The Thirty Years War

by C. V. Wedgwood

  In Moravia, where Cardinal Dietrichstein had enlisted the help of both Jesuits and Capuchins, the conversion was equally rapid and successful. The peasantry clung less firmly to their religion than in Bohemia, and after the Protestant nobility had been sufficiently penalized and the Anabaptists expelled from the country, the Church met with little further opposition.[114]

  Silesia and Austria received slightly better treatment than Moravia and Bohemia. Silesia had been promised a religious freedom by the Elector of Saxony when he reconquered it for Ferdinand, and here at least Ferdinand kept his word. Nevertheless, he insisted on the unconditional restoration of all Church land and flooded the country with Jesuit missionaries. At the same time he gradually suppressed the liberties of the Silesian Estates; he limited the right of argument and protest so drastically that one delegate at length bitterly remarked that he could have spared himself the trouble of coming to Breslau, for it was cheaper to say ‘yes’ at home.

  In Austria Protestant pastors and schoolmasters were exiled and the exercise of the Reformed religion was only permitted to certain privileged nobility. As late as 1628 Carafa complained that the pastors were still practising their ‘abominations’ in private houses under cover of these guarantees,[115] and there was no doubt that Ferdinand would have been glad of any excuse to withdraw them.

  Hungary alone escaped with religious liberty and political privileges intact. With so dangerous a protector as Bethlen Gabor across the border, the Hungarians could be certain of preferential treatment. The barrier land between Europe and the Turk, Hungary was too precious to be roughly used, and kept its solitary flag of liberty firmly planted on the outer edge of the Hapsburg Empire.

  At the same time Ferdinand altered the traditional constitution of the Hapsburg dominions, replacing the old idea of a family confederation by a system of primogeniture in his own house. The Archdukes of a previous generation had died without issue, leaving Ferdinand and his brother Leopold as the sole representatives of the Austrian branch. Ferdinand, but for Leopold’s protests, would have united the whole southern block of land from Tyrol to Hungary under a single head, making one monarchy. The young Archduke, with a foresight which was not altogether prompted by personal jealousy, dissuaded him from an act which could only irritate the German princes. Ferdinand compromised. His brother and his brother’s heirs were to have the county of Tyrol, while Austria, Hungary, Styria, Carinthia, Carniola, Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia were to pass as a whole to his own eldest son and continue so in the direct line. To accentuate the solidarity of this block of land, he reorganized the imperial administration, centralized the postal system and even made some impression on the hitherto confused and divided finances of the hereditary lands. Gradually, too, he began to divide the state business of these provinces from that of the Empire.[116] His intention was that this Austrian centre should be a nucleus for the revivified German Empire. The progress of events altered the effect of his plan. He was to be the creator of the Austrian, not the restorer of the Holy Roman Empire.

  This creation is Ferdinand’s greatest, perhaps his only, claim to the gratitude or condemnation of posterity; on the whole, where he has had recognition for his act, he has received little thanks for it. To the German nationalist he is the man who confirmed that fissure between Austria and the north which they once so bitterly lamented. They forget that Ferdinand never meant that it should be so, and it was the unwillingness and separatism of the Protestant north which caused his dream of a united Empire to fail. To the Czech, Hungarian and southern Slav nationalists his name can only be that of a tyrant and oppressor, and they can hardly be expected to look with gratitude at an achievement which cost them collectively and individually so much suffering.

  It is not easy, it is probably impossible, to judge the religious issue, from which all others depended, with an unbiased mind. It was a period of natural and bitter prejudice, and inevitably a period, for Bohemia at least, of intense unrest, misery, heart-sickening exile, poverty, change and recrimination. It was not a period from which any sane and balanced evidence could be left to after ages. The exiles who reached the shelter of Protestant lands salved their sick hearts with reports of outrages which, founded on fact, were swollen by the vengeful wretchedness of the defeated. The imperial soldiery were oppressive and brutal; life and property, women and children were not sacred to them. The harsh mandates of the government and a gratifying sense of their own righteousness gave them a licence which they used to the uttermost. There is a fundamental truth in the horrors which crowd the pages of the Historia Persecutionum compiled by the exiles, overdrawn as are the details, crude as are the colours. Yet the new government and the new religion were neither of them unpopular when the storm had passed. The people defended the one and upheld the other a bare generation later against the onrush of the ‘liberating’ Swedes.

  Ferdinand must be judged neither by the means he used—for of these there is no untainted evidence—nor by the end he achieved, for it was different from the one he sought. As the creator of the Austrian Empire, his reputation rests on an unstable thing which failed to withstand the explosive forces of liberal nationalism in the nineteenth century and illiberal nationalism in the twentieth. As the last Emperor who made a sustained effort to unit central Europe, he deserves more recognition than he has been accorded. The tragedy was that he not only failed to complete his work, but left behind him something which by its very incompleteness fatally retarded the national development of Germany.

  6.

  That Ferdinand’s project of reorganization stretched beyond the frontiers of the Hapsburg states was made clear by the reckless redistribution of land which he initiated at the same time within the Empire. The Margrave of Baden-Durlach was forcibly dispossessed of part of his lands. John George was confirmed in his tenure of Lusatia, a colossal bribe which must stifle his constitutional objections for some time to come. The loyal Landgrave of Hesse-Darmstadt was rewarded with part of the lands of his less loyal cousin Maurice of Hesse-Cassel. He was also given a piece of the Rhenish Palatinate, probably as a counter-weight to Maximilian of Bavaria, who was gaining more prestige than Ferdinand wished him to have by converting that country.[117] Maximilian’s monopoly was further infringed when Ferdinand gave the Bishop of Speier licence to seize any lands on the Rhine which he regarded as having originally belonged to his diocese.

  This was the first clear indication that Ferdinand intended to restore the Church to the position which it had held at the Peace of Augsburg.

  In the secularized bishoprics of Halberstadt and Osnabrück there was uncomfortable speculation, for Christian of Brunswick, the administrator of Halberstadt, had been in open arms against the Emperor, and the administrator of Osnabrück died in April 1623. The death of one, the possible deposition of the other, left each of these sees open to a Catholic appointment. Ferdinand intended his second son, the fair-haired little Archduke Leopold, for the Church; his installation in the see of Halberstadt or Osnabrück would carry the Counter-Reformation and the Hapsburg dynasty a long step further towards the control of all Germany.

  Ferdinand, however, was not the only father with sons destined for the Church. The Elector of Saxony was interested in Halberstadt, Maximilian of Bavaria in Osnabrück, where he would have liked to establish one of his family.[118] But Osnabrück was coveted no less ardently by the King of Denmark for his younger son Frederick, an ambition far more dangerous to the Hapsburg than the vague schemes of Bavaria or Saxony. Even if the bishopric could not be seized for the dynasty, it must not be allowed to fall into the control of so active and powerful a Protestant prince as Denmark, himself an ally of the United Provinces and uncle to Elizabeth of Bohemia.

  To combat these new Hapsburg claims, the Elector of Brandenburg vainly urged John George to found a new Protestant Union. A lesser prince, William of Saxe-Weimar, had founded a party grandly known as the ‘Alliance of Patriots of all Classes’, whose object was to secure a renewed guarantee for the Protestant l
ands within the Empire and to restore Frederick to the Palatinate. As it had almost no resources this alliance was unlikely to be effective. Throughout the year 1623 the defenders of the German Liberties and the Protestant Cause continued to have their headquarters at Frederick of Bohemia’s overcrowded house in The Hague.

  This year the exile’s negotiations covered Europe from the Bosphorus to the White Sea, and a plan was made for the total destruction of the Hapsburg dynasty, in which Turks, Russians, Danes, Swedes, Venetians, English, and French were each to play their part. There were to be simultaneous risings in Hungary, Bohemia, Moravia, Silesia, and Austria. The Sultan was to be bribed by the offer of Hungary and Bohemia as fiefs if he would establish a Protestant king there. The Tsar was to harry Poland while the united forces of the Danes, Swedes, English and Dutch were to invade North Germany, where Anhalt, secretly returned to Frederick’s service, was to raise native troops with money found in Holland. Mansfeld and Christian of Brunswick were to attack the northern bishoprics and thence carry the war south into Bavaria. For his reward Mansfeld was to have the Rhenish fief of Hagenau and a part of Hungary. Saxony and Brandenburg were to be bought by the promise of Cleves-Jülich to divide between them. The French were to seize the Val Telline with the help of the Venetians and the Duke of Savoy.[119]

  Unhappily for the projectors of Frederick’s policy, the King of Great Britain, who wished to negotiate a marriage between the Spanish Infanta and the Prince of Wales, guaranteed his good faith by withdrawing the English garrison from Frederick’s last stronghold in Germany, the fortress of Frankenthal. At the same time he urged Frederick to lay down arms and permit his eldest son to be betrothed either to a daughter of the Emperor or to a niece of Maximilian.[120] The Kings of Sweden and Denmark would not agree to fight side by side; the government of France was a prey to internal disturbances; the Prince of Orange was fully occupied defending his own borders and could not even afford to continue paying subsidies for the winning back of the Rhine. All that came of the great scheme was an attack on Hungary by Bethlen Gabor and the advance of Christian of Brunswick into the Lower Saxon Circle.

  The Lower Saxon Circle was that division of the Empire, lying for the most part between the Weser and the Elbe, in which was situated the bishopric of Halberstadt, already earmarked by Ferdinand for his son Leopold. This district was marked out by Frederick’s councillors as the base for their attack on the Emperor. When, inevitably, some of their letters fell into Ferdinand’s hands, he joyfully seized the opportunity of carrying the war northwards and urged Maximilian to send his forces at once to the threatened area.

  The quaking rulers of the Lower Saxon Circle thus shortly found themselves between Christian of Brunswick, exhorting them to rise in defence of the German Liberties, on the one hand, and Tilly at the head of the Bavarian and League army demanding a guarantee of their neutrality, on the other.[121] Neutral the princes and people were and wished to remain, but they had no choice: Christian forcibly established himself as ‘protector’ of the lands of his elder brother, the Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, marched unhindered across the country and sent for Mansfeld to join him. Tilly demanded the expulsion of Christian, a request which the Estates of the Circle would most willingly have obeyed had they had the means to do so.

  For a brief while they considered raising an army in their own defence, but the plan was hardly feasible. In the end they chose what seemed to be the lesser of two evils and threw themselves on the mercy of Tilly and the Emperor. His was the larger army and the more likely to win in the long run. On July 13th 1623, Tilly crossed their border and three days later sent an ultimatum to Christian, excluding him from all hope of imperial pardon unless he withdrew immediately. Rejecting the offer with several expressive oaths, the prince sent again to Mansfeld suggesting a joint attack on Tilly, and to the Prince of Orange offering to enter his service in the Netherlands. He then proclaimed his abdication of the bishopric of Halberstadt in favour of a son of the King of Denmark.[122] After which he had the drums beaten to call in his straggling hordes, packed up the loot and set off, fifteen thousand strong, for the Netherlands, leaving the country bare to Tilly’s advance, and the Cathedral Chapter of Halberstadt a prey to Dane or Emperor.

  The retreat of the ‘mad Halberstädter’, as he was now generally called, was by no means that of a defeated man. He still intended to join with Mansfeld for a conclusive trial of arms against Tilly. In his over-confidence he miscalculated the actions of Mansfeld, who had found secure quarters in the bishopric of Münster and was not sufficiently impressed by Christian’s military judgement to exchange his present safety for a fruitless and expensive campaign.

  Christian crossed the Weser at Bodenwerder on July 27th 1623, Tilly in pursuit a few miles farther south at Corvey on the 30th, but the prince lost his advantage by loitering on the border of the bishopric of Münster for three days, waiting for Mansfeld who never came, before striking out once more, this time in full flight, with Tilly half a day’s march behind, for the Dutch border. He crossed the Ems with Tilly close behind him at Greven, and in the early morning of August 6th 1623, his rearguard fought off a sudden charge from the van of Tilly’s army. Less than ten miles from the Dutch border and safety, Christian was compelled to turn and give battle to the pursuing forces which, under better control and less burdened with plunder, gained on him every moment. Outside the little village of Stadtlohn he seized the advantage of a small hill overlooking the road and protected from flank attack on two sides by a bog, and here wheeled round to face the enemy, having barely time to marshal his troops in the traditional order and throw up emplacements for his guns before his pursuers were upon him. It was about midday on August 6th, a Sunday and the feast of the Transfiguration. Tilly, who took the holy season as a good omen for his pious cause, was astonished and horrified to see on Christian’s banners the device, ‘All for God and for Her’. There could surely be no victory for people so blasphemous as to put the name of ‘a sack of mortal corruption’—so inelegantly did he refer to the beautiful Queen of Bohemia—on one banner with that of their Creator.

  For reasons that were physical rather than spiritual, Tilly had an easy victory. Christian had the advantage of the ground, but Tilly had the greater numbers and used his forces with more discretion, first only employing his vanguard and gradually reinforcing it as the rest of his army and the artillery came up. Under the persistent and increasingly heavy attacks the cavalry on the wings of Christian’s army began to give way; there was too little room for skirmishing on the hill-side, and seventeenth-century horse were notoriously bad at defensive tactics. The flight of the cavalry made the resistance of the foot useless against overwhelming odds, and Christian’s troops deserted the hill-top in disorderly flight, only to find themselves cut off by the bog behind them. Most of the cavalry got through, but the infantry, the wagons and the artillery stuck fast. Of the whole army six thousand were killed and four thousand taken, among them fifty of Christian’s leading officers and his ally, that Duke William of Saxe-Weimar whose ‘Alliance of Patriots of all Classes’ was to have saved the German Liberties from Ferdinand. More important was the seizure of sixteen cannon and most of the ammunition; in the flight one of the powder wagons had exploded, adding a further disorder to the terror-stricken rabble. Christian crossed the Dutch border late that night with a bare two thousand men and neither artillery nor supplies.[123]

  The defeat was so decisive that even the mad Halberstädter’s spirits were damped. He gave way to sullen rage and was with difficulty prevented from shooting one of his colonels, whom he chose as the scapegoat for his misfortune. The actions of his victor contrasted all too strikingly with his own, for Tilly in his report of the battle gave the glory to Heaven and to his subordinates.[124]

  The shattering defeat of Stadtlohn brought Frederick’s castles toppling down from the clouds. The year’s endeavours had ended once more, as they so often ended for him, in tragical disaster; instead of a reconquered Bohemia and a res
tored Palatinate, he had only an additional mouth to feed at his poverty-stricken table in The Hague, for Christian had lost so much of his fortune in the flight that he could no longer afford a household of his own.[125]

  Three weeks after Stadtlohn, Frederick yielded to the persuasions of the English King, temporarily abandoned his diplomatic schemes and signed an armistice with the Emperor.[126]

  7.

  The armistice had been made with a total disregard for Mansfeld. All this while he had maintained his army as best he could in East Friesland, to the impotent annoyance of the Dutch government. ‘The Kings of France, England, and Denmark gave him nothing, the King of Bohemia had nothing’[127]—Mansfeld’s only means of existence was plunder, and his men had stripped the province bare and committed damage reckoned at about ten million talers. In the neighbourhood of his quarters nearly four-fifths of the inhabitants had fled to evade paying tribute to the army, a crime which Mansfeld punished by tearing down their deserted homes, so that five out of every six houses were alleged to be in ruins. Law and order had ceased to exist; civilians defended themselves as best they could, often by ambushing and slaughtering the soldiers. The troops, in circumstances which daily grew more hopeless, had sunk to less than half their original numbers.[128] To crown these accumulating evils, Tilly’s army now appeared on the border, fresh from the victory of Stadtlohn and evidently prepared to make short work of their enemies.

  During the early part of the year Mansfeld had lived in hope that the French government would hire him to invade the Val Telline.[129] This scheme never came to fruition and meanwhile he was still in arms, without that principality for which he had hoped, without pay, under the ban of the Empire and with his chances of pardon daily dwindling. Tilly’s advance prompted him to action. Staking all on the reputation which, despite the disasters of his last years, still clung to his name, he abandoned his army to its fate, left East Friesland and set out alone to canvass the political powers of northern Europe. On April 24th 1624 he arrived in London, where the Protestant populace acclaimed him as the champion of their Princess, and the Prince of Wales lodged him in the very rooms which had been destined for his Spanish bride.[130]