[Sidenote: § 1. Gustavus in Saxony.]
Wallenstein had succeeded at Nüremberg, but he was not to succeed in
Saxony. Gustavus was upon him before he had gained the positions he
needed. Erfurt was saved from the imperialists. Gustavus entered
Naumburg to be adored as a saviour by men flying from Wallenstein's
barbarities. As he passed through the streets the poor fugitives bent
down to kiss the hem of his garments. He would have resisted them if he
could. He feared lest God should punish him for receiving honour above
that which befitted a mortal man.
[Sidenote: § 2. Wallenstein believes himself safe.]
The Saxon army was at Torgau, and that important post was still guarded.
Wallenstein lay at Lützen. Even there, shorn as he was of his expected
strength, he threw up entrenchments, and believed himself safe from
attack. It was now November, and he fancied that Gustavus, satisfied
with his success, would go, after the fashion of the time, into winter
quarters.
[Sidenote: § 3. Pappenheim leaves him.]
In Wallenstein's army, Pappenheim's dashing bravery made him the idol of
the soldiers, and gave him an almost independent position. He begged to
be allowed to attempt a diversion on the Rhenish bishoprics. Wallenstein
gave the required permission, ordering him to seize Halle on the way.
[Sidenote: § 4. Attack of the Swedes. Gustavus before the battle.]
It was a serious blunder to divide an army under the eyes of Gustavus.
Early on the morning of November 16 the Swedish king was in front of
Wallenstein's position at Lützen. He knew well that, if there was to be
a battle at all, he must be the assailant. Wallenstein would not stir.
Behind ditches and entrenchments, ready armed, his heavy squares lay
immovably, waiting for the enemy, like the Russians at the Alma or the
English at Waterloo. A fog lay thick upon the ground. The Swedish army
gathered early to their morning prayer, summoned by the sounds of
Luther's hymn tune, "God is a strong tower," floating on the heavy air
from the brazen lips of a trumpet. The king himself joined in the
morning hymn, "Fear not, little flock." Then, as if with forebodings of
the coming slaughter, others sung of "Jesus the Saviour, who was the
conqueror of death." Gustavus thrust aside the armour which was offered
him. Since he had received a wound, not long before, he felt
uncomfortable in it. Unprotected, he mounted on his horse, and rode
about the ranks encouraging the men.
[Sidenote: § 5. Attack of the Swedes, and death of the king.]
At eleven the mist cleared away, and the sun shone out. The king gave
his last orders to his generals. Then, looking to heaven, "Now," he
said, "in God's name, Jesus, give us to-day to fight for the honour of
thy holy name." Then, waving his sword over his head, he cried out,
"Forwards!" The whole line advanced, Gustavus riding at the head of the
cavalry at the right. After a fierce struggle, the enemy's lines were
broken through everywhere. But Wallenstein was not yet mastered.
Bringing up his reserves, he drove back the Swedish infantry in the
centre. Gustavus, when he heard the news, flew to the rescue. In all
other affairs of life he knew better than most men how to temper daring
with discretion. In the battle-field he flung prudence to the winds. The
horsemen, whom he had ordered to follow him, struggled in vain to keep
up with the long strides of their master's horse. The fog came down
thickly once more, and the king, left almost alone in the darkness,
dashed unawares into a regiment of the enemy's cuirassiers. One shot
passed through his horse's neck. A second shattered his left arm.
Turning round to ask one of those who still followed him to help him out
of the fight, a third shot struck him in the back, and he fell heavily
to the ground. A youth of eighteen, who alone was left by his side,
strove to lift him up and to bear him off. But the wounded man was too
heavy for him. The cuirassiers rode up and asked who was there. "I was
the King of Sweden," murmured the king, as the young man returned no
answer, and the horseman shot him through the head, and put an end to
his pain.
[Sidenote: § 6. Defeat of Wallenstein.]
Bernard of Weimar took up the command. On the other side Pappenheim,
having received orders to return, hurried back from Halle. But he
brought only his cavalry with him. It would be many hours before his
foot could retrace their weary steps. The Swedes, when they heard that
their beloved king had fallen, burnt with ardour to revenge him. A
terrible struggle ensued. Hour after hour the battle swayed backwards
and forwards. In one of the Swedish regiments only one man out of six
left the fight unhurt. Pappenheim, the dashing and the brave, whose word
was ever for fight, the Blücher of the seventeenth century, was struck
down. At the battle of the White Hill he had lain long upon the field
senseless from his wounds, and had told those who were around him when
he awakened that he had come back from Purgatory. This time there was no
awakening for him. The infantry which in his lifetime he had commanded
so gallantly, came up as the winter sun was setting. But they came too
late to retrieve the fight. Wallenstein, defeated at last, gave orders
for retreat.
[Sidenote: § 7. The loss of Gustavus irreparable.]
The hand which alone could gather the results of victory was lying
powerless. The work of destruction was practically complete. The Edict
of Restitution was dead, and the Protestant administrators were again
ruling in the northern bishoprics. The Empire was practically dead, and
the princes and people of Germany, if they were looking for order at
all, must seek it under other forms than those which had been imposed
upon them in consequence of the victories of Tilly and Wallenstein. It
is in vain to speculate whether Gustavus could have done anything
towards the work of reconstruction. Like Cromwell, to whom, in many
respects, he bore a close resemblance, he had begun to discover that it
was harder to build than to destroy, and that it was easier to keep
sheep than to govern men. Perhaps even to him the difficulties would
have been insuperable. The centrifugal force was too strong amongst the
German princes to make it easy to bind them together. He had experienced
this in Saxony. He had experienced it at Nüremberg. To build up a
_Corpus Evangelicorum_ was like weaving ropes of sand.
[Sidenote: § 8. What were his purposes?]
And Gustavus was not even more than half a German by birth; politically
he was not a German at all. In his own mind he could not help thinking
first of Sweden. In the minds of others the suspicion that he was so
thinking was certain to arise. He clung firmly to his demand for
Pomerania as a bulwark for Sweden's interests in the Baltic. Next to
that came the _Corpus Evangelicorum_, the league of German Protestant
cities and princes to stand up against the renewal of the overpowering
tyranny of the Emperor. If his scheme had been carried out Gustavus
would have been a nobler Napoleon, with a confederation, not of the
Rhine, but of the Baltic, around him. For, stranger as he was, he was
bound by his religious sympathies to his Protestant brethren in Germany.
The words which he spoke at Nüremberg to the princes, telling them how
well off he might be at home, were conceived in the very spirit of the
Homeric Achilles, when the hardness of the work he had undertaken and
the ingratitude of men revealed itself to him. Like Achilles, he dearly
loved war, with its excitement and danger, for its own sake. But he
desired more than the glory of a conqueror. The establishment of
Protestantism in Europe as a power safe from attack by reason of its own
strength was the cause for which he found it worth while to live, and
for which, besides and beyond the greatness of his own Swedish nation,
he was ready to die. It may be that, after all, he was "happy in the
opportunity of his death."