IN our last rehearsal of the affairs of the King of Sweden (see February issue) we intimated that his daring enterprise had now entered on a new phase. Ferdinand and his Jesuits, stung into a supreme effort, had recalled Wallenstein and launched him with some 40,000 foemen against the victorious champion of the Protestant faith. Having failed to prevent the junction of Wallenstein and his ally, the Elector of Bavaria, Gustavus fell back before overwhelming odds, and, till his various forces scattered throughout Germany should be able to concentrate, betook himself to tactics of defensive war. The town of Nuremberg in Franconia was an important Protestant centre. It was a wealthy, populous place, strongly devoted to the King’s interests, and on these accounts its capture was the first object of Wallenstein’s ambition. The inhabitants beheld the storm surging towards them from the east, and fearing the fate of Madgeburg they sent a pressing message to Gustavus to defend them from the onset. He replied to the messengers—”Return to your city, and tell your fellow-citizens to be of good courage. So long as I live, with the help of God, Wallenstein shall never see the inside of your walls.” The King accordingly resolved to make a stand at Nuremberg, and he caused a camp to be formed outside the city walls. With the enthusiastic help of the citizens he quickly formed a strong position frowning with 300 cannon, and here with 16,000 men he arrived in the beginning of June, 1632. Wallenstein was also quickly on the scene with a host now numbering 60,000. He was burning to achieve a victory over the antagonist who had wrested the pre-eminence in arms from himself, but it behoved him to be wary in such an undertaking. Knowing how pressing the problems of food and sanitation would soon become in the King’s crowded lines, it seemed to him good policy to avoid direct warfare and to pursue instead a policy of famine. By surrounding the King and intercepting all his supplies he hoped to starve him into surrender, and thus gain victory at a cheap rate. His project was not a complete success owing to the unforeseen activity and resource of Gustavus, but, nevertheless, while the situation lasted the strain of it was terrible. On the 23rd of August the expected reinforcements under Oxenstierna arrived in camp, bringing the King’s numbers up to 60,000 fighting men. With this force he determined to attack Wallenstein’s position and force on an engagement. The key of the situation was a hill called the Altenwald, surmounted by an old castle which Wallenstein had strongly fortified. The attempt upon such a position was a hazardous one. It was manfully prosecuted, but it ended in failure. Gustavus spent 2000 of his best troops on the assault, but he could not prevail. Wallenstein was not to be dislodged, but neither was he willing to accept the enemy’s challenge to fight in the open. On the 8th of September,
leaving a garrison for the protection of Nuremberg, the King broke up his camp and retired to Neustadt to refresh his army, Wallenstein offering no opposition to the movement. The situation had been as fatal to him as to Gustavus. The country could not bear two such hosts, and famine and pestilence had prevailed in both camps. Gustavus had lost 12,000 horses and 10,000 men during these stifling, fever-stricken summer weeks from June to September, and Wallenstein’s 60,000 were also much diminished. We relate such things easily and thoughtlessly, but the detail of suffering in all forms to man and beast involved in such a story is terrible if we could realise it, and wakens longings for the time foreseen in prophecy when “Nation shall not lift up the sword against nation. Neither shall they learn war any more.” Wallenstein also broke up his camp and retired northwards, and thus the two antagonists separated ineffectually for this time, but when they meet again it will be to terrible purpose.