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fourths of the Germans were still Protestants, but by 1650 the whole of the empire had become Catholic, as well as more than one half of the rest of Germany.

The war, then, began between despotism and liberty, and lasted such an enormous time, because none of the contending parties were enabled to strike a decisive blow. The largest armies at that time did not exceed a modern corps d'armée. Tilly considered 40,000 men the largest number a commander could desire. Even though Wallenstein once stood at the head of 100,000 men, they were scattered over the whole of Germany, and could never be concentrated. The truth was, there was not a single German prince capable of supporting even 40,000 men for three months from his own revenues. King Frederick of the Palatinate-the Winter King-was unable to pay his troops, even by the aid of subsidies. In the winter of 1620, half the army perished through lack of food, and they had more than 4,500,000 florins owing them. Nor was the emperor much better off, though he received large aid from Spain. Saxony, in borrowing 12,000 florins of the Fuggers, paid 50 per cent. interest, while Maximilian of Bavaria, and the League, paid 12 per cent. to the Genoese merchants, though having the guarantee of the Fuggers. But, as if this were not bad enough, the maintenance of the troops cost twice as much as it does now. Documents of the time prove that the annual expense of a foot soldier was 375 thalers, or nearly 601. of our money. This may be explained by the fact that every soldier was accompanied by his wife and family. Those soldiers who could not afford such luxury, had always a parcel of footboys to wait upon and loot for them. Wallhausen, in his "Defensio Patriæ," gives an excellent description of the scenes that took place:

When the horses are put to in the baggage waggons, the wives, children, and girls fall on them like a flock of crows. The girl who first enters the waggon takes the first place; then comes the boy, with his master's bundle so full of stolen goods that a horse can scarce carry it. The girl then sits down on it, and others press in. If, then, a soldier's wife finds no room, and is obliged to go afoot, she will cry, "Oh, you bad girl, you want to ride, and I have been a soldier's wife so many years. I have made so many campaigns, and yet you want to take my place." Then the girls and wives fall on each other, throw stones and sticks, and when the followers have been fighting thus a while, the soldier's wife runs to her husband with her hair hanging on her neck, and crying, "Look, Hans! there is So-and-So's girl sitting in the waggon, and wanting to ride, and I must walk, who am your wife." Then the soldier catches hold of the girl, and tries to pull her out, but her soldier comes up, and says, "Now, just you let my girl alone; I love her as much as you do your wife;" and thereupon the soldiers begin fighting, pull out their whingers, stick and smite each other, some being killed and others crippled. On the march, hardly a day passes that ten soldiers are not ruined for the sake of the women. When this is over, the waggons are often so heavily laden that the horses or oxen cannot move from the spot. Ten or twelve women, so many children and boys, are crammed together, like caterpillars in a cabbage. And if the horses cannot get up hill, not one will get out, for other wives and girls would jump up directly, saying they had as much right to ride.

How the poor peasant must have blessed the ladies! If his cattle did not die on the road, he was frequently forbidden returning from the next station, and, as a general rule, his horses and harness mysteriously disappeared.

The army followers were under the special protection of an old invalid soldier, known by a far from flattering name, who took charge of all the plunder on the march. It was his duty to keep them from straggling and spreading over the villages like "gipsies or Tartars." In return for this protection, the followers were called upon to cover the rear of the army in action, do all the dirty work of the camp, and dig the trenches. Attempts were made to free the regiments from this plague of locusts, but in vain. On one occasion, when crossing a river, the colonel left all the women on the other side, but the men mutinied, and he was forced to give way. After that, he ordered that, under penalty of death, only married women should remain with the regiment. The result was, that more than 800 wretched creatures were married in the course of two days. With the war this pestilence naturally spread. In 1648, General Gronsfeld reports that his army consisted of 40,000 men drawing rations, and 140,000 followers, who received nothing. How they contrived may be guessed from the following pages of a rare tractate by Adam Junghaus:

Every colonel and captain is well aware that no doctors, masters, or Godfearing people will join him, but only a band of bad men from all sorts of nations. All who will not obey their parents must follow the calfskin stretched over the drum, till they are led into battle or to a storm, where thousands are shot or stabbed; for a Landsknecht's life hangs on a hair, and his soul sits on his hat or sleeve. At the same time three sorts of weeds grow up in warfare: they are sharp discipline, fifty forbidden articles, and a quick verdict, which costs many a man his neck.

It is not enough that a warrior should be strong, upright, manly, tyrannical, bloodthirsty, make himself out a fire-eater, and ready to eat up the devil without giving his comrades a morsel. Such cockscombs lose their lives through their stupidity, and kill other good fellows with them. Another is a snorter and kicker, tosses about on the straw like a horse, but when he goes into action he is a martyr and poor sinner, and in his fright drops his weapon. When they sit in the tap, they have seen a great deal, and do nothing but quarrel; a fly on the wall annoys them, and they must kill it. Such bear-stabbers are most frequently met rarely is there one who has not injured hands or arms, or a slash on his cheek, but he never stood fairly before the enemy. Such men a captain must guard against, for they are all grumblers and mutineers. A sensible soldier avoids quarrelling and fighting when he can, so that he may carry his skin uninjured, if possible, into action. But the man who knowingly injures his health must listen to ridicule, and is of no use to an army. Such a guest must remain for life an egg-and-cheese beggar; he runs up and down the country, begs bread, sells it again, must support himself like a wolf, and if rats and mice are drowned in the milk, he gets the cheese, and remains with other beggars to his end. Furthermore, there are many who wish to be soldiers-mothers' sons and milksops. They come from a good kitchen, have sat behind the stove and baked apples, and slept in warm beds, like young calves who know no sorrow. When they are led into a foreign country, and receive all sorts of strange food, they are like soft eggs which run through the fingers, or paper laid in water. If they go a fighting in countries where all is eaten up and destroyed, they pine away, or, if they eat the strange food, they are attacked by manifold diseases. Such fellows ought to bide at home, attend to the farm, live like their fathers and mothers dd, have a bellyful every night, and then they will not be killed in war. For it is true, as they say, soldiers must be hard and firm fellows, like steel and iron, and wild beasts that eat every sort of food. A Landsknecht must be able to digest horseshoe stubs: he must not grin if forced to eat dog or cat, for hunger teaches a man to eat if he has not seen bread for three weeks. Drink is

got for nothing: if there is no stream, they can join the geese in the ditches. He must sleep, too, on the ground under a tree, with the sky for his blanket, and from such a bed no feathers will get into his hair. Hence comes, too, the old quarrel of the geese and hens with the Landsknechts, for the former always sleep in feathers, while the latter lie in straw. Another animal is hateful to them, and that is the cats, for as they are good mousers themselves, they do not desire rivals. As the old rhyme says, a Landsknecht has always by him a pretty wench, a dog and a lad, a long pike, a short sword, and he must have made three campaigns before he becomes an honest man. After the first he must go home in torn clothes; after the second he must take home a slash on his cheeks, thus proving that he has the Landsknecht sign; the third time he must return well dressed, on a fine horse, with a full purse of crowns to swagger.

It is a true saying that a soldier must have food and drink, whether sexton or priest pay for them, for a Landsknecht has neither house nor yard, cows nor calves, and no one serves up his dinner. Hence, he must filch it wherever it is, and buy it without money, let the peasants look on sweet or sour. Sometimes the brothers starve, and have a bad month of it; at others, they have so much that they clean their shoes with beer and wine. Then the dogs eat the roast meat, the girls and boys have fine situations; they become housekeepers and cellarmen over other folk's property. When the host is expelled with wife and child, the hens, geese, fat cows, oxen, pigs, and sheep, have a bad time of it. For then the money is divided in hatfuls; velvet, silk, and cloth measured with pike-staves, boxes are broken open, and when nothing is left, the house is fired. That is a real Landsknecht's fire when fifty villages are burning at once. That makes soldiers jolly, and is a most desirable life, except for the man who has to pay the piper. This entices many a man to the field who does not return again. For the adage says: "For work, Landsknechts have crooked fingers and palsied hands, but for robbery all the hands grow straight again." It was so before us, and will be so after us. And they learn the trade betimes, and grow very cautious, like the three maids who ordered four cradles, so as to have one in readiness in case of twins. Wherever soldiers come, they employ their axes as the keys of all the rooms; and if there may not be sufficient stalls, they do not care for that, but quarter their horses in churches, chapels, and sacred buildings. If there is no dry wood for firing, it is of no consequence, they burn stools, chairs, ploughs, and everything in the house; if green wood is needed, the nearest fruit-tree is cut down; for, as the saying is, "We shall have a different roof over us to-morrow; so, master host, be comforted, you have a few guests you would be glad to get rid of, so serve your best, and score it up. Burn the house, and burn the chalk too." That is the Landsknecht's fashion. "Make the reckoning when we ride off, and pay when we return."

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The poor peasants were the natural prey of all: Catholics and Protestants plundered and ill-treated them in turn. The result was, that they became plunderers too, and whenever troops passed through their villages, they would lie in wait and attack the baggage-guard, in the hope of recovering some of their property. At other times the peasants would march on other villages, and carry off what the troopers had left behind as too hot or too heavy. Here is a more harmless instance than usual of these feuds. The townsmen of Eisfeld had a violent quarrel with the monastery of Banz about two bells in the latter chapel, which a Swedish colonel carried off and sold to the town. Now, when the Catholics were quartered in Eisfeld, the monks came with carts to remove their property; but the first time they were stopped by a conscientious Croat, because they tried to carry off the town clock as well. The second time they fared no better; but at length received a small bell as compensation. Duke Ernest the Pious at length settled

the quarrel, like the lawyer with the oyster, by carrying off the two bells, which he removed to Gotha.

For some time the villagers tried to escape by paying ransom; but this was a poor resource, as it only brought the vultures more frequently upon them. At last, they made hiding-places in the woods, to which they fled when the presence of soldiers in the neighbourhood was announced. Many such spots are still pointed out to the traveller in Thuringia. The only laudable thing we can read of during these horrors is the pertinacity with which the clergy attached themselves to their parishioners, sharing all their sufferings patiently with them, and encouraging them by their example. In the volume under notice will be found a most interesting account of the dangers and difficulties to which a pious pastor, Martin Bötzinger, was exposed, which only its length prevents our quoting. Another clergyman, John Otto, of Eisfeld, a young man lately married, was obliged to gain a scanty livelihood by working in the fields, and he wrote in his Euclid, "Two days threshing in autumn: one day woodfelling-1646. Two days threshing-Jan. 1647. Five days threshing-February. Half-day mowing; four wedding-letters writing; Item, half-day binding oats; one day reaping," &c. He managed to survive, however, and continued his ministration for forty-two years. Here is another instance, reminding us of a passage in Coleridge's life: Otto's successor, the great Latinist Johann Schmidt, happened to get among the soldiers, and was one day seen by his colonel reading a Greek poet in the guard-room. Ernest the Pious, on hearing of this, made him a teacher.

Johannes Elflein, pastor of Simau in 1632, was so poor that he had to gain a livelihood in the fields. Twice assistance was given him from the poor-box of Coburg. At last the consistory allowed him to sell a church chalice, that he might procure bread. He regarded it as a special piece of good fortune when he had to bury a nobleman, for which he received a good imperial dollar and a quarter of corn. And when, shortly after, he complained to a neighbour of his starvation, and the latter replied with fearful determination what he would do in such a case, the good pastor answered, in his firm faith: "My God has resources; before I should die of hunger some rich noble will die, so that I may have the money to buy corn." And he regarded it as a dispensation of Providence when this melancholy event happened a little later. His position was so deplorable, that even the depredatory soldiers in his vicinity, on sending their boys out to loot, warned them to leave the priest of Simau alone, for the poor wretch had nothing for himself.

Another accompanying evil of the Thirty Years' War was the fearful depreciation of the currency. As every little prince had the right of stamping his effigy on money, and thus rendering it the current coin of the realm, they soon fell into a habit of coining pieces of representative tin. For a while matters went on gloriously; the peasants, finding such an increased circulation, brought their wares to market, and even exchanged their hoarded crowns for the new coinage. Every one who owed money hastened to pay, and if a mint-master could be induced to coin an old copper-kettle for a friend, he had the means to buy house and land. Of course, as money was so flush, a considerable portion of it went to the public-houses, and everybody was in a glorious dream, till

the mauvais quart d'heure arrived. The first to feel the pressure were persons living on fixed incomes; try all they knew, they could not make both ends meet. In vain were their salaries raised one-fourth, for the rulers could afford to be liberal; but still meat and flour went up. The poor serving wenches, with their wages of ten crowns a year, could hardly find themselves in shoe-leather. Before long a panic set in, and when the government declined to take their own money in payment of the taxes, the peasants thought it better to keep their calves and pigs at home than sell them at market for money which people would hardly take as a gift.

Of course the popular fury was vented on the coiners, forgetting that they had only obeyed orders; and the clergy denounced them from the pulpit and in countless pamphlets. Andreas Larups, pastor of Hallé, gave them a terrible dressing in a tractate, when he proved, by numerous quotations from the Old and New Testament, that all trades and professions had come into the world by divine dispensation, even the executions; but the coiners were the devil's own. An anonymous writer, in replying to the divine, put the saddle on the right horse, and created an intense excitement. The princes were obliged to give way, and called in the old coinage, and the popular mind was soon turned in another direction by the landing of Gustav Adolph. His successes caused him to be adored he was the liberator of Germany-he was everything that could be desired, if he could only have done without soldiers; and persons began whispering to each other that there was not a pin to choose between Piccolomini's horsemen and Torstenson's infantry. The only difference was in the mode of torture they employed to extort hidden

moneys.

Hitherto, we have confined our attention to the villages. Let us now see what was the condition of the cities and towns before the outbreak of the war:

Trade and commerce were flourishing, although Germany had already lost much of her wholesale foreign trade. The splendour of the Hansa has faded, the great mercantile houses of Augsburg and Nüremberg lived like heirs on the wealth of their fathers. Italians, French, but, above all, English and Dutch, had become dangerous rivals; old trade monopolies could no longer be held, and the commerce with the Indies had flowed into another channel. But the German herring fisheries still possessed great importance, and the enormous Sclavonic lands were an open market for the overland trade. . . . Greater than now was the comfort of the people, louder and more unfettered their jollity. The luxuriousness of the meals, especially at family feasts, was loyally arranged according to the rank. Oysters were conveyed as far as they could be, and employed for sauces after the French fashion: caviare was well known, and at the autumn fair Leipzig larks were a celebrated dish. Saffron was still much employed in domestic cookery, in addition to Eastern spices, and marchpane was de rigueur at every good table.

The town M. Freytag quotes for our instruction, to show the horrors of the war, is Löwenberg, in Silesia. In 1617, it contained 738 houses, and at least 6500 inhabitants; in 1658, there were 640 inhabitants left. But it is not so much for the sake of this comparison that our author takes us to this town, as to quote a very ludicrous scene which occurred, and was carefully written down at the time.

The Jesuits had made up their mind that the population must become

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