(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 319.)
THE victory of Leipsic (September 6, 1631), as narrated in our December issue, was a surprise both to friends and foes of the Protestant cause. The king piously acknowledged the hand of God therein, and appointed a day of public thanksgiving to be observed throughout the army. The Jesuits and the heads of the Catholic confederacy cut short their programme of jokes and made panic-stricken preparations to withstand this snow king who showed no signs of melting as he came south. The town of Leipsic lies in the centre of Germany, about 200 miles south from the landing place of the Swedish conqueror. Several marches to the south-east lay Vienna, the political capital of the Catholic world. It was a practicable thing to strike home at the heart of the hostile confederacy by a rapid march to Vienna before the Emperor Frederic could marshal his forces. But the well-advised resolve of Gustavus was to march westward towards the Rhine. His pathway thither lay through a number of Protestant cities and provinces which needed liberty and encouragement, where also he could rest and recruit his army. He also desired to make some rich bishoprics of the Catholic League feel the privations and distresses of war. Accordingly he spent the winter of 1631-32 in this region of the Upper Rhine, consolidating the Protestant cause and exacting tribute from the sees and corporations of the Romish party. In February, 1633, he put his army in motion to accomplish the eastward march to Vienna. At the river Lech in Bavaria he found Tilly and his army remarshalled after the defeat of Leipsic, and resolved to dispute his passage. It was disputed in a council of war whether the passage of the river against the Catholic army was advisable. But Gustavus, ever prone to valorous feats, exclaimed—”What! have we crossed the Baltic, the Oder, the Elbe, and the Rhine to stop stupefied before this mere stream, the Lech. Remember that undertakings the most difficult are often those which succeed best, because the enemy supposes them to be impossible.” Noticing that his bank of the river was higher than the opposite one he mounted a battery of fifty cannon, and under the advantage of this offensive fire he built a bridge and accomplished the feat of passing the supposed impassable river.
The enemy, shattered by the cannonade, and discouraged by the loss of their leader, Tilly, did not abide the onset of the Swedes, but fled, leaving 2000 dead upon the field. The dominions of Maximilian, Elector of Bavaria, were thus exposed to the conqueror, and this was a most notable stage in the progress of the contest, for Bavaria was the hot-bed of Jesuitism, where many evil designs against evangelical Christianity were hatched. The Pope’s political party had two heads—Ferdinand, Emperor of Austria, and Maximilian, Elector of Bavaria—and it was Gustavus’ destiny to come successively into collision with both these dragons, and ruin the military power of both on well-fought fields. At Leipsic, and finally at the Lech, he broke the sword arm of Maximilian, and scattered the butchers of Madgeburg to the four winds. With a Swedish garrison in Munich, the capital of Jesuitism, and all their sees and corporations laid under tribute to the “heretic” King, the troublers of Germany had a salutary taste of the terrors and privations so plentifully endured by the Protestant world during the last hundred years.
A striking incident of this stage of the career of Gustavus was his triumphal entry into Augsburg. Here, a century before, Melancthon had presented to the Emperor, Charles V., the Protestant Confession of Faith. Here, still later, by the peace of 1555, the power and importance of the Lutherans had been tacitly acknowledged and a limited toleration for their religion legally secured. The city was kept by a Romish garrison, and there was a Romish party among the citizens, but the place surrendered without bloodshed, and on the 14th April, 1632, the King made his public entry, and proceeded straightway to the Church of St. Ann, where the Lutheran form of worship was resumed after many years’ suppression, and Fabricius, the King’s chaplain, preached from Psalm xii. 5—”For the oppression of the poor, for the sighing of the needy, now will I arise, saith the Lord; I will set him in safety from him that puffeth at him.”
While Gustavus, going from strength to strength, was thus threatening to overturn the whole political fabric of Romanism, the heads of the confederacy at Vienna were not idle. By great efforts Ferdinand, the Emperor, and his Jesuits had organised an army under Wallenstein the master-spirit of the Catholic military system, who had been in retirement, but was now launched anew upon a career of ravage and bloodshed. Driving the Saxon allies out of Bohemia and afflicting Protestant towns and interests as he went forward, he was now threatening to interpose between Gustavus and Sweden, and so cut off his supplies. Gustavus marched northwards to Nuremberg and awaited the appearance of Wallenstein and his confederates, who numbered 40,000 men. The King, though much inferior in numbers, had skillfully entrenched himself, and when Wallenstein surveyed the position, he resolved not to attack, but to sit down and wage a campaign of famine.