had their eyes upon them. An unlimited confidence in their integrity, and the universal veneration for their persons, which closely bordered on idolatry, would ennoble the cause which they might make their own, and ruin that which they should aban¬ don. Their share in the administration of the state, though it were nothing more than nominal, kept the opposite party in check ; while they at¬ tended the senate, violent measures were avoided, because their continued presence still favored some expectations of succeeding by gentle means. The withholding of their approbation, even if it did not proceed from their hearts, dispirited the faction, which, on the contrary, would exert its full strength so soon as it could reckon even dis¬ tantly on obtaining so weighty a sanction. The very measures of the government, which, if they came through their hands, were certain of a favorable reception and issue, would without them prove suspected and futile; even the royal con¬ cessions, if they were not obtained by the media¬ tion of these friends of the people, would fail of the chief part of their efficacy. Besides, their retirement from public affairs would deprive the regent of the benefit of their advice, at a time when counsel was most indispensable to her; it would, moreover, leave the preponderance with a party which, blindly dependent on the court, and ignorant of the peculiarities of republican char¬ acter, would neglect nothing to aggravate the evil, and to drive to extremity the already exaspe¬ rated mind of the public. All these motives (and it is open to every one, according to his good or bad opinion of the prince, to say which was the most influential) tended alike to move him to desert the regent, and to divest himself of all share in public affairs. An oppor¬ tunity for putting this resolve into execution soon presented itself. The prince had voted for the immediate promulgation of the newly revised edicts ; but the regent, following the suggestion of her Privy Council, had determined to transmit HISTORY OP THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 67 them first to the king. “ I now see clearly," he broke out with well-acted vehemence, “that all the advice which I give is distrusted. The king requires no servants whose loyalty he is deter¬ mined to doubt; and far be it from me to thrust my services upon a sovereign who is unwilling to receive them. Better, therefore, for him and me, that I withdraw from public affairs.” Count Horn expressed himself nearly to the same effect. ^Egmont requested permission to visit the baths of Aix-la-Chapelle, the use of which had been prescribed to him by his physician, although (as it is stated in his accusation) he appeared health itself. The regent, terrified at the. consequences which must inevitably follow this step, spoke sharply to the prince. “ If neither my represen¬ tations, nor the general welfare can prevail upon you, so far as to induce you to relinquish this in¬ tention, let me advise you to be more careful, at least, of your own reputation. Louis of Nassau is your brother; he and Count Brederode, the heads of the confederacy, have publicly been your guests. The petition is in substance identical with your own representations in the Council of State. If you now suddenly desert the cause of your king, will it not be universally said that you favor the conspiracy?” We do not find it any where stated, whether the prince really withdrew at this time from the Council of State ; at all events, if he did, he must soon have altered his mind, for shortly after, he appears again in public transactions. Egmont allowed himself to be over¬ come by the remonstrances of the regent; Horn alone actually withdrew himself to one of his estates,* with the resolution of never more serving either emperor or king. Meanwhile the Gueux had dispersed themselves through the pro¬ vinces, and spread everywhere the most favora¬ ble reports of their success. According to their assertions, religious freedom was finally assured ; and in order to confirm their statements, they helped themselves, where the truth failed, with falsehood. For example, they produced a forged letter of the Knights of the Fleece, in which the latter were made solemnly to declare that, for the future, no one need fear imprisonment, or banish¬ ment, or death, on account of religion, unless he also committed a political crime; and even in that case, the confederates alone were to be his judges; and this regulation was to be in force until the king, with the consent and advice of the states of the realm, should otherwise dispose. Earnestly as the knights applied themselves, upon the first information of the fraud, to rescue the nation from their delusion, still it had already, in this short interval, done good service to the faction. If there are truths whose effect is limited to a single instant, then inventions which last so long can easily assume their place. Besides, the report, however false, was calculated both to awaken distrust between the regent and the knights, and to support the courage of the Pro¬ testants by fresh hopes, while it also furnished those who were meditating innovation an appear¬ ance of right, which, however unsubstantial they themselves knew it to be, served as a colorable * Where he remained three months inactive. pretext for their proceedings. Quickly as this delusion was dispelled, still, in the short space of time that it obtained belief, it had occasioned so many extravagances, had introduced so much of irregularity and license, that a return to the for¬ mer state of things became impossible, and con¬ tinuance in the course already commenced, was rendered necessary as well by habit as by despair. On the very first news of this happy result, the fugitive Protestants had returned to their homes, which they had so unwillingly abandoned ; those who had been in concealment came forth from their hiding places ; those who had hitherto paid homage to the new religion in their hearts alone, emboldened by these pretended acts of toleration, now gave in their adhesion to it publicly and de¬ cidedly. The name of the “ Gueux” was extolled in all the provinces ; they were called the pillars of religion and liberty: their party increased daily, and many of the merchants began to wear their insignia. The latter made an alteration in the “ Geusen” penny, by introducing two travel¬ ers’ staffs laid crosswise, to intimate that they stood prepared and ready, at any instant, to for¬ sake house and hearth for the sake of religion. The Geusen League, in short, had now given to things an entirely different form. The murmurs of the people, hitherto impotent and despised, as being the cries of individuals, had now, that they were concentrated, become formidable ; and had gained power, direction, and firmness, through union. Every one who was rebelliously disposed, now looked on himself as the member of a vene¬ rable and powerful body, and believed that by carrying his own complaints to the general stock of discontent, he secured the free expression of them. To be called an important acquisition to the league flattered the vain ; to be lost, unno¬ ticed, and irresponsible, in the crowd, was an in¬ ducement to the timid. The face which the con¬ federacy showed to the nation, was very unlike that which it had turned to the court. But had its objects been the purest, had it really been as well disposed toward the throne as it wished to appear, still the multitude would have regarded only what was illegal in its proceedings, and upon them its better intentions would have been entirely lost. PUBLIC PREACHING. No moment could be more favorable to the Huguenots and the German Protestants than the present, to seek a market for their dangerous commodity in the Netherlands. Accordingly, every considerable town now swarmed with suspi¬ cious arrivals, masked spies, and the apostles of every description of heresy. Of the religious parties which had sprung up by secession from the ruling church, three chiefly had made considerable progress in the provinces. Friesland, and the adjoining districts, were overrun by the Anabap¬ tists, who, however, as the most indigent, without organization and government, destitute of mili¬ tary resources, and moreover at strife amongst themselves, awakened the least apprehension. Of far more importance were the Calviuists, who 68 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. prevailed in the southern provinces, and above all in Flanders, who were powerfully supported by their neighbors the Huguenots, the republic of Geneva, the Swiss Cantons, and part of Germany, and whose opinions, with the exception of a slight difference, were also held by the throne in Eng¬ land. They were also the most numerous party, especially among the merchants and common citizens. The Huguenots expelled from France had been the chief disseminators of the tenets of this party. The Lutherans were inferior both in •numbers and wealth, but derived weight from having many adherents among the nobility. They occupied, for the most part, the eastern portion of the Netherlands, which borders on Germany, and were also to be found in some of the northern territories. Some of the most powerful ^princes of Germany were their allies ; and the religious freedom of that empire, of which by the Burgun¬ dian treaty the Netherlands formed an integral part, was claimed by them with some appearance of right. These three religious denominations met together in Antwerp, where the crowded po¬ pulation concealed them, and the mingling of all nations favored liberty. They had nothing in common, except an equally inextinguishable hatred of Popery, of the Inquisition in particular, and of the Spanish government, whose instru¬ ment it was; while, on the other hand, they watched each other with a jealousy which kept their zeal in exercise, and prevented the glowing ardor of fanaticism from waxing dull. The regent, in expectation that the projected “ Moderation” would be sanctioned by the king, had, in the mean time, to gratify the “ Gueux,” recommended the governors and municipal offi¬ cers of the provinces to be as moderate as pos¬ sible in their proceedings against heretics ; in¬ structions which were eagerly followed, and inter¬ preted in the widest sense by the majority, who had hitherto administered the painful duty of punishment with extreme repugnance. Most of the chief magistrates were in their hearts averse to the Inquisition and the Spanish tyranny, and many were even secretly attached to one or other of the religious parties; even the others were un¬ willing to inflict punishment on their countrymen, to gratify their sworn enemies, the Spaniards. All, therefore, purposely misunderstood the re¬ gent, and allowed the Inquisition and the edicts to fall almost entirely into disuse. This forbear¬ ance of the government, combined with the bril¬ liant representations of the “ Gueux,” lured from their obscurity the Protestants, who, however, had now grown too powerful to be any longer con¬ cealed. Hitherto they had contented themselves with secret assemblies by night; now they thought themselves numerous and formidable enough to venture to these meetings openly and publicly. This license commenced somewhere between Ou- denarde and Ghent, and soon spread through the rest of Flanders. A certain Hermann Strieker, born at Overyssel, formerly a monk, a daring enthusi&st, of able mind, imposing figure, and ready tongue, was the first who collected the peo¬ ple for a sermon in the open air. The novelty of the thing gathered together a crowd of about seven thousand persons. A magistrate of the neighborhood, more courageous than wise, rushed amongst the crowd with his drawn sword, and attempted to seize the preacher, but was so roughly handled by the multitude, who for want of other weapons took up stones, and felled him to the ground, that he was glad to beg for his life.* This success of the first attempt inspired cour¬ age for a second. In the vicinity of Aalst, they assembled again in still greater numbers ; but on this occasion they provided themselves with ra¬ piers, firearms, and halberds, placed sentries at all the approaches, which they also barricaded with carts and carriages. All passers by were obliged, whether willing or otherwise, to take part in the religious service, and to enforce this object, look-out parties were posted at certain distances round the place of meeting. At the entrance, book-sellers stationed themselves, offering for sale Protestant catechisms, religious tracts, and pas¬ quinades on the bishops. The preacher, Her¬ mann Strieker, held forth from a pulpit, which was hastily constructed for the occasion out of carts and trunks of trees. A canvas awning drawn over it protected him from the sun and the rain ; the preacher’s position was in the quarter of the wind that the people might not lose any part of his sermon, which consisted principally of revilings against Popery. Here the sacraments were ad¬ ministered after the Calvinist.ic fashion and water was procured from the nearest river to baptize infants without further ceremony, after the prac¬ tice, it was pretended, of the earliest times of Christianity. Couples were also united in wed¬ lock, and the marriage ties dissolved between others. To be present at this meeting, half the population of Ghent had left its gates ; their ex¬ ample was soon followed in other parts, and ere long spread over the whole of East Flanders. In like manner, Peter Dathen, another renegade monk, from Poperingen, stirred up West Flan¬ ders ; as many as fifteen thousand persons at a time attended his preaching from the villages and hamlets ; their number made them bold, and they broke into the prisons, where some Anabaptists were reserved for martyrdom. In Tournay, the Protestants were excited to a similar pitch of daring by Ambrosius Ville, a French Calvinist. They demanded the release of the prisoners of their sect, and repeatedly threatened, if their de¬ mands were not complied with, to deliver up the town to the French. It was entirely destitute of a garrison, for the commandant, for fear of treason, had withdrawn it into the castle, and the soldiers, moreover, refused to act against their fellow-citizens. The sectarians carried their au¬ dacity to such great lengths, as to require one of the churches within the town to be assigned to them ; and when this was refused, they entered into a league with Yalenciennes and Antwerp, to obtain a legal recognition of their worship, after ** The unheard-of foolhardiness of a single man rush- ing into the midst of a fanatical crowd of 7,000 people, to seize before their eyes one whom they adored, proves, more than all that can be said on the subject, the inso¬ lent contempt with which the Roman Catholics of the time looked down upon the so-called heretics as an infe¬ rior race of beings. HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 69 the example of the other towns, by open force. These three towns maintained a close connection with each other, and the Protestant party was equally powerful in all. While, however, no one would venture singly to commence the disturbance, they agreed simultaneously to make a beginning with public preaching. Brederode’s appearance* in Antwerp at last gave them courage. Six thou¬ sand persons, men and women, poured forth from the town on an appointed day, on which the same thing happened in Tournay and Valenciennes. The place of meeting was closed in with a line of vehicles, firmly fastened together, and behind them armed men were secretly posted, with a view to protect the service from any surprise. Of the f )reache‘rs, most of whom were men of the very owest class—some were Germans, some were Huguenots—-and spoke in the Walloon dialect; some even of the citizens felt themselves called upon to take a part in this sacred work, now that no fears of the officers of justice alarmed them. Many were drawn to the spot by mere curiosity, to hear what kind of new and unheard-of doctrines these foreign teachers, whose arrival had caused so much talk, would set forth. Others were attracted by the melody of the psalms, which were sung in a French version, after the custom in Geneva. A great number came to hear these sermons as so many amusing comedies ; such was the buffoonery with which the pope, the fathers of the ecclesias¬ tical Council of Trent, purgatory, and other dog¬ mas of the ruliug church were abused in them. And, in fact, the more extravagant was this abuse and ridicule, the more it tickled the ears of the lower orders, and a universal clapping of hands, as in the theatre, rewarded the speaker who had surpassed others in the wildness of his jokes and denunciations. But the ridicule which was thus cast upon the ruling church was, nevertheless, not entirely lost on the minds of the hearers, as neither were the few grains of truth or reason, which occasionally slipped in among it; and many a one, who had sought from these sermons any thing but conviction, unconsciously carried away a little also of it. These assemblies were several times repeated, and each day augmented the boldness of the sectarians ; till at last they even ventured, after concluding the service, to conduct their preachers home in triumph, with an escort of armed horse¬ men, and ostentatiously to brave the law. The town council sent express after express to the duchess, entreating her to visit them in person, and if possible to reside for a short time in Ant¬ werp, as the only expedient to curb the'arrogance of the populace ; and assuring her that the most eminent merchants, afraid of being plundered, were already preparing to quit it. Fear of staking the royal dignity on so hazardous a stroke of policy, forbade her compliance; but she dis¬ patched in her stead Count Megen, in order to treat with the magistrate for the introduction of a garrison. The rebellious mob, who quickly got an inkling of the object of his visit, gathered around him with tumultuous cries, shouting— “ fie was known to them as a sworn enemy of the Gueux; that it was notorious he was bringing upon them prisons, and the Inquisition, and that he should leave the town instantly.” Nor was the tumult quieted till Megen was beyond the gates. The Calvinists now handed in to the magistrate a memorial, in which they showed that their great numbers made it impossible for them henceforward to assemble in secrecy, and re¬ quested a separate place of worship to be allowed them inside the town. The town council renewed its entreaties to the duchess to assist, by her per¬ sonal presence, their perplexities, or at least to send to them the Prince of Orange, as the only person for whom the people still had any respect; and moreover, as specially bound to the town of Antwerp by his hereditary title of its Burgrave. In order to escape the greater evil, she was com¬ pelled to consent to the second demand, however much against her inclination to intrust Antwerp to the prince. After allowing himself to be long and fruitlessly entreated, for he had all at once resolved to take no farther share in public affairs, he yielded at last to the earnest persuasions of the regent, and the boisterous wishes of the people. Brederode, with a numerous retinue, came half a mile out of the town to meet him, and both parties saluted each other with a dis¬ charge of pistols. Antwerp appeared to have poured out all her inhabitants to welcome her deliverer. The high road swarmed with multi¬ tudes ; the roofs were taken off the houses, in order that they might accommodate more specta¬ tors ; behind fences, from churchyard walls, even out of graves started up men. The attachment of the people to the prince showed itself in child¬ ish effusions. “ Long live the Gueux !” was the shout with which young and old received him. “ Behold,” cried others, “the man who shall give us liberty.” “He brings us,” cried others, “the Confession of Augsburg!” “We don’t want the Gueux now !” exclaimed others; “we have no more need of the troublesome journey to Brus¬ sels. He alone is every thing to us!” Those who knew not what to say, vented their extrava¬ gant joy in psalms, which they vociferously chanted as they moved along. He, however, maintained his gravity, beckoned for silence, and at last, when no one would listen to him, exclaim¬ ed with indignation, half real and half affected— “ By God, they ought to consider what they did, or they would one day repent what they had now done.” The shouting increased even as he rode into the town. The first conference of the prince with the heads of the different religious sects, whom he sent for and separately interrogated, presently convinced him that the chief source of the evil, was the mutual distrust of the several parties, and the suspicions which the citizens en¬ tertained of the designs of the government; and that, therefore, it must be his first business to re¬ store confidence among them all. First ot all he attempted, both by persuasion and artifice, to induce the Calvinists, as the most numerous body, to lay down their weapons, and in this he at last, with much labor, succeeded. When, however, some wagons were soon after laden with ammuni¬ tion in Malines, and the High Bailiff’ of Brabant showed himself frequently in the neighborhood of Antwerp with an armed force, the Calvinists fear¬ ing hostile interruption cf their religious worship, 70 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. besought the prince to allot them a place within the walls for their sermons, which should be secure from a surprise. He succeeded once more in pacifying them, and his presence fortunately prevented an outbreak on the Assumption of the Virgin, which, as usual, had drawn a crowd to the town, and from whose sentiments there was but too much reason for alarm. The image of the Virgin was, with the usual pomp, carried round the town without interruption ; a few words of abuse, and a suppressed murmur about idolatry, w'as all that the disapproving multitudes indulged in against the procession. L566. While the regent received from one pro¬ vince after another the most melancholy accounts of the excesses of the Protestants, and while she trembled for Antwerp, which she was compelled to leave in the dangerous hands of the Prince of Orange, a new terror assailed her from another quarter. Upon the first authentic tidings of the public preaching, she immediately called upon the league to fulfill its promise, and to assist her in restoring order. Count Brederode used this pre¬ text to summon a general meeting of the whole league, for which he could not have selected a more dangerous moment than the present. So ostentatious a display of the strength of the league, whose existence and protection had alone encouraged the Protestant mob to go the length it had already gone, would now raise the confi¬ dence of the sectarians, while, in the same degree, it depressed the courage of the regent. The con¬ vention took place in the town of Liege St. Tru- yen, into which Brederode and Louis of Nassau had thrown themselves at the head of 2,000 con¬ federates. As the long delay of the royal answer from Madrid seemed to presage no good from that quarter, they considered it advisable, in any case, to extort from the regent a letter of indem¬ nity for their persons. Those among them who were conscious of a disloyal sympathy with the Protestant mob, looked on its licentiousness as a favorable circum¬ stance for the league ; the apparent success of those to whose degrading fellowship they had deigned to stoop, led them to alter their tone ; their former laudable zeal began to degenerate into insolence and defiance. Many thought that they ought to avail themselves of the general con¬ fusion and the perplexity of the duchess, to as¬ sume a bolder tone and heap demand upon de¬ mand. 'The Roman Catholic members of the league, among whom many were, in their hearts, still strongly inclined to the royal cause, and who had been drawn into a connection with the league by occasion and example, rather than from feel¬ ing and conviction, now heard, to their astonish¬ ment, propositions for establishing universal free¬ dom of religion, and were not a little shocked to discover in how perilous an enterprise they had hastily implicated themselves. On this discovery, the young Count Mansfeld withdrew immediately from it, and internal dissensions already began to undermine the work of precipitation and haste, and imperceptibly to loosen the joints of the league. Count Egmont and 'William of Orange were empowered by the regent to treat with the confe¬ derates. Twelve of the latter, among whom were Louis of Nassau, Brederode, and Kuilemburg, conferred with them in Duffle, a village near Ma- lines. “Wherefore this new step?" demanded the regent by the mouth of these two noblemen. “I was required to dispatch ambassadors to Spain ; and I sent them. The edicts and the In¬ quisition were complained of as too rigorous ; I have rendered both more lenient. A general as¬ sembly of the states of the realm was proposed ; I have submitted this request to the king, be¬ cause I could not grant it from my own authority. What, then, have I unwittingly either omitted or done, that should render necessary this assem¬ bling in St. Truyen ? Is it perhaps fear of the king’s anger, and of its consequences,.that dis¬ turbs the confederates ? The provocation is cer¬ tainly great, but his mercy is even greater. Where now is the promise of the league, to ex¬ cite no disturbances amongst the people ? Where those high-sounding professions, that they were ready to die at my feet, rather than offend against any of the prerogatives of the crown ? The' innovators already venture on things which border closely on rebellion, and threaten the state with destruction ; and it is to the league that they appeal. If it continues silently to tolerate this, it will justly bring on itself the charge of participating in the guilt of their offenses ; if it is honestly disposed toward the sovereign, it can¬ not remain longer inactive in this licentiousness of the mob. But, in truth, does it not itself out¬ strip the insane population by its dangerous ex¬ ample, concluding, as it is known to do, alliances with the enemies of the country, and confirming the evil report of its designs by the present ille¬ gal meeting?" Against these reproaches the league formally justified itself, in a memorial which it deputed three of its members to deliver to the Council of State at Brussels. “ All,” it commenced, “ that your highness has done in respect to our petition we have felt with the most lively gratitude; and we cannot com¬ plain of any new measure subsequently adopted, inconsistent with your promise ; but we cannot help coming to the conclusion that the orders of your highness are, by the judicial courts at least, very little regarded ; for we are continually hear¬ ing—and our own eyes attest to the truth of the report—that in all quarters our fellow-citizens are, in spite of the orders of your highness, still mercilessly dragged before the courts of justice, and condemned to death for religion. What the league engaged on its part to do, it has honestly fulfilled ; it has, too, to the utmost of its power, endeavored to prevent the public preachings ; but it certainly is no wonder if the long delay of an answer from Madrid fills the mind of the people with distrust, and if the disappointed hopes of a general assembly of the states disposes them to put little faith in any further assurances. The league has never allied, nor ever felt any tempta¬ tion to ally, itself with the enemies of the country. If the arms of France were to appear in the pro¬ vinces, we, the confederates, would be the first to mount and drive them back again. The league, however, desires to be candid with your highness. HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 71 We thought we read marks of displeasure in your countenance; we see men in exclusive possession of your favor, who are notorious for their hatred against us. We daily hear that persons are warned from associating with us, as with those infected with the plague, while we are denounced with the arrival of the king, as with the opening of a day of judgment—what is more natural than that such distrust shown to us, should at last rouse our own ? That the attempt to blacken our league with the reproach of treason, that the war¬ like preparations of the Duke of Savoy and other princes, which, according to common report, are directed against ourselves ; the negotiations of the king with the French court, to obtain a pas¬ sage through that kingdom for a Spanish army, which is destined, it is said, for the Netherlands— what wonder if these, and similar occurrences, should have stimulated us to think in time of the means of self-defense, and to strengthen ourselves by an alliance with our friends beyond the fron¬ tier ? On a general, uncertain, and vague rumor, we are accused of a share in this licentiousness of the Protestant mob ; but who is safe from ge¬ neral rumor? True it is, certainly, that of our numbers some are Protestants, to whom religious toleration would be a welcome boon; but even they have never forgotten what they owe to their sovereign. It is not fear of the king’s anger which instigated us to hold this assembly. The king is good, and we still hope that he is also just. It cannot, therefore, be pardon that we seek from him, and just as little can it be oblivion, that we solicit for our actions, which are far from being the least considerable of the services we have at different times rendered his majesty. Again, it is true, that the delegates of the Luthe¬ rans and Calvinists are with us in St. Truyen ; nay, more, they have delivered to us a petition which, annexed to this memorial, we here present to your highness. In it they offer to go unarmed to their preachings, if the league will tender its security to them, and be willing to engage for a general meeting of the states. We have thought it incumbent upon us to communicate both these matters to you, for our guarantee can have no force, unless it is at the same time confirmed by your highness and some of your principal coun¬ selors. Among these, no one can be so well ac¬ quainted with the circumstances of our cause, or be so upright in intention toward us, as the Prince of Orange, and Counts Horn and Eg- mont. We gladly accept these three as media¬ tors, if the necessary powers are given to them, and assurance is afforded us, that no troops will be enlisted without their knowledge. This gua¬ rantee, however, we only require for a given pe¬ riod, before the expiration of which it will rest with the king, whether he will cancel or confirm it for the future. If the first should be his will, it will then be but fair that time should be allowed us to place our persons and our property in secu¬ rity; for this, three weeks will be sufficient. Fi¬ nally, and in conclusion, we on our part also pledge ourselves to undertake nothing new, with¬ out the concurrence of those three persons, our mediators.” The league would not have ventured to hold such bold language, if it had not reckoned on powerful support and protection ; but the regent was as little in a condition to concede their de¬ mands, as she was incapable of vigorously oppo¬ sing them. Deserted in Brussels by most of her counselors of state, who had either departed to heir provinces, or under some pretext or other rad altogether withdrawn from public affairs; destitute as well of advisers as of money, (the after want had compelled her, in the first in¬ stance, to appeal to the liberality of the clergy, when this proved insufficient, to have recourse to a lottery,) dependent on orders from Spain, which were ever expected and never received, she was at last reduced to the degrading expedient of en¬ tering into a negotiation with the confederates in St. Truyen, that they should wait twenty-four days longer for the king’s resolution, before they took any further steps. It was certainly surpri¬ sing, that the king still continued to delay a deci¬ sive answer to the petition, although it was uni¬ versally known that he had answered letters of a much later date, and that the regent earnestly importuned him on this head. She had also, on the commencement of the public preaching, im¬ mediately dispatched the Marquis of Bergen after the Baron of Montigny, who, as an eye wit¬ ness of these new occurrences, could confirm her written statements, to move the king to an earlier decision. 1566. In the mean while, the Flemish Ambas¬ sador, Florence of Montigny, had arrived in Mad¬ rid, where he was received with a great show of consideration. His instructions were to press for the abolition of the Inquisition, and the mitiga¬ tion of the edicts ; the augmentation of the Coun¬ cil of State, and the incorporation with it of the two other councils; the calling of a general as¬ sembly of the states, and, lastly, to urge the solicitations of the regent for a personal visit from the king. As the latter, however, was only desirous of gaining time, Montigny was put off with fair words until the arrival of his coadjutor, without whom the king was not willing to come to any final determination. In the mean time, Montigny had, every day and at any hour that he desired, an audience with the king, who also com¬ manded, that on all occasions the dispatches of the duchess and the answers to them should be communicated to himself. He was, too, frequently admitted to the council for Belgian affairs, where he never omitted to call the king’s attention to the necessity of a general assembly of the states, as being the only means of successfully meeting the troubles which had arisen, and as likely to supersede the necessity of any other measure. He moreover impressed upon him, that a general and unreserved indemnity for the past would alone eradicate the distrust, which was the source of all existing complaints, and would always coun¬ teract the good etfects of every measure, however well advised. He ventured, from a thorough ac¬ quaintance with circumstances and accurate knowledge of the character of his countrymen, to pledge himself to the king for their inviolable loyalty, as soon as they should be convinced of the honesty of his intentions by the straightfor¬ wardness of his proceedings ; while, on the con- 72 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. trary, he assured him that there would be no hopes of it, as long as they were not relieved of the fear of being made the victims of the oppres¬ sion, and sacrificed to the envy, of the Spanish nobles. At last, Montigny’s coadjutor made his appearance, and the objects of their embassy were made the subject of repeated deliberations. 1566. The king was at that time at his palace at Segovia, where also he assembled his State Council. The members were : the Duke of Alva; Don Gomez de Figueroa; the Count of Feria; Don Antonio of Toledo, Grand Commander of St John; Don John Manriquez of Lara, Lord Steward to the Queen; Buy Gomez, Prince of Eboli and Count of Melito ; Louis of Quixada, Master of the Horse to the Prince; Charles Tyssenacque, President of the Council for the Netherlands ; Hopper, State Counselor and Keeper of the Seal; and State Counselor Corte- ville. The sitting of the council was protracted for several days; both ambassadors were in at¬ tendance, but the king was not himself present. Here, then, the conduct of the Belgian nobles was examined by Spanish eyes ; step by step it was traced back to the most distant source ; cir¬ cumstances were brought into relation with others, which, in reality, never had any connec¬ tion ; and what had been the offspring of the moment, was made out to be a well-matured and far-sighted plan. All the different transactions and attempts of the nobles which had been gov¬ erned solely by chance, and to which the natural order of events alone assigned their particular shape and succession, were said to be the result of a preconcerted scheme for introducing univer¬ sal liberty in religion, and for placing all the power of the state in the hands of the nobles. The first step to this end was, it was said, the violent expulsion of the minister Granvella, against whom nothing could be charged, except that he was in possession of an authority which they preferred to exercise themselves. The second step was sending Count Egmont to Spain, to urge the abolition of the Inquisition, and the miti¬ gation of the penal statutes, and to prevail on the king to consent to an augmentation of the Council of State. As, however, this could not be surreptitiously obtained in so quiet a manner, the attempt was made to extort it from the court by a third and more daring step—by a formal conspiracy, the League of the Gueux. The fourth step to the same end was the present embassy, which at length boldly cast aside the mask, and by the insane proposals which they were not ashamed to make to tfieir king, clearly brought to light the object to which all the preceding steps had tended. Could the abolition of the Inquisi¬ tion, they exclaimed, lead to any thing less than a complete freedom of belief? Would not the guid¬ ing helm of conscience be lost with it? Did not the proposed “ moderation” introduce an absolute impunity for all heresies? What was the project of augmenting the Council of State and of sup¬ pressing the two other councils, but a complete remodeling of the government of the country in favor of the nobles?—a general government for all the provinces of the Netherlands? Again, what was this compact of the ecclesiastics in their public preaching, but a third conspiracy, entered into with the very same objects which the league of the nobles in the Council of State, and that of the Gueux, had failed to effect ? However, it was confessed, that whatever might be the source of the evil, it was not on that ac¬ count the less important and imminent. The im¬ mediate personal presence of the king in Brussels was indubitably, the most efficacious means, speed¬ ily and thoroughly to remedy it. As, however, it was already so late in the year, and the prepara¬ tions alone for the journey would occupy the short time which was to elapse before the winter set in ; as the stormy season of the year, as well as the danger from French and English ships, which rendered the sea unsafe, did not allow of the king’s taking the northern route, which was the shorter of the two; as the rebels themselves meanwhile might become possessed of the island of Walcheren, and oppose the landing of the king ; for all these reasons, the journey was not to be thought of before the spring, and in ab- sense of the only complete remedy it was neces¬ sary to rest satisfied with a partial expedient. The council, therefore, agreed to propose to the king’, in the first place, that he should recall the Papal Inquisition from the provinces and rest sa¬ tisfied with that of the bishops ; in the second place, that a new plan for the mitigation of the edicts should be projected, by which the honor of religion and the king would be better preserved than it had been in the transmitted “ modera¬ tion ;” thirdly, that in order to reassure the minds of the people, and to leave no means un¬ tried, the king should impart to the regent full powers to extend free grace and pardon to all those who had not already committed any heinous crime, or who had not as yet been condemned by any judicial process ; but from the benefit of this indemnity, the preachers, and all who harbored them, were to be excepted. On the other hand, all leagues, associations, public assemblies, and preachings, were to be henceforth prohibited un¬ der heavy penalties; if, however, this prohibition should be infringed, the regent was to be at liberty to employ the regular troops and garrisons lor the forcible reduction of the refractory, and also, in case of necessity, to enlist new troops, and to name the commanders over them, according as should be deemed advisable. Finally, it would have a good effect, if his majesty would write to the most eminent towns, prelates, and leaders of the nobility, to some in his own hand, and to all in a gracious tone, in order to stimulate their zeal in his service. When this resolution of the Council ot State was submitted to the king, his first measure was to command public processions and prayers :n all the most considerable places of the kingdom, and also of the Netherlands, imploring the divine guidance in his decision. He appeared in his own person in the Council of State in order to approve this resolution, and render it effective. He de¬ clared the General Assembly of the States to be useless, and entirely abolished it. He, however, bound himself to retain some German regiments in his pay, and that they might serve with the more zeal, to pay them their long-standing arrears. HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 73 He commanded the regent, in a private letter, to prepare secretly for war ; three thousand horse and ten thousand infantry were to be assembled by her in Germany, to which end he furnished her with the necessary letters, and transmitted to her a sum of three hundred thousand gold florins. He also accompanied this resolution with several autograph letters to some private individuals and towns, in which he thanked them in the most gra¬ cious terms for the zeal which they had already displayed in his service, and called upon them to manifest the same for the future. Notwithstand¬ ing that he was inexorable on the most important point, and the very one on which the nation most particularly insisted—the convocation of the states ; notwithstanding that his limited and am¬ biguous pardon was as good as none, and depend¬ ed too much on arbitrary will to calm the public mind; notwithstanding, in fine, that he rejected, as too lenient, the proposed “ moderation,” but which, on the part of the people, was complained of as too severe ; still he had at this time made an unwonted step in the favor of the nation ; he had sacrificed to it the Papal Inquisition and left only the Episcopal, to which it was accustomed. The nation had found more equitable judges in the Spanish council than they could reasonably have hoped for. Whether, at another time, and under other circumstances, this wise concession would have had the desired effect, we will not pretend to say. It came too late: when (1566) the royal letters reached Brussels, the attack on images had already commenced. BOOK IT. THE ICONOCLASTS. The springs of this extraordinary occurrence are plainly not to be sought.for so far back as many historians affect to trace them. It is certainly possible, and very probable that the French Pro¬ testants did industriously exert themselves to raise in the Netherlands a nursery for their reli¬ gion, and to prevent, by all means in their power, an amicable adjustment of differences between their brethren in the faith in that quarter and the King of Spain, in order to give that implacable foe of their party enough to do in his own country. It is natural, therefore, to suppose that their agents in the provinces left nothing undone to encourage their oppressed brethren with daring hopes, to nourish their animosity against the ruling church, and by exaggerating the oppression under which they sighed, to hurry them imperceptibly into illegal courses. It is possible, too, that there wore many among the confederates who thought to help out their own lost cause by increasing the number of their partners in guilt; who thought they could not otherwise maintain the legal char¬ acter of their league, unless the unfortunate re¬ sults, against which they had warned the king, really came to pass; and who hoped in the gen¬ eral guilt of all to conceal their own individual criminality. It is, however, incredible that the outbreak of the Iconoclasts was the fruit of a de¬ liberate plan, preconcerted, as it is alleged, at thb convent of St. Truyen. It does not seem likely, that in a solemn assembly of so many nobles and warriors, of whom the greater part were the adhe¬ rents of Popery, an individual should be found in¬ sane enough to propose an act of positive infamy, which did not so much injure any religious party in particular, as rather tread under foot all re¬ spect for religion in general, and even all mo¬ rality too, and which could have been conceived only in the mind of the vilest reprobate. Besides, this outrage was too sudden in its outbreak, too vehement in its execution altogether, too mon¬ strous to have been any thing more than the off¬ spring of the moment in which it saw the light, it seemed to flow so naturally from the circumstances which preceded it, that it does not require to be traced far back to remount to its origin. A rude mob, consisting of the very dregs of the populace, rendered brutal by harsh treatment, by sanguinary decrees which dogged them in every town, scared from place to place, and driven al¬ most to despair, were compelled to worship their God, and to hide, like a work of darkness, the universal sacred privilege of humanity, Before their eyes proudly rose the temples of the domi¬ nant church, in which their haughty brethren in¬ dulged in ease their magnificent devotion, while they themselves were driven from the walls, ex¬ pelled, too, by the weaker number perhaps, and forced, here in the wild woods, under the burning heat of noon, in disgraceful secrecy to worship the same God—cast out from civil society into a state of nature, and reminded, in one dread mo¬ ment, of the rights of that state ! The greater their superiority of numbers, the more unnatural did their lot appear—with wonder they perceive the truth. The free heaven, the arms lying ready, the frenzy in their brains and fury in their hearts combine to aid the suggestions of some preach¬ ing fanatic ; the occasion calls, no premeditation is necessary, where all eyes at once declare con¬ sent ; the resolution is formed ere yet the word is scarcely uttered ; ready for any unlawful act, no one yet clearly knows what, the furious band rushes onward. The smiling prosperity of the hostile religion insults the poverty of their own ; the pomp of the authorized temples casts con¬ tempt on their proscribed belief; every cross set up upon the highway, every image of the saints that they meet, is a trophy erected over their hu¬ miliation, and they all must be removed by their avenging hands. Fanaticism suggests these de¬ testable proceedings, but base passions carry them into execution. 1566. The commencement of the attack on images took place in West Flanders and Artois, in the districts between Lys and the sea. A frantic herd of artisans, boatmen, and peasants, mixed with prostitutes, beggars, vagabonds, and thieves, about three hundred in number, furnished with clubs, axes, hammers, ladders, and cords, (a few only were provided with swords or fire-arms,) cast themselves, with fanatical fury, into the villages and hamlets near St. Omer, and breaking open the gates of such churches and cloisters as they find locked, overthrow everywhere the altars, break to pieces the images of the sain + s, and 74 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. trample them under foot. With their excitement increased by its indulgence, and reinforced by new comers, they press on, by the direct road, to Ypres, where they can count on the support of a strong body of Calvinists. Unopposed, they break into the cathedral, and mounting on ladders, they hammer to pieces the pictures, hew down with axes the pulpits and pews, despoil the altars of their ornaments, and steal the holy vessels. This example was quickly followed in Menin, Coniines, Verrich, Lille, and Oudenard ; in a few days, the same fury spreads through the whole of Flanders. At the very time when the first tidings of this occurrence arrived, Antwerp was swarming with a crowd of houseless people, which the feast of the Assumption of the Virgin had brought together in that city. Even the presence of the Prince of Orange was hardly sufficient to-restrain the licentious mob, who burned to imitate the doings of their brethren in St. Omer; but an order from the court, which summoned him to Brussels, where the regent was just assembling her Council of State, in order to lay before them the royal letters, obliged him to abandon Antwerp to the outrages of this band. His departure was the signal for tumult. Apprehensive of the law¬ less violence, of which, on the very first day of the festival, the mob had given indications in derisory allusions, the priests, after carrying about the image of the Virgin for a short time, brought it for safety to the choir, without, as formerly, setting it up in the middle of the church. This incited some mischievous boys from among the people, to ay it a visit there, and jokingly inquire, why she ad so soon absented herself from among them? Others, mounting the pulpit, mimicked the preacher, and challenged the Papists to a dispute. A Roman Catholic waterman, indignant at this jest, attempted to pull them down, and blows were exchanged in the preacher’s seat. Similar scenes occurred on the following evening. The numbers increased, and many came already pro¬ vided with suspicious implements and secret weapons. At last it came into the head of one of them to cry, “ Long live the Gueux !” immediately the whole bapd took up the cry, and the image of the Virgin was called upon to do the same. The few Roman Catholics who were present, and who had given up the hope of effecting any thing against these desperadoes, left the church, after locking all the doors except one. So soon as they found themselves alone, it was proposed to sing one of the psalms in the new version, which was prohibited by the government. While they were yet singing, they all, as at a given signal, rushed furiously upon the image of the Virgin, piercing it with swords and daggers, and striking off its head ; thieves and prostitutes tore the great wax-lights from the altar, and lighted them to the work. The beautiful organ of the church, a masterpiece of the art of that period, was broken to pieces, all the paintings were effaced, and the statues smashed to atoms. A crucifix, the size of life, which was set up between the two thieves opposite the high altar, an ancient and highly valued piece of workmanship, was pulled to the ground with cords, and cut to pieces with axes, while the two malefactors at its side were respect¬ fully spared. The holy wafers were strewed oh the ground and trodden under foot; in the wine used for the Lord’s Supper, which was accident¬ ally found there, the health of the Gueux was drunk, while with the holy oil they rubbed their shoes. The very tombs were opened, and the half-decayed corpses torn up and trampled on. All this was done with as much wonderful regu¬ larity, as if each had previously had his part assigned to him; every one worked into his neighbor’s hands ; no one, dangerous as the work was, met with injury; in the midst of thick dark¬ ness, which the tapers only served to render more sensible, with heavy masses falling on all sides, and though on the very topmost steps of the lad¬ ders, they scuffled with each other for the honors of demolition—yet no one suffered the least injury. In spite of the many tapers which lighted them below in their villainous work, not a single individual was recognized. With incredible rapid¬ ity was the dark deed accomplished; a number of men, at most a hundred, despoiled in a few hours a temple of seventy altars—after St. Peter’s at Rome, perhaps, the largest and most magnifi¬ cent in Christendom. The devastation of the cathedral did not con¬ tent them: with torches and tapers purloined from it, they set out at midnight to perform a similar work of havoc on the remaining churches, cloisters, and chapels. The destructive hordes increased with every fresh exploit of infamy, and thieves were allured by the opportunity. They carried away whatever they found of value, the consecrated vessels, altar-cloths, money, and vest¬ ments ; in the cellars of the cloisters they drank to intoxication; to escape greater indignities, the monks and nuns abandoned every thing to them. The confused noises of these riotous acts had startled the citizens from their first sleep; but night made the danger appear more alarming than it really was, and instead of hastening to defend their churches, the citizens fortified them¬ selves in their houses, and in terror and anxiety awaited the dawn of morning. The rising sun at length revealed the devastation which had been going on during the night ; but the havoc did not terminate with the darkness. Some churches and cloisters still remained uninjured ; the same fate soon overtook them also. The work of destruc¬ tion lasted three whole days. Alarmed at last, lest the frantic mob, when it could no longer find any thing sacred to destroy, should make a similar attack on lay property, and plunder their ware¬ houses ; and encouraged too, by discovering how small was the number of the depredators, the wealthier citizens ventured to show themselves in arms at the doors of their houses. All the gates of the town were locked but one, through which the Iconoclasts broke forth to renew the same atrocities in the rural districts. On one occasion only, during all this time, did the municipal officers venture to exert their authority; so strongly were they held in awe by the superior power of the Calvinists, by whom, as it was be¬ lieved, this mob of miscreants was hired. The injury inflicted by this work of devastation was incalculable. In the church of the Virgin, it was estimated at not less than four hundred thousand HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 75 gOid florins. Many precious works of art were destroyed; many valuable manuscripts; many monuments of importance to history and to diplo¬ macy were thereby lost. The city magistrate ordered the plundered articles to be restored on pain of death ; in enforcing this restitution, he was effectually assisted by the preachers of the Re¬ formers, who blushed for their followers. Much was in this manner recovered, and the ringleaders of the mob, less animated, perhaps, by the desire of plunder, than by fanaticism and revenge, or perhaps being ruled by some unseen head, re¬ solved, for the future, to guard against these excesses, and to make their attacks in regular bands and in better order. The town of Ghent, meanwhile, trembled for a like destiny. Immediately on the first news of the outbreak of the Iconoclasts in Antwerp, the magistrate of the latter town, with the most eminent citizens, had bound themselves to repel by force the church spoilers ; when this oath was proposed to the commonalty also, the voices were divided, and many declared openly, that they were by no means disposed to hinder so devout a work. In this state of affairs, the Roman Catholic clergy found it advisable to deposit in the citadel the most precious movables of their churches, and private families were permitted, in like manner, to provide for the safety of offerings which had been made by their ancestors. Meanwhile, all the services were discontinued, the courts of jus¬ tice were closed; and like a town in momentary danger of being stormed by the enemy, men trembled in expectation of what was to come. At last, an insane band of rioters ventured to send delegates to the governor with this impudent message : “ They were ordered,” they said, “ by their chiefs, to take the images out of the churches, as had been done in the other towns. If they were not opposed, it should be done quietly, and with as little injury as possible, but otherwise they wpuld storm the churchesnay, they went so far in their audacity as to ask the aid of the officers of justice therein. At first, the magistrate was astounded at this demand ; upon reflection, however, and in the hope that the presence of the officers of law would perhaps re¬ strain their excesses, he did not scruple to grant their request. In Tournay, the churches were despoiled of their ornaments within sight of the garrison, who could not be induced to march against the Iconoclasts. As the latter had been told that the gold and silver vessels, and other ornaments of the church, were buried underground, they turned up the whole floor, and exposed, among others, the body of the Duke Adolph of Gueldres, who fell in battle at the head of the rebellious burghers of Ghent, and had been buried here in Tournay. This Adolph had waged war against his father, and had dragged the vanquished old man some miles barefoot to prison—an indignity which Charles the Bold after¬ ward retaliated on him. And now, again, after more than half a century, fate avenged a crime against nature by another against religion ; fana¬ ticism was to desecrate that which was holy, in order to expose once more to execration the bones of a parricide. Other Iconoclasts from Valen¬ ciennes united themselves with those of Tournay, to despoil all the cloisters of the surrounding dis¬ trict, during which a valuable library, the accumu¬ lation of centuries, was destroyed by fire. The evil soon penetrated into Brabant, also Malines, Herzogenbusch, Breda, and Bergen-op-Zoom ex¬ perienced the same fate. The provinces Namur and Luxemburg, with a part of Artois and of Hainault, had alone the good fortune to escape the contagion of these outrages. In the short period of four or five days, four hundred cloisters were plundered in Brabant and Flanders alone. The northern Netherlands were soon seized with the same mania which had raged so violently through the southern. The Dutch towns, Amster¬ dam, Leyden, and Gravenhaag, had the alterna¬ tive of either voluntarily stripping their churches of their ornaments, or of seeing them violently torn from them; the determination of their magistrates saved Delft, Haarlem, Gouda, and Rotterdam from the devastation. The same acts of violence were practiced also in the islands of Zealand ; the town of Utrecht, and many places in Overyssel and Groningen suffered the same storms. Friesland was protected by the Count of Aremberg, and Gueldres by the Count of Megen from a like fate. An exaggerated report of these disturbances which came in from the provinces, spread the alarm to Brussels, where the regent had just made preparations for an extraordinary session of the Council of State. Swarms of Iconoclasts already penetrated into Brabant; and the metropolis, where they were certain of powerful support, was threatened by them with a renewal of the same atrocities then under the very eyes of majesty. The regent, in fear for her personal safety, which even in the heart of the country, surrounded by provincial governors and knights of the Fleece, she fancied insecure, was already meditating a flight to Mons, in Hainault, which town the Duke of Arschot held for her as a place of refuge, that she might not be driven to any undignified con¬ cession by falling into the power of the Icono¬ clasts. In vain did the knights pledge life and blood for her safety, and urgently beseech her not to expose them to disgrace by so dishonorable a flight, as though they were wanting in courage or zeal to protect their princess ; to no purpose did the town of Brussels itself supplicate her not to abandon them in this extremity, and vainly did the Council of State make the most impressive representations that so pusillanimous a step would not fail to encourage still more the insolence of the rebels; she remained immovable in this des¬ perate condition. As messenger after messenger arrived to warn her that the Iconoclasts were ad¬ vancing against the metropolis, she issued orders to hold every thing in readiness for her flight, which was to take place quietly with the first ap¬ proach of morning. At break of day, the aged Viglius presented himself before her, whom, with the view of gratifying the nobles, she had been long accustomed to neglect. He demanded to know the meaning of the preparations he ob¬ served, upon which she at last confessed that she intended to make her escape, and assured him that he would himself do well to secure his owe 76 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. safety by accompanying her. “ It is now two years,” said the old man to her, “that you might have anticipated these results. Because I have spoken more freely than your courtiers, you have closed your princely ear to me, which has been open only to pernicious suggestions.” The regent allowed that she had been in fault, and had been blinded by an appearance of probity; but that she was now driven by necessity. “ Are you re¬ solved, answered Viglius, “ resolutely to insist upon obedience to the royal commands ?” “ I am,” answered the duchess. “ Then have recourse to the great secret of the art of government, to dissimulation, and pretend to join the princes, until, with their assistance, you have repelled this storm. Show them a confidence which you are far from feeling in your heart. Make them take an 'oath to you, that they will make common cause in resisting these disorders. Trust those as your friends who show themselves willing to do it; but be careful to avoid frightening away the others by contemptuous treatment.” Yiglius kept the regent engaged in conversation until the princes arrived, who he was quite certain would in nowise consent to her flight. When they appeared, he quietly withdrew, in order to issue commands to the town council to close the gates of the city, and prohibit egress to every one connected with the court. This last measure effected more than all the representations had done. The regent, who saw herself a prisoner in h,er own capital, now yielded to the persuasions of the nobles, who pledged themselves to stand by her to the last drop of blood. She made Count Mansfeld com¬ mandant of the town, who hastily increased the garrison, and armed her whole court. The State Council was now held, who finally came to a resolution, that it was expedient to yield to the emergency; to permit the preachings in those places where they had already com¬ menced ; to make known the abolition of the Pa¬ pal Inquisition; to declare the old edicts against the heretics repealed, and before all things, to grant the required indemnity to the confederate nobles, without limitation or condition. At the same time, the Prince of Orange, Counts Egmont and Horn, with some others, were appointed to confer on this head with the deputies of the league. Solemnly and in the most unequivocal terms, the members of the league were declared free from all responsibility, by reason of the peti¬ tion which had been presented, and all royal offi¬ cers and authorities were enjoined to act in con¬ formity with this assurance, and neither now, nor for the future, to inflict any injury upon any of the confederates on account of the said petition. In return, the confederates bound themselves to be true and loyal servants of his majesty, to con¬ tribute to the utmost of their power to the re-es¬ tablishment of order and the punishment of the Iconoclasts, to prevail on the people to lay down their arms, and to afford active assistance to the' king against internal and foreign enemies. Se¬ curities, formally drawn up and subscribed by the plenipotentiaries of both sides, were exchanged between them ; the letter of indemnity, in particu¬ lar, was signed by the duchess with her own hand, %nd attested by her seal. It was only after a se¬ vere struggle, and with tears in her eyes, that the regent, as she tremblingly confessed to the king, was at last induced to consent to this painful step. She threw the whole blame upon the nobles, who had kept her a prisoner in Brussels and compelled her to it by force. Above all, she complained bitterly of the Prince of Orange. This business accomplished, all the governors hastened to their provinces; Egmont to Flan¬ ders, Orange to Antwerp. In the latter city, the Protestants had seized the despoiled and plun¬ dered churches, and, as if by the rights of war, had taken possession of them. The prince re¬ stored them to their lawful owners, gave orders for their repair, and re-established in them the Roman Catholic form of worship. Three of the Iconoclasts, who had been convicted, paid the penalty of their sacrilege on the gallows ; some of the rioters were banished, and many others underwent punishment. Afterward he assem¬ bled four deputies of each dialect, or nations, as they were termed, and agreed with them, that as the approaching winter made preaching in the open air impossible, three places within the town should be granted them, where they might either erect new churches, or convert private houses to that purpose. That they should there perform their service every Sunday and holiday, and al¬ ways at the same hour, but on no other days. If, however, no holiday happened in the week, Wed¬ nesday should be kept by them instead. No re¬ ligious party should maintain more than two cler¬ gymen, and these must be native Netherlander, or at least^Jiave received naturalization from some considerable town of the provinces. All should take an oath to submit in civil matters to the municipal authorities and the Prince of Orange. They should be liable, like the other citizens, to all imposts. No one should attend sermons armed ; a sword, however, should be allowed to each. No preacher should assail the ruling reli¬ gion from the pulpit, nor enter upon controverted points, beyond what the doctrine itself rendered unavoidable, or what might refer to morals. No psalm should be sung by them out of their ap¬ pointed district. At the election of their preach¬ ers, churchwardens, and deacons, as also at all their other consistorial meetings, a person from the government should on each occasion be pre¬ sent, to report their proceedings to the prince and the magistrate. As to all other points, they should enjoy the same protection as the ruling religion. This arrangement was to hold good until the king, with the consent of the states, should determine otherwise ; but then it should be free to every one to quit the country with his family and his property. From Antwerp the prince hastened to Holland, Zealand, and Utrecht, in order to make there similar arrangements for the restoration of peace ; Antwerp, however, was, during his absence, intrusted to the superinten¬ dence of Count Hogstraten, who was a mild man, and although an adherent of the League, had never failed in loyalty to the king. It u evident that in this agreement the prince had far over¬ stepped the powers intrusted to him, and though in the service of the king, had acted exactly like a sovereign lord. But he alleged in excuse, that HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 77 it would be far easier to the magistrate to watch these numerous and powerful sects, if he himself interfered in their worship, and if this took place under his eyes, than if he were to leave the secta¬ rians to themselves in the open air. In Gueldres, Count Megen showed more se¬ verity, and entirely suppressed the Protestant sects and banished all their preachers. In Brus¬ sels, the regent availed herself of the advantage derived from her personal presence, to put a stop to the public preaching, even outside the town. When, in reference to this, Count Nassau re¬ minded her, in the name of the confederates, of the compact which had been entered into, and demanded if the town of Brussels had inferior rights to the other towns ? she answered, if there were public preachings in Brussels before the treaty, it was not her work if they were now dis¬ continued. At the same time, however, she se¬ cretly gave the citizens to understand, that the first who should venture to attend a public sermon should certainly be hung. Thus she kept the capital at least faithful to her. It was more difficult to quiet Tournay, which office was committed to Count Horn, in the place of Montigny, to whose government the town pro¬ perly belonged. Horn commanded the Protest¬ ants to vacate the churches immediately, and to content themselves with a house of worship out¬ side the walls. To this their preachers objected, that the churches were erected for the use of the people, by which term, they said, not the heads but the majority were meant. If they were ex¬ pelled from the Roman Catholic churches, it was at least fair that they should be furnished with money for erecting churches of their own. To this the magistrate replied, even if the Catholic party was the weaker, it was indisputably the better. The erection of churches should not be forbidden them; they could not, however, after the injury which the town had already suffered from their brethren, the Iconoclasts, very well expect that it should be further burdened by the erection of their churches. After long quar¬ reling on both sides, the Protestants contrived to retain possession of some churches, which, for greater security, they occupied with guards. In Valenciennes, too, the Protestants refused sub¬ mission to the conditions which were offered to them through Philip St. Aldegonde, Baron of Noircarmes, to whom, in the absence of the Mar¬ quis of Bergen, the government of that place was intrusted. A reformed preacher, La Grange, a Frenchman by birth, who by his eloquence had gained complete command over them, urged them to insist upon having churches of their : wn, within the town, and to threaten in case of * ;fu- sal to deliver it up to the Huguenots. A sense of the superior numbers of the Calvinists, aud of their understanding with the Huguenots, pre¬ vented the governor adopting forcible measures against them. Count Egmont also, to manifest his zeal for the king’s service, did violence to his natural kind- heartedness. Introducing a garrison into the town of Ghent, he caused some of the most refractory rebels to be put to death. The churches were re¬ opened, the Roman Catholic worship renewed, and all foreigners, without exception, ordered to quit the province. To the Calvinists, but to them alone, a site was granted outside the town for the erection of a church. In return, they were com¬ pelled to pledge themselves to the most rigid obe¬ dience to the municipal authorities, and to active co-operation in the proceedings against the Icono¬ clasts. He pursued similar measures through all Flanders and Artois. One of his noblemen, John Cassembrot, Baron of Beckerzeel, and a Leaguer, pursuing the Iconoclasts at the head of some horsemen of the League, surprised a band of them, just as they were about to break into the town of Hainault, near Grammont, in Flanders, and took thirty of them prisoner, of whom twenty- two were hung upon the spot, and the rest whipped out of the province. Services of such importance, one would have thought, scarcely deserved to be rewarded with the displeasure of the king: what Orange, Eg¬ mont, and Horn performed on this occasion, evinced at least as much zeal, and had as benefi¬ cial a result, as any thing that was accomplished by Noircarmes, Megen, and Aremberg, to whom the king vouchsafed to show his gratitude both by words and deeds. But their zeal, their services, came too late. They had spoken too loudly against his edicts, had been too vehement in their opposition to his measures, had insulted him too grossly in the person of his minister Granvella, to leave room for forgiveness. No time, no repent¬ ance, no atonement, however great, could efface this one offense from the memory of their sove¬ reign. Philip lay sick at Segovia, when the news of the outbreak of the Iconoclasts, and the uncatho¬ lic agreement entered into with the Reformers, reached him. At the same time, the regent re¬ newed her urgent entreaty for his personal visit, of which also all the letters treated, which the President Yiglius exchanged with his friend Hop¬ per. Many also of the Belgian nobles addressed special letters to the king, as, for instance, Eg¬ mont, Mansfeld, Megen, Aremberg, Noircarmes, and Barlaimont, in which they reported the state of their provinces, and at once explained and jus¬ tified the arrangements they had made with the disaffected. Just at this period a letter arrived from the German Emperor, in which he recom¬ mended Philip to act with clemency toward his Belgian subjects, and offered his mediation in the matter. He had also written direct to the regent herself in Brussels, and added letters to the seve¬ ral leaders of the nobility, which, however, were never delivered. Having conquered the first anger which this hateful occurrence had excited, the king referred the whole matter*to his council. The party of Granvella, which had the prepon¬ derance in the council, was diligent in tracing a close connection between the behaviour of the Flemish nobles and the excesses of the church desecrators, which showed itself in the similarity of the demands of both parties, and especially the time which the latter chose for their outbreak. In the same month, they observed, in which the nobles had sent in their three articles of pacifica¬ tion, the Iconoclasts had commenced their work; on the evening of the very day that Orange quit- 78 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. ted Antwerp, the churches, too, were plundered. During the whole tumult, not a finger was lifted to take up arms ; all the expedients employed were invariably such as turned to the advantage of the sects, while, on the contrary, all others were ne¬ glected which tended to the maintenance of the pure faith. Many of the Iconoclasts, it was further said, had confessed that all that they had done was with the knowledge and consent of the princes; though surely nothing was more natural than for such worthless wretches to seek to screen with great names a crime which they had under¬ taken solely on their own account. A writing also was produced, in which the high nobility were made to promise their services to the “ Gueux,” to procure the assembly of the States General, the genuineness of which, however, the former strenuously denied. Four different seditious par¬ ties were, they said, to be noticed in the Nether¬ lands, which were all more or less connected with one 'another, and all worked toward a common end. One of these, was those bands of reprobates who desecrated the churches ; a second consisted of the various sects who had hired the former to perform their infamous acts ; the “ Gueux,” who had raised themselves to be the defenders of the sects, were the third ; and the leading nobles, who were inclined to the “Gueux” by feudal connec¬ tions, relationship, and friendship, composed the fourth. All, consequently, were alike fatally in¬ fected, and all equally guilty. The government had not merelv to guard against a few isolated members; it had to contend with the whole body. Since, then, it was ascertained that the people were the seduced party, and the encouragement to rebellion came from higher quarters, it would be wise and expedient to alter the plan hitherto adopted, which now appeared defective in several respects. Inasmuch as all classes had been op¬ pressed without distinction, and as much of seve¬ rity shown to the lower orders as of contempt to the nobles, both had been compelled to lend sup¬ port to one another; a party had been given to the’latter, and leaders to the former. Unequal treatment seemed an infallible expedient to sepa¬ rate them ; the mob, always timid and indolent when not goaded by the extremity of distress, would very soon desert its adored protectors, and quickly learn to see in their fate well-merited retri¬ bution, if only it was not driven 1o share it with them. It was therefore proposed to the king to treat the great multitude for the future with more leniency, and to direct all measures of severity against the leaders of the faction. In order, how¬ ever, to avoid the appearance of a disgraceful con¬ cession, it was considered advisable to accept the mediation of the Emperor, and to impute to it alone, and not to the justness of their demands, that the king, out of pure generosity, had granted to his Belgian subjects as much as they asked. The question of the king’s personal visit to the provinces was now again mooted, and all the diffi¬ culties which had formerly been raised on this head, appeared to vanish before the present emergency. “Now,” said Tyssenacque and Hop¬ per, “ the juncture has really arrived at which the king, according to his own declaration, formerly made to G’ount Egmont, will be ready to risk a thousand lives. To restore quiet to Ghent, Charles V. had undertaken a troublesome and dangerous journey through an enemy’s country. This was done for the sake of one single town ; and now the peace, perhaps even the possession, of all the United Provinces was at stake.” This -was the opinion of the majority ; and the journey of the king w r as looked upon as a matter from which he could not possibly any longer escape. The question now was, whether he should enter upon it with a numerous body of attendants, or with a few; and here the Prince of Eboli and Count Figueroa were at issue with the Duke of Alva, as their private interests clashed. If the king journeyed at the head of an army, the pre¬ sence of the Duke of Alva would be indispensa¬ ble, who, on the other hand, if matters were peaceably adjusted, would be less required, and must make room for his rivals. “ An army,” said Figueroa, who spoke first, “ would alarm the princes, through whose territories it must march, and perhaps even be opposed by them ; it would, moreover, unnecessarily burden the provinces for whose tranquilization it was intended, and add a new grievance to the many which had already driven the people to such lengths. It would press indiscriminately upon all of the king’s sub¬ jects, whereas a court of justice, peaceably ad¬ ministering its office, would observe a marked distinction between the innocent and the guilty. The unwonted violence of the former course would tempt the leaders of the faction to take a more alarming view of their behavior, in which wanton¬ ness and levity had the chief share, and conse¬ quently induce them to proceed with deliberation and union ; the thought of having forced the king to such lengths would plunge them into despair, in which they would be ready to undertake any thing. If the king placed himself in arms against the rebels, he would forfeit the most important advantage which he possessed over them, namely, his authority as sovereign of the country, which would prove the more powerful in proportion as he showed his reliance upon that alone. He would place himself thereby, as it were, on a level with the rebels, who, on their side, would not be at a loss to raise an army, as the universal hatred of the Spanish forces would operate in their favor with the nation. By this procedure, the king would exchange the certain advantage which his position as sovereign of the country conferred upon him, for the uncertain result of military operations, which, result as they might, would of necessity destroy a portion of his own subjects. The rumor of his hostile approach would outrun him time enough to allow all who were conscious of a bad cause to place themselves in a posture of defense, and to combine and render availing both their foreign and domestic resources. Here, again, the general alarm would do them import¬ ant service ; the uncertainty who would be the first object of this warlike approach, would drive even the less guilty to the general mass of the rebels, and force those to become enemies to the king, who otherwise would never have been so. If, however, he w r as coming among them without such a formidable accompaniment; if his appear¬ ance was less that of a sanguinary judge than of HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 79 an angry parent," the courage of all good men would rise, and the bad would perish in their own security. They would persuade themselves what had happened was unimportant, that it did not appear to the king of sufficient moment to call for strong measures. They wished, if they could, to avoid the chance of ruining, by acts of open violence, a cause which might perhaps yet be saved; consequently, by this quiet, peaceable method, every thing would be gained, which by the other would be irretrievably lost; the loyal subject would in no degree be involved in the same punishment with the culpable rebel ; on the latter alone would the whole weight of the royal indignation descend. Lastly, the enormous expenses would be avoided, which the transport of a Spanish army to those distant regions would occasion.” “ But,” began the Duke of Alva, “ ought the injury of some few citizens to be considered, when danger impends over the whole? Because a few of the loyally disposed may suffer wrong, are the rebels therefore not to be chastised ? The offense has been universal, why then should not the punishment be the same ? What the rebels have incurred by their actions, the rest have in¬ curred equally by their supineness. Whose fault is it but theirs, that the former have so far suc¬ ceeded ? Why did they not promptly oppose their first attempts ? It is said, that circum¬ stances were not so desperate as to justify this violent remedy; but who will insure us that they will not be so by the time the king arrives, espe¬ cially when, according to every fresh dispatch of the regent, all is hastening with rapid strides to a ruinous consummation ? Is it a hazard we ought to run, to leave the king to discover on his en¬ trance into the provinces the necessity of his having brought with him a military force ? It is a fact only too well established,- that the rebels have secured foreign succors which stand ready at their command on the first signal ; will it then be time to think of preparing for war, when the enemy pass the frontiers ? Is it a wise risk to rely for aid upon the nearest Belgian troops, when their loyalty is so little to be depended upon ? And is not the regent perpetually reverting in her dispatches to the fact, that nothing but the want of a suitable military force has hitherto hin¬ dered her from enforcing the edicts, and stopping the progress of the rebels ? A well-disciplined and formidable army alone will disappoint all their hopes of maintaining themselves in opposition to their lawful sovereign, and nothing but the certain prospect of destruction will make them lower their demands. Besides, without an adequate force, the king cannot venture his person in hos¬ tile countries ; he cannot enter into any treaties with his rebellious subjects which would not be derogatory to his honor.” The authority of the speaker gave preponde¬ rance to his arguments, and the next question was, when the king should commence his journey, and what road he should take. As the voyage by sea was on every account extremely hazardous, he had no other alternative but either to proceed thither through the passes near Trent across Ger¬ many, or to penetrate from Savoy over the Apen- nine Alps. The first route would expose him to the danger of the attack of the German Protes¬ tants, who were not likely ij view with indiffer¬ ence the objects of his journey, and a passage over the Apennines was at this late season of the year not to be attempted. Moreover, it would be necessary to send for the requisite galleys from Italy, and repair them, which would take several months. Finally, as the assembly of the Cortes of Castile, from which he could not well be ab¬ sent, was already appointed for December, the journey could not be undertaken before the spring. Meanwhile, the regent pressed for expli¬ cit instructions how she was to extricate herself from her present embarrassment, without com¬ promising the royal dignity too far; and it was necessary to do something in the interval, till the king could undertake to appease the troubles by his personal presence. Two separate letters were therefore dispatched to the duchess; one public, which she could lay before the states and the council chambers, and one private, which was in¬ tended for herself alone. In the first, the king announced to her his restoration to health and the fortunate birth of the Infanta, Clara Isabella Eugenia, afterward wife of the Archduke Albert of Austria, and Princess of the Netherlands. He declared to her his present firm intention to visit the Netherlands in person, for which he was al¬ ready making the necessary preparations. The assembling of the states he refused, as he had previously done. No mention was made in this letter of the agreement which she had entered into with the Protestants and with the league, because he did not deem it advisable at present absolutely to reject it, and he was still less disposed to ac¬ knowledge its validity. On the other hand, he or¬ dered her to reinforce the army, to draw together new regiments from Germany, and to meet the refractory with force. For the rest, he concluded, he relied upon the loyalty of the leading nobility, among whom he knew many who were sincere in their attachment both to their religion and their king. In the secret letter, she was again enjoined to do all in her power to prevent the assembling of the states ; but if the general voice should be¬ come irresistible, and she was compelled to yield, she was at least to manage so cautiously, that the royal dignity should not suffer, and no one learn the king’s consent to their assembly. While these consultations were held in Spain, the Protestants in the Netherlands made the most extensive use of the privileges which had been compulsorily granted to them. The erec¬ tion of churches, wherever it was permitted, was completed with incredible rapidity; young and old, gentle and simple, assisted in carrying stones ; women sacrificed even their ornaments in order to accelerate the work. The two religious par¬ ties established in several towns consistories, and a church council of their own, the first move of the kind being made in Antwerp, and placed their form of worship on a well regulated footing. It was also proposed, to raise a common fund by subscription, to meet any sudden emergency of the Protestant Church in general. In Antwerp, a memorial was presented by the Calvinists of that town to the Count of Hogstraten, iD which 80 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. they offered to pay three millions of dollars to secure the free exercise of their religion. Many copies of this writing were circulated in the Ne¬ therlands ; and in order to stimulate others, many had ostentatiously subscribed their names to large sums. Various interpretations of this extrava¬ gant offer were made by the enemies of the re¬ formers, and all had some appearance of reason. For instance, it was urged that under the pretext of collecting the requisite sum for fullfilling this engagement, they hop.ed, without suspicion, to raise funds for military purposes; for whether they should be called upon to contribute for or against , they would, it was thought, be more ready to burden themselves with a view of pre¬ serving peace, than for an oppressive a^id devas¬ tating war. Others saw in this offer nothing more than a temporary stratagem of the Protestants, by which they hoped to bind the court and keep it irresolute, until they should have gained suffi¬ cient strength to confront it. Others again de¬ clared it to be a downright bravado in order to alarm the regent, and to raise the courage of their own party by the display of such rich resources. But whatever was the true motive of this propo¬ sition, its originators gained little by it; the con¬ tributions flowed in scantily and slowly, and the court answered the proposal with silent contempt. The excesses, too, of the Iconoclasts, far from promoting the cause of the League and advanc¬ ing the Protestant interests, had done irreparable injury to both. The sight of their ruined churches, which, in the language of Viglius, resembled sta¬ bles more than houses of God, enraged the Roman Catholics, and above all the clergy. All of that religion, who had hitherto been members of the League, now forsook it, alleging that even if it had not intentionally excited and encouraged the excesses of the Iconoclasts, it had beyond ques¬ tion remotely led to them. The intolerance of the Calvinists, who, wherever they were the ruling party, cruelly oppressed the Roman Catholics, completely expelled the delusion in which the latter had long indulged, and they withdrew their support from a party, from which, if they ob¬ tained the upper hand, their own religion had so much cause to fear. Thus the League lost many of its best members; the friends and patrons, too, which it had hitherto found amongst the well- disposed citizens now deserted it, and its charac¬ ter began perceptibly to decline. The severity with which some of its members had acted against the Iconoclasts, in order to prove their good dis¬ position toward the regent, and to remove the suspicion of any connection with the malcontents, had also injured them with the people, who fa¬ vored the latter, and thus the League was in dan¬ ger of ruining itself with both parties at the same time. The regent had no sooner become acquainted with this change in the public mind, than she de¬ vised a plan by which she hoped gradually to dis¬ solve the whole League, or at least to enfeeble it through internal dissensions. For this end, she availed herself of the private letters, which the king had addressed to some of the nobles, and in¬ closed to her, with full liberty to use them at her discretion. These letters, which overflowed with kind expressions, were presented to those foi whom they were intended with an attempt at secresy, which designedly miscarried, so that on each occasion, some one or other of those who had received nothing of the sort got a hint of them. In order to spread suspicion the more widely, numerous copies of the letters were circu¬ lated. This artifice attained its object. Many members of the League began to doubt the ho¬ nesty of those to whom such brilliant promises were made; through fear of being deserted by their principal members and supporters, they ea¬ gerly accepted the conditions which were offered them by the regent, and evinced great anxiety for a speedy reconciliation with the court. The general rumor of the impending visit of the king, which the regent took care to have widely circu¬ lated, was also of great service to her in this mat¬ ter; many who could not augur much good to themselves from the royal presence, did not hesi¬ tate to accept a pardon, which, perhaps, for what they could tell, was offered them for the last time. Among those who thus received private letters, were Egmont and the Prince of Orange. Both had complained to the king of the evil re¬ ports with which designing persons in Spain had labored to brand their names, and to throw suspi¬ cion on their motives and intentions; Egmont, in particular, with the honest simplicity which was peculiar to his character, had asked the monarch, only to point out to him what he most desired, to determine the particular action by which his favor could be best obtained, and zeal in his service evinced, and it should, he assured him, be done. The king, in reply, caused the President Yon Tyssenacque, to tell him that he could do nothing better to refute his traducers than to show perfect submission to the* royal orders, which were so clearly and precisely drawn up, that no further exposition of them was required, nor any particu¬ lar instruction. It was the sovereign’s part to deliberate, to examine, and to decide; uncondi¬ tionally to obey was the duty of the subject; the honor of the latter consisted in his obedience. It did not become a member to hold itself wiser than the head. He was assuredly to be blamed for not having done his utmost to curb the unruliness of his sectarians; but it was even yet in his power to make up for past negligence, by at least main¬ taining peace and order until the actual arrival of the king. In thus punishing Count Egmont with reproofs like a disobedient child, the king treated him in accordance with what he knew of his character; with his friend he found it neces¬ sary to call in the aid of artifice and deceit. Orange, too, in his letter, had alluded to the sus¬ picions which the king entertained of his loyalty and attachment; but not like Egmont, in the vain hope of removing them ; for this he had long given up; but in order to pass from these com¬ plaints to a request for permission to resign his offices. He had already frequently made this re¬ quest to the regent, but had always received from her a refusal, accompanied with the strongest as¬ surance of her regard. The king also, to whom he now at last addressed a direct application, re-, turned him the same answer, graced with similar strong assurances of his satisfaction and grati- HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 81 tude. In particular, he expressed the high satis¬ faction he entertained of the services which he had lately rendered the crown in Antwerp, and lamented deeply, that the private affairs of the prince (which the latter had made his chief plea for demanding his dismissal) should have fallen into such disorder; but ended with the declara¬ tion that it was impossible for him to dispense with his valuable services, at a crisis which de¬ manded the increase, rather than diminution, of his good and honest servants. He had thought, he added, that the prince entertained a better opinion of him, than to suppose him capable of giving credit to the idle talk of certain persons, who were friends neither to the prince nor to himself. But, at the same time, to give him a proof of his sincerity, lie complained to him in confidence of his brother, the Count of Nassau, pretended to ask his advice in the matter, and finally expressed a wish to have the count re¬ moved for a period from the Netherlands. But Philip had here to do with a head which, in cunning, was superior to his own. The Prince of Orange had, for a long time, held 'watch over him and his Privy Council in Madrid and Segovia, through a host of spies,’ who reported to him every thing of importance that was transacted there. The court of this most secret of all despots had become accessible to his intriguing spirit and his money ; in this manner, he had gained possession of several autograph letters of the regent, which she had secretly written to Madrid, and had caused copies to be circulated in triumph in Brussels, and in a measure under her own eyes, insomuch that she saw with as¬ tonishment in every body’s hands what she thought was preserved with so much care, and en¬ treated the king for the future to destrov her dis- patches immediately they were read. William’s vigilance did not confine itself simply to the court of Spain, he had spies in France, and even at more distant courts. He is also charged with not being over scrupulous as to the means by which he acquired his intelligence. But the most important disclosure was made by an intercepted letter of the Spanish ambassador in France, Francis Von Alava, to the duchess, in which the former descanted on the fair opportunity which was now afforded to the king through the guilt of the Netherlandish people, of establishing an arbitrary power in that country. He therefore advised her, to deceive the nobles by the very arts -which they had hitherto employed against herself, and to secure them through smooth words, and an obliging behavior. The king, he concluded, who knew the nobles to be the hidden springs of all the previous troubles, would take good ! cats to lay hands upon them at the first favorable opportunity, as well as the two, whom he had already in Spain ; and did not mean to let them go again, having sworn to make an example in them, which should horrify the whole of Christen¬ dom, even if it should cost him his hereditary dominions. This piece of evil news was strongly corroborated by the letters which Bergen and Montigny wrote from Spain, and in which they bitterly complained of the contemptuous behavior of the Grandees, and the altered deportment of i Vol. II —6 the monarch toward them, and the Prince of Orange was now fully sensible what he had to expect from the fair promises of the king. The letter of the minister Alava, together with some others from Spain, which gave a circumstan¬ tial account of the approaching warlike visit of the king, and of his evil intentions against the nobles, was laid by the prince before his brother Count Louis of Nassau, Counts Egmont, Horn, and Hogstraten, at a meeting at Dendermonde in Flanders, whither these five knights had repaired to confer on the measures necessary for their se¬ curity. Count Louis, who listened only to his feelings of indignation, foolhardily maintained, that they ought without loss of time, to take up arms and seize some strongholds. That they ought at all risks to prevent the king’s armed en¬ trance into the provinces. That they should en¬ deavor to prevail on the Swiss, the Protestant princes of Germany, and the Huguenots to arm and obstruct his passage through their territories; and if, notwithstanding, he should force his way through these impediments, that the Flemings should meet him with an army on the frontiers. He would take upon himself to negotiate a defen¬ sive alliance in France, in Switzerland, and in Germany, and to raise in the latter empire four thousand horse, together with a proportionate body of infantry; pretexts would not be wanting for collecting the requisite supplies of money, and the merchants of the reformed sect would, he felt assured, not fail them. But William, more cau¬ tious and more wise, declared himself against this proposal, which, in the execution, would be ex¬ posed to numberless difficulties, and had as yet nothing to justify it. The Inquisition, he repre¬ sented, was in fact abolished, the edicts were nearly sunk into oblivion, and a fair degree of religious liberty accorded. Hitherto, therefore, there existed no valid or adequate excuse for adopting this hostile method; he did not doubt, however, that one would be presented to them before long, and in good time for preparation. His own opinion, consequently, was that they should await this opportunity with patience, and in the mean while still keep a watchful eye upon every thing, and contrive to give the people a hint of the threatened danger, that they might be ready to act if circumstances should call for their co-operation. If all present had assented to the opinion of the Prince of Orange, there is no doubt but so powerful a league, formidable both by the influence and the high character of its members, would have opposed obstacles to the designs of the king which would have compelled him to abandon them entirely. But the determi¬ nation of the assembled knights was much shaken by the declaration with which Count Egmont sur¬ prised them. “ Bather,” said he, “may all that is evil befall me, than that I should tempt fortune so rashly. The idle talk of the Spanish Alava does not move me; how should such a person be able to read the mind of a sovereign so reserved as Philip, and to decipher his secrets ?* The intelli¬ gence which Montigny gives us, goes to prove no¬ thing more than that the king has a very doubt¬ ful opinion of our zeal for his service, and believes he has cause to distrust our loyalty; and for this, 82 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. I, for my part, must confess that we have given him only too much cause. And it is my serious purpose, by redoubling my zeal, to regain his good opinion, and by my future behavior to remove, if possible, the distrust which my actions have hitherto excited. How could I tear myself from the arms of my numerous and dependant family, to wander as an exile at foreign courts, a burden to every one who received me, the slave of every one who condescended to assist me—a servant of foreigners in order to escape a slight degree of constraint at home ? Never can the monarch act unkindly toward a servant who was once be¬ loved and dear to him, and who has established a well grounded claim to his gratitude. Never shall I be persuaded, that he, who haS\ expressed such favorable, such gracious sentiments toward his Belgian subjects, and with his own mouth gave me such emphatic, such solemn assurances, can be now devising, as it is pretended, such tyranni¬ cal schemes against them. If we do but restore to the country its former repose, chastise the rebels, and re-establish the Roman Catholic form of worship wherever it has been violently sup¬ pressed, then, believe me, we shall hear no more of Spanish troops. This is the course to which I now invite you all by my counsel and my example, and to which also most of our brethren already incline. I, for my part, fear nothing from the anger of the king. My conscience acquits me. I trust my fate and fortunes to his justice and clemency.” In vain did Nassau, Horn, and Orange labor to shake his resolution, and to open his eyes to the near and inevitable danger. Eg- mont was really attached to the king ; the royal favors, and the condescension with which they were conferred were still fresh in his remem¬ brance. The attentions with which the monarch had distinguished him above all his friends, had not failed of their effect. It was more from false shame than from party spirit that he had defended the cause of his countrymen against him; more from temperament and natural kindness of heart, than from tried principles, that he had opposed the severe measures of the government. The love of the nation, which worshiped him as its idol, carried him away. Too vain to renounce a title which sounded so agreeable, he had been com¬ pelled to do something to deserve it; but a single look at his family—a harsher designation applied to his conduct—a dangerous inference drawn from it—the mere sound of crime terrified him from his self-delusion, and scared him back in haste and alarm to his duty. Orange’s whole plan was frustrated by Eg- mont’s withdrawal. The latter possessed the hearts of the people and the confidence of the army, without which it was utterly impossible to undertake any thing effective. The rest had reckoned with so much certainty upon him, that his unexpected defection rendered the whole meeting nugatory. They therefore separated without coming to a determination. All who had met in Dendermonde were expected in the Coun¬ cil of State in Brussels; but Egmont alone re¬ paired thither. The regent wished to sift him on the subject of this conference, but she could ex¬ tract nothing further from him, than the produc¬ tion of the letter of A lava, of which he had pur¬ posely taken a copy, and which with the bitterest reproofs he laid before her. At first she changed color at sight of it, but quickly recovering her¬ self, she boldly declared that it was* a forgery. “ How can this letter,” she said, “ really come from Alava, when I miss none; and would he, who pretends to have intercepted it, have spared the other letters? Nay, how can it be true, when not a single packet has miscarried, nor a single dis¬ patch failed to come to hand? How, too, can it be thought likely that the king would have made Alava master of a secret which he has not com¬ municated even to me?” CIVIL WAR. 1566. Meanwhile the regent hastened to take advantage of the schism amongst the nobles to complete the ruin of the League, which was al¬ ready tottering under the weight of internal dis¬ sensions. Without loss of time, she drew from Germany the troops which Duke Eric of Bruns¬ wick was holding in readiness, augmented the cavalry, and raised five regiments of Walloons, the command of which she gave to Counts Mans- feld, Megen, Aremberg, and others. To the prince, likewise, she felt it necessary to confide troops, both because she did not wish, by with¬ holding them, pointedly to insult him, and also because the provinces of which he was governor were in urgent need of them; but she took the precaution of joining with him a Colonel Walden- finger, who should watch all his steps, and thwart his measures if they appeared dangerous. To Count Egmont, the clergy in Flanders paid a con¬ tribution of forty thousand gold florins for the maintenance of fifteen hundred men, whom he dis¬ tributed among the places where danger was most apprehended. Every governor was ordered to increase his mititary force, and to provide him¬ self with ammunition. These energetic prepa¬ rations which were making in all places, left no doubt as to the measures which the regent would adopt in future. Conscious of her superior force, and certain of this important support, she now ventured to change her tone, and to employ quite another language with the rebels. She began to put the most arbitary interpretation on the con¬ cessions which, through fear and necessity, she had made to the Protestants, and to restrict all the liberties which she had tacitly granted them to the mere permission of their preaching. All other religious exercises and rites, which yet ap¬ peared to be involved in the former privilege, were, by new edicts, expressly forbidden, and all offenders in such matters were to be proceeded against as traitors. The Protestants were per¬ mitted to think differently from the ruling church upon the sacrament, but to receive it differently was a crime; baptism, marriage, burial, after their fashion, were prohibited under pain of death. It was a cruel mockery to allow them their religion, and forbid the exercise of it; but this mean artifice of the regent to escape from the ob¬ ligation of her pledged word, was worthy of the pusillanimity with which she had submitted to its HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 83 being extorted from her. She took advantage of the most trifling innovations, and the smallest ex¬ cesses, to interrupt the preachings; and some of the preachers, under the charge of having per¬ formed their office in places not appointed to them, were brought to trial, condemned and exe¬ cuted. On more than one occasion, the regent publicly declared that the confederates had taken unfair advantage of her fears, and that she did not feel herself bound by an engagement which had been extorted from her by threats. Of all the Belgian towns which had partici¬ pated in the insurrection of the Iconolasts, none had caused the regent so much alarm as the town of Valenciennes in Hainault. In no other was the party of the Calvinists so powerful, and the spirit of rebellion for which the province of Hainault had always made itself conspicuous, seemed to dwell here as in its native place. The propinquity of France, to which, as well by language as by manners, this town appeared to belong, rather than to the Netherlands, had from the first led to its being governed with great mildness and for¬ bearance, which, however, only taught it to feel its own importance. At the last outbreak of the church desecrators it had been on the point of surrendering to the Huguenots, with whom it maintained the closest understanding. The slight¬ est excitement might renew this danger. On this account Valenciennes was the first town to which the regent proposed, as soon as it should be in her power, to send a strong garrison. Philip of Noircarmes, Baron of St. Aldegonde, Governor of Hainault in the place of the absent Marquis of Bergen, had received this charge, and now appeared at the head of an army before its walls. Deputies came to meet him on the part of the magistrates from the town, to petition against the garrison, because the Protestant citi¬ zens, who were the superior number, had declared against it. Noircarmes acquainted them with the will of the regent, and gave them the choice be¬ tween the garrison or a siege. He assured them that not more than four squadrons of horse and six companies of foot should be imposed upon the town ; and for this he would give them his son as a hostage. These terms were laid before the ma¬ gistrate, who, for his part, was much inclined to accept them. But Peregrine Le Grange, the preacher, and the idol of the populace, to whom it was of vital importance to prevent a sub¬ mission of which he would inevitably become the victim, appeared at the head of his followers, and by his powerful eloquence excited the people to reject the conditions. When their answer was brought to Noircarmes, contrary to all law of na¬ tions, he caused the messengers to be placed in irons, and carried them away with him as prison¬ ers ; he was, however, by express command of the regent compelled to set them free again. The regent, instructed by secret orders from Madrid to exercise as much forbearance as possible, caused the town to be repeatedly summoned to receive the garrison; when, however, it obstinately persisted in its refusal, it was declared by ptiblic edict to be in rebellion, and Noircarmes was au¬ thorized to commence the siege in form. The other provinces were forbidden to assist this re¬ bellious town with advice, money, or arms. All the property contained in it was confiscated. In order to let it see the war, before it began in earn¬ est, and to give it time for rational reflection, Noir¬ carmes drew together troops from all Hainault and Cambray (1566), took possession of St. Amant, and placed garrisons in all adjacent places. The line of conduct adopted toward Valen¬ ciennes, allowed the other towns which were simi¬ larly, situated, to infer the fate which was intended for them also, and at once put the whole Leagia in motion. An army of the Gueux between three and four thousand strong, which was hastily col¬ lected from the rabble of fugitives, and the re¬ maining bands of Iconoclasts, appeared in the territories of Tournayand Lille, in order to secure these two towns, and to annoy the enemy at Va¬ lenciennes. The commandant of Lille was fortu¬ nate enough to maintain that place by routing a detachment of this army, which, in concert with the Protestant inhabitants, had made an attempt to get possession of it. At the same time, the army of the Gueux, which was uselessly wasting its time at Lannoy, was surprised by Noircarmes and almost entirely annihilated. The few, who with desperate courage forced their way through the enemy, threw themselves into the town of Tournay, which was immediately summoned by the victor £o open its gates and admit a garrison. Its prompt obedience obtained for it a milder fate. Noircarmes contented himself with abolish¬ ing the Protestant consistory, banishing the preachers, punishing the leaders of the rebels, and again re-establishing the Roman Catholic worship, which he found almost entirely sup¬ pressed. After giving it a steadfast Roman Catho¬ lic as governor, and leaving it a sufficient garri¬ son, he again returned with his victorious army to Valenciennes to press the siege. This town, confident in its strength, actively prepared for defense, firmly resolved to allow things to come to extremes before it surrendered. The inhabitants had not neglected to furnish themselves with ammunition and provisions for a long siege; all who could carry arms, (the very artisans not excepted,) became soldiers; the houses before the town, and especially the cloisters, were pulled down, that the besiegers might not avail themselves of them to cover their attack. The few adherents of the crown, awed by the multitude, were silent; no Roman Catholic ven¬ tured to stir himself. Anarchy and rebellion had taken the place of good order, and the fanaticism of a foolhardy priest gave laws, instead ot the legal dispensers of justice. The male population was numerous, their courage confirmed by despair, their confidence unbounded that the siege would be raised, while their hatred against the Roman Catholic religiou was excited to the highest pitch. Many had no mercy to expect, all abhorred the general thralldom of an imperious garrison. Noir¬ carmes, whose army had become formidable through the reinforcements which streamed to it from all quarters, and was abundantly furnished with all the requisites for a long blockade, once more attempted to prevail on the town by gentle means, but in vain. At last he caused the 84 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. trenches to be opened, and prepared to invest the place. In the mean while, the position of the Protest¬ ants had grown as much worse as that of the regent had improved. The league of the nobles had gradually melted away to a third of its original number. Some of its most important defenders, Count Egmont, for instance, had gone over to the king; the pecuniary contributions which had been so confidently reckoned upon came in but slowly and scantily ; the zeal of the party began per¬ ceptibly to cool, and the close of the fine season made it necessary to discontinue the public preachings, which, up to this time, had been con¬ tinued. These and other reasons combined, induced the declining party to moderate its de¬ mands, and to try every legal expedient before it proceeded to extremities. In a general synod of the- Protestants, which was held for this object in Antwerp, and which was also attended by some of the confederates, it was resolved to send depu¬ ties to the regent, to remonstrate with her upon this breach of faith, and to remind her of her compact. Brederode undertook this office, but was obliged to submit to a harsh and disgraceful rebuff, and was shut out of Brussels. He had now recourse to a written memorial, in which, in the name of the whole league, he complained that the duchess had, by violating her word, falsified in sight of all the Protestants the security given by the league, in reliance on which all of them had laid down their arms ; that by her insincerity she had undone all the good which the confederates had labored to effect; that she had sought to degrade the league in the eyes of the people, had excited discord among its members, and had even caused many of them to be persecuted as criminals. He called upon her to recall her late ordinances, which deprived the Protestants of the free exer¬ cise of their religion, but above all to raise the siege of Valenciennes, to disband the troops newly enlisted, and ended by assuring her that on these conditions, and these alone, the league would be responsible for the general tranquillity. To this the regent replied in a tone very diffe¬ rent from her previous moderation. “ Who these confederates are, who address me in this memorial, is, indeed, a mystery to me. The confederates with whom I had formerly to do, for aught I know to the contrary, have dispersed. All at least cannot participate in this statement of grievances, for I myself know of many, who, satis¬ fied in all their demands, have returned to their duty. But still, whoever he may be, who without authority and right, and without name, addresses me, he has at least given a very false interpreta¬ tion to my word, if he asserts that I guaranteed to the Protestants complete religious liberty. No one can be ignorant how reluctantly I was in¬ duced to permit the preachings in the places where they had sprung up unauthorized, and this surely cannot be counted for a concession of free¬ dom in religion. Is it likely that I should have entertained the idea of protecting these illegal consistories, of tolerating this state within a state ? Could I forget myself so far as to grant the sanc¬ tion of law to an objectionable sect; to overturn ail ordei in the church and in the state, and abominably to blaspheme my holy religion ? Look to him who has given you such permission, but you must not argue with me. You accuse me of having violated the agreement, which gave you impunity and security. The past I am willing to look over, but not what may be done in future. No advantage was to be taken of you on account of the petition of last April, and to best of my knowledge, nothing of the kind has as yet been done ; but whoever again offends in the same way, against the majesty of the king, must be ready to bear the consequences of his crime. In fine, how can you presume to remind me of an agreement which you have been the first to break ? At whose instigation were the churches plundered, the images of the saints thrown down, and the towns hurried into rebellion ? Who formed alli¬ ances with foreign powers, set on foot illegal en¬ listments, and collected unlawful taxes from the subjects of the king? These are the reasons which have impelled me to draw together my troops, and to increase the severity of the edicts. Whoever now asks me to lay down my arms, can¬ not mean well to his country or his king, and if ye value your own lives, look to it that your own actions acquit you, instead of judging mine.” All the hopes which the confederates might have entertained of an amicable adjustment sank with this high-toned declaration. Without being confident of possessing powerful support, the re¬ gent w r ould not, they argued, employ such lan¬ guage. An army was in the field, the enemy was before Valenciennes, the members who were the heart of the league had abandoned it, and the re¬ gent required unconditional submission. 'Their cause was now so bad, that open resistance could not make it worse. If they gave themselves up defenseless into the hands of their exasperated sovereign, their fate was certain ; an appeal to arms could at least make it a matter of doubt; they, therefore, chose the latter, and began se¬ riously to take steps for their defense. In order to insure the assistance of the German Protest¬ ants, Louis of Nassau attempted to persuade the towns of Amsterdam, Antwerp, Tournay, and Valenciennes, to adopt the confession of Augs¬ burg, and in this manner to seal their alliance with a religious union. But the proposition was not successful, because the hatred of the Calvin¬ ists to the Lutherans exceeded, if possible, that which they bore to Popery. Nassau also began in earnest to negotiate for supplies from Prance, the Palatinate, and Saxony. The Count of Ber¬ gen fortified his castles ; Brederode threw himself with a small force into his strong town of Viane on the Leek, over which he claimed the rights of sovereignty, and which he hastily placed in a state of defense, and there awaited a reinforcement from the league, and the issue of Nassau’s negotiations. The flag of war was now unfurled, everywhere the drum was heard to beat; in all parts troops were seen on the march, contributions collected, and soldiers enlisted. The agents of each party often met in the same place, and hardly had the collect¬ ors and recruiting officers of the regent quitted a town, when it had to endure a similar visit from the agents of the league. From Valenciennes the regent directed her at HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 85 tention to Herzogenbusch, where the Iconoclasts had lately committed fresh excesses, and the party of the Protestants had gained a great accession of strength. In order to prevail on the citizens peaceably to receive a garrison, she sent thither, as ambassador, the chancellor Scheiflf from Bra¬ bant, with Counselor Merode of Petersheim, whom she appointed governor of the town ; they were instructed to secure the place by judicious means, and to exact from the citizens a new oath of alle¬ giance. At the same time, the Count of Megen, who was in the neighborhood with a body of troops, was ordered to support the two envoys in effecting their commission, and to afford the means of throwing in a garrison immediately. But Brederode, who obtained information of these movements in Viane, had already sent thither one of his creatures, a certain Anton von Bomberg, a hot Calvinist, but also a brave soldier, in order to raise the courage of his party, and to frustrate the designs of the regent. This Bomberg succeeded in getting possession of the letters which the chancellor brought with him from the duchess, and contrived to substitute in their place counter¬ feit ones, which, by their harsh and imperious language, were calculated to exasperate the minds of the citizens. At the same time, he at¬ tempted to throw suspicion on both the ambassa¬ dors of the duchess, as having evil designs upon the town. In this he succeeded so well with the mob, that in their mad fury they even laid hands on the ambassadors, and placed them in confine¬ ment. He himself at the head of 800 men, who had adopted him as their leader, advanced against the Count of Megen, who was moving in order of battle, and gave him so warm a reception with some heavy artillery, that he was compelled to retire without accomplishing his object. The regent now sent an officer of justice to demand the release of her ambassadors, and in case of re¬ fusal to threaten the place with siege; but Bom¬ berg with his party surrounded the town hall, and forced the magistrate to deliver to him the key of the town. The messenger of the regent was ridiculed and dismissed, and an answer sent through him, that the treatment of the prisoners would depend upon Brederode’s orders. The herald, who was remaining outside before the town, now appeared to declare war against her, which however the chancellor prevented. After this futile attempt on Herzogenbusch, the the Count of Megen threw himself into Utrecht, in order to prevent the execution of a design, which Count Brederode had formed against the town. As it had suffered much from the army of the confederates, which was encamped in its immediate neighborhood, near Viane, it received Megen with open arms as its protector, and con¬ formed to all the alterations which he made in its religious worship. Upon this, he immediately caused a redoubt to be thrown up on the bank of the Leek, which would command Viane. Brede¬ rode. not disposed to await his attack, quitted that rendezvous with the best part of his army and hastened to Amsterdam. However unprofitably the Prince of Orange appeared to be losing his time in Antwerp during these operations, lie was, nevertheless, busily em¬ ployed. At his instigation the league had com¬ menced recruiting, and Brederode had fortified his castles, for which purpose he himself presented him with three cannons, which he had had cast at Utrecht. His eye watched all the movements of the court, and he kept the league warned of the towns which were next menaced with attack. But his chief object appeared to be to get possession of the principal places in the districts under his own government, to which end he, with all his power, secretly assisted Brederode’s plans against Utrecht and Amsterdam. The most important place was the Island of Walcheren, where the king was expected to land ; and he now planned a scheme for the surprise of this place, the con¬ duct of which was intrusted to one of the confed¬ erate nobles, an intimate friend of the Prince of Orange, John of Marnix, Baron of Thoulouse, and brother of Philip of Aldegonde. 15G7. Thoulouse maintained a secret under¬ standing with the late mayor of Middleburg, Pe¬ ter Haak, by which he expected to gain an oppor¬ tunity of throwing a garrison into Middleburg and Flushing. The recruiting, however, for this undertaking, which was set on foot in Antwerp, could not be carried on so quietly as not to attract the notice of the magistrate. In order, therefore, to lull the suspicions of the latter, and at the same time to promote the success of the scheme, the prince caused the herald, by public proclamation, to order all foreign soldiers and strangers who were in the service of the state or employed in other busi¬ ness, forthwith to quit the town. He might, say his adversaries, by closing the gates, have easily made himself master of all these suspected recruits ; but he expelled them from the town, in order to drive them the more quickly to the place of their destination. They immediately embarked on the Scheldt, and sailed down to Rammekens; as, however, a market-vessel of Antwerp, which ran into Flushing a little before them, had given warn¬ ing of their design, they were forbidden to enter the port. They found the same difficulty at Arne- muiden, near Middleburg, although the Protest¬ ants in that place exerted themselves to raise an insurrection in their favor. Thoulouse, therefore, without having accomplished any thing, put about his ships, and sailed back down the Scheldt as far as Osterweel, a quarter of a mile from Antwerp, where he disembarked his people and encamped on the shore, with the hope of getting men from Antwerp ; and also in order to revive by his pre¬ sence the courage of his party, which had been cast down by the proceedings of the magistrate. By the aid of the Calvinistic clergy, who re¬ cruited for him, his little army increased daily, so that at last he began to be formidable to the Antwerpians, whose whole territory he laid waste. The magistrate was for attacking him here with the militia, which, however, the Prince of Orange successfully opposed, by the pretext that it would not be prudent to strip the town of soldiers. Meanwhile, the regent had hastily brought to¬ gether a small army, under the command of Philip of Launoy, which moved from Brussels to Antwerp by forced marches. At the same time, Count Megen managed to keep the army of the Gueux 86 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. phut up and employed at Yiane, so that it could neither hear of these movements, nor hasten to the assistance of its confederates. Launoy, on his arrival, attacked by surprise the dispersed crowds, who, little expecting an enemy, had gone out to plunder, and destroyed them in one terrible carnage. Thoulouse threw himself with the small remnant of his troops, into a country house, which had served him as his head-quarters, and for a long time defended himself with the courage of despair, until Launoy, finding it impossible to dislodge him, set fire to the house. The few who escaped the flames, fell on the swords of the enemy, or were drowned in the Scheldt. Thoulouse himself preferred to perish in the flames, rather than to fall into the hands of the enemy. r )’his victory, which swept off more than a thousand of the enemy, was purchased by the conqueror cheaply enough, for he did not lose more than two men. Three hundred of the leaguers who surrendered, were cut down without mercy on the spot, as a sally from Antwerp was momentarily dreaded. Before the battle actually commenced, no anti¬ cipation of such an event had been entertained in Antwerp. The Prince of Orange, who got early information of it, had taken the precaution, the day before, of causing the bridge which unites the town with Ostenveel, to be destroyed, in order, as he gave out, to prevent the Calvinists within the town going out to join the army of Thoulouse. A more probable motive seems to have been a fear lest the Catholics should attack the army of the Gueux general in the rear, or lest Launoy should prove victorious, and try to force his way into the town. On the same pretext, the gates of the city were also shut by his orders, and the inhabitants, who did not comprehend the meaning of all these movements, fluctuated between curiosity and alarm, until the sound of artillery from Osterweel announced to them what there was going on. In clamorous crowds they all ran to the walls and ramparts, from which, as the wind drove the smoke from the contending armies, they com¬ manded a full view of the whole battle. Both armies were so near to the town that they could discern their banners, and clearly distinguish the voices of the victors and the vanquished. More terrible even than the battle itself was the specta¬ cle which this town now presented. Each of the conflicting armies had its friends and its enemies on the wall. All that went on in the plain, roused on the ramparts exultation or dismay; on the issue of the conflict the fate of each spectator seemed to depend. Every movement on the field could be read in the faces of the townsmen ; de¬ feat and triumph, the terror of the conquered, and the fury of the conqueror. Here a painful but idle wish to support those who are giving way, to rally those to fly; there an equally futile desire to overtake them, to slay them, to extirpate them. Now the Gueux fly, and ten thousand men rejoice ; Thoulouse’s last place and refuge is in flames, and the hopes of twenty thousand citizens are con¬ sumed with him. But the first bewilderment of alarm soon gave place to a frantic desire of revenge. Shrieking aloud, wringing her hands, and with disheveled hair, the widow of the slain general rushed amidst the crowds to implore their pity and help. Ex¬ cited by their favorite preacher, Hermann, the Calvinists fly to arms, determined to avenge their brethren, or to perish with them ; without reflec¬ tion, without plan or leader, guided by nothing but their anguish, their delirium, they rush to the Red Gate of the city, which leads to the field of battle ; but there is no egress, the gate is shut, and the foremost of the crowd recoil on those that follow. Thousands and thousands collect together, a dreadful rush is made to the Meer bridge. We are betrayed! we are prisoners! is the general cry. Destruction to the Papists, death to him who has betrayed us !—a sullen mur¬ mur, portentous of a revolt, runs through the multitude. They begin to suspect, that all that has taken place has been set on foot by the Ro¬ man Catholics, to destroy the Calvinists. They had slain their defenders, and they would now fall upon the defenseless. With fatal speed this sus¬ picion spreads through the whole of Antwerp. Now they can, they think, understand the past, and they fear something still worse in the back ground ; a frightful distrust gains possession of every mind. Each party dreads the other; every one sees an enemy in his neighbor; the mystery deepens the alarm and horror ; a fearful condition for a populous town, in which every accidental concourse instantly becomes tumult, every rumor started amongst them becomes a fact, every small spark a blazing flame, and by the force of numbers and collision all passions are furiously inflamed. All who bore the name of Calvinists were roused by this report. Fifteen thousand of them take possession of the Meer bridge, and plant heavy artillery upon'it, which they had taken by force from the arsenal; the same thing also happens at another bridge; their number makes them for¬ midable, the town is in their hands ; to escape an imaginary danger, they bring all Antwerp to the brink of ruin. Immediately on the commencement of the tu¬ mult, the Prince of Orange hastened to the Meer Bridge, where, boldly forcing his way through the raging crowd, he commanded peace, and entreated to be heard. At the other bridge, Count Hog- straten, accompanied by the Burgomaster Strah- len, made the same attempt; but not possessing a sufficient share either of eloquence or of popu¬ larity to command attention, he referred the tu¬ multuous crowd to the prince, around whom all Antwerp now furiously thronged. The gate, he endeavored to explain to them, was shut simply to keep off the victor, whoever he might be, from the city, which would otherwise become the prey of an infuriated soldiery. In vain ! the frantic people would not listen, and one more daring than the rest presented his musket at him, calling him a traitor. With tumultuous shouts, they demand¬ ed the key of the Red Gate, which he was ulti¬ mately forced to deliver into the hands of the preacher Hermann. But, he added with happy presence of mind, they must take heed what they were doing ; in the suburbs, six hundred of the enemy’s horse were waiting to receive them. This invention, suggested by the emergency, was not so far removed from the truth as its author per¬ haps imagined; for no sooner had the victorious 2—G. p. 98 2—E. p. 86, HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 87 general perceived the commotion in Antwerp, than he ordered his whole cavalry to mount, in the hope of being able, under favor of the disturb¬ ance, to break into the town. I, at least, conti¬ nued th' Prince of Orange, shall secure my own safety ir time, and he who follows my example will save himself much future regret. These words, opportunely spoken and immediately acted upon, had their effect. Those who stood nearest, followed him, and were again followed by the next, bo that at last the few who had already hastened out of the city, when they saw no one coming after them, lost the desire of coping alone with the six hundred horse. All accordingly returned to the Meer Bridge, where they posted watches and videttes, and the night was passed tumultu¬ ously under arms. The town of Antwerp was now threatened with fearful bloodshed and pillage. In this pressing emergency, Orange assembled an extraordinary senate, to which were summoned all the best dis¬ posed citizens of the four nations. If they wish¬ ed, said he, to repress the violence of the Cal¬ vinists, they must oppose them with an army strong enough and prepared to meet them. It was therefore resolved to arm with speed the Ro¬ man Catholic inhabitants of the town, whether natives, Italians, or Spaniards, and, if possible, to induce the Lutherans also to join them. The haughtiness of the Calvinists, who, proud of their wealth and confident in their numbers, treated every other religious party with contempt, had long made the Lutherans their enemies, and the mutual exasperation of these two Protestant churches was even more implacable than their common hatred of the dominant church. This jealousy the magistrate had turned to advantage, by making use of one party to curb the other, and had thus contrived to keep the Calvinists in check, who, from their numbers and insolence, were most to be feared. With this view, he had tacitly taken into his protection the Lutherans, as the weaker and more peaceable party, having more¬ over invited for them from Germany, spiritual teachers, who, by controversial sermons, might keep up the mutual hatred of the two bodies. He encouraged the Lutherans in the vain idea that the king thought more of their religious creed than of that of the Calvinists, and exhorted them to be careful how they damaged their good cause, by any understanding with the latter. It was not, therefore, difficult to bring about, for the moment, a union with the Roman Catholics and the Lu¬ therans, as its object was to keep down their de¬ tested rivals. At dawn of day, an army was op¬ posed to the Calvinists, which was far superior in force to their own. At the head of this army, the eloquence of Orange had.far greater effect, and found far more attention than on the preceding evening, unbacked by such strong persuasion. The Calvinists, though in possession of arms and ar¬ tillery, yet alarmed at the superior numbers array¬ ed against them, were the first to send envoys, and to treat for an amicable adjustment of differ¬ ences, which by the tact and good temper of the Prince of Orange, he concluded to the satisfac¬ tion of all parties. On the proclamation of this treaty, the Spaniards and Italians immediately laid down their arms. They were followed by the Calvinists, and these again by the Roman Catho¬ lics ; last of all, the Lutherans disarmed. Two days and two nights Antwerp had conti¬ nued in this alarming state. During the tumult, the Roman Catholics had succeeded in placing barrels of gunpowder under the Meer Bridge, and threatened to blow into the air the whole army of the Calvinists who had done the same in other places to destroy their adversaries. The destruc¬ tion of the town hung on the issue of a moment, and nothing but the prince’s presence of mind saved it. Noircarmes with his army of Walloons still lay before Valenciennes, which, in firm reliance on being relieved by the Gueux, obstinately refused to listen to all the representations of the regent, and rejected every idea of surrender. An order of the court had expressly forbidden the royalist general to press the siege, until he should receive reinforcements from Germany. Whether from forbearance or fear, the king regarded with ab¬ horrence the violent measure of storming the place, as necessarily involving the innocent in the fate of the guilty, and exposing the loyal subject to the same ill treatment as the rebel. As, how¬ ever, the confidence of the besieged augmented daily, and emboldened by the inactivity of the be¬ siegers, they annoyed him by frequent sallies, and after burning the cloisters before the town, re¬ tired with the plunder—as the time uselessly lost before this town was put to good use by the re¬ bels and their allies, Noircarmes besought the duchess to obtain immediate permission from the king to take it by storm. The answer arrived more quickly than Philip was ever before wont to reply. As yet they must be content, simply to make the necessary preparations, and then to wait awhile to allow terror to have its effect; but if, upon this, they did not appear ready to capitu¬ late, the storming might take place, but, at the same time, with the greatest possible regard for the lives of the inhabitants. Before the regent allowed Noircarmes to proceed to this extremity, she empowered Count Egmont, with the Duke of Arschot, to treat once more with the rebels ami¬ cably. Both conferred with the deputies of the town, and omitted no argument calculated to dis¬ pel their delusion. They acquainted them with the defeat of Thoulouse, their sole support, and with the fact that the Count of Megen had cut off the army of the Gueux from the town, and assured them that if they had held out so long, they owed it entirely to the king’s forbearance. They offered them full pardon for the past; every one was to be free to prove his innocence before whatever tribunal he should choose; such as did not wish to avail themselves of this privilege were to be allowed fourteen days to quit the town with all their effects. Nothing was required of the townspeople but the admission of the garri¬ son. To give time to deliberate on these terms, an armistice of . three days was granted. When the deputies returned, they found their fellow-ci¬ tizens less disposed than ever to an accommoda¬ tion, reports of new levies by the Gueux having, in the mean time, gained currency. Thoulouse, it was pretended, had conquered, and was advan- 38 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. cing with a powerful army to relieve the place. Their confidence went so far, that they even ven¬ tured to break the armistice, and to fire upon the besiegers. At last, the burgomaster with diffi¬ culty succeeded in bringing matter so far toward a peaceful settlement, that, twelve of the town counselors were sent into the camp with the fol¬ lowing conditions. The edict, by which Valen¬ ciennes had been charged w r ith treason, and declared an enemy to the country, was required to be recalled, the confiscation of their goods revoked, and the prisoners on both sides restored to liberty, the garrison was not to enter the town before every one, who thought good to do so, had placed himself and his property in security ; and a pledge to be given that the inhabitants should not be molested in any manner, and that their expenses should be paid by the king. Noircarmes was so indignant with these condi¬ tions, that he was almost on the point of ill treat¬ ing the deputies. If they had not come, he told them, to give up the place, they might return forthwith, lest he should send them home with their hands tied behind their backs. Upon this, the deputies threw the blame on the obstinacy of the Calvinists, and entreated him with tears in their eyes to keep them in the camp, as they did not, they said, wish to have any thing more to do with their rebellious townsmen, or to be joined in their fate. They even knelt to beseech the inter¬ cession of Egmont, but Noircarmes remained deaf to all their entreaties, and the sight of the chains which he ordered to be brought out, drove them reluctantly enough back to Valenciennes. Necessity, not severity, imposed this harsh pro¬ cedure upon the general. The detention of am¬ bassadors had, on a former occasion, drawn upon him the reprimand of the duchess; the people in the town would not have failed to have ascribed the non-appearance of their ptesent deputies to 'the same cause as in the former case had detained them. Besides, he was loathe to deprive the town of any out of the small residue of well disposed citizens, or to leave it a prey to a blind, foolhardy mob. Egmont was so mortified at the bad result of this embassy, that he, the night following, rode round to reconnoitre its fortifications, and re¬ turned well satisfied to have convinced himself that it was no longer tenable. Valenciennes stretches down a gentle acclivity into the level plain, being built on a site as strong as it is delightful. On one side inclosed by the Scheldt and another smaller river, and on the other protected by deep ditches, thick walls, and towers, it appears capable of defying every attack. But Noircarmes had discovered a few points where neglect had allowed the fosse to be filled almost up to the level of the natural surface, and of these he determined to avail himself in storming. He drew together all the scattered corps, by which he had invested the town, and during a tempestuous night carried the suburb of Berg, without the loss of a single man. He then assigned separate points of attack to the Count of Bossu, the young Charles of Mansfeld, and the younger Barlaimont, and under a terrible fire, which drove the enemy from his walls, his troops were moved up with all pos¬ sible speed. Close before the town, and opposite the gate, under the eyes of the besiegers, and with vety little loss, a battery was thrown up to an equal height with the fortifications. From this point, the town was bombarded with an unceasing fire for four hours. The Nicolaus’tower, on which the besieged had planted some artillery, was among the first that fell, and many perished under its ruins. The guns were directed against all the most conspicuous buildings, and a terrible slaughter was made amongst the inhabitants. In a few hours their principal works were destroyed, and in the gate itself so extensive a breach was made, that the besieged, despairing of any longer defending themselves, sent in haste two trumpet¬ ers to entreat a parley. This was granted, but the storm was continued without intermission. The ambassador entreated Noircarmes to grant them the same terms, which only two days before they had rejected, But circumstances had now changed, and the victor would hear no more of conditions. The unceasing fire left the inhabit¬ ants no time to repair the ramparts, which filled the fosse with their debris, and opened many a breach for the enemy to enter by. Certain of utter destruction, they surrendered next morning at discretion, after a bombardment of six-and- thirty hours without intermission, and three thou¬ sand bombs had been thrown into the city. Noir¬ carmes marched into the town with his victorious army under the strictest discipline, and was re¬ ceived by a crowd of women and children, who went to meet him, carrying green boughs, and beseeching his pity. All the citizens were imme¬ diately disarmed, the commandant and his son beheaded ; thirty-six of the most guilty of the rebels, among whom were La Grange and another Calvinistic preacher, Guido de Bresse, atoned for their obstinacy at the gallows; all the municipal functionaries were deprived of their offices, and the town of all its privileges. The Roman Catho¬ lic worship was immediately restored in full dig¬ nity, and the Protestant abolished. The Bishop of Arras was obliged to quit his residence in the town, and a strong garrison placed in it to insure its future obedience. The fa.te of Valenciennes, toward which all eyes had been turned, was a warning to the other towns which had similarly offended. Noircarmes followed up his victory, and marched immediately against Maestricht, which surrendered without a blow, and received a garrison* From thence he marched to Tornhut, to awe, by his presence, the people of Herzogenbusch and Antwerp. The Gueux in this place, who, under the com¬ mand of Bomberg, had carried all things before them, were now so terrified at his approach that they quitted the town in haste. Noircarmes was received without opposition. The ambassadors of the duchess were immediately set at liberty. A strong garrison was thrown into Tornhut ; Cambray also opened its gates, and joyfully re¬ called its archbishop, whom the Calvinists had driven from his see, and who deserved this tri¬ umph, as he did not stain his entrance with blood. Ghent, Ypres, and Oudenarde submitted and re¬ ceived garrisons. Gueldres was now almost en¬ tirely cleared of the rebels, and reduced to obedi¬ ence by the Count of Megen. In Frieslaud and HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 89 Groningen, the Count of Aremberg had eventually the same success ; but it was not obtained here so rapidly or so easily, since the count wanted con¬ sistency and firmness, and these warlike republi¬ cans maintained more pertinaciously their privi¬ leges, and were greatly supported by the strength of their position. With the exception of Holland, all the provinces had yielded before the victorious arms of the duchess. The courage of the disaf¬ fected sunk entirely, and nothing was left to them but flight or submission. RESIGNATION OF WILLIAM OF ORANGE. Ever since the establishment of the Geusen League, but more perceptibly since the outbreak of the Iconoclasts, the spirit of rebellion and dis¬ affection had spread so rapidly among all classes, parties had become so blended and confused, that 'the regent had difficulty in distinguishing her own adherents, and at last hardly knew on whom to rely. The lines of demarkation between the loyal and the disaffected had grown gradually fainter, until at last they almost entirely vanished. The frequent alterations, too, which she had been obliged to make in the laws, and which were at most the expedients and suggestions of the mo¬ ment, had taken from them their precision and binding force, and had given full scope to the arbitrary will of every individual whose office it was to interpret them. And at last, amidst the number and variety of the interpretations, the spirit was lost, and the intention of the lawgiver baffled. The close connection which in many cases subsisted between Protestants and Roman Catholics, between Gueux and Royalists, and which not unfrequently gave them a common in¬ terest, led the latter to avail themselves of the loophole which the vagueness of the laws left open, and in favor of their Protestant friends and associates, evaded, by subtle distinctions, all se¬ verity in the discharge of their duties. In their minds, it was enough not to be a declared rebel, not one of the Gueux, or at least not a heretic, to be authorized to mould their duties to their incli¬ nations, and to set the most arbitrary limits to their obedience to the king. Feeling themselves irresponsible, the governors of the provinces, the civil functionaries, both high and low, the munici¬ pal officers, and the military commanders had all become extremely remiss in their duty, and pre¬ suming upon this impunity, showed a pernicious indulgence to the rebels and their adherents, which rendered abortive all the regent’s measures of coercion. This general indifference and cor¬ ruption of so many servants of the state, had further this injurious result, that it led the turbu¬ lent to reckon on far stronger support than in reality they had cause for, and to count on their own side all who were but lukewarm adherents of the court. This way of thinking, erroneous as it was, gave them greater courage and confidence, it had the same effect as if it had been well founded ; and the uncertain vassals of the king became in consequence almost as injurious to him as his declared enemies, without at the same time being liable to the same measures of severity. This was especially the case with the Prince of Orange, Counts Egmont, Bergen, Hogstraten, Horn, and several others of the higher nobility. The regent felt the necessity of bringing these doubtful subjects to an explanation, in order either to deprive the rebels of a fancied support, or to unmask the enemies of the king. And the latter reason was of the more urgent moment, when, being obliged to send an army into the field, it was of the utmost importance to intrust the command of the troops to none but those of whose fidelity she was fully assured. She caused, therefore, an oath to be drawn up, which bound all who took it to advance the Roman Catholic faith, to pursue and punish the Iconoclasts, and to help by every means in their power in extirpat¬ ing all kinds of heresy. It also pledged them to treat the king’s enemies as their own, and to serve, without distinction, against all whom the regent, in the king’s name, should point out. By this oath, she did not hope so much to test their sincerity, and still less to secure them, as rather to gain a pretext for removing the suspected par¬ ties if they declined to take it, and for wrestling from their hands a power which they abused, or a legitimate ground for punishing them, if they took it and broke it. This oath was exacted by the court from all Knights of the Fleece, all civil functionaries and magistrates, all officers of the army—from every one, in short, who held any ap¬ pointment in the state. Count Mansfeld was the first who publicly took it in the Council of State, at Brussels; his example was followed by the Duke of Arschot, Counts Egmont, Megen, and Barlaimont. Hogstraten and Horn endeavored to evade the necessity. The former was offended at a proof of distrust which shortly before the regent had given him. Under the pretext that Malines could not safely be left any longer with¬ out its governor, but that the presence of the count was no less necessary in Antwerp, she had taken from him that province, and given it to another, whose fidelity she could better reckon upon. Hogstraten expressed his thanks that she had been pleased to release him from one of his burdens, adding that she would complete the ob¬ ligation, if she would relieve him of the other also. True to his determination, Count Horn was living on one of his estates in the strong town of Weerdt, having retired altogether from public affairs. Having quitted the service of the state, he owed, he thought, nothing more either to the republic or to the king, and declined the oath, which in his case appears at last to have been waived. The Count of Brederode was left the choice of either taking the prescribed oath, or resigning the command of his squadron of cavalry. After many fruitless attempts to evade the alternative, on the plea that he did not hold office in the state, he at last resolved upon the latter course, and thereby escaped all risk of perjuring himself. Vain were all the attempts to prevail on the Prince of Orange to take the oath, who, from the suspicion which had long attached to him, re¬ quired more than any other this purification ; and from whom the great power, which it had been ne¬ cessary to place in his hands, fully justified the regent in exacting it. It was not, however, ad- 90 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. visable to proceed against him with the laconic brevity adopted toward Brederode and the like ; on the other hand, the voluntary resignation of all his offices, which he tendered, did not meet the object of the regent, who foresaw clearly enough how really dangerous he would become, as soon as he should feel himself independent, and be no longer checked by any external considerations of , character or duty, in the prosecution of his secret designs. But ever since the consultation in Den- dermonde, the Prince of Orange had made up his mind to quit the service of the King of Spain on the first favorable opportunity, and till better days to leave the country itself. A very disheart¬ ening experience had taught him how uncertain are hopes built on the multitude, and how quickly their zeal is cooled by the necessity of fulfilling its lofty promises. An army was already in the field, and a far stronger one was, he knew, on its road, under the command of the Duke of Alva. The time for remonstrances was past, it was only at the head of an army that an advan¬ tageous treaty could now be concluded with the regent, and by preventing the entrance of the Spanish general. But now where was he to raise this army, in want as he was of money, the sinews of warfare, since the Protestants had retracted their boastful promises, and deserted him in this pressing emergency?* Eeligious jealousy and hatred, moreover, separated the two Protestant churches, and stood in the way of every salutary combination against the common enemy of their faith. The rejection of the confession of Augs¬ burg by the Calvinists had exasperated all the Protestant princes of Germany, so that no sup¬ port was to be looked for from the empire. With Count Egmont, the excellent army of Walloons was also lost to the cause—for they followed with blind devotion the fortunes of their general, who had taught them at St. Quentin and Gravelines to be invincible. And again, the outrages which the Iconoclasts had perpetrated on the churches and convents, had estranged from the league the numerous, wealthy, and powerful class of the established clergy, who, before this unlucky epi¬ sode, were already more than half gained over to it; while, by her intrigues, the regent daily con¬ trived to deprive the league itself of some one or other of its most influential members. All these considerations combined, induced the prince to postpone to a more favorable season a project for which the present juncture was little suited, and to leave a country where his longer stay could not effect any advantage for it, but must bring certain destruction on himself. After * How valiant the wish, and how sorry the deed was, is proved by the following instance amongst others. Some friends of the national liberty, Roman Catholics as well as Protestant, had solemnly engaged in Amsterdam to subscribe to a common fund the hundredth penny of their estates, until a sum of 11,000 florins should be col¬ lected, which was to be devoted to the common cause and interests. An alms box, protected by three locks, was prepared for the reception of these contributions. After the expiration of the prescribed period it was opened; anl a sum was found amounting to 700 flo¬ rins, which was given to the hostess of the Count of Brederode, in part payment of his unliquidated score. Hniv. Hist, of the N., vol. iii. intelligence gleaned from so many quarters, after so many proofs of distrust, so many warnings from Madrid, he could be no longer doubtful of the sentiments of Philip toward him. If even he had any doubt, his uncertainty would soon have been dispelled by the formidable armament which was preparing in Spain, and which was to have for its leader, not the king, as was falsely given out, but, as he was better informed, the Duke of Alva, his personal enemy, and the very man he had most cause to fear. The prince had seen too deeply into Philip’s heart to believe in the sincerity of his reconciliation, after having once awakened his fears. He judged his own conduct too justly to reckon, like his friend Eg¬ mont, on reaping a gratitude from the king to which he had not sown. He could, therefore, expect nothing but hostility from him, and pru¬ dence counseled him to screen himself by a timely flight from its actual outbreak. He had hitherto obstinately refused to take the new oath ; and all the written exhortations of the regent had been fruitless. At last she sent to him at Antwerp her private secretary Berti, who was to put the matter emphatically to his conscience, and forci¬ bly remind him of all the evil consequences which so sudden a retirement from the royal service would draw upon the country, as well as the irre¬ parable injury it would do to his own fair fame. Already, she informed him by her ambassador, his declining the required oath had cast a shade upon his honor, and imparted to the general voice, which accused him of an understanding with the rebels, an appearance of truth which this unconditional resignation would convert to abso¬ lute certainty. It was for the sovereign to dis- •/ o charge his servants, but it did not become the servant to abandon his sovereign. The envoy of the regent found the prince in his palace at An¬ twerp, already as it appeared, withdrawn from the public service, and entirely devoted to his private concerns. The prince told him, in the presence of Hogstraten, that he had refused to take the required oath, because he could not find that such a proposition had ever before been made to a governor of a province ; because he had already bound himself, once for all, to the king, and there¬ fore, by taking this new oath, he would tacitly acknowledge that he had broken the first. He had also refused, because the old oath enjoined him to protect the rights and privileges of the country, but he could not tell whether this new one might not impose upon him duties which would contra¬ vene the first; because, too, the clause which bound him to serve, if required, against all with¬ out distinction, did not except even the Empeior. his feudal lord, against whom, however, he, as his vassal, could not conscientiously make w r ar. He had refused to take this oath, because it might impose upon him the necessity of surrendering his friends,relations, his children, nay even his wife, who was a Lutheran, to butchery. According to it, moreover, he must lend himself to every thing which it should occur to the king’s fancy or passion to demand ; but the king might thus ex¬ act from him things which he shuddered even to think of; and even the severities which were now, and had been all along exercised upon the Pro* HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 91 testants, were the most revolting to his heart. This oath, in short, was repugnant to his feelings as a man, and be could not take it. In conclu¬ sion, the name of the Duke of Alva dropped from his lips, in a tone of bitterness, and he became immediately silent. All these objections were answered, point by point, by Berti. Certainly such an oath had never been required from a governor before him, because the provinces had never been similarly circumstanced. It was not exacted because the governors had broken the first, but in order to remind them vividly of their former vows, and to freshen their activity in the present emergency. This oath would not impose upon him any thing which offended against the rights and privileges of the country, for the king had sworn to observe these, as well as the Prince of Orange. The oath did not, it was true, contain any reference to a war with the Emperor, or any other sovereign to whom the prince might be related ; and if lie really had scruples on this point, a distinct clause could easily be inserted, expressly providing against such a contingency. Care would be taken to spare him any duties which were repug¬ nant to his feelings as a man, and no power on earth would compel him to act against his wife or against his children. Berti was then passing to the last point, which related to the Duke of Alva, but the prince, who did not wish to have this part of his discourse canvassed, interrupted him. “ The king was coming to the Nether¬ lands,” he said, “ and he knew the king. The king would not endure that one of his servants should have wedded a Lutheran, and he had, therefore, resolved to go with his whole family into voluntary banishment, before he was obliged to submit to the same by compulsion. But,” he concluded, “ wherever he might be, he would al¬ ways conduct himself as a subject of the king.” Thus far-fetched were the motives which the prince adduced, to avoid touching upon the single one which really decided him. Berti had still a hope of obtaining, through Egmont’s eloquence, what by his own he dis- paired of effecting. He therefore proposed a meeting with the latter (1567), which the prince assented to the more willingly, as he himself felt a desire to embrace his friend once more before his departure, and if possible, to snatch the de¬ luded man from certain destruction. This re¬ markable meeting, at which the private secretary Berti, and the young Count Mansfeld, were also present, was the last that the two friends ever held, and took place in Yillebroeck, a village on the Rupel, between Brussels and Antwerp. The Calvinists, whose last hope rested on the issue of this conference, found means to acquaint them¬ selves of its import by a spy, who concealed him¬ self in the chimney of the apartment where it was held. All three attempted to shake the determi¬ nation of the prince, but their united eloquence was unable to move him from his purpose. “It will cost you your estates, Orange, if you persist in this intention,” said the Prince of Gaure, as he took him aside to a window. “And you your life, Egmont, if you change not yours,” replied the former. “ To me it will at least be a conso¬ lation in my misfortunes, that I desired, in deed as well as in word, to help my country and my friends in the hour of need ; but you, my friend, you are dragging friends and country with you to destruction.” And saying these words, he once again exhorted him, still more urgently than ever, to return to the cause of his country, which his arm alone was yet able to preserve ; if not, at least, for his own sake, to avoid the tempest which was gathering against him from Spain. But all the arguments, however lucid, with which a far-discerning prudence supplied him, and however urgently enforced, with all the ar¬ dor and animation which the tender anxiety of friendship could alone inspire, did not avail to destroy the fatal confidence which still fettered Egmont’s better reason. The warning of Orange seemed to come from a sad and dispirited heart ; but for Egmont the world still smiled. To aban¬ don the pomp and affluence in which he had grown up to youth and manhood ; to part with all the thou¬ sand conveniences of life which alone made it valu¬ able to him, and all this to escape an evil which his buoyant spirit regarded as remote, if not imaginary; no, that was not a sacrifice which could be asked from Egmont. But had he even been less given to indulgence than he was, with what heart could he have consigned a princess accustomed by un¬ interrupted prosperity to ease and comfort, a wife who loved him as dearly as she was beloved, the children on whom his soul hung in hope and fondness, to privations at the prospect of which his own courage sank, and which a sublime phi¬ losophy alone can enable sensuality to undergo. “You will never persuade me, Orange,” said Egmont, “ to see things in the gloomy light in which they appear to thy mournful prudence. When I have succeeded in abolishing the public preachings, and chastising the Iconoclasts, in crushing the rebels, and restoring peace and or¬ der in the provinces, what can the king lay to my charge ? The king is good and just; T have claims upon his gratitude, and I must not forget what I owe to myself.” “ Well, then,” cried Orange indignantly, and with bitter anguish, “ trust, if you will, to his royal gratitude ! but a mournful presentiment tells me—And may Heaven grant that I am deceived !—that you. Egmont, will be the bridge by which the Spaniards will pass into our country to destroy it.” After these words, he drew him to his bosom, ardently clasp¬ ing him in his arms. Long, as though the sight was to serve for the remainder of his life, did he keep his eyes fixed upon him ; the tears fell; they saw each other no more. The very next day, the Prince of Orange wrote his letter of resignation to the regent, in which he assured her of his perpetual esteem, and once again entreated her to put the best interpretation on his present step. He then set off, with hi3 three brothers, and his whole family, for his own town of Breda, where he remained only as long as was requisite to arrange some private affairs. His eldest son, Prince Philip William, was left behind at the University of Louvain, where he thought him sufficiently secure under the protection of the privileges of Brabant, and the immunities of the academy; an imprudence which, if it was really 92 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. not designed, can hardly be reconciled with the just estimate which, in so many other cases, he had taken of the character of his adversary. In Breda, the heads of the Calvinists once more con¬ sulted him whether there was still hope for them, or whether all was irretrievably lost. “ He had before advised them,” replied the prince, “ and must now do so again, to accede to the Confes¬ sion of Augsburg; then they might rely upon aid from Germany. If they would still not consent to this, they must raise six hundred thousand florins, or more, if they could.” “The first,” they answered, “ was at variance with their conviction and their conscience; but means might perhaps be found to raise the money, if he would only let them know for what purpose he x^ould use it.” “No!” cried he, with the utmost displeasure, “if I must tell you that, it is all over with the use of it.” With these words he immediately broke off the conference, and dismissed the deputies. The Prince of Orange was reproached with having squandered his fortune, and with favoring the innovations on account of his debts; but he asserted that he still enjoyed sixty thousand florins yearly rental. Before his departure, he borrowed twenty thousand florins from the states of Hol¬ land, on the mortgage of some manors. Men could hardly persuade themselves that he would have succumbed to necessity so entirely, and with¬ out an effort at resistance, given up all his hopes and schemes. But what he secretly meditated no one knew, no one had read in his heart. Being asked how he intended to conduct himself toward the King of Spain, “ Quietly,” was his answer, “unless he touched my honor or my estates.” He left the Netherlands soon afterward, and betook himself in retirement to the town of Dillen- burg in Nassau, at which place he was born. He was accompanied to Germany by many hun¬ dreds, either as his servants or as volunteers, and w T as soon followed by Counts Hogstraten, Kuil- emberg, and Bergen, who preferred to share a vo¬ luntary exile with him, rather than recklessly in¬ volve themselves in an uncertain destiny. In his departure the nation saw the flight of its guardian angel; many had adored, all had ho¬ nored him. With him the last stay of the Pro¬ testants gave way; they, however, had greater hopes from this man in exile, than from all the others together who remained behind. Even the Roman Catholics could not witness his departure without regret. Them also he had shielded from tyranny; he had not unfrequently protected them against the oppression of their own church, and he had rescued many of them from the sanguinary jealousy of their religious opponents. A few fanatics among the Calvinists, who.were offended with his proposal of an alliance with their breth¬ ren, who avowed the Confession of Augsburg, so¬ lemnized with secret thanksgivings the day on which the enemy left them. 1567. DECAY AND DISPERSION OF THE GEUSEN LEAGUE. Immediately after taking leave of his friend, the Prince of Gaure hastened back to Brussels, to receive from the regent the reward of his firm¬ ness, and there in the excitement of the court, and in the sunshine of his good fortune, to dispel the light cloud which the earnest warnings of the Prince of Orange had cast over his natural gayety. The flight of the latter now left him in possession of the stage. He had now no longer any rival in the republic to dim his glory. With re¬ doubled zeal he wooed the transient favor of the court, above which he ought to have felt himself far exalted. All Brussels must participate in his joy. He gave splendid banquets and public en¬ tertainments, at which, the better to eradicate all suspicion from his mind, the regent herself fre¬ quently attended. Not content with having taken the required oath, he outstripped the most devout in devotion; outran the most zealous in zeal to extirpate the Protestant faith, and to reduce by force of arms the refractory towms of Flanders. He declared to his old friend, Count Hogstraten, as also to the rest of the Gueux, that he w r ould withdraw from them his friendship for ever, if they hesitated any longer to return into the bosom of the church, and reconcile themselves with their king. All the confidential letters which had been exchanged between him and them were returned, and by this last step, the breach between them was made public and irreparable. Egmont’s secession, and the flight of the Prince of Orange, destroyed the last hope of the Protestants and dissolved the whole league of the Gueux. Its members vied with each other in readiness—nay, they could not soon enough abjure the covenant and take the new oath proposed to them by the government. In vain did the Protestant mer¬ chants exclaim at this breach of faith on the part of the nobles; their weak voice was no longer listened to, and all the sums were lost with wdiicli they had supplied the league. The most important places were quickly re¬ duced and garrisoned; the rebels had fled, or perished by the hand of the executioner ; in the provinces no protector was left. All yielded to the fortune of the regent, and her victorious army was advancing against ‘Antwerp. After a long and obstinate contest, this town had been cleared of the worst rebels ; Hermann and his adherents took to flight; the internal storms had spent their rage. The minds of the people became gradually composed, and, no longer excited at will by every furious fanatic, began to listen to better counsels. The wealthier citizens earnestly longed for peace, to revive commerce and trade, which had suffered severely from the long reign of anarchy. The dread of Alva’s approach worked winders ; in order to prevent the miseries, which a Spanish army would inflict upon the country, the people hastened to throw themselves on the gentler mercies of the regent. Of their own accord they dispatched plenipotentiaries to Brussels, to nego¬ tiate for a treaty and to hear her terms. Agree¬ ably as the regent was surprised by this voluntary step, she did not allow herself to be hurried away by her joy. She declared that she neither could nor would listen to any overtures or representa¬ tions until the town had received a garrison. Even this was no longer opposed, and Count Mansf'eld marched in, the day after, with sixteen squadrons HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 93 in battle array. A solemn treaty was now made between the town and duchess, by which the former bound itself to prohibit the Calvinistic form of worship, to banish all preachers of that persuasion, to restore the Roman Catholic reli¬ gion to its former dignity, to decorate the de¬ spoiled churches with their former ornaments, to administer the old edicts as before, to take the same oath which the other towns had sworn to, and lastly to deliver into the hands of justice all who had been guilty of treason, in bearing arms, or taking part in the desecration of the churches. On the other hand, the regent pledged herself to forget all that had passed, and even to intercede for the offenders with the king. All those, who be¬ ing dubious of obtaining pardon preferred banish¬ ment, were to be allowed a month to change their property into money, and place themselves in safety. From this grace, none were to be ex¬ cluded but such as had been guilty of a capital offense, and who were excepted by the previous article. Immediately upon the conclusion of this treaty, all Calvinist and Lutheran preachers in Antwerp, and the adjoining territory, were warned by the herald to quit the country in twenty-four hours. All the streets and gates were now thronged with fugitives, who for the honor of their Lod abandoned what was dearest to them, and sought a more peaceful home for their per¬ secuted faith. Here husbands were taking an eternal farewell of their wives, fathers of their children; there whole families were preparing to depart. All Antwerp resembled a house of mourning ; wherever the eye turned, some affect¬ ing spectacle of painful separation presented itself. A seal was set on the doors of the Pro¬ testant churches ; the whole worship seemed to be extinct. The tenth of April (1567) was the day appointed for the departure of the preachers. In the town hall, where they appeared for the last time to take leave of the magistrate, they could not command their grief; but broke forth into bitter reproaches. They had been sacrificed, they exclaimed they had been shamefully be¬ trayed. But a time would come when Antwerp would pay dearly enough for this baseness. Still more bitter were the complaints of the Lutheran clergy, whom the magistrate himself had invited into the country, to preach against the Calvinists. Under the delusive representation that the king was not unfavorable to their religion, they had been seduced into a combination against the Cal¬ vinists, but as soon as the latter had been, by their co-operation, brought under subjection, and their own services were no longer required, they were left to bewail their folly, which had involved themselves and their enemies in common ruin. A few days afterward, the regent entered Ant¬ werp in triumph, accompanied by a thousand "Walloon horse, the Knights of the Golden Fleece, all the governors and counselors, a number of municipal officers, and her whole court. Her first visit was to the cathedral, which still bore lam¬ entable traces of the violence of the Incono- clasts, and drew from her many and bitter tears. Immediately afterward four of the rebels, who had been overtaken in their flight, were brought in and executed in the public market-place. All the children who had been baptized after the Protestant rites were re-baptized by Roman Catholic priests ; all the schools of heretics were closed, and their churches leveled to the ground. Nearly all the towns in the Netherlands followed the example of Antwerp, and banished the Prot¬ estant preachers. By the end of April, the Ro¬ man Catholic churches were repaired and embel¬ lished more splendidly than ever, while all the Protestant places of worship were pulled down, and every vestige of the proscribed belief obliter¬ ated in the seventeen provinces. The populace, whose sympathies are generally with the success¬ ful party, was now as active in accelerating the ruin of the unfortunate, as a short time before it had been furiously zealous in its cause : in Ghent, a large and beautiful church which the Calvinists had erected was attacked, and in less than an hour had wholly disappeared. From the beams of the roofless churches, gibbets were erected for those who had profaned the sanctuaries of the Roman Catholics. The places of execution were filled with corpses, the prisons with condemned victims, the high roads with fugitives. Innumerable were the victims of this year of murder; in the small¬ est towns, fifty, at least; in several of the larger, as many as three hundred, were put to death, while no account was kept of the numbers in the open country, who fell into the hands of the pro¬ vost-marshal, and were immediately strung up as miscreants, without trial and without mercy. The regent was still in Antwerp, when ambas¬ sadors presented themselves from the Electors of Brandenburg, Saxony, Hesse, Wurtemberg, and Baden to intercede for their fugitive brethren in the faith. The expelled preachers of the Augs¬ burg Confession had claimed the rights assured to them by the religious peace of the Germans, in which Brabant, as part of the empire, participat¬ ed, and had thrown themselves on the protection of' those princes. The arrival of the foreign ministers alarmed the regent, and she vainly en¬ deavored to prevent their entrance into Antwerp ; under the guise, however, of showing them marks of honor, she continued to keep them closely watched, lest they should encourage the malcon¬ tents in any attempt against the peace of the town. From the high tone which they most un¬ seasonably adopted toward the regent, it might almost be inferred that they were little in earnest in their demand. “ It was but reasonable,” they said, “that the Confession of Augsburg, as the only one which met the spirit of the gospel, should be the ruling faith in the Netherlands ; but to persecute it by such cruel edicts as were in force was positively unnatural, and could not be allowed. They therefore required of the regent, in the name of religion, not to treat the people intrusted to her rule, with such severity. She replied through the Count of Staremberg, her minister for German affairs, that such an exordi¬ um deserved no answer at all. From the sympa¬ thy which the German princes had shown for the Belgian fugitives, it was clear that they gave less credit to the letters of the king, in explanation of his measures, than to the reports of a fewworthless wretches who, in the desecrated churches, had left behind them a worthier memorial of their acta 94 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. and characters. Tt would far more become them to leave to the King of Spain the care of his own subjects, and abandon the attempt to foster a spirit of rebellion in foreign countries, from which they would reap neither .honor nor profit. The ambassadors left Antwerp in a few days, without having effected any thing. The Saxon minister, indeed, in a private interview with the regent, even assured her that his master had most re¬ luctantly taken this step. The German ambassadors had not quitted Ant¬ werp, when intelligence from Holland completed the triumph of the regent. From fear of Count Megen, Count Brederode had deserted his town of Viane, and with the aid of the Protestant in¬ habitants had succeeded in throwing fiimself into Amsterdam, where his arrival caused great alarm to the city magistrate, who had previously found difficulty in preventing a revolt, while it revived the courage of the Protestants. Here Brederode’s adherents increased daily, and many noblemen flocked to him from Utrecht, Friesland, and Gro¬ ningen, whence the victorious arms of Megen and Aremberg had driven them. Under various dis¬ guises, they found means to steal into the city, where they gathered round Brederode, and served him as a strong body-guard. The regent, appre¬ hensive of a new outbreak, sent one of her private secretaries, Jacob de la Torre, to the Council of Amsterdam, and ordered them to get rid of Count Brederode on any terms, and at any risk. Neither the magistrate nor De la Torre himself, who visited Brederode in person to acquaint him with the will of the duchess, could prevail upon him to depart. The secretary was even surprised in his own chamber by a party of Brederode’s followers, and deprived of all his papers, and would, perhaps, have lost his life also, if he had not contrived to make his escape. Brederode remained in Amster¬ dam a full month after this occurrence, a power¬ less idol of the Protestants, and an oppressive burden to the Boman Catholics; while his fine army, which he had left in Yiane, reinforced by many fugitives from the southern provinces, gave Count Megen enough to do without attempting to harass the Protestants in their flight. At last Brederode resolved to follow the example of Orange, and yielding to necessity, abandon a des¬ perate cause. He informed the town council that he was willing to leave Amsterdam, if they would enable him to do so by furnishing him with the pecuniary means, Glad to get quit of him, they hastened to borrow the money on the security of the town council. Brederode quitted Amsterdam the ‘same night, and was conveyed in a gun-boat as far as Vlie, from whence he fortunately escaped to Embden. Fate treated him more mildly than the majority of those he had implicated in his foolhardy enterprise: he died the year after, 1568, at one of his castles in Germany, from the effects of drinking, by which he sought ultimately to drown his grief and disappointments. His widow, Countess of Moers, in her own right, was remarried to the Prince Palatine, Frederick III. The Pro¬ testant cause lost but little by his demise; the work which he had commenced, as it had not been kept alive by him, so it did not die with him. The little army, which in his disgraceful flight he had deserted, was bold and valiant, and had a few resolute leaders. It disbanded, indeed, as soon as he, to whom it looked for pay, had fled ; but hunger and courage kept its parts together some time longer. One body, under the command of Dietrich of Battenburgh, marched to Amsterdam, in the hope of carrying that town ; but Count Megen hastened with thirteen companies of ex¬ cellent troops to its relief, and compelled the rebels to give up the attempt. Contenting them¬ selves with plundering the neighboring cloisters, among which the abbey of Egmont in particular was hardly dealt with, they turned off toward Waaterland, where they hoped the numerous swamps would protect them from pursuit. But thither Count Megen followed them, aud com¬ pelled them, in all haste, to seek safety in the Zuyderzee. The brothers Van Battenburg, and two Friesan nobles, Beima and Galama, with a hundred and twenty men and the booty they had taken from the monasteries, embarked near the town of Hoorne, intending to cross to Friesland, but, through the treachery of the steersman, who ran the vessel on a sandbank near Harlingen, they fell into the hands of one of Aremberg’s captains, who took them all prisoners. 'The Count of Aremberg immediately pronounced sentence upon all the captives of plebiati rank, but sent his noble prisoners to the regent, who caused seven of them to be beheaded. Seven others of the most noble, including the brothers Van Batten¬ burg and some Frieslanders, all in the bloom of youth, were reserved for the Duke of Alva, to enable him to signalize the commencement of his administration by a deed which was in every way worthy of him. The troops, in four other vessels which set sail from Medemblick, and were pur¬ sued by Count Megen in small boats, were more successful. A contrary wind had forced them out of their course, and driven them ashore orf the coast of Gueldres, where they all got safe to land ; crossing the Rhine near Heusen, they fortunately escaped into Cleves, where they tore their flags in pieces, and dispersed. In North Holland Count Megen overtook some squadrons who had lingered too long in plundering the cloisters, and com¬ pletely overpowered them. He afterward formed a junction with Noircarmes, and garrisoned Am¬ sterdam. The Duke Erich of Brunswick also surprised three companies, the last remains of the army of the Gueux, near Viane, where they were endeavoring to take a battery, routed them and captured their leader, Rennesse, who was shortly afterward beheaded at the castle of Freudenburg, in Utrecht. Subsequently, when Duke Erich en- tered Viane, he found nothing but deserted streets, the inhabitants having left it with the garrison on the first alarm. He immediately razed the fortifi¬ cations, and reduced this arsenal of the Gueux to an open town without defenses. All the origina¬ tors of the league were now dispersed ; Brederode and Louis of Nassau had fled to Germany, and Counts Hogstraten, Bergen, and Kuilemberg had followed their example, Mansfeld had seceded, the brothers Van Battenburg awaited in prison an ignominious fate, while Thoulouse alone had found an honorable death on the field of battle. Those of the confederates who had escaped the sword of HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 95 the enemy, and the ax of the executioner, had saved nothing but their lives, and thus the title which they had assumed for show, became at last a terrible reality. Such was the inglorious end of the noble league, which in its beginning awakened such fair hopes, and promised to become a powerful pro¬ tection against oppression. Unanimity was its strength; distrust and internal dissension its ruin. It brought to light and developed many rare and beautiful virtues; but it wanted the most indispensable of all, prudence and modera¬ tion, without which any undertaking must mis¬ carry, and all the fruits of the most laborious in¬ dustry perish. If its objects had been as pure as it pretended, or even had they remained as pure as they really were at its first establishment, it might have defied the unfortunate combination of circumstances which prematurely overwhelmed it; and even if unsuccessful, it would still have deserved an honorable mention in history. But it is too evident that the confederate nobles, whether di¬ rectly or indirectly, took a greater share in the frantic excesses of the Iconoclasts than com¬ ported with the dignity and blamelessness of their confederation ; and many among them openly exchanged their own good cause for the mad enterprise of these worthless vagabonds. The restriction of the Inquisition, and a mitiga¬ tion of the cruel inhumanity of the edicts, must be laid to the credit of the league; but this tran¬ sient relief was dearly purchased, at the cost of so many of the best and bravest citizens, who either lost their lives in the field, or in exile car¬ ried their wealth and industry to another quarter of the world ; and of the presence of Alva and the Spanish arms. Many, too, of its peaceable citizens, who, without its dangerous temptations, would never have been seduced from the ranks of peace and order, were beguiled by the hope of success into the most culpable enterprises, and by their failure plunged into ruin and misery. But it cannot be denied, that the league atoned in some measure for these wrongs by positive bene¬ fits. It brought together and emboldened many whom a selfish pusillanimity kept asunder and in¬ active ; it diffused a salutary public spirit amongst the Belgian people, which the oppression of the government had almost entirely extinguished, and gave unanimity and a common voice to the scattered members of the nation, the absence of which alone makes despots bold. The attempt, Indeed, failed, and the knots, too carelessly tied, were quickly unloosed; but it was through such failures that the nation was eventually to attain to a firm and lasting union, which should bid de¬ fiance to change. The total destruction of the Geusen army quickly brought the Dutch towns also back to their obedience, and in the provinces there re¬ mained not a single place which had not submit¬ ted to the regent; but the increasing emigration, both of the natives and the foreign residents, threatened the country with depopulation. In Amsterdam the crowd of fugitives was so great, that vessels were wanting to convey them across the North Sea and the Zuyderzee, and that flour¬ ishing emporium beheld with dismay the approach¬ ing downfall of its prosperity. Alarmed at this general flight, the regent hastened to write letters to all the towns, to encourage the citizens to re¬ main, and by fair promises to revive a hope of better and milder measures. In the king’s name, she promised to all who would freely swear to obey the state and the church complete indemnity, and by public proclamation invited the fugitives to trust to the royal clemency, and return to their homes. She engaged also to relieve the nation from the dreaded presence of a Spanish army, even if it were already on the frontiers; nay, she went so far as to drop hints that, if necessary, means might be found to prevent it by force from entering the provinces, as she was fully determin¬ ed not to relinquish to another the glory of a peace which it had cost her so much labor to ef¬ fect. Few, however, returned in reliance upon her word, and these few had cause to repent it in the sequel; many thousands had already quitted the country, and several thousands more quickly followed them. Germany and England were filled with Flemish emigrants, who, wherever they set¬ tled, retained their usages and manners, and even their costume, unwilling to come to the painful conclusion that they should never again see their native land, and to give up all hopes of return. Few carried with them any remains of their former affluence ; the greater portion had to beg their way, and bestowed on their adopted country nothing but industrious skill and honest citizens. And now the regent hastened to report to the king, tidings such as during her whole administra¬ tion she had never before been able to gratify him with. She announced to him that she had suc¬ ceeded in restoring quiet throughout the provinces, and that she thought herself strong enough to maintain it. The sects were extirpated, and the Roman Catholic worship re-established in all its former splendor; the rebels had either already met with, or were awaiting in prison, the punish¬ ment they deserved; the towns were secured by adequate garrisons. There was, therefore, no ne¬ cessity for sending Spanish troops into the Ne¬ therlands, and nothing to justify their entrance. Their arrival would tend to destroy the existing repose, which it had cost so much to establish, would check the much-desired revival of com¬ merce and trade, and while it would involve the country in new expenses, would, at the same time, deprive them of the only means of supporting them. The mere rumor of the approach of a Spanish army had stripped the country of many thousands of its most valuable citizens ; its actual appearance would reduce it to a desert. As there was no longer any enemy to subdue, or re¬ bellion to suppress, the people would see no mo¬ tive for the march of this army but punishment and revenge; and, under this supposition, its ar¬ rival would neither be welcomed nor honored. No longer excused by necessity, this violent ex¬ pedient would assume the odious aspect of op¬ pression, would exasperate the national mind afresh, drive the Protestants to desperation, and arm their brethren in other countries in their de¬ fense. The regent, she said, had, in the king’s name, promised the nation it should be relieved from this foreign army, and to this stipulation 96 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OFTHE NETHERLANDS. she was principally indebted for the present peace; she could not, therefore, guarantee its long continuance if her pledge was not faithfully fulfilled. The Netherlands would receive him as their sovereign the king, with every mark of at¬ tachment and veneration : but he must come as a father to bless, not as a despot to chastise them. Let him come to enjoy the peace which she had bestowed ou the country, but not to destroy it afresh. alva’s armament and expedition to the NETHERLANDS. But it was otherwise determined ip the council at Madrid. The Minister Granvella, who, even •while absent himself, ruled the Spanish cabinet by his adherents ; the Cardinal Grand Inquisitor Spinosa, and the Duke of Alva, swayed respect¬ ively by hatred, a spirit of persecution, or private interest, had outvoted the milder councils Of the Prince Buy Gomes of Eboli, the Count of Feria, and the king’s confessor Fresneda. The insurrec¬ tion, it was urged by the former, was indeed quelled for the present, but only because the re¬ bels were awed by the rumor of the king’s armed approach ; it was to fear of punishment alone, and not to sorrow for their crime, that the present calm was to be ascribed, and it would soon again be broken if that feeling were allowed to subside. In fact, the offenses of the people fairly afforded the king the opportunity he had so long desired, of carrying out his despotic views with an appear¬ ance of justice. The peaceable settlement for which the regent took credit to herself, was very far from according with his wishes, which sought rather for a legitimate pretext to deprive the pro¬ vinces of their privileges, which were so obnox¬ ious to his despotic temper. With an impenetrable dissimulation, Philip had hitherto fostered the general delusion that he was about to visit the provinces in person, while, all along, nothing could have been more remote from his rSal intentions. Traveling at any time ill suited the methodical regularity of his life, which moved with the precision of clockwork; and his narrow and sluggish intellect was op¬ pressed by the variety and multitude of objects with which new scenes crowded it. The difficul¬ ties and dangers which would attend a journey to the Netherlands must, therefore, have been pecu¬ liarly alarming to his natural timidity and love of ease. Why should he, who, in all that he did, was accustomed to consider himself alone, and to make men accommodate themselves to his prin¬ ciples, not his principles to men, undertake so perilous an expedition, when he could see neither the advantage or necessity of it. Moreover, as it had ever been to him an utter impossibility to se¬ parate, even for a moment, his person from his royal dignity, which no prince ever guarded so tenaciously and pedantically as himself, so the magnificence and ceremony, which in his mind were inseparably connected with such a journey, and the expenses which, on this account.it would necessarily occasion, were of themselves sufficient motives to account for his indisposition to it, without its being at all requisite to call in the aid of the influence of his favorite, Ruy Gomes, who is said to have desired to separate his rival, the Duke of Alva, from the king. Little, however, as he seriously intended this journey, he still deemed it advisable to keep up the expectation of it, as well with a view of sustaining the cour¬ age of the loyal, as of preventing a dangerous combination of the disaffected, and stopping the further progress of the rebels. In order to carry on the deception as long as possible. Philip made extensive preparations for his departure, and neglected nothing which could be required for such an event. He ordered ships to be fitted out, appointed the officers and others to attend him. To allay the suspicion such war¬ like preparations might excite in all foreign courts, they were informed through his ambassadors of his real design. He applied to the King of France for a passage for himself and attendants through that kingdom, and consulted the Duke of Savoy as to the preferable route. He caused a list to be drawn up of all the towns and fortified places that lay in his march, and directed all the inter¬ mediate distances to be accurately laid down. Orders were issued for taking a map and survey of the whole extent of country between Savoy and Burgundy, the duke being requested to furnish the requisite surveyors and scientific officers. To such lengths was the deceptioh carried, that the regent was commanded to hold eight vessels, at least, in readiness, off Zealand, and to dispatch them to meet the king the instant she heard of his having sailed from Spain ; and these ships she actually got ready, and caused prayers to be offered up in all the churches for the king’s safety during the voyage, though, in secret, many per¬ sons did not scruple to remark that, in his cham¬ ber at Madid, his majesty would not have much cause to dread the stwms at sea. Philip played his part with such masterly skill that the Bel¬ gian ambassadors in Madrid, Lords Bergen and Montigny, who at first had disbelieved in the sincerity of his pretended journey, began at last to be alarmed, and infected their friends in Brus¬ sels with similar apprehensions. An attack of tertian ague, which about this time the king suf¬ fered, or perhaps feigned, in Segovia, afforded a plausible pretense for postponing his journey, while, meantime, the preparations for it were carried on with the utmost activity. At last, when the urgent and repeated solicitations of his sister compelled him to make a definite explana¬ tion of his plans, he gave orders that the Duke of Alva should set out forthwith with an army, both to clear the way before him of rebels, and to enhance the splendor of his own royal arrival. He did not yet venture to throw off the mask, and announce the duke as his substitute. He had but too much reason to fear, that the submission which his Flemish nobles would cheerfully yield to their sovereign, would be refused to one of his servants, whose cruel character was well knowD, and who, moreover, was detested as a foreigner, and the enemy of their constitution. And, in fact, the universal belief that the king was soon to follow, which long survived Alva’s entrance into the country, restrained the outbreak of dis- HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 97 turbances which otherwise would assuredly have been caused by the cruelties which marked the very opening of the duke’s government. The clergy of Spain, and especially the Inqui¬ sition, contributed richly toward the expenses of this expedition, as to a holy war. Throughout Spain, the enlisting was carried on with the ut¬ most zeal. The viceroys and governors of Sardi¬ nia, Sicily, Naples, ymd Milan, received orders to select the best of their Italian and Spanish troops in the garrisons, and dispatch them to the general rendezvous in the Genoese territory, where the Duke of Alva would exchange them for the Spanish recruits which he should bring with him. At the same time, the regent was commanded to hold in readiness a few more regi¬ ments of German infantry in Luxembourg, under the command of the Counts Eberstein, Schaum¬ burg, and Lodrona, and also some squadrons of light cavalry in the duchy of Burgundy, to rein¬ force the Spanish general immediately on his en¬ trance into the provinces. The Count of Barlai- mont was commissioned to furnish the necessary provision for the armament, and a sum of 200.000 gold florins was remitted to the regent, to enable her to meet these expenses, and to maintain her own troops. The French court, however, under pretence of the danger to be apprehended from the Hugue¬ nots, had refused to allow the Spanish army to pass through France. Philip applied to the Dukes of Savoy and Lorraine, who were too de¬ pendent upon him to refuse his request. The former merely stipulated that he should be al¬ lowed to maintain 2,000 infantry and a squadron of horse at the king’s expense, in order to pro¬ tect his country from the injuries to which it might otherwise be exposed from the passage of the Spanish army. At the same time, he under¬ took to provide the necessary supplies for its maintenance during the transit. The rumor of this arrangement aroused the Huguenots, the Genevese, the Swiss, and the Gri- sons. The Prince of Conde and the Admiral Coligny entreated Charles IX. not to neglect so favorable a moment of inflicting a deadly blow on the hereditary foe of France. With the aid of the Swiss, the Genevese, and his own Protestant subjects, it would, they alleged, be an easy matter to destroy the flower of the Spanish troops in the narrow passes of the Alpine mountains ; and they promised to support him in this undertaking with an army of 50,000 Huguenots. This advice, how¬ ever, whose dangerous object was not easily to be mistaken, was plausibly declined by Charles IX., who assured them that he was both able and anx¬ ious to provide for the security of his kingdom. He hastily dispatched troops to cover the French frontiers; and the republics of Geneva, Bern, Zurich, and the Grisons, followed his example, all ready to offer a determined opposition to the dreaded enemy of their religion and their liberty. On the 5th of May, 1567, the Duke of Alva set sail from Carthagena with thirty galleys, which had been furnished by Andrew Doria and the Duke Cosmo of Florence, and within eight days landed at Genoa, where the four regiments were waiting to join him. But a tertiau ague, with Vol. II.—7 which he was seized shortly after his arrival, com¬ pelled him to remain for some days inactive in Lombardy—a delay of which the neighboring pow¬ ers availed themselves to prepare for defense. As soon as the duke recovered, he held at Asti, in Montferrat, a review of all his troops, who were more formidable by their valor than by their numbers, since cavalry and infantry together did not amount to much above 10,000 men. In his long and perilous march, he did not wish to en¬ cumber himself with useless supernumeraries, which would only impede his progress and increase the difficulty of supporting his army. These 10,000 veterans were to form the nucleus of a greater army, which, according as circumstances and occasion might require, he could easily as¬ semble in the Netherlands themselves. This army, however, was as select as it was small. It consisted of the remains of those victo¬ rious legions, at whose head Charles Y. had made Europe tremble; sanguinary, indomitable bands, in whose battalions the firmness of the old Mace¬ donian phalanx lived again ; rapid in their evolu¬ tions from long practice, hardy and enduring, proud of their leader’s success, and confident from past victories, formidable by their licentiousness, but still more so by their discipline; let loose with all the passions of a warmer climate upon a rich and peaceful country, and inexorable toward an enemy whom the church had cursed. Their fanatical and sanguinary spirit, their thirst for glory and innate courage was aided by a rude sensuality, the instrument by which the Spanish general firmly and surely ruled his otherwise in¬ tractable troops. With a prudent indulgence, he allowed riot and voluptuousness to reign through¬ out the camp. Under his tacit connivance, Italian courtezans followed the standards; even in the march across the Apennines, where the high price of the necessaries of life compelled him to reduce his force to the smallest possible num¬ ber, he preferred to have a few regiments less, rather than to leave behind these instruments of voluptuousness.* But industriously as Alva strove to relax the morals of his soldiers, he enforced the more rigidly a strict military discipline, which was in¬ terrupted only by a victory, or rendered less severe by a battle. For all this he had, he said, the authority of the Athenian General Iphicrates, who awarded the prize of valor to the pleasure- loving and rapacious soldier. The more irksome the restraint by which the passions of the soldiers were kept in check, the greater must have been the vehemence with which they broke forth at the sole outlet which was left open to them. The duke divided his infantry, which was about 9,000 strong, and chiefly Spaniards, into four bri- * The bacchanalian procession of this army, contrasted strangely enough with the gloomy seriousness and pre¬ tended sanctity of its aim. The number of these women was so great that, to restrain the disorders and quarreling among themselves, they hit upon the expedient of estab¬ lishing a discipline of their own. They ranged them¬ selves under particular flags, marched in ranks and sec¬ tions, and in admirable military order, after each battal¬ ion, and classed themselves with strict etiquette accord¬ ing to their rank and pay. 98 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. gades, and gave the command of them to four Spanish officers. Alphonso of Ulloa led the Neapolitan brigade of nine companies, amounting to 3,230 men ; Sancho of Lodogno commanded the Milan brigade, 3,200 men, in ten companies ; the Sicilian brigade with the same number of companies, and consisting of 1,600 men, was under Julian Romero, an experienced warrior, who had already fought on Belgian ground ;* while Gonsalo of Braccamonte headed that of Sardinia, which was raised by three companies of recruits, to the full complement of the former. To every company, moreover, were added fifteen Spanish musketeefs. The horse, in all 1,200 strong, con¬ sisted of three Italian, two Albanian, and seven Spanish squadrons, light and heavy pavalry, and the chief command was held by Ferdinand and Frederick of Toledo, the two sons of Alva. Chiappin Vitelli, Marquis of Cetona, was field- marshal ; a celebrated general whose services had been made over to the King of Spain by Cosmo of Florence, and Gabriel Serbellon was general of artillery. The Duke of Savoy lent Alva an experienced engineer, Francis Facotto, of Urbino, who was to be employed in the erection of new fortifications. His standard was likewise followed by a number of volunteers, and the flower of the Spanish nobility, of whom the greater part had fought under Charles Y. in Germany, Italy, and before Tunis. Among these were Christopher Mondragone, one of the ten Spanish heroes who, near Muhlberg swam across the Elbe with their swords between their teeth, and under a shower of bullets from the enemy, brought over from the opposite shore the boats which the emperor re¬ quired for the construction of a bridge. Sancho of Avila, who had been trained to war under Alva himself, Camillo of Monte, Francis Ferdugo, Karl Davila, Nicolaus Basta, and Count Marti- nego, all fired with a noble ardor, either to com¬ mence their military career under so eminent a leader, or by another glorious campaign under his command, to crown the fame they had already won. After the review, the army marched in three divisions across Mount Cenis, by the very route which, sixteen centuries before, Hannibal is said to have taken. The duke himself led the van ; Ferdinand of Toledo, with whom was associated Lodogno as colonel, the centre; and the Marquis of Cetona the rear. The Commissary General, Francis of Ibarra, was sent before with General Serbellon to open the road for the main body, and get ready the supplies at the several quarters for the night. The places which the van left in the morning were entered in the evening by the centre, which in its turn made room on the follow¬ ing day for the rear. Thus the army crossed the Alps of Savoy by regular stages, and with the fourteenth day completed that dangerous passage. A French army of observation accompanied it side by side along the frontiers of Dauphine and the course of the Rhone, and the allied army of the Genevese followed it on the right, and was passed by it at a distance of seven miles. Both these armies of observation carefully abstained * The same officer, who commanded one of the Spanish regiments, about which so much complaint had formerly been made in the States-Goneral. from any act of hostility, and were merely in¬ tended to cover their own frontiers. As the Spanish legions ascended and descended the steep mountain crags, or while they crossed the rapid Iser, or file by file wound through the narrow passes of the rocks, a handful of men would have been sufficient to have put an entire stop to their march, and to drive them back into the mountains, where they would have been irretrievably lost, since at each place of encampment supplies were provided for no more than a single day, and for a third part only of the whole force. But a super¬ natural awe and dread of the Spanish name ap¬ peared to have blinded the eyes of the enemy, so that they did not perceive their advantage, or at least did not venture to profit by it. In order to give them as little opportunity as possible of re¬ membering it, the Spanish general hastened through this dangerous pass. Convinced, too, that if his troops gave the slightest umbrage he was lost, the strictest discipline w'as maintained during the march, not a single peasant’s hut, not a single field was injured ;* and never, perhaps, in the memory of man, was so numerous an army led so far in such excellent order. Destined as this army was for vengeance and murder, a malignant and baleful star seemed to conduct it safe through all dangers; and it would be difficult to decide whether the prudence of its general, or the blind¬ ness of its enemies is most to be wondered at. In Franclie Comte, four squadrons of Burgun¬ dian cavalry newly raised joined the main army, which, at Luxembourg, was also reinforced by three regiments of German infantry, under the command of Counts Eberstein, Schaumburg, and Lodrona. From Thionville, where he halted a few days, Alva sent his salutations to the regent by Francis of Ibarra, who was, at the same time, directed to consult her on the quartering of the troops. On her part, Noirearmes and Barlaimont were dispatched to the Spanish camp to con¬ gratulate the duke on his arrival, and to show him the customary marks of honor. At the same time they were directed to ask him to produce the powers intrusted to him by the king, of which, however, he only showed a part. The envoys of the regent were followed by swarms of the Flemish nobility, who thought they could not hasten soon enough to conciliate the favor of the new viceroy, or, by a timely submission, avert the vengeance which was preparing. Among them was Count Egmont. As he came forward, the duke pointed him out to the bystanders. “ Here comes an arch¬ heretic,” he exclaimed, loud enough to be heard by Egmont himself, who, surprised at these words, stopped and changed color. But when the duke, in order to repair his imprudence, went up to him with a serene countenance, and greeted him with a friendly embrace, the Fleming was ashamed of % Once only on entering Lorraine, three horsemen ven¬ tured to drive away a few sheep from a flock, of which circumstance the duke was no sooner informed, than he sent back to the owner what had been taken from him, and sentenced the offenders to be hung. This sentence was, at the intercession of the Lorraine general, who had come to the frontiers to pay his respects to the duke, ex¬ ecuted on only one of the three, upon whom the lot fell at the drum-head. HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 99 liia fears, and made light of this warning, by patting some frivolous interpretation upon it. Egmont sealed this new friendship with a present of two valuable chargers, which Alva accepted with a grave condescension. Upon the assurance of the regent that the pro¬ vinces were in the enjoyment of perfect peace, and that no opposition was to be apprehended from any quarter, the duke discharged some German regiments, which had hitherto drawn their pay from the Netherlands. Three thousand six hun¬ dred men, under the command of Lodrona, were quartered in Antwerp, from which town the Wal¬ loon garrison, in which full reliance could not be placed, was withdrawn; garrisons proportionably stronger were thrown into Ghent and other im¬ portant places ; Alva himself marched with the Milan brigade toward Brussels, whither he was accompanied by a splendid cortege of the noblest in the land. Here, as in all the other towns of the Nether¬ lands, fear and terror had preceded him, and all who were conscious of any offenses, and even those who were sensible of none, alike awaited his approach with a dread similar to that with which criminals see the coming of their day of trial. All who could tear themselves from the ties of family, property, and country, had already fled, or now at last took to flight. The advance of the Spanish army had already, according to the report of the regent, diminished the population of the provinces by the loss of one hundred thousand citizens, and this general flight still continued. But the arrival of the Spanish general could not be more hateful to the people of the Netherlands, than it was distressing and dispiriting to the regent. At last, after so many years of anxiety, she had begun to taste the sweets of repose, and that absolute authority, which had been the long cherished object of eight years of a troubled and difficult administration. This late fruit of so much anxious industry, of so many cares and nightly vigils, was now to be wrested from her by a stranger, who was to be placed at once in posses¬ sion of all the advantages which she had been forced to extract from adverse circumstances by a long and tedious course of intrigue and patient endurance. Another was lightly to bear away the prize of promptitude, and to triumph by more rapid success over her superior but less glittering merits. Since the departure of the minister Gran- vella, she had tasted to the full the pleasures of independence. The flattering homage of the nobility, which allowed her more fully to enjoy the shadow of power, the more they deprived her of its substance, had, by degrees, fostered her vanity to such an extent, that she at last estranged by her coldness even the most upright of all her servants, the state counselor Viglius, who always addressed her in the language of truth. All at once, a censor of her actions was placed at her side, a partner of her power was associated with her, if indeed it was not rather a master who was forced upon her, whose proud, stubborn, and im¬ perious spirit, which no courtesy could soften, threatened the deadliest wounds to her self-love and vanity. To prevent his arrival, she had, in her representations to, the king, vainly exhausted every political argument. To no purpose had she urged, that the utter ruin of the commerce of the Netherlands would be the inevitable consequence of this introduction of the Spanish troops; in vain had she assured the king that peace was univer¬ sally restored, and reminded him of her own ser¬ vices in procuring it, which deserved, she thought, a better guerdon than to see all the fruits of her labors snatched from her and given to a foreigner, and more than all, to behold all the good which she had effected, destroyed by a new and different line of conduct. Even when the duke had already crossed Mount Cenis, she made one more attempt, entreating him at least to diminish his army ; but in that also failed, for the duke insisted upon acting up to the powers intrusted to him. In poignant grief she now awaited his approach, and with the tears she shed for her country, were mingled those of offended self-love. On the 22d of August, 1567, the Duke of Alva appeared before the gates of Brussels. His army immediately took up their quarters in the sub¬ urbs, and he himself made it his first duty to pay his respects to the sister of his king. She gave him a private audience, on the plea of suffering from sickness. Either the mortification she had undergone had in reality a serious effect upon her health, or, what is not improbable, she had re¬ course to this expedient to pain his haughty spirit, and in some degree to lessen his triumph. He delivered to her letters from the king, and laid before her a co'py of his own appointment, by which the supreme command of the whole mili¬ tary force of the Netherlands was committed to him, and from which, therefore, it would appear that the administration of civil affairs remained, as heretofore, in the hands of the regent. But as soon as he was alone with her, he produced a new commission, which was totally different from the former. According to this, the power was dele¬ gated to him of making war at his discretion, of erecting fortifications, of appointing and dismiss¬ ing at pleasure the governors of provinces, the commandants of towns, and other officers of the king, of instituting inquiries into the past troubles, of punishing those who originated them, and of rewarding the loyal. Powers of this extent, which placed him almost on a level with a sov¬ ereign prince, and far surpassed those of the re¬ gent herself, caused her the greatest consterna¬ tion, and it was with difficulty that she could conceal her emotion. She asked the duke whether he had not even a third commission, or some spe¬ cial orders in reserve which went still further, and were drawn up still more precisely, to which he replied distinctly enough in the affirmative, but at the same time gave her to understand, that this commission might be too full to suit the pre¬ sent occasion, and would be better brought into play hereafter, with due regard to time and cir¬ cumstances. A few days after his arrival, he caused a copy of the first instructions to be laid before the several councils and the states, and had them printed to insure their rapid circula¬ tion. As the regent resided in the palace, he took up his quarters temporarily in Ivuileinberg house, the same in which the association of the Gueux had received its name, and before which, 100 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. through a wonderful vicissitude, Spanish tyranny now planted its flag. A dead silence reigned in Brussels, broken only at times by the unwonted clang of arms. The duke had entered the town but a few hours, when his attendants, like blood-hounds that have been slipped, dispersed themselves in all directions. Everywhere foreign faces were to be seen ; the streets were empty, all the houses carefully closed, all amusements suspended, all public places de¬ serted. The whole metropolis resembled a place visited by the plague. Acquaintances hurried on without stopping for their usual greeting; all hastened on the moment a Spaniard showed him¬ self in the streets. Every sound startled them, as if it were the knock of the official^ of justice at their doors ; the nobility, in trembling anxiety, kept to their houses ; they shunned appearing in public, lest their presence should remind the new viceroy of some past offense. The two nations now seemed to have exchanged characters. The Spaniard had become the talkative man, and the Brabanter taciturn ; distrust and fear had scared away the spirit of cheerfulness and mirth, a con¬ strained gravity fettered even the play of the features. Every moment the impending blow was looked for with dread. This general straining of expectation, warned the duke to hasten the accomplishment of his plans before they should be anticipated by the timely flight of his victims. His first object was to secure the suspected nobles, in order at once and for ever to deprive the faction of its leaders, and the nation,, whose freedom was to be crushed, of all its supporters. By a pretended affability, he had succeeded in lulling their first alarm, and in restoring Count Egmont, in particular, to his former perfect confidence, for which purpose he artfully employed his sons, Ferdinand and Fred¬ erick of Toledo, whose companionableness and youth assimilated more easily with the Flemish character. By this skillful device, he succeeded also in enticing Count Horn to Brussels, who had hitherto thought it advisable to watch the first measures of the duke from a distance, but now suffered himself to be seduced by the good fortune of his friend. Some of the nobility, and Count Egmont at the head of them, even resumed their former gay style of living. But they themselves did not do so with their whole hearts, and they had not many imitators. Kuilemberg house was incessantly besieged by a numerous crowd, who thronged around the person of the new viceroy, and exhibited an affected gayety on their counte¬ nances, while their hearts were wrung with dis¬ tress and fear. Egmont, in particular, assumed the appearance of a light heart, entertaining the duke’s son, and being feted by them in return. Meanwhile, the duke was fearful lest so fair an opportunity for the accomplishment of his plans might not last long, and lest some act of impru¬ dence might destroy the feeling of security which had tempted both his victims'voluntarily to put themselves into his power; he only waited for a third; Hogstraten also was to be taken in the same net. Under a plausible pretext of business, he therefore summoned him to the metropolis. At the same time that he purposed to secure the three counts in Brussels, Colonel Lodrona was to arrest the burgomaster Strahlen in Antwerp, an intimate friend of the Prince of Orange, and sus¬ pected of having favored the Calvinists; another officer was to seize the private secretary of Count Egmont, whose name was John Casembrot von Beckerzeel, as also some secretaries of Count Horn, and was to possess themselves of their papers. When the day arrived which had been fixed upon for the execution of his plan, the duke sum¬ moned all the counselors and knights before him, to confer with them upon matters of state. On this occasion, the Duke of Arschot, the Counts Mansfeld, Barlaimont, and Aremberg, attended on the part of the Netherlanders, and on the part of the Spaniards, besides the duke’s sons, Yitelli, Serbellon, and Ibarra. The young Count Mans¬ feld, who likewise appeared at the meeting, re¬ ceived a sign from his father to withdraw with all speed, and by a hasty flight avoid the fate which was impending over him, as a former member of the Geusen league. The duke purposely pro¬ longed the consultation, to give time before he acted for the arrival of the courtiers from Ant¬ werp, who were to bring him the tidings of the arrest of the other parties. To avoid exciting any suspicion, the engineer Paciotto was required to attend the meeting, to lay before it the plans for some fortifications. At last, intelligence was brought him that Lodrona had successfully exe¬ cuted his commission. Upon this the duke dex¬ terously broke off the debate, and dismissed the council. And now, as Count Egmont was about to repair to the apartment of Don Ferdinand, to finish a game that he had commenced with him, the captain of the duke’s body guard, Sancho D’Avila, stopped him, and demanded his sword in the king’s name. At the same time, he was surrounded by a number of Spanish soldiers, who, as had been preconcerted, suddenly advanced from their concealment. So unexpected a blow deprived Egmont, for some moments, of all pow¬ ers of utterance and recollection ; after a while, however, he collected himself, and taking his sword from his side with dignified composure, said, as he delivered it into the hands of the Spaniard, “ This sword has before this, on more than one occasion, successfully defended the king’s cause.” Another Spanish officer arrested Count Horn, as he was returning to his house, without the least suspicion of danger. Horn’s first inquiry was after Egmont. On being told that the same fate had just happened to his friend, he surrendered himself without resistance. “ 1 have suffered myself to be guided by him,” he ex¬ claimed, “it is fair that I should share his des¬ tiny.” The two counts were placed in confine¬ ment, in separate apartments. While this was going on in the interior of Kuilemberg house, the whole garrison was drawn out underarms in front of it. No one knew what had taken place inside, a mysterious terror diffused itself throughout Brussels, until rumor spread the news of this fatal event. Each felt as if he himself were the suf¬ ferer; with many, indignation at Egmont’s blind infatuation, proponderated over sympathy for his fate ; all rejoiced that Orange had escaped. The HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 101 first question of the Cardinal Granvella, too, when these tidings reached him in Rome, is said to have been, whether they had taken the Silent One also. On being answered in the negative, he shook his head : 44 Then as they have let him escape they have got nothing.” Fate ordained better for the Count of Hogstraten. Compelled by ill health to travel slowly, he was met by the report of this event, while he was yet on his way. He hastily turned back, and fortunately escaped destruction. Immediately after Egmont’s seizure, a writing was extorted from him, addressed to the com¬ mandant of the citadel of Ghent, ordering that officer to deliver the fortress to the Spanish Colo¬ nel, Alphonso d’Ulloa. Upon this, the two counts were then (after they had been for some weeks confined in Brussels) conveyed under a guard of 3,000 Spaniards to Ghent, where they remained imprisoned till late in the following year. In the mean time, all their papers had been seized, Many of the first nobility, who, by the pretended kindness of the Duke of Alva, had allowed them¬ selves to be cajoled into remaining, experienced the same fate. Capital punishment was also, without delay,- inflicted on all who, before the duke’s arrival, had been taken with arms in their hands. Upon the news of Egmont’s arrest a second body of about ‘20,000 inhabitants took up the wanderer’s staff, besides the 100,000 who, pru¬ dently declining to await the arrival of the Spa¬ nish general, had already placed themselves in safety.* After so noble a life had been assailed, no one counted himself safe any longer ; but many found cause to repent that they had so long de¬ ferred this salutary step; for every day flight was rendered more difficult, for the duke ordered all the ports to be closed, and punished the attempt at emigration with death. The beggars were now esteemed fortunate, who had abandoned country and property, in order to preserve at least their liberty and their lives. ALVA’S FIRST MEASURES, AND DEPARTURE OF THE DUCHESS OF PARMA. Alva’s first step, after securing the most sus¬ pected of the nobles, was to restore the Inquisi¬ tion to its former authority; to put the decrees of Trent again in force, abolish the “ Modera¬ tion ,” and promulgate anew the edicts against * A great part of these fugitives helped to strengthen the arm}' of the Huguenots, who had taken occasion, from the passage of the Spanish army through Lorraine, to assemble their forces, and now pressed Charles IX. hard. On these grounds, the French thought they had a right to demand aid from the regent of the Netherlands. They asserted that the Huguenots had looked upon the march of the Spanish army as the result of a precon¬ certed plan, which had been formed against them by the two courts at Bayonne, and that this had roused them from their slumber. That consequently it behooved the Spanish court to assist in extricating the French king from difficulties, into which the latter had been brought, simply by the march of the Spanish troops. Alva actu¬ ally sent the Count of Aremberg with a considerable force, to join the army of the Queen Mother in France, and even offered to command these subsidiaries in person, which, however, was declined. Strada, 206, Thuan, 541. heretics in all their original severity. The Court of Inquisition in Spain had pronounced the whole nation of the Netherlands guilty of treason in the highest degree; Catholics and heterodox, loyal¬ ists and rebels, without distinction ; the latter as having offended by overt acts, the former as hav¬ ing incurred equal guilt by their supineness. From this sweeping condemnation a very few were excepted, whose names, however, were pur¬ posely reserved, while the general sentence was publicly confirmed by the king. Philip declared himself absolved from all his promises, and re¬ leased from all engagements, which the regent, in his name, had entered into with the people of the Netherlands ; and all the justice which they had in future to expect from him must depend on his own good-will and pleasure. All who had aided in the expulsion of the minister Granvella, who had taken part in the petition of the confederate nobles, or had but even spoken in favor of it; all who had presented a petition against the decrees of Trent, against the edicts relating to religion, or against the installation of the bishops ; all who had permitted the public preachings, or had only feebly resisted them ; all who had worn the in¬ signia of the Gueux, had sung Geusen songs, or who in any way whatsoever had manifested their joy at the establishment of the league ; all who had sheltered or concealed the reforming preach¬ ers, attended Calvinistic funerals, or had even merely known of their secret meetings, and not given information of them; all who had appealed to the national privileges ; all in fine, who had expressed an opinion that they ought to obey God rather than man ; all these, indiscriminately, were declared liable to the penalties which the law imposed upon any violation of the royal pre¬ rogative, and upon high treason, and these penal¬ ties were, according to the instruction which Alva had received, to be executed on the guilty per¬ sons, without forbearance or favor—without re¬ gard to rank, sex, or age, as an example to pos¬ terity, and for a terror to all future times. Ac¬ cording to this declaration, there was no longer an innocent person to be found in the whole Netherlands, and the new viceroy had it in his power to make a fearful choice of victims. Pro¬ perty and life were alike at his command, and whoever should have the good fortune to preserve one or both, must receive them as the gift of his generosity and humanity. By this stroke of policy, as refined as it was detestable, the nation was disarmed, and unanimity rendered impossible. As it absolutely depended on the duke’s arbitrary will, upon whom the sentence should be carried in force, which had been passed without excep¬ tion upon all, each individual kept himself quiet, in order to escape, if possible, the notice of the viceroy, and to avoid drawing the fatal choice upon himself. Every one, on the other hand, in whose favor he was pleased to make an exception, stood in a degree indebted to him, and was per¬ sonally under an obligation, which must be mea¬ sured by the value he set upon his life and pro¬ perty. As, however, this penalty could only be executed on the smaller portion of the nation, the duke naturally secured the greater by the strongest, ties of fear and gratitude, and for one whom he 102 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. sought out as a victim, he gained ten others whom he passed over. As long as he continued true to this policy, he remained in quiet posses¬ sion of his rule, even amid the streams of blood which he caused to flow, and did not forfeit this advantage, till the want of money compelled him to impose a burden upon the nation, which op¬ pressed all indiscriminately. In order to be equal to this bloody occupation, the details of which were fast accumulating, and to be certain of not losing a single victim through the want of instruments ; and on the other hand to render his proceedings independent of the states, with whose privileges they were so much at variance, and who, indeed, were far too humane for him, he instituted an extraordinarly court of justice. This court consisted of twelve criminal judges, who according to their instructions, to the very letter of which they must adhere, were to try and pronounce sentence upon those implicated in the past disturbances. The mere institution of such a board, was a violation of the liberties of the country, which expressly stipulated, that no citi¬ zen should be tried out of his own province; but the duke filled up the measure of his injustice, when, contrary to the most sacred privileges of the nation, he proceeded to give seats and votes in that court to Spaniards, the open and avowed enemies of Belgian liberty. He himself was the president of this court, and after him a certain Licentiate Yargas, a Spaniard by birth, of whose iniquitous character the historians of both parties are unanimous; cast out like a plague spot from his own country, where he had violated one of his wards, he was a shameless, hardened villain, in whose mind avarice, lust, and the thirst for blood, struggled for ascendency. The principal members were Count Aremberg, Philip of Noircarmes, and Charles of Barlaimont, who, however, never sat in it; Hadrian Nicolai, Chancellor of Gueldres; Jacob Mertens, and Peter Asset, Presidents of Artois and Flanders ; Jacob Hesselts, and John de la Porte, Counsel¬ ors of Ghent; Louis del Roi, Doctor of Theology, and by birth a Spaniard; John du Bois, King’s Advocate; and De la Torre, Secretary of the Court. In compliance with the representations of A r iglius, the Privy Council was spared any part in this tribunal; nor was any one introduced into it from the great council at Malines. The votes of the members were only recommendatory, not conclusive; the final sentence being reserved by the duke to himself. No particular time was fixed for the sitting of the court; the members, however, assembled at noon, as often as the duke thought good. But after the expiration of the third month, Alva began to be less frequent in his attendance, and at last resigned his place en¬ tirely to his favorite Yargas, who filled it with such odious fitness, that in a short time all the members, with the exception merely of the Spa¬ nish Doctor Del Rio, and the Secretary De la Torre,* weary of the atrocities of which they * The sentences passed upon the most eminent persons (for example, the sentence of death passed upon Strah- len, the burgomaster of Antwerp) were signed only by Vargas, Del Rio, and De la Torre. were compelled to be both eyewitnesses and ac¬ complices, remained away from the assembly. It is revolting to the feelings to think how the lives of the noblest and the best were thus placed at the mercy of Spanish vagabonds, and how even the sanctuaries of the nation, its deeds and charters, were unscrupulously ransacked, the seals broken, and the most secret contracts between the sove¬ reign and the state profaned and exposed.* From the Council of Twelve, (which, from the object of its institution was called the Council of Disturbances, but, on account of its proceedings, is more generally known under the appellation of the Council of Blood, a name which the nation in their exasperation bestowed upon it,) no appeal was allowed. Its proceedings could not be re¬ vised. Its verdicts were irrevocable, and inde¬ pendent of all other authority. No other tri¬ bunal in the country could take cognizance of cases which related to the late insurrection, so that in all the other courts, justice was nearly at a stand-still. The great council at Malines was as good as abolished ; the authority of the Coun¬ cil of State entirely ceased, insomuch that its sit¬ tings were discontinued. On some rare occasions, the duke conferred with a few members of the late assembly, but even when this did occur, the conference was held in his cabinet, and was no more than a private consultation, without any of the proper forms being observed. No privilege, no charter of immunity, however carefully pro¬ tected, had any weight with the Council for Dis¬ turbances.! It compelled all deeds and contracts to be laid before it, and often forced upon them the most strained interpretations and alterations. If the duke caused a sentence to be drawn out, which there was reason to fear might be opposed by the states of Brabant, it was legalized without the Brabant seal. The most sacred rights of in¬ dividuals were assailed, and a tyranny without example forced its arbitrary will even into the circle of domestic life. As the Protestants and rebels had hitherto contrived to strengthen their party so much by marriages with the first fami¬ lies in the country, the duke issued an edict, for¬ bidding all Netherlanders, whatever might be their rank or office, under pain of death and con¬ fiscation of property, to conclude a marriage with¬ out previously obtaining his permission. All, whom the Council for Disturbances thought proper to summon before it, were compelled to * For an example of the unfeeling levity with which the most important matters, even decisions in cases of life and death, were treated in this sanguinary council, it may serve to relate what is told of the Counselor Hes¬ selts. He was generally asleep during the meeting, an! when his turn came to vote on a sentence of death, be used to cry out, still half asleep: ‘‘Ad patibulum ! Ad patibulum !” so glibly did his tongue utter this word. It is further to be remarked of this Hesselts, that his wife, a daughter of the President Viglius, had expressly stipu¬ lated in the marriage contract, that he should resign the dismal office of attorney for the king, which made him detested by the whole nation. Vigl. ad Hopp. lxvii. 1. f Vargas, in a few words of barbarous Latin, de¬ molished at once the boasted liberties of the Nether¬ lands. “Non curamus vestros privileges,” he replied to. one who wished to plead the immunities of the Univer¬ sity of Louvain. HISTORY OF TIIE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS ioa appear, clergy as well as laity, the most venerable heads of the senate, as well as the reprobate rabble of the Iconoclasts. Whoever did not present himself, as indeed scarcely any body did, was declared an outlaw, and his property was con¬ fiscated ; but those who were rash or foolish enough to appear, or who were so unfortunate as to be seized, were lost without redemption. Twenty, forty, often fifty, were summoned at the same time and from the same town, and the richest were always the first on whom the thunderbolt descended. The meaner citizens, who possessed nothing that could render their country and their homes dear to them, were taken unawares, and arrested without any previous citation. Many eminent merchants, who had at their disposal for¬ tunes of from 60,000 to 100,000 florins, were seen with their hands tied behind their backs, dragged like common vagabonds at the horse’s tail to exe¬ cution, and in Valenciennes, fifty-five persons were decapitated at one time. All the prisons, and the duke immediately on commencing his ad¬ ministration had built a great number of them, were crammed full with the accused; hanging, beheading, quartering, burning, were the prevail¬ ing and ordinary occupations of the day; the punishment of the galleys and banishment were more rarely heard of, for there was scarcely any offense, which was reckoned too trivial to be be punished with death. Immense sums were thus brought into the treasury, which, however, served rather to stimulate the new viceroy’s and his colleagues’ thirst for gold, than to quench it. It seemed to be his insane purpose to make beggars of the whole people, and to throw all their riches into the hands of the king and his servants. The yearly income derived from these confiscations was computed to equal the revenues of the first kingdoms of Europe; it is said to have been esti¬ mated, in a report furnished to the king, at the incredible sum of 20,000,000 of dollars. But these proceedings were the more inhuman, as they often bore hardest precisely upon the very persons who were the most peaceful subjects, and most orthodox Roman Catholics, whom they could not want to injure. Wherever an estate was confiscated, all the creditors who had claims upon it were defrauded. The hospitals, too, and public institutions, which such properties had contributed to support were now ruined, and the poor, who had formerly drawn a pittance from this source, were compelled to see their only spring of comfort dried up. Whoever ventured to urge their well-grounded claims on the for¬ feited property, before the Council of Twelve, (for no other tribunal dared to interfere with these inquiries,) consumed their substance in tedious and expensive proceedings, and were reduced to beggary before they saw the end of them. The histories of civilized states, furnish but one in¬ stance of a similar perversion of justice, of such violation of the rights of property, and of such waste of human life; but Cinna, Sylla, and Marius entered vanquished Rome as incensed victors, and practiced without disguise, what the viceroy of the Netherlands performed under the venerable vail of the laws. Up to the end of the year 1567, the king’s arri¬ val had been confidently expected, and the well- disposed of the people had placed all their last hopes on this event. The vessels, which Philip had caused to be equipped expressly for the purpose of meeting him, still lay in the harbor of Flushing, ready to sail at the first signal; and the town of Brussels had consented to receive a Spanish garrison, simply because the king, it was pretended, was to reside within its walls. But this hope gradually vanished, as he put off the journey from one season to the next, and the new viceroy very soon began to exhibit powers, which announced him less as a precursor of royalty, than as an absolute minister, whose presence made that of the monarch entirely superfluous. To complete the distress of the provinces, their last good angel was now to leave them in the person of the regent. From the moment, when the production of the duke’s extensive powers left no doubt remaining, as to the practical termination of her own rule, Margaret had formed the resolution of relinquish¬ ing the name also of regent. To see a successor in the actual possession of a dignity, which a nine year’s enjoyment had made indispensable to her; to see the authority, the glory, the splendor, the adoration, and all the marks of respect, which are the usual concomitants of supreme power, pass over to another; and to feel that she had lost that, which she could never forget she had once held, was more than a woman’s mind could endure ; moreover, the Duke of Alva was of all men the least calculated to make her privation the less painful, by a forbearing use of his newly acquired dignity. The tranquillity of the country, too, which was put in jeopardy by this divided rule, seemed to impose upon the duchess the ne¬ cessity of abdicating. Many governors of pro¬ vinces refused, without an express order from the court, to receive commands from the duke, and to recognize him as co-regent. The rapid change of their point of attraction, could not be met by the courtiers so composedly and imperturbably, but that the duchess ob¬ served the alteration, and bitterly felt it. Even the few who, like State Counselor Viglius, still firmly adhered to her, did so less from attachment to her person, than from vexation at being dis¬ placed by novices and foreigners, and from being too proud to serve a fresh apprenticeship under a new viceroy. But far the greater number, with all their endeavors to keep an exact mean, could not help making a difference between the homage they paid to the rising sun, and that which they bestowed on the setting luminary. The royal palace in Brussels became more and more de¬ serted, while the throng at Kuilemberg House daily increased. But what wounded the sensitive¬ ness of the duchess most acutely, was the arrest of Horn and Egmont, which was planned and ex¬ ecuted by the duke, without her knowledge or consent, just as if there had been no such person as herself in existence. Alva did, indeed, after the act was done, endeavor to appease her, by de¬ claring that the design had been purposely kept secret from her, in order to spare her name from being mixed up in so odious a transaction ; but no such considerations of delicacy could close the 104 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. wound which had been inflicted on her pride. In order at once, to escape all risk of similar insults, of which the present was probably only a fore¬ runner, she dispatched her private secretary Mac- chiavell to the court of her brother, there to solicit earnestly for permission to resign the re¬ gency. The request was granted without diffi¬ culty by the king, who accompanied his consent with every mark of his highest esteem. He would put aside (so the king expressed himself) his own advantage and that of the provinces, in order to oblige his sister. He sent her a present of thirty thousand dollars, and allotted to her a yearly pension of twenty thousand.* At the same time, a diploma was forwarded to the Duke of Alva, constituting him in her stead, viceroy of all the Netherlands, with unlimited powers. Gladly would Margaret have learned that she was permitted to resign the regency before a solemn assembly of the states, a wish which she had not very obscurely hinted to the king. But she was not gratified. She was particularly fond of solemnity, and the example of the Emperor her father, who had exhibited the extraordinary spectacle of his abdication of the crown in this very city, seemed to have great attractions for her. As she was compelled to part with supreme power, she could scarcely be blamed for wishing to do so with as much splendor as possi¬ ble. Moreover, she had not failed to observe how much the general hatred of the duke had effected in her own favor, and she looked, therefore, the more wistfully forward to a scene, which promised at once to be so flattering to her and so affecting. She would have been glad to mingle her own tears with those which she hoped to see shed by the Netherlanders for their good regent. Thus the bitterness of her descent from the throne, would have been alleviated by the ex¬ pression of general sympathy. Little as she had done to merit the general esteem, during the nine years of her administration, while fortune smiled upon her, and the approbation of her sovereign was the limit to all her wishes, yet now the sym¬ pathy of the nation had acquired a value in her eyes, as the only thing which could in some de¬ gree compensate her for the disappointment of all her other hopes. Fain would she have per¬ suaded herself that she had become a voluntary sacrifice to her goodness of heart, and her too humane feelings toward the Netherlanders. As, however, the king was very far from being dis¬ posed to incur any danger by calling a general assembly of the states, in order to gratify a mere caprice of his sister, she was obliged to content herself with a farewell letter to them. In this * Which, however, does not appear to have been very punctually paid, if a pamphlet may be trusted which was printed during her lifetime. (It bears the title; Dis¬ cours sur la Blessure de Monseigneur Prince d’Orange, 1582, without notice of the place where it was printed, and is to be found in the Elector’s library at Dresden.) She languished, it is there stated, at Namur in poverty, and so ill supported by her son, (the then governor of the Netherlands,) that her owu secretary Aldrobandin called her sojourn there an exile. But the writer goes on to ask what better treatment could she expect from a son, who, when still very young, being on a visit to her at Brussels, snapped his fingers at her, behind her back. document, she went over her whole administra- tion, recounted, not without ostentation, the difficulties with which she had had to struggle, the evils which, by her dexterity, she had pre¬ vented, and wound up at last, by saying that she left a finished work, and had to transfer to her successor nothing but the punishment of offend¬ ers. The king, too, was repeatedly compelled to hear the same statement, and she left nothing un¬ done to arrogate to herself the glory of any future advantages, which it might be the good fortune of the duke to realize. Her own merits, as some¬ thing which did not admit of a doubt, but was at the same time a burden oppressive to her modesty, she laid at the feet of the king. Dispassionate posterity may, nevertheless, hesi¬ tate to subscribe unreservedly to this favorable opinion. Even though the united voice of her cotemporaries, and the testimony of the Nether¬ lands themselves vouch for it, a third party will not be denied the right to examine her claims with stricter scrutiny. The popular mind, easily affected, is but too ready to count the absence of a vice as an additional virtue, and, under the pressure of existing evil, to give excess of praise for past benefits. The Netherlander seems to have concentrated all his hatred upon the Spanish name. To lay the blame of the national evils on the regent, would tend to remove from the king and his minister the curses, which he would rather shower upon them alone and undi- videdly; and the Duke of Alva’s government of the Netherlands was, perhaps, not the proper point of view from which to test the merits of his predecessor. It was undoubtedly no light task to meet the kings expectations, without infringing the rights of the people and the duties of human¬ ity ; but in struggling to effect these two con¬ tradictory objects, Margaret had accomplished neither. She had deeply injured the nation, while comparatively she had done little service to the king. It is true that she at last crushed the Protestant faction, but the accidental outbreak of the Iconoclasts assisted her in this, more than all her dexterity. She certainly succeeded by her intrigues in dissolving the league of the nobles, but not until the first blow had been struck at its roots by internal dissentions. The object, to secure which, she had for many years vainly ex¬ hausted her whole policy, was effected at last by a single enlistment of troops, for which, however, the orders were issued from Madrid. She de¬ livered to the duke, no doubt, a tranquilized country; but it cannot be denied that the dread of his approach had the chief share in tranqailizing it. By her reports, she led the Council in Spain astray; because she never informed it of the dis¬ ease, but only of the occasional symptoms ; never of the universal feeling and voice of the nation, but only of the misconduct of factions. Her faulty administration, moreover, drew the people into the crime, because she exasperated without sufficiently awing them. She it was that brought the murderous Alva into the country, by leading the king to believe that the disturbances in the provinces were to be ascribed, not so much to the severity of the royal ordinances, as to the un- worthiuess of those who were charged with their TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. 105 execution. Margaret possessed natural capacity and intellect; and an acquired political tact enabled her to meet any ordinary case; but she wanted that creative genius which, for new and extraordinary emergencies, invents new maxims, or wisely oversteps old ones. In a country where honesty was the best policy, she adopted the un¬ fortunate plan of practicing her insidious Italian policy, and thereby sowed the seeds of a fatal dis¬ trust in the minds of the people. The indulgence which has been so liberally imputed to her as a merit, was, in truth, extorted from her weakness and timidity by the courageous opposition of the nation ; she had never departed from the strict letter of the royal commands, by her own spon¬ taneous resolution ; never did the gentle feelings of innate humanity lead her to misinterpret the cruel purport of her instructions. Even the few concessions, to which necessity compelled her, were granted with an uncertain and shrinking hand, as if fearing to give too much; and she lost the fruit of her benefactions, because she mutilated them by a sordid closeness. What, in all the other relations of her life, she was too little, she was on the throne too much—a woman ! She had it in her power, after Granvella’s expul¬ sion, to become the benefactress of the Belgian nation, but she did not. Her supreme good was the approbation of her king, her greatest misfor¬ tune his displeasure; with all the eminent quali¬ ties of her mind, she remained an ordinary cha¬ racter, because her heart was destitute of native nobility. She used a melancholy power with much moderation, and stained her government with no deed of arbitrary cruelty; nay, if it had depended on her, she would have always acted humanely. Years afterward, when her idol, Philip II., had long forgotten her, the Netherlanders still honored her memory ; but she was far from deserving the glory which her successor’s inhu¬ manity reflected upon her. She left Brussels about the end of December, 1567. The duke escorted her as far as the fron¬ tiers of Brabant, and there left her under the pro¬ tection of Count Mansfeld, in order to hasten back to the metropolis, and show himself to the Netherlanders as sole regent. TRIAL AND EXECUTION OP COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. The two counts were, a few weeks after their arrest, conveyed to Ghent, under an escort of three thousand Spaniards, where they were con¬ fined in the citadel for more than eight months. Their trial commenced in due form, before the Council of Twelve; and the Solicitor-General, John du Bois, conducted the proceedings. The indictment against Egmont consisted of ninety counts, and that against Horn of sixty. It would occupy too much space to introduce them here. Every action however innocent, every omission of duty, was intrepreted on the principle which had been laid down in the opening of the indictment, “ that the two counts, in conjunction with the Prince of Orange, had planned the overthrow of the royal authority in the Netherlands, and the usurpation of the government of the country ;” the expulsion of Granvella; the embassy of Eg¬ mont to Madrid ; the confederacy of the Gueux ; the concessions which they made to the Protest¬ ants in the provinces under their government; all were made to have a connection with, and a re¬ ference to, this deliberate design. Thus import¬ ance was attached to the most insignificant occur¬ rences, and one action made to darken and discolor another. By taking care to treat each of the charges as in itself a treasonable offense, it wa3 the more easy to justify a sentence of high treason by the whole. The accusations were sent to each of the pri¬ soners, who were required to reply to them within five days. After doing so, they were allowed to employ solicitors and advocates, who were per¬ mitted free access to them; but as they were ac¬ cused of treason, their friends were prohibited from visiting them. Count Egmont employed for his solicitor Yon Landas, and made choice of a few eminent advocates from Brussels. Their first step was to demur against the tribu¬ nal which was to try them, since, by the privilege of their Order, they, as Knights of the Golden Fleece, were amenable only to the king himself, the Grand Master. But this demurrer was over¬ ruled, and they were required to produce their witnesses, in default of which they were to be proceeded against in contumaciam. Egmont had satisfactorily answered to eighty-two counts, while Count Horn had refuted the charges against him, article by article. The accusation and the de¬ fense are still extant; on that defense, every im¬ partial tribunal would have acquitted them both. The Procurator Fiscal pressed for the production of their evidence, and the Duke of Alva issued his repeated commands to use dispatch. They de¬ layed, however, from week to week, while they renewed their protests against the illegality of the court. At last, the duke assigned them nine days to produce their proofs ; on the lapse of that period, they were to be declared guilty, and as having forfeited all right of defense. During the progress of the trial, the relations and friends of the two counts were not idle. 106 TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF COUNT EGMONT AND HORN. Egmont’s wife, by birth a duchess of Bavaria, ad¬ dressed petitions to the princes of the German empire, to the emperor, and to the King of Spain. The Countess Horn, mother of the imprisoned count, who was connected by the ties of friend¬ ship or of blood with the principal royal families of Germany, did the same. All alike protested loudly against this illegal proceeding, and ap¬ pealed to the liberty of the German empire, on which Horn, as a count of the empire, had special claims; the liberty of the Netherlands, and the privileges of the Order of the Golden Fleece were likewise insisted upon. The Countess Egmont succeeded in obtaining the intercession of almost every German court in behalf of her husband. The King of Spain and his viceroy were besieged by applications in behalf of the accused, which were referred from one to the other, and made light of by both. Countess Horn collected certifi¬ cates from all the Knights of the Golden Fleece in Spain, Germany, and Italy, to prove the privi¬ leges of the order. Alva rejected them, with a declaration that they had no force in such a case as the present. “The crimes of which the counts are accused, relate to the affairs of the Belgian provinces, and he, the duke, was appointed by the king sole judge of all matters connected with those countries.” Four months had been allowed to the Solicitor- General to draw up the indictment, and five were granted to the two counts to prepare for their de¬ fense. But instead of losing their time and trou¬ ble in adducing their evidence, which, perhaps, would have profited them but little, they preferred wasting it in protests against the judges, which availed them still less. By the former course, they would probably have delayed the final sen¬ tence, and in the time thus gained, the powerful intercession of their friends might perhaps have not been ineffectual. By obstinately persisting in denying the competency of the tribunal which was to try them, they furnished the duke with an excuse for cutting short the. proceedings. After the last assigned period had expired, on the 1st of June, 1568, the Council of Twelve declared them guilty, and on the 4th of that month, sentence of death was pronounced against them. The execution of twenty-five noble Nether- landers, who were beheaded in three successive days, in the market place at Brussels, was the terrible prelude to the fate of the two counts. John Casembrot von Beckerzeel, Secretary to Count Egmont, was one of the unfortunates, who was thus rewarded for his fidelity ft) his master, which he steadfastly maintained even upon the rack, and for his zea in the service of the king, which he had manifested against the Iconoclasts. The others had either been taken prisoners, with arms in their hands, in the insurrection of the “ Gueux,” or apprehended and condemned as traitors, on account of having taken a part in the petition of the nobles. The duke had reason to hasten the execution of the sentence. Count Louis of Nassau had given battle to the Count of Aremberg, near the monastery of Heiligerlee in Groningen, and had the good fortune to defeat him. Immediately after his victory, he had advanced against Gron¬ ingen, and laid siege to it. The success of his arms had raised the courage of his faction, and the Prince of Orange, his brother, was close at hand with an army to support him. These cir¬ cumstances made the duke’s presence necessary in those distant provinces ; but he could not ven¬ ture to leave Brussels, before the fate of two such important prisoners was decided. The whole nation loved them, which was not a little in creased by their unhappy fate. Even the strict Papists disapproved of the execution of these eminent nobles. The slightest advantage which the arms of the rebels might gain over the duke, or even the report of a defeat, would cause a revo¬ lution in Brussels, which would immediately set the two counts at liberty. Moreover, the peti¬ tions and intercessions which came to the vicerov, as well as to the King of Spain, from the German princes, increased daily; nay, the Emperor Maxi¬ milian II. himself caused the countess to be as¬ sured “ that she had nothing to fear for the life ot her spouse.” These powerful applications might at last turn the king’s heart in favor of the prison¬ ers. The king might, perhaps, in reliance on his viceroy’s usual dispatch, put on the appearance of yielding to the representations of so many sove¬ reigns, and rescind the sentence of death, under the conviction that his mercy would come too late. These considerations moved the duke not to delay the execution of the sentence, as soon as it was pronounced. On the day after the sentence was passed, the two counts were brought, under an escort of 3,000 Spaniards, from Ghent to Brussels, and placed in confinement in the Brodhause , in the great market place. The next morning the Council of Twelve were assembled ; the duke, contrary to his custom, attended in person, and both the sentences, in sealed envelopes, were opened, and publicly read by Secretary Pranz. The two counts were declared guilty of treason, as having favored and promoted the abominable conspiracy of the Prince of Orange, protected the confederated nobles, and been convicted of various misdemeanors against their king, and the church, in their governments and other appoint¬ ments. Both were sentenced to be publicly be¬ headed, and their heads were to be fixed upon pikes, and not taken down without the duke’s ex¬ press command.. All their possessions, fiefs, and rights escheated to the royal treasury. The sen¬ tence was signed only by the Duke and the Sec¬ retary Pranz, without asking or oaring for the consent of the other members of the council. During the night between the 4th and 5th of June, the sentences were brought to the prisoners, after they had already gone to rest. The duke gave them to the Bishop of Ypres, Martin Rithov, whom he had expressly sum¬ moned to Brussels,'to prepare the prisoners for death. When the bishop received this commis¬ sion he threw himself at the feet of the duke, and supplicated him with tears in his eye's for mercy —at least for respite for the prisoners; but he was answered in a rough and angry voice, that he had been sent for from Ypres, not to oppose the sentence, but by his spiritual consolation to re¬ concile the unhappy noblemen to it. TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. 107 Egmont was the first to whom the bishop com¬ municated the sentence of death. “ That is, in¬ deed, a severe sentence !” exclaimed the count, turning pale, and with a faltering voice. “ I did not think that I had offended his majesty so deeply as to deserve such treatment. If, how¬ ever, it must be so, I submit to my fate with resignation. May this death atone for my offense, and save my wife and children from suffering ! This, at least, I think I may claim for my past services. As for death, I will meet it with com¬ posure, since it so pleases God aud my king.” lie then pressed the bishop to tell him seriously and candidly if there was no hope of pardon. Being answered in the negative, he confessed and received the sacrament from the priest, repeating after him the mass with great devoutness. He asked what prayer was the best and most effec¬ tive to recommend him to God in his last hour. On being told that no prayer could be more effectual than the one which Christ himself had taught, he prepared immediately to repeat the Lord’s prayer. The thoughts of his family inter¬ rupted him ; he called for pen and ink, and wrote two letters, one to his wife, the other to the king; the latter was as follows : “Sire,—This morning I have heard the sen¬ tence which your majesty has been pleased to pass upon me. Far as I have ever been from at¬ tempting any thing against the person or the ser¬ vice of your majesty, or against the only true, old, and Catholic religion ; I yet submit myself with patience to the fate which it has pleased God to ordain I should suffer. If, during the past dis¬ turbances, I have omitted, advised, or done any thing that seems at variance with my duty, it was most assuredly performed with the best inten¬ tions, or was forced upon me by the pressure of circumstances. I therefore pray your majesty to forgive me, and in consideration of my past ser¬ vices, show mercy to my unhappy wife, my poor children, and servants. In a firm hope of this, I ccmmend myself to the infinite mercy of God. “Your Majesty’s most faithful vassal and servant, « -l AM0RAL Count Egmont. “Brussels, June 5th, 1568, near my last mo¬ ments.” This letter he placed in the hands of the bishop, with the strongest injunctions for its safe delivery ; and for greater security, he sent a duplicate in his own handwriting to State Counselor Viglius, the most upright man in the senate, by whom, there is no doubt, it was actually 'delivered to the king. The family of the count were subsequently rein¬ stated in all his property, fiefs, and rights, which, by virtue of the* sentence, had escheated to the royal treasury. Meanwhile, a scaffold had been erected in the market-place, before the town-hall, on which two poles were fixed with iron spikes, and the whole covered with black cloth. Two-and-twenty com¬ panies of the Spanish garrison surrounded the scaffold, a precaution which was by no means su¬ perfluous. Between ten and eleven o’clock, the Spanish guard appeared in the apartment of the count; they were provided with cords to tie his hands according to custom. He begged that this might be spared him, and declared that he was willing and ready to die. He himself cut off the collar from his doublet to facilitate the exe¬ cutioner’s duty. He wore a robe of red damask, and over that a black Spanish cloak, trimmed with gold lace. In this dress he appeared on the scaffold, and was attended by Don Julian Romero, Maitre de Camp ; Salinas, a Spanish captain ; and the Bishop of Ypres. The Grand Provost of the court, with a red wand in his hand, sat on horse¬ back at the foot of the scaffold ; the executioner was concealed beneath. Egmont had at first shown a desire to address the people from the scaffold. He desisted, how¬ ever, on the bishop’s representing to him that, either he would not be heard, or that if he were, he might, such at present was the dangerous dis¬ position of the people, excite them to acts of violence, which would only plunge his friends into destruction. For a few moments he paced the scaffold with noble dignity, and lamented that it had not been permitted him to die a more honor¬ able death for his king and his country. Up to the last he seemed unable to persuade himself that the king was in earnest, and that his severity would be carried any further than the mere terror of execution. When the decisive period ap¬ proached, and he was to receive the extreme unction, he looked wistfully round, and when there still appeared no prospect of a reprieve, he turned to Julian Romero, and asked him once more if there was no hope of pardon for him. Julian Romero shrugged his shoulders, looked on the ground, and was silent. He then closely clenched his teeth, threw off his mantle and robe, knelt upon the cushion, and prepared himself for the last prayer. The bishop presented him the crucifix to kiss, and adminis¬ tered to him extreme unction, upon which the count made him a sign to leave him. He drew a silk cap over his eyes, and awaited the stroke. Over the corpse and the streaming blood, a black cloth was immediately thrown. All Brussels thronged around the scaffold, and the fatal blow seemed to fall on every heart. Loud sobs alone broke the appalling silence. The duke himself, who watched the execution from a window of the town house, wiped his eyes as his victim died. Shortly afterward, Count Horn advanced on the scaffold. Of a more violent temperament than his friend, and stimulated by stronger reasons for hatred against the king, he had received the sentence with less composure, although in his case, perhaps, it was less unjust. He burst forth in bitter reproaches against the king, and the bishop with difficulty prevailed upon him to make a better use of his last moments, than to abuse them in imprecations on his enemies. At last, however, he became more collected, and made his con¬ fession to the bishop, which at first he was disposed to refuse. He mounted the scaffold with the same attend¬ ants as his friend. In passing, he saluted many of his acquaintances ; his hands were, like Eg- mont’s free, and he was dressed in a black doublet and cloak, with a Milan cap of the same color 108 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. upon his head. When he had ascended, he cast his eyes upon the corpse, which lay under the cloth, and asked one of the bystanders if it was the body of his friend. On being answered in the affirmative, he said some words in Spanish, threw his cloak from him, and knelt upon the cushion. All shrieked aloud as he received the fatal blow. The heads of both were fixed upon the poles which were set up on the scaffold, where they re- l mained until past three in the afternoon, wlen they were taken down, and, with the two bodies, placed in leaden coffins and deposited in a vault. In spite of the number of spies and execution¬ ers who surrounded the scaffold, the citizens of Brussels would not be prevented from dipping their handkerchiefs in the streaming blood, and carrying home with them these precious memo¬ rials. SIEGE OF ANTWERP BY THE PRINCE OE PARMA. IN THE YEARS 1584 AND 1585 . It is an interesting spectacle to observe the struggle of man’s inventive genius in conflict with powerful opposing elements, and to see the diffi¬ culties, which are insurmountable to ordinary capacities, overcome by prudence, resolution, and a determined will. Less attractive, but only the more instructive, perhaps, is the contrary spec¬ tacle, where the absence of those qualities renders all efforts of genius vain, throws away all the favors of fortune, and where inability to improve such advantages renders hopeless a success which otherwise seemed sure and inevitable. Examples of both kinds are afforded by the celebrated siege of Antwerp, by the Spaniards, toward the close of the sixteenth century, by which that flourishing city was for.ever deprived of its commercial pros¬ perity, but which, on the other hand, conferred immortal fame on the general who undertook and accomplished it. Twelve years had the war continued, which the northern provinces of Belgium had commenced at first in vindication simply of their religious free¬ dom, and the privileges of their states, from the encroachments of the Spanish viceroy, but main¬ tained latterly in the hope of establishing their independence of the Spanish crown. Never com¬ pletely victors, but never entirely vanquished, they wearied out the Spanish valor by tedious opera¬ tions on an unfavorable soil, and exhausted the wealth of the sovereign of both of the Indies, while they themselves were called beggars, and in a degree actually were so. The League of Ghent, which had united the whole Netherlands, Roman Catholic and Protestant, iu a common and (could such a confederation have lasted) invincible body, was indeed dissolved ; but in place of this uncer¬ tain and unnatural combination, the northern provinces had, in the year 1579, formed among themselves the closer Union of Utrecht, which promised to be more lasting, inasmuch as it was linked and held together by common political and religious interests. What the new republic had lost in extent, through this separation from the Roman Catholic provinces, it was fully compen¬ sated for by the closeness of alliance, the unity of enterprise, and energy of execution ; and, perhaps, it was fortunate in thus timely losing what no exertion, probably, would ever have enabled it to retain. The greater part of the Walloon provinces had, in the year 1584, partly by voluntary submission, and partly by force of arms, been again reduced under the Spanish yoke. The northern districts alone had been able at all successfully to oppose it. A considerable portion of Brabant and Flan¬ ders still obstinately held out against the arms of the Duke Alexander of Parma, who at that time administered the civil government of the pro¬ vinces, and the supreme command of the army, with equal energy and prudence, and, by a series of splendid victories, had revived the military reputation of Spain. The peculiar formation of the country, which, by its numerous rivers and canals, facilitated the connection of the towns with one another and with the sea, baffled all attempts effectually to subdue it, and the posses¬ sion of one place could only be maintained by the occupation of another. So long as this com¬ munication was kept up, Holland and Zealand could with little difficulty assist their allies, and supply them abundantly by water as well as by land with all necessaries, so that valor was of no use, and the strength of the king’s troops was fruitlessly wasted on tedious sieges. Of all the towns in Brabant, Antwerp was the most important, as well from its wealth, its popu¬ lation, and its military force, as by its position on the mouth of the Scheldt. This great and popu¬ lous town, which at this date contained more than eighty thousand inhabitants, was one of the most active members of the national league, and had in the course of the war distinguished itself above all the towns of Belgium, by an untamable spirit of liberty. As it fostered within its bosom all the three Christian churches, and owed much of its prosperity to this unrestricted religious liberty, it had the more cause to dread the Spanish rule, which threatened to abolish this toleration, and SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 109 by the terror of the Inquisition to drive all the Protestant merchants from its markets. More- . over, it had had but too terrible experience of the brutality of the Spanish garrisons, and it was quite evident that if it once more suffered this in¬ supportable yoke to be imposed upon it, it would never again, during the whole course of the war, be able to throw it off. But powerful as were the motives which stimu¬ lated Antwerp to resistance, equally strong were the reasons which determined the Spanish gene¬ ral to make himself master of the place at any cost. On the possession of this town depended, in a great measure, that of the whole province of Brabant, which by this channel chiefly derived its supplies of corn from Zealand, while the capture of this place would secure to the victor the com¬ mand of the Scheldt. It would also deprive the League of Brabant, which held its meetings in the town, of its principal support; the whole fac¬ tion of its dangerous influence, of its example, its counsels, and its money, while the treasures of its inhabitants would open plentiful supplies for the military exigencies of the king. Its fall would, sooner or later, necessarily draw after it that of all Brabant, and the preponderance of power in that quarter would decide the whole dispute in favor of the king. Determined by these grave consi¬ derations, the Duke of Parma drew his forces together in July, 1584, and advanced from his position at Dornick to the neighborhood of Ant¬ werp, with the intention of investing it. But both the natural position and fortifications of the town appeared to defy attacks. Surrounded on the side of Brabant with insurmountable works and moats, and towards Flanders covered by the broad and rapid stream of the Scheldt, it could not be carried by storm ; and to blockade a town of such extent, seemed to require a land force three times larger than that which the duke had, and moreover a fleet, of which he was utterly des¬ titute. Not only did the river yield the town all necessary supplies from Ghent, it also opened an easy communication with the bordering province of Zealand. For, as the tide of the North Sea ex¬ tends far up the Scheldt, and ebbs and flows regu¬ larly, Antwerp enjoys the peculiar advantage, that the same tide flows past it at different times in two opposite directions. Besides, the adjacent towns of Brussels, Malines, Ghent, Dendermonde, and others, were all at this time in the hands of the league, and could aid the place from the land side also. To blockade, therefore, the town by land, and to cut off its communication with Flanders and Brabant, required two different armies, one on each bank of the river. A sufficient fleet was likewise needed to guard the passage of the Scheldt, and to prevent all attempts at relief, which would most certainly be made from Zealand. But by the war which he had still to carry on in other quarters, and by the numerous garrisons which he was obliged to leave in the towns and fortified places, the army of the duke was reduced to 10,000 infantry and 1,700 horse, a force very inadequate for an undertaking of such magnitude. Moreover, these troops were deficient in the most necessary supplies, and the long arrears of pay had excited them to subdued murmurs, which hourly threatened to break out into open mutiny. If, notwithstanding these difficulties, he should still attempt the siege, there would be much occasion to fear from the strongholds of the enemy, which were left in the rear, and from which it would be easy, by vigorous sallies, to annoy an army dis¬ tributed over so many places, and to expose it to want by cutting off its supplies. All these considerations were brought forward by the council of war, before which the Duke of Parma now laid his scheme. However great the confidence which they placed in themselves, and in the proved abilities of such a leader, neverthe¬ less, the most experienced generals did not dis¬ guise their despair of a fortunate result. Two only were exceptions, Capizucchi and Mondra- gone, whose ardent courage placed them above all apprehensions, the rest concurred in dissuading the duke from attempting so hazardous an enter¬ prise, by which they ran the risk of forfeiting the fruit of all their former victories, and tarnishing the glory they had already earned. But objections, which he had already made to himself and refuted, could not shake the Duke of Parma in his purpose. Not in ignorance of its inseparable dangers, not from thoughtlessly over¬ valuing his forces, had he taken this bold resolve. But that instinctive genius which leads great men by paths which inferior minds either never enter upon or never finish, raised him above the influ¬ ence of the doubts which a cold and narrow pru¬ dence would oppose to his views, and without being able to convince his generals, he felt the correctness of his calculations in a conviction in¬ distinct, indeed, but not on that account less in¬ dubitable. A succession of fortunate results had raised his confidence, and the sight of his army, unequaled in Europe for discipline, experience, and valor, and commanded by a chosen body of the most distinguished officers, did not permit him to entertain fear fora moment. To those who objected to the small number of his troops, he answered, that however long the pike, it is only the point that kills ; and that in military enter¬ prise, the moving power was of more importance than the mass to be moved. He was aware, in¬ deed, of the discontent of his troops, but he knew also their obedience; and he thought, more¬ over, that the best means to stifle their murmurs was by keeping them employed in some important undertaking, by stimulating their desire of glory by the splendor of the enterprise, and their rapa¬ city, by the hopes of the rich booty which the capture of so wealthy a town would hold out. In the plan which he now formed for the con¬ duct of the siege, he endeavored to meet all these difficulties. Famine was the only instrument by which he could hope to subdue the town ; but effectually to use this formidable weapon, it would be expedient to cut off all its land and water communications. With this view, the first object was to stop, or at least to impede, the arrival of supplies from Zealand. It was therefore requisite not only to carry all the outworks which the peo¬ ple of Antwerp had built on both shores of the Scheldt for the protection of their shipping, but also, wherever feasible, to throw up new batteries, which should command the whole course of the 110 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. river; and, to prevent the place from drawing supplies from the land side while efforts were be¬ ing made to intercept their transmission by sea, all the adjacent towns of Brabant and Flanders were comprehended in the plan of the siege, and the fall of Antwerp was based on the destruction of all those places. A bold, and, considering the duke’s scanty force, an almost extravagant pro¬ ject, which was, however, justified by the genius of its author, and crowned by fortune with a bril¬ liant result. As, however, time was required to accomplish a plan of this magnitude, the Prince of Parma was content, for the present, with the erection of numerous forts on the canals and rivers which connected Antwerp with Dendermohde, Ghent, Malines, Brussels, and other places. Spanish garrisons were quartered in the vicinity, and al¬ most at the very gates of those towns, which laid waste the open country, and, by their incursions, kept the surrounding territory in alarm. Thus, round Ghent alone, were encamped about three thousand men, and proportionate numbers round the other towns. In this way, and by means of the secret understandings which he maintained with the Roman Catholic inhabitants of those towns, the duke hoped, without weakening his own forces, gradually to exhaust their strength, and by the harassing operations of a petty but incessant warfare, even without any formal siege, to reduce them at last to capitulate. In the mean time, the main force was directed against Antwerp, which he now closely invested. He fixed his head-quarters at Bevern in Flanders, a few miles from Antwerp, where he found a for¬ tified camp. The protection of the Flemish bank of the Scheldt was intrusted to the Margrave of Rysburg, general of cavalry, the Brabant bank to the Count Peter Ernest Von Eansfeld, who was joined by another Spanish leader, Mondragone. Both the latter succeeded in crossing the Scheldt upon pontoons, notwithstanding the Flemish ad¬ miral’s ship was sent to oppose them, and passing Antwerp, took up their position at Stabroek, in Bergen. Detached corps dispersed themselves along the whole Brabant side, partly to secure the dykes and the roads. Some miles below Antwerp, the Scheldt w r as guarded by two strong forts, of which one was situated at Liefkenshoek, on the island Doel, in Flanders, the other at Lillo, exactly opposite the coast of Brabant. The last had been erected by Mondragone himself, by order of the duke of Alva, when the latter was still master of Ant¬ werp, and for this very reason the Duke of Parma now intrusted to him the attack upon it. On the possession of these two forts the success of the siege seemed wholly to depend, since all the ves¬ sels sailing from Zealand to Antwerp must pass under their guns. Both forts had, a short time before, been strengthened by the besieged, and the former was scarcely finished when the Mar¬ grave of Rysburg attacked it. The celerity with which he went to work, surprised the enemy be¬ fore they were sufficiently prepared for defense ; and a brisk assault quickly placed Liefkenshoek in the hands of the Spaniards. The confederates sustained this loss on the same fatal day that the Prince of Orange fell at Delft, by the hands of an assassin. The other batteries, erected on the island of Doel, were partly abandoned by their * defenders, partly taken by surprise, so that in a short time the whole Flemish side was cleared of the enemy. But the fort at Lillo, on the Brabant shore, offered a more vigorous resistance, since the people of Antwerp had had time to strengthen its fortifications, and to provide it with a strong garrison. Furious sallies of the besieged, led by Odets von Teligny, supported by the cannon of the fort, destroyed all the works of the Spaniards, and an inundation, which was effected by opening the sluices, finally drove them away from the place, after a three weeks’ siege, and with the loss of nearly two thousand killed. They now retired into their fortified camp at Stabroek, and con¬ tented themselves with taking possession of the dams which run across the lowlands of Bergen, and oppose a breastwork to the encroachments of the East Scheldt. The failure of his attempt upon the fort of Lillo compelled the Prince of Parma to change his measures. As he could not succeed in stopping the passage of the Scheldt by his original plan, on which the success of the siege entirely de¬ pended, he determined to effect his purpose by throwing a bridge across the whole breadth of the river. The thought was bold, and there were many who held it to be rash. Both the breadth of the stream, which at this part exceeds 1,200 paces, as well as its violence, which is still further augmented by the tides of the neighboring sea, appeared to render every attempt of this kind im¬ practicable. Moreover, he had to contend with a deficiency of timber, vessels, and workmen, as well as with the dangerous position between the fleets of Antwerp and of Zealand, to which it would necessarily be an easy task, in combination with a boisterous element, to interrupt so tedious a work. But the Prince of Parma knew his power, and his settled resolution would yield to nothing short of absolute impossibility. After he had caused the breadth as well as the depth of the river to be measured, and had consulted with two of his most skillful engineers, Barocci and Plato, it was settled that the bridge should be constructed between Calloo in Flanders, and Ordham in Brabant. This spot was selected, because the river is here narrowest, and bends a little to the right, and so detains vessels a while by compelling them to tack. To cover the bridge, strong bastions were erected at both ends, of which the one on the Flanders shore was named fort St. Maria, the other on the Brabant side fort St. Philip, in honor of the king. While active preparations were making in the Spanish camp for the execution of this scheme, and the whole attention of the enemy was di¬ rected to it, the duke made an unexpected attack upon Dendermonde, a strong town between Ghent and Antwerp, at the confluence of the Dender and Scheldt. As long as this important place was in the hands of the enemy, the towns of Ghent and Antwerp could mutually support each other, and by the facility of their communication, frus¬ trate all the efforts of the besiegers. Its capture would leave the prince free to act against both SIEGE OF ANTWERP. Ill towns, and might decide the fate of his under¬ taking. The rapidity of his attack, left the be¬ sieged no time to open their sluices, and lay the country under water. A hot cannonade was opened upon the chief bastion of the town, before the Brussels gate ; but was answered by the fire of the besieged, which made great havoc amongst the Spaniards. It increased, however, rather than discouraged their ardor; and the insults of the garrison, who mutilated the statue of a saint before their eyes, and after treating it with the most contumelious indignity, hurled it down from (he rampart, raised their fury to the highest pitch. Clamorously they demanded to be led against the bastion, before their fire had made a sufficient breach in it, and the prince, to avail himself of the first ardor of their impetuosity, gave the signal for the assault. After a sanguinary contest of two hours, the rampart was mounted, and those, who were not sacrificed to the first fury of the Spaniards, threw themselves into the town. The latter was, indeed, now more exposed, a fire being directed upon it from the works which had been carried; but its strong walls, and the broad moat which surrounded it, gave reason to expect a pro¬ tracted resistance. The inventive resources of the Prince of Parma soon overcame this obstacle also. While the bombardment was carried on night and day, the troops were incessantly em¬ ployed in diverting the course of the Dender, which supplied the foss with water, and the besieged were seized with despair as they saw the water of the trenches, the last defense of the town, gradu¬ ally disappear. They hastened to capitulate, and in August, 1584, received a Spanish garrison. Thus, in the short space of eleven days, the Prince of Parma accomplished an undertaking which, in the opinion of competent judges, would require as many weeks. The town of Ghent, now cut off from Antwerp and the sea, and hard pressed by the troops of the king, which were encamped in its vicinity, and without hope of immediate succor, began to des¬ pair, as famine, with all its dreadful train, ad¬ vanced upon them with ready steps. The inhabi¬ tants therefore dispatched deputies to the Spanish camp at Bevern to tender its submission to the king, upon the same terms as the prince had a short time previously offered. The deputies were informed that the time for treaties were past, and that an unconditional submission alone could ap¬ pease the just anger of the monarch whom they had offended by their rebellion. Nay, they were even given to understand, that it would be only through his great mercy if the same humiliation were not exacted from them, as their rebellious ancestors were forced to undergo under Charles V., namely, to implore pardon half-naked, and with a cord round their necks. The deputies re¬ turned to Ghent in despair, but three days after¬ ward a new deputation was sent to the Spanish camp, which at last, by the intercession of one of the prince’s friends, who was a prisoner in Ghent, obtained peace upon moderate terms. The town was to pay a fine of 200,000 florins, recall the banished Papists, and expel its Protestant inha¬ bitants, who, however, were to be allowed two years for the settlement of their affairs. All the inhabitants, except six, who were reserved for capital punishment, (but afterward pardoned,) were included in a general amnesty, and the garrison, which amounted to 2,000 men, were allowed to evacuate the place with the honors of war. This treaty was concluded in September of the same year, at the head quarters of Bevern, and imme¬ diately 3,000 Spaniards marched into the town as a garrison. It was more by the terror of his name, and the dread of famine, than by the force of arms, that the Prince of Parma had succeeded in reducing this city to submission, the largest and strongest in the Netherlands, which was little inferior to Paris within the barriers of its inner town, con¬ sisted of 37,000 houses, and was built on twenty islands, connected by ninety-eight stone bridges. The important privileges which, in the course of several centuries, this city had contrived to extort from its rulers, fostered in its inhabitants a spirit of independence, which not unfrequently degene¬ rated into riot and license, and naturally brought it into collision with the Austrian-Spanish go¬ vernment. And it was exactly this bold spirit of liberty, which procured for the reformation the rapid and extensive success it met with in this town, and the combined incentives of civil and religious freedom produced all those scenes of violence, by which, during the rebellion, it had unfortunately distinguished itself. Besides the fine levied, the prince found within the walls a large store of artillery, carriages, ships, and building materials of all kinds, with numerous workmen and sailors, who materially aided him in his plans against Antwerp. Before Ghent surrendered to the king, Vilvor- den and Herentals had fallen into the hands of the Spaniards, and the capture of the block¬ houses near the village of Willebrock had cut off Antwerp from Brussels and Malines. The loss of these places, within so short a period, deprived Antwerp of all hope of succor from Brabant and Flanders, and limited all their expectations to the assistance which might be looked for from Zealand. But to deprive them also of this, the Prince of Parma was now making the most ener¬ getic preparations. The citizens of Antwerp had beheld the first operations of the enemy against their town with the proud security with which the sight of their invincible river inspired them. This confidence was also in a degree justified by the opinion of the Prince of Orange, who, upon the first intelli¬ gence of the design, had said, that the Spanish army would inevitably perish before the walls of Antwerp. That nothing, however, might be neglected, he sent, a short time before his assas¬ sination, for the Burgomaster of Antwerp, Philip Marnix of St. Aldegonde, his intimate friend, to Delft, where he consulted with him as to the means of maintaining defensive operations. It was agreed between them that it would be advisable to demolish forthwith the great dam between Sanvliet and Lillo, called the Blaaugarendyk, so as to allow the waters of the East Scheldt to in¬ undate, if necessary, the lowlands of Bergen, and thus, in the event of the Scheldt being closed, to open a passage for the Zealand vessels to the 112 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. town across the inundated country. Aldegonde had, after his return, actually persuaded the ma¬ gistrate and the majority of the citizens to agree to this proposal, when it was resisted by the guild of butchers, who complained that they would be ruined by such a measure; for the plain, which it was wished to lay under water, was a vast tract of pasture land, upon which about twelve thou¬ sand oxen were annually put to graze. The ob¬ jection of the butchers was successful, and they managed to prevent the execution of this salutary scheme, until the enemy had got possession of the dams as well as the pasture land. At the suggestion of the burgomaster, St. Al¬ degonde, who, himself a member of the states of Brabant was possessed of great I authority in that council, the fortifications on both sides of the Scheldt had, a short time before the arrival of the Spaniards, been placed in repair, and many new redoubts erected around the town. The dams had been cut through at Saftingen, and the water of the West Scheldt let out over nearly the whole country of Waes. In the adjacent Marquisate of Bergen, troops had been enlisted by the Count of Hohenlohe, and a Scotch regiment, under the command of Colonel Morgan, was already in the pay of the republic, while fresh re¬ inforcements were daily expected from England and France. Above all, the states of Holland and Zealand were called upon to hasten their sup¬ plies. But after the enemy had taken strong posi¬ tions, on both sides of the river, and the fire of their batteries made the navigation dangerous, when place after place in Brabant fell into their hands, and their cavalry had cut off all communi¬ cation on the land side, the inhabitants of Ant¬ werp began at last to entertain serious apprehen¬ sions for the future. The town then contained eighty-five thousand souls, and according to cal¬ culation three hundred thousand quarters of corn were annually required for their support. At the beginning of the siege neither the supply nor the money was wanting for the laying in of such a store ; for in spite of the enemy’s fire, the Zealand victualing ships, taking advantage of the rising tide, contrived to make their way to the town. All that was requisite, was to prevent any of the richer citizens from buying up these supplies, and, in case of scarcity, raising the price. To secure his object, one Gianibelli, from Mantua, who had rendered important services in the course of the siege, proposed a property tax of one penny in every hundred, and the appointment of a board of respectable persons to purchase corn with this money, and distribute it weekly. And until the returns of this tax should be available, the richer classes should advance the required sum, holding the corn purchased, as a deposit, in their own magazines; and were also to share in the profit. But this plan was unwelcome to the wealthier citizens, who had resolved to profit by the general distress. They recommended that every individ¬ ual should be required to provide himself with a sufficient supply for two years; a proposition which, however it might suit their own circum¬ stances, was very unreasonable in regard to the poorer inhabitants, who, even before the siege, could scarcely find means to supply themselves for so many months. They obtained, indeed, theit object, which was to reduce the poor to the ne¬ cessity of either quitting the place, or becoming entirely their dependents. But when they after¬ ward reflected, that in the time of need the rights of property would not be respected, they found it advisable not to be over hasty in making theii own purchases. The magistrate, in order to avert an evil which would have pressed upon individuals only, had re¬ course to an expedient which endangered the safety of all. Some enterprising persons in Zea land had freighted a large fleet with provisions, which succeeded in passing the guns of the enemy, and discharged its cargo at Antwerp. The hope of a large profit had tempted the mer¬ chants to enter upon this hazardous speculation ; in this, however, they were disappointed, as the magistrate of Antwerp had, just before their ar¬ rival, issued an edict, regulating the price of all the necessaries of life. At the same time, to prevent individuals from buying up the whole cargo, and storing it in their magazines, with a view of disposing of it afterward at a dearer rate, he ordered that the whole should be publicly sold in any quantities from the vessels. The specula¬ tors, cheated of their hopes of profit by these precautions, set sail again, and left Antwerp with the greater part of their cargo, which would have sufficed for the support of the town for several months. This neglect of the most essential and natural means of preservation can only be explained by the supposition, that the inhabitants considered it absolutely impossible ever to close the Scheldt completely, and consequently had not the least apprehension that things would come to extrem¬ ity. When the intelligence arrived in Antwerp that the prince intended to throw a bridge over the Scheldt, the idea was universally ridiculed as chimerical. An arrogant comparison was drawn between the republic and the stream, and it was said, that the one would bear the Spanish yoke as little as the other. “ A river which is 2400 feet broad, and, with its own waters alone, above sixty feet deep, but which with the tide rose twelve feet more—would such a stream,” it was asked, “ submit to be spanned by a miserable piece of paling? Where were beams to be found high enough to reach to the bottom and project above the surface? and how was a work of this kind to stand in winter, when whole islands and moun¬ tains of ice, which stone walls could hardly resist, would be driven by the flood against its weak tim¬ bers, and splinter them to pieces like glass ? Or, perhaps, the prince purposed to construct a bridge of boats : if so, where would he procure the lat¬ ter, and how bring them into his entrenchments? They must necessarily be brought past Antwerp, where a fleet was ready to capture or sink them.” But while they were trying to prove the ab¬ surdity of the Prince of Parma’s undertaking, he had already completed it. As soon as the forts St. Maria and St. Philip were erected, and pro¬ tected the workmen and the work by their fire, a pier was built out into the stream from both banks, for which purpose the masts of the largest vessels were employed ; by a skillful arrangement SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 113 of the timbers, they contrived to give the whole such solidity, that, as the result proved, it was able to resist the violent pressure of the ice. These timbers, which rested firmly and securely on the bottom of the river, and projected a con¬ siderable height above it, being covered with planks, afforded a commodious roadway. It was wide enough to allow eight men to cross abreast, and a balustrade that ran along it on both sides, protected them from the fire of small arms from the enemy’s vessels, Thi3 “ Stacade,” as it was called, ran from the two opposite shores as far as the increasing depth and force of the stream allowed. It reduced the breadth of the river to about 1100 feet ; as, however, the middle and proper current would not admit of such a barrier, there remained, therefore, between the two stacades, a space of more than six hundred paces, through which a whole fleet of transports could sail with ease. This inter¬ vening space the prince designed to close by a bridge of boats, for which purpose the craft must be procured from Dunkirk. But besides that they could not be obtained in any number at that place, it would be difficult to bring them past Ant¬ werp without great loss. He was, therefore, obliged to content himself for the time with hav¬ ing narrowed the stream one-half, and rendered the passage of the enemy’s vessels so much the more difficult. Where the stacades terminated in the middle of the stream, they spread out into parallelograms, which were mounted with heavy guns, and served as a kind of battery on the water. From these, a heavy fire was opened on every ves¬ sel that attempted to pass through this narrow channel. Whole fleets, however, and single ves¬ sels still attempted and succeeded in passing this dangerous strait. Meanwhile Ghent surrendered, and this unex¬ pected success at once rescued the prince from his dilemma. He found in this town every thing necessary to complete his bridge of boats ; and the only difficulty now was its safe transport, which was furnished by the enemy themselves. By cutting the dams at Saftingen, a great part of the country of Waes, as far as the village of Borcht, had been laid under water, so that it was not difficult to cross it with flat-bottomed boats. The prince, therefore, ordered his vessels to run out from Ghent, and after passing Dendermonde and Rupelmonde, to pass through the left dyke of the Scheldt, leaving Antwerp to the right, and sail over the inundated fields in the direction of Borcht. To protect this passage, a fort was erected at the latter village, which would keep the enemy in check. All succeeded to his wishes, though not without a sharp action with the enemy’s flotilla, which was sent out to intercept this convoy. After breaking through a few more dams on their route, they reached the Spanish quarters at Calloo, and successfully entered the Scheldt again. The exultation of the army was the greater, when they discovered the extent of danger the vessels had so narrowly escaped. Scarcely had they got quit of the enemy’s vessels, when a strong reinforcement from Antwerp got under weigh, commanded by the valiant defender of Lillo, Odets von Teligny. When this officer Vol. II.—S • saw that the affair was over, and that the enemy had escaped, lie took possession of the dam through which their fleet had passed, and threw up a fort on the spot, in order to stop the passage of any vessels from Ghent, which might attempt to follow them. By this step, the prince was again thrown into embarrassment. He was far from having, as yet, a sufficient number of vessels, either for the construction of the bridge, or for its defense, and the passage by which the former convoy had ar¬ rived, was now closed by the fort erected by Te¬ ligny. While he was reconnoitring the country to discover a new way for his fleets, an idea oc¬ curred to him, which not only put an end to his present dilemma, but greatly accelerated the suc¬ cess of his whole plan. Not far from the village of Stecken,in Waes, which is within some five thou¬ sand paces of the commencement of the inundation, flows a small stream called the Moer, which falls into the Scheldt near Ghent. From this river, he caused a canal to be dug to the spot where the inundations began, and as the water of these was not everywhere deep enough for the transit of his boats, the canal between Bevcrn and Verebroek was continued to Calloo, where it was met by the Scheldt. At this w r ork five hundred pioneers labored without intermission, and in order to cheer the toil of the soldiers, the Prince himself took part in it. In this way did he imitate the ex¬ ample of two celebrated Romans, Drusus and Cor- bnlo, who, by similar works, had united the Rhine with the Zuyderzee, and the Maes with the Rhine. The canal, which the army in honor of its pro¬ jector, called the canal of Parma, was fourteen thousand paces in length, and was of proportion- able depth and breadth, so as to be navigable for ships of a considerable burden. It afforded to the vessels from Ghent, not only a more secure, but also a much shorter course to the Spanish quar¬ ters, because it was no longer necessary to follow the many windings of the Scheldt, but entering the Moer at once near Ghent, and from thence passing close to Stecken, they could proceed through the canal, and across the inundated coun¬ try as far as Calloo. As the produce of all Flan¬ ders was brought to the town of Ghent, this canal placed the Spanish camp in communication with the whole province. Abundance poured into the camp from all quarters, so that during the whole course of the siege the Spaniards suffered no scar¬ city of any kind. But the greatest benefit which the prince derived from this work, was an ade¬ quate supply of flat-bottomed vessels to complete his bridge. These preparations were overtaken by the ar¬ rival of winter, which, as the Scheldt was filled with drift ice, occasioned a considerable delay in the building of the bridge. The prince had contemplated with anxiety the approach of this season, lest it should prove highly destruc¬ tive to the work he had undertaken, and afford the enemy a favorable opportunity for making a serious attack upon it. But the skill of his engi¬ neers saved him from the one danger, and the strange inaction of the enemy freed him from the other. It frequently happened, indeed, that at flood time large pieces of ice were entangled in 114 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. the timbers, and shook them violently, but they stood the assault of the furious element, which only served to prove their stability. In Antwerp, meanwhile, important moments had been wasted in futile deliberations; and in a struggle of factions, the general welfare was neg¬ lected. The government of the town was di¬ vided among too many heads, and much too great a share in it was held by the riotous mob, to allow room for calmness of deliberation, or firmness of action. Besides the municipal ma¬ gistracy itself, in which the burgomaster had only a single voice, there were in the city a number of guilds, to whom were consigned the charge of the internal and external defense, the provisioning of the town, its fortifications, the marine), commerce, &c.; some of whom must be consulted in every business of importance. By means of this crowd ef speakers, who intruded at pleasure into the council, and managed to carry by clamor and the number of their adherents, what they could not effect by their arguments, the people obtained a dangerous influence in the public debates, and the natural struggle of such discordant interests re¬ tarded the execution of every salutary measure. A government, so vacillating and impotent, could not command the respect of unruly sailors and a lawless soldiery. The orders of the state conse¬ quently were but imperfectly obeyed, and the de¬ cisive moment was more than once lost by the negligence, not to say the open mutiny, both of the land and sea forces. The little harmony in the selection of the means by which the enemy was to be opposed, would not, however, have proved so injurious, had there but existed unanimity as to the end. But on this very point the wealthy citizens and poorer classes were divided, for the former, having every thing to apprehend from allowing matters to be carried to extremity, were strongly inclined to treat with the Prince of Parma. This disposition they did not even attempt to conceal, after the fort of Liefkenshoek had fallen into the enemy’s hands, and serious fears were entertained for the navigation of the Scheldt. Some of them, in¬ deed, withdrew entirely from the danger, and left to its fate the town whose prosperity they had been ready enough to share, but in whose adver¬ sity they were unwilling to bear a part. From sixty to seventy of those who remained memo¬ rialized the council, advising that terms should be made with the king. No sooner, however, had the populace got intelligence of it, than their in¬ dignation broke out in a violent uproar, which was with difficulty appeased by the imprisonment and filing of the petitioners. Tranquillity could only b3 fully restored by the publication of an edict, which imposed the penalty of death on all who either publicly or privately should counte¬ nance proposals for peace. The Prince of Parma did not fail to take ad¬ vantage of these disturbances : for nothing that transpired within the city escaped his notice, be¬ ing well served by the agents with whom he main¬ tained a secret understanding with Antwerp, as well as the other towns of Brabant and Flanders. Although he had already made considerable pro¬ gress iu his measures for distressing the town, still he had many steps to take before he could actually make himself master of it; and one un¬ lucky moment might destroy the work of many months. Without, therefore, neglecting any of his warlike preparations, he determined to make one more serious attempt to get possession by fair means. With this object, he dispatched a letter in November to the great Council of Ant¬ werp, in which he skillfully made use of every topic likely to induce the citizens to come to terms, or at least to increase their existing dis¬ sensions. Pie treated them in this letter in the light of persons who had been led astray, and threw the whole blame of their revolt and refrac¬ tory conduct hitherto upon the intriguing spirit of the Prince of Orange, from whose artifices the retributive justice of Heaven had so lately libe¬ rated them. “It was,” he said, “now in their power to awake from their long infatuation, and return to their allegiance to a monarch, who was ready and anxious to be reconciled to his sub¬ jects. For this end, he gladly offered himself as mediator, as he had never ceased to love a coun¬ try in which he had been born, and where he had spent the happiest days of his youth. He there¬ fore exhorted them to send plenipotentiaries with whom he could arrange the conditions of peace, and gave them hopes of obtaining reasonable terms if they made a timely submission, but also threatened them with the severest treatment if they pushed matters to extremity.” This letter, in which we are glad to recognize a language very different from that which the Duke of Alva held ten years before on a similar occasion, was answered by the townspeople iu a respectful and dignified tone. While they did full justice to the personal character of the prince, and acknowledged his favorable intentions to¬ ward them with gratitude, they lamented the hardness of the times, which placed it out of his power to treat them in accordance with his character and disposition. They declared that they would gladly place their fate in his hands, if he were absolute master of his actions, instead of being obliged to obey the will of another, whose proceedings his own candor would not allow him to approve of. The unalterable reso¬ lution of the King of Spain, as well as the vow which he had made to the Pope, were only too well known for them to have any hopes in that quarter. They at the same time defended with a noble warmth the memory of the Prince of Orange, their benefactor and preserver, while they enumerated the true causes which had pro¬ duced this unhappy war, and had caused the pro¬ vinces to revolt from the Spanish crown. At the same time, they did not disguise from him that they had hopes of finding a new and a milder master in the King of France, and that, if only for this reason, they could not enter into any treaty with the Spanish king, without incurring the charge of the most culpable fickleness and in- I gratitude. The united provinces, in fact, dispirited by a succession of reverses, had at last come to the determination of placing themselves under the protection and sovereignty of France, and of pre¬ serving their existence and their ancient privileges SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 115 by the sacrifice of their independence. With this view, an embassy had some time before been dis¬ patched to Paris, and it was the prospect of this powerful assistance which principally supported the courage of the people of Antwerp. Henry Iil., King of France, was personally disposed to accept this offer; but the troubles which the intrigues of the Spaniards contrived to excite within his own kingdom, compelled him against his will to abandon it. The provinces now turned for assist¬ ance to Queen Elizabeth of England, who sent them some supplies, which, however, came too late to save Antwerp. While the people of this city were awaiting the issue of these negotiations, and expecting aid from foreign powers, they neglected, unfortunately, the most natural and immediate means of defense ; the whole winter was lost, and while the enemy turned it to greater advantage, the more complete was their indecision and in¬ activity. The burgomaster of Antwerp, St. Aldegonde, had, indeed, repeatedly urged the fleet of Zealand to attack the enemy’s works, which should be supported on the other side from Antwerp. The long and frequently stormy nights would favor this attempt; and if at the same time a sally were made by the garrison at Lillo, it seemed scarcely possible for the enemy to resist this triple assault. But unfortunately misunderstandings had arisen between the commander of the fleet, William von Blois von Treslong, and the Admiralty of Zea¬ land, which caused the equipment of the fleet to be most unaccountably delayed. In- order to quicken their movements, Teligny at last resolved to go himself to Middleburg, where the states of Zealand were assembled ; but as the enemy were in possession of all the roads, the attempt cost him his freedom, and the republic its most valiant defender. However, there was no want of enter¬ prising vessels, which, under the favor of the night and the flood tide, passing through the still open bridge, in spite of the enemy's fire, threw pro¬ visions into the town, and returned with the ebb. But, as many of these vessels fell into the hands of the enemy, the council gave orders that they should never risk the passage, unless they amounted to a certain number; and the result unfortunately was, that none attempted it, because the required number could not be collected at one time. Several attacks were also made from Antwerp on the ships of the Spaniards, which were not entirely unsuccessful; some of the latter were captured, others sunk, and all that was required was to execute similar attempts on a grand scale. But however zealously St. Aldegonde urged this, still not a captain was to be found who would command a vessel for that purpose. Amid these delays the winter expired, and scarcely had the ice begun to disappear, when the construction of the bridge of boats was actively resumed by the besiegers. Between the two piers, a space of more than six hundred paces still remained to be filled up, which was effected in the following manner. Thirty-two flat-bottomed ves¬ sels, each sixty-six feet long, and twenty broad, were fastened together with strong cables and iron chains, but at a distance from each other of about twenty feet, to allow a free passage to the stream. Each boat, moreover, was moored with two cables, both up and down the stream, but which, as the water rose with the tide, or sunk with the ebb, could be slackened or tightened. Upon the boats great masts were laid, which reached from one to another, and being covered with planks, formed a regular road, which, like that along the piers, was protected with a balus¬ trade. This bridge of boats, of which the two piers formed a continuation, had, including the latter, a length of twenty-four thousand paces. This formidable work was so ingeniously con structed, and so richly furnished with the instru¬ ments of destruction, that it seemed almost capable, like a living creature, of defending itself at the word of command, scattering death among all who approached Besides the two forts of St. Maria and St. Philip, which terminated the bridge on either shore, and the two wooden bastions on the bridge itself, which were filled with soldiers and mounted with guns on all sides, each of the tvvo-and-thirty vessels was manned with thirty soldiers and four sailors, who showed the cannon’s mouth to the enemy, whether he came up from Zealand or down from Antwerp. There were in all ninety-seven cannon, which were distributed beneath and above the bridge, and more than fifteen hundred men, who were posted partly in the forts, partly in the vessels, and in case of ne¬ cessity, could maintain a terrible fire of small arms upon the enemy. But with all this, the prince did not consider his work sufficiently secure. It was to be ex¬ pected that the enemy would leave nothing unat¬ tempted to burst, by the force of his machines, the middle and weakest part. To guard against this, he erected in a line with the bridge of boats, but at some distance from it, another distinct defense, intended to break the force of any attack that might be directed against the bridge itself. This work consisted of thirty-three vessels of considera¬ ble magnitude, which were moored in a row athwart the stream, and fastened in threes by masts, so that they formed eleven different groups. Each of these, like a file of pikemen, presented fourteen long wooden poles, with iron heads, to the approaching enemy. These vessels were loaded merely with ballast, and were anchored each by a double but slack cable, so as to be able to give to the rise and fall of the tide. As they were in constant motion, they got from the sol¬ diers the name of “ swimmers.” The whole bridge of boats, and also a part of the piers was-covered by these swimmers, which were stationed above as well as below the bridge. To all these defensive preparations, was added a fleet of forty men of war, which were stationed on both coasts, and served as a protection to the whole. This astonishing work was finished in March, 1585, the seventh month of the siege, and the day on w'hich it was completed was kept as a jubilee by the troops. The great event was announced to the besieged by a grand feu de joie, and the army, as if to enjoy ocular demonstration of its triumph, extended itself along the whole platform to gaze upon the proud stream, peacefully and obediently flowing under the yoke, which had been imposed upon it. All the toil they had under- 116 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. gone was forgotten in this delightful spectacle, and every man who had had a hand in it, however insignificant he might be, assumed to himself a portion of the honor, which the successful exe¬ cution of so gigantic an enterprise conferred on its illustrious projector. On the other hand, nothing could equal the consternation which seized the citizens of Antwerp, when intelligence was brought them, that the Scheldt was now actually closed, and all access from Zealand cut off. To increase their dismay, they learned the fall of Brussels also, which had at last been com¬ pelled by famine to capitulate. An attempt, made by the Count of Hohenlohe about the same time, on Herzogenbusch, with a view to recapture the town, or at least form a diversiorl, was equally unsuccessful ; and thus the unfortunate city lost all hope of assistance, both by sea and land. These evil tidings were brought them by some fugitives, who had succeeded in passing the Span¬ ish videttes, and had made their way into the town ; and a spy, whom the Burgomaster had sent out to reconnoitre the enemy’s works, in¬ creased the general alarm by his report. He had been seized and carried before the Prince of Parma, who commanded him to be conducted over all the works, and all the defenses of the bridge to be pointed out to him. After this had been done, he was again brought before the gene¬ ral, who dismissed him with these words. “ Go,” said he, “and report what you have seen, to those who sent you. And tell them, too, that it is my firm resolve to bury myself under the ruins of this bridge, or by means of it to pass into your town.” But the certainty of danger now at last awak¬ ened the zeal of the confederates, and it was no fault of theirs, if the former half of the prince’s vow was not fulfilled. The latter had long viewed with apprehension the preparations which were making in Zealand for the relief of the town. He saw clearly that it was from this quarter, that he had to fear the most dangerous blow, and that with all his works, he could not make head against the combined fleets of Zealand and Antwerp, if they were to fall upon him at the same time, and at the proper moment. For a while, the delays of the Admiral of Zealand, which he had labored by all the means in his power to prolong, had been his security; but now the urgent necessity accelerated the expedition, and without waiting for the admiral, the states at Middleburg dis¬ patched the Count Justin of Nassau, with as many ships as they could muster, to the assist¬ ance of the besieged. This fleet took up a posi¬ tion before Liefkenshoek, which was in possession of the Spaniards, and supported by a few vessels from the opposite fort of Lillo, cannonaded it with such success, that the walls were in a short tiine demolished, and the place carried by storm. r J he Walloons, who formed the garrison, did not display the firmness which might have been ex¬ pected from soldiers of the Duke of Parma ; they shamefully surrendered the fort to the enemy, who in a short time were in possession of the whole Island of Doel, with all the redoubts situated upon it. The loss of these places, which were, how¬ ever, so( n retaken, incensed the Duke of Parma so much, that he tried the officers by court-mar¬ tial, and caused the most culpable among them to be beheaded. Meanwhile, this important con¬ quest opened to the Zealanders a free passage as far as the bridge; and after concerting with the people of Antwerp, the time was fixed for a com¬ bined attack on this work. It was arranged that, while the bridge of boats was blown up by. ma¬ chines already prepared in Antwerp, the Zealand fleet, with a sufficient supply of provisions, should be in the vicinity, ready to sail to the town through the opening. While the Duke of Parma was engaged in con¬ structing his bridge, an engineer, within the walls, was already preparing the materials for its de¬ struction. Frederick Gianibelli, was the name of the man whom fate had destined to be the Archi¬ medes of Antwerp, and to exhaust in its defense, the same ingenuity with the same want of success. He was born in Mantua, and had formerly visited Madrid, for the purpose, it Avas said, of offering his services to King Philip in the Belgian war. But wearied with waiting, the offended engineer left the court, with the intention of making the King of Spain sensibly feel the value of talents which he had so little known how to appreciate. He next sought the service of Queen Elizabeth of England, the declared enemy of Spain, who, after Avitnessing a feAV specimens of his skill, sent him to AntAverp. He took up his residence in that town, and, in the present extremity, devoted to its defense, his knowledge, his energy, and his zeal. As soon as this artist perceived that the project ‘of erecting the bridge Avas seriously intended, and that the Avork Avas fast approaching to completion, he applied to the magistracy for three large ves¬ sels, fom a hundred and fifty to five hundred tons, in Avhich he proposed to place mines. He also demanded sixty boats, which, fastened together with cables and chains, furnished with projecting grappling irons, and put in motion with the ebb¬ ing of the tide, were intended to second the ope¬ ration of the mine-ships, by being directed in a Avedgelike form against the bridge. But he had to deal with men who were quite incapable of comprehending an idea out of the common way, and even where the salvation of their country was at stake, could not forget the calculating habits of trade. His scheme was rejected as too expensive, and with difficulty he at last obtained the grant of two smaller vessels, from seventy to eighty tons, with a number of flat-bottomed boats. With these tAvo vessels, one of which he called the “For¬ tune,” and the other the “Hope,” he proceeded in the following manner; In the hold of each, he built a holloAV chamber of freestone, five feet broad, three and a half high, and forty long. This magazine he filled with sixty hundred-weight of the finest priming powder, of his own com¬ pounding, and covered it with as heavy a weight of large slabs and millstones, as the vessels could carry. Over these he further added a roof of similar stones, which ran up to a point, and pro¬ jected six feet above the ship’s side. The deck itself was crammed with iron chains and hooks, knives, nails and other destructive missiles; the 2 — —G. p. 136 2 — E. p. 116 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 117 remaining space, which was not occupied by the magazine, was likewise tilled up with planks. Several small apertures were left in the chamber for the matches, which were to set fire to the mine. For greater certainty, he had also con¬ trived a piece of mechanism, which, after the lapse of a given time, would strike out sparks, and even if the matches failed, would set the ship on tire. To delude the enemy into a belief that these machines were only intended to set the bridge on fire, a composition of brimstone and pitch was placed in the top, which could burn a whole hour. Aud still further to divert the ene¬ my’s attention from the proper seat of danger, he also prepared thirty-two small flat-bottomed boats, upon which there were only fireworks burning, and whose sole object was to deceive the enemy. These tire-ships were to be sent down upon the bridge, in four separate squadrons, at intervals of half an hour, and keep the enemy incessantly en¬ gaged for two whole hours, so that, tired of firing, and wearied by vain expectation, they might at last relax their vigilance, before the real fireships came. In addition to all this, he also dispatched a few vessels in which powder.was concealed, in order to blow up the floating work before the bridge, and to clear a passage for the two princi¬ pal ships. At the same time, he hoped by this preliminary attack to engage the enemy’s atten¬ tion, to draw them out, and expose them to the full deadly effect of the volcano. The night between the 4th and 5th of April was fixed for the execution of this great under¬ taking. An obscure rumor of it had already dif¬ fused itself through the Spanish camp, and parti¬ cularly from the circumstance of many divers from Antwerp having been detected, endeavoring to cut the cables of the vessels. They were pre¬ pared, therefore, for a serious attack ; they only mistook the real nature of it, and counted on having to fight rather with man than the elements. In this expectation, the duke caused the guards along the whole bank to be doubled, and drew up the chief part of his troops in the vicinity of the bridge, where he w r as present in person ; thus meeting the danger while endeavoring to avoid it. No sooner was it dark, than three burning vessels were seen to float down from the city toward the bridge, then three more, and directly after, the same number. They beat to arms throughout the Spanish camp, and the whole length of the bridge was crowded with soldiers. Meantime, the num¬ ber of the fireships increased, and they came in regular order down the stream, sometimes two, and sometimes three abreast, being at first steered by sailors on board them. The Admiral of the Antwerp fleet, Jacob Jacobson, (whether design¬ edly, or through carelessness, was not known.) had committed the error of sending off the four squad¬ rons of fireships too quickly one after another, and caused the two large mine-ships also to fol¬ low them too soon, and thus disturbed the in¬ tended order of attack. The array of vessels kept approaching, and the darkness of night still further heightened the ex¬ traordinary spectacle. As far as the eye could follow the course of the stream, all was fire; the fireships burning as bri’liantly as if they were themselves in the flames ; the surface of the water glittered with light; the dykes and the batteries along the shore, the flags, arms, and accoutre¬ ments of the soldiers, who lined the rivers as well as the bridge, w r ere clearly distinguishable in the glare. With a mingled sensation of awe and pleasure, the soldiers watched the unusual sight, which rather resembled a fete than a hostile pre¬ paration, but from the very strangeness of the contrast filled the mind with a mysterious awe. When the burning fleet had come within two thousand paces of the bridge, those who had the charge of it lighted the matches, impelled the two mine-vessels into the middle of the stream, and leaving the others to the guidance of the current of the waves, they hastily made their escape in boats, which had been kept in readiness. Their course, however, was irregular, and, des¬ titute of steersmen, they arrived singly and sepa¬ rately at the floating works, where they either continued hanging, or were dashed off sidewise on the shore. The foremost powder-ships, which were intended to set fire to the floating works, were cast by the force of a squall, which arose at that instant, on the Flemish coast; one of the two, the “ Fortune,” grounded in its passage be¬ fore it reached the bridge, and killed by its explo¬ sion some Spanish soldiers, who w-ere at work in a neighboring battery. The other and larger fire¬ ship, called the “ Hope,” narrowly escaped a si¬ milar fate. The current drove her against the floating defenses toward the Flemish bank, where it remained hanging ; and had it taken fire at that ment the greatest part of its effect would have been lost. Deceived by the flames, which this machine, like the other vessels, emitted, the Spa¬ niards took it for a common fireship, intended to burn the bridge of boats. And as they had seen them extinguished one after the other without fur¬ ther effect, all fears were dispelled, and the Spa¬ niards began to ridicule the preparations of the enemy, which had been ushered in with so much display, and now had so absurd an end. Some of the boldest threw themselves into the stream, in order to get a close view of the fireship, and ex¬ tinguish it, when, by its weight, it suddenly broke through, burst the floating work which had de¬ tained it, and drove with terrible force on the bridge of boats. All was now in commotion on the bridge, and the prince called to the sailors to keep the vessel off with poles and to extinguish the flames before they caught the timbers. At this critical moment he was standing at the furthest end of the left pier, where it formed a bastion in the water, and joined the bridge of boats. By his side stood the Margrave of Rys- burg, general of cavalry, and governor of ti e pro¬ vince of Artois, who had formerly served the states, but from a protector of the republic had become its worst enemy; the Baron of Billy, Go¬ vernor of Friesland, and commander of the Ger¬ man regiments; the Generals Cajetan and Guas- to, with several of the principal officers ; all for¬ getful of their own danger, and entirely occupied with averting the general calamity. At this mo¬ ment a Spanish ensign approached the Prince of Parma, and conjured him to remove from a place, where his life was in manifest and immi- 118 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. nent peril. No attention being paid to his en¬ treaty, he repeated it still more urgently, and at last fell at his feet, and implored him in this one instance to take advice from his servant. While he said this, he had laid hold of the duke’s coat, as though he wished forcibly to draw him away from the spot, and the latter, surprised rather at the man’s boldness, than persuaded by his argu¬ ments, retired at last to the shore attended by Cajetan and Guasto. He had scarcely time to reach the fort St. Maria, at the end of the bridge, when an explosion took place behind him, just as if the earth had burst, or the vault of heaven given way. The duke and his whole army fell to the ground as dead, and several minutes elapsed before they recovered their consciousness. But then what a sight presented itself! The waters of the Scheldt had been divided to its lowest depth, and driven with a surge, which rose like a wall above the dam that confined it; so that all the fortifications on the banks were seve¬ ral feet under water. The earth shook for three miles round. Nearly the whole left pier, on which the fireship had been driven, with a part cf the bridge of boats, had been burst and shattered to atoms, with all that was upon it; spars, cannon, and men, blown into the air. Even the enormous blocks of stone which had covered the mine, had, by the force of the explosion, been hurled into the neighboring fields, so that many of them were afterwards dug out of the ground at the distance of a thousand paces from the bridge. Six vessels were buried, several had gone to pieces. But still more terrible was the carnage, which the murderous machine had dealt amongst the sol¬ diers. Five hundred, according to other reports even eight hundred, were sacrificed to its fury, without reckoning those who escaped with muti¬ lated or injured bodies. The most opposite kinds of death were combined in this frightful moment. Some were consumed by the flames of the explo¬ sion, others scalded to death by the boiling water of the river, others stifled by the poisonous vapor of the brimstone; some were drowned in the stream, some buried under the hail of falling masses of rock, many cut to pieces by the knives and hooks, or shattered bv the balls which were poured from the bowels of the machine. Some were found lifeless without any visible injury, having in all probability been killed by the mere concussion of the air. The spectacle, which pre¬ sented itself directly after the firing of the mine, was fearful. Men were seen wedged between the palisades of the bridge, or struggling to free them¬ selves from beneath ponderous masses of rock, or hanging in the rigging of the ships; and from all places and quarters the most heart-rending cries for help arose, but as each was absorbed in his own safety, these could only be answered by helpless wailings. Many had escaped in the most wonderful manner. An officer named Tucei, was carried by the whirlwind, high into the air, where he was for a moment suspended, and then dropped into the river, where he saved himself by swimming. Another, was taken up by the force of the blast from the Flanders shore, and deposited on that of Brabant, incurring merely a slight contusion on the shoulder; he felt, as he afterward said, during this rapid aerial transit, just as if he had been fired out of a cannon. The Prince of Parma himself had never been so near death as at that moment, when half a minute saved his life. He had scarcely set foot in the fort of St. Maria, when he was lifted off' his feet, as if by a hurricane ; and a beam, which struck him on the head and shoulders, stretched him sense¬ less on the earth. For a long time he was be¬ lieved to be actually killed, many remembering to have seen him on the bridge only a few minutes before the fatal explosion. He was found at last between his attendants, Cajetan and Guasto, raising himself up with his hand on his sword; and the intelligence stirred the spirits of the whole army. But vain would be the attempt to depict his feelings, when he surveyed the devasta¬ tion, which a single moment had caused in the work of so many months. The bridge of boats, upon which all his hopes rested, was rent asunder; a great part of his army w r as destroyed ; another portion maimed and rendered ineffective for many days; many of his best officers were killed ; and as if the present calamity were not sufficient, he had now to learn the painful intelligence, that the Margrave of Rysburg, whom of all his officers he prized the highest, was missing. And yet the •worst was still to come, for every moment the fleets of the enemy were to be expected from Ant¬ werp and Lillo, to which this fearful position of the army would disable him from offering any ef¬ fectual resistance. The bridge was entirely de¬ stroyed, and nothing could prevent the fleet from Zealand passing through in full sail; while the confusion of the troops in this first moment was so great and general, that it would have been impossible to give or obey orders as many corps had lost their commanding officers, and many commanders their corps; and even the places where they had been stationed were no longer to be recognized amid the general ruin. Add to this, that all the batteries on shore were under water, that several cannon were sunk, that the matches were wet, and the ammunition dam¬ aged. What a moment for the enemy, if they had known how to avail themselves of it! It will scarcely be believed, however, that this success, which surpassed all expectation, was lost to Antwerp, simply because nothing was known of it. St. Aldegonde, indeed, as soon as the ex¬ plosion of the mine was heard in the town, had sent out several galleys in the direction of the bridge, with orders to send up fireballs and rock¬ ets the moment they had passed it, and then to sail with the intelligence straight on to Lillo, in order to bring up, without delay, the Zealand fleet, which had orders to co-operate. At the same time, the Admiral of Antwerp was ordered, as soon as the signal was given, to sail out with his vessels, and attack the enemy in their first consternation. But although a considerable re¬ ward was promised to the boatmen sent to recon¬ noitre, they did not venture near the enemy, but returned without effecting their purpose, and re¬ ported that the bridge of boats was uninjured, and the fire-ship had had no effect. Even on the following day, also, no better measures were taken to learn the true state of the bridge; and as the SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 119 fleet at Lillo, in spite of the favorable wind, was seen to remain inactive, the belief that the fire¬ ships had accomplished nothing was confirmed. It did not seem to occur to any one, that this very inactivity of the confederates, which misled the people of Antwerp, might also keep back the Zealanders at Lillo, as in fact it did. So signal an instance of neglect could only have occurred in a government, which, without dignity or inde¬ pendence, was guided by the tumultuous multitude it ought tc have governed. The more supine, however, they were themselves ii: opposing the enemy, the more violently did their rage boil against Gianibelli, whom the frantic mob would have torn in pieces, if they could have caught him. For two days, the engineer was in the most imminent danger, until at last, on the third morn¬ ing, a courier from Lillo, who had swum under the bridge, brought authentic intelligence of its having been destroyed, but at the same time an¬ nounced that it had been repaired. This rapid restoration of the bridge was really a miraculous effort of the Prince of Parma. Scarcelv had he recovered from the shock, which seemed to have overthrown all his plans, when he contrived, with wonderful presence of mind, to prevent all its evil consequences. The absence of the enemy’s fleet at this decisive moment, re¬ vived his hopes. The ruinous state of the bridge appeared to be a secret to them, and though it was impossible to repair, in a few hours, the work of so many months, yet a great point would be gained if it could be done even in appearance. All his men were immediately set to work to re¬ move the rains, to raise the timbers which had been thrown down, to replace those which were demolished, and to fill up the chasms with ships. The duke himself did not refuse to share in the toil, and his example was followed by all his offi¬ cers. Stimulated by this popular behavior, the common soldiers exerted themselves to the ut¬ most ; the work was carried on during the whole night under the constant sounding of drums and trumpets, which were distributed along the bridge to drown the noise of the work-people. With dawn of day, few traces remained of the night’s havoc ; and although the bridge was restored only in appearance, it nevertheless deceived the spy, and consequently no attack was made upon it. In the mean time, the prince contrived to make the repairs solid, nay, even to introduce some essential alterations in the structure. In order to guard against similar accidents for the future, a part of the bridge of boats was made movable, so that, in case of necessity, it could be taken away, and a passage opened to the fire-ships. Ilis loss of men was supplied from the garrisons of the adjoining places, and by a German regi¬ ment which arrived very opportunely from Guel- dres. He filled up the vacancies of the officers who were killed, and in doing this, he did not for¬ get the Spanish ensign who had saved his life. The people of Antwerp, after learning the suc¬ cess of their mine-ship, now did homage to the inventor with as much extravagance, as they had a short time before mistrusted him, and they en¬ couraged his genius to new attempts. Gianibelli now actually obtained the number of flat-bot- tomed vessels which he had at first demanded in vain, and these he equipped in such a manner, that they struck with irresistible force on the bridge, and a second time also burst and sepa¬ rated it. But this time, the wind was contrary to the Zealand fleet, so that they could not put out, and thus the prince obtained once more the neces¬ sary respite to repair the damage. The Archi¬ medes of Antwerp was not deterred by any of these disappointments. Anew he fitted out two large vessels, which were armed with iron hooks and similar instruments, in order to tear asunder the bridge. But when the moment came for these vessels to get under weigh, no one was found ready to embark in them. The engineer was there¬ fore obliged to think of apian for giving to these machines such a self-impulse, that, without being guided by a steersman, they would keep the mid¬ dle of the stream, and not, like the former ones, be driven on the bank by the wind. One of his workmen, a German, here hit upon a strange in¬ vention, if Strada’s description of it is to be cre¬ dited. He affixed a sail under the vessel, which was to be acted upon by the water, just as an or¬ dinary sail is by the wind, and could thus impel the ship with the whole force of the current. The result proved the correctness of his calculation ; for this vessel, with the position of its sails re¬ versed, not only kept the centre of the stream, but also ran against the bridge with such impe¬ tuosity that the enemy had not time to open it, and it was actually burst asunder. But all these results were of no service to the town, because the attempts were made at random, and were sup¬ ported by no adequate force. A new fire-ship, equipped like the former, which had succeeded so well, and which Gianibelli had filled with four thousand pounds of the finest powder, was not even used ; for a new mode of attempting their deliverance had now occurred to the people of Antwerp. Terrified, by so many futile attempts, from en deavoring to clear a passage for vessels on the river by force, they at last came to the determi¬ nation of doing without the stream entirely. They remembered the example of the town of Leyden, which, when besieged by the Spaniards ten years before, had saved itself by opportunely inundating the surrounding country, and it was resolved to imitate this example. Between Lille and Stabroek, in the district of Bergen, a wide and somewhat sloping plain extends as far as Antwerp, being protected by numerous embank¬ ments and counter-embankments against the ir¬ ruptions of the East Scheldt. Nothing more was requisite than to break these dams, when the whole plain would become a sea, navigable by flat-bottomed vessels almost to the very walls of Antwerp. If this attempt should succeed, the Duke of Parma might keep the Scheldt guarded with his bridge of boats as long as he pleased ; a new river would be formed, which, in case of ne¬ cessity, would fie equally serviceable for the time. This was the very plan which the Prince of Orange had, at the commencement of the siege, recommended, and in which he had been strenu¬ ously, but unsuccessfully, seconded by St. Alde- gonde, because some of the citizens could not be 120 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. persuaded to sacrifice their own fields. In the present emergency they reverted to this last re¬ source, but circumstances in the mean time had greatly changed. The plain in question is intersected by a broad and high dam, which takes its name from the ad¬ jacent Castle of Cowenstein, and extends for three miles from the village of Stabroek, in Ber¬ gen, as far as the Scheldt, with the great dam of which it unites near Ordam. Beyond this dam no vessels can proceed, however high the tide, and the sea would be vainly turned into the fields as long as such an embankment remained in the way, which would prevent the Zealand vessels from descending into the plain before Antwerp. The fate of the town would therefore depend upon the demolition of this Cowenstein dam ; but, foreseeing this, the Prince of Parma had, imme¬ diately on commencing the blockade, taken pos¬ session of it, and spared no pains to render it ten¬ able to the last. At the village of Stabroek, Count Mansfeld was encamped with the greatest part of his army, and by means of this very Cow¬ enstein dam kept open the communication with the bridge, the head quarters, and the Spanish magazines at Calloo. Thus the army formed an uninterrupted line from Stabroek in Brabant, as far asBevern in Flanders, intersected indeed, but not broken, by the Scheldt, and which could not be cut off without a sanguinary conflict. On the dam itself, within proper distances, five different batteries had been erected, the command of which was given to the most valiant officers in the army. Nay, as the Prince of Parma could not doubt that now the whole fury of the war would be turned to this point, he intrusted the defense of the bridge to Count Mansfeld, and resolved to defend this important post himself. The war, therefore, now assumed a different aspect, and the theatre of it was entirely changed. Both above and below Lillo, the Netherlander had in several places cut through the dam, which follows the Brabant shore of the Scheldt; and where a short time before had been green fields, a new element now presented itself, studded with masts and boats. A Zealand fleet, commanded by Count Hohenlohe, navigated the inundated fields, and made repeated movements against the Cowenstein dam, without, however, attempting a serious attack on it, while another fleet showed itself in the Scheldt, threatening the two coasts alternately with a landing, and occasionally the bridge of boats with an attack. For several days, this manoeuvre was practiced on the enemy, who, uncertain of the quarter whence an attach was to be expected, would, it was hoped, be exhausted by continual watching, and by degrees lulled into se¬ curity by so many false alarms. Antwerp had promised Count Hohenlohe to support the attack on the dam by a flotilla from the town ; three beacons on the principal tower were to be the signal that this was on the way. When, there¬ fore, on a dark night, the expected* columns of fire really ascended above Antwerp, Count Hohenlohe immediately caused 500 of his troops to scale the dam between two of the enemy’s redoubts, who sur¬ prised part of the Spanish garrison asleep, and cut dowu the others, who attempted to defend them¬ selves. In a short time, they had gained a firm foot ing upon the dam, and were just on the point of dis¬ embarking the remainder of their force, 2000 in nun* ber, when the Spaniards in the adjoining redoubts marched out, and favored by the narrowness of the ground, made a desperate attack on the crowded Zealanders. The guns from the neigh¬ boring batteries opened upon the approaching fleet, and thus rendered the landing of the remain¬ ing troops impossible ; and as there were no signs of co-operation on the part of the city, the Zea¬ landers were overpowered after a short conflict, and again driven down from the dam. The victo¬ rious Spaniards pursued them through the water as far as their boats, sunk many of the latter, and compelled the rest to retreat with heavy loss. Count Hohenlohe threw the blame of this defeat upon the inhabitants of Antwerp, who had de¬ ceived him by a false signal, and it certainly must be attributed to the bad arrangement of both par¬ ties, that the attempt failed of better success. But at last the allies determined to make a sys¬ tematic assault on the enemy with their combined force, and to put an end to the siege by a grand attack, as well on the dam as on the bridge. The 16th of May, 1585, was fixed upon for the execu¬ tion of this design, and both armies used their utmost endeavors to make this day decisive. The force of the Hollanders and Zealanders, united to that of Antwerp, exceeded 200 ships, to man which they had stripped their towns and citadels, and with this force they purposed to attack the Cowenstein dam on both sides. The bridge over the Scheldt was to be assailed with new machines of Gianibelli’s invention, and the Duke of Parma thereby hindered from assisting the defense of the dam. Alexander, apprised of the danger which threat¬ ened him, spared nothing on his side to meet it with energy. Immediately after getting posses¬ sion of the dam, he had caused redoubts to be erected at five different places, and had given the command of them to the most experienced officers of the army. The first of these, which was called the Cross Battery, was erected on the spot where the Cowenstein dam enters the great embankment of the Scheldt, and makes with the latter the form of a cross; the Spaniard, Mondragone, was ap¬ pointed to the command of this battery. A thou¬ sand paces further on, near the Castle of Cowen¬ stein, was posted the battery of St. James, which was intrusted to the command of Camillo de Monte. At an equal distance from this, lay the battery of St. George, and at a thousand paces from the latter, the Pile Battery, under the com¬ mand of Gamboa, so called from the pile work on which it rested; at the furthest end of the dam, near Stabroek, was the fifth redoubt, where Count Mansfeld, with Capizucchi, an Italian, commanded. All these forts the prince now strengthened with artillery and men; on both sides of the dam, and along its whole extent, he caused piles to be driven, as well to render the main embankment firmer, as to impede the labor of the pioneers who were to dig through it. Early on the morning of the 16th of May, the enemy’s forces were in motion. With the dusk of dawn, there came floating down from Lillo, over SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 121 the inundated country, four burning vessels, which so alarmed the guards upon the dams, who recollected the former terrible explosion, that they hastily retreated to the next battery. This was exactly what the enemy desired. In these vessels, which had merely the appearance of fire¬ ships, soldiers were concealed, who now suddenly jumped ashore, and succeeded in mounting the dam at the undefended spot, between the St- George and Pile batteries. Immediately after¬ ward, the whole Zealand fleet showed itself, con¬ sisting of numerous ships of war, transports, and a crowd of smaller craft, which were laden with great sacks of earth, wool, fascines, gabions, and the like, for throwing up breastworks, wherever necessary. The ships of war were furnished with powerful artillery, and numerously and bravely manned, and a whole army of pioneers accom¬ panied it, in order to dig through the dam as soon as it should be in their possession. The Zealanders had scarcely begun on their side to ascend the dam, when the fleet of Ant¬ werp advanced from Osterweel, and attacked it on the other. A high breastwork was hastily thrown up between the two nearest hostile batteries, so as at once to divide the two garrisons and to cover the pioneers. The latter, several hundreds in number, now fell to work with their spades on both sides of the dam, and dug with such energy, that hopes were entertained of soon seeing the two seas united. But, meanwhile, the Spaniards also had gained time to hasten to the spot from the two nearest redoubts, and make a spirited as¬ sault, while the guns from the battery of St. George played incessantly upon the enemy’s fleet. A furious battle now raged in the quarter where they were cutting through the dike, and throwing up the breastwork. The Zealanders had drawn a strong line of troops round the pioneers, to keep the enemy from interrupting their work ; and in this confusion of battle, in the midst of a storm of bullets from the enemy, often up to the breast in water, among the dead and dying, the pioneers pursued their work, under the incessant exhortations of the merchants, who impatiently waited to see the dam opened and their vessels in safety. The importance of the result, which it might be said depended entirely upon their spades, appeared to animate even the common laborers with heroic courage. Solely intent upon their task, they neither saw nor heard the work of death which was going on around them, and as fast as the foremost ranks fell, those behind them pressed into their places. Their operations were greatly impeded by the piles which had been driven in, but still more by the attacks of the Spaniards, who burst with despe¬ rate courage through the thickest of the enemy, stabbed the pioneers in the pits where they were digging, and filled up again with dead bodies, the cavities which the living had made. At last, however, when most of their officers were killed or wounded, and the number of the enemy con¬ stantly increasing, while fresh laborers were sup¬ plying the place of those who had been slain, the courage of these valiant troops began to give way, and they thought it advisable to retreat to their batteries. Now, therefore, the confede¬ rates saw themselves masters of the whole extent of the dam, from fort St. George as far as the Pile Battery. As, however, it seemed too long to wait for the thorough demolition of the dam, they hastily unloaded a Zealand transport, and brought the cargo over the dam to a vessel of Antwerp, with which Count Hohenlolie sailed in triumph to the city. The sight of the pro¬ visions at once filled the inhabitants with joy, and as if the victory was already won, they gave themselves up to the wildest exultation. The bells were rung, the cannon discharged, and the inhabitants transported at their unexpected suc¬ cess, hurried to the Osterweel gate, to await the store ships, which were supposed to be at hand. In fact, fortune had never smiled so favorably on the besieged as at that moment. The enemy, exhausted and dispirited, had thrown themselves into their batteries, and far from being able to struggle with the victors for the post they had conquered, they found themselves rather besieged in the places where they had taken refuge. Some companies of Scots, led by their brave colonel, Balfour, attacked the battery of St. George, which, however, was relieved, but not without se¬ vere loss, by Camillo de Monte, who hastened thither from the St. James’s battery. The Pile battery was in a much worse condition, it being hotly cannonaded by the ships, and threatened every moment to crumble to pieces ; Gamboa, who commanded it, lay wounded, and it was un¬ fortunately deficient in artillery to keep the enemy at a distance. The breastwork, too, which the Zealanders had thrown up between this battery and that of St. George, cut off all hope of assist¬ ance from the Scheldt. If, therefore, the Bel¬ gians had only taken advantage of this weakness and inactivity of the enemy, to proceed with zeal and perseverance in cutting through the dam, there is no doubt that a passage might have been made and thus put an end to the whole siege % But here, also, the same want of consistent en¬ ergy showed itself, which had marked the conduct of the people of Antwerp during the whole course of the siege. The zeal with which the work had been commenced, cooled in proportion to the suc¬ cess which attended it. It was soon found too tedious to dig through the dyke ; it seemed far easier to transfer the cargoes from the large store- ships into smaller ones, and carry these to the town with the flood tide. St. Aldegonde and Hohenlohe, instead of remaining to animate the industry of the workmen by their personal pre¬ sence, left the scene of action in the decisive mo¬ ment, in order by sailing to the town with a .°orn vessel, to win encomiums on their wisdom and valor. While both parties were fighting on the dam with the most obstinate fury, the bridge over the Scheldt had been attacked from Antwerp, with new machines, in order to give employment to the prince in that quarter. But the sound of the firing soon apprised him of what was going on at the dyke, and as soon as he saw the bridge clear, he hastened to support the defense of the dyke. Followed by two hundred Spanish pikemen, he flew to the place of attack, and arrived just in time to prevent the complete defeat of his troops. 122 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. He hastily posted some guns, which he had brought with him, in the two nearest redoubts, and maintained from thence a heavy fire upon the enemy’s ships. He placed himself at the head of his men, and with his sword in one hand and shield in the other, led them against the enemy. The news of his arrival, which quickly spread from one end of the dyke to the other, re¬ vived the drooping spirits of his troops, and the conflict recommenced with renewed violence; made still more murderous by the nature of the ground where it was fought. Upon the narrow ridge of the dam, which in many places was not more than nine paces broad, about five thousand combatants were fighting; so confined was the spot upon which the strength of-both armies was assembled, aud which was to decide the whole issue of the siege. With the Antwerpers the last bulwark of their citv was at stake; with the Spaniards it was to determine the whole success of their undertaking. Both parties fought with a courage, which despair alone could inspire. From both the extremities of the dam, the tide of war rolled itself toward the centre, where the Zealanders and Antwerpers had the advantage, and where they had collected their whole strength. The Italians and Spaniards, inflamed by a noble emulation, pressed on from Stabroek ; and from the Scheldt, the Walloons and Spaniards ad¬ vanced with their general at their head. While the former endeavored to relieve the pile battery, which was hotly pressed by the enemy both by sea and land, the latter threw themselves on the breastwork, between the St. George and the Pile batteries, with a fury which carried every thing before it. Here the flower of the Belgian troops fought behind a well-fortified rampart, and the guns of the two fleets covered this important post. The prince was already pressing forward to at¬ tack this formidable defense with his small army, when he received intelligence that the Italians and Spaniards, under Capizucchi and Aquila, had forced their way, sword in hand, into the Pile battery, had got possession of it, and were now likewise advancing from the other side against the enemy’s breastwork. Before this entrench¬ ment, therefore, the whole force of both armies was now collected, and both sides used their ut¬ most efforts to carry and to defend this position. The Netherlanders on board the fleet, loath to remain idle spectators of the conflict, sprang ashore from their vessels. Alexander attacked the breastwork on one side, Count Mansfeld on the other ; five assaults w r ere made, and five times they were repulsed. The Netherlanders, in this decisive moment, surpassed themselves ; never in the whole course of the war had they fought with such determination. But it was the Scotch and English in particular, who baffled the attempts of the enemy by their valiant resistance. As no one would advance to the attack in the quarter where the Scotch fought, the duke himself led on the troops, with a javelin in his hand, and up to his breast in water. At last, after a protracted struggle, the forces of Count Mansfeld succeeded with their halberts and pikes, in making a breach in the breastwork, and by raising themselves on one another’s shoulders, scaled the parapet. Bar- thelemy Toralva, a Spanish captain, was the first who showed himself on the top ; and almost at the same instant, the Italian Capizucchi appeared upon the edge of it; and thus the contest of valor was decided with equal glory for both nations. It is worth while to notice here, the manner in which the Prince of Parma, who was made arbiter of this emulous strife, encouraged this delicate sense of honor among his warriors. He embraced the . Italian Capizucchi in presence of the troops, and acknowledged aloud that it was principally to the courage of this officer that he owed the capture of the breastwork. He caused the Spanish captain, Toralva, who was dangerously wounded, to be conveyed to his own quarters at Stabroek, laid on his own bed, and covered with the cloak which he himself had worn the day before the battle. After the capture of the breastwork, the victory no longer remained doubtful. The Dutch and Zealand troops, who had disembarked to come to close action with the enemy, at once lost their courage, when they looked about them and saw the vessels, which were their last refuge, putting off from the shore. For the tide had begun to ebb, and the com¬ manders of the fleet, from fear of being stranded with their heavy transports, and, in case of an un¬ fortunate issue to the engagement, becoming the prey of the enemy, retired from the dam, and made for deep water. No sooner did Alexander perceive this, than he pointed out to his troops the flying vessels, and encouraged them to finish the action with an enemy, who already despaired of their safety. The Dutch auxiliaries were the first that gave way, and their example was soon followed by the Zealanders. Hastily leaping from the dam, they endeavored to reach the vessels by wading or swimming ; but from their disorderly flight, they impeded one another, and fell in heaps under the swords of the pursuers. Many perished even in the boats, as each strove to get on board before the other, and several vessels sank under the weight of the numbers who rushed into them. The Antwerpers, who fought for their liberty, their hearths, their faith, were the last who re¬ treated, but this very circumstance augmented their disaster. Many of their vessels were out¬ stripped by the ebb tide, and grounded within reach of the enemy’s cannon, and were conse¬ quently destroyed with all on board. Crowds of fugitives endeavored by swimming to gain the other transports, which had got into deep water ; but such was the rage and boldness of the Span¬ iards, that they swam after them with their swcrds between their teeth, and dragged many even from the ships. The victory of the king’s troops was complete, but bloody; for of the Spaniards about 800, of the Netherlands some thousands, (without reckoning those who were drowned,) were left on the. field, and on both sides many of the principal nobility perished. More than thirty vessels, with a large supply of provisions for Antwerp, fell into the hands of the victors, with 150 cannon and other military stores. The dam, the possession of which had been so dearly maintained, was pierced in thirteen different places, and the bodies of those who had cut through it were now used to stop up the openings. HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 123 The next day, a transport of immense size and singular construction, fell into thj3 hands of the royalists. It formed a floating castle, and had been destined for the attack on the Cowenstein dam. The people of Antwerp had built it at an immense expense, at the very time when the engi¬ neer Gianibelli’s useful proposals had been rejected, on account of the cost they entailed, and this ri¬ diculous monster was called by the proud title of “End of the War.” which appellation was after¬ wards changed for the more appropriate sobriquet of “ Money lost!” When this vessel was launched, it turned out, as every sensible person had fore¬ told, that on account of its unwieldy size it was utterly impossible to steer it, and it could hardly be floated by the highest tide. With great diffi¬ culty it was worked as far as Ordam, where, de¬ serted by the tide, it went aground, and fell a prey to the enemy. The attack upon the Cowenstein dam was the last attempt which was made to relieve Antwerp. From this time, the courage of the besieged sank, and the magistracy of the town vainly labored to inspirit with distant hopes the lower orders, on whom the present distress weighed heaviest. Hitherto the price of bread had been kept down to a tolerable rate, although the quality of it con¬ tinued to deteriorate; by degrees, however, pro¬ visions became so scarce, that a famine was evi¬ dently near at hand. Still, hopes were entertained of being able to hold out, at least, until the corn between the town and the furthest batteries, which was already in full ear, could be reaped ; but be¬ fore that could be done, the enemy had carried the last outwork, and had appropriated the whole harvest to their use. At last, the neighboring and confederate town of Malines fell into the enemy’s hands, and with its fall vanished the only remaining hope of getting supplies from Brabant. As there was, therefore, no longer any means of increasing the stock of provisions, nothing was left but to diminish the consumers. All useless persons, all strangers, nay even the women and children, were to be sent away out of the town ; but this proposal was too revolting to humanity to be carried into execution. Another plan, that of expelling the Catholic inhabitants, exasperated them so much, that it had almost ended in open mutiny. And thus St. Aldegonde at last saw himself compelled to yield to the riotous clamors of the populace, and on the 17th of August, 1585, to make overtures to the Duke of Parma for the surrender of the town. HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR IN GERMANY. BOOK I. From the beginning of the religious wars in Germany, to the peace of Munster, scarcely any thing great or remarkable occurred in the political world of Europe in which the Reformation had not an important share. All the events of this period, if they did not originate in, soon became mixed up with, the question of religion, and no state was either too great or too little to feel directly or in¬ directly more or less of its influence. Against the reformed doctrine and its adherents, the House of Austria directed, almost exclusively, the whole of its immense political power. In France, the Reformation had enkindled a civil war which, under four stormy reigns, shook the kingdom to its foundations, brought foreign armies into the heart of the country, and for half a century rendered it the scene of the most mournful disorders. It was the Reformation, top, that rendered the Spanish yoke intolerable to the Flemings, and awakened in them both the desire and the courage to throw off' its fetters, while it also principally furnished them with the means of their emancipation. And as to England, all the ev'ls with which Philip the Second threatened Elizabeth, were mainly intended in revenge for her having taken his Protestant subjects under her protection, and placing herself at the head of a religious party which it was his aim and endeavor to extirpate. In Germany, the schisms in the church produced also a lasting political schism, which made that country for more than a century the theatre of confusion, but at the same time threw up a firm barrier against political oppres¬ sion. It was, too, the Reformation principally that first drew the northern powers, Denmark and Sweden, into the political system of Europe; and while on the one hand the Protestant League was strengthened by their adhesion, it on the other was indispensable to their interests. States which hitherto scarcely concerned themselves with one another’s existence, acquired through the Re¬ formation an attractive centre of interest, and began to be united by new political sympathies. And as through its influence new relations sprang up between citizen and citizen, and between rulers and subjects, so also entire states were forced by it into new relative positions. Thus, by a strange course of events, religious disputes were the means of cementing a closer union among the nations of Europe. 124 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. Fearful indeed, and destructive, was the first movement in which this general political sympa¬ thy announced itself; a desolating war of thirty years, which, from the interior of Bohemia to the mouth of the Scheldt, and from the banks of the Po to the coasts of the Baltic, devastated whole countries, destroyed harvests, and reduced towns and villages to ashes ; which opened a grave for many thousand combatants, and for half a century smothered the glimmering sparks of civilization in Germany, and threw back the improving manners of the country into their pristine barbarity and wildness. Yet out of this fearful war Europe came forth free and independent. In it she first learned to recognize herself as a community of nations ; and this intercommunion of states, which originated in the thirty years’ war, w T ould alone be sufficient to reconcile the philosopher to its hor¬ rors. The hand of industry has slowly but gradually effaced the traces of its ravages, while its beneficent influence still survives; and this general sympathy among the states of Europe, which grew out of the troubles in Bohemia, is our guarantee for the continuance of that peace which was the result of the war. As the flames of de¬ struction found their way from the interior of Bo¬ hemia, Moravia, and Austria, to kindle Germany, France, and the half of Europe, so also will the torch of civilization make a path for itself from the latter to enlighten the former countries. All .this was effected by religion. Religion alone could have rendered possible all that was accomplished, but it was far from being the sole motive of the war. Had not private advantages and state interests been closely connected with it, Vain and powerless would have been the arguments of theologians; and the cry of the people would never have met with princes so willing to espouse their cause, nor the new doctrines have found such numerous, brave, and persevering champions. The Reformation is undoubtedly owing in a great measure to the invincible power of truth, or of opinions which were held as such. The abuses in the old church, the absurdity of many of its dog¬ mas, the extravagance of its requisitions, neces¬ sarily revolted the tempers of men, already won with the promise of a better light, and favorably disposed them toward the new doctrines. The charm of independence, the rich plunder of monastic institutions, made the Reformation at¬ tractive in the eyes of princes, and tended not a little to strengthen their inward convictions. Nothing, however, but political considerations could have driven them to espouse it. Had not Charles the Fifth, in the intoxication of success, made an attempt on the independence of the Ger¬ man States, a Protestant league would scarcely have rushed to arms in defense of freedom of belief; but for the ambition of the Guises, the Calvinists in France would never have beheld a Conde or a Coligny at their head. Without the exaction of the tenth and the twentieth penny, the See of Rome had never lost the United Nether¬ lands. Princes fought in self-defense or for aggrandizement, while religious enthusiasm re¬ cruited their armies, and opened to them the treasures ol their subjects. Of the multitude who flocked to their standards, such as were not lured by the hope of plunder, imagined they were fight¬ ing for the truth, while in fact they were shedding their blood for the personal objects of their princes. And well was it for the people, that, on this occasion, their interests coincided with those of their princes. To this coincidence alone were they indebted for their deliveran-ce from popery. Well was it also for the rulers, that the subject contended too for his own cause, while he was fighting their battles. Fortunately, at this date, no European sovereign was so absolute as to be able, in the pursuit of his political designs, to dis¬ pense with the good-will of his subjects. Yet how difficult was it to gain and to set to woVk this good-will! The most impressive arguments drawn from reasons of state, fall powerless on the ear of the subject, who seldom understands, and still more rarely is interested in them. In such circumstances, the only course open to a prudent prince is to connect the interests of the cabinet with some one that sits nearer to the people’s heart, if such exists, or if not, to create it. In such a position stood the greater part of those princes who embraced the cause of the Reformation. By a strange concatenation of events, the divisions of the Church were associ¬ ated with two circumstances, without which, in all probability, they would have had a very differ¬ ent conclusion. These were, the increasing power of the House of Austria, which threatened the liberties of Europe, and its active zeal for the old religion. The first aroused the princes, while the second armed the people. The abolition of a foreign jurisdiction within their own territories, the supremacy in ecclesias¬ tical matters, the stopping of the treasure which had so long flowed to Rome, the rich plunder of religious foundations, were tempting advantages to every sovereign. Why, then, it may be asked, did they not operate with equal force upon the princes of the House of Austria? What pre¬ vented this house, particularly in its German branch, from yielding to the pressing demands of so many of its subjects, and, after the example of other princes, enriching itself at the expense of a defenseless clergy? It is difficult to credit that a belief in the infallibility of the Romish Church had any greater influence on the pious adherence of this house, than the opposite con viction had on the revolt of the Protestant princes. In fact, several circumstances combined to make the Austrian princes zealous supporters of popery. Spain and Italy, from which Austria derived its principal strength, were still devoted to the See of Rome wjtli that blind obedience which, ever since the days of the Gothic dynasty, had been the peculiar characteristic of the Span¬ iard. The slightest approximation, in a Spanish prince, to the obnoxious tenets of Luther and Calvin, would have alienated for ever the affec¬ tions of his subjects, and a defection from the Pope would have cost him the kingdom. A Spanish prince had no alternative but orthodoxy or abdication. The same restraint was imposed upon Austria by her Italian dominions, which she was obliged to treat, if possible, with even greater indulgence; impatient as they naturally were of HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 125 a foieign yoke, and possessing also readier means i of shaking it off. In regard to the latter pro¬ vinces, moreover, the rival pretensions of France, and the neighborhood of the Pope, were motives sufficient to prevent the Emperor from declaring in favor of a party which strove to annihilate the papal See, and also to induce him to show the most active zeal in behalf of the old religion. These general considerations, which must have been equally weighty with every Spanish monarch, were, in the particular case of Charles V., still further enforced by peculiar and personal motives. In Italy, this monarch had a formidable rival in the King of France, under whose protection that country might throw itself the instant that Charles should incur the slightest suspicion of heresy. Distrust on the part of the Roman Catholics, and a rupture with the church, would have been fatal also to many of his most cherished designs. Moreover, when Charles was first called upon to make his election between the two par¬ ties, the new doctrine had not yet attained to a full and commanding influence, and there still subsisted a prospect of its reconciliation with the old. In his son and successor, Philip the Second, a monastic education combined with a gloomy and despotic disposition to generate an unmiti¬ gated hostility to all innovations in religion ; a feeling which the thought that his most formida¬ ble political opponents were also the enemies of his faith was not calculated to weaken. As his European possessions, scattered as they were over so many countries, were on all sides exposed to the seductions of foreign opinions, the progress of the Reformation in other quarters could not well be a matter of indifference to him. His im¬ mediate interests, therefore, urged him to attach himself devotedly to the old church, in order to close up the sources of the heretical contagion. Thus, circumstances naturally placed this prince at the head of the league which the Roman Cath¬ olics formed against the Reformers. The princi¬ ples which had actuated the long and active reigns of Charles V. and Philip II., remained a law for their successors ; and the more the breach in the church widened, the firmer be¬ came the attachment of the Spaniards to Roman Catholicism. The German line of the House of Austria was apparently more unfettered ; but, in reality, though free from many of these restraints, it was yet con¬ fined by others. The possession of the imperial throne—a dignity it was impossible for a Protest¬ ant to hold, (for with what consistency could an apostate from the Romish church wear the crown of a Roman emperor ?) bound the successors of Ferdinand I. to the See of Rome. Ferdinand himself was, from conscientious motives, heartily attached to it. Besides, the German princes of the House of Austria were not powerful enough to dispense with .the support of Spain, which, however, they would have forfeited by the least show of leaning towards the new doctrines. The imperial dignity, also, required them to preserve the existing political system of Germany, with which the maintenance of their own authority was closely bound up, but which it was the aim of the Protestant League to destroy. If to these grounds i we add the indifference of the Protestants to the Emperor’s necessities and to the common dangers of the empire, their encroachments on the tem¬ poralities of the church, and their aggressive vio¬ lence when they became conscious of their own power, we can easily conceive how so many con¬ curring motives must have determined the em¬ perors to the side of Popery, and how their own interests came to be intimately interwoven with those of the Roman church. As its fate seemed to depend altogether on the part taken by Aus¬ tria, the princes of this house came to be regarded by all Europe as the pillars of Popery. The hatred, therefore, which the Protestants bore against the latter, was turned exclusively upon Austria; and the cause became gradually con¬ founded with its protector. But this irreconcilable enemy of the Reforma¬ tion—the House of Austria—by its ambitious pro¬ jects and the overwhelming force which it could bring to their support, endangered, in no small de¬ gree, the freedom of Europe, and more especially of the German States. This circumstance could not fail to rouse the latter from their security, and to render them vigilant in self-defense. Their ordinary resources were quite insufficient to resist so formidable a power. Extraordinary exertions were required from their subjects ; and when even these proved far from adequate, they had recourse to foreign assistance ; and, by means of a com¬ mon league, they endeavored to oppose a power which, singly, they were unable to withstand. But the strong political inducements which the German princes had to resist the pretensions of the House of Austria, naturally did not extend to their subjects. It is only immediate advantages or immediate evils that set the people in action, and for these a sound policy cannot wait. Ill then would it have fared with these princes, if by good fortune another effectual motive had not of¬ fered itself, which roused the passions of the peo¬ ple, and kindled in them an enthusiasm which might be directed against the political danger, as having with it a common cause of alarm. - This motive was their avowed hatred of the re¬ ligion which Austria protected, and their enthu¬ siastic attachment to a doctrine which that House was endeavoring to extirpate by fire and sword. Their attachment was ardent, their hatred invin¬ cible. Religious fanaticism anticipates even the remotest dangers. Enthusiasm never calculates its sacrifices. What the most pressing danger of the state could not effect with the citizens, was effected by religious zeal. For the state, or for the prince, few would have drawn the sword; but for religion, the merchant, the artist, the peasant, all cheerfully flew to arms. For the state, or for the prince, even the smallest additional impost would have been avoided; but for religion the people readily staked at once life,fortune, and all earthly hopes. It trebled the contributions which flowed into the exchequer of the princes, and the armies which marched to the field; and, in the ardent excitement produced in all minds by the peril to which their faith was exposed, the subject felt not the pressure of those burdens and priva¬ tions under which, in cooler moments, he would have sunk exhausted. The terrors of the Spanish 126 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. Inquisition, and the massacre of St. Bartholo¬ mew’s, procured for the Prince of Orange, the Admiral Coligny, the British Queen Elizabeth, and the Protestant princes of Germany, supplies of men and money from their subjects, to a degree which at present is inconceivable. But, with all their exertions, they would have effected little against a power which was an over¬ match for any single adversary, however powerful. At this period of imperfect policy, accidental cir¬ cumstances alone could determine distant states to afford one another a mutual support. The differ¬ ences of government, of laws, of language, of man¬ ners, and of character, which hithertoo had kept whole nations and countries as it were insulated, and raised a lasting barrier between them, ren¬ dered one state insensible to the distresses of an¬ other, save where national jealously could indulge a malicious joy at the reverses of a rival. This barrier the Reformation destroyed. An interest more intense and more immediate than national aggrandizement or patriotism, and entirely inde¬ pendent of private utility, began to animate whole states and individual citizens; an interest capable of uniting numerous and distant nations, even while it frequently lost its force among the sub¬ jects of the same government. With the inhabi¬ tants of Geneva, for instance, of England, of Germany, or of Holland, the French Calvinist possessed a common point of union which he had not with his own countrymen. Thus, in one im¬ portant particular, he ceased to be the citizen of a single state, and to confine his views and sym¬ pathies to his own country alone. The sphere of his views became enlarged. He began to calculate his own fate from that of other nations of the same religious profession, and to make their cause his own. Now for the first time did princes ven¬ ture to bring the affairs of other countries before their own councils; for the first time could they hope for a willing ear to their own necessities, and prompt assistance from others. Foreign affairs had now become a matter of domestic policy, and that aid was readily granted to the religious con¬ federate which would have been denied to the mere neighbor, and still more to the distant stranger. The inhabitant of the Palatinate leaves his native fields to fight side by side with his reli¬ gious associate of France, against the common enemy of their faith. The Huguenot draws his sword against the country which persecutes him, and sheds his blood in defense of the liberties of Holland. Swiss is arrayed against Swiss ; Ger¬ man against German, to determine, on the banks of the Loire and the Seine, the succession of the French crown. The Dane crosses the Eider, and the Swede the Baltic, to break the chains which are forged for Germany. It is difficult to say what would have been the fate of the Reformation, and the liberties of the Empire, had not the formidable power of Austria declared against them. This, however, appears certain, that nothing so completely damped the Austrian hopes of universal monarchy, as the ob¬ stinate war which they had to wage against the new religious opinions. Under no other circum¬ stances could the weaker princes have roused their subjects to such extraordinary exertions against the ambition of Austria, or the States themselves have united so closely against the common enemy. The power of Austria never stood higher than after the victory which Charles Y. gained over the Germans at Mlihlberg. With the treaty of Smalcalde the freedom of Germany lay, as it seemed, prostrate forever; but it revived under Maurice of Saxony, once its most formidable enemy. All the fruits of the victory of Mlihlberg were lost again in the congress of Passau, and the diet of Augsburg; and every scheme for civil and religious oppression terminated in the con¬ cessions of an equitable peace. The diet of Augsburg divided Germany into two religious and two political parties, by recog¬ nizing the independent rights and existence of both. Hitherto the Protestants had been looked on as rebels; they were henceforth to be regarded as brethren—not indeed through affection, but ne¬ cessity. By the Interim,* the Confession of Augsburg was allowed temporarily to take a sis¬ terly place alongside of the olden religion, though only as a tolerated neighbor. To every secular state was conceded the right of establishing the religion it acknowledged as supreme and exclusive within its own territories, and of forbidding the open profession of its rival. Subjects were to be free to quit a country where their own religion was not tolerated. The doctrines of Luther for the first time received a positive sanction; and if they were trampled under foot in Bavaria and Austria, they predominated in Saxony and Thu¬ ringia. But the sovereigns alone were to deter¬ mine what form of religion should prevail within their territories ; the feelings of subjects who had no representatives in the diet were little attended to in the pacification. In the ecclesiastical ter¬ ritories, indeed, where the unreformed religion en¬ joyed an undisputed supremacy, the free exercise of their religion was obtained for all who had previously embraced the Protestant doctrine ; but this indulgence rested only on the personal guar¬ antee of Ferdinand, King of the Romans, by whose endeavors chiefly this peace was effected; a guarantee, which being rejected by the Roman Catholic members of the diet, and only inserted in the treaty under their protest, could not, of course, have the force of law. If it had been opinions only that thus divided the minds of men, with what indifference would all have regarded the division! But on these opinions depended riches, dignities, and rights; and it was this which so deeply aggravated the evils of divisions. Of two brothers, as it were, who had hitherto enjoyed a paternal inheritance in common, one now remained while the other was compelled to leave his father’s house, and hence arose the necessity of dividing the patri¬ mony. For this separation, which he could not have foreseen, the father had made no provision. By the beneficent donations of pious ancestors the riches of the church had been accumulating * A system of theology so called, prepared by order . of the Emperor Charles V. for the use of Germany, to reconcile the differences between the Roman Catholics and the Lutherans, which, however, was rejected by both parties.— Ed. HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 127 through a thousand years, and these benefactors were as much the progenitors of the departing brother as of him who remained. Was the right of inheritance then to be limited to the paternal house, or to be extended to blood ? The gifts had been made to the church in communion with Home, because at that time no other existed,—to the first-born, as it were, because he was as yet the only son. Was then a right of primogeniture to be admitted in the church, as in noble families? W ere the pretensions of one party to be favored by a prescription from times when the claims of the other could not have come into existence ? Could the Lutherans be justly excluded from these possessions, to which the benevolence of their forefathers had contributed, merely on the ground that, at the date of their foundation, the differences between Lutheranism and Romanism were unknown? Both parties have disputed, and still dispute, with equal plausibility, on these points. Both alike have found it difficult to prove their right. Law can be applied only to conceiv¬ able cases, and perhaps spiritual foundations are not among the number of these, and still less where the conditions of the founders generally ex¬ tended to a system of doctrines ; for how is it con¬ ceivable that a permanent endowment should be made of opinions left open to change ? What law cannot decide, is usually determined by might, and such was the case here. The one party held firmly all that could no longer be wrested from it—the other defended what it still possessed. All the bishoprics and abbeys which had been secularized before the peace, remained with the Protestants; but, by an express clause, the unreformed Catholics provided that none should thereafter be secularized. Every impro¬ priator of an ecclesiastical foundation, who held immediately of the Empire, whether elector, bishop, or abbot, forfeited his benefice and dignity the moment he embraced the Protestant belief; he was obliged in that event instantly to resign its emoluments, and the chapter was to proceed to a new election, exactly as if his place had been vacated by death. By this sacred anchor of the Ecclesiastical Reservation, (Reservatura Ecclesi- asticum,) which makes the temporal existence of a spiritual prince entirely dependent on his fidelity to the olden religion, the Roman Catholic Church in Germany is still held fast; and precarious, indeed, would be its situation were this anchor to give way. The principle of the Ecclesiastical Reservation was strongly opposed by the Protest¬ ants; and though it was at last adopted into the treaty of peace, its insertion was qualified with the declaration, that parties had come to no final determination on the point. Could it then be more binding on the Protestants than Ferdinand’s guarantee in favor of Protestant subjects of eccle¬ siastical states was upon the Roman Catholics ? Thus were two important subjects of dispute left unsettled in the treaty of peace, and by them the war was rekindled. Such was the position of things with regard to religious toleration and ecclesiastical property ; it was the same with regard to rights and dignities. The existing German system provided only for one church, because one only w T as in existence when that system was framed. The church had now divided ; the Diet had broken into two reli¬ gious parties ; was the whole system of the Em¬ pire still exclusively to follow the one ? The emperors had hitherto been members of the Rom¬ ish church, because till now that religion had no rival. But was it his connection with Rome which constituted a German emperor, or was it not rather Germany which was to be represented in its head? The Protestants were now spread over the whole Empire, and how justly could they still be represented by an unbroken line of Roman Catholic emperors? In the Imperial Chamber the German States judge themselves, for they elect the judges ; it was the very end of its insti¬ tution that they should do so, in order that equal justice should be dispensed to all; but would this be still possible, if the representatives of both professions were not equally admissible to a seat in the Chamber? That one religion only existed in Germany at the time of its establishment, was accidental ; that no one estate should have the means of legally oppressing another, was the es¬ sential purpose of the institution. Now this ob¬ ject would be entirely frustrated if one religious party were to have the exclusive power of decid¬ ing fertile other. Must, then, the design be sacri¬ ficed, because that which was merely accidental had changed? With great difficulty the Protestants, at last, obtained for the representatives of their religion a place in the Supreme Council, but still there was far from being a perfect equality of voices. To this day no Protestant prince has been raised to the imperial throne. Whatever may be said of the equality which the peace of Augsburg was to have established be¬ tween the two German churches, the Roman Catholic had unquestionably still the advantage. All that the Lutheran church gained by it was toleration ; all that the Romish church conceded, was a sacrifice to necessity, not an offering to justice. Yery far was it from being a peace be¬ tween two equal powers, but a truce between a sovereign and unconquered rebels. From this principle all the proceedings of the Roman Cath¬ olics against the Protestants seemed to flow, and still continue to do so. To join the reformed faith was still a crime, since it was to be visited with so severe a penalty as that which the Eccle¬ siastical Reservation held suspended over the apostasy of the spiritual princes. Even to the last, the Romish church preferred to risk the loss of every thing by force, than voluntarily to yield the smallest matter to justice. The loss was ac¬ cidental and might be repaired ; but the abandon¬ ment of its pretensions, the concession of a single point to the Protestants, would shake foundations of the church itself. Even in the treaty of peace this principle was not lost sight of. Whatever in this peace was yielded to the Protestants was always under condition. It was expressly de¬ clared, that affairs werd to remain on the stipu¬ lated footing only till the next general council, which was to be called with the view of effecting a union between the two confessions. Then only, when this last attempt should have failed, was the religious treaty to become valid and conclusive. However little hope there might be of such a re- 128 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. conciliation, however little perhaps the Roman¬ ists themselves were in earnest with it, still it was something- to have clogged the peace with these stipulations. Thus this religious treaty, which was to extin¬ guish forever the flames of civil war, was, in fact, but a temporary truce, extorted by force and ne¬ cessity ; not dictated by justice, nor emanating from just notions either of religion or toleration. A religious treaty of this kind the Roman Cath¬ olics were as incapable of granting, to be candid, as in truth the Lutherans were unqualified to re¬ ceive. Far from evincing a tolerant spirit toward the Roman Catholics, when it was in their power, they even oppressed the Calvinists; ^vho indeed just as little deserved toleration, since they were unwilling to practice it. For such a peace the times were not yet ripe—the minds of men not yet sufficiently enlightened. How could one party expect from another what itself was incapable of performing? What each side saved or gained by the treaty of Augsburg, it owed to the imposing attitude of strength which it maintained at the time of its negotiation. What was won by force was to be maintained also by force ; if the peace was to be permanent, the two parties to it must preserve the same relative positions. The bound¬ aries of the two churches had been marked out with the sword ; with the sword they must be pre¬ served, or woe to that party which should be first disarmed ! A sad and fearful prospect for the tranquillity of Germany, when peace itself bore so threatening an aspect. A momentary lull now pervaded the empire ; a transitory bond of concord appeared to unite its scattered limbs into one body, so that for a time a feeling also for the common weal returned. But the division had penetrated its inmost being, and to restore its original harmony was impossible. Carefully as the treaty of peace appeared to have defined the rights of both parties, its interpreta¬ tion was nevertheless the subject of many disputes. In the heat of conflict it had produced a cessation of hostilities ; it covered, not extinguished, the fire, and unsatisfied claims remained on either side. The Romanists imagined they had lost too much, the Protestants that they had gained too little ; and the treaty which neither party could venture to violate, was interpreted by each in its own favor. The seizure of the ecclesiastical benefices, the motive which had so strongly tempted the ma¬ jority of the Protestant princes to embrace the doctrines of Luther, was not less powerful after than before the peace ; of those whose founders did not hold their fiefs immediately of the empire, such as were not already in their possession would, it was evident, soon be so. The whole of Lower Germany was already secularized ; and if it were otherwise in Upper Germany, it was owing to the vehement resistance of the Catholics, who had there the preponderance. Each party, where it was the most powerful, oppressed the adherents of the other ; the ecclesiastical princes in par¬ ticular, as the most defenseless members of the empire, were incessantly tormented by the ambi¬ tion ot their Protestant neighbors. Those who were too weak to repel force by force, took refuge under the wing3 of justice; and the complaints of spoliation were heaped up against the Protest¬ ants in the Imperial Chamber, which was ready enough to pursue the accused with judgments, but found too little support to carry them into effect. The peace which stipulated for complete religious toleration to the dignitaries of the Empire, had provided also for the subject, by enabling him, without interruption, to leave the country in which the exercise of his religion was prohibited. But from the wrongs which the violence of a sovereign might inflict on an obnoxious subject ; from the nameless oppressions by which he might harass and annoy the emigrant; from the artful snares in which subtilty combined with power might en¬ mesh him—from these, the dead letter of the treaty could afford him no protection. The Cath¬ olic subject of Protestant princes complained loudly of violations of the religious peace—the Lutherans still more loudly of the oppression they experienced under their Romanist suzerains. The rancor and animosities of theologians infused a poison into every occurrence, however inconsidera¬ ble, and inflamed the minds of the people. Happy would it have been had this theological hatred ex¬ hausted its zeal upon the common enemy, instead of venting its virus on the adherents of a kindred faith ! Unanimity amongst the Protestants might, by preserving the balance between the contending parties, have prolonged the peace; but as if to complete the confusion, all concord was quickly broken. The doctrines which had been propa¬ gated by Zuingli in Zurich, and by Calvin in Geneva, soon spread to Germany, and divided the Protestants among themselves, with little in uni¬ son save their common hatred to popery. The Protestants of this date bore but slight resem¬ blance to those who, fifty years before, drew up the Confession of Augsburg; and the cause of the change is to be sought in that Confession itself. It had prescribed a positive boundary to the Protestant faith, before the newly awakened spirit of inquiry had satisfied itself as to the limits it ought to set; and the Protestants seemed un¬ wittingly to have thrown away much of the ad¬ vantage acquired by their rejection of popery. Common complaints of the Romish hierarchy, and of ecclesiastical abuses, and a common dis¬ approbation of its dogmas, formed a sufficient centre of union for the Protestants; but not con¬ tent with this, they sought a rallying point in the promulgation of a new and positive creed, in which they sought to embody the distinctions, the privileges, and the essence of the church, and to thi§ they referred the convention entered into with their opponents. It was as professors of this creed that they had acceded to the treaty; and in the benefits of this peace the advocates of the confessional one were entitled to participate. In anv case, therefore, the situation of its adhe- rents was embarrassing. If a blind obedience were yielded to the dicta of the Confession, a lasting bound would be set to the spirit of in¬ quiry ; if, on the other hand, they dissented from the formulae agreed upon, the point of union would be lost. Unfortunately both incidents oc¬ curred, and the evil results of both were quickly HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 129 felt. One party rigorously adhered to the origi¬ nal symbol of faith, and the other abandoned it, only to adopt another with equal exclusiveness. Nothing could have furnished the common enemy a more plausible defense of his cause than this dissension; no spectacle could have been more gratifying to him than the rancor with which the Protestants alternately persecuted each other. Who could condemn the Roman Catholics, if they laughed at the audacity with which the Re¬ formers had presumed to announce the only true belief?—if from Protestants they borrowed the weapons against Protestants?—if, in the midst of this clashing of opinions, they held fast to the authority of their own church, for which, in part, there spoke an honorable antiquity, and a yet more honorable plurality of voices. But this di¬ vision placed the Protestants in still more serious embarrassments. As the covenants of the treaty applied only to the partisans of the Confession, their opponents, with some reason, called upon them to explain who were to be recognized as the adherents of that creed. The Lutherans could not, without offending conscience, include the Calvinists in their communion; except at the risk of converting a useful friend into a dangerous enemy, could they exclude them. This unfortu¬ nate difference opened a way for the machina¬ tions of the Jesuits to sow distrust between both parties, and to destroy the unity of'their measures. Fettered by the double fear of their direct adver¬ saries, and of their opponents among themselves, the Protestants lost for ever the opportunity of placing their church on a perfect equality with the Catholic. All these difficulties would have been avoided, and the defection of the Calvinists would not have prejudiced the common cause, if the point of union had been placed simply in the abandonment of Romanism, instead of in the Con¬ fession of Augsburg. But however divided on other points, they con¬ curred in this—that the security which had re¬ sulted from equality of power could only be main¬ tained by the preservation of that balance. In the mean while, the continual reforms of one party, and the opposing measures of the other, Kept both upon the watch, while the interpreta¬ tion of the religious treaty was a never-ending subject of dispute. Each party maintained that every step taken by its opponent was an infrac¬ tion of the peace, while of every movement of its own it was asserted that it was essential to its maintenance. Yet all the measures of the Catho¬ lics did not, a3 their opponents alleged, proceed from a spirit of encroachment—many of them were the necessary precautions of self-defense. The Protestants had shown unequivocally enough what the Romanists might expect if they were unfortunate enough to become the weaker party. The greediness of the former for the property of the church, gave no reason to expect indul¬ gence;—their bitter hatred left no hope of mag¬ nanimity or forbearance. But the Protestants, likewise, were excusable if they toQ placed little confidence in the sincerity of the Roman Catholics. By the treacherous and inhuman treatment which their brethren in Spain, Frauce, and the Netherlands, had suffered ; by the Vol. 11.—9 disgraceful subterfuge of the Romish princes, who held that the Pope had power to relieve them from the obligation of the most solemn oaths; and above all, by the detestable maxim, that faith was not to be kept with heretics, the Roman Church, in the eyes of all honest men, had lost its honor. No engagement, no oath, however sacred, from a Roman Catholic, could satisfy a Protest¬ ant. What security then could the religious peace afford, when, throughout Germany, the Jesuits represented it as a measure of mere tem¬ porary convenience, and in Rome itself it was solemnly repudiated. The General Council, to which reference had been made in the treaty, had already been held in the city of Trent; but, as might have been foreseen, without accommodating the religious differences, or taking a single step to effect such accommodation, and even without being attended by the Protestants. The latter, indeed, were now solemnly excommunicated by it in the name of the church, whose representative the Council gave itself out to be. Could then, a secular treaty, ex¬ torted moreover by force of arms, afford them adequate protection against the ban of the church ; a treaty, too, based on a condition which the deci¬ sion of the Council seemed entirely to abolish? There was then a show of right for violating the peace, if only the Romanists possessed the power ; and henceforward the Protestants were protected by nothing but the respect for their formidable array. Other circumstances combined to augment this distrust. Spain, on whose support the Romanists in Germany chiefly relied, was engaged in a bloody conflict with the Flemings. By it, the flower of the Spanish troops w r ere drawn to the confines of Germany. With what ease might they be intro¬ duced within the empire, if a decisive stroke should render their presence necessary? Germany w r as at that time a magazine of war for nearly all the powers of Europe. The religious war had crowded it with soldiers, w'hom the peace left destitute ; its many independent princes found it easy to assem¬ ble armies, and afterward, for the sake of gain, or the interests of party, hire them out to other powers. With German troops, Philip the Second waged war against the Netherlands, and with German troops they defended themselves. Every such levy in Germany w r as a subject of alarm to the one party or the other, since it might be in¬ tended for their oppression. The arrival of an ambassador, an extraordinary legate of the Pope, a conference of princes, every unusual incident, must, it was thought, be pregnant with destruc¬ tion to some party. Thus, for nearly half a cen¬ tury, stood Germany, her hand upon the sword ; every rustle of a leaf alarmed her. Ferdinand the First, King of Hungary, and his excellent son, Maximilian the Second, held at this memorable epoch the reins of government. With a heart full of sincerity, with a truly heroic pa¬ tience, had Ferdinand brought about the religious peace of Augsburg, and afterward, in the Coun¬ cil of Trent, labored assiduously, though vainly, at the ungrateful task of reconciling the two reli¬ gions. Abandoned by his nephew, Philip of Spain, and hard pressed both in Hungary and 130 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. Transylvania by the victorious armies of the Turks, it was not likely that this emperor would entertain the idea of violating the religious peace, and thereby destroying his own painful work. The heavy expenses of the perpetually recurring war with Turkey could not be defrayed by the meagre contributions of his exhausted hereditary domin¬ ions. He stood, therefore, in need of the assist¬ ance of the whole empire ; and the religious peace alone preserved in one body the otherwise divided empire. Financial necessities made the Protest¬ ant as needful to him as the Romanist, and im¬ posed upon him the obligation of treating both parties with equal justice, which amidst so many contradictory claims, was truly a cplossal task. Very far, however, was the result from answering his expectations. His indulgence of the Pro¬ testants served only to bring upon his successors a war, which death saved himself the mortification of witnessing. Scarcely more fortunate was his son Maximilian, with whom perhaps the pressure of circumstances was the only obstacle, and a longer life perhaps the only want, to his establish¬ ing the new religion upon the imperial throne. Necessity had taught the father forbearance to¬ ward the Protestants—necessity and justice dic¬ tated the same course to the son. The grandson had reason to repent that he neither listened to justice, nor yielded to necessity. Maximilian left six sons, of whom the eldest, the Archduke Rodolph, inherited his dominions, and ascended the imperial throne. The other brothers were put off with petty appendages. A few mesne fiefs were held by a collateral branch, which had their uncle, Charles of Styria, at its head ; and even these were afterward, under his son, Ferdinand the Second, incorporated with the rest of the family dominions. With this excep¬ tion, the whole of the imposing power of Austria was now wielded by a single, but unfortunately weak hand. Rodolph the Second was not devoid of those virtues which might have gained him the esteem of mankind, had the lot of a private station fal¬ len to him. His character was mild, he loved peace and the sciences, particularly astronomy, natural history, chemistry, and the study of an¬ tiquities. To those he applied with a passionate zeal, which, at the very time when the critical posture of affairs demanded all his attention, and his exhausted finances the most rigid economy, diverted his attention from state affairs, and in¬ volved him in pernicious expense. His taste for astronomy soon lost itself in those astrological reveries to which timid and melancholy tempera¬ ments like his are but too disposed. This, to¬ gether with a youth passed in Spain, opened his ears to the evil counsels of the Jesuits, and the influence of the Spanish court, by which at last he was wholly governed. Ruled by tastes so lit¬ tle in accordance with the dignity of his station, and alarmed by ridiculous prophecies, he with¬ drew, after the Spanish custom, from the eyes of his subjects, to bury himself amidst his gems and antiques, in his Tab oratory, while the most fatal discords loosened all the bands of the empire, and the flames of rebellion began to burst out round the very footsteps of his throne. All access to his person was denied, the most urgent matters were neglected. The prospect of the rich inheri¬ tance of Spain was closed against him, while he was trying to make up his mind to offer his hand to the Infanta Isabella. A fearful anarchy threat¬ ened the Empire, because, though without an heir of his own body himself, he could not be per¬ suaded to allow the election of a King of the Ro¬ mans. The Austrian States renounced their allegiance, Hungary and Transylvania threw off his supremacy, and Bohemia was not slow in fol¬ lowing their example. The descendant of the once so formidable Charles the Fifth was in per¬ petual danger, either of losing one part of his pos¬ sessions to the Turks, or another to the Protest¬ ants, and of sinking, beyond redemption, under the formidable coalition which a great monarch of Europe had formed against him. The events which now took place in the interior of Germany were such as usually happened when either the throne was without an emperor, or the emperor without a sense of his imperial dignity. Out¬ raged or abandoned by their head, the states of the empire were left to help themselves ; and al¬ liances among themselves must supply the defec¬ tive authority of the emperor. Germany was divided into two leagues, which stood in arms ar¬ rayed against each other ; between both, Rodolph, the despised opponent of the one, and the impo¬ tent protector of the other, remained irresolute and useless, equally unable to destroy the former or to command the latter. What had the em¬ pire to look for from a prince incapable even of defending his hereditary dominions against its do¬ mestic enemies ? To prevent the utter ruin of the House of Austria, his own family combined against him ; and a powerful party threw itself into the arms of his brother. Driven from his hereditary dominions, nothing was now left him to lose but the imperial dignity ; and he was only spared this last disgrace by a timely death. At this critical moment, when only a supple policy united with a vigorous arm, could have maintained the tranquillity of the empire, its evil genius gave it a Rodolph for emperor. At a more peaceful period the Germanic Union would have managed its own interests, and Rodolph, like so many others of his rank, might have hidden his deficiencies in a mysterious obscurity. But the urgent demand for the qualities in which he was deficient revealed his incapacity. The position of Germany called for an emperor who, by his known energies, could give weight to his resolves; and the hereditary dominions of Rodolph, con¬ siderable as they were, were at present in a situa¬ tion to occasion the greatest embarrassment to the governors. The Austrian princes, it is true, were Roman Catholics, and in addition to that, the supporters of Popery, but their countries were far from being so. The reformed opinions had penetrated even these, and favored by Ferdinand’s necessities and Maximilian’s mildness, had met with a rapid suc¬ cess. The Austrian provinces exhibited in minia¬ ture what Germany did on a larger scale. The great nobles and the Ritter class or knights were chiefly evangelical, and in the cities the Protest¬ ants had a decided preponderance. If they sue- HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 131 ceeded in bringing a few of their party into the country, they contrived imperceptibly to fill all places of trust and the magistracy with their own adherents, and to exclude the Catholics. Against the numerous order of the nobles and knights, and the deputies from the towms, the voice of a few prelates was powerless ; and the unseemly ridi¬ cule and offensive contempt of the former soon drove them entirely from the provincial diets. Thus the whole of the Austrian Diet had imper¬ ceptibly become Protestant, and the Reformation was making rapid strides toward its public recog¬ nition. The prince was dependent on the states, who had it in their power to grant or refuse sup¬ plies. Accordingly they availed themselves of the financial necessities of Ferdinand and his son to extort one religious concession after another. To these nobles and knights, Maximilian at last conceded the free exercise of their religion, but only within their own territories and castles. The intemperate enthusiasm of the Protestant preachers overstepped the boundaries which pru¬ dence had prescribed. In defiance of the express prohibition, several of them ventured to preach publicly, not only in the towns, but in Vienna itself, and the people flocked in crowds to this new doctrine, the best seasoning of which was per¬ sonality and abuse. Thus continued food was supplied to fanaticism, and the hatred of two churches, that were such near neighbors, was fur¬ ther envenomed by the sting of an impure zeal. Among the hereditary dominions of the House of Austria, Hungary and Transylvania were the most unstable, and the most difficult to retain. The impossibility of holding these two countries against the neighboring and overwhelming power of the Turks, had already driven Ferdinand to the inglorious expedient of recognizing, by an annual tribute, the Porte’s supremacy over Transylvania; a shameful confession of weakness, and a still more dangerous temptation to the turbulent no¬ bility, when they fancied they had any reason to complain of their master. Not without condi¬ tions had the Hungarians submitted to the House of Austria. They asserted the elective freedom of their crown, and boldly contended for all those prerogatives of their order which are inseparable from this freedom of election. The near neigh¬ borhood of Turkey, the facility of changing mas¬ ters with impunity, encouraged the magnates still more in their presumption ; discontented with the Austrian government they threw themselves into the arms of the Turks; dissatisfied with these, they returned again to their German sovereigns. The frequency and rapidity of these transitions from one government to another, had communi¬ cated its influences also to their mode of think¬ ing, and as their country wavered between the Turkish and Austrian rule, so their minds vacil¬ lated between revolt and submission. The more unfortunate each nation felt itself in being de¬ graded into a province of a foreign kingdom, the stronger desire did they feel to obey a monarch chosen from amongst themselves, and thus it was always easy for an enterprising noble to obtain their support. The nearest Turkish pasha was always ready to bestow the Hungarian sceptre and crown on a reoei against Austria; just as ready was Austria to confirm to any adventurer the possession of provinces which he had wrested from the Porte, satisfied with preserving thereby the shadow of authority, and with erecting at the same time a barrier against the Turks. In this way several of these magnates, Bathori, Boschkai, Ragoczi, and Bethlem succeeded in establishing themselves, one after another, as tributary sove¬ reigns in Transylvania and Hungry ; and they maintained their ground by no deeper policy than that of occasionally joining the enemy, in order to render themselves more formidable to the ir own prince. Ferdinand, Maximilian, and Rodolph, who were all sovereigns of Hungary and Transylvania, exhausted their other territories in endeavoring to defend these from the hostile inroads of the Turks, and to put down intestine rebellion. In this quarter destructive wars were succeeded but by brief truces, which were scarcely less hurtful : far and wide the land lay waste, while the injured serf had to complain equally of his enemy and his protector. Into these countries also the Refor¬ mation had penetrated; and protected by the freedom of the states, and under the cover of the internal disorders, had made a noticeable pro¬ gress. Here too it was incautiously attacked, and party-spirit thus became yet more dangerous from religious enthusiasm. Headed by a bold rebel, Boschkai, the nobles of Hungary and Tran¬ sylvania raised the standard of rebellion. The Hungarian insurgents were upon the point of making common cause with the discontented Pro¬ testants in Austria, Moravia, and Bohemia, and uniting all those countries in one fearful revolt. The downfall of Popery in these lands would then have been inevitable. Long had the Austrian archdukes, the brothers of the Emperor, beheld with silent indignation the impending ruin of their house ; this last event has¬ tened their decision. The Archduke Matthias, Maximilian’s second son, Viceroy in Hungary, and Rodolph’s presumptive heir, now came forward as the stay of the falling house of Hapsburg. In his youth, misled by a false ambition, this prince, disregarding the interests of his family, had lis¬ tened to the overtures of the Flemish insurgents, who invited him into the Netherlands to conduct the defense of their liberties against the oppres¬ sion of his own relative, Philip the Second. Mis¬ taking the voice of an insulated faction for that of the entire nation, Matthias obeyed the call. But the event answered the expectations of the men of Brabant as little as his own, and from this imprudent enterprise he retired with little credit. Far more honorable was his second appearance in the political world. Perceiving that his re¬ peated remonstrances with the Emperor were un¬ availing, he assembled the archdukes, his broth¬ ers and cousins, at Presburg, aud consulted with them on the growing perils of their house, when they unanimously assigned to him, as the oldest, the duty of defending that patrimony which a feeble brother was endangering. In his hands they placed all their powers and rights, and vested him with sovereign authority, to act at his discretion for the common good. Matthias immediately I opened a communication with the Porte and the 132 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. Hungarian rebels, and through his skillful man¬ agement succeeded in saving, by a peace with the Turks, the remainder of Hungary, and by a treaty with the rebels, preserved the claims of Austria to the lost provinces. But Rodolph, as jealous as he had hitherto been careless of his sovereign authority, refused to ratify this treaty, which he regarded as a criminal encroachment on his sove¬ reign rights. He accused the Archduke of keep¬ ing up a secret understanding with the enemy, and of cherishing treasonable designs on the crown of Hungary. The activity of Matthias was, in truth, any thing but disinterested ; the conduct .of the Em¬ peror only accelerated the execution of his ambi¬ tious views. Secure, from motives of gratitude, of the devotion of the Hungarians, for w'hom he had so lately obtained the blessings of peace ; as¬ sured by his agents of the favorable disposition of the nobles, and certain of the support of a large party, even in Austria, he now ventured to as¬ sume a bolder attitude, and, sword in hand, to discuss his grievances with the Emperor. The Protestants in Austria and Moravia, long ripe for revolt, and now won over to the Archduke by his promises of toleration, loudly and openly espoused his cause, and their long-menaced alliance w T ith the Hungarian rebels was actually effected. Al¬ most at once a formidable conspiracy was planned and matured against the Emperor. Too late did he resolve to amend his past errors; in vain did he attempt to break up this fatal alliance. Al¬ ready the whole empire was in arms ; Hungary, Austria and Moravia had done homage to Matthias, who was already on his march to Bohemia to seize the Emperor in his palace, and to cut at once the sinews of his power. Bohemia was not a more peaceable possession for Austria than Hungary; with this difference only, that, in the latter, political consideration, in the former, religious dissensions, fomented dis¬ orders. In Bohemia, a century before the days of Luther, the first spark of the religious war had been kindled : a century after Luther, the first flames of the Thirty Years’ War burst out in Bo¬ hemia. The sect which owed its rise to John Huss, still existed in that country; it agreed with the Bomish Church in ceremonies and doctrines, with the simple exception of the administration of the Communion, in which the Hussites commu¬ nicated in both kinds. This privilege had been conceded to the followers of Huss by the Council of Basle, in an express treaty, (the Bohemian Compact;) and though it w r as afterward dis¬ avowed by the popes, they nevertheless continued to profit by it under the sanction of the govern¬ ment. As the use of the cup formed the only im¬ portant distinction of their body, they were des¬ ignated by the name of Utraquists; and they readily adopted an appellation which reminded them of their dearly valued privilege. But under this title lurked also the far stricter sects of the Bohemian and Moravian Brethren, who differed from the predominant church in more important particulars, and bore, in fact, a greater resem¬ blance to the German Protestants. Among them both, the German and the Swiss opinions on re¬ ligion made rapid progress; while the name of Utraquists, under which they managed to disguise the change of their principles, shielded them from persecution. In truth, they had nothing in common with the Utraquists but the name; essentially, they were altogether Protestant. Confident in the strength of their party, and the Emperor’s toleration under Maximilian, they had openly avowed their tenets. After the example of the Germans, they drew up a Confession of their own, in which Lutheians as well as Calvinists recognized their own doctrines, and they sought to transfer to the new Confession the privileges of the original Utraquists. In this they were opposed by their Roman Catholic countrymen, and forced to rest content with the emperor’s verbal assurance of protection. As long as Maximilian lived, they enjoyed com¬ plete toleration, even under the new form they had taken. Under his successor the scene changed. An imperial edict appeared, which deprived the Bohemian Brethren of their religious freedom. Now these differed in nothing from the other Utraquists. The sentence, therefore, of their con¬ demnation, obviously included all the partisans of the Bohemian Confession. Accordingly, they all combined to oppose the imperial mandate in the Diet, but without being able to procure its revocation. The Emperor and the Roman Catho¬ lic Estates took their ground on the Compacts and the Bohemian Constitution ; in which nothing appeared in favor of a religion which had not then obtained the voice of the country. Since that time, how completely had affairs changed! What then formed but an inconsiderable opinion, had now become the predominant religion of the country. And what was it then, but a subterfuge to limit a newly spreading religion by the terms of obsolete treaties ? The Bohemian Protestants appealed to the verbal guarantee of Maximilian, and the religious freedom of the Germans, with whom they argued they ought to be on a footing of equality. It was in vain—their appeal was dis¬ missed. Such was the posture of affairs in Bohemia, when Matthias, already master of Hungary, Aus¬ tria, and Moravia, appeared in Collin, to raise the Bohemian Estates also against the Emperor. The embarrassment of the latter was now at its height. Abandoned by all his other subjects, he placed his last hopes on the Bohemians, who, it might be foreseen, would take advantage of his necessities to enforce their own demands. After an interval of many years, he once more appeared publicly in the Diet at Prague ; and to convince the people that he was really still in existence, orders were given that all the windows should be opened in the streets through which he was to pass—proof enough how far things had gone with him. This event justified his fears. The Estates, conscious of their own power, refused to take a single step until their privileges were confirmed, and religious toleration fully assured to them. It was in vain to have recourse now to the old sys¬ tem of evasion. The Emperor’s fate was in their hands, and he must yield to necessity. At pres¬ ent, however, he only granted their other demands —religious matters he reserved for consideration at the next diet. 2—G. p. 168 2—E. p. 132, HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 133 The Bohemians now took up arms in defense of the Emperor, and a bloody war between the two brothers was on the point of breaking out. But Rodoiph, who feared nothing so much as re¬ maining in this slavish dependence on the Estates, waited not for a warlike issue, but hastened to effect a reconciliation with his brother by more peaceable means. By a formal act of abdication he resigned to Matthias, what indeed he had no chance of wresting from him, Austria and the kingdom of Hungary, and acknowledged him as his successor to the crown of Bohemia. Dearly enough had the Emperor extricated himself from one difficulty, only to get imme¬ diately involved in another. The settlement of the religious affairs of Bohemia had been referred to the next Diet, which was held in 1609. The reformed Bohemians demanded the free exercise of their faith, as under the former emperors ; a Consistory of their own; the cession of the Uni¬ versity of Prague ; and the right of electing De¬ fenders, or Protectors of Liberty, from their own body. The answer was the same as before; for the timid Emperor was now .entirely fettered by the unreformed party. However often, and in however threatening language the Estates renewed their remonstrances, the Emperor persisted in his first declaration of granting nothing beyond the old compacts. The Diet broke up without coming to a decision; and the Estates, exasperated against the Emperor, arranged a general meeting at Prague, upon their own authority, to right themselves. They appeared at Prague in great force. In defiance of the imperial prohibition, they carried on their deliberations almost under the very eyes of the Emperor. The yielding compliance which he began to show, only proved how much they were feared, and increased their audacity. Yet on the main point he remained inflexible. They fulfilled their threats, and at last resolved to es¬ tablish, by their own power, the free and universal exercise of their religion, and to abandon the Emperor to his necessities until he should confirm this resolution. They even went further, and elected for themselves the Defenders which the Emperor had refused them. Ten were nominated by each of the three Estates ; they also deter¬ mined to raise, as soon as possible, an armed force, at the head of which Count Thurn, the chief or¬ ganizer of the revolt, should be placed as general defender of the liberties of Bohemia. Their de¬ termination brought the Emperor to submission-, to which he was now counseled even by the Spaniards. Apprehensive lest the exasperated Estates should throw themselves into the arms of the King of Hungary, he signed the memorable Letter of Majesty for Bohemia, hy which, under the successors of the Emperor, that people justi¬ fied their rebellion. The Bohemian Confession, which the States had laid before the Emperor Maximilian, w r as, by the Letter of Majesty, placed on a footing of equality with the olden profession. The Utraquists, for by this title the Bohemian Protestants continued to designate themselves, were put in possession of the University of Prague, and allowed a Con¬ sistory of their own, entirely independent of the arclrepiscopal see of that city. All the churches in the cities, villages, and market towns, which they held at the date of the letter, were secured to them ; and if, in addition, they wished to erect others, it was permitted to the nobles, and knights and the free cities to do so. This last clause in the Letter of Majesty gave rise to the unfortunate disputes which subsequently rekindled the flames of war in Europe. The Letter of Majesty erected the Protestant part of Bohemia into a kind of republic. The States had learned to feel the power which they gained by perseverance, unity, and harmony in their measures. The Emperor now retained little more than the shadow of his sovereign authority; while by the new dignity of the so-called defenders of liberty, a dangerous stimulus was given to the spirit of revolt. The example and success of Bo¬ hemia afforded a tempting seduction to the other hereditary dominions of Austria, and all attempted by similar means to extort similar privileges. The spirit of liberty spread from one province to an¬ other; and as it was chiefly the disunion among the Austrian princes that had enabled the Pro¬ testants so materially to improve their advantages, they now hastened to effect a reconciliation be¬ tween the Emperor and the King of Hungary. But the reconciliation could not be sincere. The wrong was too great to be forgiven, and Rodoiph continued to nourish at heart an unextinguishable hatred of Matthias. With grief and indignation he brooded over the thought, that the Bohemian sceptre was finally to descend into the hands of his enemy; and the prospect was not more con¬ soling, even if Matthias should die without issue. In that case, Ferdinand. Archduke of Gratz, whom he equally disliked, was the head of the family. To exclude the latter as well as Matthias from the succession to the throne of Bohemia, he fell upon the project of diverting that inheritance to Ferdinand’s brother, the Archduke Leopold, Bishop of Passau, who among all his relatives had ever been the dearest and most deserving. The prejudices of the Bohemians in favor of the elec¬ tive freedom of their crown, and their attachment to Leopold’s person, seemed to favor this scheme, in which Rodoiph consulted rather his own par¬ tiality and vindictiveness than the good of his house. But to carry out this project, a military force was requisite, and Rodoiph actually assem¬ bled an army in the bishopric of Passau. The object of this force was hidden from all. An in road, however, which, for want of pay it made suddenly and without the Emperor’s knowledge into Bohemia, and the outrages which it there committed, stirred up the whole kingdom against him. In vain he asserted his innocence to the Bohemian Estates; they would not believe his protestations: vainly did he attempt to restrain the violence of his soldiery ; they disregarded his orders. Persuaded that the Emperor’s object was to annul the Letter of Majesty, the Protectors of Liberty armed the whole of Protestant Bohemia, • and invited Matthias into the country. After the dispersion of the force he had collected at Passau, the Emperor remained helpless at Prague, where he was kept shut up like a prisoner in his palace, and separated from all his councilors. In the mean time, Matthias entered Prague amidst 134 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. universal rejoicings, where Rodolph was soon aferward weak enough to acknowledge him King of Bohemia. So hard, a fate befel this Emperor; he was compelled, during his life, to abdicate in favor of his enemy that very throne, of which he had been endeavoring to deprive him after his own death. To complete his degradation, he was obliged, by a personal act of renunciation, to re¬ lease his subjects in Bohemia, Silesia, and Lusa- tia, from their allegiance, and he did it with a broken heart. All, even those he thought he had most attached to his person, had abandoned him. When he had signed the instrument, he threw his hat upon the ground, and gnawed }he pen which had rendered him so shameful a service. While Rodolph thus lost one hereditary do¬ minion after another, the imperial dignity was not much better maintained by him. Each of the religious parties into which Germany was divided, continued its efforts to advance itself at the ex¬ pense of the other, or to guard against its attacks. The weaker the hand that held the sceptre, and the more the Protestants and Roman Catholics felt they were left to themselves, the more vigi¬ lant necessarily became their watchfulness, and the greater their distrust of each other. It was enough that the Emperor was ruled by Jesuits, and was guided by Spanish counsels, to excite the apprehension of the Protestants, and to af¬ ford a pretext for hostility. The inconsiderate zeal of the Jesuits, which in the pulpit and by the press, disputed the validity of the religious peace, increased this distrust, and caused them to see a dangerous design in the most indifferent measures of the Roman Catholics. Every step taken in the hereditary dominions of the Emperor, for the repression of the reformed religion, was sure to draw the attention of all the Protestants of Germany ; and this powerful support which the reformed subjects of Austria met, or expected to meet with from their religious confederates in the rest of Germany, was no small cause of their con¬ fidence, and of the rapid success of Matthias. It was the general belief of the empire, that they owed the long enjoyment of the religious peace merely to the difficulties in which the Emperor was placed by the internal troubles in his do¬ minions, and consecjuently they were in no haste to relieve him from them. Almost all the affairs of the diet were neglected, either through the procrastination of the Emperor, or through the fault of the Protestants Estates, who had determined to make no provision for the common wants of the empire till their own griev¬ ances were removed. These grievances related principally to the misgovernment of the emperor; the violation of the religious treaty, and the usur¬ pation presumption of the Imperial Aulic Coun¬ cil, which in the present reign had begun to ex¬ tend its jurisdiction at the expense of the Impe¬ rial Chamber. Formerly, in all disputes between the Estates, which could not be settled by the club law, the Emperors had decided in the last resort of themselves, if the case were trifling, and in conjunction with the princes, if it were impor¬ tant ; or they determined them by imperial judges who followed the court. This superior jurisdic¬ tion they had, in the end of the fifteenth century, assigned to a regular and permanent tribunal, the Imperial Chamber of Spires, in which the Es¬ tates of the Empire, that they might not be op¬ pressed by the arbitrary appointment of the Em¬ peror, had reserved to themselves the right of electing the assessors, and of periodically review¬ ing its decrees. By the religious peace, these rights of the Estates, (called the rights of presen¬ tation and visitation,) were extended also to the Lutherans, so that Protestant judges had a voice in Protestant causes, and a seeming equality ob¬ tained for both religions in this supreme tribunal. But the enemies of the Reformation and of the freedom of the Estates, vigilant to take advan¬ tage of every incident that favored their views, soon found means to neutralize the beneficial ef¬ fects of this institution. A supreme jurisdiction over the Imperial States was gradually and skill¬ fully usurped by a private imperial tribunal, the Aulic Council in Vienna, a court at first intended merely to advise the Emperor in the exercise of his undoubted, imperial, and personal preroga¬ tives ; a court, whose members being appointed and paid by him, had no law but the interest of their master, and no standard of equity but the advancement of the unreformed religion of which they were partisans. Before the Aulic Council were now brought several suits originat¬ ing between Estates differing in religion, and which, therefore, properly belonged to the Impe¬ rial Chamber. It was not surprising if the de¬ crees of this tribunal bore traces of their origin; if the interests of the Roman Church and of the Emperor were preferred to justice by Roman Catholic judges, and the creatures of the Emperor. Although all the Estates of Germany seemed to have equal cause for resisting so perilous an abuse, the Protestants alone, who most sensibly felt it, and even these not all at once and in a body, came forward as the defenders of German liberty, which the establishment of so arbitrary a tribunal had outraged in its most sacred point, the adminis¬ tration of justice. In fact, Germany would have had little cause to congratulate itself upon the abolition of club-law, and in the institution of the Imperial Chamber, if an arbitrary tribunal of the Emperor was allowed to interfere with the latter. The Estates of the German Empire would indeed have benefitted little upon the days of barbarism, if the Chamber of Justice in which they sat along with the Emperor as judges, and for which they •had abandoned their original princely preroga¬ tive, should cease to be a court of the last resort. But the strangest contradictions were at this date to be found in the minds of men. The name of Emperor, a remnant of Roman despotism, waa still associated with an idea of autocracy, which, though it formed a ridiculous inconsistency with the privileges of the Estates, was nevertheless ar¬ gued for by jurists, diffused by the partisans of despotism, and believed by the ignorant. To these general grievances was gradually ad¬ ded a chain of singular incidents, which at length converted the anxiety of the Protestants into utter distrust. During the Spanish persecutions in the Netherlands, several Protestant families had taken refuge in Aix-la-Chapel!e, an imperial city, and attached to the Roman Catholic faith, 135 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. where they settled and insensibly extended their adherents. Having succeeded by stratagem in introducing some of their members into the mu¬ nicipal council, they demanded a church and the public exercise of their worship, and the demand being unfavorably received, they succeeded by violence iu enforcing it, and also in usurping the entire government of the city. To see so impor¬ tant a city in Protestant hands was too heavy a blow for the Emperor and the Homan Catholics, After all the Emperor’s requests and commands for the restoration of the olden government had proved ineffectual, the Aulic Council proclaimed the city under the ban of the Empire, which, however, was not put in force till the following reign. Of yet greater importance were two other at¬ tempts of the Protestants to extend their in¬ fluence and their power. The Elector Gebhard, of Cologne, (born Truchsess* of Waldburg,) con¬ ceived for the young Countess Agnes, of Mans¬ field, Canouess of Gerresheim, a passion which was not unreturned. As the eyes of all Germany were directed to this intercourse, the brothers of the Countess, two zealous Calvinists, demanded satisfaction for the injured honor of their house, which, as long as the elector remained a Roman Catholic prelate, could not be repaired by mar¬ riage. They threatened the elector they would wash out this stain in his blood and their sister’s, unless he either abandoned all further connection with the countess, or consented to establish her reputation at the altar. The elector, indifferent to all the consequences of this step, listened to nothing but the voice of love. Whether it was in consequence of his previous inclination to the reformed doctrines, or that the charms of his mistress alone effected this wonder, he renounced the Roman Catholic faith, and led the beautiful Agnes to the altar. This event was of the greatest importance. By the letter of the clause reserving the ecclesiasti¬ cal states from the general operation of the reli¬ gious peace, the elector had, by his apostasy, for¬ feited all right to the temporalities of his bishop¬ ric ; and if, in any case, it was important for the Catholics to enforce the clause, it was so espe¬ cially iu the case of electorates. On the other hand, the relinquishment of so high a dignity was a severe sacrifice, and peculiarly so in the case of a tender husband, who had wished to enhance the value of his heart and hand by the gift of a prin¬ cipality. Moreover, the Reservatum Ecclesiasti- cura was a disputed article of the treaty of Augs¬ burg ; and all the German Protestants were aware of the extreme importance of wresting this fourthf electorate from the opponents of their faith. The example had already been set in several of the ecclesiastical benefices of Lower Germany, and attended with success. Several canons of Cologne had also already embraced the Protestant confession, and were on the elector’s side, while, in the city itself, he could depend upon the support of a numerous Protestant party. All * Grand-master of the kitchen. f Saxony, Brandenburg, and the Palatinate were al- feady Protestant. these considerations, greatly strengthened by the persuasions of his friends and relations, and the promises of several German courts, determined the elector to retain his dominions, while he changed his religion. But it was soon apparent that he had entered upon a contest which he could not carry through. Even the free toleration of the Protestant service within the territories of Cologne, had already oc¬ casioned a violent opposition on the part of the canons and Roman Catholic Estates of that pro¬ vince. The intervention of the Emperor, and a papal ban from Rome, which anathematized the elector as an apostate, and deprived him of all his dignities, temporal and spiritual, armed his own subjects and chapter against him. The elector assembled a military force ; the chapter did the same. To insure also the aid of a strong arm, they proceeded forthwith to a new election, and chose the Bishop of Liege, a prince of Ba¬ varia. A civil war now commenced, which, from the strong interest which both religious parties in Germany necessarily felt in the conjuncture, was likely to terminate in a general breaking up of the religious peace. What most made the Protes¬ tants indignant, was that the Pope should have presumed, by a pretended apostolic power, to de¬ prive a prince of the empire of his imperial digni¬ ties. Even in the golden days of their spiritual domination, this prerogative of the Pope had been disputed ; how much more likely was it to be ques¬ tioned at a period when his authority was entirely disowned by one party, while even with the other it rested on a tottering foundation. All the Pro¬ testant princes took up the affair warmly against the Emperor; and Henry IY. of France, then King of Navarre, left no means of negotiation untried to urge the German princes to the vigor¬ ous assertion of their rights. The issue would decide for ever the liberties of Germany. Four Protestant against three Roman Catholic voices in the Electoral College must at once have given the preponderance to the former, and forever ex¬ cluded the House of Austria from the imperial throne. But the Elector Gebhard had embraced the Calvinist, not the Lutheran religion ; and this circumstance alone was his ruin. The mutual rancor of these two churches would not permit the Lutheran Estates to regard the Elector as one of their party, and as such to lend him their effec¬ tual support. All indeed had encouraged, and promised him assistance; but only one appanaged prince of the Palatine House, the Palsgrave John Cassimir, a zealous Calvinist, kept his word. Des¬ pite of the imperial prohibition, he hastened with his little army into the territories of Cologne; but without being able to effect any thing, because the elector, who was destitute even of the first neces¬ saries, left him totally without help. So much the more rapid was the progress of the newly- chosen elector, whom his Bavarian relations and the Spaniards from the Netherlands supported with the utmost vigor. The troops of Gebhard, left by their master without pay, abandoned one place after another to the enemy ; by whom others were compelled to surrender. In his Westphalian 136 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS WAR. territories, Gebhard held out for some time longer, till here, too, he was at last obliged to yield to superior force. After several vain attempts in Holland and England to obtain means for his restoration, he retired into the Chapter of Stras- burg, and died dean of that cathedral; the first sacrifice to the Ecclesiastical Reservation, or rather to the want of harmony among the German Protestants. To this dispute in Cologne was soon added an¬ other in Strasburg. Several Protestant canons of Cologne, who had been included in the same papal ban with the elector, had taken refuge within this bishopric, where they likewise held prebends. As the Roman Catholic' canons of Strasburg hesitated to allow them, as being under the ban, the enjoyment of their prebends, they took violent possession of their benefices, and the support of a powerful Protestant party among the citizens soon gave them the preponderance in the chapter. The other canons thereupon retired to Alsace-Saverne, where, under the protection of the bishop, they established themselves as the only lawful chapter, and denounced that which remained in Strasburg as illegal. The latter, in the mean time, had so strengthened themselves by the reception of several Protestant colleagues of high rank, that they could venture, upon the death of the bishop, to nominate a new Protestant bishop in the person of John George of Branden¬ burg.. The Roman Catholic canons, far from allowing this election, nominated the Bishop of Metz, a prince of Lorraine, to that dignity, who announced his promotion by immediately com¬ mencing hostilities against the territories of Strasburg. That city now took up arms in defense of its Protestant chapter and the Priuce of Branden¬ burg, while the other party, with the assistance of the troops of Lorraine, endeavored to possess themselves of the temporalities of the chapter. A tedious war was the consequence, which, ac¬ cording to the spirit of the times, was attended with barbarous devastations. In vain did the Emperor interpose with his supreme authority to terminate the dispute ; the ecclesiastical property remained for a long time divided between the two parties, till at last the Protestant prince, for a moderate pecuniary equivalent, renounced his claims ; and thus, in this dispute also, the Roman Church came off victorious. An occurrence which, soon after the adjustment of this dispute, took place in Donauwerth, a free city of Suabia, 'was still more critical for the whole of Protestant Germany. In this once Roman Catholic city, the Protestants, during the reigns of Ferdinand and his son, had, in the usual way. become so completely predominant, that the Roman Catholics were obliged to content them¬ selves with a church in the Monastery of the Holy Cross, and for fear of offending the Protest¬ ants, were even forced to suppress the greater part of their religious rites. At length a fanatical abbot of this monastery ventured to defy the popular prejudices, and to arrange a public pro¬ fession, preceded by the cross and banners flying; but he was soon compelled to desist from the at¬ tempt. When, a year afterward, encouraged by a favorable imperial proclamation, the same abbot attempted to renew this procession, the citizens proceeded to open violence. The inhabitants shut the gates against the monks on their return, trampled their colors under foot, and followed them home with clamor and abuse. An imperial citation was the consequence of this act of vio¬ lence; and as the exasperated populace even threatened to assault the imperial commissaries, and all attempts at an amicable adjustment were frustrated by the fanaticism of the multitude, the city was at last formally placed under the ban of the Empire, the execution of which was intrusted to Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria. The citizens, formerly so insolent, were seized with terror at the approach of the Bavarian army; pusillan : mity now possessed them, though once so full of defi¬ ance, and they laid down their arms without strik¬ ing a blow. The total abolition of the Protestant religion within the walls of the city was the pun¬ ishment of their rebellion ; it was deprived of its privileges, and, from a free city of Suabia, con¬ verted into a municipal town of Bavaria. Two circumstances connected with this proceed¬ ing must have strongly excited the attention of the Protestants, even if the interests of religion had been less powerful on their minds. First of all, the sentence had been pronounced by the Aulic Council, an arbitrary and exclusively Ro¬ man Catholic tribunal, whose jurisdiction besides had been so warmly disputed by them ; and secondly, its execution had been entrusted to the Duke of Bavaria, the head of another circle. These unconstitutional steps seemed to be the harbingers of further violent measures on the Ro¬ man Catholic side, the result, probably, of secret conferences and dangerous designs, which might, perhaps, end in the entire subversion of their re¬ ligious liberty. In circumstances where the law of force pre¬ vails, and security depends on power alone, the weakest party is naturally the most busy to place itself in a posture of defense. This was now the case in Germany. If the Roman Catholics really meditated any evil against the Protestants in Germany, the probability was that the blow would fall on the south rather than the north, because, in Lower Germany, the Protestants were con¬ nected together through a long unbroken tract of country, and could therefore easily combine for their mutual support ; while those in the south, detached from each other, and surrounded on all sides by Roman Catholic states, were ex¬ posed to every inroad. If, moreover, as was to be expected, the Catholics availed themselves of the divisions amongst the Protestants, and lev¬ eled their attack against one of the religious par¬ ties, it was the Calvinists who, as the weaker, and as being besides excluded from the religious treaty, were apparently in the greatest danger, and upon them would probably fall the first attack. Both these circumstances took place in the do¬ minions of the Elector Palatine, which possessed, in the Duke of Bavaria, a formidable neighbor, and which, by reason of their defection to Calvin¬ ism, received no protection from the Religious Peace, and had little hope of succor from the 137 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. Lutheran states. No country in Germany had experienced so many revolutions in religion in so short a time as the Palatinate. In the space of sixty years this country, an unfortunate toy in the hands of its rulers, had twice adopted the doc¬ trines of Luther, and twice relinquished them for Calvinism. The Elector Frederick III. first abandoned the confession of Augsburg, which his eldest son and successor, Lewis, immediately re¬ established. The Calvinists throughout the whole country were deprived of their churches, their preachers, and even their teachers, banished be¬ yond the frontiers ; while the prince, in his Lu¬ theran zeal, prosecuted them even in his will, by appointing none but strict and orthodox Luthe¬ rans as the guardians of his son, a minor. But this illegal testament was disregarded by his bro¬ ther the Count Palatine, John Casimir, who, by the regulations of the Golden Bull, assumed the guardianship and administration of the state. Calvinistic teachers were given to the Elector Frederick IV., then only nine years of age, who were ordered, if necessary, to drive the Lutheran heresy out of the soul of their pupil with blows. If such was the treatment of the sovereign, that of the subjects may be easily conceived. It was under this Frederick that the Palatine Court exerted itself so vigorously to unite the Protestant states of Germany in joint measures against the House of Austria, and, if possible, bring about the formation of a general confede¬ racy. Besides that this court had always been guided by the counsels of France, with whom hatred of the House of Austria was the ruling principle, a regard for his own safety urged him to secure in time the doubtful assistance of the Lu¬ therans against a near and overwhelming enemy. Great difficulties, however, opposed this union, because the Lutherans’ dislike of the Beformed was scarcely less than the common aversion of both to the Romanists. An attempt was first made to reconcile the two professions, in order to facilitate a political union ; but all these attempts failed, and generally ended in both parties adher¬ ing the more strongly to their respective opin¬ ions. Nothing then remained but to increase the fear and the distrust of the Evangelicals, and in this way to impress upon them the necessity of this alliance. The power of the Roman Catholics and the magnitude of the danger were exagge¬ rated, accidental incidents were ascribed to deli¬ berate plans, innocent actions misrepresented by invidious constructions, and the whole conduct of the professors of the olden religion was inter¬ preted as the result of a well-weighed and syste¬ matic plan, which, in all probability, they were very far from having concerted. The Diet of Ratisbon, to which the Protestants had looked forward with the hope of obtaining a renewal of the Religious Peace, had broken up without coming to a decision, and to the former grievances of the Protestant party was now added the late oppression of Donauwerth. With incredible speed, the union, so long attempted, was now brought to bear. A conference took place at Anhausen, in Franconia, at which were present the Elector Frederick IV., from the Pa¬ latinate, the Palsgrave of Neuburg, two Mar¬ graves of Brandenburg, the Margrave of Baden, and the Duke John Frederick of Wirtemburg,—- Lutherans as well as Calvinists,—who for them¬ selves and their heirs entered into a close confe¬ deracy under the title of the Evangelical Union. The purport of this union was, that the allied princes should, in all matters relating to religion and their civil rights, support each other with arms and counsel against every aggressor, and should all stand as one man ; that in case any member of the alliance should be attacked, he should be resisted by the rest with an armed force ; that, if necessary, the territories, towns, and castles of the allied states should be open to his troops ; and that, whatever conquests were made, should be divided among all the confederates, in proportion to the contingent furnished by each. The direction of the whole confederacy in time of peace was conferred upon the Elector Pala¬ tine, but with a limited power. To meet the ne¬ cessary expenses, subsidies were demanded and a common fund established. Differences of reli¬ gion (betwixt the Lutherans and the Calvinists) were to have no effect on this alliance, which was to subsist for ten years, every member of the union engaged at the same time to procure new members to it. The Electorate of Brandenburg adopted the alliance, that of Saxony rejected it. Hesse- Cashel could not be prevailed upon to declare itself, the Dukes of Brunswick and Luneburg also hesitated. But the three cities of the Empire, Strasburg, Nuremburg, and Ulm,were no unimportant acquisition for the league, which was in great want of their money, while their example, besides, might be followed by other imperial cities. After the formation of this alliance, the con¬ federated states, dispirited, and, singly, little feared, adopted a bolder language. Through Prince Christian of Anhalt, they laid their common grievances and demands before the Em¬ peror ; among which the principal were the re¬ storation of Donauwerth, the abolition of the Im¬ perial Court, the reformation of the Emperor’s own administration and that of his counselors. For these remonstrances, they chose the moment when the Emperor had scarcely recovered breath from the troubles in his hereditary dominions,— when he had lost Hungary and Austria to Mat¬ thias, and had barely preserved his Bohemian throne by the concession of the Letter of Ma¬ jesty, and finally, when through the succession of Juliers he was already threatened with the dis¬ tant prospect of a new war. No wonder, then, that this dilatory prince was more irresolute than ever in his decision, and that the confederates took up arms before he could bethink himself. The Roman Catholics regarded this confeder¬ acy with a jealous eye; the Union viewed them and the Emperor with the like distrust; the Em¬ peror was equally suspicious of both ; and thus, on all sides, alarm and animosity had reached their climax. And, as if to crown the whole, at this critical conjuncture, by the death of the Duke John William of Juliers, a highly dis¬ putable succession became vacant in the territo¬ ries of Juliers and Cleves. Eight competitors laid claim to this territory, 188 HISTORY OP THE THIRTY YEARS 1 WAR. the indivisibility of which had been guaranteed by ‘ solemn treaties ; and the Emperor, who seemed disposed to enter upon it as a vacant fief, might be considered as the ninth. Four of these, the Elector of Brandenburg, the Count Palatine of Neuburg, the Count Palatine of Deux Ponts, and the Margrave of Burgau, an Austrian prince, claimed it as a female fief in the name of four prin¬ cesses, sisters of the late duke. Two others, the Elector of Saxony, of the line of Albert, and the Duke of Saxony, of the line of Ernest, laid claim to it under a prior right of reversion granted to them by the Emperor Frederick III., and con¬ firmed to both Saxon houses by Maximilian I. The pretensions of some foreign princes were little regarded. The best right was perhaps on the side of Brandenburg and Neuburg, and between the claims of these two it was not easy to decide. Both courts, as soon as the succession was vacant, proceeded to take possession ; Brandenburg be¬ ginning, and Neuburg following the example. Bo'th commenced the dispute with the pen, and would probably have ended it with the sword ; but the interference of the Emperor, by proceed¬ ing to bring the cause before his own cognizance, and, during the progress of the suit, sequestrating the disputed countries, soon brought the contend¬ ing parties to an agreement, in order to avert the common danger. They agreed to govern the duchy conjointly. In vain did the Emperor pro¬ hibit the Estates from doing homage to their new masters; in vain did he send his own relation, the Archduke Leopold, Bishop of Passau and Strasburg, into the territory of Juliers, in order, by his presence to strengthen the Imperial party. The whole country, with the exception of Juliers itself, had submitted to the Protestant princes, and in that capital the Imperialists were besieged. The dispute about the succession of Juliers was an important one to the whole German em¬ pire, and also attracted the attention of several European courts. It was not so much the ques¬ tion, who was or was not to possess the duchy of Juliers ;—the real question was, which of the two religious parties in Germany, the Roman Catho¬ lic or the Protestant, was to be strengthened by so important an accession—for which of the two religions this territory was to be lost or won. The question in short was, whether Austria was to be allowed to persevere in her usurpations, and to gratify her lust of dominion by another robbery ; or whether the liberties of Germany, and the balance of power, were to be maintained against her encroachments. The disputed succession of Juliers, therefore, was matter which interested all who were favorable to liberty and hostile to Aus¬ tria. The Evangelical Union, Holland, England, and particularly Henry IY. of France, were drawn into the strife. This monarch, the flower of whose life had been spent in opposing the House of Austria and Spain, and by persevering heroism alone had surmounted the obstacles which this house had thrown between him and the French throne, had been no idle spectator of the troubles in Germany. This con¬ test of the Estates with the Emperor was the means of giving and securing peace to France. The Protestants and the Turks were the two sal¬ utary weights which kept down the Austrian power in the East and West; but it would, rise again in all its terrors, if once it were allowed to remove this pressure. Henry the Fourth had before his eyes for half a life time, the uninterrupted specta¬ cle of Austrian ambition and Austrian lust of do¬ minion, which neither adversity nor poverty of talents, though generally they check all human passions, could extinguish in a bosom wherein flowed one drop of the blood of Ferdinand of Ar- ragon. Austrian ambition had destroyed for a century the peace of Europe, and effected the most violent changes in the heart of its most con¬ siderable states. It had deprived the fields of husbandmen, the work-shops of artisans, to fill the land with enormous armies, and to cover the commercial sea with hostile fleets. It had im¬ posed upon the princes of Europe the necessity of fettering- the industry of their subjects by unheard of imposts -, and of wasting in self-defense the best strength of their states, which was thus lost to the prosperity of their inhabitants. For Europe there was no peace, for its states no welfare, for the people’s happiness no security or permanence, so long as this dangerous house was permitted to disturb at pleasure the repose of the world. Such considerations clouded the mind of Henry at the close of his glorious career. What had it not cost him to reduce to order the troubled chaos into which France had been plunged by the tumult of civil war, fomented and supported by this very Austria ! Every great mind labors for eternity; and what security had Henry for the endurance of that prosperity which he had gained for France, so long as Austria and Spain formed a single power, which did indeed lie exhausted for the present, but which required only one lucky chance to be speedily re-united, and to spring up again as formidable as ever. If he would bequeath to his successors a firmly established throne, and a durable prosperity to his subjects, this dangerous power must be for ever disarmed. This was the source of that irreconcileable enmity which Henry had sworn to the House of Austria, a hatred un- extinguishable, ardent, and well-founded as that of Hannibal against the people of Romulus, but ennobled by a purer origin. The other European powers had the same in¬ ducements to action as Henry, but all of them had not that enlightened policy, nor that disinterested courage to act upon the impulse. All men, with¬ out distinction, are allured by immediate advan¬ tages ; great minds alone are excited by distant good. So long as wisdom in its projects calcu¬ lates upon wisdom, Or relies upon its own strength, it forms none but chimerical schemes, and runs % risk of making itself the laughter of the world ; but it is certain of success, and may reckon upon aid and admiration when it finds a place in its in¬ tellectual plans for barbarism, rapacity, and super¬ stition, and can render the selfish passions of mankind the executors of its purposes. In the first point of view, Henry’s well-known project of expelling the House of Austria frdm all its possessions, and dividing the spoil among the European powers, deserves the title of a chi¬ mera, which men have so liberally bestowed upon it; but did it merit that appellation in the second I HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR. 139 It had never entered into the head of that excel¬ lent monarch, in the choice of those who must be the instruments of his designs, to reckon on the sufficiency of such motives as animated himself and Sully to the enterprise. All the states whose co-operation was necessary, were to be persuaded to the work by the strongest motives that can set a political power in action. From the Protestants in Germany nothing more was required than that which, ou other grounds, had been long their ob¬ ject,—their.throwing off the Austrian yoke ; from the Flemings, a similar revolt from the Spaniards. To the Pope and all the Italian republics no in¬ ducement could be more powerful than of the hope of driving the Spaniards forever from their pe¬ ninsula ; for England, nothing more desirable than a revolution which should free it from its bitterest enemy. By this division of the Austrian conquests, every power gained either land of free¬ dom, new possessions or security for the old ; and all gained, the balance of power remained undis¬ turbed. France might magnanimously decline a share in the spoil, because by the ruin of Austria it doubly profited, and was most powerful if it did not become more powerful. Finally, upon condition of ridding Europe of their presence, the posterity of Hapsburg were to be allowed the liberty of augmenting her territories in all the other known or yet undiscovered portions of the globe. But the dagger of Ravaillac delivered Austria from her danger, to postpone for some centuries longer the tranquillity of Europe. With his view directed to this project, Henry felt the necessity of taking a prompt and active part in the important events of the Evangelical Union, and the disputed succession of Juliers. His emissaries were busy in all the courts of Ger¬ many, and the little which they published or al¬ lowed to escape of the great political secrets of their master, was sufficient to win over minds in¬ flamed by so ardent a hatred to Austria, and by so strong a desire of aggrandizement. The pru¬ dent policy of Henry cemented the Union still more closely, and the powerful aid which he bound himself to furnish, raised the courage of the con¬ federates into the firmest confidence. A numer¬ ous French army, led by the king in person, was to meet the troops of the Union on the banks of the Rhine, and to assist in effecting the conquest of Juliers and Cleves; then, in conjunction with the Germans, it was to. march into Italy, (where Sa¬ voy, Venice, and the Pope were even now ready with a powerful reinforcement,) and to overthrow the Spanish dominion in that quarter. This vic¬ torious army was then to penetrate by Lombardy into the hereditary dominions of Hapsburg; and tfere, favored by a general insurrection of the Protestants, destroy the Power of Austria in all its German territories, in Bohemia, Hungary, and Transylvania. The Brabanters and Hollanders, supported by French auxiliaries, would in the mean time shake off the Spanish tyranny in the Netherlands ; and thus the mighty stream which, only a short time before, had so fearfully over¬ flowed its banks, threatening to overwhelm in its troubled waters the liberties of Europe, would then roll silent and forgotten behind the Pyre¬ nean mountains. At other times, the French had boasted of their rapidity of action, but upon this occasion they were outstripped by the Germans. An army of the confederates entered Alsace before Henry made his appearance there, and an Austrian army, which the Bishop of Strasburg and Passau had assembled in that quarter for an expedition against Juliers, was dispersed. Henry IV. had formed his plan as a statesman and a king, but he had intrusted its execution to plunderers. According to his design, no Roman Catholic state was to have cause to think this preparation aimed against itself, or to make the quarrel of Austria its own. Religion was in no wise to be mixed up with the matter. But how could the German princes for¬ get, their own purposes in furthering the plans of Henry ? Actuated as they were by the desire of aggrandizement and by religious hatred, was it to be supposed that they would not gratify, in every passing opportunity, their ruling passions to the utmost ? Like vultures, they stooped upon the territories of the ecclesiastical princes, and 4 al¬ ways chose those rich countries for their quarters, though to reach them they must make ever so wide a detour from their direct route. They le¬ vied contributions as in an enemy’s country, seized upon the revenues, and exacted, by vio¬ lence, what they could not obtain of free-will. Not to leave the Roman Catholics in doubt as to the true objects of their expedition, they an¬ nounced, openly and intelligibly enough, the fate that awaited the property of the church. So little had Henry IV. and the German princes un¬ derstood each other in their plan of operations, so much had the excellent king been mistaken in his instruments. It is an unfailing maxim, that, if policy enjoins an act of violence, its execution ought never to be intrusted to the violent; and that he only ought to be trusted with the viola¬ tion of order by whom it is held sacred. Both the past conduct of the Union, which was condemned even by several of the evangelical states, and the apprehension of even worse treat¬ ment, aroused the Roman Catholics to something beyond mere inactive indignation. As to the Emperor, his authority had sunk too low to afford them any security against such an enemy. It was their Union that rendered the confederates so formidable and so insolent ; and another union must now be opposed to them. The Bishop of Wurtzburg formed the plan of the Catholic Union, which was distinguished from the evangelical by the title of the League. The objects agreed upon were nearly the same as those which constituted the groundwork of the Union. Bishops formed its principal members, and at its head was placed Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria. As the only influential secular member of the confederacy, he was intrusted with far more extensive powers than the Protestants had committed to their chief. In addition to the duke’s being the sole head of the League’s mili¬ tary power, whereby their operations acquired a speed and weight unattainable by the Union, they had also the advantage that supplies flowed in much more regularly from the rich prelates, than the latter could obtain them from the poor evan¬ gelical states. Without offering to the Emperor, 140 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. as the sovereign of a Roman Catholic state, any share in their confederacy, without even commu¬ nicating its existence to him as emperor, the League arose at once formidable and threatening, with strength sufficient to crush the Protestant Union, and to maintain itself under three empe¬ rors. It contended, indeed, for Austria, in so far as it fought against the Protestant princes; but Austria herself had soon cause to tremble before it. The arms of the Union had, in the mean time, been tolerably successful in Juliers and in Alsace. Juliers was closely blockaded, and the whole bish¬ opric of Strasburg was in their power. But here their splendid achievements came to>an end. No French army appeared upon the Rhine; for he who was to be its leader, he who was the animat¬ ing soul of the whole enterprise, Henry IV., was no more ! Their supplies were on the wane ; the Estates refused to grant new subsidies; and the confederate free cities were offended that their money should be liberally, but their advice so sparingly called for. Especially were they dis¬ pleased at being put to expense for the expedition against Juliers, which had been expressly ex¬ cluded from the affairs of the Union—at the united princes appropriating to themselves large pensions out of the common treasure—and, above all, at their refusing to give any account of its expenditure. The Union was thus verging to its fall, at the moment when the League started to oppose it in the vigor of its strength. Want of supplies dis¬ abled the confederates from any longer keeping the field. And yet it was dangerous to lay down their weapons in the sight of an armed enemy. To secure themselves at least on one side, they hastened to conclude a peace with their old ene¬ my, the Archduke Leopold ; and both parties agreed to withdraw their troops from Alsace, to exchange prisoners, and to bury all that had been done in oblivion. Thus ended in nothing all these promising preparations. The same imperious tone with which the Union, in the confidence of its strength, had menaced the Roman Catholics of Germany, was now retorted by the League upon themselves and their troops. The traces of their march were pointed out to them, and plainly branded with the hard epithets they had deserved. The chapters of Wurtzburg, Bamberg, Strasburg, Mentz, Treves, Cologne, and several others, had experi¬ enced their destructive presence ; to all these the damage done was to be made good, the free pas¬ sage by land and by water restored (for the Pro¬ testants had even seized on the navigation of the Rhine), and every thing replaced on its former footing. Above all, the parties to the Union were called on to declare expressly and unequivo¬ cally its intentions. It was now their turn to yield to superior strength. They had not calcu¬ lated on so formidable an opponent; but they themselves had taught the Roman Catholics the secret of their strength. It was humiliating to their pride to sue for peace, but they might think themselves fortunate in obtaining it. The one party promised restitution, the other forgiveness. All laid down their arms. The storm of war once more rolled by, and a temporary calm suc¬ ceeded. The insurrection in BohemU then broke out, which deprived the Emperor of the last of his hereditary dominions, but in this dispute neither the Union nor the League took any share. At length the Emperor died in 1012, as little regretted in his coffin as noticed on the throne. Long afterward, when the miseries of succeeding reigns had made the misfortunes of his forgotten, a halo spread about his memory, and so fearful a night set in upon Germany, that, with tears of blood, people prayed for the return of such an emperor. Rodolph never could be prevailed upon to choose a successor in the empire, and all awaited with anxiety the approaching vacancy of the throne ; but, beyond all hope, Matthias at once ascended it, and without opposition. The Roman Catholics gave him their voices, because they hoped the best from his vigor and activity; the Protestants gave him theirs, because they hoped every thing from his weakness. It is not difficult to reconcile this contradiction. The one relied on what he had once appeared ; the other judged him by what he seemed at present. The moment of a new accession is always a day of hope ; and the first Diet of a king in elective monarchies is usually his severest trial. Every old grievance is brought forward, and new ones are sought out, that they may be included in the expected reform ; quite a new world is expected to commence with the new king. The important services which, in his insurrection, their religious confederates in Austria had rendered to Matthias, were still fresh in the minds of the Protestant free cities, and, above all, the price which they had exacted for their services seemed now to serve them also as a model. It was bv the favor of the Protestant Estates %/ in Austria and Moravia that Matthias had sought and really found the way to his brother’s throne; but, hurried on by his ambitious views, he never reflected that a way was thus opened for the States to give laws to their sovereign. This dis- coverv soon awoke him from the intoxication of success. Scarcely had he shown himself in tri¬ umph to his Austrian subjects, after his victorious expedition to Bohemia, when a humble petition awaited him which was quite sufficient to poison his whole triumph. They required, before doing homage, unlimited religious toleration in the cities and market towns, perfect equality of rights between Roman Catholics and Protestants, and a full and equal admissibility of the latter to all offices of state. In several places, they of them¬ selves assumed these privileges, and, reckoning on a change of administration, restored the Protes¬ tant religion where the late Emperor had sup¬ pressed it. Matthias, it is true, had not scrupled to make use of the grievances of the Protestants for his own ends against the Emperor ; but it was far from being his intention to relieve them. By a firm and resolute tone he hoped to check, at once, these presumptuous demands. He spoke of his hereditary title to these territories, and would hear of no stipulations before the act of homage.- A like unconditional submission had been ren¬ dered by their neighbors, the inhabitants of Sty ria, to the Archduke Ferdinand, who, however, HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 141 had soon reason to repent of it. Warned by this example, the Austrian States persisted in their refusal; and, to avoid being compelled by force to do homage, their deputies (after urging their Roman Catholic colleagues to a similar resistance) immediately left the capital, and began to levy troops. They took steps to renew their old alliance with Hungary, drew the Protestant princes into their interests, and set themselves seriously to work to accomplish their object by force of arms. With the more exorbitant demands of the Hun¬ garians, Matthias had not hesitated to comply. For Hungary was an elective monarchy, and the republican constitution of the country justified to himself their demands, and to the Roman Catho¬ lic world his concessions. In Austria, on the contrary, his predecessors had exercised far higher prerogatives, which he could not relinquish at the demand of the Estates without incurring the scorn of Roman Catholic Europe, the enmity of Spain and Rome, and the contempt of his own Roman Catholic subjects. His exclusively Ro¬ mish council, among which the Bishop of Vienna, Melchio Kiesel, had the chief influence, exhorted him to see all the churches extorted from him by the Protestants, rather than to concede one to them as a matter of right. But by ill luck this difficulty occurred at a time when the Emperor Rodolph was yet alive, and a spectator of this scene, and who might easily have been tempted to employ against his brother the same weapons which the latter had successfully directed against him—namely, an understanding with his rebellious subjects. To avoid this, Mat¬ thias willingly availed himself of the offer made by Moravia, to act as mediator between him and the Estates of Austria. Representatives of both par¬ ties met in Vienna, when the Austrian deputies held language which would have excited surprise even in the English Parliament. “The Protes¬ tants,” they said, “ are determined to be not worse treated in their native country than the handful of Romanists. By the help of his Protestant no¬ bles had Matthias reduced the Emperor to sub¬ mission ; where 80 Papists were to be found, 300 Protestant barons might be counted. The exam¬ ple of Rodolph should be a warning to Matthias. He should take care that he did not lose the ter¬ restrial, in attempting to make conquests for the celestial.” As the Moravian States, instead of using their powers as mediators for the Emperor’s advantage, finally adopted the cause of their co¬ religionists of Austria; as the Union in Germany came forward to afford them its most active sup¬ port, and as Matthias dreaded reprisals on the part of the Emperor, he was at length compelled to make the desired declaration in favor of the Evangelical Church. This behavior of the Austrian Estates toward their Archduke was now imitated by the Pro¬ testant Estates of the Empire toward their Em¬ peror, and they promised themselves the same favorable results. At the first Diet at Ratisbon in 1613, when the most pressing affairs were wait¬ ing for decision—when a general contribution was indispensable for a war against Turkey, and against Bethlem Gabor in Transylvania, who by Turkish aid had forcibly usurped the sovereignty of that land, and even threatened Hungary—they sur¬ prised him with an entirely new demand. The Roman Catholic votes were still the most numer¬ ous in the Diet; and as every thing was decided by a plurality of voices, the Protestant party, how¬ ever closely united, were entirely without consid¬ eration. The advantage of this majority the Roman Catholics were now called on to relinquish; henceforward no one religious party was to be per¬ mitted to dictate to the other by means of its in¬ variable superiority. And in truth, if the evan¬ gelical religion was really to be represented in the diet, it was self-evident that it must not be shut out from the possibility of making use of that pri¬ vilege, merely from the constitution of the Diet itself. Complaints of the judicial usurpations of the Aulic Council, and of the oppression of the Protestants, accompanied this demand, and the deputies of the Estates were instructed to take no part in any general deliberations till a favorable answer should be given on this preliminary point. The Diet was torn asunder by this dangerous division, which threatened to destroy forever the unity of its deliberations. Sincerely as the Emperor might have wished, after the example of his father Maximilian, to preserve a prudent balance between the two religions, the present conduct of the Pro¬ testants seemed to leave him nothing but a critical choice between the two. In his present necessi¬ ties a general contribution from the Estates was indispensable to him ; and yet he could not con¬ ciliate the one party without sacrificing the sup¬ port of the other. Insecure as he felt his situa¬ tion to be in his own hereditary dominions, he could not but tremble at the idea, however re¬ mote, of an open war with the Protestants. But the eyes of the whole Roman Catholic world, which were attentively regarding his conduct, the remonstrances of the Roman Catholic Estates, and of the Courts of Rome and Spain, as little permitted him to favor the Protestant at the ex¬ pense of the Romish religion. So critical a situation would have paralyzed a greater mind than Matthias; and his own pru¬ dence would scarcely have extricated him from his dilemma. But the interests of the Roman Catholics were closely interwoven with the impe¬ rial authority; if they suffered this to fall, the ecclesiastical princes in particular would be with¬ out a bulwark against the attacks of the Protest¬ ants. Now, then, that they saw the Emperor wavering, they thought it high time to reassure his sinking courage. They imparted to him the secret of their League, and acquainted him with its whole constitution, resources and power. Little comforting as such a revelation must have been to the Emperor, the prospect of so powerful a support gave him greater boldness to oppose the Protestants. Their demands were rejected, and the Diet broke up without coming to a decision. But Matthias was the victim of this dispute. The Protestants refused him their supplies, and made him alone suffer for the inflexibility of the Roman Catholics. The Turks, however, appeared willing to pro¬ long the cessation of hostilities, and Bethlem Gabor was left in peaceable possession of Tran- 142 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. syl vania. The empire was now free from foreign enemies; and even at home, in the midst of all these fearful disputes, peace still reigned. An unexpected accident had given a singular turn to the dispute as to the succession of Juliers. This duchy was still ruled conjointly by the Electorate House of Brandenburg and the Palatine of Neuberg; and a marriage between the Prince of Neuberg and a Princess of Brandenburg was to have inseparably united the interests of the two houses. But the whole scheme was upset by a box on the ear, which, in a drunken brawl, the Elector of Brandenburg unfortunately inflicted upon his intended son-in-law. From this moment the good understanding between the two liousbs was at an end. The Prince of Neuberg embraced popery. The hand of a Princess of Bavaria rewarded his apostasy, and the strong support of Bavaria and Spain was the natural result of both. To secure to the Palatine the exclusive possession of Juliers, the Spanish troops from the Netherlands were marched into the Palatinate. To rid himself of these guests, the Elector of Brandenburg called the Flemings to his assistance, whom he sought to propitiate by embracing the Calvinist religion. Both Spanish and Dutch armies appeared, but, as it seemed, only to make conquests for themselves. The neigboring war of the Netherlands seemed now about to be decided on German ground; and what an inexhaustible mine of combustibles lay here ready for it! The Protestants saw with con¬ sternation the Spaniards establishing themselves upon the Lower Rhine ; with still greater anxiety did the Roman Catholics see the Hollanders bursting through the frontiers of the empire. It was in the west that the mine was expected to ex¬ plode which had long been dug under the whole of Germany. To the west, apprehension and anx¬ iety turned ; but the spark which kindled the flame came unexpectedly from the east. The tranquillity which Rodolph II.’s Letter of Majesty had established in Bohemia lasted for some time, under the administration of Matthias, till the nomination of a new heir to this kingdom in the person of Ferdinand of Gratz. This prince, whom we shall afterward become better acquainted with under the title of Ferdi¬ nand II., Emperor of Germany, had, by the vio¬ lent extirpation of the Protestant religion within his hereditary dominions, announced himself as an inexorable zealot for popery, and was conse¬ quently looked upon by the Roman Catholic part of Bohemia as the future pillar of their church. The declining health of the Emperor brought on this hour rapidly; and, relying on so powerful a supporter, the Bohemian Papists began to treat the Protestants with little moderation. The Pro¬ testant vassals of Roman Catholic nobles, in par¬ ticular, experienced the harshest treatment. At length several of the former were incautious enough to speak somewhat loudly of their hopes, and by threatening hints to awaken among the Protestants a suspicion of their future sovereign. But this mistrust would never have broken out into actual violence, had the Roman Catholics confined themselves to general expressions, and not by attacks on individuals furnished the dis¬ content of the people with enterprising leaders. Henry Matthias, Count Thurn, not a native of Bohemia, but proprietor of some estates in that kingdom, had, by his zeal for the Protestant cause, and an enthusiastic attachment to his newly adopted country, gained the entire confi¬ dence of the Utraquists, which opened him the way to the most important posts. He had fought with great glory against the Turks, and won by a flattering address the hearts of the multitude. Of a hot and impetuous disposition, which loved tumult because his talents shone in it—rash and thoughtless enough to undertake things which cold prudence and a calmer temper would not have ventured upon—unscrupulous enough, where the gratification of his passions was concerned, to sport with the fate of thousands, and at the same time politic enough to hold in leading- strings such a people as the Bohemians then were. He had already taken an active part in the troubles under Rodolph’s administration ; and the Letter of Majesty which the States had ex¬ torted from that Emperor, was chiefly to be laid to his merit. The court had intrusted to him, as burgrave or castellan of Calstein, the custody of the Bohemian crown, and of the national charter. But the nation had placed in his hands something far more important— itself —with the office of de¬ fender or protector of the faith. The aristocracy by which the Emperor was ruled, imprudently de¬ prived him of this harmless guardianship of the dead, to leave him his full influence over the liv¬ ing. They took from him his office of burgrave, or constable of the castle, which had rendered him dependent on the court, thereby opening his eyes to the importance of the other which re¬ mained, and wounded his vanity, which yet was the thing that made his ambition harmless. From this moment he was actuated solely by a desire of revenge ; and the opportunity of gratifying it was not long wanting. In the Royal Letter which the Bohemians had extorted from Rodolph II., as well as in the Ger¬ man religious treaty, one material article re¬ mained undetermined. All the privileges granted by the latter to the Protestants, were conceived in favor of the Estates or governing bodies, not of the subjects ; for only to those of the ecclesias¬ tical states had a toleration, and that precarious, been conceded. The Bohemian Letter of Ma¬ jesty, in the same manner, spoke only of the Es¬ tates and imperial towns, the magistrates of which had contrived to obtain equal privileges with the former. These alone were free to erect churches and schools, and openly to celebrate their Pro¬ testant worship : in all other towns, it was left entirely to the government to which they be¬ longed, to determine the religion of the inhabi¬ tants. The Estates of the Empire had availed themselves of this privilege in its fullest extent; the secular indeed without opposition ; while the ecclesiastical, in whose case the declaration of Ferdinand had limited this privilege, disputed, not without reason, the validity of that limitation. What was a disputed point in the religious treaty, was left still more doubtful in the Letter of Ma¬ jesty ; in the former, the construction was not doubtful, but it was a question bow far obedience might be compulsory; in the latter, the interpre- HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 143 tation was left to the states. The subjects of ! the ecclesiastical Estates in Bohemia thought themselves entitled to the same rights which the declaration of Ferdinand secured to the subjects of German bishops : they considered themselves on an equality with the subjects of imperial towns, because they looked upon the ecclesiastical pro¬ perty as part of the royal demesnes. In the little town of Klostergrab, subject to the Archbishop of Prague; and in Braunau, which belonged to the abbot of that monastery, churches were founded by the Protestants, and completed not¬ withstanding the opposition of their superiors, and the disapprobation of the Emperor. In the mean time, the vigilance of the defenders had somewhat relaxed, and the court thought it might venture on a decisive step. By the Empe¬ ror s orders, the church at Klostergrab was pulled down ; that at Braunau forcibly shut up, and the most turbulent of the citizens thrown into prison. A general commotion among the Protestants was the consequence of this measure; a loud outcry was everywhere raised at this violation of the Letter of Majesty; and Count Thurn, animated by revenge, and particularly called upon by his office of defender, showed himself not a little busy in inflaming the minds of the people. At his in¬ stigation deputies were summoned to Prague from every circle in the empire, to concert the neces¬ sary measures against the common danger. It was resolved to petition the Emperor to press for the liberation of the prisoners. The answer of the Emperor, already offensive to the states, from its being addressed, not to them, but to his viceroy, denounced their conduct as illegal and rebellious, justified what had been done at Klostergrab and Braunau as the result of an imperial mandate, and contained some passages that might be con¬ strued into threats. Count Thurn did not fail to augment the unfa¬ vorable impression which this imperial edict made upon the assembled Estates. He pointed out to them the danger in which all who had signed the petition were involved, and sought by working on their resentment and fears to hurry them into vio¬ lent resolutions. To have caused their immediate revolt against the Emperor, would have been, as yet, too bold a measure. It was only step by step that he would lead them on to this unavoid¬ able result. He held it, therefore, advisable first to direct their indignation against the Emperor’s counselors; and for that purpose circulated a report, that the imperial proclamation had been drawn up by the government at Prague, and only signed in Vienna. Among the imperial delegates, the chief objects of the popular hatred, were the President of the Chamber, Slawata, and Baron Martinitz, who had been elected in place of Count Thurn, Burgrave of Calstein. Both had long be¬ fore evinced pretty openly their hostile feelings toward the Protestants, by alone refusing to be present at the sitting at which the Letter of Ma¬ jesty had been inserted in the Bohemian constitu¬ tion. A threat was made at the time to make them responsible for every violation of the Letter of Majesty ; and from this moment, whatever evil befell the Protestants was set down, and not with¬ out reason, to their account. Of all the Roman i ( Catholic nobles, these two had treated their Pro. testant vassals with the greatest harshness. They were accused of hunting them with dogs to the mass, and of endeavoring to compel them to po¬ pery by a denial of the rites of baptism, marriage, and burial. Against two characters so unpopu¬ lar the public indignation was easily excited, and they were marked out for a sacrifice to the general indignation. On the 23d of May, 1618, the deputies appeared armed, and in great numbers, at the royal palace, and forced their way into the hall where the Com¬ missioners Sternberg, Matinitz, Lobkowitz, and Slawata were assembled. In a threatening tone they demanded to know from each of them, whether he had taken any part in, or had con¬ sented to, the imperial proclamation. Sternberg received them with composure, Martinitz and Sla¬ wata with defiance. This decided their fate; Stern¬ berg and Lobkowitz, less hated, and more feared, were led by the arm out of the room ; Martinitz and Slawata were seized, dragged to a window, and precipitated from a height of eighty feet, into the castle trench. Their creature, the secretary Fa- bricius, was thrown after them. This singular mode of execution naturally excited the surprise of civilized nations. The Bohemians justified it as a national custom, and saw nothing remark¬ able in the whole affair, excepting that any one should have got up again safe and sound after such a fall. A dunghill, on which the imperial commissioners chanced to be deposited, had saved them from injury. It was not to be expected that this summary mode of proceeding would much increase the favor of the parties with the Emperor, but this was the very position to which Count Thurn wished to bring them. If, from the fear of uncertain danger, they had permitted themselves such an act of violence, the certain expectation of punish¬ ment, and the now urgent necessity for their own security, would plunge them still deeper into guilt. By this brutal act of self-redress, no room was left for irresolution or repentance, and it seemed as if a single crime could be absolved only by a series of violences. As the deed itself could not be undone, nothing was left but to disarm the hand of punishment. Thirty directors were ap¬ pointed to organize a regular insurrection. They seized upon all the offices of state, and all the imperial revenues, took into their own service the royal functionaries and the soldiers, and sum¬ moned the whole Bohemian nation to avenge the common cause. The Jesuits, whom the common hatred accused as the instigators of every previ¬ ous oppression, were banished the kingdom, and this harsh measure the Estates found it necessary to justify in a formal manifesto. These various steps were taken for the preservation of the royal authority and the laws—the language of all re¬ bels till fortune has decided in their favor. The emotion which the news of the Bohemian insurrection excited at the imperial court, was much less lively than such intelligence deserved. The Emperor Matthias was no longer the reso¬ lute spirit that formerly sought out his king and master in the very bosom of his people, and I hurled him from three thrones. The confidence 144 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. and courage which had animated him in a usur¬ pation, deserted him in a legitimate self-defense. The Bohemian rebels had first taken up arms, and the nature of circumstances drove him to join them. But he could not hope to confine such a war to Bohemia. In all the territories under his dominion, the Protestants were united by a dan¬ gerous sympathy—the common danger of their religion might suddenly combine them all into a formidable republic. What could he oppose to juch an enemy, if the Protestant portion of his subjects deserted him ? And would not both parties exhaust themselves in so ruinous a civil war? How much was at stake if he lost; and if he won, whom else would he destroy but his own subjects ? Considerations such as these inclined the Em¬ peror and his council to concessions and pacific measures, but it was in this very spirit of conces¬ sion that, as others would have it, lay the origin of the evil. The Archduke Ferdinand of Gratz congratulated the Emperor upon an event, which would justify in the eyes of all Europe the severest measures against the Bohemian Protest¬ ants. “ Disobedience, lawlessness, and insurrec- rection,” he said, “ went always hand-in-hand with Protestantism. Every privilege which had been conceded to the Estates by himself and his prede¬ cessor, had had no other effect than to raise their demands. All the measures of the heretics were aimed against the imperial authority. Step by step had they advanced from defiance to defiance up to this last aggression ; in a short time they would assail all that remained to be assailed in the person of the Emperor. In arms alone was there any safety against such an enemy—peace and subordination could be only established upon the ruins of their dangerous privileges ; security for the Catholic belief was to be found only in the total destruction of this sect. Uncertain it was true, might be the event of the war, but inevitable was the ruin if it were pretermitted. The confis¬ cation of the lands of the rebels would richly indemnify them for its expenses, while the terror of punishment would teach the other states the wisdom of a prompt obedience in future.” Were the Bohemian Protestants to blame, if they armed themselves in time against the enforcement of such maxims ? The insurrection in Bohemia, be¬ sides, was directed only against the successor of the Emperor, not against himself, who hade done nothing to justify the alarm of the Protestants. To exclude this prince from the Bohemian throne, arms had before been taken up under Matthias, though as long as this Emperor lived, his sub¬ jects had kept within the bounds of an apparent submission. But Bohemia was in arms, and unarmed, the Emperor dared not even offer them peace. For this purpose, Spain supplied gold, and promised to send troops from Italy and the Netherlands. Count Bucquoi, a native of the Netherlands, was named generalissimo, because no native could be trusted, and Count Dampierre, another foreigner, commanded under him. Before the army took the field, the Emperor endeavored to bring about an amicable arrangement, by the publication of a manifesto. In this he assured the Bohemians, “ that he held sacred the Letter of Majesty—that he had not formed any resolutions inimical to their religion or their privileges, and that his present preparations were forced upon him by their own. As soon as the nation laid down their arms, he also would disband his army.” But this gracious letter failed of its effects, be¬ cause the leaders of the insurrection contrived to hide from the people the Emperor’s good inten¬ tions. Instead of this they circulated the most alarming reports from the pulpit, and by pam¬ phlets, and terrified the deluded populace with threatened horrors of another Saint Bartholo¬ mew’s that existed only in their imagination. All Bohemia, with the exception of three towns, Bud- weiss, Krummau, and Pilsen, took part in this insurrection. These three towns, inhabited prin¬ cipally by Roman Catholics, alone had the courage, in this general revolt, to hold out for the Emperor, who promised them assistance. But it could not escape Count Thurn, how dangerous it was to leave in hostile hands three places of such importance, which would at all times keep open for the imperial troops an entrance into the king¬ dom. With prompt determination he appeared before Budweiss and Krummau, in the hope of terrifying them into a surrender. Krummau sur¬ rendered, but all his attacks were steadfastly re¬ pulsed by Budweiss. And now, too, the Emperor began to show more earnestness and energy. Bucquoi and Dampierre, with two armies, fell upon the Bohemian territo¬ ries, which they treated as a hostile country. But the imperial generals found the march to Prague more difficult than they had expected. Ev.ery pass, every position that was the least tenable, must be opened by the sword, and resistance in¬ creased at each fresh step they took, for the out¬ rages of their troops, chiefly consisting of Hunga¬ rians and Walloons, drove their friends to revolt and their enemies to despair. But even now that his troops had penetrated into Bohemia, the Em¬ peror continued to offer the Estates peace, and to show himself ready for an amicable adjustment. But the new prospects which opened upon them, raised the courage of the revolters. Moravia espoused their party ; and from Germanyappeared to them a defender equally intrepid and unex pected, in the person of Count Mansfeld. The heads of the Evangelical Union had beer; silent but not inactive spectators of the move¬ ments in Bohemia. Both were contending for the same cause, and against the same enemy. In the fate of the Bohemians, their confederates in the faith might read their own ; and the cause of this people was represented as of solemn common concern to the German League. True to these principles, the Unionists supported the courage of the insurgents by promises of assistance ; and a fortunate accident now enabled them, beyond their hopes, to fulfill them. The instrument by which the House of Austria was humbled in Germany, was Peter Ernest, Count Mansfeld, the son of a distinguished Aus¬ trian officer, Ernest von Mansfeld, who for some time had commanded with repute the Spanish army in the Netherlands. His first campaign in Ju- liers and Alsace had been made in the service of HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 145 this house, and under the banner of the Archduke Leopold, against the Protestant religion and the liberties of Germany. But insensibly won by the principles of this religion, he abandoned a leader whose selfishness denied him the reimbursement of the moneys expended in his cause, and he trans¬ ferred his zeal and a victorious sword to the Evangelical Union. It happened just then that the I)uke of Savoy, an ally of the Union, de¬ manded assistance in a war against Spain. They assigned to him their newly-acquired ser¬ vant, and Mansfeld received instructions to raise an army of 4,000 men in Germany, in the cause and in the pay of the duke. The army was ready to march at the-very moment when the flames of war burst out in Bohemia, and the duke, who at the time did not stand in need of its services, placed it at the disposal of the Union. Nothing could be more welcome to these troops than the prospect of aiding their confederates in Bohemia, at the cost of a third party. Mansfeld received orders forthwith to march with these 4,000 men into that kingdom; and a pretended Bohemian commission was given to blind the public as to the true author of this levy. This Mansfeld now appeared in Bohemia, and, by the occupation of Pilsen, strongly fortified and favorable to the Emperor, obtained a firm footing in the country. The courage of the rebels was further increased by succors which the Sile¬ sian States dispatched to their assistance. Between these and the Imperialists, several battles were fought, far indeed from decisive, but only on that account the more destructive, which served as the prelude to a more serious war. To check the vigor of his military operations, a negotiation was entered into with the Emperor, and a disposition was shown to accept the proffered mediation of Saxony. But before the event could prove how little sincerity there was in these proposals, the Emperor was removed from the scene by death. What now had Matthias done to justify the ex¬ pectations which he had excited by the overthrow of his predecessor? Was it worth while to as¬ cend a brother’s throne through guilt, and then maintain it with so little dignity, and leave it with so little renown ? As long as Matthias sat on the throne, he had to atone for the imprudence by which he had gained it. To enjoy the regal dignity a few years sooner, he had shackled the free exer¬ cise of its prerogatives. The slender portion of independence left him by the growing power of the Estates, was still further lessened by the en¬ croachments of his relations. Sickly and child¬ less, he saw the attention of the world turned to an ambitious heir who was impatiently anticipat¬ ing his fate; and who, by his interference with the closing administration, was already opening his own. With Matthias, the reigning line of the German House of Austria was in a manner extinct ; for of all the sons of Maximilian, one only was now alive, the weak and childless Archduke Albert, in the Netherlands, who had already renounced his claims to the inheritance in favor of the line of Gratz. The Spanish House had also, in a secret bond, resigned its pretensions to the Austrian possessions in behalf of the Archduke Ferdinand . VOL. II.— 10 of Styria, in whom the Branch of Hapsburg was about to put forth new shoots, and the former greatness of Austria to experience a revival. The father of Ferdinand was the Archduke Charles of Carniola, Carinthia, and Styria, the youngest brother of the Emperor Maximilian II. ; his mother a princess of Bavaria. Having lost his father at twelve years of age, he was intrusted by the archduchess to the guardianship of her brother William, Duke of Bavaria, under whose eyes he was instructed and educated by Jesuits at the Academy of Ingolstadt. What principles he was likely to imbibe by his intercourse with a prince, who from motives of devotion had abdi¬ cated his government, may be easily conceived. Care was taken to point out to him, on the one hand, the weak indulgence of Maximilian’s house toward the adherents of the new doctrines, and the consequent troubles of their dominions ; on the other, the blessings of Bavaria, and the in¬ flexible religious zeal of its rulers: between these two examples he was left to choose for himself. Formed in this school to be a stout champion of the faith, and a prompt instrument of the church, he left Bavaria, after a residence of five years, to assume the government of his hereditary dominions. The Estates of Carniola, Carinthia, and Styria, who, before doing homage, demanded a guarantee for freedom of religion, were told that religious liberty had nothing to do with their al¬ legiance. The oath was put to them without con¬ ditions, and unconditionally taken. Many years, however, elapsed, ere the designs which had been planned at Ingolstadt were ripe for execution. Before attempting to carry them into effect, lie sought in person at Loretto the favor of the Vir¬ gin, and received the apostolic benediction in Borne at the feet of Clement VIII. These designs were nothing less than the ex¬ pulsion of Protestantism from a country where it had the advantage of numbers, and had been legally recognized by a formal act of toleration, granted by his father to the noble and knightly estates of the land. A grant so formally ratified could not be revoked without danger ; but no diffi¬ culties could deter the pious pupil of the Jesuits. The example of other states, both Koman Catho¬ lic and Protestants, which within their own ter¬ ritories had exercised unquestioned a right of re¬ formation, and the abuse which the Estates of Styria made of their religious liberties, would serve as a justification of this violent procedure. Under the shelter of an absurd positive law, those of equity and prudence might, it was thought, be • safely despised. In the execution of these un- ■ righteous designs, Ferdinand did, it must be • owned, display no common courage and persever¬ ance. Without tumult, and we may add, without! cruelty, he suppressed the Protestant service iu. one town after another, and in a few years, to the astonishment of Germany, this dangerous work was brought to a successful end. But while the Koman Catholics admired him as a hero, and the champion of the church, the Pro¬ testants began to combine against him as against their most dangerous enemy. And yet Matthias's intention to bequeath to him the succession, met with little or no opposition in the elective states 146 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS WAR. ot Austria. Even the Bohemians agreed to re¬ ceive him as their future king, on very favorable conditions. It was not until afterward, when they had experienced the pernicious influence of his councils on the administration of the Emperor, that their anxiety was first excited ; and then several projects, in his handwriting, which an un¬ lucky chance threw into their hands, as they plainly evinced his disposition toward them, car¬ ried their apprehension to the utmost pitch. In particular, they were alarmed by a secret family compact with Spain, by which, in default of heirs- male of his own body, Ferdinand bequeathed to that crown the kingdom of Bohemia, without first consulting the wishes of that nation,! and without regard to its right of free election. The many enemies, too, which by his reforms in Styria that prince had provoked among the Protestants, were very prejudicial to his interests in Bohemia ; and some Styrian emigrants, who had taken refuge there, bringing with them into their adopted coun¬ try hearts overflowing with a desire of revenge, were particularly active in exciting the flames of revolt. Thus ill-affected did Ferdinand find the Bohemians, when he succeeded Matthias. So bad an understanding between the nation and the candidate for the throne, w r ould have raised a storm even in the most peaceable succes¬ sion ; how much more so at the present moment, before the ardor of insurrection had cooled; when the nation had just recovered its dignity, and re¬ asserted its rights ; when they still held arms in their hands, and the consciousness of unity had awakened an enthusiastic reliance on their own strength ; when by past success, by the promises of foreign assistance, and by visionary expecta¬ tions of the future, their courage had been raised to an undoubting confidence. Disregarding the rights already conferred on Ferdinand, the Estates declared the throne vacant, and their right of election entirely unfettered. All hopes of their peaceful submission were at an end, and if Ferdi¬ nand wished still to wear the crown of Bohemia, he must choose between purchasing it at the sac¬ rifice of all that would make a crown desirable, or winning it sword in hand. But with what means was it to be won ? Turn his eyes where he would, the fire of revolt was burning. Silesia had already joined the insur¬ gents in Bohemia; Moravia was on the point of following its example. In Upper and Lower Austria the spirit of liberty was awake, as it had been under Bodolph, and the Estates refused to do homage. Hungary was menaced with an in¬ road by Prince Bethlem Gabor, on the side of Transylvania; a secret arming among the Turks spread consternation among the provinces to the eastward; and, to complete his perplexities in his hereditary dominions, the Protestants also, stimu¬ lated by the general example, were again raising their heads. In that quarter, their numbers were overwhelming; in most places they had possession of the revenues which Ferdinand would need for the maintenance of the war. The neutral began to waver, the faithful to be discouraged, the tur¬ bulent alone to be animated and confident. One halt of Germany encouraged the rebels, the other inactively awaited the issi e; Spanish assistance was still very remote. The moment which had brought him every thing, threatened also to de¬ prive him of all. And when he now, yielding to the stern law of necessity, made overtures to the Bohemian rebels, all his proposals for peace were insolently rejected. Count Thurn, at the head of an army, entered Moravia, to bring this province, which alone con¬ tinued to waver, to a decision. The appearance of their friends is the signal of revolt for the Mo¬ ravian Protestants. Br'unn is taken, the remain¬ der of the country yields with free will, thioughout the province government and religion are changed. Swelling as it flows, the torrent of rebellion pours down upon Austria, where a party, holding similar sentiments, receives it with a joyful concurrence. Henceforth, there should be no more distinctions of religion ; equality of rights should be guaran¬ teed to all Christian churches. They hear that a foreign force has been invited into the country to oppress the Bohemians. Let them be sought out, and the enemies of liberty pursued to the ends of the earth. Not an arm is raised in defense of the Archduke, and the rebels, at length, encamp be¬ fore Vienna to besiege their sovereign. Ferdinand had sent his children from Gratz, where they were no longer safe, to the 'Tyrol; he himself awaited the insurgents in his capital. A handful of soldiers was all he could oppose to the enraged multitude; these few were without pay or provisions, and therefore little to be depended on. Vienna was unprepared for a long siege. The party of the Protestants, ready at any mo¬ ment to join the Bohemians, had the prepon¬ derance in the city; those in the country had already begun to levy troops against him. Already, in imagination, the Protestant populace saw the Emperor shut up in a monastery, his territories divided, and his children educated as Protestants. Confiding in secret, and surrounded by public ene¬ mies, he saw the chasm every moment widening to engulf his hopes and even himself. The Bohemian bullets were already falling upon the imperial palace, when sixteen Austrian barons forcibly en¬ tered his chamber, and inveighing against him with loud and bitter reproaches, endeavored to force him into a confederation with the Bohe¬ mians. One of them, seizing him by the button of his doublet, demanded, in a tone of menace, “ Ferdinand, wilt thou sign it?” Who would not be pardoned had he wavered in this frightful situation ? Yet Ferdinand still re¬ membered the dignity of a Homan emperor. No alternative seemed left to him but an immediate flight or submission ; laymen urged him to the one, priests to the other. If he abandoned the city, it would fall into the enemy’s hands; with Vienna, Austria was lost; with Austria, the im¬ perial throne. Ferdinand abandoned not his ca¬ pital, and as little would he hear of conditions. The Archduke is still engaged in altercation with the deputed barons, when all at once a sound of trumpets is heard in the palace square. Terror and astonishment take possession of all present; a fearful report pervades the palace; one deputy after another disappears. Many of the nobility and the citizens hastily take refuge in the camp of Thurn. This suddeu change is HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 147 effected by a regiment of Dampierre’s cuirassiers, who at that moment marched into the city to de¬ fend the Archduke. A body of infantry soon fol¬ lowed ; reassured by their appearance, several of the Roman Catholic citizens, and even the stu¬ dents themselves, take up arms. A report which arrived just at the same time from Bohemia made his deliverance complete. The Flemish general, Bucquoi, had totally defeated Count Mansfeld at Budweiss, and was marching upon Prague. The Bohemians hastily broke up their camp before Vienna to protect their own capital. And now also the passes were free which the enemy had taken possession of, in order to ob¬ struct Ferdinand’s progress to his coronation at Frankfort. If the accession to the imperial throne was important for the plans of the King of Hun¬ gary, it was of still greater consequence at the present moment, when his nomination as Emperor would afford the most unsuspicious and decisive proof of the dignity of his person, and of the jus¬ tice of his cause, while, at the same time, it would gice him a hope of support from the Empire. But the same cabal which opposed him in his he¬ reditary dominions, labored also to counteract him in his canvass for the imperial dignity. No Aus¬ trian prince, they maintained, ought to ascend the throne; least of all Ferdinand, the bigoted perse¬ cutor of their religion, the slave of Spain and of the Jesuits. To prevent this, the crown had been offered, even during the lifetime of Matthias, to the Duke of Bavaria, and, on his refusal, to the Duke of Savoy. As some difficulty was expe¬ rienced in settling with the latter the conditions of acceptance, it was sought, at all events, to de¬ lay the election till some decisive blow in Austria or Bohemia should annihilate all the hopes of Ferdinand, and incapacitate him from any com¬ petition for this dignity. The members of the Union left no stone unturned to gain over from Ferdinand the Electorate of Saxony, which was bound to Austrian interests ; they represented to this court the dangers with which the Protestant religion, and even the constitution of the empire, were threatened by the principles of this prince and his Spanish alliance. By the elevation of Ferdinand to the imperial throne, Germany, they further asserted, would be involved in the private quarrels of this prince, and bring upon itself the arms of Bohemia. But in spite of all opposing influences, the day of election was fixed, Ferdi¬ nand summoned to it as lawful King of Bohemia, and his electoral vote, after a fruitless resistance on the part of the Bohemian Estates, acknow¬ ledged to be good. The votes of the three eccle¬ siastical electorates were for him, Saxony was favorable to him, Brandenburg made no oppo¬ sition, and a decided majority declared him Em¬ peror in 1619. Thus he saw the most doubtful of his crowns placed first of all on his head; but a few days after he lost that which he had reck¬ oned the most certain of his possessions. While he was thus elected Emperor in Frankfort, he was in Prague deprived of the Bohemian throne. Almost all of his German hereditary dominions had in the mean time entered into a formidable league with the Bohemians, whose insolence now exceeded all bounds. In a general Diet, the latter, on the 17th of August, 1619, proclaimed the Em¬ peror an enemy to the Bohemian religion and liberties, who by his pernicious counsels had alien¬ ated from them the affections of the late Empe¬ ror, had furnished troops to oppress them, had given their country as a prey to foreigners, and finally, in contravention of the national rights, had bequeathed the crown, by a secret compact, to Spain ; they therefore declared that he had forfeited whatever title he might otherwise have had to the crown, and immediately proceeded to a new election. As this sentence was pronounced by Protestants, their choice could not well fad upon a Roman Catholic prince, though, to save appearances, some voices were raised for Bavaria and Savoy. But the violent religious animosities which divided the evangelical and the reformed parties among the Protestants, impeded for some time the election even of a Protestant king ; till at last the address and activity of the Calvinists carried the day from the numerical superiority of the Lutherans. Among all the princes who were competitors for this dignity, the Elector Palatine Frederick V. had the best grounded claims on the confidence and gratitude of the Bohemians ; and among them all, there was no one in whose case the private interests of particular Estates, and the at¬ tachment of the people seemed to be justified by so many considerations of state. Frederick V. was of a free and lively spirit, of great goodness of heart, and regal liberality. He was the head of the Calvinistic party in Germany, the leader of the Union, whose resources were at his disposal, a near relation of the Duke of Bavaria, and a son- in-law of the King of Great Britain, who might lend him his powerful support. All these con¬ siderations were prominently and successfully brought forward by the Calvinists, and Frederick Y. was chosen king by the Assembly at Prague, amidst prayers and tears of joy. The whole proceedings of the Diet at Prague had been premeditated, and Frederick himself had taken too active a share in the matter to feel at all surprised at the offer made to him by the Bohemians. But now the immediate glitter of this throne dazzled him, and the magnitude both of his elevation and his delinquency made his weak mind to tremble. After the usual manner of pusillanimous spirits, he sought to confirm himself in his purpose by the opinions of others; but these opinions had no weight with him when they ran counter to his own cherished wishes. Saxony and Bavaria, of whom he sought advice, all his brother electors, all who com¬ pared the magnitude of the design with his capa¬ cities and resources, warned him of the danger into which he was about to rush. Even King James of England preferred to see his son-in-law deprived of this crown, than that the sacred ma¬ jesty of kings should be outraged by so danger¬ ous a precedent. But of what avail was the voice of prudence against the seductive glitter of a crown ? In the moment of boldest deter¬ mination, when they are indignantly rejecting the consecrated branch of a race which had governed them for two centuries, a free people throws itself into his arms. Confiding in his courage, 148 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. they choose him as their leader in the dangerous career of glory and liberty. To him, as to its born champion, an oppressed religion looks for shelter and support against its persecutors. Could he have the weakness to listen to his fears, and to betray the cause of religion and liberty? This religion proclaims to him its own preponder¬ ance, and the weakness of its rival,—two-thirds of the power of Austria are now in arms against Austria itse.f, while a formidable conspiracy, * already formed in Transylvania, would, by a hostile attack, further distract even the weak remnant of its- power. Could inducements such as these fail to awaken his ambition, or such hopes to animate and inflame his resolution ? A few moments of calm consideration would have sufficed to show the danger of the undertaking, and the comparative worthlessness of the prize. But the temptation spoke to his feelings; the warning only to his reason. It was his misfortune that his nearest and most influential counselors espoused the side of his passions. The aggran¬ dizement of their master’s power opened to the ambition and avarice of his Palatine servants an unlimited field for their gratification ; this antici¬ pated triumph of their church, kindled the ardor of the Calvinistic fanatic. Could a mind so weak as that of Ferdinand resist the delusions of his counselors, who exaggerated his resources and his strength, as much as they underrated those of his enemies ; or the exhortations of his preachers, who announced the effusions of their fanatical zeal as the immediate inspiration of heaven? The dreams of astrology filled his mind with vi¬ sionary hopes ; even love conspired, with its irre¬ sistible fascination, to complete the seduction. “Had you,” demanded the Electress, “ confidence enough in yourself to accept the hand of a king’s daughter, and have you misgivings about taking a crown which is voluntarily offered you ? I would rather eat bread at thy kingly table, than feast at thy electoral board.” Frederick accepted the Bohemian crown. The coronation was celebrated with unexampled pofnp at Prague, for the nation displayed all its riches in honor of its own work. Silesia and Moravia, the adjoining provinces to Bohemia, followed their example, and did homage to Frederick. The reformed faith was enthroned in all the churches of the kingdom ; the rejoicings were unbounded, their attachment to .their new king bordered on adoration. Denmark and Sweden, Holland and Venice, and several of the Dutch states, acknow¬ ledged him as lawful sovereign, and Frederick now prepared to maintain his new acquisition. His principal hopes rested on Prince Bethlem Gabor of Transylvania. This formidable enemy of Austria, and of the Roman Catholic church, not content with the principality which, with the assistance of the Turks, he had wrested from his legitimate prince, Gabriel Bathosi, gladly seized this opportunity of aggrandizing himself at the ex¬ pense of Austria, which had hesitated to acknow¬ ledge him as sovereign of Transylvania. An at¬ tack upon Hungary and Austria was concerted with the Bohemian rebels, and both armies were to unite before the capital. Meantime, Bethlem Gabor, under the mask of friendship, disguised the true object of his warlike prepai ations. artfully promising the Emperor to lure the Bohemians into the toils, by a pretended offer of assistance, and to deliver up to him alive the leaders of the insur¬ rection. All at once, however, he appeared in a hostile attitude in Upper Hungary. Before him went terror, and devastation behind ; all opposi¬ tion yielded, and' at Presburg he received the Hungarian crown. The Emperor’s brother, who governed in Vienna, trembled for the capital. He hastily summoned General Bucquoi to his as¬ sistance, and the retreat of the Imperialists drew the Bohemians, a second time, before the walls of Vienna. Reinforced by twelve thousand Tran¬ sylvanians, and soon after joined by the victorious army of Bethlem Gabor, they again menaced the capital with assault; all the country round Vienna was laid waste, the navigation of the Danube closed, all supplies cut off, and the horrors of fa¬ mine were threatened. Ferdinand, hastily recalled to his capital by this urgent danger, saw himself a second time on the brink of ruin. But want of provisions, and the inclement weather, finally compelled the Bohemians to go into quarters, a defeat in Hungary recalled Bethlem Gabor, and thus once more had fortune rescued the Emperor. In a few weeks the scene was changed, and by his prudence and activity Ferdinand improved his position as rapidly as Frederick, by indolence and impolicy, ruined his. The Estates of Lower Aus¬ tria w r ere regained to their allegiance by a confir¬ mation of their privileges; and the few who still held out were declared guilty of Use-majest'e and high treason. During the election of Frank¬ fort, he had contrived, by personal representa¬ tions, to win over to his cause the ecclesiastical electors, and also Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria, at Munich. The whole issue of the war, the fate of Frederick and the Emperor, were now depend¬ ent on the part which the Union and the League should take in the troubles of Bohemia. It was evidently of importance to all the Protestants of Germany, that the King of Bohemia snould be supported, while it was equally the interest of the Roman Catholics to prevent the ruin of the Em¬ peror. If the Protestants succeeded in Bohe¬ mia, all the Roman Catholic princes in Germany might tremble for their possessions ; if they failed, the Emperor would give laws to Protestant Ger¬ many. Thus Ferdinand put the League, Frede¬ rick the Union, in motion. The ties of relation¬ ship and a personal attachment to the Emperor, his brother-in-law, with whom he had been edu¬ cated at Ingolstadt, zeal for the Roman Catholic religion, which seemed to be in the most immi¬ nent peril, and the suggestions of the Jesuits, combined with the suspicious movements of the Union, moved the Duke of Bavaria, and all the princes of the League, to make the cause of Ferdinand their own. According to the terms of a treaty with the Emperor, which assured to the Duke of Bavaria compensation for all the expenses of the war, or the losses he might sustain, Maximilian took, with full powers, the command of the troops of the League, which were ordered to march to the as¬ sistance of the Emperor against the Bohemian rebels. The leaders of the Union, instead of de- HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 149 laying by every means this dangerous coalition of the League with the Emperor, did every thing in their power to accelerate it. Could they, they thought, but once drive the Roman Catholic League to take an open part in the Bohemian war, their might reckon on similar measures from all the members and allies of the Union. With¬ out some open step taken by the Roman Catho¬ lics against the Union, no effectual confederacy of the Protestant powers was to be looked for. They seized, therefore, the present emergency of the troubles in Bohemia to demand from the Ro¬ man Catholics the abolition of their past griev¬ ances, and full security for the future exercise of their religion. They addressed this demand, which was moreover couched in threatening lan¬ guage, to the Duke of Bavaria, as the head of the Roman Catholics, and they insisted on an imme¬ diate and categorical answer. Maximilian might decide for or against them, still their point was gained ; his concession, if he yielded, would de¬ prive the Roman Catholic party of its most pow¬ erful protector; his refusal would arm the whole Protestant party, and render inevitable a war in which they hoped to be the conquerors. Maxi¬ milian, firmly attached to the opposite party from so many other considerations, took the demands of the Union as a formal declaration of hostili¬ ties, and quickened his preparations. While Ba¬ varia and the League were thus arming in the Emperor’s cause, negotiations fora subsidy were opened with the Spanish court. All the difficul¬ ties with which the indolent policy of that minis¬ try met this demand were happily surmounted by the imperial ambassador at Madrid, Count Khe- venhuller. In addition to a subsidy of a million of florins, which from time to time were doled out by this court, an attack upon the Lower Pa¬ latinate, from the side of the Spanish Nether¬ lands, was at the same time agreed upon. During these attempts to draw all the Roman Catholic powers into the League, the Protestants labored with equal activity to cement their con¬ federacy. To this end, it was important to alarm the Elector of Saxony and the other Evangelical powers, and accordingly the Union were diligent in propagating a rumor that the preparations of the League had for their object to deprive them of the ecclesiastical foundations they had secu¬ larized. A written assurance to the contrary calmed the fears of the Duke of Saxony, whom moreover private jealousy of the Palatine, and the insinuations of his chaplain, who was in the pay of Austria, and mortification at having been passed over by the Bohemians in the election to the throne, strongly inclined to the side of Aus¬ tria. The fanaticism of the Lutherans could never forgive the reformed party for having d.?uwn, as they expressed it, so many fair provinces into the gulf of Calvinism, and rejecting the Ro¬ man Antichrist only to make way for an Helve¬ tian one. While Ferdinand used every effort to improve the unfavorable situation of his affairs, Frederick was daily injuring his good cause. By his close and questionable connection with the Prince of Transylvania, the open ally of the Porte, he gave offence to weak minds and a general rumor ac¬ cused him of furthering his own ambitioi at the expense of Christendom, and arming the Turks against Germany. His inconsiderate zeal for the Calvinistic scheme irritated the Lutherans of Bo¬ hemia, his attack on image-worship incensed the Papists of this kingdom against him. New and oppressive imposts alienated the affections of all his subjects. The disappointed hopes of the Bo¬ hemian nobles cooled their zeal : the absence of foreign succors abated their confidence. Instead of devoting himself with untiring energies to the affairs of his kingdom, Frederick wasted his time in amusements; instead of filling his treasury by a wise economy, he squandered his revenues by a needless theatrical pomp, and a misplaced munifi¬ cence. With a light-minded carelessness, he did but gaze at himself in his new dignity, and in the ill-timed desire to enjoy his crown, he forgot the more pressing duty of securing it on his head. But greatly as men had erred in their opinion of him, Frederick himself had not less miscalcu¬ lated his foreign resources. Most of the members of the Union considered the affairs of Bohemia as foreign to the real object of their confederacy; others, who were devoted to him, were overawed by fear of the Emperor. Saxony and Hesse Darmstadt, had already been gained over by Fer¬ dinand ; Lower Austria, on which side a powerful diversion had been looked for, had made its sub¬ mission to the Emperor; and Bethlem Gabor had concluded a truce with him. By its embassies, the court of Vienna had induced Denmark to re¬ main inactive, and to occupy Sweden in a war with the Poles. The republic of Holland had •enough to do to defend itself against the arms of the Spaniards ; Venice and Saxony remained in¬ active ; King James of England was overreached by the artifice of Spain. One friend after another withdrew; one hope vanished after another—so rapidly in a few months was every thing changed. In the mean time, the leaders of the Union as¬ sembled an army;—the Emperor and the League did the same. The troops of the latter were assembled under the banners of Maximilian at Donauwerth, those of the Union at Ulm, under the Margrave at Anspach. The decisive moment seemed at length to have arrived which was to end these long dissensions by a vigorous blow, and irrevocably to settle the relation of the two churches in Germany. Anxiously ou the stretch was the expectation of both parties. How great then was their astonishment when suddenly the intelligence of peace arrived, and both armies separated without striking a blow! The intervention of France effected this peace, which was equally acceptable to both parties. The French cabinet, no longer swayed by the counsels of Henry the Great, and whose maxims of state were, perhaps not applicable to the pre¬ sent condition of that kingdom, was now far less alarmed at the preponderance of Austria, than of the increase which would accrue to the strength of the Calvinists, if the Palatine house should be able to retain the throne of Bohemia. Involved at the time in a dangerous conflict with its own Calvinistic subjects, it was of the utmost impor¬ tance to France that the Protestant faction in Bohemia should be suppressed before the Hugue* 150 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS* WAR. nots could copy their dangerous example. In order therefore to facilitate the Emperor’s opera¬ tions against the Bohemians, she offered her me¬ diation to the Union and the League, and effected this unexpected treaty, of which the main article was, That the Union should abandon all inter¬ ference in the affairs of Bohemia, and confine the aid which they might afford to Frederick the Fifih, to his Palatine territories.” To this dis¬ graceful treaty, the Union were moved by the firmness of Maximilian, and the fear of being- pressed at once by the troops of the League, and a new imperial army which was on its march from the Netherlands. . The whole force of Bavaria and the League was now at the disposal of the Emperor to be em¬ ployed against the Bohemians, who by the pacifi¬ cation of Ulm were abandoned to their fate. With a rapid movement, and before a rumor of the pro¬ ceedings at Ulm could reach there, Maximilian appeaivd in Upper Austria, when the Estates, surprised and unprepared for an enemy, purchased the Emperor’s pardon by an immediate and un¬ conditional submission. In Lower Austria, the duke formed a junction with the troops from the Low Countries under Bucquoi, and without loss of time the united Imperial and Bavarian forces, amounting to fifty thousand men, entered Bohe¬ mia. All the Bohemian troops, which were dis¬ persed over Lower Austria and Moravia, were driven before them : every town which attempted resistance was quickly taken by storm ; others, terrified by the report of the punishment inflicted on these, voluntarily opened their gates ; nothing in short interrupted the impetuous career of Maximilian. The Bohemian army, commanded by the brave Prince Christian of Anhalt, re¬ treated to the neighborhood of Prague ; where, under the walls of the city, Maximilian offered him battle. The wretched condition in which he hoped to surprise the insurgents, justified the rapidity of the duke’s movements, and secured him the vic¬ tory. Frederick’s army did not amount to thirty thousand men. Eight thousand of these were furnished by the Prince of Anhalt; ten thousand were Hungarians, whom Bethlem Gabor had dis¬ patched to his assistance. An inroad of the Elector of Saxony upon Lusatia, had cut off all succors from that country, and from Silesia; the pacification of Austria put an end to all his ex-> pectations from that quarter; Bethlem Gabor, his most powerful ally, remained inactive in Tran¬ sylvania; the Union had betrayed his cause to the Emperor. Nothing remained to him but his Bohemians; and they were without good-will to his cause, and without unity and courage. The Bohemian magnates were indignant that German generals should be put over their heads; Count Mansfeld remained in Pilsen, at a distance from the camp, to avoid the mortification of serving- under Anhalt and Hohenlohe. The soldiers, in want of necessaries, became dispirited ; and the little discipline that was observed, gave occasion to bitter complaints from the peasantry. It was in vain that Frederick made his appearance in the camp, in the hope of reviving the courage of the soldiers by his presence, and of kindling the emulation of the nobles by his example. The Bohemians had begun to entrench them, selves on the White Mountain near Prague, when they w-ere attacked by the Imperial and Bavarian armies, on the Bth November, 1620. In the be¬ ginning of the action, some advantages were gained by the cavalry of the Prince of Anhalt; but the superior numbers of the enemy soon neu¬ tralized them. The charge of the Bavarians and Walloons was irresistible. The Hungarian cav¬ alry was the first to retreat. The Bohemian in¬ fantry soon followed their example; and the Ger¬ mans were at last carried along with them in the general flight. Ten cannons, composing the whole of Frederick’s artillery, were taken by the enemy ; four thousand Bohemians fell in the flight and on the field ; while of the Imperialists and soldiers of the League, only a few hundred were killed. In less than an hour this decisive action was over. Frederick was seated at table in Prague, while his army was thus cut to pieces. It is probable that he had not expected the attack on this day, since he had ordered an entertainment for it. A messenger summoned him from table, to show him from the walls the whole frightful scene. He requested a cessation of hostilities for twenty-four hours, for deliberation; but eight was all the Duke of Bavaria would allow him. Frederick availed himself of these to fly by night from the capital, with his wife, and the chief officers of his army. This flight was so hurried, that the Prince of Anhalt left behind him his most private pa¬ pers, and Frederick his crown. “ I know now what I am,” said this unfortunate prince to those who endeavored to comfort him; “ there are vir¬ tues which misfortune only can teach us, and it is in adversity alone that princes learn to know themselves.” Prague was not irretrievably lost when Fred¬ erick’s pusillanimity abandoned it. The light troops of Mansfeld were still in Pilsen, and were not engaged in the action. Bethlem Gabor might at any moment have assumed an offensive attitude, and drawn off the Emperor’s ‘army to the Hungarian frontier. The defeated Bohemi¬ ans might rally. Sickness, famine, and the in¬ clement weather, might wear out the enemy ; but all these hopes disappeared before the immediate alarm. Frederick dreaded the fickleness of the Bohemians, who might probably yield to the temptation to purchase, by the surrender of his person, the pardon of the Emperor. Thurn, and those of this party who were in the same condemnation with him, found it equally in¬ expedient to await their destiny within the walls of Prague. They retired toward Moravia, with a view of seeking refuge in Transylvania. Fred¬ erick fled to Breslau, where, however, he only re¬ mained a short time. He removed from thence to the court of the Elector of Brandenburg, and finally took shelter in Holland. The battle of Prague had decided the fate of Bohemia. Prague surrendered the next day to the victors ; the other towns followed the exam¬ ple of the capital. The Estates did homage with¬ out conditions, and the same was done by those HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS WAR. 151 of Silesia and Moravia. The Emperor allowed three months to elapse, before instituting any in¬ quiry into the past. Reassured by this apparent clemency, many who, at first, had fled in terror appeared again in the capital. All at once, how¬ ever, the storm burst forth; forty-eight of the most active among the insurgents were arrested on the same day and hour, and tried by an extra¬ ordinary commission, composed of native Bo¬ hemians and Austrians. Of these, twenty-seven, and of the common people an immense number, expired on the scaffold. The absenting offenders were summoned to appear to their trial, and fail¬ ing to do so, condemned to death, as traitors and offenders against his Catholic Majesty, their es¬ tates confiscated, and their names affixed to the gallows. The property also of the rebels who had fallen in the field was seized. This tyranny might have been borne, as it affected individuals only, and while the ruin of one enriched another; but more intolerable was the oppression which ex¬ tended to the whole kingdom, without exception. All the Protestant preachers were banished from the country ; the Bohemians first, and afterward those of Germany. TheLetter of Majesty, Ferdi¬ nand tore with his own hand, and burned the seal. Seven years after the battle of Prague, the tolera¬ tion of the Protestant religion within the king¬ dom was entirely revoked. But the violence which the Emperor allowed himself against the religious privileges of his subjects, he carefully abstained from exercising against their political constitution ; and while he deprived them of the liberty of thought, he magnanimously left them the prerogative of taxing themselves. The victory of the White Mountain put Ferdi¬ nand in possession of all his dominions. It even invested, him with greater authority over them than his predecessors enjoyed, since their allegi¬ ance had been unconditionally pledged to him, and no Letter of Majesty now existed to limit his sovereignty. All his wishes were now gratified,to a degree surpassing his most sanguine expectations. It was now in his power to dismiss his allies, and disband his army. If he was just, there was an end of the war—if he was both magnanimous and just, punishment was also at an end. The fate of Germany was in his hands ; the happiness and misery of millions depended on the resolution he should take. Never was so great a decision resting on a single mind ; never did the blindness of one man produce so much ruin. BOOK II. The resolution which Ferdinand now adopted, gave to the war a new direction, a new scene, and new actors. From a rebellion in Bohemia, and the chastisement of rebels, a war extended first to Germany, and afterward to Europe. It is, there¬ fore, necessary to take a general survey of the state of affairs both in Germany and the rest of Europe. Unequally as the territory of Germany and the privileges of its members were divided among the Roman Catholics and the Protestants, neither party could hope to maintain itself against the en¬ croachments of its adversary otherwise than by a prudent use of its peculiar advantages, and by a politic union among themselves. If the Roman Catholics were the more numerous party, and more favored by the constitution of the empire, the Protestants, on the other hand, had the ad¬ vantage of possessing a more compact and popu¬ lous line of territories, valiant princes, a warlike nobility, numerous armies, flourishing free towns, the command of the sea, and even at the worst, certainty of support from Roman Catholic states. If the Catholics could arm Spain and Italy in their favor, the republics of Venice, Holland, and Eng¬ land, opened their treasures to the Protestants, while the states of the North, and the formidable power of Turkey, stood ready to afford them prompt assistance. Brandenburg, Saxony, and the Palatinate, opposed three Protestant to three Ecclesiastical votes in the Electoral College; while to the Elector of Bohemia, as to the Arch¬ duke of Austria the possession of the Imperial dignity was an important check, if the Protestants properly availed themselves of it. The sword of the Union might keep within its sheath the sword of the League; or if matters actually came to a war, might make the issue of it doubtful. But, unfortunately, private interests dissolved the band of union which should have held together the po¬ litical members of the empire. This critical con¬ juncture found none but second-rate actors on the political stage, and the decisive moment was neg¬ lected because the courageous were deficient in power, and the powerful in sagacity, courage and resolution. The Elector of Saxony was placed at the head of the German Protestants, by the services of his ancestor Maurice, by the extent of his territories, and by the influence of his electoral vote. Upon the resolution he might adopt, the fate of the contending parties seemed to depend ; and John George was not insensible to the advantages which this important situation procured him. Equally valuable as an ally, both to the Emperor and to the Protestant Union, he cautiously avoided committing himself to either party; neither trusting himself by any irrevocable decla¬ ration entirely to the gratitude of the Emperor, nor renouncing the advantages which were to be gained from his fears. Uninfected by the conta¬ gion of religious and romantic enthusiasm which hurried sovereign after sovereign to risk both crown and life on the hazard of war, John George aspired to the more solid renown of improving and advancing the interests of his territories. His cotemporaries accused him of forsaking the Protestant cause in the very midst of the storm ; of preferring the aggrandizement of his house to the emancipation of his country ; of exposing the whole Evangelical or Lutheran church of Ger¬ many to ruin, rather than raise an arm in defense of the Reformed or Calvinists ; or injuring the common cause by his suspicious friendship more seriously than the open enmity of its avowed op¬ ponents. But it would have been well if his ac¬ cusers had imitated the wise policy of the Elector. If, despite of the prudent policy, the Saxons, like all others, groaned at the cruelties which marked 152 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. the Emperor’s progress ; if all Germany was a witness how Ferdinand deceived his confederates and trifled with his engagements; if even the Elector himself at last perceived this—the more shame to the Emperor who could so basely betray such implicit confidence. If an excessive reliance on the Emperor, and the hope of enlarging his territories, tied the hands of the Elector of Saxony, the weak George William, Elector of Brandenburg, was still more shamefully fettered by fear of Austria, and of the loss of his dominion. What was made a reproach against these princes would have pre¬ served to the Elector Palatine his fame and his kingdom. A rash confidence in' his untried strength, the influence of French counsels, and the temptation of a crown, had seduced that un¬ fortunate prince into an enterprise for which he had neither adequate genius nor political capa¬ city. The partition of his territories among dis¬ cordant princes, enfeebled the Palatinate, which, united, might have made a longer resistance. This partition of territory was equally injurious to the House of Hesse, in which, between Darm¬ stadt and Cassel, religious dissensions had occa¬ sioned a fatal division. The line of Darmstadt, adhering to the Confession of Augsburg, had placed itself under the Emperor’s protection, who favored it at the expense of the Calvinists of Cassel. While his religious confederates were shedding their blood for their faith and their liber¬ ties, the Landgrave of Darmstadt was won over by the Emperor’s gold. But William of Cassel, every way worthy of his ancestor who, a century before, had defended the freedom of Germany against the formidable Charles V., espoused the cause of danger and of honor. Superior to that pusillanimity which made far more powerful princes bow before Ferdinand’s might, the Lan- grave William was the first to join the hero of Sweden, and to set an example to the princes of Germany which all had hesitated to begin. The boldness of his resolve was equaled by the stead¬ fastness of his perseverance and the valor of his exploits. He placed himself with unshrinking resolution before his bleeding country, and boldly confronted the fearful enemy, whose hands were still reeking from the carnage of Magdeburg. The Landgrave William deserves to descend to immortality with the heroic race of Ernest. Thy day of vengeance was long delayed, unfortunate John Frederick ! Noble ! never-to-be-forgotten prince ! Slowly but brightly it broke. Thy times returned, and thy heroic spirit descended on thy grandson. An intrepid race of princes issues from the Thuringian forests, to shame, by immor¬ tal deeds, the unjust sentence which robbed thee of the electoral crown—to avenge thy offended shade by heaps of bloody sacrifice. The sentence of the conqueror could deprive thee of thy terri¬ tories, but not that spirit of patriotism which staked them, nor that chivalrous courage which, a century afterward, was destined to shake the throne of thy descendant. Thy vengeance and that of Germany whetted the sacred sword, and one heroic hand after the other wielded the irresistible steel. As men, they achieved what as sovereigns they dared not undertake; they met in a glorious cause as the valiant soldiers of liberty. Too weak in territory to attack the enemy with their own forces, they directed foreign artillery against them, and led foreign banners to victory. The liberties of Germany, abandoned by the more powerful states, who, however, enjoyed most of the prosperity accruing from them, were de¬ fended by a few princes for whom they were al¬ most without value. The possession of territories and dignities deadened courage; the want of both made heroes. While Saxony, Brandenburg, and the rest drew back in terror, Anhalt, Mans- feld, the Prince of Weimar and others were shed¬ ding their blood in the field. The Dukes of Pomerania, Mecklenburg, Luneburg, and Wir- temberg, and the free cities of Upper Germany, to whom the name of Emperor was of course a formidable one, anxiously avoided a contest with such an opponent, and crouched murmuring be¬ neath his mighty arm. Austria and Homan Catholic Germany pos¬ sessed in Maximilian of Bavaria a champion as prudent as he was powerful. Adhering through¬ out the war to one fixed plan, never divided be¬ tween his religion and his political interests ; not the slavish dependent of Austria, who was labor¬ ing for his advancement, and trembled before her powerful protector, Maximilian earned the territo¬ ries and dignities that rewarded his exertions. The other Homan Catholic states, which were chiefly ecclesiastical, too unwarlike to resist the multitudes whom the prosperity of their territo¬ ries allured, become the victims of the war one after another, and were contented to persecute in the cabinet and in the pulpit, the enemy whom they could not openly oppose in the field. All of them, slaves either to Austria or Bavaria, sunk into insignificance by the side of Maximi¬ lian ; in his hand alone their united power could be rendered available. The formidable monarchy which Charles V. and his son had unnaturally constructed of the Netherlands, Milan, and the two Sicilies, and their distant possessions in the East and West Indies, was under Philip III. and Philip IV. fast verging to decay. Swollen to a sudden great¬ ness by unfruitful gold, this power was now sinking under a visible decline ; neglecting, as it did, agri¬ culture, the natural support of states. The con¬ quests in the West Indies had reduced Spain itself to poverty, while they enriched the markets of Europe ; the bankers of Antwerp, Venice, and Genoa, were making profit on the gold which was still buried in the mines of Peru. For the sake of India, Spain had been depopulated, while the treasures drawn from thence were wasted in the reconquest of Holland, in the chimerical project of changing the succession to the crown of France, and in an unfortunate attack upon England. But the pride of the court survived its greatness, as the hate of its enemies had outlived its power. Dis¬ trust of the Protestants had suggested to the ministry of Philip III. the dangerous policy of his father; and the reliance of the Homan Catho¬ lics of Germany on the Spanish assistance, was as firm as their belief in the wonder-working bones of the martyrs. Eternal splendor concealed the inward wounds at which the life-blood of this HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 153 monarchy was oozing-; and the belief of its strength survived, because it still maintained the lofty tone of its golden days. Slaves in their pal¬ aces, and strangers even upon their own thrones, the Spanish nominal kings still gave laws to their German relations; though it is very doubtful if the support they afforded was worth the depend¬ ence by which the emperors purchased it. The fate of Europe was decided behind the Pyrenees by ignorant monks or vindictive favorites. Yet, even in its debasement, a power must always be formidable, which yields to none in extent; which, from custom, if not from the steadfastness of its views, adhered faithfully to one system of policy; which possessed well-disciplined armies and consummate generals; which, where the sword failed, did not scruple to employ the dag¬ ger; and converted even its ambassadors into incendiaries and assassins. What it had lost in three quarters of the globe, it now sought to re¬ gain to the eastward, and all Europe was at its mercy, if it could succeed in its long cherished design of uniting with the hereditary dominions of Austria all that lay between the Alps and the Adriatic. To the great alarm of the native states, this formidable power had gained a footing in Italy, where its continual encroachments made the neighboring sovereigns to tremble for their own possessions. The Pope himself was in the most dangerous situation ; hemmed in on both sides by the Spanish viceroys, of Naples on the one side, and that of Milan upon the other. Venice was confined between the Austrian Tyrol and the Spanish territories in Milan. Savoy was sur¬ rounded by the latter, and by France. Hence the wavering and equivocal policy, which from the time of Charles V. had been pursued by the Italian states. The characters which the Popes held caused them perpetually to vacillate between two contradictory systems of policy. If the suc¬ cessors of St. Peter found in the Spanish princes their most obedient disciples, and the most stead¬ fast supporters of the Papal See, yet the princes of the States of the Church had in these monarchs their most dangerous neighbors, and most formid¬ able opponents. If, in the one capacity, their dear¬ est wish was the destruction of the Protestants and the triumph of Austria, in the other, they had reason to bless the arms of the Protestants, which disabled a dangerous enemy. The one or the other sentiment prevailed, according as the love of temporal dominion, or zeal for spiritual su¬ premacy, predominated in the mind of the Pope. But the policy of Rome was, on the whole, di¬ rected to immediate dangers ; and it is well known how far more powerful is the apprehen¬ sion of losing a present good, than anxiety to re¬ cover a long lost possession. And thus it-be¬ comes intelligible how the Pope should first com¬ bine with Austria for the destruction of heresy, and then conspire with these very heretics for the destruction of Austria. Strangely blended are the threads of human affairs ! What would have become of the Reformation, and of the liberties of Germany, if the Bishop of Rome and the Prince of Rome had had but one inter¬ est ! France had lost with its great Henry all its im¬ portance and all its weight in the political balance of Europe. A turbulent minority had destroyed all the benefits of the able administration of Henry. Incapable ministers, the creatures of court in¬ trigue, squandered in a few years the treasures which Sully’s economy and Henry’s frugality had amassed. Scarce able to maintain their ground against internal factions, they were compelled to resign to other hands the helm of European affairs. The same civil war which armed Germany against itself, excited a similar commotion in France ; and Louis XIII. attained majority only to wage war with his mother and his Protestant subjects. This party, which had been kept quiet by Henry’s enlightened policy, now seized the opportunity to take up arms, and, under the command of some adventurous leaders, began to form themselves into a party within the state, and to fix on the strong and powerful town of Rochelle as the capital of their intended kingdom. Too little of a statesman to sup¬ press, by a prudent toleration, this civil commotion in its birth, and too little master of the resources of his kingdom to direct them with energy, Louis XIII. was reduced to the degradation of pur¬ chasing the submission of the rebels by large sums of money. Though policy might incline him in one point of view, to assist the Bohemian insurgents against Austria, the son of Henry the Fourth was now compelled to be an inactive spectator of their destruction, happy enough if the Calvinists in his own dominions did not un¬ seasonably bethink them of their confederates beyond the Rhine. A great mind at the helm of state would have reduced the Protestants in France to obedience, while it fought for the independence of their German brethren. But Henry IV. was no more, and Richelieu had not yet revived his system of policy. While the glory of France was thus upon the wane, the emancipated republic of Holland was completing the fabric of its greatness. The en¬ thusiastic courage had not yet died away which, enkindled by the House of Orange, had converted this mercantile people into a nation of heroes, and had enabled them to maintain their indepen¬ dence in a bloody war against the Spanish mon¬ archy. Aware how much they owed their own liberty to foreign support, these republicans were ready to assist their German brethren in a simi¬ lar cause, and the more so as both were opposed to the same enemy, and the liberty of Germany was the best warrant for that of Holland. But a republic which had still to battle for its very exist¬ ence, which, with all its wonderful exertions, was scarce a match for the formidable enemy within its own territories, could not be expected to with¬ draw its troops from the necessary work of self- defense to employ them with a magnanimous policy in protecting foreign states. England, too, though now united with Scotland, no longer possessed, under the weak James, that influence in the affairs of Europe which the gov¬ erning mind of Elizabeth had procured for it. Convinced that the welfare of her dominions de¬ pended on the security of the Protestants, this politic princess had never swerved from the prin¬ ciple of promoting every enterprise which bad 154 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. for its object the diminution of the Austrian power. Her successor was no less devoid of ca¬ pacity to comprehend, than of vigor to execute her views. While the economical Elizabeth spared not her treasures to support the Flemings against Spain, and Henry IY. against the League, James abandoned his daughter, his son-in-law, and his grandchild, to the fury of his enemies. While lie exhausted his learning to establish the divine right of kings, he allowed his own dignity to sink ' into the dust: while he exerted his rhetoric to prove the absolute authority of kings, he reminded the people of theirs ; and by a useless profusion, sacrificed the best privilege of royalty^—the power of dispensing with his parliament, and thus de¬ priving liberty of its organ. An innate horror at the sight of a naked sword averted him from the most just of wars; while his favorite Buckingham practiced on his weakness, and his own compla¬ cent vanity rendered him an easy dupe of Spanish artifice. While his son-in-law was ruined, and the inheritance of his grandson given to others, this weak prince was imbibing, with satisfaction, the incense which was offered to him by Austria and Spain. To divert his attention from the German war, he was amused with the proposal of a Spanish marriage for his son, and the ridicu¬ lous parent encouraged the romantic youth in the foolish project of paying his addresses in person to the Spanish princess. But his son lost his bride, as his son-in-law lost the crown of Bohemia and the Palatine Electorate; and death alone saved him from the danger of closing his pacific reign by a war at home, which he never had cour-! age to maintain, even at a distance. The domestic disturbances which his misgov- ernment had gradually excited, burst forth under his unfortunate son, and forced him, after some unimportant attempts, to renounce all further participation in the German war, in order to stem within his own kingdom the rage of faction. Two illustrious monarchs, far unequal in per¬ sonal reputation, but equal in power and desire of fame, made the North at this time to be re¬ spected. Under the long and active reign of Christian IY., Denmark had risen into importance. The personal qualifications of this prince, an ex¬ cellent navy, a formidable army, well-ordered finances, and prudent alliances, had combined to give her prosperity at home and influence abroad. Gustavus Yasa had rescued Sweden from vassal- age, reformed it by wise laws, and had introduced, for the first time, this newly-organized state into the field of European politics. What this great prince had merely sketched in rude outline, was filled up by Gustavus Adolphus, his still greater grandson. These two kingdoms, once unnaturally united and enfeebled by their union, had been violently separated at the time of the Deformation, and this separation was the epoch of their prosperity. Injurious as this compulsory union had proved to both kingdoms, equally necessary to each apart were neighborly friendship and harmony. On both the evangelical church leaned ; both had the same seas to protect; a common interest ought to unite them against the same enemy. But the hatred which had dissolved the union of these monarchies continued long after their separation to divide the two nations. The Danish kings could not abandon their pretensions to the Swed¬ ish crown, nor the Swedes banish the remembrance of Danish oppression. The contiguous bounda¬ ries of the two kingdoms furnished constantly materials of natural quarrels, while the watchful jealousy of both kings, and the unavoidable col¬ lision of their commercial interests in the North Seas, were an inexhaustible source of dispute. Among the means of which Gustavus Yasa, the founder of the Swedish monarchy, availed himself to strengthen his new edifice, the Refor¬ mation had been one of the principal. A funda¬ mental law of the kingdom excluded the adherents of popery from all offices of the state, and pro¬ hibited every future sovereign of Sweden from altering the religious constitution of the kingdom. But the second son and second successor of Gus¬ tavus had relapsed into popery, and his son Sigis- mund, also king of Poland, had been guilty of measures which menaced both the constitution and the established church. Headed by Charles, Duke of Sudermania, the third son of Gustavus, the Estates made a courageous resistance, which terminated, at last, in an open civil war between the uncle and nephew, and between the king and the people. Duke Charles, administrator of the kingdom during the absence of the king, had availed himself of Sigismund’s long residence in Poland, and the just displeasure of the states, to ingratiate himself with the nation, and gradually to prepare his way to the throne. His views were I not a little forwarded by Sigismund’s imprudence. A general Diet ventured to abolish, in favor of the Protector, the rule of primogeniture which Gus¬ tavus had established in the succession, and placed the Duke of Sudermania on the throne, from which Sigismund and his whole posterity were solemnly excluded. The son of the new king (who reigned under the name of Charles IX.) was Gustavus Adolphus, whom, as the son of a usurper, the adherents of Sigismund refused to recognize. But if the obligations between mo¬ narchy and subjects are reciprocal, and states are not to be transmitted, like a lifeless heirloom, from hand to hand, a nation acting with unanim¬ ity must have the power of renouncing their alle¬ giance to a sovereign who has violated his obliga¬ tions to them, and of filling his place by a worthier object. Gustavus Adolphus had not completed his seventeenth year, when the Swedish throne be¬ came vacant by the death of his father. But the early maturity of his genius enabled the Estates to abridge in his favor the legal period of minority. With a glorious conquest over himself he com¬ menced a reign which was to have victory 'or it .3 constant attendant, a career which was to begin and end in success. The young Countess of Brahe, the daughter of a subject, had gained his early affections, and he had resolved to share with her the Swedish throne. But, constrained by time and circumstances, he made his attachment yield to the higher duties of a king, and heroism' again took exclusive possession of a heart which was not destined by nature to confine itself within the limits of quiet domestic happiness. HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 155 Christian IV. of Denmark, who had ascended the throne before the birth of Gustavus, in an in¬ road upon Sweden, had gained some considerable advantages over the father of that hero. Gusta¬ vus Adolphus hastened to put an end to this de¬ structive war, and by prudent sacrifices obtained a peace, in order to turn his arms against the Czar of Muscovy. The questionable fame of a conqueror never tempted him to spend the blood of his subjects in unjust wars; but he never shrunk from a just one. His arms were success¬ ful against Russia, and Sweden was augmented by several important provinces on the east. In the mean time, Sigismund of Poland retained against the son the same sentiments of hostility which the father had provoked, and left no artifice untried to shake the allegiance of his subjects, to cool the ardor of his friends, and to embitter his enemies. Neither the great qualities of his rival, nor the repeated proofs of devotion which Sweden gave to her loved monarch, could extinguish in this infatuated prince the foolish hope of regain¬ ing his lost throne. All Gustavus’s overtures were haughtily rejected. Unwillingly was this really peaceful king involved in a tedious war with Poland, in which the whole of Livonia and Polish Prussia were successively conquered. Though constantly victorious, Gustavus Adol¬ phus was always the first to hold out the hand of peace. This contest between Sweden and Poland falls somewhere about the beginning of the Thirty Years’ War in Germany, with which it is in some measure connected. It was enough that Sigis¬ mund, himself a Roman Catholic, was disputing the Swedish crown with a Protestant prince, to assure him the active support of Spain and Aus¬ tria ; while a double relationship to the Emperor gave him a still stronger claim to his protection. It was his reliance on this powerful assistance that chiefly encouraged the King of Poland to continue the war, which had hitherto turned out so unfavorably for him, and the courts of Madrid and Vienna failed not to encourage him by high- sounding promises. While Sigismund lost one place after another in Livonra, Courland, and Prussia, he saw his ally in Germany advancing from conquest after conquest to unlimited power. No wonder then if his aversion to peace kept pace with his losses. The vehemence with which he nourished his chimerical hopes blinded him to the artful policy of his confederates, who at his ex¬ pense were keeping the Swedish hero employed, in order to overturn, without opposition, the liber¬ ties of Germany, and then to seize on the ex¬ hausted North as an easy conquest. One circum¬ stance which had not’ been calculated on—the heroism of Gustavus——overthrew this deceit¬ ful policy. An eight years’ war in Poland, so far from exhausting the power of Sweden, had only served to mature the military genius of Gustavus, to inure the Swedish army to warfare, and insen¬ sibly to perfect that system of tactics by which they were afterward to perform such wonders in Germany. After this necessary digression on the existing circumstances of Europe, I now resume the thread of my history. Ferdinand had regained his dominions, but had not indemnified himself for the expenses of re¬ covering them. A sum of forty millions of flo¬ rins, which the confiscations in Bohemia and Mo¬ ravia had produced, would have sufficed to reim¬ burse both himself and his allies ; but the Jesuits and his favorites soon squandered this sum, large as it was. Maximilian. Duke of Bavaria, to whose victorious arm, principally, the Emperor owed the recovery of his dominions; who, in the ser¬ vice of religion and the Emperor, had sacrificed his near relation, had the strongest claims on his gratitude; and moreover, in a treaty which, before the war, the duke had concluded with the Empe¬ ror, he had expressly stipulated for the reim¬ bursement of all expenses. Ferdinand felt the full weight of the obligation imposed upon him by this treaty and by these services, but he was not disposed to discharge it at his own cost. His purpose was to bestow a brilliant reward upon the duke, but without detriment to himself. How could this be done better than at the expense of the unfortunate prince who, by his revolt, had given the Emperor a right to punish him, and whose offenses might be painted in colors strong enough to justify the most violent measures under the appearance of law. That, then, Maximilian may be rewarded, Frederick must be further per¬ secuted and totally ruined; and to defray the ex¬ penses of the old war, a new one must be com¬ menced. But a still stronger motive combined to enforce the first. Hitherto Ferdinand had been contend¬ ing for existence alone; he had been fulfilling no other duty than that of self-defense. But now, when victory gave him freedom to act, a higher duty occurred to him, and he remembered the vow which he had made at Loretto and at Rome, to his generalissima, the Holy Virgin, to extend her worship even at the risk of his crown and life. With this object, the oppression of the Protest¬ ants was inseparably connected. More favorable circumstances for its accomplishment could not offer than those which presented themselves at the close of the Bohemian war. Neither the power, nor a pretext of right, were now wanting to enable him to place the Palatinate in the hands of the Catholics, and the importance of this change to the Catholic interests in Germany would be incalculable. Thus, in rewarding the Duke of Bavaria with the spoils of his relation, he at once gratified his meanest passions and ful¬ filled his most exalted duties ; he crushed an en¬ emy whom he hated, and spared his avarice a painful sacrifice, while he believed he was winnirg a heavenly crown. In the Emperor’s cabinet, the ruin of Frederick had been resolved upon long before fortune had decided against him ; but it was only after this event that they ventured to direct against him the thunders of arbitrary power. A decree of the Emperor, destitute of all the formalities required on such occasions by the laws of the Empire, pro¬ nounced the Elector, and three other princes who had borne arms for him at Silesia and Bohemia, as offenders against the imperial majesty, and dis¬ turbers of the public peace, under the ban of the empire, and deprived them of their titles and ter- 156 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. ritories. The execution of this sentence against Frederick, namely the seizure of his lands, was, in further contempt of law, committed to Spain as Sovereign of the circle of Burgundy, to the Duke of Bavaria and the League. Had the Evan¬ gelical Union been worthy of the name it bore, and of the cause which it pretended to defend, in¬ superable obstacles might have prevented the exe¬ cution of the sentence ; but it was hopeless for a power which was far from a match even for the Spanish troops in the Lower Palatinate, to con¬ tend against the united strength of the Emperor, Bavaria, and the League. The sentence of pro¬ scription pronounced upon the Elector soon de¬ tached the free cities from the Union ; and the princes quickly followed their example. Fortu¬ nate in preserving their own dominions, they abandoned the Elector, their former chief, to the Emperor’s mercy, renounced the Union, and vowed never to revive it again. But while thus ingloriously the German princes deserted the unfortunate Frederick, and while Bo¬ hemia, Silesia, and Moravia submitted to the Emperor, a single man, a soldier of fortune, whose only treasure was his sword, Ernest Count Mansfeld, dared, in the Bohemian town of Pilsen, to defy the whole power of Austria. Left without assistance after the battle of Prague by the Elec¬ tor, to whose service he had devoted himself, and even uncertain whether Frederick would thank him for his perseverance, he alone for some time held out against the imperialists, till the garrison, ■mutinying for want of pay, sold the town to the Emperor. Undismayed by this reverse, he imme¬ diately commenced new levies on the Upper Pa¬ latinate, and enlisted the disbanded troops of the Union. A new army of 20,000 men was soon as¬ sembled undpr his banners, the more formidable to the provinces which might be the objects of its attack, because it must subsist by plunder. Un¬ certain where the swarm might light, the neigh¬ boring bishops trembled for their rich possessions, which offered a tempting pray to its ravages. But, pressed by the Duke of Bavaria, who now entered the Upper Palatinate, Mansfeld was com¬ pelled to retire. Eluding, by a successful strata¬ gem, the Bavarian general, Tilly, who was in pursuit of him, he suddenly appeared in the Lower Palatinate, and there wreaked upon the bishop¬ rics of the Rhine the severities he had designed for those of Franconia. While the imperial and Bavarian allies thus overran Bohemia, the Span¬ ish general, Spinola, had penetrated with a nume¬ rous army from the Netherlands into the Lower Palatinate, which, however, the pacification of Ulm permitted the Union to defend. But their measures were so badly concerted, that one place after another fell into the hands of the Spaniards ; and at last, when the Union broke up, the greater part of the country was in the possession of Spain. The Spanish general, Corduba, who com¬ manded these troops after the recall of Spinola, hastily raised the siege of Frankenthal, when Mansfeld entered the Lower Palatinate. But in¬ stead of driving the Spaniards out of this pro¬ vince, he hastened across the Rhine to secure for his needy troops shelter and subsistence in Alsace. The open countries on which this swarm of marauders threw themselves were converted into frightful de¬ serts, and only by enormous contributions could the cities purchase an exemption from plunder. Reinforced by this expedition, Mansfeld again appeared on the Rhine to cover the Lower Pala¬ tinate. So long as such an arm fought for him, the cause of the Elector Frederick was not irretrieva¬ bly lost. New prospects began to open, and misfortune raised up friends who had been silent during his prosperity. King James of England, who had looked on with indifference while his son- in-law lost the Bohemian crown, was aroused from his insensibility when the very existence of his daughter and grandson was at stake, and the victorious enemy ventured an attack upon the Electorate. Late enough, he at last opened his treasures, and hastened to afford supplies of mo¬ ney and troops, first to the Union, which at that time was defending the Lower Palatinate, and af¬ terward, when they retired, to Count Mansfeld. By this means his near relation, Christian, King 'of Denmark, was induced to afford his active sup¬ port. At the same time, the approaching expira¬ tion of the truce between Spain and Holland de¬ prived the Emperor of all the supplies which otherwise he might expect from the side of the Netherlands, More important still was the as¬ sistance which the Palatinate received from Tran¬ sylvania and Hungary. The cessation of hostili¬ ties between Gabor and the Emperor was scarcely at an end, when this old and formidable enemy of Austria overran Hungary anew, and caused him¬ self to be crowned king in Presburg. So rapid was his progress that, to protect Austria and Hungary, Bucquoi was obliged to evacuate Bo¬ hemia. This brave general met his death at the siege of Neuhausel, as, shortly before, the no less valiant Dampierre* had fallen before Presburg. Gabor’s march into the A ustrian territory was ir¬ resistible ; the old Count Thurn, and several other distinguished Bohemians, had united their hatred and their strength with this irreconcilable enemy of Austria. A vigorous attack on the side of Germany, while Gabor pressed the Emperor on that of Hungary, might have retrieved the for¬ tunes of Frederick ; but, unfortuately, the Bohe¬ mians and Germans had always laid down their arms when Gabor took the field ; and the latter was always exhausted at the very moment that the former began to recover their vigor. Meanwhile Frederick had not delayed to join his protector Mansfeld. In disguise he entered the Lower Palatinate, of which the possession was at that time disputed between Mansfeld and the Bavarian general, Tilly, the Upper Palatinate having been long conquered. A ray of hope shone upon him as, from the wreck of the Union, new friends came forward. A former member of the Union, George Frederick, Margrave of Baden, had for some time been engaged in assembling a military force, which soon amounted to a consi¬ derable army. Its destination was kept a secret till he suddenl} 7 took the field and joined Mans¬ feld. Before commencing the war, he resigned his Margraviate to his son, in the hope of eluding, by this precaution, the Emperor’s revenge, if his enterprise should be unsuccessful. His neighbor, HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 157 the Duke of Wirtemberg, likewise began to aug- ( nient his military force. The courage of the Pa¬ latine revived, and belabored assiduously to renew the Protestant Union. It was now time for Tilly to consult for his own safety, and he hastily sum¬ moned the Spanish troops, under Corduba, to his assistance. But while the enemy was uniting his strength, Mansfeld and the Margrave separated, and the latter was defeated by the Bavarian gene¬ ral near Wimpfen (1622). To defend a king whom his nearest relation persecuted, and who was deserted even by his own father-in-law, there had come forward an ad¬ venturer without money, and whose very legiti¬ macy was questioned. A sovereign had resigned possessions over which he reigned in peace, to hazard the uncertain fortune of war in behalf of a stranger. And now another soldier of fortune, poor in territorial possessions, but rich in illustri¬ ous ancestry, undertook the defense of a cause which the former despaired of. Christian, Duke of Brunswick, administrator of Halberstadt, seemed to have learned from Count Mansfeld the secret of keeping in the field an army of twenty thousand men without money. Impelled by youth¬ ful presumption, and influenced partly by the wish of establishing his reputation at the expense of the Roman Catholic priesthood, whom he cordially detested, and partly by a thirst for plunder, he assembled a considerable army in Lower Saxony, under the pretext of espousing the defense of Frederick, and of the liberties of Germany. “ God’s Friend, Priest’s Foe,” was the motto he • chose for his coinage, which was struck out of church plate ; and his conduct belied one-half at least of the device. The progress of these banditti was, as usual, marked by the most frightful devastation. En¬ riched by the spoils of the chapters of Lower Saxony and Westphalia, they gathered strength to plunder the bishoprics upon the Upper Rhine. Driven from thence, both by friends aud foes, the Administrator approached the town of Hoechst on the Maine, which he crossed after a murderous action with Tilly, who disputed with him the pas¬ sage of the river. With the loss of half his army he reached the opposite bank, where he quickly collected his shattered troops, and formed a junc¬ tion with Mansfeld. Pursued by'filly, this united host threw itself again into Alsace, to repeat their former ravages. While the Elector Frede¬ rick followed, almost like a fugitive mendicant, surrounded by a posse which acknowledged him as its lord, and dignified itself with his name, his friends were busily endeavoring to effect a recon¬ ciliation between him and the Emperor. Ferdi¬ nand took care not to deprive them of all hope of seeing the Palatine restored to his dominion. Full of artifice and dissimulation, he pretended to be willing to enter into a negotiation, hoping thereby to cool their ardor in the field, and to prevent them from driving matters to extremity. James I., ever the dupe of Austrian cunning, con¬ tributed not a little, by his foolish intermeddling, to promote the Emperor’s schemes. Ferdinand insisted that Frederick, if he would appeal to his clemency, should, first of all, lay down his arms, and James considered this demand extremely rea- ( sonable. At his instigation, the Elector dismissed his only real defenders. Count Mansfeld and the Administrator, and in Holland awaited his own fate from the mercy of the Emperor. Mansfeld and Duke Christian were now at a loss for some new name ; the cause of the Elector had not set them in motion, so his dismissal could not disarm them. War was their object; it was all the same to them in whose cause or name it was waged. After some vain attempts on the part of Mansfeld to be received into the Empe¬ ror’s service, both marched into Lorraine, where the excesses of their troops spread terror even to the heart of France. Here they long waited in vain for a master willing to purchase their ser¬ vices ; till the Dutch, pressed by the Spanish General Spinola, offered to take them into pay. After a bloody fight at Fleurus' with the Span¬ iards, who attempted to intercept them, they reached Holland, where their appearance com¬ pelled the Spanish general forthwith to raise the siege of Bergen-op-Zoom. But even Holland was soon weary of these unwelcome guests, and availed herself of the first moment to get rid of their dan¬ gerous assistance. Mansfeld allowed his troops to recruit themselves for new enterprises in the fertile province of East Friezeland. Duke Chris¬ tian, passionately enamored of the Electress Pa¬ latine, with whom he had become acquainted in Holland, and more disposed for war than ever, led back his army into Lower Saxony, bearing that princess’s glove in his hat, and on his stan¬ dard the motto, “ All for God and Her.” Nei¬ ther of these adventurers had as yet run their career in this war. All the imperial territories were now free from the enemy; the Union was dissolved ; the Mar¬ grave of Baden, Duke Christian, and Mansfeld, driven from the field, and the Palatinate overrun by the executive troops of the empire. Manheim and Heidelberg were in possession of Bavaria, and Frankenthal was shortly afterward ceded to the Spaniards. The Palatine, in a distant corner of Holland, awaited the disgraceful permission to appease, by abject submission, the vengeance of the Emperor; and an Electoral Diet was at last summoned to decide his fate. That fate, however, had been long before decided at the court of the Emperor ; though now, for the first time, were circumstances favorable for giving publicity to the decision. After his past measures toward the Elector, Ferdinand believed that a sincere recon¬ ciliation was not to be hoped for. The violent course he had once begun, must be completed successfully, or recoil upon himself. What was already lost was irrecoverable ; Frederick could never hope to regain his dominions ; and a prince without territory and without subjects had little chance of retaining the electoral crown. Deeply as the Palatine had offended against the House of Austria, the services of the Duke of Bavaria were no less meritorious. If the House of Aus¬ tria and the Roman Catholic church had much to dread from the resentment and religious rancor of the Palatine family, they had as much to hope from the gratitude and religious zeal of the Bava¬ rian. Lastly, by the cession of the Palatine El* ectorate to Bavaria, the Roman Catholic reli- 158 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. gion would obtain a decisive preponderance in the Electoral College, and secure a permanent triumph in Germany. The last circumstance was sufficient to win the. support of the three Ecclesiastical Electors to this innovation ; and among the Protestants the vote of Saxony was alone of any importance. But could John George be expected to dispute with the Emperor a right, without which he would expose to question his own title to the electoral dignity? To a prince whom descent, dignity, and political power placed at the head of the Pro¬ test-ant church in Germany, nothing, it is true, ought to be more sacred than the defense of the rights of that church against all the encroach¬ ments of the Roman Catholics. But the question here was not whether the interests of the Protest¬ ants were to be supported against the Roman Cath¬ olics, but which of two religions equally detested, the Calvinistic and the Popish, was to triumph over the other ; to which of the two enemies, equally dangerous, the Palatinate was to be as¬ signed ; and in this clashing of opposite duties, it was natural that private hate and private gain should determine the event. 'Hie born protector of the liberties of Germany, and of the Protestant religion, encouraged the Emperor to dispose of the Palatinate by his imperial prerogative ; and to apprehend no resistance on the part of Saxony to his measures on the mere ground of form. If the Elector was afterward disposed to retract this consent, Ferdinand himself, by driving the Evan¬ gelical preachers from Bohemia, was the cause of this change of opinion ; and in the eyes of the Elector, the transference of the Palatine Elect¬ orate to Bavaria ceased to be illegal, as soon as Ferdinand was prevailed upon to cede Lusatia to Saxony, in consideration of six millions of dollars, as the expenses of the war, Thus, in defiance of all Protestant Germany, and in mockery of the fundamental laws of the empire, which, at his election, he had sworn to maintain, Ferdinand at Ratisbon solemnly in¬ vested the Duke of Bavaria with the Palatinate, without prejudice, as the form ran, to the rights which the relations or descendants of Frederick might afterward establish. That unfortunate prince thus saw himself irrevocably driven from his possessions, without having been even heard before the tribunal which condemned him—a privi¬ lege which the law allows to the meanest subject, and even to the most atrocious criminal. This violent step at last opened the eyes of the King of England ; and as the negotiations for the marriage of his son with the Infanta of Spain were now broken off, James began seriously to espouse the cause of his son-in-law. A change in the French ministry had placed Cardinal Riche¬ lieu at the head of affairs, and this fallen kingdom soon began to feel that a great mind was at the helm of state. The attempts of the Spanish Vi¬ ceroy in Milan to gain possession of the Valtel- line, and thus to form a junction with the Austrian hereditary dominions, revived the olden dread of this power, and with it the policy of Henry the Great. The marriage of the Prince of Wales with Henrietta of France, established a close union between the two crowns; and to this alli¬ ance, Holland, Denmark, and some of the Italian states presently acceded. Its object was to ex¬ pel, by force of arms, Spain from the Valtelline, and to compel Austria to reinstate Frederick ; but only the first of these designs was prosecuted with vigor. James I. died, and Charles I., involved in disputes with his Parliament, could not bestow attention on the affairs of Germany. Savoy and Venice withheld their assistance; and the French minister thought it necessary to subdue the Hu¬ guenots at home, before he supported the German Protestants against the Emperor. Great as were the hopes which had been formed from this alli¬ ance, they were yet equaled by the disappoint¬ ment of the event. Mansfeld, deprived of all support, remained in¬ active on the Lower Rhine ; and Duke Christian of Brunswick, after an unsuccessful campaign, was a second time driven out of Germany. A fresh irruption of Bethlem Gabor into Moravia, frus¬ trated by the want of support from the Germans, terminated, like all the rest, in a formal peace with the Emperor. The Union was no more; no Pro¬ testant prince was in arms; and on the frontiers of Lower Germany, the Bavarian General Tilly, at the head of a victorious army, encamped in the Protestant territory. The movements of the Duke of Brunswick had drawn him into this quarter, and even into the circle of Lower Saxony, when he made himself master of the Administrator’s magazines at Lippstadt. The necessity of ob¬ serving this enemy, and preventing him from new inroads, was the pretext assigned for continuing Tilly’s stay in the country. But, in truth, both Mansfeld and Duke Christian had, from want of money, disbanded their armies, and Count Tilly had no enemy to dread. Why, then, still burden the country with his presence? It is difficult, amidst the uproar of contending parties, to distinguish the voice of truth ; but cer¬ tainly it was matter for alarm that the League did not laydown its arms. The premature rejoicings of the Roman Catholics, too, were calculated to increase apprehension. The Emperor and the League stood armed and victorious in Germany without a power to oppose them, should they ven¬ ture to attack the Protestant states and to annul the religious treaty. Had Ferdinand been in re¬ ality far from disposed to abuse his conquests, still the defenseless position of the Protestants was most likely to suggest the temptation. Obsolete conventions could not bind a prince who thought that he owed all to religion, and believed that a religious creed would sanctify any deed, however violent* Upper Germany was already overpow¬ ered. Lower Germany alone could check his despotic authority. Here the Protestants still predominated ; the church had been forcibly de¬ prived of most of its endowments ; and the present appeared a favorable moment for recovering these lost possessions. A great part of the strength of the Lower German princes consisted in these Chapters, and the plea of restoring its own to the church, afforded an excellent pretext for weaken¬ ing these princes. Unpardonable would have been their negligence, had they remained inactive in this danger. The remembrance of the ravages which Tilly’s army 159 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. had committed in Lower Saxony was too recent not to arouse the Estates to measures of defense. With all haste, the circle of Lower Saxony began to arm itself. Extraordinary contributions were levied, troops collected, and magazines filled. Ne¬ gotiations for subsidies were set on foot with Ve¬ nice, Holland, and England. They deliberated, too, what power should be placed at the head of the confederacy. The kings of the Sound and the Baltic, the natural allies of this circle, would not see with indifference the Emperor treating it as a conqueror, and establishing himself as their neighbor on the shores of the North Sea. The twofold interests of religion and policy urged them to put a stop to his progress in Lower Germany. Christian IV. of Denmark, as Duke of Holstein, was himself a prince of this circle, and by con¬ siderations equally powerful, Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden was induced to join the confederacy. These two kings vied with each other for the honor of defending Lower Saxony, and of oppos¬ ing the formidable power of Austria. Each offered to raise a well disciplined army, and to lead it in person. His victorious campaigns against Moscow and Poland gave weight to the promises of the King of Sweden. The shores of the Baltic were full of the name of Gustavus. But the fame of his rival excited the envy of the Danish monarch ; and the more success he pro¬ mised himself in this campaign, the less disposed was he to show any favor to his envied neighbor. Both laid their conditions and plans before the English ministry, and Christian IV. finally suc¬ ceeded in outbidding his rival. Gustavus Adol¬ phus, for his own security, had demanded the cession of some places of strength in Germany, where he himself had no territories, to afford, in case of need, a place of refuge for his-troops. Christian IV. possessed Holstein and Jutland, through which, in the event of a defeat, he could always secure a retreat. Eager to get the start of his competitor, the King of Denmark hastened to take the field. Appointed generalissimo of the circle of Lower Saxony, he soon had an army of sixty thousand men in motion ; the administrator of Magdeburg, and the Dukes of Brunswick and Mecklenburg, entered into an alliance with him. Encouraged by the hope of assistance from England, and the possession of so large a force, he flattered himself lie should be able to terminate the war in a single campaign. At Vienna, it was officially notified that the only object of these preparations was the protec¬ tion of the circle, and the maintenance of peace. But the negotiations with Holland, England, arid even France, the extraordinary exertions of the circle, and the raising of so formidable an army, seemed to have something more in view than de¬ fensive operations, and to contemplate nothing less than the complete restoration of the Elector Palatine, and the humiliation of the dreaded power of Austria. After negotiations, exhortations, commands, and threats had in vain been employed by the Emperor in order to induce the King of Denmark and the circle of Lower Saxony to lay down their arms, hostilities commenced, and Lower Germany became the theatre of war. Count Tilly, march¬ ing along the left bank of the Weser, made him¬ self master of all the passes as far as Minden. After an unsuccessful attack on Nieuburg, he crossed the river and overran the principality of Calemberg, in which he quartered his troops. The king conducted his operations on the right bank of the river, and spread his forces over the territories of Brunswick, but having weakened his main body by too powerful detachments, he could not engage in anyenterpriseof importance. Aware of his opponent’s superiority, he avoided a deci¬ sive action as anxiously as the general of the League sought it. With the exception of the troops from the Span¬ ish Netherlands, which had poured into the Lower Palatinate, the Emperor had hitherto made use only of the arms of Bavaria and the League in Germany. Maximilian conducted the war as executor of the ban of the empire, and Tilly, who commanded the army of execution, was in the Bavarian service. The Emperor owed superiority in the field to Bavaria and the League, and his fortunes were in their hands. This de¬ pendence on their good-will, but ill accorded with the grand schemes, which the brilliant commence¬ ment of the war had led the imperial cabinet to form. However active the League had shown itself in the Emperor’s defense, while thereby it secured its own welfare, it could not be expected that it would enter as readily into his views of conquest. Or, if they still continued to lend their armies for that purpose, it was too much to be feared that they would share with the Emperor nothing but general odium, while they appropriated to them¬ selves all advantages. A strong army under his own orders could alone free him from this debas¬ ing dependence upon Bavaria, and restore to him his former pre-eminence in Germany. But the war had already exhausted the imperial dominions, and they were unequal to the expense of such an armament. In these circumstances, nothing could be more welcome to the Emperor than the pro¬ posal with which one of his officers surprised him. This was Count Wallenstein, an experienced officer, and the richest nobleman in Bohemia. From his earliest youth he had been in the ser¬ vice of the House of Austria, and several cam¬ paigns against the Turks, Venetians, Bohemians, Hungarians, and Transylvanians had established his reputation. He was present as colonel at the battle of Prague, and afterward, as major-general, had defeated a Hungarian force in Moravia. The Emperor’s gratitude was equal to his services, and a large share of the confiscated estates of the Bo¬ hemian insurgents was their reward. Possessed of immense property, excited by ambitious views, confident in his own good fortune, and still more encouraged by the existing state of circumstances, he offered, at his own expence and that of his friends, to raise and clothe an army for the Em¬ peror, and even undertook the cost of maintaining it, if he were allowed to augment it to fifty thou¬ sand men. The project was universally ridiculed as the chimerical offspring of a visionary brain ; but the offer was highly valuable, if its promises should be but partially fulfilled. Certain circles 160 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. in Bohemia were assigned to him as depots, with authority to appoint his own officers. In a few months he had twenty thousand men under arms, with which, quitting the Austrian territories, he soon afterward appeared on the frontiers of Lower Saxony with thirty thousand. The Empe¬ ror had lent this armament nothing but his name. The reputation of the general, the prospect of rapid promotion, and the hope of plunder, at¬ tracted to his standard adventurers from all quar¬ ters of Germany ; and even sovereign princes, stimulated by the desire of glory or of gain, offered to raise regiments for the service of Austria. Now, therefore, for the first time in this war, an imperial army appeared in Germlany; which was menacing to the Protestants, and scarcely more acceptable to the Roman Catholics. Wal¬ lenstein had orders to unite his army with the troops of the League, and in conjunction with the Bavarian general to attack the King of Denmark. But long jealous of Tilly’s fame, he showed no disposition to share with him the laurels of the campaign, or in the splendor of his rival’s achieve¬ ments to dim the lustre of his own. His plan of operations was to support the latter, but to act entirely independent of him. As he had not re¬ sources, like Tilly, for supplying the wants of his army, he was obliged to march his troops into fertile countries which had not as yet suffered from war. Disobeying, therefore, the order to form a junction with the general of the League, he marched into the territories of Halberstadt and Magdeburg, and at Dessau made himself master of the Elbe. All the lands on either bank of this river were at his command, and from them he could either attack the King of Denmark in the rear, or, if prudent, enter the territories of that prince. Christian IY. was fully aware of the danger of his situation between two such powerful armies, lie had already been joined by the Administrator of Halberstadt, who had lately returned from Holland; he now also acknowledged Mansfeld, whom previously he had refused to recognize, and supported him to the best of his ability. Mans¬ feld amply repaid this service. He alone kept at bay the army of Wallenstein upon the Elbe, and prevented its junction with that of Tilly, and a combined attack on the King of Denmark. Not¬ withstanding the enemy’s superiority, this intrepid general even approached the bridge of Dessau, and ventured to intrench himself in presence of the imperial lines. But attacked in the rear by the whole force of the Imperialists, he was obliged to yield to superior numbers, and to abandon his post with the loss of three thousand killed. After this defeat, Mansfeld withdrew into Brandenburg, where he soon recruited and reinforced his army; and suddenly turned into Silesia, with the view of marching from thence into Hungary; and, in con¬ junction with Bethlem Gabor, carrying the war into the heart of Austria. As the Austrian do¬ minions in that quarter were entirely defenseless, Wallenstein received immediate orders to leave the King of Denmark, and, if possible, to inter¬ cept Mansfeld’s progress through Silesia. The diversion which this movement had made ia the army of Wallenstein, enabled the king to detach a part of his force into Westphalia, t to advance to its relief. After a short resist- 204 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS 7 WAR. ance, the treachery of some Capuchins opens the gates to one of his regiments; and the garrison, who had taken refuge in the citadel, soon laid down their arms upon disgraceful conditions. Master of the capital, he hoped to carry on more successfully his negotiations at the Saxon court ; but even while he was renewing his proposals to Arnheim, he did not hesitate to give them weight by striking a decisive blow. He hastened to seize the narrow passes between Aussig and Pirna, with a view of cutting off the retreat of the Sax¬ ons into their own country; but the rapidity of Arnheim’s operations fortunately extricated them from the danger. After the retreat /of this gene¬ ral, Egra and Leutmeritz, the last strongholds of the Saxons, surrendered to the conqueror: and the whole kingdom was restored to its legitimate sovereign, in less time than it had been lost. Wallenstein, less occupied with the interests of his master, than with the furtherance of his own plans, now purposed to carry the war into Saxony, and by ravaging his territories, compel the Elector to enter into a private treaty with the Emperor, or rather with himself. But, however little accus¬ tomed he was to make his will bend to circum¬ stances, he now perceived the necessity of post¬ poning his favorite scheme for a time* to a more pressing emergency. While he was driving the Saxons from Bohemia, Gustavus Adolphus had been gaining the victories, already detailed, on the Rhine and the Danube, and carried the war through Franconia and Lusatia, to the frontiers of Bavaria. Maximilian, defeated on the Lech, and deprived by death of Count Tilly, his best support, urgently solicited the Emperor to send with all speed the Duke of Friedland to his assist¬ ance, from Bohemia, and by the defense of Bava¬ ria, to avert the danger from Austria itself. He also made the same request to Wallenstein, and entreated him, till he could himself come with the main force, to dispatch in the mean time a few re¬ giments to his aid. Ferdinand seconded the re¬ quest with all his influence, and one messenger after another was sent to Wallenstein, urging him to move toward the Danube. It now appeared how completely the Emperor had sacrificed his authority, in surrendering to another the supreme command of his troops. In¬ different to Maximilian’s entreaties, and deaf to the Emperor’s repeated commands, Wallenstein remained inactive in Bohemia, and abandoned the Elector to his fate. The remembrance of the evil service which Maximilian had rendered him with the Emperor, at the Diet at Ratisbon, was deeply engraved on the implacable mind of the duke, and the Elector’s late attempts to prevent his rein¬ statement, were no secret to him. The moment of revenging this affront had now arrived, and Maximilian was doomed to pay dearly for his folly, in provoking the most revengeful of men. Wal¬ lenstein maintained, that Bohemia ought not to be left exposed, and that Austria could not be better protected, than by allowing the Swedish army to waste its strength before the Bavarian fortress. Thus, by the arm of the Swedes, he chastised his enemy; and while one place after another fell into their hands, he allowed the Elector vainly to await ius ai rival in Ratisbon. It was only when the complete subjugation of Bohemia left him without excuse, and the conquests of Gustavus Adolphus in Bavaria threatened Austria itself, that he yielded to the pressing entreaties of the Elector and the Emperor, and determined to effect the long-ex¬ pected union with the former ; an event, which, according to the general anticipation of the Roman Catholics, would decide the fate of the campaign. Gustavus Adolphus, too weak in numbers to cope even with Wallenstein’s force alone, naturally dreaded the junction of sufih powerful armies, and the little energy he used to prevent it,- was the oc¬ casion of great surprise. Apparently he reckoned too much on the hatred which alienated the lead¬ ers, and seemed to render their effectual co-opera¬ tion improbable : when the event contradicted his views, it was too late to repair his error. On the first certain intelligence he received of their designs, he hastened to the Upper Palatinate, for the purpose of intercepting the Elector; but the latter had already arrived there, and the junction had been effected at Egra. This frontier town had been chosen by Wallen¬ stein, for the scene of his triumph over his former rival. Not content with having seen him, as it were, a suppliant at his feet, he imposed upon him the hard condition of leaving his territories in his rear exposed to the enemy, and declaring by this long march to- meet him, the necessity and dis¬ tress to which he was reduced. Even to this humiliation, the haughty prince patiently sub¬ mitted. It had cost him a severe struggle to ask for protection of the man who, if his own wishes had been consulted, would never have had the power of granting it: but .having once made up his mind to it, he was ready to bear all the annoyances which were inseparable from that resolvd, and sufficiently master of himself to put up with petty grievances, when an important end was in view. But whatever pains it had cost to effect this junction, it was equally difficult to settle the con¬ ditions on \vhich it was to be maintained. The united army must be placed under the command of one individual, if any object was to be gained by the union, and each general was equally averse to yield to the superior authority of the other. If Maximilian rested his claim on his electoral dignity, the nobleness of his descent, and his in¬ fluence in the empire, Wallenstein’s military renown, and the unlimited command conferred on him by the Emperor, gave an equally strong title to it. If it was deeply humiliating to the pride of the former to serve under an imperial subject, the idea of imposing laws on so imperious a spirit, flattered in the same degree the haughtiness of Wallenstein. An obstinate dispute ensued, which, however, terminated in a mutual compromise to Wallenstein’s advantage. To him was assigned the unlimited command of both armies, particu¬ larly in battle, while the Elector was deprived of all power of altering the order of battle, or even the route of the army. He retained only the bare right of punishing and rewarding his own troops, and the free use of these, when not acting in con¬ junction with the Imperialists. After these preliminaries were settled, the two generals at last ventured upon an interview; but HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 205 not until they had mutually promised to bury the past in oblivion, and all the outward formalities of a reconciliation had been settled. According to agreement, they publicly embraced in the sight of their troops, and made mutual professions of friend¬ ship, while in reality the hearts of both were over¬ flowing with malice. Maximilian well versed in dissimulation, had sufficient command over himself, not to betray in a single feature his real feelings ; but a malicious triumph sparkled in the eyes of Wallenstein, and the constraint which was visible in all his movements, betrayed the violence of the emotion which overpowered his proud soul. The combined Imperial and Bavarian armies amounted to nearly 60,000 men, chiefly veterans. Before this force, the King of Sweden was not in a condition to keep the field. As his attempt to prevent their junction had failed, he commenced a rapid retreat into Franconia, and awaited there for some decisive moment on the part of the enemy, in order to form his own plans. The posi¬ tion of the combined armies between the frontiers of Saxony and Bavaria, left it for some time doubtful whether they would remove the war into the former, or endeavor to drive the Swedes from the Danube, and deliver Bavaria. Saxony had been stripped of troops by Arnheim, who was pursuing his conquests in* Silesia: not without a secret design, it was generally supposed, of favor¬ ing the entrance of the Duke of Friedland into that electorate, and of thus driving the irresolute John George into peace with the Emperor. Gus- tavus Adoiphus himself, fully persuaded that Wallenstein’s views were directed against Saxony, hastily dispatched a strong reinforcement to the assistance of his confederate, with the intention, as soon as circumstances would allow, of following with the main body. But the movements of Wal¬ lenstein’s army soon led him to suspect that he himself was the object of attack ; and the Duke’s march through the Upper Palatinate, placed the matter beyond a doubt. The question now was, how to provide for his own security, and the prize was no longer his supremacy, but his very exist¬ ence. His fertile genius must now supply the means, not of conquest, but of preservation. The approach of the enemy had surprised him before he had time to concentrate his troops, which were scattered all over Germany, or to summon his allies to his aid. Too weak to meet the enemy in the field, he had no choice left, but either to throw himself into Nuremberg, and run the risk of being shut up in its walls, or to sacrifice that city, and await a reinforcement under the cannon of Donau- werth. Indifferent to danger or difficulty, while he obeyed the call of humanity or honor, he chose the first without hesitation, firmly resolved to bury himself with his whole army under the ruins of Nuremberg, rather than to purchase his own safety by the sacrifice of his confederates. Measures were immediately taken to surround the city and suburbs with redoubts, and to form an intrenched camp. Several thousand workmen immediately commenced this extensive work, and an heroic determination to hazard life and pro¬ perty in the common cause, animated the inhabi¬ tants of Nuremburg. A trench, eight feet deep and twelve broad, surrounded the whole fortifica¬ tion ; the lines were defended by redoubts and batteries, the gates by half moons. The river Pegnitz, which flows through Nuremberg, divided the whole camp into two semicircles, whose com¬ munications was secured by several bridges. Above three hundred pieces of cannon defended the town walls and the intrenchments. The peasantry from the neighboring villages, and the inhabitants of Nuremberg, assisted the Swedish soldiers so zealously, that oh the seventh day the army was able to enter the camp, and, in a fort¬ night, this great work was completed. While these operations were carried on without the walls, the magistrates of Nuremberg were busily occupied in filling the magazines w r ith pro¬ vision and ammunition for a long siege. Measures were taken, at the same time, to secure the health of the inhabitants, which was likely to be endan¬ gered by the conflux of so many people ; cleanli¬ ness was enforced by the strictest regulations. In order, if necessary, to support the king, the youth of the city were embodied and trained to arms, the militia of the town considerably rein¬ forced, and a new regiment raised, consisting of four-and-twenty names, according to the letters of the alphabet. Gustavus had, in the mean time, called to his assistancehis allies, Duke William of Weimar, and the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel; and ordered his generals on the Bhine, in Thuringia, and Lower Saxony, to commence their march im¬ mediately, and join him with their troops in Nu¬ remburg. His army, which was encamped within the lines, did not amount to more than sixteen thousand men, scarcely a third of the enemy. The Imperialists had, in the mean time, by slow marches, advanced to Neumark, wdiere Wallen¬ stein made a general review. At the sight of this formidable force, he could not refrain from indulg¬ ing in a childish boast: “ In four days,” said he, “it will be shown whether I or the King of Sweden is to be master of the world.” Yet, not¬ withstanding his superiority, he did nothing to fulfill his promise ; and even let slip the opportu¬ nity of crushing his enemy, when the latter had the hardihood to leave his lines to meet him. “ Battles enough have been fought,” was his an¬ swer to those who advised him to attack the king, “it is now time to try another method.” Wallen¬ stein’s well-founded reputation required not any of those rash enterprises on which younger soldiers rush, in the hope of gaining a name. Satisfied that the enemy’s despair would dearly sell a vic¬ tory, while a defeat would irretrievably ruin the Emperor’s affairs, he resolved to wear out the ardor 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 oppo¬ site Nuremberg; and, by this well chosen posi¬ tion, cut off from the city and the camp of Gus¬ tavus, all supplies from Franconia, Swabia, and Thuringia. Thus he held in siege at once the city and the king, and flattered himself with the 206 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. hope of slowly, but surely, wearing qv & 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 neigboring country, the peasantry had fled with their property; and what little pro¬ vision remained, must be obstinately contested with the Swedes. The king spared the magazines within the town, as long as it was possible to pro¬ vision his army from without; and these forays produced constant skirmishes betweep the Croats and the Swedish cavalry, of which the surround¬ ing 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 Ba¬ varia was on its way to him, with an escort of a thousand men. Gustavus Adolphus having re¬ ceived intelligence of its approach, immediately sent out a regiment of cavalry to intercept it; and the darkness of the night favored the enter¬ prise. The whole convoy, with the town in which it was, fell into the hands of the Swedes ; the Im¬ perial escort was cut to pieces ; about twelve thousand cattle carried off; and a thousand wa¬ gons, 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 ac¬ tion, being driven back into the Imperial camp, with the loss of four hundred men. So many checks and difficulties, and so firm and unex¬ pected a resistance on the part of the king, made the Duke of Friedland repent that he had de¬ clined 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 inac¬ cessible intrenchments, without attempting any¬ thing more than slight attacks and unimportant skirmishes. Otf 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 succors arrived in the Swedish camp ;• and by this strong rein¬ forcement, 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 I by four Saxon regiments, and at Kitzingeu by the corps of the Bhine, which the Landgrave of Hesse, and the Palatine of Birkenfeld, dis¬ patched to the relief of the king. The Chancellor, Oxenstiern, undertook to lead this force to its des¬ tination. After being joined at Windsheim by the Duke of Weimar himself, and the Swedish General Banner, he advanced by rapid marches to Pruck and Eltersdorf, where he passed the Bed- nitz, and reached the Swedish camp in safety. This reinforcement amounted to nearly fifty thou¬ sand men, and was attended by a train of sixty pieces of cannon, and four thousand baggage wagons. Gustavus now saw himself at the head of an army of nearly seventy thousand strong, without reckoning the militia of Nuremberg, which, in case of necessity, could bring into the field about thirty thousand fighting men ; a for¬ midable force, opposed to another not less formid¬ able. The war seemed at length compressed to the point of a single battle, which was to decide its fearful issue. With divided sympathies, Eu¬ rope 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 succors, 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 rein¬ forcements from Bavaria. Besides the one hun¬ dred and twenty thousand men confronted to each other, and more than fifty thousand horses, in the two armies, and besides the inhabitants of Nu¬ remberg, whose number far exceeded the Swedish army, there were in the camp of Wallenstein about fifteen thousand women, with as many dri¬ vers, 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 Imperial¬ ists ; while, with the view of preventing such ex¬ cesses, Gustavus’s care for the morals of his sol¬ diers promoted marriages. For the rising gene¬ ration, 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 re¬ quired for each day; and fifteen thousand pounds of bread, which were daily delivered by the town into the Swedish camp, excited, without allaying, the hunger of the soldiers. The laudable exer¬ tions 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 Bednitz. But the duke remained immov- HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 207 able in his intrenchments, 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 remonstrance of Maximilian, and the impatience of his army, nor the ridicule of his opponent, could shake his purpose. Gmstavus, deceived in his hope of forcing a battle, and com¬ pelled by his increasing necessities, now attempted impossibilities, and resolved to storm a position which art and nature had combined to render im¬ pregnable. Intrusting his own camp to the militia of Nu¬ remberg, oh the fifty-eight day of his encampment, (the festival of S't. Bartholomew,) he advanced in full order of battle, and passing the Rednitz at Furtli, 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 Alten- berg ; while the camp itself, commanded by these eminences, spread out immeasurably along the plain. On these heights, the whole of the ar¬ tillery was placed. Deep trenches surrounded in¬ accessible redoubts, while thick barricades, 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 despe¬ rate 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 privi¬ lege of first throwing themselves into the open jaws of death. The assault was furious, the re¬ sistance 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 in¬ stant, converted into a flaming volcano, discharged on them a shower of shot. At the same moment the heavy cavalry rushed forward into the open¬ ings which the artillery had made in the close ranks of the assailants, and divided them; till the intrepid band, conquered by the strength of na¬ ture and of man, took to flight, leaving a hundred dead upon the field. To Germans had Gustavus yielded this post of honor. Exasperated at their retreat, he now led on his Finlanders to the at¬ tack, thinking by their northern courage, to shame the cowardice of the Germans. But they, also, after a similar hot reception, yielded to the supe¬ riority of the enemy; and a third regiment suc¬ ceeded them to experience the same fate. This was replaced by a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth; so that, during a ten hour’s 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 undaunt¬ edly maintained his 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 regi¬ ments to retreat. “ Sire,” replied the brave sol¬ dier, “ 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, tes¬ tified to the extent of his loss; and the Duke of Friedland remained unconquered within his lines. For fourteen days after this action, the two ar¬ mies 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 sol¬ diers, rendered furious, exercised the wildest out¬ rages 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 practiced indiscriminately on friend and foe. The weak hand of a single individual could not check excesses, encouraged by the silence, if not the ac¬ tual example, of the inferior officers. These shameful breaches of discipline, on the mainte¬ nance of which he had hitherto justly prided him¬ self, severely pained the king; and the vehemence with which he reproached the German officers for their negligence, bespoke the liveliness of his emo¬ tion. “ 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, even when 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 m y ear— 4 The king, our friend, does us more harm 208 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. than even our worst enemies.’ On your account I have stripped my own kingdom of its treasures, and spent upon you more than forty tons of gold*; while from your German empire I have not re¬ ceived 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 con¬ vinces 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 deter¬ mine on a retreat. By the casualties of war and sickness, Nuremberg had lost more than ten thou¬ sand of its inhabitants, and Gustavus Adolphus nearly twenty thousand 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; dead bodies infected the air, and bad food, the exhalations from so dense a population, and so many putrifying carcasses, to¬ gether 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 dis¬ tress. Affected by the general distress, and de¬ spairing of conquering the steady determination of the Duke of Friedland, the king broke up his camp on the 8th of September, leaving in Nurem¬ berg 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 bis retreat. His route lay by the Aisch and Windsheim toward 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 ex¬ hausted as himself, had only awaited the retreat of the Swedes to commence his own. Five days afterward, 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 neigh¬ borhood, announced his retreat, and showed the fate it had escaped. His march, which was di¬ rected on Forschiem, was marked by the most frightful ravages ; but lie 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. i In the mean time the imperial Bavarian army had marched into the Bishopric of Bamberg, where the Duke of Friedland a second time mus¬ tered 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 w'ithout advancing the termination of the war, or satisfying, by any * A ton of gold in Sweden amounts to 100,000 rix dollars. decisive result, the expectations of Europe. Tha king’s conquests in Bavaria, were, it is true, checked for a time by this diversion before Nu¬ remberg, 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. In¬ different toward 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 favorite plans. Still ad¬ hering to his purpose of detaching Saxony from its Swedish alliance, he selected that country for his winter quarters, hoping by his destructive pres¬ ence to force the Elector the more readily into his views. No conjuncture could be more favorable for his designs. The Saxons had invaded Silesia, where, reinforced by troops from Brandenburg and Swe¬ den, they had gained several advantages over the Emperor’s troops. Silesia wonld 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 res¬ cuing from the enemy an hereditary dominion of Austria, would silence the remonstrances of the Elector of Bavaria, and, under the mask of a pa¬ triotic zeal for the Emperor’s interests, Maximi¬ lian 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 in¬ creasing 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 Wal¬ lenstein at Bamberg, to protect his defenseless territory with the small remains of his troops, while the imperial army, undor Wallenstein, di¬ rected its march through Bayreuth and Coburg toward the Thuringian Forest. An imperial general, Hoik, had previously been dispatched into Vogtland, to lay waste this de¬ fenseless 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 i of the devoted country. Ruined churches, vil¬ lages in ashes, harvests willfully destroyed, fami¬ lies plundered, and murdered peasants, marked the progress of these barbarians, under whose scourge the whole of Thuringia, Yogtland, and Meissen, lay defenseless. Yet this was but the prelude to, greater sufferings, with which Wallenstein him¬ self, 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 Leipsic, and com¬ pelled the city, after a short resistance, to sur¬ render. His design was to push on to Dresden, and by the conquest of the whole country to pre- HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS* WAR. 209 scribe laws to the Elector. He had already ap¬ proached 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 Swe¬ dish armies, which were likely to be further rein¬ forced by the troops of George, Duke of Lune- burg, from Lower Saxony, he hastily retired upon Merseburg, to form a junction there with Count Pappenheim, and to repel the further ad¬ vance of the Swedes. Gustavus Adolphus had witnessed, with great uneasiness, the arts employed by Spain and Aus¬ tria to detach his allies from him. The more im¬ portant his alliance with Saxony, the more anx¬ iety 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 in¬ truder. The increasing influence of the king in Germany, his authority with the Protestant states, the unambiguous proofs which he gave of his am¬ bitious views, which were of a character calculated to excite the jealousies of all the states of the Em¬ pire, awakened in the Elector’s breast a thousand anxieties, which the imperial emissaries did not fail skillfully to keep alive and cherish. Every arbi¬ trary step on the part of the king, every demand, however reasonable, which he addressed to the princes of the empire, was followed by bitter com¬ plaints from the Elector, which seemed to an¬ nounce 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, favored the efforts of Arnheim; who, maintaining a constant correspondence with Wal¬ lenstein, labored 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 power¬ ful 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 se¬ ductive proposals, and the miseries which, in the case of hesitation, he threatened to accumulate upon Saxony, might at length overcome the reso¬ lution of the Elector, should he be left exposed to the vengeance of his enemies; while an indiffer¬ ence 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 sacri¬ fice his owm brilliant prospects to the safety of VOL. II.—11 his ally. He had already resolved upon a second attack on Ingolstadt; and the weakness of the Elector of Bavaria gave him hopes of soon forc¬ ing this exhausted enemy to accede to a neutral¬ ity. An insurrection of the peasantry in Upper Austria, opened to him a passage into that coun¬ try, and the capital might be in his possession before Wallenstein could have time to advance to its defense. 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 pressing occasions of common good, had stead¬ ily adhered to his own selfish projects; and who was important, not for the services he was ex¬ pected 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 ter¬ minate his career ? Rapidly assembling his troops in Franconia, he followed the route of Wallenstein through Thur¬ ingia. Duke Bernard of Weimar, who had been dispatched to act against Pappenheim, joined the king at Armstadt, who now saw himself at the head of twenty thousand veterans. At Erfurt he took leave of his queen, who was not again to be¬ hold him, save in his coffin, at Weissenfels. Their anxious adieus seemed to forbode an eternal sepa¬ ration. He reached Naumberg on the 1st November, 1632, before the corps which the Duke of Fried- land had dispatched 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 honor 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 1 fear the vengeance of Heaven will punish us for this presumption, and soon enough reveal to this deluded multitude my human weak¬ ness and mortality !” How amiable does Gustavus appear before us at this moment, when about to leave us for ever! Even in the plenitude of suc¬ cess, he honors 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 ind¬ uctivity before Nuremberg bad occasioned a sus¬ picion that he was unwilling to measure his pow¬ ers 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 pre¬ sent 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 lie could compel the king to give 210 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. battle before his junction with the Saxons. But his present reliance was not so much in his nu¬ merical 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, be¬ tween Naumburg and Weissenfels there was also a range of narrow defiles, formed by a long moun¬ tainous ridge, and the river Saal, which ran at their foot, along which the Swedes could not ad¬ vance 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 continence a labo¬ rious 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 Gus- tavus Adolphus had taken possession of Naum¬ burg, disappointed this plan, and it was now Wal¬ lenstein himself who awaited the attack. But in this expectation he was disappointed ; for the king, instead of advancing to meet him at Weissenfels, make preparations for intrenching himself near Naumburg, with the intention of awaiting there the reinforcements which the Duke of Luneburg was bringing up. Undecided whether to advance against the king through the narrow passes between Weissenfels and Naum¬ burg, 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 preparation which the latter made to fortify his camp, plainly showed that it was not his inten¬ tion soon to abandon it. But the approach of winter rendered it impossible to prolong the cam¬ paign, and by a continued encampment to exhaust the strength of the army, already so much in need of repose. All voices were in favor of imme¬ diately 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 appre¬ hend an attack from the king, he put his troops into winter-quarters, but so that, if necessary, they might be rapidly assembled. Count Pap- penheim was dispatched, 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 neigh¬ boring towns, to watch, on all sides, the motions of the enemy. Count Colleredo guarded the cas¬ tle of Weissenfels, and Wallenstein himself en¬ camped with the remainder not far from Merse¬ burg, between Flotzgaben and the Saal, from whence the purposed to march to Leipsic, and to cut off the tcommunication between the Saxons and the Swedish army. Scarcely had Gustavus Adolphus been informed of Pappenkeim’s departure, when suddenly break¬ ing up his camp at Naumburg, he hastened with his whole force to attack the enemy, now weak¬ ened to one half. He advanced, by rapid marches, toward 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 twelve thousand men to oppose to the twenty thousand of the enemy, he might hope to maintain his ground until the return of Pappenheim, who could not have advanced fur¬ ther than Halle, five miles distant. Messengers were hastily dispatched to recall him, while Wal¬ lenstein moved forward into the wide plain be¬ tween the Canal and Lutzen, where he awaited the king in full order of battle, and, by this posi¬ tion, cut off his communication with Leipsic and the Saxon auxiliaries. Three cannon shots, fired by Count Colleredo from the castle of Wissenfels, announced the king’s approach; and at this concerted signal, the light troops of the Duke of Friedland, under the com¬ mand of the Croatian General Isolani, moved for¬ ward 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 a line below Lutzen, opposite the Imperialists. The high road which goes from Weissenfels to Leipsic, is intersected between Lutzen and Mark- ranstadt by the canal which extends from Zeitz to Merseberg, and unites the Elster with the Saal. On this canal, rested the right wing of the Impe¬ rialists, and the left of the King of Sweden; but so that the cavalry of both extended themselves along the opposite side. To the northward, be¬ hind 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, Wal¬ lenstein, 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, four¬ teen smaller field pieces were ranged on an emi¬ nence, 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 three hundred paces, from the road, and the cavalry covered the flanks. All tho baggage was sent to Lutzen, that it might not im¬ pede the movements of the army; and the ammu¬ nition-wagons alone remained, which were placed in rear of the line. To conceal the weakness of the Imperialists, all the followers of the camp and sutlers were mounted, and posted on the left wing. These arrangements were made during the dark¬ ness of the night; and when the morning dawned, every thing was in readiness for the reception of the enemy. On the evening of the same day, Gustavus Adolphus appeared on the opposite plain, and 211 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. formed his troops in the order of attack. His dis¬ position was the same as that which had been so successful the year before at Leipsic. Small squadrons of hbrse 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 in¬ fantry was formed, under the command of Count Brahe ; the cavalry on the wings ; the artillery in front. To the German hero, Bernard, Duke of Wiemar, was intrusted the command of the Ger¬ man 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 conse¬ quences, and the picked body, rather than the number of 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. Dur¬ ing the whole course of the war, two such gener¬ als, 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 great¬ est 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 Leip¬ sic 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 vin¬ dicate 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 labor 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 bosom 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 drop¬ ping 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 armor,) rode along the ranks, to animate the courage of his troops with a joyful confidence, which, however, the fore¬ boding presentiment of his own bosom contra¬ dicted. “ 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 main¬ tained the attack with undaunted courage, till tli3 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 vigor¬ ously into the broken ranks of the Swedes. A mnrderous 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 cap¬ tured 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 cui¬ rassiers 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*, 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 sol¬ dier fired, and the king’s left arm was shattered. * Gefreyter, a person exempt from watching duty, nearly corresponding to the corporal. 212 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 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 over¬ come 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 toward the right wing with the king, making a long circuit to keep this discouraging sight from the disordered infantry, his majesty re¬ ceived a second shot through the back, which de¬ prived 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 en¬ sued 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, SmUland, Finland, East and West Gothland regiments rushed a second time upon the left wing of the enemy, which, already making but feeble resist¬ ance 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, ad¬ vanced 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 valor to complete the defeat. The imperial pow¬ der-wagons took fire, and with a tremendous ex¬ plosion, grenades and bombs filled the air. The enemy, now in confusion, thought they were at¬ tacked 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 lo&t, and the battle was to be fought anew. The order which recalled that ge^val to Lut- zen 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 ar¬ rived 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 unex¬ pected appearance revived the drooping courage of the Imperialists, and the Duke of Friedland quickly availed himself of the favorable 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 in almost the same excellent order which, when alive, they maintained with such unyielding courage. The same fate befell another regiment of Blues, which Count Piccolomini attacked with the imperial cavalry, and cut down after a despe¬ rate contest. Seven times did this intrepid gene¬ ral 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, Wal- lenstein 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 anta¬ gonist, but these hostile wishes remained ungra¬ tified; 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 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 213 a last gleam of joy. “ Tell the Duke of Fried- laud,” said he, “ that I lie without hope of life, but that I die happy, since I know that the im¬ placable enemy of my religion has fallen on the same day.” With Fappenheim, the good fortune of the Im¬ perialists departed. The cavalry of the right wing, already beaten, and only rallied by his ex¬ ertions, no sooner missed their victorious leader, than they gave up every thing for lost, and aban- draed 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, Colleredo, 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 cap¬ tured 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 en¬ dows 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 an¬ tagonist. 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 w r ho should hold it. Wallenstein, in his haste to leave Leipsic and Saxony, forgot to re¬ move his part. Not long after the battle was ended, Pappenheim’s infantry, who had been un¬ able to follow the rapid movements of their gene¬ ral, and who amounted to six regiments, marched on the field, but the work was done. A few hours earlier, so considerable a reinforcement w’ould perhaps have decided the day in favor of the Im¬ perialists ; 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 Leipsic, 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 colors, and almost without arms. The Duke of Weimar, it appears, after the toils of this bloody day, allowed the Swedish army some repose, be¬ tween 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 no¬ bility 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 pr: soners; a further proof of the animosity of the combatants, who neither gave nor took quarter. Pappenheim died the next day of his wounds at Leipsic ; 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 Wallenstin, he was present as colonel, was the beginning of his heroic career. Dangerously wounded, with a few troops, he made an impetu¬ ous 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 Leipsic, 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 Rhine to victory. The wild impetu¬ ous 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 from acting at its head. The battle at Leipsic, if Tilly may be be¬ lieved, was lost through his rash ardor. At the destruction of Magdeburg, his hands were deeply steeped in blood ; war rendered savage and fe¬ rocious his disposition, which had been cultivated by youthful studies and various travels. On his forehead, two red streaks, like swords, were per¬ ceptible, 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 pas¬ sion ; 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 Leipsic. Though Te Deum, in all Spanish and Austrian lands, was sung in honor of a victory, Wallenstein himself, by the haste with which he quitted Leip- sic, and soon after all Saxony, and by renouncing his original design of fixing there his winter quar¬ ters, openly confessed his defeat. It is true he made one more feeble attempt to dispute, even in his flight, the honor 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 Leipsic, 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, i that the full weight of the loss sustained was felt, ! and the shout of triumph died away into a silent, 214 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR gloomy despair. He, who had led them to the charge, returned not with them : there he lies 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 be¬ tween 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 recognized, 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 de¬ livered 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 indi¬ vidual 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. “Wil¬ lingly,” said he, “ would I have granted to the un¬ fortunate 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 re¬ gard 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, it excites our distrust 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 marvelous, 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 im¬ portant 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, how¬ ever, of this dark deed, the Emperor would re¬ quire 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 the 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 offense which he had com¬ mitted 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 imme¬ diately repented of and amply apologized for, laid the foundation of an irreconcilable 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 conde¬ scended to be the instrument of a secret negotia¬ tion with the Saxon court, which did little honor to his rank. Without any sufficient cause being assigned, he suddenly quitted the Austrian ser¬ vice, and appeared in the king’s camp at Nurem¬ berg, to offer his services as a volunteer. By his show of zeal for the Protestant cause, and pre¬ possessing and flattering deportment, he gained the heart of the king, who, warned in vain by Oxenstiern, continued to lavish his favor 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 lire of the enemy, to a green sash which he wore, the color of the Imperialists. Fie was at any rate the first to convey to his friend Wallenstein the intel¬ ligence 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 aojuring his faith. His last appearance in life was as com¬ mander of an imperial army in Silesia, where he died of the wounds he had received Defore 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 any where, does the maxim apply, that where the ordinary course of ihings is fully sufficient to account for the fact, the honor 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 Pro¬ vidence. History, too often confined to the un¬ grateful 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 move¬ ment of the political machine, and disappointing imsi mm '-mni Wm' m i l j; r ywm m WMmk m §§|h \ mm mmmm urn'SHi & i n 2—G. p. 258. 2—E. p. 214. 215 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS WAR. nil the ;Alculations of human prudence. Yester¬ day, the very soul, the great and animating prin¬ ciple of his own creation ; to-day, struck unpiti- ably 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 ex¬ pectations, he left his bereaved party disconsolate ; and the proud edifice of his past greatness sunk iutc 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 pro¬ tector, gave place to a more noble self-exertion on the part of the Estates ; and those who were formerly the mere instruments of his aggrandize¬ ment, now began to work for themselves. They now looked to their own exertions for the emanci¬ pation, 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 Ger¬ many, 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 impe¬ rial 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 enthu¬ siasm 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 in¬ tended to bestow upon the Elector of Branden¬ burg, as the dower of his daughter Christina, and afterward destined for his chancellor and friend Oxenstiern, evinced plainly what liberties he was disposed to take with the constitution of the em¬ pire. His allies, the Protestaut princes, had claims on his gratitude, which could be satisfied only at the expense of their Roman Catholic neighbors, and particularly of the immediate Ec¬ clesiastical Chapters; and it seems probable a plan was early formed for dividing the conquered rovinces, (after the precedent of the barbarian ordes 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 honor de¬ manded its full and immediate restoration to the legitimate sovereign. But, by a subtilty unwor¬ thy of a great mind, and disgraceful to the hon¬ orable title of protector to the oppressed, he eluded that obligation. He treated the Palati¬ nate 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 favor, 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 fur¬ nish, along with the other princes, his contribu¬ tion toward 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 mor¬ tification 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 IY. The weak bond of union by which Gustavus Adolphus continued to hold together the Protest¬ ant 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 em¬ pire, 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 favorable for the Emperor, not to justify him in entertaining the most brilliant expectations, 216 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. and not to encourage him to the prosecution of the war. Its inevitable consequence, for the mo¬ ment 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 ene¬ mies ? He was not likely to sacrifice such pros¬ pects, as the present turn of affairs held out to him, for any peace, not highly beneficial to him¬ self ; and such a peace the allies would not be dis¬ posed to accept. They naturally determined, therefore, to continue the war, and for this pur¬ pose, 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 alli¬ ance. With his death vanished all which his per¬ sonal qualities alone had rendered practicable ; and the mutual obligations 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, op¬ pressed by the heavy burdens of a fourteen years’ war, longed for the repose of peace, upon any con¬ ditions, 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 weak¬ ness 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 fi¬ nances 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. Fora time, it is true, the national glory ! reconciled the subject to these burdens, and the sums exacted, seemed but as a loan placed at in¬ terest, in the fortunate hand of Gustavus Adol¬ phus, 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 admini¬ stration of the kingdom. However dreadful to them, and unexpected, was the intelligence of his death, it did not deprive them of their manly cou¬ rage; 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 honor ; and with agreeable surprise, men beheld this venerable senate acting with all the energy and enthusiasm of youth. Sur¬ rounded 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 labored to ex¬ tend 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 Ladis- laus, 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 cood understanding between the two states. The representations by which the enemy sought to stir up Christian IY. against Sweden were nc longer listened to ; and the strong wish the Da¬ nish monarch entertained for the marriage ot 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 gra¬ tifying assurances to the regency of continued friendship and support, and encouraged tlienq 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 ot the Swedish conqueror, it was as fully sensible of the expediency of maintaining the alliance with Swe- ! den. 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 dis¬ advantageous peace with Austria, and then all HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. | 217 the past efforts to lower the ascendency of this dangerous power would be thrown away; or ne¬ cessity and despair would drive the armies to ex- ’ tort 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 protec¬ tion. The death of Gustavus, far from breaking up the alliance between France and Sweden, had cnly 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 in¬ terior, and defended from without by strong fron¬ tier garrisons, and fleets, the regency did not de¬ lay an instant to continue a war, by which Swe¬ den 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 vol¬ untarily retired from the contest, while the former measure was as honorable, as the latter was dis¬ graceful. The more boldness the regency dis¬ played, the more confidence would they inspire among their confederates, the more respect among their enemies, and the more favorable 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 continu¬ ation ; 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 honorable superintendence of all the operations, both military and political. But this superintendence was irreconcilable 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 al¬ liances and the requisite levies. 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 opera¬ tions, 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 Oxen¬ stiern, 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 instru¬ ment to carry out the plans of Gustavus Adol¬ phus 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. This was a heavy blow, both to the friend and the statesman. Sweden, indeed, had lost but a king, Germany a protector; but Oxenstiern, the author of his fortunes, the friend of his soul, and the object of his admiration. Though the greatest sufferer in the general loss, he was the first who by his energy rose from the blow, and the only one qualified to repair it. His pene¬ trating glance foresaw all the obstacles which would oppose the execution of his plans, the discouragement of the estates, the intrigues of hostile courts, the breaking up of the confeder¬ acy, the jealousy of the leaders, and the dislike of princes of the empire to submit to foreign authority. But even this deep insight into the existing state of things, which revealed the whole extent of the evil, showed him also the means by which it might be overcome. It was essential to revive the drooping courage of the weaker states, to meet the secret machinations of the enemy, to allay the jealousy of the more power¬ ful allies, to rouse the friendly powers, and France in particular, to active assistance ; but above all, to repair the ruined edifice of the German alli¬ ance, and to reunite the scattered strength of the party by a close and permanent bond of union. The dismay which the loss of their leader occa¬ sioned the German Protestants, might as readily dispose them to a closer alliance with Sweden, as to a hasty peace with the Emperor; and it depended entirely upon the course pursued, which of these alternatives they would adopt. Every thing might be lost by the slightest sign of de¬ spondency ; nothing, but the confidence which Sweden showed in herself, could kindle among the Germans a similar feeling of self-confidence. All the attempts of Austria to detach these princes from the Swedish alliance would be un¬ availing, the moment their eyes became opened to their true interests, and they were instigated to a public and formal breach with the Emperor. Before these measures could be taken, and the necessary points settled between the regency and their minister, a precious opportunity of action would, it is true, be lost to the Swedish army, of which the enemy would be sure to take the utmost advantage. It was, in short, in the power of the Emperor totally to ruin the Swedish in¬ terest in Germany, and to this he was actually invited by the prudent councils of the Duke of Friedland. Wallenstein advised him to pro¬ claim a universal amnesty, and to meet the Protestant states with favorable conditions. In the first consternation produced by the fall of Gustavus Adolphus, such a declaration would have had the most powerful effects, and probably would have brought the wavering states back to their al- 218 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. • legiance. But blinded by this unexpected turn of fortune and infatuated by Spanish counsels, he anticipated a more brilliant issue from war, and, instead of listening to these propositions of an accommodation, he hastened to augment his forces. Spain, enriched by the grant of the tenth of the ecclesiastical possessions, which the pope con¬ firmed, sent him considerable supplies, negotiated for him at the Saxon court, and hastily levied troops for him in Italy to be employed in Ger¬ many. The Elector of Bavaria also considerably increased his military force; and the restless dis¬ position of the Duke of Lorraine did not permit him to remain inactive in this favorable change of fortune. But while the enemy were thus busy to profit by the disaster of Sweden, Oxenstiern was diligent to avert its most fatal consequences. Less apprehensive of open enemies, than of the jealousy of the friendly powers, he left Upper Germany, which he had secured by couquests and alliances, and set out in person to prevent a total defection of the Lower German states, or, what would have been almost equally ruinous to Swe¬ den, a private alliance among themselves. Of¬ fended at the boldness with which the chancellor assumed the direction of affairs, and inwardly ex¬ asperated at the thought of being dictated to by a Swedish nobleman, the Elector of Saxony again meditated a dangerous separation from Sweden ; and the only question in his mind was, whether he should make full terms with the Emperor, or place himself at the head of the Protestants and form a third party in Germany. Similar ideas were che¬ rished by Duke Ulric of Brunswick, who, indeed,' showed them openly enough by forbidding the Swedes from recruiting within his dominions, and inviting the Lower Saxon states to Luneburg, for the purpose of forming a confederacy among themselves. The Elector of Brandenburg, jealous of the influence which Saxony was likely to attain in Lower Germany, alone manifested any zeal for the interests of the Swedish throne, which, in thought, he already destined for his son. At the court of Saxony, Oxenstiern was no doubt hon¬ orably received ; but, notwithstanding the per¬ sonal efforts of the Elector of Brandenburg, empty promises of continued friendship were all which he could obtain. With the Duke of Bruns¬ wick he was more successful, for with him he ven¬ tured to assume a bolder tone. Sweden was at the time in possession of the See of Magdeburg, the bishop of which had the power of assembling the Lower Saxon circle. The chancellor now as¬ serted the rights of the crown, and by this spir¬ ited proceeding, put a stop for the present to this dangerous assembly designed by the duke. The main object, however, of his present journey and of his future endeavors, a general confederacy of the Protestants, miscarried entirely ; and he was obliged to content himself with some unsteady alliances in the Saxon circles, and with the weaker assistance of Upper Germany. As the Bavarians were too powerful on the Da¬ nube, the assembly of the four Upper Circles, which should have been held atUlm,was removed to Heilbronn, where deputies of more than twelve cities of the empire, w r ith a brilliant crowd of doctors, counts, and princes, attended. The am¬ bassadors of foreign powers likewise, France, England, and Holland, attended this Congress, at which Oxenstiern appeared in person, with all the splendor of the crown whose representative he was. He himself opened the proceedings, and conducted the deliberations. After receiving 1 from all the assembled estates assurances of un¬ shaken fidelity, perseverance, and unity, he re¬ quired of them solemnly and formally to declare the Emperor and the League as enemies. But desirable as it was for Sweden to exasperate the ill-feeling between the emperor and the estates into a formal rupture, the latter, on the other hand, were equally indisposed to shutout the pos¬ sibility of reconciliation, by so decided a step, and to place themselves entirely in the hands of the Swedes. They maintained, that any formal declaration of war was useless and superfluous, where the act would speak for itself, and their firmness on this point silenced at last the chan¬ cellor. Warmer disputes arose on the third and principal article of the treaty, concerning the means of prosecuting the war, and the quota which the several states ought to furnish for the support of the army. Oxenstiern’s maxim, to throw as much as possible of the common burden on the states, did not suit very well with their de¬ termination to give as little as possible. The Swedish chancellor now experienced, what had been felt by thirty emperors before him, to their cost, that of all difficult undertakings, the most difficult was to extort money from the Germans. Instead of granting the necessary sums for the new armies to be raised, they eloquently dwelt upon the calamities which had befallen the for¬ mer, and demanded relief from the old burdens, when they were required to submit to new. The irritation which the chancellor’s demand for money raised among the states, gave rise to a thousand complaints; and the outrages committed by the troops, in their marches and quarters, were dwelt upon with a startling minuteness and truth. In the service of two absolute monarchs, Oxen¬ stiern had but little opportunity to become accus¬ tomed to the formalities and cautious proceedings of republican deliberations, or to bear opposition with patience. Beady to act, the instant the ne¬ cessity of action was apparent, and inflexible in his resolution, when he had once taken it, he was at a loss to comprehend the inconsistency of most men, who, while they desire the end, are yet averse to the means. Prompt and impetuous by nature, he was so on this occasion from principle ; for every thing depended on concealing the weakness of Sweden, under a firm and confident speech, and by assuming the tone of a lawgiver, really to become so. It was nothing wonderful, therefore, if, amidst these interminable discussions with German doc¬ tors and deputies, he was entirely out of his sphere, and if the inconstancy, which distinguishes the character of the Germans in their public delibera¬ tions, had driven him almost to despair. Without respecting a custom, to which even the most pow¬ erful of the emperors had been obliged to conform, he rejected all written deliberations which suited so well with the national slowness of resolve. He could not conceive how ten days could be spent in debating a measure, which with himself was de- HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 219 cided upon its bare suggestion. Harshly, however, as he treated the States, he found them ready enough to assent to his fourth motion, which con¬ cerned himself. When he pointed out the neces¬ sity of giving a head and a director to the new con¬ federation, that honor was unanimously assigned to Sweden, and he himself was humbly requested to give to the common cause the benefit of his en¬ lightened experience, and to take upon himself the burden of the supreme command. But in order to prevent his abusing the great powers thus con¬ ferred upon him, it was proposed, not without French influence, to appoint a number of overseers, in fact, under the name of assistants, to control the expenditure of the common treasure, and to consult with him as to the levies, marches, and quarterings of the troops. Oxenstiern long and strenuously resisted this limitation of his authority, which could not fail to trammel him in the execu¬ tion of every enterprise requiring promptitude or secrecy, and at last succeeded, with difficulty, in obtaining so far a modification of it, that his man¬ agement in affairs of war was to be uncontrolled. The chancellor finally approached the delicate point of the indemnification which Sweden was to expect, at the conclusion of the war, from the gratitude of the allies, and flattered himself with the hope that Pomerania, the main object of Swe¬ den, would be assigned to her, and that he would obtain from the provinces, assurances of effectual co-operation in its acquisition. But he could ob¬ tain nothing more than a vague assurance, that in a general peace the interests of all parties would be attended to. That on this point, the caution of the estates was not owing to any regard for the constitution of the empire, became manifest from the liberality they evinced toward the chancellor, at the expense of the free cities of the empire. They were ready to grant him the archbishopric of Mentz, (which he already held as a conquest,) and only with difficulty did the French ambassa¬ dor succeed in preventing a step, which was as im¬ politic as it was disgraceful. Though on the whole, the result of the congress had fallen far short of Oxenstiern’s expectations, he had at least gained for himself and his crown his main object, namely, the direction of the whole confederacy; he had also succeeded in strengthening the bond of union between the four upper circles, and obtained from the states a yearly contribution of two mil¬ lions and a half of dollars, for the maintenance of the army. These concessions on the part of the States, de¬ manded some return from Sweden. A few weeks after the death of Gustavus Adolphus, sorrow ended the days of the unfortunate Elector Palatine. For eight months he had swelled the pomp of his protector’s court, and expended on it the small re¬ mainder of his patrimony. He was, at last, ap¬ proaching the goal of his wishes, and the prospect of a brighter future was opening, when death de¬ prived him of his protector. But what he regarded as the greatest calamity, was highly favorable to his heirs. Gustavus might venture to delay the restoration of his dominions, or to load the gift with hard conditions ; but Oxenstiern, to whom the friendship of England, Holland, and Branden- bi rg, and the good opinion of the Reformed States was indispensable, felt the necessity of immediately fulfilling the obligations of justice. At this assem bly, at Heilbronn, therefore, he engaged to surren¬ der to Frederick’s heirs the whole Palatinate, both the part already conquered, and that which re¬ mained to be conquered, with the exception of Manheim, which the Swedes were to hold, until they should be indemnified for their expenses. The chancellor did not confine his liberality to the family of the Palatine alone; the other allied princes received proofs, though at a later period, of the gratitude of Sweden, which, however, she dispensed a little cost to herself. Impartiality, the most sacred obligation of the historian, here compels us to an admission, not much to the honor of the champions of German liberty. However the Protestant Princes might boast of the justice of their cause, and the sin¬ cerity of their conviction, still the motives from which they acted were selfish enough ; and the de¬ sire of stripping others of their possessions, had at least as great a share in the commencement of hostilities, as the fear of being deprived of their own. Gustavus soon found that he might reckon much more on these selfish motives, than on their patriotic zeal, and did not fail to avail himself of them. Each of his confederates received from him the promise of some possession, either already wrested, or to be afterward taken from the ene¬ my ; and death alone prevented him from fulfilling these engagements. What prudence had sug¬ gested to the king, necessity now prescribed to his successor. If it was his object to continue the war, he must be ready to divide the spoil among the allies, and promise them advantages from the confusion which it was his object to con¬ tinue. Thus he promised to the Landgrave of Hesse, the abbacies of .Paderborn, Corvey, Mun¬ ster, and Fulda; to Duke Bernard of Weimar, the Franconian bishoprics; to the Duke of Wir- temberg, the ecclesiastical domains, and the Aus¬ trian counties lying within his territories, all under the title of fiefs of Sweden. This spectacle, so strange and so dishonorable to the German char¬ acter, surprised the chancellor, who found it dif¬ ficult to repress his contempt, and on one occa¬ sion exclaimed, “ Let it be writ in our records, for an everlasting memorial, that a German prince made such a request of a Swedish nobleman, and that the Swedish nobleman granted it to the Ger¬ man upon German ground !” After these successful measures, he was in a condition to take the field and prosecute the war with fresh vigor. Soon after the victory at Lutzen, the troops of Saxony and Luneburg united with the Swedish main body ; and the Imperialists weie, in a short time, totally driven from Saxony. The united army again divided : the Saxons marched toward Lusatia and Silesia, to act in conjunction with Count Thurn against the Austrians in that quarter ; a part of the Swedish army was led by the Duke of Weimar into Franconia, and the other by George, Duke of Brunswick, into Westphalia and Lower Saxony. The conquests on the Lech and the Danube, during Gustavus’s expedition into Saxony, had been maintained by the Palatine of Birkenfeld, and the Swedish General Banner, against the Bava- 220 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. rians ; but unable to hold their ground against the victorious progress of the latter, supported as they were by the bravery and military experience of the Imperial General Altringer, they were under the necessity of summoning the Swedish General Horn to their assistance, from Alsace. This expe¬ rienced general having captured the towns of Ben- feld. Schlettstadt, Colmar, and Hagenau, com¬ mitted the defense of them to the Rhinegrave Otto Louis, and hastily crossed the Rhine to form a junction with Banner’s army. But although the combined force amounted to more than 16,000, they could not prevent the enemy from obtaining a strong position on the Swabian frontier, taking Kempten, and being joined by seven regiments from Bohemia. In order to retain the command of the important banks of the Lech and the Dan¬ ube, they were under the necessity of recalling the Rhinegrave Otto Louis from Alsace, where he had, after the departure of Horn, found it difficult to defend himself against the exasperated peasan¬ try. With his army he was now summoned to strengthen the army on the Danube; and as even this reinforcement was insufficient, Duke Bernard of Weimar was earnestly pressed to turn his arms into this quarter. Duke Bernard, soon after the opening of the campaign of 1633, had made himself master of the town and territory of Bamberg, and was now threatening Wurtzburg. But on receiving the summons of General Horn, without delay he began his march toward the Danube, defeated on his way a Bavarian army under John de Werth, and joined the Swedes near Donauwerth. This numerous force, commanded by excellent gene¬ rals, now threatened Bavaria with a fearful in¬ road. The bishopric of Eichstadt was completely overrun, and Ingolstadt was on the point of be¬ ing delivered up by treachery to the Swedes. Altringer, fettered in his movements by the ex¬ press order of the Duke of Friedland, and left without assistance from Bohemia, was unable to check the progress of the enemy. The most fa¬ vorable circumstances combined to further the progress of the Swedish arms in this quarter, when the operations of the army were at once stopped by a mutiny among the officers. All the previous successes in Germany were owing altogether to arms ; the greatness of Gus- tavus himself was the work of the army, the fruit of their discipline, their bravery, and their perse¬ vering courage under numberless dangers and privations. However wisely his plans were laid in the cabinet, it was to the army ultimately that he was indebted for their execution ; and the ex¬ panding designs of the general did but continually impose new burdens on the soldiers. All the de¬ cisive advantages of the war, had been violently gained by a barbarous sacrifice of the soldiers' lives in winter campaigns, forced marches, storm- ings, and pitched battles; for it was Gustavus’s maxim never to decline a battle, so long as it cost him nothing but men. The soldiers could not long be kept ignorant of their own importance, and they justly demanded a share in the spoil which had been won by their own blood. Yet, frequently, they hardly received their pay ; and the rapacity of individual generals, or the wants of the state, generally swallowed up the greater part of the sums raised by contributions, or levied upon the conquered provinces. For all the priva- tious he endured, the soldier had no other recom¬ pense than the doubtful chance either of plunder or promotion, in both of which he was often dis¬ appointed. During the life time of Gustavus Adolphus, the combined influences of fear and hope had suppressed any open complaint, but after his death, the murmurs were loud and universal; and the soldiery seized the most dangerous mo¬ ment to impress their superiors with a sense of their importance. Two officers, Pfuhl and Mit- schefal, notorious as restless characters, even during the king’s life, set the example in the camp on the Danube, which in a few days was imitated by almost all the officers of the army. They so¬ lemnly bound themselves to obey no orders, till these arrears, now outstanding for months, and even years, should be paid up, and a gratuity, either in money or lands, made to each man, ac¬ cording to his services. “ Immense sums,” they said, “ were daily raised by contributions, and all dissipated by a few. They were called out to serve amidst frost and snow, and no reward re¬ quited their incessant labors. The soldiers’ ex¬ cesses at Heilbronn had been blamed, but no one ever talked of their services. The world rung with the tidings of conquests and victories, but it was by their hands that they had been fought and won.” The number of the malcontents daily increased : and they even attempted by letters, (which were fortunately intercepted,) to seduce the armies on the Rhine and in Saxony. Neither the represen¬ tations of Bernard of Weimar, nor the stern re¬ proaches of his harsher associate in command, could suppress this mutiny, while the vehemence of Horn seemed only to increase the insolence of the insurgents. The conditions they insisted on were that certain towns should be assigned to each re¬ giment for the payment of arrears. Four weeks were allowed to the Swedish Chancellor to com¬ ply with these demands ; and in case of refusal, they announced that they would pay themselves, and never more draw a sword for Sweden. These pressing demands, made at the very time when the military chest was exhausted, and credit at a low ebb, greatly embarrassed the chancellor. The remedy, he saw, must be found quickly, be¬ fore the contagion should spread to the other troops, and he should be deserted by all his ar¬ mies at once. Among all the Swedish generals, there was only one of sufficient authority and in¬ fluence with the soldiers to put an end to this dis¬ pute. The Duke of Weimar was the favorite of the army, and his prudent moderation had won the good-will of the soldiers, while his military experience had excited their admiration. He now undertook the task of appeasing the discon¬ tented troops ; but, aware of his importance, he embraced the opportunity to make advantageous stipulations for himself, and to make the embar¬ rassment of the chancellor subservient to his own views. Gustavus Adolphus had flattered him with the promise of the Duchy of Franconia, to be formed out of the Bishoprics of Wurtzburg and Bamberg, » HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR* 221 and he now insisted on the performance of this pledge. He at the same time demanded the chief command, as generalissimo of Sweden. The abuse which the Duke of Weimar thus made of his influ¬ ence, so irritated Oxenstiern, that, in the first mo¬ ment of his displeasure, he gave him his dismissal from the Swedish service. But he soon thought better of it, and determined, instead of sacrificing so important a leader, to attach him to the Swedish interests at any cost. He therefore granted to him the Franconian bishoprics, as a fief of the Swedish crown, reserving, however, the two for¬ tresses of Wurtzburg and Kbnigshofen,- which were to be garrisoned by the Swedes : and also engaged, in the name of the Swedish crown, to secure these territories to the duke. His demand of the supreme authority was evaded on some spe¬ cious pretext. The duke did not delay to display his gratitude for this valuable grant and by his influence and activity soon restored tranquillity to the army. Large sums of money, and still more extensive estates, were divided among the officers, amounting in value to about five millions of dollars, and to which they had no other right but that of conquest. In the mean time, however, the oppor¬ tunity for a great undertaking had been lost, and the united generals divided their forces to oppose the enemy in other quarters. Gustavus Horn, after a short inroad into the Upper Palatinate, and the capture of Neumark, directed his march toward the Swabian frontier, where the Imperialists, strongly reinforced, threat¬ ened Wirtemberg. Alarmed at his approach, the enemy retired to the Lake of Bode, but only to show the Swedes the road into a district hitherto unvisited by war. A post on the entrance to Switzerland would be highly serviceable to the Swedes, and the town of Kostnitz seemed pecu¬ liarly well fitted to be a point of communication between him and the confederated cantons. Ac¬ cordingly. Gustavus Horn immediately commenced the siege of it; but destitute of artillery, for which he was obliged to send to Wirtemberg, he could not press the attack with sufficient vigor to pre¬ vent the enemy from throwing supplies into the town, which the lake afforded them convenient opportunity of doing. He, therefore, after an ineffectual attempt, quitted the place and its neighborhood, and hastened to meet a more threatening danger upon the Danube. At the Emperor’s instigation, the Cardinal In¬ fante, the brother of Philip IY. of Spain, and the Viceroy of Milan, had raised an army of four¬ teen thousand men, intended to act upon the Rhine, independently of Wallenstein, and to pro¬ tect Alsace. This force now appeared in Bavaria, under the command of the Duke of Feria, a Spaniard; and, that they might be directly em¬ ployed against the Swedes, Altringer was ordered to join them with his corps. Upon the first intel¬ ligence of their approach, Horn had summoned to his assistance the Palsgrave of Birkenfeld, from the Rhine ; and being joined by him at Stockach, boldly advanced to meet the enemy’s army of thirty thousand men. The latter had taken the route across the Dan¬ ube into Swabia, where Gustavus Horn came so close upon them, that the two armies were only separated from each other by half a German mile. But instead of accepting the offer of battle, the Imperialists moved by the Black Forest toward Breslau and Alsace, where they arrived in time to relieve Breysack, and to arrest the victorious progress of the Rhinegrave, Otto Louis. The latter had, shortly before, taken the Forest towns, and, supported by the Palatine of Birkenfeld, who had liberated the Lower Palatinate and beaten the Duke of Lorraine out of the field, had once more given the superiority to the Swedish arms in that quarter. He was now forced to retire be¬ fore the superior numbers of the enemy; but Horn and Birkenfeld quickly advanced to his sup¬ port, and the Imperialists, after a brief triumph, were again expelled from Alsace. The severity of the autumn, in which this hapless retreat had to be conducted, proved fatal to most of the Ital¬ ians ; and their leader, the Duke of Feria, died of grief at the failure of his enterprise. In the mean time, Duke Bernard of Weimar had taken up his position on the Danube, with eighteen regiments of infantry and one hundred and forty squadrons of horse, to cover Franconia, and to watch the movements of the Imperial Ba¬ varian army upon that river. No sooner had Altringer departed, to join the Italians under Feria, than Bernard, profiting by his absence, hastened across the Danube, and with the rapidity of lightning appeared before Ratisbon. The pos¬ session of this town would insure the success of the Swedish designs upon Bavaria and Austria; it would establish them firmly on the Danube, and provide a safe refuge in case of defeat, while it alone could give permanence to their conquests in that quarter. To defend Ratisbon, was the urgent advice which the dying Tilly left to the Elector; and Gustavus Adolphus had lamented it as an irreparable loss, that the Bavarians had anticipated him in taking possession of this place. Indescribable, therefore, was the consternation of Maximilian, when Duke Bernard suddenly ap¬ peared before the town, and prepared in earnest to besiege it. The garrison consisted of not more than fifteen companies, mostly newly-raised soldiers ; although that number was more than sufficient to weary out an enemy of far superior force, if supported by well-disposed and warlike inhabitants. But this was the greatest danger which the Bavarian garrison had to contend against. The Protestant inhabitants of Ratisbon, equally jealous of their civil and religious freedom, had unwillingly sub¬ mitted to the yoke of Bavaria, and had long looked with impatience for the appearance of a deliverer. Bernard’s arrival before the walls filled them with lively joy ; and there was much reason to fear that they would support the attempts of the besiegers without, by exciting a tumult within. In this perplexity, the Elector addressed the most pressing entreaties to the Emperor and the Duke of Friedland to assist him, were it only with five thousand men. Seven messengers in succession were dispatched by Ferdinand to Wallenstein, who promised immediate succors, and even an¬ nounced to the Elector the near advance of twelve thousand men under Gallas ; but at the same time forbade that general, under pain of death, to 222 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. march. Meanwhile the Bavarian commandant of Ratisbon, in the hope of speedy assistance, made the best preparations for defense, armed the Roman Catholic peasants, disarmed and carefully watched the Protestant citizens, lest they should attempt any hostile design against the garrison. But as no relief arrived, and the enemy’s artillery incessantly battered the walls, he consulted his own safety, and that of the garrison, by an honor¬ able capitulation, and abandoned the Bavarian officials and ecclesiastics to the conqueror’s mercy. The possession of Ratisbon, enlarged the pro¬ jects of the duke, and Bavaria itself now ap¬ peared too narrow a field for his cold designs. He determined to penetrate to the frontiers of Austria, to arm the Protestant peasantry against the Emperor, and restore to them their religious liberty. He had already taken Straubingen, while another Swedish army was advancing suc¬ cessfully along the northern bank of the Danube. At the head of his Swedes, bidding defiance to the severity of the weather, he reached the mouth of the Iser, which he passed in the presence of the Bavarian General Werth, who was encamped on that river. Passau and Lintz trembled for their fate; the terrified Emperor redoubled his entreaties and commands to Wallenstein, to has¬ ten with all speed to the relief of the hard-pressed Bavarians. But here the victorious Bernard, of his own accord, checked his career of conquest. Having in front of him the river Inn, guarded by a number of strong fortresses, and behind him two hostile armies, a disaffected country, and the river Iser, while his rear was covered by no tena¬ ble position, and no entrenchment could be made in the frozen ground, and threatened by the whole force of Wallenstein, who had at last resolved to march to the Danube, by a timely retreat he es¬ caped the danger of being cut off from Ratisbon, and surrounded by the enemy. He hastened across the Iser to the Danube, to defend the con¬ quests he had made in the Upper Palatinate against Wallenstein, and fully resolved not to de¬ cline a battle, if necessary, with that general. But Wallenstein, who was not disposed for any great exploits on the Danube, did not wait for his approach; and before the Bavarians could con¬ gratulate themselves on his arrival, he suddenly withdrew again into Bohemia. The duke thus ended his victorious campaign, and allowed his troops their well-earned repose in winter quarters upon an enemy’s county. While in Swabia the war was thus successfully conducted by Gustavus Horn, and on the Upper and Lower Rhine by the Palatine of Birkenfeld, Generals Baudissen, and the Rhinegrave Otto Louis, and by Duke Bernard on the Danube ; the reputation of the Swedish arms was as gloriously sustained in Lower Saxony and Westphalia by the Duke of Luneberg and the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel. The fortress of Hamel was taken by Duke George, after a brave defense, and a bril¬ liant victory obtained over the imperial General Gronsfeld, by the united Swedish and Hessian armies, near Oldendorf. Count Wassaburg, a natural son of Gustavus Adolphus, showed him¬ self in this battle worthy of # his descent. Sixteen pieces of cannon, the whole baggage of the Im¬ perialists, together with seventy-four colors, fell into the hands of the Swedes; three thousand of the enemy perished on the field, and nearly the same number were taken prisoners. The town of Osnaburg surrendered to the Swedish Colonel Knyphausen, and Paderborn to the Landgrave of Hesse; while, on the other hand, Biickeburg, a very important place for the Swedes, tell into the hands of the Imperialists. The Swedish ban¬ ners were victorious in almost every quarter of Germany; and the year after the death of Gustavus, left no trace of the loss which had been sustained in the person of that great leader. * In a review of the important events which sig¬ nalized the campaign of 1633, the inactivity of a man, of whom the highest expectations had been formed, justly excites astonishment. Among all the generals who distinguished themselves in this campaign, none could be compared with Wallen¬ stein, in experience, talents, and reputation ; and yet, after the battle of Lutzen, we lose sight of him entirely. The fall of his great rival had left the whole theatre of glory open to him ; all Eu¬ rope was now attentively awaiting those exploits, which should efface the remembrance of his de¬ feat, and still prove to the world his military su¬ periority. Nevertheless, he continued inactive in Bohemia, while the Emperor’s losses in Bavaria, Lower Saxony, and the Rhine, pressingly called for his presence—a conduct equally unintelligible to friend and foe—the terror, and, at the same time, the last hope of the Emperor. After the defeat of Lutzen he had hastened into Bohemia, where he instituted the strictest inquiry into the conduct of his officers in that battle. Those whom the council of war declared guilty of mis¬ conduct, were put to death without mercy, those who had behaved with bravery, rewarded with princely munificence, and the memory of the dead honored by splendid monuments. During the winter, he oppressed the imperial provinces by enormous contributions, and exhausted the Aus¬ trian territories by his winter quarters, which he purposely avoided taking up in an enemy’s country. And in the spring of 1633, instead of being the first to open the campaign, with this well-chosen and well-appointed army, and to make a worthy display of his great abilities, he was the last who appeared in the field ; and even then, it was a heriditary province of Austria, which he selected as the seat of war. Of all the Austrian provinces, Silesia was most exposed to danger. Three different armies, a Swedish under Count Thurn, a Saxon under Arnheim and the Duke of Lauenburg, and one of Brandenburg under Bergsdorf, had at the same time carried the war into this country; they had already taken possession of the most important places, and even Breslau had embraced the cause of the allies. But this crowd of commanders and armies was the very means of saving this pro¬ vince to the Emperor ; for the jealousy of the generals, and the mutual hatred of the Saxons and the Swedes, never allowed them to act with unanimity. Arnheim and Thurn contended for the chief command ; the troops of Brandenburg and Saxony combined against the Swedes, whom they HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 223 looked upon as troublesome strangers, who ought to be got rid of as soon as possible. The Saxons, on the contrary, lived on a very intimate footing with the Imperialists, and the officers of both these hostile armies visited and entertained each other. The Imperialists were allowed to remove their property without hindrance, and many did not affect to conceal that they had received vast sums from Vienna. Amoug such equivocal allies, the Swedes saw themselves sold and betrayed ; and any great enterprise was out of the question, while so bad an understanding prevailed between the troops. General Arnheim, too, was absent the greater part of the time ; and when he at last returned, Wallenstein was fast approaching the frontiers with a formidable force. His army amounted to forty thousand men, while to oppose him the allies had only twenty-four thousand men. They nevertheless resolved to give him battle, and marched to Munsterberg, where he had formed an intrenched camp. But Wallenstein remained inactive for eight days; he then left his intrenchments, and marched slowly and with composure to the enemy’s camp. But even after quitting his position, and when the enemy, emboldened by his past delay, manfully prepared to receive him, lie declined the opportu¬ nity of fighting. The caution with which he avoided a battle was imputed to fear ; but the well- established reputation of Wallenstein enabled him to despise this suspicion. The vanity of the allies allowed them not to see that he purposely saved them a defeat, because a victory at that time would not have served his own ends. To convince them of his superior power, and that his inactivity proceeded not from any fear of them, he put to death the commander of a castle that fell into his hands, because he had refused at once to surren¬ der an untenable place. For nine days, did the two armies remain within musket-shot of each other, when Count Terzky, from the camp of the Imperialists, appeared with a trumpeter in that of the allies, inviting General Arnheim to a conference. The purport was, that Wallenstein, notwithstanding his superiority, was willing to agree to a cessation of arms for six weeks. “He was come,” he said, “ to conclude a lasting peace with the Swedes, and with the princes of the empire, to pay the soldiers, and to satisfy every one. All this was in his power; and if the Austrian court hesitated to confirm his agreement, he would unite with the allies, and (as he privately whispered to Arnheim) hunt the Emperor to the devil.” At the second conference, he expressed himself still more plainly to Count Thurn. “ All the privileges of the Bohemians,” he engaged, “should be confirmed anew, the exiles recalled and restored to their estates, and he himself would be the first to resign his share of them. The Je¬ suits, as the authors of all past grievances, should be banished, the Swedish crown indemnified by stated payments, and all the superfluous troops on both sides employed against the Turks.” The last article explained the whole mystery. “ If,” he continued, “ he should obtain the crown of Bohe¬ mia, all the exiles would have reason to applaud his generosity; perfect toleration of religions should be established within the kingdom, the Palatine family be reinstated in its rights, and he would accept the Margraviate of Moravia as a compensation for Mecklenburg. The allied ar¬ mies would then, under his command, advance upon Vienna, and sword in hand, compel the Em peror to ratify the treaty.” Thus was the vail at last removed from the schemes, over which he had brooded for years in mysterious silence. Every circumstance now con¬ vinced him that not a moment was to be lost in its execution. Nothing but a blind confidence in the good fortune and military genius of the Duke of Friedland, had induced the Empercr, in the face of the remonstrances of Bavaria and Spain, and at the expense of his own reputation, to confer upon this imperious leader such an unlimited command. But this belief in Wallenstein’s being invincible, had been much weakened by his inaction, and al¬ most entirely overthrown by the defeat at Lutzen. His enemies at the imperial court now renewed their intrigues ; and the Emperor’s disappointment at the failure of his hopes, procured for their re¬ monstrances a favorable reception. Wallenstein’s whole conduct was now reviewed with the most malicious criticism; his ambitious haughtiness, his disobedience to the Emperor’s orders, were re¬ called to the recollection of that jealous prince, as well as the complaints of the Austrian subjects against his boundless oppression ; his fidelity was questioned, and alarming hints thrown out as to his secret views. These insinuations, which the conduct of the duke seemed but too well to justify, failed not to make a deep impression on Ferdinand ; but the step had been taken, and the great power with which Wallenstein had been invested, could not be taken from him without danger. Insensi¬ bly to diminish that power, was the only course that now remained, and, to effect this, it must in the first place be divided ; but, above all, the Em¬ peror’s present dependence on the good will of his general put an end to. But even this right had been resigned in his engagement with Wallenstein, and the Emperor’s own handwriting secured him against every attempt to unite another general with him in the command, or to exercise any im¬ mediate act of authority over the troops. As this disadvantageous contract could neither be kept nor broken, recourse was had to artifice. Wallen¬ stein was Imperial Generalissimo in Germany, but his command extended no further, and he could not presume to exercise any authority over a for¬ eign army. A Spanish army was accordingly raised in Milan, and marched intc Germany under a Spanish general. Wallenstein low ceased to be indispensable because he was no longer supreme, and in case of necessity, the Emperor was now provided with the means of support even against him. The duke quickly and deeply felt whence this blow came, and whither it was aimed. In vain did he protest against this violation of the com¬ pact, to the Cardinal Infante ; the Italian army continued its march, and he was forced to detach General Altringer to join it with a reinforcement. He took care, indeed, so closely to fetter the lat¬ ter, as to prevent the Italian army from acquiring any great reputation in Alsace and Swabia; but thia bold step of the court awakened him from hi» 224 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. security, and warned him of the approach of dan¬ ger. That he might not a second time be de- { >rived of his command, and lose the fruit of all lis labors, he must accelerate the accomplishment of his long meditated designs. He secured the attachment of his troops by removing the doubt¬ ful officers, and by his liberality to the rest. He had sacrificed to the welfare of the army every other order in the state, every consideration of justice and humanity, and therefore he reckoned upon their gratitude. At the very moment when he meditated an unparalleled act of ingratitude against the author of his own good fortune, he founded all his hopes upon the gratitude which was due to himself. ' The leaders of the Silesian armies had no au¬ thority from their principals to consent, on their own discretion, to such important proposals as those of Wallenstein, and they did not even feel themselves warranted in granting, for more than a fortnight, the cessation of hostilities which he demanded. Before the duke disclosed his designs to Sweden and Saxony, he had deemed it advisa¬ ble to secure the sanction of France to his bold undertaking. For this purpose, a secret negotia¬ tion had been carried on with the greatest possible caution and distrust, by Count Kinsky with Feu- quieres, the French ambassador at Dresden, and had terminated according to his wishes. Feu- quieres received orders from his court to promise every assistance on the part of France, and to offer the duke a considerable pecuniary aid in case of need. But it was this excessive caution to secure him¬ self on all sides, that led to his ruin. The French ambassador with astonishment discovered that a lan, which, more than any other, required secrecy, ad been communicated to the Swedes and the Saxons. And yet it was generally known that the Saxon ministry was in the interests of the Emperor, and on the other hand, the conditions offered to the Swedes fell too far short of their ex¬ pectations to be likely to be accepted. Fou- quieres, therefore, could not believe that the duke could be serious in calculating upon the aid of the latter, and the silence of the former. He commu¬ nicated accordingly his doubts and anxieties to the Swedish chancellor, who equally distrusted the views of Wallenstein, and disliked his plans. Although it was no secret to Oxenstiern, that the duke had formerly entered into a similar negotia¬ tion with Gustavus Adolphus, he could not credit the possibility of inducing a whole army to revolt, and of his extravagant promises. So daring a de¬ sign, and such imprudent conduct, seemed not to be consistent with the duke’s reserved and suspi¬ cious temper, and he was the more inclined to consider the whole as the result of dissimulation and treachery, because he had less reason to doubt his prudence than his honesty. Oxenstiern’s doubts at last affected Arnheim himself, who, in full confidence in Wallenstein’s sincerity, had repaired to the chancellor at Geln- hausen, to persuade him to lend some of his best regiments to the duke, to aid him in the execution of the plan. They began to suspect that the whole proposal was only a snare to disarm the allies, and to betray the flower of their troops into the hands of the Emperor. Wallenstein’s well- known character did not contradict the suspicion, and the inconsistencies in which he afterward in¬ volved himself, entirely destroyed all confidence iu his sincerity. While he was endeavoring to draw the Swedes into this alliance, and requiring the help of their best troops, he declared to Arn¬ heim that they must begin with expelling the Swedes from the empire; and while the Saxon officers, relying upon the security of the truce, repaired in great numbers to his camp, he made an unsuccessful attempt to seize them. He was the first to break the truce, which some months afterward he renewed, though not without great difficulty. All confidence in his sincerity was lost; his whole conduct was regarded as a tissue of deceit and low cunning, devised to weaken the allies and repair his own strength. This indeed he actually did effect, as his own army daily aug¬ mented, while that of the allies was reduced nearly one half by desertion and bad provisions. But he did not make that use of his superiority which Vienna expected. When all men were looking for a decisive blow to be struck, he sud¬ denly renewed the negotiations; and when the truce lulled the allies into security, he as suddenly recommenced hostilities. All these contradic¬ tions arose out of the double and irreconcilable designs to ruin at once the Emperor aud the Swedes, and to conclude a separate peace with the Saxons. Impatient at the ill success of his negotiations, he at last determined to display his strength ; the more so, as the pressing distress within the em¬ pire, and the growing dissatisfaction of the Im¬ perial court, admitted not of his making any longer delay. Before the last cessation of hos¬ tilities, General Hoik, from Bohemia, had attacked the circle of Meissen, laid waste every thing on his route with fire and sword, driven the Elector into his fortresses, and taken the town of Leip- sic. But the truce in Bohemia put a period to his ravages, and the consequences ot his excesses brought him to the grave at Adort. As soon as hostilities were recommenced, Wallenstein made a movement, as if he designed to penetrate through Lusatia into Saxony, and circulated the report that Piccolomini had already invaded that country. Arnheim immediately broke, up his camp in Silesia, to follow him, and hastened to the assistance of the Electorate. By this means the Swedes were left exposed, who were encamped in small force under Count Thurn, at Steinau, on the Oder, and this was exactly what Wallenstein desired. He allowed the Saxon general to ad¬ vance sixteen miles toward Meissen, and then suddenly turning toward the Oder, surprised the Swedish army in the most complete security. Their cavalry was first beaten by General Schaf- gotsch, who was sent against them, and the infan¬ try completely surrounded at Steinau by the duke’s army which followed. Wallenstein gave Count Thurn half an hour to deliberate whether he would defend himself with two thousand five hundred men, against more than twenty thousand, or surrender at discretion. But there was no room for deliberation. The army surrendered, and the most complete victory was obtained with- HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 225 oat bloodshed. Colors, baggage, and artillery, all fell into the hands of the victors, the officers were taken into custody, the privates drafted into the army of Wallenstein. And now at last, after a banishment of fourteen years, after numberless changes of fortune, the author of the Bohemian insurrection, and the remote origin of this destruc¬ tive war, the notorious Count Thurn, was in the power of his enemies. With blood-thirsty impa¬ tience, the arrival of this great criminal was looked for in Vienna, where they already antici¬ pated the malicious triumph of sacrificing so dis¬ tinguished a victim to public justice. But to de¬ prive the Jesuits of this pleasure, was a still sweeter triumph to Wallenstein, and Thurn was set at liberty. Fortunately for him, he knew more than it was prudent to have divulged in Vienna, and his enemies were also those of Wal¬ lenstein. A defeat might have been forgiven in Vienna, but this disappointment of their hopes they could not pardon. “What should I have done with this madman ?” he writes, with a mali¬ cious sneer, to the minister who called him to account for this unseasonable magnanimity. “Would to Heaven the enemy had no generals but such as he. At the head of the Swedish army, he will render us much better service than in prison.” The victory of Steinau was followed by the capture of Leignitz, Grossglogau, and even of Frankfort on the Oder. Schafgotsch, who re¬ mained in Silesia to complete the subjugation of that province, blockaded Brieg, and threatened Breslau, though in vain, as that free town was jealous of its privileges, and devoted to the Swedes. Colonels Illo and Goetz were ordered by Wallen¬ stein to the Warta, to push forward into Pomera¬ nia, and to the coasts of the Baltic, and actually obtained possession of Landsberg, the key of Pomerania. While thus the Elector of Branden¬ burg and the Duke of Pomerania were made to tremble for their dominions, Wallenstein himself, with the remainder of his army, burst suddenly into Lusatia, where he took Goerlitz by storm, and forced Bautzen to surrender. But his object was merely to alarm the Elector of Saxony, not to follow up the advantages already obtained; and therefore, even with the sword in his hand, he continued his negotiations for peace with Bran¬ denburg and Saxony, but with no better success than before, as the inconsistencies of his conduct had destroyed all confidence in his sincerity. He was therefore on the point of turning his whole force in earnest against the unfortunate Saxons, and effecting his object by force of arms, when circumstances compelled him to leave these terri¬ tories. The conquests of Duke Bernard upon the Danube, which threatened Austria itself with im¬ mediate danger, urgently demanded his presence in Bavaria; and the expulsion of the Saxons and Swedes from Silesia, deprived him of every pre¬ text for longer resisting the Imperial orders, and leaving the Elector of Bavaria without assistance. With his main body, therefore, he immediately set out for the Upper Palatinate, and his retreat freed Saxony forever of this formidable enemy. So long as was possible, he had delayed to move to the rescue of Bavaria, and on every pretext Vol. II.— 15 evaded the commands of the Emperor. He had, indeed, after reiterated remonstrances, dispatched from Bohemia a reinforcement of some regiments to Count Altringer, who was defending the Lech and the Danube against Horn and Bernard, but under the express condition of his acting merely on the defensive. He referred the Emperor and the Elector, whenever they applied to him for aid, to Altringer, who, as he publicly gave out, had re¬ ceived unlimited powers; secretly, however, he tied up his hands by the strictest injunctions, and even threatened him with death if he exceeded his orders. When Duke Bernard had appeared before Ratisbon, and the Emperor as well as the Elector repeated still more urgently their demand for suc¬ cour, he pretended he was about to dispatch Ge¬ neral Gallas with a considerable army to the Dan¬ ube ; but this movement also was delayed, and Ratisbon, Saubingen, and Cham, as well as the bishopric of Eichstadt, fell into the hands of the Swedes. When at last he could no longer neglect the orders of the Court, he marched slowly toward the Bavarian frontier, where he recovered the town^of Cham, which had been taken by the Swedes. But no sooner did he learn that on the Swedish side a diversion was contemplated, by an inroad of the Saxons into Bohemia, than he availed him¬ self of the report, as a pretext for immediately re¬ treating into that kingdom. Every consideration, he urged, must be postponed to the defense and preservation of the hereditary dominions of the Emperor; and on this plea, he remained firmly fixed in Bohemia, which he guarded as if it had been his own property. And when the Emperor laid upon him his commands to move toward the Danube, and prevent the Duke of Weimar from establishing himself in so dangerous a position on the frontiers of Austria, Wallenstein thought proper to conclude the campaign a second time,. and quartered his troops for the winter in this ex¬ hausted kingdom. Such continued insolence and unexampled con¬ tempt of the Imperial orders, as well as obvious neglect of the common cause, joined to his equivo¬ cal behavior toward the enemy, tended at last to • convince the Emperor of the truth of those unfa¬ vorable reports with regard to the duke, which were current through Germany. The latter had. for a long time, succeeded in glozing over his criminal correspondence with the enemy, and per¬ suading the Emperor, still prepossessed in his fa¬ vor, that the sole object of his secret conferences was to obtain peace for Germany. But impene¬ trable as he himself believed his proceedings to be, in the course of his conduct, enough transpired to justify the insinuations with which his rivals in¬ cessantly loaded the ear of the* Emperor. In order to satisfy himself of the truth or falsehood of these- rumors, Ferdinand had already, at different times, sent spies into Wallenstein’s camp; but as the duke took the precaution never to commit any thing to writing, they returned with nothing but ; conjectures. But when, at last, those ministers who formerly had been, his champions at the court, in consequence of their estates not being exempted by Wallenstein from! the general exactions, joined his enemies; when the Elector of Bavaria threat¬ ened, in ease of Wallenstein being any longer re- 226 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. tained in the supreme command, to unite with the Swedes; when the Spanish ambassador insisted on his dismissal, and threatened, in case of refusal, to withdraw the subsidies furnished by his Crown, the Emperor found himself a second time com¬ pelled to deprive him of the command. The Emperor’s authoritative and direct interfe¬ rence with the army, soon convinced the duke that the compact with himself was regarded as at an end, and that his dismissal was inevitable. One of his inferior generals in Austria, whom he had forbidden, under pain of death, to obey the orders of the court, received the positive commands of the Emperor to join the Elector o£ Bavaria ; and Wallenstein himself was imperiously ordered to send some regiments to reinforce the army of the Cardinal Infante, who was on his march from Italy. All these measures convinced him that the plan was finally arranged to disarm him by degrees, and at once, when he was weak and defenseless, to complete his ruin. In self-defense, must he notv hasten to carry into execution the plans which he had originally formed only with the view of aggrandizement. He had delayed too long, either because the favorable con¬ figuration of the stars had not yet presented itself, or, as he used to say, to check the impatience of his friends, because the time was not yet come. The time, even now, was not come: but the pres¬ sure of circumstances no longer allowed him to await the favor of the stars. The first step was to assure himself of the sentiments of his principal officers, and then to try the attachment of the army, which he had so long confidently reckoned on. Three of them, Colonels Kinsky, Terzky, and Illo, had long been in his secrets, and the two first were further united to his interests by the ties of relationship. The same wild ambition, the same bitter hatred of the government, and the hope of enormous rewards, bound them in the closest man¬ ner to Wallenstein, who, to increase the number of his adherents, could stoop to the lowest means. He had once advised Colonel Illo to solicit, in Vi¬ enna, the title of Count, and had promised to back his application with his powerful mediation. But he secretly wrote to the ministry, advising them to refuse his request, as to grant it would give rise to similar demands from others, whose services and claims were equal to his. On Illo’s return to the camp, Wallenstein immediately demanded to know the success of his mission ; and when informed by Illo of its failure, he broke out into the bitterest 'complaints against the court. “Thus,” said he, are our faithful services rewarded. My recom¬ mendation is disregarded, and your merit denied «o trifling a reward ! Who would any longer de¬ vote his services to so ungrateful a master? No, for my part, I am henceforth the determined foe >of Austria.” Illo agreed with him, and a close al¬ liance was cemented between them. But what was known to these three confidants of the duke was long an impenetrable secret to the rest; and the confidence with which Wallenstein spoke of the devotion of his officers, was founded merely on the favors he had lavished on them, and on their known dissatisfaction with the Court. But this vague presumption must be converted Into »eertakty, before he could venture to lay aside the mask, or take any open step against the Em¬ peror. Count Piccolomini, who had distinguished himself by his unparalleled bravery at Lutzen, was the first whose fidelity he put to the proof. He had, he thought, gained the attachment of this ge¬ neral by large presents, and preferred him to all others, because born under the same constellations with himself. He disclosed to him, that, in con¬ sequence of the Emperor’s ingratitude, and the near approach of his own danger, he had irrevoca¬ bly determined entirely to abandon the party of Austria, to join the enemy with the best part of his army, and to make war upon the House of Aus¬ tria, on all sides of its dominions, till he had wholly extirpated it. In the execution of this plan, he principally reckoned on the services of Picco¬ lomini, and had beforehand promised him the greatest rewards. When the latter, to conceal his amazement at this extraordinary communica¬ tion, spoke of the dangers and obstacles which would oppose so hazardous an enterprize, Wallen¬ stein ridiculed his fears. “In such enterprizes,” he maintained, “ nothing was difficult but the com¬ mencement. The stars were propitious to him, the opportunity the best that could be wished for, and something must be always trusted to fortune. His resolution was taken, and if it could not be other¬ wise, he would encounter the hazard at the head of* a thousand horse.” Piccolomini was careful not to excite Wallenstein’s suspicions by longer opposition, and yielded apparently to the force of his reasoning. Such was the infatuation of the duke, that notwithstanding the warnings of Count Terzky, he never doubted the sincerity of this man, who lost not a moment in communicating to the court of Vienna this important conversation. Preparatory to taking the last decisive step, he, in January, 1634, called a meeting of all the com¬ manders of the army at Pilsen, whither he had marched after his retreat from Bavaria. The Em¬ peror’s recent orders to spare his hereditary do¬ minions from winter quarterings, to recover Ra- tisbon in the middle of winter, and to reduce the army by a detachment of six thousand horse to the Cardinal Infante, were matters sufficiently grave to be laid before a conncil of war; and this plau¬ sible pretext served to conceal from the curious the real object of the meeting. Sweden and Saxony received invitations to be present, in order to treat with the Duke of Friedland for a peace; to the leaders of more distant aimies, written communications were made. Of the com¬ manders thus summoned, twenty appeared ; but three most influential, Gallas, Colloredo and Al« tringer, were absent. The Duke reiterated his summons to them, and in .the mean time, in ex¬ pectation of their speedy arrival, proceeded to execute his designs. It was no light task that he had to perform : a nobleman, proud, brave, and jealous of his honor, was to declare himself capable of the basest trea¬ chery, in the very presence of those who had been accustomed to regard him as the representative of majesty, the judge of their actions, and the supporter of their laws, and to show himself sud¬ denly as a traitor, a cheat, and a rebel. It was no easy task, either, to shake to its foundations a legitimate sovereignty, strengthened by time and HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 227 consecrated by laws and religion ; to dissolve all the charms of the senses and the imagination, those formidable guardians of an established throne, and to attempt forcibly to uproot those invincible feelings of duty, which plead so loudly and so powerfully in the breast of the subject, in favor of his sovereign. But, blinded by the splendor of a crown, Wallenstein observed not the precipice that yawned beneath his feet; and in full reliance on his own strength, the common case with energetic and daring minds, he stopped not to consider the magnitude and the number of the difficulties that opposed him. Wallenstein saw nothing but an army, partly indifferent and partly exasperated against the court, accustomed, with a blind submission, to do homage to his great name, to bow to him as their legislator and judge, and with trembling reverence to follow his orders as the decrees of fate. In the extravagant flat¬ teries which were paid to his omnipotence, in the bold abuse of the court government, in which a lawless soldiery indulged, and which the wild license of the camp excused, he thought he read the sentiments of the army; and the boldness with which they were ready to censure the monarch’s measures, passed with him for a readiness to re¬ nounce their allegiance to a sovereign so little re¬ spected. But that which he had regarded as the lightest matter, proved the most formidable obsta¬ cle with which he had to contend; the soldiers’ feelings of allegiance were the rock on which his hopes were wrecked. Deceived by the profound respect in which he was held by these lawless bands, he ascribed the whole to his own personal greatness, without distinguishing how much he owed to himself, and how much to the dignity with which he was invested. All trembled before him. while he exercised a legitimate authority, while obedience to him was a duty, and while his consequence was supported by the majesty of the sovereign. Greatness, in and of itself, may excite terror and admiration ; but legitimate greatness alone can inspire reverence and submission ; and of this decisive advantage he deprived himself, the instant he avowed himself a traitor. Field-Marshal Illo undertook to learn the senti¬ ments of the officers, and to prepare them for the step which was expected of them. He began by laying before them the new orders of the court to the general and the army; and by the obnoxious turn he skillfully gave to them, he found it easy to excite the indignation of the assembly. After this well chosen introduction, he expatiated with much eloquence upon the merits of the army and the general, and the ingratitude with which the Emperor was accustomed to requite them. Spanish influence, he maintained, governed the court; the ministry were in the pay of Spain ; the Duke of Friedland alone had hitherto opposed this tyranny, and had thus drawn down upon himself the deadly enmity of the Spaniards. To remove him from the command, or to make away with him entirely, he continued, had long been the end of their desires; and, until they could succeed in one or other, they endeavored to abridge his power in the field. The command was to be placed in the hands of the King of Hungary, for no other reason than the better to promote the Spanish power in Germany; because this prince, as the ready instrument of foreign counsels, might be led at pleasure. It was merely with the view of weakening the army, that the six thousand troops were required for the Cardinal Infante ; it was solely for the purpose of harassing it by a winter campaign, that they were now called on, in this inhospitable season, to undertake the recovery of Ratisbon. The means of subsistence were everywhere rendered difficult, while the Je¬ suits and the ministry enriched themselves with the sweat of the provinces, and squandered th money intended for the pay of the troops. The general, abandoned by the court, acknowledges his inability to keep his engagements to the army. For all the services which, for two and twenty years, he had rendered the House of Austria; for all the difficulties with which he had struggled ; for all the treasures of his own, which he had ex¬ pended in the imperial service, a second disgrace¬ ful dismissal awaited him. But he was resolved the matter should not come to this; he was de¬ termined voluntarily to resign the command, be¬ fore it should be wrested from his hands; and this, continued the orator, is what, through me, he now makes known to his officers. It was now for them to say whether it would be advisable to lose such a general. Let each consider who was to refund him the sums he had expettded in the Emperor’s service, and where he was now to reap the reward of their bravery, when he who was their evidence removed from the scene.” A universal cry, that they would not allow their general to be taken from them, interrupted the speaker. Four of the principal officers were deputed to lay before him the wish of the assem¬ bly, and earnestly to request that he would not leave the army. The duke made a show of re¬ sistance, and only yielded after the second depu¬ tation. This-concession on his side, seemed to demand a return on theirs; as he engaged not to quit the service without the knowledge and con¬ sent of the generals, he required of them, on the other hand, a written promise to truly and firmly adhere to him, neither to separate nor to allow themselves to be separated from him, and to shed their last drop of blood in his defense. Whoever should break this covenant, was to be regarded as a perfidious traitor, and treated by the rest as a common enemy. The express condition which was added, “ As long as Wallenstein shall employ the army in the Emperor's service ,” seemed to exclude all misconception, and none of the as¬ sembled generals hesitated at once to accede to a demand, apparently so innocent and so reason¬ able. This document was publicly read before an en¬ tertainment, which Field-Marshal lllo had ex¬ pressly prepared for the purpose; it was to be signed, after fhey rose from table. The host did his utmost to stupefy his guests by strong pota¬ tions ; and it was not until he saw them affected with the wine, that he produced the paper for sig¬ nature. Most of them wrote their names, with¬ out knowing what they were subscribing ; a few only, more curious or more distrustful, read the paper over again, and discovered with astonish¬ ment that the clause “ as long as Wallenstein 228 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. shall employ the army for the Emperor’s service,” was omitted. Ulo had, in fact, artfully contrived to substitute for the first another copy, in which these words were wanting 1 . The trick was mani¬ fest, and many refused now to sign. Piccolomini, who had seen through the whole cheat, and had been present at this scene merely with the view of giving information of the whole to the court, forgoi himself so far in his cups as to drink the Emperor’s health. But Count Terzky now rose, and declared that all were perjured villains who should recede from their engagement. His me¬ naces, the idea of the inevitable danger to which they who resisted any longer would be exposed, the example of the rest, and Illo’s rhetoric, at last overcame their scruples; and the paper was signed by all without exception. Wallenstein had now effected his purpose; but the unexpected resistance he had met with from the commanders roused him at last from the fond illusions in which he had hitherto indulged. Be¬ sides, most of the names were scrawled so illegi¬ bly, that tome deceit was evidently intended. But instead of being recalled to his discretion by this warning, he gave vent to his injured pride in undignified complaints and reproaches. He as¬ sembled the generals next day, and undertook personally to confirm the whole tenor of the agree¬ ment which Illo had submitted to them the day before. After pouring out the bitterest reproaches and abuse against the court, lie reminded them of their opposition to the proposition of the previous day, and declared that this circumstance had in¬ duced him to retract his own promise. The ge¬ nerals withdrew in silence and confusion ; but after a short consultation in the antechamber, they returned to apologize for their late conduct, and offered to sign the paper anew. Nothing now remained, but to obtain a similar assurance from the absent generals, or, on their refusal, to seize their persons. Wallenstein re¬ newed his invitation to them, and earnestly urged them to hasten their arrival. But a rumor of the doings at Pilsen reached them on their journey, and suddenly stopped their further progress. Al- tringer, on pretense of sickness, remained in the strong fortress of Frauenberg. Gallas made his appearance, but merely with the design of better qualifying himself as an eyewitness, to keep the Emperor informed of all Wallenstein’s proceed¬ ings. The intelligence which he and Piccolomini gave, at once converted the suspicions of the court into an alarming certainty. Similar disclo¬ sures, which were at the same time made from other quarters, left no room for further doubt; and the sudden change of the commanders in Aistria and Silesia, appeared to be the prelude to some important enterprise. The danger was pressing, and the remedy must be^speedy, but the court was unwilling to proceed at once to the ex¬ ecution of the sentence, till the regular forms of justice were complied with. Secret instructions were therefore issued to the principal officers, on whose fidelity reliance could be placed, to seize the persons of the Duke of Friedland and of his two associates, Illo and Terzky, and keep them in close confinement, till they should have an oppor¬ tunity of being heard, and of answering for their conduct; but if this could hot be accomplished quietly, the public danger required that they should be taken dead or alive. At the same time, General Gallas received a patent commission, by which these orders of the Emperor were made known to the colonels and officers, and the army was released from its obedience to the traitor, and placed under Lieutenant-General Gallas, till a new generalissimo could be appointed. In order to bring back the seduced and deluded to their duty, and not to drive the guilty to despair, a ge¬ neral amnesty was proclaimed, in regard to all offenses against the imperial majesty committed at Pilsen. General Gallas was not pleased with the honor which was done him. He was at Pilsen, under the eye of the person whose fate he was to dispose of; in the power of an enemy, who had a hundred eyes to watch his motions. If Wallen- stein once discovered the secret of his commis¬ sion, nothing could save him from the effects of his vengeance and despair. But if it was thus dangerous to be the secret depositary of such a commission, how much more so to execute it? The sentiments of the generals were uncertain; and it was at least doubtful whether, after the step they had taken, they would be ready to trust the Emperor’s promises, and at once to abandon the brilliant expectations they had built upon Wallenstein’s enterprise. It was also hazardous to attempt to lay hands on the person of the man who, till now, had been considered inviolable ; who from long exercise of supreme power and from ha¬ bitual obedience, had become the object of deepest respect: who was invested with every attribute of outward majesty and inwarr] greatness; whose very aspect inspired terror, and who by a nod disposed of life and death ! To seize such a man, like a common criminal, in the midst of the guards by whom he was surrounded, and in a city apparently devoted to him ; to convert the object of this deep and habitual veneration into a subject of compassion, or of contempt, was a commission calculated to make even the boldest hesitate. So deeply was fear and veneration for their general engraven in the breasts of the soldiers, that even the atrocious crime of high treason conld not wholly eradicate these sentiments. Gallas perceived the impossibility of executing his commission under the eyes of the duke ; and his most anxious wish was, before venturing on any steps, to have an interview with Alt ringer. As the long absence of the latter had already be¬ gun to excite the duke’s suspicions, Gallas offered to repair in person to Frauenberg, and to prevail on Altringer. his relation, to return with him. Wallenstein was so pleased with this proof of his zeal, that he even lent him his own equipage for journey. Bejoicing at the success of his strata¬ gem, he left Pilsen without delay, leaving to Count Piccolomini the task of watching Wallenstein’s further movements. He did not fail, as he went along, to make use of the imperial patent, and the sentiments of the troops proved more favorable than he had expected. Instead of taking back his friend to Pilsen, he despatched him to Vienna, to warn the Emperor against the intended attack, while he himself repaired to Upper Austria, of HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 229 which the safety was threatened by the near ap¬ proach of Duke Bernard. In Bohemia, the towns of Btidweiss and Tabor were again garrisoned for the Emperor, and every precaution taken to op¬ pose with energy, the designs of the traitor. As Gallas did not appear disposed to return, Piccolomini determined to put Wallenstein’s cre¬ dulity once more to the test. He begged to be sent to bring back Gallas, and Wallenstein suffered himself to be a second time overreached. This inconceivable blindness can only be accounted for as the result of his pride, which never retracted the opinion it had once formed of any person, and would not acknowledge, even to itself, the possi¬ bility of being deceived. He conveyed Count Piccolomini in his own carriage to Lintz, where the latter immediately followed the example of Gallas, and even went a step further. He had promised the duke to return. He did so, but it was at the head of an army, intending to surprise the duke in Pilsen. Another army under General Suys hastened to Prague, to secure that capital in its allegiance, and to defend it against the rebels. Gallas, at the same time, announced himself to the different imperial armies as the commander-in¬ chief, from whom they were henceforth to receive orders. Placards were circulated through all the imperial camps, denouncing the duke and his four confidants, and absolving the soldiers from all obedience to him. The example which had been set at Lintz, was universally followed ; imprecations were showered on the traitor, and he was forsaken by all the armies. At last, when even Piccolomini returned no more, the mist fell from Wallenstein’s eyes, and in consternation he awoke from his dream. Yet his faith in the truth of astrology, and in the fidelity of the army was unshaken. Immediately after the intelligence of Piccolomini’s defection, he issued orders, that in future no commands were to be obeyed, which did not proceed directly from himself, or from Terzky, or Illo. He prepared, in all haste, to advance upon Prague, where he in¬ tended to throw off the mask, and openly to de¬ clare against the Emperor. All the troops were to assemble before that city, and from thence to pour down with rapidity upon Austria. Duke Bernard, who had joined the conspiracy, was to support the operations of the duke, with the Swedish troops, and to effect a diversion upon the Danube. Terzky was already upon his march toward Prague: and nothing, but the want of horses, prevented the duke from following him with the regiments who still adhered faithfully to him. But when, with the most anxious expectation, he awaited the intelligence from Prague, he suddenly received information of the loss of that town, the defection of his generals, the. desertion of his troops, the discovery of his whole plot, and the rapid advance of Piccolomini, who was sworn to his destruction. Suddenly and fearfully had all his projects been ruined—all his hopes annihilated. He stood alone, abandoned by all to whom he had beeu a benefactor, betrayed by all on whom he had depended. But it is under such circumstances that great minds reveal themselves. Though de¬ ceived in all his expectations, he refused to aban¬ don one of his designs; he despaired of nothing, so long as life remained. The time was now come, when he absolutely required that assistance, which he had so often solicited from the Swedes and the Saxons, and when all-doubts of the sincerity of his purposes must be dispelled. And now, when Oxenstiern and Arnheim were convinced of the sincerity of his intentions, and were aware of his necessities, they no longer hesitated to embrace the favorable opportunity, and to offer him their protection. On the part of Saxony, the Duke Francis Albert of Saxe Lauenberg was to jc in him with 4,000 men; and Duke Bernard, and the Palatine Christian of Birkenfeld, with 6,000 from Sweden, all chosen troops. Wallenstein left Pilsen, with Terzky’s regiment^ and the few who either were, or pretended to be, faithful to him, and hastened to Egra, on the frontiers of the kingdom, in order to be near the Upper Palatinate, and to facilitate his junction with Duke Bernard. He was not yet informed of the decree by which he was proclaimed a public enemy and traitor ; this thunder-stroke awaited him at Egra. He still reckoned on the army, which General Schafgotsch was preparing for him in Silesia, and flattered himself with the hope that many even of those who had forsaken him, would return with the first dawning of success. Even during his flight to Egra (so little humility had he learned from melancholy experience) he was still occupied with the colossal scheme of dethroning the Emperor. It was under these circumstances, that one of his suite asked leave to offer him his advice. “Under the Emperor,” said he, “your highness is certain of being a great and respected noble ; with the enemy, you are at best but a pre¬ carious king. It is unwise to risk certainty for uncertainty. The enemy will avail themselves of your personal influence, while the opportunity lasts ; but you will ever be regarded with suspicion, and they will always be fearful lest you should treat them as you have done the Emperor. Re¬ turn, then, to your allegiance, while there is yet time.”—“ And how is that to be done?” said Wal¬ lenstein, interrupting him: “You have 40,000 men-at-arms,” rejoined he, (meaning ducats, which were stamped with the figure of an armed man,) “ take them with you, and go straight to the Im¬ perial Court; then declare that the steps you have hitherto taken were merely designed to test the fidelity of the Emperor’s servants, and of dis¬ tinguishing the loyal from the doubtful; and since most have shown a disposition to revolt, say you are come to warn his Imperial Majesty against those dangerous men. Thus you will make those appear as traitors, who are laboring to represent you as a false villain. At the Imperial Court, a man is sure to be welcome with 40,000 ducats, and Friedland will be again as he was at the first.”— “ The advice is good,” said Wallenstein, after a pause, “ but let the devil trust to it.” While the duke, in his retirement in Egra, was energetically pushing his negotiations with the enemy, consulting the stars, and indulging in new hopes, the dagger which was to put an end to his existence was unsheathed almost under his very eyes. The imperial decree which proclaimed him an outlaw, had not failed of its effect; and an 230 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS* WAR. avenging Nemesis ordained that the ungrateful should fall beneath the blow of ingratitude. Among his officers, Wallenstein had particularly distinguished ore LesHe,* an Irishman, and had made his fortune. This was the man who now felt himself called on to execute the sentence against him, and to earn the price of blood. No sooner had he reached Egra, in the suite of the duke, than he disclosed to the commandant of the town. Col. Butler, and to Lieutenant-Colonel Gordon, twoProtestant Scotchmen; the treasonable designs of the duke, which the latter had impru¬ dently enough communicated to him during the journey. In these two individuals, he had found men capable of a determined resolution. They were now called on to choose between treason and duty, between their legitimate sovereign and a fugitive abandoned rebel ; and though the latter was their common benefactor, the choice could not remain for a moment doubtful. They were solemnly pledged to the allegiance of the Em¬ peror, and this duty required them to take the most rapid measures against the public enemy. The opportunity was favorable ; his evil genius seemed to have delivered him into the hands of vengeance. But not to encroach on the pro¬ vince of justice, they resolved to deliver up their victim alive ; and they parted with the bold re¬ solve to take their general prisoner. This dark plot was buried in the deepest silence ; and Wal¬ lenstein, far from suspecting his impending ruin, flattered himself that in the garrison of Egra he possessed his bravest and most faithful champions. At this time he became acquainted with the Imperial proclamations containing his sentence, and which had been published in all the camps. He now became aware of the full extent of the danger which encompassed him, the utter im¬ possibility of retracing his steps, his fearfully forlorn condition, and the absolute necessity of at once trusting himself to the faith and honor of the Emperor’s enemies. To Leslie he poured forth all the anguish of his wounded spirit, and the vehemence of his agitation ex¬ tracted from him his last remaining secret. He disclosed to this officer his intention to deliver up Egra and Ellenbogen, the passes of the king¬ dom, to the Palatine of Birkenfeld, and at the same time, informed him of the near approach of Duke Bernard, of whose arrival he hoped to re¬ ceive tidings that very night. These disclosures, which Leslie immediately communicated to the conspirators, made them change their original plan. The urgency of the danger admitted not of half measures. Egra might in a moment be in the enemy’s hands, and a sudden revolution set their prisoner at liberty. To anticipate this mischance, they resolved to assassinate him and his associates the following night. In order to execute this design with less noise, it was arranged that the fearful deed should be perpetrated at an entertainment which Colonel Butler, should give in the Castle of Egra. All * Schiller is mistaken as to this point. Leslie was a Scotchman, and Butler an Irishman and a papist. He died a general in the Emperor's service, and founded, at Pi ague, a convent of Irish Franciscans which still exists. the guests, except Wallenstein, made their appear, ance, who being in too great anxiety of mind to enjoy company, excused himself. With regard to him, therefore, their plan must be again changed ; but they resolved to execute their design against the others. The three Colonels, Illo, Terzky, and William Kinskv, came in with careless confidence, and with them Captain Neumann, an officer of ability, whose advice Terzky sought in every in¬ tricate affair. Previous to their arrival, trusty soldiers of the garrison, to whom the plot had been communicated, were admitted into the Castle, all the avenues leading from it guarded, and six of Butler’s dragoons concealed in an apartment close to the banqueting-room, who, on a concerted signal, were to rush in and kill the traitors. With¬ out suspecting the danger that hung over them, the guests gaily abandoned themselves to the pleasures of the table, and Wallenstein’s health was drunk in full bumpers, not as a servant of the Emperor, but as a sovereign prince. The wine opened their hearts, and Illo, with exultation, boasted that in three days an army would arrive, such as Wallenstein had never before been at the head of. “Yes,” cried Neumann, “ and then he hopes to bathe his hands in Austrian blood.” During this conversation, the dessert was brought in, and Leslie gave the concerted signal to raise the drawbridges, while he himself received the keys of the gates. In an instant, the hall was filled with armed men, who, with the unexpected greeting of “ Long live Ferdinand !” placed them¬ selves behind the chairs of the marked guests. Surprised, and with a presentiment of their fate, they sprang from the table. Kinsky and Terzky were killed upon the spot, and before they could put themselves upon their guard. Neumann, during the confusion in the hall, escaped into the court, where, however, he was instantly recognized and cut down. Illo alone had the presence of mind to defend himself. He placed his back against a window, from whence he poured the bit¬ terest reproaches upon Gordon, and challenged him to fight him fairly and honorably. After a gallant resistance, in which he slew two of his assailants, he fell to the ground overpowered by numbers, and pierced with ten wounds. The deed was no sooner accomplished, than Leslie hastened into the town to prevent a tumult. The sentinels at the castle gate, seeing him running and out of breath, and believing he belonged to the rebels, fired their muskets after him, but without effect. The firing, however, aroused the town-guard, and all Leslie’s presence of mind was requisite to allay the tumult. He hastily detailed to then) all the circumstances of Wallenstein’s conspiracy, the measures which had been already taken to coun¬ teract it, the fate of the four rebels, as well as that which awaited their chief. Finding the troops well disposed, he exacted from them a new oath of fidelity to the Emperor, and to live and die for the good cause. A hundred of Butler’s dragoons were sent from the Castle into the town to patrol the streets, to overawe the partisans of the Duke, and to prevent tumult. All the gates of Egra were at the same time seized, and every avenue to Wallenstein’s residence, which adjoined the mar¬ ket-place, guarded by a numerous and trusty body HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 231 of troops, sufficient* to prevent either his escape or his receiving any assistance from without. But before they proceeded finally to execute the deed, a long conference was held among the conspirators in the Castle, whether they should kill him, or content themselves with making him prisoner. Besprinkled as they were with the blood, and deliberating almost over the very corpses of his murdered associates, even these furious men yet shuddered at the horror of taking away so illustrious a life. They saw before their mind’s eve him their leader in battle, in the davs * V of his good fortune, surrounded by his victorious army, clothed with all the pomp of military great¬ ness. and long-accustomed awe again seized their minds. But this transitory emotion was soon ef¬ faced by the thought of the immediate danger. They remembered the hints which Neumann and Illo had thrown out at table, the near approach of a formidable army of Swedes and Saxons, and they clearly saw that the death of the traitor was their only chance of safety. They adhered, there¬ fore to their first resolution, and Captain Deve- roux, an Irishman, who had already been retained for the murderous purpose, received decisive orders to act. While these three officers were thus deciding upon his fate in the castle of Egra, Wallenstein was occupied in reading the stars with Seni. “ The danger is not yet over,” said the astrologer with prophetic spirit. “ It is,” replied the duke, who would give the law even to heaven. “ But,” he continued with equally prophetic spirit, “that thou friend Seni thyself shall soon be thrown into prison, that also is written in the stars.” The astrologer had taken his leave, and Wallenstein had retired to bed, when Captain Deveroux ap¬ peared before his residence with six halberdiers, and was immediately admitted by the guard, who were accustomed to see him visit the general at all hours. A page who met him upon the stairs, and attempted to raise an alarm, was run through the body with a pike. In the antechamber, the assassins met a servant, who had just come out of the sleeping-room of his master, and had taken with him the key. Putting his finger upon his mouth, the terrified domestic made a sign to them to make no noise, as the Duke was asleep. “Friend,” cried Deveroux, “it is time to awake him ;” and with these words he rushed against the door, which was bolted from within, and burst it open. Wallenstein had been roused from his first sleep, by the report of a musket which had acci¬ dentally gone off, and had sprung to the window to call the guard. At the same moment, he heard, from the adjoining building, the shrieks of the Countesses Terzky and Kinsky, who had just learnt the violent fate of their husbands. Ere he had time to reflect on these terrible events, Deve¬ roux, with the other murderers, was in his cham¬ ber. The duke was in his shirt, as he had leaped out of bed, and leaning on a table near the win¬ dow. “ Art thou the villain,” cried Deveroux to him, “ who intends to deliver up the Emperor’s troops to the enemy, and to tear the crown from the head of his Majesty? Now thou must die !” He paused for a few moments, as if expecting an answer; but rage and astonishment kept Wallen¬ stein silent. Throwing his arms wide open, he re¬ ceived in his breast, the deadly blow of the hal¬ berts, and without uttering a groan, fell weltering in his blood. The next day, an express arrived from the Duke of Lauenberg, announcing his approach. The messenger was secured, and another in Wallen, stein’s livery dispatched to the Duke, to decoy him into Egra. The'stratagem succeeded, and Francis Albert fell into the hands of the enemy. Duke Bernard of Weimar, who was on his march toward Egra, was nearly sharing the same fate. Fortunately, he heard of Wallenstein’s death, in time to save himself by a retreat. Ferdinand shed a tear over the fate of his general, and or¬ dered three thousand masses to be said for his soul at Vienna ; but at the same time, he did not for¬ get to reward his assassins with gold chains, cham¬ berlains’ keys, dignities, and estates. Thus did Wallenstein, at the age of fifty, ter¬ minate his active and extraordinary life. To am¬ bition, he owed both his greatness and his ruin ; with all his failings, he possessed great and admi¬ rable qualities, and had he kept himself within due bounds, he would have lived and died without an equal. The virtues of the ruler and of the hero, prudence, justice, firmness, and courage, are strikingly prominent features in his character; but he wanted the gentler virtues of the man, which adorn the hero, and make the ruler beloved. Terror was the talisman with which he worked ; extreme in his punishments as in his rewards, he knew how to keep alive the zeal of his followers, while no general of ancient or modern times could boast of being obeyed with equal alacrity. Submission to his will was more prized by him than bravery; for, if the soldiers work by the latter, it is on the former that the general depends. He continually kept up the obedience of his troops by capricious orders, and profusely rewarded the readiness to obey even in trifles; because he looked rather to the act itself, than its object. He once issued a decree, with the penalty of death on disobedience, that none but red sashes should be worn in the army. A captain of horse no sooner heard the order, than pulling off his gold-embroidered sash, he trampled it under foot; Wallenstein, on being informed of the circum¬ stance, promoted him on the spot to the rank of colonel. His comprehensive glance was always directed to the whole, and in all his apparent ca¬ price, he steadily kept in view some general scope or bearing. The robberies committed by the sol¬ diers in a friendly country, had led to the severest orders against marauders ; and all who should be caught thieving, were threatened with the halter. Wallenstein himself having met a straggler in the open country upon the field, commanded him to be seized without trial, as a transgressor of the law, and in his usual voice of thunder, exclaimed, “ Hang the fellow,” against which no opposition ever availed. The soldier pleaded and proved his innocence, but the irrevocable sentence had gone forth. “ Hang the innocent,” cried the inexor¬ able Wallenstein, “ the guilty will have then more reason to tremble.” Preparations were al¬ ready making to execute the sentence, when the 232 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS* WAR. soldier, who gave himself up for lost, formed the desperate resolution of not dying without revenge. He fell furiously upon his judge, but was over¬ powered by numbers, and disarmed before he could fulfill his design. “Now let him go,” said the duke, “ it will excite sufficient terror.” His munificence was supported by an immense income, which was estimated at three millions of florins yearly, without reckoning the enormous sums which he raised under the name of contribu¬ tions. His liberality and clearness of understand¬ ing, raised him above the religions prejudices of his age; and the Jesuits never forgave him for having seen through their system, dnd for regard¬ ing the pope as nothing more than a bishop of Rome. But as no one ever yet came to a fortunate end who quarreled with the Church, Wallenstein also must augment the number of its victims. Through the intrigues of monks, he lost at Ratisbon the command of the army, and at Egra his life; by the same arts, perhaps, he lost what was of more consequence, his honorable name and good repute with posterity. For in justice it must be admitted, that the pens which have traced the history of this extra¬ ordinary man are not untinged with partiality, and that the treachery of the duke, and his de¬ signs upon the throne of Bohemia, rest not so much upon proven facts, as upon probable con¬ jecture. No documents have yet been brought to light, which disclose with historical certainty the secret motives of his conduct; and among all his public and well-attested actions, there is, per¬ haps, not one which could not have had an inno¬ cent end. Many of his most obnoxious measures proved nothing but the earnest wish he entertained for peace; most of the others are explained and justified by the well-founded distrust he enter¬ tained of the Emperor, and the excusable wish of maintaining his own importance. It is true, that his conduct toward the Elector of Bavaria, and the dictates of an implacable spirit, look too like an unworthy revenge ; but still, none of his actions perhaps warrant us in holding his treason to be roved. If necessity and despair at last forced im to deserve the sentence which had been pro¬ nounced against him while innocent, still this, if true, will not justify that sentence. Thus Wal¬ lenstein fell, not because he was a rebel, but he became a rebel because he fell. Unfortunate in life that he made a victorious party his enemy, and still more unfortunate in death, that the same party survived him and wrote his history. BOOK Y. Wallenstein’s death rendered necessary the appointment of a new generalissimo ; and the Em¬ peror yielded at last to the advice of the Span¬ iards, to raise his son Ferdinand, King of Hun¬ gary, to that dignity. Under him, Count Gallas commanded, who performed the functions of com¬ mander-in-chief, while the prince brought to this post nothing but his name and dignity. A con¬ siderable force was soon assembled under Ferdi- ! nand; the Duke of Lorraine brought up a con¬ siderable body of auxiliaries in person, and the Cardinal Infante joined him from Italy with ten thousand men. In order to drive the enemy from the Danube, the new general undertook the enter¬ prise in which his predecessor had failed, the siege of Ratisbon. In vain did Duke Bernard of Wei¬ mar penetrate into the interior of Bavaria, with a view to draw the enemy from the town ; Ferdinand continued to press the siege with vigor, and the city, after a most obstinate resistance, "was obliged to open its gates to him. Donauwerth soon shared the same fate, and Nordlingen in Swabia was now invested. The loss of so many of the imperial cities was severely felt by the Swedish party; as the friendship of these towns had so largely contributed to the success of their arms, indifference to their fate would have been inexcusable. It would have been an indelible dis¬ grace, had they deserted their confederates in their need, and abandoned them to the revenge of an implacable conqueror. Moved by these consid¬ erations, the Swedish army, under the command of Horn, and Bernard of Weimar, advanced upon Nordlingen, determined to relieve it, even at the expense of a battle. The undertaking was a dangerous one, for in numbers the enemy was greatly superior to that of the Swedes. There was also a further reason for avoiding a battle at present; the enemy’s force was likely soon to divide, the Italian troops being destined for the Netherlands. In the mean time, such a position might be taken up, as to cover Nordlingen, and cut off their supplies. All these grounds were strongly urged by Gustavus Horn in the Swedish council of war; but his remon¬ strances were disregarded by men who, intoxi¬ cated by a long career of success, mistook the suggestions of prudence for the voice of timidity. Overborne by the superior influence of Duke Ber¬ nard, Gustavus Horn was compelled to risk a con¬ test, whose unfavorable issue, a dark foreboding seemed already to announce. The fate of the battle depended upon the possession of a height which commanded the imperial camp. An at¬ tempt to occupy it during the night failed, as the tedious transport of the artillery through woods and hollow ways delayed the arrival of the troops. When the Swedes arrived about midnight, they found the heights in possession of the enemy, strongly intrenched. They waited, therefore, for daybreak, to carry them by storm. Their impetu¬ ous courage surmounted every obstacle; the in- trenchments, which were in the form of a cres¬ cent, were fortunately scaled by each of the two brigades appointed to the service; but as the/ en* tered at the same moment from opposite sides, they met and threw each other into confusion. At this unfortunate moment, a barrel of powder olew up, and created the greatest disorder among the Swedes. The imperial cavalry charged upon their broken ranks, and the flight became universal. No persuasion on the part of their gereral could induce the fugitives to renew the assault. He resolved, therefore, in order to carry this important post, to lead fresh troops to the attack. But in the interim, some Spanish regiments had marched in, and every attempt to gain it was re- HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 233 pulsed by their heroic intrepidity. One of the duke’s own regiments advanced seven times, and was as often driven back. The disadvantage of not occupying this post in time, was quickly and sensibly felt. The fire of the enemy’s artillery from the heights, caused such slaughter in the adjacent wing of the Swedes, that Horn, who commanded there, was forced to give orders to retire. Instead of being able to cover the retreat of his colleague, and to check the pursuit of the enemy, Duke Bernard, overpowered by numbers, was himself driven into the plain, where his routed cavalry spread confusion among Horn’s brigade, and rendered the defeat complete. Almost the entire infantry were killed or taken prisoners. More than twelve thousand men remained dead upon the field of battle ; eighty field pieces, about four thousand wagons, and three hundred stan¬ dards and colors fell into the hands of the Impe¬ rialists. Horn himself, with three other generals, were taken prisoners. Duke Bernard with diffi¬ culty saved a feeble remnant of his army, which joined him at Frankfort. The defeat at Nordlingen, cost the Swedish Chancellor the second sleepless night* he had passed in Germany. The consequences of this disaster were terrible. The Swedes had lost by it at once their superiority in the field, and with it the confidence of their confederates, which they had gained solely by their previous military suc¬ cess. A dangerous division threatened the Pro¬ testant Confederation with ruin. Consternation and terror seized upon the whole party ; while the Papists arose with exulting triumph from the deep humiliation into which they had sunk. Swa¬ bia and the adjacent circles first felt the conse¬ quences of the defeat of Nordlingen; and Wir- temberg, in particular, was overrun by -the con¬ quering army. All the members of the League of Heilbronn trembled at the prospect of the Emperor’s revenge; those who could, fled to Strasburg, while the helpless free cities awaited their fate with alarm. A little more of modera¬ tion toward the conquered, would have quickly reduced all the weaker states under the Emperor’s authority; but the severity which was practiced, even against those who voluntarily surrendered, drove the rest to despair, and roused them to a vigorous resistance. In this perplexity, all looked to Oxenstiern for counsel and assistance; Oxenstiern applied for both to the German States. Troops were wanted; money likewise, to raise new levies, and to pay to the old the arrears which the men were clamor¬ ously demanding. Oxenstiern addressed himself to the Elector of Saxony ; but he shamefully abandoned the Swedish cause, to negotiate for a separate peace with the Emperor at Pirna. He solicited aid from the Lower Saxon States; but they, long wearied of the Swedish pretensions and demands for money, now thought only of themselves; and George, Duke of Lunenburg, in place of flying to the assistance of Upper Ger¬ many, laid siege to Minden, with the intention of keeping possession of it for himself. Abandoned * The first was occasioned by the death of Gustavus Adolphus. by his German allies, the chancellor exerted him¬ self to obtain the assistance of foreign powers. England, Holland, and Venice were applied to for troops and money; and, driven to the last ex¬ tremity, the chancellor reluctantly resolved to take the disagreeable step which he had so long avoided, and to throw himself under the protec¬ tion of France. The moment had at last arrived which Richelieu had long waited for with impatience. Nothing, he was aware, but the impossibility of saving themselves by any other means, could induce the Protestant States in Germany to support the pre¬ tensions of France upon Alsace. This extreme necessity had now arrived ; the assistance of that power was indispensable, and she was resolved to be well paid for the active part which she was about to take in the German war. Full of lustre and dignity, it now came upon the political stage. Oxenstiern, who felt little reluctance in bestowing the rights and possessions of the empire, had already ceded the fortress of Philipsburg, and the other long coveted places. The Protestants of Upper Germany now, in their own names, sent a special embassy to Richelieu, requesting him to take Alsace, the fortress of Breysach, which was still to be recovered from the enemy, and all the places upon the Upper Rhine, which were the keys of Germany, under the protection of France. What was implied by French protection had been seen in the conduct of France toward the bishoprics of Metz, Toul, and Verdun, which it had held for centuries against the rightful owners. Treves was already in the possession of French garrisons; Lorraine was in a manner conquered, as it might at any time be overrun by an army, and could not alone, and with its own strength, withstand its formidable neighbor. France now entertained the hope of adding Alsace to its large and numerous possessions, and, as a treaty was soon to be concluded with the Dutch for the par¬ tition of the Spanish Netherlands, it likewise entertained the prospect of making the Rhine its natural boundary toward Germany. Thus shame¬ fully were the rights of Germany sacrificed by the German States to this treacherous and grasp¬ ing power, which, under the mask of a disinter¬ ested friendship, aimed only at its own aggran¬ dizement ; and while it boldly claimed the honor¬ able title of a Protectress, was solely occupied with promoting its own schemes, and advancing its own interests, amid the general confusion. In return for these important cessions, Franco engaged to effect a diversion in favor of the Swedes, by commencing hostilities against the Spaniards ; and if this should lead to an open breach with the Emperor, to maintain an army upon the German side of the Rhine, which was to act in conjunction with the Swedes and Germans against Austria. For a war with Spain, the Spaniards themselves soon afforded the desired pretext. Making an inroad from the Nether¬ lands, upon the city of Treves, they cut in pieces the French garrison ; and, in open violation of the law of nations, made prisoner the Elector, who had placed himself under the protection of France, and carried him into Flanders. When the Cardinal Infante, as Viceroy of the Spanish 234 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS* WAR. NetherlanJs, refused satisfaction for these injuries, and delayed to restore the prince to liberty, Riche¬ lieu, after the old custom, formally proclaimed war at Brussels by a herald, and the war was at once opened by three different armies in Milan, in the Valteline, and in Flanders. The French minister was less anxious to commence hostilities with the Emperor, which promised fewer advantages, and threatened greater difficulties. A fourth army, however, was detached across the Rhine into Germany, under the command of Cardinal Lava- lette, which was to act in conjunction with Duke Bernard, against the Emperor, without a previous declaration of war. / A heavier blow for the Swedes, than even the defeat of Nordli ngen, was the reconciliation of the Elector of Saxony with the Emperor. After many fruitless attempts both to bring about and to prevent it, it was at last effected in 1634, at Pirna, and, the following year, reduced into a formal treaty of peace, at Prague. The Elector of Saxony had always viewed with jealousy the pretensions of the Swedes in Germany ; and his aversion to this foreign power, which now gave laws within the Empire, had grown with every fresh requisition that Oxenstiern was obliged to make upon the German states. This ill-feeling was kept alive by the Spanish court, who labored earnestly to effect a peace between Saxony and the Emperor. Wearied with the calamities of a long and destructive contest, which had selected Saxony above all others for its theatre; grieved by the miseries which both friend and foe inflicted upon his subjects; and seduced by the tempting propositions of the House of Austria, the Elector at last abandoned the common cause ; and, caring little for the fate of his confederates, or the liber¬ ties of Germany, thought only of securing his own advantages, even at the expense of the whole body. In fact, the misery of Germany had risen to such a height, that all clamorously vociferated for peace; and even the most disadvantageous paci¬ fication would have been hailed as a blessing from heaven. The plains, which formerly had be.en thronged with a happy and industrious population, where nature had lavished her choicest gifts, and plenty and prosperity had reigned, were now a wild and desolate wilderness. The fields, aban¬ doned by the industrious husbandman, lay waste and uncultivated ; and no sooner had the young crops given the promise of a smiling harvest, than a single march destroyed the labors of a year, and blasted the last hope of an afflicted peasantry. Burned castles, wasted fields, villages in ashes, were to be seen extending far and wide on all sides, while the ruined peasantry had no resource left but to swell the horde of incendiaries, and fearfully to retaliate upon their fellows, who had hitherto been spared the miseries which they themselves had suf¬ fered. The only safeguard against oppression was to become an oppressor. The towns groaned un¬ der the licentiousness of undisciplined and plun¬ dering garrisons, who seized and wasted the pro¬ perty of the citizens, and, under the license of their position, committed the most remorseless devasta¬ tion and cruelty. If the march of an army con¬ vened whole provinces into deserts., if others were impoverished by winter quarters, or exhausted by contributions, these still were but passing evils, and the industry of a year might efface the mise¬ ries of a few months. But there was no relief for those who had a garrison within their walls, or in the neighborhood; even the change of fortune could not improve their unfortunate fate, since the victor trod in the steps of the vanquished, and friends were not more merciful than enemies. The neglected farms, the destruction of the crops, and the numerous armies which overran the exhausted country, were inevitably followed by scarcity and the high price of provisions, which in the later years was still further increased by a general fail¬ ure in the crops. The crowding together of men in camps and quarters—want upon one side, and excess on the other, occasioned contagious distem¬ pers, which were more fatal than even the sword. In this long and general confusion, all the bonds of social life were broken up ; respect for the rights of their fellow-men, the fear of the laws, purity of morals, honor, and religion, were laid aside, where might ruled supreme with iron sceptre. Under the -shelter of anarchy and impunity, every vice flourished, and men became as wild as the country. No station was too dignified for outrage, no pro¬ perty too holy for rapine and avarice. Tn a word, the soldier reigned supreme ; and that most brutal of despots often made his own officer feel his power. The leader of an army was a far more im¬ portant person within any country where he ap¬ peared, than its lawful governor, who was fre¬ quently obliged to fly before him into his own cas¬ tles for safety. Germany swarmed with these petty tyrants, and the country suffered equally from its enemies and its protectors. These wounds rankled the deeper, when the unhappy victims re¬ collected that Germany was sacrificed to the ambi¬ tion of foreign powers, who, for their own ends, pro¬ longed the miseries of war. Germany bled under the scourge, to extend the conquests and influ¬ ence of Sweden ; and the torch of discord was kept alive within the Empire, that the services of Richelieu might be rendered indispensable in France. But, in truth, it was not merely interested voices which opposed a peace; and if both Sweden and the German states were anxious, from corrupt motives, to prolong the conflict, they were se¬ conded in their views by sound policy. After the defeat of Nordlingen, an equitable peace was not to be expected from the Emperor; and, this being the case, was it not too great a sacrifice, after sixteen years of war, with all its miseries, to abandon the conquest, not only without advan¬ tage, but even with loss ? What would avail so much bloodshed, if all was to remain as it had been ; if their rights and pretensions were neither larger nor safer; if all that had been won with so much difficulty was to be surrendered for a peace at any cost? Would it not be better to en¬ dure, for two or three years more, the burdens they had borne so long, and to reap at last some recompense for twenty years of suffering? Neither was it doubtful, that peace might at last be ob¬ tained on favorable terms, if only the Swedes and the German Protestants should continue united in the cabinet and in the field, and pursue their HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 235 common interests wi/tli a reciprocal sympathy and zeal. Their divisions alone, had rendered the enemy formidable, and protracted the acquisition of a lasting and general peace. And this great evil the Elector of Saxony had brought upon the Protestant cause by concluding a separate treaty with Austria. He, indeed, had commenced his negotiations with the Emperor, even before the defeat of Nord- lingen ; and the unfortunate issue of that battle only accelerated their conclusion. By it, all his confidence in the Swedes was lost ; and it was even doubted whether they would ever recover from the blow. The jealousies among their gene¬ rals, the insubordination of the army, and the ex¬ haustion of the Swedish kingdom, shut out any reasonable prospect of effective assistance on their part. The Elector hastened, therefore, to profit by the Emperor’s magnanimity, who, even after the battle of Nordlingen, did not recall the conditions previously offered. While Oxenstiern, who had assembled the states in Frankfort, made further demands upon them and him, the Empe¬ ror, on the contrary, made concessions ; and there¬ fore it required no long consideration to decide between them. In the mean time, however, he was anxious to escape the charge of sacrificing the common cause and attending only to his own interests. All the German states, and even the Swedes, were publicly invited to become parties to this peace, although Saxony and the Emperor were the only powers who deliberated upon it, and who assumed the right to give law to Germany. By this self- appointed tribunal, the grievances of the Protest¬ ants were discussed, their rights and privileges de¬ cided, and even the fate of religions determined, without the presence of those who were most deeply interested in it. Between them, a general peace was resolved on, and it was to be enforced by an imperial army of execution, as a formal de¬ cree of the Empire. Whoever opposed it, was to be treated as a public enemy: and thus, contrary to their rights, the states were to be compelled to acknowledge a law, in the passing of which they had no share. Thus, even in form, the pacifica¬ tion at Prague was an arbitrary measure ; nor was it less so in its contents. The Edict of Restitu¬ tion had been the chief cause of dispute between the Elector and the Emperor; and therefore it was first considered in their deliberations. With¬ out formally annulling it, it was determined by the treaty of Prague, that all the ecclesiastical do¬ mains holding immediately of the Empire, and, among the mediate ones, those which had been seized by the Protestants subsequently to the treaty at Passau, should, for forty years, remain in the same position as they had been in before the Edict of Restitution, but without any formal de¬ cision of the Diet to that effect. Before the expi- rut on of this term a commission, composed of equal numbers of both religions, should proceed to settle the matter peaceably and according to law ; and if this commission should be unable to come to a decision, each party should remain in possession of the rights which it had exercised before the Edict of Restitution. This arrange¬ ment, therefore far from removing the grounds of dissension, only suspended the dispute for a time; and this article of the treaty of Prague only cov ered the embers of a future war. The bishopric of Magdeburg was to remain in possession of Prince Augustus of Saxony, and Hal. berstadt in that of the Archduke Leopold William Four estates were taken from the territory of Magdeburg, and given to Saxony, for which the Administrator of Magdeburg, Christian William of Brandenburg, was otherwise to be indemnified. The Dukes of Mecklenburg, upon acceding to this treaty, were to be acknowledged as rightful pos¬ sessors of their territories, in which the magna¬ nimity of Gustavus Adolphus had long ago rein¬ stated them. Donauwerth recovered its liberties. The important claims of the heirs of the Pala¬ tine, however important it might be for the Pro¬ testant cause not to lose this electoral vote in the diet, were passed over in consequence of the ani¬ mosity subsisting between the Lutherans and the Calvinists. All the conquests which, in the course of the war, had been made by the German states, or by the League and the Emperor, were to be mutually restored ; all which had been appro¬ priated by the foreign powers of France and Sweden, was to be forcibly wrested from them by the united powers. The troops of the contracting parties were to be formed into one imperial army, which, supported and paid by the Empire, was, by force of arms, to carry into execution the cove¬ nants of the treaty. As the peace of Prague was intended to serve as a general law of the Empire, those points which did not immediately affect the latter, formed the subject of a separate treaty. By it, Lusatia was ceded to the Elector of Saxony as a fief of Bohe¬ mia, and special articles guaranteed the freedom of religion of this country and of Silesia. All the Protestant states were invited to accede to the treaty of Prague, and on that condition were to benefit by the amnesty. The princes of Wurtemberg arid Baden, whose territories the Emperor was already in possession of, and which he was not disposed to restore unconditionally; and such vassals of Austria as had borne arms against their sovereign ; and those states which, under the direction of Oxenstiern, composed the council of the Upper German Circle, were ex¬ cluded from the treaty,—not so much with the view of continuing the war against them as of com¬ pelling them to purchase peace at a dearer rate. Their territories were to be retained in pledge, till every thing should be restored to its former foot¬ ing. Such was the treaty of Prague. Equal justice, however, toward all, might perhaps have restored confidence between the head of the Em¬ pire and its members—between the Protestants and the Roman Catholics—between the Reformed and the Lutheran party; and the Swedes, aban¬ doned by all their allies, would in all probability have been driven from Germany with disgrace. But this inequality strengthened, in those who were more severely treated, the spirit of mistrust and opposition, and made it an easier task for the Swedes to keep alive the flame of war, and to maintain a party in Germany. The peace of Prague, as might have been ex¬ pected, was received with very various feelings 236 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. throughout Germany. The attempt to conciliate both parties, had rendered it obnoxious to both. The Protestants complained of the restraints im¬ posed upon them ; the Roman Catholics thought that these hated sectaries had been favored at the expense of the trub church. In the opinion of the latter, the church had been deprived of its ina¬ lienable rights, by the concession to the Protes¬ tants of forty years’ undisturbed possession of the ecclesiastical benefices; while the former mur¬ mured that the interests of the Protestant church had been betrayed, because toleration had not been granted to their co-religionists in the Aus¬ trian dominions. But no one w^s so bitterly reproached as the Elector of Saxony, who was publicly denounced as a deserter, a traitor to reli¬ gion and the liberties of the Empire, and a con¬ federate of the Emperor. • In the mean time, he consoled himself with the triumph of seeing most of the Protestant states compelled by necessity to embrace this peace. The Elector of Brandenburg, Duke William of Weimar, the princes of Anhalt, the dukes of Mecklenburg, the dukes of Brunswick, Lunenburg, the Hanse towns, and most of the imperial cities, acceded to it. The Landgrave William of Hesse long wavered, or affected to do so, in order to gain time, and to regulate his measures by the course of events. He had conquered several fer¬ tile provinces of Wesphalia, and derived from them principally the means of continuing the war ; these, by the terms of the treaty, he was bound to restore. Bernard, Duke of Weimar, whose states, as yet, existed only on paper, as a belligerent power was not affected by the treaty, but as a general was so materially; and, in either view, he must equally be disposed to reject it. His whole riches con¬ sisted in his bravery, his possessions in his sword. War alone gave him greatness and importance, and war alone could realize the projects which his ambition suggested. But of all who declaimed against the treaty of Prague, none were so loud in their clamors as the Swedes, and none had so much reason for their opposition. Invited to Germany by the Germans themselves, the champions of the Protestant Church, and the freedom of the States, which they had defended with so much bloodshed, and with the sacred life of their king, they now saw them¬ selves suddenly and shamefully abandoned, disap¬ pointed in all their hopes, without reward and without gratitude driven from the empire for which they had toiled and bled, and exposed to the ridi¬ cule of the enemy by the very princes who owed everything to them. No satisfaction, no indem¬ nification for the expenses which they had incurred, no equivalent for conquests which they were to leave behind them, was provided by the treaty of Prague. They were to be dismissed poorer than they came, or, if they resisted, to be expelled by the very powers who had invited them. The Elector of Saxony at last spoke of a pecu¬ niary indemnification, and mentioned the small sum of two millions five hundred thousand florins; but the Swedes had already expended considerably more, and this disgraceful equivalent in money was both contrary to their true interests, and inju¬ rious to their pride ' The Electors of Bavaria and Saxony,” replied Oxenstiern, “ have been paid for their services, and which, as vassals, they w T ere bound to render the Emperor, with the possession of important provinces ; and shall we, who have sacrificed our king for Germany, be dismissed with the miserable sum of two millions five hundred thousand florins ?” The disappointment of their expectations was the more severe, because the Swedes had calculated upon being recompensed with the Duchy of Pomerania, the present pos¬ sessor of which was old and without heirs. But the succession of this territory was confirmed by the treaty of Prague to the Elector of Branden¬ burg ; and all the neighboring powers declared against allowing the Swedes to obtain a footing within the empire. Never, in the whole course of the war, had the prospects of the Swedes looked more gloomy, than in the year 1635, immediately after the con¬ clusion of the treaty of Prague. Many of their allies, particularly among the free cities, aban¬ doned them to benefit by the peace ; others were compelled to accede to it by the victorious arms of the Emperor. Augsburg, subdued by famine, surrendered under the severest conditions; Wurtzburg and Coburg were lost to the Aus¬ trians. The League of Heilbronn was formally dis¬ solved. Nearly the whole of Upper Germany, the chief seat of the Swedish power, was reduced under the Emperor. Saxony, on the strength of the treaty of Prague, demanded the evacuation of Thuringia, Halberstadt, and Magdeburg. Philipsburg, the military depot of France, was surprised by the Austrians, with all the stores it contained; and this severe loss checked the activity of France. To complete the embarrass¬ ments of Sweden, the truce with Poland was drawing to a close. To support a war at the same time with Poland and in Germany, was far .beyond the power of Sweden ; and all that re¬ mained was to choose between them. Pride and ambition declared in favor of continuing the Ger¬ man war, at whatever sacrifice on the side of Po¬ land. An army, however, was necessary to com¬ mand the respect of Poland, and to give weight to Sweden in any negotiations for a truce or a peace. The mind of Oxenstiern, firm, and inexhaustible in expedients, set itself manfully to meet these calamities-, which all combined to overwhelm Sweden ; and his shrewd understanding taught him how to turn even misfortunes to his advan¬ tage. The defection of so many German cities of the empire deprived him, it is true, of a great part of his former allies, but at the same time it freed him from the necessity of paying any regard to their interests. The more the number of his enemies increased, the more provinces and maga¬ zines were opened to his troops. The gross in¬ gratitude of the States, and the haughty contempt with which the Emperor behaved, (who did not even condescend to treat directly with him about a peace,) excited in him the courage of despair, and a noble determination to maintain the struggle to the last. The continuance of war, however unfortunate it might prove, could not render the situation of Sweden worse than it now was; and if Germany was to be evacuated, it was at least HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS 1 WAR. 237 better and nobler to do so sword in hand, and to yield to force rather than to fear. In the extremity in which the Swedes were now placed by the desertion of their allies, they ad¬ dressed themselves to France, who met them with the greatest encouragement. The interest of the two crowns were closely united, and France would have injured herself by allowing the Swedish power in Germany to decline. The helpless situ¬ ation of the Swedes, was rather an additional motive with France to cement more closely their alliance, and to take a more active part in the German war. Since the alliance with Sweden at Beerwald, in 1632, France had maintained the war against the Emperor, by the arms of Gusta- vus Adolphus, without any open or formal breach, by furnishing subsidies and increasing the number of his enemies. But alarmed at the unexpected rapidity and success of the Swedish arms, France, in anxiety to restore the balance of power, which was disturbed by the preponderance of the Swedes, seemed, for a time, to have lost sight of its original designs. She endeavored to protect the Roman Catholic princes of the empire against the Swedish conqueror, by the treaties of neu¬ trality, and when this plan failed, she even medi¬ tated herself to declare war against him. But no sooner had the death of Gustavus Adolphus, and the desperate situation of the Swedish affairs, dis¬ pelled this apprehension, than she returned with fresh zeal to her first design, and readily afforded in this misfortune the aid which, in the hour of success, she had refused. Freed from the checks which the ambition and vigilance of Gustavus Adolphus placed upon her plans of aggrandize¬ ment France availed herself of the favorable opportunity afforded by the defeat of Nordlingen, to obtain the entire direction of the war, and to prescribe laws to those who sued for her powerful protection. The moment seemed to smile upon her boldest plans, and those who had formerly seemed chimerical, now appeared to be justified by circumstances. She now turned her whole at¬ tention to the war in Germany ; and, as soon as she had secured her own private ends by a treaty with the Germans, she suddenly entered the politi- cnl arena as an active and a commanding power. While the other belligerent states had been ex¬ hausting themselves in a tedious contest, France had been reserving her strength, and maintained the contest by money alone ; but now, when the state of things called for more active measures, she seized the sword, and astonished Europe by the boldness and magnitude of her undertakings. At the same moment, she fitted out two fleets, and sent six different armies into the field, while she subsidized a foreign crown and several of the German princes. Animated by this powerful co¬ operation, the Swedes and Germans awoke from the consternation, and hoped, sword in hand, to obtain a more honorable peace than that of Prague. Abandoned by their confederates, who had been reconciled to the Emperor, they formed a still closer alliance with France, which increased her support with their growing necessities, at the same time taking a more active, although secret share in the German war, until at last, she threw off the mask altogether, and in her own name made an unequivocal declaration of war against the Emperor. To leave Sweden at full liberty to act against Austria, France commenced her operations by liberating it from all fear of a Polish war. By means of the Count d’Avaux, its minister, an agreement was concluded between the two powers at Stummsdorf in Prussia, by which the truce was prolonged for twenty-six years, though not with¬ out a great sacrifice on the part of the Swedes, who ceded, by a single stroke of the pen almost the whole of Polish Prussia, the dear-bought con¬ quest of Gustavus Adolphus. The treaty of Beerwald was, with certain modifications, which circumstances‘rendered necessary, renewed at dif¬ ferent times at Compiegne, and afterward at Wismar and Hamburg. France had already come to a rupture with Spain, in May, 1635, and the vigorous attack which she made upon that power, deprived the Emperor of his most valuable auxiliaries from the Netherlands. By supporting the Landgrave William of Cassel, and Duke Ber¬ nard of Weimar, the Swedes were enabled to act with more vigor upon the Elbe and the Danube, and a diversion upon the Rhine compelled the Emperor to divide his force. The war was now prosecuted with increasing activity. By the treaty of Prague, the Emperor had lessened the number of his adversaries within the Empire ; though, at the same time, the zeal and activity of his foreign enemies had been aug¬ mented by it. In Germany, his influence was almost unlimited, for, with the exception of a few states, he had rendered himself absolute master of the German body and its resources, and was again enabled to act in the character of emperor and sovereign. The first fruit of his power was the elevation of his son, Ferdinand III., to the dignity of King of the Romans, to which he was elected by a decided majority of votes, notwith¬ standing the opposition of Treves, and of the heirs of the Elector Palatine. But, on the other hand, he had exasperated the Swedes to desperation, had armed the power of France against him, and drawn its troops into the heart of the kingdom. France and Sweden, with their German allies, formed, from this moment, one firm and compactly united power; the Emperor, with the German stales which adhered to him, were equally firm and united. The Swedes, who no longer fought for Germany, but for their own lives, showed no more indulgence ; relieved from the necessity of consulting their German allies, or accounting to them for the plans which they adopted, they acted with more precipitation, rapidity, and boldness. Battles, though less decisive, became more ob¬ stinate and bloody ; greater achievements, both in bravery and military skill, were performed ; but they were but insulated efforts ; and being neither dictated by any consistent plan, nor improved by any commanding spirit, had comparatively little influence upon the course of the war. Saxony had bound herself, by the treaty of Prague, to expel the Swedes from Germany, From this moment, the banners of the Saxons and Imperialists were united: the former confe¬ derates were converted into implacable enemies. The bishopric of Magdeburg, which, by the treaty, 238 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. was ceded to a prince of Saxony, was still held by the Swedes, and every attempt to acquire it by negotiation had proved ineffectual. Hostili¬ ties commenced, by the Elector of Saxony recall¬ ing all his subjects from the army of Banner, which was encamped upon the Elbe. The officers, long irritated by the accumulation of their arrears, obeyed the summons, and evacuated one quarter after another. As the Saxons, at the same time, made a movement toward Mecklenburg, to take Dfimitz, and to drive the Swedes from Pomerania ar.d the Baltic, Banner suddenly marched thither, relieved Domitz, and totally defeated the Saxon General Baudissin, with seven thousand men, of whom one thousand were slain, and about the same number taken prisoners. Reinforced by the troops and artillery, which had hitherto been em¬ ployed in Polish Prussia, but which the treaty of Stummsdorf rendered unnecessary, this brave and impetuous general made, the following year (1636), a sudden inroad into the Electorate of Saxony, where he gratified his inveterate hatred of the Saxons by the most destructive ravages. Irri¬ tated by the memory of old grievances which, during their common campaigns, he and the Swedes had suffered from the haughtiness of the Saxons, and now exasperated to the utmost by the late defection of the Elector, they wreaked upon the unfortunate inhabitants all their rancor. Against Austria and Bavaria, the Swedish sol¬ dier had fought from a sense, as it w r ere, of duty; but against the Saxons, they contended with all the energy of private animosity and personal re¬ venge, detesting them as deserters and traitors ; for the hatred of former friends is of all the most fierce and irreconcilable. The powerful diver¬ sion made by the Duke of Weimar, and the Land¬ grave of Hesse, upon the Rhine and in Westpha¬ lia, prevented the Emperor from affording the necessary assistance to Saxony, and left the whole Electorate exposed to the destructive rav¬ ages of Banner’s army. At length, the Elector, having formed a junc¬ tion with the Imperial General Hatzfeld, advanced against Magdeburg, which Banner in vain hast¬ ened to relieve. The united army of the Impe¬ rialists and the Saxons had spread itself over Brandenburg, wrested several places from the Swedes, and almost drove them to the Baltic. But, contrary to all expectation, Banner, who had been given up as lost, attacked the allies, on the 24th of September, 1636, at Wittsbach, where a bloody battle took place. The onset was terrific ; and the whole force of the enemy was directed against the right wing of the Swedes, which was led by Banner in person. The contest was long maintained with equal animosity and obstinacy on both sides. Scarcely a squadron among the Swedes, which did not return ten times to the charge, and was as often repulsed; when at last, Banner was obliged to retire before the superior numbers of the enemy. His left wing sustained the combat until night, and the second line of the Swedes, which had not as yet been engaged, was prepared to renew it the next morning. But the Elector did not wait for a second attack. His army was exhausted by the efforts of the preceding day; and, as the drivers had fled with the horses, his artillery was unserviceable. He accordingly retreated in the night, with Count Hatzfeld, and relinquished the ground to the Swedes. About five thousand of the allies fell upon the field, ex¬ clusive of those who were killed in the pursuit, or who fell into the hands of the exasperated peas¬ antry. One hundred and fifty standards and col¬ ors, twenty-three pieces of cannon, the whole baggage and silver plate of the Elector, were cap¬ tured, and more than two thousand men taken prisoners. This brilliant victory, achieved over an enemy far superior in numbers, and in a very advantageous position, restored the Swedes at once to their former reputation; their enemies were discouraged, and the friends inspired with new hopes. Banner instantly followed up this decisive success, and hastily crossing the Elbe, drove the Imperialists before him, through Thu¬ ringia and Hesse, into Westphalia. He then re¬ turned, and took up his winter quarters in Saxony. But, without the material aid furnished by the diversion upon the Rhine, and the activity there of Duke Bernard and the French, these import¬ ant successes would have been unattainable. Duke Bernard, after the defeat of Nordlingen, reorganized his broken army at Wetterau ; but, abandoned by the confederates of the League of Heilbronn, which had been dissolved by the peace of Prague, and receiving little support from the Swedes, he found himself unable to maintain an army, or to perform any enterprise of importance. The defeat of Nordlingen had terminated all his hopes on the Duchy of Franconia, while the weakness of the Swedes, destroyed the chance of retrieving his fortunes through their assistance. Tired, too, of the constraint imposed upon him by the imperious chancellor, he turned his attention to France, who could easily supply him with money, the only aid which he required, and France readily acceded to his proposals. Richelieu desired no¬ thing so much as to diminish the influence of the Swedes in the German war, and to obtain the di¬ rection of it for himself. To secure this end, nothing appeared more effectual than to detach from the Swedes their bravest general, to win him to the interests of France, and to secure for the execution of its projects the services of his army. From a prince like Bernard, who could not main¬ tain himself without foreign support, France had nothing to fear, since no success, however bril¬ liant, could render him independent of that crown. Bernard himself came into France, and in Octo¬ ber, 1635, concluded a treaty at St. Germaine en Laye, not as a Swedish general, but in his own name, by which it was stipulated that he should receive for himself a yearly pension of one million five hundred thousand livres, and four millions for the support of his army, which he was to com¬ mand under the orders of the French king. To inflame his zeal, and to accelerate the conquest of Alsace, France did not hesitate, by a secret arti¬ cle, to promise him that province for his services ; a promise which Richelieu had little intention of performing, and which the duke also estimated at its real worth. But Bernard confided in his good fortune, and in his arms, and met artifice with dissimulation. If he could once succeed in wrest* HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 239 ing Alsace from the enemy, he did not despair of being able, in case of need, to maintain it also against a friend. He now raised an army at the expense of France, which he commanded nomi¬ nally under the orders of that power, but in re¬ ality without any limitation whatever, and without having wholly abandoned his engagements with Sweden. He began his operations upon the Rhine, where another French army, under Cardinal Lavalette, had already, in 1635, commenced hos¬ tilities against the Emperor. Against this force, the main body of the Impe¬ rialists, after the great victory of Nordlingen, and the reduction of Swabia and Franconia, had ad¬ vanced under the command of Gallas, had driven them as far as Mentz, cleared the Rhine, and took from the Swedes the towns of Mentz and Frankenthal, of which they were in possession. But frustrated by the vigorous resistance of the French, in his main object, of taking up his winter quarters in France, he led back his exhausted troops into Alsace and Swabia, At the opening of the next campaign, he passed the Rhine at Breysach, and prepared to carry the war into the interior of France. He actually entered Bur¬ gundy, penetrated into Picardy; and John De Werth, a formidable general of the League, and a celebrated partisan, pushed his march into Champagne, and spread consternation even to the gates of Paris. But an insignificant fortress in Franche Comte completely checked the progress of the Imperialists; and they were obliged, a second time, to abandon their enterprise. The activity of Duke Bernard had hitherto been impeded by his dependence on a French general, more suited to the priestly robe, than to the baton of command; and although, in conjunction with him, he conquered Alsace Saverne, he found himself unable, in the years 1636 and 1637, to maintain his position upon the Rhine. The ill success of the French arms in the Netherlands had checked the activity of operations in Alsace and Breisgau; but in 1638, the war in that quarter took a more brilliant turn. Relieved from his former restraint, and with an unlimited command of his troops, Duke Bernard, in the beginning of February, left his winter quarters, in the bishopric of Basle, and unexpectedly appeared upon the Rhine, where, at this rude season of the year, an attack was little anticipated. The forest towns of Laufenburg, Waldschut, and Seckingen, were surprised, and Rhinefeldt besieged. The Duke of Savelli, the Imperial general who commanded in that quarter, hastened by forced marches to the relief of this important place, succeeded in raising the siege, and compelled the Duke of Weimar, with great loss, to retire. But, contrary to all human ex¬ pectation, he appeared on the third day after, (21st February, 1638,) before the Imperialists, in order of battle, and defeated them in a bloody en¬ gagement, in which the four Imperial generals, Savelli, John De Werth, Enkeford, and Sperreuter, with two thousand men, were taken prisoners. Two of these, De Werth and Enkeford, were af¬ terward sent by Richelieu’s orders into France, in order to flatter the vanity of the French by the sight of such distinguished prisoners, and by the pomp of military trophies, to withdraw the atten¬ tion of the populace from the public distress. The captured standards and colors were, with the same view, carried in solemn procession to the church of Notre Dame, thrice exhibited before the altar, and committed to sacred custody. The taking of Rhinefeldt, Roteln, and Fribourg, was the immediate consequence of the duke> victory. His army now increased by consider¬ able recruits, and his projects expanded in pro portion as fortune favored him. The fortress o! Breysach upon the Rhine was looked upon as holding the command of that river, and as the key of Alsace. No place in this quarter was of more importance to the Emperor, and upon none had more care been bestowed. To protect Brey¬ sach, was principally the determination of the Italian army, under the Duke of Feria ; the strength of its works, and its natural defenses, bade defiance to assault, while the Imperial generals who commanded in that quarter had orders to retain it at any cost. Bat the duke, trusting to his good fortune, resolved to attempt the siege. Its strength reudered it impregnable ; it could, therefore, only be starved into a surrender ; and this was facilitated by the carelessness of the com¬ mandant, who, expecting no attack, had been selling off his stores. As under these circum¬ stances the town could not long hold out, it must be immediately relieved or victualed. Accord¬ ingly, the Imperial General Goetz rapidly advanced at the head of 12,000 men, accompanied by 3,000 wagons loaded with provisions, which he intended to throw into the place. But he was attacked with such vigor by Duke Bernard at Witteweyer, that he lost his whole force, except 3,000 men, together with the entire transport. A similar fate at Ochsenfeld, near Thann, overtook the Duke of Lorraine, who, with 5,000 or 6,000 men, advanced to relieve the fortress. After a third attempt of General Goetz for the relief of Breysach had proved ineffectual, the fortress, reduced to the greatest extremity by famine, surrendered, after a blockade of four months, on the 17t.h December, L638, to its equally persevering and humane con¬ queror. The capture of Breysach opened a boundless field to the ambition of the Duke of Weimar,-and the romance of his hopes was fast approaching to reality. Far from intending to surrender his conquests to France, he destined Breysach for himself, and revealed this intention, by exacting allegiance from the vanquished, in his own name, and not, in that of any other power. Intoxicated by his past success, and excited by the boldest hopes, he believed that he should be able to main¬ tain his conquests, even against France herself. At a time when every thing depended upon bravery, when even personal strength was of importance, when troops and generals were of more value than territories, it was natural for a hero like Bernard to place confidence in his own powers, and, at the head of an excellent army, who under his command had proved invincible, to believe himself capable of accomplishing the boldest and largest designs. In order to secure himself one friend among the crowd of enemies whom he was about to provoke, he turned his eyes upon the Landgravine Amelia of Hesse, the widow 240 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. of the lately deceased Landgrave William, a prin¬ cess whose talents were equal to her courage, and who, along with her hand, would bestow valuable conquests, an extensive principality, and a well disciplined army. By the union of the conquests of Hesse, with his own upon the Rhine, and the junction of their forces, a power of some import¬ ance, and perhaps a third party, might be formed in Germany, which might decide the fate of the war. But a premature death put a period to these extensive schemes. “Courage, Father Joseph, Breysach is ours!” whispered Richelieu in the ear of the Capuchin, who had long held himself in readiness to be dis¬ patched into that quarter; so delighted was he with this joyful intelligence. Already in imagina¬ tion he held Alsace, Breisgau, and all the frontiers of Austria in that quarter, without regard to his promise to Duke Bernard. But the firm deter¬ mination which the latter had unequivocally shown, to keep Breysach for himself, greatly embarrassed the cardinal, and no efforts were spared to retain the victorious Bernard in the interests of France. He was invited to court, to witness the honors by which his triumph was to be commemorated ; but he perceived and shunned the seductive snare. The cardinal even went so far as to offer him the hand of his niece in marriage ; but the proud German prince declined the offer, and refused to sully the blood of Saxony by a misalliance. He was now considered as a dangerous enemv, and treated as such. His subsidies were withdrawn ; and the Governor of Breysach, and his principal officers were bribed, at least upon the event of the duke’s death, to take possession of his conquests, and to secure his troops. These intrigues were no secret to the duke, and the precautions he took in the conquered places, clearly bespoke the dis¬ trust of France. But this misunderstanding with the French court had the most prejudicial influ¬ ence upon his future operations. The preparations he was obliged to make, in order to secure his conquests against an attack on the side of France, compelled him to divide his military strength, while the stoppage of his subsidies delayed his appearance in the field. It had been his intention to cross the Rhine, to support the Swedes, and to act against the Emperor and Bavaria on the banks of the Danube. He had already communicated his plan of operations to Banner, who was about to carry the war into the Austrian territories, and had promised to relieve him so, when a sudden death cut short his heroic career, in the thirty- sixth year of his age, at Neuburg upon the Rhine (in July, 1639). He died of a pestilential disorder, which, in the course of two days, had carried off nearly 400 men in his camp. The black spots which appeared upon his body, his own dying expressions, and the advantages which France was likely to reap from his sudden decease, gave rise to a suspicion that he had been removed by poison—a suspicion suf¬ ficiently refuted by the symptoms of his disorder. In him, the allies lost their greatest general after Gustavus Adolphus, France a formidable com¬ petitor for Alsace, and the Emperor his most dangerous enemy. Trained to the duties of a soldier and a general in the school of Gustavus • Adolphus, he successfully imitated his eminert model, and wanted only a longer life to equal, if not to surpass it. With the bravery of the soldier, he united the calm and cool penetration of the general; the persevering fortitude of the man, with the daring resolution of youth : with the wild ardor of the warrior, the sober dignity of the prince, the moderation of the sage, and the conscientiousness of the man of honor. Dis¬ couraged by no misfortune, he quickly rose again in full vigor from the severest defeats: no ^ob¬ stacles could check his enterprise, no disappoint¬ ments conquer his indomitable perseverance. His genius, perhaps, soared after unattainable objects ; but the prudence of such men, is to be measured by a different standard from that of ordinary people. Capable of accomplishing more, he mignt venture to form more daring plans. Bernard af¬ fords, in modern history, a splendid example of those days of chivalry, when personal greatness had its full weight and influence, when individual bravery could conquer provinces, and the heroic exploits of a German knight raised him even to the Imperial throne. The best part of the duke’s possessions w*re his army, which, together with Alsace, he be¬ queathed to his brother William. But to this army, both France and Sweden thought that th^y had well-grounded claims ; the latter, because it had been raised in the name of that crown, and had done homage to it; the former, because it had been supported by its subsidies. The Electoral Prince of the Palatinate also negotiated for its services, and attempted, first by his agents, and latterly in his own person, to win it over to his interests, with the view of employing it in the re- conquest of his territories. Even the Emperor endeavored to secure it,—a circumstance the less surprising, when we reflect that at this time the justice of the cause was comparatively unimport¬ ant, and the extent of the recompense the main object, to which the soldier looked; and when bravery, like every other commodity, was disposed of to the highest bidder. But France, richer and more determined, outbade all competitors: it bought over General Erlach, the commander of Breysach, and the other officers, who soon placed that fortress, with the whole army, in their hands. The young Palatine, Prince Charles Louis, who had already made an unsuccessful campaign against the Emperor, saw his hopes again de¬ ceived. Although intending to do France so ill a service, as to compete with her for Bernard’s army, he had the imprudence to travel through that kingdom. The cardinal, who dreaded the justice of the Palatine’s cause, was glad to seize any opportunity to frustrate his views. He ac¬ cordingly caused him to be seized at Moulin, in violation of the law of nations, and did not set him at liberty, until he learned that the army of the duke of Weimar had been secured. France was now in possession of a numerous and well- disciplined army in Germany, and from this mo¬ ment began to make open war upon the Emperor. But it was no longer against Ferdinand II. that its hostilities were to be conducted ; for that prince had died in February, 1637, in the 59th year of his age. The war which his ambition had HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR. 241 kindled, however, survived him. During a reign of eighteen years he had never once laid aside the sword, nor tasted the blessings of peace as long as his hand swayed the imperial sceptre. Endowed with the qualities of a good sovereign, adorned with many of those virtues which insure the happiness of a people, and by nature gentle and humane, we see him, from erroneous ideas of the monarch’s duty, "become at once the instru¬ ment and the victim of the evil passions of others; his benevolent intentions frustrated, and the friend of justice converted into the oppressor of man¬ kind, the enemy of peace, and the scourge of his people. Amiable in domestic life, and respect¬ able as a sovereign, but in his policy ill advised, while he gained the love of his Roman Catholic subjects, he incurred the execration of the Pro¬ testants. History exhibits many and greater despots than Ferdinand II., yet he alone has had the unfortunate celebrity of kindling a thirty years’ war ; but to produce its lamentable conse¬ quences, his ambition must have been seconded by a kindred spirit of the age, a congenial state of previous circumstances, and existing seeds of dis¬ cord. At a less turbulent period, the spark would have found no fuel; and the peacefulness of the age would have choked the voice of individual ambition; but now the flash fell upon a pile of ac¬ cumulated combustibles, and Europe was in flames. His son, Ferdinand III., who, a few months be¬ fore his father’s death, had been raised to the dig¬ nity of King of the Romans, inherited his throne, his principles, and the war which he had caused. But Ferdinand III. had been a closer witness of the sufferings of the people, and the devastation of the country, and felt more keenly and ardently the necessity of peace. Less influenced by the Jesuits and the Spaniards, and more moderate toward the religious views of others, he was more likely than his father to listen to the voice of reason. He did so, and ultimately restored to Europe the blessing of peace, but not till after a contest of eleven years waged with sword and pen; not till after he had experienced the impossibility of resistance, and necessity had laid upon him its stern laws. Fortune favored him at the commencement of his reign, and his arms were victorious against the Swedes. The latter, under the command of the victorious Banner, had, after their success at Wittstock, taken up their winter quarters in Sax¬ ony ; and the campaign of 1637 opened with the siege of Leipsic. The vigorous resistance of the garrison, and the approach of the Electoral and Imperial armies, saved the town, and Banner, to prevent his communication with the Elbe being cut off, was compelled to retreat into Torgau. But the superior number of the Imperialists drove him even from that quarter; and, surrounded by the enemy, hemmed in by rivers, and suffering from famine, he had no course opened to him but to attempt a highly dangerous retreat into Pome¬ rania, of which, the boldness and successful issue bordered upon romance. The whole army crossed the Oder, at a ford near Furstenberg; and the soldiers, wading up to the neck in water, dragged the artillery across, when the horses refused to draw. Banner had expected to be ioined by Ge- Voi* II.—16 neral Wrangel, on the further side of the Odei in Pomerania; and, in conjunction with him, to be able to make head against the enemy. But Wrangel did not appear; and in his stead, he joined an Imperial army posted at Landsberg, with a view to cut off the retreat of the Swedes. Banner now saw that he had fallen into a danger¬ ous snare, from which escape appeared impossi¬ ble. In his rear lay an exhausted country, the Imperialists, and the Oder on his left; the Oder, too, guarded by the Imperial General Bucheim, offered no retreat; in front, Landsberg, Custrin, the Warta, and a hostile army; and on the right, Poland, in which, notwithstanding the truce, little confidence could be placed. In these circum¬ stances, his position seemed hopeless, and the Im¬ perialists were already triumphing in the certainty of his fall. Banner, with just indignation, accused the French as the authors of this misfortune. They had neglected to make, according to their promise, a diversion upon the Rhine; and, by their inaction, allowed the Emperor to combine his whole force upon the Swedes. “When the day comes,” cried the incensed general to the French Commissioner, who followed the camp, “ that the Swedes and Germans join their arms against France, we shall cross the Rhine with less ceremony.” But reproaches were now useless; what the emergency demanded was energy and resolution. In the hope of drawing the enemy by stratagem from the Oder, Banner pretended to march toward Poland, and dispatched the greater part of his bag¬ gage in this direction, with his own wife and those of the other officers. The Imperialists immediately broke up their camp, and hurried toward the Pol¬ ish frontier to block up the route; Bucheim left his station, and the Oder was stripped of its defend¬ ers. On a sudden, and under cloud of night, Banner turned toward that river, and crossed it about a mile above Custrin, with his troops, bag¬ gage, and artillery, without bridges or vessels, as he had done before at Furstenberg. He reached Pomerania without loss, and prepared to share with Wrangel the defense of that province. But the Imperialists, under the command of Gallas, entered that duchy at Ribses, and overran it by their superior strength. Usedom and Wol- gast were taken by storm, Demmin capitulated, and the Swedes were driven far into Lower Pome¬ rania. It was, too, more important for them at this moment than ever, to maintain a footing in that country, for Bogislaus XIV. had died that year, and Sweden must prepare to establish its title to Pomerania. To prevent the Elector of Brandenburg from making good the title to that duchy, which the treaty of Prague had given him, Sweden exerted her utmost energies, and sup ported its generals to the extent of her ability, both with troops and money. In other quarters of the kingdom, the affairs of the Swedes began to wear a more favorable aspect, and to recover* from the humiliation into which they had been thrown by the inaction of France, and the deser¬ tion of their allies. For, after their hasty retreat into Pomerania, they had lost one place after an¬ other in Upper Saxony; the princes of Mecklen¬ burg, closely pressed by the troops of the Empe¬ ror, began to lean to the side of Austria, and even 242 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS* WAR. George, Duke of Lnnenburg, declared against them. Ehrenbreitstein was starved into a sur¬ render by the Bavarian General De Werth, and the Austrians possessed themselves of all the works which had been thrown up on the Rhine. France had been the sufferer in the contest with Spain ; and the event had by no means justified the pompous expectations which had accompanied the opening of the campaign. Every place which the Swedes had held in the interior of Germany was lost: and only the principal towns in Pome¬ rania still remained in their hands. But a single campaign raised them from this state of humilia¬ tion ; and the vigorous diversion which the victo¬ rious Bernard had effected upon the Rhine, gave quite a new turn to affairs. The misunderstandings between France and Sweden were now at last adjusted, and the old treaty between these powers confirmed at Ham¬ burg, with fresh advantages for Sweden. In Hesse, the politic Landgravine Amelia had, with the approbation of the States, assumed the gov¬ ernment after the death of her husband, and resolutely maintained her rights against the Em¬ peror and the House of Darmstadt. Meantime, the Swedish-Protestant party, zealously attached to their religion, only awaited a favorable oppor¬ tunity openly to declare themselves. By artful delays, and by prolonging the negotiations with the Emperor, they had succeeded in keeping him inactive, till they had concluded a secret compact with France, and the victories of Duke Bernard had given a favorable turn to the affairs of the Protestants. They now at once threw off the mask, and renewed their former alliance with the Swedish crown. The Electoral Prince of the Palatinate was also stimulated, by the success of Bernard, to try his fortune against the common enemy. Raising troops in Holland with English money, he formed a magazine at Meppen, and joined the Swedes in Westphalia. His magazine was, however, quickly lost; his army defeated near Flotha, by Count Hatzfeld ; but his attempt served to occupy for some time the attention of the enemy, and thereby facilitated the operations of the Swedes in other quarters. Other friends began to appear, as fortune declared in their fa¬ vor ; and the circumstance that the States of Lower Saxony embraced a neutrality, was of it¬ self no inconsiderable advantage. Under these advantages, and reinforced by fourteen thousand fresh troops from Sweden and Livonia, Banner opened, with the most favorable prospects, the campaign of 1638. The Imperial¬ ists who were in possession of Upper Pomerania and Mecklenburg, either abandoned their posi¬ tions, or deserted in crowds to the Swedes, to avoid the horrors of famine, the most formidable enemy in this exhausted country. The whole '.ountry betwixt the Elbe and the Oder was so Jesolated by the past marchings and quarterings of the troops, that, in order to support his army on its march into Saxony and Bohemia, Banner was obliged to take a circuitous route from Lower Pomerania into Lower Saxony, and then into the Electorate of Saxony through the territory of Ilalberstadt. The impatience of the Lower Saxon States to get rid of such troublesome guests, pro¬ cured him so plentiful a supply of provisions, that he was provided with bread in Magdeburg itself, where famine had even overcome the natural an¬ tipathy of men to human flesh. His approach spread consternation among the Saxons; but his views were directed not against this exhausted country, but against the hereditary dominions of the Emperor. The victories of Bernard encou¬ raged him, while the prosperity of the Austrian provinces excited his hopes of booty. After de¬ feating the Imperial General, Salis, at Elsterberg, totally routing the Saxon army at Chemnitz, ard taking Pirna, he penetrated with irresistible im¬ petuosity into Bohemia, crossed the Elbe, threat¬ ened Prague, took Brandeis and Leutmeritz, defeated General Hofkirchen with ten regiments, and spread terror and devastation through that defenseless kingdom. Booty was his sole object, and whatever he could not carry off he destroyed. In order to remove more of the corn, the ears were cut from the stalks, and the latter burned. Above a thousand castles, hamlets, and villages, were laid in ashes; sometimes more than a hun¬ dred were seen burning in one night. From Bo¬ hemia he crossed into Silesia, and it was his in¬ tention to carry his ravages even into Moravia and Austria. But to prevent this, Count Hatz¬ feld was summoned from Westphalia, and Picco- lomini from the Netherlands, to hasten with all speed to this quarter. The Archduke Leopold, brother to the Emperor, assumed the command, in order to repair the errors of his predecessor Gallas. and to raise the army from the low ebb to which it had fallen. The result justified the change, and the cam¬ paign of 1640 appeared to take a most unfortunate turn for the Swedes. They were successively driven out of all their posts in Bohemia, and anxious only to secure their plunder, they preci¬ pitately crossed the heights of Meissen. But be¬ ing followed into Saxony by the pursuing enemy, and defeated at Plauen, they were obliged to take refuge in Thuringia. Made masters of the field in a single summer, they were as rapidly dispos¬ sessed ; but only to acquire it a second time, and to hurry from one extreme to another. The army of Banner, weakened and on the brink of destruc¬ tion in its camp at Erfurt, suddenly recovered itself. The Duke of Lunenburg abandoned the treaty of Prague, and joined Banner with the very troops which, the year before, had fought against him. Hesse Cassel sent reinforcements, and the Duke of Longueville came to his support with the army of the late Duke Bernard. Once more nu¬ merically superior to the Imperialists, Banner offered them battle near Saalfeld; but their leader, Piccolomini, prudently declined an en¬ gagement, and had chosen too strong a position to be forced. When the Bavarians at length separated from the Imperialists, and marched toward Franconia, Banner attempted an attack upon this divided corps, but the attempt was frustrated by the skill of the Bavarian general Yon Mercy, and the near approach of the main body of the Imperialists. Both armies now moved into the exhausted territory of Hesse, where they formed intrenched camps near each other, till at last famine and the severity of the winter com- 2—G. p. 292, 2—E. p. 242 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 243 pelled them both to retire. Piccolomini chose the fertile banks of the Weser tor his winter quar¬ ters, but being outflanked by Banner, he was obliged to give way to the Swedes, and to impose on the Franconian sees the burden of maintaining his army. At this period, a Diet was held in Ratisbon, where the complaints of the states were to be heard, measures taken for securing the repose of the empire, and the question pf peace or war finally settled. The presence of the Emperor, the ma¬ jority of the Roman Catholic voices in the Elec¬ toral College, the great number of bishops, and the withdrawal of several of the Protestant votes, gave the Emperor a complete command of the deliberations of the assembly, and rendered this Diet any thing but a fair representative of the opinions of the German Empire. The Protes¬ tants, with reason, considered it as a mere com¬ bination of Austria and its creatures against their party; and it seemed to them a laudable effort to interrupt its deliberations, and to dis¬ solve the Diet itself. Banner undertook this bold enterprise. His military reputation had suffered by his last retreat from Bohemia, and it stood in need of some great exploit to restore its former lustre. Without communicating his designs to any one, in the depth of the winter of 1641, as soon as the roads and rivers were frozen, he broke up from his quarters in Lunenburg. Accompanied by Mar¬ shal Guebriant, who commanded the armies of France and Weimar, he took the route toward the Danube, through Thuringia and Vogtland, and appeared before Ratisbon, ere the Diet could be apprised of his approach. The consternation of the assembly was indescribable; and, in the first alarm, the deputies prepared for flight. The Emperor alone declared that he would not leave the town, and encouraged the rest by his exam¬ ple. Unfortunately for the Swedes, a thaw came on, which broke up the ice upon the Danube, so that it was no longer passable on foot, while no boats could cross it on account of the quantities of ice which were swept down by the current. In order to preform something, and to humble the pride of the Emperor, Banner discourteously fired five hundred cannon shots into the town, which, however, did little mischief. Baffled in his de¬ signs, he resolved to penetrate further into Bohe¬ mia, and the defenseless province of Moravia, where a rich booty and comfortable quarters awaited his troops. Guebriant, however, began to fear that the purpose of the Swedes was to draw the army of Bernard away from the Rhine, and to cut off its communication with France, till it should be either entirely won over, or incapa¬ citated from acting independently. He therefore separated from Banner to return to the Maine ; and the latter was exposed to the whole force of the Imperialists, which had been secretly drawn to¬ gether between Ratisbon and Ingolstadt, and was on its march against him. It was now time to think of a rapid retreat, which, having to be effected in the face of an army superior in cavalry, and be¬ twixt woods and rivers, through a country entirely hostile, appeared almost impracticable. He hastily retired toward the Forest intending to penetrate through Bohemia into Saxony; but he was obliged to sacrifice three regiments at Neu- burg. 'These, with a truly Spartan courage, de¬ fended themselves for four days behind an old wall, and gained time for Banner to escape. He retreated by Egra to Annaberg; Piccolomini took a shorter route in pursuit, by Schlakenwald; and Banner succeeded, only by a single half hour, in clearing the Pass of Prisnitz, and saving his whole army from the Imperialists. At Zwickau he was again joined by Guebriant; and both generals directed their march toward Halber- stadt, after in vain attempting to defend the Saalo. and to prevent the passage of the Imperialists. Banner, at length, terminated his career at Hal- berstadt, in May 1641, a victim to vexation and disappointment. He sustained with great renown, though with varying success, the reputation of the Swedish arms in Germany, and by a train of vic¬ tories showed himself worthy of his great master in the art of war. He was fertile in expedients, which he planned with secrecy, and executed with boldness ; cautious in the midst of dangers, greater in adversity than in prosperity, and never more formidable than when upon the brink of destruc¬ tion. But the virtues of the hero were united with all the failings and vices which a military life creates, or at least fosters. As imperious in pri¬ vate life as he was at the head of his army, rude as his profession, and proud as a conqueror ; he op¬ pressed the German princess no less by his haugh¬ tiness, than their country by his contributions. He consoled himself for the toils of war in volup¬ tuousness and the pleasures of the table, in which he indulged to excess, and was thus brought to an early grave. But though as much addicted to pleasure as Alexander or Mohammed the Second, he hurried from the arms of luxury into the hardest fatigues, and placed himself in all his vigor at the head of his army at the very moment his soldiers were murmuring at his luxurious excesses. Nearly eighty thousand men fell in the numerous battles which he fought, and about six hundred hostile standards and colors, which he sent to Stockholm, were the trophies of his victories. The want of this great general was soon severely felt by the Swedes, who feared, with justice, that the loss would not readily be replaced. The spirit of re¬ bellion and insubordination, which had been over¬ awed by the imperious demeanor of this dreaded commander, awoke upon his death. The officers, with an alarming unanimity, demanded payment of their arrears ; and none of the four generals who shared the command, possessed influence enough to satisfy these demands, or to silence the malcon¬ tents. All discipline was at an end, increasing want, and the imperial citations were daily dimin¬ ishing the number of the army ; the troops of France and Weimar showed little zeal ; those of Lunenburg forsook the Swedish colors, as the Princes of the House of Brunswick, after the death of Duke George, had formed a separate treaty with the Emperor; and at last even those of Hesse quitted them, to seek better quarters iu Westphalia. The enemy profited by these cala¬ mitous divisions ; and although defeated by loss in two pitched battles, succeeded in making conside¬ rable progress in Lower Saxony. 244 HISTORY OF THE' THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. At length appeared the new Swedish general¬ issimo, with fresh troops and money. This was Bernard Torstensohn, a pupil of Gustavus Adol¬ phus, and his most successful imitator, who had been his page during the Polish war. Though a martyr to the gout, and confined to a litter, he surpassed all his opponents inactivity; and his enterprises had wings, while his body was held by the most frightful of fetters. Under him, the scene of war was changed, and new maxims adop¬ ted, which necessity dictated, and the issue justi¬ fied. All the countries in which the contest had hitherto raged were exhausted, while the House of Austria, safe in its most distant territories, felt not the miseries of the war under which the rest of Germany groaned. Torstensohn first furnished them with this bitter experience, glutted his Swedes on the fertile produce of Austria, and carried the torch of war to the very footsteps of the imperial throne. In Silesia, the enemy had gained considerable advantages over the Swedish general Stalhantsch, and driven him as far as Neumark. Torstensohn, who had joined the main body of the Swedes in Lunenburg, summoned him to unite with his force, and in the year 1642, hastily marched into Silesia through Brandenburg, which, under its great Elector, had begun to maintain an armed neutrality. Glogau was carried, sword in hand, without a breach, or formal approaches: the Duke Francis Albert, of Lauenburg, defeated and killed at Schweidnitz; and Schweidnitz itself, with almost all the towns on that side of the Oder, taken. He now penetrated with irresistible violence into the interior of Moravia, where no enemy of Austria had hitherto appeared, took Olmutz, and threw Vienna itself into conster¬ nation. But, in the mean time, Piccolomini and the Archduke Leopold had collected a superior force, which speedily drove the Swedish conquerors from Moravia, and after a fruitless attempt upon Breig, from Silesia. Reinforced by Wrangel, the Swedes again attempted to make head against the enemy, and relieved Grossglogau ; but could neither bring the Imperialists to an engagement, nor carry into effect their own views upon Bohemia. Overrun¬ ning Lusatia, they took Zittau, in presence of the enemy, and after a short stay in that country, di¬ rected their march toward the Elbe, which they passed at Torgau. Torstensohn now threatened Leipsic with a siege, and hoped to raise a large supply of provisions and contributions from that prosperous town, which for ten years had been un¬ visited with the scourge of war. The Imperialists, under Leopold and Piccol¬ omini, immediately hastened by Dresden to its re¬ lief, and Torstensohn, to avoid being inclosed be¬ tween this army and the town, boldly advanced to meet them in order of battle. By a strange coin¬ cidence, the two armies met upon the very spot which, eleven years before, Gustavus Adolphus had rendered remarkable by a decisive victory; and the heroism of their predecessors, now kindled in the Swedes a noble emulation on this conse¬ crated ground. The Swedish generals, Stahl- hantsch and Wellenberg, led their divisions with euch impetuosity upon the left wing of the Impe¬ rialists, before it was completely formed, that the whole cavalry that covered it were dispersed and rendered unserviceable. But the left of the Swedes was threatened with a similar fate, when the victorious right advanced to its assistance, took the enemy in flank and rear, and divided the Austrian line. The infantry on both sides stood firm as a wall, and when their ammunition was ex¬ hausted, maintained the combat with the butt- ends of their muskets, till at last the Imperialists, completely surrounded, after a contest of three hours, were compelled to abandon the field. The generals on both sides had more than once to rally their flying troops ; and the Archduke Leo¬ pold, with his regiment, was the first in the attack, and last in flight. But this bloody victory cost the Swedes more than 3,000 men, and two of their best generals, Schlangen and Lilienhoeck. More than 5,000 of the Imperialists were left upon the field, and nearly as many taken prisoners. Their whole artillery, consisting of 46 field-pieces, the silver plate and portfolio of the archduke, with the whole baggage of the army, fell into the hands of -the victors. Torstensohn, too greatly disabled by his victory to pursue the enemy, moved upon Leipsic. The defeated army retired into Bohemia, where its shattered regime fits reas¬ sembled. The Archduke Leopold could not re¬ cover from the vexation caused by this defeat; and the regiment of cavalry which, by its prema¬ ture flight, had occasioned the disaster, experi¬ enced the effects of his indignation. At Raconitz in Bohemia, in presence of the whole army, he publicly declared it infamous, deprived it of its horses, arms, and ensigns, ordered its standards to be torn, condemned to death severalnf the officers, and decimated the privates. The surrender of Leipsic, three weeks after the battle, was its brilliant result. The city was obliged to clothe the Swedish troops anew, and to purchase an exemption from plunder, by a con¬ tribution of 300,000 rix dollars, to which all the foreign merchants, who had warehouses in the city, were to furnish their quota. In the middle of winter, Torstensohn advanced against Frey- burg, and for several weeks defied the inclemency of the season, hoping by his perseverance to weary out the obstinacy of the besieged. But he found that he was merely sacrificing the lives of his sol¬ diers ; and at last, the approach of the imperial general, Piccolomini, compelled him, with his weakened army, to retire. He considered it, how¬ ever, as equivalent to a victory, to have disturbed the repose of the enemy in their winter quarters, who, by the severity of the weather, sustained a loss of three thousand horses. He now made a movement toward the Oder, as if with the view of reinforcing himself with the garrisons of Po¬ merania and Silesia; but, with the rapidity of lightning, he again appeared upon the Bohemian frontier, penetrated through that kingdom, and relieved Olmutz in Moravia, which was hard pressed by the Imperialists. His camp at Do- ditschau, two miles from Olmutz, commanded the whole of Moravia, on which he levied heavy con¬ tributions, and carried his ravages almost to the gates of Vienna. In vain did the Emperor at¬ tempt to arm the Hungarian nobility in defense HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 245 of this province; they appealed to their privi¬ leges, and refused to serve beyond the limits of their own country. Thus, the time that should have been spent in active resistance, was lost in fruitless negotiation, and the entire province was abandoned to the ravages of the Swedes. While Torstensohn, by his marches and his victories, astonished friend and foe, the armies of the allies had not been inactive in other parts of the empire. The trbops of Hesse, under Count Eberstein, and those of Weimar, under Mares- chal de Guebriant, had fallen into the Electorate of Cologne, in order to take up their winter quarters there. To get rid of these troublesome guests, the Elector called to his assistance the imperial general, Hatzfeld, and assembled his own troops under General Lamboy. The latter was attacked by the allies in January, 1642, and in a decisive action near Kempen, defeated, with the loss of about two thousand men killed, and about twice as many prisoners. This important victory opened to them the whole Electorate and neighboring ter¬ ritories, so that the allies were not only enabled to maintain their winter quarters there, but drew from the country large supplies of men and horses. Guebriant left the Hessians to defend their conquests on the lower Rhine against Hatzfeld, and advanced toward Thuringia, as if to second the operations of Torstensohn in Saxony. But instead of joining the Swedes, he soon hurried back to the Rhine and the Maine, from which he seemed to think he had removed further than was expedient. But being anticipated in the Land- graviate of Baden, by the Bavarians under Mercy and John de Werth, he was obliged to wander about for several weeks, exposed, without shelter, to the inclemency of the winter, and generally encamping upon the snow, till he found a miser¬ able refuge in Breisgau. He at lasttook the field ; and, in the next summer, by keeping the Bavarian army employed in Swabia, prevented it from re¬ lieving Thionville, which was besieged by Conde. But the superiority of the enemy soon drove him back to Alsace, where lie awaited a reinforce¬ ment. The death of Cardinal Richelieu took place in November, 1042. and the subsequent change in the throne and in the ministry, occasioned by the death of Louis XIII., had for some time with¬ drawn the attention of France from the German war, and was the cause of the inaction of its troops in the field. But Mazarine, the inheritor, not only of Richelieu's power, but also of his princi¬ ples and his projects, followed out with renewed zeal the plans of his predecessor, though the French subject was destined to pay dearly enough for the political greatness of his country. The main strength of its armies, which Richelieu had employed against the Spaniards, was by Mazarine directed against the Emperor; and the anxiety with which he carried on the war in Germany, proved the sincerity of his opinion, that the Ger¬ man army was the right arm of his king, and a wall of safety around France. Immediately upon the surrender of Thionville, he sent a consider¬ able reinforcement to Field-Marshal Guebriant in Alsace ; and to encourage the troops to bear the fatigues of the German war, the celebrated victor of Rocroi, the Duke of Enguien, afterward Prince of Cond6, was placed at their head. Guebriant now felt himself strong enough to appear again in Germany with repute. He hastened across the Rhine with the view of procuring better winter quarters in Swabia, and actually made himself master of Rothweil, where a Bavarian magazine fell into his hands. But the place was too dearly purchased for its worth, and was again lost even more speedily than it had been taken. Guebriant received a wound in the arm, which the surgeon's unskillfulness rendered mortal, and the extent of his loss was felt on the very day of his death. The French army, sensibly weakened by an expedition undertaken at so severe a season of the year, had, after the taking of Rothweil, withdrawn into the neighborhood of Duttlingen, where it lay in complete security, without expectation of a hostile attack. In the mean time, the enemy col¬ lected a considerable force, with a view to prevent the French from establishing themselves beyond the Rhine, and posted it so near to Bavaria as to protect that quarter from their ravages. The Im¬ perialists, under Hatzfeld, had formed a junction with the Bavarians under Mercy; and the Duke of Lorraine, who, during the whole course of the war, was generally found everywhere except in his own Duchy, joined their united forces. It was resolved to force the quarters of the French in Duttlingen, and the neighboring villages, by sur¬ prise ; a favorite mode of proceeding in this war, and which, being commonly accompanied by con¬ fusion, occasioned more bloodshed than a regular battle. On the present occasion, there was the more to justify it, as the French soldiers, unac¬ customed to such enterprises, conceived them¬ selves protected by the severity of the winter against any surprise. John de Werth, a master in this species of warfare, which he had often put in practice against Gustavus Horn, conducted the enterprise, and succeeded, contrary to all expec¬ tation. The attack was made on a side where it was least looked for, on account of the woods and nar¬ row passes, and a heavy snow storm which fell upon the same day, (the 24th November, 1643,) concealed the approach of the vanguard till it halted before Duttlingen. The whole of the artil¬ lery without the place, as well as the neighboring Castle of Hornberg, were taken without resistance, Duttlingen itself was gradually surrounded by the enemy, and all connection with the other quarters in the adjacent villages silently and suddenly cut off. The French were vanquished without firing a cannon. The cavalry owed their escape to the swiftness of their horses, and the few minutes in advance, which they had gained upon their pur¬ suers. The infantry were cut to pieces, or volun¬ tarily laid down their arms. About 2,000 men were killed ; and 7,000, with 25 staff-officers and 90 captains, taken prisoners. This was, perhaps, the only battle in the whole course of the war, which produced nearly the same effect upon the pai»ty which gained, and that which lost;—both these parties were Germans; the French dis graced themselves. The memory of this unfortu¬ nate day, which was renewed 100 years after at 246 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. Itosbach, was indeed erased by the subsemient he¬ roism of a Turenne and Cond6; but the Germans may be pardoned, if they indemnified themselves for the miseries which the policy of France had heaped upon them, by these severe reflections upon her intrepidity. Meantime, this defeat of the French was calcu¬ lated to prove highly disastrous to Sweden, as the whole- power of the Emperor might now act against them, while the number of their enemies was increased by a formidable accession. Tors- tensohn had, in September, 1643, suddenly left Moravia, and moved into Silesia. The cause of this step was a secret, and the freqhent changes which took place in the direction of his march, contributed to increase this perplexity. From Silesia; after numberless circuits, he advances to¬ ward the Elbe, while the Imperialists followed him into Lusatia. Throwing- a bridge across the Elbe at Torgau. he gave, out that he intended to penetrate through Meissen into the Upper Pala¬ tinate in Bavaria; at Barby he also made a move¬ ment. as if to pass that river, but continued to move down the Elbe as far as Havelburg, where he astonished his troops by informing them that he was leading them against the Danes in Hol¬ stein. The partiality which Christian IY. had dis¬ played against the Swedes in his office of media¬ tor, the jealousy which led him to do all in his power to hinder the progress of their arms, the restraints which he laid upon their navigation of the Sound, and the burdens which he imposed upon their commerce, had long roused the indig¬ nation of Sweden ; and at last, when these griev¬ ances increased daily, had determined the Regency to measures of retaliation. Dangerous as it seemed, to involve the nation in a new war, when, even amidst its conquests, it was almost exhausted by the old, the desire of revenge, and the deep- rooted hatred which subsisted between Danes and Swedes, prevailed over all other considerations ; and even the embarrassment in which hostilities with Germany had plunged it, only served as an additional motive to try its fortune against Den¬ mark. Matters were, in fact, arrived at last to that extremity, that the war was prosecuted merely for the purpose of furnishing food and employment to the troops; that good winter quarters formed the chief subject of contention ; and that success, in this point, was more valued than a decisive vic¬ tory. But now the provinces of Germany were almost all exhausted and laid waste. They were wholly destitute of provisions, horses, and men, which in Holstein were to be found in profusion. If by this movement, Torstensohn should succeed merely in recruiting his army, providing subsist¬ ence for his horses and soldiers, and remounting his cavalry, all the danger and difficulty w r ould be well repaid. Besides, it was highly important, on the eve of negotiations for peace, to diminish the injurious influence which Denmark might exer¬ cise upon these deliberations, to delay the treaty itself, which threatened to be prejudicial to the Swedish interests, by sowing confusion among the parties interested, and with a view to the amount of indemnification, to increase the number of her conquests, in order to be the more sure of se¬ curing those which alone she was anxious to re¬ tain. Moreover, the present state of Denmark justified even greater hopes, if only the attempt were executed with rapidity and silence. The se¬ cret was in fact so well kept in Stockholm, that the Danish minister had not the slightest sus¬ picion of it; and neither France nor Holland were let into the scheme. Actual hostilities com¬ menced with the declaration of war; and Tors¬ tensohn was in Holstein, before even an attack was expected. The Swedish troops, meeting with no resistance, quickly overran this duchy, and made themselves masters of all its strong places, except Rensburg and Gluckstadt. Another army penetrated into Schonen, which made as little op¬ position ; and nothing but the severity of the season prevented the enemy from passing the Lesser Baltic, and carrying the war into Funen and Zealand. The Danish fleet was unsuccessful at Femern ; and Christian himself, who was on board, lost his right eye by a splinter. Cut off from all communication with the distant force of the Emperor, his ally, this king was on the point of seeing his whole kingdom overrun by the Swedes; and all things threatened the speedy fulfillment of the old prophecy of the famous Tycho Brahe, that in the year 1644, Christian IY. should wander in the greatest misery from his do¬ minions. But the Emperor could not look on w r ith indif¬ ference, while Denmark was sacrificed to Sweden, and the latter strengthened by so great an ac¬ quisition. Notwithstanding great difficulties lay in the way of so long a march through desolated- provinces, he did not hesitate to dispatch an army into Holstein under Count Gallas, who, after Pic- colomini’s retirement, had resumed the supreme command of the troops. Gallas accordingly ap¬ peared in the duchy, took Kiel, and hoped, by forming a junction with the Danes, to be able to shut up the Swedish army in Jutland. Meantime, the Hessians, and the Swedish General Koenigs- mark, w r ere kept in check by Hatzfeld, and the Archbishop of Bremen, the son of Christian IY.; and afterward the Swedes drawn into Saxony by an attack upon Meissen. But Torstensohn, with his augmented army, penetrated through the un¬ occupied pass betwixt Schleswig and Stapelholm, met Gallas, and drove him along the whole course of the Elbe, as far as Bernburg, where the Im¬ perialists took up an intrenched position. Tors¬ tensohn passed the Saale, and by posting himself in the rear of the enemy, cut off their communi¬ cation with Saxony and Bohemia. Scarcity and famine began now to destroy them in great num¬ bers, and forced them to retreat to Magdeburg, where, however, they were not much better off. The cavalry, which endeavored to escape into Silesia, was overtaken and routed by Torstensohn, near Juterbock ; the rest of the army, after a vain attempt to fight its way through the Swedish lines, was almost wholly destroyed near Magde¬ burg. From this expedition, Gallas brought back only a few thousand men of all his formidable force, and the reputation of being a consummate master in the art of ruining an army. The King I of Denmark, after this unsuccessful effort to re- HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 247 lieve him, sued for peace, which he obtained at Bremsebor in the year 1645, under very unfavor¬ able conditions. Torstenschn rapidly followed up his victory ; and while Axel Lilienstern, one of the generals who commanded under him, overawed Saxony, and Koeni its mark subdued the whole of Bremen, he himself penetrated into Bohemia with 16,000 men and 80 pieces of artillery, and endeavored a second time to remove the seat of war into the heredi¬ tary dominions of Austria. Ferdinand, upon this intelligence, hastened in person to Prague, in order to animate the courage of the people by his presence; and as a skillful general was much required, and so little unanimity prevailed among the numerous leaders, he hoped in the immediate neighborhood of the war to be able to give more energy and activity. In obedience to his orders, Hatzfeld assembled the whole Austrian and Bavarian force, and contrary to his own inclina¬ tion and advice, formed the Emperor’s last army, and the last bulwark of his states, in order of battle, to meet the enemy, who were approaching, at Jankowitz, on the 24th of February, 1645. Ferdinand depended upon his cavalry, which out¬ numbered that of the enemy by 3,000, and upon the promise of the Virgin Mary, who had ap¬ peared to him in a dream, and given him the strongest assurances of a complete victory. The superiority of the Imperialists did not in¬ timidate Torstensohn, who was not accustomed to number his antagonists. On the very first onset, the left wing, which Goetz, the general of the League, had entangled in a disadvantageous posi¬ tion among marshes and thickets, was totally routed ; the general, with the greater part of his men, killed, and almost the whole ammunition of the army taken. This unfortunate commence¬ ment decided the fate of the day. The Swedes, constantly advancing, successively carried all the most commanding heights. After a bloody en¬ gagement of eight hours, a desperate attack on the part of the Imperial cavalry, and a vigorous re¬ sistance by the infantry, the latter remained in possession of the field. 2,000 Austrians were killed upon the spot, and Hatzfeld himself, with 3,000 men, taken prisoners. Thus, on the same day, did the Emperor lose his best general and his last army. This decisive victory at Jankowitz, at once ex¬ posed all the Austrian territory to the enemy. Ferdinand hastily fled to Vienna, to provide for its defense, and to save his family and his trea- s ires. In a very short time, the victorious Swedes poured, iike an inundation, upon Moravia and Austria. After they had subdued nearly the whole of Moravia, invested Brunn, and taken almost all the strongholds upon the Danube, and carried the intrenchments at the Wolf’s Bridge, near Vienna, they at last appeared in sight of that capital, while the care which they had taken to fortify their conquests, showed that their visit was not likely to be a short one. After a long and destructive circuit through every province of Germany, the stream of war had at last rolled backward to its source, and the roar of the Swedish artillery now reminded the terrified inhabitants of those balls which twenty-seven years before, the Bohemian rebels had fired into Vienna. The same theatro of war brought again similar actors on the scene, Torstensohn invited Ragotsky, the successor of Bethlem Gabor, to his assistance, as the Bohe¬ mian rebels had solicited that of his predecessor ; Upper Hungary was already inundated by his troops, and his union with 4he Swedes was daily apprehended. The Elector of Saxony, driven to despair by the Swedes taking up their quar¬ ters within his territories, and abandoned by the Emperor, who, after the defeat at Jankowitz, was unable to defend himself, at length adopted the last and only expedient which remained, and concluded a truce with Sweden, which was to be renewed from year to year till a general peace. The Emperor thus lost a friend, while a new enemy was appearing at his very gates, his armies dis¬ persed, and his allies in other quarters of Germany defeated. The French army had effaced the dis¬ grace of their defeat at Deutlingen by a brilliant campaign, and had kept the whole force of Bava¬ ria employed upon the Rhine and in Swabia. Re¬ inforced with fresh troops from France, which the great Turenne, already distinguished by his vic¬ tories in Italy, brought to the assistance of the Duke of Enguien, they appeared on the 4th of August, 1644, before Freyburg, which Mercy had lately taken, and now covered, with his whole army strongly intrenched. But against the steady firm¬ ness of the Bavarians, all the impetuous valor of the French was exerted in vain, and after a fruit¬ less sacrifice of 6,000 men, the Duke of Enguien was compelled to retreat. Mazarine shed tears over this great loss, which Conde, who had no feeling for any thing but glory, disregarded. ,l A single night in Paris,” said he, “ gives birth to more men than this action has destroyed.” The Ba¬ varians, however were so disabled by this mur¬ derous battle,.that, far from being in a condition to relieve Austria from the menaced dangers, they were too weak even to defend the banks of the Rhine. Spires, Worms, and Manheim capitu¬ lated; the strong fortress of Philipsburg was forced to surrender by famine; and, by a timely submission, Mentz hastened to disarm the con¬ querors. Austria and Moravia, however, were now freed from Torstensohn, by a similar means of deliver¬ ance, as in the beginning of the w r ar had saved them from the Bohemians. Ragotzky, at the head of 25,000 men, had advanced into the neigh¬ borhood of the Swedish quarters upon the Danube. But these wild undisciplined hordes, instead of seconding the operations of Torstensohn by any vigorous enterprise, only ravaged the country, and increased the distress which, even before their arrival, had begun to be felt in the Swedish camp. To extort tribute from the Emperor, and money and plunder from his subjects, was the sole object that had allured Ragotzky, or his predecessor, Bethlem Gabor, into the field ; and both departed as soon as they had gained their end. To get rid of him, Ferdinand granted the barbarian whatever he asked, and, by a small sacrifice, freed his states of this formidable enemy. In the mean time, the main body of the Swedes had been greatly weakened by a tedious encamp¬ ment before Brunn. Torstensohn, who commanded 248 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. in person, for four entire months employed in vain all his knowledge of military tactics ; the obsti¬ nacy of the resistance was equal to that of the assault; while despair roused the courage of Souches, the commandant, a Swedish deserter, who had no hope of pardon. The ravages caused by pestilence, arising from famine, want of cleanli¬ ness, and the use of unripe fruit, during their tedious and unhealthy encampment, with the sud¬ den retreat of the Prince of Transylvania, at last compelled the Swedish leader to raise the siege. As all the passes on the Danube were occupied, and his army greatly weakened by famine and sickness, he at last relinquished his intended plan of operations against Austria and Moravia, and contented himself with securing a key to these provinces, by leaving behind him Swedish garri¬ sons in the conquered fortresses. He then directed his march into Bohemia, whither he was followed by the Imperialists, under the Archduke Leopold. Such of the lost places as had not been retaken by the latter, were recovered, after his departure, by the Austrian General Bucheim ; so that, in the course of the following year, the Austrian frontier was aa-ain cleared of the enemv, and Vienna escaped with mere alarm. In Bohemia and Silesia too, the Swedes maintained themselves only with a very variable fortune ; they traversed both countries, without being able to hold their ground in either. But if the designs of Torstensohn were not crowned with all the success which they were promised at the commencement, they were, never¬ theless, productive of the most important conse¬ quences to the Swedish party. Denmark had been compelled to a peace, Saxony to a truce. The Emperor, in the deliberations for a peace, offered greater concession ; France became more manageable ; and Sweden itself bolder and more confident in its bearing toward these two crowns. Having thus nobly performed his duty, the author of these advantages retired, adorned with laurels, into the tranquillity of private life, and endeavored to restore his shattered health. By the retreat of Torstensohn, the Emperor was relieved from all fears of an irruption on the side of Bohemia. But a new danger soon threat¬ ened the Austrian frontier from Swabia and Ba¬ varia. Turenne, who had separated from Cond6, and taken the direction of Swabia, had, in the year 1645, been totally defeated by Mercy, near Mergentheim : and the victorious Bavarians, under their brave leader, poured into Hesse. But the Duke of Enguien hastened with consid¬ erable succors from Alsace, Koenigsmark from Moravia, and the Hessians from the Rhine, to recruit the defeated army, and the Bavarians were in turn compelled to retire to the extreme limits of Swabia. Here they posted themselves at the village of Allershein, near Nordlingen, in order to cover the Bavarian frontier. But no obstacle could check the impetuosity of the Duke of Enguien. In person he led on his troops against the enemy’s intrenchments, and a battle took place, which the heroic resistance of the Bavarians rendered most obstinate and bloody; till at last the death of the great Mercy, the skill of Turenne, and the iron firmness of the Hessians, decided Mie day in favor of the allies. But even this second barbarous sacrifice of life had little effect either on the course of the war, or on the negotia¬ tions for peace. The French army, exhausted by this bloody engagement, was still further weakened by the departure of the Hessians, and the Bavarians being reinforced by the Archduke Leopold, Tu¬ renne was again obliged hastily to recross the Rhine. The retreat of the French, enabled the enemy to turn his whole force upon the Swedes in Bohe¬ mia. Gustavus Wrangel, no unworthy successor of Banner and Torstensohn, had, in 1646, been appointed Commander-in-chief of the Swedish army, which, besides Koenigsmark’s flying corps and the numerous garrisons dispersed throughout the empire, amounted to about eight thousand horse, and fifteen thousand foot. The Archduke, after reinforcing his army, which already amounted to twenty-four thousand men, with twelve Bava¬ rian regiments of calvary, and eighteen regiments of infantry, moved against Wrangel, in the hope of being able to overwhelm him by his superior force before Koenigsmark could join him, or the French effect a diversion in his favor. Wrangel, however, did not await him, but hastened through Upper Saxony to the Weser, where he took Hoe- ster and Paderborn. From thence he marched into Hesse, in order to join Turenne, and at his camp at Weimar, w r as joined by the flying corps of Koenigsmark. But Turenne, fettered by the instructions of Mazarine, who had seen with jeal¬ ousy the warlike prowess and increasing power of the Swedes, excused himself on the plea of a pressing necessity to defend the frontier of France on the side of the Netherlands, in consequence of the Flemings having failed to make the promised diversion. But as Wrangel continued to press his just demand, and a longer opposition might have excited distrust on the part of the Swedes, or induce them to conclude a private treaty with Austria, Turenne at last obtained the wished-for permission to join the Swedish army. This junction took place at Giessen, and they now felt themselves strong enough to meet the enemy. The latter had followed the Swedes into Hesse, in order to intercept their commissariat, and to prevent their union with Turenne. In both designs they had been unsuccessful ; and the Im¬ perialists now saw themselves cut off from the Maine, and exposed to great scarcity and want from the loss of their magazines. Wrangel took advantage of their weakness, to execute a plan by which he hoped to give a new turn to the war. He, too, had adopted the maxim of hrs prede¬ cessor, to carry the war into the Austrian States. But discouraged by the ill success of Torsten- sohu’s enterprise, he hoped to gain his end with more certainty by another way. He determined to follow the course of the Danube, and to break into the Austian territories through the midst of Bavaria. A similar design had been formerly conceived by Gustavus Adolphus, which he had been prevented carrying into effect by the ap¬ proach of Wallenstein’s army, and the danger of Saxony. Duke Bernard moving in his footsteps, and more fortunate than Gustavus, had spread his victorious banners between the Iser and the Inn; but the near approach of the enemy, vastly supe- HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 249 rior in force,-obliged him to halt in his victorious career, and lead back his troops. Wrangel now hoped to accomplish the object in which his pre- decessors had failed, the more so, as the Imperial and Bavarian army was far in his rear upon Lahn, and could only reach Bavaria by a long march through Franconia and the Upper Palatinate. He moved hastily upon the Danube, defeated a Bavarian corps near Donauwerth, and passed that river, as well as the Lech, unopposed. But by wasting his time in the unsuccessful siege of Augsburg, he gave opportunity to the Imperialists, not only to relieve that city, but also to repulse him as far as Lauingen. No sooner, however, had they turned toward Swabia, with a view to remove the war from Bavaria, than, seizing the opportunity, he repassed the Lech, and guarded the passage of it against the Imperialists them¬ selves. Bavaria now lay open and defenseless be¬ fore him ; the French and Swedes quickly over¬ ran it; and the soldiery indemnified the'mselves for all dangers by frightful outrages, robberies, and extortions. The arrival of the Imperial troops, who at last succeeded in passing the Lech at Thierhaupten, only increased the misery of this country, which friend and foe indiscriminately plundered. And now, for the first time during the whole course of this war, the courage of Maximilian, which for eight-and-twenty years had stood un¬ shaken amidst fearful dangers, began to waver. Ferdinand II., his school-companion at Ingol- stadt, and the friend of his youth, was no more; and with the death of his friend and benefactor, the strong tie was dissolved which had linked the Elector to the House of Austria. To the father, habit, inclination, and gratitude had attached him ; the son was a stranger to his heart, and political interests alone could preserve his fidelity to the latter prince. Accordingly, the motives which the artifices of France now put in operation, in order to detach him from the Austrian alliance, and to induce him to lay down his arms, were drawn entirely from political considerations. It was not without a selfish object that Mazarine had so far overcome his jealousy of the growing power of the Swedes, as to allow the French to accompany them into Bavaria. His intention was to expose Bavaria to all the horrors of war, in the hope that the perse¬ vering fortitude of Maximilian might be subdued by necessity and despair, and the Emperor de¬ prived of his first and last ally. Brandenburg had, under its great sovereign, embraced the neu¬ trality ; Saxony had been forced to accede to it; the war with France prevented the Spaniards from taking any part in that of Germany; the peace with Sweden had removed Denmark from the theatre of war; and Poland had been dis¬ armed by a long truce. If they could succeed in detaching the Elector of Bavaria also from the Austrian alliance, the Emperor would be without a friend in Germany, and left to the mercy of the allied powers. Ferdinand III. saw his danger, and left no means untried to avert it. But the Elector of Bavaria was unfortunately led to believe that the Spaniards alone were disinclined to peace, and that nothing but Spanish influence had induced the Emperor so long to resist a cessation of hos¬ tilities, Maximilian detested the Spaniards, and could never forgive their having opposed his ap¬ plication for the Palatine Electorate. Could it then be supposed that, in order to gratify th3a hated power, he would see his people sacrificed, his country laid waste, and himself ruined, when, by a cessation of hostilities, he could at once emancipate himself from all these distresses, pro¬ cure for his people the repose of which they stood so much in need, and perhaps accelerate the arrival of a general peace? All doubts disap¬ peared ; and, convinced of the necessity of this step, he thought he should sufficiently discharge his obligations to the Emperor, if he invited him also to share in the benefit of the truce. The deputies of the three crowns, and of Bava¬ ria, met at Ulm, to adjust the conditions. But it was soon evident, from the instructions of the Austrian ambassador, that it was not the inten¬ tion of the Emperor to second the conclusion of a truce, but if possible to prevent it. It was ob¬ viously necessary to make the terms acceptable to the Swedes, who had the advantage, and had more to hope than to fear from the continuance of the war. They were the conquerors; and yet the Emperor presumed to dictate to them. In the first transports of their indignation, the Swedish ambassadors were on the point of leaving the con¬ gress, and the French were obliged to have re¬ course to threats in order to detain them. The good intentions of the Elector of Bavaria, to include the Emperor in the benefit of the truce, having been thus rendered unavailing, he felt him¬ self justified in providing for his own safety. However hard were the conditions on which the truce was to be purchased, he did not hesitate to accept it on any terms. He agreed to the Swedes extending their quarters in Swabia and Franconia, and to his own being restricted to Bavaria and the Palatinate. The conquests which he had made in Swabia were ceded to the allies, who, on their part, restored to him what they had taken from Bavaria. Cologne and Hesse Cassel were also included in the truce. After the conclusion of this treaty, upon the 14th March, 1647, the French and Swedes left Bavaria, and in order not to interfere with each other, took up different quarters; the former in Wurtemberg, the latter in Upper Swabia, in the neighborhood of the Lake of Bode. On the extreme north of this lake, and on the most southern frontier of Swabia, the Austrian town of Bregentz, by its steep and narrow passes, seemed to defy attack; and in this persuasion, the whole peasantry of the sur¬ rounding villages had with their property taken refuge in this natural fortress. The rich booty, which the store of provisions it contained, gave reason to expect, and the advantage of possessing a pass into the Tyrol, Switzerland, and Italy, in¬ duced the Swedish general to venture an attack upon this supposed impregnable post and town. Meantime, Turenne, according to agreement, marched into Wurtemberg, where he forced the Landgrave of Darmstadt and the Elector of Menta to imitate the example of Bavaria, and to embrace the neutrality. 250 HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. And now, at last, France seemed to have at-! tained the great object of its policy, that of de¬ priving the Emperor of the support of the League, and of his Protestant allies, and of dictating to him, sword in hand, the conditions of peace. Of all his once formidable power, an army, not ex¬ ceeding 12,000, was all that remained to him; and this force he was driven to the necessity of in¬ trusting to the command of a Calvinist, the Hes¬ sian deserter Melander, as the casualties of wai had stripped him of his best' generals. But as this war had been remarkable for the sudden changes of fortune it displayed ; and as every cal- i culatiou of state policy had been frequently baffled by some unforeseen event, in this case also the issue disappointed expectation ; and after a brief crisis, the fallen power of Austria rose again to a formidable strength. The jealousy which France entertained of Sweden, prevented it from permit¬ ting the total ruin of the Emperor, or allowing the Swedes to obtain such a preponderance in Germany, which have been destructive to France herself. Accordingly the French minister declined to take advantage of the distresses of Austria; and the army of Turenne, separating from that of Wrangel, retired to the frontiers of the Netherlands. Wrangel, indeed, after moving from Swabia into Franconia, taking Schweinfurt, and incorporating the imperial garrison of that place with his own army, attempted to make his way into Bohemia, and laid siege to Egra, the key of that kingdom. To relieve this fortress, the Em¬ peror put his last army in motion, and placed himself at its head. But obliged to take a long circuit, in order to spare the lands of Yon Schlick, the president of the council of war, he protracted his march ; and on his arrival, Egra was already takeu. Both armies were now in sight of each other; and a decisive battle was momentarily ex¬ pected, as both were suffering from want, and the two camps were only separated from each other by the space of the intrenchments. But the Im¬ perialists, although superior in numbers, con¬ tented themsdves with keeping close to the enemy, and harassing them by skirmishes, by fatiguing marches and famine, until the negotia¬ tions which had been opened with Bavaria, were brought to a bearing. The neutrality of Bavaria, was a wound under which the Imperial court writhed impatiently; and after in vain attempting to prevent it, Aus¬ tria now determined, if possible, to turn it to ad¬ vantage. Several officers of the Bavarian army had been offended by this step of their master, which at once reduced them to inaction, and im¬ posed a burdensome restraint on their restless dis¬ position. Even the brave John de Werth was at 1 the head of the malcontents, and encouraged by the Emperor, he formed a plot to seduce the whole army from their allegiance to the Elector, and leading it over to the Emperor. Ferdinand did not blush to patronize this act of treachery against his father’s most trusty ally. He formally issued a proclamation to the Bavarian troops, in which he recalled them to himself, reminded them that they were the troops of the empire, which the Elector had merely commanded in the name of the Em¬ peror. Fortunately for Maximilian, he detected i the conspiracy time enough to anticipate and prevent it by the most rapid and effective mea¬ sures. This disgraceful conduct of the Emperor might have justified a reprisal, but Maximilian was too old a statesman to listen to the voice of passion, where policy alone ought to be heard. He had not derived from the truce the advantages he ex¬ pected. Far from tending to accelerate a gen¬ eral peace, it had a pernicious influence upon the negotiations at Munster and Osnaburg, and had made the allies bolder in their demands. The French and Swedes had indeed removed from Bavaria; but, by the loss of his quarters in the Swabian circle, he found himself compelled either to exhaust his own territories by the subsistence of his troops, or at once to disband them, and to throw aside the shield and spear, at the very mo¬ ment when the sword alone seemed to be the ar¬ biter of right. Before embracing either of these certain evils, he determined to try a third step, the unfavorable issue of which was at least not so certain, viz., to renounce the truce and resume the war. This resolution, and the assistance which he immediately dispatched to the Emperor in Bohe¬ mia, threatened materially to injure the Swedes, and Wrangel was compelled in haste to evacuate that kingdom. He retired through Thuringia into Westphalia and Lunenburg, in the hope of form¬ ing a junction with the French army under Tu¬ renne, while the Imperial and Bavarian army fol¬ lowed him to the Weser, under Melander and Gronsfeld. His ruin was inevitable, if the enemy should overtake him before his junction with Tu¬ renne ; but the same consideration which had just saved the Emperor, now proved the salvation of the Swedes. Even amidst all the fury of the conquest, cold calculations of prudence guided the course of the w r ar, and the vigilance of the different courts increased, as the prospect of peace approached. The Elector of Bavaria could not allow the Emperor to obtain so decisive a preponderance as, by the sudden alteration of af¬ fairs, might delay the chances of a general peace. Every change of fortune was important now, when a pacification was so ardently desired by all, and when the disturbance of the balance of power among the contracting parties might at once an¬ nihilate the work of years, destroy the fruit of long and tedious negotiations, and indefinitely protract the repose of Europe. If France sought to restrain the Swedish crown within due bounds, and measured out her assistance according to her successes and defeats, the Elector of Bavaria si¬ lently undertook the same task with the Emperor i his ally, and determined, by prudently dealing out his aid, to hold the fate of Austria in his own hands. And now that the power of the Emperor threatened once more to attain a dangerous supe¬ riority, Maximilian at once ceased to pursue the Swedes. He was also afraid of reprisals from France, who had threatened to direct Turenne’s whole force against him, if he allowed his troops to cross the Weser. Melander, prevented by the Bavarians from further pursuing Wrangel, crossed by Jena and Erfurt into Hesse, and now appeared as a dan- HISTORY OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 251 gerous enemy in the country which he had for¬ merly defended. If it was the desire of revenge upon his former sovereign, which led him to choose Hesse for the scene of his ravages, he cer¬ tainly had his full gratification. Under this scourge, the miseries of that unfortunate state reached their height. But he had soon reason to regret that, in the choice of his quarters, he had listened to the dictates of revenge rather than of prudence. In this exhausted country, his army was oppressed by want, while Wrangel was re¬ cruiting his strength, and remounting his cavalry in Lunenburg. Too weak to maintain his wretched quarters against the Swedish general, when he opened the campaign in the winter of 164S and inarched against Hesse, he was obliged to retire with disgrace, and take refuge on the banks of the Danube. France had once more disappointed the expec¬ tations of Sweden ; and the army of Turenne, disregarding the remonstrances of Wrangel, had remained upon the Rhine. The Swedish leader revenged himself, by drawing into his service the cavalry of Weimar, which had abandoned the standard of France, though, by this step, he fur¬ ther increased the jealousy of that power. Tu¬ renne received permission to join the Swedes ; and the last campaign of this eventful war was now opened by the united armies. Driving Me- lander before them along the Danube, they threw supplies into Egra, which was besieged by the Imperialists, and defeated the Imperial and Ba¬ varian armies on the Danube, which ventured to oppose them at Susmarshausen, where Melander was mortally wounded. After this overthrow, the Bavarian general, Gronsfeld, placed himself on the further side of the Lech, in order to guard Bavaria from the enemy. But Gronsfeld was not more fortunate than Tilly, who, in this same position, had sacrificed his life for Bavaria. Wrangel and Turenne chose the same spot for passing the river, which was so gloriously marked by the victory of Gustavus Adolphus, and accomplished it by the same means, too, which had favored their predecessor. Bavaria was now a second time overrun, and the breach of the truce punished by the severest treatment of its inhabitants. Maximilian sought shelter in Salzburg, while the Swedes crossed the Iser, and forced their way as far as the Inn. A violent and continued rain, which in a few days swelled this inconsiderable stream into a broad river, saved Austria once more from the threat¬ ened danger. The enemy ten times attempted to form a bridge of boats over the Inn, and as often it was destroyed by the current. Never, during the whole course of the war, had the Imperialists been in so great consternation as at present, when the enemy were in the centre of Bavaria, and when they had no longer a general left who could be matched against a Turenne, a Wrangel, and a Koenigsmark. At last the brave Piccolomini arrived from the Netherlands, to assume the com¬ mand of the feeble wreck of the Imperialists. By their own ravages in Bohemia, the allies had rendered their subsistence in that country im¬ practicable, and were at last driven by scarcity to retreat into the Upper Palatinate, where the news of the peace put a period to their activity. Koenigsmark, with his flying corps, advanced toward Bohemia, where Ernest Odowalsky, a dis¬ banded captain, who, after being disabled in the imperial service, had been dismissed without a pension, laid before him a plan for surprising the lesser side of the city of Prague. Koenigsmark successfully accomplished the bold enterprise, and acquired the reputation of closing the thirty years’ war by the last brilliant achievement. This deci¬ sive stroke, which vanquished the Emperor’s irresolution, cost the Swedes only the loss of a single man. But the old town, the larger half of Prague, which is divided into two parts by the Moldau, by its vigorous resistance wearied out the efforts of the Palatine, Charles Gustavus. the successor of Christina on the throne, who had arrived from Sweden with fresh troops, and had assembled the whole Swedish force in Bohemia and Silesia before its walls. The approach of winter at last drove the besiegers into their quar¬ ters, and in the mean time, the intelligence arrived that a peace had been signed at Munster, on the 24th October. The colossal labor of concluding this solemn, and ever memorable and sacred treaty, which is known by the name of the peace of Westphalia; the endless obstacles which were to be sur¬ mounted ; the contending interests which it was necessary to reconcile; the concatenation of cir¬ cumstances which must have co-operated to bring to a favorable termination this tedious, but pre¬ cious and permanent work of policy; the difficul¬ ties which beset the very opening of the negotia¬ tions, and maintained them, when opened, during the ever-fluctuating vicissitudes of the war ; finally, arranging the conditions of peace, and, still more, the carrying them into effect;—what were the conditions of this peace; what each contending power gained or lost, by the toils and sufferings of a thirty years’ war; what modification it wrought upon the general system of European policy;—these are matters which must be relin¬ quished to another pen. The history of the peace of Westphalia constitutes a whole, as important as the history of the war itself. A mere abridg¬ ment of it, would reduce to a mere skeleton one of the most interesting and characteristic monu¬ ments of human policy and passions, and deprive it of every feature calculated to fix the attention of the public, for which I write, and of which I ] now respectfully take my leave. 252 PROSE WRITINGS. PROSE WRITINGS. FIRST PERIOD. ON THE CONNECTION OF HAN’S ANIMAL AND SPIRITUAL NATURES.* INTRODUCTION. 2 1 . More than one philosopher has maintained that the body is, so to say, the prison-house of the spirit; that it binds the latter too much to things earthly, and that it arrests its so-called flight to perfection. Again, some philosophers have more or less positively expressed the opinion that science and virtue are not the aim, but that they are the means of happiness, and that all human perfection is concentrated in the improvement of man’s body. It seems to me that neither of these doctrines is a complete exposition of the truth. The latter doctrine is almost entirely banished from our ethi¬ cal and philosophical systems, and has been repu¬ diated, in my judgment at least, with too much fa¬ natical zeal,—nothing is more dangerous to truth than the one-sided refutation of one-sided opinions; the former doctrine has, upon the whole, found the largest number of adherents, for it is most capable of exciting the heart to virtue, and its worth has been substantiated by truly great souls. Who does not admire the firmness of Cato, the high virtue of Brutus and Aurelius, the equanimity of Epictetus and Seneca? Nevertheless, it is only a beautiful aberration of the understanding, a real extreme tending to degrade one part of man with too much zeal, and to exalt us to the rank of ideal beings, without freeing us at the same time from our humanity; a system diame¬ trically opposed to whatever we historically know, or are capable of philosophically explain¬ ing concerning the evolution of the individual and of the race, and utterly averse to the finite¬ ness of the human soul. It is therefore advisable to counterbalance these two doctrines with each other, in order to arrive at the mean line of truth. Inasmuch as philosophers have generally erred in slighting the body by laying undue stress upon the mental power as existing independently of the bodily life, it shall be the object of this essay to exhibit in a clearer light the remarkable part which the body plays in the actions of the soul, and to show the large and real influence of the animal sentient system upon the mind. Such an attempt, however, can no more be regarded as the philosophy of Epicurus than it is Stoicism to look upon virtue as the highest good. * This essay, which had not hitherto formed part of Schiller’s Complete Works, but has been incorporated in this collection by his sons, appeared in print as early as the year 1780, under the following title: “A Treatise which is to be defended in presence of his Royal High¬ ness the Duke, during the public academical examina¬ tions, by Johann Christoph Friederich Schiller, candidate for the degree of Medicine in the Ducal Military Aca¬ demy.” Before attempting to investigate the higher moral ends which are attained with the aid of man’s animal nature, it behooves us first to deter¬ mine its physical necessity, and to agree upon certain fundamental definitions. Hence we are led to the first point of view from which we shall consider the connection of the two natures. PHYSICAL CONNECTION. THE ANIMAL NATURE FORTIFIES THE AC¬ TIVITY OF THE MIND. 2 2 . Organism of Soul-action — Nutrition — Genera¬ tion. All the arrangements in the moral, as well as in the physical world, which are designed for the perfection of man, seem to unite in this ele¬ mentary proposition: “ Man achieves 'perfec¬ tion by exercising his powers in studying the laws of the universe; inasmuch as the most perfect agreement must necessarily exist between the measure of power and the object upon which it acts , perfection must consist in the highest possible activity of his powers, and in their reciprocal relation of dependence upon each other:' From a necessity of which I have as yet no rational perception, and in a manner which I do not yet comprehend, the action of the human soul is allied to the agency of matter. The changes in the physical world have to be modified and refined, as it were by means of a special class of mediating organic powers, the senses , before those changes become capable of exciting a perception within me; other organic powers, the engines of voluntary motion, have to step be¬ tween the soul and the world, in order to cause the changes in the former to reach the latter; even the operations of thought and sensation have to correspond with certain movements of the inter¬ nal sensorium. All this constitutes the organism of soul-action. But matter is subject to perpetual change, and uses itself up by action. Motion displaces and expels the elementary atom, and separates it from its whole. On the contrary, the soul, a simple substance, being endowed with inherent perma¬ nency and sameness, and neither gaining nor losing in its essence, matter cannot hold equal pace with the activity of the mind, so that the organism of mental life, and consequently all soul-action, would soon cease to exist. In order to prevent this re¬ sult, a new system of organic powers had to be joined to the former, whose waste it is designed to repair, and whose sinking tissues it preserves by a continuous chain of new creations. This is the organism of nutrition. This is not all. After a short period of action, after the equilibrium between waste and supply has ceased, man leaves the stage of life, and the FIRST PERIOD. 253 law of mortality depopulates the earth. The number of sentient beings whom the eternal love and wisdom has designed should be blessed with the happiness of existence, would not find suffi¬ cient space within the narrow boundaries of this world, and the life of the present generation would exclude that of the next. For this reason it be¬ came necessary that new men should take the place of the departed, and that life should be pre¬ served by an uninterrupted succession of genera¬ tions. But nothing is any longer created; the new is new by development. The development of mankind had to be the w T ork of man, if it was to be proportionate to the waste, and if the creator designed the realization of the human ideal. For this reason a new system of organic powers was added to the two former, whose object was the vivification and development of the human germ. This is the organism of generation. These three organisms, by their exact connection as regards locality and relation,' form the human body. \ 3. The Body. The organic powers of the human body are naturally comprehended under two leading heads. In the first division we class the powers which we are unable to comprehend by the known laws and phenomena of the physical world; to this class belong nervous sensibility and muscular ir¬ ritability. It having been impossible, so far, to penetrate into the economy of the invisible, the system of unknown mechanics has been sought to be explained by the known ; a nerve, for instance, has been regarded as a canal, through which courses an extremely volatile and active fluid, which is said to surpass the ether and electricity in rapidity and subtilty; this fluid has been re¬ garded as the primary principle of sensibility and mobility, on which account it has been denomi¬ nated “ vital spirit.” The irritability of the mus¬ cular fibre has been interpreted as a certain en¬ deavor, in consequence of some external stimulus, to contract and to bring about an approximation of the terminal points. These two orders of prin¬ ciples constitute the specific character of the animal organism. The second class comprehends the powers which we may consider subject to the general known laws of physics. Among these powers we class the mechanics of motion, and the chemistry of the human body, which lie at the foundation of vegetative life. The physical life of the human body is therefore a most perfect mingling of vege¬ tative growth and animal mechanics. } 4 . Animal Life. Neither is this all. The waste being more or less depending upon the control of the spirit, the supply had necessarily to be so likewise. Again, inasmuch as the body is subject to all the conse¬ quences of composition, and, within the circle of the objects which act upon it, exposed to innum¬ erable hostile agencies, the soul must have power to protect it against their hurtful influence, and to establish such relations between it and the physi¬ cal world as are most suitable to its preservation ; hence the soul had to acquaint itself with the actually existing good or bad condition of its organs; from their bad condition the soul neces¬ sarily derived displeasure, from their well-being pleasure ; and it would endeavor to prolong and to seek the one, or to flee from the other. Already here the organism is united, as it were, to the sentient faculty, and the soul becomes interested in its body. Here we have something more than the mere vegetative, something more than the mechanical motion of the nervous or mus¬ cular power. Here we have animal life.* The state of animal life is, as we are well aware, exceed¬ ingly important to the condition of soul-action ; the former can never be entirely discontinued, without leading to a total discontinuance of the latter. The former must, therefore, have a firm basis, which cannot easily be shaken; in other words, the soul must be determined to the acts of the physical life by an irresistible power. Could the sensations of the animal life, whether agree¬ able or disagreeable, be spiritual sensations pro¬ duced by thought, how often would they be ob¬ scured by the overwhelming light of the passions, buried by indolence or stupidity, overlooked by absence of mind, or the hurry of business ? Again, would not the man-animal have to be possessed of a most perfect knowledge of his organization ; would not the child have to be a master of the science, in which our Harvey’s, our Boerhaves, and our Hallers, have remained tyros after an inquiry of half a century? It was, there¬ fore, absolutely impossible that the soul should have had an idea of the condition which it is called upon to change. How is it to come to a knowledge of this condition ? How is its activity to be excited ? 2 5. Animal sensations. As yet we are unacquainted with any other sen¬ sations than those which emanate from some previous operation of the understanding ; but now sensations are to arise where the understanding is to be entirely excluded. These sensations are not to manifest, but to specifically define, or rather to accompany, the present condition of my organs. These sensations are to determine the will promptly and intensely, either to abhor or to desire ; but they are to hover only upon the surface of the soul—they are never to penetrate into the domain of reason. The part which is enacted by thought in the range of spiritual sensations, is here enacted by such a modification in the animal organs, as either threatens them with dissolution, or secures their preservation ; in other words, with a condi- # Not the animal life of the animal. The animal lives to enjoy agreeable sensations j it enjoys agreeable sensa¬ tions in order to preserve the animal life. Hence it lives to-day in order to live again to-morrow. It is happy to¬ day in order to be again happy to-morrow. This is a simple and unreliable happiness, which imitates the periods of the organism, and is exposed to blind choice, since it is solely founded in sensation. Man, too, has an animal life, whose pleasures he enjoys and whose pains he feels. But why ? He enjoys and he suffers that he may preserve his animal life. He preserves his animal life in order to perpetuate his spiritual. In his case the means differ from the end ; in the case of the animal the means and the end are one. This is one of the boundary lines between man and the animal. 254 PROSE WRITINGS. tion of the organs which fortifies their structure, an agreeable emotion of the soul has been united by an eternal law of wisdom ; whereas, on the other hand, a painful emotion accompanies the condition that undermines their well-being, and accelerates their ruin. At the same time, the sensation itself does not bear the least analogy to the nature of the organs where the sensation is felt. Thus it is that animal sensations originate. Hence they are founded, first, in the actual condi¬ tion of the organs, and, secondly, in the sentient faculty. This shows why the animal sensations may drag the soul with an irresistible and ojten tyrannical power, into the vortex of passions and acts, and may even gain a victory over the most spiritual, may even gain a victory over the most spirit¬ ual. The latter are developed in the soul by annihilated by thought. This is the power of abstraction, and of philosophy generally, over the passions, over opinions, in short, over every situa¬ tion of life, whereas animal sensations are forced upon us by a blind necessity—by mechanical laws ; the understanding, which did not create these sensations, cannot remove them, although it may obscure them considerably by turning the at¬ tention into an opposite direction. The most obsti¬ nate Stoician who is afflicted with stone, will never be able to boast of not having experienced any pain ; but, absorbed in speculations concerning its first cause, he may divert the sentient faculty; and the overwhelming delight of a perfect plan, which renders even pain subordinate to the general happiness, will subdue the discomfort. It was not for want of sensation, or because sensation was annihilated, that Mucius, with his hand roasting in the fire, was able to stare at the enemy with a look of proud repose; but the thought of Rome’s admiration which ruled his soul, held it captive within itself, and prevented the violent irritation of the physical suffering from disturbing the soul’s equilibrium. For all that, the pain of the Roman was no less than that of the most effeminate sensualist. It is true, he who is habitually living in a state of mental obtuseness, may be less capa¬ ble of manly firmness at the critical moment of physical pain than he whose ideas are habitually lucid and precise ; but neither the highest virtue, nor the deepest philosophy, nor even the sublimest religion, can abrogate the law of necessity, although her worshipers may be borne upward by ecstasy while chained to the burning pile. This very power of animal sensations over the sentient faculty of the soul, is determined by the W’isest design. The spirit once familiarized with the secrets of a higher delight, would look down with contempt upon the movements of its com- f >anion, and would hardly be willing to devote the east attention to the low necessities of the physi¬ cal life, if animal sensations did not secure its ministering office. The mathematician who had been roving through the regions of the infinite, and had lost sight of the real world amid the dreams of his abstractions, is roused by hunger from his intellectual slumber; the astronomerwho analyses the mechanics of the solar system, and accompanies the planet on its wanderings through immeasurable space, is brought back to the sphere of earth-life by the prick of a pin ; the philoso¬ pher who unfolds the nature of deity, and fancies he has broken through the boundaries of mor¬ tality, is reminded of his intermediate position between beast and angel by a cold northeaster which happens to blow through his frail cottage. If the animal sensations are overwhelming, the highest effort of the mind against them becomes powerless ; in proportion as they become more intense, the reason is more and more blunted, and the soul is violently chained to the physical organism. In order to gratify hunger and thirst, man will commit acts that cause humanity to shudder; against his own will he becomes a trai¬ tor, a murderer, a cannibal— “ Tiger, wouldst thou tear thy mother’s bosom with thy own teeth.” With such violence does the animal sensation act upon the mind ; with so much care has the preservation of the bodily organism been guarded by the Creator; the pillars upon which it rests are the firmest, and we know from experience that it is the excess of animal sensations rather than their deficiency, that has led to corruption. Animal sensations fortify the well-being of ani¬ mal nature, as moral and intellectual sensations strengthen the well-being of man’s spiritual na¬ ture. The system of animal sensations and move¬ ments bounds the idea of animal nature. This is the basis upon which the condition of the soul’s instruments rests, and their condition determines the ease and continuance of soul-action. We have thus shown the first link of the connection of the two natures. ? 6 . Objections against the connection of the two na¬ tures suggested by moral considerations. All this may be granted ; but then it may be added, here ends the office of the body. Be¬ yond this, the body is a burdensome companion to the soul, with whom it has to keep up a con¬ tinual warfare, whose wants deprive' it of all leisure for thought; whose assaults tear the thread of the most profound speculation, and plunge the mind into sensual confusion at the very moment when it is filled with the clearest and most lucid perceptions; whose lusts remove the greatest number of- our fellow-creatures from their high prototype and debase them to the level of brutes, —in short, who imposes upon the soul a bondage from which it can only be freed by death. Is it not absurd and unjust, we might complainingly ask, to entangle a being which is sftnple and ne¬ cessary, and endowed with an independent exist¬ ence, with another being whirled about in unceas¬ ing changes, exposed to every chance, and a vic¬ tim to necessity? Calm reflection may perhaps enable us to discover great beauty in the midst of this apparent confusion and absence of design. PHILOSOPHICAL CONNECTION. ANIMAL INSTINCTS AWAKEN AND DEVELOP THE MENTAL. 8 7 . Method. In order to throw some light upon this point, FIRST PERIOD* 255 it may perhaps be best to adopt the following method. Let ns suppose man separated from every trace of organization ; in other words, let us suppose that the body is separated from the spirit, in such a manner, however, that the spirit is not deprived of the possibility of acquiring perceptions and producing acts in the physical world; and let us afterward examine how it pro¬ duced these acts, how it developed its powers, what steps it would have taken to become per¬ fect ; the result of such an examination has to be confirmed by facts. Overlooking the forma¬ tion of the individual, let us cast a glance at the development of the race. First let us consider the abstract case : we have percipient power and volition, a sphere of action, a free transition from soul to world, from world to soul. Let us inquire how this transition will manifest itself. § 8 . The soul considered without its connection with the body. We cannot suppose a conception without a previous volition, to form it; no volition without sensation, that is, without a corresponding expe¬ rience of the modifications which the act has realized in our condition ; no sensation without a previous idea, (for in excluding the body we ne¬ cessarily exclude the bodily sensations) ; hence no idea without an idea. Let us consider the child, or, in accordance with our supposition, a spirit containing within itself the faculty of forming ideas, and called upon to use this faculty for the first time. What will induce the child to think unless it is the pleasant sensation resulting from this perform¬ ance? What can have given it the experience of*this agreeable sensation? Have we not seen that this very experience must have been the re¬ sult of thought, and now this child-spirit is sup¬ posed to think for the first time. Again, what else can induce it to contemplate the world, unless it is the experience of its perfection, which gratifies its desire for action, and by this gratifi¬ cation affords it delight? What can induce it to use its powers, unless it is the experience of their existence? Yet all these experiences it is now to make for the first time. Hence it must have been active from all eternity, which is contrary to our supposition, or else its activity will never have a beginning any more than that of a machine which remains forever motionless, unless it receives an impetus from without. \ 9. The soul considered in connection with the body. Now let us unite the spirit with the animal. Let us unite these two natures as intimately as they really are united, and then let some unknown something, issuing from the economy of the phy¬ sical body, assist the sentient faculty,—let the soul be transferred into the condition of physical f tain. This is the first impetus, the first ray of ight in the darkness of slumbering powers—a ring¬ ing sound in the chords of nature. Now we have sensation, the very thing which was wanting be¬ fore. This sort of sensation seems to be especially designed to remove all the difficulties of our former supposition. There we were unable to arrive at sensations, because we were not authorized to pre¬ suppose an idea ; here the modification in the bodily organ is a substitute for the idea, and in this way the animal sensation helps, if I may be permitted the expression, to set the internal me¬ chanism of the spirit in motion. The transition from pain to horror is a fundamental law of the soul. The will is active, and the activity of a single power suffices to set all the rest in motion. The subsequent operations follow as a matter of course, nor do they belong to this chapter. UO. History of the individual. Now let us trace the soul-growth of the individ¬ ual man, with reference to the proposition which we have made the subject of our demonstration, and we shall see how all his mental faculties de¬ velop themselves from sensual instincts. a. Childhood. —The child is still an animal, or rather is more or even less than an animal; a man- animal, (for a being which is to be called man at any future period, can never have been exclu¬ sively an animal). More miserable than an ani¬ mal, because it has not even instinct. The animal may leave its young more safely than the mother her babe. Pain may extort from the latter cries, but the source of pain will never be revealed to it. The milk may afford it delight, but will never be sought by it. It is entirely passive— “ Its thinking amounts to mere feeling, Its knowledge is confined to pain, hunger and bandages.” b. Boyhood. —Here we see reflection, whose only object, however, is the gratification of animal instincts. “ He only learns,” as Garve remarks in his notes to Ferguson’s Moral Philosophy, “to value the things of other men and his own acts toward them, in so far as they afford him sensual pleasure.” The love of work, of parents, friends, even of the Deity, reaches the soul by the road of sensuality. “ That alone is a sun which,” as Garve states elsewhere, “ derives from itself its own light and warmth. All other objects are dark and cold, but they may be illumined and warmed by being placed in such relations to the sun as will enable them to receive his rays.” In the case of a boy, the goods of the spirit only acquire a little value by transmission, or mediately; they constitute a spiritual means for the attainment of a physical end. c. Adolescence and Manhood. —The frequent repetition of these inferences habituates the mind to them, which discovers, in the transmitted means, traces of beauty , although perhaps imagi¬ nary. The grown man likes to dwell upon the means, without knowing why he is impercepti¬ bly led to reflect upon it. Now the rays of spiritual beauty itself, are enabled to touch his open soul. He is delighted with manifesting his power ; and this feeling gives him an inclination for the object which had been a simple means hitherto. I'he first end is forgotten. Enlightenment and an in¬ crease of ideas finally reveal to him the whole dignity of spiritual delights; the means has become the highest aim. This is what we are taught by the history of every individual that has acquired some education. 256 •PROSE WRITINGS. and it might have been difficult for wisdom to choose a better path upon which man can be led. Are not the common people led even now as we have supposed our boy to be? Has not the prophet of Medina shown us how the rude im¬ pulses of Saracens can be bridled ? On this head nothing can be advanced which is more to the point than the following in Garve’s notes to Ferguson’s Moral Philosophy : “ The instinct of preservation and the stimulus of sen¬ sual delight first impel both man and animal to action; lie first learns to estimate the things of others, and his own acts toward them, by the de¬ light which they afford him. In proportion as the number of objects that act upon him, increases, his desires multiply; as the road upon which these effects reach him, is longer, his desires become more artificial. Here is the first boundary line between man and animal, and here we discover a difference between one species of animals and another. But few animals eat immediately after experiencing the sensation of hunger ; the heat of the chase or the industry of gathering precedes. But in the case of no animal does the gratification of the desire take place as slowly after the prepa¬ rations for this gratification have commenced, as in the case of man; in the case of no animal is its endeavor to attain this gratification continued through such a long series of means and inten¬ tions as in the case of man. How far are the labors of a mechanic or farmer removed from their object which is to procure for him bread or cloth¬ ing!. This is not all. After the means of preser¬ vation have been multiplied by the organization of society; after he has become blessed with an abundance, the procuring of which does not em¬ ploy his whole time and strength; after he has become enlightened by an interchange of ideas: it is then that man commences to discover an ul¬ timate object for his acts within himself; it is then that he perceives that, although he may be pos¬ sessed of all the food, raiment, shelter, or domestic utensils he requires, something is still left for him to do. He makes another step forward. He becomes aware that these acts emanating from certain powers of the mind, and giving rise to their exercise, lead to a higher good than the simple realization of the external aim, which is the procurement of food and shelter. It is true that I from this moment he endeavors, in company with! the rest of the race and with the empire of all | living beings, to preserve himself and to procure! for himself and his friends the means of phy¬ sical life ; for what else is he to do ? What other sphere of action could he enter upon, if he stepped out of this one ! But he has learned that Nature has not so much excited these instincts in him for the purpose of affording him those comforts, as for the purpose of availing herself of these delights and advantages as incentives, in order to set these instincts in motion; her object is to furnish a thinking being material for ideas, a sentient spirit material for sensations, a benevolent spirit the means of well-doing, an active spirit opportunities for occupation. Under these circumstances every thing, whether animate or inanimate, appears to him under a different form. At first objects were only regarded by him with reference to the pleasure or pain which they caused him; but now he meas¬ ures their value with reference to the acts and manifestations of his moral nature which they de¬ termine. Considered from the former point of view, events are at times good, at other times bad; but, if considered from the latter point of view, they are all equally good. For there is no event, where the practice of some virtue, or the employment of some particular faculty is not pos¬ sible. First, he loved mankind because he im¬ agined that they might he useful to him ; now, he loves them still more, because he regards benevo¬ lence as the condition of a perfect spirit.” I 11 . Suggestions drawn from the History of the Hu¬ man Race. Let us now cast a more daring glance at the history of the whole human race, from its cradle to its manhood, and the truth of what we have advanced so far, will be seen in its clearest light. Hunger and exposure first made man a hun¬ ter, fisherman, herdsman, farmer, and builder. Sexual delight founded families, and the defense¬ less condition of individuals united them into hordes. This is the commencement of social life. Soon the increase of numbers exceeded the supply of the field ; hunger drove men to distant climes and countries which displayed their pro¬ ductions to the searching eye of the new settlers, and taught them new contrivances to improve the soil and to meet its various influences. Tradi¬ tion transmitted isolated experiences from tha grandsire to his descendants, who enlarged theii application. Man learned to use the forces of nature against herself; new applications and re¬ lations of these forces were discovered, and “the simple and beneficent arts w’ere invented. It is true, the object of art went as yet no further than the well-being of the animal, but there was exer¬ cise of power, increase of knowledge; and by the same fire which helped the rude man of Nature to roast his fish, Boerhave was afterward assisted in his inquiries into the composition of bodies; the same knife 'with -which the savage cut up his game, assisted Lionet in dissecting the nerves of insects; with the same circle -with which only hoofs were measured at first, Newton afterward measured heaven and earth. Thus it is that the body compelled the spirit to observe phenomena, and to take an interest in, and study the impor¬ tance of Nature which had become indispensable to man. The impulse of an internal active nature, accompanied by the indigence of the mother- country, taught our ancestors to think more boldly, and to contrive a house in which, under the guid¬ ance of stars, they glided along safely on rivers and oceans toward new zones. Fluctibus ignotis insultavere carin®. Tn the new countries new productions were dis¬ covered, new dangers had to be met, new wants to be gratified, new mental efforts to be made. The collision of the animal instincts brings one horde in conflict with another, forges the raw ore into swords, gives rise to adventurers, heroes, and despots. Cities are fortified, states are or- FIRST PERIOD. 257 ganized, and these develop civil duties and rights, arts, numbers, laws, cunning priests, and gods. Wants increasing and degenerating into lux¬ ury!—What an immense field is opened up before our eyes! Now the veins of the earth are dug up, the bottom of the ocean is explored, com¬ merce and social intercourse flourish. Latet sub classibus aequor. The East is admired in the West, the West in the East, the productions of foreign zones are acclimated under an artificial sky, and horticul¬ ture unites in one garden the productions of three continents. Artists are taught to imitate Nature’s w T orks, music softens the savage, beauty and harmony ennoble manners and taste, and art conducts man to science and virtue. “ Man,” says Schlozer, in his Idea of Universal History, “this powerful demi-god, removes rocks from his path, diverts lakes and rivers, and plows the field where ships floated before. By means of canals he separates continents and provinces, unites rivers, and conducts them through sandy deserts which are changed by this means into smiling fields; he robs three continents of their productions, and transplants them to a fourth. Even climate, air, and weather obey his power. By uprooting forests and draining marshes, he clears up the sky above him, humidity and fogs disappear, the winters become milder and shorter, the rivers cease to freeze.” And, with the refine¬ ments of the climate, the spirit becomes more refined. The state gives the citizen employment in attending to the wants and comforts of life. In¬ dustry renders the state secure and peaceful with¬ out and within, and thinkers and artists are af¬ forded the leisure which converted the age of Augustus into a golden era. The arts take a bolder, unimpeded flight; knowledge acquires a purer light, the natural sciences crush supersti¬ tion, history shows us the first ages of man re¬ flected in a mirror, and philosophy smiles at human folly. Luxury having degenerated into effeminacy and debauchery, having caused epi¬ demic diseases to rage in the human frame, and to poison the atmosphere: man, in his need, fled from one kingdom of Nature to another, in search of the means of relief; then it was that he dis¬ covered the divine bark of Peru, that he dug the powerful mercury from the bowels of the earth, and squeezed the precious juice out of the orien¬ tal pavot. The most hidden corners of Nature are searched, chemistry breaks up her productions into atoms, creates worlds of her own, alche¬ mists enrich natural history, the microscopic glance of Swammerdam surprises Nature in her most secret processes. Man goes further. Ne¬ cessity and curiosity overleap the bounds of super¬ stition, he seizes the scalpel, and enters upon the discovery of the greatest work of Nature—man. Thus the worst had to aid in attaining the best, disease had to urge us onward to the yv^i osavtov “ Know thyself.” The plague formed our Hippo¬ crates and Sydenhams, as war gave rise to gen¬ erals; to the spread of syphilis we are indebted for «. complete reform of medical doctrines. We set out with the intention of illustrating the perfection of the soul by the legitimate enjoy¬ ment of sensual delights; what wonderful aspects has the subject presented in our hands ! We have found, that even sensual excesses and abuses have helped man on the road to positive good. The aberrations from the original simplicity of Nature, merchants, conquerors and luxury, have undoubtedly accelerated the progress which a more simple mode of life would have achieved with more regularity, but also much more slowly. Contrast the old world with the new ! In the former the desires were simple and their gratifica¬ tion easy ; but what horrid views were entertained about Nature and her laws ! Now the gratifica¬ tion of our desires is impeded by a thousand in¬ flections, but how clear have our perceptions be¬ come ! Let us repeat: man had to be an animal before he could be a spirit; he had to crawl in the dust before he dared to undertake the Newtonian flight. The body was the first incentive to ac¬ tion ; sensuality the first step to perfection. ANIMAL SENSATIONS ACCOMPANYING THE SPIRITUAL. \ 12 . Law. Man’s understanding is exceedingly limited ; hence all the sensations resulting from its activity, must necessarily be so likewise. In order to en¬ large the sphere of these sensations, to impel the will with a redoubled energy toward that which is per¬ fect, and to remove it from evil, these two natures, the spiritual and the animal, are so intimately blended, that the modifications which are im¬ pressed upon either, are communicated to the other. From their union we derive a fundamen¬ tal law for the two natures, which may be ex¬ pressed in the following general formula: “T/ie ac¬ tivities of the body correspond, with the activities of the spirit; in other ivords, every tension of the mental faculties is succeeded by a tension of certain bodily functions, whereas, on the other hand, the equilibrium or harmonious activity of the mental poivers is accompanied by the most per¬ fect harmony of the bodily. Again: Mental in dolence induces indolence of body ; complete in ¬ action of the soul may even lead to the extinction of the bodily functions. Perfection being always united with a feeling of comfort, and imperfection with a feeling of discomfort, this law may like¬ wise be formulated in this proposition : Spiritual comfort is always accompanied by animal com¬ fort, and spiritual discomfort by animal dis¬ comfort. I 13 . Spiritual delight promotes the well-being of the- organs. A sensation which pervades the whole soul; af¬ fects in a corresponding degree, the whole struc- * ture of the body,—heart, blood-vessels andi blood, muscular fibres and nerves; from the powerful and important impulse of the heart to the insig¬ nificant tension of the hairs on the skin, every or¬ ganic movement feels the sensations of the soul. Every part of the bodily life becomes more in¬ tensely active, if the sensation is agreeable, the 258 PROSE WRITINGS. organs acquire a higher degree of harmonious acti¬ vity ; the heart beats with more freedom, more uni¬ formity and vigor ; the blood, according as the sen¬ sation is more or less gentle or intense, courses un¬ disturbedly, gently or fiercely, through its yielding canals ; digestion, secretion, and excretion, take place without hinderance ; the irritable fibres, bathed in their mild exhalations, perform their play without rigidity ; irritability, as well as sensi¬ bility, becomes exalted. Therefore it is that a condition of the most exalted soul-delight becomes for the time being, a condition of the highest bodily welfare. As many as there are of these partial activities, (and is not every pulsation the result of perhaps thousands,) in like manner a corresponding num¬ ber of obscure sensations will be experienced by the soul, each of which implies the perfect ion of t he mechanism. From the confused mass of these sen¬ sations, springs the sum total of animal harmony ; that is, the most compound sensation of animal delight, which, uniting itself, as it were, with the original intellectual or moral delight, intensifies it by this union. Hence, every agreeable emotion becomes the source of innumerable bodily de¬ lights. This conclusion is corroborated most evidently by those patients who are cured by joy. Send him whom home-sickness has reduced to a skele¬ ton, back to his native country, and he will again be blessed with blooming health. Enter the dun¬ geon where wretches have been buried for ten or twenty years, amidst the foul emanations of their own excrements, and have scarcely retained strength enough to stir; surprise them with a sudden announcement of their delivery. One word will send the vigor of youth through their limbs; the vacant eye will sparkle with fire and life. Sailors, drifting about on the ocean, and prostrated by disease and the want of bread and water, recover almost their health and strength on hearing “ land” shouted from the mast-head; it would be a great mistake to ascribe this change exclusively to fresh food. The sight of a friend for whom we had been pining, will not only dispel the agony caused by the long separation, but will likewise cause an immediate improvement in our physical condition. Joy will bring about a more intense action in the nervous system, than any tonic which the pharmacies can furnish, and may even remove infarctions in the labyrinthian canals of the intestines, which no dissolvents, not even mercury, could reach. Who does not see that a state of the soul, which knows how to extract delight from every event, and how to trace even in every pain the perfection of the universe, must be best adapted to the functions of the organs ? This state of the soul is virtue. 3 14. Spiritual pain undermines the well-being of the organs. For similar reasons, the contrary occurs in con¬ sequence of unpleasant emotions; the ideas which assume so much intensity during a paroxysm of wrath or fright, might be regarded as convulsions of the intellect with the same propriety that Plato denominates the passions fever of the soul. These convulsions are rapidly communicated to the whole structure of the nervous system ; they dishar¬ monize the forces of life, and disturb the equili¬ brium of the functions. The beats of the heart become irregular and impetuous ; the blood is pressed into the lungs, whereas there is hardly enough of it in the extremities, to keep up the pulse. All the chemical processes of the organism are set against each other. The secretions miss their proper channels, acting as hostile principles in strange tissues; and substances which should have been excreted through the appropriate chan¬ nels, are returned into the bosom of the organism. In one word, a condition of the most intense soul- pain is likewise a condition of the highest bodily suffering. By a thousand obscure sensations, the soul is warned of the threatened ruin of its organs, and is inundated by a sensation of pain which unites it¬ self with the original spiritual sensation to which it imparts a higher degree of intensity. I 15. Examples. Deep chronic pains of the soul, especially if ac¬ companied by intense mental exertions—among which the slow anger termed indignation holds a prominent rank—gnaw, as it were, at the founda¬ tions of the body, and dry up the vital fluids. Such people look pale and thin, and the internal suffering is seen in their hollow sunken eyes. “ I must have fat people around me,” says Cesar, “ people with plump cheeks, who sleep at night. Cassius has a famished countenance; he thinks too much ; such people are dangerous.” Fear, uneasiness, anguish of conscience, despair, have the same bad effects as the most acute fevers. Richard, tortured by anxiety, loses his accustomea cheerfulness; he fancies he can call it back by a glass of wine. It is not a soul-pain alone that deprives him of his cheerfulness; it is a sensation of discomfort felt in the inmost recesses of his be¬ ing, a sensation which is likewise the precursor of some malignant fever. Moor,oppressed by crime, though at other times sufficiently acute to resolve the sensations of the human soul into nothing by dissecting the definitions, suddenly starts up from some frightful dream, pale, breathless, with his brow bathed in cold sweat. The phantoms of future punishment which had been impressed upon him in his childhood, and which he had covered up as with the silence of sleep during his manhood, have surprised his clouded understanding in a dream. The sensations are so confused, that the slowly- progressing reason is unable to overtake and ana¬ lyze them. It is still struggling with phantasy, the mind with the terrors of memory: “Moor. No, I do not tremble. It was only a dream. The dead do not rise. Who says that I tremble and look pale ? I feel so light, so well. “Servant. You are pale as death; your voice is the voice of fear, you stutter. “Moor. I have a fever; I must be bled to-morrow; tell the priest, when he comes, that I have a fever. “ Servant. Oh, you are very sick. “ Moor. Yes, yes, that is all; sickness deranges the brain, and breeds strange, foolish dreams—dreams do not mean any thing. Fie, fie, away with this womanly FIBST PERIOD. 259 cowardice!—dreams arise from the belly, and signify nothing. I just now had a merry dream. [“ He falls doten in a swoon.”'* Tlere the phantoms of the dream suddenly start¬ ing up before his recollection, agitate the whole system of obscure ideas, shaking, as it were, the foundations of the organ of thought. The sum of these sensations gives rise to an extremely com¬ pound sensation of pain, which racks the soul to its foundation, and paralyses the W'hole structure of the nervous system by a principle of sympathy. The shiverings that seize the one who is about to commit, or has just committed, a vicious deed, are the same chill that shakes the fever-patient. The nightly startings of those who are tormented by remorse, which is always accompanied by a feverish beating of the pulse, are real fevers, occa¬ sioned by the agreement with which the organs respond to the soul; if Lady Macbeth walks in her sleep, it is because she is a prey to delirium. Even the imitated emotion makes the actor sick for the time being ; after playing Lear or Othello, Garrick had to lie down, and was tormented for a few r hours by convulsive twitchings. The illusion of the spectator, sympathy with artificial passions, has caused shudderings, convulsions and fainting fits. Is not he who is tormented by ill-humor, and extracts poison and bile from every circumstance of life ; is not the vicious who is a prey to chronic wrath and hatred ; is not the envious, whom every perfection of his fellow-man disturbs ; are not such people the greatest enemies of their health ? Can any thing be wanting to render vice repulsive, if it not only destroys happiness, but health? § 16 . Exceptions. But also an agreeable emotion has destroyed life; and disagreeable emotions have effected won¬ derful cures. Both these propositions have been confirmed by experience. Does this alter the boundaries of the law which we have set up ? Joy destroys life, if it ceases to be simple joy, but is changed to ecstasy. Nature is unable to bear this instantaneous concussion of the whole nervous system; the movement of the brain is not harmony but convulsion; a supreme, instantane¬ ous paroxysm of action which at once leads to the ruin of the organic whole, because it transgresses the fundamental boundary of health, (for the idea of health implies the idea of a normal condition of the natural movements) ; even the joy of finite beings has its limits, as well as pain: if it trans¬ gresses these limits, it perishes. As regards the second case, we have many in¬ stances of moderate paroxysms of wrath, which, if permitted to vent themselves freely, have ter¬ minated the most obstinate constipation ; parox¬ ysms of fright, at a fire, for instance, which have relieved old pains in the limbs and incurable para¬ lysis. Dysentery has removed infarctions of the portal system; the itch has cured melancholy and rage. Is the itch on this account any the less a disease ? or is dysentery health ? • Life of Moor.—Tragedy by Krake, Act V. Sc. 1. ? 17. Indolence of soul retards the movements of or gans. Since, according to Haller’s testimony, mental activity, consequent upon the business of the day, has power to accelerate the pulse toward evening, will not mental indolence weaken the pulse? may not a complete cessation of mental action lead to a cessation of the pulse? For, although the move¬ ment of the blood does not seem to be altogether dependent upon the soul, we may, however, infer, not without reason, that the heart which derives the best portion of its energy from the brain, must necessarily undergo a great loss of power, if the soul no longer keeps up the movement of the brain. A phlegmatic temperament is charac¬ terized by a sluggish pulse; the blood is watery and viscid ; the abdominal circulation is embar¬ rassed. The imbeciles of whom Muzell has left us a description in his “ Medical and Chirurgical Notices ,” breathed slowly and heavily, had no desire to eat or drink, or to perform the natural excretory functions; the pulse was slow, all the bodily functions were performed with a sleepy lan¬ guor. The concussion of the soul by fright, sur¬ prise, &c., is sometimes attended by a general discontinuance of all physical action. Is the soul the cause of this condition, or is it the body which leads to this stupor of the soul? But this subject leads to subtilties : it need not be discussed in this place. I 18. Second Law. What has been said concerning the transmis¬ sion of spiritual sensations to animal, likewise ap¬ plies to the opposite case, the transmission of animal to spiritual sensations. Bodily diseases, generally the natural consequences of excess, punish themselves by physical pain; but in such a case, the soul had likewise to be attacked in its foundations, in order to be reminded by the double pain so much more urgently of the necessity of restraining its desires. For similar reasons the physical delight of bodily health had to be inten¬ sified by the more refined sensations of a spiritual improvement, in order that man might be stimu¬ lated so much more energetically to preserve the normal condition of his body. From these facts, we deduce a second law of the two natures : That the free activity of the organs is united with a spontaneous development of sensations and ideas ; and , that a disorganization of the organs leads to a disorganization of the intellectual and emotive faculties. Or, more briefly: That the universal sensation of physical harmony is the source of spiritual delight ; and, that animal discomfort is the source of spiritual discomfort. In all these respects, body and soul may be com¬ pared to two equally tuned string-instruments, placed side by side. If a string on one instrument is touched, and a certain sound is elicited, a cor¬ responding string of the other instrument vibrates spontaneously, and the same sound is elicited, though more feebly. Thus, to speak figuratively, a joyous chord of the body awakens a corresponding chord of the soul, and a gloomy sound of the former 260 PROSE WRITINGS. elicits a similar sound from the latter. This is the wonderful sympathy which combines the hetero¬ geneous principles of man into one being; man is not soul and body, he is these two substances in- mostly united. \ 19. The state of the spirit is dependent upon the state of the body . Hence the heaviness , the absent-mindedness , the peevish mood , consequent upon overloading the stomach, upon sensual excesses of any kind ; hence the marvelous effects of wine in. the case of those who drink it in moderation. “ After drink¬ ing wine,” says brother Martin, “you are every thing double ; your thoughts flow twice as lightly, you undertake and carry out a thing twice as readily.” Hence the good humor, the feeling of comfort in bright and fair weather, which un¬ doubtedly depends to some extent upon the asso¬ ciation of ideas, but more particularly upon the easier performance of the natural functions. Such people are in the habit of saying: I feel well; at such a time they are better disposed to every kind of mental labor, their hearts are more open to the ordinary feelings of humanity, and they take a higher interest in the performance of their moral duties. These statements likewise apply to the character of nations. The inhabi¬ tants of gloomy countries mourn with surround¬ ing nature ; in wild and stormy climes man grows hard and unfeeling; under a smiling sky he feels friendly, and in a pure atmosphere his sympathies become keener. Only under a Grecian sky, a H omer, a Plato, and a Phidias could be born ; it is there only that Muses and Graces could exist, whereas foggy Lapland hardly brings forth men, much less men of genius. When our Germany was still covered with forests and marshes, the German was a hunter, raw like the game whose hide he wrapped round his shoulders. As soon as industry had changed the face of the country, the epoch of his moral life commenced. I do not mean to assert that climate is the sole source of character; but it is certain that if we wish to civilize a people, we have to pay particular atten¬ tion to refining the climate. Bodily derangements may derange the whole system of moral emotions, and may pave the way for the worst passions. A person whom lust has ruined, is more readily impelled to extreme re¬ solves than one who keeps his body healthy. This is an abominable trick of those who ruin the young, and yonder pirate must have possessed a profound knowledge of human nature, whose motto was : “ Body and soul must be corrupted.” Catilina was a debauchee, before he became a murderer; and Doria was greatly mistaken, when he imagined that he need not dread the debauched Fiesco. In general, we often find that wicked¬ ness inhabits diseased bodies. In sickness this sympathy is still more striking. All diseases of any importance, especially those which emanate from derangements of the abdomi¬ nal organs, are accompanied by a more or less remarkable revolution in the patient’s character. At a time when the disease is still crawling along in the hidden recesses of the system, slowly un¬ dermining the nervous power, the soul experiences obscure forebodings of the fall of its companion. These forebodings constitute a feature of the con¬ dition which a great physician has described to us under the name of “ horrores .” Hence the mo¬ rose character of such people, forWhich nobody can assign a reason, the change in their disposi¬ tion, the loathing of every thing that they liked best heretofore. A person of meek disposition becomes quarrelsome; one who is fond of laugh¬ ing becomes peevish ; a person who had found delight in a crowd now flees frOm the sight of man, and seeks refuge in melancholy silence. Under, this insidious quiet, the disease is prepar¬ ing for a fatal outbreak. The general tumult of the organs consequent upon the breaking out of the disease in all its fury, furnishes the most pal¬ pable evidence to what an extent the soul is de¬ pendent upon the body. The sensation charac¬ terizing the general subversion of the organs, and resulting from the commingling of a thousand feelings of pain, causes a frightful disorder in the system of spiritual sensations. The most fright¬ ful ideas torment the patient. The wicked man who could not be moved by any thing, succumbs to the power of animal terrors. A dying Win¬ chester utters the piercing howls of despair. The soul seems purposely to catch at every thing that may plunge it into a more gloomy despair ; it seems to start back from every attempt at conso¬ lation, with the repugnance of rage. The diapa¬ son of pain is universal, and as the soul’s deep suffering has arisen from derangements of the or¬ gans, so it helps in its turn to render these de¬ rangements more violent and more general. $ 20 . Limitation of the former.remarks. Every day furnishes instances of patients whose courage seems to exalt them above their bodily sufferings; instances of dying mortals who, in the midst of the agony of the struggling organism, ask the question : “ Death, where is thy sting ?” Is not wisdom, we might be tempted to ask, suffi¬ cient to arm us against the blind terrors of the organism ? And, what is still more than wisdom, is not religion sufficient to protect her friends against the assaults of the dust ? Does it not de- pend upon the previous condition of the soul, how it is to be affected by the changes in the move¬ ments of the physical life ? This is an undeniable truth. Philosophy, and still more, a heart exalted by religion, are capa¬ ble of weakening the animal sensations, which as¬ sail the moral sense of the patient, and of tearing the soul, as it were, loose from its association with matter. The thought of the Deity who pervades the hours of death as well as the universe, the harmony of the past life, and the presentiments of an ever-blissful future, spread a halo of light over the ideas, whereas the soul of the fool and in¬ fidel is vailed by the night of the darkening sen¬ sations of the dying body. Even if pains are in¬ voluntarily experienced by the Christian and the sage, (for is he any the less a man ?) he will be delighted at the approaching decay of the organs, “ The soul secured in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point: FIRST PERIOD. 261 The stars shall fade away, the sun hitnself Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.” This uncommon cheerfulness of patients afflict¬ ed with a fatal disease, frequently depends upon a physical cause, and is extremely important to the practical physician. It is often associated with the most prominent symptoms of the hippocratic condition, although no preceding crisis may ac¬ count for it; it is a most ominous symptom. The nerves which, during the acme of the fever, had been assailed with the most intense virulence, have lost their sensibility; it is well known that the inflamed parts cease to be painful as soon as gangrene has set in ; but what physician would rejoice, under such circumstances, at the stage of inflammation being passed? The nervous sensi¬ bility has become extinguished, and a fatal indo¬ lence presents the deceitful appearance of ap¬ proaching recovery. The soul is plunged into the illusion of a pleasant sensation, because- it has become relieved of a long-lasting pain. It is free from pain, not because the vigor of its organs is restored, but because it no longer feels their dis¬ harmony 7- . Sympathy ceases as soon as the union of soul and body is dissolved. 1 21 . Further developments concerning this union. If I were to penetrate into this subject still fur¬ ther ; if I were to speak of mania, sopor, and stu¬ por, epilepsj 7 , or catalepsy, &c., where the free spirit is subject to the despotism of the abdomen ; if I were to enter upon the vast field of hysteria and hypochondria; if I were to talk of tempera¬ ments, idiosyncracies, and consensual conditions, where physicians and philosophers may lose them¬ selves as if in an abyss ; in one word, if I were to undertake to prove the truth of these proposi¬ tions by clinical experience, which is of chief im¬ portance to the psychologist, my subject would become endless. It seems to me that the union of the spiritual and animal natures has been suffi¬ ciently demonstrated, and that this union is the perfect realization of the human idea. BODILY PHENOMENA BETRAY THE MOVE¬ MENTS OF THE SPIRIT. 2 22 . Physiognomy of sensations. It is upon this intimate union of the two na¬ tures that the whole doctrine of physiognomy is founded. By this nervous connection which, as we have shown, constitutes the channel through which sensations are communicated, the most secret emotions of the soul are exposed to the light of day, and passion shines even through the vail of hypocrisy. Every emotion has its spe¬ cific manifestations, and its peculiar dialect as it were, by which it is known. By an admirable law of wisdom everv noble and beneficent emo- tion beautifies the body, w T hereas low and odious passions degrade it by brutish appearances. The more the spirit recedes from the divine image, the more the external form seems to assume the manner of a brute, more especially of the brute which rejoices in similar propensities. Thus the meek expression of the philanthropist attracts the indigent, whereas the defiant look of wrath repels every one. This is an indispensable guide in social life. It is remarkable what an analogy exists between the bodily phenomena and the emotions ; heroism and daring pour life and vigor through the blood-vessels and muscles; the eyes sparkle, the breast expands, every limb prepares, as it were, for battle, man looks like a fiery steed. Terror and fear extinguish the fire of the eyes, the limbs feel heavy and powerless, the marrow of the bones seems congealed, the heart feels op¬ pressed, a general sense of fainting paralyses the organs. A great, bold, and exalted thought com¬ pels us to stand on tiptoe, to raise our heads, to dilate our nostrils, and to open widely our mouths. The feeling of infinitude, the unobstructed view of a far-reaching horizon, the sea, and similar scenes, compel us to extend our arms as if we w’ould give ourselves up to the infinite. At the sight of mountains w 7 e want to reach upward to the skies ; w 7 e feel like rushing onward with hurri¬ canes and waves; a precipice hurls us into the yawning abyss; hatred manifests itself in the bodily life by a repelling power, whereas friendship desires to realize a oneness with the friend’s body by every shake of the hand, every embrace, even as the souls form a one; pride raises the body; pusillanimity lowers the head, the limbs become relaxed ; a servile fear is shown by the crawling gait; the idea of pain distorts our features, whereas the thought of delight embellishes our whole form ; anger has torn the most powerful bonds, and necessity has almost conquered im¬ possibilities. By what system of mechanics, I would inquire, does it happen that precisely such movements succeed such sensations, and that it is these organs which such emotions call into play? Is there any difference between these in¬ quiries and the question : How 7 does tetanus re¬ sult from such an injury? If the emotion which, by sympathy, gave rise to these movements of the organs, is so frequently renewed that it becomes a habit of the soul, the movements of the organs will likewise become habitual manifestations of the bodily life. If the. emotion has become a -permanent feature of the character, the consensual manifestations of the organs become likewise more distinct, or, to use a pathological technicality, they remain behind as deuteropathic impressions, and finally become organic conditions. Thus it is that man’s phy¬ siognomy becomes fixed, and that it becomes al¬ most easier to change the soul than to alter the features. In this sense we may say, without sw'earing by Stahl, that the soul forms the body ; the first years of man’s life determine perhaps the form of his features during the whole course of his existence, and generally constitute the basis of his moral character. An inactive and feeble soul, which is never inflamed by the fire of pas¬ sion, is without any physiognomy, unless w r e re¬ gard this absence as the physiognomonic mark of imbeciles. The features which they originally derived from Nature, and which nutrition had consolidated, remains unaltered. The face is ! smooth, it has never reflected a soul. The arr b 262 PROSE WRITINGS. of tlie eyebrows remains perfect, for no passion has disturbed it. The whole form retains its ro¬ tundity, for the adipose deposit remains undis¬ turbed ; the face has a regular shape, it may even be beautiful, but the soul is wanting. A. physiognomy of organs, such as of the shape and size of the nose, of the eyes, mouth, ears, &c.; of the color of the skin, of the height of the neck, &c\, may not be impossible, but is highly impro¬ bable. even if Lavater should rove through an additional ten quarto volumes. He who should undertake to class the capricious formations of Nature, be they the inflictions of a stepmother, or the gifts of a loving mother,, would surpass Linne’s boldness, and would have to be careful lest he. too, should have to take his place as one of the originals that exhibit an almost endless and laughable variety. (Another species of sympathy may be mentioned which is of importance in physiology ; I mean the sympathy of certain sensations with the organs to which they belong. A cramp of the stomach causes a sensation of nausea ; the nausea in its turn may re-excite the cramp. How does this happen ?) EVEN THE DECREASE OF TTTE ANIMAL LIFE IS A SOURCE OF PERFECTION. I 23. . It seems to hinder this perfection. Tt may be said that even if the animal organism affords man all the advantages which we have enumerated, it nevertheless remains obje«tionable in other respects. The soul being fettered to the action of its organs, their periodical relaxation imposes upon the soul a state of inaction, annihi¬ lates it. as it were, from time to time. I allude to sleep, which deprives us of at least one-third of our existence. Our thinking faculty is so com¬ pletely dependent upon the laws of the organs, that our thoughts are suddenly arrested by a re¬ mission of the organic life at the very moment when we are on the point of reaching the goal of truth. Scarcely has the understanding dwelled upon one idea, when the indolent matter refuses its service; the fibres of the thinking organ become relaxed, after they have been strained ever so little ; the body leaves us in the lurch when we are most in need of it. What astonishing pro¬ gress, we may object, would man make in self¬ culture, if he could remain in a condition of un¬ interrupted intensity ! How he would analyse every idea into its ultimate elements, how he would pursue every phenomenon to its remotest begin- i .ngs, if he could keep his soul unceasingly fixed i pon these objects! But it is otherwise. Why is it otherwise ? \ 24. Necessity of a remission. The following propositions may lead us to the truth : 1. The sensation of pleasure was necessary in order to lead man to perfection ; he is perfect in order that he may have pleasant sensations. 2. The nature of a finite being renders unplea¬ sant sensations unavoidable. Evil cannot be exiled even from the best of worlds ; philosophers regard this very circumstance as a sign of per¬ fection. 3. The nature of a mixed being leads to un¬ pleasant sensations, upon which it is measurably founded. Hence pain and pleasure are necessary. This seems a harder lot, but is not in reality. 4. It is the nature of every pain and of every pleasure to grow infinitely. 5. Every pain and every pleasure of a mixed being tends to its dissolution. I 25. Explanation. We mean by this, it is a well-known law of the association of ideas that any sensation of what¬ ever kind, calls up another similar sensation, in¬ creasing it by this addition. The more the sensa¬ tion expands and multiplies, the more the number of analogous sensations which it rouses up in every direction of the thinking faculty increases, until this one sensation gradually becomes universal, filling up the measure of the soul. Thus every sensation grows by its own power of association; every present state of the sentient faculty gives rise to a similar and more intense state. This seems to be self-evident. We know that every spiritual sensation is associated with a similar animal sensation, or in other words, is associated with nervous movements, the number of which depends upon the strength and extension of the spiritual sensation. Hence, in proportion as the spiritual sensations increase, the movements of the nervous system must likewise increase. Thi 3 is likewise evident. Pathology teaches us that no nerve suffers singly, and the proposition : here is an excess of power, would be equivalent to, yonder is a deficiency of power. Hence every nervous movement expands by its own power. Moreover we have stated above that the move¬ ments of the nervous system react upon the soul and increase the spiritual sensations; the increased sensations of the spirit in their turn increase and fortify the nervous movements. Here we have a circle in consequence of which the sensations must be continually growing, and the nervous movements must be continually becoming more universal and more intense. We know that the organic movements which cause pain, are contrary to the harmonious evolution of organs ; they constitute diseases. But disease cannot develop itself infinitely, and must end in the complete de¬ struction of the organic mechanism. As regards pain, it is evident that it aims at the death of the individual. On the other hand, the movements of the ner¬ vous system, when determined by sensations of pleasure, being harmonious and favorable to the preservation of the organism—a condition of su¬ preme soul-rest implying a condition of supreme bodily well-being—does it not follow that agreea ble sensations should prolong the existence of the organic tissues indefinitely? This conclusion is too hasty. Within certain limits, these nervous movements are useful to, and imply a state of health. If they exceed this limit, they may con* stitute a high degree of activity, a high stats of momentary perfection, but they are no longer FIRST PERIOD. 268 health, but an excess thereof. We call health the normal condition of natural functions which develop similar functions in the future; in other words, which fortify the perfection of the subse¬ quent functions; hence the determination of sub¬ sequent developments forms an integral portion of the idea of health. The body of the enervated debauchee reaches its highest degree of harmony at the acme of the debauch ; but this harmony only lasts a moment; the subsequent depression abundantly demonstrates that excessive tension is not health. It may therefore be asserted that the excessive vigor of physical functions accele¬ rates the hour of death as much as the greatest disharmony or the most violent sickness. Thus it is that both pain and joy would drag us onward toward an inevitable end, unless their growth were limited by an inherent law. I 26. Excellency of this remission. This limitation is effected by the remission of the animal functions. This limitation of our frail organism which has furnished its adversaries such a powerful objection against its perfection, had to remedy the injurious consequences which other¬ wise would have sprung from its mechanism. This depression and relaxation of the organs which constitute subjects of complaint in the minds of thinkers, prevent us from usiug up our energies in a short space of time, and from allow¬ ing the passions to develop themselves increas¬ ingly until our ruin is accomplished. This limi¬ tation assigns to every emotion periods of growth, of acme, and decline, unless it should become completely extinguished by a total relaxation of the body, which leaves the exhausted spirit time to resume its harmonious tone, and enables the or¬ gans to recuperate their energies. Hence it is that the highest degrees of delight, terror and wrath, result in the same condition—exhaustion, debility, or syncope. “Now he either had to sink down in a swoon.” &c. But a more powerful restorer is sleep, who, as Shakespeare informs us, “ dissolves the entangled knot of care, is a bath for bruising labor, the birth of every day’s life, and the second course of great Nature.” During sleep the vital spirits resume that healthful equilibrium which is so necessary to the continuance of our existence ; all spas¬ modic ideas and sensations, the excessive tension of our powers, which had tormented us in the daytime, cease during this relaxation of the sen- ftorium, the harmony of soul-action is restored, and, with a calm spirit, the newly-awakening man greets the coming morning. With respect to the constitution of society, we cannot sufficiently admire the value and importance of this remission. It is owing to this arrange¬ ment that many who were likewise destined for happiness, are sacrificed to public order, and are burdened with the lot of oppression. Many, again, whom we envy perhaps unjustly, have to unceasingly torture their bodily and spirit¬ ual powers, in order that the whole fabric might be preserved. This applies to the sick, to the brute creation. Sleep seals, as it were, the eye of grief, relieves the prince and statesman of the heavy load of government, pours life into the veins of the sick, and rest into his anguished soul; the laborer no longer hears the voice of his op¬ pressor, and the abused cattle escape from human tyranny. Sleep buries the cares and burdens of the creatures, restores the equilibrium of things, inspires man with new vigor, and enables him to bear the joy and grief of the coming day. § 27. Separation of the Connection. When the period has arrived, where the spirit has fulfilled the end of its existence within the limits which we have traced, an inherent and in¬ comprehensible mechanism incapacitates the body from remaining any longer subservient to the be¬ hests of the spirit. All arrangements for the preservation of the bodily vigor seem to be lim¬ ited to this period ; it seems to me that, in found¬ ing our physical organism, Eternal Wisdom has followed certain laws by means of which, in spite of the continual compensations, the waste ex¬ ceeds the supply, freedom abuses the mechanism of the organs, and death unfolds itself from life asfrom a germ. Matter relapses into its ultimate molecules which, in other forms and relations, penetrate the kingdoms of Nature, in order to become subservient to other ends. The soul con¬ tinues to exercise its powers in other spheres, and to contemplate the universe from another point of view. It may indeed be said that this sphere had not yet been exhausted by the soul, and that the soul ought to have reached a higher degree of perfection before leaving it ? But do we know whether this sphere is lost to the soul ? We now lay down many a book that we do not under¬ stand ; perhaps we may understand it better a few years hence. ON THE PRESENT GERMAN STAGE. (From the Wurtemburg Repertory of Literature, 17S2.) Thk spirit of the present decade in Germany is distinguished from the period immediately pre¬ ceding it by the higher development which it has imparted to the drama in almost every province of our fatherland; and it is remarkable that at no previous period of our history have we had more opportunities of applauding soul-greatness, or of ridiculing weaknesses of character. It is a pity that this should only be seen on the stage. The Egyptians had a physician for every organ, and thus the patient perished under a load of physicians. We keep for every passion a special executioner, and every day we have to deplore a new victim of passion. Every virtue has its eu¬ logist among us; while admiring, we seem to for¬ get it. It seems to me that the case in this res¬ pect is the same as that of the subterranean trea¬ sures in the ghost-stories. Do not overwhelm the ghost with your cries! is the everlasting warning of the conjuror. Silently the gold is raised; utter a single sound, and the box descends into the ground to the depth of tens of thousands of fathoms. It would indeed seem as though an open mir¬ ror of human life, where the most secret recesses 264 PROSE WRITINGS. of the heart are illumined and reflected with all their genuineness like fresco paintings upon the wall; where the evolutions of virtue and vice, the most complicated intrigues of fortune, the won¬ derful management of a supreme Providence, whose endless chain frequently disappears from view in actual life ; where all these things, con¬ centrated upon a narrower field and presented in a smaller compass, can be surveyed by the fee¬ blest eye; like a temple where the true Apollo speaks to the heart with a living voice as he was wont to do at Dodona and Delphos ; it would seem as though such an institution should im¬ press the idea of happiness or misery upon the soul, with so much more force as the actual perception is more living than tradition and phrases. Should not this be so, I ask ? What should not the sell¬ er’s wares accomplish, if his words were be¬ lieved ! What should not these drops and pow¬ ders effect, if the patient’s stomach did not turn against them ? So many Don Quixote’s see their own crazy heads pop out of the show-box of a comedy, so many Tartufie’s their masks, so many FalstafF’s their horns ; and yet they are not aware that they are duped, and they applaud the poet who is making fools of them. Tableaux full of emotion which melt a crowd into tears ; groups of horror, the sight of which tears the tender web of hysteric nerves; situations replete witli uncer¬ tain expectation, which holds the half-suppressed respiration in check, and causes the rhythm of the oppressed heart to be disturbed by irregular pulsations : are not these effects produced by the kaleidoscopic appearances on the surface, like the delightful trembling of the sunbeam upon the water? The whole sky seems to be absorbed in the flood ; you jump in, and find it to be cold water. When the infernal Macbeth, his brow bathed in cold sweat, staggers out of the bed¬ chamber where he has committed the murder, with trembling feet, and with his eye still riveted on the spot of the crime, whaf spectator does not feel an icy shudder crawl through his marrow? And yet what Macbeth among the people will let his dagger fall from under his garment previous | to committing the deed, or his mask after the ! deed had been committed? Why, it is not King Duncan whom he is about to destroy. Are less girls seduced because Sara Samson pays for her fault with poison ? Does a single husband show j less passion, because the Moor of Venice murdered his suspected spouse ? Is Nature less tyrannized over by conventionalism because yonder unnatu¬ ral mother repenting of her deed, causes her ma¬ niacal laughter to resound in your ears ? I might multiply these examples. If Odoardo throws his ! dagger, which is still smoking with the blood of ! his slaughtered child, at the feet of the miserable 'princely smner, to whom he thus conducts his mistress, what prince restores to the father his degraded daughter? Be content if your play | shakes his guilty heart with redoubled force be- : neath the ribbon of his crosses. Very soon a tumul-1 tuous allegro drowns the trivial emotion. Be j content if your Emilia who moans so seductively, who sinks upon the boards with so much beauti¬ ful carelessness, who spends her last breath with ao much delicate gracefulness, does not inflame the | fire of lust by her dying charms, and your tragic art is not humiliated by an improvised profana¬ tion behind the scenes. We might feel tempted to again advocate the puppet-show, and to encou¬ rage machinists to communicate the arts of Garrick to their wooden heroes; for in such a case the attention of the public which is generally divided between the play, the poet, and the actor, would be withdrawn from the last in order to be more fully concentrated upon the first. A cunning Italian Iphigenia, who had succeeded by her play in charming us off to Aulis, understands the art of designedly destroying the work of her own magic, by a roguish look beneath her assumed expression; Iphigenia and Aulis disappear like a mere breath, sympathy is extinguished by the admiration which is felt for her who had excited it. We should have studied the inclinations of the fair sex by those of its model. Elizabeth would rather have forgiven an insult to her ma¬ jesty than a doubt of her beauty. Can an ac¬ tress be expected to think more philosophically? Can we expect her,—in case a sacrifice should be demanded,—to be more careful of her glory be¬ fore than behind the scenes ? As long as the victims of lust are played by the daughters of lust; as long as the scenes of grief, fear and fright serve to exhibit the slender form, the neat feet, the grateful motions of the actress ; as long as the theatre is simply used as a place of assig¬ nation for de'praved lusts; or, to speak more mo¬ derately, as long as the drama is not so much a school as an amusement; as long as it is princi¬ pally resorted to as a means of dispelling ennui, of whiling away unpleasant winter-evenings, and of enriching the legions of our idle crew with the froth of wisdom, and the paper-money of sen¬ timent and the phrases of fashionable gallantry; as long as the drama is principally employed in the service of the toilet and the drinking-shop, our dramatic authors may safely renounce the vanity of being teachers of the people. Before the public is formed for the stage, it is doubtful whether the stage will be able to form its public. However, let us not go too far in this respect. Let us not hold the public responsible for the faults of the poet. I observe two extreme fashions in the drama, between which nature and truth occupy the mean position. The men of Pierre Corneille are cold observers of their pas¬ sion, wiseacres and pedants in matters of senti¬ ment. I hear the oppressed Roderick lecture about his embarrassment before his audience, and review his emotions with the same care with which a Parisian belle studies her grimaces in the look¬ ing-glass. In France the unfortunate conven¬ tionalism has distorted the man of nature. Their cothurnus has been changed to an elegant pair of pumps. In England and Germany (in the latter country only after Goethe had driven the smug¬ glers in haste back across the Rhine) nature is presented in her nudity, her freckles are magnified in the concave mirror of an unbridled wit, the wanton fancy of fiery poets distorts her as a monster and spreads the most infamous anecdotes on her account. In Paris people like smooth and elegant dolls whom the polish of art has robbed of every appearance of bold nature. Sentiment FIRST PERIOD. 265 js weighed in gold scales, and the food of mind is | served up according to the rules of diet in order to spare the delicate stomach of a marchioness ; we Germans, like the lion-hearted Britons, ven¬ ture to imbibe larger doses ; our heroes resemble the Goliath upon old wall-paper, coarse and gigan¬ tic, intended for a distant view. A good copy of nature implies both the generous boldness of sucking her marrow and attaining her elasti¬ city, but likewise a becoming timidity which in miniature representations seeks to moderate the coarse features of large wall-pieces. We men 6tand before the universe as the ant before a ma¬ jestic palace. It is an enormous edifice; our insect-look dwells upon one wing, and finds perhaps a few columns or statues badly placed ; the eye of a higher being embraces the opposite wing within the scope of its vision, and perceives the sta¬ tues and columns which correspond with those of the former wing in perfect symmetry. But let the poet paint for ants’ eyes, and let him bring the other half, of a diminished size, within the scope of our horizon ; let him prepare us by the harmony of small, to study the harmony of great things ; let him prepare us to study the symmetry of the whole by the symmetry of a part, and to admire the former in the latter. A mistake in this re¬ spect is an injustice against the Eternal Being who should be judged by the infinite design of the world, not by a few isolated, detached fragments. Let our copy of Nature be ever so faithful, as far as our eyes can track her, Providence will be the loser, because he may not choose to complete until the next century the work which he has commenced in the present. On the other hand, the poet may be guiltless if the end of the drama remains unattained. Step upon the stage and observe how the creatures of fancy become embodied in the actor. Two things are necessary to him, although difficult. He has to forget himself and the listening crowd, in order to identify himself with his part; and then again he has to imagine himself and the spectators pre¬ sent, he has to study the taste of the latter and moderate Nature. Ten times I find the former circumstance sacrificed to the latter, and yet if the actor’s genius is not adequate to both, the latter rule might safely be violated for the benefit of the former. From sentiment to its expression we ob¬ serve the same and ever definite succession as from the lightning to the thunder-clap, and if I am full of the emotion, I am so little permitted to attune the body to its expression that I might find it difficult or even impossible to retain the spontane¬ ous vibration of the latter. The actor is, so to say, like a somnambulist; there is a remarkable simila¬ rity between the two. If the somnambulist, in spite of an apparently complete absence of conscious¬ ness, in spite of the sepulchral silence of the exter¬ nal senses upon his midnight ramble, is capable of weighing with the most incomprehensible correctness the danger of every step he takes, which would tax all the presence of mind that a waking person is capable of; if habit has power to secure his steps in such a wonderful manner; if a mere dawn, a superficial and passing movement of the senses—we will suppose such a condition in order to facilitate the explanation of this phenomenon—is capable of effecting such results, why should the body which is otherwise such a faithful companion of the soul in all its changes, transgress the boundaries of its own pro priet.y until a discord results from this excess? If passion does not permit itself any extravagances, (indeed no genuine passion can or ought to do so, nor will it do so in a cultivated soul,) I am equally certain that the organs will not be guilty of any monstrous manifestation. Is it not possible that in spite of the utmost absence of perception of which the illusion may render the actor capable, a scarcely noticeable perception of the actual may still continue which may enable the actor to pas3 by all extravagances and improprieties, over the narrow bridge of truth and beauty? I do not see any impossibility in this. What an inconvenience, on the other hand, if the actor, taking care anx¬ iously to foster the consciousness of his artistic situation, annihilates the artificial phantom by the idea of his actual surroundings! It is a bad thing for him if he knows that a thousand and more eyes contemplate his gestures, and a thousand and more ears listen to every sound he utters. I happened to be present on a certain occasion when the thought: “lam observed,” hurled the tender Romeo from the embrace of his ecsta¬ tic delight. It was like the fall of a somnambu¬ list whom the call of the night-watcher roused from his sleep on the top of the roof. The hidden danger was no danger to him, but the sudden sight of the precipitous height brought him down all at once. The frightened actor stood rigid and foolish, the natural gracefulness of posi¬ tion degenerated into a bow as if he were going to have his measure taken for a new coat. The sympathy of the spectators exploded in a fit of laughter. Generally our actors study a separate movement of the body for every species of passion, which becomes so familiar to them that they execute it even before the moment for the emotion has ar¬ rived. Pride always indulges in a twist of the head toward one shoulder, and pressing the hand on the side. Anger is known by a clenched fist, and by the gritting of the teeth. Upon a certain stage I have seen contempt expressed by a kick; the sadness of our heroines retreats behind a white handkerchief; and fright, which comes off cheapest, throws itself on the first seat it encoun¬ ters, thus freeing itself of a load and the public of a blunderer. Those who act high tragical parts— and they are generally the bassos, the matadors of the stage—are in the habit of growling out their sentiment, and hiding their imperfect ac¬ quaintance with emotions which they break upon the rack like a condemned criminal, under a tu¬ mult of sound and motion, whereas the soft and touching actors drawl out their tenderness and grief in a strain of. monotonous complaint, which fatigues the ears even unto disgust. Declamation is always the first rock upon which most of our actors strand, and declamation makes up two- thirds of the whole illusion. The ear is the most certain and the nearest road to the heart. Music tamed the rude conqueror of Bagdad, where Meng and Correggio would have exhausted their talent in vain. We find it easier to close the of- 266 PROSE WRITINGS. fended eyes, than to stop our abused ears with cotton.* If poets, actors, and the public should fail, only a miserable fraction would remain of the sum, which some patriotic advocate of the stage might manage to figure up on paper. Should such a misfortune impel us for one moment to deprive such a meritorious institution of our attention ? Let the stage take comfort with its worthy sisters, morality, and—I utter this comparison very timidly—religion, both of which, although they appear before us in a sacred garb, are not above the pollutions of the silly and vulgar crowd, Let it be satisfied, if row and then a friend of truth and sound nature finds his own world back in the theatre ; if the fate of others again reminds him of his own ; if his courage is fortified by scenes of woe, and his sensibility is exercised by the sight of unhappiness. A noble and unsophisticated heart derives new life and warmth from the scenes upon the stage ; in the hearts of the vulgar crowd a distant hum at least is elicited from some aban¬ doned chord of humanity. THE WALK UNDER THE LINDEN. (From the Wurtemberg Repertory, 17S2.) Wolmar and Edwin were friends who resided together in a peaceful cottage, to which they had retreated from the busy world, in order to reflect with philosophic leisure upon the remarkable events of their lives. The happy Edwin embraced the world with joyous warmth, whereas the gloomy Wollmar clothed it in the sable hues of his disap¬ pointments. An avenue of linden trees was the favorite resort for their contemplations. They had resumed their walk on some lovely May-morn¬ ing, when they conversed as follows : Edwin. The day is so beautiful ; all nature looks cheerful, and you, Wollmar, so pensive? Wollmar. Leave me; you know that it is my fashion to spoil Nature’s caprice. Edwin. But is it possible thus to loathe the cup of joy ? Wollmar. If we discover a spider in the cup, why not? Look; to you Nature appears like a rosy-cheeked girl on her wedding-day. To me she seems like a decrepit matron, who daubs her livid cheeks with rouge, and wreathes her hair with inherited diamonds. How approvingly she smiles at herself in this holiday-dress ! But they are threadbare garments that have been turned * It is questionable whether a part does not gain more by a mere amateur than by an actor. At any rate, the latter loses the sentiment as readily as a physician of large practice ceases to reflect on disease. All that re¬ mains is mechanical routine, a certain affectation, a co¬ quetting with the grimaces of passion. We recollect how well the part of Zaire was played in France by begin¬ ners without much experience (see “Lessing’s Hambur¬ ger Dramaturgic,'' sixteenth essay, p. 121 and 122). Would that everywhere the prejudice were abandoned which supposes that persons of family and honor are disgraced by theatrical performances. This would spread good taste, animate and refine more universally the sense of the beautiful, the good, and the true; at the same time professional actors would seek to uphold with more zeal the glory of their profession. thousands of times. This same green train she wore before Deucalion’s time, laden with the same perfumes and embroidered with the same hues. For thousands of years she has been feasting on the leavings of the table of death, has been dis¬ tilling rouge from the bones of her own children, and has been trimming corruption itself to glit¬ tering rags. She is like an uncouth monster growing fat on its own substance served up time and again, stitching its tattered fragments to¬ gether into new garments, which it displays in public, and then pulls apart like common rags. 5Toung man, knowest thou in what company thou rnayst happen to walk about here? Hast thou ever reflected that this endless orb is the tomb of thy ancestors ; that the winds which waft the fra¬ grance of these linden trees toward thee, drive perhaps the scattered virtue of Arminius into thy nostrils ; that with the refreshing water of these springs thou imbibest perhaps the atomized bones of our great Heinrich? Fie, fie! the world- shakers of Rome who tore this majestic world into three parts, as boys pull a bouquet to pieces and place the flowers on their hats, are perhaps doomed to do homage to a plaintive aria in the throats of their emasculated descendants. The atom which in Plato’s brain seemed vivified by the thought of Deity, which vibrated with mercy in Titus' heart, is now perhaps quivering with beastly lust in the breast of some modern Sarda- napalus, or is scattered about by buzzards as the carrion of some hung scoundrel! Shame! shame! out of the sacred remains of our forefathers we have fashioned our carnival-masks ; we have lined our fools’ caps wdth the wisdom of antiquity. You seem to smile at all this, Edwin. Edwin: Pardon me! Your reflections open before me comical scenes. What if our bodies should emigrate according to the same laws which are supposed to be imposed upon our spirits ? if, after the dissolution of the organism, we should have to continue the same employment that they filled under the orders of the soul ? even as the spirits of the departed resume the occupations of their former lives, quee cura fuit vivis, eadem sequitur tellure repostos. Wollmar. At that rate the ashes of Lycurgua may remain forever lying in the ocean. Edwin. Do you hear yonder warble of the ten¬ der nightingale ? Suppose it ■were the urn of Ti¬ bullus’ ashes who sang tenderly as herself? Does perhaps the sublime Pindar elevate himself in yonder eagle to the azure sky ? Does perhaps ar atom of Anacreon flutter in yonder wooing Zephyr? Who knows whether the bodies of sweet petit maitres do not fly in the shape of db licate powder-flakes to the curls of theirfnistresses? whether the remains of usurers do not attach themselves to buried coins as the rust of a hun¬ dred years? Whether the bodies of authors are not doomed to be cast into type or made into paper, and to be eternally groaning under the pressure of a press, or to assist in perpetuating the nonsense of their writings ! Who can prove that the stone in my neighbor’s bladder is not the remnant of some clumsy physician who is incar¬ cerated there as a punishment for the abusive treatment that he inflicted upon the urinary pas- FIRST PERIOD. 267 nages at some former period, and has to remain in his dungeon until the adroit hand of a surgeon releases him from his confinement? See, Woll- mar, from the same cup from which you draw gall and wormwood, my humor extracts mirth and jests. Wollmar. Edwin ! Edwin ! How you white¬ wash earnest thoughts with your laughing wit! Tell it our princes who fancy they can send forth annihilation by knitting their eyebrows; tell it our belles who undertake to fool our wisdom by bedaubing their faces with the hues of a landscape ! Tell it our dandies who make a handful of dyed hair their god. Let them see how roughly Yorick’s skull is handled by the spade of the grave-digger. Let a woman brag of her beauty, if the great Caesar is seen mending a broken wall to keep off the wind. Edwin. What do you mean to prove with all this ? Wollmar. Miserable catastrophe of a miser¬ able farce ! See, Edwin ! the fate of the soul is inscribed upon the fate of matter. Draw your own inference. Edwin. Hold on, Wollmar. You plunge into phantasies. You know how apt you are to abuse Providence in this particular. Wollmar. Let me continue. A good cause need not fear a close inspection. Edwin . Let Wollmar inspect when he is hap¬ pier. Wollmar. Oh fie ! This is probing the most dangerous wound! Should wisdom be a mere gossip, a fawning lick-spittle that humors every caprice, with the unhappy calumniates mercy it¬ self, and with the happy sugars over even misery ? A spoiled stomach makes us look upon this planet like a perfect hell, a glass of wine induces us to deify its devils. If our caprice is the mould for our philosophy, tell me, Edwin, in what mould is truth cast ? I fear, Edwin, you will become wiser 'if you first become more gloomy. Edwin. I should not like to become so, in order to acquire more wisdom. Wollmar. You have named the word “ happy.” How do we became happy? Labor is the condi¬ tion of life ; wisdom is the object, and happiness the reward. A thousand sails are floating on the boundless ocean in search of the happy isle, where they intend to conquer this golden fleece. Tell me, 0 sage, how many are they who find it? I see here a fleet whirled about in the everlasting circle of want, ever pushing off from this shore, and ever again driven back toward it. It is tossed about in the anti-courts of its destination, cruis¬ ing timidly along shore, looking out for provisions and engaged in repairing its sails, but never reaching the high seas. They are those who weary to-day, in order that they in ay again weary to¬ morrow. Deduct these, and the number is re¬ duced one half. Others again are dragged by the whirlpool of sensuality into an inglorious grave. | These are they who squander the whole force of i their existence in order to enjoy the sweat of the j former. Deduct these, and hardly a fourth part ’ of the whole number will be found remaining. Timidly and full of anxiety this small balance, without a compass, and guided by the deceitful ! stars, drifts about on the terrific ocean ; already, like a white cloud, the happy coast is seen glim¬ mering on the border of the horizon ; “ land,” cries the pilot, but behold a miserable plank gets loose, the ship springs a leak, and sinks in sight of port. Apparent rari nant.es in gurgite vasto. Ex¬ hausted the most skillful swimmer struggles to¬ ward the shore, and lands a stranger in a tropical zone, where he wanders about, sighing for his northern home with tearful eyes. Thus I deduct one million after another from the sum of your liberal systems. Children rejoice at the prospects of being invested with the cuirass of manhood, and manhood sighs for the golden days of child¬ hood. The river of knowledge winds backward toward its source, the evening is dusky like morn¬ ing, Aurora and Hesperus embrace each other in the same night, and the sage who would fain pierce through the walls of mortality, descends again to the plays of boyhood. Now, Edwin, justify the potter against the pot; answer me, Edwin ! Edwin. The potter is already justified, if the pot can argue with him. Wollmar. Answer me ! Edwin. Even if the isle should be missed, the voyage is no loss. Wollmar. Is it a gain to feast the eye on the picturesque landscape which hies away from us on the right and the left? Does this pay us for being tossed about in storms, for passing trem¬ blingly by the projecting rock, for hovering upon the foaming billows round the jaws of a three¬ fold death ? Say nothing more, my grief is more eloquent than your contentment. Edwin. Am I to tread upon the violet, because I cannot pluck the rose ? or, am I to renounce this spring-day, because it may be darkened by a thunder cloud? I find serenity under the cloud¬ less sky, and improve it to shorten the ennui of the tempest. Am I to leave the flower untouched, because it may lose its fragrance to-morrow? I throw it away if it fades, and pluck its young sister that is just unfolding from the bud. Wollmar. Insane! Wherever a seed-grain of pleasure is cast, a thousand germs of woe are al¬ ready sprouting. Where one tear of joy is shed, a thousand tears of despair are already moisten¬ ing the ground. Here, on the very spot, where man is shouting with joy, a thousand insects are writhing in agony. At the very moment when our joyous shouts are rushing upward to the skies, a thousand imprecations vibrate through the air. It is a deceitful lottery, the few miser¬ able prizes disappear among the numberless blanks. Every drop of time is a dying moment of joy, every floating atom the tombstone of a buried delight. Upon every point in the universe death has pressed his monarchical seal. Upon every atom I read the saddening inscription : Past! Edwin. And why not, Been? Let every sound be the dirge of some bliss—it is likewise the hymn of the all-pervading love—Wollmar, under this linden-tree my Juliet pressed her first kiss upon my lips. Wollmar (leaving him abruptly). Under this linden-tree I lost my Laura. 268 PROSE WRITINGS. A GENEROUS ACT FROM MODERN HISTORY. (From the Wurtemberg Repertory of. Literature, 1782.) Drama? anti romances reveal to us the most brilliant features of the human heart; onr fancy is inflamed; our heart remains cold; at any rate the glow which is enkindled in it by these means, is only momentary, and is of no practical advan¬ tage. At the very moment when the unadorned na'ivet6 of the honest clown moves us perhaps to tears, we send away a ragged beggar with heart¬ less impetuosity. Who knows whether this arti¬ ficial existence in an ideal world does not weaken our existence in actual life ? Here wq, hover as it were around the two extremes of morality, angel and devil; and man, who holds the middle rank, is left unnoticed. The present anecdote of two Germans—I men¬ tion this fact with a proud joy—has one indisput¬ able merit: it is true. I trust it will leave the hearts of my readers warmer than all the volumes of Grandison and Pamela. Two brothers, Barons W- had both fallen in love with the charming Lady W-r, without either of them knowing of the other’s in¬ clination. Each loved her tenderly and intensely, it was his first love. The young lady was beau¬ tiful and made for love. Each allowed his incli¬ nation to grow up to a burning passion, because neither knew the danger which was the most ter¬ rible to his heart, to have a brother for a rival. Both spared the young lady a premature avowal of their passion, and thus they deceived each other, until an unexpected event led each to a knowledge of the other’s love. The love of each had reached the highest de¬ gree; the disastrous passion which has almost caused as cruel devastations among the human race as its abominable opposite, had taken pos¬ session of their hearts so completely that it was useless to deem a sacrifice possible from either brother. The lady, full of compassion for the sad situation of these unfortunate lovers, had not the courage to decide exclusively for either, and subjected her own inclination to the judgment of brotherly love. Conquering in this doubtful struggle of duty and sentiment, which our philosophers are so ready to decide, and which the practical man un¬ dertakes so cautiously, the elder brother said to the younger: “I know that thou lovest this girl intensely, as I do. I shall not inquire for whom an older right decides. Remain thou, I shall go far away; I shall die, so that I forget her. If I suc¬ ceed, brother, she is thine, and may heaven bless thy love. If I do not succeed, well, then go thou and do likewise !” He left Germany suddenly, and went to Hol¬ land ; but the image of the loved girl hastened after him. Away from the country of his love, exiled from the region which inclosed the whole bliss of his heart, where he alone was able to live, the unfortunate man became a prey to disease, even as the plant withers which the European snatches with a ruthless hand from its tropical clime, and forces into rude beds under an uncon¬ genial sky. In a state of despair he reached Amsterdam, where an acute disease confined him to a dangerous couch. The image of his beloved ruled in his delirium, his recovery depended upon possessing her. The physicians despaired of his life ; nothing saved him but the assurance that he should be restored to his beloved. A wander¬ ing skeleton, the frightful image of gnawing grief, he returned to his native city, staggered back across the threshold of his beloved and his brother. “ Brother, I have come back. God knows what I have endeavored to accomplish ; I can do no more.” Fainting, he sank into the arms of the lady. The younger brother was no less resolute. In a few weeks he was ready for the journey. “ Brother, thou hast carried thy pain as far as Holland ; I shall endeavor to carry mine still fur¬ ther. Do not lead her to the altar, until I write to thee. This is the only condition that my bro¬ therly love imposes. If I succeed better than thou hast done, well, then she is thine, and Heaven bless your love. If 1 do not, well then let Heaven decide further. Farewell. Keep this sealed package ; do not open it until I am gone. I sail for the Indies.” Here he rushed into his carriage. Almost lifeless, the friends stared after him. He had surpassed his brother in magnanimity. The elder brother was crushed down by his love and by the pain of losing the most noble friend. The noise of the rolling carriage thundered through his heart. His life was in danger. The lady—but no ! the end will tell her story. The package was opened. It contained a transfer of all his German estates which the bro¬ ther was to own, in case the exile should succeed in the Indies. He sailed on board a Dutch mer¬ chant-vessel, and arrived in Batavia. In a few months his brother received the following letter : “ Here, where I give thanks to Almighty God ; here, upon this new soil, I think of thee and of our loved-one with all the bliss of a martyr. The new scenes and events have expanded my soul. God has given me power to make the greatest sacrifice to friendship, thine is—God ! here I dropped a tear—the last—I have conquered— thine is the lady. Brother, it was not designed that I should possess her ; she might not have been happy with me. If she should ever think that she might have been. Brother! brother! I confide her to thy soul like a solemn trust. For¬ get not the sacrifice that purchased her for thee. Treat the angel ever as thy young love now teaches thee. Treat her as the precious legacy of a brother whom thy arms will never embrace again. Do not write to me when thou solemnizest thy marriage. My wound is still bleeding. Write to me that thou art happy. My deed is my guar¬ antee that God will not forsake me in this distant world.” The marriage took place. For one year they enjoyed together the bliss of love—then the lady died. On her death-bed she revealed to her most intimate friend the fatal secret of her bosom : she had loved the younger brother best. Both brothers are still living. The elder bro- • ther, on his estates in Germany, again married. The younger brother remained in Batavia, a FIRST PERIOD. 269 happy and brilliant man. He made a vow never to marry, and has kept it. THE STAGE CONSIDERED AS A MORAL INSTITUTION. (Read at a public sitting of the Electoral German Society in Mannheim, in the year 1784.) According to Sulzer’s statement, the stage owes its origin to a general, irresistible propen¬ sity to things new and extraordinary, to a desire to enjoy the sensations of passion. Exhausted by the higher efforts of the mind ; wearied by the monotonous and frequently prostrating duties of his calling; satiated by sensuality, man must have, experienced an emptiness in his nature which was opposed to his inextinguishable desire for action. Human nature, equally incapable of continually leading an animal life, or of giving it¬ self up exclusively to the higher labors of the un¬ derstanding, demanded a middle condition which would unite these antagonistic extremes, soften the rigid tension down to gentle harmony, and facilitate the reciprocal transition of these two states from one to the other. This use is afforded by the aesthetic sense or the sentiment of the beautiful. Since it should be the first object of a wise legislator, to select the highest of two effects, he will not content himself with simply disarming the inclinations of his people ; if possible, he will use them as the instruments of higher plans, and endeavor to convert them into sources of happi¬ ness ; to this end he selected the stage as the best means of opening an endless sphere to the spirit thirsting for action, of feeding every power of the soul without straining any, and uniting the culti¬ vation of the understanding and the heart with the noblest entertaiument. He who first started the assertion that religion is the firmest pillar of a state ; that without reli¬ gion the laws would lose their force, has, perhaps without designing it, defended the stage in its noblest aspect. This insufficiency, this uncer¬ tainty of political laws which renders religion in¬ dispensable to the state, likewise determines the moral influence of the stage. He meant to con¬ vey the idea that laws only revolve round nega¬ tive duties, religion extends her demands to posi¬ tive acts. Laws only arrest actions which tend to disorganize society, religion prescribes actions whose tendency is to consolidate the structure of society. Laws only control the manifestations of the will, only deeds are subject to them ; reli¬ gion extends her jurisdiction to the remotest cor¬ ners of the heart, and traces thought to its in¬ nermost sources. Laws are smooth and flexible, changeable as caprice and passion ; religion binds rigidly and eternally. If we now suppose, which is not the case, that religion possesses this great power over every man’s heart, will she, or can she achieve the whole of human culture? Upon the whole, religion, whose political aspect I here separate from the divine, acts more upon the senses of the people; it is probably through the senses that she becomes so infallible. Her power is gone, if we take away the senses. And by what does the stage act ? Religion ceases to be any thing for most men, if we extirpate her images, her problems, if we annihilate her pictures of heaven and hell; and yet they are pictures of the fancy, riddles without a solution, phantoms, and allurements from a distance. What strength do religion and laws acquire from a union with the stage, where life is exhibited to the view, where vice and virtue, happiness and misery, folly and wisdom are successfully shown in all their various forms, according to truth and in a manner accessible to the popular understanding ; where Providence disentangles her web and gives us the solution of his mysterious designs, where the human heart confesses its gentlest emotions as well as its racking passions, where every mask must fall, where all artificial appearances are at an end, and where truth sits in judgment incor- ruptibly like Rhadamanthus ? The jurisdiction of the stage commences where the tribunal of civil laws is powerless. If jus¬ tice is blinded by gold, and has become subser¬ vient to the debauchery of vice ; if the crimes of the mighty scorn her impotence, and the dread of human power fetters the arm of legal autho¬ rity, then it is that the stage grasps the sword and the balance, and drags vice before a terrible tribunal. The whole empire of fancy and his¬ tory, the past and the future obey its nod. Bold criminals whom the work of ages had converted into dust, are summoned by the all-powerful voice of poesy, and are made to live over again an infamous life for the benefit of a revolted pos¬ terity. Powerless like shadows the terrors of their century pass before our eyes, and while we heap imprecations upon their memory, we delight upon the stage at the very horror which they ex¬ cite. If no morality is any longer taught; if religion is no longer believed in ; if laws have ceased to exist, Medea will still horrify us as she staggers down the steps of her palace after committing the infanticide. Salutary shudder- ings will seize the heart, and each will congra¬ tulate himself upon his good conscience on see¬ ing lady Macbeth , an affrighted somnambulist, wash her hands, and on hearing her call for all the perfumes of Arabia in order to annihilate the horrid smell of murder. As surely as a visible representation has a more powerful effect than the dead letter or a cold narrative, certainly the stage acts more profoundly and more lastingly than morality and law. Here, however, the stage only assists human justice. It has a much wider field opened to it. A thousand vices, which are tolerated by human justice, are punished by the stage ; a thousand virtues which the human law ignores, are recom¬ mended by the stage. Here it serves as a com¬ panion to wisdom and religion. From this pure fountain the stage draws its teachings and exam¬ ples, and clothes the rigid duty in a charming, attractive garb. With what glorious sentiments, resolutions, passions is our soul swelled ; what a godlike ideal it holds up to us as an example, when the divine Augustus, great like his gods, reaches his hand to the traitor Cinna, who fancies he reads the fatal sentence upon Cesar’s lips, and greets him with the words : “ Let us be friends, Cinna !” who, at that moment, would not be will- 270 PROSE WRITINGS. ing to shake Viands with his mortal enemy, in order to resemble the Roman 1 If Francis von Sickingen, on his road to chastise a prince and to struggle for the rights of a stranger, looks round as if by chance, and happens to see the smoke arising from his castle, where his helpless wife and children are confined ; and if, true to his word, he continues on his journey; how great then seems man, how little and contemptible dreaded and irresistible fate ! Vices, as reflected by the mirror of the stage, are just as hideous as virtue is amiable. If the helpless and childish Lear, in night and tempest, in vain knocks at the door of his daughters, if his gray hair is streaming in the wind, and he relates to the raging elements the unnatural conduct of his Regan ; if he at least vents his poignant grief in these accents of despair: “I have given you every thing!” How abominable does ingratitude then appear to us ! How solemnly do we commend reverence and filial love ! But the sphere of the stage is still more ex¬ tended. Even where religion and laws deem it beneath their dignity to accompany human sen¬ sations, the stage still continues to work for our culture. The happiness of society is disturbed by folly as much as by crimes and vices. It is an experience as old as the world that, in the web of human events, the heaviest weights are often suspended by the most delicate threads, and, in tracing actions back to their first beginnings, we have to laugh ten times before we experience one movement of horror. My list of criminals be¬ comes less every day of my life, but my list of fools increases in number. If the moral guilt of one sex emanates from one source; if the enor¬ mous extremes of vice which have branded it, are nothing but altered forms, higher grades of a quality which, after all, ultimately excites our unanimous smile and sympathy, why has not Nature adopted the same course in the case of the other sex ? I know of but one secret to guard man against depravity: it is to guard his heart against weaknesses. We may expect from the stage a considerable portion of this effect. The stage is like a mirror where fools see themselves reflected, and see their manifold forms of folly covered with ridicule and ehame. What it effected before through emotion and terror, it effects here, and perhaps more speedily and infallibly, by jest and satire. If we would undertake to estimate comedy and tragedy by the measure of the effect obtained, experience would probably decide in favor of the former. Derision and contempt wound man’s pride more keenly than detestation tortures his conscience. Our cowardice hides away from terrors, but this very cowardice exposes us to the sting of satire. Law and conscience frequently protect us from crime and vice; the ludicrous demands a pecu¬ liarly fine perception which we exercise nowhere more than in front of the stage. We may per¬ haps authorize a friend to attack our morals and our hearts, but we can scarcely prevail upon our¬ selves to forgive him a single laugh. Our trans¬ gressions may be willing to put up with a mentor and a judge, but we cannot bear any comments upon our vulgarities from witnesses. The stage alone is empowered to ridicule our weaknesses, be¬ cause it spares our sensibilities, and does not care to know the guilty fool. Without blushing we see our masks reflected to us and are quietly grateful for the gentle rebuke. The great sphere of the stage is not bounded here. The stage, more than any other public in¬ stitution, is a school of practical wisdom, a guide through civil life, an unfailing key to the most secret avenues of the human soul. I admit that self-love and mental obduracy sometimes neu tralize its best effect; that a thousand vices main¬ tain themselves with an impudent mien in spite of the castigations of the stage; that a thousand praiseworthy sentiments rebound from the cold heart of the spectator. I am even of opinion that Molihre’s Harpagon has never yet changed the heart of a usurer ; that the suicide Beverley has as yet saved few of his companions from the gaming¬ table ; that Carl Moor’s unfortunate end will not increase the safety of travelers upon public roads ; but even if we limit the great effect of the stage, even if we commit the injustice of denying it al¬ together : what a large share of influence will it still retain ! Even if the stage neither augments nor diminishes the sum of vices, has it not made us acquainted with them ? With these vicious and foolish people we have to live. We have to avoid or to meet them ; we have to undermine their agency or else succumb to it. Now they no longer surprise us. The stage has shown us the secret of finding them out and rendering them harmless. It is the stage that drew the mask from the hypocrite’s face, and revealed the net with which cunning and intrigue have entangled us. It has dragged deception and falsehood from their tortuous hiding-places, and has shown their frightful countenance to the light of day. It may be that the dying Sara does not frighten a single debauchee ; that all the pictures of punished se¬ duction do not quench his fire, and that the artful actress is seriously endeavoring to prevent this effect; let us be thankful if unguarded innocence has been shown his snares, and has been taught by the stage to mistrust his oaths and to tremble as she listened to his vows of adoration. Not only to men and human character but to the blows of fate, the stage directs our atten¬ tion, and teaches us the great art to bear them. In the web of life, chance and design play an equally great part; the latter is conducted by us, to the former we have to submit blindly. We have to regard it as a gain, if an inevitable fate does not find us wholly unprepared, if our courage and our discretion had been exercised by similar events, if our heart had been hardened for the blow. The stage brings before us mani¬ fold scenes of human woe. It involves us artifi¬ cially in the troubles of strangers, and rewards us for the momentary pain by tears of delight, and a splendid increase of courage and experience. In company with the abandoned Ariadne, the stage leads us through the re-echoing Naxos, upon it we descend into Ugolino’s tower of starvation, upo- it we ascend the frightful scaffold, and witness the solemn hour of death. What has passed through our soul as a distant presentiment, is presented to us upon the stage as the loud and irresistible FIRST PERIOD. 271 voice of Nature. In the vault of the tower the deceived favorite is abandoned by the favor of his queen. Now, when he is to die, the intimidated Moor is forsaken bv his treacherous sophistry. Eternity sends forth the dead in order to reveal things which can only be known to the living, and the assured villain loses his last horrid refuge because even tombs divulge secrets. But the stage not only familarizes us with the fate of mankind ; it likewise teaches us to be more just toward the unfortunate, and to judge him more leniently. It is only after fathoming the whole depth of his necessities, that we become empowered to pronounce sentence over him. No crime is more humiliating than that of a thief, but do we not soften our verdict with the tear of pity, after identifying ourselves with the horrid necessity which compels Edward Ruhberg to commit the horrid deed ? Suicide is generally detested, as a crime, but if, assailed by the threats of an enraged father, assailed by love and by the thought of the horrid walls of a convent, Ma¬ rianne empties the poisoned chalice, who would be the first to condemn the deplorable victim of an infamous tyranny? Humanity and toleration commence to become the ruling principles of our age : their rays have penetrated into the courts of justice, yea, into the hearts of our princes. What share in this divine work is due to the stage ? Is it not the stage that acquaints man with man, and discloses the secret springs which moved him to act? One class of men has especial cause to be more grateful to the stage than any other class. It is only here that the great of the world hear what they scarcely ever hear any where else,—truth ; what they scarcely ever or never see, they see here,—man. So greatly and variedly has man’s moral cul¬ ture been promoted by the higher order of drama; his intellectual culture is no less indebted to it for its advancement. It is in this high range that the exalted mind and the warm-hearted patriot im¬ prove the stage to the greatest advantage. Casting a glance over the human race, and com¬ paring nations with nations, and centuries with centuries, he sees the mass of the people fettered by the chains of prejudice and opinion, and pre¬ vented by such antagonists from the enjoyment of happiness ; the pure rays of truth illumine only a few isolated minds that had perhaps to purchase the trifling gain by the expenditure of a life. By what means is the wise legislator to secure to the nation a share in these advantages? The stage is a channel through which the light of wisdom diffuses itself from the thoughtful, better portion of the people in milder rays over the whole face of society. More correct notions, purer principles and sentiments, emanate from the stage through all the avenues of life ; the mist of barbarism, of gloomy superstition, disappears; night yields before the triumphant light. Among the many splendid fruits of the better stage, let me signalize only two. How universal has the toleration of religious systems and sects be¬ come for some years past! Even before Nathan the Jew and Saladin the Saracen confounded us with shame and preached to us the divine doc¬ trine that resignation to the will of God did not depend upon our fancied belief concerning God’s nature; even before Joseph II. combated the dreadful hydra of pious hatred, the stage was en¬ gaged in planting the seeds of humanity and meekness in our hearts ; the horrid pictures of priestly fanaticism taught us to avoid religious hatred ; in this frightful mirror Christianity washed off its stains. With the same success we might- combat upon the stage errors of education ; we have as yet to hope for the piece where this re¬ markable subject shall be treated. By its con¬ sequences no subject is of more importance to the state than this, and yet no interest is more com¬ pletely abandoned to the illusions and caprice of the individual citizen than education. The stage might pass in review before him the victims of neg¬ lected education in touching and soul-stirring forms ; here our fathers might learn to renounce foolish maxims, our mothers might learn to love more wisely. False notions lead the hearts of the best teachers astray; it is still worse if they brag of method, and systematically ruin the tender pupil in the hot-houses of artificial systems. And, if the chiefs and guardians of a nation un¬ derstood the task, its opinions concerning govern¬ ment and governing classes, might be enlightened and corrected. Here the legislating power might speak to the subject through foreign symbols, might justify itself against his complaints even before they are uttered, and might hush up his doubts even without appearing to do so. Even industry and inventive genius might be fired in front of the stage, if poets deemed it worth their while to be patriotic, and if princes would con¬ descend to hear them. I cannot overlook the great influence which a standing theatre would exercise upon the spirit of the nation. I understand by national spirit the similarity and agreement of the opinions and in¬ clinations of a people in matters concerning which other nations think and feel differently. It is only possible to the stage to effect this agreement in a high degree, because it appropriates the whole domain of human knowledge, exhausts all the situations of life, and sheds light into all the cor¬ ners of the human heart; because it unites all classes and conditions, and possesses the most popular avenues to the heart and understanding. If one characteristic feature were visible in all our pieces ; if our poets would agree amongst each other, and form a firm alliance for the accomplish¬ ment of this end ; if a strict selection should guide their works ; if their pen should be devoted to national subjects ; in one word, if we should see a national stage inaugurated in our midst, we should become a nation. What is it that chained the different states of Greece so firmly to each other ? What is it that drew the people so irre¬ sistibly to the stage? Nothing but the patriotic subjects of their pieces; it was the Grecian spirit, the great and overpowering interest of the re¬ public and of a better humanity, which pervaded them. The stage has another merit, one which I men¬ tion with so much more pleasure since the stage seems to have gained its cause against its per¬ secutors. Heretofore the influence upon moral 272 PROSE WRITINGS. and intellectual culture, which we have claimed for it, has seemed doubtful ; even its enemies have admitted however, that it deserved the palm among all the contrivances of luxury, and all the institutions intended to minister to the public amusement. Its services in this respect are more important than people are willing to admit. Human nature cannot bear the uninterrupted and eternal rack of business; sensual excitement dies with its own gratification. Man surfeited by animal enjoyment, weary of the protracted exer¬ tions, tormented by an unceasing desire for ac¬ tivity, thirsts for better and more select amuse¬ ments, or else he will plunge without restraint into wild revelry which accelerates his ruin and disturbs the peace of society. Bacchanalian joys, the ruinous games of chance, a thousand revelries hatched out by idleness, become inevitable, unless the legislator should know how to direct these tendencies of the people. The business-man is in danger of becoming the victim of hypochondria in exchange for his generous activity for the benefit of the state; the savant is threatened with the dullness of pedantry; the common man becomes a brute. The stage is an institution where pleasure and instruction, rest and exertion, amusement and culture are allied; where not one power of the soul is strained at the expense of another, where no pleasure is enjoyed at the expense of the whole. If grief gnaws at our heart; if melancholy poisons our solitary hours; if the world and business have become repulsive to us; if a thousand load? oppress our souls, and threaten to extinguish the irritability of our nerves by the labors of our call¬ ing, the stage hugs us to its bosom; in the dreams of this artificial world we forget the real, we are restored to ourselves as it were, our sensibility becomes excited, salutary emotions agitate our slumbering nature, and propel the current of the blood with more vitalizing vigor. Here the un¬ fortunate calms his own grief, by weeping over the grief of a stranger; the happy becomes sobered down, and he who is plunged into security, is made cautious by the possibility of danger. The sensitive devotee of sensual comfort and care, is taught the glory of manly privations ; the brutal barbarian here, for the first time, enjoys the plea¬ sure of sweet emotions. And then, what a tri¬ umph, 0 Nature! Nature so often trodden down, and so often again exalted to glory ! if men from all conditions and climes, free from all artificial fetters and fashions, hovering above the pressure of destiny, uniting in one sympathy, in one feeling of brotherhood and humanity, become forgetful of the actual, and again approximate to their hea¬ venly origin. Each enjoys the delight of all, which radiates from every eye with a hundred-fold increase of beauty and intensity, and his breast has only room for one emotion, which is : To be a man. SECOND PERIOD. THE CRIMINAL FROM LOST HONOR. A TRUE STORY. In the whole history of man, no chapter is more instructive for the heart and mind than the annals of his errors. In the perpetration of every great crime, a proportionate amount of power had to be employed. If the mysterious play of the forces of desire remains hidden in the faint light of ordinary emotions, it assumes colossal, more prominent, and more definite forms under the sway of violent passions ; the more acute analyzer of human nature, who knows how much dependence is to be placed upon the mechanism of the ordinary freedom of the will, and how far we may be permitted to reason by analogy, will not fail to transfer many practical observations from this domain to his psychology, and to im¬ prove them for the benefit of man’s moral culture-. The human heart is something very simple and yet complicated. The same aptitude or desire may develop itself in a thousand forms or direc¬ tions, may give rise to a thousand contradictory phenomena, may appear differently combined in thousands of characters; whereas, on the other hand, thousands of dissimilar characters and acts may emanate from the same inclination, though the individual may least of all suspect the existing relationship. If a Linnaeus should ever undertake with the human race what has been undertaken with the other kingdoms of Nature, a classifica¬ tion of mankind in accordance with instincts and dispositions, how would we stare to see many a one whose vices now remain smothered in his narrow social sphere and within the narrow pale of the law, classed side by side with the monster Borgia. Viewed from this point, much may be objected to the ordinary manner of treating history, and here is the difficulty which has rendered the study of history, so far, comparatively fruitless as a po¬ litical and moral science. There is such a con¬ trast, such a distance between the violent emo¬ tion of the active agent and the calm mood of the reader to whom the act is related, that the latter finds it difficult and even impossible to sus¬ pect any connection. There remains a gap be¬ tween the historical subject and the reader, which cuts off the possibility of comparison or applica¬ tion, and, instead of exciting a salutary terror, extorts from the secure pride of the reader at most a dubious shake of the head. We regard the unfortunate, who, at the moment when lie committed the deed, as well as at the moment when he is to pay for it with his life, as a being of a different species, in whose veins circulates a blood different from ours, whose will obeys laws different from our own ; his fate does not move SECOND ns much ; for emotion is based upon the dim presentiment of a similar danger, and we are far from suspecting such a similarity. The instruc¬ tion is lost where no relation is perceived, and history, instead of being a school of culture, has to be content with gratifying our curiosity. If history is to be to us something more, it must necessarily choose between these two methods: either the reader must warm up with his hero, or else the hero cool down with the reader. I am well aware that the best historians of modern as well as of ancient times, have followed the former method, and have sought to bribe the reader’s heart by an eloquent and intense style. But this manner implies an illegitimate use of the author’s privilege; it offends the republican lib¬ erty of the reading public, whose right it is to sit in judgment unbiassed by the author’s views or taste ; it is likewise a trespass upon the bounda¬ ries of another domain ; for this method belongs exclusively and peculiarly to the province of the pnet and the orator. The historian can only lay claim to the latter. The hero has to cool down to the temperature of the reader, or, what is the same thing in this instance, we have to become acquainted with him before he acts; we have not only to see him do, but also to will his act. We are much more interested in his thoughts than in his actions, and still more in the sources of his thoughts than in the consequences of his acts. The soil around Vesuvius has been examined with a view of ar¬ riving at an explanation of its explosions: why is less attention bestowed upon a moral than upon a physical phenomenon ? Why do we not examine with the same care the conditions and circum¬ stances by which such a man was surrounded, until the accumulated material caught fire in his inner nature ? A dreamer who loves the marvel¬ ous, is interested in the strange and romantic features of this phenomenon ; the friend of truth seeks to account for these anomalous manifestations of life in a philosophical manner. He accounts for them, with all the consciousness of certainty, by the immutable structure of the human soul, and by the changeable conditions which impelled and determined its volition from without. He is no longer surprised to see the poisonous hemlock prosper in the same bed where salubrious plants should grow, and to find wisdom and folly, vice and virtue cradled together in the same heart. Without dwelling upon any of the advantages which psychology may derive from such a mode of treating history, a preference should be awarded to it, if for no other reason than because it eradi¬ cates the cruel scorn and the proud security with which erect and untried virtue generally looks down upon the fallen one ; because it spreads the meek spirit of charity, without which no fugitive re¬ turns, no reconciliation of law with its transgressor can take place, no infected member of society can be saved from total corruption. Had the criminal, whose story I am about to relate, still a right to appeal to this spirit of charity? Was he indeed irretrievably lost to the state ? I will not anticipate the reader’s sentence. Our charity is no longer of any use to him, for he died by the hand of an executioner; but the au- Vol. II.—18 PERIOD. 273 topsy of his vices may perhaps instruct humanity and—who knows ?—-justice. Christian Wolf was the son of a tavern-keeper in a town of-, the name of which, for rea¬ sons which will become apparent hereafter, has to be omitted. His father was dead, and he as¬ sisted bis mother, until the age of twenty, in tak¬ ing care of the business of the establishment. T he re was not much custom, and Wolf had many idle hours. Even while at school he was known as a wild and reckless boy. Full-grown girls com¬ plained of his impudence, and the boys of the town did homage to his inventive genius. Nature had slighted his body. A small and unattractive figure, curly hair of a disagreeable blackness, a flat nose, and a swollen upper-lip, disfigured moreover by the kick of a horse, imparted to his appearance a repulsiveness that drove every woman away from him and made him the butt of his comrades’ wit. He undertook to obtain with an effort that which was denied him ; he made it his purpose to please, because he was disliked. The girl of his choice abused him ; he had reason to fear that his rivals were more fortunate, but the girl was poor. A heart which remained closed to his protesta¬ tions, might perhaps be unlocked by presents ; but he was himself suffering from want, and the attempt to keep up polished appearances con¬ sumed the little which he earned by his scanty custom. Too easy and too ignorant to retrieve his foi^une by speculation ; too proud to exchange his p®ent condition of gentleman for the hum¬ bler sphere of a peasant and to renounce his che¬ rished freedom, he saw but one expedient at his command, an expedient which thousands before him had resorted to with success—honest theft. His native town was contiguous to a seigneurial forest, he turned poacher, and the result of his booty was faithfully handed over to his beloved. Among Jeannette’s lovers was Robert, a boy in the employ of the forester. Very soon this young fellow perceived the advantage which his rival obtained by his liberality, and jealously he sought to discover the sources of this change. He was more industrious in his visits at the Sun —this was the sign of the tavern—his watchful eye, sharpened by jealousy and envy, soon dis¬ covered to him the channel through which the money flowed into Christian’s hands. Shortly be¬ fore, a severe law had been passed against all poachers, condemning the perpetrator to confine¬ ment in the state-prison. Robert tracked his enemy on his secret walks with indefatigable zeal ; at last he succeeded in catching his imprudent rival in the act. Wolf was arrested, and had to sacrifice the whole of his little fortune in order to escape the dungeon. Robert was triumphant. His rival was crushed, and Jeannette’s favor was lost to the beggar. Wolf knew his enemy, and this enemy possessed his Jeannette. The oppressive sense ot poverty became allied with offended pride. Want and jealousy unitedly assail his sensibility, hunger drives him away from home, vengeance and pas¬ sion chain him to the spot. He turns poacher a second time ; but Robert’s redoubled vigilance surprises him again. Now he is visited with the whole rigor of the law ; he had nothing more to 274 PROSE WRITINGS. i give, and in a few weeks he was sent to the peni¬ tentiary. He served his term ; his passion had grown by distance, and his impudence had been strength¬ ened by the weight of misfortune. Scarcely had he been set free, when he showed himself to his Jeannette. She fled at his appearance. Urgent want had curbed his haughty spirits, and had con¬ quered his effeminate habits. He offered himself to the wealthy of the place, ready to work as a day-laborer. The peasant shrugged his shoulder at the delicate boy who was outdone by the solid frame of a muscular competitor. He made a last attempt. An office had remained vacant, the out-post, as it were, of an honest name ; he of¬ fered to guard the swine of the place, but no pea¬ sant was willing to confide his swine to a prison- bird. Frustrated in all his projects, repelled everywhere, he turned poacher a third time, and a third time he was caught by his watchful enemy. The double repetition of his crime had aggra¬ vated his guilt. The judges looked into the statute-book of their laws, without considering the mental condition of the accused. The law against poachers demanded a solemn and exem¬ plary satisfaction, and Wolf was condemned to have the gallows branded upon his back, and to spend three years at hard labor in a fortress. This term, too, came to an end, and Wolf left the fortress, but very differently from what he en¬ tered. Here commences a new epoch in h'^ life ; we will record in his own language the facts’Vhich he afterward confessed to his spiritual adviser and to the court: “1 entered the fortress,” he said, “ like one who had gone astray, and I left it like a scoundrel. I had had some little left in the world that was dear to me, and my pride writhed under the infamy. When I arrived in the fortress, I was incarcerated in the same dungeon with twenty-three prisoners, among whom were two murderers, and the balance vagabonds and thieves. I was derided when I undertook to mention the name of God, and I was urged to revile the Re¬ deemer. They sang wanton songs, which I, al¬ though a vicious rascal, could not hear without horror; my sense of shame was still more offend¬ ed by what I saw them do. No day passed when we were not regaled by the story of a horrid life, or when a criminal plot was not concocted. At first I fled from these people, and hid away from their conversation as well as I was able; but I needed the company of a creature, and the bar¬ barity of my keepers had refused me even my dog. The work was hard and tyrannical, my body sickly; I needed assistance, and, to speak the truth, I needed sympathy, which I now had to purchase with the last remnant of my conscience. Thus I became habituated to the vilest abomina¬ tions, and in the last three months I had even surpassed my masters. “ Henceforth I sighed for the hour of my re¬ lease, as I sighed after vengeance. All men had offended me, for all were better and happier than I. I looked upon myself as the martyr of natural rights, and as the victim of the law. On seeing the sun rise behind the eminence upon which the fortress was built, I grit my teeth and shook my chains; a distant prospect is a double hell for a prisoner. The wind which blew through the air¬ holes in my tower, and the swallow that parched upon the iron bar in my grate, seemed to teaze me by their freedom, and made my imprisonment still more horrible to me. At that time I vowed ir¬ reconcilable hatred against every thing in the shape of man, and what I then vowed, I have fulfilled like a man. “ As soon as I had regained my freedom, my first thought was my native town. However little I might expect to find there in the way of sub¬ sistence, I expected to find abundant means to gratify my thirst for revenge. My heart .beat more wildly when I saw the steeple rise among the trees. It was no longer the cordial delight which I had experienced on my first pilgrimage; the memory of the wrongs and persecutions which I had suffered, all at once roused me as from a death-slumber; every wound bled afresh; every scar again became a running sore. I hastened my gait, for I enjoyed by anticipation the delight of frightening my enemies by my appearance, and I thirsted for a new humiliation as much as I had before trembled to incur it. “ The bells were ringing for the evening service, when I stood in the centre of the square. The people crowded toward the church. I was recog¬ nized ; everybody who met me, started back ir. affright. I had always loved little children, and this love came over me so powerfully that I offered a penny to a little boy who happened to pass near me. The boy stared at me, and then threw the penny in my face. If my blood had been a little calmer, I should have known that the beard which I had brought away from the fortress, disfigured my face in a most horrible manner; but my evil heart had infected my reason. Tears, such as I had never shed, rolled down my cheeks. “ The boy does not know who I am, nor whence I came,” said I to myself, half aloud, “ and yet he avoids me like a plague-stricken beast. Am I marked on my forehead, or have I ceased to look like a man, because I can no longer love my fellow-creatures ? This boy’s contempt pained me more bitterly than thirty years’ confinement at hard labor could have done, for I had done him good, and could not accuse him of personal hatred. “ I sat down upon a timber, opposite the church; I know not what I intended at the time; but I recollect that I rose with feelings of bitter indig¬ nation when all my former acquaintances passed by me without giving me even a look of recog¬ nition. I left this place in order to find lodgings for the night; on turning a corner, I stumbled against my Jeannette.— “Sun-keeper!”* she ex¬ claimed, and made a movement to embrace me. “ Thou back again ! my dear Sun-keeper; God be praised that thou hast come back !” Hunger and misery seemed her garment, an infamous disease disfigured her face ; she looked like an abandoned creature. I suspected what had taken place; a few dragoons whom I had met a few moments be¬ fore, showed that the place had been garrisoned. “ Soldier-wench !” I cried, and laughing loud, I turned my back upon her. It comforted me to * So nicknamed because the sign of his tavern was a Sun. 2—G. p. 332 2—E. p. 274, SECOND PERIOD. 275 think that there was still one living creature be¬ low me. I had never loved her. “ My mother was dead. My creditors had paid themselves with my little house. I had no friend, and nothing was left me. Every body fled from me like an outcast, but I had learned to be above shame. Formerly I had shunned the sight of men because I could not brook contempt; now I intruded my presence upon them, and I took pleasure in frightening them away. I felt at ease, because I had nothing to lose, and nothing to take care of. I was no longer in need of any good qualities, because I was no longer suspected of possessing any. “ The whole world was open before me. In some strange country I might perhaps have passed for an honest man, but I had lost the courage to ap¬ pear one. Despair* and infamy had forced this mode of reasoning upon me. This seemed the only resource left, to learn to do without honor, because I was no longer entitled to any. If my vanity and my pride had outlived my humiliation, I should have been obliged to take my own life. “I did not know at that time what I had de¬ termined to do. I have an obscure recollection that it was my determination to commit some evil deed. I was resolved to deserve my fate. I thought that laws were a blessing and I therefore determined to violate them ; formerly I had sinned from necessity and levity, now I sinned from choice and for my amusement. “ My first business was to continue my poach¬ ing; the chase had become my passion, and then, I had to earn my living. This was not all. I took pleasure in scorning the duke’s edict, and injuring him by every means in my power. I needed no longer to apprehend being seized, for now I had a bullet ready for my discoverer, and I knew that I should not miss my man. I killed all the game which came in my way; I sold but a small portion of it on the frontier, and left the best part of it to rot. I lived poorly, in order to obtain the money for powder and ball. My de¬ vastations of high game became notorious, but suspicion no longer oppressed me. My conceal¬ ment extinguished it, my name was forgotten. “ I led this mode of life for several months. One morning I was roving through the woods as I was wont, tracking a deer. For two hours I had made fruitless exertions, and I was on the point of giving up the chase, when all at once I discovered the stag within reach of my shot. I took aim and was about to fire, when I saw a hat lying a few steps from me upon the ground. Looking around, I perceived Robert standing be¬ hind the trunk of an oak, and on the point of firing at the same game for which my bullet had been intended. A death-chill ran through me at this sight. This was the man whom I hated more than any other living being, and this man was within reach of my bullet. It seemed at this mo¬ ment as though the whole world was to receive my shot, and as though the hatred of my life was concentrated in the finger with which I was to ull the fatal trigger. An invisible, frightful and seemed to be hovering over me; the hand on the dial of my fate pointed irrevocably to this dark minute. My arm trembled when I allowed my gun to take this frightful direction—my teeth chattered as during a fever-chill, and the breath remained choked up in my breast. For one min¬ ute the barrel of my gun remained wavering between Robert and the deer—another minute-—• and another. Vengeance and conscience strug¬ gled hard, but vengeance triumphed, and the hunter was a corpse. . “With the shot my gun dropped out of my hand. ‘Murderer’—I stuttered slowly. The forest was still, like a churchyard,—I distinctly heard myself say ‘ murderer.’ At my approach, the man died. For a long time I stood speechless before the corpse ; at last I broke out into a loud laugh. ‘ Wilt thou be silent now, my good friend,’ said I, and boldly turned the face of the murdered man to the sun. His eyes were wide open. I be¬ came serious, and silent. I began to feel strange. “Until now I had sinned for the purpose of com¬ pensating myself for my humiliating punishment; but now something had happened for which I had not yet atoned. An hour before, no man could have persuaded me that there was any thing be¬ neath me under the skies ; now I began to suspect that an hour ago my fate might have been envied. “I never thought of God’s judgment, but I had some strange notion of halter and sword, and re¬ membered the execution of an infanticide which I had witnessed when a boy. There was some¬ thing terrible for me in the thought that my life was forfeited. This is all I recollect. Immediately after, I was desirous that Robert might still be living. I forced myself to remember every wrong which the dead man had done me in his lifetime, but strange ! my memory seemed to ha ve become extinct. I was unable to call up any thing that a few minutes previous, had excited my rage. I was unable to account for the murder which I had perpetrated. “ I was still standing before the corpse. The report of a whip, and the rolling of a freight- wagon brought me back to my senses. It was scarcely a quarter of a mile from the public road, where the murder had been committed. I had to think of my safety. “Involuntarily I retreated into the forest. On my way I remembered that the dead man had possessed a watch. I was in need of money in order to reach the frontier ; yet I lacked the cou¬ rage of returning to the place where the victim lay. The thought of the devil, and of God’s all- seeing eye frightened me. I mustered all my boldness. Determined to fight all Hell. I returned to the spot. I found what I had sought, and a little money in a green purse. As I was on the point of appropriating both, I reflected a moment. It was not fear or shame which prevented me from aggravating my crime by plunder. It was in¬ solence which caused me to throw down the watch, and even the money, of which I only kept one- half. I wanted to be looked upon as a personal enemy of the murdered man, but not as a robber. “ I fled further away into the forest- I knew that the woods extended four leagues, to the north, and ended on the frontier. I ran until noon ; the hurry of my flight had dispersed my fear, but the terrors of my conscience assailed me with re¬ newed force, when my strength of body began to 276 PROSE WRITINGS. fail me. A thousand horrid phantoms flitted be¬ fore my soul, and cut up my breast like the keen¬ est blades. I now had to choose between a life of restless and agonizing fear, and suicide. 1 had not the courage to quit the world by destroying myself, and I revolted at the prospect of remain¬ ing in it. Pressed between the certain tortures of life, and the uncertain terrors of eternity, equally incapable of living and dying, I spent the sixth hour of my flight, an hour crowded full of tor¬ ments such as no living man has ever experienced. “ Absorbed in my own thoughts, and with my hat pressed low down on my forehead, as if to render myself unknown to inanimate Nature, I had slowly and imperceptibly pursued a narrow path which led me through the darkest thicket, when all at once a rough and imperious voice commanded me to halt. The voice Avas close by me, my absence of mind and the shading of my eyes by the hat had prevented me from looking around. Looking up I saw a tall savage-looking fellow walk toward me with a stout knotty club. He was of gigantic size—it seemed to me so in the first moment of my surprise—and the color of his skin was of a dingy yellow, like a mulatto’s skin, with which the white of his squinting eye formed a keen and disgusting contrast. In the place of a belt he had a thick cord tied double around a green woolen coat, securing a large butcher’s- knife and a brace of pistols. The call was re¬ peated, and a vigorous arm held me at the same time. The sound of a human voice had fright¬ ened me, but the sight of a scoundrel encouraged me. In my present situation I had every reason to tremble at the sight of an honest man, but not at the sight of a robber. “ ‘ Who goes there ?’ asked the man. “ ‘ The like of thee,’ I answered, ‘ if thou really art who thou seemest.’ “‘ The way is not thitherward. What seekest thou here ?’ “ ‘ What right hast thou to question me?’ I re¬ plied insolently. “ The man surveyed me twice from head to foot ; it seemed as if he were contrasting my size with his, and my reply with his size—‘ Thou talk- est coarsely like a beggar,’ he uttered at last. “ ‘ May be ; I was a beggar no later than yes¬ terday.’ “ The man laughed. ‘ One might swear,’ he ex¬ claimed, ‘that thou wouldst pass for nothing better now.’ “ ‘ Then for something worse.’ I was going to proceed. “ * Softly, friend 1 What drives thee ? Is thy time so precious ?’ “ I bethought myself for a moment. I know not what gave me utterance : ‘ Life is short,’ said If ‘ and hell lasts eternally.’ “ He stared at me. ‘ I will be damned,’ said he at last, ‘if thou hast not passed close by the gal¬ lows.’ “‘ I may yet. Good-by, comrade.’ “‘Hold on, comrade !’ he exclaimed, pulling a tin bottle from his pouch, and handing it to me after having taken a long draught himself. The flight and anxiety had consumed my strength, and this whole horrid day I had not yet tasted any nourishment. I feared e /en that I should die in this forest of starvation, for no refreshments could be had within a circuit of three leagues. Judge how eagerly I responded to his invitation. New strength was poured into my bones with this re¬ freshing draught, and new courage into my heart; hope and the love of life were again kindled in my breast. I flattered myself with the thought that I was not entirely miserable; such a power ema¬ nated from this welcome drink. I confess, my condition again bordered on happiness; for at last, after a thousand disappointed hopes, I had met a creature that seemed like me. In the con¬ dition to which I had sunk, I should have made friends with the most infernal spirit, in order to have a confidant. “The man had stretched himself upon the grass. I did the same. “‘Thy drink has done me good,’ said I, ‘we must become better acquainted.’ “ He lit his pipe. “ ‘ Hast thou been engaged in this trade long?’ “He looked at me fixedly. ‘What dost thou mean ?’ “ ‘ Was that stained with blood more than once?’ I drew the knife from his belt. “ ‘ Who art thou ?’ asked he terribly, laying down his pipe. “ ‘ A murderer like thyself, but only a beginner.’ “The man stared at rne, resuming his pipe. “ ‘ Thou art not born in this neighborhood ?’ he asked after a while. “ Three leagues from this place. The Sun-keeper in L -, if thou hast heard of me. “ The man leaped up, like one possessed. ‘ The poacher Wolf?’ he screamed quickly. “‘The same.’ “‘Welcome, comrade! Welcome!’ he ex¬ claimed, shaking my hand violently. ‘ Glad I got thee at last ! For years I have studied how I might win thee. I know thee well. I know every thing. I have counted upon thee long since.’ “ ‘ Counted upon me ? For what ?’ “‘The whole country talks about thee. Thou hast enemies, a bailiff has oppressed thee, Wolf! Thou hast been ruined, thy wrongs cry to heaven for vengeance.’ “ The man became excited—‘Because thou hast killed a few boars which the duke feeds upon our fields, they have dragged thee for years through the penitentiary and the dungeons of a fortress; they have robbed thee of house and home, have reduced thee to beggary. Has it come to this, that man is to be valued no better than a wild rabbit? Are we not better than cattle ? And a fellow like thee could endure this ignominy?’ “ 4 Could I help it ?’ “‘We shall see. But tell me, whence comest thou now, and what is thy plan ?’ “ I told him my whole story. The man did not wait to the end. He jumped up full of joy, and dragged me after him. 4 Come, brother,’ said he, ‘ now thou art prepared, I got thee now where I want thee to be. Thou wilt be an honor to me. Follow me.’ “ ‘ Where wilt thou lead me ?’ 4 ‘ 4 Do not ask any questions. Follow me 1’ dragged me after him by force. SECOND PERIOD. 277 “We had walked a quarter of a mile. The fo¬ rest became more and more declivitous, impass¬ able and wild, neither of us spoke a word until the whistle of my guide finally startled me out of my reverie. I opened my eyes and found myself on the border of a precipitous rock which over¬ hung a deep ravine. A second whistle answered from the innermost recesses of the rock, and a ladder was raised as if of its own accord from the bottom of the ravine. My guide descended first, and bade me wait until his return. * First I must get the dog chained, thou art a stranger, and the beast might tear thee to pieces.’ He left. “Now I stood alone before the precipice; I knew that I was alone. The indiscretion of my guide did not escape my attention. All I had to do was to pull up the ladder, and I was a free man and my flight was secured. I confess that I was aware of this. I looked down into the gulf that was to receive me; it reminded me ob¬ scurely of the infernal abyss, from which there is no escape. I began to shudder at the career which I was about to enter upon ; only a sudden flight could save me. I am making up my mind to it—already my arm is extended toward the ladder—but suddenly I hear a voice in my ears, and the scornful laughter of demons resounds all around me: ‘What does a murderer risk?’ and my arm sinks down again paralyzed. My account had to be settled ; the time for repentance was past; the murder which I had committed seemed to shut off my return like a towpring rock in my path. At the same time, my guide had returned, and brought me a message to come. I had no choice left, and descended the ladder. “We had hardly walked a few steps beneath the rock, when the ground became more open, and a few cottages became visible. These cot¬ tages surrounded a grass-plot, upon which eigh¬ teen or twenty men had encamped around a coal- fire. ‘ Here, comrades,’ said my guide, placing mein the midst of them; ‘our Sun-Keeper, bid him welcome !’ “‘Sun-Iveeper!’ they cried with one voice, and all started up, pressing around me, men and women. Let me confess that the joy seemed genuine and cordial. Confidence, respect even, seemed depicted in every face ; one squeezed my hand, another shook me familiarly by my sleeve, the whole scene was like meeting an old acquain¬ tance whom they cherished. My arrival had in¬ terrupted the feast that was about to begin. It was resumed at once, and I was obliged to join them in welcome. The repast consisted of game of every kind, and the wine-bottle was passed un¬ ceasingly from neighbor to neighbor. Ease and harmony seemed to animate the whole band, and all vied to manifest their joy at my arrival, in the wildest manner. “ I had been assigned a seat between two fe¬ males, which was considered the place of honor at the table. I expected to find the scum of their Bex, but how great was my astonishment upon discovering among this band of villains the most beautiful forms of female beauty which I have ever beheld. Margaret, the oldest and hand¬ somest of the two, was addressed as Miss, and could not be older than twenty-five years. Her language was characteristically impudent, her ges¬ tures still more so. Mary, the younger, had been married, but had run away from her husband, who maltreated her. She was more delicately formed, but looked pale and thin, and was less striking than her fiery companion. Both these women made an effort to inflame my passion ; the beau¬ tiful Margaret met my timidity by impudent jests, but the woman was repulsive to me. and my heart had been permanently captivated by the timid Mary. “ ‘ Thou seest, brother Sun-Keeper,’ said the man who had brought me hither, ‘ thou seest how we live here; every day is like this one. Is it not, companions ?’ “‘ Every day like this one,’ ejaculated the band. “‘If thou canst make up thy mind to like our mode of life, well then remain with us, and be our chief. I have had this post until now; but I am willing to yield to thee. Are you willing, com¬ rades ?’ “ A joyous ‘ yea !’ was shouted from every throat. “My head glowed, my brain was stunned, my blood was boiling with wine and desire. The world had cast me out like a leper, here I met with a fraternal reception, benevolence, and honor. Whatever choice I made, death awaited me; here I had a chance to sell my life for a higher price. Sensual lust was my most rabid desire; until now, the other sex had shown me nothing but contempt; here, favors and unbridled pleasures awaited me. My resolution was soon taken. ‘ I remain with you, comrades,’ I ex¬ claimed, stepping forth to the centre of the band ; ‘ I remain with you,’ I exclaimed again, ‘ provided you will allow me the undivided possession of my fair neighbor!’ All agreed to grant my request ; I became the acknowledged possessor of a rob¬ ber-prostitute, and the chief of a band of thieves.” I omit the subsequent part of the story; the reader is not instructed by the narration of mere abominations. An unfortunate outcast who had sunk so low, must necessarily permit himself every thing that revolts humanity, but he never again committed a second murder, as he protested even upon the rack. The fame of this man spread very soon through¬ out the whole province. The roads became unsafe, citizens were alarmed by burglaries, the name of the Sun-keeper became the terror of the country- people, justice sought to arrest him, and a price w as set upon his head. He was so fortunate as to elude every plan to take him, and he had cunning enough to improve the superstition of the peasant to his advantage. His band had to start the re¬ port that he had concluded an alliance with the devil, and that he was a sorcerer. The country where he acted his part, was at that time very much less enlightened than it now is ; this report was credited, and his safety was secured. Nobody cared to have any quarrel with the dangerous fel¬ low to whom the devil himself was tributary. He had been engaged in his horrid trade for one year, when he began to become disgusted with it. The band whose captain he was, did not fulfill his brilliant expectations. At first its seductive out¬ side had dazzled him while intoxicated by wine; i now he found to his horror, how terribly he had 278 PROSE WRITINGS. been deceived. Hunger and want took the place of the abundance with which he had been allured; very often he had to risk his life to obtain a meal that was scarcely sufficient to protect him from starvation. The phantom of fraternal concord disappeared! Envy, suspicion, and jealousy raged in the bosoms of these depraved villains. Justice had promised a reward to the one who should deliver him up alive, and, if this one should be an accomplice, he was to have a free pardon besides his reward—a powerful temptation for the scum of humanity! The unfortunate man knew his danger. The hon¬ esty of those who betrayed God and man was a poor pledge for his security. His sleep was gone ; the anguish of death gnawed at his soul; the hor¬ rid ghost of suspicion rattled behind him wherever he fled, tortured him while awake, laid by his side when he retired to rest, and started him by fright¬ ful dreams. The dumb conscience regained its voice, and the stupefied viper of repentance awoke from its sleep in this universal tumult of his breast. His whole hatred now turned away from mankind, to direct its keen edge against himself. He for¬ gave Nature, and fouud nothing execrable but himself. The unfortunate man had exhausted the school of vice ; his natural good sense at last conquered the sad illusion. Now he felt how deeply he had fallen. A quiet melancholy took the place of gritting despair. With tears he wished to see the past restored ; he fi*lt certain that he would find it altered. He began to hope that he might still be permitted to become an honest man, because he felt himself possessed of the strength to become one. At the very acme of depravity he was nearer to virtue than he had been before committing his first crime. About this time the seven year’s war had broken out, and soldiers were enlisted everywhere. This circumstance inspired the unfortunate man with hope ; he wrote a letter to his sovereign, from which I make the following extract: “If your Grace does not loathe to condescend to me, if criminals of my stamp are not beyond the pale of -your mercy, grant me a hearing, gracious sovereign ! I am,a murderer and a thief, the law condemns me to death, the courts are in search of me, and I offer myself up voluntarily. At the same time I lay a strange request at the foot of your throne. I detest my life, nor am I afraid to die, but I find it dreadful to die without having lived first. I should like to live in order to re¬ pair a part of the past; I should like to live in order to reconcile the state which I have offended. My execution would be an example to the world, but no compensation for my deeds. I hate vice, and long most earnestly for honesty and virtue. I have shown that I can become a terror to my country; I trust that I am not without some power to be useful to it. “ 1 am aware that my request is unheard of. My life is forfeited ; it does not behoove me to negotiate with justice. But I do not appear be¬ fore you in chains ; I am still free, and my fear has the smallest part in my request. “ I supplicate you for mercy. I dare not claim justice, even if 1 had a claim to it. I may how¬ ever remind my judge of one circumstance. The period of my crimes dates from the sentence which deprived me forever of my honor. If I had been judged more equitably at that period, I might not now perhaps be in need of mercy. “ Let mercy stand for justice, my prince ! If it is in your power to bend the law in my favor, let me live ! Let me devote my life to your service ! If possible, let me read your gracious wall in the public prints, and upon your invitation I shall appear in the capital. If you have ordained otherwise, well then, let justice take its course. I shall do the best I can.” This petition remained unanswered ; likewise a second and a third, when the criminal requested permission to enter the cavalry service. His hope of pardon being entirely gone, he resolved to quit the country, and to die a soldier’s death in the service of the King of Prussia. He escaped from his band and commenced his journey. His road went by a small country-town, where he intended to spend the night. A short time previous, strict orders had been issued by the authorities to examine the papers of travelers, be¬ cause the sovereign, a prince of the empire, had taken part in the war. A similar order had been sent to the gate-keeper of the little town, who happened to be sitting on a bench in front of the barrier wheii the inn-keeper arrived on horseback. The appear¬ ance of this man had something ludicrous, and at the same time something strange and frightful about it. The emaciated pony which he bestrode, and the fantastical selection of his dress, where taste had most probably been consulted less than the chronology of his robberies, contrasted queerly with a face that showed the traces of so many raging passions like mutilated corpses upon a battle-field. The gate-keeper started at the strange appearance. He had grown gray in the service, and an experience of forty years had en¬ abled his searching eye to discern the physiognomy of roving vagabonds. The falcon-look of this ex¬ plorer did not fail to suspect this man on the present occasion. He at once barred the gate ; and demanded the horseman’s passport, at the same time seizing the bridle. Wolf was prepared for such an emergency, and showed a passport which he had taken from an English merchant. But this single document was pot sufficient to elude the experience of a lifetime, and to cause the oracle at the barrier to doubt the evidence of his senses. The gate-keeper believed his own eye more than the paper, and Wolf was obliged to follow him to the bailiff’s office. The bailiff examined the passport and found it all right. He was fond of news, and took especial delight in discussing the reports of newspapers over a bottle of wine. The passport informed him that its possessor arrived from the enem} r ’s lands, where the war was now raging. He hoped to draw private news from the stranger and sent his secretary back with the passport and an invita¬ tion to a glass of wine. In the meanwhile the Sun-keeper had stopped in front of the bailiff’s office ; his ludicrous appear¬ ance had attracted the rabble of the place around him. They whispered into each other’s ears, pointed alternately at the nag and the rider; finally the jeers of the people increased to a loud SECOND PERIOD. 279 tumult. Unfortunately, the horse which had now become the subject of universal remark, had been robbed ; he imagined that it had been described by the police in their public announcements, and had been recognized by the crowd. The unex¬ pected hospitality of the bailiff completed his suspicion. He felt certain that the false charac¬ ter of his passport had been found out, and that this invitation was simply a trap in which he was to be caught alive and without resistance. His evil conscience made him a blockhead ; he put spurs to his horse, and galloped off without re¬ turning an answer. This sudden flight roused the populace to a row. “Thief!” exclaimed the crowd; all rushed after him. For the horseman it was a question of life and death ; he had gained upon his pur¬ suers, who were panting after him with breathless exhaustion ; he was on the point of being saved, but a heavy and invisible hand seemed raised against hint, the sand of his fate had run, the in¬ exorable Nemesis held her debtor. He had re¬ treated into a cul-de-sac, and had to return again toward his pursuers. The tumult had spread through the whole place. The crowd increased, every street was cut off; a host of enemies was marching against him. He showed his pistol, the people yielded ; he was determined to open a passage for himself through the crowd. “This bullet,” he exclaimed, “ is destined for the hardy fool who attempts to hold me!” Fear caused the mob to halt—a bold blacksmith grasped his arm from behind, and dis¬ located the finger with which the enraged man touched the trigger. The pistol fell to the ground, the defenseless man was dragged from his horse, and carried back to the court-house in triumph. “Who are you?” inquired the judge with a rather rude voice. “A man who is determined not to answer any questions until they are put to him with more politeness.” “ Who are you ?” “What I told you. I have traveled through the whole of Germany, but I have never met with such impudence as in this place.” “ Your rapid flight excites my suspicion ; why did you flee ?” “ Because I was tired of being the butt of your rabble.” “ You threatened to shoot.” “ My pistol was not loaded.” It was examined, and no bullet was found in it. “ Why do you carry concealed weapons ?” “ Because I have valuables about me, and I have been warned of the Sun-keeper who is said to be roving in these parts.” “Your answers prove a good deal for your boldness, but very little for your good cause. I shall allow you time until to-morrow to tell me the whole truth.” “ I shall repeat my statements.” “ Take him to the tower.” “To the tower? Mr. Bailiff, I trust there is justice iu this country; I shall demand satisfac¬ tion.” “I shall give you satisfaction as soon as you are justified.” Next morning the bailiff considered that the stranger might possibly be innocent; that his im¬ perious language would not curb the man’s head¬ strongness, and that it would be better to treat him with decency and moderation. He called the jury together, and summoned the prisoner before this court. “ Pardon the excited manner with which I ac¬ costed you yesterday, sir.” “ With pleasure, if you treat me politely.” “ Our laws are rigid, and your adventure caused a row. I cannot allow you to depart without violating my duty. Appearances are against you. I wish you could tell me something that would dis¬ pel all cause of suspicion against you.” “ Supposing I could not?” “ In that case I shall have to report the case to government, and you will have to remain under arrest in the mean while.” “ And then ?” “You risk to be whipped across the frontier like a vagabond, or, at least, to be pressed into the army.” He was silent for a few minutes, during which he struggled violently with himself; after awhile he suddenly turned to the judge. “Will you allow me a few minutes private con¬ versation ?” The jury looked at each other dubiously, but, being signified to withdraw, left their chief alone with the stranger. “ Well, what do you desire?” “Your conduct yesterday, Mr. Bailiff, would never have induced me to make the least confes¬ sion, for I defy mere power. The propriety with which you treat me this day, has inspired me with confidence and respect toward you. I believe you to be a noble-hearted man.” “ What have you to say ?” “ I see that you are a noble-hearted man. For a long time past I have desired to meet a man like you. Permit me to touch your right hand.” “ What is your object ?” “Your hair is gray and venerable. You have lived long in this world—have suffered probably a good deal—have you not? And you have be¬ come humane ?” “ Sir, what do you mean ?” “You are one step removed from eternity, soon, soon, you will need God’s mercy. You will not deny mercy to men. Do you not suspect any thing ? With whom do you suppose you are talking?” “ What is all this ? You frighten me.” “Do you not suspect? Write to your Prince how you found me, that I betrayed myself of my own free choice. Pray that God may have mercy upon him, as he now has upon me. Pray for me, old man, and let a tear drop upon your report. I am the Sun-keeper.” THE SPORT OF DESTINY. A FRAGMENT OF A TRUE HISTORY. At.oysius von G-was the son of a citizen of distinction, in the service of-, and the 280 PROSE WRITINGS. germs of liis fertile genius had been early de¬ veloped by a liberal education. While yet very young, but already well grounded in the principles of knowledge, he entered the military service of his sovereign, to whom he soon made himself known as a young man of great merit, and still greater promise. G-was now in the full glow of youth, so also was the prince. G-was ar¬ dent and enterprising; the prince, of a similar disposition, loved such characters. Endued with brilliant wit, and a rich fund of information, G- possessed the art of ingratiating himself with all around him ; he enlivened every circle in which he moved, by his felicitous humor, and in¬ fused life and spirit into every subject that came before him. The prince had discernment enough to appreciate in another those virtues which he himself possessed in an eminent degree. Every thing which G-- undertook, even to his very sports, had an air of grandeur ; no difficulties could daunt him, no failures vanquish his perseverance. The value of these qualities was increased by an attractive person, the perfect image of blooming health and herculean strength, and heightened by the eloquent expression natural to an active mind ; to these was added a certain native and unaffected dignity, chastened and subdued by a noble mo¬ desty. If the prince was charmed with the intel¬ lectual attractions of his young companion, his fascinating exterior irresistibly captivated his senses. Similarity of age, of tastes, and of cha¬ racter, soon produced an intimacy between them, which possessed all the strength of friendship, and all the warmth and fervor of the most pas¬ sionate love. G-rose with rapidity from one promotion to another; but, whatever the extent of favors conferred, they still seemed in the esti¬ mation of the prince to fall short of his deserts. His fortune advanced with gigantic strides, for the author of his greatness was his devoted admirer and his warmest friend. Not yet twenty-two years of age, he already saw himself placed on an emi¬ nence hitherto attained only by the most fortunate at the close of their career. But his active spirit was incapable of reposing long in the lap of indo¬ lent vanity, or of contenting itself with the glit¬ tering pomp of an elevated office, to perform the behests of which he was conscious of possessing both the requisite courage and the abilities. Whilst the prince was engaged in rounds of plea¬ sure, his young favorite buried himself among archives and books, and devoted himself with labo¬ rious assiduity to affairs of state, in which he at length became so expert that every matter of im¬ portance passed through his hands. From the companion of his pleasures, he soon became first councilor and minister, and finally the ruler of his sovereign. In a short time there was no road to the prince’s favor but through him. He dis¬ posed of all offices and dignities ; all rewards were received from his hands. G-had attained this vast influence at too early an age, and had risen by too rapid strides, to enjoy his power with moderation. The emi¬ nence on which he beheld himself made his ambi¬ tion dizzy, and no sooner was the final object of his wishes attained than his modesty forsook him.' The respectful deference shown him by the first nobles of the land, by all who, in birth, fortune, and reputation, so far surpassed him, and which was even paid to him, youth as he was, by the oldest senators, intoxicated his pride, while his unlimited power served to develop a certain harsh¬ ness which had been latent in his character, and which, throughout all the vicissitudes of his for¬ tune, remained. There was no service, however considerable or toilsome, which his friends might not safely ask at his hands ;—but his enemies might well tremble ! for, in proportion as he was extravagant in rewards, so was he implacable in revenge. He made less use of his influence to enrich himself than to render happy a number of beings who should pay homage to him as the au¬ thor of their prosperity; but caprice alone, and not justice, dictated the choice of his subjects. By a haughty imperious demeanor he alienated the hearts even of those whom he had most bene¬ fited ; while at the same time he converted his rivals and secret enviers into deadly enemies. Amongst those who watched all his movements with jealousy and envy, and who were silently pre¬ paring instruments for his destruction, was Joseph Martinengo, a Piedmontese count, belonging to the prince’s suite, whom G-himself had for¬ merly promoted, as an inoffensive creature, de¬ voted to his interests, for the purpose of supply¬ ing his own place in attending upon the pleasures of the prince—an office which he began to find irksome, and which he willingly exchanged for more useful employment. Viewing this man merely as the work of his own hands, whom he might at any period consign to his former insigni¬ ficance, he felt assured of the fidelity of his crea¬ ture, from motives of fear no less than of gratitude. He thus fell into the very error committed by Richelieu, when he made over to Louis XIII. as a sort of plaything, the young Le Grand. With¬ out Richelieu’s sagacity, however, to repair hig error, he had to deal with a far more wily enemy than fell to the lot of the French minister. Instead of boasting of his good fortune, or allowing his be¬ nefactor to feel that he could now dispense with his patronage, Martinengo was, on the contrary, the more cautious to maintain a show of depen¬ dence, and with studied humility affected to attach himself more and more closely to the author of his prosperity. Meanwhile, he did not omit to avail himself, to its fullest extent, of the opportunities afforded him by his office, of being continually about the prince’s person, to make himself daily more useful, and eventually indispensable to him. In a short time he had fathomed the prince’s sen¬ timents thoroughly, had discovered all the ave¬ nues to his confidence, and imperceptibly stolen himself into his favor. All those arts which a noble pride, and a natural elevation of character, had taught the minister to disdain, were brought into play by the Italian, who scrupled not to avail himself of the most despicable means for attaining his object. Well aware that man never stands so much in need of a guide and assistant as in the paths of vice, and that nothing gives a stronger title to bold familiarity than a participation in secret indiscretions, he took measures for exciting passions in the prince which had hitherto lain dormant, and then obtruded himself upon him as SECOND PERIOD. 281 a confidant and an accomplice. He plunged him especially into those excesses which least of all endure witnesses, and imperceptibly accustomed the prince to make him the depository of secrets to which no third person was admitted. Upon the degradation of the prince’s character he now began to found his infamous schemes of aggran¬ dizement, and, as he had made secrecy a means of success, he had obtained entire possession of his master’s heart before G-even allowed him¬ self to suspect that he shared it with another. It may appear singular that so important a change should escape the minister’s notice; but G-was too well assured of his own worth, ever to think of a man like Martinengo in the light of a competitor; while the latter was far too wily, and too much on his guard, to commit the least error which might tend to rouse his enemy from his fatal security. That which has caused thou¬ sands of his predecessors to stumble‘on the slip¬ pery path of royal favor was also the cause of G-’s fall — immoderate self-confidence. The secret intimacy between his creature Martinengo and his royal master gave him no uneasiness; he readily resigned a privilege which he despised, and which had never been the object of his ambi¬ tion. It was only because it smoothed his way to power that he had ever valued the prince’s friend¬ ship and he inconsiderately threw down the ladder by which he had risen, as soon as he had attained the wished-for eminence. Martinengo was not the man to rest satisfied with so subordinate a part. At each step which he advanced in the prince’s favor his hopes rose higher, and his ambition began to grasp at a more substantial gratification. The deceitful humility which be had hitherto found it necessary to main¬ tain toward his benefactor became daily more irksome to him, in proportion as the growth of his reputation awakened his pride. On the other hand, the minister’s deportment toward him by no means improved with his marked progress in the prince’s favor, but was often too visibly directed to rebuke his growing pride by reminding him of his humble origin. This forced and unnatural position having become quite insupportable, he at length formed the determination of putting an end to it by the destruction of his rival. Under an impenetrable vail of dissimulation he brought his plan to maturity. He dared not venture as yet to come into an open conflict with his rival; for, although the first glow of the minister’s favor was at an end, it had commenced too early, and struck root too deeply in the bosom of the prince, to be torn from it abruptly. The slightest circum¬ stance might restore it to all its former vigor; and therefore Martinengo well understood that the blow which he was about to strike must be a mortal one. Whatever ground G-might have lost in the prince’s affections, he had gained in his respect. The more the prince withdrew him¬ self from the affairs of state, the less could he dispense with the services of a man, who with the most conscientious devotion and fidelity had con¬ sulted his master’s interests, even at the expense of the country,—and G- was now as indis¬ pensable to him as a minister as he had formerly leen dear to him as a friend. By what means the Italian accomplished his purpose has remained a secret between those on whom the blow fell and those who directed it. It was reported that he laid before the prince the original draughts of a secret and very suspicious correspondence, which G-is said to have car¬ ried on with a neighboring court; but opinions differ as to whether the letters were authentic or spurious. Whatever degree of truth there may have been in the accusation, it is but too certain that it fearfully accomplished the end in view. In the eyes of the prince, G-appeared the most ungrateful and vilest of traitors, whose treason¬ able practices were so thoroughly proved, as to warrant the severest measures without further in¬ vestigation. The whole affair was arranged with the most profound secrecy between Martinengo and his master, so that*G-had not the most distant presentiment of the impending storm. He continued wrapped in this fatal security, until the dreadful moment in which he was destined, from being the object of universal homage and envy, to become that of the deepest commisera¬ tion. When the decisive day arrived, G-appeared, according to custom, upon the parade. He had risen, in a few years, from the rank of ensign to that of colonel; and even this was only a modest name for that of prime minister, which he vir¬ tually filled, and which placed him above the fore¬ most of the land. The parade was the place where his pride was greeted with universal homage, and where he enjoyed, for one short hour, the dignity for which he endured a whole day of toil and privation. Those of the highest rank ap¬ proached him with reverential deference, and those who were not assured of his favor, with fear and trembling. Even the prince, whenever he visited the parade, saw himself neglected by the side of his vizier, inasmuch as it was far more dangerous to incur the displeasure of the latter than profit¬ able to gain the friendship of the former. This very place, where he was wont to be adored as a god, had been selected for the dreadful theatre of his humiliation. With a careless step he entered the well-known circle of courtiers, who, as unsuspicious as himself of what was to follow, paid their usual homage, awaiting his commands. After a short interval appeared Martinengo, accompanied by two ad¬ jutants, no longer the supple, cringing, smiling courtier, but overbearing and insolent, like a lackey suddenly raised to the rank of a gentle¬ man. With insolence and effrontery he strutted up to the prime minister, and, confronting him with his head covered, demanded his sword in the prince’s name. This was handed to him with a look of silent consternation ; Martinengo, resting the naked point on the ground, snapped it in two with his foot, and threw the fragments at G-’s feet. At this signal the two adjutants seized him ; one tore the order of the cross from his breast; the other pulled off his epaulettes, the facings of his uniform, and even the badge and plume of feathers from his hat. During the whole of this appalling operation, which was conducted with incredible speed, not a sound nor a respiration was heard from more than five hundred persons 282 PROSE WRITINGS. who were present; but all, with blanched faces and palpitating hearts, stood in death-like silence around the victim, who in his strange disarray— a rare spectacle of the melancholy and the ridicu¬ lous—underwent a moment of agony which could only be equaled by feelings engendered on the scaffold. Thousands there are who in his situa¬ tion would have been stretched senseless on the ground by the first shock; but his firm nerves, and unflinching spirit, sustained him through this bitter trial, and enabled him to drain the cup of bitterness to its dregs. When this procedure was ended, he was con¬ ducted, through rows of thronging spectators, to the extremity of the parade, where a covered car¬ riage was in waiting. He was motioned to as¬ cend, an escort of hussars being ready mounted to attend him. Meanwhile, the report of this event had spread through the whole city ; every window was flung open, every street lined with throngs of curious spectators, who pursued the carriage, shouting his name, amid cries of scorn and malicious exultation, or of commiseration more bitter to bear than either. At length he cleared the town, but here a no less fearful trial awaited him. The carriage turned out of the | high road into a narrow, unfrequented path—a path which led to the gibbet, and alongside which, by command of the prince, he was borne at a slow pace. After he had suffered all the tor¬ ture of anticipated execution, the carriage turned off into the public road. Exposed to the sultry summer-heat, without refreshment or human con¬ solation, he passed seven dreadful hours in jour¬ neying to the place of destination—a prison for¬ tress. It was nightfall before he arrived ; when, bereft of all consciousness, more dead than alive, his giant strength having at length yielded to twelve hours’ fast and consuming thirst, he was dragged from the carriage ; and—on regaining his senses—found himself in a horrible subterra¬ neous vault. The first object that presented itself to his gaze was a horrible dungeon wall, feebly illuminated by a few rays of the moon, which forced their way through narrow crevices, to a depth of nineteen fathoms. At his side he found a coarse loaf, a jug of water, and a bundle of straw for his couch. He endured this situation until noon the ensuing day, when an iron wicket in the centre of the tower was opened, and two hands were seen lowering a basket, containing food like that he had found the preceding night. For the first time since the terrible change in his fortunes did pain and suspense extort from him a question or two—Why was he brought hither ! What of¬ fense had he committed? But he received no answer ; the hands disappeared ; and the sash was closed. Here, without beholding the face, or i hearing the voice of a fellow-creature ; without ' the least clue to his terrible destiny; fearful doubts i and misgivings overhanging alike the past and the : future; cheered by no rays of the sun, and i soothed by no refreshing breeze; remote alike from human aid and human compassion ;—here, : in this frightful abode of misery, he numbered four hundred and ninety long and mournful days, wnich he counted by the wretched loaves that, 1 day after day, with dreary monotony, were let ] down into his dungeon. But a discot ery which he one day made early in his confinement, filled up the measure of his affliction. He recognized "the place. It was the same which he himself, in a fit of unworthy vengeance against a deserving of¬ ficer, who had the misfortune to displease him, had ordered to be constructed only a few months before. With inventive cruelty, he had even sug¬ gested the means by which the horrors of capti¬ vity might be aggravated ; and it was but recently that he had made a journey hither in order per¬ sonally to inspect the place, and hasten its com¬ pletion. What added the last bitter sting to his punishment was, that the same officer for whom he had prepared the dungeon, an aged and meri¬ torious colonel, had just succeeded the late com¬ mandant of the fortress, recently deceased, and, from having been the victim of his vengeance, had become the master of his fate. He was thus deprived of-the last melancholy solace, the right of compassionating himself, and of accusing des¬ tiny, hardly as it might use him, of injustice. To the acuteness of his other suffering was now added a bitter self contempt, and the pain which to a sensitive mind is the severest—dependence upon I the generosity of a foe to whom he had shown none. But that upright man was too noble-minded to take a mean revenge. It pained him deeply to enforce the severities which his instructions en¬ joined ; but as an old soldier, accustomed to fulfill his orders to the letter with blind fidelity, he could do no more than pity, compassionate. The unhappy mau found a more active assistant in the chaplain of the garrison, who, touched by the suf¬ ferings of the prisoner, which had but just reached his ears, and then only through vague and con¬ fused reports, instantly took a firm resolution to do something to alleviate them. This excellent man, wdiose name I unwillingly suppress, believed he could in no way better fulfill his holy vocation, than by bestowing his spiritual support and conso¬ lation upon a wu-etched being deprived of all other hopes of mercy. As he could not obtain permission from the commandant himself to visit him, he repaired in person to the capital, in order to urge his suit personally with the prince. He fell at his feet, and implored mercy for the unhappy man, who, shut out from the consolations of Christianity, a privilege from which even the greatest crime ought not to debar him, was pining in solitude, and perhaps on the brink of despair. With all the intrepidity and dignity which the conscious discharge of duty inspires, he entreated, nay de¬ manded, free access to the prisoner, whom he claimed as a penitent for whose soul he was re¬ sponsible to heaven. The good cause in which he spoke made him eloquent, and time had already somewhat softened the anger of the prince. He granted him permission to visit the prisoner, and administer to his spiritual wants. After a lapse of sixteen months, the first hu¬ man face which the unhappy G-- beheld was that of his new benefactor. The only friend he had in the world he owed to his misfortunes—all his prosperity had gained him none. The good pastors visit was like the appearance of an angel SECOND PERIOD. 283 —it would be impossible to describe his feelings •—but from that day forth his tears flowed more kindly, for he had found one human being who sympathized with and compassionated him. The pastor was filled with horror on entering the frightful vault. His eyes sought a human form, but beheld, creeping toward him from a cor¬ ner opposite, which resembled rather the lair of a wild beast than the abode of any thing human, a monster, the sight of which made his blood run cold. A ghastly deathlike skeleton—all the hue of life perished from a face on which grief and despair had traced deep furrows—his beard and nails, from long neglect, grown to a frightful length—his clothes rotten and hanging about him in tatters; and the air he breathed, for want of ventilation and cleansing, foul, fetid, and infec¬ tious. In this state he found the favorite of for¬ tune;—his iron frame had stood proof against it all! Seized with horror at the sight, the pastor hurried back to the governor, in order to solicit a second indulgence for the poor wretch, without which the first would prove of no avail. As the governor again excused himself by pleading the imperative nature of his instructions, the pastor nobly resolved on a second journey to the capital, again to supplicate the prince’s mer¬ cy. There he protested solemnly that, without violating the sacred character of the sacrament, he could not administer it to the prisoner until some resemblance of the human form was restored to him. This prayer was also granted ; and, from that day forward, the unfortunate man might be said to begin a new existence. Several long years were spent by him in the fortress, but in a much more supportable condi¬ tion, atter the short summer of the new favorite’s reign had passed, and others succeeded in his place, who either possessed more humanity, or no motive for revenge. At length, after ten years of captivity, the hour of his delivery arrived, but without any judicial investigation, or formal ac¬ quittal. He was presented with his freedom as a boon of mercy, and was, at the same time, ordered to quit his native country forever. Here the oral traditions which I have been able to collect respecting his history begin to fail; and I find myself compelled to pass in silence over a period of about twenty years. During the interval, G-entered anew upon his military career, in a foreign service; which eventually brought him to a pitch of greatness quite equal to that from which he had, in his native country, been so awfully precipitated. At length, time, that friend of the unfortunate, who works a slow but inevitable retribution, took into his hands the winding up of this affair. The prince’s days of passion were over; humanity gradually resumed its sway over him as his hair whitened with age. At the brink of the grave he felt a yearning to¬ ward the friend of his early youth. In order to repay, as far as possible, the gray-headed old man, for the injuries which had been heaped upon the youth, the prince, with friendly expressions, in¬ vited the exile to revisit his native land, toward which, for some time past, G-’s heart had se¬ cretly yearned. The meeting was extremely try¬ ing, though apparently warm and cordial, as if they had only separated a few days before The prince looked earnestly at his favorite, as if trying to recall features so well known to him, and yet so strange ; he appeared as if numbering the deep furrows which he had himself so cruelly traced there. He looked searchingly in the old man’s face, for the beloved features of the youth, but found not what he sought. The welcome, and the look of mutual confidence, were evidently forced on both sides; shame on one side, and dread on the other, had forever separated their hearts. A sight which brought back to the prince’s soul the full sense of his guilty precipi¬ tancy could not be gratifying to him ; while G- felt that he could no longer love the author of his misfortunes. Comforted, nevertheless, and in tranquillity, he looked back upon the past as the remembrance of a fearful dream. In short time G- was reinstated in all his former dignities, and the prince smothered his feelings of secret repugnance by showering upon him the most splendid favors, as some indemnifi¬ cation for the past. But could he also restore to him the heart which he had forever untuned for the enjoyment of life? Could he restore his years of hope ? or make even a shadow of reparation to the stricken old man for what he hud stolen from him in the days of his youth. For nineteen years G— continued to enjoy this clear, unruffled evening of his days. Neither mis¬ fortune nor age had been able to quench in him the fire of passion, nor wholly to obscure the genial humor of character. In his seventieth year, he was still in pursuit of the shadow of a happiness which he had actually possessed in his twentieth. He at length died governor of the fortress * * *, where state-prisoners are confined. One would naturally have expected that toward these he would have exercised a humanity, the value of which he had been so thoroughly taught to appreciate in his own person ; but he treated them with harshness and caprice ; and a paroxysm of rage, in which he broke out against one of his prisoners, laid him in his coffin, iu his eightieth year. THE GHOST-SEER: OR, APPARITI0N1ST. FROM THE PAPERS OF COUNT 0 * * * * *. BOOK THE FIRST. I am about to relate an adventure, which to many will appear incredible, but of which I w T as in great part an eye-witness. The few who are acquainted with a certain political event, will, if indeed these pages should happen to find them alive, receive a welcome solution thereof. And, even to the rest of my readers, it will be, perhaps, important as a contribution to the history ol the deception and aberrations of the human intellect. The boldness of the schemes which malice is able to contemplate and to carry out must excite as¬ tonishment, as must also the means ol which it can avail itself to accomplish its aims. Clear unvarnished truth shall guide my pen ; for, when these pages come before the public, I shall be no more, and shall therefore never learn their fate. 284 PROSE WRITINGS. On my return to Courland in the year 17—, about the time of the Carnival, I visited the prince of - at Venice. We have been acquainted in the -service, aud we here renewed an inti¬ macy which, by the restoration of peace, had been interrupted. As I wished to see the curiosities of this city, and as the prince was waiting only for the arrival of remittances to return to his native country, he easily prevailed on me to tarry till his departure. We agreed not to separate during the time of our residence at Venice, and the prince was kind enough to accommodate me at his lodgings at the Moor Hotel. As the Prince wished to enjoy himself, and his small revenues did not permit him to maintain the dignity of his rank, he lived at Venice in the strictest incognito. Two noblemen, in whom he had entire confidence, and a few faithful servants, composed all his retinue. He shunned expendi¬ ture, more however from inclination than economy. He avoided all kinds of dissipation, and up to the age of thirty-five years had resisted the numerous allurements of this voluptuous city. To the charms of the fair sex he was wholly indifferent. A settled gravity and an enthusiastic melancholy were the prominent features of his character. His affections were tranquil, but obstinate to excess. He formed his attachments with caution and timidity, but when once formed they were cordial and permanent. In the midst of a tumultuous crowd he walked in solitude. Wrapped in his own visionary ideas, he was often a stranger to the world about him ; and, sensible of his own de¬ ficiency in the knowledge of mankind, he scarcely ever ventured an opinion of his own, and was apt to pay an unwarrantable deference to the judg¬ ment of others. Though far from being weak, no man was more liable to be governed ; but, when conviction had once entered his mind, he became firm and decisive ; equally courageous to combat an acknowledged prejudice, or to die for a new one. As he was the third prince of his house, he had no likely prospect of succeeding to the sove¬ reignity. His ambition had never been awakened ; his passions had taken another direction. Con¬ tented to find himself independent of the will of others, he never enforced his own as a law; his utmost wishes did not soar beyond the peaceful quietude of a private life, free from care. He lead much, but without discrimination. As his education had been neglected, and as he had early entered the career of arms, his understanding had never been fully matured. Hence the knowledge he afterward acquired served but to increase the chaos of his ideas, because it was built on an un¬ stable foundation. He was a Protestant, as all his family had been, by birth, but not by investigation, which he had never attempted, although at one period of his life he had been an enthusiast in its cause. He had never, so far as came to my knowledge, been a Freemason. ***** One evening we were, as usual, walking by our¬ selves, well-masked, in the square of St. Mark. It was growing late, and the crowd was dispersing, when the Prince observed a mask which followed us everywhere. This mask was an Armenian and walked alone. We quickened our steps, and en¬ deavored to baffle him by repeatedly altering our course. It was in vain, the mask was always close behind us. “You have had no intrigue here, I hope,” said the Prince at last, “ the husbands of Venice are dangerous.” “ I do not know a single lady in the place,” was my answer. “ Let us sit down here, and speak German,” said he, “ I fancy we are mistaken for some other persons.” We sat down upon a stone bench, and expected the mask would have passed by. He came directly up to us, and took his seat by the side of the Prince. The latter took out his watch, and, rising at the same time, addressed me thus in a loud voice in French. “ It is past nine. Come, we forget that we are waited for at the Louvre.” This speech he only invented in order to deceive the mask as to our route. “ Nine !” repeated the latter in the same language, in a slow and expres¬ sive voice, “Congratulate yourself, my Prince.” (calling him by his real name) ; “he died at nine.” in saying this, he arose and went away. We looked at each other in amazement. “Who is dead?” said the Prince at length, after a long silence. “ Let us follow him replied I, and demand an explanation.” We searched every corner of the place; the mask was nowhere to be found. We returned to our hotel disappointed. The Prince spoke not a word to me the whole way; he walked apart by himself, and appeared to be greatly agitated, which he afterward confessed to me was the case. Having reached home, he began at length to speak : “ Is it not laughable,” said he, “that a madman should have the power thus to disturb a man’s tranquillity by two or three words?” We wished each other a good night; and, as soon as I was in my own apartment, I noted down in my pocket-book the day and the hour when this adventure happened. It was on a Thursday. The next evening the Prince said to me, “ Suppose we go to the square of St. Mark, and seek for our mysterious Armenian ? I lofig to see this comedy unraveled.” I consented. We walked in the square till eleven. The Armenian was no¬ where to be seen. We repeated our walk the four following evenings, and each time with the same bad success. On the sixth evening, as we went out of the hotel, it occurred to me, whether designedly or otherwise I cannot recollect, to tell the servants where we might be found in case we should be inquired for. The Prince remarked my precau¬ tion, and approved of it with a smile. We found the square of St. Mark very much crowded.— Scarcely had we advanced thirty steps, when I perceived the Armenian, who was pressing rapidly through the crowd, and seemed to be in search of some one. We were just approaching him, when Baron F-, one of the Prince’s retinue, came up to us quite breathless, and delivered to the Prince a letter: “It is sealed with black,” said he, “ and we supposed from this that it might contain matters of importance.” I was struck as with a thunderbolt. The Prince went near a torch, and began to read. “ My cousin is dead !” exclaimed he. “ When ?” inquired 1 anx- SECOND PERIOD. 285 iously, interrupting him. He looked again into the letter. “ Last Thursday night at nine.” We had not recovered from our surprise when the Armenian stood before us. “You are known here, my Prince !” said he. “ Hasten to your hotel. You will find there the deputies from the Senate. Do not hesitate to accept the honor they intend to offer you. Baron F-forgot to tell you that your remittances are arrived.” He disappeared among the crowd. We hastened to our hotel, and found every thing as the Armenian had told us. Three noble¬ men of the republic were waiting to pay their respects to the Prince, and to escort him in state to the Assembly, where the first nobility of the city were ready to receive him. He had hardly time enough to give me a hint to sit up for him till his return. About eleven o’clock at night he returned. On entering the room, he appeared grave and thought¬ ful. Having dismissed the servants, he took me by the hand, and said, in the words of Hamlet, “ Count— “‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Than are dreamed of in your philosophy.'" “ Gracious Prince !” replied I, “ you seem to for¬ get that you are retiring to your pillow greatly en¬ riched in prospect.” The deceased was the heredi¬ tary prince. “ Do not remind me of it,” said the prince; “ for, should I even have acquired a crown, I am now too much engaged to occupy myself with such a trifle. If that Armenian has not merely guessed by chance-” “How can that be, my Prince?” interrupted I. “ Then will I resign to you all my hopes of royalty in exchange for a monk’s cowl.” I have mentioned this purposely to show how far every ambitious idea was then distant from his thoughts. The following evening we went earlier than usual to the Square of St. Mark. A sudden shower of rain obliged us to take shelter in a coffee-house, where we found a party engaged at cards. The Prince took his place behind the chair of a Spaniard to observe the game. I went into an adjacent chamber to read the newspapers. A short time afterward I heard a noise in the card-room. Previously to the entrance of the Prince, the Spaniard had been constantly loosing, but since then he had won upon every card. The fortune of the game was reversed in a striking manner, and the bank -was in danger of being challenged by the pointeur, whom this lucky change of fortune had rendered more adventurous. A Venetian, who kept the bank, told the Prince in a very rude manner that his presence inter¬ rupted the fortune of the game, and desired him to quit the table. The latter looked coldly at him, remained in his place, and preserved the same countenance, when the Venetian repeated his insulting demand in French. He thought the Prince understood neither French nor Italian; and, addressing himself with a contemptuous laugh to the company, said, “ Pray, gentlemen, tell me how I must make myself understood to this fool.” At the same time he rose and prepared to seize the Prince by the arm. His patience forsook the ! latter; he grasped the Venetian with a strong hand, and threw him violently on the ground. The company rose up in confusion. Hearing the noise. I hastily entered the room, and unguard¬ edly called the Prince by his name : “ Take care,” said I, imprudently; “we are in Venice.” The name of the Prince caused a general silence, which ended in a whispering which appeared to me to have a dangerous tendency. All the Italians pre¬ sent divided into parties, and kept aloof. One after the other left the room, so that we soon found ourselves alone with the Spaniard and a few Frenchmen. “You are lost, Prince,” said they, “ifyou do not leave the city immediately. The Venetian whom you have handled so roughly is rich enough to hire a bravo. It costs him b>H fifty zechins to be revenged by your death.” The Spaniard offered, for the security of the Prince, to go for the guards, and even to accompany us home himself. The Frenchmen proposed to do the same. We were still deliberating what to do, when the door suddenly opened, and some officers of the Inquisition entered the room. They produced an order of government, which charged us both to follow them immediately. They conducted us under a strong escort to the canal, where a gon¬ dola was waiting for us, in which we were ordered to embark. We were blindfolded before we landed. They led us up a large stone staircase, and through a long winding passage over vaults, as I judged from the echoes that resounded under our feet. At length we came to another staircase, and, having descended a flight of steps, we entered a hall, where the bandage was removed from our eyes. We found ourselves in a circle of venerable old men, all dressed in black ; the hall was hung round with black, and dimly lighted. A dead silence reigned in the assembly, which inspired us with a feeling of awe. One of the old men, who appeared to be the principal Inquisitor, ap¬ proached the Prince with a solemn countenance, and said, pointing to the Venetian, who was led forward. “ Do you recognize this man as the same who offended you at the coffee-house?” “ I do,” answered the Prince. Then addressing the prisoner: “ Is this the same person whom you meant to have assassi¬ nated to-night ?” The prisoner replied : “Yes.” In the same instant the circle opened, and we saw with horror the head of the Venetian severed from his body. “ Are you content with this satisfaction ?” said the Inquisitor. The Prince had fainted in the arms of his attendants. “ Go,” added the Inqui¬ sitor, turning to me with a terrible voice, “ Go; and in future judge less hastily of the administra¬ tion of justice in Venice.” Who the unknown friend was who had thua saved us from inevitable death, by interposing in our behalf the active arm of justice, we could not conjecture. Filled with terror, we reached our hotel. It was past midnight. The Chamberlain Z-was waiting anxiously tor us at the door. “ How fortunate it was that you sent us a mes¬ sage,” said he to the Prince as he lighted us up the staircase. “ The news which Baron F-- 286 PROSE WRITINGS. soon after brought ns respecting you, from the Square of St. Mark, would otherwise have given us the greatest uneasiness.” “ I sent you a message !” said the Prince. “When? I know nothing of it.” “ This evening after eight, you sent us word that we must not be alarmed if you should come home later to-night than usual.” The Prince looked at me. “Perhaps you have taken this precaution without mentioning it to me ?” I knew nothing of it. “ It must be so, however,” replied the chamber- lain. “ since here is your repeating watch, which you sent me as a mark of authenticity.” The Prince put his hand to his watch-pocket. It was empty, and he recognized the watch which the chamberlain held as his own. “ Who brought it ?” said he in amazement. “ An unknown mask in an Armenian dress, who disappeared immediately.” We stood looking at each other. “ What do you think of this?” said the Prince, at last, after a long silence. “ I have a secret guardian here in Venice.” The frightful transaction of this night threw the Prince into a fever, which confined him to his room for a week. During this time our hotel was crowded with Venetians and strangers, who visited the Prince from a deference to his newly dis¬ covered rank. They vied with each other in offers of service, and it was not a little entertain¬ ing to observe that the last visitor seldom failed to hint some suspicion derogatory to the character of the preceding one. Billets-doux and nostrums poured in upon us from all quarters. Every one endeavored to recommend himself in his own way. Our adventure with the Inquisition was no more mentioned. The Court of - wishing the Prince to delay his departure from Venice for some time, orders were sent to several bankers to pay him considerable sums of money. He was thus, against his will, compelled to protract his residence in Italy; and, at his request, I also re¬ solved to postpone my departure for some time longer. As soon as the Prince had recovered strength enough to quit his chamber, he was advised by his physician to take an airing in a gondola upon the Brenta, for the benefit of the air, to which, as the weather was serene, he readily consented. Just as the Prince was about to step into the boat he missed the key of a little chest in which some very valuable papers were inclosed. We imme¬ diately turned back to search for it. He very distinctly remembered that he had locked the chest the day before, and he had never left the room in the interval. As our endeavors to find it proved ineffectual, we were obliged to relinquish the search in order to avoid being too late. The Prince, whose soul was above suspicion, gave up the key as lost, and desired that it might not be mentioned any more. Our little voyage was exceedingly delightful. A picturesque country, which at every winding of the river seemed to increase in richness and beauty ; the serenity of the sky, which formed a May day in the middle of February; the charming gardens and elegant country-seats which adorned the banks of the Brenta; the majestic city of Venice behind us, with its lofty spires, and a forest of masts, rising as it were out of the waves; all this afforded us one of the most splendid prospects in the world. We wholly abandoned ourselves to the enchantment of Nature’s luxuriant scenery, our minds shared the hilarity of the day, even the Prince himself lost his wonted gravity, and vied with us in merry jests and diversions. On land¬ ing about two Italian miles from the city, we heard the sound of sprightly music ; it came from a small village, at a little distance from the Brenta, where there was at that time a fair. Tho place was crowded with company of every descrip¬ tion. A troop of young girls and boys, dressed in theatrical habits, welcomed us in a panto- mimical dance. The invention was novel; anima¬ tion and grace attended their every movement. Before the dance was quite concluded, the prin¬ cipal actress, who represented a Queen, stopped suddenly as if arrested by an invisible arm. Her¬ self and those around her were motionless. The music ceased. The assembly was silent. Not a breath was to be heard, and the queen stood with her eyes fixed on the ground in deep abstraction. On a sudden she started from her reverie, with the fury of one inspired, and looked wildly around her: “A king is among us!” she exclaimed, taking her crown from her head, and laying it at the feet of the Prince. Every one present cast their eyes upon him, and doubted for some time whether there was any meaning in this farce; so much were they deceived by the impressive serious¬ ness of the actress. This silence was at length broken by a general clapping of hands, as a mark of approbation. I looked at the Prince. I no¬ ticed that he appeared not a little disconcerted, and endeavored to escape the inquisitive glances of the spectators. He threw money to the play¬ ers, and hastened to extricate himself from the crowd. We had advanced but a few steps, when a ven¬ erable bare-footed friar, pressing through the crowd, placed himself in the Prince’s path. “My Lord !” said he, “give the Holy Virgin part of your gold. You will want her prayers.” He ut¬ tered these words in a tone of voice which star¬ tled us extremely, and then disappeared in the throng. In the mean time our company had increased. An English Lord, whom the Prince had seen be¬ fore at Nice, some merchants of Leghorn, a Ger¬ man Prebendary, a French Abbe with some la¬ dies, and a Russian officer, attached themselves to our party. The physiognomy of the latter had something so uncommon as to attract our parti¬ cular attention. Never in my life did I see such various features, and so little expression ; so much attractive benevolence, and such forbidding cold¬ ness in the same face. Each passion seemed, by turns, to have exercised its ravages on it, and to have successively abandoned it. Nothing re¬ mained but the calm piercing look of a person deeply skilled in the knowledge of mankind ; but it was a look that abashed every one on whom it was directed. This extraordinary man followed us at a distance, and seemed apparently to take but little interest in what was passing. SECOND PERIOD. 287 We came to a booth where there was a lottery. The ladies bought shares. We followed their ex¬ ample, and the Prince himself purchased a ticket. He won a snuff-box. As he opened it, I saw him turn pale and turn back. It contained his lost key. “ How is this ?” said he to me, as we were left for a moment alone. “ A superior power attends me, Omniscience surrounds me. An invisible Being, whom I cannot escape, watches over my steps. I must seek for the Armenian, and obtain an explanation from him.” The sun was setting when we arrived at the pleasure house, where a supper had been prepared for us. The Prince’s name had augmented our company to sixteen. Besides the above-mentioned persons, there was a Virtuoso from Rome ; seve¬ ral Swiss gentlemen, and an adventurer from Pa¬ lermo in regimentals, who gave himself out for a Captain. We resolved to spend the evening where we were, and to return home by torch-light. The conversation at table was lively. The Prince could not forbear relating his adventure of the key, which excited general astonishment. A warm dispute on the subject presently took place. Most of the company positively maintained that the pretended occult sciences were nothing better than juggling tricks. The French Able' who had drunk rather too much wine, challenged the whole tribe of Ghosts ; the English Lord uttered blas¬ phemies, and the musician made a cross to exor¬ cise the devil. Some few of the company, amongst whom was the Prince, contended, that opinions respecting such matters ought to be kept to oneself. In the mean time the Russian officer discoursed with the ladies, and did not seem to pay attention to any part of the conversation. In the heat of the dispute, no one observed that the Sicilian had left the room. In less than half an hour he returned, wrapt in a cloak, and placed himself behind the chair of the Frenchman. “ A few moments ago,” said he, “ you had the teme¬ rity to challenge the whole tribe of Ghosts. Would you wish to make a trial with one of them ?” “I will,” answered the Abbe, “ if you will take upon yourself to introduce one.” “That I am ready to do,” replied the Sicilian, turning to us, “ as soon as these ladies and gen¬ tlemen have left us.” “ Why only then ?” exclaimed the Englishman. “ A courageous Ghost will surely not be afraid of a cheerful company.” “ I would not answer for the consequence,” said the Sicilian. “For heaven’s sake, no!” cried the ladies, starting affrighted from their chairs. “Call your Ghost,” said the Abbe, in a tone of defiance, “ but warn him beforehand, that there are sharp-pointed weapons here.” At the same time he asked one of the company for a sword. “If you preserve the same intention in his pre¬ sence,” answered the Sicilian, coolly, “ you may then act as you please.” He then turned toward the Prince : “ Your Highness,” said he, “ asserts that your key has been in the hands of a stranger ; can you conjecture in whose ?” “ No.” “ Have you no suspicion ?” “ It certainly occurred to me that”— “ Should you know the person if you saw him ?” “ Undoubtedly.” The Sicilian, throwing back his cloak, took out a looking-glass and held it before the Prince. “ Is this the man ?” The Prince drew back with affright. “ Whom have you seen ?” I inquired. “ The Armenian.” The Sicilian concealed his looking-glass under his cloak. “ Is it the person whom you thought of?” de¬ manded the whole company. “ The same.” A sudden change manifested itself on every face; no more laughter was to be heard. All eyes were fixed with curiosity on the Sicilian. “ Monsieur VAbbe! The matter grows serious,” said the Englishman. “ I advise you to think of beating a retreat. ” “ The fellow is in league with the devil,” ex¬ claimed the Frenchman, and rushed out of the house. The ladies ran shrieking from the roor* The Virtuoso followed them. The German Preben¬ dary was snoring in the chair. The Russian offi¬ cer continued sitting in his place as before, per¬ fectly indifferent to what was passing. “Perhaps your attention was only to raise a laugh at the expense of that boaster,” said the Prince, after they were gone, “or would you in¬ deed fulfill your promise to us ?” “ It is true,” replied the Sicilian ; “ I was but jesting with the Abbe'. I took him at his word, because I knew very well that the coward would not suffer me to proceed to extremities. The matter itself is however too serious to serve merely as a jest.” “ You grant, then, that it is in your power ?” The Sorcerer maintained a long silence, and kept his look fixed steadily on the Prince, as if to examine him. “ It is !” answered he at last. The Prince’s curiosity was now raised to the highest pitch. A fondness for the marvelous had ever been his prevailing weakness. His improved understanding, and a proper course of reading, had for some time dissipated every idea of this kind; but the appearance of the Armenian had revived them. He stepped aside with the Sici¬ lian, and I heard them in very earnest conversa¬ tion. “You see in me,” said the Prince, “a man who burns with impatience to be convinced on this momentous subject. I would embrace as a bene¬ factor, I would cherish as my best friend, him who could dissipate my doubts, and remove the vail from my eyes. Would you render me this import¬ ant service V” * “ What is your request?” inquired the Sicilian, hesitating. “ For the present I only beg some proof of your art. Let me see an apparition.” “To what will this lead !” “ After a more intimate acquaintance with me, you may be able to judge whether I deserve fur¬ ther instruction.” “ I have the greatest esteem for your Highness, gracious Prince. A secret power in your coun- 288 PROSE WRITINGS. tenance, of which you yourself are as yet igno¬ rant, drew me at first sight irresistibly toward you. You are more powerful than you are your¬ self aware. You may command me to the utmost extent of my power, but-” *• Then let me see an apparition.” “ But I must first be certain that you do not require it from mere curiosity. Though the invi¬ sible powers are in some degree at my command, it is on the sacred condition that I do not abuse my authority.” “ My intentions are most pure. I want truth.” They left their places, and removed to a distant window, where I could no longer hear them. The English lord, who had likewise overheard this con¬ versation, took me aside. “Your Prince has a noble mind. I am sorry for him. I will pledge my salvation that he has to do with a rascal.” “ Every thing depends on the manner in which the Sorcerer will extricate himself from this bu¬ siness.” “ Listen to me. The poor devil is now pre¬ tending to be scrupulous. He will not show his tricks, unless he hears the sound of gold. There are nine of us. Let us make a CQllection. That will spoil his scheme, and perhaps open the eyes of the Prince.” “I am content.” The Englishman threw six guineas upon a plate, and went round gathering subscriptions. Each of us contributed some louis d’ors. The Russian officer was particularly pleased with our proposal; he laid a bank note of one hundred zechins on the plate ; a piece of extra¬ vagance which startled the Englishman. We brought the collection to the Prince. “Be so kind,” said the English lord, “ as to entreat this gentleman in our names to let us see a specimen of his art, and to accept of this small token of our gratitude.” The Prince added a ring of value, and offered the whole to the Sicilian. He hesi¬ tated a few moments. “ Gentlemen,” answered he, “ I am humbled by this generosity, but I yield to your request. Your wishes shall be gratified.” At the same time he rung the bell. “ As for this money,” continued he, “to which I have no right myself, permit me to send it to the next monas¬ tery, to be applied to pious uses. I shall only keep this ring as a precious memorial of the worthiest of princes.” Here the landlord entered ; and the Sicilian handed him over the money. “ He is a rascal notwithstanding,” whispered the Englishman to me. “He refuses the mouey because at present his designs are chiefly on the Prince.” “ Whom do you wish to see ?” asked the Sor¬ cerer. The Prince considered for a moment. “We may as well have a great man at once,” said the Englishman. “ Ask for Pope Ganganelli. It can make no difference to this gentleman.” The Sicilian bit his lips. “ I dare not call one of the Lord’s anointed.” “ This is a pity !” replied the English lord ; “ perhaps we might have heard from him wbat disorder he died of.” “The Marquis de Lanoy” began the Prince, “ was a French brigadier in the late war, and my most intimate friend. Having received a mortal wound in the battle of HastinbecTi, he was carried to my tent, where he soon after died in my arms. In his last agony he made a sign for me to ap¬ proach. ‘ Prince,’said he to me,‘ I shall never again behold my native land, I must, therefore, acquaint you with a secret known to none but myself. In a convent on the frontiers of Flan¬ ders lives a-.’ He expired. Death cut short the thread of his discourse. I wish to see my friend to hear the remainder.” “You ask much,” exclaimed the Englishman with an oath. “ I proclaim you the greatest sor¬ cerer on earth, if you can solve this problem,” continued he, turning to the Sicilian. We ad¬ mired the wise choice of the Prince, and unani¬ mously gave our approval to the proposition. In the mean time the Sorcerer paced up and down the room with hasty steps, apparently struggling with himself. “ This was all that the dying Marquis com¬ municated to you ?” “ It is all.” “Did you make no further inquiries about the matter in his native country?” “ I did, but they all proved fruitless.” “Had the Marquis de Lanoy led an irreproach¬ able life? I dare not call up every shade indis¬ criminately.” “ He died, repenting the excesses of his youth.” “ Do you carry with you any token of his ?” “I do.”-(The prince had really a snuff-box, with the marquis’s portrait enameled in miniature on the lid, which he had placed upon the table near his plate during the time of supper.) “ I do not want to know what it is. If you will leave me, you shall see the deceased.” He requested us to wait in the other pavilion until he should call us. At the same time he caused all the furniture to be removed from the room, the windows to be taken out, and the shut¬ ters to be bolted. He ordered the inn-keeper with whom he appeared to be intimately connected, to bring a vessel with burning coals, and carefully to extinguish every fire in the house. Previous to our leaving the room, he obliged us separately to pledge our honor that we would maintain an ever¬ lasting silence respecting every thing we should see and hear. All the doors of the pavilion we were in were bolted behind us when we left it. It was past eleven, and a dead silence reigned throughout the whole house. As we were retiring from the saloon, the Russian officer asked me whether w r e had loaded pistols. “ For what pur¬ pose?” asked I.—“ They may possibly be of some use,” replied he. “ Wait a moment. I will pro¬ vide some.” He went away; the Baron F- and I opened a window opposite the pavilion we had left; we fancied we heard two persons whis¬ pering to each other, and a noise like that of a ladder applied to one of the windows. This was, however, a mere conjecture, and I did not dare affirm it as a fact. The Russian officer came back with a brace of pistols, after having been absent about half an hour. We saw him load them with powder and ball. It was almost two o'clock in the morning when the Sorcerer came, and an¬ nounced that all was prepared. Before we entered the room, he desired us to take off our shoes, and 2—G. p. 348 2 — E. p. 288 , SECOND PERIOD. 289 4 to appear in our shirts, stockings, and under gar¬ ments. He bolted the doors after us as before. We found in the middle of the room a large black circle, drawn with charcoal, the space within which was capable of containing us all very easily. The planks of the chamber floor next to the wall were taken up, all round the room, so that we stood, as it were, upon an island. An altar, cov¬ ered with black cloth, was placed in the centre upon a carpet of red satin. A Chaldee Bible was laid open, together with a skull; and a silver crucifix was fastened upon the altar. Instead of candles some spirits of wine were burning in a silver vessel. A thick smoke of frankincense darkened the room, and almost extinguished the lights. The Sorcerer was undressed like our¬ selves, but bare-footed; about his bare neck he wore an amulet,* suspended by a chain of human hair; round his middle was a white apron, marked with cabalistic characters and symbolic figures. He desired us to join hands, and to observe pro¬ found silence; above all, he ordered us not to ask the apparition any question. He desired the Englishman and myself, whom he seemed to mis¬ trust the most, constantly to hold two naked swords crossways, an inch above his head, as long as the conjuration should last. We formed a half moon round him ; the Russian officer placed himself close to the English lord, and was the nearest to the altar. The Sorcerer stood upon the satin carpet with his face turned to the east. He sprinkled holy water in the direction of the four cardinal points of the compass, and bowed three times before the Bible. The formula of the conjuration, of which we did not understand a word, lasted for the space of seven or eight min¬ utes ; at the end of which he made a sign to those who stood close behind to seize him firmly by the hair. Amid the most violent convulsions he called the deceased three times by his name, and the third time he stretched forth his hand toward .the crucifix. On a sudden we all felt, at the same instant, a stroke as of a flash of lightning, so powerful that it obliged us to quit each other’s hands ; a terri¬ ble thunder shook the house; the locks jarred ; the doors creaked ; the cover of the silver box fell down, and extinguished the light; and on the opposite wall, over the chimney-piece, appeared a human figure, in a bloody shirt, with the paleness of death on its countenance. * Amulet is a charm or preservative against mischief, witchcraft, or diseases. Amulets were made of stone, metal, simples, animals, and every thing which fancy or caprice suggested ; and sometimes they consisted of words, characters, and sentences, ranged in a particular order, and engraved upon wood, and worn about the neck, or gome other part of the body. At other times they were neither written nor engraved, but prepared with many superstitious ceremonies, great regard being usually paid to the influence of the stars. The Arabians have given to this species of Amulets the name of Talismans. All nations have been fond of Amulets. The Jews were ex¬ tremely superstitious in the use of them to drive away diseases ; and, even amongst the Christians of the early times, Amulets were made of the wood of the Cross, or ribands, with a text of Scripture written in them, as pre¬ servatives against diseases. Vol. II.—19 “ Who calls me ?” said a hollow, hardly intelli¬ gible voice. “Thy friend,” answered the Sorcerer, “who re¬ spects thy memory, and prays for thy soul.”—He named the prince., The answers ,of the apparition w T ere always given at very long intervals. “What does he want with me?” continued the voice. “ He wants to hear the remainder of the con¬ fession, which thou hadst begun to impart to him in thy dying hour, but did not finish.” “In a convent on the frontier of Flanders lives The house again trembled; a dreadful thunder rolled ; a flash of lightning illuminated the room ; the doors flew open, and another human figure, bloody and pale as the first, but more terrible, appeared on the threshold. The spirit in the box begau to burn again by itself, and the hall was light as before. “ Who is amongst us ?” exclaimed the Sorcerer, terrified, casting a look of horror on the assem¬ blage ; “ I did not want thee.” The figure ad¬ vanced with noiseless and majestic steps directly up to the altar, stood on the satin carpet over against us, and touched the crucifix. The first apparition was seen no more. “Who calls me?” demanded the second appa¬ rition. The Sorcerer began to tremble. Terror and amazement kept us motionless for some time. I seized a pistol. The Sorcerer snatched it out of my hand, and fired it at the apparition. The ball rolled slowly upon the altar, and the figure emerged unaltered from the smoke. The Sorcerer fell senseless on the ground. “What is this?” exclaimed the Englishman, in astonishment, aiming a blow at the ghost with a sword. The figure touched his arm, and the wea¬ pon fell to the ground. The perspiration stood on my brow with horror.—Baron F-afterward confessed to me that he had prayed silently. During all this time the Prince stood fearless and tranquil, his eyes riveted on the second appa¬ rition. “Yes, I know thee,” said he at length, with emotion; “Thou art Lanoy; thou art my friend. Whence comest thou?” “ Eternity is mute. Ask me concerning mv past life.” “ Who is it that lives in the convent which thou mentionedst to me in thy last moments?” “ My daughter.” “ How ? Hast thou been a father?” “ Woe is me that I was not!” ■ “Art thou not happy, Lanoy?" “ God has judged.” “ Can I render thee any further service in this world ?” “ None, but to think of thyself.’ “ How must I do that?” “ Thou wilt learn at Rome.” The thunder again rolled—a black cloud of smoke filled the room ; when it had dispersed, the figure was no longer visible. I forced open one of the window shutters. It was daylight. The Sorcerer now recovered from his swoon. 290 MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. “ Where are we ?” asked he, seeing the daylight. The Russian officer stood close behind him, and looked over his shoulder; “ Juggler!” said he to him, with a terrible countenance. “ Thou shalt summon no more ghosts.” The Sicilian turned round, looked steadfastly in his face, uttered a loud shriek, and threw him¬ self at his feet. We looked all at once at the pretended Rus¬ sian. The Prince instantly recognized the fea- j tures of the Armenian, and the words he was about to utter expired on his tongue. We were all as it were petrified with fear and amazement. Silent and motionless, our eyes we/e fixed on this mysterious being, who beheld us with a calm but penetrating look of grandeur and superiority. A minute elapsed in this awful silence ; another suc¬ ceeded ; not a breath was to be heard. A violent battering against the door roused us at last from this stupor. The door fell in pieces into the room, and several officers of justice, with a guard, rushed in. “ Here they are, all together!” said the leader to his followers.—Then addressing himself to us—“ In the name of the government,” continued he, “ I arrest you!” We had no time to recollect ourselves ; in a few moments we were surrounded. The Russian officer, whom I shall again call the Armenian, took the chief officer aside, and, as far as I in my confusion could no¬ tice, 1 observed him whisper a few words to the latter, and show him a written paper. The officer, bowing respectfully, immediately quitted him, turned to us, and taking off his hat, said : “ Gen¬ tlemen, I humbly beg your pardon for having con¬ founded you with this impostor. I shall not in¬ quire who you are, as this gentleman assures me you are men of honor.” At the same time he gave his companions a sign to leave us at liberty. He ordered the Sicilian to be bound and strictly guarded. “ The fellow is ripe for punishment,” added he, “ we have been searching for him these seven months.” The wretched Sorcerer was really an object of pity. The terror caused by the second appari¬ tion, and by this unexpected arrest, had together overpowered his senses. Helpless as a child, he suffered himself to be bound without resistance. His eyes were wide open and immovable; his face was pale as death ; his lips quivered convulsively, but he was unable to utter a sound. Every mo¬ ment we expected he would fall into a fit. The Prince was moved by the situation in which he saw him. He undertook to procure his discharge f:om the leader of the police, to whom he disco¬ vered his rank. “ Do you know, gracious Prince,” said the officer, “ for whom your highness is so generously interceding! The juggling tricks by which he endeavored to deceive you are the least of his crimes. We have secured his accomplices; they depose terrible facts against him. He may think himself fortunate if he is only punished with the galleys.” In the mean time we saw the inn-keeper and his family led bound through the yard. “ This man too ?” said the Prince ; “ and what is his crime ?” — “He was his comrade and accomplice,” an¬ swered the officer. “ He assisted him in his de¬ ceptions and robberies, and shared the booty with him. Your highness shall be convinced of it presently.” “Search the house,” continued he, turning to his followers, “ and bring me immedi¬ ate notice of what you find.” The Prince looked around for the Armenian, but he had disappeared. In the confusion occa¬ sioned by the arrival of the watch, he had found means to steal away unperceived. The Prince was inconsolable; he declared he would send all his servants, and would himself go in search of this mysterious man ; and he wished me to go with him. I hastened to the window ; the house was surrounded by a great number of idlers, whom the account of this event had attracted to the spot. It was impossible to get through the crowd. I represented this to the Prince. “ If,” said I, “it is the Armenian’s intention to conceal himself from us, he is doubtless better acquainted with the intricacies of the place than we, and all our inquiries would prove fruitless. Let us rather remain here a little longer, gracious prince,” ad¬ ded I. “This officer, to whom, if I observed right, he discovered himself, may perhaps give us some information respecting him.” We now, for the first time, recollected that we were still undressed. We hastened to the other pavilion, and put on our clothes as quickly as possible. When we returned, they had finished searching the house. On removing the altar, and some of the boards of the floor, a spacious vault was discovered. It was high enough, for a man might sit upright in it with ease, and was separated from the cellar by a door and a narrow staircase. In this vault they found an electrical machine, a clock, and a little silver bell, which, as well as the electrical ma¬ chine, was in communication with the altar and the crucifix that w r as fastened upon it. A hole had been made in the window shutter, opposite the chimney, which opened and shut with a slide. In this hole, as we learned afterward, was fixed a magic lantern, from which the figure of the ghost had been reflected on the opposite wall, over the chimney. From the garret and the cellar they brought several drums, to which large leaden bullets were fastened by strings; these had pro¬ bably been used to imitate the roaring of thunder which we had heard. On searching the Sicilian’s clothes, they found in a case different powders, genuine mercury in vials and boxes, phosphorus in a glass bottle, and a ring, which we immediately knew to be mag¬ netic, because it adhered to a steel button that by accident had been placed near it. In his coat pockets were found a rosary, a Jew’s beard, a dag¬ ger, and a brace of pocket-pistols. “Let us see whether they are loaded,” said one of the watch, and fired up the chimney. “Jesus Maria!” cried a hollow voice, which we knew to be that of the first apparition, and at the same instant a bleeding person came tumbling down the chimney, “ What! not yet laid, pool ghost ?” cried the Englishman, while we started back in affright. “ Home to thy grave. Thou hast appeared what thou wert not, now thou will become what thou didst but seem.” “Jesus Maria! I am wounded,” repeated the man in the chimney. The ball had fractured his SECOND PERIOD. 291 right leg. Care was immediately taken to have the wound dressed. “ But who art thou,” said the English lord ; “and what evil spirit brought thee here?” “ I am a poor mendicant friar,” answered the wounded man; “a strange gentleman gave me a zechin to-” “Repeat a speech. And why didst thou not withdraw as soon as thy task was finished?” “ I was waiting for a signal which we had agreed on to continue my speech ; but, as this signal was not given, I was endeavoring to get away, when I found the ladder had been re¬ moved.” “ And what was the formula he taught thee?” The wounded man fainted away ; nothing more could be got from him. In the mean time the Prince turned toward the principal officer of the watch, giving him at the same time some pieces of gold : “ Y ou have rescued us,” said he, “ from the hands of an impostor, and done us justice without even knowing who we were ; would you increase our gratitude by telling us the name of the stranger who, by speaking only a few words, was able to procure us our liberty.” “ Whom do you mean ?” inquired the party ad¬ dressed, with an air which plainly showed that the question was useless. “The gentleman in a Russian uniform, who took you aside, showed you a written paper, and whispered a few words, in consequence of which you immediately set us free.” “ Do not you know the gentleman? Was he not one of your company?” “ No,” answered the Prince ; “ and I have very important reasons for wishing to be more inti¬ mately acquainted with him.” “ I know very little of him myself. Even his name is unknown to me, and I saw him. to-day for the first time in my life.” “ How ? And was he in so short a time, and by using only a few words, able to convince you both of our innocence and his own ?” “ Uundoubtedly, with a single word.” “And this was ?—I confess I wish to know it.” “This stranger, my Prince!” said the officer, weighing the zechins in his hand: “You have been too generous for me to make a secret of it any longer; this stranger is an officer of the In¬ quisition.” “Of the inquisition ? This man ?” “He is indeed, gracious Prince. I am con¬ vinced of it by the paper which he showed to me.” “ This man, did you say ? That cannot be.” “ I will tell your highness more. It was upon his information that I have been sent here to ar¬ rest the Sorcerer.” We looked at each other in the utmost aston¬ ishment. “Now we know,” said the English lord, at length, “ why the poor devil of a Sorcerer started in such terror when he looked more closely into his face. He knew him to be a spy, and that is why he uttered that shriek, and fell down before him.” “No ! r interrupted the Prince. “ This man is whatever he wishes to be, and whatever the mo¬ ment requires him to be. No mortal ever knew what he really was. Did you not see the -knees of the Sicilian sink under him, when he said, with that terrible voice : Thou shalt summon no more ghosts? There is something inexplicable in this matter. No person can persuade me that one man should be thus alarmed at the sight of another.” “ The Sorcerer himself will probably explain it the best,” said the English lord, “if that gentle¬ man,” pointing to the officer, “ will afford us an opportunity of speaking with his prisoner.” The officer consented to it, and, having agreed with the Englishman to visit the Sicilian in the morning, we returned to Venice.* Lord Seymour (this was the name of the En¬ glishman) called upon us very early in the fore¬ noon, and was soon after followed by a confiden¬ tial person whom the officer had intrusted with the care of conducting us to the prison. I forgot to mention that one of the Prince’s domestics, a native of Bremen, who had served him many years with the strictest fidelity, and had entirely gained his confidence, had been missing for several days. Whether he had met with any accident, whether he had been kidnapped, or had voluntarily absented himself, was a secret to every one. The last sup¬ position was extremely improbable, as his conduct has always been quiet and regular, and nobody hau ever found fault with him. All that his com¬ panions could recollect was, that he had been for some time very melancholy, and that, whenever he had a moment’s leisure, he used to visit a cer¬ tain monastery in the Giudecca, where he had formed an acquaintance with some monks. This induced us to suppose that he might have fallen into the hands of the priests, and had been per¬ suaded to turn Catholic ; and, as the Prince was very tolerant, or rather indifferent about matters of this kind, and the few inquiries he caused to bs made proved unsuccessful, he gave up the search. He, however, regretted the loss of this man, who had constantly attended him in his campaigns, had always been faithfully attached to him, and whom it was therefore difficult to replace in a foreign country. The very same day the Prince’s banker, whom he had commissioned to provide him with another servant, was announced at the moment we were going out. He presented to the prince a middle-aged man, well dressed, and of good appearance, who had been for a long time secretary to a Procurator, spoke French, and a little German, and was besides furnished with the best recommendations. The Prince was pleased with the man’s physiognomy ; and, as he declared that he would be satisfied with such wages as his service should be found to merit, the Prince en¬ gaged him immediately. We found the Sicilian in a private prison, *- Count 0-, whose narrative I have thus far Lite¬ rally copied, describes minutely the various effects of this adventure upon the mind of the Prince, and of his com¬ panions, and recounts a variety of tales of apparitions, which this event gave occasion to introduce: 1 shall omit giving them to the reader, on the supposition that he is as curious as myself to know the conclusion of the adventure, and its effects on the conduct of the Prince. I shall only add, that the Prince got no sleep the re¬ mainder of the night, and that he waited with impa¬ tience for the moment which was to disclose this incom¬ prehensible mystery.— Note of the German Editor. 292 PROSE WRITINGS. where, as the officer assured us, he had been lodged for the present, to accommodate the Prince, before being removed to the lead roofs, to which there is no access. These lead roofs are the most terrible prisons in Venice. They are situated on the top of the palace of St. Mark, and the miser¬ able criminals suffer so dreadfully from the heat of the leads, occasioned by the burning rays of the sun descending directly upon them, that they fre¬ quently become delirious. The Sicilian had re¬ covered from his yesterday’s terror, and rose re¬ spectfully on seeing the Prince enter. He had fetters on one hand and one leg, but was able to walk about the room at liberty. The sentinel at the door withdrew as soon as we had entered. “ I come,” said the Prince, “to request an ex¬ planation of you on two subjects. You owe me the one, and it shall not be to your disadvantage if you grant me the other.” “ My part is now acted,” replied the Sicilian, “ my destiny is in your hands.” “Your sincerity alone can mitigate your punish¬ ment.” “Speak, honored Prince, I am ready to an¬ swer you. I have nothing now to lose.” “ You showed me the face of the Armenian in a looking-glass. How was this effected ?” “ What you saw was no looking-glass. A por¬ trait in crayons behind a glass, representing a man in an Armenian dress, deceived you. My quickness, the twilight, and your astonishment favored the deception. The picture itself must have been found among the other things seized at the inn.” “ But how could you read my thoughts so ac¬ curately as to hit upon the Armenian ?” “This was not difficult, your highness. You must frequently have mentioned 3 r our adventure with the Armenian at table in the presence of your domestics. One of my accomplices acci¬ dentally got acquainted with one of your domes¬ tics in the Giudecca, and learned from him grad¬ ually as much as I wished to know.” “ And where is this man ?” asked the Prince ; “ I have missed him, and doubtless you know of his desertion.” “ I swear to your honor, sir, that I know not a syllable about it. I have never seen him myself, nor had any other concern with him than the one before mentioned.” w “ Proceed with your story,” said the Prince. By this means also, I received the first infor¬ mation of your residence, and of your adventures git. 1 Venice; and I resolved immediately to profit by, th,em. You see, Prince, I am sincere. I was apprised of your intended excursion on the Brenta. I w^as, prepared ft r it, and a key that dropped by chance from your pocket afforded me the first op'pprtithity of trying my art upon you.” “How! Have I been mistaken? The adven¬ ture of. th.e key was then a trick of yours, and not on the Armenian ! You say this key fell from my pohket.”-- i ‘^bu accidently dropped it in taking out your purs% and T seized an opportunity, when no one noticed me', to cover it with my foot. The person,of whom you bought the lottery-ticket acted in concert with me. He caused you to draw it from a box where there was no blank and the key had been in the snuff-box long befora it came into your possession.” “ I understand you. And the monk who stopped me in my way, and addressed me in a manner so solemn.” “Was the same who, as I hear, has been wounded in the chimney. He is one of my accom¬ plices, and under that disguise has rendered me many important services.” “ But what purpose was this intended to an¬ swer ?” “ To render you thoughtful ; to inspire you with such a train of ideas as should be favorable to the wonders I intended afterward to show you.” “ The pantomimical dance, which ended in a manner so extraordinary, was at least none of your contrivance ?” “ I had taught the girl who represented the Queen. Her performance was the result of my instructions. I supposed your highness would not be a little astonished to find yourself known in this place, and (I entreat your pardon, Prince) your adventure with the Armenian gave me reason to hope that you were already disposed to reject natural interpretations, and to attribute so mar¬ velous an occurrence to supernatural agency.” “ Indeed,” exclaimed the Prince, at once angry and amazed, and casting upon me a significant look ; “ indeed I did not expect this.”* “But,” continued he after a long silence, “how did you produce the figure which appeared on the wall over the chimney?” “ By means of a magic-lantern that was fixed in the opposite window-shutter, in which you have undoubtedly observed an opening.” “ But how did it happen that not one of us per¬ ceived the lantern ?” asked Lord Seymour. “You remember, my lord, that on your re¬ entering the room, it was darkened by a thick smoke of frankincense. I likewise took the pre¬ caution to place the boards which bad been taken - Neither did probably the greater number of my readers. The circumstance of the crown deposited at the feet of the prince, in a manner so solemn and unex¬ pected, and the former prediction of the Armenian, seem so naturally and obviously to aim at the same object, that at the first reading of these memoirs I immediately remembered the deceitful speech of the Witches in Mac¬ beth :— “Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis! All hail, Macbeth ! that shall be king hereafter!” and probably the same thing has occurred to many of my readers. When a certain conviction has taken hold upon a man’s mind in a solemn and extraordinary manner, it is sure to follow, that all subsequent ideas, which are in any way capable of being associated with this convic¬ tion, should attach themselves to, and in some degree, seem to be consequent upon it. The Sicilian who seems to have had no other motive for his whole scheme than to astonish the prince by showing him that his rank was discovered, played, without being himself aware of it, the very game which most furthered the view of the Armenian ; but, however much of its interest this adven¬ ture will lose, if I take away the higher motive which at first seemed to influence these actions, I must by.no means infringe upon historical truth, but must relate the facts exactly as they occurred.— Note of the German Editor. SECOND PERIOD. 293 tip from the floor upright against the wall near the window. By these means I prevented the shutter from immediately attracting observation. Moreover, the lantern remained covered by a slide until you had taken your places, and there was no further reason to apprehend that you would institute any examination of the saloon.”— “ As I looked out of the window in the other pavilion,” said I, “ I fancied I heard a noise like that of a person placing a ladder against the side of the house. Was I right ?” “ Exactly: it was the ladder upon which my assistant stood to direct the magic-lantern.” “The apparition,” continued "the Prince, “had really a superficial likeness to my deceased friend, and what was particularly striking, his hair, which was of a very light color, was exactly imitated. W as this mere chance, or how did you come by such resemblance?” “ Your highness must recollect that you had at table a snuff-box by your plate, with an enameled portrait of an officer in a * * * uniform. I asked whether you had any thing about you as a memento of your friend, and as your highness answered in the affirmative, I conjectured that it might be the box. I had attentively examined the picture during supper, and being very expert in drawing, and not less happy in taking likenesses, I had no difficulty in giving to my shade the superficial re¬ semblance you have perceived, the more so as the marquis’s features are very marked.” “But the figure seemed to move?” “ It appeared so, yet it was not the figure that moved, but the smoke on which the light was re¬ flected.” “ And the man who fell down in the chimney spoke for the apparition ?” “He did.” “ But he could not hear your questions dis¬ tinctly ?” “There was no occasion for it. Your highness will recollect that I cautioned you all very strictly not to propose any question to the apparition yourselves. My inquiries and his answers were preconcerted between us ; and, that no mistake might happen, I caused him to speak at long inter¬ vals, which he counted by the beating of a watch.” “ You ordered the inn-keeper carefully to ex¬ tinguish every fire in the house with water; this was undoubtedly-” “ To save the man in the chimney from the danger of being suffocated ; because the chimneys in the house communicated with each other, and I did not think myself very secure from your retinue.” “How did it happen,” asked Lord Seymour, “ that your ghost appeared neither sooner nor later than you wished him ?” “ The ghost was in the room for some time before I called him, but, while the room was lighted, the shade was too faint to be perceived. When the formula of the conjuration was finished, I caused the cover of the box, in which the spirit was burning, to drop down, the saloon was darkened, and it was not till then that the figure on the wall could be distinctly seen, although it had been re¬ flected there a considerable time before.” “ When the ghost appeared, we all felt an elec¬ tric shock. How was that managed ?” “You have discovered the machine under the altar. You have also seen, that I was standing upon a silk carpet. I directed you to form a half moon around me, and to take each other’s hands When the crisis approached, I gave a sign to ont of you to seize me by the hair. The silver crucifix was the conductor, and you felt the electric shock when I touched it with my hand.” “You ordered Count 0-and myself,” con¬ tinued Lord Seymour, “ to hold two naked swords crossways over your head, during the whole time of the conjuration ; for what purpose ?” “ For no other than to engage your attention during the operation; because"I distrusted you two the most. You remember, that I expressly commanded you to hold the sword one inch above my head ; by confining you exactly to this dis¬ tance, I prevented you from looking where I did not wish you. I had not then perceived rhy prin¬ cipal enemy.” “ I own,” cried Lord Seymour, “ you acted with due precaution ; but why were we obliged to ap¬ pear undressed ?” “ Merely to give a greater solemnity to the scene, and to excite your imaginations by the strangeness of the proceeding.” “ The second apparition prevented your ghost from speaking,” said the Prince. “ What should we have learned from him?” “Nearly the same as what you heard afterward. It was not without design that I asked your high¬ ness whether you had told me every thing that the deceased communicated to you, and whether you had made any further inquiries on this sub¬ ject in this country. I thought this was neces¬ sary, in order to prevent the deposition of the ghost from being contradicted by facts with which you were previously acquainted. Knowing like¬ wise that every man in his youth is liable to error, I inquired whether the life of your friend had been irreproachable, and on your answer I founded that of the ghost.” “Your explanation of this matter is satisfac¬ tory,” resumed the Prince, after a short silence “ but there remains a principal circumstance which I must ask you to clear up.” “ If it be in my power, and-” “No conditions! Justice, in whose hands you now are, might perhaps not interrogate you with so much delicacy. Who was this unknown at whose feet we saw you fall ? What do you know of him ? How did you get acquainted with him ? And in what way was he connected with the ap¬ pearance of the second apparition ?” “ Your highness-” • “ On looking at him more attentively, you gave a loud scream, and fell at his feet. What are w r e to understood by that ?” “ This man, your highness-” He stopped, grew visibly perplexed, and with an embarrassed countenance look around him. “Yes, Prince, by all that is sacred, this unknown is a terrible being.” “ What do you know of him ? What connec¬ tion have you with him ? Do not hope to conceal the truth from us.” “ I shall take care not to do so ; for who will warrant that he is not among us at this very mo¬ ment?” 294 PROSE WRITINGS. “Where? Who ?” exclaimed we, all together ' half startled, looking about the room. “That is impossible.” “Ob! to this man, or whatever he may be, things still more incomprehensible are possible.” “ But who is he ! Whence comes he ? Is he an Armenian or a Russian ? Of the characters he assumes, which is his real one?” “ He is nothing of what he appears to be. There are few conditions or countries of which he has not worn the mask. No person knows who he is, whence he comes, or whither he goes. That he has been for a long time in Egypt, as many pretend, aud that he has broughtyfrom thence, out of a catacomb, his occult sciences, I will neither affirm nor deny. Here we only know him by the name of the Incomprehensible. How old, for instance, do you suppose he is?” “To judge from his appearance, he can scarcely have passed forty.” “ And of what age do you suppose I am ?” “ Not far from fifty.” “ Quite right; and I must tell you, that I was but a boy of seventeen, when my grandfather spoke to me of this marvelous man, whom he had seen at Famagusta; at which time he appeared nearly of the same age as he does at present.” “ This is exaggerated, ridiculous and incred¬ ible.” “ By no means. Were I not prevented by these fetters, I could produce vouchers, whose dignity and respectability should leave you no room for doubt. There are several credible persons, who remember having seen him, each at the same time, in different parts of the globe. No sword can wound, no poison can hurt, no fire can burn him ; no vessel in which he embarks can be wrecked. Time itself seems to lose its power over him. Years do not affect his constitution, nor age whiten his hair. Never was he seen to take any food. Never did he approach a woman. No sleep closes his eyes. Of the twenty-four hours in the day, there is only one which he cannot command ; during which no person ever saw him, and during which he never was employed in any terrestrial occupation.” “ And this hour is?”- “The twelfth in the night. When the clock strikes twelve at midnight he ceases to belong to the living. In whatever place he is, he must im¬ mediately be gone; whatever business he is en¬ gaged in, he must instantly leave it. The terrible sound of the hour of midnight tears him from the arms of friendship, wrests him from the altar, and would drag him away even in the agonies of death. Whither he then goes, or what he is then engaged in, is a secret to every one. No person ventures to interrogate, still less to follow him. His feat¬ ures, at this dreadful hour, assume a sternness of expression so gloomy and terrifying, that no person has courage sufficient to look him in the face, or to speak a word to him. However lively the conversation may have been, a dead silence immediately succeeds it, and all around wait for his return in respectful silence, without venturing to quit their seats, or to open the door through which he has passed.” “ Does nothing extraordinary appear in his person when he returns ?” inquired one of our party. “ Nothing, except that he seems pale and ex¬ hausted, like a man who has just suffered a pain¬ ful operation, or received some disastrous intelli¬ gence. Some pretend to have seen drops of blood on his linen, but with what degree of veracity I cannot affirm.” “ Did no person ever attempt to conceal the approach of this hour from him, or endeavor to preoccupy his mind in such a manner as to make him forget it ?” “ Once only, it is said, he missed the appointed time. The company was numerous and remained together late in the night. All the clocks and watches were purposely set wrong, and the warmth of conversation carried him away. When the stated hour arrived, he suddenly became silent and motionless ; his limbs continued in the posi¬ tion in which this instant had arrested them ; his eyes were fixed ; his pulse ceased to beat. All the means employed to awake him proved fruit¬ less, and this situation endured till the hour had elapsed. He then revived on a sudden without any assistance, opened his eyes, and reassumed his speech at the very syllable which he was pronouncing at the moment of interruption. The general con¬ sternation discovered to him what had happened, and he declared, with an awful solemnity, that they ought to think themselves happy in having escaped with the fright alone. The same night he quitted forever the city where this circumstance had occurred. The common opinion is that during this mysterious hour he converses with his genius. Some even suppose him to be one of the departed, who is allowed to pass twenty-three hours of the day among the living, and that in the twenty- fourth his soul is obliged to return to the infernal regions, to suffer its punishment. Some believe him to be the famous Appolonius of Tyana; and others, the disciple of John, of whom it is said— he shall remain until the last judgment.” “ A character so wonderful,” replied the Prince, “ cannot fail to give rise to whimsical conjectures. But all this you profess to know only by hearsay, and yet his behavior to you, and yours to him, seemed to indicate a more intimate acquaintance. Is it not founded upon some particular event in which you have yourself been concerned? Con¬ ceal nothing from us.” The Sicilian looked at us doubtingly and re¬ mained silent. “ If it concerns something,” continued the Prince, “that you do not wish to be made known, I promise you, in the name of these two gentle¬ men, the most inviolable secrecy. But speak can- didly and without reserve.” “ Could I hope,” answered the prisoner after a long silence, “ that you would not make use of what I am going to relate as evidence against me, I would tell you a remarkable adventure of this Armenian, of which I myself was witness, and which will leave you no doubt of his supernatural powers. But I beg leave to conceal some of the names.” “ Cannot you do it without this condition?” SECOND PERIOD. 295 “No, your highness. There is a family con¬ cerned in it, whom I have reason to respect.” “ Let us hear your story.” “ It is about five years ago,” began the Sicilian, “that at Naples, where I was practicing my art with tolerable success, I became acquainted with a person of the name of Lorenzo del M -, Chevalier of the order of St. Stephen, a young and rich nobleman, of one of the first families in the kingdom, who loaded me with kindnesses, and seemed to have a great esteem for my occult knowledge. He told me that the Marquis del M— —nte, his father, was a zealous admirer of the Cabala, and would think himself happy in having a philosopher like myself (for such he was pleased to call me) under his roof. The marquis lived in one of his country seats on the sea shore, about seven miles from Naples. There, almost entirely secluded from the world, he bewailed the loss of a beloved son, of whom he had been deprived by a terrible calamity. The Chevalier gave me to un¬ derstand, that he and his family might perhaps have occasion to employ me on a matter of the most grave importance, in the hope of gaining through my secret science some information, to procure which all natural means bad been tried in vain. He added, with a very significant look, that he himself might, perhaps at some future pe¬ riod, have reason to look upon me as the restorer of his tranquillity, and of all his earthly happiness. The affair was as follows : “This Lorenzo was the younger son of the mar¬ quis, and for that reason had been destined for the church ; the family estates were to descend to the eldest. Jeronymo, which was the name of the latter, had spent many years on his travels, and had returned to his country about seven years prior to the event, which I am about to relate, in order to celebrate his marriage with the only daughter of the neighboring Count C-tti. This marriage had been determined on by the parents during the infancy of the children, in order to unite the large fortunes of the two houses. But though this agreement was made by the two fami¬ lies, without consulting the hearts of the parties concerned, the latter had mutually pledged their faith to each other in secret. Jeronymo del M- and Antonia C- had been brought up to¬ gether, and the little constraint imposed on two children, whom their parents were already accus¬ tomed to regard as destined for each other, soon produced between them a connection of the ten- derest kind; the congeniality of their tempers cemented this intimacy; and in later years it ripened insensibly into love. An absence of four years, far from cooling this passion, had only served to inflame it; and Jeronymo returned to the arms of his intended bride, as faithful and as ardent as if they had never been separated. “ The raptures occasioned by his return had not yet subsided, and the preparations for the happy day were advancing with the utmost zeal and ac¬ tivity, when the bridegroom disappeared. He used frequently to pass whole ^afternoons in a summer-house which commanded a prospect of the sea. and was accustomed to take the diversion of sailing on the water. One day, on an evening Bpent in this manner, it was observed that he re¬ mained absent a much longer lime than usual, and his friends began to be very uneasy on his ac¬ count. Messengers were dispatched after him, vessels were sent to sea in quest of him ; no per¬ son had seen him. None of his servants were missed ; he must, therefore, have gone alone. Night came on, and he did not appear. The next morning dawned ; the day passed, the evening succeeded ; Jeronymo came not. Already they had begun to give themselves up to the most melancholy conjectures, when the news arrived, that an Algerine pirate had landed the preceding day on that coast, and carried off several of the inhabitants. Two galleys, which were ready for sea, were immediately manned ; the old marquis himself embarked in one of them, to attempt the deliverance of his son at the peril of his own life. On the third morning they perceived the corsair. 'I'hey had the advantage of the wind ; they were just about to overtake the pirate, and had even approached so near that Lorenzo, who was in one of the galleys’, fancied that he saw, upon the deck of the adversary’s ship, a signal made by his brother, when a sudden storm separated the ves¬ sel. Hardly could the damaged galleys sustain the fury of the tempest. The pirate, in the mean time had disappeared, and the distressed state of the other vessels obliged them to land at Malta. The affliction of the family knew no bounds. The distracted old marquis tore his gray hairs in the utmost violence of grief; and fears were enter¬ tained for the life of the young countess. Five years were consumed in fruitless inquiries. Dili¬ gent search was made along all the coast of Bar¬ bary; immense sums were offered for the ransom of the young marquis, but no person came for¬ ward to claim them. The only probable conjec¬ ture which remained for the family to form was, that the same storm which had separated the gal¬ leys from the pirate had destroyed the latter, and that the whole ship’s company had perished in the waves. “But, however this supposition might be, it did not by any means amount to a certainty, and could not authorize the family altogether to re¬ nounce the hope # that the lost Jeronymo might again appear. In case, however, that he was really dead, either the family must become ex¬ tinct, or the younger son must relinquish the church, and assume the rights of the elder. As justice, on the one hand, seemed to oppose the latter measure, so on the other hand, the neces¬ sity of preserving the family from annihilation required that the scruple should not be carried too far. In the mean time, through grief, and the infirmities of age, the old marquis was fast sinking to his grave ; every unsuccessful attempt diminished the hope of finding his lost son ; he saw the danger of his family’s becoming extinct, which might be obviated by a trifling injustice on his part, in consenting to favor his younger son at the expense of the elder. The consummation of his alliance with the house of Count C-tti required only that a name should be changed, for the object of the two families was equally accom¬ plished, whether Antonia became the wife of Lo¬ renzo or of Jeronymo. The faint probability of the latter’s appearing again, weighed but little 296 PROSE WRITINGS. against the certain and pressing danger of the total extinction of the family, and the old mar¬ quis, who felt the approach of death every day more and more, ardently wished at least to die free from this inquietude. “ Lorenzo, however, who was to be principally benefited by this measure, opposed it with the greatest obstinacy. Alike unmoved by the al¬ lurements of an immense fortune, and the attrac¬ tions of the beautiful and accomplished being whom his family were about to deliver into his arms, he refused, on principles the most generous and conscientious, to invade the rights of a brother, who perhaps was still aliv^, and might some day return to claim his own. ‘ Is not the lot of my dear Jeronymo,’said he, ‘ made suffi¬ ciently miserable by the horrors of a long cap¬ tivity, that I should yet add bitterness to his cup of grief by stealing from him all that he holds most dear? With what conscience could I sup¬ plicate heaven for his return, when his wife is in my arms? With what countenance could I has¬ ten to meet him, should he at last be restored to us by some miracle? And even supposing that he is torn from us forever, how can we better honor his memory than by keeping constantly open the chasm which his death has caused in our circle ? Can we better show our respect to him than by sacrificing our dearest hopes upon his tomb, and keeping untouched, as a sacred depo¬ sit, what was peculiarly his own ?’ “ But all the arguments which fraternal deli¬ cacy could adduce were insufficient to reconcile the old marquis to the idea of being obliged to wit¬ ness the extinction of a pedigree which nine cen¬ turies had beheld flourishing. All that Lorenzo could obtain was a respite of two years before leading the affianced bride of his brother to the altar. During this period they continued their inquiries with the utmost diligence. Lorenzo himself made several voyages, and exposed his person to many dangers. No trouble, no expense was spared to recover the lost Jeronymo. These two years, however, like those which preceded them, were consumed in vain.” ‘‘And the Countess Antonia?” said the Prince. “ You tell us nothing of her. Could she so calmly submit to her fate? I cannot suppose it.”— “ Antonia,” answered the Sicilian, “experienced the most violent struggle between duty and in¬ clination, between hate and admiration. The dis¬ interested generosity of a brother’s love affected her ; she felt herself forced to esteem a person whom she could never love. Her heart was torn by conflicting sentiments. But her repugnance to the chevalier seemed to increase in the same degree as his claims upon her esteem augmented. Lorenzo perceived with heartfelt sorrow the grief that consumed her youth. A tender compassion insensibly assumed the place of that indifference with which, till then, he had been accustomed to regard her ; but this treacherous sentiment quickly deceived him, and an ungovernable passion began oy degrees to shake the steadiness of his virtue— a virtue which, till then, had been unequaled. “ He, however, still obeyed the dictates of generosity, though at the expense of his love. By his efforts alone was the unfortunate victim protected against the arbitrary proceedings of the rest of the family. But his endeavors were in¬ effectual. Every victory he gained over his pat sion rendered him more worthy of Antonia; and the disinterestedness with which he refused her, left her no excuse for resistance. “ This was the state of affairs when the chevalier engaged me to visit him at his father’s villa. The earnest recommendation of my patron procured me a reception which exceeded my most sanguine hopes. I must not forget to mention, that by some remarkable operations, T had previously rendered my name famous in different lodges of Freemasons, which circumstance may, perhaps, have contributed to strengthen the old marquis’s confidence in me, and to heighten his expecta¬ tions. I beg you will excuse me from describing particularly the lengths I went with him, and the means which I employed ; you may judge of them from what I have already confessed to you. Pro¬ fiting by the mystic books which I found in his very extensive library, I was soon able to converse with him in his own language, and to adorn my system of the invisible world with the most ex¬ traordinary inventions. In a short time I could make him believe whatever I pleased, and he would have sworn as readily as upon an article in the canon. Moreover, as he was very devout, and was by nature somewhat credulous, my fables re¬ ceived credence the more readily, and in a short time I had so completely surrounded and hemmed him in with mystery, that he cared for nothing that was not supernatural. In short I became the patron saint of the house. The usual subject of my lectures was the exaltation of human na¬ ture, and the intercourse of men with superior beings; the infallible Count Gabalis* was my oracle. The young countess, whose mind since the loss of her lover had been more occupied in the world of spirits than in that of nature, and who had, moreover, a strong shade of melancholy in her composition, caught my hints with a fearful satisfaction. Even the servants contrived to have some business in the room when I was speaking, and seizing now and then one of my expres¬ sions, joined the fragments together in their own way. “ Two months were passed in this manner at the Marquis’s villa, when the chevalier one morning entered my apartment. A deep sorrow was painted on his countenance, his features were convulsed, he threw himself into a chair, with gestures of despair. “‘Captain,’ said he, ‘it is all over with me, I must begone ; I can remain here no longer.’ “‘What is the matter, chevalier ? What ails you ?’ “ ‘ Oh ! this fatal passion !’ said he, starting frantically from his chair. ‘ I have combated it like a man ; I can resist no longer.’ “ ‘ And whose fault is it but yours, my dear chevalier ? Are they not all in your favor? Your father, your relations ’— • * A mystical work of that title, written in French in 1670, by the Abbe de Villars, and translated into Eng¬ lish in 1680. Pope is said to have borrowed from it the machinery of his Rape of the Lock.—H. Gr. B. SECOND PERIOD. 297 “ 1 My father, my relations ! What are they to me ? I want not a forced union, but one of in¬ clination. Have not I a rival ? ATas ! and what a rival ! Perhaps among the dead ! Oh ! let me go! Let me go to the end of the world,—I must find my brother.’ “ ‘ What! after so many unsuccessful attempts, can you still cherish hope ?’ “ ‘ Hope !’ replied the chevalier, ‘Alas, no ! It has long since vanished from my heart, but it has not from hers. Of what consequence are my sen¬ timents? Can I be happy while there remains a gleam of hope in Antonia’s heart? Two words, my friend, would end my torments. But it is in vain. My destiny must continue to be miserable till eternity shall break its long silence, and the grave shall speak in my behalf.’ “‘Is it then a state of certainty that would render you happy ?’ “ ‘ Happy ! Alas ! I doubt whether I can ever again be happy. But uncertainty is of all others the most dreadful pain.’ “ After a short interval of silence, he sup¬ pressed his emotion, and continued mournfully :— ‘ If he could but see my torments ! Surely a con¬ stancy which renders his brother miserable cannot add to his happiness ! Can it be just that the living should suffer so much for the sake of the dead, who can no longer enjoy earthly felicity. If he knew the pangs I suffer,’ continued he, hid¬ ing his face on my shoulder, while the tears streamed from his eyes, ‘yes, perhaps he himself would conduct her to my arms.’ “ ‘ But is there no possibility of gratifying your wishes ?’ “ He started. ‘ What do you say, my friend ?’ “‘Less important occasions than the present,’ said I, ‘ have disturbed the repose of the dead for the sake the living. Is not the whole earthly happiness of a man, of a brother-’ “ ‘ The whole earthly happiness ! Ah ! my friend, I feel what you say is but too true—my entire fe¬ licity.’ “ ‘ And the tranquillity of a distressed family, are not these sufficient to justify such a measure ? Undoubtedly. If any sublunary concern can au¬ thorize us to interrupt the peace of the blessed, to make use of a power-’ “ ‘ For God’s sake, my friend !’ said he, inter¬ rupting me, ‘ no more of this. Once, I avow it, I had such a thought; I think I mentioned it to you; but I have long since rejected it as horrid and abominable.’ “ You will have conjectured already,” continued the Sicilian, “ to what this conversation led us. I endeavored to overcome the scruples of the che¬ valier, and at last succeeded. We resolved to summon the spirit of the deceased Jeronymo. I only stipulated for the delay of a fortnight, in ordei as I pretended, to prepare myself in a suit¬ able manner for so solemn an act. The time be¬ ing expired, and my machinery in readiness, I took advantage of a very gloomy day, when we were all assembled as usual, to obtain the consent of the family, or rather, gradually to lead them to the subject, so that they themselves requested it of me. The most difficult part of the task was to obtain the approbation of Antonia, whose pro* sence was most essential. My endeavors were, however, greatly assisted by the melancholy turr. of her mind, and perhaps still more so by a faint hope that Jeronymo might still be living, and therefore would not appear. A want of confi¬ dence in the thing itself, or a doubt of my ability, was the only obstacle which I had not to contend with. “Having obtained the consent of the family, the third day was fixed on for the operation. I prepared them for the solemn transaction by mys¬ tical instruction, by fasting, solitude, and prayers, which I ordered to be continued till late in the night. Much use was also made of a certain mu¬ sical instrument, unknown till that time, and which, in such cases," has often been found very powerful. The effect of these artifices was so much beyond my expectation, that the enthusiasm to whicji on this occasion I was obliged to force myself, was infinitely heightened by that of my audience. The anxiously expected hour at last arrived.” “I guess,” said the Prince, “whom you are now going to introduce. But go on, go on.” “No, your highness. The incantation suc¬ ceeded according to my wishes.” “ How ? Where is the Armenian ?” “Do not fear, your highness. He will appear but too soon. I omit the description of the farce itself, as it would lead me to too great a length. Be it sufficient to say, that it answered my utmost expectations. The old marquis, the young coun¬ tess, her mother, Lorenzo, and a few others of the family, were present. You may imagine that during my long residence in this house, I had not wanted opportunities of gathering information respecting every thing that concerned the de¬ ceased. Several portraits of him enabled me to give the apparition the most striking likeness, and as.I suffered the ghost to speak only by signs, the sound of his voice could excite no suspicion. “ The departed Jeronymo appeared in the dress of a Moorish slave, with a deep wound in his neck. You observe that in this respect I was counter¬ acting the general supposition that he had per¬ ished in the waves, for I had reason to hope that the unexpectedness of this circumstance would heighten their belief in the apparition itself, while, on the other hand, nothing appeared to me more dangerous than to keep too strictly to what was natural.” “ I think you judged rightly,” said the Prince. “ In whatever respects apparitions, the most pro¬ bable is the. least acceptable. If their communi¬ cations are easily comprehended, we undervalue the channel by which they are obtained. Nay, we even suspect the reality of the miracle, if the discoveries which it brings to light are such as might easily have been imagined. Why should we disturb the repose of a spirit, if it is to inform us of nothing more than the ordinary powers of the intellect are capable of teaching us ? But, on the other hand, if the intelligence which we re¬ ceive is extraordinary and unexpected, it confirms in some degree the miracle by which it is obtained ; for who can doubt an operation to be supernatui x\, 293 PROSE WRITINGS. when its effect could not be produced by natural means? I interrupt you,” added the Prince. “ Proceed in your narrative.” “I asked the ghost whether there was anything in the world which he still considered as his own.” continued the Sicilian, “ and whether he had left anything behind that was particularly dear to him ? The ghost shook his head three times, and lifted up his hand toward heaven. Previous to his re¬ tiring he dropped a ring from his finger, which was found on the floor after he had disappeared. Antonia took it, and looking at it attentively, she knew it to be the ring she had given her intended husband on their betrothal.” “The ring !” exclaimed the Prinbe, surprised. “ How did you get it ?” “Who! I! It was not the true one, your high ness! I got it! It was only a counterfeit.” “ A counterfeit!” repeated the Prince. “But in order to counterfeit you required the true one. How did you come by it? Surely the deceased never went without it.” “ That is true,” replied the Sicilian, with symp¬ toms of confusion. “But from a description which was given me of the genuine ring—” “ A description which was given you! By whom!” “ Long before that time. It was a plain gold ring, and had, I believe, the name of the young countess engraved on it. But you made me lose the connection.” “What happened further?” said the Prince, with a very dissatisfied countenance. “The family felt convinced that Jeronymo was no more. From that day forward they publicly announced his death, and went into mourning. The circumstance of the ring left no doubt even in the mind of Antonia, and added a considerable weight to the addresses of the chevalier. “ In the mean time, the violent shock which the young countess had received from the sight of the apparition, brought on her a disorder so danger¬ ous, that the hopes of Lorenzo were very near be¬ ing destroyed for ever. On her recovery she in¬ sisted upon taking the vail ; and it was only at the most serious remonstrances of her confessor, in whom she placed implicit confidence, that she was induced to abandon her project. At length the united solicitations of the family and of the con¬ fessor, forced from her a reluctant consent. The last day of mourning was fixed on for the day of marriage, and the old marquis determined to add to the solemnity of the occasion by making over all his estates to his lawful heir. “ The day arrived, and Lorenzo received his trembling bride at the altar. In the evening a splendid banquet was prepared for the cheerful guests, in a hall superbly illuminated, ar.d the most lively and delightful music contributed 10 increase the general gladness. The happy old marquis wished all the world to participate in his joy. All the entrances of the palace were thrown open, and every one who sympathized in his hap¬ piness was joyfully welcomed. In the midst of the throng-.” The Sicilian paused. A trembling expectation suspended our breath. “ In .the midst of the throng,” continued the prisoner, “ appeared a Franciscan monk, to whom my attention was directed by the person who sat next to me at table. He was standing mo¬ tionless like a marble pillar. His shape was tall and thin ; his face pale and ghastly ; his eyes were fixed with a grave and mournful expression on the new-married couple. The joy which beamed on the face of every one present appeared noton his. His countenance never once varied. He seemed like a statue among the living. Such an object, appearing amidst the general joy, struck me more forcibly from its contrast with every thing around. It left on my mind so indelible an impression, that from it alone I have been enabled (which would otherwise have been impossible) to recollect the features of this Franciscan monk in the Russian officer ; for, without doubt, you must have already conceived that the person I have described was no other than your Armenian. I frequently attempted to withdraw my eyes from this terrible figure, but they wandered back involuntarily, and found his countenance unaltered. I pointed him out to the person who sat nearest to me on the other side, and he did the same to the person next to him. In a few minutes a general curiosity and astonishment pervaded the whole company. The conversation languished ; a general silence succeeded; the monk did not heed it. He continued motionless as before ; his grave and mournful looks constantly fixed upon the new-married couple ; his appearance struck every one with terror. The young countess alone, who found the transcript of her own sorrow in the face of the stranger, beheld with a melancholy satis¬ faction the only object that seemed to understand and to sympathize in her sufferings. The crowd insensibly diminished. It was past midnight; the music became fainter and more languid ; the tapers grew dim, and many of them went out. The conversation declining by degrees, lost itself at last in secret murmurs, and the faintly illumi¬ nated hall was nearly deserted. The monk, in the mean time, continued motionless, with the same grave and mournful look still fixed on the new- married couple. The company at length rose from the table; the guests dispersed ; the family assem¬ bled in a separate group, and the monk, though uninvited, continued near them. How it hap¬ pened that no person spoke to him, I cannot con¬ ceive. “ The female friends now surrounded the trem¬ bling bride, who cast a supplicating and distressed look on the venerable stranger; he did not answer it. The gentlemen assembled in the same manne** around the bridegroom. A solemn and anxious silence prevailed among them.—* That we-should be so happy here together,’ began at length the old marquis, who alone seemed not to behold the stranger, or at least seemed to behold him without dismay:—‘ That we should be so happy here together, and my son Jeronymo cannot be with us!’ “ ‘ Have you invited him, and has he failed to come ?’ asked the monk. It was the first time he had spoken. We looked at him in alarm. “‘Alas! he is gone to a place from whence there is no return,’ answered the old man. ‘ Rev¬ erend father! you misunderstood me. My son Jeronymo is dead.’ SECOND PERIOD. 299 “ ‘PerVaps he only fears to appear in this com¬ pany,’ replied the monk. ‘ Who knows how your son Jeronymo may be situated? Let him now hear the voice which he heard the last. Desire your son Lorenzo to call him.’ *“ What means he?’ whispered the company to one another. Lorenzo changed color. I will not deny that my own hair began to stand on end. “In the mean time the monk approached a sideboard ; he took a glass of wine and carried it to his lips—‘To the memory of our dear Je¬ ronymo ! ; said he. ‘ Let every one who loved the deceased follow my example.’ “ ‘ Be you who you may, reverend father !’ ex¬ claimed the old marquis. ‘You have pronounced a name dear to us all, and you are heartily wel¬ come here ;’—then turning to us, he offered us full glasses.—‘ Come, my friends !’ continued he, let us not be surpassed by a stranger. The memory of my son Jeronymo.’ “ Never, 1 believe, was any toast less heartily received. “ ‘ There is one glass still unemptied,’ said the marquis. * Why does my son Lorenzo refuse to drink this friendly toast?” “ Lorenzo, trembling, received the glass from the hands of the monk ; tremblingly he put it to his lips. * To my dearly beloved brother Je¬ ronymo !’ he stammered out, and replaced the glass with a shudder. “ That was my murderer’s voice !’ exclaimed a terrible figure, which appeared suddenly in the midst of us, covered with blood, and disfigured with horrible wounds. “Do not ask me the rest,” added the Sicilian, with every symptom of horror in his countenance. “ I lost my senses the moment I looked at this apparition. The same happened to every one present. When we recovered, the monk and the ghost had disappeared ; Lorenzo was writhing in the agonies of death. He was carried to bed in the most dreadful convulsions. No person at¬ tended him but his confessor and the sorrowful old marquis, in whose presence he expired. The marquis died a few weeks after him. Lorenzo’s secret is locked in the bosom of the priest who re¬ ceived his last confession ; no person ever learned what it was. “ Soon after this event, a well was cleaned in the farmyard of the marquis’s villa. It had been dis¬ used for many years, and was almost closed up by shrubs and old trees. On digging among the rub¬ bish, a human skeleton was found. ’The house where this happened is now no more ; the family del M-nte is extinct, and Antonia’s tomb may be seen in a convent not far from Salerno.” “Yea see,” continued the Sicilian, seeing us all stand silent and thoughtful, “ you see how my ac¬ quaintance with this Russian officer, Armenian, or Franciscan friar, originated. Judge now whether I have not good cause to tremble at the sight of a being, who has twice placed himself in my way in a manner so terrible.” “ I beg you will answer me one question more,” said the Prince, rising from his seat. “ Have you been always sincere in your account of every thing relating to the chevalier ?” “ To the best of my knowledge I have,” replied the Sicilian.” “You really believed him to be an honest man ?” “ I did; by Heaven ! I did,” answered he again “ Even at the time that he gave you the ring?’ “ How ! He gave me no ring. I did not say that he gave me the ring.” “ Very well,” said the prince, pulling the bell, and preparing to depart. “ And you believe,” (going back to the prisoner) “that the ghost of the Marquis de Lanoy, which the Russian officer introduced after your apparition, was a true and real ghost ?” “I cannot think otherwise.” “ Let us go!” said the Prince, addressing him¬ self to us. The jailer came in. “We have done,” said the Prince to him. “You sir,” turn¬ ing to the prisoner, “ you shall hear further from me.” “ I am tempted to ask your highness the last question you proposed to the Sorcerer,” said I to the Prince, when we were alone. “ Do you believe the second ghost to have been a real and true one ?” “ I believe it ? No, not now, most assuredly.” “ Not now ? Then you did once believe it.” “I confess I was tempted for a moment to believe it something more than the contrivance of a juggler.” “And I could wish to see the man who under similar circumstances would not have had the same impression. But what reasons have you for retracting your opinion ? What the prisoner has related of the Armenian ought to increase rather than diminish your belief in his supernatural powers.” “ What this wretch has related of him,” said the Prince, interrupting me very gravely. “ I hope,” continued he, “ you have now no doubt but that we have had to do with a villain.” “No; but must his evidence on that ac¬ count-” “ The evidence of a villain, even supposing I had no other reason for doubt, can have no weight against common sense and established truth. Does a man who has already deceived me several times, and whose trade it is to deceive, does he deserve to be heard in a cause in which the un¬ supported testimony of even the most sincere ad¬ herent to truth could not be received ? Ought we to believe a man who perhaps never once spoke truth for its own sake? Does such a man deserve credit, when he appears as evidence against human reason and the eternal laws of nature ? Would it not be as absurd as to admit the accusation of a person notoriously infamous, against unblemished and irreproachable innocence? “ But what motives could he have for giving so great a character to a man whom he has so many reasons to hate ?” “I am not to conclude that he can have no motives for doing this because I am unable to comprehend them. Do I know who has bribed him to deceive me ? I confess I cannot penetrate the whole contexture of his plan; but he has cer¬ tainly done a material injury to the cause he ad¬ vocates, by proving himself to be at least an im¬ postor, and perhaps something worse.” 800 PROSE WRITINGS. “ The circumstance of the ring, I allow, appears somewhat suspicious.” “It is more than suspicious,” answered the Prince; “ it is decisive. He received this ring from the murderer; and at the moment he received it he must have been certain that it was from the murderer. Who but the assassin could have taken from the finger of the deceased a ring which he undoubtedly never took off himself? Throughout the whole of his narration the Sicilian has labored to persuade us, that while he was endeavoring to deceive Lorenzo, Lorenzo was in reality deceiving him. Would he have had recourse to this subter¬ fuge, if he had not been sensible l^ow much he should lose in our estimation by confessing him¬ self an accomplice with the assassin ? The whole story is visibly nothing but a series of impostures, invented merely to connect the few truths he has thought proper to give us. Ought I, then, to hesitate in disbelieving the eleventh assertion of a person who has already deceived me ten times, rather than admit a violation of the fundamental laws of nature, which I have ever found in the most perfect harmony ?” “ I have nothing to reply to all this,—but the apparition we saw yesterday is to me not the less incomprehensible.” “ It is also incomprehensible to me, although I have been tempted to believe that 1 have found a key to it.” “ How so ?” asked I. “ Do you not recollect that the second appari¬ tion, as soon as he entered, walked directly up to the altar, and took the crucifix in his hand, and placed himself upon the carpet ?” “ It appeared so to me.” “ And this crucifix, according to the Sicilian’s confession, was a conductor. You see that the apparition hastened to make himself electrical. Thus the blow which Lord Seymour struck him with a sword was of course ineffectual; the electric stroke disabled his arm.” “This is true with respect to the sword. But the pistol fired by the Sicilian, the ball of which we heard roll slowly upon the altar ?” “ Are you convinced that this was the same ball which was fired from the pistol ?” replied the Prince. “ Not to mention that the puppet, or the man who represented the ghost, may have been so well accoutred as to be invulnerable by sword or bullet; but consider who it was that loaded the pistols.” “ True,” said I, and a sudden light broke upon my mind ; “ the Russian officer had loaded them, but it was in our presence. How could he have deceived us ?” •* Why should he not have deceived us ? Did you suspect him sufficiently to observe him? Did you examine the ball before it was put into the pistol? May it not have been one of quicksilver or clay ? Did you take notice whether the Rus¬ sian officer really put it into the barrel, or dropped it into his other hand ? But supposing that he actually loaded the pistols, what is to convince you that he really took the loaded ones into the room where the ghost appeared, and did not change them for another pair, which he might have done the uiore easily, as nobody ever thought of notic¬ ing him, and we were besides occupied in undress¬ ing? And could not the figure, at the moment when we were prevented from seeing it by the smoke of the pistol, having dropped another ball, with which it had been beforehand provided, on the altar ?—Which of these conjectures is im¬ possible ?” “ You are right. But that striking resemblance to your deceased friend !—I have often seen him with you, and I immediately recognized him in the apparition.” “ I did the same, and I must confess the illusion was complete. But if the juggler, from a few stolen glances at my snuff-box, was able to give to his apparition a resemblance, what was to pre¬ vent the Russian officer, who had used the box during the whole time of supper, who had had liberty to observe the picture unnoticed, and to whom I had discovered in confidence whom it re¬ presented, what was to prevent him from doing the same ? Add to this what has been before ob¬ served by the Sicilian, that the prominent features of the marquis were so striking as to be easily imitated; what is there so inexplicable in this second ghost ?” “ But the words he uttered? The information he gave you about your friend ?”— “ What?” said the Prince, “Did not the Sicilian assure us, that from the little which he had learned from me he had composed a similar story? Does not this prove that the invention was obvious and natural ? Besides, the answers of the ghost, like those of an oracle, were so obscure, that he was in no danger of being detected in a falsehood. If the man who personated the ghost possessed saga¬ city and presence of mind, and knew ever so little of the affair on which he was consulted, to what length might not he have carried the deception ? “ Pray consider, your highness, how much pre¬ paration such a complicated artifice would have required from the Armenian ; how much time it takes to paint a face with- sufficient exactness ; how much time would have been requisite to in- instruct the pretended ghost, so as to guard him against gross errors; what a degree of minute at¬ tention to regulate every minor attendant or ad¬ ventitious circumstance, which must be auswered in some manner, lest they should prove detri¬ mental ! And remember that the Russian officer was absent but half an hour. Was that short space of time sufficient to make even such arrange¬ ments as were most indispensable? Surely, my Prince, not even a dramatic writer, who has the least desire to preserve the three terrible unities of Aristotle, durst venture to load the interval between one act and another with such a variety of action, or to presume upon such a facility of belief in his audience.” “What! You think it absolutely impossible that every necessary preparation should have been made in the space of half an hour?” “Indeed, 1 look upon it as almost impossi¬ ble.” “ I do not understand this expression. Does it militate against the physical laws of time and space, or of matter and motion, that a man so in¬ genious and so expert as this Armenian must un- I doubtedly be, assisted by agents whose dexterity SECOND PERIOD. 301 • and acuteness are probably not inferior to bis own ; favored by the time of night, and watched by no one, provided with such means and instru¬ ments as a man of this profession is never with¬ out—is it impossible that such a man, favored by such circumstances, should be able to effect so much in so short a time? Is it ridiculous or ab¬ surd to suppose, that by a very small number of words or signs he can convey to his assistants very extensive commissions, and direct very com¬ plex operations?—Nothing ought to be admitted that is contrary to the established laws of nature, unless it is something with which these laws are absolutely incompatible. Would you rather give credit to a miracle than admit an improbability? Would you solve a difficulty rather by overturning the powers of nature than by believing an artful and uncommon combination of them ?” “ Though the fact will not justify a conclusion such as you have condemned, you must, however, grant that it is far beyond our conception.” “ I am almost tempted to dispute even this,” said the Prince, with a quiet smile. “ What would you say, my dear count, if it should be proved, for instance, that the operations of the Armenian were prepared and carried on, not only during the half hour that he was absent from us, not only in haste and incidentally, but during the whole evening and the whole night ? You recol¬ lect that the Sicilian employed nearly three hours in preparation.” “ The Sicilian ? Yes, my-Prince.” * “ And how will you convince me that this juggler had not as much concern in the second apparition as in the first?” “ How so, your highness?” “ That he was not the principal assistant of the Armenian ? In a word, how will you convince me that they did not co-operate ?” “ It w T ould be a difficult task to prove that,” ex¬ claimed I, with no little surprise. “ Not so difficult, my dear count, as you imagine. What 1 Could it have happened by mere chance that these two men should form a design so ex¬ traordinary and so complicated upon the same person, at the same time, and in the same place ? Could mere chance have produced such an exact harmony between their operations, that one of them should play so exactly the game of the other? Suppose for a moment that the Armenian intended to heighten the effect of his deception, by introducing it after a less refined one—that he created a Hector to make himself his Achilles. Suppose that he has done all this to discover what degree of credulity he could expect to find in me, to examine the readiest way to gain my confidence, to familiarize himself with his subject by an at¬ tempt that might have miscarried without any prejudice to his plan ; in a word, to tune the instru¬ ment on which he intended to play. Suppose he did this with the view of exciting my suspicions on one subject, in order to divert my attention from another more important to his design. Lastly, suppose he wishes to have some indirect methods of information, which he had himself some occasion to practice, imputed to the Sor¬ cerer, in order to divert suspicion from the true channel.” “ How do yon mean ?” said I. “ Suppose for instance that he may have bribed some of my servants, to give him secret intelli¬ gence, or, perhaps, even some papers which may serve his purpose. I have missed one of my do¬ mestics. What reason have I to think that the Armenian is not concerned in his leaving me? Such a connection, however, if it existed, may be accidentally discovered ; a letter may be inter¬ cepted ; a servant, who is in the secret, may be¬ tray his trust. Now all the consequence of the Armenian is destroyed, if I detect the source of his omniscience. He therefore introduces this Sorcerer, who must be supposed to have some de¬ sign upon me. He takes care to give me early notice of him, and his intentions, so that whatever I may hereafter discover, my suspicions must ne¬ cessarily rest upon the Sicilian. This is the pup¬ pet with which he amuses me, whilst he himself, unobserved and unsuspected, is entangling me in invisible snares. “ We will allow this. But is it consistent with the Armenian’s plan that he himself should des¬ troy the illusion which he has created, and dis¬ close the mysteries of his science to the eyes of the uninitiated ?” “What mysteries does he disclose? None, surely, which he intends to practice on me. He therefore loses nothing by the discovery. But, on the other hand, what an advantage will he gain, if this pretended victory over juggling and decep¬ tion should render me secure and unsuspecting; if he succeeds in diverting my attention from the right quarter, and in fixing my wavering suspi¬ cions on an object the most remote from the real one! He could naturally expect that, sooner or later, either from my own doubts, or at the sug¬ gestion of another, I should be tempted to seek a key to his mysterious wonders, in the mere art of a juggler ; how could he better provide against such an inquiry than by contrasting his prodigies with juggling tricks. By confining the latter within artificial limits, and by delivering, as it were, into my hands a scale by which to appre¬ ciate them, he naturally exalts and perplexes my ideas of the former. How many suspicions he precludes by this single contrivance ! How many methods of accounting for his miracles, which might afterward have occurred to me, does he refute beforehand !” “But in exposing such a finished deception, he has acted very much against his own interest, both by quickening the penetration of those whom he meant to impose upon, and by staggering their belief in miracles in general. Your highness’s self is the best proof of the insufficiency of his plan, if indeed he ever had one.” “ Perhaps he has been mistaken in respect to myself,” said the Prince: “but his conclusions have nevertheless been well founded. Could he foresee that I should exactly notice the very cir¬ cumstance which threatens to become the key to the whole artifice? AYas it in his plan that the creature he employed should render himself thus vulnerable? Are we certain that the Sicilian I has not far exceeded his commission ? He has undoubtedly done so with respect to the ring, and yet'it is chiefly this single circumstance which 802 PROSE WRITINGS. determined my distrust in him. How easily may a plan, whose contexture is most artful and re¬ fined, be spoiled in the execution by an awkward instrument. It certainly was not the Armenian’s intention that the Sorcerer should trumpet his fame to us in the style of a mountebank, that he should endeavor to impose upon us such fables as are too gross to bear the least reflection. For instance, with what countenance could this impostor affirm, that the miraculous being he spoke of must re¬ nounce all commerce with mankind at twelve in the night? Did we not see him among us at that very hour?” “ That is true,” cried I. “ He must have for¬ gotten it.” “ It often happens to people of this description, that they overact their parts ; and, by aiming at too much, mar the effects which a well-managed deception is calculated to produce.” “I cannot, however, yet prevail on myself to look upon the whole as a mere preconcerted scheme. What! the Sicilian’s terror—his con¬ vulsive fits—his swoon—the deplorable situation in which we saw him, and which was even such as to move our pity—were all these nothing more than a studied part ? I allow that a skillful per¬ former may carry imitation to a very high pitch, but he certainly has no power over the organs of life.” “ As for that, my friend,” replied the Prince, “ I have seen Richard the Third performed by Garrick. But were we at that moment sufficiently cool to be capable of observing dispassionately? Could we judge of the emotion of the Sicilian, when we were almost overcome by our own ? Be¬ sides, the decisive crisis even of a deception is so momentous to the deceiver himself, that excessive anxiety may produce in him symptoms as violent as those which surprise excites in the deceived. Add to this the unexpected entrance of the watch.” “I am glad you remind me of that, Prince. Would the Armenian have ventured to discover such a dangerous scheme to the eye of justice; to expose the fidelity of his creature to so severe a test ? And for what purpose ?” “ Leave that matter to him ; he is no doubt acquainted with the people he employs. Do we know what secret crimes may have secured him the silence of this man ? 5Tou have been informed of the office he holds in Venice; what difficulty will he find in saving a man of whom he himself is the only accuser?”— [This suggestion of the Prince was but too well justified by the event. For, some days after, on inquiring after the prisoner, we were told that he had escaped, and had not since been heard of.] “ You ask what could be his motives for deliver¬ ing this man into the hands of justice?” continued the Prince. “By what other method, except this violent one, could he have wrested from the Sicilian such an infamous and improbable confes¬ sion, which, however, was so material to the suc¬ cess of his plan ? Who, but a man whose case is desperate, and who has nothing to lose, would consent to give s