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:

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]

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.