END OF A VALUABLE LIFE.
Wallenstein's letters would not do to use as historic authority, yet his
report of the Nuremberg affair to his emperor probably was a fair
statement from his point of view. He said: "The king lay fourteen days
at Furth, and now having lost nearly one-third of his army from hunger
and discomfort, has to-day departed, whither I cannot learn. For
military reasons I should imagine that he would betake himself to the
Main. I mean, at all events, to follow him and again fix my camp close
to him. I hear that Pappenheim is coming this way too, so that we shall
probably enclose the king from both sides." ... Later, he says: "I did
not follow him first, because my cavalry was too scattered to do so;
secondly, because he is sure to guard all passes in his rear; thirdly,
because I did not wish to risk the fruits I have won. For I believe the
king's course is already downward, that he has completely lost credit,
and that he will be utterly done for as soon as Pappenheim arrives."
As soon as Gustavus got away from the vitiated air around Nuremberg out
into the good atmosphere of the country on horseback he regained all
lost enthusiasm, and was ready for the initiative, and he decided that
only a division under Bernard should go to the assistance of John George
of Saxony, and he would again try for the hereditary lands of both the
emperor and Wallenstein. That would keep the Elector Maximilian with his
little army of ten thousand from being with Wallenstein. Oxenstiern, who
seems to have left Nuremberg soon after the enemy had broken camp and
moved northward, strongly advised a division, one reason being
subsistence. The king then left Bernard with eight thousand men in
Franconia, with orders to move northward in a line nearly parallel with
Wallenstein. One division of ten thousand he sent to garrisons, and with
not more then ten thousand of his choice men he again crossed the Danube
and Lech for the purpose of attacking Ingolstadt. Maximilian made a
great cry to Wallenstein to come to his assistance, but the general
laughed at him, saying, "Protect yourself."
Wallenstein was making for Saxony because it was the richest portion of
the country, and he really hoped Maximilian would be humiliated by a
defeat.
General Arnin commanded the army of Saxony, which numbered about twenty
thousand men. Much of the fluctuating conduct of the Elector must be
placed to the discredit of this Catholic adviser whose heart was always
with the emperor and not with his king and country.
Oxenstiern came up on the west bank of the river, and in Alsace had
possessed himself of Strasburg, then a free imperial city. He also drove
the Spaniards and Lorainers before him, and they were this time, for the
most part, driven from German soil. Pappenheim and Tott were keeping
each other occupied on the Weser, so that neither could help the main
army to which he belonged, but the Swedes had the Archbishopric of
Bremen, and Gustavus felt that it was necessary to win one great battle
on account of all that floating element which shouts only with the
winner. They must be again brought to shout for the Protestant side.
Wallenstein attacked Schweinfurt after losing Maximilian's division.
Bernard rushed to the defence of the city, and Wallenstein, having
double the number of soldiers, retired.
Then Bernard protected the passes through the Thuringian forests, and
kept the way open for Gustavus and the main body of the Protestant army
to make its way to Erfurth.
Pappenheim was almost if not altogether as ruthless as Wallenstein, but
morally a better man. The latter kept ordering the former to join him,
but Pappenheim had so long been in independent command that he hated to
do this. For one thing, the stealings would have to be reported, and,
for another, General Tott would harass the rear of his army, but at
length a junction of the two armies was made a few days before Gustavus
entered Saxony, which was October 21st.
Wallenstein, as a sort of warning of the coming scourge, sent Colonel
Hölch with the most savage of the Croats into Saxony, and while he wrote
hypocritical letters to the effect that the peasantry should not be
molested, yet the robbers knew they were to leave nothing behind them.
Gustavus was again all ready for his attack on Ingolstadt October 8th,
when a courier from Oxenstiern informed him that not only Hölch's
regiment, but Wallenstein's main army, twenty thousand strong, had
crossed into Saxony on October 5th. He decided at once to call in all
divisions of his army and to concentrate at Erfurth. On the 12th he was
joined by Oxenstiern and Knipenhausen. As they marched through those
great forests he kept his friend and chancellor much by his side. He
talked over with Oxenstiern what should be the terms of peace, when it
could be made, and distinctly told him that in the case of the death of
his king he, as chancellor, must bring the war sooner or later to a
successful close. Also he talked of the government at home, of his wife,
but most of all of the little maid upon whom the sorrow of ruling an
impoverished kingdom would fall, should he lose his life.
On October 28th the army was at Erfurth, having marched from Bavaria in
eighteen days. Wallenstein declared, "To do that they must have flown."
As Gustavus came through the country he received the most enthusiastic
welcome. His soldiers were generously fed and lodged, they held prayers
night and morning with their hosts, and while the people thanked them
for coming, the soldiers thanked the people for their kindness and
hospitality. It was John George who was vacillating, not his people,
they were always true to the evangelical faith.
Gustavus rode at the head of his army on a large white horse, he wore a
plain gray suit, a gray hat on which was a large white feather. This was
the only distinguishing mark of rank in his costume. All soldiers and
sailors are more or less superstitious. An incident which the army took
as a good omen occurred as they passed the Thuringian forest. The king
saw a hawk pursuing a lark, which flew into the bosom of the king, who
took the trembling bird in his hands, holding it till the hawk was out
of sight, then he said, "Go, poor little bird, may God protect you." The
army took this to mean that Austria was the bird of prey, and that
Protestantism had thrown itself into the arms of the king of Sweden for
protection, and the privilege would be given him of God to set it free.
On October 23d the different divisions of his army met in Arnstadt. Here
he and his best loved friend, Chancellor Oxenstiern, parted to meet no
more on this earth. At Erfurth he met his queen, who was waiting for
him. He had but little time to talk with her of the home land, or of the
little maid upon whom their love was lavished. Wallenstein was not far
away, so, on the 28th, he called the town council of Erfurth together,
and addressing them in their own language, he said:
"I intrust you with my most precious jewel, the queen, my well beloved
wife. You know, gentlemen, that all things are subject to vicissitudes,
and above all war, a scourge which God uses to chastise men for their
sins. Like another, I may meet with misfortune, perhaps death. If that
is the will of God, show to my beloved wife the loyalty, the devotion,
of which you have always given me proof."
The queen broke out into weeping. He clasped her in his arms, saying,
"Cheer up! We shall see each other again, if not in this life, it will
be sooner or later in the celestial abodes of eternal bliss."
Then, holding her in his arms a moment in silence (doubtless in prayer),
he sprang on his horse, rode to the head of his moving army, and kept
that place till he reached Naumburg, November 1st, 1632, before the
division which Wallenstein had hastened toward that town could arrive.
The king strongly entrenched himself here, and placed three hundred
cannon to overlook the approaches. The inhabitants fell on their knees
before him. He cried out: "Oh, think not of me; think only of the cause!
God will punish me if I accept such homage from you. Yet, I hope that He
who knows that I take no delight in such honor will not suffer my work
to fail, whatever becomes of me, seeing it is for the glory of His Holy
Name."
Wallenstein was preparing to march on Dresden when he learned that
Gustavus was ready to leave Erfurth, so he determined to throw one corps
into Naumburg, and to entrench himself at Weisenfels, about ten miles
from Naumburg. Wallenstein expected the Swedes would now go into winter
quarters, and make no further advance or attack until the warmer weather
of Spring should come.
The first days of November were exceedingly cold, and Gustavus had his
men on the outside of Naumburg brought in for shelter, comfort and food.
All this made Wallenstein think that the king was really hibernating. So
Wallenstein permitted Pappenheim to march away again to the Weser and
Towerkline, where General Baudissin, with a regiment of Swedes, kept
guard for the king. Pappenheim took with him eight thousand men in order
to take Halle on the way. Wallenstein had twenty-five thousand men left,
and he silently made his way toward Lutzen.
The king called his two generals to him to consult. "Fight," said
Bernard. "Wait," said Knipenhausen, "till the Saxon army can join us."
The king knew Saxony too well for that, but he wrote to John George to
bring in his forces at once. The duke replied: "I am deeply sensible of
the importance of the occasion, and I will at once send two regiments to
join you; the rest I need for the maintenance of my own fortresses."
Fifteen hundred men to help the man who was imperiling his life, his
army, his country, to save Saxony! But before the elector had sent that
letter, before the fifteen hundred men had left the Saxon camp, the
fatal battle had been fought at Lutzen, and the sun had seen the noblest
life of that century go out on the field of battle.
On the evening after the council the king heard that Pappenheim had been
sent away; this seems to have decided him. He said: "I believe, indeed,
that God has delivered the enemy into my hand," and, suddenly breaking
camp at Naumburg, he hastened to meet Wallenstein, whose army was
weakened by the loss of Pappenheim. For Gustavus to wait for the Saxons
would also be waiting for the return of Pappenheim.
The spies soon told Wallenstein that the king's army was on the move,
and Wallenstein wrote a frantic letter to Pappenheim. He said: "The
enemy is advancing. Sir, let everything else be, and hurry with all your
forces and artillery back to me. You must be here by to-morrow
morning—he is already over the pass." This letter, all stained with
blood, is yet to be seen at the museum in Vienna. Pappenheim carried it
into the battle in which he lost his life.
Lutzen is located on a plain over which ran great ditches or canals
(which could be waded) for irrigating purposes. Gustavus came up to the
enemy on the evening of November 5th, too late, on account of the rugged
ground, to make the attack. Most writers affirm that could the battle
have taken place on the 5th, before the return of Pappenheim, Gustavus
would, no doubt, have secured a great victory. It was late that night
before Wallenstein could bring his regiments together. They fell into
line of battle just as they came in.
Gustavus had eighteen thousand men, Wallenstein twenty-five thousand,
and was momentarily expecting Pappenheim with troops variously estimated
at from eight to ten thousand men. The king, with Bernard and
Knipenhausen, slept from time to time through the night in the king's
day coach. The two armies, that bitter cold night, faced each other,
lying down to sleep in the order they had marched, with their arms and
equipment within easy reach.
Then the fateful morning of November 6th arrived. It proved to be foggy
and very dark. The king sent for his chaplain and they spent an hour in
prayer. Divine services were held, as usual, in camp. The whole army,
each in his own language, sang Luther's battle hymn, "Ein feste Burg ist
unser Gott," "A mighty fortress is our God." The words in the second
stanza, "'Tis Jesus Christ," which are the words answering the question,
"Askest thou His name?" were usually accompanied with a salute of
artillery, that was omitted on this occasion. Then the king himself
sang:
"Fear not, O little flock, the foe,
Who madly seek your overthrow,
Dread not his rage and power," etc.
A hymn composed by himself, a hymn which had been sung by his loving
people on the last convocation in the palace at Stockholm for his
encouragement; now he sang it for theirs.[4]
Footnote 4:
I have used Geijer's "History of the Swedes" as authority as to what
occurred that dreadful day—November 6th, 1632.
Since his wound at Dirschau he had not used armor. When his page brought
his accoutrements that morning, he said, "God is my harness." He mounted
his horse without taking any refreshments. He rode along the entire
army, saluting and cheering his officers. When he came to the Swedes and
Finns, he said: "Dear friends and countrymen, this day the moment is
come to show what you have learned in so many combats. There is the foe,
not on a mountain, not behind walls, but on a clear field. How this
enemy hath heretofore shunned the open field ye well know, and that he
lets it now come to battle proceeds not from his free will, nor from
hope of victory, but because he can no longer escape your arms.
Therefore, make yourselves ready, and hold you well as becomes brave
soldiers; stand fast by one another, and fight like true knights, for
your God, for your Fatherland, and for your king. I will then so reward
you all that you may have cause to thank me for it; but if you fight
not, not a bone of you shall ever come to Sweden. God preserve you all."
To the Germans he said: "You, my sincere brothers and comrades, I pray
and exhort by your Christian conscience and your own honor, now do your
duty, as you have done the same with me often before, and especially a
year ago not far from this place. Then you beat old Tilly and his army,
and I hope that this enemy shall not slip for a better bargain. Go
freshly to it. Ye shall not merely fight under me, but with me and
beside me. I myself will go before you, and here venture life and blood.
If you will follow me, I trust in God that you will win a victory which
shall come to good for you and for your descendants. If not, there is an
end of your religion, your freedom, your temporal and eternal welfare."
Wallenstein was carried to the army in a litter, as he could not stand
on his feet from the gout. He made no remarks to his troops; none were
needed. They knew he would reward them in case of victory, and cruelly
punish if they failed.
The fog lay heavy on the field, and did not begin to lift until nearly
noon. The watchword of the Swedes was, "God with us," while the Imperial
forces had the words, "Jesus, Mary." After Gustavus' stirring speeches,
all the army answered with a clash of arms and joyous cheers. The king
looked up to heaven, "Now will we in God's name onward! Jesu, Jesu,
Jesu, may we fight to-day for the honor of Thy Holy Name!" He waved his
sword over his head, gave the command, "Forward!"
The Swedes could see that the town of Lutzen was burning, having been
set on fire by the Imperial troops at the duke's command, to prevent his
troops from being flanked on that side, also to take the heart out of
all local troops in the Protestant army. The Swedes sustained the
onerous attack, facing a battery with undaunted courage. They passed
those terrible trenches with their ice-cold water and carried and turned
a battery against their adversaries. The first five Imperial brigades
were immediately routed, the second soon after, and the third put to
flight. Just then Wallenstein came in person with fresh troops upon the
broken ranks of the Swedes, the fighting was hand to hand, leaving no
room to reload, the guns were clubbed, or used as pikes, the Swedes were
driven back, the battery recaptured and turned upon them, then in
retreat they had again to wade those awful irrigating canals. A thousand
of the Protestant army lay dead, and not a foot gained. In the meantime
the king commanded the right wing, which fell upon the enemy's left.
The Finnish cuirassiers dispersed the Poles and Croats, who fled,
throwing the cavalry into panic and causing death and confusion to the
enemy. At this moment word was brought to the king of the disaster to
his left wing, which was even then retreating across those terrible
ditches.
He called General Horn to take his command and repaired with a splendid
regiment to the support of the left wing. His good horse sprang over
every ditch just as he came to it, his regiment could not keep up with
him, and only a few of his staff kept at his side, among them Francis
Albert, Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg. He rode to where his infantry were most
pressed, and while he was reconnoitering for the point of attack his
nearsightedness led him too close to the enemy's line. An Imperial
corporal noticing that in every place people gave way for him, called to
a sharpshooter, "That is a man of consequence, fire at him!" The soldier
fired and the left arm of the king was shattered. At that moment his
regiment arrived and a cry of anguish went up, "Our king is shot! The
king bleeds!" "Oh, it is nothing," shouted the king, "follow me." He led
a short way, then realizing that he would fall, he said in French to the
Duke of Lauenburg, "Lead my horse, take me out of the battle. I faint."
The duke tried to do this by retiring by the right wing in order to keep
this discouraging sight from the infantry. The king was wounded again,
this time through the back. He said, "Brother, I have enough! Look now
to your own life." At this moment he fell from his horse, which dragged
him some distance, literally riddled with shots, and, in some
unexplainable way, he was separated from all his attendants except his
faithful young page, Lenbelfingen, who was run through the body by a
sword thrust.
The king's last audible words were: "I am the king of Sweden. I seal
this day with my blood the liberty and religion of the German nation."
And that heroic soul ascended to God.
The page, a boy of eighteen, lived long enough to tell the particulars
of that sad story. His father took down his words at his dying bedside.
It is the only authentic testimony of the crucial half hour of that
awful battle.
The field chaplain of Duke Bernard says in a letter to a friend: "By a
first pistol shot Gustavus was wounded in the arm so that the bone stuck
out through the coat. By another ball, which he received in the back
below the right shoulder, he was thrown from his horse and fell dying.
We should not even know the circumstances if we had not them from a
young page who served the monarch."
Word of this awful disaster reached Bernard, Duke of Weimar, who
immediately sent the word to General Knipenhausen, who prepared in some
measure for orders to retreat. But Bernard shouted, "Now for revenge!
Victory or death!" and Knipenhausen's division took new heart and sprang
into the fight.
The death of the commander usually means defeat, but these gallant
Swedes and Germans made it mean splendid victory. They were so enraged
by the king's death that the Imperial army was literally stampeded,
beaten, routed, driven from the field.
Pappenheim had received Wallenstein's letter at Halle, and without
waiting to get his infantry together, he took eight regiments of cavalry
and literally galloped to Lutzen, stopping only under necessity.
Pappenheim hoped for a personal encounter with Gustavus and pressed far
into the midst of the fight, where he was struck by two musket balls and
carried from the field. He was a great cavalry leader, and with his
death success deserted the Imperial arms. The army of Wallenstein, what
was left of it, retreated toward Leipzig, leaving the Swedish army in
possession of the battlefield. More than nine thousand men lay dead on
the field, and historians say of the Imperial army scarcely a man
escaped from that field uninjured. The entire plain of Lutzen was strewn
with men dead, dying, starving, freezing, wounded unto death.
Pappenheim died at Leipzig the day after the battle. When he fell his
troops gave up the fight. He sent a message to Wallenstein: "I die with
joy, because Gustavus, the enemy of my faith, dies with me."
Wallenstein's rage was something fearful. All his officers who had fled
from the field were beheaded the next day at his command. He concluded
Saxony's wealth would not justify the risk of remaining on its soil, and
the victors took possession of all strongholds which had been occupied
by Austrians. Wallenstein's defeat was complete, and the Emperor
Ferdinand, and all the world, knew that chains could never again shackle
northern Europe. It was a victory, but the Protestant army had paid a
fearful price.
As the men returned to camp after the great battle, the loved king came
not to welcome and thank them. After a long search the body of the king
was found with the common crowd of dead on the battle field. The body
had been stripped not only of its ornaments but of clothing by the
plunderers, who at that time were in the wake of every battle. That
beautiful body was covered with blood and wounds and had been trampled
down by horses, so that it was scarcely recognizable.
A funeral service was conducted in the little local church over the body
(which had been placed in a plain coffin) by a schoolmaster, and a
Swedish officer made a short oration, in which he set forth the
Christian character, the high aims, of this divinely-led king, whom
Weber calls "the purest character of that deeply agitated time," that
great king of a brave people, whom history rightly names Gustavus the
Great.
The next day the mortal body was taken to Weissenfels, where a druggist
named Kasparins embalmed it. He found nine wounds. After this the
remains were given to his queen and his soldiers. The sorrow seemed
overwhelming, and the generals were simply stupefied by grief and by the
magnitude of their loss.
The body was sacredly kept in a church till the following summer, when
it was sent from Saxony to Sweden. As the procession passed through the
country with the hero's body, accompanied by his queen and a committee
from the Estates of Sweden, every possible honor was paid to the dead
king. After a fairly prosperous voyage the fleet arrived, August 8th, at
Nykjoeping amid the clash of a great rain and thunder-storm. The last, a
salute from heaven's artillery, and the rain an emblem of the tears of a
nation.
The queen insisted on keeping the heart with her in a golden case, but
after the clergy had reasoned with her, not till June 21st, 1634, was
his body laid in the old Ridderholm church, which Gustavus had himself
chosen for his last earthly resting place. A beautiful mausoleum covers
his grave. On the different sides of this monument short sentences
concerning his character and his achievements are engraved. Beneath the
cross at the top a pelican feeding its young with its own blood fitly
represents this life with its bloody self-devotion to its religion and
country. It is constantly covered with the flag of Sweden, and few
travelers enter the church without placing a funeral wreath over
Sweden's immortal dead.
Now, what good came of all this sorrow, in which a great country was
laid waste, and more than twelve million people perished? Protestantism
was rescued from extinction on the continent of Europe. A limit was put
to the aggressions of Austria. Since the Thirty Years' War religious
toleration has been the boast of Protestant Germany. The awful loss of
life would seem to show the value God places on the rights of the common
people, in contrast with material prosperity. The spiritual assets of
individuals and nations seem to abide, while their material assets are
perishable.
But for this war no such State as modern Germany would now exist, and
northern Europe, not only Saxony, Brandenburg and Hanover, but Denmark,
Sweden and Norway would have been swept into the Holy Roman Empire, and
their intellects paralyzed by Romanism, as in Italy, Spain and Portugal.
It was not alone the weeping Swedes who bewailed Gustavus' early death
at the age of thirty-eight years, but his prowess made Greece long for
liberty, prayers were offered for him at the Holy Sepulchre. The Pope
said: "Gustavus was the greatest king in the world." Wallenstein paid
him homage in saying: "It is well for him and me that he is gone. The
German Empire does not require two such leaders."
He was a man of sincere faith, which God graciously honored. He was a
just man, always kind, even to tenderness, and withal he was a military
genius. He transformed the science of war, making the man behind the gun
mean more than the gun. He caused flexibility of movement to take the
place of large massing of men. He was a severe disciplinarian, but he
tried to have the obedience of the soldier to come from within, obeying
the outward voice as the voice of God, country and king. He often said:
"One can be a bold combatant but not a good soldier without being a
Christian."
In our age, so materialistic, so mercenary, that sees all too little of
the heroic along religious lines, it comes like a breath from heaven to
contemplate such a life, such a service, such a death as that of
Gustavus the Great.
He possessed that peculiar faculty of greatness, the distinct perception
of a distant goal, and an unfaltering determination to reach it. In
generalship he was superior to Wallenstein, the greatest Imperial
commander of that century. In diplomacy and statesmanship he excelled
Richelieu. He dared to follow the vision.