had Ferdinand brought about the religious peace of Augsburg, and afterwards,
in the Council of Trent, laboured assiduously, though vainly,
at the ungrateful task of reconciling the two religions.
Abandoned by his nephew, Philip of Spain, and hard pressed
both in Hungary and Transylvania by the victorious armies of the Turks,
it was not likely that this emperor would entertain the idea
of violating the religious peace, and thereby destroying his own painful work.
The heavy expenses of the perpetually recurring war with Turkey
could not be defrayed by the meagre contributions of his exhausted
hereditary dominions. He stood, therefore, in need of the assistance
of the whole empire; and the religious peace alone preserved in one body
the otherwise divided empire. Financial necessities made the Protestant
as needful to him as the Romanist, and imposed upon him the obligation
of treating both parties with equal justice, which, amidst so many
contradictory claims, was truly a colossal task. Very far, however,
was the result from answering his expectations. His indulgence of
the Protestants served only to bring upon his successors a war,
which death saved himself the mortification of witnessing.
Scarcely more fortunate was his son Maximilian, with whom perhaps
the pressure of circumstances was the only obstacle, and a longer life
perhaps the only want, to his establishing the new religion
upon the imperial throne. Necessity had taught the father
forbearance towards the Protestants -- necessity and justice dictated
the same course to the son. The grandson had reason to repent
that he neither listened to justice, nor yielded to necessity.

Maximilian left six sons, of whom the eldest, the Archduke Rodolph,
inherited his dominions, and ascended the imperial throne.
The other brothers were put off with petty appanages. A few mesne fiefs
were held by a collateral branch, which had their uncle, Charles of Styria,