Chapter XLV: Section V: Imperialist Victories and the Treaty of Prague

[Sidenote: § 1. Campaign of 1634.]

For the moment, the House of Austria seemed to have gained everything by the execution or the murder of Wallenstein, whichever we may choose to call it. The army was reorganized and placed under the command of the Emperor's son, the King of Hungary. The Cardinal-Infant, now eagerly welcomed, was preparing to join him through Tyrol. And while on the one side there was union and resolution, there was division and hesitation on the other. The Elector of Saxony stood aloof from the League of Heilbronn, weakly hoping that the terms of peace which had been offered him by Wallenstein would be confirmed by the Emperor now that Wallenstein was gone. Even amongst those who remained under arms there was no unity of purpose. Bernhard, the daring and impetuous, was not of one mind with the cautious Horn, who commanded the Swedish forces, and both agreed in thinking Oxenstjerna remiss because he did not supply them with more money than he was able to provide.

[Sidenote: § 2. The Battle of Nördlingen.]

As might have been expected under these circumstances, the imperials made rapid progress. Ratisbon, the prize of Bernhard the year before, surrendered to the king of Hungary in July. Then Donauwörth was stormed, and siege was laid to Nördlingen. On September 2 the Cardinal-Infant came up with 15,000 men. The enemy watched the siege with a force far inferior in numbers. Bernhard was eager to put all to the test of battle. Horn recommended caution in vain. Against his better judgment he consented to fight. On September 6 the attack was made. By the end of the day Horn was a prisoner, and Bernhard was in full retreat, leaving 10,000 of his men dead upon the field, and 6,000 prisoners in the hands of the enemy, whilst the imperialists lost only 1,200 men.

[Sidenote: § 3. Important results from it.]

Since the day of Breitenfeld, three years before, there had been no such battle fought as this of Nördlingen. As Breitenfeld had recovered the Protestant bishoprics of the north, Nördlingen recovered the Catholic bishoprics of the south. Bernhard's Duchy of Franconia disappeared in a moment under the blow. Before the spring of 1635 came, the whole of South Germany, with the exception of one or two fortified posts, was in the hands of the imperial commanders. The Cardinal-Infant was able to pursue his way to Brussels, with the assurance that he had done a good stroke of work on the way.

[Sidenote: § 4. French intervention.]

The victories of mere force are never fruitful of good. As it had been after the successes of Tilly in 1622, and the successes of Wallenstein in 1626 and 1627, so it was now with the successes of the King of Hungary in 1634 and 1635. The imperialist armies had gained victories, and had taken cities. But the Emperor was none the nearer to the confidence of Germans. An alienated people, crushed by military force, served merely as a bait to tempt foreign aggression, and to make the way easy before it. After 1622, the King of Denmark had been called in. After 1627, an appeal was made to the King of Sweden. After 1634, Richelieu found his opportunity. The bonds between France and the mutilated League of Heilbronn were drawn more closely. German troops were to be taken into French pay, and the empty coffers of the League were filled with French livres. He who holds the purse holds the sceptre, and the princes of Southern and Western Germany, whether they wished it or not, were reduced to the position of satellites revolving round the central orb at Paris.

[Sidenote: § 5. The Peace of Prague.]

Nowhere was the disgrace of submitting to French intervention felt so deeply as at Dresden. The battle of Nördlingen had cut short any hopes which John George might have entertained of obtaining that which Wallenstein would willingly have granted him. But, on the other hand, Ferdinand had learned something from experience. He would allow the Edict of Restitution to fall, though he was resolved not to make the sacrifice in so many words. But he refused to replace the Empire in the condition in which it had been before the war. The year 1627 was to be chosen as the starting point for the new arrangement. The greater part of the northern bishoprics would thus be saved to Protestantism. But Halberstadt would remain in the hands of a Catholic bishop, and the Palatinate would be lost to Protestantism for ever. Lusatia, which had been held in the hands of the Elector of Saxony for his expenses in the war of 1620, was to be ceded to him permanently, and Protestantism in Silesia was to be placed under the guarantee of the Emperor. Finally, Lutheranism alone was still reckoned as the privileged religion, so that Hesse Cassel and the other Calvinist states gained no security at all. On May 30, 1635, a treaty embodying these arrangements was signed at Prague by the representatives of the Emperor and the Elector of Saxony. It was intended not to be a separate treaty, but to be the starting point of a general pacification. Most of the princes and towns so accepted it, after more or less delay, and acknowledged the supremacy of the Emperor on its conditions. Yet it was not in the nature of things that it should put an end to the war. It was not an agreement which any one was likely to be enthusiastic about. The ties which bound Ferdinand to his Protestant subjects had been rudely broken, and the solemn promise to forget and forgive could not weld the nation into that unity of heart and spirit which was needed to resist the foreigner. A Protestant of the north might reasonably come to the conclusion that the price to be paid to the Swede and the Frenchman for the vindication of the rights of the southern Protestants was too high to make it prudent for him to continue the struggle against the Emperor. But it was hardly likely that he would be inclined to fight very vigorously for the Emperor on such terms.

[Sidenote: § 6. It fails in securing general acceptance.]

If the treaty gave no great encouragement to anyone who was comprehended by it, it threw still further into the arms of the enemy those who were excepted from its benefits. The leading members of the League of Heilbronn were excepted from the general amnesty, though hopes of better treatment were held out to them if they made their submission. The Landgrave of Hesse Cassel was shut out as a Calvinist. Besides such as nourished legitimate grievances, there were others who, like Bernhard, were bent upon carving out a fortune for themselves, or who had so blended in their own minds consideration for the public good as to lose all sense of any distinction between the two.

[Sidenote: § 7. Degeneration of the war.]

There was no lack here of materials for a long and terrible struggle. But there was no longer any noble aim in view on either side. The ideal of Ferdinand and Maximilian was gone. The Church was not to recover its lost property. The Empire was not to recover its lost dignity. The ideal of Gustavus of a Protestant political body was equally gone. Even the ideal of Wallenstein, that unity might be founded on an army, had vanished. From henceforth French and Swedes on the one side, Austrians and Spaniards on the other, were busily engaged in riving at the corpse of the dead Empire. The great quarrel of principle had merged into a mere quarrel between the Houses of Austria and Bourbon, in which the shred of principle which still remained in the question of the rights of the southern Protestants was almost entirely disregarded.

[Sidenote: § 8. Condition of Germany.]

Horrible as the war had been from its commencement, it was every day assuming a more horrible character. On both sides all traces of discipline had vanished in the dealings of the armies with the inhabitants of the countries in which they were quartered. Soldiers treated men and women as none but the vilest of mankind would now treat brute beasts. 'He who had money,' says a contemporary, 'was their enemy. He who had none was tortured because he had it not.' Outrages of unspeakable atrocity were committed everywhere. Human beings were driven naked into the streets, their flesh pierced with needles, or cut to the bone with saws. Others were scalded with boiling water, or hunted with fierce dogs. The horrors of a town taken by storm were repeated every day in the open country. Even apart from its excesses, the war itself was terrible enough. When Augsburg was besieged by the imperialists, after their victory at Nördlingen, it contained an industrious population of 70,000 souls. After a siege of seven months, 10,000 living beings, wan and haggard with famine, remained to open the gates to the conquerors, and the great commercial city of the Fuggers dwindled down into a country town.

[Sidenote: 1636.

§ 9. Notes of an English traveller.]

How is it possible to bring such scenes before our eyes in their ghastly reality? Let us turn for the moment to some notes taken by the companion of an English ambassador who passed through the country in 1636. As the party were towed up the Rhine from Cologne, on the track so well known to the modern tourist, they passed "by many villages pillaged and shot down." Further on, a French garrison was in Ehrenbreitstein, firing down upon Coblentz, which had just been taken by the imperialists. "They in the town, if they do but look out of their windows, have a bullet presently presented at their head." More to the south, things grew worse. At Bacharach, "the poor people are found dead with grass in their mouths." At Rüdesheim, many persons were "praying where dead bones were in a little old house; and here his Excellency gave some relief to the poor, which were almost starved, as it appeared by the violence they used to get it from one another." At Mentz, the ambassador was obliged to remain "on shipboard, for there was nothing to relieve us, since it was taken by the King of Sweden, and miserably battered.... Here, likewise, the poor people were almost starved, and those that could relieve others before now humbly begged to be relieved; and after supper all had relief sent from the ship ashore, at the sight of which they strove so violently that some of them fell into the Rhine, and were like to have been drowned." Up the Main, again, "all the towns, villages, and castles be battered, pillaged, or burnt." After leaving Würzburg, the ambassador's train came to plundered villages, and then to Neustadt, "which hath been a fair city, though now pillaged and burnt miserably." Poor children were "sitting at their doors almost starved to death," his Excellency giving them food and leaving money with their parents to help them, if but for a time. In the Upper Palatinate, they passed "by churches demolished to the ground, and through woods in danger, understanding that Croats were lying hereabout." Further on they stayed for dinner at a poor little village "which hath been pillaged eight-and-twenty times in two years, and twice in one day." And so on, and so on. The corner of the veil is lifted up in the pages of the old book, and the rest is left to the imagination to picture forth, as best it may, the misery behind. After reading the sober narrative, we shall perhaps not be inclined to be so very hard upon the Elector of Saxony for making peace at Prague.