Yet in his demeanor there was nothing to show that he entertained a shadow of his former ambition.  He affected the utmost ease and tranquillity of manner, and seemed as if fully content with his present state, and as if he cared no longer who fought the wars of the world.

But inwardly his ambition had in no sense declined.  He beheld the progress of the Swedish conqueror with secret joy, and when he saw Tilly overthrown at Leipsic, and the fruits of twelve years of war wrested from the emperor at a single blow, his heart throbbed high with hope.  His hour of revenge upon the emperor had come.  Ferdinand must humiliate himself and come for aid to his dismissed general, for there was not another man in the kingdom capable of saving it from the triumphant foe.

He was right.  The emperor’s deputies came.  He was requested, begged, to head again the imperial armies.  He received the envoys coldly.  Urgent persuasions were needed to induce him to raise an army of thirty thousand men.  Even then he would not agree to take command of it.  He would raise it and put it at the emperor’s disposal.

He planted his standard; the men came; many of them his old followers.  Plenty and plunder were promised, and thousands flocked to his tents.  By March of 1632 the thirty thousand men were collected.  Who should command them?  There was but one, and this the emperor and Wallenstein alike knew.  They would follow only the man to whose banner they had flocked.

The emperor begged him to take command.  He consented, but only on conditions to which an emperor has rarely agreed.  Wallenstein was to have exclusive control of the army, without interference of any kind, was to be given irresponsible control over all the provinces he might conquer, was to hold as security a portion of the Austrian patrimonial estates, and after the war might choose any of the hereditary estates of the empire for his seat of retirement.  The emperor acceded, and Wallenstein, clothed with almost imperial power, marched to war.  His subsequent fortunes the next narrative must declare.

THE END OF TWO GREAT SOLDIERS.

Two armies faced each other in central Bavaria, two armies on which the fate of Germany depended, those of Gustavus Adolphus, the right hand of Protestantism, and of Wallenstein, the hope of Catholic imperialism.  Gustavus was strongly intrenched in the vicinity of Nuremberg, with an army of but sixteen thousand men.  Wallenstein faced him with an army of sixty thousand, yet dared not attack him in his strong position.  He occupied himself in efforts to make his camp as impregnable as that of his foeman, and the two great opponents lay waiting face to face, while famine slowly decimated their ranks.

It was an extraordinary position.  Both sides depended for food on foraging, and between them they had swept the country clean.  The peasantry fled in every direction from Wallenstein’s pillaging troops, who destroyed all that they could not carry away.  It had become a question with the two armies which could starve the longest, and for three months they lay encamped, each waiting until famine should drive the other out.  Surely such a situation had never before been known.