[Sidenote: Military Preparations of Philip II.]

The assistance which Elizabeth rendered to the Hollanders, of course, provoked the resentment of Philip II., and this was increased by the legalized piracies of Sir Francis Drake, in the West Indies, and on the coasts of South America. This commander, in time of peace, insisted on a right to visit those ports which the Spaniards had closed, which, by the law of nations, is piracy. Philip, according to all political maxims, was forced to declare war with England, and he made immense preparations to subdue it. But the preparations of Elizabeth to resist the powerful monarch were also great, and Drake performed brilliant exploits on the sea, among other things, destroying one hundred ships in the Bay of Cadiz, and taking immense spoil. The preparations of the Spanish monarch were made on such a gigantic scale, that Elizabeth summoned a great council of war to meet the emergency, at which the all-accomplished Sir Walter Raleigh took a leading part. His advice was to meet the Spaniards on the sea. Although the royal navy consisted, at this time, of only thirty-six sail, such vigorous measures were prosecuted, that one hundred and ninety-one ships were collected, manned by seventeen thousand four hundred seamen. The merchants of London granted thirty ships and ten thousand men, and all England was aroused to meet the expected danger. Never was patriotism more signally evinced, never were more decisive proofs given of the popularity of a sovereign. Indeed, Elizabeth was always popular with the nation; and with all her ceremony, and state, and rudeness to the commons, and with all their apparent servility, she never violated the laws, or irritated the people by oppressive exactions. Many acts of the Tudor princes seem to indicate the reign of despotism in England, but this despotism was never grievous, and had all the benignity of a paternal government. Capricious and arbitrary as Elizabeth was, in regard to some unfortunate individuals who provoked her hatred or her jealousy, still she ever sedulously guarded the interests of the nation, and listened to the counsel of patriotic and able ministers. When England was threatened with a Spanish invasion, there was not a corner of the land which did not rise to protect a beloved sovereign; nor was there a single spot, where a landing might be effected, around which an army of twenty thousand could not be rallied in forty-eight hours.

[Sidenote: Spanish Armada.]

But Philip, nevertheless, expected the complete conquest of England; and, as his "Invincible Armada" of one hundred and thirty ships, left the mouth of the Tagus, commanded by Medina Sidonia, and manned by the noblest troops of Spain, he fancied his hour of triumph was at hand. But his hopes proved dreams, like most of the ambitious designs of men. The armada met with nothing but misfortunes, both from battle and from storms. Only fifty ships returned to Spain. An immense booty was divided among the English sailors, and Elizabeth sent, in her turn, a large fleet to Spain, the following year, (1589,) under the command of Drake, which, after burning a few towns, returned ingloriously to England, with a loss of ten thousand men. The war was continued with various success till 1598, when a peace was negotiated. The same year, died Philip II., and Lord Burleigh, who, for forty years, directed the councils of Elizabeth, and to whose voice she ever listened, even when opposed by such favorites as Leicester and Essex. Burleigh was not a great genius, but was a man admirably adapted to his station and his times,—was cool, sagacious, politic, and pacific, skilful in the details of business competent to advise, but not aspiring to command. He was splendidly rewarded for his services, and left behind him three hundred distinct landed estates.

[Sidenote: Irish Rebellion.]

Meanwhile the attention of the queen was directed to the affairs of Ireland, which had been conquered by Henry II. in the year 1170, but over which only an imperfect sovereignty had been exercised. The Irish princes and nobles, divided among themselves, paid the exterior marks of obedience, but kept the country in a constant state of insurrection.

The impolitic and romantic projects of the English princes for subduing France, prevented a due attention to Ireland, ever miserably governed. Elizabeth was the first of the English sovereigns to perceive the political importance of this island, and the necessity for the establishment of law and order. Besides furnishing governors of great capacity, she founded the university of Dublin, and attempted to civilize the half-barbarous people. Unfortunately, she also sought to make them Protestants, against their will, which laid the foundation of many subsequent troubles, not yet removed. A spirit of discontent pervaded the country, and the people were ready for rebellion. Hugh O'Neale, the head of a powerful clan, and who had been raised to the dignity of Earl of Tyrone, yet attached to the barbarous license in which he had been early trained, fomented the popular discontents, and excited a dangerous rebellion. Hostilities, of the most sanguinary character, commenced. The queen sent over her favorite, the Earl of Essex, with an army of twenty thousand men, to crush the rebellion. He was a brave commander, but was totally unacquainted with the country and the people he was expected to subdue, and was, consequently, unsuccessful. But his successor, Lord Mountjoy, succeeded in restoring the queen's authority, though at the cost of four millions and a half, an immense sum in that age, while poor Ireland was devastated with fire and sword, and suffered every aggravation of accumulated calamities.

[Sidenote: The Earl of Essex.]

Meanwhile, Essex, who had returned to England against the queen's orders, was treated with coldness, deprived of his employments, and sentenced to be confined. This was more than the haughty favorite could bear, accustomed as he had been to royal favor. At first, he acquiesced in his punishment, with every mark of penitence, and Elizabeth was beginning to relax in her severity for she never intended to ruin him; but he soon gave vent to his violent temper, indulged in great liberties of speech, and threw off all appearance of duty and respect. He even engaged in treasonable designs, encouraged Roman Catholics at his house, and corresponded with James VI. of Scotland about his succession. His proceedings were discovered, and he was summoned before the privy council. Instead of obedience, he armed himself and his followers, and, in conjunction with some discontented nobles, and about three hundred gentlemen, attempted to excite an insurrection in London, where he was very popular with the citizens. He was captured and committed to the Tower, with the Earl of Southampton. These rash but brave noblemen were tried by their peers, and condemned as guilty of high treason. In this trial, the celebrated Bacon appeared against his old patron, and likened him to the Duke of Guise. The great lawyer Coke, who was attorney-general, compared him to Catiline.

Essex disdained to sue the queen for a pardon, and was privately beheaded in the Tower. He merited his fate, if the offence of which he was guilty deserved such a punishment. It is impossible not to be interested in the fate of a man so brave, high-spirited, and generous, the idol of the people, and the victor in so many enterprises. Some historians maintain that Elizabeth relented, and would have saved her favorite, had he only implored her clemency; but this statement is denied by others; nor have we any evidence to believe that Essex, caught with arms against the sovereign who had honored him, could have averted his fate.

Elizabeth may have wept for the death of the nobleman she had loved. It is certain that, after his death, she never regained her spirits, and that a deep melancholy was visible in her countenance. All her actions showed a deeply-settled inward grief, and that she longed for death, having tasted the unsubstantial nature of human greatness. She survived the execution of Essex two years, but lived long enough to see the neglect into which she was every day falling, and to feel that, in spite of all her glory and power, she was not exempted from drinking the cup of bitterness.

[Sidenote: Character of Elizabeth.]

Whatever unamiable qualities she evinced as a woman, in spite of her vanity, and jealousy, and imperious temper, her reign was one of the most glorious in the annals of her country. The policy of Burleigh was the policy of Sir Robert Walpole—that of peace, and a desire to increase the resources of the kingdom. Her taxes were never oppressive, and were raised without murmur; the people were loyal and contented; the Protestant religion was established on a firm foundation; and a constellation of great men shed around her throne the bright rays of immortal genius.

The most unhappy peculiarity of her reign was the persecution of the Non-conformists, which, if not sanguinary, was irritating and severe. For some time after the accession of Elizabeth, the Puritans were permitted to indulge in their peculiarities, without being excluded from the established church; but when Elizabeth felt herself secure, then they were obliged to conform, or suffered imprisonment, fines, and other punishments. The original difficulty was their repugnance to the surplice, and to some few forms of worship, which gradually extended to an opposition to the order of bishops; to the temporal dignities of the church; to the various titles of the hierarchy; to the jurisdiction of the spiritual courts; to the promiscuous access of all persons to the communion table; to the liturgy; to the observance of holydays; to the cathedral worship; to the use of organs; to the presentation of living by patrons; and finally, to some of the doctrines of the established church. The separation of the Puritans from the Episcopal church, took place in 1566; and, from that time to the death of Elizabeth, they enjoyed no peace, although they sought redress in the most respectful manner, and raised no opposition to the royal authority. Thousands were ejected from their livings, and otherwise punished, for not conforming to the royal conscience. But persecution and penal laws fanned a fanatical spirit, which, in the reign of Charles, burst out into a destructive flame, and spread devastation and ruin through all parts of the kingdom.

If the queen and her ministers did not understand the principles of religious toleration, they pursued a much more enlightened policy in regard to all financial and political subjects, than during any former reign. The commercial importance of England received a new impulse. The reign of Henry VIII. was a reign of spoliation. The king was enriched beyond all former precedent, but his riches did not keep pace with his spendthrift habits. The value of the abbey lands which Henry seized amounted, a century after his death, to six million pounds. The lands of the abbey of St. Alban's alone rented for two hundred thousand pounds. The king debased the coin, confiscated chapels and colleges, as well as monasteries, and raised money by embargoes, monopolies, and compulsory loans.

[Sidenote: Improvements Made in the Reign of Elizabeth.]

But Elizabeth, instead of contracting debts, paid off the old ones, restored the coin to its purity, and was content with an annual revenue of five hundred thousand pounds, even at a time when the rebellion in Ireland cost her four hundred thousand pounds. Her frugality equalled the rapacity of her father, and she was extravagant only in dress, and on great occasions of public rejoicings. But her economy was a small matter compared with the wise laws which were passed respecting the trade of the country, by which commercial industry began to characterize the people. Improvements in navigation followed, and also maritime discoveries and colonial settlements. Sir Francis Drake circumnavigated the globe, and the East India Company was formed. Under the auspices of Sir Walter Raleigh, Virginia was discovered and colonized. Unfortunately, also, the African slave trade commenced—a traffic which has been productive of more human misery, and led to more disastrous political evils, than can be traced to any other event in the history of modern times.

During this reign, the houses of the people became more comfortable; chimneys began to be used; pewter dishes took the place of wooden trenchers, and wheat was substituted for rye and barley; linen and woollen cloth was manufactured; salads, cabbages, gooseberries, apricots, pippins, currants, cherries, plums, carnations, and the damask rose were cultivated, for the first time. But the great glory of this reign was the revival of literature and science. Raleigh, "the soldier, the sailor, the scholar, the philosopher, the poet, the orator, the historian, the courtier," then, adorned the court, and the prince of poets, the immortal Shakspeare, then wrote those plays, which, for moral wisdom and knowledge of the human soul, appear to us almost to be dictated by the voice of inspiration. The prince of philosophers too, the great miner and sapper of the false systems of the middle ages, Francis Bacon, then commenced his career, and Spenser dedicated to Elizabeth his "Fairy Queen," one of the most truly poetical compositions that genius ever produced. The age produced also great divines; but these did not occupy so prominent a place in the nation's eye as during the succeeding reigns.

[Sidenote: Reflections.]

While the virgin queen was exercising so benign an influence on the English nation, great events, though not disconnected with English politics, were taking place on the continent. The most remarkable of these was the persecution of the Huguenots. The rise and fortunes of this sect, during the reigns of Henry II., Francis II., Charles IX., Henry III., and Henry IV., now demand our attention. If a newspaper had, in that age, been conducted upon the principles it now is, the sufferings of the Huguenots would always be noticed. It is our province to describe just what a modern newspaper would have alluded to, had it been printed three hundred years ago. It would not have been filled with genealogies of kings, but with descriptions of great popular movements. And this is history.

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REFERENCES.—For the history of this reign, see Hume, Lingard, and Hallam; Miss Strickland's Queens of England; Life of Mary, Queen of Scots; M'Crie's Life of Knox; Robertson's History of Scotland; Macaulay's Essay on Nares's Life of Burleigh; Life of Sir Walter Raleigh; Neale's History of the Puritans. Kenilworth may also be profitably read.



CHAPTER VII.

FRANCIS II., CHARLES IX., HENRY III., AND HENRY IV.

The history of France, from the death of Francis I. to the accession of Henry IV. is virtually the history of religious contentions and persecutions, and of those civil wars which grew out of them. The Huguenotic contest, then, is a great historical subject, and will be presented in connection with the history of France, until the death of Henry IV., the greatest of the French monarchs, and long the illustrious head of the Protestant party.

The reform doctrines first began to spread in France during the reign of Francis I. As early as 1523, he became a persecutor, and burned many at the stake, among whom the descendants of the Waldenses were the most numerous. In 1540, sentence was pronounced against them by the parliament of Aix. Their doctrines were the same in substance as those of the Swiss reformers.

While this persecution was raging, John Calvin fled from France to Ferrara, from which city he proceeded to Geneva. This was in the year 1536, when his theological career commenced by the publication of his Institutes, which were dedicated to Francis I., one of the most masterly theological works ever written, although compended from the writings of Augustine. The Institutes of Calvin, the great text-book of the Swiss and French reformers, were distasteful to the French king, and he gave fresh order for the persecution of the Protestants. Notwithstanding the hostility of Francis, the new doctrines spread, and were embraced by some of the most distinguished of the French nobility. The violence of persecution was not much arrested during the reign of Henry II., and, through the influence of the Cardinal of Lorraine, the inquisition was established in the kingdom.

[Sidenote: Catharine de Medicis.]

The wife of Henry II. was the celebrated Catharine de Medicis; and she was bitterly opposed to the reform doctrines, and incited her husband to the most cruel atrocities. Francis II. continued the persecution, and his mother, Catharine, became virtually the ruler of the nation.

The power of the queen mother was much increased when Francis II. died, and when his brother, Charles IX., a boy of nine years of age, succeeded to the French crown. She exercised her power by the most unsparing religious persecution recorded in the history of modern Europe. There had been some hope that Protestantism would be established in France; but it did not succeed, owing to the violence of the persecution. It made, however, a desperate struggle before it was overcome.

At the head of the Catholic party were the queen regent, the Cardinal of Lorraine, the Duke of Guise, his brother, and the Constable Montmorency. They had the support of the priesthood, of the Spaniards, and a great majority of the nation.

The Protestants were headed by the King of Navarre, father of Henry IV., the Prince of Conde, his brother, and Admiral Coligny; and they had the sympathy of the university, the parliaments, and the Protestants of Germany and England.

[Sidenote: Civil War in France.]

Between these parties a struggle lasted for forty years, with various success. Persecution provoked resistance, but resistance did not lead to liberty. Civil war in France did not secure the object sought. Still the Protestants had hope, and, as they could always assemble a large army, they maintained their ground. Their conduct was not marked by the religious earnestness which characterized the Puritans, or by the same strength of religious principle. Moreover, political motives were mingled with religious. The contest was a struggle for the ascendency of rival chiefs, as well as for the establishment of reformed doctrines. The Bourbons hated the Guises, and the Guises resolved to destroy the Bourbons. In the course of their rivalry and warfare, the Duke of Guise was assassinated, and the King of Navarre, as well as the Prince of Conde, were killed.

Charles IX. was fourteen years of age when the young king of Navarre,—at that time sixteen years of age,—and his cousin, the Prince of Conde, became the acknowledged heads of the Protestant party. Their education was learned in the camp and the field of battle.

Charles IX., under the influence of his hateful mother, finding that civil war only destroyed the resources of the country, without weakening the Protestants, made peace, but formed a plan for their extermination by treachery. In order to cover his designs he gave his sister, Margaret de Valois, in marriage to the King of Navarre, first prince of the blood, then nineteen years of age. Admiral Coligny was invited to Paris, and treated with distinguished courtesy.

[Sidenote: Massacre of St. Bartholomew.]

It was during the festivities which succeeded the marriage of the King of Navarre that Coligny was murdered, and the signal for the horrid slaughter of St. Bartholomew was given. At midnight, August 23, 1572, the great bell at the Hotel de Ville began to toll; torches were placed in the windows, chains were drawn across the streets, and armed bodies collected around the hotels. The doors of the houses were broken open, and neither age, condition, nor sex was spared, of such as were not distinguished by a white cross in the hat. The massacre at Paris was followed by one equally brutal in the provinces. Seventy thousand people were slain in cold blood. The King of Navarre and the Prince of Conde only escaped in consequence of their relationship with the king, and by renouncing the Protestant religion.

Most of the European courts expressed their detestation of this foulest crime in the history of religious bigotry; but the pope went in grand procession to his cathedral, and ordered a Te Deum to be sung in commemoration of an event which steeped his cause in infamy to the end of time.

The Protestants, though nearly exterminated, again rallied, and the King of Navarre and his cousin the Prince of Conde escaped, renounced the religion which had been forced on them by fear of death, and prosecuted a bloody civil war, with the firm resolution of never abandoning it until religious liberty was guarantied.

Meanwhile, Charles IX. died, as it was supposed, by poison. His last hours were wretched, and his remorse for the massacre of St. Bartholomew filled his soul with agony. He beheld spectres, and dreamed horrid dreams; his imagination constantly saw heaps of livid bodies, and his ears were assailed with imaginary groans. He became melancholy and ferocious, while his kingdom became the prey of factions and insurrections. But he was a timid and irresolute king, and was but the tool of his infamous mother, the grand patroness of assassins, against whom, on his death bed, he cautioned the king of Navarre.

[Sidenote: Henry III.—Henry IV.]

He was succeeded by his brother, the King of Poland, under the title of Henry III. The persecutions of the Huguenots were renewed, and the old scenes of treachery, assassination, and war were acted over again. The cause of religion was lost sight of in the labyrinth of contentions, jealousies, and plots. Intrigues and factions were endless. Nearly all the leaders, on both sides, perished by the sword or the dagger. The Prince of Conde, the Duke of Guise, and his brother, the Cardinal of Lorraine, were assassinated. Shortly after, died the chief mover of all the troubles, Catharine de Medicis, a woman of talents and persuasive eloquence, but of most unprincipled ambition, perfidious, cruel, and dissolute. She encouraged the licentiousness of the court, and even the worst vices of her sons, that she might make them subservient to her designs. All her passions were subordinate to her calculations of policy, and every womanly virtue was suppressed by the desire of wielding a government which she usurped.

Henry III. soon followed her to the grave, being, in turn, assassinated by a religious fanatic. His death (1589) secured the throne to the king of Navarre, who took the title of Henry IV.

Henry IV., the first of the Bourbon line, was descended from Robert, the sixth son of St. Louis, who had married the daughter and heiress of John of Burgundy and Agnes of Bourbon. He was thirty-six years of age when he became king, and had passed through great experiences and many sorrows. Thus far he had contended for Protestant opinions, and was the acknowledged leader of the Protestant party in France. But a life of contention and bloodshed, and the new career opened to him as king of France, cooled his religious ardor, and he did not hesitate to accept the condition which the French nobles imposed, before they would take the oaths of allegiance. This was, that he should abjure Protestantism. "My kingdom," said he, "is well worth a mass." It will be ever laid to his reproach, by the Protestants, that he renounced his religion for worldly elevation. Nor is it easy to exculpate him on the highest principles of moral integrity. But there were many palliations for his conduct, which it is not now easy to appreciate. It is well known that the illustrious Sully, his prime minister, and, through life, a zealous Protestant, approved of his course. It was certainly clear that, without becoming a Catholic, he never could peaceably enjoy his crown, and France would be rent, for another generation, by those civil wars which none lamented more than Henry himself. Besides, four fifths of the population were Catholics, and the Protestants could not reasonably expect to gain the ascendency. All they could expect was religious toleration, and this Henry was willing to grant. It should also be considered that the king, though he professed the reform doctrines, was never what may be called a religious man, being devoted to pleasure, and to schemes of ambition. It is true he understood and consulted the interests of his kingdom, and strove to make his subjects happy. Herein consists his excellence. As a magnanimous, liberal-minded, and enterprising man, he surpassed all the French kings. But it is ridiculous to call him a religious man, or even strongly fixed in his religious opinions. "Do you," said the king to a great Protestant divine, "believe that a man may be saved by the Catholic religion?" "Undoubtedly," replied the clergyman, "if his life and heart be holy." "Then," said the king, "prudence dictates that I embrace the Catholic religion, and not yours; for, in that case, according to both Catholics and Protestants, I may be saved; but, if I embrace your religion, I shall not be saved, according to the Catholics."

But the king's conversion to Catholicism did not immediately result in the tranquillity of the distracted country. The Catholics would not believe in his sincerity, and many battles had to be fought before he was in peaceable enjoyment of his throne. But there is nothing so hateful as civil war, especially to the inhabitants of great cities; and Paris, at last, and the chief places in the kingdom, acknowledged his sway. The king of Spain, the great Catholic prelates, and the pope, finally perceived how hopeless was the struggle against a man of great military experience, with a devoted army and an enthusiastic capital on his side.

The peace of Verviens, in 1598, left the king without foreign or domestic enemies. From that period to his death, his life was devoted to the welfare of his country.

[Sidenote: Edict of Nantes.]

His first act was the celebrated Edict of Nantes, by which the Huguenots had quiet and undisturbed residence, the free exercise of their religion, and public worship, except in the court, the army, and within five leagues of Paris. They were eligible to all offices, civil and military; and all public prosecutions, on account of religion, were dropped. This edict also promulgated a general amnesty for political offences, and restored property and titles, as before the war; but the Protestants were prohibited from printing controversial books, and were compelled to pay tithes to the established clergy.

Henry IV., considering the obstacles with which he had to contend, was the greatest general of the age; but it is his efforts in civilization which entitle him to his epithet of Great.

[Sidenote: Improvements during the Reign of Henry IV.]

The first thing which demanded his attention, as a civil ruler, was the settlement of the finances—ever the leading cause of troubles with the French government. These were intrusted to the care of Rosny, afterward Duke of Sully, the most able and upright of all French financiers—a man of remarkable probity and elevation of sentiment. He ever continued to be the minister and the confidant of the king, and maintained his position without subserviency or flattery, almost the only man on the records of history who could tell, with impunity, wholesome truths to an absolute monarch. So wise were his financial arrangements, that a debt of three hundred million of livres was paid off in eight years. In five years, the taxes were reduced one half, the crown lands redeemed, the arsenals stored, the fortifications rebuilt, churches erected, canals dug, and improvements made in every part of the kingdom. On the death of the king, he had in his treasury nearly fifty millions of livres. Under the direction of this able minister, the laws were enforced, robbery and vagrancy were nearly stopped, and agriculture received a great impulse. But economy was the order of the day. The king himself set an illustrious example, and even dressed in gray cloth, with a doublet of taffeta, without embroidery, dispensed with all superfluity at his table, and dismissed all useless servants.

The management and economy of the king enabled him to make great improvements, besides settling the deranged finances of the kingdom. He built innumerable churches, bridges, convents, hospitals, fortresses, and ships. Some of the finest palaces which adorn Paris were erected by him. He was also the patron of learning, the benefits of which he appreciated. He himself was well acquainted with the writings of the ancients. He was particularly fond of the society of the learned, with whom he conversed with freedom and affability. He increased the libraries, opened public schools, and invited distinguished foreigners to Paris, and rewarded them with stipends. Lipsius, Scaliger, and De Thou, were the ornaments of his court.

And his tender regard to the happiness and welfare of his subjects was as marked as his generous appreciation of literature and science. It was his ambition to be the father of his people; and his memorable saying, "Yes, I will so manage matters that the poorest peasant in my kingdom may eat meat each day in the week, and, moreover, be enabled to put a fowl in the pot on a Sunday," has alone embalmed his memory in the affections of the French nation, who, of all their monarchs, are most partial to Henry IV.

[Sidenote: Peace Scheme of Henry IV.]

But this excellent king was also a philanthropist, and cherished the most enlightened views as to those subjects on which rests the happiness of nations. Though a warrior, the preservation of a lasting peace was the great idea of his life. He was even visionary in his projects to do good; for he imagined it was possible to convince monarchs that they ought to prefer purity, peace, and benevolence, to ambition and war. Hence, he proposed to establish a Congress of Nations, chosen from the various states of Europe, to whom all international difficulties should be referred, with power to settle them—a very desirable object, the most so conceivable; for war is the greatest of all national calamities and crimes. The scheme of the enlightened Henry, however, did not attract much attention; and, even had it been encouraged, would have been set aside in the next generation. What would such men as Frederic the Great, or Marlborough, or Louis XIV., or Napoleon have cared for such an object? But Henry, in his scheme, also had in view the regulation of such forces as the European monarchs should sustain, and this arose from his desire to preserve the "Balance of Power"—the great object of European politicians in these latter times.

[Sidenote: Death of Henry IV.]

But Henry was not permitted, by Providence, to prosecute his benevolent designs. He was assassinated by a man whom he had never injured—by the most unscrupulous of all misguided men—a religious bigot. The Jesuit Ravaillac, in a mood, as it is to be hoped, bordering on madness, perpetrated the foul deed. But Henry only suffered the fate of nearly all the distinguished actors in those civil and religious contentions which desolated France for forty years. He died in 1610, at the age of fifty-seven, having reigned twenty-one years, nine of which were spent in uninterrupted warfare.

By his death the kingdom was thrown into deep and undissembled mourning. Many fell speechless in the streets when the intelligence of his assassination was known; others died from excess of grief. All felt that they had lost more than a father, and nothing was anticipated but storms and commotions.

He left no children by his wife, Margaret de Valois, who proved inconstant, and from whom he was separated. By his second wife, Mary de Medicis, he had three children, the oldest of whom was a child when he ascended the throne, by the title of Louis XIII. His daughter, Henrietta, married Charles I. of England.

Though great advances were made in France during this reign, it was still far from that state of civilization which it attained a century afterwards. It contained about fifteen million of inhabitants, and Paris about one hundred and fifty thousand. The nobles were numerous and powerful, and engrossed the wealth of the nation. The people were not exactly slaves, but were reduced to great dependence, were uneducated, degraded, and enjoyed but few political or social privileges. They were oppressed by the government, by the nobles, and by the clergy.

The highest official dignitary was the constable, the second the keeper of the seals, the third the chamberlain, then the six or eight marshals, then the secretary of state, then gentlemen of the household, and military commanders. The king was nearly absolute. The parliament was a judicial tribunal, which did not enact laws, but which registered the edicts of the king.

Commerce and manufactures were extremely limited, and far from flourishing; and the arts were in an infant state. Architecture, the only art in which half-civilized nations have excelled, was the most advanced, and was displayed in the churches and royal palaces. Paris was crowded with uncomfortable houses, and the narrow streets were favorable to tumult as well as pestilence. Tapestry was the most common and the most expensive of the arts, and the hangings, in a single room, often reached a sum which would be equal, in these times, to one hundred thousand dollars. The floors of the palaces were spread with Turkey carpets. Chairs were used only in kings' palaces, and carriages were but just introduced, and were clumsy and awkward. Mules were chiefly used in travelling, the horses being reserved for war. Dress, especially of females, was gorgeous and extravagant; false hair, masks, trailed petticoats, and cork heels ten inches high, were some of the peculiarities. The French then, as now, were fond of the pleasures of the table, and the hour for dinner was eleven o'clock. Morals were extremely low, and gaming was a universal passion, in which Henry IV. himself extravagantly indulged. The advice of Catharine de Medicis to her son Charles IX. showed her knowledge of the French character, even as it exists now: "Twice a week give public assemblies, for the specific secret of the French government is, to keep the people always cheerful; for they are so restless you must occupy them, during peace, either with business or amusement, or else they will involve you in trouble."

[Sidenote: France at the Death of Henry IV.]

Such was France, at the death of Henry IV., 1610, one of the largest and most powerful of the European kingdoms, though far from the greatness it was destined afterwards to attain.

A more powerful monarchy, at this period, was Spain. As this kingdom was then in the zenith of its power and glory, we will take a brief survey of it during the reign of Philip II., the successor of Charles V., a person to whom we have often referred. With his reign are closely connected the struggles of the Hollanders to secure their civil and religious independence. The Low Countries were provinces of Spain, and therefore to be considered in connection with Spanish history.

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REFERENCES.—For a knowledge of France during the reign of Henry IV., see James's History of Henry IV.; James's Life of Conde; History of the Huguenots. Rankin's and Crowe's Histories of France are the best in English, but far inferior to Sismondi's, Millot's, and Lacretelle's. Sully's Memoirs throw considerable light on this period, and Dumas's Margaret de Valois may be read with profit.



CHAPTER VIII.

PHILIP II. AND THE AUSTRIAN PRINCES OF SPAIN.

[Sidenote: Bigotry of Philip II.]

Spain cannot be said to have been a powerful state until the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella; when the crowns of Castile and Arragon were united, and when the discoveries of Columbus added a new world to their extensive territories. Nor, during the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, was the power of the crown as absolute as during the sway of the Austrian princes. The nobles were animated by a bold and free spirit, and the clergy dared to resist the encroachments of royalty, and even the usurpations of Rome. Charles V. succeeded in suppressing the power of the nobles, and all insurrections of the people, and laid the foundation for the power of his gloomy son, Philip II. With Philip commenced the grandeur of the Spanish monarchy. By him, also, were sown the seeds of its subsequent decay. Under him, the inquisition was disgraced by ten thousand enormities, Holland was overrun by the Duke of Alva, and America conquered by Cortes and Pizarro. It was he who built the gorgeous palaces of Spain, and who, with his Invincible Armada, meditated the conquest of England. The wealth of the Indies flowed into the royal treasury, and also enriched all orders and classes. Silver and gold became as plenty at Madrid as in old times at Jerusalem under the reign of Solomon. But Philip was a different prince from Solomon. His talents and attainments were respectable, but he had a jealous and selfish disposition, and exerted all the energies of his mind, and all the resources of his kingdom, to crush the Protestant religion and the liberties of Europe.

Among the first acts of his reign was the effort to extinguish Protestantism in the Netherlands, an assemblage of seigniories, under various titles, subject to his authority. The opinions of Luther and Calvin made great progress in this country, and Philip, in order to repress them, created new bishops, and established the Inquisition. The people protested, and these protests were considered as rebellious.

[Sidenote: Revolt of the Netherlands.]

At the head of the nobility was William, the Prince of Orange, on whom Philip had conferred the government of Holland, Zealand, Friesland, and Utrecht, provinces of the Netherlands. He was a haughty but resolute and courageous character, and had adopted the opinions of Calvin, for which he lost the confidence of Philip. In the prospect of destruction, he embraced the resolution of delivering his country from the yoke of a merciless and bigoted master. Having reduced the most important garrisons of Holland and Zealand, he was proclaimed stadtholder, and openly threw off his allegiance to Spain. Hostilities, of course, commenced. Alva, the general of Philip, took the old city of Haerlem, and put fifteen hundred to the sword, among whom were all the magistrates, and all the Protestant clergy.

Don John, Archduke of Austria, and the brother of Philip, succeeded the Duke of Alva, during whose administration the seven United Provinces formed themselves into a confederation, and chose the Prince of Orange to be the general of their armies, admiral of their fleets, and chief magistrate, by the title of stadtholder. But William was soon after assassinated by a wretch who had been bribed by the exasperated Philip, and Maurice, his son, received his title, dignities, and power. His military talents, as the antagonist of the Duke of Parma, lieutenant to Philip, in the Netherlands, secured him a high place in the estimation of warriors. To protect this prince and the infant republic of Holland, Queen Elizabeth sent four thousand men under the Earl of Leicester, her favorite; and, with this assistance, the Hollanders maintained their ground against the most powerful monarch in Europe, as has been already mentioned in the chapter on Elizabeth.

After the loss of the Netherlands, the next great event of his reign was the acquisition of Portugal, to which he laid claim on the death of Don Henry, in 1581. There were several other claimants, but Philip, with an army of twenty thousand, was stronger than any of the others. He gained a decisive victory over Don Antonio, uncle to the last monarch, and was crowned at Lisbon without opposition.

[Sidenote: Revolt of the Moriscoes.]

The revolt of the Moriscoes occupies a prominent place in the annals of this reign. They were Christianized Moors, but, at heart, Mohammedans. A decree had been published that their children should frequent the Christian church, that the Arabic should no longer be used in writing, that both men and women should wear the Spanish costume, that they no longer should receive Mohammedan names, or marry without permission. The Moriscoes contended that no particular dress involved religious opinions, that the women used the veil according to their notions of modesty, that the use of their own language was no sin, and that baths were used, not from religious motives, but for the sake of cleanliness. These expostulations were, however, without effect. Nothing could move the bigoted king. So revolt followed cruelty and oppression. Great excesses were committed by both parties, and most horrible barbarities were exhibited. The atrocious nature of civil war is ever the same, and presents nearly the same undeviating picture of misery and crime. But in this war there was something fiendish. A clergyman was roasted over a brazier, and the women, wearied with his protracted death, despatched him with their needles and knives. The rebels ridiculed the sacrifice of the mass by slaughtering a pig on the high altar of a church. These insults were retaliated with that cruelty which Spanish bigotry and malice know so well how to inflict. Thousands of defenceless women and children were murdered in violation of the most solemn treaties. The whole Moorish population was finally exterminated, and Granada, with its beautiful mountains and fertile valleys, was made a desert. No less than six hundred thousand were driven to Africa—an act of great impolicy, since the Moriscoes were the most ingenious and industrious part of the population; and their exile contributed to undermine that national prosperity in which, at that day, every Spaniard gloried. But destruction ever succeeds pride: infatuation and blindness are the attendants of despotism.

The destruction of the Spanish Armada, and the losses which the Spaniards suffered from Sir Francis Drake and Admiral Hawkins, have already been mentioned. But the pride of Philip was mortified, rather than that his power was diminished. His ambition received a check, and he found it impossible to conquer England. His finances, too, became deranged; still he remained the absolute master of the richest kingdom in the world.

[Sidenote: Causes of Decline of the Spanish Monarchy.]

The decline of the Spanish monarchy dates from his death which took place in his magnificent palace of the Escurial, in 1598. Under his son Philip III., decline became very marked, and future ruin could be predicted.

The principal cause of the decline of prosperity was the great increase of the clergy, and the extent of their wealth. In the Spanish dominions, which included Spain, Naples, Milan, Parma, Sicily, Sardinia, the Netherlands, Portugal, and the Indies, there were fifty-four archbishops, six hundred and eighty-four bishops, seven thousand hospitals, one hundred thousand abbeys and nunneries, six hundred thousand monks, and three hundred and ten thousand secular priests—a priest to every ten families. Almost every village had a monastery. The diocese of Seville had fourteen thousand priests, nearly the present number of all the clergy of the establishment in England. The cathedral of Seville gave support and occupation to one hundred priests.

And this numerous clergy usurped the power and dignities of the state. They also encouraged that frightful inquisition, the very name of which conjures up the most horrid images of death and torture. This institution, committed to the care of Dominican monks, was instituted to put down heresy; that is, every thing in poetry, philosophy, or religion, which was distasteful to the despots of the human mind. The inquisitors had power to apprehend people even suspected of heresy, and, on the testimony of two witnesses, could condemn them to torture, imprisonment, and death. Resistance was vain; complaint was ruin. Arrests took place suddenly and secretly. Nor had the prisoner a knowledge of his accusers, or of the crimes of which he was accused. The most delicate maidens, as well as men of hoary hairs and known integrity, were subjected to every outrage that human nature could bear, or satanic ingenuity inflict. Should the jailer take compassion, and bestow a few crumbs of bread or drops of water, he would be punished as the greatest of traitors. Even nobles were not exempted from the supervision of this court, which was established in every village and town in Portugal and Spain, and which, in the single city of Toledo, condemned, in one year, seventeen thousand people. This institution was tolerated by the king, since he knew very well that there ever exists an intimate union between absolutism in religion and absolutism in government.

[Sidenote: The Increase of Gold and Silver.]

[Sidenote: Decline of the Spanish Monarchy.]

Besides the spiritual despotism which the clergy of Spain exercised over a deluded people, but a people naturally of fine elements of character, the sudden increase of gold and silver led to luxury, idleness, and degeneracy. Money being abundant, in consequence of the gold and silver mines of America, the people neglected the cultivation of those things which money could procure. Then followed a great rise in the prices of all kinds of provision and clothing. Houses, lands, and manufactures also soon rose in value. Hence money was delusive, since, with ten times the increase of specie, there was a corresponding decrease in those necessaries of life which gold and silver would purchase. Silver and gold are only the medium of trade, not the basis of wealth. The real prosperity of a country depends upon the amount of productive industry. If diamonds were as numerous as crystals, they would be worth no more than crystals. The sudden influx of the precious metals into Spain doubtless gave a temporary wealth to the kingdom; but when habits of industry were lost, and the culture of the soil was neglected, the gold and silver of the Spaniards were exchanged for the productive industry of other nations. The Dutch and the English, whose manufactures and commerce were in a healthy state, became enriched at their expense. With the loss of substantial wealth, that is, industry and economy, the Spaniards lost elevation of sentiment, became cold and proud, followed frivolous pleasures and amusements, and acquired habits which were ruinous. Plays, pantomimes, and bull-fights now amused the lazy and pleasure-seeking nation, while the profligacy of the court had no parallel in Europe, with the exception of that of France. The country became exhausted by war. The finances were deranged, and province after province rebelled. Every where were military reverses, and a decrease of population. Taxes, in the mean while, increased, and a burdened people lamented in vain their misfortune and decline. The reign of Philip IV. was the most disastrous in the annals of the country. The Catalan insurrection, the loss of Jamaica, the Low Countries, and Portugal, were the results of his misrule and imbecility. So rapidly did Spain degenerate, that, upon the close of the Austrian dynasty, with all the natural advantages of the country, the best harbors and sea-coast in Europe, the richest soil, and the finest climate, and with the possession of the Indies also, the people were the poorest, the most ignorant, and the most helpless in Europe. The death of Charles II., a miserable, afflicted, superstitious, priest-ridden monarch, left Spain without a king, and the vacant throne became the prize of any monarch in Europe who could raise and send across the Pyrenees the largest army. It fell into the power of Louis XIV., and the Bourbon princes have ever since in vain attempted the restoration of the broken monarchy to its former glory. But, alas, Spain has, since the spoliation of the Mexicans and Peruvians, only a melancholy history—a history of crime, bigotry, anarchy, and poverty. The Spaniards committed awful crimes in their lust for gold and silver. "They had their request," but God, in his retributive justice, "sent leanness into their souls."

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For the history of Spain during the Austrian princes, see a history in Lardner's Encyclopedia; Watson's Life of Philip II.; James's Foreign Statesmen; Schiller's Revolt of the Netherlands; Russell's Modern Europe; Prescott's Conquest of Mexico and Peru.



CHAPTER IX.

THE JESUITS, AND THE PAPAL POWER IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.

[Sidenote: The Roman Power in the Seventeenth Century.]

During the period we have just been considering, the most marked peculiarity was, the struggle between Protestantism and Romanism. It is true that objects of personal ambition also occupied the minds of princes, and many great events occurred, which were not connected with the struggles for religious liberty and light. But the great feature of the age was the insurrection of human intelligence. There was a spirit of innovation, which nothing could suppress, and this was directed, in the main, to matters of religion. The conflict was not between church and state, but between two great factions in each. "No man asked whether another belonged to the same country as himself, but whether he belonged to the same sect." Luther, Calvin, Zwingle, Knox, Cranmer, and Bacon were the great pioneers in this march of innovation. They wished to explode the ideas of the middle ages, in philosophy and in religion. They made war upon the Roman Catholic Church, as the great supporter and defender of old ideas. They renounced her authority. She summoned her friends and vassals, rallied all her forces, and, with desperate energy, resolved to put down the spirit of reform. The struggles of the Protestants in England, Germany, France, and the Netherlands, alike manifested the same spirit, were produced by the same causes, and brought forth the same results. The insurrection was not suppressed.

[Sidenote: Rise of the Jesuits.]

The hostile movements of Rome, for a while, were carried on by armies, massacres, assassinations, and inquisitions. The duke of Alva's cruelties in the Netherlands, St. Bartholomew's massacre in France, inquisitorial tortures in Spain, and Smithfield burnings in England, illustrate this assertion. But more subtle and artful agents were required, especially since violence had failed. Men of simple lives, of undoubted piety, of earnest zeal, and singular disinterestedness to their cause, arose, and did what the sword and the stake could not do,—revived Catholicism, and caused a reaction to Protestantism itself. These men were Jesuits, the most faithful, intrepid, and successful soldiers that ever enlisted under the banners of Rome. The rise and fortunes of this order of monks form one of the most important and interesting chapters in the history of the human race. Their victories, and the spirit which achieved them, are well worth our notice. In considering them, it must be borne in mind, that the Jesuits have exhibited traits so dissimilar and contradictory, that it is difficult to form a just judgment. While they were achieving their victories, they appeared in a totally different light from what distinguished them when they reposed on their laurels. In short, the earlier and the latter Jesuits were entirely different in their moral and social aspects, although they had the same external organization. The principles of their system were always the same. The men who defended them, at first, were marked by great virtues, but afterwards were deformed by equally as great vices. It was in the early days of Jesuitism that the events we have recorded took place. Hence our notice, at present, will be confined to the Jesuits when they were worthy of respect, and, in some things, even of admiration. Their courage, fidelity, zeal, learning, and intrepidity for half a century, have not been exaggerated.

The founder of the order was Ignatius Loyola, a Spanish gentleman of noble birth, who first appeared as a soldier at the siege of Pampeluna, where he was wounded, about the time that Luther was writing his theses, and disputing about indulgences. He amused himself, on his sick bed, by reading the lives of the saints. His enthusiastic mind was affected, and he resolved to pass from worldly to spiritual knighthood. He became a saint, after the notions of the age; that is, he fasted, wore sackcloth, lived on roots and herbs, practised austerities, retired to lonely places, and spent his time in contemplation and prayer. The people were attracted by his sanctity, and followed him in crowds. His heart burned to convert heretics; and, to prepare himself for his mission, he went to the universities, and devoted himself to study. There he made some distinguished converts, all of whom afterwards became famous. In his narrow cell, at Paris, he induced Francis Xavier, Faber, Laynez Bobadilla, and Rodriguez to embrace his views, and to form themselves into an association, for the conversion of the world. On the summit of Montmartre, these six young men, on one star-lit night, took the usual monastic vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, and solemnly devoted themselves to their new mission.

[Sidenote: Rapid Spread of the Jesuit Order.]

They then went to Rome, to induce the pope to constitute them a new missionary order. But they were ridiculed as fanatics. Moreover, for several centuries, there had been great opposition in Rome against the institution of new monastic orders. It was thought that there were orders enough; that the old should be reformed, not new ones created. Even St. Dominic and St. Francis had great difficulty in getting their orders instituted. But Loyola and his companions made extraordinary offers. They professed their willingness to go wherever the pope should send them, among Turks, heathens, or heretics, instantly, without condition, or reward.

How could the pope refuse to license them? His empire was in danger; Luther was in the midst of his victories; the power of ideas and truth was shaking to its centre the pontifical throne; all the old orders had become degenerate and inefficient, and the pope did not know where to look for efficient support. The venerable Benedictines were revelling in the wealth of their splendid abbeys, while the Dominicans and the Franciscans had become itinerant vagabonds, peddling relics and indulgences, and forgetful of those stern duties and virtues which originally characterized them. All the monks were inexhaustible subjects of sarcasm and mockery. They even made scholasticism ridiculous, and the papal dogmas contemptible. Erasmus laughed at them, and Luther mocked them. They were sensual, lazy, ignorant, and corrupt. The pope did not want such soldiers. But the followers of Loyola were full of ardor, talent, and zeal; willing to do any thing for a sinking cause; able to do any thing, so far as human will can avail. And they did not disappoint the pope. Great additions were made. They increased with marvellous rapidity. The zealous, devout, and energetic, throughout all ranks in the Catholic church, joined them. They spread into all lands. They became the confessors of kings, the teachers of youth, the most popular preachers, the most successful missionaries. In sixteen years after the scene of Montmartre, Loyola had established his society in the affections and confidence of Catholic Europe, against the voice of universities, the fears of monarchs, and the jealousy of the other monastic orders. In sixteen years, from the condition of a ridiculed fanatic, whose voice, however, would have been disregarded a century earlier or later, he became one of the most powerful dignitaries of the church, influencing the councils of the Vatican, moving the minds of kings, controlling the souls of a numerous fraternity, and making his power felt, even in the courts of Japan and China. Before he died, his spiritual sons had planted their missionary stations amid Peruvian mines, amid the marts of the African slave trade, in the islands of the Indian Ocean, and in the cities of Japan and China. Nay, his followers had secured the most important chairs in the universities of Europe, and had become confessors to the most powerful monarchs, teachers in the best schools of Christendom, and preachers in its principal pulpits. They had become an organization, instinct with life, endued with energy and will, and forming a body which could outwatch Argus with his hundred eyes, and outwork Briareus with his hundred arms. It had forty thousand eyes open upon every cabinet and private family in Europe, and forty thousand arms extended over the necks of both sovereigns and people. It had become a mighty power in the world, inseparably connected with the education and the religion of the age, the prime mover of all political affairs, the grand prop of absolute monarchies, the last hope of the papal hierarchy.

[Sidenote: Rapid Spread of the Jesuits.]

The sudden growth and enormous resources of the "Society of Jesus" impress us with feelings of amazement and awe. We almost attribute them to the agency of mysterious powers, and forget the operations of natural causes. The history of society shows that no body of men ever obtained a wide-spread ascendency, except by the exercise of remarkable qualities of mind and heart. And this is the reason why the Jesuits prospered. When Catholic Europe saw young men, born to fortune and honors, voluntarily surrendering their rank and goods, devoting themselves to religious duties, spending their days in hospitals and schools, wandering, as missionaries, into the most unknown and dangerous parts of the world, exciting the young to study, making great attainments in all departments of literature and science, and shedding a light, wherever they went, by their genius and disinterestedness, it was natural that they would be received as preachers, teachers, and confessors. That they were characterized, during the first fifty years, by such excellencies, has never been denied. The Jesuit missionary called forth the praises of Baxter, and the panegyric of Leibnitz. He went forth, without fear, to encounter the most dreaded dangers. Martyrdom was nothing to him, for he knew that the altar, which might stream with his blood, would, in after times, be a cherished monument of his fame, and an impressive emblem of the power of his religion. Francis Xavier, one of the first converts of Loyola, a Spaniard of rank, traversed a tract of more than twice the circumference of the globe, preaching, disputing, and baptizing, until seventy thousand converts attested the fruits of his mission. In perils, fastings, and fatigues, was the life of this remarkable man passed, to convert the heathen world; and his labors have never been equalled, as a missionary, except by the apostle Paul. But China and Japan were not the only scenes of the enterprises of Jesuit missionaries. As early as 1634, they penetrated into Canada, and, shortly after to the sources of the Mississippi and the prairies of Illinois. "My companion," said the fearless Marquette, "is an envoy of France, to discover new countries; but I am an ambassador of God, to enlighten them with the gospel." But of all the missions of the Jesuits, those in Paraguay were the most successful. They there gathered together, in reductions, or villages, three hundred thousand Indians, and these were bound together by a common interest, were controlled by a paternal authority, taught useful arts, and trained to enjoy the blessings of civilization. On the distant banks of the La Plata, while the Spanish colonists were hunting the Mexicans and Peruvians with bloodhounds, or the English slave traders were consigning to eternal bondage the unhappy Africans, the Jesuits were realizing the ideal paradise of More—a Utopia, where no murders or robberies were committed, and where the blessed flowers of peace and harmony bloomed in a garden of almost primeval loveliness.

[Sidenote: Extraordinary Virtues of the Older Jesuits.]

In that age, the Jesuit excelled in any work to which he devoted his attention. He was not only an intrepid missionary, but a most successful teacher. Into the work of education he entered heart and soul. He taught gratuitously, without any crabbed harshness, and with a view to gain the heart. He entered into the feelings of his pupils, and taught them to subdue their tempers, and avoid quarrels and oaths. He excited them to enthusiasm, perceived their merits, and rewarded the successful with presents and favors. Hence the schools of the Jesuits were the best in Europe, and were highly praised even by the Protestants. The Jesuits were even more popular as preachers than they were as teachers; and they were equally prized as confessors. They were so successful and so respected, that they soon obtained an ascendency in Europe. Veneration secured wealth, and their establishments gradually became magnificently endowed. But all their influence was directed to one single end—to the building up of the power of the popes, whose obedient servants they were. Can we wonder that Catholicism should revive?

[Sidenote: The Constitution of the Jesuits.]

Again, their constitution was wonderful, and admirably adapted to the ends they had in view. Their vows were indeed substantially the same as those of other monks, but there was among them a more practical spirit of obedience. All the members were controlled by a single will—all were passive, instruments in the hands of the general of the order. He appointed presidents of colleges and of religious houses; admitted, dismissed, dispensed, and punished at his pleasure. His power was irresponsible, and for life. From his will there was no appeal. There were among them many gradations in rank, but each gradation was a gradation in slavery. The Jesuit was bound to obey even his own servant, if required by a superior. Obedience was the soul of the institution, absolute, unconditional, and unreserved—even the submission of the will, to the entire abnegation of self. The Jesuit gloried in being made a puppet, a piece of machinery, like a soldier, if the loss of his intellectual independence would advance the interests of his order. The esprit de corps was perfectly wonderful, and this spirit was one secret of the disinterestedness of the body. "Ad majorem Dei gloriam," was the motto emblazoned on their standards, and written on their hearts; but this glory of God was synonymous with the ascendency of their association.

The unconditional obedience to a single will, which is the genius of Jesuitism, while it signally advanced the interests of the body, and of the pope, to whom they were devoted, still led to the most detestable and resistless spiritual despotism ever exercised by man. The Jesuit, especially when obscure and humble, was a tool, rather than an intriguer. He was bound hand and foot by the orders of his superiors, and they alone were responsible for his actions.

[Sidenote: Degeneracy of the Jesuits.]

We can easily see how the extraordinary virtues and attainments of the early Jesuits, and the wonderful mechanism of their system, would promote the growth of the order and the interests of Rome, before the suspicions of good people would be aroused. It was a long time after their piety had passed to fraud, their simplicity to cunning, their poverty to wealth, their humility to pride, and their indifference to the world to cabals, intrigues, and crimes, before the change was felt. And, moreover, it was more than a century before the fruits of the system were fully reaped. With all the excellences of their schools and missions, dangerous notions and customs were taught in them, which gradually destroyed their efficacy. A bad system often works well for a while, but always carries the seeds of decay and ruin. It was so with the institution of Loyola, in spite of the enthusiasm and sincerity of the early members, and the masterly wisdom displayed by the founders. In after times, evils were perceived, which had, at first, escaped the eye. It was seen that the system of education, though specious, and, in many respects, excellent, was calculated to narrow the mind, while it filled it with knowledge. Young men, in their colleges, were taught blindly to follow a rigid mechanical code; they were closely watched; all books were taken from them of a liberal tendency; mutilated editions of such as could not be denied only were allowed; truths of great importance were concealed or glossed over; exploded errors were revived, and studies recommended which had no reference to the discussion of abstract questions on government or religion. And the boys were made spies on each other, their spirits were broken, and their tastes perverted. The Jesuits sought to guard the avenues to thought, not to open them, were jealous of all independence of mind, and never sought to go beyond their age, or base any movement on ideal standards.

[Sidenote: Evils in the Jesuit System.]

Again, as preachers, though popular and eloquent, they devoted their talents to convert men to the Roman church rather than to God. They were bigoted sectarians; strove to make men Catholics rather than Christians. As missionaries, they were content with a mere nominal conversion. They gave men the crucifix, but not the Bible, and even permitted their converts to retain many of their ancient superstitions and prejudices. And thus they usurped the authority of native rulers, and sought to impose on China and Japan their despotic yoke. They greatly enriched themselves in consequence of the credulity of the natives, whom they flattered, and wielded an unlawful power. And this is one reason why they were expelled, and why they made no permanent conquests among the millions they converted in Japan. They wished not only to subjugate the European, but the Asiatic mind. Europe did not present a field sufficiently extensive for their cupidity and ambition.

Finally, as confessors, they were peculiarly indulgent to those who sought absolution, provided their submission was complete. Then it was seen what an easy thing it was to bear the yoke of Christ. The offender was told that sin consisted in wilfulness, and wilfulness in the perfect knowledge of the nature of sin, according to which doctrine blindness and passion were sufficient exculpations. They invented the doctrine of mental reservation, on which Pascal was so severe. Perjury was allowable, if the perjured were inwardly determined not to swear. A man might fight a duel, if in danger of being stigmatized as a coward; he might betray his friend, if he could thus benefit his party. The Jesuits invented a system of casuistry which confused all established ideas of moral obligation. They tolerated, and some of them justified, crimes, if the same could be made subservient to the apparent interests of the church. Their principle was to do evil that good might come. Above all, they conformed to the inclinations of the great, especially to those of absolute princes, on whom they imposed no painful penance, or austere devotion. Their sympathies always were with absolutism, in all its forms and they were the chosen and trusted agents of the despots of mankind, until even the eyes of Europe were open to their vast ambition, which sought to erect an independent empire within the limits of despotism itself. But the corruptions of the Jesuits, their system of casuistry, their lax morality, their disgraceful intrigues, their unprincipled rapacity, do not belong to the age we have now been considering. These fruits of a bad system had not then been matured; and the infancy of the society was as beautiful as its latter days were disgraceful and fearful. In a future chapter, we shall glance at the decline and fall of this celebrated institution—the best adapted to its proposed ends of any system ever devised by the craft and wisdom of man.

[Sidenote: The Popes in the Seventeenth Century.]

The great patrons of the Jesuits—the popes and their empire in the sixteenth century, after the death of Luther—demand some notice. The Catholic church, in this century, was remarkable for the reformation it attempted within its own body, and for the zeal, and ability, and virtue, which marked the character of many of the popes themselves. Had it not been for this counter reformation, Protestantism would have obtained a great ascendency in Europe. But the Protestants were divided among themselves, while the Catholics were united, and animated with singular zeal. They put forth their utmost energies to reconquer what they had lost. They did not succeed in this, but they secured the ascendency, on the whole, of the Catholic cause in Europe. For this ascendency the popes are indebted to the Jesuits.

[Sidenote: Nepotism of the Popes.]

At the close of the sixteenth century, the popes possessed a well-situated, rich, and beautiful province. All writers celebrated its fertility. Scarcely a foot of land remained uncultivated. Corn was exported, and the ports were filled with ships. The people were courageous, and had great talents for business. The middle classes were peaceful and contented, but the nobles, who held in their hands the municipal authority, were turbulent, rapacious, and indifferent to intellectual culture. The popes were generally virtuous characters, and munificent patrons of genius. Gregory XIII. kept a list of men in every country who were likely to acquit themselves as bishops, and exhibited the greatest caution in appointing them. Sixtus V., whose father was an humble gardener, encouraged agriculture and manufactures, husbanded the resources of the state, and filled Rome with statues. He raised the obelisk in front of St. Peter's, and completed the dome of the Cathedral. Clement VIII. celebrated the mass himself, and scrupulously devoted himself to religious duties. He was careless of the pleasures which formerly characterized the popes, and admitted every day twelve poor persons to dine with him. Paul V. had equal talents and greater authority, but was bigoted and cold. Gregory XIV. had all the severity of an ancient monk. The only religious peculiarity of the popes, at the latter end of the sixteenth century, which we unhesitatingly condemn, was, their religious intolerance. But they saw that their empire would pass away, unless they used vigorous and desperate measures to retain it. During this period, the great victories of the Jesuits, the establishment of their colleges, and the splendid endowments of their churches took place. Gregory XV. built, at his own cost, the celebrated church of St. Ignatius, at Rome, and instituted the Propaganda, a missionary institution, under the control of the Jesuits.

[Sidenote: Rome in the Seventeenth Century.]

The popes, whether good or bad, did not relinquish their nepotism in this century, in consequence of which great families arose with every pope, and supplanted the old aristocracy. The Barberini family, in one pontificate, amassed one hundred and five millions of scudi—as great a fortune as that left by Mazarin. But they, enriched under Urban VII., had to flee from Rome under Innocent X. Jealousy and contention divided and distracted all the noble families, who vied with each other in titles and pomp, ceremony and pride. The ladies of the Savelli family never quitted their palace walls, except in closely veiled carriages. The Visconti decorated their walls with the portraits of the popes of their line. The Gaetana dwelt with pride on the memory of Boniface VIII. The Colonna and Orsini boasted that for centuries no peace had been concluded in Christendom, in which they had not been expressly included. But these old families had become gradually impoverished, and yielded, in wealth and power, though not in pride and dignity, to the Cesarini, Borghesi, Aldobrandini, Ludovisi, Giustiniani, Chigi, and the Barberini. All these families, from which popes had sprung, had splendid palaces, villas, pictures, libraries, and statues; and they contributed to make Rome the centre of attraction for the elegant and the literary throughout Europe. It was still the moral and social centre of Christendom. It was a place to which all strangers resorted, and from which all intrigues sprung. It was the scene of pleasure, gayety, and grandeur. And the splendid fabric, which was erected in the "ages of faith," in spite of all the calamities and ravages of time, remained still beautiful and attractive. Since the first secession, in the sixteenth century, Rome has lost none of her adherents, and those, who remained faithful, have become the more enthusiastic in their idolatry.

* * * * *

REFERENCES.—Ranke's History of the Popes. Father Bouhour's Life of Ignatius Loyola. A Life of Xavier, by the same author. Stephens's Essay on Loyola. Charlevoix's History of Paraguay. Pascal's Provincial Letters. Macaulay's Review of Ranke's History of the Popes. Bancroft's chapter, in the History of the United States, on the colonization of Canada. "Secreta Monita." Histoire des Jesuites. "Spiritual Exercises." Dr. Williams's Essay. History of Jesuit Missions. The works on the Jesuits are very numerous; but those which are most accessible are of a violent partisan character. Eugene Sue, in his "Wandering Jew," has given false, but strong, impressions. Infidel writers have generally been the most bitter, with the exception of English and Scotch authors, in the seventeenth century. The great work of Ranke is the most impartial with which the author is acquainted. Ranke's histories should never be neglected, of which admirable translations have been made.



CHAPTER X.

THIRTY YEARS WAR.

[Sidenote: Political Troubles after the Death of Luther.]

The contests which arose from the discussion of religious ideas did not close with the sixteenth century. They were, on the other hand, continued with still greater acrimony. Protestantism had been suppressed in France, but not in Holland or Germany. In England, the struggle was to continue, not between the Catholics and Protestants, but between different parties among the Protestants themselves. In Germany, a long and devastating war of thirty years was to be carried on before even religious liberty could be guaranteed.

This struggle is the most prominent event of the seventeenth century before the English Revolution, and was attended with the most important religious and political consequences. The event itself was one of the chief political consequences of the Reformation. Indeed, all the events of this period either originated in, or became mixed up with, questions of religion.

From the very first agitation of the reform doctrines, the house of Austria devoted against their adherents the whole of its immense political power. Charles V. resolved to suppress Protestantism, and would have perhaps succeeded, had it not been for the various wars which distracted his attention, and for the decided stand which the Protestant princes of Germany took respecting Luther and his doctrines. As early as 1530, was formed the league of Smalcalde, headed by the elector of Saxony, the most powerful of the German princes, next to the archduke of Austria. The princes who formed this league, resolved to secure to their subjects the free exercise of their religion, in spite of all opposition from the Catholic powers. But hostilities did not commence until after Luther had breathed his last. The Catholics gained a great victory at the battle of Muehlberg, when the Elector of Saxony was taken prisoner. With the treaty of Smalcalde, the freedom of Germany seemed prostrate forever, and the power of Austria reached its meridian. But the cause of liberty revived under Maurice of Saxony, once its formidable enemy. All the fruits of victory were lost again in the congress of Passau, and the diet of Augsburg, when an equitable peace seemed guaranteed to the Protestants.

[Sidenote: Diet of Augsburg.]

The diet of Augsburg, 1555, the year of the resignation of Charles V., divided Germany into two great political and religious parties, and recognized the independence of each. The Protestants were no longer looked upon as rebels, but as men who had a right to worship God as they pleased. Still, in reality, all that the Lutherans gained was toleration, not equality. The concessions of the Catholics were made to necessity, not to justice. Hence, the treaty of Augsburg proved only a truce, not a lasting peace. The boundaries of both parties were marked out by the sword, and by the sword only were they to be preserved.

For a while, however, peace was preserved, and might have continued longer, had it not been for the dissensions of Protestants among themselves, caused by the followers of Calvin and Luther. The Lutherans would not include the Calvinists in their communion, and the Calvinists would not accede to the Lutheran church. During these dissensions, the Jesuits sowed tares, and the Protestants lost the chance of establishing their perfect equality with the Catholics.

Notwithstanding all the bitterness and jealousy which existed between sects and parties, still the peace of Germany, in a political sense, was preserved during the reign of Ferdinand, the founder of the German branch of the house of Austria, and who succeeded his brother Charles V. On his death, in 1564, his son Maximilian II., was chosen emperor, and during his reign, and until his death, in 1576, Germany enjoyed tranquillity. His successor was his son Rodolph, a weak prince, and incapable of uniting the various territories which were hereditary in his family—Austria, Hungary, Transylvania, Bohemia, Moravia, and Styria. There were troubles in each of these provinces, and one after another revolted, until Rodolph was left with but the empty title of emperor. But these provinces acknowledged the sway of his brother Matthias, who had delivered them from the Turks, and had granted the Protestants liberty of conscience. The emperor was weak enough to confirm his brother in his usurpation. In 1612, he died, and Matthias mounted the imperial throne.

[Sidenote: Commencement of the Thirty Years War.]

It was during the reign of this prince, that the Thirty Years' War commenced. In proportion as the reformed religion gained ground in Hungary and Bohemia,—two provinces very difficult to rule,—the Protestant princes of the empire became desirous of securing and extending their privileges. Their demands were refused, and they entered into a new confederacy, called the Evangelical Union. This association was opposed by another, called the Catholic League. The former was supported by Holland, England, and Henry IV., of France. The humiliation of Austria was the great object of Henry in supporting the Protestant princes of Germany, and he assembled an army of forty thousand men, which he designed to head himself. But, just as his preparations were completed, he was assassinated, and his death and the dissensions in the Austrian family prevented the war breaking out with the fury which afterwards characterized it.

The Emperor Matthias died in 1618, and was succeeded by his cousin Ferdinand, Duke of Styria, who was an inveterate enemy to the Protestant cause. His first care was to suppress the insurrection of the Protestants, which, just before his accession had broken out in Bohemia, under the celebrated Count Mansfeldt. The Bohemians renounced allegiance to Ferdinand II., and chose Frederic V., elector palatine, for their king. Frederic unwisely accepted the crown, which confirmed the quarrel between Ferdinand and the Bohemians. Frederic was seconded by all the Protestant princes, except the Elector of Saxony, by two thousand four hundred English volunteers, and by eight thousand troops from the United Provinces. But Ferdinand, assisted by the king of Spain and all the Catholic princes, was more than a match for Frederic, who wasted his time and strength in vain displays of sovereignty. Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria, commanded the forces of the Catholics, who, with twenty-five thousand troops from the Low Countries, invaded Bohemia. The Bohemian forces did not amount to thirty thousand, but they intrenched themselves near Prague, where they were attacked (1620) and routed, with immense slaughter. The battle of Prague decided the fate of Bohemia, put Frederic in possession of all his dominions, and invested him with an authority equal to what any of his predecessors had enjoyed. All his wishes were gratified, and, had he been wise, he might have maintained his ascendency in Germany. But he was blinded by his success, and, from a rebellion in Bohemia, the war extended through Germany, and afterwards throughout Europe.

[Sidenote: The Emperor Frederic.]

The emperor had regained his dominions by the victorious arms of Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria. To compensate him, without detriment to himself, he resolved to bestow upon him the dominions of the Count Palatine of the Rhine, who had injudiciously accepted the crown of Bohemia. Frederic must be totally ruined. He was put under the ban of the empire, and his territories were devastated by the Spanish general Spinola, with an army of twenty-five thousand men.

Apparently there was no hope for Frederic, or the Protestant cause. The only Protestant princes capable of arresting the Austrian encroachments were the Electors of Saxony and Brandenburg. But the former, John George, preferred the aggrandizement of his house to the emancipation of his country, and tamely witnessed the victories of the emperor, without raising an arm for the relief of the Protestants, of whom he was the acknowledged head. George William of Brandenburg was still more shamefully fettered by the fear of Austria, and of losing his dominions; and he, too, cautiously avoided committing himself to either party.

But while these two great princes ingloriously abandoned Frederic to his fate, a single soldier of fortune, whose only treasure was his sword, Ernest Count Mansfield, dared, in the Bohemian town of Pilsen, to defy the whole power of Austria. Undismayed by the reverses of the elector palatine, he succeeded in enlisting an army of twenty thousand men. With such an army, the cause of Frederic was not irretrievably lost. New prospects began to open, and his misfortunes raised up unexpected friends. James of England opened his treasures, and Christian of Denmark offered his powerful support. Mansfeldt was also joined by the Margrave of Baden. The courage of the count palatine revived, and he labored assiduously to arouse his Protestant brethren. Meanwhile, the generals of the emperor were on the alert, and the rising hopes of Frederic were dissipated by the victories of Tilly. The count palatine was again driven from his hereditary dominions, and sought refuge in Holland.

[Sidenote: Count Wallenstein.]

But, though the emperor was successful, his finances were exhausted, and he was disagreeably dependent on Bavaria. Under his circumstances, nothing was more welcome than the proposal of Wallenstein, an experienced officer, and the richest nobleman in Bohemia.

[Sidenote: Character of Wallenstein.]

He offered, at his own expense, and that of his friends, to raise, clothe, and maintain an army for the emperor, if he were allowed to augment it to fifty thousand men. His project was ridiculed as visionary; but the offer was too valuable to be rejected. In a few months, he had collected an army of thirty thousand. His reputation, the prospect of promotion, and the hope of plunder, attracted adventurers from all parts of Germany. Knowing that so large a body could not be held together without great resources, and having none of his own, he marched his troops into the most fertile territories, which had not yet suffered from the war, where they subsisted by contributions and plunder, as obnoxious to their friends as they were to their enemies. Nothing shows the weakness of the imperial power, with all its apparent strength, and the barbarous notions and customs of the country, more than this grant to Wallenstein. And, with all his heroism and success, he cannot now be viewed in any other light than as a licensed robber. He was virtually at the head of a troop of banditti, who fought for the sake of plunder, and who would join any side which would present the greatest hopes of gain. The genius of Schiller, both in his dramas and histories, has immortalized the name of this unprincipled hero, and has excited a strange interest in his person, his family, and his fortunes. He is represented as "born to command. His acute eye distinguished at a glance, from among the multitude, such as were competent, and he assigned to each his proper place. His praise, from being rarely bestowed, animated and brought into full operation every faculty; while his steady, reserved, and earnest demeanor secured obedience and discipline. His very appearance excited awe and reverence; his figure was proud, lofty, and warlike, while his bright, piercing eye expressed profundity of thought, combined with gravity and mystery. His favorite study was that of the stars, and his most intimate friend was an Italian astrologer. He had a fondness for pomp and extravagance. He maintained sixty pages; his ante-chamber was guarded by fifty life-guards, and his table never consisted of less than one hundred covers. Six barons and as many knights were in constant attendance on his person. He never smiled, and the coldness of his temperament was proof against sensual seductions. Ever occupied with grand schemes, he despised those amusements in which so many waste their lives. 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, and he kept up the obedience of his troops by capricious orders. He was a man of large stature, thin, of a sallow complexion, with short, red hair, and small, sparkling eyes. A gloomy and forbidding seriousness sat upon his brow, and his munificent presents alone retained the trembling crowd of his dependants."

Such was this enterprising nobleman, to whom the emperor Ferdinand committed so great authority. And the success of Wallenstein apparently justified the course of the emperor. The greater his extortions, and the greater his rewards, the greater was the concourse to his standard. Such is human nature. It is said that, in seven years, Wallenstein exacted not less than sixty millions of dollars from one half of Germany—an incredible sum, when the expenditure of the government of England, at this time, was less than two million pounds a year. His armies flourished, while the states through which they passed were ruined. What cared he for the curses of the people, or the complaints of princes, so long as his army adored him? It was his object to humble all the princes of the empire, and make himself so necessary to the emperor that he would gradually sink to become his tool. He already was created Duke of Friedland, and generalissimo of the imperial armies. Nor had his victorious career met with any severe check, but uninterrupted success seemed to promise the realization of his vast ambition. Germany lay bleeding at his feet, helpless and indignant.

But the greatness and the insolence of Wallenstein raised up enemies against him in all parts of the empire. Fear and jealousy increased the opposition, even in the ranks of the Catholics. His dismissal was demanded by the whole college of electors, and even by Spain. Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria, felt himself eclipsed by the successful general, and was at the head of the cabals against him.

The emperor felt, at this crisis, as Ganganelli did when compelled to disband the Jesuits, that he was parting with the man to whom he owed all his supremacy. Long was he undecided whether or not he would make the sacrifice. But all Germany was clamorous, and the disgrace of Wallenstein was ordained.

Would the ambitious chieftain, at the head of one hundred thousand devoted soldiers, regard the commands of the emperor? He made up his mind to obey, looking to the future for revenge, and feeling that he could afford to wait for it. Seni had read in the stars that glorious prospects still awaited him. Wallenstein retired to his estates in Bohemia, but maintained the pomp and splendor of a prince of the empire.

[Sidenote: Gustavus Adolphus.]

Scarcely had he retired from the command of the army before his services were again demanded. One hero produces another. A Wellington is ever found to oppose a Napoleon. Providence raised up a friend to Germany, in its distress, in the person of Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden. It was not for personal aggrandizement that he lent his powerful arm to the Protestant princes, who, thus far, had vainly struggled against Maximilian, Tilly, and Wallenstein. Zeal for Protestantism, added to strong provocations, induced him to land in Germany with fifteen thousand men—a small body to oppose the victorious troops of the emperor, but they were brave and highly disciplined, and devoted to their royal master. He himself was indisputably the greatest general of the age, and had the full confidence of the Protestant princes, who were ready to rally the moment he obtained any signal advantage. Henceforth, Gustavus Adolphus was the hero of the war. He was more than a hero; he was a Christian, regardful of the morals of his soldiers, and devoted to the interests of spiritual religion. He was frugal, yet generous, serene in the greatest danger; and magnanimous beyond all precedent in the history of kings. On the 20th of May, 1630, taking his daughter Christiana in his arms, then only four years of age, he presented her to the states as their future sovereign, and made his farewell address. "Not lightly, not wantonly," said he, "am I about to involve myself and you in this new and dangerous war. God is my witness that I do not fight to gratify my own ambition; but the emperor has wronged me, has supported my enemies, persecuted my friends, trampled my religion in the dust, and even stretched forth his revengeful arm against my crown. The oppressed states of Germany call loudly for aid, which, by God's help, we will give them.

"I am fully sensible of the dangers to which my life will be exposed. I have never yet shrunk from them, nor is it likely that I shall always escape them. Hitherto, Providence has protected me; but I shall at last fall in defence of my country and my faith. I commend you to the protection of Heaven. Be just, conscientious, and upright, and we shall meet again in eternity. For the prosperity of all my subjects, I offer my warmest prayer to Heaven; and bid you all a sincere—it may be an eternal—farewell."

He had scarcely landed in Germany before his victorious career began. France concluded a treaty with him, and he advanced against Tilly, who now headed the imperial armies.

[Sidenote: Loss of Magdeburg.]

The tardiness of the Electors of Saxony and Brandenburg in rendering assistance caused the loss of Magdeburg, the most important fortress of the Protestants. It was taken by assault, even while Gustavus was advancing to its relief. No pen can paint, and no imagination can conceive, the horrors which were perpetrated by the imperial soldiers in the sack of that unfortunate place. Neither childhood nor helpless age—neither youth, beauty, sex, nor rank could disarm the fury of the conquerors. No situation or retreat was sacred. In a single church fifty-three women were beheaded. The Croats amused themselves with throwing children into the flames. Pappenheim's Walloons stabbed infants at the breast. The city was reduced to ashes, and thirty thousand of the inhabitants were slain.

But the loss of this important city was soon compensated by the battle of Leipsic, 1630, which the King of Sweden gained over the imperial forces, and in which the Elector of Saxony at last rendered valuable aid. The rout of Tilly, hitherto victorious, was complete, and he himself escaped only by chance. Saxony was freed from the enemy, while Bohemia, Moravia, Austria, and Hungary, were stripped of their defenders. Ferdinand was no longer secure in his capital; the freedom of Germany was secured. Gustavus was every where hailed as a deliverer, and admiration for his genius was only equalled by the admiration of his virtues. He rapidly regained all that the Protestants had lost, and the fruits of twelve years of war were snatched away from the emperor. Tilly was soon after killed, and all things indicated the complete triumph of the Protestants.

It was now the turn of Ferdinand to tremble. The only person who could save him was dismissed and disgraced. Tilly was dead. Munich and Prague were in the hands of the Protestants, while the king of Sweden traversed Germany as a conqueror, law giver, and judge. No fortress was inaccessible; no river checked his victorious career. The Swedish standards were planted in Bavaria, Bohemia, the Palatinate, Saxony, and along the banks of the Rhine. Meanwhile the Turks were preparing to attack Hungary, and a dangerous insurrection threatened his own capital. None came to his assistance in the hour of peril. On all sides, he was surrounded by hostile armies, while his own forces were dispirited and treacherous.

[Sidenote: Wallenstein Reinstated in Power.]

From such a hopeless state he was rescued by the man whom he had injured, but not until he had himself to beg his assistance. Wallenstein was in retirement, and secretly rejoiced in the victories of the Swedish king, knowing full well that the emperor would soon be compelled to summon him again to command his armies. Now he could dictate his terms. Now he could humiliate his sovereign, and at the same time obtain all the power his ambition craved. He declined entering his service unless he had the unlimited command of all the armies of Austria and Spain. No commission in the army was to be granted by the emperor, without his own approval. He demanded the ordinary pay, and an imperial hereditary estate. In short, he demanded sovereign authority; and with such humiliating terms the emperor, in his necessities, was obliged to comply.

[Sidenote: Death of Gustavus Adolphus.]

No sooner did he raise his standard, than it was resorted to by the unprincipled, the rapacious, and the needy from all parts of the empire. But Wallenstein now resolved to pursue, exclusively, his own selfish interests, and directed all his aims to independent sovereignty. When his forces were united with those of Maximilian, he found himself at the head of sixty thousand men. Then really commenced the severity of the contest, for Wallenstein was now stronger than Gustavus. Nevertheless, the heroic Swede offered to give his rival battle at Nuremburg, which was declined. He then attacked his camp, but was repulsed with loss. At last, the two generals met on the plains of Lutzen, in Saxony, 1632. During the whole course of the war, two such generals had not been pitted against each other, nor had so much been staked on the chance of a battle. Victory declared for the troops of Gustavus, but the heroic leader himself was killed, in the fulness of his glory. It was his fortune to die with an untarnished fame. "By an untimely death," says Schiller, "his protecting genius rescued him from the inevitable fate of man—that of forgetting moderation in the intoxication of success, and justice in the plenitude of power. It may be doubted whether, had he lived longer, he would still have deserved the tears which Germany shed over his grave, or maintained his title to the admiration with which posterity regards him,—as the first and only just conqueror that the world has produced. 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; the equivocal assistance of an over-powerful protector gave place to a more noble self-exertion on the part of the estates; and those who formerly were the mere instruments of his aggrandizement, now began to work for themselves. The ambition of the Swedish monarch aspired, unquestionably, to establish a power within Germany inconsistent with the liberties of the estates. His aim was the imperial crown; and this dignity, supported by his power, would be liable to more abuse than had ever been feared from the house of Austria. His sudden disappearance secured the liberties of Germany, and saved his own reputation, while it probably spared him the mortification of seeing his own allies in arms against him, and all the fruits of his victories torn from him by a disadvantageous peace."