(1594-1632)
[Footnote 20: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]
[Illustration: Gustavus Adolphus. [TN]]
There is a theory which has much currency nowadays, that the great
man, being a product of his century, exerts an influence upon his age
which is but vanishing, compared to the influence which the age exerts
upon him. The great man is, according to this view, personally of
small account, except in so far as the tendencies and ideas which are
fermenting in the age find their expression in him. He does not so
much shape the events as he is shaped and moulded by them.
There is scarcely a hero to be found in all the annals of history who
is better qualified to refute this theory than the Swedish king,
Gustavus Adolphus. It would be futile to assert, of course, that he
was an isolated phenomenon, who sprang like Jonah's luxuriant gourd
out of the arid sands of the desert. No, he had deep and intricate
roots in the past of his race and in the soil of his fatherland. But
yet, how far are all the influences which we can trace, from
accounting for the forceful energy, the clear-sighted sagacity, and
the dominant genius of the man! As far as we can judge at this
distance, his personality was the mightiest element that entered into
the denouement of that bloody world-drama, the Thirty Years' War. Had
he been other than he was, had he been a man of less heroic mould, it
would seem that Protestantism must have perished in Central Europe, or
been confined, at least, to England and the Scandinavian North. The
rights of conscience and individual judgment, for which Luther and his
co-reformers had fought so valiantly, would then have succumbed to the
power of authority, as embodied in the Papacy and the Catholic
League; and Germany, after its mighty effort at release, would have
lapsed back into the Middle Ages. To few men the opportunity is
offered to exercise such a far-reaching influence upon the history of
mankind; but fewer still are those who see its full significance, and
seeing it, seize it, and without one look behind march into the storm
and stress of world-shaping events.
Gustavus Adolphus was born December 9, 1594. He was the son of King
Charles IX. of Sweden, and the grandson of the renowned Gustavus Vasa.
He was a precocious child, and it is told (though it appears rather
incredible) that at the age of twelve he spoke Latin, French, German,
Dutch, and Italian with great fluency, besides having a superficial
acquaintance with Polish and Russian. There can be no doubt, however,
that he was well taught, and that he possessed a remarkable facility
in acquiring languages. For all that, he was far from being a bookish
boy. In riding, fencing, and all chivalrous accomplishments he took a
lively interest and exhibited much skill. It was in stormy times that
his boyhood fell, Sweden being at that time involved in frequent wars,
and his father, in order to train him in the duties of a military
commander, took him early into his camp and made him share his
campaigns. Many of the famous captains of that day who had fought in
the Low Countries and in France, were made welcome at the Swedish
court; and the favorite pastime of the young Gustavus was to question
them concerning the battles, sieges, and military exploits in which
they had been engaged.
When Charles IX. died, in 1611, Gustavus, being then seventeen years
old, was declared to be of age and succeeded to the throne. There was
need of an able and resolute man to cope with the many difficulties
which sprang up round about him. In the first place there was one war
with Denmark, already raging; the strained relations with Russia and
Poland threatened to precipitate two more. Norway, which was then
united with Denmark under the same king, was also jealous of Sweden;
and the Norwegian peasantry destroyed at Kringelen, in Guldbrandsdal,
an army of Scottish mercenaries, under the command of Colonel
Sinclair, which was marching to the relief of Gustavus. The Danes had
occupied two important Swedish cities, Calmar and Elfsborg, and being
determined to utilize their advantages to the full, repelled all
overtures for peace. It was of no avail that Gustavus renounced his
title of King of the Laplanders, the assumption of which by his father
had been one of the causes of the war. Christian IV., of Denmark,
continued to push hostilities with unflagging vigor, and several
battles were fought with varying fortunes. In 1612, he set sail with a
fleet of thirty-six vessels for Stockholm, intending to capture the
city. The Swedish fleet, being much inferior in numbers, was forced to
retire under shelter of the fortress of Waxholm, which guards the
access to the capital. In this dire dilemma, Gustavus strained every
nerve to avert the threatened disaster. With a small force, chiefly of
Dalecarlians, he marched day and night, and hastened to Waxholm in the
hope of surprising the Danish fleet which had been detained by adverse
winds. But the enemy, being probably informed of his approach, saw
that their opportunity for capturing the capital was gone, and
returned again to their own coast. Negotiations were now resumed and
peace was concluded in 1613. The Danes were to surrender Calmar
immediately and Elfsborg at the end of six years; the Swedes agreeing
to pay a war indemnity of one million thalers.
The war with Russia, which Gustavus had inherited from his father, had
of late been in a state of suspension. The Swedes had occupied a large
amount of Russian territory, in which were several strong fortresses.
In the confusion which reigned as to the succession, after the
extinction of the ancient house of Rurik, there was a capital chance
of fishing in troubled waters. A strong party in Russia desired to
elect a Swedish prince as sovereign, and actually sent an embassy to
Stockholm to offer the throne to Charles Philip, a younger brother of
Gustavus. But the king did not favor this plan. For four years he
continued the war and secured important advantages. But what was more
valuable than territorial gains, he acquired a wide experience in
strategy and the conduct of campaigns, a habit of dealing promptly
with large questions, and a sharpened judgment of men. In February,
1617, the treaty of peace was signed, Russia ceding to Sweden a large
territory on the east of the Baltic. Gustavus was now in a position to
prosecute with greater energy the war with Poland. Sigismund III., of
Poland, was the only son of King John III., of Sweden, and was,
therefore, as a scion of the ancient royal house, the legitimate heir
to the Swedish throne. But in the first place he was a Catholic; and
in the second place, the house of Vasa, had by force of arms and with
the support of the people, successfully asserted its right to the
crown which Gustavus I. had won.
After repeated extensions of the armistice which by common consent
prevailed, the King of Sweden resumed hostilities in July, 1621; and
the war raged with varying success until September, 1629, when another
armistice was concluded for six years. The chief result of this
exhausting warfare was the stipulation which was agreed to, that
liberty of conscience should be granted to Protestants and Catholics,
and that the commerce between Poland and Sweden was declared free.
The renown of these wars, two of which had been brought to a
triumphant issue, spread far over Europe; and the Protestant princes
of Germany became aware that there was a great military captain of
their own faith in the Scandinavian North. They were at that time
sorely oppressed, the success of the imperial arms, under Tilly and
Wallenstein, seeming to threaten the very existence of the Reformed
Faith. The Emperor Ferdinand II. was carrying everything with a high
hand after the defeat of King Christian IV. of Denmark, who, with more
courage than success, had undertaken to champion the Protestant cause.
It was in this desperate strait that all eyes turned toward the young
King of Sweden. An appeal was sent to him for aid, in the name of
their common religion; and Gustavus, after a brief hesitation,
accepted the call. He had long watched with deep concern the war of
devastation by which Wallenstein and the scarcely less terrible Tilly
were seeking to destroy the fruits of the Reformation; and it is said
that he had a clear presentiment that sooner or later he would be
drawn into the struggle. Leaving his domestic affairs in the hands of
his friend, the Chancellor Oxenstiern, he embarked in June, 1630, with
a force of but fifteen thousand men, for Germany, and landed on
midsummer day on the island of Usedom, on the coast of Pomerania.
The Emperor Ferdinand professed to be much amused when he heard that
Gustavus Adolphus had invaded his dominions.
"So we have got another kingling on our hands," he exclaimed
mockingly. He was far from foreseeing what trouble he was to have for
eighteen years to come, in getting that kingling and his troops off
his hands.
Gustavus was the first to step upon the German soil, at the
disembarkation; and in the sight of all his army he fell upon his
knees and prayed for the blessing of God upon the vast enterprise
which had been confided to him. As he arose from his prayer, he seized
a spade and began instantly the work upon the intrenchments of the
camp.
If his troops were few in number, it is not to be denied that they
were excellent in quality. Many were hardened veterans from the king's
earlier campaigns; among his recently acquired mercenaries there was a
Scotch brigade, from which he drew many of his best officers. We hear
much during the following years, of Hepburn, Seaton, Leslie, Mackay,
and Monroe, whose names betray their Caledonian origin. You would have
supposed now that the Protestant princes, having secured the aid of
Gustavus, would have made haste to identify themselves with his cause
and to reinforce him with money and troops. But, strange to relate, no
sooner had he landed than they began to grow afraid of him and to ask
themselves whether they might not after all, be able to make more
tolerable terms with the emperor by the sacrifice of their religion,
than with this foreign invader, who, if he was victorious, might
dictate his own terms. Had they not, in other words, jumped from the
frying-pan into the fire?
The two princes who had hitherto been the most prominent champions of
Protestantism in Germany (though both half-hearted and pusillanimous
shufflers) were Gustavus's brother-in-law, the Elector of Brandenburg,
and the Elector of Saxony. They were now doing their best to wriggle
out of their obligations, and by a shameful neutrality avert the
emperor's displeasure. But they had reckoned without their host if
they supposed that Gustavus would lend himself to such a scheme. The
reply which he gave to Herr von Wilmerstorff, who had been sent to him
by the Elector to urge an armistice, was refreshingly plain, while the
argument which accompanied it was completely unanswerable. When
nevertheless the Elector continued to resort to shilly-shallying and
all sorts of ambiguous tactics, Gustavus lost his patience, marched
his army to the gates of Berlin, and compelled him to make his choice
of party once, for all. The treaty of alliance was then signed, on the
Elector's part reluctantly and with a heavy heart; for these two
brothers-in-law were so vastly different, that it was scarcely to be
expected that they would be congenial. Gustavus, though he was not
without personal ambition, was fired with noble zeal for the
Protestant cause, and believed it worthy of any sacrifice, however
great; while the Elector was only bent on saving his own precious
skin and extricating himself with the least possible damage from the
dangerous situation in which he had been caught.
[Illustration: Gustavus Adolphus before the battle of Lutzen.]
With the same promptness with which he had brought his brother-in-law
of Brandenburg to terms, Gustavus forced the hand of the Elector of
Saxony, who now overcame his scruples and sent him the needed
reinforcements. An imperial army of forty thousand men, under the
command of an Italian adventurer named Torquato Conti, had been sent
against him, immediately on his landing in Pomerania, but no battle
had been fought, and beyond laying waste the country the Imperialists
had so far accomplished nothing. The emperor, who had predicted that
"the Snow-king would melt under the rays of the Imperial sun," became
alarmed at his successes and selected Tilly to stay his southward
advance. This able and experienced general promptly assumed the
command of the forces of the Catholic League, and in order to strike
terror into the hearts of the Protestant princes, sacked and pillaged
the city of Magdeburg in Lower Saxony, giving it over without
restraint to devastation and ruin by the brutal soldiery. The horrors
which were here enacted beggar description, and leave a hideous stain
upon the page of history. Tilly himself, in announcing his success to
the emperor, wrote: "Since the destruction of Troy and Jerusalem never
has such a siege been seen."
Gustavus had, indeed, come too late to relieve Magdeburg, but the
report of the unspeakable atrocities which that unhappy city had
witnessed, fired his generous heart with wrath and an eager
determination to punish a general so devoid of humanity. And the
opportunity was soon to present itself. Advancing rapidly into Saxony,
he met Tilly on the plains of Breitenfeld, near Leipsic, September 7,
1631; and not only defeated him, but utterly annihilated his army,
scattering it like dust before the storm. He was now, until a new army
could be raised, master of all Germany. Nothing apparently could have
hindered him from marching on Vienna and dictating to the emperor his
own terms of peace. It has been and is yet a matter of speculation,
why Gustavus did not relentlessly follow up the results of this great
victory, instead of going into winter quarters and affording Ferdinand
and the discomfited princes of the League a chance of recovering from
their utter demoralization. The answer is, no doubt, that he did not
feel himself strong enough to lay siege to Vienna, without covering
his rear and securing his base of supplies. He had always, like the
good general he was, been careful to keep open a possible line of
retreat. For the moment he was indeed irresistible. At Merseburg two
thousand Imperialists were cut to pieces. Cities opened their gates to
receive him. The Protestant population, in their ecstacy at his
victories, were ready to worship him as a demigod. Proceeding
southward to Nuremberg and Munich, he was met again by Tilly at the
river Lech, where a brief battle was fought; Gustavus was again
victorious and Tilly lost his life. This feat of crossing the Lech in
the face of a hostile force is by military experts regarded as the
greatest strategic feat of Gustavus.
In the meanwhile the emperor had not been idle. There was but one man
whose name was potent enough to summon an army adequate for so
perilous a situation; and that man was Albrecht von Wallenstein. He
was himself, too, fully aware of his preciousness and the terms which
he exacted of Ferdinand were hard, not to say extortionate. Ferdinand
II., however, had no choice but to accept them. It was not long before
Gustavus became aware that Wallenstein, with an army which seemed to
have risen out of the ground, was moving in his rear, resolved,
apparently, to cut him off from his communication with Sweden. He had
no alternative then but to return northward to face this new enemy. On
the field of Lutzen in Saxony they met November 6, 1632. A thick mist
covered the battle-field, and both armies tarried with the attack in
the hope that it would lift. Toward noon, however, Gustavus made a
brief address to his soldiers and knelt in prayer before them,
whereupon all sang Luther's hymn, "Our God he is a fortress strong."
Then the signal was given for the attack. The army of Gustavus,
including his German allies, numbered from twenty to twenty-five
thousand, and the Imperialists about thirty thousand. The king, who
suffered from an imperfectly healed wound which he had received in the
Polish war, found it painful to wear a cuirass; and on the morning of
the day of Lutzen refused to put it on. "God is my armor," he said,
and mounted his horse.
It was this sublime confidence in divine Providence which led him
perhaps to expose himself overmuch. He led the attack in person.
Before the battle was far advanced, a report reached him that his left
wing was wavering. With prompt resolution he started across the field,
but, mistaking the direction in the fog, found himself in the midst of
a detachment of imperial cuirassiers. A pistol shot pierced his arm;
but he still pressed on. Growing faint from pain and loss of blood, he
turned to one of the German princes who accompanied him and said:
"Cousin, lead me out of this tumult; for I am hurt."
But scarcely had he spoken, when a second shot hit him between the
shoulders and he fell from his horse, dead.
The rumor instantly spread through the Swedish army that the king had
been taken prisoner. The troops rushed like an avalanche upon the
Imperialists, who wavered and gave way. In the end the victory was
claimed by both sides, the advantage remaining however with the
Swedes.
Gustavus Adolphus was a man of handsome appearance, tall of stature,
and of most impressive presence. He was hot-tempered; but at the same
time kindly, generous, and affable. He possessed all the qualities
required of a military leader, and has justly been accounted one of
the world's greatest generals. He was thirty-eight years old at the
time of his death. Having no son, he was succeeded on the Swedish
throne by his daughter Christina.
[Signature of the author.]