Joachim of Fiore’s Prophecies about the Emperor and Thousand Years of Bliss

Many of Barbarossa’s predecessors tried to wiggle out of the link of theoir legityimacy to the papal coronation, but few were as persistent as Barbarossa. His first attempt at redefining the relationship between pope and empire had ended in his prostration before Alexander III in Venice.

But he wasn’t done. This week we will discuss how he attempts to rebuild a new ideological underpinning of his role, how that leads to conflict with the popes and how he gets a chance to turn the mythmaking up to 11.

Transcript

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans, Episode 64: The Heirs of Troy.

A small piece of housekeeping first. Last week I erroneously suggested that Leonardo’s Last supper was in the church of St. Ambrogio in Milan. As it happens, it is not. Leonardo’s last Supper is in the refectory of the Dominican Convent of Santa Maria della Grazie. When I last went to see it, I had also visited the church of St. Ambrogio nearby and in my scrambled memory the two buildings became one. Must be one of the seven signs of ageing, most of which I have forgotten. In case you have spent the last week wondering aimlessly around the St. Ambrogio looking for something that was not there, I apologise. Thank you @Trailoftears on Reddit for pointing this out.

Santa Maria della Grazie – Milan

Well and now we go to the year 750 AD. Pepin the Short, mayor of the palace sent an ambassador to pope Zachary. Pepin held all the power in the Merovingian realm, but he was not king. The king was Childeric III. Childeric was a “roi fainéant” a king who did not do anything apart from being wheeled out once a year on an ox cart. The real rulers were the mayors of the palace. And in 750, that was Pepin the short.

Other than his father Charles Martel, Pepin found this lack of royal title unbearable. He wanted to be king, really, really wanted to be king. But to be king in the realm that the legendary Clovis had built you had to be a descendent of Clovis and his grandfather, the legendary sea monster Merovech. Pepin was no such thing and could hence not be king under Merovingian rules.

If you do not like the rules you live under and you have absolute power, what do you do, you change the rules and to hell with the consequences. Pepin the Short ambassadors to Pope Zachary asked the pontiff: “Is it wise to have kings who hold no power of control?”. Pope Zachary was smart enough to know what the real question was and – since he needed Pepin’s help in Italy wrote back that: “It is better to have a king able to govern. By my apostolic authority I bid that you be crowned King of the Franks.” 

With that Childeric III was shorn of his auburn locks and ended up in a monastery, Pepin ended up on the throne of the Frankish kingdom and the German emperors ended up in a mess.  

Pepin’s letter created a precedent. Pepin’s son Charlemagne reenforced it when he accepted the imperial crown from Pope Leo III in Rome. Einhard, the Imperial propagandist tried to minimise the damage by claiming the crown was put on the emperor’s head without his consent. When the empire was re-founded by Otto the Great in 962, again the pope put the crown on his head. And again, Otto’s chronicler Widukind does not even mention the imperial coronation. He tells the story that the soldiers had hailed the Saxon king as emperor on the field of the battle of the Lechfeld, like they did it in ancient Rome.

Coronation of Charlemagne

But imperial twisting of history did not stick. Pepin, Charlemagne and Otto the Great had all received their crowns from the pope. Once the popes had declared they had apostolic authority to appoint and depose kings and emperors they will not let go of it. For centuries German emperors trekked across the Alps to finally receive the elevation they desired. Whether they saw any point in it is not recorded, but it had become non-optional by the 12th century. If you wanted to be emperor, you needed papal blessing and it had to be given in Rome, in the church of St. Peter. Nowhere else and by no-one else.

Meanwhile the French who had kicked off the whole mess got out scot free. By the late 12th centuries their kings had been the sons of the previous king for longer than anyone could remember, and they were crowned and consecrated in Reims by the archbishop of Reims. Sure, the pope had to send a letter, but he did not interfere let alone make the French king waste his blood and treasure coming down to Rome.

Many of Barbarossa’s predecessors tried to wiggle out of this order of things, but few were as persistent as Barbarossa. His first attempt at redefining the relationship between pope and empire had ended in his prostration before Alexander III in Venice.

But he wasn’t done. This week we will discuss how he attempts to rebuild a new ideological underpinning of his role, how that leads to conflict with the popes and how he gets a chance to turn the mythmaking up to 11.

But before we start as always, a reminder. The History of the Germans Podcast is advertising free thanks to the generous support from patrons. And you can become a patron too and enjoy exclusive bonus episodes and other privileges from the price of a latte per month. All you have to do is sign up at patreon.com/historyofthegermans or on my website historyofthegermans.com. You find all the links in the show notes. Thanks a lot to Derek and Eleanor who have already signed up.

And as is now customary, this episode has a dedicated website with the transcript and maps, pictures and additional comments to read along. It is to be found at historyofthegermans.com/64-2

Now back to our story.

We remember that after Besancon when Pope and emperor had fallen out over the definition of their relationship, Rainald von Dassel had developed the idea of the Holy Roman empire, an empire that was sacrum, i.e, in and of itself holy. It came with the theory of the two swords which assumes that God had handed out two swords to protect the church, the Spiritual Sword to the pope and the temporal Sword to the emperor. Together and as equals they should defend Christendom.

That part had fallen away in 1177. Pope Alexander III and his successors believed imperial power had been translated to the pope by the emperor Constantine and hence it was the Pope’s role to appoint emperors and if need be, depose them. They were his vassals. On the face of it, Barbarossa had accepted this when he prostrated himself before Alexander in Venice, as had Henry IV done when he begged for forgiveness from Pope Gregory VII.

(Venice) Il Barbarossa bacia il piede al Papa – Federico Zuccari – Sala del Maggior Consiglio

The court of Barbarossa almost immediately searched far and wide for an alternative way to support its legitimacy. Signing the peace of Venice is one thing but accepting the pope as boss who can hire and fire him was another thing.

The job to find a new framework was given to Godfrey of Viterbo, a member of the imperial chancellery. Godfrey came from the Italian city of Viterbo but was of German descent and had joined the imperial administration at an early age.

Godfrey went to work and wrote several books. The Speculum Regum, the mirror of kings, the Memoria Seculorum, the chronic of the world going back through the centuries and the Gesta Frederici, the history of the deeds of Frederick Barbarossa.

All these books were interrelated and told in a mixture of prose and poetry about what was an appropriate behaviour for an emperor and where he fits in the overall framework of the universe. And in this work, he established a theory. A theory that the empire has not only been there since the dawn of time, but that it has been held by the same family since the very beginning. Barbarossa himself traces his lineage back through the Salians and specifically Conrad II back to Carolingians and by some other linkage to the Merovingians who in turn came from the ancient city of Troy, as Aeneas did. Aeneas founded Alba Longa whose sons, Romulus and Remus founded Rome and as Virgil tells us culminated in the Julio-Claudian dynasty, one of whose descendants was obviously Clovis, whose name was the Germanic version of the name Claudius, which brings us back to the Salians and then Barbarossa.

This tilted and twisted story proves one thing, that it was God’s will that only one family should always, always rule the empire, and the latest incubation was the family of Barbarossa, or as they called themselves, the house of Waiblingen. By the way thanks to all these twists and turns a lot of the inheritance went through the female line again proving the middle ages were maybe less patriarchal than we have once been told.

By making the imperial honour a purely dynastic title that had, despite convincing proof to the contrary, had moved from father to son since time immemorial, you did away with the need to be crowned by the pope, you even could get away without going to Rome either.

It sounds bonkers given the Hohenstaufen were the ultimate nouveau riches. Barbarossa’s great-grandfather had been at best a count and Conrad II, that lynchpin of the story had also not exactly been a shoe-in for the imperial honour. But even though it should have been utterly nonsensical to most educated men and women at the time, it did have some real-world implications.

And that real world implication was the coronation of King Henry VI, the son of Barbarossa. Barbarossa was born in 1122 and had reached his 60s when Henry VI was knighted at the great Whitsunday court in Mainz in 1184. The last time an emperor had reached that age in a relatively stable position had been Otto the Great. Otto the Great had his son Otto II crowned not just king, but emperor as well. Having the future emperor all set up and anointed would be a good move that brings stability and in the current case does away with the need for a full-blown campaign in Italy. It sort of made perfect sense.

Well, it made perfect sense if you were the German emperor. It made no sense at all if you were the pope. Granting a coronation whilst the old emperor is still around would take away a major lever to extract concessions from a new and by definition not very established ruler. Remember that even the politically astute Barbarossa himself had to accept all sorts of conditions from Pope Hadrian IV when he ascended to the throne. So, the papacy blocked.

The current pope who had succeeded Alexander III, was Lucius III. Lucius III was much less of a dominant personality. But that did not mean he would give away papal prerogatives willy-nilly. Lucius III refused to crown Henry VI. That was quite a bold thing to do given his precarious situation.

Lucius III did not reside in Rome as befits a pope. The senate had thrown the papal administration out. Lucius III did not even reside in the papal lands in central Italy because here too he communes did not care much for the spiritual head of Christendom. He did in fact reside in the city of Verona.

Verona was a member of the Lombard League and as such now tied by the Peace of Constance to  Barbarossa. Giving the emperor the finger was not something his generous hosts much appreciated. So, Lucius did not publicly declare his opposition, but simply stalled.

The issue of the coronation was not the only point of contention. The other was that perennial source of conflict, the lands of Matilda of Tuscany. The inheritance of the formidable countess who had passed in 1115 was still not settled. Pope and emperor both had been named sole heir of her vast territories. Ownership and possession had moved back and forth multiple times between the principals, whilst the cities of Tuscany were throwing off the yoke of any overlordship anyway.

Lands of Matilda

But for the pope Tuscany was now absolutely vital. If he lost this, he would have lost the last piece of his directly controlled resources. He would be entirely dependent on the charity of others.

I am still amazed by the fact that on the one hand the pope cannot stand up to the citizens of Rome and it seems now not even the citizens of smaller places like Viterbo, Orvieto or Gaeta. But on the other hand, one of, if not the most powerful ruler in Europe seems unable to keep them down.

Anyway, either as a way to push through the coronation or as a matter of principle, Barbarossa insisted on his rights to the Lands of Matilda and signed an agreement with Milan for them to help enforce them.

And what did not help either was that Pope Lucius finally realised that supporting a lasting peace between the empire and the king of Sicily wasn’t just a mistake, it was an epically stupid mistake.  What is a pope to do when – God beware – the future emperor Henry VI would inherit the Kingdom of Sicily and hold the lands of Matilda, and has a strong alliance with Milan, and is recognised as the temporal overlord of Rome? Where is a pope to go when that happens?

Talking about papal woes, another issue he had to deal with was the emergence of so-called heretics, pious Christians who ploughed their own theological path. Lucius III condemned the Cathars, Paternians, Waldensians, Josephines, Pasagians, and Arnoldins and whatever other there may be in the future. These groups were a mortal danger for a clergy that often fell short in their standards of pastoral duties. The movement in lay piety that had first emerged during the reform papacy in the 11th century and had fuelled the Investiture Conflict never went away. It was suppressed as the papacy prevailed over the imperial bishops but was now re-asserting itself. The lay people’s demands for a church that walks in the footsteps of the apostles, was poor and kind and whose sacraments were pleasing to God had still not been fulfilled and was now emerging through these new movements.

Several of these trends came together in two disputes between pope and emperor.

The first was over the appointment of a suitable new archbishop of Trier. As was so often the case the canons had separately elected two different candidates. Under the concordat of Worms, it was the emperor’s prerogative to resolve such conflicts and furthermore no bishop could be formally invested before he had sworn allegiance to the emperor. Pope Lucius disregarded both of these provisions and invested one of the candidates without any regard for imperial rights.

The second issue was Lucius support for the archbishop Phillip of Cologne whose opposition to Barbarossa was coming out in the open. Why the two former friends fell out is not entirely clear, but it may well have something to do with the fall of Henry the Lion and Phillip getting his greedy paws on all of Westphalia whilst Barbarossa got the square root of nought.

With all the stress and irritation, Lucius did not last that long. He was also very, very old, 88 years to be precise, when he breathed his last.

His successor was Urban III, a member of the aristocracy of Milan. He inherited all these conflicts and for added frisson, had some axe to grind with the emperor on his own account. His relatives had been prominent defenders of Milan in the sieges of 1158 and 1162 and one of them had his nose cut off by the imperial Marshall. Urban III never forgot. He excommunicated the Marshall as soon as he had become pope, he pushed Phillip of Cologne on in his rebellion and kept blocking Henry VI coronation.

He had been archbishop of Milan before and was hence the correct archbishop to crown the King of Italy, that old Lombard kingdom. Contrary to standard procedure Urban III refused to step down as archbishop which meant that on the great wedding of Henry VI and Constance of Sicily a coronation as king of Italy could not really happen. Well, it could only happen if Urban had come over from Verona, but he did not. Barbarossa was having none of that obstinacy and called upon the Patriarch of Aquileia – whose title sounded sufficiently senior – to undertake the ceremony. And then he declared Henry VI to be a Caesar, a title not used in Western Europe at the time but a clear indication that Barbarossa was weaselling his way out of the need for an imperial coronation.

At that point Urban III almost exploded. He tried to book the cathedral of Verona to excommunicate Barbarossa, Henry VI and anyone and anything in his way. The worried citizens of Verona were deeply unexcited with the idea of an imperial army supported by Milan and to come before their walls seeking revenge. So, they blocked the entrance to the cathedral and told the Holy Father to find some other sepulchre to perform his evil deed.

Urban III set off for a suitable cathedral anywhere in Italy. After some wondering about, he alighted on the magnificent newly erected cathedral of Ferrara. That one would do.

Ferrara Catrhedral (by Markus Brunetti)

As he was laying out his vestments, prepared the frankincense and myrrh and lined up his choirboys, he keeled over and died.

What brought upon this last-minute respite was an event that took place at the other end of the medieval world, near a place called Hattin in Galilee.

The crusaders’ worst nightmare had come true between 1180 and 1187, Sala-ed-Din, the Vizir of Egypt had brought Damascus and Aleppo under his control. The entire southern and eastern border of the Kingdom of Jerusalem was now in the hands of just one man. The survival of Outre-Mer had so far relied on regular supply of new fighters from Western Europe and probably even more, on the endless squabbles amongst their Muslim and Armenian neighbours.

An attack was not only inevitable, but the likelihood of the survival of this outpost was already quite low. Internal squabbles between the now established Frankish aristocracy, the knightly orders and more recent arrivals impaired military decision making.

Nevertheless, when Sala-ed-Din mounted his great invasion army of 40,000 the crusaders rallied together and fielded the largest force they ever put together, at least a 1,000 knights and 10,000 foot soldiers and light cavalry.

Saladin’s began by attacking the city of Tiberias on the Sea of Galilee. For the crusader army to relieve Tiberias required them to cross an arid plateau, going from one spring to the next. Though his advisers, including the count who held city of Tiberias, counselled against exposing the army to a march through an almost waterless desert in July, the king, Guy de Lusignan, concluded it could, and it should be done.

On July 3rd, 1187 they left their camp at Sepphoris and marched towards Tiberias, about 30 kilometres away. They passed a spring at Tur’an which did not provide enough water for 11,000 men and their horses marching in the peak summer heat. As water became seriously scarce, the king decided to make a detour for the larger springs at Hattin. That had been anticipated by Saladin who blocked access to the springs. The Crusaders had to make camp in the middle of the desert. Saladin’s troop encircled the Franks and kept them awake throughout the night by praying, singing, beating drums and chanting. They lit the dry grass around the crusader camp making their thirsty throats even drier. Whilst the crusaders were dying of thirst, the Muslims had fresh water brought in from nearby sources and the sea of Galilee.

When the battle began the next morning, the outcome wasn’t in any doubt. Saladin’s troops outnumbered the exhausted fighters of the Kingdom of Jerusalem 2 to 1. That they mounted any kind of charge at all was a miracle. The desperate crusaders fought as hard as they could but in the end, they had to surrender. The Holy Cross that had been rediscovered in Jerusalem and had been carried before the army fell into the hands of the enemy. The elite of the crusader states became prisoners sold into slavery and the knights templars were executed.

With almost its entire military force spent, the cities of the Holy Land fell to Saladin, one by one. Acre, Nablus, Jaffa, Toron, Beirut and Ascalon had all fallen by September. Jerusalem was taken on October 2nd. The chronicler Ibn-al-Athir reports that when the victors took down the cross from the Dome of the Rock the Muslim inhabitants of the city broke into a triumphant Allah o Akbar whilst the Franks groaned in agony.

Only the city of Tyre held out thanks to reinforcements that had just arrived under the command of Conrad of Montferrat

Urban III allegedly died from shock when the message of the fall of Jerusalem reached him. His successor, Gregory VIII completely reoriented church policy in light of the calamity.

He blamed the loss of the Holy Cross and the execution of the knights templars on the division and sinfulness of Christians, not just in the Holy Land, but all over the catholic world. And he promised anyone who would undertake the journey to Jerusalem with a true heart and after repenting his sins, that those sins would be forgiven and that he would gain eternal life.

All resources need to be mobilised and old quarrels were to be forgotten, at least until Jerusalem is back in Christian hands. Gregory VII quickly ended the dispute over the succession to the archbishopric of Trier. Philipp of Cologne was ordered to reconcile with Barbarossa and the pope even called Henry VI the “elected emperor of the Romans”.

The first European monarch to take the cross was Richard the Lionheart, who will succeed his father at the end of 1189. Phillippe Augustus, king of France was next, thereby interrupting the incessant fighting between France and England that has become known as the first 100 years war.

Barbarossa and his youngest son Frederick duke of Swabia took the cross at the so-called diet of Christ in Mainz in 1188.

Barbarossa as Crusader

As we have seen with the first and second crusade, the call to go to Jerusalem caused huge risks to the Jewish communities in the cities of the Rhineland. Barbarossa, who had been on the Second Crusade knew about this and ordered all the priests and monks to refrain from preaching against the Jews. When thousands of visitors came to Mainz to formally take the cross, an altercation arose where a Jewish boy was beaten as a less convincing way to introduce him to the merciful Christian God. The circumstance could easily have turned nasty indeed, as it had done so before. Barbarossa defused the situation by riding through the streets of Mainz together with Joseph ha Cohen, a leader of the Jewish community, thereby making clear that the Jews were under his personal protection.  He imposed severe punishments on anyone who raised a hand against a member of the Jewish community.

As much as I would love to attribute this behaviour to an enlightened streak in Barbarossa’s consciousness, it is unfortunately mostly driven by commercial motivations. The Jews were subject to special imperial taxes and in return had a right to special imperial protection. In the run-up to the ruinously expensive Third Crusade, the emperor needed to protect one of his key sources of funds and financing.

For Barbarossa the Crusade was the great opportunity to not just rebuild his reign, but to bring about its apotheosis. A crowned and anointed emperor going to Jerusalem had a spiritual importance that far exceeded the notion of a French of English king doing the same.

And that has to do with Verse 20 of the Book of revelations otherwise known as the Apocalypse. Verse 20 reads as follows:


1 And I saw an angel coming down out of heaven, having the key to the Abyss and holding in his hand a great chain.

2 He seized the dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil, or Satan, and bound him for a thousand years.

3 He threw him into the Abyss, and locked and sealed it over him, to keep him from deceiving the nations anymore until the thousand years were ended. After that, he must be set free for a short time.

Msc.Bibl.140_r 0055

This is the text that stood godparent over a near endless number of delusions since the 1st century AD. On this podcast we did hear about the fear around the year 1000 that the coming of antichrist was imminent. We are now in the year 1188 and there was no mathematical way to suggest the 1000 years mentioned in the Book of Revelations relate to the period between Christ appearance on earth and the coming of the antichrist.

Moreover, these 1000 years were meant to be a time when Satan was bound and imprisoned in the abyss, a time when the people were to live happily and in peace. That clearly was not the time they were living in. hence the 1000 years of bliss are still to come, but how can they be brought about?

One way was prayer and good works. If only all of Christendom was cleansing itself of sin, live holy lives and stop fighting each other over worldly gains, that would bring about the 1000 years of bliss.

That notion then linked up with an older concept, the so-called imperial prophecy. According to this prophecy, a great emperor will appear just before the Millenium was to begin. That emperor will go to the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. There he will put down his crown and his sceptre. And with that act he will bring about the prophecy of Apocalypse 20, i.e., the angel will appear and bind Satan for a thousand years. East and West will unite, the Jews will be converted, and the Muslims defeated. The kingdom of peace will come about that will last until the day Antichrist is to be released again bringing about the end of the world.

The shock of the loss of Jerusalem reconciled the kings of France and England who had been at war since the beginning of time, it brought pope and emperor into alignment and even the quarrelsome cities of Northern Italy united to ease the transport of crusaders to the Holy Land. No wonder that the people who were praying daily for the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre thought that this prophecy was about to come true. Their great hope was Barbarossa the Holy Roman Emperor, heir of Troy, descendant of Augustus, Clovis and Charlemagne who will lay down his crown once he got to Golgotha so that the world will be saved.

But will it? We will see next week whether this prophecy comes true and we are now living in a time of love and unity. I am sure you are burning to find out. So, I hope to see you then.

Before I go, let me thank all of you who are supporting the show, in particular the Patrons who have kindly signed up on patron.com/historyofthegermans. It is thanks to you this show does not have to start with me endorsing mattresses or meal kits. If Patreon isn’t for you, another way to help the show is sharing the podcast directly or boosting its recognition on social media. If you share, comment or retweet a post from the History of the Germans it is more likely to be seen by others, hence bringing in more listeners. My most active places are Twitter @germanshistory and my Facebook page History of the Germans Podcast. As always, all the links are in the show notes. 

The role of Bernard of Clairvaux

This week we take a little detour to catch up with our friends in Rome, the popes. Do not worry, the popes are no longer all goody two shoes, we are back to the usual shenanigans of murder, backstabbing, betrayal and the Normans.

The church is divided three ways, between the two rival Roman clans of the Frangipani and the Pierleoni, between the old school Gregorian reformers and their more radical successors, led by Bernard of Clairvaux and between mystics and scholastics.

Everyone has to take sides as papal candidates are cut down, get tortured and flee the eternal city. But we are not back to the days before the council of Sutri. No longer can the ruling families put thugs or debauched adolescents on the throne of St. Peter. Popes need to be respected to keep the Roman economy going.

But the real head of the church is an abbot from Burgundy, Bernard of Clairvaux who is longing for an ecstatic union with the heavenly bridegroom – hence the picture (Gian Lorenzo Bernini, the Ecstasy of Santa Teresa, 1647-1654)

Transcript

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans, Episode 45 – Triple Division

This week we take a little detour to catch up with our friends in Rome, the popes. Do not worry, the popes are no longer all goody two shoes, we are back to the usual shenanigans of murder, backstabbing, betrayal and the Normans.

Before we start just a reminder. The History of the Germans Podcast is advertising free thanks to the generous support from patrons. And you can become a patron too and enjoy exclusive bonus episodes and other privileges from the price of a latte per month. All you have to do is sign up at patreon.com/historyofthegermans or on my website historyofthegermans.com. You find all the links in the show notes. And thanks a lot to Trevor, Peter and Michael who have already signed up.

Let us just recap where we are. In 1130 Lothar III managed to get the upper hand against the Hohenstaufen brothers Frederick and Konrad. In Germany the city of Speyer and its Hohenstaufen garrison had been besieged for 6 months and surrendered at Christmas 1129. From then on Frederick was on the defensive and gradually lost ground. Meanwhile his brother Konrad had gone to Italy to find new allies, money and possibly even an imperial crown. That endeavour failed utterly, and he was now back home, defending his ever-shrinking lands against Lothar’s troops.

Apart from the much-diminished Hohenstaufen, all secular and ecclesiastical princes recognised Lothar III as their King and future Emperor. The natural next step was to make a journey to Rome to be crowned emperor.

For a coronation you need a pope. When Lothar started considering his coronation in 1130 there was no shortage of popes. In fact, he had two to choose from. Oh no, a schism – again? Yes, but this time it had nothing to do with any imperial policy screwup. No, we are back to old habits. For the first time since 1046 the Romans manage to mess up the papacy all by themselves.

To explain that I probably need to go back to the last time we talked about the papacy, which was in 1122 when Henry V signed the Concordat of Worms.

The pope who had signed the Concordat was Calixtus II. He, as well as his predecessors Gelasius II and Paschalis II had been struggling to keep control over the city of Rome itself. The underlying issue was that the inhabitants of Rome were wondering how useful the pope was to their city.

Before the Gregorian reform the Pope had a very clearly defined purpose for the locals, in particular the local aristocrats. It was a financial purpose obviously, you met these guys, and you know that most of them served no spiritual purpose whatsoever. In financial terms the papacy had three main sources of income that local aristocrats could latch on to.

The first source of funds were the papal states. These are the territories in the centre of Italy around Rome but also extending north as far as Ravenna and the Emilia Romagna. The papacy claimed ownership based on the most impactful fake document in European history, the so-called donation of Constantine, which by the way people in the 12th century knew to be a fake.

Development of the Papal States

The second money spinner were the pilgrims who came to Rome to see the sights of St.Paul and St. Peter’s martyrdom as well as the many churches and their powerful relics.

The third key income stream were large legal fees and even more extravagant bribes plaintiffs and defendants paid to the papal court, the Curia. The Curia was the court of last instance for all disputes within the church as well as issues of canon law like for instance dissolution of marriages.

If we look at these from the perspective of a Roman noble wondering whether having a pope in Rome is a necessity, the picture looks as follows:

As for the papal lands it does not really matter whether the pope is in Rome or not. The holdings the popes actually controlled were by and large enfeoffed  to some Roman aristocrats or other a long time ago and most of the economic value was going to them already.

As for the pilgrims, yes a pope was useful when conducting mass etc. But it was really about the relics and they weren’t going anywhere – unless some Imperial raider stole some.

The court fees are different. For that you need the pope present in Rome. Before the Gregorian reform cases were not particularly frequent, but the judges were predominantly Romans, i.e., a chunk of the fees and bribes went straight into their pockets. The expansion of the role of the pope under Gregory VII and his successors meant the papal curia was now much more involved in church affairs across Europe resulting in a lot more cases coming to be judged in Rome. That sounds like good news for your Roman baron, right. No, not really. The problem is most of the Roman aristocrats were thugs who could extract a bribe at knifepoint but struggled to correctly pronounce the fifth book of Moses. The Gregorian reform was all about improving the standards of the church, so this had to change. Since Leo IX the popes stacked the college of cardinals with well trained and knowledgeable foreigners, i.e., non-Romans. The Papal Curia now reflected the width and breadth of Christendom rather than the city of Rome. And that meant all those bribes bypassed the Roman aristocracy and went to worthier hands. The aristocrats were still attending the papal court, managed the city defences and occasionally tilted elections. But the good times were no more.

If you then take into account the downside of a papal presence in Rome, i.e., regular sieges and sacking by either emperors or Normans, for many of the older families the balance began to tip heavily against being the seat of a reform oriented servant of the servants of the apostles. The only was this could make sense was if they could place their own puppet on the throne of St. Peter.

The most prominent representatives of this group were the members of the Frangipani clan. They had risen within the land-owning elite, replacing the Crescenti and Theophylacts. They held a number of castles in the Campagna. Inside Rome they held the area around the colosseum which they had turned into a heavily fortified town within the town.

Whilst the old aristocracy was in decline and needed to reorient itself, another group had benefitted from the Gregorian reform. A much more powerful, international papacy needed bankers. These bankers were the Pierleoni. The Pierleoni were a Jewish family from Trastevere. Their ancestor Leo de Benedicto had allegedly been baptised by Pope Leo IX himself. They had continuously supported the Gregorian reform papacy and had become the by far richest people in Rome during the process. Their home was inside the city. They owned the Tiber Island and two major fortifications on both shores, one of which was the ancient Theatre of Marcellus hence they controlled one of the two remaining Tiber bridges

Slightly younger map but hopefully still helpful

Everybody else in Rome who was anybody also lived either in a fortified Roman ruin or a more recent tower house within the walls of the city. The city was basically just an agglomeration of fortifications, not too dissimilar to other Italian cities of the time.

The tensions between Roman aristocrats and papacy had been growing since 1046 when the Gregorian reform began. Until 1111 the local aristocrats had to grin and bear it as impressive popes like Gregory VII and Urban II ruled to roost. But in 1111 Pope Paschalis II made that fateful offer to Henry V to hand back all the church fiefs, which turned out badly for the emperor, but even worse for Paschalis II. In the aftermath of the announcement of the deal Paschalis had been captured by imperial soldiers and tortured until he had given up all the papal rights to the emperor. When Paschalis returned from the ordeal  his reputation was tarnished and he had no authority in Rome which he had to flee regularly. His only support in The city were the Pierleoni, whilst the Frangipani were set dead against him.

Paschalis II (1111-1118)

When Paschalis died in 1118 the Frangipani made their frustration felt. The cardinals had elected the former pope’s chancellor as pope Gelasius II. On the day of his election, the Frangipani captured him, put him into a windowless cell and tortured him mercilessly. Censius Frangipani allegedly hissed at him like a giant snake, grabbed the pope by the throat, struck him with his fists, kicked him, drew blood with his spurs and dragged him away by his hair. Had he not been rescued by a mob paid for by the Pierleoni, Pope Gelasius would hold the record for the shortest Pontificate. This way he lasted a year and a half. In his last months he could not hold the Vatican and hence celebrated mass at the church of St. Prassende, an amazing and truly ancient but size wise very modest building. If you are in Rome, go there it is a wonderful refuge from the hustle and bustle of the city.

Santa Prassende

Anyway, whilst saying mass he was attacked by Censius Frangipani again and only escaped on a swift horse. His attendants found him hours later sitting in a field, muttering incoherently – still wearing his papal vestments. Gelasius had enough. He left Rome to travel to France and died in the safety of the abbey of Cluny.

His successor Calixtus II was much stronger personality and achieved election by unanimous vote of all cardinals. That put him into a position to negotiate and agree the Concordat that formally ended the Investiture Controversy. Calixtus seemed to have even been able to put a temporary seal on the assaults on the papacy, seemingly by making friends with that old snake,  Censius Frangipani.

Things blow up again on the day Calixtus II died in 1124. Both the Pierleoni and the Frangipani elected their respective candidates in two different churches in Rome. Another Frangipani, Roberto,  entered the church where the Pierleoni candidate was about to be consecrated and cut down what would have become Pope Celestine II. Luckily the almost pope survived heavily injured and resigned the papacy immediately afterwards.

That leaves us with the pope the Frangipani had elected just before the attack. He took the name Honorius II.

This sounds as if we are going back to the time before the council of Sutri in 1046. In that time the leading Roman families would put whoever they wanted on the papal throne including debauched adolescents or military thugs unless the Emperor happened to be in the vicinity.

But that is no longer the case. The church as an organisation had become far too big, too complex and too powerful to be managed by a sexually incontinent layman. The Roman aristocrats recognised that if they have a puppet pope, they needed someone who would nevertheless be respected across Christendom, who would bring in the lucrative court cases, rich pilgrims and generous donations. We are entering this very odd period of papal history where on the one hand the crowned heads of Europe are shaking in the boots at the slightest indication of papal displeasure, whilst the pope himself can barely leave his fortified palace in Rome, assuming he is even admitted to the city.

Honorius II was exactly such a man. He was a rags to riches story rising from probably peasant stock to the highest position in Christendom on the back of great learning and exceptional political acumen. He had been a close associate of Calixtus II and had been entrusted with the all-important negotiations for the Concordat of Worms. He was well respected and asked to decide on such crucial matters like the relative position of the archbishop of York versus Canterbury, the formation of the Order of the Knights Templar and the deposition of the abbot of Cluny.

Pope Honorius II presents the Premonstartensian order with its rule

Mentioning the abbot of Cluny brings us to the other key development that changed the church landscape in the decades leading up to 1130, the rise of the reform movement 2.0.

A few episodes ago we looked at whether the Gregorian reform was a revolution, or a world revolution. One thing revolutions have in common is that as time goes by, last year’s radicals become the conservatives and the extremists become the respected left. In the Middle Ages this process was much slower but was still discernible.

The church reform started out with the monastic reform in the 10th and 11th century centred around the Abbey of Cluny in Burgundy as well as some other monasteries, mainly in Lothringia and Germany. The reformers’ objective was to bring back adherence to the rule of St. Benedict. They saw many monks and canons were slacking, which put everyone’s chance to be admitted to heaven in jeopardy. 

Living under the rule of Saint Benedict is hard, I mean really hard. Monks are denied the three most basic human needs, to sleep, to eat and to procreate.  The monk’s day begins with prayers at midnight, and then prayers again at 3 a.m., at 6 a.m., at 9 am, at midday, at 3 p.m. at 6 pm and at 9pm, that is every 3 hours 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. And it wasn’t just a quick prayer, it was a full liturgy involving chanting and perform mass. The monks slept in their habits so they could quickly get up to attend mass. Between prayers they were expected to work. They had to accept the meanest of tasks as directed by the abbot. Food was restricted to two meals a day with beef and lamb only available to the sick. And then you have to take the three vows of poverty, obedience and celibacy.

The system was designed to eradicate any form of individual opinion, desires or even sense of self. The monk was to do as he was told by the abbot. Any form of disobedience or even a sign of disapproval was ruthlessly punished. If your parents or friends sent you a care packet of food having seen how meagre you have become on the relentless cycle of prayer, work and fasting, the abbot could distribute the goodies amongst the monks or even hand the whole box to another monk. Any reaction other than enthusiastic approval was considered disobedience.

This lifestyle is by definition not sustainable unless it is performed by an ever-replenished pool of religious zealots. But not all new monks were religious zealots. Some monks were the second sons of great patrons of the monastery sent there as children to pray for the family. Some of them bought into the monastic ideal, but not all. Another group of monks were retired aristocrats, too old to sit in the saddle and too worried about all the sins they had committed. They would join the monastery at the end of their  lives, but found it difficult to adapt to the unrelenting lifestyle, austerity and hard work.

As Cluny and its daughter monasteries grew, the list of patrons grew and so did the number of less enthusiastic monks. Furthermore, all these patrons wanted to leave the monastery valuable donations. Individual monks were not allowed to have any personal property, but the monastery itself was able to accept these.

Standards began to slip, some monks were relieved from getting up in the middle of the night, food became plentiful, daily labour was passed on to the serfs.  Within a few generations after the death of the initial great abbots, many a monastery had again become sort of a massively rich frat house. 

As regards Cluny, the focus of its founders had been the elaborate liturgy which in turn required splendid churches. The only church in Western Europe that could rival the Abbey Church of Cluny in size and splendour was great the imperial Cathedral in Speyer. Building the abbey church nearly bankrupted this, probably the richest monastery in the world.

As Cluny and its associate monasteries began to slack, those who still hankered for the true monastic ideal were looking elsewhere. This is monastic reform 2.0. One of the founders of these new communities we have already met, Norbert of Xanten, the founder of the order of the Premonstratensians whose first three disciples did not survive and who was now archbishop of Magdeburg.

But there was one even more impactful than Norbert. The towering ecclesiastical figure of this period was Bernhard of Clairvaux, leader -not founder- of the Cistercian order of the Strict Observance.

Bernard of Clairvaux

Bernhard had joined the reformist monastery of Citeaux near Dijon at the age of 22. When his friends and family tried to dissuade him from his decision, he not only made them agree with him, but convinced 4 of his brothers and another 25 followers to join him.

Bernhard was famous for his eloquence and rhetoric. I have been reliably informed that he was one the greatest Latin stylists since antiquity. He quickly became the most charismatic preachers in the whole of Christendom during the 12th century. His sermons moved common people as well as church councils and even kings to do his bidding. These sermons were also quite odd.

Bernhard was a mystic he looked for divinity in the experience of love. His most famous sermon was on the Song of Salomon, the by far most explicitly sexual part of the bible. For him the Song is about the marriage between the heavenly Bridegroom, himself God, the father, the son and the holy spirit and is human bride. He yearns for “Let him kiss me with the kiss of the mouth”. And he says that what the bride, herself all of humanity including himself, really desires and asks for is “to be filled with the grace of this threefold knowledge [of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit], filled to the utmost capacity of mortal flesh …

This physical mysticism remained a component of the Christian faith. If you want to see what St. Bernhard may have had in mind, check out Bernini’s Ecstasy of Santa Teresa in the church of Santa Maria Vittoria in Rome. Not 12th century but it captures the spirit.

Bernini, The Ectsasy of Santa teresa

Right, if you think medieval spirituality is a bit difficult to penetrate here is the other thing Bernhard of Clairvaux was famous for, his ascetic lifestyle. His fasting habits were so austere that he ruined his digestive and intestinal system to the point that no food he consumed stayed with him for long. The  monks of his abbey at Clairvaux dug a hole in the floor near where he would be seated during mass since he rarely made it to the bathroom in time. That may sound disgusting, but people admired him for that. The fact that he had broken his body to the point of inflicting constant humiliation was a sign of his sainthood.

You see, as with every revolution, the oddballs everyone laughed at last year are now mainstream.

His order, the Cistercians, benefitted from such a saintly leader and the communities expanded rapidly. Between the papal approval of the Cistercian order in 1119 and the death of St. Bernard in 1153, the number of Cistercian abbeys grew from 9 to 338. Cistercian abbeys were typically built-in remote areas, in forests or difficult to reach valleys where the monks would begin to cultivate the land with their own bare hands. Their churches were very austere and devoid of decoration, deriving their aesthetic appeal from the beauty of their proportions. If you want to get a feel for what they were like, check out the three Monasteries of Senanque, Silvacane and Le Thoronet in Provence. It does not get more Cistercian than that.  

Abbey of Senanque

Why am I telling you all these weird stories? It is because St. Bernhard is really, really important. He does influence events in the first half of the 12th century to the point that some historians see him as the true leader of Europe above both the pope and the emperor. It may help if you have an idea what kind of guy we are dealing with.

To complete the picture, Bernhard’s mysticism was not the only brand of Christianity gaining ground in the 12th century.

Its diametrical opposite was the emerging scholastic method. Where mysticism is all about an emotional link to the divinity, scholastics use logic to derive and define their faith.  

If I wanted to, or more accurately, if I could explain Scholasticism the episode would go on for an unbearably long time. There is hardly a topic in medieval history so heavily disputed and complex as scholasticism. It seems many historians prefer to jump the subject entirely to avoid getting into hot water. No such cowardice here at the History of the Germans. But if I get it wrong, which I inevitably will, be gentle. After all scholasticism is all about disputing two sides of an argument and agreeing on a harmonious solution.

In my opinion there are three features that define scholasticism:

The first thing is that scholasticism is a method of resolving problems, not a theological concept. The scholastic method was applied to all bathe medieval sciences,  rhetoric, grammar, and logic as well as theology and law.

Secondly, scholasticism consists of two steps, the definition and the disputation. Definition is the process of determining exactly what specific problem you want to solve. That could range from does god exist to how many angels could dance on the pin of a needle. The definition will usually contain a hypothesis of how the problem is to be resolved.

Once the problem is defined the analysis of the problem, the disputation can begin. For that Analysis, arguments are gathered sic et non, I.e., for and against. In the disputation that follows the scholars weigh the different arguments. The objective is not so much to win the debate but to resolve the differences.

The third feature of the scholastic method was the reliance on what was called authorities. These were texts, like the bible as the ultimate authority for theology, Cicero for rhetoric, Aristotle for logic, the Justinian code for law, etc.

The great contribution of the early scholastics was to gather and organise the knowledge of the time by searching for ancient Greek texts in Muslim Spain, Irish monasteries and the libraries set up by Charlemagne and translating them into Latin.

But it wasn’t just the Greeks they were looking for. Islamic philosophers also played a major role. One of the authorities the Scholastics rated most highly was Abu I Walid Muhammad Ibn Rusd (1126-1198), in Latin referred to as Averroes, an Islamic scholar, jurist and polymath from Cordoba. Averroes commentary on Aristotle’s works was so universally acknowledged that he was often times not even referred to by name, but simply as “the commentator”.

The scholastics believed fundamentally that the ancients and the church fathers knew best. Hence arguments were based on their writings and rarely on actual observable facts. It is that latter issue that has brought scholasticism in for a lot of negative publicity. Medical doctors who would prefer to rely on the books of Galen (2nd century AD) rather than noticing that most of their patients died from their treatments.

Even though Scholasticism is not modern science, it is miles away from the purely spiritually driven faith of the cistercians. What Bernhard of Clairvaux was to the mystics was Peter Abelard amongst the early scholastics.

The driving force of Abelard’s philosophy was logic. He believed he could derive eternal truth by consolidating the truths inherent in authoritative texts. That led him for instance conclude that  the human intent is the yardstick of moral virtue, not the action as such.

He published in a book entitled “Yes and no” where he highlighted obvious contradictions in the bible and laid out arguments how to resolve them. The church did not like it one bit. Abelard was accused of heresy on multiple occasions and some of his books were burned.

St. Bernard attacked Abelard directly. “This Man” he said “presumes to be able to comprehend by human reason the entirety of god” I doubt Abelard would have objected to this characterisation.

Where Bernhard was a great demagogue who could whip up a crowd, Abelard won his debates through wit, intelligence and sharpness of thought.

Abelard is best known today for an event during his early years as a teacher. his relationship with his pupil, Heloise, the super smart niece of Fulbert, Canon of Notre Dame and Abelard’s landlord. The two began an affair, very much on equal terms. Fulbert was none too happy about that and Abelard offered to marry Heloise. Heloise objected as it would mean Abelard would no longer be able to work as teacher at the religious school of Notre Dame. A marriage was conducted in secret but somehow things with Fulbert did not calm down. Abelard had her brought to a nunnery in Argenteuil outside Paris. Fulbert saw some foul play and hired some thugs to find Abelard and castrate him, which they did. Abelard subsequently became a monk. In 1130 he and Heloise published their love letters and the poems they had exchanged. Abelard finally wrote his own autobiography, making it the first in Europe since antiquity.

Abaelard & Heloise

One thing I like about Abelard is that he invented to concept of Limbo. Limbo is the place  children go  who die before e they can be baptised. Before Abelard the general view was that unbaptised children end up in hell which must heave caused untold grief for their parents who felt forever guilty for not procuring a priest in time. But he was by no means perfect. He and Heloise had a son and they called him astrolabe. Not much is known about him but I guess the poor child must have been bullied mercilessly.

There you have it, the church is split three ways.

Frangipani versus Pierleoni, Old school Gregorians versus Cistercians, Mystics versus Scholastics. Each party had taken a side. The Pierleoni who support the old-school Gregorian reformers and the scholastics. On the other side you have the Frangipani, pushing for reform 2.0 and the mysticism of Bernhard of Clairvaux.

Pope Honorius II had been able to keep a lid on all these tensions thanks to his personality and competence. By 1130, Pope Honorius II is dying.  

Next episode will kick off with the death of Pope Honorius II which let all these differences blow out into the open. Each side will put their pope on the throne. One pope will hold the holy city, the other flees north. And that leaves our friend Lothar in a dilemma. He is no theologian, but he needs something from the pope, the imperial crown. But which of the two popes should he ask for it. The one who is holding the city of Rome or the one Bernhard of Clairvaux is supporting. Going with the first one makes for an easy journey to Rome, but a return to a homeland where the silver-tongued Bernhard whips up the crowds against him. Going with the second pope means you need to first take the eternal city, or at least enough of it to stage a coronation. And then there is the question what concessions Lothar can get from either candidate. Maybe he there is a chance to gain back what had been lost in the Investiture controversy. A return to the glory days of Henry III?

I hope you are going to join us again next week when we find out.

And in the meantime, should you feel like supporting the show and get hold of these bonus episodes, sign up on Patreon. The links are in the show notes or on my website at historyofthegermans.com.

The Imperial Church System

Last week we discussed the economy and infrastructure of Germany in the year 1000 and looked at the first two social states of the Middle Ages, the Laboratores, those who toil and the Bellatores, those who fight. Today we will look at the third and highest-ranking group, the Oratores, those who pray. And then we will discuss the role of the king-emperor in the Ottonian realm, the institutions, if there are any and how they differ from other polities of the time.

But first let’s talk about the Oratores. This is the most heterogenous group ranging from the simple country parson to major European political operators.

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 16 – Germany in the year 1000 (part 2)

Last week we discussed the economy and infrastructure of Germany in the year 1000 and looked at the first two social states of the Middle Ages, the Laboratores, those who toil and the Bellatores, those who fight. Today we will look at the third and highest-ranking group, the Oratores, those who pray. And then we will discuss the role of the king-emperor in the Ottonian realm, the institutions, if there are any and how they differ from other polities of the time.

But first let’s talk about the Oratores. This is the most heterogenous group ranging from the simple country parson to major European political operators.

At the lowest level you have the village priest. As always in this time period we have little consistent data on how many priests there were, whether there were places of worship in most villages, how the priest was paid etc. But best guess is there weren’t many priests and in the outlying villages the priest would show up once a month or even only once a year to do the major sacraments like baptisms and marriages. The training of the priests should have happened predominantly in the cathedral schools that were attached to a cathedral. These were often very prestigious institutions. Quite regularly the bishop himself would do some of the instructing. We for instance know that Gerbert of Aurillac went to Rheims to run the cathedral school and would later become an archbishop and finally pope.

What I am unclear about is the social setup for the pupils at the cathedral school. Some of them are the sons of the highest aristocracy, for instance the future emperor Henry II was taught at the cathedral school of Hildesheim. I am struggling with the idea that he would have rubbed shoulders with a gifted peasant’s son who was destined to become the village priest. The schools were also small with about 100 pupils at any given time, some of whom sons of local rulers who would not become priests at all. Therefore, most priests in the villages most likely have never been close to a cathedral school in their life but have started out as the apprentice of an established priest. They were supposed to be literate and knowledgeable about liturgy, but there are regular complaints about illiterate priests.

Parish priests would often, if not regularly have families. There were regular complaints about priests living with their consorts amongst the more zealous religious figures. However, nobody really cared as long as the priest’s offspring would not be able to inherit. If they would have been able to inherit, that would have been a major problem. If the vicar’s son would become the vicar, it would have created a parallel aristocracy alongside the secular one, and that was a no no.

The other large group of religious people were the monks and nuns. Western monasticism started in the 6th century with Benedict of Nursia who established the Benedictine rule. The Benedictine rule asked monks to do two things, “ora”, i.e. pray and “labora”, i.e., manual work. The rule also encouraged reading as part of the praying bit and production of books as part of the labour bit. Under Charlemagne in the 9th century the Benedictine rule became the basic guide for most monasteries in Europe. By 1000 there were still some Greek-style monasteries around as well as actual hermits, but we find less and less of those in the following centuries.

By the 10th century some monasteries had grown to be large operations. For instance, Corvey where our old friend Widukind was based, had over 300 monks at its peak. Add to that their lay servants, the monastery itself had a population rivalling many cities at the time. The monasteries were rich, mainly thanks to generous donations by high aristocrats, who often would end their days as monks in the monasteries to atone for their sins. A great example is Gernrode founded by the genocidal Margrave Gero in a likely futile attempt to be forgiven for his sins. High aristocrats would often designate their daughters to become abbesses of the “family” abbey, which meant giving their dowry to the abbey. The sisters of Otto II and Otto III with one exemption would all become abbesses, one of the reasons the dynasty disappeared so comprehensively and abbeys like Quedlinburg, Gandersheim and Essen became so fabulously rich. Check out the treasury of the abbey of Essen on the internet and be amazed.

One common feature of German churches and abbeys was that they were often so-called “Eigenkirchen” or proprietary churches.”. That means the church or abbey was fully owned by a layman, usually the founder of the church. Fully owned meant that the church was treated like any other property that could be bought, sold, inherited or given as a present. The patron would appoint the priest without having to ask the local bishop and – most importantly – would take 2/3 of the Tithe and a big chunk of all other income. Basically, creating one of these Eigenkirchen was a highly profitable investment, which puts these pious donations into perspective. The reason the church did tolerate this until the middle of the 11th century with little murmuring was that the bishops themselves did not have the money to build all the churches needed as the population gradually adopted Christianity.

This concept survived at least to a degree until the 19th century. In some Jane Austin novels, you sometimes have the lord giving the plum vicarage to a family friend – no bishop involved. The difference is that in Germany in the year 1000 these Eigenkirchen could be huge. They include the so-called royal abbeys like the already mentioned Corvey, Fulda and Lorsch. With their right to collect the tithe, these churches became de facto tax collectors for the king. Not only that, but they were also required to send soldiers. When emperor Otto II asked for replacement troops from Germany in 982, about a fifth of the contingent was demanded from abbots.

The great abbeys were also centres for the arts. In particular the abbey of Reichenau on an island in lake Constance became the predominant centre for the production of illuminated manuscripts. Reichenau is where the most celebrated illuminator, an anonymous monk that art historians called the Gregory Master worked. He illuminated amongst others on the Codex Egberti, examples of his work you may have seen in my Instagram and Facebook feeds. But there were many more illuminators in Reichenau as well as in Trier, Fulda, Regensburg and Echternach.

The most famous and storied abbeys of the time, Corvey, Fulda and Reichenau had been founded in the 8th or sometimes 9th century and by the late 10th and early 11th century were mainly focused on estate management and cultural output, not so much on manual labour as Benedikt of Nursia had demanded.

In the 10th century a new “reform” movement took hold in western monasticism. Reform is nothing new in so far that monasteries always had a tendency to become lax in the adherence to strict rules as money and patronage flows in. What makes the “reform” monasticism in the 10th and 11th century different is its streamlined organisation headed by the monastery of Cluny. Cluny had been created as small foundation by a duke of Aquitaine in 910 in a remote corner of Burgundy. IN an act of unusual generosity, the duke did not make it one of his proprietary churches but made it answerable only to the pope, which in 910 meant to nobody as the popes in Rome were mere playthings of the formidable Mariucca, Senatrix of Rome.

Cluny’s first abbot, Odo, enforced strict adherence to the Benedictine rule and established a particularly beautiful form of liturgy which made the monastery attractive to donations from lay lords. So far, so normal. What makes Cluny special is that Odo went out to reform other monasteries as some sort of ecclesiastical mister fix-it. In exchange for his services, these reformed monasteries would then become subordinates of Cluny, which means they are removed from the direct control of their local bishops and counts. As their fame spreads, monks of Cluny were invited to found new monasteries all across Europe, including the monastery of Selz which empress Adelheid had founded and where she ended her days.

Cluny managed to expand until it had as many as 300 daughter monasteries all across Europe. Its alumni were holding major bishoprics and finally the papacy. The abbot of Cluny had become a major political player in Europe, often seen close to popes and emperors. Abbot Odilo of Cluny was a close associate of Emperor Otto III who made large donations to Cluny. There were other centres of monastic reform around that time like Gorze in Lothringia and St. Maximin near Trier, but they did not create a tight knit network and were ultimately sucked into the holy vortex of Cluny.  We will see how far the power of Cluny reaches when we get into the Salian emperors.

Whilst monks were supposed to pray in solitude for the souls of the people, or at least their major donors, the bishops were supposed to be active in the lay world. Their job was the administration of the diocese and to train and lead the parish priests. In the Ottonian empire this spiritual role was playing very much second fiddle to the political ambitions of their occupants.

There were 6 archbishoprics in the German part of the realm, Trier, Mainz, Cologne, Salzburg, Hamburg and Magdeburg. Mainz was the oldest and most prestigious archbishopric in Germany – not quite as dominant as Canterbury in England but the primate church of the land. You have heard about the archbishops of Mainz in our narrative already, first the arch-conspirator Friedrich of Mainz who was supporting the uprisings against Otto the Great, then Otto’s son William who was nowhere near as obedient as his dad had hoped for and now Willigis of Mainz, kingmaker of the Ottonians. Willigis stands as he was the son of a free peasant and not a high aristocrat like most of the bishops of the time.

Next down the pecking order was the archbishop of Cologne, who had the advantage of Aachen, the coronation church, to be in his diocese. Again, the occupants of the seat like for instance Brun, the brother of Otto the Great was a major political player on a European level.

A number of the most eminent bishops in the 10th century like Willigis and Brun but also Ulrich of Augsburg had been made saints pretty shortly after their deaths, even though their spiritual leadership often left something to be desired.

As we have gone through the narrative of the last 80 odd years you may have noticed that the entourages of our king emperor had subtly shifted. Henry the Fowler spent most his time with his fellow dukes and other secular leaders. That is still true for Otto the Great but becomes less so with Otto II who relies more on the advice of his friend Giselher, archbishop of Magdeburg, then his German nobles. By the time of Otto III, we find mostly churchmen in his inner circles. Some of these are holy men like Adalbert of Prague, Nilus and Franco of Worms, but mostly they are powerful bishops like Heribert of Cologne and Bernward of Hildesheim.

The bishops have become immensely powerful on the back of royal donations. In particular after 955 the bishoprics were increasingly awarded secular lordships. That could take the form of Brun, archbishop of Cologne becoming duke of Lothringia, a position that ended with his death. but as time went by, whole counties were permanently awarded to bishoprics or abbeys. This created the famous German Prince-Bishops and Prince-Abbots. The concept behind it was that the formerly purely administrative role of count had gradually become an inherited position. Therefore, the king had lost control over the day-to-day management of the counties and he was looking at ways to get it back. Usually when counties became vacant because the incumbent had died without issue, they had to be re-distributed to members of the major aristocratic families, at least that was the situation after 955. Confiscating them for the crown no longer worked. There was a way out of the dilemma though. If the county would be awarded to a diocese or an abbey as a pious act, the local aristocrats had a hard time arguing that they should get it instead of the holy church.

A bishopric has the great advantage that it cannot be inherited, in part because the bishop has no legitimate offspring. Moreover, a bishop is elected to his spiritual role by the congregation, usually represented by the cathedral clergy. For the bishop to then get hold of the lands, rights and treasures of the bishopric, i.e., the money, he needs to be invested by the king. A bishop without money is no use to no-one so the king was increasingly deciding who would be bishop and the clergy just rubber stamped the choice. There were cases where the clergy had chosen a new bishop and the king refused, proposed a new candidate and the clergy then appointed that one. So, every time a new bishop is elected the king can ask for allegiance or concessions or whatever else he needs at that point. Basically the county is now under royal control.

There is another specifically German quirk, which is the so-called advocacy. Advocacy solves the problem that a priest is not allowed to bear arms, which is unhelpful when he is effectively commanding the military levy of the county he had just received as a donation. To get around that problem, the bishop or abbot could appoint a layman to be in charge of the soldiers and the other administrative duties that come with his worldly possessions. That layman is the advocate. Now smart move here is for the king to make himself or one of his confidants the advocate of the bishop or abbot and hey presto, the assets of the diocese are now under the direct control of the king. In some cases the control could be even tighter, if the abbey or bishopric was an Eigenkirche or proprietary church, at which point the king would also collect all the income himself.

Another control mechanism over the church were the synods, meetings of the bishops. These were usually called to debate church issues, either for a specific region, the whole of the kingdom or the whole of Christendom. During the Ottonian period, the king or emperor would regularly preside over the local synods, and during Otto III he would even preside over a global synod in Rome, albeit shared with the Pope. 

This sounds very neat and to a large degree this Ottonian/Salian imperial church system is the source of the dominance of the German emperors in this time period. Based on the one document we have about the composition of the Ottonian army, 70% of its soldiers came from bishops and abbots.

But it is not entirely straightforward either. The emperor cannot just choose anyone to be bishop or abbot willy, nilly, but has to take the expectations of his nobles and magnates into account. You remember when Otto the Great at the height of his might still could not freely choose who he wanted to be archbishop of Magdeburg.

As always with the Middle Ages, central power is fragile, built on mutual personal obligations and consent of the ruled has to be reaffirmed regularly by meeting and greeting the nobles, pretend to hear what they have to say, kiss their children or stand godparent etc, etc pp. Failure to do so has serious consequences.

Last but not least, at the top of the ecclesiastical tree should be the pope. But in the 10th century that is simply a joke. With the exception of the popes that Otto III installed, the vicars of Christ in the Ottonian period are at best the punchbags of the local Roman aristocracy or depraved murderers and adulterers. Their moral authority is so weak that Ottonian emperors dismiss and appoint popes at will, something they would not ever dare to do with their own bishops and archbishops. On the flipside, when the emperor gets a papal bull that allows him to establish an archbishopric in Magdeburg against the wishes of the archbishop of Mainz, he does not even use it, knowing full well it is not worth the rather expensive vellum it is written on.

In effect there is a vacuum at the top of Christendom, that cries out to be filled.

Well, not a complete vacuum, there is also the emperor. But what is an emperor, in particular at the turn of the millennium?

Having been crowned emperor made no difference even to Charlemagne or Otto the Great as it comes to the number of soldiers, landed estates or piles of gold he controls. That is different to the crown of Italy which comes with clearly defined rights and obligations. The imperial crown is just an ambition. What that ambition is and how it may be achieved differs fundamentally from emperor to emperor.

Before we go into the imperial ambitions, we first need to take a look at the assets and tools the Ottonians have at their disposal. In other words, we need to look at what kind of “state” (in inverted commas) they ran.

Let’s start with Henry the Fowler. Henry the Fowler relied mainly on his personal demesne, the duchy of Saxony and the power of his personality. There was technically a royal demesne left over from Carolingian times, but what that was worth is more than unclear. For instance, the royal palace at Regensburg, which was the favourite seat of Charlemagne’s son, Louis the Pious, had firmly gone into possession of the Bavarian dukes. Even Aachen was lost to the French and Ingelheim was only part of the Royal estate because the Franconian duke allowed it.

As we transition from Henry the Fowler to Otto the Great, royal power strengthens. Henry the fowler had already gained the right to invest bishops and abbots in most duchies and Otto the Great added more royal domains, mainly by confiscating Franconia. Some possessions in Lothringia were also added to the royal demesne, including Aachen. Between 919 and 955 Henry and Otto the Great placed their close relatives, brothers, sons and sons-in-law as dukes so that by 955 all duchies were in the hands of just one family. That however backfired as the rebellion of Liudolf exposed the level of disaffection amongst the major aristocratic clans who were left out of the plum jobs.

After 955 the Ottonians gradually relinquished direct control of the duchies and the important marches to pacify the aristocratic clans. Whilst they gave up secular power, they build out their control over the church. As mentioned before the emperors handed more and more land and rights to the church, not necessarily for piety, but as a way to create an administrative infrastructure that they could control. The increasing reliance on the church is quite visible in the royal itineraries, which after 955 included more and more stays at the seats of bishops, where they would hold royal assemblies as well as synods. 

By the 980s – as we said before, 70% of the Ottonian army was supplied by the German church, not by the German nobles.

The big financial boost to the imperial coffers came from the silver mines in Goslar that remained the largest silver deposits in Western europe for the next 100 years.

What the emperors lacked and will continue to lack is tax-raising powers. By the year 1000, the only states that had tax raising powers were the emperor in Constantinople, the Muslim states in Spain and Sicily and England. The reason for Constantinople and the Muslims to have taxation is easily explained by the inheritance from the Romans. England is a different matter. England’s king Ethelred the Unready was an ineffectual ruler who could not fight back Viking invasions. His solution was to pay the Vikings the famous danegeld, essentially a bribe for them to go away. That had the entirely predictable effect that the Danes came back every year to ask for more. To raise the funds, king Ethelred had to tax his people. It was either that or being raped and pillaged by the Vikings, so people paid. Once the Danes were themselves in charge, they still collected the Danegeld as a regular tax so that over time the English became used to being taxed. That tax income made the kings of England some of the richest medieval rulers who could punch well above their weight in the hundred years war.

The German emperors were unfortunately too successful against their invaders, namely the Hungarians, so that they never got into a situation where they could justify asking all their subjects for taxes. There were some taxes in Germany in the 10th century though, the Tithe, the 1/10th of the income you had to give to the church. Through the system of Eigenkirchen and Advocacy, the king could get a share in the tithe, so that in some weird indirect way he had some tax revenues.

There is the justifiable question why the German emperors did not introduce taxes when they were at the height of their powers in the 10th century. Establishing taxation requires two things, a bureaucracy that reaches down to the individual taxpayer to assess the level of tax to be paid and a means to enforce the tax dues, in extremes by military power. And that is why we have a catch 22, without tax income already you cannot afford the bureaucracy and the standing army required to collect the taxes. What you need is either an existing infrastructure or an extraneous event like the Viking invasion or in the case of France the 100 years’ war that justifies raising taxes.

But at the turn of the millennium, the German emperor was the most powerful ruler in Western Europe, despite his lack of tax income, because he could draw on the resources of the church. Again, not without restrictions, but in principle, yes.

The only other polity in Western Europe that had similar control over the church was the Duchy or Normandy. The dukes in Normandy had gradually assumed control of the abbeys and the bishopric of Rouen, having turned them into proprietary churches. The Normans however managed to get one step further. They used the soldiers the church provided them with and subdued their local lords. They tore down their castles and, if they were still not yielding, had them expropriated. Therefore, when William the Conqueror arrives in Britain in 1066, he comes as the head of the most coherent medieval polities that is entirely at his command. And the combination of the streamlined Norman political system and the English population’s willingness to pay taxes is the secret sauce of English power in the Middle Ages. Just keep this bit in mind when we are talking about the next 100 years of German history.

So, to recap, the emperor has some legal rights over the church resources, his own private lands and the silver mines in Goslar.

These are the assets, but how does the software work. What are the processes and institutions that the emperor uses to run the country?

In terms of royal institutions, there is only one, the chancellery. I guess I mentioned before that the chancellery was an invention of archbishop Brun, the brother of Otto the Great. The chancellery was originally just the place where the royal scribes would produce the royal or imperial charters. Under Brun and later Otto the Great, they turned into something more significant. The Chancellor became the chief advisor to the king and his de facto chief administrator. He would organise and sometimes adjudicate court cases and send out the missii, royal envoys who would be sent to enforce the royal orders. Apart from the immediate role, the chancellery was also the training ground for future bishops. If you were a young aristocrat with ambitions to become a church leader, the imperial or royal chancellery was the place to be. As the emperor had the ultimate say on who would become bishop, being close to him and making yourself useful in his service gave you the ticket to great power and riches. From the emperor’s perspective, he gets the chance to evaluate potential candidates and choose those he can hope to be loyal.

Historians of the 19th century had concluded that this was a coherent and streamlined system where the emperor would end up commanding a squad of fully obedient bishops who had been his PAs before. That has been successfully challenged by modern historians and it is now generally believed that the king would have to take the big aristocratic clans into account when appointing his bishops. That meant they were generally loyal and more loyal than they would have been without the stint I the Chancellery, but they are not at his beck and call.

By the late Ottonian period we would usually have two chancellors, a chancellor for Germany and a chancellor for Italy. But beyond the Missii, the administration did not go any deeper. Any order or request needed to be implemented by the local powers, be it a bishop, abbot or count.

Otto III tried to expand the administration and appointed all sorts of roles mimicking the court in Constantinople. But absent an infrastructure below these titles, they were just empty shells. You remember the chief admiral with no ships?

To achieve their compliance, the emperors would hold assemblies and synods. The difference between the two is that a synod is in principle only for churchmen to discuss church issues whilst an assembly would be mainly for the secular rulers, though the bishops and abbots would be there in their function as secular rulers. Again, when we look into the detail, the distinctions are fluid, and you find assemblies discussing church matters and synods being attended by laymen discussing secular matters.

The purpose of these gatherings was to gain approval for the imperial policy. The king-emperor rules by the consent of his people, because he does not have the funds to maintain a standing army and an administration that reaches all the way down to the individual peasant.

And that is most visible when it comes to the question how you become king. We are still in a transition period between the Germanic kingdoms of the dark ages and the high Middle Ages. In the Germanic kingdoms, the king was usually elected, based on military prowess, i.e., whoever promised the most plunder becomes king. Being a member of the aristocracy and even being related to the previous king mattered but was not the main consideration. As the kingdoms became more stable, hereditary monarchies became more prevalent. The Merovingians were mostly hereditary with the added quirk of being ginger and still in possession of a full head of hair to be king. When we get to the Carolingians, it looks on the outside like a hereditary system, but the exact rankings of various claimants to the throne had not been established, in particular there was the horizontal succession from brother to brother competing with the vertical succession from father to son. And then there were all sorts of questions about the female line and illegitimate sons that in the end, the king was often elected.

As the kingdom of Germany emerges, the situation does not fundamentally change. Henry the Fowler is elected, though only by about half the kingdom. He does get the consent of the rest later.

We do not know whether Otto the Great was formally elected, but he was acclaimed by the nobles before his coronation, which suggests an election of some sort had taken place, possibly at a time when Henry the Fowler was still alive. Otto II and Otto III were both formally elected, but under the watchful eye of the then reigning emperor, making it more of a formality than an actual election.

A way to describe this is as a hereditary elective monarchy, where the reigning emperor can force through the election of his offspring, but if the situation arises where the emperor dies before his successor is elected, election is the correct way to choose the next ruler. And that election would then be free in so far as the closest blood relative does not necessarily have to become the next ruler.

Apart from inheritance and election, consecration by the church is the third source of imperial legitimacy. The coronation rite is in many aspects similar to the consecration of a bishop. The king is anointed with the holy chrism like a bishop, and he swears an oath to defend the church.

With the popes being so weak, the position of the Ottonian emperors was even higher than a bishop. The emperor could see himself as the leader of Christendom and head of the church above the pope. Under Otto III we reach a first peak of this theocratic notion of kingship. Otto III behaves more like a spiritual than a secular leader, more like a future saint than an emperor.

Such an elevated status also meant that rebellion against the emperor was not undertaken lightly. In particular if the king had enjoyed signs of divine favour, as Otto the Great had in the battles of Birten and Andernach. Henry the Quarrelsome would have had Otto III killed, had he not been consecrated almost at the last minute. The Saxon nobles who turned against Henry the Quarrelsome did so largely because they feared divine retribution if they had broken their oath to the anointed king.

For the act of consecration to be valid, it had to be performed by the right people and with the right pieces of kit. You needed the archbishop of Mainz, the Holy Lance as the most valuable of the imperial regalia, but also the imperial crown, sceptre, coat and a whole long list of other accoutrements.

To sum up, you ideally need to meet three requirements to become emperor, direct male descendance from the previous incumbent, election by the majority of the magnates, and valid consecration with the correct regalia. Btw, France under the Capetins had a similar system. But the French kings were blessed with more powerful loins and produced male heirs in such a consistent manner, that a free election never happened and at some point, the French simply forgot that they could elect their king – until 1789.

In Germany by 1002, these key requirements still need to be fulfilled.  And this is where we are. Otto III had no children and no successor has been elected during his lifetime. There is no direct male descendant apart from Henry of Bavaria, who can trace his line back to Henry the Fowler, 80 years earlier. A new king will need to be elected. Will it be Henry, or will others stake a claim? Who will Heribert of Cologne give the Holy Lance to, the one he had sneakily sent ahead from Rome as soon as Otto III had breathed his last? Can you be king without meeting all three requirements?

All will be revealed next week. I hope you enjoyed this episode and will listen in again next week and in the meantime, do not hesitate to share, comment or give feedback and encouragement. You can do that on social media, on my Facebook, Twitter, refit or Instagram under History of the Germans Podcast, or on the review section of Apple, Podbean or any other platforms

The Last Emperor to live in rome

Let’s pick up our teenage hero where we left him last week. He had come down to Rome for a second time to bring his cousin, pope Gregory V back into the holy city from where he had been expelled by the prefect of Rome Crescentius II. Otto III had besieged and captured Crescentius had him beheaded, thrown from the walls of the Castel Sant’Angelo and finally strung up by his feet at the gallows of Monte Mario. He then embarked on his most ambitious policy, the Restoration of the Empire of the Romans, which was actually more an attempt at copying the Byzantine Empire.

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 14 – Otto III The Collapse of a Dream

Thanks again for sticking around. We are now on episode 14 and if you have listened to all the episodes until now and the three prologues, you have endured a touch over 8 hours of me droning on about long forgotten German rulers – you definitely ooze stamina.

I also need to make a correction. Last episode I said that during Otto III’s first expedition to Rome, Crescentius had appointed a priest as Pope John XVI who we know literally nothing about, no name, no background, nothing. Well, on further review I realised that the reason he is so obscure is because he did not exist. Note 1166c of the Regesta Imperii, where I got this nugget from is -to use a technical term – bollocks. The author struggled with counting pope Johns beyond number XV, so he invented one to make his failed maths add up, and I fell for it…GRRRR. And that also means Johannes Philagathos, the anti-pope Otto III had mutilated and deposed was John XVI, not John XVII – not that he much cared about that additional indignity. Apologies and I will now be super-vigilant to avoid such mistakes in the future, but no promises.

Let’s pick up our teenage hero where we left him last week. He had come down to Rome for a second time to bring his cousin, pope Gregory V back into the holy city from where he had been expelled by the prefect of Rome Crescentius II. Otto III had besieged and captured Crescentius had him beheaded, thrown from the walls of the Castel Sant’Angelo and finally strung up by his feet at the gallows of Monte Mario.

He then embarked on his most ambitious policy, the Restoration of the Empire of the Romans, which was actually more an attempt at copying the Byzantine Empire. He organised his court and administration along Byzantine lines awarding fancy Greek titles like Logothete and Strategus to his German senior aristocrats and prelates. He even had a Prefectus Navalis, a Lord Admiral, who sadly had no fleet. He also began to style himself as a Byzantine emperor. He dined alone at an elevated semi-circular table. If you take a look at the most famous image of Otto III, the one that I use for the artwork for this series, you see him clean shaven with a Byzantine style crown on his head, much larger than the figures surrounding him, sitting on a throne looking into the middle distance. Now compare that to the picture we have of Otto the Great, his mighty grandfather. Otto the great is shown as an imposing man but similar in height to the people surrounding him, including the figure kneeling in front of him. He has flowing locks, a beard and if you look closely, you can see his chest hair “like the mane of a lion” that he was so proud of. Clearly times have changed, and the emperor had distanced himself a long way from his Germanic roots. There was not a shred of the Primus inter Pares in this ruler.

At the same time as he presents himself as the all-powerful emperor, ruler of the whole world, his life as an extremely devout Christian begins. He makes pilgrimages to shrines where he humiliates himself by walking barefoot in rags up mountains or into cities.

The first of these pilgrimages leads him to the Monte Gargano in Puglia, Southern Italy. The Monte Gargano is the spur of the Boot of Italy, a mountainous peninsula that sticks out into the Adriatic. In a cave near the top of the mountain the archangel Michael is supposed to have appeared to the local bishop. The archangel Michael is the one who on the day of reckoning will divide humanity into those who go to hell and those who will rise up to heaven. Clearly a good guy to be on the right side of. Otto III climbs the mountain on his bare feet wearing a hare shirt regularly declaring himself unworthy and a sinner.

Only a few weeks after his return from Gargano he takes his friend, the bishop of Worms, and locks himself up in a holy cave near Rome to fast and pray. That is followed shortly afterwards by another pilgrimage to a nearby shrine.

This religious fervour will become a constant feature of his live from now on. He maintains a punishing fasting regime where he sometimes would not eat except for Thursdays and is likely to have worn a hair shirt all throughout the rest of his life.  Just for those of you who do not know what a hairshirt is. It is a garment woven from tough animal hair, usually goat, that is really, really uncomfortable. Some extreme penitents would weave in pieces of metal or glass to make the process even more painful.

His next great expedition is to pray at the grave of his old friend Adalbert in Gniezno in Poland. You may remember that Otto’s friend and spiritual mentor Adalbert had been killed by the Pruzzi, the ancestors of the Prussians. After his death Adalbert had almost immediately become revered as a martyr by people in Poland, Hungary, Bohemia and Germany. Maybe with some nudging on by Otto III, a synod in Rome formally canonised him in 999.

Otto III arrives in Poland in the spring of the year 1000 and is welcomed by Boleslav the Brave, duke of Poland. Boleslav pushes the boat out big time for his important visitor. He has his soldiers and nobles arranged in long columns in a field like an enormous choir. His subjects were told to put on all the bling they could find, cloth embroidered with precious metal, fur and shiny armour. This event is basically the Polish equivalent of the field of cloth of gold.

But it is much more than that. According to Polish chronicles Otto III found what he saw far exceeds the rumours he had heard of Boleslav’s wealth and power. And then, upon consultation with his great men, Otto III declared that such an eminent man should not be called merely a count or duke but should be elevated to the royal throne. Then, taking the imperial diadem from his head, Otto placed it on Boleslav’s head in a bond of friendship. And then he gives Boleslav a replica of the Holy Lance with a small shard of the nail of the cross in it.

The German chronicles are not completely in line with this. They do record a splendid reception by Boleslav, a bond of friendship and an elevation of Boleslav to become a “friend and ally of the Roman people”. But crucially they do not record an elevation to kingship.

I am not going to unpick all this here because if I did, the narrative would simply collapse. But do not worry, we will get to it.

After the great gathering Otto and Boleslav proceed to Gniezno, the place where Saint Adalbert is buried.  When he sees the city from afar, Otto gets off his horse, takes off his shoes and his imperial clothes and humbly walks into the town barefoot. At the church he is received by the bishop of Poznan who guides him in, the emperor kneels down in front of the sarcophagus of his friend and mentor, weeps profusely and prays for god’s grace through the intercession of the martyr.

Upon rising Otto declared the elevation of the church of Gniezno to an archbishopric. You may remember that in episode 11 Boleslav’s father, duke Miesco had essentially given the whole of Poland to the Pope as a donation. That had already weakened the link between the archbishopric of Magdeburg which was technically still in charge of Polish bishops. By creating the archbishopric of Gniezno, Otto III removed Poland from the control of the archbishopric of Magdeburg for good. The brother of Adalbert who had been ransomed by Boleslav is made the first archbishop of Gniezno and thereby the first primate of the Polish church. It also means that Poland is now separate from the Empire in terms of ecclesiastical organisation, which makes it easier to become independent in its secular relationships. You see the difference when you look at Bohemia or Czechia, where the bishop of Prague remains subordinated to Magdeburg for longer allowing the empire to integrate the Czechs.

Upon leaving Poland, Boleslav showers Otto III with gifts, including all the gold and silver vessels, goblets, drinking horns, bowls, platters and dishes, the carpets, bedding, towels, napkins, and anything else that had been used in the last three days. But Otto declines them as too valuable. What he does accept though were the 300 armed knights Boleslav threw in as well as an arm of St. Adalbert.

The two men now travel to Germany together, first to Quedlinburg where Otto holds a royal diet and then on to Aachen. In Aachen, the venerable capital of Charlemagne, things are getting ghoulish. Otto III ordered the grave of Charlemagne to be found and opened. When workmen lifted the floor of the imperial chapel in Aachen, they find great emperors last resting place. Let me now quote you the eyewitness report of count Lommo who was there with the emperor:

“He (Charlemagne that is) did not lie, as the dead otherwise do, but sat as if he was living. He was crowned with a golden crown and held in his gloved hand a sceptre. The fingernails had protruded through the gloves and stuck out. Above him was a canopy of limestone and marble. As we entered, we broke through this. At our entrance, a strong smell struck us. We immediately gave Emperor Charles our kneeling homage, and Emperor Otto robed him on the spot with white garments, cut his nails, and put in order the damage that had been done. Emperor Charles had not lost one of his members to decay, except only for the tip of his nose. Emperor Otto replaced this with gold, took a tooth from Charles’s mouth, walled up the entrance to the chamber, and withdrew again.”[1]

 Ok, I told you he would be a bit of a weird one. Again, I will not unpick this right now. Let’s follow the story to the end, take a breath – preferably of fresh air, and look at it then.

After these two rather unusual events, the rest of the trip through Germany is rather uneventful. The only significant matter that preoccupies Otto III in Germany is the re-establishment of the bishopric of Merseburg. You remember that the Slavic uprising in 983, when the Empire lost all its possessions east of the Elbe, was blamed on the blasphemous suppression of the bishopric of Merseburg. The background of that suppression had been that Otto II wanted to make his close friend and advisor, Giselher archbishopric of Magdeburg. But Giselher was already a bishop, the bishop of Merseburg and therefore wedded to his church in an unbreakable bond. Otto II suppressed Merseburg, making his friend free to become archbishop. That apparently upset god quite a bit so that he helped the pagan Slavs to throw off the German yoke.  Anyway, Otto III is now trying to reverse his father’s error. That however requires the bishop Giselher, who is still alive, to admit to the severe allegation of episcopal polygamy, i.e., being bishop of two diocese. Giselher the old weasel had been avoiding a public review of his status with endless excuses but had to accept a general council review in Rome. I will not bore you too much with this, but it matters in so far as Giselher was in no position to object to the creation of the archbishopric of Gniezno and subsequently the sovereignty of Poland.

And it matters because that was pretty much the only thing Otto III did in Germany. Despite almost 2 years of absence there seem to have been little for him to decide or do up north. This may be due to the fact that actually nothing much is happening, and everybody is happy …or the opposite.

And so, Otto returns to Italy is where we find him again in the summer of the year 1000. 

The situation in Italy has not improved during his absence. Do you remember king Berengar of Italy, the tormentor of Adelheid and general pain in the neck of Otto the Great? Well, he had a grand nephew, Arduin who for some reason was allowed to inherit their family fief, the March of Ivrea, after Berengar and his son had been locked up or exiled. That Arduin had now become the focal point of the anti-Ottonian party. These anti-Ottonians were not so much against the Ottonian rulers per se, they were more interested in church land. The Ottonians had, in a similar way to their policy in Germany, based their rule in Italy on the church, specifically the bishops and archbishops. By transferring land and privileges to the bishops the Ottonians could create the powerbase they otherwise lacked. However, the nobles of Italy and, interestingly, the growing urban population of Italy were pushing back. So, every time the Ottonian rulers left Italy to look after their possessions north of the Alps, the Italians start to take back the land from the abbots and bishops. Every time the emperor returns, he forces the nobles give the land back. Under Otto III these judgements to return land had become extremely harsh. At some point he was having a count hanged for stealing church land – quite an unusual and deeply humiliating punishment.

In the year 997 Arduin had upped the ante. Not content with taking the bishop of Vercelli’s land, he took his head as well. In return, by 1000 Arduin had all his own lands confiscated and passed on to the respective bishoprics. But he himself was still at large. When Otto III travelled through in 1000, Arduin’s son had been imprisoned in Pavia. But on Otto’s arrival the boy was allowed to escape suggesting the support for Arduin ran quite deep even in the Ottonian capital of Italy. Otto makes efforts to stabilise the situation and appoints a new margrave of Ivrea, but ultimately the situation remains fragile.

In an attempt to tip the balance in Otto’s favour he is creating close links to Venice. He had already stood as godparent to the doge’s son and had on multiple occasions granted positive judgements to Venice in its disputes with its neighbours. Venice constitutional position was a bit unclear. In principle it was part of the kingdom of Italy, but since Charlemagne had tried and failed to take the city, the Venetians pretty much did as they pleased. Venice is also beginning to build its Adriatic empire capturing cities along the Dalmatian cost. What makes the Venetians an incredibly valuable ally to Otto is their fleet. The empire has no ships at all, which is why it cannot capture the Byzantine cities in Southern Italy and there would be no way they could conquer the Muslim emirate of Sicily.

To strengthen the relationship with Venice he embarks on a cloak and dagger mission. One evening he claims to be ill and retires to his bedchamber in Ravenna. He slips out in the night and boards a Venetian ship that takes him down to the doge’s palace. There he and the doge meet in secrecy and discuss ways of closer cooperation. After three days, Otto III returns by the same way back to his bedroom in Ravenna. The next morning, he tells his friends and followers of the successful mission. What they have thought about that is not recorded and if it was, it would probably not be suitable for a family show. To put that in context, it would be not dissimilar to Donald Trump leaving the White House in the middle of the night, getting on a Russian plane and sitting down for a tete a tete with Vladimir Putin and then, against all the odds, being returned safe and sound after three days. So, not the weirdest thing he had done, but close.

Leaving the situation in Northern Italy as it is, Otto III travels to Rome. His cousin, pope Gregory V had died very suddenly in 999, just 27 years old. The rumour in Rome was that the curse the hermit Nilus had thrown at him for mutilating Johannes Philagathos had killed him. Not sure about that, my money is on malaria or some other disease that was rife in Rome.

Subsequently Otto III had appointed none other than his old friend and mentor Gerbert of Aurillac to be the new pope. Gerbert took the title of Sylvester II. That name is quite programmatic. The first pope of this name ruled during the times of emperor Constantine. He was the pope who laid the foundation of the relationship between the pope and emperor. Gerbert’s choice of name suggests he wants to create a new model for the relationship between pope and emperor.

Some key planks of the new relationship are becoming clearer. Otto declares the Constantine Donation the fake, that it undoubtably is. He then hands over the same lands to the pope but on his own free will. This makes the pope his vassal as far as the secular rule is concerned.

Otto further changes his title to “Servant of the Apostles and by the grace of god, the saviour, august emperor of the Romans.” The first part of the title is almost a copy of the papal title, who is the “servant of the servants of the lord,” whilst the second part is the title of the Roman emperors of old and the Byzantine emperors. In other words, Otto III sees himself as the secular ruler as well as the spiritual ruler at least equal or even above the Pope.

Sylvester II then embarked on church reform. He specifically tries to eradicate Simony, the buying and selling of church positions, and enforce celibacy. Like many other churchmen in Otto III’s circle he is influenced by the growing reform movement that is driven amongst others by the monastery of Cluny.

Otto III whilst eating his meals alone on his high table surveying his subjects must feel that things are very much in track. He has brought the imperial capital back to Rome, the church is being reformed in a joint effort of a pope and an emperor joined at the hip. He is creating a Byzantine Imperial bureaucracy with specific responsibilities for different offices. And at the same time, he looks after his soul and the souls of his people by praying and meditating. A Byzantine bride is on her way to Rome so that he can get working on prolonging the dynasty. 

But that was not last.

In January 1001 the citizens of Tivoli a town just 30 km east of Rome rebelled and killed the officer Otto had put in charge there. Otto takes his soldiers to Tivoli and the citizens quickly yield, handing over the murderers to the mother of the victim who forgives them. Otto III is merciful this time.

Not that it helped. A week later the people of Rome rebel. The rebellion includes even members of Otto’s court like the Prefectus Navalis, his chief admiral of the non-existing fleet. The papal administration may equally be involved given the papal reforms.

Things are getting not just tense but threatening. Otto III is surrounded by an armed mob in his newly built imperial palace, whilst his personal bodyguard is spread out across the city in different defensive structures. The larger armies of Henry of Bavaria and Hugh of Tuscany are even further away, camping outside the city walls.

After three days Otto and his men make a desperate attempt to break out. The bishop of Hildesheim took their confession and says a final mass. By nightfall Otto and his small band of friends take up their weapons. The desperate band of maybe 20 men crashes into the mob, following the Holy Lance glinting terribly in the hands of bishop Bernward. And they make it. Whether it was the sight of the holy relic, the sharp swords of the armoured men or the insanity of the whole action, the mob disperses and lets the emperor pass.

The next morning the situation improved a bit. The Emperor’s successful breakout encourages his supporters to come out of hiding. The people of Rome congregate at the tower where Otto is now holding out. From the top of the tower, he makes his most famous address:

“Are you not my Romans? For your sake I left my homeland and my kinsmen, for the love of you I have rejected my Saxons and all Germans, my own blood. I have led you to the most remote part of our empire, where your fathers, when they subjected the World, never set foot. Thus, I wanted to spread your name and fame to the end of the earth. I have adopted you as sons. I have preferred you to all others. For your sake I have made myself loathed and hated by all, because I have preferred you to all others. And in return you have cast off your father and have cruelly murdered my friends. You have closed me out, although in truth you cannot exclude me, for I will never permit that you, whom I love with a fatherly love, should be exiled from my heart. I know the ringleaders of this uprising and can see them with my eyes. However, they are not afraid although everyone sees and knows them.”  On that the mob grabs the ringleaders, beat them half to death and throw them at the emperor’s feet.

Otto returns to his palace on the Palatine, but it would never be the same. His military leaders, Henry of Bavaria and Hugh of Tuscany urge him to leave Rome and after two weeks he relents. The Imperator Augustus sneaks out of the holy city in the middle of the night. They initially camp outside the city hoping to subdue the inhabitants, but the army is too small and the summer heat pregnant with disease is on his way. Otto and Pope Sylvester retreat to Ravenna.

Otto requests more troops from his vassals in Germany which arrive slowly over time. He makes an initial attempt in May/June to take Rome again, but it takes too long, and he has to go back into the mountains to avoid the disease.

Over the autumn things in Germany are getting unstable. The bishops of Hildesheim and Magdeburg have entered into an epic fight over the extremely wealthy abbey of Gandersheim. The quarrel is involving more and more of the German nobles and bishops and at times escalates into military confrontation. As a consequence, sending soldiers down to support Otto’s manic fight over Rome is not high on the priority list of his vassals. There is even talk of insurrection, though the plotters fail to get support from Henry of Bavaria and whatever it was, peters out.

In December 1001 Hugh of Tuscany the main pillar of the Ottonian regime in Italy dies without an heir. His lands are quickly split up between his relatives, none of whom is as powerful and as loyal as Hugh had been.

In the meantime, some of Otto’s closest friends like Bernward of Hildesheim and his brother Thankmar have already returned to Germany.

Despite being somewhat underpowered Otto III marches on Rome. He gets ambushed by Roman troops and retreats into the fortress of Paterno, 60 km north of Rome. Otto begins to feel ill on January 11th, 1002. It is likely Malaria, an illness he may have caught as early as the summer of 999.[2] Despite his weakening state he insists on maintaining his fasting regime.

On January 24th Otto III dies surrounded by valuable but clearly not very effective relics and by some of his companions, including the pope, Sylvester II, his chancellor, Heribert of Cologne and his cousin Henry, duke of Bavaria.

The friends of the dead emperor try to keep his death secret. Heribert of Cologne sends some of the imperial regalia, in particular the Holy Lance ahead, whilst Henry of Bavaria takes command of the transport. He draws in troops from outlying fortresses as they move ahead. However, the news is spreading fast. Arduin of Ivrea breaks cover and his soldiers begin to attack the funeral cortege. Otto’s friends led by Henry of Bavaria fight their way north for 14 days until they finally reach the safety of Verona on February 7th. Behind them Otto III’s political system collapses. Arduin of Ivrea is elected as King of Italy and is crowned in the church of St. Michael in Pavia. Pope Sylvester is allowed to return to Rome, but his reforms are stopped, and he dies shortly afterwards.

And thus ends the dream of the Restoration of the Empire of the Romans.

But what was this Restoration of the Empire of the Romans? Was it real or just a hare-brained scheme of a very, very underfed adolescent?

If you ask two historians, you get three answers to this question. I could try to give you a run-down of the main theories, but that would take me at least an hour. Therefore, I will give you my take:

Otto III saw himself from his earliest days more as a Roman than a German. Roman in this context means Roman in the same way the Byzantines considered themselves Romans – i.e., the heirs of ancient Rome. This goes very deep, all the way back to the time of his abduction by Henry the Quarrelsome where his mother could only secure the guardianship by claiming that she and her offspring were under Roman, not German law.

Therefore, he wanted to create a Byzantine system of government with an all-powerful Emperor, a fixed capital and a functioning bureaucracy. Such a system was so far advanced from what they had in the Ottonian realm that it makes all the sense in the world to try to emulate that.

I said last time that it did not work because he had no tax income. Whilst this is not the only reason, others such as geography, German culture and customs, the role of the Pope and the emergence of Italian city states are others, to my mind it is the reason why even if the other ones had not existed, a simple replication of Byzantium would have failed.

What I do not know is whether Otto III realised that as well. It is quite unlikely he did. I find very little mention of tax in contemporary sources. Saint’s miracles outweigh economics 100 to 1 in the 10th century writing.

Whether consciously or not, Otto III tried to make up for the lack of tax income with another source of effective political power – religious devotion. We are at the beginning of what is known as the time of medieval piety, where people go on crusades to get absolution for their sins, when in the true sense of the word, sky-scraping cathedrals are built, and the church gets reformed. I will put a special episode on medieval piety out in the next few weeks.

Otto III’s extreme devotion, association with saints and hermits as well as his title as “Servant of the Apostles” taps into these developments. Positioning the Emperor as the moral and spiritual leader of the empire is not just a metaphysical position. As history tells, the moral authority of the pope has translated into secular power, land and armies. If Otto could have brought the power of the Germanic kings and the ecclesiastical authority of the pope together, he could have achieved something like a Restoration of the Empire of the Romans, even without taxes. A very different Empire of the Romans, but an Empire, nevertheless, ruled by a priest-emperor.

That is not to say that he did his acts of extreme devotion out of cold-hearted political calculation. I am pretty sure he was fasting and walking up mountains barefoot out of a deep desire to be forgiven for his sins not for material gain.

That notion of a priest-emperor is also what drives his policy towards Poland and Hungary. I cannot say whether or not Otto III really crowned Boleslav the Brave as King of Poland. It ultimately does not matter, because by 1025 Boleslav is definitely King of Poland and Poland itself a sovereign state. What matters more is the relationship between Poland and Germany. Even if Otto had crowned Boleslav to be King, he did see him as subordinate. Otto comes to Poland like an Ancient Roman Emperor making a neighbouring country a friend and ally of the Romans. That makes them a client nation, subordinated to the Empire, but not part of it and ruled by its own king, The Ancient Romans did that using their Legions. Otto III does not have those. He has found a different way. He comes as a pilgrim. His devotion and his rank make him out as a religious authority. And then he hands over a copy of the Holy Lance, not the original, as a sign of both friendship and subordination. That was enough for Boleslav to follow Otto to his, Otto’s, royal diet at Quedlinburg and Aachen. Boleslav presence is as good as paying homage to Otto III. That is what Otto III meant when he said to the Romans that he “led them to the most remote part of our empire, where your fathers, when they subjected the World, never set foot.”

A similar policy is employed towards Hungary – which we did not discuss. 

Did it work? Well, if we look at the situation in February 1002, the answer should be – not really. Or more precisely – total catastrophe.

Next week we will see what and also who will rescue what was left after the collapse. And we will see another priest-king, this time one that lasts longer and ends up an actual saint even if he fights the Christian poles in a coalition with the pagan Slavs. But that concept of the emperor being more and more a religious ruler will remain the great legacy of Otto III.

I know this was a really complex story. You may have noticed that I try to simplify things and frequently link the narrative back to previous episodes. Please let me know whether this is either annoying or whether it would help to have more link-backs. I am trying to find the balance between moving the story forward and not leaving anyone behind.

I am also working hard on a new and better website where I can post more background stuff like maps, photos and additional information which may help. Please have patience, it will come.

Until then, I hope you are still enjoying the podcast and I hope to see you next week.


[1] Altoff p. 105

[2] RI II,3n. 1450IVa

The consequences of the Hussite Wars 1419-1434

This week we bring the series about the reformation before the reformation to an end. It is time to take stock. What changes did 20 years of opposition to the established church and 15 years of war bring to Bohemia? How did Jan Hus, Jan Želivský, Wenceslas Koranda and Petr Chelčický influence Luther, Calvin, Zwingli, Müntzer and von Hutten? How did Zizka’s reform impact the Swiss mercenaries and the German Landsknechte?

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Transcript

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 183 – The Aftermath of a Revolution, also Episode 20 of the Reformation before the Reformation.

This week we bring the series about the reformation before the reformation to an end. It is time to take stock. What changes did 20 years of opposition to the established church and 15 years of war bring to Bohemia? How did Jan Hus, Jan Želivský, Wenceslas Koranda and Petr Chelčický influence Luther, Calvin, Zwingli, Müntzer and von Hutten? How did Zizka’s reform impact the Swiss mercenaries and the German Landsknechte?

But before we go there just a very brief reminder. The History of the Germans is, was and will be advertising free thanks to the generosity of our patrons who have signed up on historyofthegermans.com/support. And this week we want to thank Sven Klauke, Frandookie, Carl J., Shannon S., Dennis, Travis D., Werner G. and Niv Gal Waizer who have already signed up.

And with that mercifully short intro, back to the show.

Last week we came to the end of the Hussite revolution, which is usually set at 1434 the battle of Lipany that broke the power of the radical sects, the Taborites and Orebites, or 1437 the ascend of Sigismund to the throne of Bohemia as the universally accepted ruler of the kingdom.

This may be a sensible place to take a break and survey the outcome of these 20 years of upheaval.

Lets start with the toll in terms of human life.  

As always in the Middle Ages, numbers are very unreliable. Wikipedia has an unsupported but weirdly precise set of numbers indicating a loss of 1.3 to 1.8 million over the entire period all the way to 1526. However, the central academic estimate for the death toll of the Hussite Wars is around 100-200,000. The majority of the losses weren’t battle casualties, but civilian losses due to the devastation of fields and vineyards. In pre-modern times food supply was always precarious so that even temporary disruptions from foraging armes or deliberate destruction of fields could cause disastrous famines.  

That feels like a modest number compared to the millions who perished I the religious wars of the 16th and 17th century. But Bohemia is a small country so that modest number still adds up to roughly 10% of its population at the time. To put that in context, the French military deaths in World War One were 1.3-1.5m plus maybe another 0.5 to 0.8m civilian losses from starvation out of a population of 39.6 million, so roughly 5%. If you are looking for a death toll of 10% or more in recent times there is the Soviet Union which lost ~13.5% of its population during World War II, which included famine, genocide, deportation and disease.

As Laurence of Brezova, an eyewitness to these events, said quote: “As I consider the ruin, as varied as it is enormous, of the once famous and fortunate kingdom of Bohemia, [..[which [..] has been everywhere devoured as by a serpent and devastated by [..] internal conflict, my senses are dulled , and my reason, distraught with grief, declines from the vigour of its faculties.” End quote.

The recovery from this devastation took not only years but centuries. One key reason for this prolonged impact was the massive damage the Bohemian economy sustained during the conflict.

The pillar of the Bohemian economy in the High Middle Ages had been mining, specifically silver mining. We have been going on about the Mines of Kutna Hora so often, you must be tired of me taking about them. One of the outcomes of the conflict was that the trained mining engineers, most of whom had been German and catholic, left Kutna Hora in 1422 and the Czechs struggled to bring the production back to the levels they had been before the war. Plus the easier seams were exhausted and the remaining shafts were prone to flooding so that silver production dropped sharply. The other great mine in Joachimstal, the one which gave its name to the Thaler and ultimately the Dollar, opened only in 1512. So for much of the time during and after the Hussite wars, there was only moderate mining activity.

And we should not forget that in the 14th century Nürnberg devised a technology to separate silver from copper ore, something that yielded enormous profits for the city but left the localsy in Bohemia and Hungary with just the crumbs that fell off the table.

Then, before the Hussite Wars, Bohemia had not only experienced a massive building boom, in particular the construction of the New Town of Prague, the kingdom had also become more deeply integrated into the expanding European trade networks. Emperor Charles IV had tried to establish a new major trade route from Venice via Prague to Leipzig and into the Hanse territory as well as into Poland and Russia. Though this grand plan was only partially successful, mainly German speaking long distance merchants settled in Prague, Pilsen, Kutna Hora and many other cities.

As we have heard during the season about the Hanse, late medieval trade was largely based on trust. A merchant who sent his wares or his money to another city usually placed it with a dependable business partner or a branch of his own firm. These were pretty much the only options. The logistics of recovering  funds or merchandise lost to fraud were simply insurmountable. The duped trader would have had to go to the place where the fraud was committed, bring a case before the local court, in some cases under a legal framework different to what he was used to at home, and then hope the conman wouldn’t skip town. Hence we have trade networks like the Hanse which were based on a shared language, culture and social surveillance or the great Italian and Southern German firms with offices in all major trading centres.

By embracing the Hussite beliefs, even in its most moderate form, the Bohemians had made themselves suspects in the eyes of a still 100% catholic europe. Nobody wanted to trade with someone who had been labelled a heretic, whether justified or not. Once most Catholics had left Prague following the defenestration in 1419, the city was literally cut out of international trade. Staunchly catholic cities like Pilsen might have been able to maintain their relationships with the outside world, but the regular sieges and the incursions by Taborites and Orebites must have made things difficult. And for what that was worth, the Catholic church and the empire had issued a trade embargo on all of Bohemia.

After that embargo was lifted in 1437 and Catholics trickled back into Prague, reconstructing the old links remained a slow and painful process, often interrupted by the wild swings of Bohemian politics in the 15th and 16th century.

The second boost to economic activity that Charles IV had bequeathed the crown of Bohemia was the pilgrimage trade. He had placed literally hundreds of venerated relics into the churches of Prague and the great monasteries. The imperial regalia and the crown of St. Wenceslaus,  themselves objects of veneration, were displayed once a year in a grand procession that had brought in visitors from all across Europe.

But at the end of the Hussite wars, many of these relics had been destroyed and the monasteries burned down. The imperial regalia had transferred to Nürnberg. So that trade had also ceased.

Finally, the last great gift Charles IV had granted Prague had been the University. But the expulsion of the German nations in 1409, a withdrawal of the papal charter during the council of Constance, the burning of the books by the archbishop left the institution a mere shadow of its former self. Its role as the pre-eminent academic institution in the empire had initially gone to Heidelberg and Leipzig and many of the foundations of the 15th and 16th century still outpaced the oldest university in the empire.

To provide at least a little bit of silver lining, the translation of the bible into the common tongue and the emphasis Hussite beliefs placed on preaching, led to a rapid development of Czech as a literary language. As you may have noticed, I do not speak Czech, but I am sure some friendly Czech listeners may be able to point us to some interesting works from the period.

But overall, Bohemia lost touch with much of the early modern developments in art and philosophy. The emerging humanist ideas and writings took a long way to get there, as did the art of the early renaissance. At a time when Matthias Corvinus was creating his famous library in Hungary and Italian artists were busy embellishing Krakow, Bohemia clung to a late gothic style which I find very appealing, but wasn’t exactly cutting edge at the time.

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We have done population, economics and culture, which means we can now move to our more familiar territory of political history.

When a revolution comes to its end, it usually leaves behind winners and losers. And that is the case here too. The winners, by a wide margin were the barons, Hussite and Catholic alike. For one, they seized the vast majority of the former church lands and incorporated them into their personal property. It is quite remarkable that in the four articles of Prague it says explicitly that the church owning property is “to the disadvantage of their spiritual office and also of the temporal lords”. I will be looking out for a similarly blatant statement when we get to the Reformation.

Before the Hussite revolt, the church in Bohemia controlled around 30% to maybe even 35% of the arable land. At the end of the process, that had dropped to about 12%. And most of this land went to the barons and to a few members of the gentry who had become successful military leaders during the conflict. And it was not just the Hussite barons who salivated at the prosect of expelling monks from a rich abbey, the Catholics were at it as well.

Alongside the increase in wealth came another uplift in political influence. Bohemia was, as we know from way back in episode 146, an elective monarchy. That is how Sigismund’s grandfather, the blind king John gained the crown in the first place. Charles IV tried to shift this, but never managed to formally rescind the elective nature of the kingdom and had to confirm it in his Golden Bull. But like in the empire under the Ottonians and Salians, if there was a male heir who was competent, the election was more of a formality.

But now, after 20 years of war, which at least in part was a war over Wenceslaus IV’ succession, the elective element of the monarchy was put to the forefront. Sigismund had to confirm the right of the Land Diet to choose the monarch, and that diet was dominated by the great barons. The elective element would become even more important as Sigismund’s heir, Albrecht of Austria died after just 2 years on the throne in 1439, leaving behind a son who was born posthumously. And when that son died in 1457 without ever really taking control of Bohemia, the barons saw themselves entirely free to grant the crown to whoever they liked, which turned out to be one of their own, George of Podiebrad.

Beyond the right to elect their king, Sigismund had to make even further concessions. He had to accept the transfer of royal cities and castles to the barons, leaving the kings of Bohemia without resources. He passed a ban on promoting foreigners to any of the high offices of state and an obligation to consult the assembly of the kingdom on appointments, which turned into a de facto approval right. During the 1460s the barons also gained control of the local courts, rendering royal justice effectively defunct.

Since there wasn’t an effective king for almost the entire period between Sigismund’s death in 1437 and Georg of Podiebrad’s election as king in 1458, the running of the kingdom was in the hands of the Bohemian diet where the barons outnumbered the gentry and the cities.

Which then gets me to the cities. As we have seen Prague, Pilsen and Tabor featured as major players during the Hussite wars, fielding armies and signing treaties. Other places like Hradec Kralove, Kutna Hora etc. also mattered. These cities had developed a significant degree of autonomy, held something akin to elections to the city council, and in the case of Tabor and its affiliates, had a very distinct history and culture. Hence one would expect them to remain of importance post the revolution. But that wasn’t the case. The barons teamed up with Sigismund to strip the cities from the right to appoint their military captains. Without control of their military force and subject to the courts owned by the barons, the cities were defenceless and lost more and more influence.

That being said, the biggest losers were the peasants. In a republic of barons, you do not want to toil the land. Whilst in most of europe the Black dDeath had led to an increase in wages for labourers and a reduction in feudal obligations, in Bohemia, serfdom returned with a vengeance. Peasants who had fled into the cities, even into places like Tabor, could be forced to return to their previous home and bondage. In the persistent economic depression and the continued upheaval even free peasants were gradually pushed into submission under a tiny landowning elite.

Bohemia would be a land ruled by a few dozen barons who controlled the state and the royal assembly, up until 1618. When the Habsburg monarchs tried to impose not just religious but also political control on the Bohemians, it came to the second Prague defenestration, which triggered the Thirty Years war, a war even more devastating than the Hussite Wars.

Having done Politics, it is time to move on to the other topic one should never raise at a dinner party – religion. In the broadest of brushes, the situation developed as follows.

The formerly moderate Hussites moderated further and further as time went on. At the beginning of the 16th century there was really very little that distinguished the Hussite Utraquist church from traditional catholic Christianity, except for the offer of bread and wine during services and the veneration of Jan Hus as a saint. The formally catholic church had never disappeared from Bohemia, as we know several regions, around Pilsen and in southern Bohemia had remained catholic all throughout. But as part of the compacts of Basel catholic priests and monks were allowed to return. They reopened the monasteries and churches, collected endowments from the faithful and slowly and steadily rebuilt their presence. It is also important to remember that the crown of Bohemia comprised not just Bohemia but also Moravia, Silesia and Lusatia. These territories had in the main rejected Hussitism. That meant that as the crown of Bohemia reconsolidated, the overall entity was almost split 50/50 between the now very moderate Hussites and the old school Catholics.

Then what happened with the Taborites and Orebites and some of the even more radical splinter groups? Well, as we heard last week, their military power was broken at the battle of Lipany in 1434. However, they were able to continue their spiritual independence. They had their own bishop and their own liturgy. But that lasted only until 1452 when Tabor got caught between the political powers in the land, was besieged by king Georg of Podiebrad, defeated and turned into a royal city under the Utraquist church.

Those who did still yearn for a different approach formed the Unity of the Brethren. The Brethren were a lot closer to the original ideas of Jan Hus.  Their founding thinker was Peter Chelčický. He is another one of these people I would produce a whole episode on if this show was called the history of europe and not the history of the Germans. But briefly. He took his cues from the sermon of the mount. That led him to reject the institutions of the church and the state, but most importantly led him to reject any form of violence. He preached tolerance and turning the other cheek, not to repay evil with evil. He embraced many early Taborite ideas on communal living and sharing of resources.

The brethren being strict pacifists were tolerated within Bohemia until the counterreformation. After the battle of White Mountain in 1620 any non-catholic beliefs were persecuted so that the brethren were forced underground. Some moved to Moravia, others further afield. Of those who lived in hiding in Moravia, a small group left for Berthelsdorf a noble estate near Gorlitz in Saxony.  Its owner, Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf welcomed them and gave them land where they established a new village they called Herrnhut. The community thrived and triggered a revival of the Unity of Brethren. They became known as the Moravians and thanks to a proactive missionary activity are today a protestant community of over 700,000 with a strong presence Tanzania, the Caribbean and in the US. Their ideas had a major impact on Methodists, Baptists and the evangelical movement more broadly.

Which leaves the most important question for us, how did the Hussite revolt impact religious thought in the German speaking parts of the empire.

The first thing to say, and I believe that it is not at all controversial is that there are an incredibly large number of parallels between the ideas of Jan Hus, Jan Zelivsky, Wenceslaus Koronda, Petr Chelčický, the Taborites, Zizka, the Orebites etc. on the one hand and Luther, Calvin, Zwingli, Melanchthon and so forth on the other.

Both demanded freedom to preach based on the bible in the vernacular language. They demanded a return to the church of the apostles, where priests did not yield temporal power or had enormous wealth. They offered the sacrament in the form of bread and the wine, dismissed the saints, the adoration of the Virgin Mary and had an iconoclastic bent.

And even some of the set piece events have an eery similarity. The offer of safe conduct to Constance and to Worms, an emperor present at the disputations. Then there was the expansion of Ottoman power that forced both Sigismund and Charles V away from the centre of religious dissent, giving the reformers enough breathing space to disseminate their ideas.

But as we bankers say, correlation is not causation. The fact that both movements came to similar conclusion could have been down to Luther, Calvin or Zwingli reading the books of Hus or the millennial sermons of the Taborites.  Or it may have been down to the fact that the bible is pretty unambiguous in its description of the primitive church and the gap between that ideal and the lived reality of the church in the 15th as well as the 16th century was totally obvious.

As you know we have not yet done the Reformation and my experience after four years of doing this podcast is that I usually regret statements I make looking forward in our timeline. Therefore, with the caveat that I have only read a limited set of sources, it is my understanding that Martin Luther had at best only a sketchy understanding of the Hussite revolt when he drafted his 95 theses. It was only when his opponent, Johann von Eck pointed out to him how close his ideas were to Jan Hus’ writings that he realised the similariies. He first read Hus’ main works, de Ecclesia in 1519 and it took him until 1522 before he publicly stated that Jan Hus and Jerome of Prague had been innocent.

It is therefore difficult to argue that the Hussite revolt directly influenced the Reformation. But it may well have had an indirect influence. Luther himself may not have been aware, but it is unlikely that such audacious ideas and dramatic events as we have discussed these last few weeks left no imprint in the collective memory of the empire. Or did it?

There is something that strikes me as odd. We have been talking about the relationship between empire and papacy for years now. And in this context we have noticed a strong anti-papal, if not anti-clerical undercurrent in the general opinion of the German speaking people of the empire. After all, a half dozen emperors had been excommunicated and could still rely on the support of their people, even their bishops. Ludwig the Bavarian was the most obvious example of an emperor who remained outside the church for most of his reign, was never legally crowned and gathered the Kurverein zu Rhense that rejected papal influence on the empire.

At which point one wonders why the Hussite ideas did not resonate with the German speaking peoples. Instead they mustered crusades against them and their ideas did seemingly not circulate broadly amongst theologians in German universities.

And that gets us to the bit which may become controversial. The idea that springs to mind is that the Hussite revolt had some very strong nationalist overtones. And that not just in 19th century historiography, but our friend Laurence of Brezova who write his chronicle right in the midst of these events, never misses an opportunity to paint the Germans as evil. And likewise, the towns and cities near the Bohemian border may not have looked fondly on to the Hussite armies that came across burning and plundering.

But I am not sure that Hussitism was really mainly a national movement for the Czechs that the Germans rejected as foreign.

Because the idea all Czechs were Hussites is obviously not true. Cities like Pilsen and barons like Ulrich von Rosenberg were catholic and undeniably Czech. The accusers of Jan Hus in Constance weren’t Germans but Czechs and their judges included more French and Italians than Germans. Meanwhile Prokop the Shaven, the military leader of the Taborites for 10 years was from the German minority in Bohemia and during the time of Jan Hus, sermons were also preached in German at the Bethlehem Chapel.

The reason the Germans in Bohemia sided in the main with the Catholics had probably more economic than spiritual reasons. Their networks as long distance traders or mining specialists stretched beyond the borders of the kingdom and if they wanted to maintain these links, they had to at least formally stay with the catholic church. That does not justify the massacres in Kutna Hora, but it does explain why this community in the main refused to join the Hussite movement.

So my thesis is a fairly simple one. The reason that Jan Hus and the other Hussite thinkers were unknown in German speaking lands lay in the fact that they discussed and published much of their ideas in Czech. Sure many foundational texts were initially written and published in Latin. But the scholarship that developed around it was conducted in Czech.

And if you realised one thing over the last few episodes, it is that Germans really cannot pronounce Czech words. And that may be the main reason Jan Hus revolutionary and I find profoundly convincing ideas did not make it to Germany. Luther had to find it out all by himself, like Peter Valdes, the Cathars, St. Francis, St. Peter Damian, Michael of Cesena, William of Ockham, Marsilius of Padua and dozens and dozens and dozens of others.

There was however one thing the Hussites developed, that was unique and that the Germans embraced enthusiastically. And that were the military innovations of Jan Zizka. The transfer was not direct but went through the Swiss mercenaries who were the first to take on Zizka’s military doctrine of discipline, meritocracy and equal sharing of the loot. They replaced the Wagenburgs with pike and shot squares which are based on a similar idea of defending against cavalry attacks through interlocking units, low cost cut and thrust arms and the use of artillery.

Their version of Zizka’s ideas was then absorbed by the Landsknechte in Maximilian’s military reforms. I am sure we will discuss this change in military tactics and the subsequent change in the social hierarchy in more detail in an upcoming episodes, so I will not elaborate too much at this point.

Which brings us to the end of this episode and the end of this season. I hope you enjoyed our somewhat elongated excursion into Bohemia. We will almost certainly return when we discuss the rise of the Habsburgs and it is unlikely to be the last time our story will take us to foreign shores. It is one of the weird things about German history that a lot of the action consists of the key protagonists heading out to neighbouring places. For a long time the empire was simply too big for anyone to invade. But once they did, they did not stop for 200 years, and boy will we be busy talking about that.

But before we do any of this, we will do our little tour of the empire, taking it all in in its late medieval, half-timbered glory. I am still in the process of planning it so that I cannot guarantee we will start immediately next week. I might slot in a short episode on Barbara of Cilli or simply take a week off. Let’s see. I hope you will join us again…

And in the meantime, if you want to induce me to work harder and faster, there is always the historyofthegermans.com/support page where you can make a contribution.

Reconciliation Between Hussites and the Catholic Church

We have a tendency to overlook the history of the smaller European nations even though they do quite often provide the laboratory where one could have seen the sign of things to come or calamities that could be avoided. One of these nations is Czechia, where events took place that could, should or did impact the History of the Germans, in 1989, in 1968, in 1938, in 1618 and in 1419-1437. Today we will talk about the very last one on this list, the moment when a complete confessional split was prevented, something Martin Luther, emperor Charles V and pope Leo X so disastrously failed to manage a hundred years later.

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Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 182 – The Return of the King, also episode 19 of Season 9 The Reformation before the Reformation

We have a tendency to overlook the history of the smaller European nations even though they do quite often provide the laboratory where one could have seen the sign of things to come or calamities that could be avoided. One of these nations is Czechia, where events took place that could, should or did impact the History of the Germans, in 1989, in 1968, in 1938, in 1618 and in 1419-1437. Today we will talk about the very last one on this list, the moment when a complete confessional split was prevented, something Martin Luther, emperor Charles V and pope Leo X so disastrously failed to manage a hundred years later.

I will also provide links in the show notes to books or podcasts relating to the other events in case you want to read ahead.

But before we start just another important warning. If you want to sign up on Patreon rather than on my recently revamped historyofthegermans.com/support website, be very, very careful not to do it on the Patreon app on your iPhone. If you sign up using your iPhone, Apple will add a shocking 30% surcharge to your contribution, which also attracts tax. That comes on top of an 8% Patreon charge, a 10+1% PayPal charge plus tax. What that means is that if you sign on at the highest, the Kurfürst level, as one listeners so kindly did yesterday, you may be charged $15, of which I will receive just $9.58 and that is before they rip me off on the exchange rate. If you were making the same contribution on the historyofthegermans.com/support page, my total expense would ~4%, meaning I would receive $14.4 from this exceedingly generous patron.

Note that the 30% surcharge only applies to new patrons and only if you use the patreon app on your iPhone. And it only kicked in this week. That is why I have not yet pushed you guys to move across to the new platform. However, it is be something you may consider.  One of the perks on the new platform is the History of the Germans Forum where you can discuss all matters relating to the podcast and German history with your fellow listeners and with me.

As for the website, it is being gradually translated into German as we speak. This may take a few months to get through, but it is in progress. I hope you enjoy this and you may want to send the link to some of your friends who prefer reading the history in German.  

Which gets me to my before last point. Many of you have responded to the question about what we want to do next. And whilst this is definitely not a democracy, if the overwhelming majority of you want to do a tour of the empire, we will do a tour of the empire. I am actually quite excited about it and have already done some initial research.

And all that, the website translation, the forum and the next season is only possible because so many of you have signed up on historyofthegermans.com/support. And in particular I want to thank  Harold W., The exceedingly generous Robert MacMillan, Lars S., Hunter T., Mari V., Peter K., Felix and Matthias T. who have already signed up.

And with that, back to the show

Last week we ended on the death of Jan Zizka, the man who turned the Bohemians into a near invincible military force. Though the story of his skin being used as a drum that led his followers to victory is almost certainly fake, the Hussites remained undefeated for another 10 years.

The neighbors of the kingdom, in particular the empire mustered a total of five crusades to put an end to the heresy they found so difficult to accept.

The first crusade was led by Sigismund in 1420 and ended with the battles on Vitkov Hill and Vhysehrad. An alleged 150,000 crusaders returned without anything to show for, except some ransacked villages and burnt Hussite priests.

The second crusade in 1421 ended with the imperial forces running away when they heard a Hussite army approaching. Sigismund’s not quite simultaneous attempt ended with the battles of Kutna Hora and Nemecky Brod where his heavy cavalry drowned in the ice cold Sazava river.

The third crusade in 1423 was such a comprehensive failure that the only one to muster an army at all was king Eric VII of Denmark, who turned around before even getting to the Bohemian border.

The fourth crusade in 1426 ended with the battle of Aussig. Frederick the Belligerent of Saxony had invaded Bohemia in 1425 but got stuck in the town of Usti, or Aussig. His wife, the electress Katherine sent reinforcements, allegedly 30,000 men. This time the crusaders were a little more enthusiastic. They believed that the success of the Hussites had been down to the genius of Jan Zizka and that after his death things would be easier. And they had come up with ideas to break through the Wagenburgs. The knights had brought axes and hammers to break the retaining chains between the wagons. And they did indeed break into the circle of wagons, but found the Hussite cavalry had left around the back and was now attacking their flanks and their rear. This battle left a large number of Saxon, Lusatian and Thuringian nobles dead on the battlefield.  

Frederick I of Saxony the Belligerent died in 1428 and was succeeded by Frederick II of Saxony, the gentle, which must have calmed things down a lot on that border.

The fifth and final crusade got under way on August 1, 1431. Though Sigismund had initially promised to lead the effort in person, he ceded command to Frederick of Hohenzollern, the Elector of Brandenburg. On August 14 the army which had begun a siege of the city of Domažlice (Domaschlitze), heard the sound of Hussite warriors singing “Ye Who are Warriors of God” and ran, all 150,000 of them.

These were the major actions. But alongside those ran dozens of smaller ones. The main actors here were on the catholic side duke Albrecht of Austria who had received Moravia from Sigismund as dowry of his daughter Elisabeth, the Brandenburg and Saxon electors. Albrecht wanted to protect his dowry and the other two were trying to add to their property portfolio with a side dish of a free ticket to paradise.

But more significant than these incursions into Bohemia were the “glorious rides” the Hussite armies led into Franconia, Austria, Silesia and even Prussia. These took place mainly in the late 1420s and early 1430s. They could best be described as funding rounds. The armies or brotherhoods of Tabor and of Horeb were not only an extremely effective weapon, they were also a standing army that was extremely expensive to maintain. One way of funding them would have been to collect taxes in the territories the two radical factions controlled, but who would want to do that. The next best option was to rent them out as mercenaries in times Bohemia was comparatively quiet, and finally one could  fund them out of the plunder they made during their campaigns.

The problem with the latter option was that many of these initial campaigns had taken place inside Bohemia and after a decade of war, the economy was on its knees, the rich had lost everything or had fled and the country was utterly destroyed. Hence sparing their fellow Czechs and looting Austrians, Franconians, Saxons and Silesians was the patriotic thing to do.

These Hussite reizen were anything but glorious for their reluctant hosts. As we have heard, even battle hardened soldiers were terrified of the religious warriors from Bohemia. So they encountered barely any resistance to their ransacking and pillaging. Cities closed their gates and paid them off, whilst villages and open towns had to let them do what they wanted to do.

In July 1432 such a Hussite army lay before Naumburg, home to a bishopric and deep inside the empire. The citizens ware terrified and pleaded with Prokop the Shaven, the new priest leader and military commander of the Taborites. In their despair they sent out their children to the Hussite camp, the boys and girls wearing white shirts as a sign of submission and penance. They were singing and begging for mercy.

And here is their song – don’t panic, I will not sing it, I leave that to Rock on Stage from Naumburg

SONG

Just in case you were surprised about the upbeat tone of the song, here is the translation:

The Hussites marched before Naumburg

over Jena and Camburg;

all over the Vogelwies

you saw nothing but sword and spear,

about a hundred thousand.

Now when they lay before Naumburg

there came a great lamentation;

Hunger tormented, thirst hurt,

and a single lot of coffee

came to sixteen pfennigs.

It then goes on for a while and ends with Prokop the Shaven choosing not to massacre the little ones. Instead he gave them cherries and

then drew his long sword,

commanded: ‘Turn right!

Leave Naumburg behind’

And ever since the city of Naumburg celebrates a Hussite Cherry festival at the end of June with medieval processions, a market and music.

Unfortunately the idea of the generous, cherry distributing Hussite general is as much made up as the idea you get a cup of coffee for 16 pfennig. The Hussites did not go to Naumburg in 1432, but Bohemian Mercenaries did show up in a war between the heirs to the duchy of Saxony 25 years later and the whole thing with the cherries came up in the 16th century as a festival. Still Augst von Kotzebue wrote a patriotic play that for very good reasons is no longer performed and Salieri wrote an entire opera, which is still performed and which you hear in the background. Ah, and Naumburg is not the only one celebrating these Hussite invasions. The city of Bernau, near Berlin has one too, as does Neunburg vorm Wald.

What is nice is that this whole rather blood-soaked story has turned not just into a number of jolly festivals, but has also brought several Czech, German and Austrian towns together to form the Hussitische Kulturroute where you can follow either Jan Hus’ journey from Prague to Konstance or do a tour of the major battle fields of the war, all in the spirit of reconciliation.

But the reality was still pretty horrific. These clashes between Hussites and their neighbors were terrifying the inhabitants of the border regions and inside Bohemia warfare never completely stopped..

It must have been clear to all observers that this conflict had no military solution. If it had not been obvious after Sigismund’s defeat at Nememtzky Brod, then Aussig should have made that abundantly clear. But some people still need another reminder, which came in the fifth crusade. After that pretty much everybody knew that this was it.

The only question that remained was the following|: Would Europe simply isolate the Hussites and leave them to live their lives under a different religion, or could there be a reconciliation that reopened the borders?

It was time for diplomacy. Some key players, like king Jogaila of Poland and margrave Friedrich of Hohenzollern had kicked things off before the fifth crusade had even started. The whole process took almost 6 years, but before we get into the who did or said what when, let’s just take a look at how incredibly convoluted the situation had become in the 1430s.

At the heart of all this stood the religious differences between the catholic church and the Hussites. The Hussites had been kind enough to narrow down their key demands into the four articles of Prague, which were:

  1. That the Word of God shall be freely and without hindrance proclaimed and preached by Christian priests in the kingdom of Bohemia
  2. That the Holy Sacrament of the body and blood of Christ under the two kinds of bread and wine shall be freely administered to all true Christians who are not excluded from communion by mortal sin.
  3. That since many priests and monks hold many earthly possessions against Christ’s command and to the disadvantage of their spiritual office and also of the temporal lords, such priests shall be deprived of this illegal power and shall live exemplary lives according to the Holy Scripture, in following the way of Christ and the apostles.
  4. That all mortal sins, and especially those that are public, as also other disorders contrary to the divine law, shall be prohibited and punished by those whose office it is so that the evil and false repute of this country may be removed and the well-being of the kingdom and of the Bohemian nation may be promoted.

These ideas, maybe with the exception of #4 had a sound basis in the way the original church of Christ and the apostles had been set up. There was not an awful lot in the bible the catholic church could use to refute these demands. However, these ideas would have been the end of the church organization as it had developed over the previous 400 years, basically since emperor Henry III had placed Leo IX on the papal throne and Gregory VII had laid down his Dictatus papae.

Basically the Hussites demanded the Catholic Church in its current form dissolves and the Catholic Church wanted the Hussites to give up on the demands of God.

This was an ideological rift as deep as that between communism and capitalism.

If history teaches us one thing, it is that political expediency can bridge even the deepest ideological divides, just look at the expansion of the Chinese economy, a country still at least nominally communist.

This is however a far as the China/America comparison goes, since the key negotiators, Sigismund and Procop the Shaven were no Richard Nixon or Deng Xiao Ping.

Let us start with Sigismund. The word that is most commonly associated with him is “ueberfordert” which is something like “overstretched” or “out of his depth” or “unable to cope”. I know, this is German efficiency, we need just one word to say all this.

What it relates to is the almost impossible situation he found himself in. Let me try to summarize his main problems in bullet points:

  1. The Ottomans were at the gates of Belgrade, had a much superior military and a huge appetite for land and treasure.
  2. The Venetians had left the seclusion of their lagoon and were taking control of territories along the Dalmatian coast, aka Croatia, and in the Northern Italian mainland. The former was part of Sigismund’s Hungarian kingdom and the latter was part of the empire he was also in charge of.
  3. The Teutonic Knights and Poland had entered their own 100 years’ war that only concluded with the dissolution of the order in Prussia in 1525. Sigismund was dragged into the conflict in his role as king of the Romans and hence protector of the order whilst Poland Lithuania was of huge importance for his Bohemian and Hungarian kingdoms.
  4. Then there was the expansion of the duchy in Burgundy. In 1428 duke Philip the Good took over the counties of Holland, Hainault and Zeeland, and added them to the Franche Comte, Brabant, Geldern and Luxemburg that had been picked up already. The dukes of Burgundy were nominally vassals of France, but vey much on the way to creating their own state. What they were not, was faithful vassals of the empire. Something that applied equally to the dukes of Lorraine, the counts of Provence and anyone else in the Rhone Valey. Basically the whole western side of the empire was sailing off into the sunset.
  5. Talking about the empire, Sigismund’s attempts to establish functioning institutions and a funding system for an army to defend it got stuck. Being busy with items 1-4 meant, the empire was left pretty much to its own devices resulting in the chaos we discussed in episode 179.
  6. Then we have the minor issue that Sigismund had not yet been crowned emperor despite having been elected 20+ years earlier.
  7. And then, finally, but most importantly, Sigismund was seen as responsible for the Bohemian mess, and not only by the Hussites, but by the Pope, the princes and cities as well.

These were only the major issues he had to deal with. There were a lot of other, minor issues, like a difficult marriage to one of the more interesting female figures of the age, Barbara of Cili, who may warrant her own episode.

What made his situation completely untenable was his utter lack of resources. The Hungarian kingdom would only grant funds for the defense of the kingdom, but would not pay for his efforts in any of the other theatres he was involved in. Of his father’s bountiful possessions, Bohemia, Moravia, Luxemburg, Brandenburg, Silesia all he still had was Silesia, the rest was in revolt, sold, pawned, enfeoffed or handed over as dowry of his daughter. He was almost constantly begging for cash, at one point he pawned his crown and he started a cash for honours trade where he – amongst others –  granted the Gonzagas in Mantua the title of margrave in exchange for 12,000 gold coins.

All he had going for him was his charm, intelligence and the prestige as ruler of the empire. In a world were might was right, that did not account for much, which makes what happened next so impressive.

Sigismund never had a very clear political direction. All these various challenges left him swaying this way and that, desperately trying to find a path through these complex scenarios.

But one thing was clear to him. If he ever wanted to regain the position his father had occupied in European politics, and that was very much what he wanted, he needed to have control of a rich and militarily powerful territory. And after trying all sorts of other routes to riches and military might, he settled on Bohemia as the rich and militarily powerful territory he needed to regain if he ever wanted to be an effective emperor.

But that came with an irresolvable conundrum.

He could become king of Bohemia on the back of the support of moderate Hussites and catholic barons if only he signed up to some version of the four articles of Prague. But if he did that, he would at a minimum be deposed by the Prince Electors of the empire and may even lose Hungary as well.

On the other hand, he had tried to take Bohemia by force which failed and after the debacle of the fifth crusade, there was an exactly zero chance of success down that route.

Which means the only viable way to become king of Bohemia and with it an effective emperor, was to forge a reconciliation between Hussites and Catholics which means getting the church to accept some version of the four articles of Prague as canon, whilst at the same time preventing any actual change in church institutions from happening.

And, assuming such language could be agreed upon, he then had to convince the Hussites, who hated him as the man who had burned Jan Hus, and the catholic church, who suspected him as a closet heretic to make him king.

Piece of cake!

There was one thing however that made it at all possible. There was a new church council under way. The old Pope, Martin V, the one that had been elected at the council of Constance had – after much hemming and hawing – finally allowed a gathering of the bishops of all of Christendom to take place. And at this council the delegates were to debate church reform. If you remember, the council of Constance singularly failed to make any material progress on that matter. (Episode 173).

This council, the council of Basel wasn’t off to a great start. When the papal legate opened the event in September 1431, there was hardly anyone there. Things only got under way properly when the new pope, Eugene IV tried to dissolve it. The council responded by reiterating that its authority was superior to papal powers  and by opening proceedings to depose pope Eugene IV. At that point a lot of bishops experienced a severe case of FOMO and made their way to Basel.

The situation was now quite precarious. This could easily end up in another schism,  dissolution of the council or, best case, a transfer of the council to somewhere in the papal states where the pope would have a lot more control.

If any of these things had happened, the reconciliation between Hussites and the Catholics would be off the table. Martin V and his successors had been working hard to turn the wheel of time back to the days before the schism. In their heart of hearts, they wanted to do away with church councils, church reform and if at all possible, the Hussites.

Which is what brings Sigismund on to the stage. If there is one thing he is good at, it is getting popes to recognize church councils. In 1432/33 he travels down to Rome. The journey was anything but easy given he was in an on and off war with Venice, had no money and his allies, the duchy of Milan and the Republic of Florence were weary of the fighting. But he made it down to the eternal city and on May 31st, 1433 he was finally crowned emperor, aged 65 and suffering horribly from gout.

This coronation, though sparsely attended and badly received by everyone, the Hussites, the church and even the imperial princes, did however guarantee the survival of the council. Pope Eugene IV’s main worry was that the council would depose him. That is why he wanted to dissolve it. Sigismund explained that he could control the council, in part through the strength of his personality, but mainly because he had troops stationed inside and around Basel. So, you, master pope, would be well advised to tie Sigismund to your side. Now, if you crown Sigismund as emperor, he would not only be in your debt, he would also be incentivized to keep you on the throne of St. Peter. After all, the last thing Sigismund wants is to come back to the Empire and find that the pope who had crowned him was illegitimate and with it the whole coronation as well. At which point he would have to go down to Rome again, and he really, really did not want to do that.

So they made a deal, the pope crowned Sigismund, Sigismund promised to keep him in place and Eugene called off the dissolution of the council, at least until that Hussite question was resolved.

And with that the first hurdle was taken. The Hussites had a negotiation partner that wasn’t the irreconcilable pope, but a council of theologians and the council’s decision would be binding on any future pope.

But this was only level one.

The theological problems remained.

A first round of negotiations had taken place in 1432 in the city of Cheb  which is called Eger in German. There both sides agreed that a resolution would be sought quote “by the Law of God and the practices of Christ, the apostles and the early church, along with the teachings of the Councils and the doctors confirming truly thereto” end quote. That was something both moderate and even the Taborites and Orphans could agree to. In fact the military and spiritual leader of the Taborites, Prokop the Shaven was at that meeting and signed on the dotted line. As did the four delegates of the council of Basel.

The Hussites were looking at this “the judgement of Cheb” as a great success. If this was the basis of the upcoming conversation at the council. Surely the whole of mother church would come round to their way of thinking.

In 1433 a delegation of four Hussite leaders came to Basel to hammer out the deal. This time Prokop the Shaven was not amongst them, his place was taken by an Englishman, Peter Payne, who had come to Bohemia way back in 1413 to live by the teachings of John Wycliffe and Jan Hus.

What followed was a slow and scholastic grinding down of the Hussite positions. It was the bishop of Barcelona, Juan Palomar, who described the Czechs as “wild horses who need to be have a halter put on their heads so that they could be captured, tamed and fastened to the manger”.

A statement not exactly dripping with respect for the theological  persuasiveness of the Hussite delegation.

So the negotiators played around with draft after draft, wearing the other side down until each of the articles was adorned with one of Palomar’s halters.

Yes, there will be communion in both kinds, but only to those who have already received it and only if the priest makes clear that the bread alone would be enough.

 Yes, sins shall be punished, but not by the individuals, only by the institutions of the state.

Yes, preaching is free, but only as long as it does not undermine the authority of the church.

And finally, the money question, i.e., should the church remain poor. Well, yes and no. There was no explicit restitution of the lands and properties of the church, but from now on the Catholics could receive endowments from the faithful again.

Even if you are neither a lawyer nor a theologian, it is pretty obvious what has happened here. Somebody had been – as the Germans would say – been pulled across the table. And the horse whisperer Juan Palomar was the one doing the pulling.

News of this compact as it would later be called were not received with enthusiasm back in Bohemia. The Taborites and Orebites saw right through this. That would be the end of their religious beliefs. And remember, for them the four articles were the bare minimum. Their creed went a lot further than that. A gelded version of the four articles were unacceptable to them.

At which point the civil war inside Bohemia resumed in full force. For the last years the foreign raids had provided an outlet for the more belligerent Hussites so that they left their homeland largely in peace. But with the compact, it had again become a question of defending the faith.

The Taborites and Orebites besieged Pilsen but found resistance stronger than anticipated. They also struggled to provision their troops as support amongst the local population had waned. A detachment sent out to procure food and material from across the border was defeated, the first such defeat since Zelivsky was mauled in 1422.

Things got even more precarious when the two cities of Prague went up against each other. After Zelivsky’s fall The Old Town had fully reverted back to its conservativism and its alliance with the Barons, whilst the New Town had shifted left again and allied closely with the Orebites. On May 5, 1434 the Barons brought their troops into the Old Town, pooled together with the councilors and attacked the New Town. The New Town could not hold out and was sacked by the soldiers whilst prominent radicals were arrested.

That was the call to arms. On May 30th, the Orebites and Taborites under Prokop the Shaven and Prokop the lesser lined up against the barons, catholic and Hussite, and the city of Prague to fight it out, once and for all. The commanders on both sides had fought together before, they had been pupils of Zizka and they knew how to handle this sophisticated, disciplined, deadly military machine.

The commander of the conservatives, Divis Borek of Miletinek had been the governor of Hradec Kralove Jan Zizka had expelled which had led to the previous battle between Prague and the radicals. This time he would not yield to the brotherhoods.

Both sides set up their wagon burgs near the village of Lipany. Divis was the first to attack. His infantry ran up the hill on to the Taborite and Orebite defenses and was repulsed. In apparent panic they retreated and fled down the hill. The two Prokops knew that this was the moment to strike. The two great brotherhoods came out of their wagon fortress and pursued the infantry of Prague.

But halfway down the hill they realized what a catastrophic blunder they had committed. Nobody had asked where the baronial cavalry had been. Well, it was hidden in the woods. And now that the brothers were out there in the open field they came out and pushed into their flanks. The fighting was over when the Taborite cavalry fled, leaving their infantry to die in the field. Those who put down their weapons were herded into several barns and pitilessly burned to death. Prokop the Shaven and Prokop the Lessert he talented commanders of the brotherhoods, undefeated until that day, both died in the midst of the battle. Divis Borek of Miletinek had his revenge.

One would expect that immediately after this defeat, the city of Prague would open its gates to Sigismund. But it would take another 3 years before that would actually take place. Sigismund had to yield many of the executive, fiscal and religious royal prerogative to the barons who had gotten used to life without a king.

The compacts, that rewriting of the four articles of Prague, were finally approved by the council and the Bohemian diet giving the kingdom a separate religious status but within the Catholic Church.

For the emperor, now 69 and suffering from regular brutal attacks of the gout, this was the long awaited moment when he took possession of the country of his birth, the kingdom and city his father had made into the envy of Europe but which now lay in ruins.

On November 10th, 1437 he put on his great vestments as emperor, wore his laurel crown and in his litter proceeded out of the city accompanied by his wife Barbara, Hungarian magnates, Bohemian barons, papal legates and imperial princes, followed by 1,000 knights, divisions of infantry and the whores who had been expelled from Prague due to the fourth article and headed home towards Hungary to die. He made it as far as Znojmo near the Austrian Border.

There he prepared his imminent death, instructed his daughter and son in law to take the Bohemian crown as quickly as they could, made his last will and testament, heard mass one last time in his imperial regalia and on December 9th, 1347 he died, sitting on his throne, Emperor, king of Hungary and Bohemia, margrave of Moravia and duke of Silesia.

He was buried in Oradea, modern day Romania, along the remains of St. Ladislas. But his grave was destroyed during the Turkish invasions, so that nothing remains of him except for a funerary crown now preserved in the Hungarian National Museum.

This is not going to be the last we hear of emperor Sigismund. When we will do our tour of the empire, he will almost certainly make an appearance. Next week we will look at the aftermath of the Hussite revolt, its implications beyond Bohemia and into the following two centuries when there was another, more famous, defenestration, the implications of which were even more catastrophic for the Germans. I hope to see you next week.

And until then, if you feel compelled to support what we do here, sign up at the historyofthegermans.com./support, and make sure you do not go anywhere near the Patreon app.  

The Adamites and the Battle of Kutna Hora

The Czech language has been a severe impediment to my storytelling this season and you may have noticed that I often avoid to name places and people, instead I talk about a major baron or a medium sized city. There are however two Czech words I have no difficult pronouncing, Howitzer and Pistol. Which may tell you what we will be talking about today, the battle of Kutna Hora, when a blind general saw an escape route that change the world irrevocably.

But on the way there we will hear about an accelerating spiral of brutality and attempts at reconciliation, about austere dress and debauched dancing in the woods. This is another one of these episodes that has it all, and some.

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TRANSCRIPT

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 180: Nude Dissenters and Blind Inventors, also episode 17 of Season 9: the Reformation before the Reformation.

The Czech language has been a severe impediment to my storytelling this season and you may have noticed that I often avoid to name places and people, instead I talk about a major baron or a medium sized city. There are however two Czech words I have no difficult pronouncing, Howitzer and Pistol. Which may tell you what we will be talking about today, the battle of Kutna Hora, when a blind general saw an escape route that change the world irrevocably.

But on the way there we will hear about an accelerating spiral of brutality and attempts at reconciliation, about austere dress and debauched dancing in the woods. This is another one of these episodes that has it all, and some.

And now is your opportunity to frantically press the 45 second forward button, just be sure you do not get too far. Because I can be brief if need be, like today. So here we go. The History of the Germans, after all these years and for all the years yet to come, appears on your doorstep every Thursday morning, fresh and advertising free thanks to the generosity of our patrons who have signed up on historyofthegermans.com/support. I am talking specifically about Philip T., Waverley, Christopher M., Alexander K., Andrew, Matthew L., and Andreas B.-H.

And with that, back to the show

Last week we looked at the period 1421 to 1423 from the perspective of imperial politics and Sigismund’s role as the head of this almost collapsing political entity. This week we will look at what happened inside Bohemia and for that we will go back to the aftermath of battle of the Vyšehrad in the summer of 1420.

Sigismund was comprehensively defeated and had returned to Kutna Hora to lick his wounds. He fought one more action when he relieved the city of Tachov in the westernmost part of Bohemia, just across the border from Bavaria. This campaign ended in an even deeper humiliation when he ran away from a Hussite army without firing even a single shot.

With Sigismund and the Bavarians gone, the Hussites could roll up the areas of Bohemia they had not yet brought under their control. They started with the city of Pilsen which surrendered within a few weeks. The one-year truce they agreed to left Pilsen pretty much unscathed, not even having to receive a garrison inside its walls.

But soon after that, the gloves came off. This is a religious war and religious wars have a tendency to descend into levels of brutality that political wars rarely do.

These are conflicts where either side believes itself to be in possession of incontrovertible truth which makes their opponent’s position simply incomprehensible.

If you were a Hussite and you read your Corinthians 11:25 where Paul writes: “This cup is the new covenant in My blood; do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me.” This is so abundantly clear, there is no conceivable way the chalice could be denied to a Christian. Which means those who refuse to take the chalice must be deluded or at a minimum hoodwinked by the despicable priests of the catholic church. Therefore burning catholic priests was not only permissible, but a good thing, because they were deceivers leading their followers away from the pearly gates.

If you were a Catholic you checked on your Matthew 18:18 where Christ gave St. Peter and his successors the keys of the kingdom of heaven and told him that “whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” This is so abundantly clear there is no conceivable way a Christian can refuse to obey the Holy Father. Which means those who refuse to obey the pope must be deluded or at a minimum hoodwinked by the despicable priests of the Hussite church. Therefore burning Hussite priests was not only permissible, but a good thing, because they were deceivers leading their followers away from the pearly gates.

As a consequence for 2 years now the Bohemian hills were alive with the smell of burning clerics. By January 1421 the level of brutality goes up a notch.  

A Hussite garrison of about 700 men were defending a small city called Chotěboř. It was attacked by royalists under Nicholas of Jemniste, the mint master of Kutna Hora and all out Blofeld of this war. The garrison surrendered under terms, but Jemniste did not honour the agreement. These were deluded heretics and promises made to them were therefore non-binding. He had 300 of them burned, not just the priests, but all of them. The remaining 400 were forced into a hunger march to Kutna Hore, during which many died from exhaustion or were clubbed to death. Whoever survived the journey was thrown down the infamous mine shafts where they too perished.

Retribution was swift. A month later a Hussite army killed all male inhabitants of the royalist city of Chomutov, even those offering to convert. The only immunity was granted to jews prepared to be baptised, but many of them preferred to be burned. In their fury they did not spare the women and children. The accounts of the number of victims vary, but it was somewhere between 1,400 and 2,500 out of a city of a few thousand.

News of these atrocities spread not just across Bohemia but we find reports as far away as Nurnberg and Magdeburg.

For all Bohemians, Hussites and Catholics alike survival had become a function of immediate surrender and let’s call it religious flexibility. Almost every city that saw an army appearing before its gates, irrespective of Hussite or Catholic, immediately surrendered and handed over whoever the besiegers intended to have captured, killed or burned. The city of Beroun handed over 34 priests and 3 masters of the university for execution after no more than token resistance. Others did not even pretend to fight.

Even Kutna Hora, the centre of silver mining, the jewel in the crown of Bohemia and bulwark of Catholicism surrendered. In a very evocative and also incredible medieval scene the citizens came out before the walls and knelt in front of the Hussite army. Their leader, the priest Zevilsky, he who had led the mob at the Defenestration 2 year earlier, preached to them and -as they repented- forgave them. Remember, this is Kutna Hora where hundreds, if not thousands of Hussites had been thrown down mine shafts to die of hunger, thirst and sheer panic, the city of Nicholas of Jemniste the mastermind behind the massacre of Chotěboř.

Forgiving the citizens of Kutna Hora was a sign that not everybody wanted an ever accelerating cycle of brutality, that there were many on all sides of the argument who wanted to reconcile, to stop the meaningless, incessant slaughter.

This time, the summer of 1421 might be the highpoint of the Hussite revolt, not the point of greatest military success, but the moment where the Hussite movement is most unified in its beliefs and has its widest reach. Tabor and Prague are working together, not exactly hand in glove, but they agree on strategic targets and run coordinated campaigns. There is a basic understanding between the main social groups, the barons, the city patricians, the artisans, labourers and peasants. Even the catholic barons, including the eternal turncoat Cenek of Wartenberg and the catholic stalwart, Ulrich of Rosenberg have called off their allegiance to king Sigismund. The authority of the university of Prague is, at least in principle, recognised by all.

And then there is a another, major, completely unexpected move. In all this chaos we still have an archbishop of Prague, a German from Bremen called Konrad of Vechta. He had taken the job way back in 1413 and was a Catholic royalist, something that sort of came with the job. In 1420 he had crowned Sigismund in St. Veits cathedral.

But then something must have happened, well it is quite clear what happened, the Hussites were winning. At which point Konrad saw only two options, join his impecunious king in his exile, or make a deal with the Hussites. Konrad, who liked the good life and the income of his archbishopric, chose to make a deal with the Hussites and signed up to the four articles of Prague. That was a total shocker. The catholic archbishop of Prague reconciled with Europe’s most prominent heretics, people who are subject to a papal crusade. The pope immediately dismissed him from his post, but did not have the power to appoint a new archbishop of Prague – for the next 140 years.

Things were changing, changing faster and further than anyone could have imagined 2 years earlier.

If we were in the 19th century, the next step from here would be to call a national assembly, right. Absolutely right. Then we are not in the 19th century, but we still get a national assembly.

On May 18, 1421 the cities of Prague, the old Town and the New Town together with archbishop Conrad and several of the important barons sent out invitations to all the significant players in the crown of Bohemia to come to a diet in the town of Čáslav.

This diet was a remarkably harmonious and effective affair. It lasted just 5 days and ended with  a manifesto signed by all the participants. And these participants were, in order of pre-eminence:

  • The Burgomaster and councillors of the Old and New Town of Prague
  • Conrad, by the Grace of God Archbishop of the cathedral of Prague and Legate of the Papal See, or so he described himself,
  • The Lords of the Kingdom
  • The regents and people and towns of Tabor
  • The Mint Master of Kutna Hora ( of course no longer Nicolaus of Jemniste)
  • The Knights and Squires of the Kingdom
  • Other Towns and Communities

This is a most unusual ranking. The Bohemian kingdom had been dominated by the barons since time immemorial. Prague was stripped of its freedoms during the reign of the Blind King John. Karl IV and Wenceslaus had spent their time in a perennial struggle with the Rosenbergs and Wartenbergs and Lichtenbergs, rarely thinking about the cities. But now Prague was in the driving seat. Why, because the victory at the Vyšehrad had been first and foremost a victory of the city of Prague. The Taborites, the few of them actually present at the time of the battle, had not really taken part. The victories in western Bohemia too were brought about by the reinforcements Prague made available to Jan Zizka. Add to the university and the sheer size into the mix and Prague becomes the pre-eminent political entity in Bohemia.

The barons meanwhile were divided into Hussites and those who until very recently had fought against the Law of God. Their list was headed by the richest of them, Ulrich of Rosenberg, until recently staunch catholic and fierce supporter of emperor Sigismund and Cenek of Wartenberg, the eternal turncoat. No surprise that the councillors of the cities of Prague were taking the lead over them.  

On the other end of the spectrum we have Jan Zizka as the leader of the Taborite delegation and Jan Želivský the firebrand preacher from Prague.

But they all agreed on certain basic items. First up, they repeated the four articles of Prague, i.e., freedom to preach, the eucharist as bread and wine, the poverty and moral probity of priests and the prohibition of all sins and other unruly things.

And then comes a fifth point that quote “we should not accept the Hungarian king Sigismund as our king or hereditary maser until the end of our or his life, as it was he and his helpers by whom we and the entire Czech kingdom have been deceived most, and by whose injustice and cruelty great damage had been caused. [..] This king is an obvious abuser of the holy truths [..] and a murderer of the honour and persons of the Czech language.”

Point six sets forth that “we have together and unanimously elected 20 wise, stable and faithful men from our number [..] to administer, and to manage the various matters of the crown of Bohemia.” End quote.

The general assembly of Bohemia has hereby deposed the king Sogismund and established a government without royal assent. Whilst this is not a democratically elected government by any stretch of the imagination, but still, it is a government without a king, in the Middle Ages, not in a city state, but in a feudal kingdom. Only 5 of its members were barons, 2 former royalists and 3 established Hussites. Half of the 20 members represented cities, 4 for Prague, 2 for Tabor and 4 for the other towns, of which two had remained catholic so far. And then there were 5 squires, i.e., members of the lower gentry. This was not the usual regency council of the most powerful magnates, this was a government of national unity, aiming to reflect the wide range of views prevailing across Bohemia.

Sigismund had tried to influence this event. He was allowed to send representatives who were asking for peace and reconciliation, even making the claim that Sigismund had not yet made up his mind on the four articles. Well, as we know, given the strains on his government in the empire at the time, he had no option to recognise the four articles, even if he had wanted to. And nobody believed him anyway.

This council then began its work of pacifying the country and preparing for the next wave of invasion that was being prepared across the border at the imperial diet in Nurnberg as we discussed last week.

Part of that pacification was to take out the remaining fortresses of catholic barons, a task that fell to Jan Zizka and his Taborite forces. These castles were small and their fall wasn’t ever really in doubt. But they were still fortresses of war full of soldiers trained in archery and the use of guns. Jan Zizka was a general who led from the front. And that came with risks, including the risk of getting shot in the eye, the one eye that he was left with. It was a miracle in and of itself that he survived at all given the risk of infection, the  total incompetence of medieval doctors and the fact they transported him all the way to Prague on country roads. He made it through though. But he was now blind, completely blind.  Some historians would later try to construct some argument that he retained at least some minor ability to see at least shapes. But all contemporary accounts are adamant, the greatest of the Hussite generals was blind, completely, Germans would say blind as a mole. I think the British expression is blind as a bat, which is weird given bats can see using echolocation. No, Zizka did not have echolocation either. He was thrown into total darkness.

There are two famous blind warriors in European history and both are linked to Bohemia, Jan Zizka and the Blind King John of Bohemia, one the epitome of chivalric valour and the other the military genius who put an end to the dominance of the armoured rider.

The question is, how could Zizka operate on the battlefield without being able to see anything. We can only guess. He had his trusted lieutenants who knew their leader well and understood which bits of information he needed and which they could leave out when describing a situation. Moreover, Zizka had been travelling and fighting across Bohemia for decades and most potential battlefields were familiar to him. And finally, medieval armies, even the much more organised Hussite forces, left a lot of initiative to the commanders on the ground. They did need some guidance and coordination from headquarters, but nowhere near as much as a modern army would.

Then there is the question what it did to him psychologically. Again not much can be asserted, but he appeared more gruff, more set in his ways and less prepared to accept different religious views.

And that is very much in line with what is going on more broadly. The Hussite revolt had been going for 2 years, so if we take the timeline of the French Revolution we are in the summer of 1792, the time Robespierre introduced the Revolutionary tribunals to deal with “traitors” and “enemies of the people”. In other words, the time when new ideas could be brought up and freely discussed was over. It is time to establish and define exactly what is inside the permitted set of beliefs and what is not.

In Bohemia this task was given to a synod of the Hussite church that met shortly after the great assembly. The synod established 23 articles of religious faith and appointed a commission of four eminent masters of the university, to adjudicate on Hussite doctrine. But not everybody endorsed these wholeheartedly.

One of those who took a fundamentally different view were called the Pikharts. They were called that as their ideas had emerged from a group of immigrants from Picardie who have settled in Bohemia during the reign of Wenceslaus IV. Who they were exactly and what their beliefs were specifically is a bit vague. One thing where they definitely deviated from basic Hussite beliefs was the significance of the Eucharist. The Pikharts, or more specifically one of the Bohemian priests usually associated withthem, a certain Martin Houska, believed that the celebration of bread and wine was just commemorative. Christ was present in all and everything anyway and did not need some hokus pokus by a priest to materialise in the host and wine.

Given the huge importance the Bohemian reform movement ascribed to the eucharist since the very beginning, this was horrific for all Hussites from moderates to radicals. Houska had already been apprehended back in February, but had abandoned his belief seeing his comrades being burned for their reluctance to see the error of their ways. In summer 1421, Martin Houska lived in Tabor as a free man but out of fear the synod would condemn him, fled towards Moravia. He was caught and interrogated. He was then handed around between different authorities and priests for weeks. Despite weeks of torture making Houska did not retract. That create a bit of a dilemma. He still had many friends amongst the masters of the university and was no fanatic, more of a thoughtful theologian, a bit like Jan Hus. So, nobody wanted to go the whole hog and burn him.

It was Zizka himself who took charge of proceedings. Zizka was no priest or theologian, but was motivated by his beliefs and in particular the importance of the chalice. Houska’s ideas somehow got under his skin. Despite having no business to do so, he demanded Houska to be burned on Prague’s Old Town square. The authorities refused because they feared an uprising of the Pikhardts hiding amongst the population. So Houska was eventually burned in smaller town controlled by the archbishop. Still a huge crowd gathered for the event. And Houska’s last words, “not we are in error, but you who kneel before a piece of bread”  would continue to resonate amongst the more radical groups in Tabor.

That was however not the only piece of religious cleansing the blind general went after. There was another group of religious dissenters that were associated with the Pikharts and Martin Houska, though the link seems a bit tenuous.

These became known to history as Adamites. These were probably only a few hundred people who believed that they had regained the state of innocence, i.e., before Adam bit the Apple. Basically they were already living in paradise. There was no authority to obey, no captains or leaders. Nobody owned anything in person, but everything was communal. So far, so old skool Hussite, but what made them completely unpalatable for Zizka and the puritanical Taborites was their attitude towards clothing. For them it was not only optional but frowned upon. As was marriage or any kind of monogamy. Refusing someone’s sexual advances was considered not just rude but against holy scripture.

A very indignant Lawrence of Brezova wrote quote: “their law is based on pimping, as it says in Matthew 21:31: pimps and prostitutes will precede you on the way to the heavenly kingdom. Therefore they did not want to accept anyone who was not a pimp or a whore. [..] They implemented their law like this: All of them, men and women, undressed and danced naked around a bonfire and sang the ten commandments as an accompaniment to the dance. They, [..] looked at each other, and if any of the men was covered, the women pulled his clothes off and said: relieve the prisoner, give me your spirit and receive my spirit. [..] they performed the devil’s act, and then they bathed in the river.” End quote.

I did check Matthew 21:31, it did not say pimps and prostitutes but “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you.” Apart from that everything else is almost certainly true, or probably an exaggeration.

Zizka, on one of his patrols came across them and quote “motivated by the zeal for the law of god, attacked them immediately without stopping to rest, catching them by surprise; and though all of them defended themselves, both women and men, [..] they captured 40 of them of both genders and killed the rest, sparing only one man so he could tell the world of what had been done” end quote. The other 39 captives were burned to death.

Frederick Heymann who wrote the seminal biography of Jan Zizka summed it up best when he wrote quote: “The number of people who during those years of war and persecution, had to die for their faith cannot be counted, nor can their suffering be measured. Most of them were little people whose names were never remembered, people who did not ask for it but were caught and crushed between the millstones of history.” End quote

All this now takes us to the late autumn of 1421. As we heard last week a crusade had set off from Eger towards Prague but turned tail as soon as a Hussite army appeared. By now news of the effectiveness and relentless brutality of Hussite armies had spread far and wide and often crusaders ran for cover when they saw the war wagons arrive.

Unperturbed, Sigismund made another attempt to regain Bohemia for the catholic faith as we have also heard last week. And last week I promised to talk more about this battle, which turns out to be a crucial moment not just in Bohemian or German history, but in the history of europe, if not the world.

Sigismund had gathered a sizeable army, mainly Hungarians, eastern Slavs and Romanians. under the command of his field marshal, a highly respected Italian condottiere, veteran of dozens of campaigns against the Ottomans and the Venetians. His name was Philip de Scolari, count of Ozora, usually called Pipo Spano. He was famous enough to be painted by Andrea del Castagno as one of his “illustrious men” alongside Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio and two other great Florentine commanders.

The initial goal was to take back the city of Kutna Hora, the centre of silver mining in Bohemia and hence source of much of the ready cash of the kingdom. Kutna Hora as we mentioned earlier had submitted to the Hussite forces after a long period as a bulwark of Catholicism. Its inhabitants still contained a large group of German mining specialists who operated the complex system of shafts and elevators as well as the smelters and minting machinery. Though these Germans were in the main catholic and supportive of Sigismund, they had not been expelled by the Hussites. That may be in part because the Hussites believed they had changed their mind on the chalice and/or because they needed them to keep the mines going. In any event, they were still in the town, the town that was officially a Hussite city.

Zizka who had taken charge of the combined Hussite forces and had made the defence of Kutna Hora the cornerstone of his strategic plan.

So both armies converged upon that city. Zizka arrived first. He decided not to bring his army inside the city, in part because he wanted to avoid frictions between the citizens and his radical Taborites. His army came with the now famous war wagons. These have by now come close to the final design with reinforcements that protected the defenders and the car itself, the shields to protect the gaps between the wagons and crucially a large number of artillery pieces. These include long-barrelled gins on the wagons as well as Howitzers, short barrelled pieces mounted on wheels. Howitzer is by the way a Czech word, as is pistol, another weapon they had plenty of.

Zizka set up camp outside the walls, waiting for the enemy to arrive.

On December 21st Zizka received news that Sigismund was approaching with his sizeable forces from the west. I spare you the numbers, which I believe are all nonsense, but it is likely that Sigismund’s army was materially larger and comprised a large cavalry force.

When the royalists appeared, the Hussite militia of Kutna Hora and all regular soldiers safe for a small garrison came outside the walls to join Zizka and his men.

Zizka needed to block access to the city and therefore established his forces on an elevation that stretched from the road in the west that Sigismund was coming down on in a crescent shape all the way over to the second major access road in the east that led to the Kolin Gate of Kutna Hora.

The royalists set up a position opposite Zizka, mirroring the crescent shape of Zizka’s position. Given Sigismiund’s army was larger and had more cavalry, its crescent was longer, stretching beyond Zizka’s flanks. As far as the blind general was concerned, this wasn’t a major issue, since the city in his back was well fortified and the royalists would be mad getting into the gap between himself and the city where they would be squashed from both sides.

The battle began with a series of cavalry attack on the Hussite positions that were repelled with the various field guns and volleys of arrows. The royalist lines were now stretched so far that they had to fill the gaps with cattle to give the impression of more riders than they actually had. At that point it looked like a rerun of many of the previous battles. The royalists had superior numbers but no way to overrun the wagon fortresses of the Hussites. As the sun was about to set the revolutionaries saw themselves if not as victors, but very much en route to another success.

This was December21st, the shortest day of the year. Dusk set in around 3:30 in the afternoon and that is when the plan of Sigismund’s cunning field marshal, Pipo Spano kicked in for real. These frontal cavalry attacks that had been running for the last few hours had not been for real. They were a diversion meant to keep the militia of Kutna Hora out in the field.

Do you remember the Germans inside Kutna Hora? Well, they had never really given up their catholic and royalist affiliations. And they were many, they were determined and they had been in touch with Pipo Spano. All they were waiting for was the sign to strike against the Hussite garrison. And that sign was a large detachment of cavalry that went around Zizka’s position on the eastern flank, making for the city gate.

The militia guarding the gate had been made up entirely of Germans. As the riders came closer, they opened the gate. The knights rode in and a fierce slaughter of the Hussite garrison and all armed men not knowing the password ensued. Within less than an hour that the city of Kutna Hora was in the hands of the royalists.

Whilst this was going on, Pipo Spanio sent another cavalry regiment around Zizka’s western flank, closing the last remaining exit route for the Hussite army. Zizka and his men were now trapped between the city of Kutna Hora in the back, the gros of Sigismund’s army in front and the two flanking regiments in the east and the west, like the Romans at Cannae.

Zizka rearranged the wagon fortress to cover all four angles. This fortress was still almost unassailable and he and his men could get some much needed comfort from that following this sudden and dramatic turn in their fortunes.

But this was only a temporary reprieve. They had counted on the support from Kutna Hora and had therefore brought only limited provisions and ammunition out to the battlefield. If they stayed where they were, at some point the next day or the day after at that, they would run out and would have to surrender. This army was the largest, the best equipped and the most experiences force the Hussites had. The commander of the only other Hussite army was a young, eager but not very experienced general who would not stand a chance in hell against Pipo Spano. Unless Zizka and his forces make it out of here before sunrise, the road to Prague would be open and the war would be over. It is now all about getting out of this trap.

How did he do it? At this point I would have liked to quote Lawrence of Brezova, but all his wonderfully vivid and somewhat ridiculously biased chronicle gives us is: quote “And then [..] they approached the place that the king had occupied with his army and having squashed the king’s cannon, they drove the king together with his army from their position. And then morning came…” end quote. And that is literally the last sentence of the book.

Not useful. So let’s go with Frederick Heyman the biographer of Jan Zizka: quote “Of course, so we might think, having artillery, Zizka would use it to open the way through the enemy ranks. But this was far from a matter of course. On the contrary, we have, in these few words, the first clear proof of a tactical use of field artillery; the use of fire weapons for a tactically offensive operation. [..] Otherwise artillery had, up to this time, always been used in a purely static way.; in besieging towns, in defending them and in defending entrenchments in the field as in Grunwald (Tannenberg) in 1410. Even the use of artillery in wagon fortress was still stationary in a tactical sense [..].

Here, however, the guns shooting from Zizka’s wagons, which stopped rolling only to fire,  as well as the howitzers, [..] were given the specific task and had the specific effect which field artillery was to have in battles for centuries to come: not just to block or discourage an enemy approach, but to destroy the enemy’s chance or will to stay where he was; to dislodge him, to drive him back, to open the way for one’s own troops. The Field artillery of our motorised present, including tanks and self-propelled guns, can have no other basic task. [..]

The history of this second phase of the battle of Kutna Hora is, in this sense, the history of another revolution in the art of war brought about by Zizka, a tactical discovery or invention more permanent than the introduction of the battle wagon.” End quote.

And that is where we will leave it for today, the invention of the mobile field artillery, the tank and all that came with it, the conquest of almost the entire planet by European armies able to use firepower to smash through masses of armed men two, three, even tenfold their number. You know that I am no military man, but once in a while you stand before moments of human ingenuity that force respect, like when a blind man sees a way out of a desperate situation nobody else could.

Next week we will talk more about human ingenuity, dreams of a world without kings and rulers being destroyed by the circumstances and a revolution gradually running out of steam. I hope you will join us again.

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The Hussite revolution Part 1

“Then on September 2 of the same year, marquises, barons, nobles, and other high-ranking persons of the kingdom of Bohemia and the margraviate of Moravia , [..], wrote letters under their own seals to the council of Constance for the unjust and unlawful sentencing to death of master Jan Hus, [..]. They claimed that the council had condemned him as an unrepentant heretic at the accusations, slanders and instigations of the mortal enemies [..] of the Bohemian kingdom [..], despite [..] not having proven against him any errors or heresies; and that, having condemned him, they punished him with a most harsh and shameful death, to the undying infamy and disgrace of the most Christian Czech kingdom [..].

[..] whoever, no matter what status, eminence or title, no matter his condition, position or professed religiosity, had said or claimed, [..] that the alleged errors and heresies had evolved in the kingdom of Bohemia [..] was lying, and [..] was a scoundrel, villain and a most perfidious traitor [..] and [..] such a man was himself a most pernicious heretic  and son of all malice and depravity, and even of the devil, who is a liar and the father of lies” end quote.

That letter, complete with 425 seals of many of the great nobles of Bohemia arrived in Constance in the autumn of 1415. And, did it change the attitude of the great princes of the church? Was there room for reconciliation between the reformers in Prague and those in Constance? Let’s find out.

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TRANSCRIPT

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 175 – Death and Defenestration, the Hussite Revolt, also episode 12 of Season 8 “The Reformation before the Reformation”.

“Then on September 2 of the same year, marquises, barons, nobles, and other high-ranking persons of the kingdom of Bohemia and the margraviate of Moravia , [..], wrote letters under their own seals to the council of Constance for the unjust and unlawful sentencing to death of master Jan Hus, [..]. They claimed that the council had condemned him as an unrepentant heretic at the accusations, slanders and instigations of the mortal enemies [..] of the Bohemian kingdom [..], despite [..] not having proven against him any errors or heresies; and that, having condemned him, they punished him with a most harsh and shameful death, to the undying infamy and disgrace of the most Christian Czech kingdom [..].

[..] whoever, no matter what status, eminence or title, no matter his condition, position or professed religiosity, had said or claimed, [..] that the alleged errors and heresies had evolved in the kingdom of Bohemia [..] was lying, and [..] was a scoundrel, villain and a most perfidious traitor [..] and [..] such a man was himself a most pernicious heretic  and son of all malice and depravity, and even of the devil, who is a liar and the father of lies” end quote.

That letter, complete with 425 seals of many of the great nobles of Bohemia arrived in Constance in the autumn of 1415. And, did it change the attitude of the great princes of the church? Was there room for reconciliation between the reformers in Prague and those in Constance? Let’s find out.

But before we start some Christmas related things. Yes, I did get some lovely presents and my family was most grateful for me being in for Yuletide rather than out there in the early 15th century. And even happier that I did not sing. I hope I left you in good hands. If you have missed David Crowther’s episode on John Wycliffe, have a quick listen, I very much enjoyed it.

But I have not been completely idle. I have given the website some much needed TLC. It should be quicker and better organised than before. And I have found a solution to the Patreon issue. Just to say upfront, there is nothing wrong with Patreon itself just with the Apple surcharge of 30%. So if you are with Patreon at the moment or you prefer going to Patreon, nothing will change, just make sure when you sign up not to do it on the Patreon app.

But to future proof the system I have created a whole new membership site at historyofthegermans.com/support. You can sign up for membership there or you can make a one-time donation. All that goes to via Stripe, the ecommerce platform millions of other online businesses use and which crucially does not direct you to an app. The membership offer includes the existing bonus episodes and a member chat room which may take some time to kick off. I will however try to do some membership events in the new year which all members, those on Patreon and those on the website will be invited to. So, I hope you will join us at historyofthegermans.com/support as Alexander M., Klaus, Morten P., Justin B., Dr. Norbert K. and Thomas V. who have already done.

To resume our story, let’s just recap what happened in June/July 1415 in Constance. The great gathering of 10s of thousands from magnificent bishops to modest buglers had heard the arguments of Jan Hus, master of the university of Prague and preacher at the Bethlehem chapel, and dismissed them. His ideas about who was and who wasn’t a member of the church, the role of the pope and the superiority of scripture over canon law had been declared heretic and he himself was condemned to be burned at the stake, and his remains, even his clothes were all turned to ash and thrown in the Rhine river.

The Bohemians had already protested against the treatment of Jan Hus when he was arrested and anger was brewing throughout his trial. Hus hadn’t come to Constance on his own. Several noblemen, including the brave knight John of Chlum had come along to support him. One these man, Petr Mladenovics returned to Prague shortly after the trial and recounted the proceedings in every little detail, complete with copies of letters and other documents. And from that the Bohemians concluded that there had been foul play. Lawrence of Brezowa summarized the view in Prague as follows: quote “Then on Saturday,[..], 6 July, Master Jan Hus, the scholarly bachelor of Holy Scripture, a man of shining virtue in life and morality and a faithful preacher of the gospel was sentenced to death and unjustly vilified by the Council of Constance. This was based upon the false testimony of the witnesses and the relentless instigations of master Štěpán z Pálče, doctor of Holy Scriptures and Michael de Causis, parish priest of St. Voijtech,[..] representing the Czech clergy and the influence of king Sigismund. This was done despite the fact that he was not given a proper hearing in which to prove his innocence” end quote.

The villains were hence the “despicable clergy” of Bohemia, emperor Sigismund and the council as a whole that, as he wrote further down, had accepted bribes to bring about the conviction of this saintly man.

So on September 2, 1415, the nobles of Bohemia wrote the letter of protest to the Council of Constance I quoted at the top of this episode. A copy of this Bohemian Protest is now preserved at the university of Edinburgh. I put a link in the show notes so you can take a look because it is quite an unusual object. The manuscript has attached over 100 wax seals of every conceivable major Bohemian family making the whole thing look like a bibliographic medusa.

Bohemian Protest on Display | Rare Books & Manuscripts

And its content was equally unusual. These noblemen did not only blame dark forces from within Bohemia for the unjust and unlawful sentencing, but accused the Council of a miscarriage of justice. Such an accusation was again, within the context of the medieval church, heretic. It implied the council had erred when convicting Jan Hus, and a general council of the church was supposed to be infallible.

Such an act of defiance was dangerous. The church had already been concerned that Bohemia had become a center of  dissent, or to say it in their terms, a nest of heretics. By openly siding with the convicted heretic Jan Hus, the Bohemian elites only confirmed the suspicion, that Hus was not a sole actor but part of a wider movement.

This assessment was – as we know – not wrong. Bohemia had indeed become a place where controversial ideas about the role of pope and clergy were circulating, where the king, his wife and many of the senior nobles, even members of the senior clergy were sympathetic to a fundamental reform of the ecclesiastical organization.

So the Council was not unaware of the situation in Bohemia when it decided its next steps, it was just unable to predict the consequences of its actions.

On September 8, six days after the Bohemian protest, the council began the trial of Jerome of Prague, another master of the university and follower of Jan Hus. Jerome was less sure of his convictions and had tried to flee after Hus had been arrested and even recanted. But when it became clear he would never be released from prison, despite his recantation, his resolve stiffened, and he too was burned at the stake.

This created a second martyr for the cause of the Bohemian reform. Then and now martyrs, witnesses for the faith, are great rallying points. They turn from actual human beings with their own thoughts, ideas and contradictions into symbols, banners that can be raised on barricades and can be flown before armies. The image of Jan Hus burning at the stake was replicated over and over in manuscripts and leaflets, distributed all across Bohemia. If you go to the great square in the Old Town you see the enormous Jan Hus Memorial, erected in 1915 as a message of defiance against the Habsburg regime. And it remained a symbol of resistance, most recently when sitting at the feet of Jan Hus was a way to express opposition to the communist regime in Czechoslovakia. In 1985 I seem to have inadvertently joined the protest when I sat down below Jan Hus to smoke a cigarette and was chased away by police…so just for you kids out there, do not smoke, it is dangerous.

But Jan Hus and Jerome of Prague weren’t the only emblems of what was to unfold. Completely separately from the reformer’s ideas about church reform, the theologians in Prague, led by a man the Germans call Jacob of Mies and the Czechs call Jakoubek ze Stříbra [Stibro]. Apologies for my atrocious pronunciation, I am doing my best finding pronunciation guides on the internet, but I seemingly get that wrong at times. So forgive me, this is not meant as a sign of disrespect, just a case of a very difficult language.

Jakoubek of Stibro was a fellow master at the university of Prague and preacher at the church of St. Michael. He too had been heavily influenced by Wycliffe, but even more by the previous generation of Bohemian reformers, by Jan Milic and Matthew of Janow. This previous generation had emphasised the values of the early Christian church when preachers had been poor and solely dedicated to the spiritual side of things. For them and for Jakoubek of Stibro, the downfall of the church began with Gregory VII and his ambition to create a politically powerful, an imperial church that meddled in worldly affair. And whilst Jan Hus and other reformers focused on the role of the clergy or the ostentatious wealth of the popes and cardinals, Stibro zoomed in on something that had been a marginal topic so far, the offer of the eucharist in both forms, as bread and wine.

Stibro went back to scripture and read that Jesus offered both bread and wine to his disciples, and said, „do this in remembrance of me“. He could not find a passage where it said, give the congregation only the bread and reserve the wine for the priests who really appreciate it. For Stibro, taking the eucharist in both forms, sub utraque specie was the most important sacrament. He stated that it was not just a right of the laity to receive it, but an obligation to do so. This became known as Utraquism. U-T-R_A_Q_U_I_S_M, a word we will hear a lot more of.

Jakoubek’s proposal was rapidly picked up by the other reformers in Prague who already believed the common people should take communion more often as a way to bring more spiritual goodness into the world. And claiming the corrupt and money-grabbing clergy had deprived the people of the sacrament of the eucharist just hit the spot. Generally speaking, people do not tend to take up pitchforks to defend a complex point of ecclesiology. But if you tell them they had a right to the wine when St. Peter was in charge and that nowadays the crooked priests withhold it from them on the orders of popes dripping in gold, now that is a good enough reason to get up on the barricades.

In 1414 there had not yet been a need to turn ploughshares into swords in order to partake in the bread and wine, since the reform preachers in Prague’s New Town, in the Bethlehem Chapel and elsewhere were liberally offering the eucharist sub utraque specie.

And that could have easily continued without creating much unrest, had it not been for the debate it sparked at the Council of Constance. The offer of bread and wine had so far not really been a major theological issue. In fact until the 12th century the catholic church did habitually offer it at mass and pope Gelasius I in the 5th century had prescribed it as part of the standard liturgy. It was mainly for practical reasons that the catholic church changed tack on the matter and reserved the chalice, the wine, to the priests.

So the council could easily have decided that, yeah, if the churches in Prague want to offer the wine to the laity, just go ahead. And that would have dramatically reduced tensions. But they did not. Instead, on 15th of June, a week after the hearings of Jan Hus, but before he was burned at the stake, the council of Constance decided that quote “although this sacrament was received by the faithful under both kinds in the early church, nevertheless later it was received under both kinds only by those confecting it, and by the laity only under the form of bread.[..] and since this custom was introduced for good reasons by the church and holy fathers, and has been observed for a very long time, it should be held as a law which nobody may repudiate or alter at will without the church’s permission. [..] Those who stubbornly assert the opposite of the aforesaid are to be confined as heretics and severely punished by the local bishops or their officials [..]” end quote.

That was not exactly the smartest available move. Stating that, yes, originally there was bred and wine, but now we have been cutting you guys off the drink for so long, it is now the law, was a brilliant way of saying, we the church know better than Jesus himself. It was oil on the fire. Even Jan Hus, who had been quite sceptical about Utraquism, switched over to Jakoubek’s position.

We now have a Bohemian population that was enraged by what they saw as the unlawful burning of Jan Hus and Jerome of Prague and had just received confirmation that the Council of Constance was indeed rating canon law, even just established practice above scripture. Whatever these guys were doing, they were not helping to pave the way into the afterlife.

Hence in Prague more and more parishioners moved across to those churches where the priests were offering both bread and wine. The chalice became the instantly visible demarcation line between the old school followers of the papal and conciliar doctrine and the group of reformers who were demanding change.

If you were the archbishop of Prague in 1415 you would probably consider a change in approach. Playing hardball with these reformer guys is clearly not working. You would write to the cardinals and bishops in Constance and suggest they tone it down a little.

Ahh – no. For the senior clergy assembled in Southern Germany, Prague was just a nest of heretics that needed to be exterminated. They ordered the archbishop to enforce an interdict on the city of Prague. All church services had to cease, no more sacraments were to be dispensed, the dying weren’t given the last rites, couples weren’t able to get married and nobody heard their confession.

Or that is what the church overlords wanted to happen. But that is not what did happen. The reform oriented priests in Prague who were already branded heretics for dispensing the bread and wine, for saying out loud that Jan Hus had been a god fearing man and for reading and sharing the books of John Wycliff, they did not care if “breaking the interdict” was added to the charge sheet. They kept their churches and chapels open. And since the catholic priests kept their places of worship closed, more and more citizens of Prague went to what we can now call Hussite churches to get married, baptise their children and receiving the eucharist.

There was little the archbishop was prepared to do to stop it. Konrad von Vechta, the prelate in question, had not bought the post in order to end his days dangling from a lamppost, so he just pretended that none of these things were happening. And as for the king, that king was Wenceslaus IV, the lazy. All throughout the 56 years o his life Wenceslaus had never been decisive or even moderately competent. Part of that was personality, but a 35 year career as a full-blown alcoholic hadn’t helped. He was going round in a perennial hate loop between his brother Sigismund, his overbearing barons, the corrupt clergy and his rebellious subjects. The chances that he would do anything other than having wild tantrums followed by heavy drinking sessions were slim. His wife, Sophie of Bavaria was a much more capable monarch. She understood the mood in Bohemia and sympathised with the Hussites all along.

And so did the majority of the King’s advisers and the barons who held the great offices of state. Many of these had signed the Bohemian protest letter from September 1415 and provided the military cover for the reforms that were now under way.

So, nobody did anything to stop the Hussites from building up a full scale new church organisation in Bohemia. To cover their tracks the king and the archbishop sent reassuring messages to Constance saying, all is going swimmingly, there is nothing to see here.

For the following 3 years, from 1416 to 1419 Bohemia shifted further and further towards the Hussite church. Though the interdict was lifted after a year, most parishioners had gotten used to the utraquist communion. They also enjoyed hearing the  sermon in Czech, even hearing some of the gospel being translated so that for the first time they could actually understand what their religion was really about. They also found that many of the Hussite priests took their job seriously, cared about their parishioners and were less preoccupied with money, clothes and the company of loose women.

I do not know whether you have listened to Mike Duncan’s Revolutions podcast but if you have, the next step in the process will sound familiar to you.

Jan Hus, as we discussed at some length had gone to Constance because he believed that there was at least a tiny chance that he could convince the council of his interpretation of the Holy Scripture. To him it was a theological question whether a corrupt pope had power over the faithful, not a political one. Hence he saw a path to reform that was based on cooperation and compromise with the papacy.

But the cardinals, bishops and doctors of Constance literally burned that bridge down and by condemning utraquist communion deepened the chasm even further. At which point the Prague reformers no longer saw a reason to take the catholic views into account at all. They were heretics whatever they did, So they may as well go the whole hog. They went looking for guidance in the bible itself. And in doing so they found that there was a whole lot of stuff in the church that wasn’t in the bible, such as confession, penance, monks, bishops, popes, indulgences, etc., etc., pp. Meanwhile there was a lot of stuff in the bible that as not a priority in the Avignon church, like blessed are the poor, turn the other cheek,love thy neighbour, though shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house, wife, manservant, maidservant, ox, ass, nor anything that is thy neighbours, and so forth and so forth.

The downside of this freeing of the spirits was that it led to the inevitable splintering of the movement into moderates and radicals, and last week’s radicals or tomorrow’s moderates.

One of the more radical demands was the eucharist in both forms for children, i.e., giving not just adults, but children, even babies the sacramental wine. It makes sense if you believe it is a prerequisite to salvation, but not so much if you want your children to grow up without brain damage. Discuss!

And not only did the movement develop ever more radical ideas, it also spread outside Prague. And there is a genuine oddity about the Hussite revolt that makes it quite fundamentally different from most revolutions I can think of. Usually the epicentre of the most radical thought is in the big cities, whilst the countryside tends to be more conservative. Think of the Vendee during the French Revolution or the Russian peasants initial response to the October Revolution. Even in the American revolution the picture was quite mixed. In Bohemia the rural population embraced these new ideas enthusiastically and even went far beyond where the masters of Prague University were prepared to go.

There is a huge debate about why that was the case. In part it may have to do with the Bohemian barons many of whom had embraced the Hussite movement and provided some aircover for dissenters. The Marxist-Leninists pointed to the exploitation of the peasant population as a driver of radicalisation. One of the more intriguing ideas is that the Bohemian countryside might have been a refuge of the Waldensians. The Waldensians were the followers of Peter Waldo, a former merchant from Lyon who turned preacher in around 1100. What exactly they believed we will never know since like in the case of the Cathars, all documentary evidence if from the Catholic church who were determined to exterminate them. But given the complaints of heretic movements since time immemorial go along similar lines, we can assume they too believed that one should return to the text of the bible, that the church organisation was profoundly corrupt and much of its teachings, rituals and requirements were made up. The theory goes that some Waldensians had fled to Bohemia to escape persecution where their ideas spread in secret amongst the rural population until developments in Prague made them come out of hiding.

Maybe that was true, or maybe they were just simply better educated and more open minded in matters of religion than peasants had been elsewhere.

So out in the provinces farmers, serfs, farmhands and their wives and daughters but also nobles and artisans came together to pray, not inside a church but in private houses, barns or even under the open sky. Their priests went around wearing the same clothes as their flock. They rejected all these  plush vestments  and sacramental objects, the silver chalices and gold reliquaries as vain. Heavily decorated altars weren’t necessary. A priest could say mass on a table, on top of a cask or even just on the ground. Bishops they called locusts and coxcombs, the stone churches a den of thieves and concubines and that it was better to gamble their money away on dice than offer it to the evil prelates.

As the congregations grew, the ceremonies could no longer be held in private houses or barns. They gathered on the top of hills and mountains to hear the sermon and celebrate mass and received eucharists in both forms, everyone from babies to grandmas.

And they weren’t shy to let actions follow their words. They refused to buy the indulgences, to pay the tithes and dozens of ecclesiastical fees and charges. Things then tipped over into violence. Prelates houses were looted, the vicars and the members of their household thrown out onto the street, often naked and pelted with manure.

The same happened in Prague, where we hear of mobs breaking into churches, pushing out the catholic preachers and destroying the images. Yes Iconoclasm was also on the rise.

Whilst all this is happening, the city is shaken by raids on prelates and the hills are alive with the sound of sermons, the political arm of the movement, led by progressive Bohemian barons and many of the great officeholders of the state, organised into the Hussite League. The Hussite League swore to protect the rights of preachers to perform services freely, only supervised by their local bishops. In particular they are not to be made subject to foreign jurisdiction, namely papal or imperial. Interdicts and other punishments are only permitted when based on scripture as determined by the university of Prague.

Bohemia is about to shake off even the semblance of papal and imperial oversight. In the meantime, the council of Constance had run its course and put an end to the Schism with the election of pope Martin V. Church reform both as the Hussites would have understood it as well as the distributional flavour the council itself preferred was postponed until the next council which would not really get going for another 15 years. The pope was hence back in charge of church affairs as if nothing had happened and one of the things Martin V thought needed to happen was to stamp out this nest of heretics on the eastern border of the Empire. He tasked two men with this, Sigismund, the king of the Romans and heir of the Bohemian kingdom and Jan Železný (Schelesni), the bishop of Litomyšl, known as “the iron”.

Sigismund and the iron man did get to work unencumbered by even the slightest understanding of the situation in Bohemia. They leant super hard on Sigismund’ brother Wenceslaus, who was still at least formally the king of Bohemia though in actual fact he did whatever the last person he met had told him to do.

Sigismund and Iron man told him to implement 22 specific measures, intended to bring everything back to where it stood before even the first whiff of reform had been in the air. the churches were to be returned to its former priests, church discipline reestablished, tithes and other ecclesiastical taxes to be paid again and naturally an end to the heretic practice of offering the eucharist in both forms. To round it up, every preacher was asked to publicly declare Jan Hus and Jerome of Prague pernicious heretics who got what they deserved. Ah, and Bethlehem chapel was to be torn down.

Wenceslaus even in his drunken haze realised that this would be disastrous. He pleaded with his brother to take a more conciliatory approach to which Sigismund responded with an open letter threatening him with excommunication and the imperial ban, which would have meant Wenceslaus would lose his crown. So he caved and he issued the edicts.

Sigismund and the iron bishop Železný (Schelesni) were not completely insane though. They did have some allies in Prague. A number of the Bohemian barons had either remained good Catholics throughout or found  themselves shifted to the right not by moving themselves but by the Hussite movement shifting left at pace. The other group that sided with the Catholics were the class of German-speaking merchants and bankers. Though many of them believed church reforms were overdue and they had listened to sermons of Jan Milic and Jan Hus, they could not afford to be branded heretics. Their business was long distance trade and as long as their counterparts in Nurnberg, Augsburg, Vienna, Krakow and the Hanse cities remained catholic, they would risk their valuable networks by joining the Hussites.

These allies were still a minority, but a powerful one which the papacy believed could together with the might of an imperial army turn the clock back.

Initially things went alright. Wenceslaus removed Hussite advisors and officials from his court and the city councils, replacing them with catholic-leaning ones. He expelled Hussite priests from churches restoring them to their previous occupants. The inquisition moved in and hunted down heretics in Prague as well as in the countryside.

Until in the summer of 1419 events unfolded that would change the course of Bohemian and German history for good.

The first of these events was a gathering of allegedly 40,000 worshippers near the castle of Bechyne, halfway between Prague and Vienna. These people had come from all over Bohemia, fleeing the inquisition and willing to resist. They held a huge open air mass with sermons in Czech and the eucharist in the Utraquist manner. The priests were split into three groups, one preaching all day from morning to nightfall, another third was hearing auricular confession, again, all day long and the last third gave communion. And they had moved on ideologically as well. Again our chronicler reports that quote “There all called each other brother and sister, and the rich divided the food that they had prepared for themselves with the poor.” and “the multitude of them believed were of one heart and one soul; [..] they had all things in common [..] and distribution was made unto every man according as he had need” end quote. This was a deliberate refashioning of the  communism of the primitive church of the apostles, a million miles away from the reality of the late medieval church.  

The sincerity and determination these men and women on Mount Tabor was becoming very disconcerting for the conservatives in Prague, and even for relative moderates.

But they weren’t given much time to ponder this, because 8 days later, on July 30th one of the more radical Hussite preachers, Jan Zelivski, led a procession through the streets of Prague. He preached a sermon outside the church of St. Stephens on Ezejiel 6:3-5 “Behold I, even I, will bring down the sword upon you and will destroy your high places, And your Alters shall be desolate , and your images will be broken; and I will cast down your slain men before your idols” andthen Jermiah 14:13 and the people shall be cast down into the street”. He would later say that he never intended what happened afterward nor had he called on the crowd to do it. These wee jus randomly chosen sections of the bible…

After the crowd had entered and ransacked the church of St. Stephen they moved down the enormous Charles square to the Town hall of Prague New Town. At the time Prague was comprised of four separate independent cities, the Old Town, the lesser Town on the other side of the Vltava, the royal castle district and the New Town. Each had their own town hall. That of the new town stood and stands at the North Eastern corner of Charles Square.

The reason they went to the Town Hall was to demand the release of some Hussites who had been apprehended during street violence the day before. It was a Sunday and under normal circumstances the Town Hall would have been empty. But that day it wasn’t. The new burgomaster and 12 of his council members, all recently appointed good Catholics, had gathered at the hall to plan how they would prevent the procession to turn into a massive street fight. It seems they had not come up with a good idea, because by 09:45 they were surrounded by Hussites loudly demanding the release of the prisoners. Messages had been sent to the royal castle demanding reinforcements which is why the city magistrates felt confident. Hey refused the release and according to some accounts mocked the Hussites, even throw stones at the monstrance that the preacher Zelivski was holding up.

The crowd first became restless and then as time went by and no prisoners were forthcoming, they became angry, very angry. Meanwhile the soldiers from the castle were slow in showing up. The Burgomaster and his councillors grew anxious as the pounding on the doors below became louder and louder, then suddenly quiet as the attackers applied levers followed by a crashing sound as the door broke out of its hinges. Dozens, then hundreds of violently angry citizens of Prague as well as refugees from persecution across Bohemia stormed the council chamber. Not even giving the Royal councillors the chance to speak they opened the windows and threw them down onto the street. The council chamber was on the second floor, so most of them were dead or unconscious when they landed. These were the lucky ones. They did not get to notice as the crowd tore them limb from limb, undoubtably shouting something about god’s will whilst Zelivski held the monstrance above their heads.

When the 300 soldiers from the castle finally got to the new Town it was occupied by the followers of Jan Zelivski. A militia had been formed. All citizens had been asked to come to the town hall and commit to the Utraquist cause, those who refused fled. A new city council was established and the town hall itself and houses nearby were fortified. The soldiers returned to their king to report that the Revolution had begun and taken half of the capital of Bohemia.

One man was amongst the crow, had probably led the men into the town hall, a man called Jan Zizka, a man who will make sure that this medieval storm of the Bastille did not become just another urban revolt as they were taking place around the same time in dozens of cities across the empire, in Flanders, Paris and England. But that is a story for another time, next time to be precise. I hope you will join us again.

And in the meantime if you want to check out my brand new membership website, go to historyofthegermans.com/support.

The Council of Constance – part 4

“They will roast a goose now, but after one hundred years they will hear a swan sing, and him they will have to endure.” These were allegedly the last words of a certain Jan Hus whose surname meant goose and who was burned at the stake on July 6, 1415.

Almost exactly one hundred years later a spiritually tormented monk, frightened by a vengeful God who sought to damn him, was assigned to teach the book of Romans at the new university of Wittenberg. And 2 years later this monk by the name of Martin Luther did (or probably did not) nail his 95 theses on the door of the Castle Church of that same town.

As far as prophecies go, this must be one of the most accurate, assuming it was indeed true. But it wasn’t just the foretelling of the next reformer that makes the trial of Jan Hus such a fascinating account. So much is foreshadowed in this tale, it is almost uncanny. The railing against indulgences, the wealth of the clergy, the pope, a promise of safe conduct, a trial, villains and archvillains, accusations upon accusations, defiance in the face of certain death and then the big difference to the diet of Worms, actual death. Have a listen, it is fun.

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TRANSCRIPT

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 174 – The Trial of Jan Hus. This is also episode 11 of Season 9 “The Reformation before the Reformation”.

“They will roast a goose now, but after one hundred years they will hear a swan sing, and him they will have to endure.” These were allegedly the last words of a certain Jan Hus whose surname meant goose and who was burned at the stake on July 6, 1415.

Almost exactly one hundred years later a spiritually tormented monk, frightened by a vengeful God who sought to damn him, was assigned to teach the book of Romans at the new university of Wittenberg. And 2 years later this monk by the name of Martin Luther did (or probably did not) nail his 95 theses on the door of the Castle Church of that same town.

As far as prophecies go, this must be one of the most accurate, assuming it was indeed true. But it wasn’t just the foretelling of the next reformer that makes the trial of Jan Hus such a fascinating account. So much is foreshadowed in this tale, it is almost uncanny. The railing against indulgences, the wealth of the clergy, the pope, a promise of safe conduct, a trial, villains and archvillains, accusations upon accusations, defiance in the face of certain death and then the big difference to the diet of Worms, actual death. Have a listen, it is fun.

But before we start, the usual passing round of the begging bowl. Just to give you an idea what this stuff we are doing here entails. It is now Wednesday late evening and with editing I will be here until 9 or 10 tonight. I started the writing process with some light research on Thursday. On Friday I discussed the structure of the episode with my script editor. Then I started writing and doing more research. All of Saturday I was in the London Library, mostly reading. Sunday and Monday I worked on the first draft. Tuesday morning I threw that draft in the bin and started from scratch. I spent half of yesterday and all of today writing and reading and rereading and rewriting. Admittedly this was a particularly hard one and I am not complaining, I love this stuff. But it is hard work. If you feel that is worth supporting, you can do so at historyofthegermans.com/support or you can get one of your loved ones to do it for you. I really appreciate it. And big thanks go to: Bengt-Ake A., Greg R., Jerry G., Stephan C., Allison K., Ryan G., and Owen W. who have already committed.

This week we will finally get to the end of what has become a bit of a miniseries on the council of Constance. I admit, things have gone a bit out of hand, but then when will we again have period when the center of European politics shifts to Germany – unless there is some horrific war! So forgive my indulgence.

Everybody expects the (Spanish) Inquisition?

But today we will get to the grand finale, the trial of Jan Hus. This trial was in fact not a normal trial but an inquisition. Ah, I hear you say, an inquisition. We have been expecting those. Guys in robes, applying the screws until they get a confession and off to the pyre it is.

Well yes, but also not yes.

If you were a peasant in South West France at the height of the persecution of the Cathars and someone would show up and say: “I am from the inquisition and I am here to help”, you would probably have shouted – praise the lord.

Because before the inquisition got going the persecution of heretics went a bit like that: In 1209 the city of Beziers in Languedoc had come under siege from some crusaders. This crusade, the so called Albigensian crusade had been called to eradicate the Cathar heresy. The citizens of Beziers were split roughly down the middle between Cathars and non-Cathars. Though they did not agree on religion, they did agree on hating the crusaders. So they resisted them, but as it happened unsuccessfully.

As the walls were breached and the population sought refuge in the cathedral, the military commanders asked Arnaud Amalric, the abbot of Citeaux and religious leader of the crusade what he should do now. The saintly abbot allegedly said: “Kill the all, god will know his own”. So they set fire to the church, and the entire population, men, women and children, heretic or orthodox, were killed.

The Dominican friars who had come along on this particular crusade and watched the mindless brutality realized that this approach led nowhere. Summarily executing whoever appears to have a different opinion or just simply looked as if he had a different opinion would only create more martyrs for the Cathar belief.

They Dominicans proposed a new, two-pronged approach. One was to convince the populace of the superiority of the orthodox teachings through sermons and the example of personal piety. And the second was to carefully identify those who held a different set of beliefs, explain to them the error of their ways and only once they refuse to recant, to punish them, including having them burned at the stake.

Not that I would condone burning people for their beliefs, but this surgical removal of individual troublemakers was a much more humane and likely more effective way to move hearts and minds than the indiscriminate killing of anyone remotely suspect.

And if you look at the numbers during the 14th century, this more positive perspective on the inquisition is borne out by fact. Some of you may have read Montaillou, the book by Emmanuel le Roy Laduire. In it he analyses the social structure of a 14th century village in South West France based on the files from an inquisition process performed by the local bishop. In that inquisition the authorities interrogated roughly 250 people but in the end convicted only a handful, declaring the majority of suspects innocent. And even convictions at least in this period were not that severe. For instance Bernard Gui, one of the most famous inquisitors in the 14th century and archvillain in Umberto Eco’s Name of the Rose convicted 650 individuals of heresy during a 20-year career. But only 45 of them ended up on the pyre. 

Is Heresy really that bad?

Ok, but there were still 45 people being killed in the most horrific way for disagreeing with the authorities. That is obviously not justifiable from a modern perspective. But in the late Middle Ages heresy was a very serious crime, a crime infinitely worse than murder or high treason.

There are many reasons, but two stand out for me. For one there was the fear was that if heretic belief spread, it could split the church resulting in horrific religious war and persecutions. And given in the upcoming 200 years of our narrative we will see several instances of 1/3rd to half of populations being wiped out in religious war, so these concerns were more than valid.

And then there is another key consideration. If you were to believe in the afterlife as most people in the 15th century did, then the short span of time on this planet paled into insignificance against the 10s of thousands, maybe millions of years one would dwell in either hell or heaven. Hence inflicting damage on the immortal soul that would cast a sinner down into the inferno for eternity was a more severe infringement than shortening the lifespan even of a saintly individual.

And that is what heretics are accused of. They were teaching dogma that would lead those who listened to it down a path of error and ultimately away from god. And that led straight down to hell, it was murder of the immortal soul. Heretics, in particular those who gathered a large followership were considered genocidal terrorists endangering thousands of people, even threating the whole of Christianity.

Dissenters therefore needed to be isolated from the rest of the faithful before they could infect others with his deviant ideas. If they recognized their errors and truthfully recanted, they could be re-admitted, but if not they needed to remain contained, either by wearing clothes that marked them out as a heretics, imprisonment or in the most severe cases, cleansing by fire.

We may disagree with the premise of the whole process, but for the contemporaries these were important questions, namely whether Jan Hus was indeed a heretic and if he had received a fair hearing at his trial. And given what we just discussed about the probability of being convicted, Jan Hus had a decent chance of acquittal or leniency. Arguably a higher chance than defendants in the US and UK where conviction rates are above 80% or Japan where they are a staggering 99.3%.

So, what exactly was Jan Hus accused of?

That as it turns out is not an easy question to answer. A medieval trial did not start with an indictment outlining the charges that the prosecution would then attempt to prove beyond reasonable doubt. In the prosecution of Jan Hus he received no fewer than14 different lists of accusations, each containing up to 25 separate charges.  

However, all these different lists have three common themes, namely:

  • First, that he was disobedient to the church, a rabble rouser who refused to follow explicit orders from his archbishop and even the pope himself, and
  • Second, that he supported and distributed the ideas of John Wycliffe even after he was declared a heretic, and
  • Thirdly that his ideas of who is part of the holy church and the role of the papacy were a major deviation from doctrine, even dangerous to the continued existence of a unified catholic church

And was he guilty? If you have listened to episode 170 where we talked about Jan Hus background, career and thought, you may already know the answer, but let me lay it out here for you:

On the first point, disobedience, Jan Hus was not one to follow orders. Even before he had arrived in Constance he had been excommunicated no less than four times, twice by his archbishop, once by a commission of cardinals and once by the pope himself. Being excommunicated meant he was barred from even entering a church, let alone preach in it. That however was what Jan Hus did at every possible opportunity, even during his journey from Bohemia to Constance. There was also his opposition to the indulgences created to fund a political war against Naples, that was labelled a crusade. Hus had preached against these indulgences and even encouraged his followers to beat up the pardoners who were trying the sell these tickets to heaven. So not exactly an obedient son of the church.

As for the endorsement of Wycliffe’s works, that is a bit more subtle. First up, Wycliffe had not been branded  a heretic in Bohemia until 1410. Before that only some of his theses, not his entire works had been banned, and not in Bohemia but in England. There was also the thing that when the orthodox members of the Bohemian church wrote down 45 theses they ascribed to Wycliffe, quite a few of them were made up. When Hus was asked whether he had ever defended any of the 45 Wycliffe theses, he responded that these weren’t Wycliffe’s theses and hence he had never endorsed them.

The debate over Wycliff had escalated in 1410 when the Prague archbishop Zbyněk Zajíc formally banned all of Wycliffe’s writings. Moreover, Zbyněk ordered that these works and others associated with it were to be burned. He collected 200 volumes from across Prague, from the university library, churches and private homes. All of these were to go up in flames.

That was a brutal and extremely wasteful act. Producing a book before the invention of the printing press cost the equivalent of several months of a skilled laborer’s wage. 200 books were not only worth a fortune but a huge chunk of the total number of books available to scholars in Bohemia. To put that into context the Duke Humphrey’s Library in Oxford, the predecessor of the Bodleian, held 281 books in 1447. Cambridge’s university library had 163 books in 1363. Paris was larger and may have had as many as a 1,000 books. So burning 200 books in a young university was huge, shockingly huge.

And not all of these were books by Wycliffe himself. Important writings on logic, philosophy, mathematics and other topics were also destined for the fire. Jan Hus and the professors at the university were shocked about this act of vandalism. They protested violently against their university being stripped of its key research capabilities. And the population at large who were proud of having such a place of learning in their city were appalled. Hus called it an act against the laws of god and incited his flock to take up arms and prevent the burning. In response he was banned from preaching, his license revoked.

The books still went up in flames in July 1410. Street protests broke out and were violently suppressed. Songs circulated ridiculing the archbishop and his canons were sung and embellished for decades afterwards. An international outcry followed as news reached Paris, Oxford and Bologna.

To bring it back to Hus, he took the view that quote “one is permitted to read and to have in one’s home books even if they contain certain false or heretic opinions”. The real heretics he said weren’t those who wrote such books, but those who burned them! I have said before that there is much to like about Jan Hus approach to religion and just to life in general, and this is just another piece in the puzzle that makes him out as a much more modern and actually more sympathetic character than Martin Luther.

But his objection to burning books does not automatically make him a supporter of Wycliff. Throughout his various trials he insisted that he never endorsed the 45 theses, mainly because they had not been Wycliffe’s actual thoughts. As it happens, that s not quite true. In a debate at Prague university he had defended some of the 45 theses. It is unclear whether he omitted this out of fear of the legal consequences or because in the thousands of pages he had written and hundreds of debates he had taken part, he had simply forgotten about the incident.

Apart from this minor moment of wavering he was consistent. He kept saying that there are elements of Wycliffe’s writings he believed to be true and accurate, just not in exactly the way the 45 theses had laid them out. That qualification did however not help.  In 1415 the Council of Constance confirmed previous decisions that all of Wycliffe’s works were heretic. Therefore even just a partial support of his ideas made Jan Hus technically a heretic.

Which gets us now to the third accusation, Hus’ idea about who was a member of the Holy church and who was not. As we described in episode 170 in more detail, Hus’ idea about the church was based on the following set of arguments:

At the last judgement the world will be divided between the faithful who are to be admitted to eternal bliss and the unworthy who are to be cast down to the underworld.

It follows that those bound for perdition cannot be true members of the church.

So how to find out whether one is a true faithful or an unworthy, unrepentant sinner? One could not preempt the final judgement, that would be blasphemous. But it was possible to look out for signs. If a prelate was greedy, had bought his benefice for cash and was too busy with his various concubines to say mass not even on Sunday, chances are he might be going down the abyss once the time comes. On the other hand a layman who was pious, knew his scripture and did good works, that person was more likely to move to cloud nine.

If you follow this line of argument to its natural conclusion, as Hus did, than there will be members of the clergy that are not part of the faithful and hence not part of Holy Mother Church. If they are not members of the church, how can they demand obedience from the faithful, the actual members of the church. What are the sacraments, the baptisms, marriages and last rites worth if performed by a non-member of the church?

This was ecclesiastical kryptonite. If the Council of Constance had let this notion stand, all discipline in the church would have collapsed. Every order or demand from above could be returned with “not doing that unless you get your own act together”. The entire church administration would grind to a standstill. When asked whether he would obey the pope, Jan Hus said, yes, but only as long as the pope obeys scripture and lives an apostolic life. And who determined whether the pope was obeying scripture and living an apostolic life? Well, in the absence of a clear sign of god, Jan Hus obviously.

No wonder that some called Jan Hus writings “more dangerous than the Qu’ran” and threat to Christendom.

But was that heresy?

If you look at the traditional papalist dogma that went back to Gregory VII with all its ideas about the infallibility of the pope and the obedience every single soul, kings and emperors included owed the pope, well, definitely that was heresy. In fact there is an even a really old heresy, Donatism, that had a similar concept of unworthy priests being unable to perform valid acts and that heresy had been banned since the very first church council in 314 AD.

But, but we are at the council of Constance in July 1415 and just 3 months earlier this self-same council had deposed a pope for being unworthy of the office, for being a pirate, a money grabber, a relentless fornicator and generally a very bad person.

It was only one small step further from there to the Hussite idea of the role of the church. But then, “one small step further” were also the last words of the girl with the selfie stick. Which is why the council of Constance did not go one small step further.

And in the end we all know that Jan Hus deviated from the existing orthodoxy and was hence a heretic. That is why we are interested in his story. His stance was part of a major shift in the way europe thought about its spiritual wellbeing. For 400 years there had been wave after wave of attempts to clean up the church. And every single one of these waves had petered out after a while, the Cluniacs, the reform papacy, the Cistercians, the Franciscans, all at some point or another succumbed to the corruption of wealth and power and as the saying goes, absolute power corrupts absolutely. It was time to try something new. And Jan Hus was a huge part of this push for an alternative.

But Jan Hus was neither the first nor the most extreme advocate of a fundamental rethinking of the church. There were lots of others, though they almost all had something in common, Jan Hus did not share. William of Ockham died in his bed, Marsilius of Padua, died in his bed, John Wycliffe died in his bed, Martin Luther, died in his bed, John Calvin died in his bed, Ulrich Zwingly died on the battlefield, only Jan Hus died on the pyre.

Which gets us to the really interesting question, did Jan Hus get a fair hearing or was he set up?

There are few participants in this drama that have been branded as the villains who caused the death of a good man, namely the archbishop of Prague, Zbyněk,the emperor Sigismund, his former friend and fellow reformer, Štěpán Páleč [Pals]and his special prosecutor Michael de Causis.

The archbishop of Prague, Zbyněk Zajíc was a typical product of the late medieval church. A member of an aristocratic family he had started out as a military leader in the retinue of king Wenceslaus IV. In 1402 he bought the appointment as archbishop for 2,800 guilders. The traditional reading is that Zbynek knew nothing about theology and was totally unsuited for the role as a bishop. What did qualify him in the eyes of the king of Bohemia was that he was loyal. His appointment happened only 9 years after King Wenceslaus had Johann Nepomuk murdered as part of his conflict with a previous archbishop.

Initially Zbynek and Hus got on really well. Hus acted as an advisor to his archbishop, helping him to navigate the complexities of the Schism and the Bohemian reform movements. But by around 1408 Zbynek started to turn on Hus. The exact reason for that is unclear, but it seems that Zbynek was getting under pressure to reign in on the progressives in Bohemia. The spread of Wycliffe’s ideas as well as the constant criticism of his prelates made him look bad. So he wrote back to Rome that there was no heresy in Bohemia at all whilst at the same time trying to suppress the movement at home.

Initially he attacked a wide range of Bohemian reformers, but then zoomed in on Jan Hus. That made Jan Hus the focal point of the reform movement, in particular once Zbynek had excommunicated him. As we said in episode 170, Hus was only one of many theologians and preachers in Prague who demanded fundamental change, but the relentless persecution by the archbishop raised his profile. In a sort of tit for tat, every time Zbynek hit out at him, his popularity increased and his influence grew.

And there are a number of things Zbynek did that weren’t cricket, not even by the standards of a time when buying an archbishopric was regarded as standard practice. One we already heard about, the burning of Wycliffe’s books. The other was the issuance of excommunications and even interdicts related to Hus whilst his case was actually pending before the papal court. Once a case had moved up to Rome, or Bologna in that case, the local church was normally shut out and had to wait for news from the south. But Zbynek kept going after him. He gained the upper hand when Hus attacked the indulgences which lost him the support of the king and forced him onto exile. Zbynek did not get to see Hus burn since he died in 1411.

But it is fair to say that if Zbynek had not gone relentlessly after Hus, Hus may not have ended up excommunicated and on the pyre. But if it had not been Hus, it had been someone else. Revolutions need leaders and whatever was brewing in Bohemia in the early 1400s was a revolution. And that leader would have been excommunicated and brought to trial, one way or another.

Which gets us to the next one in our gallery of villains, the man who got Jan Hus to come to Constance (quote):

“In the year of our Lord 1414, the most serene prince and lord, Lord Sigismund, king of the Romans and of Hungary,[..]…sent from Lombardy certain noble lords of Bohemia[…], charging them in his royal name to conduct Master John of Husinec, formatus bachelor of sacred theology,’ [to that Council]. They were to assure him of a safe-conduct, in order that he should come to Constance to the said general Council for the clearing of his own evil reputation as well as that of the Bohemian kingdom. […] The king was also willing to send him a special safe-conduct in order that, having come to Constance, he might return to Bohemia. He also solemnly promised to be ready to take him under his and the Holy Empire’s protection and defense.” End quote

Jan Hus arrived in Constance on November 3rd 1414 and 3 and a half weeks later but before Sigismund had arrived, he was arrested and locked up in a dank and cold cell in the Dominican monastery. When Sigismund got to Constance he protested against the flagrant disregard of the personal assurances he had given the reformer. But he was rebuffed by the various canon lawyers who assured him that his safe conduct could be easily set aside on the basis that Jan Hus was already excommunicated for longer than one year and hence had no rights of protection and promises made to him were invalid. That is legally correct, just remember emperor Henry IV’s journey to Canossa in the depth of winter as he needed to get his excommunication lifted within a year and a day to preserve the oaths of his vassals.

But in practice Sigismund had ways and means to protect Jan Hus. The issue of Hus had been relatively low on the agenda of the council which was busy with the trial of John XXIII. Sigismund had received the keys to Hus’ prison and was able to place him into more comfortable surroundings. He had military control of Constance. So he could have easily organized his return to Bohemia at any point. But he did not.

Why he did not is subject to some debate. Joerg Hoensch in his biography of Sigismund said that the emperor prioritized the smooth running of the council over that promises he had made.  And once he had grasped that Hus’ argument that nobody owed obedience to a badly behaved superior applied equally to kings as it did to popes, he actively wanted Hus to be burned.

We do not know what Sigismund was thinking, but another theory could go as follows. Sigismund had most probably never read anything Hus had written before he sent the letter of safe conduct. All he knew was that Prague had been branded a nest of heretics and that was not good for his family’s reputation and his prospects as the future ruler of Bohemia. Therefore he had an interest to have a public debate on Hus theses and resolve the issue, ideally with a full acquittal.

Hus too wanted his day in court. He did know that this was an extremely risky undertaking and he was cracking jokes about roasted geese right from the day he arrived on the lake. He could have avoided all that by ignoring Sigismund’s invitation and staying in one of the castles of his Bohemian supporters indefinitely. It is therefore hard to argue that Sigismund lured Hus to Constance to see him burn.

What one could accuse him of is that he did not get him out once the proceedings went pear shaped. Actually, Sigismund did pro-actively the opposite. At the latter stages of the proceedings he, as president of the council at the time, urged the delegates not to let Hus go, even if he recants. He told them that Hus would not truly recant and upon return to Bohemia resume his heresies. Hence he made sure that if Hus was found to be a heretic, there was only the choice between life imprisonment and death by fire.

Sigismund did however one thing on behalf of Hus. He secured him a series of public hearings. Normally inquisitions could and were often held in private. The risk of spreading falsehoods that would infect the souls of the bystanders was seen as too great. This was of great importance to Hus whose sole chance of survival was to sway public opinion on to his position.

At this point we progress to the attorneys for the prosecution. The first of those was Štěpán z Pálče. His career was very similar to Jan Hus’. From a small village in Bohemia he arrived at the university of Prague a few years before Hus. He graduated in 1386 and in 1399 became dean of the liberal arts faculty. He joined the circle of Bohemian reformers and immersed himself in the works of Wycliffe. He and Jan Hus became close friends working towards church reform.

But at some stage around the 1408 to 1410 the relationship soured. This may have had some personal reasons, but it may as well be that Pálče was simply unwilling to follow Hus down a path towards more and more radical concepts. It was fine to attack badly behaved priests and demanding a better sort of people at the top of the church, but that did not mean he wanted to blow up the entirety of the structure. As time went by, Pálče became more and more uncomfortable with what was going on. Preachers who had been suspended continuing to preach, the German speaking professors and students pushed out of his university, the mob parading prelates and their girlfriends naked through the streets of Prague, papal excommunications ignored.

Pálče became convinced that Wycliffe and Hus were a threat to the fabric of society, to the church and the immortal souls of all of Christendom. He turned from friend to foe and mounted the prosecution of Hus in Prague, first in conjunction with archbishop Zbynek and then with his successor. When Jan Hus arrived in Constance in November 1414, Pálče was waiting for him. Together with the fourth and last of the villains, Michael de Causis he affected Hus’ arrest and incarceration. When they succeeded and guards were taking Hus away to his cell quote “they danced around the dining hall, gloating and saying: ‘Ha, ha, we have him now. He will not get away from us until he has paid in full.” End quote.

At this point now, enter stage left the true archvillain of the case, Michael de Causis. Whilst Hus and many contemporaries saw Pálče as Hus’ most formidable opponent on the grounds of his thorough grounding in theology and his sincere conviction that Hus was dangerous, the less well known Michael de Causis was at least as important, if not more important. He had been relentless in the pursuit of his one objective, to see Jan Hus burn. There was no ruse too base, no trick to onerous to get him to this objective.

Michael was another Bohemian, though from the German speaking minority. Both Pálče an Zbynek had been Czech speakers.

His career and motivation also differed considerably from his colleague. He had started his career in the church administration in Bohemia, had become a public notary and later priest at a church in Prague’s new town. In 1408 he suddenly disappeared, around the same time an embezzlement scheme came to light where several individuals had been siphoning off profits from a major royal gold mine, a gold mine Michael was involved with.

We next find him at the papal curia where he rapidly  moved up the food chain. The pope he worked for was John XXIII, former pirate and still active money grabber and fornicator. Unsurprisingly the two of them got on brilliantly. John XXIII made Michael his special prosecutor in matters of the faith, procurator de causis fidei, which is why he became known as Michael de Causis or Michael the Pleader.  

And Michael immediately zoomed in on Jan Hus. He calls him the prince of heretics and convinces otherwise sensible men like Dietrich von Niehm to write treatises full of vitriol against Hus. He encourages Zbynek to excommunicate Hus and when the case arrives at the Curia he has Hus’ lawyers arrested and ensures his appeal is overturned. When one of the members of the curia, the eminent cardinal and accomplished lawyer Zabarella sees some merit to Hus’ case, he has the case transferred to the pope directly.

And once the trial gets properly going in Constance, Michael is everywhere, lurking outside the prison, working the corridors and lobbies to turn delegates against Hus, to bring the case to the top of the agenda. He writes up the accusations against the reformer, some justified, but he does not refrain from making things up. He accused him of all kinds of mind-crimes, things Michael said Hus had thought even though Hus never said anything of that sort, and he topped it off with an accusation that Hus had told his supporters he would be the fourth manifestation of god, alongside the trinity.

Which begs the question, why he pursued this case with such dogged persistence. The other accusers, Zbynek and Pálče had reasons that were justifiable, at least within the context of the times. Michael de Causis did not. He may have had it in for Hus for revenge. We do not know what triggered the Pleader’s expulsion from Prague. Investigating and exposing an embezzling Priest was right up Hus’ street. And/or it might have been simple ambition. By making Hus out to be the biggest threat to Christendom, the creator of heresies as big as the Cathars and Waldensians meant that he, the man who brought Hus down would be seen as the hero of the day. He might have read his Cicero and drawn his own conclusions what the Catilinarian conspiracy was really about.

So we have an archvillain, Michael de Causis and two men who had a major hand in Jan Hus tragic demise, but does that mean he did not get a fair trial?

The judges in his trial were the delegates of the Council of Constance with Sigismund as its temporary president. Many of these men were highly trained theologians and canon lawyers. They were very much capable to discern between simple errors and heretic conviction. Yes, presentation of arguments and facts mattered even to such a competent jury, so things like the rapid change of accusations made it hard for the defendant to prove innocence.

But Hus is given four separate public sessions to defend his position. That is a big concession, since heresy is normally tried behind closed doors to avoid contamination. He is given the list of charges and the opportunity to refute them.

And several of these he was able to push back. The more outlandish allegations brought by Michael de Causis were quickly dismissed. And even accusations that could have had some legs, like his position on transubstantiation of the wine and bread were dismissed.

It has been argued that Hus was denied a proper legal representation, but that again wasn’t guaranteed in a heresy case. In fact it was often difficult to find anyone willing to defend since that bore the risk of being associated with the heretic.

Then these public hearings turned occasionally somewhat chaotic. The closest chronicler of the trial, Petr Mladenovics who had been present in many of these hearings described them as “So-called hearings but in truth not hearings but Jeerings and Vilifications”.  He reports that whenever Hus wanted to respond to an allegation, quote “many with one voice clamoured simultaneously” . They also twisted his words and then shouted “leave off your sophistry and say yes or no”. And once he became silent, they took that as consent.

Mladenovics was a member of Hus’ delegation and clearly on the reformer’s side. So he might have exaggerated the shouting and bullying, because we then hear a huge amount of detail on Hus’ responses to individual accusations.

The court zoomed in on the three topics above, obedience, support of Wycliffe and his position on the role of church hierarchy. And on all three they found him guilty. Frankly, how could they not?

The whole reason we have talked about Jan Hus for the last 30 minutes or so is because what he proposed had the potential to blow up the late medieval Church. We would not spend that much time on the trial of a man who agreed with papal orthodoxy and just happened to be falsely accused and killed.

The Verdict

On June 8th, 1415 the council gathered and Hus was presented with 39 articles that all of 60 doctors of theology believed were things he had said and that they found to be heretical. He was told that if he submitted to the council’s instruction, acknowledges his errors, recants these articles, publicly revoke and retract them and from now on hold and preach the opposite, if he did all that, he would be readmitted to the church. Hus refused, saying as he had done several times before, that these articles do not accurately reflect his writing and where they do he had not seen evidence from scripture that convinced him they were wrong. Or no for short.

The debate went on for a while until it was clear that no meant no and Sigismund shut it down. Jan Hus had the last word when he said: quote: “I stand before God’s judgement Who will judge justly both me and you according to merit”.

As he turned to be led out the church he was a by all accounts a condemned heretic and soon to be burned at the stake, he noticed a man, a friend coming towards him, Lord John of Chlum, who reached out and shook his hand. This was an act of enormous bravery in front of hundreds of men who saw Hus as a mass murderer of immortal souls and were only looking out for who else was involved. I take my hat off John of Chlum

The formal judgement was announced on July 5th, and he was given another opportunity to recant, which he turned down.

The execution of Jan Hus

The next day, July 6, he was brought again to the cathedral. He was given again an opportunity to recant which again he turned down. That opened up the last act.

As he was still a priest, he needed to be stripped of his ecclesiastical protections that would have prevented him from getting executed. First he was shown the communion cup and told that he would never again be allowed to drink from it. He responded that no, he will be drinking from it that same night in heaven.

Then he was made to relinquish his priestly vestments, one after the other, until he was just wearing his shift. Then they obliterated his tonsure. But the bishops officiating could not agree whether to shave it off or just use scissors. Hus laughed at them saying, look they cannot even agree on how to vilify me. They settled on scissors.

Finally they placed a paper crown on his head that showed three awesome devils fighting over a soul and the words “I am a heresiarch”, a lord over heretics. He saw the crown and pointed out that his lord had worn a much heavier crown than that.

And with that they handed him over to the secular authority who led him to the place of execution. All the way there he prayed joyfully . When they tied him to the pole he was facing east towards Jerusalem until someone pointed this out. So he was turned around to face west. They placed two large bundles of wood below his feet. The imperial marshal von Pappenheim approached him and asked him one last time whether he was willing to recant but Hus answered “I am willing gladly to die today”.

At once the executioners lit the fire and according to our eyewitness Petr Mladenovics Hus began to sing “Christ, Thou son of the living god have mercy upon us”. And again “Christ, Thou son of the living god have mercy upon us”. And the third verse, “Thou who art born of Mary the Virgin”, and when he began to sing the third time, the wind blew the flame in his face. Praying within himself and moving his lips and his head he expired. The whole thing had lasted no more than 2 or three 3 “Our Fathers”.

When wood of the two bundles and the ropes were consumed but the remains of the body still stood in its chains, hanging by the neck, the executioners pulled the charred body along with the stake down to the ground and burned them further by adding wood from the third wagon. And walking around, they broke the bones with their clubs so that they would be incinerated more quickly. And finding the head, they broke it to pieces with the cubs and again threw it into the fire. And when they found his heart amongst his intestines, they sharpened the club like a spit, and, impaling it on its end, they took particular care to roast and consume it, piercing it with spears until finally the whole mass was turned into ashes. And at the order of the said Clem and the marshal, the executioners threw the clothing into the fire along with the shoes, saying: “so that the Czechs would not regard it as relics; we will pay you money for it.” Which they did. So they loaded all the ashes in a cart and threw it in the river Rhine flowing nearby.” End Quote

The news of what had happened in Constance raced to Prague and from there all across Bohemia, Saxony, Poland and wherever people had read Hus’ books or had heard him preach. It triggered an event that we call the Hussite revolt and that will not just engulf Bohemia but will bring about profound change, some of it religious, but most of it military as the next great Czech hero steps onto the stage, Jan Ziska. But that we will talk about in next week’s episode.

In the meantime, if you feel compelled to make a contribution to the History of the Germans, you can do so our website, historyofthegermans.com/support.