Halfway through this splendid book and a third of the way through this dreadful war, the reader confronts Germany as a wasteland: its crops ravaged or burnt or trampled, its peasantry slaughtered or starved or dead of disease. One might well expect that the combatants, even if they had reached no closure, would fall back exhausted. But no: there was worse to come-another 18 years of pillage and devastation until at last the participants, by now nearly bled dry, at last reconciled themselves, if not to an understanding, then at least to go home. Oddly enough the Peace of Westphalia, which at last brought the conflict to a conclusion, came in time to serve as a template for the modern political world.
This latter fact might be reason enough to read C. V. Wedgewood's classic account of the conflict. But there is a happier reason, and that is that her exposition is, from start to finish, a delight. In his introduction, Grafton calls her "the greatest narrative historian of [the 20th Century," and it is hard to quarrel with him: she is brisk precise, compassionate, mordant and energetic
Having said this, it is no contradiction to say that her story doesn't really gain traction until the coming of Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, the man who, as it is said, secured the permanent establishment of Protestantism on the continent. Gustavus is the only character to get a chapter of his own and from Wedgewood, the fullest personal description. "Coarsely made and immensely strong, he was slow and rather clumsy in movement, but he could swing a spade or pick-axe with any sapper in his army. ..." Wedgewood goes on for several pages like this. It is all good reading, and in the end, it is not quite hero-worship: no matter how much she may seem to admire Gustavus (and perhaps, to a much lesser extent, some of the other protagonists), still in the end the primary focus of her attention is on the German peasants-the poor pawns, battered and abused, in this miserable contention. Nobody knows how much population Germany lost in the Thirty Years' War: some estimates say 40 percent. Whatever the number, it is hard to imagine any feats of heroism or achievements of policy than justify all the bloodshed and is fortune.
Grafton says Wedgewood writes like Gibbon. In the end she writes like herself, but against Gibbon, a better comparison might be Tacitus: Ferdinand "was no a clever man but he had a certain unconscious ability for appropriating the ideas of clever men." John George of Saxony "had been known to sit at table gorging homely foods and swilling native beer for seven hours on end, his sole approach at conversation to box his dwarf's ears or to pour the dregs of a tankard over a servant's head as a signal for more. ... [H]e drank too much and too often. ... It made diplomacy difficult." Gustavus (again) "had, like many great leaders, an unlimited capacity for self-deception. In his own eyes the Protestant champion, in Richelieu's eyes a convenient instrument against the House of Austria, he was in sober fact the protagonist of Swedish expansion on German soil. Sweden stood to gain. Protestantism stood to gain, but the German people stood to lose."
"Just imagine," someone said, "if Gustavus had not taken a bullet at Lutzen in 1632, we might have a Lutherana Pope!" Maybe. Instead we are left with a heritage no less durable for being unintended: the system of nation-states, with individual sovereignty and at least the rudiments of religious freedom-also, perhaps, the notion that nothing is worth fighting for quite this much, and that we are often better off just cultivating our garden.
And yet a final irony is that Wedgewood published her first edition with the echoes of Hitler's rhetoric in her ears. In an almost unexampled instance of contemporaneous comment, she remarks that "three centuries have smoothed every scar from [the] placid landscape, even as the philosophy of the new Germany [sc., in 1937] has submerged the spiritual landmark. `Freedom of belief for all the world'-forgotten yearning of an age forgotten among men who have no choice but to believe what they are told."