Global Crisis

by Parker, Geoffrey

  Until 1648, the prosperity created by the Thirty Years War made such military spending bearable; but while the Peace of Westphalia brought security, it ended prosperity. German demand for Swiss produce, including soldiers, plunged; and the refugees from Germany returned home, causing a collapse in both urban house prices and overall tax revenues. Coincidentally France, which had paid the cantons a ‘retainer’ both to hold troops as a strategic reserve and to prevent them from serving another power, defaulted on its payments because of its own fiscal problems (see chapter 10). Finally, Switzerland experienced the same disastrous weather and ruined harvests as other parts of western Europe.

  As in the Dutch Republic, many people in Switzerland now began to look back on the Thirty Years War as a Golden Age. ‘During the war years,’ the peasants of Canton Basel complained to their rulers in 1651, ‘[we] were able to sell a great variety of harvested crops at a high price and in considerable quantities above and beyond what was required for the maintenance of our households.’ Fearing that ‘the worst that can possibly happen to us approaches’, they begged their magistrates to abolish all excise duties and to reduce interest rates.78 The peasants of Basel did not exaggerate: between 1644 and 1654 prices in northern Switzerland fell by about 75 per cent, while those who had borrowed money during the prosperous years now found it hard to pay interest, let alone repay capital. The appearance in 1652 in the skies above Switzerland of a bright comet whose tail seemed like a ‘flaming sword’ led the local pastors, as they had done in 1618, to claim that it was a warning from God of disasters to come. And disaster duly came: in a desperate attempt to cope with the sudden economic crisis, the northern cantons (the ones hardest hit by the fall in German demand) debased their currencies by 50 per cent. The ‘Swiss revolution’ began two weeks later.79

  In January 1653, 40 local officials in the isolated Entlebuch valley south of Luzern met in secret to discuss the economic crisis caused by the increase in taxes and the devaluation. They voted to send a delegation led by Hans Emmenegger, the senior magistrate (and one of the richest inhabitants), to request emergency relief from the cantonal authorities in Luzern. The delegates met with a total refusal: any concession to the peasants, such as reduction of debt interest or rural taxes, would adversely affect the wealthy citizens among whom they lived (and of course the magistrates themselves). Instead, the canton authorities mustered their militia companies.

  This was a rash move. Luzern boasted some 4,000 citizens, of whom scarcely a quarter could bear arms – far fewer than the peasants of Entlebuch. Moreover, several neighbouring areas had recently experienced collective violence, including Canton Bern (1641) and Canton Zürich (1644–5); and, just across the border, the archbishopric of Salzburg (1645–7), Upper Austria (1648) and Styria (1650) – but in each case the government soon regained control and imposed draconian penalties on those who had ‘raised the banners’ (Fähnlilups: the traditional call to collective resistance in the Alpine regions). These successes led the magistrates of Luzern to underestimate the threat in Entlebuch.80

  They were not alone in their complacency. In his letters of December 1652, the French ambassador to the confederation stressed the ‘profound tranquillity which these cantons have enjoyed for so long'; and even when reporting ‘the devaluation of the copper currency’, he added that, although in other parts of Europe ‘this could produce some unrest, people here act very slowly in everything’.81 The ambassador overlooked some important local circumstances: the people of Entlebuch felt unusual confidence that, despite the failure of popular revolts elsewhere, their own resistance would prosper. First, the valley possessed not only a papal privilege to place the ‘weapons of Christ’ on its coat of arms and seal, as a constant reminder that God would protect them, but also a fragment of the True Cross, universally taken as another sign of special protection. Second, like everyone else in Switzerland, the inhabitants of Entlebuch knew by heart the story of William Tell, who had successfully defied the region's brutal governor in the past – a powerful reassurance that resistance in a just cause could succeed. The rebels entitled their political anthem ‘The new song of William Tell, made in the Entlebuch in 1653’.82 Finally, the valley possessed a considerable measure of political and religious autonomy, a cadre of experienced and respected leaders and a well-developed communications network that facilitated rapid mobilization.

  On 26 February 1653 a gathering of peasants from all over the region approved a manifesto drafted by Hans Emmenegger that blamed their desperate situation on a synergy of human and natural factors:

  The common farmer can scarcely hold on to his house and home, let alone pay his mortgage, debts and interest on them, or support his wife and children … Drought or the loss of horses or cattle has forced people to leave their houses and homes, to give up their property and to move to a distant place to make their living.

  Later that day, the assembled peasants swore to oppose the policies imposed on them by the authorities in Luzern. In particular they demanded the restoration of currency at its former value and permission to pay interest on their debts in kind instead of in cash.83 Peasant communities in Cantons Bern, Basel and Solothurn as well as Luzern soon took up the call, and over two thousand men from the four cantons attended an assembly that drew up a ‘letter of union’ (Bundesbrief) demanding a return to the ‘eternal, God-given and inviolable laws’ of Switzerland and the abolition of all innovations (a shrewd ploy, since a Bundesbrief of 1291 between three cantons formed the founding document of the entire Confederation). The assembly also declared that henceforth no one would pay interest on their debts or tithes (another shrewd move that improved the insurgents’ liquidity while simultaneously harming that of the towns). Finally, the assembly amalgamated all militia units, creating a force of 24,000 men, and elected a council of war to direct its efforts. While some units attacked isolated castles belonging to their lords, the main peasant army laid siege to Luzern.

  Magistrates all over Switzerland now began to panic. Whereas in January 1653 their official correspondence (both with the federal authorities and with each other) had mentioned ‘unrest’, the following month they wrote of ‘revolt’ and in April of a ‘general uprising’, a ‘general conspiracy’ and a ‘revolution’ that aimed at ‘the extermination of our confederate state’.84 In May the authorities in Canton Bern made concessions that secured a separate peace with their rebellious subjects, and groups of insurgents elsewhere also made the best terms they could until only Entlebuch remained in revolt. This allowed the magistrates of Luzern to defeat their rebellious subjects and hunt down the survivors. The process proved protracted, given the mountainous terrain, but by the end of the year all resistance had collapsed and scores of peasant leaders had been tortured and executed.85

  Nevertheless, the rebels won some lasting gains. Before 1653, Swiss city magistrates and the federal government had reduced (and, where possible, abolished) the participation of the peasants in the political process; they had sought to restrict local industry by imposing guild control over rural workers; and they had used the courts to overrule local traditions and customs with newly passed laws that, naturally, favoured citizens over peasants (for example, by protecting creditors rather than debtors). The ‘Swiss Revolution’ arrested this development. At the federal level, even victory over the rebels failed to produce absolutism: the cantons did not even create a single political structure until 1803. Political and economic power therefore remained with the cantonal authorities, and the towns in which they resided. These now created a more ‘paternalist’ state in which taxes on peasant farmers remained low, rural industry enjoyed exemption from guild rules and local communities retained their customs, traditions and autonomy. All this created a favourable environment for the development of proto-industrialization and a democratic state. Although Hans Emmenegger never became a local hero like his contemporary Masaniello, he and his associates won far more permanent concessions.

  The Danes ‘forge their own chains’
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  After the humiliating concessions extracted in return for his coronation in 1648, Frederick III of Denmark worked hard to reach a better relationship with his subjects, and in spring 1657 he persuaded both the Council of the Realm and the Diet to authorize a declaration of war against Sweden, since Charles X appeared to be mired in a simultaneous war against Poland and Russia (see chapter 6 above). The war almost cost Frederick his kingdom. Charles left Poland at once to deal with his new enemy, marched across Germany and occupied much of Jutland. The Swedes had planned an amphibious attack on Copenhagen, but the onset of one of the coldest winters of the Little Ice Age in mid-December suggested another possibility. According to an English diplomat at the scene,

  the extraordinary violent frost was by this time increased to such a degree, that the Little Belt which divides Jutland from the isle of Funen was so intensely frozen, as suggested to the Swedish king an enterprise (full of hazard, but not disagreeable to a fearless mind edged with ambition) of marching over the ice into Funen with horse, foot and cannon.

  The astonished Danish defenders ‘made large cuts in the ice’ but they soon ‘congealed again’ because of the extreme cold. The Swedes therefore stormed ashore and swept all before them because ‘Funen [and] the other Danish isles are all open and unfortified, and have no defensible places’. For the first time in European history, meteorologists now decided military strategy: they persuaded Charles to disregard the misgivings of his senior officers and follow the itinerary where they indicated that the ice had frozen hard enough to allow some 8,000 Swedish veterans with their artillery to cross from Funen to Zeeland, and to advance upon Copenhagen.86

  Although the Danish capital lacked the strength to resist a siege, Charles (ignorant of its weakness) granted an immediate ceasefire in return for Frederick's promise to cede almost half his kingdom to Sweden and to send military and financial assistance to Charles's campaign in Poland. It is easy to see why the boastful legend on the campaign medal minted by Charles claimed Natura hoc debuit uni (‘Nature owed this to me’); but pride came before a fall. Realizing in 1659 that Frederick had no intention of sending him the promised assistance, Charles determined to reduced Denmark ‘to the position of a province of Sweden’: its nobility would be exiled, its recalcitrant bishops replaced with docile Swedes and its university ‘moved to Göteborg’ (on the Swedish side of the Sound). But before he could attempt these ambitious goals, the redoubtable Charles X suddenly died, leaving a 4-year-old son under a regency council. A few months later the two governments concluded a treaty that obliged the Swedes to restore a few of the lands they had captured, but advanced their frontier permanently to the Sound. Never again would Denmark be able to control shipping entering and leaving the Baltic.

  Frederick III nevertheless faced other serious problems. The adverse weather (of which the frozen Baltic was merely the most memorable extreme event) had drastically reduced harvests and this shortfall, coinciding with a plague epidemic and enemy occupation, left many areas devastated and depopulated. The total population of Jutland and the home islands fell by about a fifth between 1643 and 1660; some parishes claimed that three-quarters of their farms lay abandoned; and almost half the Danish clergy died between 1659 and 1662. In addition, the war had created huge debts. To address these issues, Frederick III ordered the representatives of the nobles, the towns and the clergy to assemble in Copenhagen in September 1660.

  All members of the Danish Diet agreed that the kingdom's fiscal crisis could be solved only by reducing spending and raising taxes – but here consensus ended. The representatives of the burghers and clergy insisted on creating new excise taxes to be paid by everyone without exception, but the nobles insisted on exemption. After four weeks of haggling, on 14 October 1660 a group of outraged clerics and citizens proposed extensive reforms to the prevailing political system, including the abolition of the elective character of the Monarchy in favour of the hereditary principle – a move that would involve a revocation of Frederick's 1648 coronation charter and thus of the privileged position enjoyed by the nobility. It seems likely that the authors of this revolutionary proposal meant it merely as a tactical manoeuvre to scare the nobles into agreeing to pay their share of the new taxes, but the king and his courtiers swiftly exploited their unexpected opportunity. One week later, Frederick doubled the guards on the capital's ramparts and closed its gates, ordering all ships to stand off so that no one in the city could leave.

  The nobility promptly crumbled, and on 23 October 1660 delegates of all three Estates gathered in the royal palace and offered Frederick full hereditary rights. The king graciously accepted, ending over a century of aristocratic dominance, and appointed a constitutional commission to propose the necessary changes to perpetuate his new status. After a couple of days, however, the commissioners obsequiously declared that Frederick himself should formulate a new constitution. The Diet agreed, asking only that the king should not dismember the kingdom or change its faith, and that he should respect the ancient privileges (without specifying which). On 28 October, Frederick received the unconditional homage of his people: the Danish Diet would not meet again for two centuries.

  The king and his advisers now remodelled the central government (ironically imitating the system of the hated Swedes) with administrative ‘colleges’, a supreme court to replace the judicial functions previously exercised by the Council of the Realm, and an army raised through conscription. Frederick also sold almost half the crown lands to pay off his war debts and introduced new taxes, direct as well as indirect, which the nobles had to pay along with everyone else. In 1665 the new ‘absolute and hereditary monarchy’ received its definitive form in the Royal Law (Kongelov), a constitution that remained in force until 1849 (making it the longest-lasting constitution in modern European history). The king received ‘supreme power and authority to make laws and ordinances according to his own good will, to expound, to alter, to add and take from, indeed simply to abrogate laws previously made by himself or by his forefathers and also to exempt what and whom he pleases from the general authority of the law’. Other clauses gave the crown ‘the supreme power and authority to appoint and dismiss all officials, high and low'; ‘supreme power over the clergy, from the highest to the lowest'; and sole ‘control over the armed forces and the raising of arms, the right to wage war, to conclude and dissolve alliances with whom and when he sees fit, and to impose duties and other levies’.87

  Frederick III had thus achieved in Denmark by popular consent what many of his fellow monarchs failed to win by force. Thirty years later Robert Molesworth, sometime British ambassador in Copenhagen, still found it hard to believe that ‘in four days’ time’ an entire kingdom had ‘changed from an estate little differing from aristocracy to as absolute a monarchy as any is at present in the world’. In Molesworth's cruel jibe, ‘To the [Danish] people remained the glory of having forged their own chains, and the advantages of obeying without reserve: a happiness which I suppose no Englishman will ever envy them.’ They were now ‘all as absolute slaves as the negroes are in Barbados; but with this difference, that their fare is not so good’.88

  The Second Serfdom

  Molesworth might have penned similar insults about Denmark's eastern neighbours, Mecklenburg, Pomerania and Brandenburg, where relative depopulation caused by a generation of war forced each state to enact legislation intended both to increase the labour services required from its peasants and to terminate their freedom of movement: as in Russia, fugitive serf laws empowered landowners to pursue, recover and punish all who escaped.

  The ‘Second Serfdom’ in eastern Europe

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  State Year in which the courts deprived peasants of freedom of movement

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  Ducal Prussia 1633

  Mecklenburg and Pomerania 1645

  Brandenburg 1653

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  Although exceptions existed – some lords freed serfs after long service or as a reward for bravery in warfare, wh
ile others did so because they believed compulsory servitude to be wrong – serfdom soon became as basic to the economy of eastern Europe as slavery had been to that of the Roman empire. In Brandenburg, all the children of serfs could be required to work as household servants of their lord; in Danish Holstein, peasants produced not only grain, wool, butter, cheese and horses for their lord, but even took his ships to sea and caught herring and other fish for him to sell to merchants; and so on. Historians have termed this process the ‘second serfdom’.

  Even in areas of central Europe far from the Baltic, the demographic and economic collapse caused by the Thirty Years War reduced peasant power. In the past, feudal courts across Germany had heard cases brought by peasant communities and, in many if not most cases, redressed their grievances: they reduced taxes, restricted labour services, pardoned opposition and even (in extreme cases) permitted a change in ruler. This sympathetic attitude steadily evaporated after 1618. The history of the duchy of Friedland in Bohemia, once ruled by Wallenstein, is instructive. Its manorial court records, which have survived in large numbers, show that although in the 1620s peasant communities brought hundreds of complaints before the duke's judges, the number steadily dwindled. Villagers lost the freedom to migrate, to marry, or to divide their inheritances without their lord's explicit consent; they also found that the ducal courts no longer heard their protests about abuse from local oligarchs but instead referred them back to the community. In the words of a judgment in 1676, in ‘conflicts which are of no importance, the village headman and jury shall bring about a settlement out there [in the village], and the parties shall be satisfied, in order that so many people [in court] do not need to attend to a few unimportant persons’.89 These changes delivered weaker villagers, especially women and outsiders, into the hands of their stronger neighbours who dominated the courts, while it maintained intact the lord's complete economic, fiscal and legal control over all his subjects. By the eighteenth century, the second serfdom had turned each noble estate (in the words of the Prussian reformer Baron Stein) into ‘the den of a predator which lays waste everything around it and surrounds itself with the silence of the grave’.90