only by the iron energy of Ferdinand, seemed now upon the eve of its dissolution.  The Protestants, who composed in most of the States a majority, were cordially rallying beneath the banners of Gustavus.  They had been in a state of despair.  They now rose in exalted hope.  Many of the minor princes who had been nominally Catholics, but whose Christian creeds were merely political dogmas, threw themselves into the arms of Gustavus.  Even the Elector of Bavaria was so helpless in his isolation, that, champion as he had been of the Catholic party, there seemed to be no salvation for him but in abandoning the cause of Ferdinand.  Gustavus was now, with a victorious army, in the heart of Germany.  He was in possession of the whole western country from the Baltic to the frontiers of France, and apparently a majority of the population were in sympathy with him.

Ferdinand at first resolved, in this dire extremity, to assume himself the command of his armies, and in person to enter the field.  This was heroic madness, and his friends soon convinced him of the folly of one so inexperienced in the arts of war undertaking to cope with Gustavus Adolphus, now the most experienced and renowned captain in Europe.  He then thought of appointing his son, the Archduke Ferdinand, commander-in-chief.  But Ferdinand was but twenty-three years of age, and though a young man of decided abilities, was by no means able to encounter on the field the skill and heroism of the Swedish warrior.  In this extremity, Ferdinand was compelled to turn his eyes to his discarded general Wallenstein.

This extraordinary man, in renouncing, at the command of his sovereign, his military supremacy, retired with boundless wealth, and assumed a style of living surpassing even regal splendor.  His gorgeous palace at Prague was patrolled by sentinels.  A body-guard of fifty halberdiers, in sumptuous uniform, ever waited in his ante-chamber.  Twelve nobles attended his person, and four gentlemen ushers introduced to his presence those whom he condescended to favor with an audience.  Sixty pages, taken from the most illustrious families, embellished his courts.  His steward was a baron of the highest rank; and even the chamberlain of the emperor had left Ferdinand’s court, that he might serve in the more princely palace of this haughty subject.  A hundred guests dined daily at his table.  His gardens and parks were embellished with more than oriental magnificence.  Even his stables were furnished with marble mangers, and supplied with water from an ever-living fountain.  Upon his journeys he was accompanied by a suite of twelve coaches of state and fifty carriages.  A large retinue of wagons conveyed his plate and equipage.  Fifty mounted grooms followed with fifty led horses richly caparisoned. (Coxe’s “House of Austria,” ii., 254.)

Wallenstein watched the difficulties gathering around the emperor with satisfaction which he could not easily disguise.  Though intensely eager to be restored to the command of the armies, he affected an air of great indifference, and when the emperor suggested his restoration, he very adroitly played the coquette.  The emperor at first proposed that his son, the Archduke Ferdinand, should nominally have the command, while Wallenstein should be his executive and advisory general.  “I would not serve,” said the impious captain, “as second in command under God Himself.”