The year is 1346 and we have, yes, another succession crisis. Without checking through my 1500 pages of transcripts, I have counted a total of 14 contested imperial elections in the 427 years we have covered so far. Henry the Fowler, Herny II, Henry IV, Henry V, Lothar III, Konrad III, Philip of Swabia, Otto IV, Frederick II, Konrad IV, Richard of Cornwall, Adolf of Nassau, Albrecht of Habsburg and Ludwig the Bavarians all had to contend with anti-kings or severe opposition to their ascension to the throne.

I guess you are bored with these and so were the citizens of the empire. But here is the good news. From Karl IV’s reign onwards these succession crises will become fewer and fewer. Why? One reason is of course the Golden Bull we will discuss in a few episodes time. But there is another one, which had to do with the way Karl IV overcome the opposition. He claimed it was divine providence, but modern historians point to a much more temporal force that tied the imperial title to the heirs of the house of Luxemburg…

TRANSCRIPT

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 156 – What price for a crown, also episode 18 of Season 8 “From the Interregnum to the Golden Bull”

The year is 1346 and we have, yes, another succession crisis. Without checking through my 1500 pages of transcripts, I have counted a total of 14 contested imperial elections in the 427 years we have covered so far. Henry the Fowler, Herny II, Henry IV, Henry V, Lothar III, Konrad III, Philip of Swabia, Otto IV, Frederick II, Konrad IV, Richard of Cornwall, Adolf of Nassau, Albrecht of Habsburg and Ludwig the Bavarians all had to contend with anti-kings or severe opposition to their ascension to the throne.

I guess you are bored with these and so were the citizens of the empire. But here is the good news. From Karl IV’s reign onwards these succession crises will become fewer and fewer. Why? One reason is of course the Golden Bull we will discuss in a few episodes time. But there is another one, which had to do with the way Karl IV overcome the opposition. He claimed it was divine providence, but modern historians point to a much more temporal force that tied the imperial title to the heirs of the house of Luxemburg…

But before we start the usual reminder that the History of the Germans is advertising free. And that is only possible because some of you are willing to make a contribution to the show. As you know, you can do that either by signing up on patreon.com/historyofthegermans or by making a one-time contribution on my website historyofthegermans.com under support the show. And let me thank  Birgit L., Brian C., Brian P., Christoph H., Gareth W., Gregory W. and Iskren C. who have given so generously.

Last week we left our most recent imperial hopeful at the Battle of Crecy, his father dead, he himself much impaired, possibly physically wounded, fleeing the field of battle.

Yes, he had been elected king of the Romans by five Prince-electors, but despite the extraordinary expense in bribes and concessions, this had been a low-key affair. At Rhens, where the election had taken place only a smattering of knights and counts had attended. And a rushed coronation had to take place in Bonn as he could not get into Aachen and lacked the imperial regalia, crucial for the legitimacy of the event.

Returning from France with the body of his father and his much diminished forces, he stopped in Luxemburg. He was so broke, he had to borrow money from a local banker to pay for John of Bohemia’s funeral.

Gathering resources became his number one objective and he did not care much where these came from. So, he took over the county of Luxemburg for himself even though his father’s testament had granted it to his stepbrother Wenzel. Wenzel was admittedly only 9 years old at the time and Luxemburg needed to be protected. Still, a bit of a cad move.

His biggest problem was that the emperor Ludwig the Bavarian who had ruled for over 30 years was still around. He was 64 years old and seemingly still in good health plus had been blessed with a total of five sons, so many, he ran out of ideas what to call them. He named two of the Ludwig, Ludwig the Elder, who was – guess what – the older one and Ludwig the Roman, who was called that because he was born in the eternal city.

Moreover, very much to Karl’s chagrin, his election had not galvanised the opposition against the Bavarian as he had hoped. In particular the great cities, by now the financially most important estate in the empire remained firmly with the Wittelsbachs providing the funds for the impending civil war.

The other big problem he had to deal with was that public opinion saw him as a creature of the papacy. It was after all pope Clement VI, his great friend and mentor who had supported him in the run-up to his election. After 20 years under church interdict the mood in Germany had turned against the Avignon popes to a degree unmatched in any other part of medieval Europe. And this sentiment had taken hold across the social classes, not just the peasants who had to pay ever increasing taxes to the church but also the senior clergy who no longer elected their own abbots and bishops but even the territorial princes had complaints about ecclesiastical overreach. Karl did not help his case when he reconfirmed his oath to support the papacy to a degree no emperor before him had done.

Even the king of France, Philip VI, for whom he and his father had fought at Crecy was at best lukewarm in his endorsement of Karl. Maybe Karl should not have shown his disapproval of this spendthrift monarch so openly when he lived in Paris…

Apart from the political problem, he also had a logistical one. Since his father had died, he needed to get to Prague to claim his kingdom. Though Bohemia was an inherited, not an elective kingdom, the Bohemian barons had shown in the past that they were willing and able to replace their monarchs. Plus, he needed to achieve some military success that would convince his potential allies that he was serious.

Emperor Ludwig knew that and therefore calculated that Karl would somehow make his way to Bohemia, raise an army there and then attack one of the two Wittelsbach possessions next door, Bavaria or Brandenburg. The aging emperor and his oldest son Ludwig of Brandenburg fortified castles and amassed troops on the Bohemian border.

Now remember that Karl was a cold and calculating chess player, not a hard charging chivalric knight always attacking where the mass of enemies was thickest. Aiming to be two steps ahead, Karl decided against doing the obvious but instead to attack the Wittelsbach underbelly that had been stripped of troops to defend Bavaria and Brandenburg. That underbelly was the county of Tyrol.

In all secrecy Karl gathered support amongst the lords of the Northern Italian cities who knew him from the campaigns of his youth. He then sweettalked the patriarch of Aquileia and the bishop of Trient into providing troops and attacked Tyrol from the south. His army moved rapidly into what is today called South Tyrol and the Wittelsbachs were caught on the wrong foot. Ludwig the Elder, the count of Tyrol and husband of Margarete Maultasch was up north defending Brandenburg with most of his soldiers.

But Karl, cunning as he was, had not thought about the subsequent moves on the chessboard. Though the count of Tyrol and most of his vassals were away, his countess, the formidable Margarete Maultasch was not, and Margarete Maultasch was not prepared to yield to Karl, not ever, because she could not. You may remember that she had been married to Karl’s brother, Johann Heinrich and had him thrown out of the county. Not only that, shortly after that she had married Ludwig the Elder of Wittelsbach without her previous marriage being annulled. The emperor Ludwig had granted her a civil divorce, but in the eyes of the church and a large chunk of the public opinion, she was still married. And that meant, if she surrendered now, she would have been hauled before an ecclesiastical court as a bigamist. The penalty for bigamy was flogging followed by exposure to the crowd at the scaffold, plus she would have lost Tyrol not only for herself but also for her son.

Hence Margarete Maultasch could not yield, ever. She gathered what small forces she had and fortified the ancestral residence of Schloss Tyrol above Meran. If you ever have a chance to go there, take a look. Schloss Tyrol is, even by the standards of Tyrol with many amazing fortresses atop steep mountains an outstanding position. And it had been strengthened by generations of counts of Tyrol, making it almost impregnatable.

Margarete Maultasch held out against Karl and his allies for several months until her husband finally arrived from Berlin with a relief army, sending Karl packing.

This failure seemed like a nail in the coffin of Karl’s ambition. Disguised as a pilgrim, he travelled through Austria to Bohemia. He did meet with the Habsburg duke Albrecht on the way but could not convince him to join his cause. Albrecht was as much a calculating chess player as Karl and he was not willing to take sides at a point when the outcome was so open. All he promised was neutrality for now.

In August Karl was finally back in Prague. There he celebrated a coronation as king of Bohemia which to his great relief attracted at least some of the imperial princes. What enticed them to come, you will hear in a minute.

First, we need to talk about Bohemia. Though he was popular in Bohemia, the Bohemian barons drove a hard bargain. Karl had to confirm all ancient privileges plus guarantee that no “foreigners” would gain any of the senior positions in the kingdom, that no vassals could be forced to fight beyond the border, that royal claims on completed fiefdoms were to be restricted and that certain taxes were abolished.

In return the barons allowed the coronation to go ahead and even provided the funds to muster sizeable army to attack Bavaria or Brandenburg. And just when he was about to order the departure for Munich news arrived that the emperor Ludwig the Bavarian, at the age of 65 had gone on a bear hunt and had not returned. I am not sure what is more astounding, that a 65 year old man suffers a heart attack when facing up to a bear with bows and arrows or that there were actual bears in Fuerstenfeldbruck, a place known more for its erratic driving style than its megafauna.

This event elicited two reactions. Karl thought, definitely not for the first time, that his extraordinary luck was another sign from God who had made him his champion. The reaction in the Wittelsbach camp was shock and despair. Their position had rested to a large extent on Ludwig’s personality, his competent statesmanship and the fact that he had been on the throne for 33 years and that everybody accepted him as emperor despite the interdict and the dodgy coronation.

Now they needed a new champion. If these had been the Habsburgs, the family would have rallied around the eldest of the sons, Ludwig the Elder, the margrave of Brandenburg and Count of Tyrol. But the Wittelsbach were a more disjointed lot and there were some issues with Ludwig, him being a bit of a ladies’ man, in particular the ladies of his courtiers and allies. And Ludwig was one of only two Prince Electors in the family and there was a debate whether an elector could vote for himself at an election.

So, they needed someone else. I mean there were four more sons of the emperor, but they could not decide for any one of them, for reasons, see above. That led to the natural choice of, drumroll, King Edward III of England, the victor of Crecy and all out 14^th century super lad. How they got this idea is totally beyond me. The Wittelsbachs had just cheated Edward out of his wife’s inheritance, the counties of Holland and Hennegau. Edward was also still busy with the French, that war isn’t called the hundred years war for nothing. Very much to the Bavarians’ surprise, Edward III politely declined the offer.

Next one on the list was Fredrich der Ernsthafte, the serious of Wettin, himself landgrave of Thuringia and Margrave of Meissen. That made a lot more sense. Friedrich’s lands were sandwiched between Bohemia and Brandenburg, making him a target for the ambitions of either houses. He would be dragged into the conflict whether he wanted or not, hence steadfast support of the Wittelsbach plus the promise of bits of Brandenburg was a compelling offer.

Friedrich the Serious was about to draft his letter of acceptance when he heard bewildering news from Magdeburg.

In Spring 1348 an old man in pilgrim’s garb had appeared at the gates of the castle of Wolmirstedt and had demanded to see the archbishop of Magdeburg. He had an important message for the prelate he said. The guards refused him access to the prince of the church, as one would. Then the man asked for just bread and wine, as was owed to him as a pilgrim. The old man was sitting down in the hall chewing on his bread when one of the aides of the archbishop spotted him noticed something unusual and exclaimed: “this is the ring of margrave Waldemar of Brandenburg”, pointing to the signet ring the old man was wearing. The pilgrim was brought before the archbishop and asked where he got this ring from. At which point the old man revealed that he was the margrave Woldemar of Brandenburg. Which was surprising, since Woldemar of Brandenburg had died in 1319, i.e., 29 years earlier. Not only that, his body had been buried with great pomp in the abbey of Chorin in the presence of many princes and lords.

Well, the pilgrim said, that burial had been a fake. He, Woldemar had been riven with guilt for marrying his first cousin and had decided to do penance by going on a long pilgrimage to the Holy Land. And to make it more of a penance he had pretended to be dead. But now he was back, released from his sins and willing to release his lands from the grip of the louche and tyrannical Ludwig the Elder of Wittelsbach.

The archbishop Otto of Magdeburg immediately bought this thoroughly convincing story and declared the old man to be indeed the one and only Woldemar the Great, true margrave of Brandenburg and Prince Elector of the empire. In return the grateful margrave rewarded the archbishop with valuable castles and lands.

Soon after the cousins of the Margrave, the counts of Anhalt and the dukes of Saxen-Wittenberg came to see the man and  confirmed his identity as their long lost relative Woldemar of Brandenburg. In return Woldemar made them the heirs to the margraviate since he was unlikely to father any children given his advanced age.

Quite rapidly lord and knights of Brandenburg heard of the story and they too recognised their old lord and master. What convinced them was not just the physical similarity between him and the old margrave, but also his knowledge of specific events in the past, his speech and mannerisms. Ah, and they recognised him for his legendary generosity when he handed them rights, lands and castles.

As the new old Woldemar gathered supporters, the actual margrave of Brandenburg, Ludwig the Elder, head of the house of Wittelsbach and main opponent of Karl of Bohemia saw his hold on the territory slipping away. He had been unpopular with the locals, in part for his loose morals but probably even more for his tight fiscal policies.

For our Karl, the return of margrave Woldemar was another gift from God. He met up with the man, declared that he was the real thing and confirmed him as the margrave of Brandenburg and in all his other fiefdoms. And in return Woldemar gave him upper Lusatia.

For the next two years Brandenburg suffered in a civil war between Woldemar and Ludwig the Elder. The war sucked in not just Karl, but also the king of Denmark, Waldemar Atterdag, the great foe of the Hanseatic league and the dukes of Pomerania and Mecklenburg.

Now if you have followed the chronology, you may have noticed which year we are in, yes 1348 and in 1348 a massive event that ill upturn medieval society had begun, the Black Death. The conflict was however so intense, even the massive death toll the disease brought barely stopped the fighting.

In the vagaries of war and disease outcomes are unpredictable. Despite support from Bohemia, Ludwig the Elder gradually got the upper hand in the conflict.

But by then it had already been to late for the Wittelsbachs.

Karl had once again outsmarted his enemies. His first coup had been to convince the patricians of Nurnberg that their interest lay in the east, in Bohemia and Hungary and that hence he was a more useful ally than the Wittelsbachs. With Nurnberg came many of the Swabian cities, once a key source of funds and support for the Wittelsbach cause.

And then he turned the tables once more when he used the constant friction within the Wittelsbach family. The count palatinate Rudolf was a Wittelsbach but like his father had an ambivalent relationship with Ludwig the Bavarian and the rest of the family. Karl charmed the old man to let him marry his daughter Anna, sole heiress to the principality. The marriage was agreed and then concluded within days. The old count palatinate got his estates to swear Karl fealty in case of his death and even gave him control of his administration. The Palatinate hugely strengthened the Luxemburg position in the west and brought him the Upper Palatinate that lay between Bohemia and his latest ally, the city of Nurnberg.

Karl was as I said before the exact opposite of his father. John of Bohemia would have sought victory on the battlefield and absent that gained death and glory. Karl did not care about glory and he also wasn’t keen on war. But still he wanted to win and win at all cost. And when I say at all cost I mean it.

Karl bribed the imperial princes lavishly. Prince Electors got land and what was left of the imperial rights to mint coins and collect tolls. The Pomeranians and Mecklenburgers were made dukes and imperial princes. Friedrich the Serious of Meissen was given land and cash.

The Historian Ferdinand Seibt had calculated that Karl spent a total of 1.8 million gold florins. A stunning sum by any measure. If you know your history of the hundred years war, you may remember that king Edward III had funded the campaign in France with loans from the Florentine bankers, the Bardi and Peruzzi to the tune of 1.5 million golf florins and when he was unable to pay it, he declared England bankrupt. His default leading to the collapse of a whole generation of Florentine banking houses, creating the opening for the Medici to rise to power.

Karl spent even more on his fight for the throne than Edward had spent on the campaign in France. Most of the money, about 900,000 florins went to the Prince Electors, 500,000 to the other imperial princes, 300,000 to counts and barons and 100,000 to the cities and individual patricians. The cheapest of them was it seems the anti king the Wittelsbach finally fielded, Count Gunther of Schwarzenberg. This knight and mercenary commander was the only one prepared to accept this suicide mission. Gunther lasted just three months after his election before he accepted 20,000 florins as payment for stepping down. He died a few weeks later. Do I need to tell you that Karl saw this again as a sign that he was God’s anointed.

By June 1349 the process was completed. The heavily bribed princes elected him again in Frankfurt and he was crowned again, this time in Aachen by his uncle Balduin of Trier. A year later he reconciled with the Wittelsbachs who handed over the imperial regalia. He dropped Woldemar who he now realised had been fake all along and enfeoffed Ludwig the elder with Brandenburg. Waldemor was given a caste to live out his last days.

Which leaves only one question. Where did Karl get his 1.8 million Florins from. Well, it wasn’t Bohemia whose barons remained tight fisted. Instead, Karl raided what was left of the lands and properties associated with the royal and imperial title. You remember that way back at the beginning of this series king Rudolf of Habsburgs spent most of his reign rebuilding the imperial domain. His policy of Revindication had been extremely successful and large parts of the properties the Hohenstaufen emperors had once ruled returned into royal control. Under his successors this stock had already shrunk somewhat, but when Karl appeared on the scene there was still quite a lot left. Within the first 2 years of his reign, almost all of it dissipated in bribes and awards. That is where the 1.8 million florins cam from. These weren’t cash payments but contributions in kind. Castles, toll stations, mints, advocacies over important abbeys, taxation rights over free and imperial cities etc., etc., etc. The resources meant to run the empire disappeared down the greedy throats of the imperial elites.

Karl will try to claim some of it back in the remainder of his reign but will ultimately give it away again when he secured the election of his son Wenceslaus as king of the Romans.

What that meant was that becoming king of the Romans became unaffordable to anyone not able to fund the entire administration of the empire out of their own funds. Without the royal lands no “poor count” like Rudolf von Habsburg or Henry of Luxemburg could ever again rise to the top of the tree after being elected. That removed the wildcard we had seen in previous elections and left the crown to whoever was the richest prince in the empire. And in 1349 Karl count of Luxemburg, king of Bohemia, margrave of Moravia, duke of Silesia and lots more was the richest of the imperial princes. Opinions differ about why he did strip the imperial title of all its resources. Was it necessity to gain the throne or was it a cunning long term plan aimed to shut out any of the other families from ever gaining the imperial diadem. This is one of the things we will never know because Karl’s autobiography breaks up with the election in 1346, meaning we are back to conjecture based on chroniclers and charters.

Now what does the empire look like Karl IV ruled over in 1349. Not great is the answer. We have the usual feuding and declining agricultural production but there is now another enemy, an enemy  impervious to arms or bribes that was making his way east and north, the Black Death. And that is what we will be talking about next time. Not just the horrors of the epidemic, but also how the loss of a third of the population changed the economic and mental landscape of the 14^th century. I hope you will join us again.

But before I go just the customary shout out about the fact that the History of the Germans has remained advertising free for all these years and that I intend to keep it that way. And that depends a lot on the generosity of our patrons and you can become a patron too by signing up on patreon.com/historyofthegermans or on historyofthegermans.com/support.

You have heard me complaining regularly over the last 154 episodes that what we report as political ambitions or strategic plans of the kings and emperors was pure conjecture derived from their actions and public statement. But we could never know what they were really thinking because none of them kept a diary, or if they did they did not survive to today.  The subject of today’s episode however did write an autobiography, which is believed to have been written by the emperor himself, at least in large parts. So, for the first time we hear an emperor telling his own story. Do you want to hear it? Well, here he describes what he called his most seminal moment of his youth:

That night, as sleep overcame us, a vision appeared to us: an angel of the Lord stood beside us on our left side, where we lay, and struck us on the side, saying, “Rise and come with me.”

We responded in spirit, “Lord, I do not know where or how to go with you.” And taking us by the hair of the front part of our head, he lifted us into the air over a great line of armed knights who were standing before a castle, ready for battle. Holding us in the air above the line, he said to us, “Look and see.” And behold, another angel descending from the sky, holding a fiery sword in his hand, struck one in the middle of the line and cut off his genital member with the same sword, and he, as if mortally wounded, agonized while sitting on his horse.

Then the angel holding us by the hair said, “Do you recognize him who was struck by the angel and mortally wounded?” We said, “Lord, I do not know him, nor do I recognize the place.” He said, “You should know that this is the Dauphin of Vienne, who, because of the sin of lust, has been struck by God in this way; therefore, beware and tell your father to beware of similar sins, or worse things will happen to you.” [..]

[..] Suddenly, we were restored to our place, the dawn already breaking. [..] To our father and Thomas, we had not told everything as we had seen; only that the Dauphin was dead. After some days, a messenger came bearing letters that the Dauphin, having gathered his army, had come before a certain castle of the Count of Savoy and that he had been shot by a large arrow from a crossbow in the middle of all his soldiers and had died after a few days, having had confession. Then our father, hearing the letters, said, “We are greatly astonished at this, because our son had foretold his death to us.” And he and Thomas were very amazed, but no one spoke of this matter with them afterward.”

There you go, the emperor Karl IV has divine visions. Not quite what you were expecting, but as it happened a good window into his way of thinking. But do not worry, Karl wasn’t just an excessively devout collector of relics, he was at the same time an astute and often ruthless politician who gave the Holy Roman empire its constitution and placed his heirs on the throne for the next centuries.

So let’s talk about Karl’s journey from his youth to becoming the King of the Romans.

TRANSCRIPT

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 155: The Youth of the Emperor Karl IV, also episode 18 of Season 8 “From the Interregnum to the Golden Bull.

You have heard me complaining regularly over the last 154 episodes that what we report as political ambitions or strategic plans of the kings and emperors was pure conjecture derived from their actions and public statement. But we could never know what they were really thinking because none of them kept a diary, or if they did they did not survive to today.  The subject of today’s episode however did write an autobiography, which is believed to have been written by the emperor himself, at least in large parts. So, for the first time we hear an emperor telling his own story. Do you want to hear it? Well, here he describes what he called his most seminal moment of his youth:

That night, as sleep overcame us, a vision appeared to us: an angel of the Lord stood beside us on our left side, where we lay, and struck us on the side, saying, “Rise and come with me.”

We responded in spirit, “Lord, I do not know where or how to go with you.” And taking us by the hair of the front part of our head, he lifted us into the air over a great line of armed knights who were standing before a castle, ready for battle. Holding us in the air above the line, he said to us, “Look and see.” And behold, another angel descending from the sky, holding a fiery sword in his hand, struck one in the middle of the line and cut off his genital member with the same sword, and he, as if mortally wounded, agonized while sitting on his horse.

Then the angel holding us by the hair said, “Do you recognize him who was struck by the angel and mortally wounded?” We said, “Lord, I do not know him, nor do I recognize the place.” He said, “You should know that this is the Dauphin of Vienne, who, because of the sin of lust, has been struck by God in this way; therefore, beware and tell your father to beware of similar sins, or worse things will happen to you.” [..]

[..] Suddenly, we were restored to our place, the dawn already breaking. [..] To our father and Thomas, we had not told everything as we had seen; only that the Dauphin was dead. After some days, a messenger came bearing letters that the Dauphin, having gathered his army, had come before a certain castle of the Count of Savoy and that he had been shot by a large arrow from a crossbow in the middle of all his soldiers and had died after a few days, having had confession. Then our father, hearing the letters, said, “We are greatly astonished at this, because our son had foretold his death to us.” And he and Thomas were very amazed, but no one spoke of this matter with them afterward.”

There you go, the emperor Karl IV has divine visions. Not quite what you were expecting, but as it happened a good window into his way of thinking. But do not worry, Karl wasn’t just an excessively devout collector of relics, he was at the same time an astute and often ruthless politician who gave the Holy Roman empire its constitution and placed his heirs on the throne for the next centuries.

So let’s talk about Karl’s journey from his youth to becoming the King of the Romans.

But before we start it is time again to say thanks to all of you who are supporting the show, be it by posting on social media, writing articles on medium and elsewhere, recommending the show to friends and family and by making a contribution on either patreon.com/historyofthegermans or on historyofthegermans.com/support. And special thanks to Dale Winke,  Theresia C.,  Andrew Gaertner, Constantin-Catalin R, Benny, and Colby D who so generously keep the show advertising free.

And now back to the story.

On May 14, 1316 in Prague the royal couple of Bohemia, John, the not yet blind and his wife Elisabeth celebrated the birth of their first son. This was their third child, the two older ones Margaret and Jutta had been girls and the arrival of a male heir was a source of great joy.

The boy was named Wenceslaus after his maternal grandfather, the great Premyslid king of Bohemia and Poland, Wenceslaus II. As was customary he spent his first years with his mother. But by the time he had turned 4, the relationship between his parents had soured. Advisors convinced his father, king John of Bohemia that his wife was about to hand over their firstborn son and heir to the throne to one of the Bohemian political factions. That would have seriously jeopardised John’s rule since he was only king thanks to his marriage to Elisabeth. So John attacked the castle where Elisabeth lived with her children, banished her and the girls to Melnik and took hold of young Wenceslaus. It seemed that Wenceslaus did not take the separation from his mother well. To break his resistance, quote: “Wenceslas, [  ], the firstborn, at four years of age, was placed in harsh custody in Cubitum for two months in a cellar, so that he saw light only through a hole.” End quote.

This was unbelievably cruel, even by the standards of the Late Middle Ages. Harsh custody means being locked up in a cold and dark dungeon presumably on poor food and water. I find it hard to imagine that anyone could come out of 2 months of that at that age without some serious mental health issue.

Maybe his excessive piety and belief in visions and divine mission were a way to overcome this trauma. When he built his magical castle of Karlsteijn in a remote valley, he spent most of his time there in a jewel encrusted room full of saint’s relics and only a small window for light and a trap to bring him food. Apart from this bit of armchair psychology, what is clear from his autobiography is that his relationship with his father remained cold and distant throughout his life. He would never see his mother again.

Aged seven he is sent to the court of the king of France, as was the tradition in the House of Luxemburg. He seemed to have enjoyed his time there. The queen of France was his aunt Maria and as he wrote, quote: “the king Charles IV loved me very much”. So much indeed that he became his godfather and gifted him a new name, Charles or Karl. Apparently Wenzel or Wenceslaus was not suitable for the French court. King Charles of France took his godfatherly duties very seriously and found his ward a wife, a daughter of Charles of Valois.

When Karl described his godfather, he called him a good king because he wasn’t greedy, listened to his advisors and his court was a splendid gathering of the wisest secular and ecclesiastical princes. These three attributes, listening to advisors, avoiding greed and having a splendid court full of highly respected nobles were Karl’s ambitions for a great king. Three attributes his father quite thoroughly lacked.

Karl also observes that his brother-in-law the new king Philip VI who succeeded king Charles IV lacked at least two attributes, he ignored his predecessor’s experienced counsellors and he succumbed to greed and avarice. How much of these sentiments he shared with the king is unclear. But he might have talked about these with his best friend who would remain close until he died, Jean, the son of Philip VI and better known as Jean le Bon, the king of France who was captured at the battle of Poitiers.

Whilst in Paris he makes another very important connection. Pierre Roger, the abbot of Fecamp was one of king Charles’ closest advisors had preached mass on Ash Wednesday 1328 and his rhetoric and deep religious insights left the now 13-year old crown prince of Bohemia hugely impressed. Karl sought his acquaintance and even convinced him to become his tutor in religious studies. Pierre Roger will have an impressive ecclesiastical career that ended with him becoming pope Clement VI in 1342.

But that is still in the future. Karl’s days in Paris end in 1330 when his father calls him and his wife to come to Luxemburg. What he did there is not entirely clear. In his autobiography he mentions four times that he was called to Luxemburg by his father but not what he did there.

The political reason for Karl’s departure from Paris is however clear. John of Bohemia had begun his bold attempt to take over Northern Italy. This project had not only intensified the conflict with the emperor Ludwig the Bavarian, but it also irritated king Philip VI of France.  The French crown was developing an interest in Northern Italy that would only grow and grow in the 14^th and 15^th century. And now John of Bohemia had stepped on their toes which meant Karl had to leave Paris.

Karl’s stay in Luxemburg lasted just one year. Finally his father asked him to come down to Italy and help him running his newfound powerbase in Lombardy. Initially father and son fought side by side, expanding their influence into Tuscany by taking over Lucca. All was looking great and so John returned home to deal with the political fallout back in the empire and in France.

Karl was 16 years old and nominally in charge of a political project that had defeated his grandfather Henry VII, the great emperors Frederick II and Frederick Barbarossa and pretty much anyone in between. His father had left him one of his advisors, the count Louis of Savoy who was very familiar with the local politics.

Karl describes the various ups and downs of  this campaign in some detail, but highlights three events that would again shape his idea of himself.

The first happened just 3 days after he had arrived in Pavia where his father had gathered his forces. Karl had been to morning mass as was his habit and since he intended to take communion had foregone breakfast. Returning to the hall of his palace he found several of his companions in a terrible state, vomiting and pale. Three of them would die that same day. Clearly they had been poisoned. Karl noticed an attractive young man walking across the room he did not know. When approached the young man pretended to be mute. Karl was suspicious and had him questioned. After three days of torture the man confessed that he had put poison in the breakfast upon orders from the Visconti of Milan.

Karl’s conclusion from this event wasn’t that after three days of torture anyone admits to any old tale. No, he concluded that god had protected him from certain death by means of an early mass and that hence he was destined to do great deeds in the service of the lord.

The next special moment happened at the one significant battle he fought during this campaign, near the castle of San Felice in October 1332. This was towards the end of the Italian adventure and the Visconti, della Scala and Este had turned against the Bohemians. Karl was pretty much alone since the count of Savoy, his protector and main advisor had also vanished. Still he gathered an army from his last remaining allies and confronted the Italian lords. The battle began in the afternoon and by nightfall almost all of his knights were unhorsed and even Karl’s mount was killed. When he got up and looked around he believed defeat was imminent. But suddenly the enemy turned to flight. Another miracle, this one attributed to Saint Catherine whose feast day it was.

The third was the vision he had about the angel and the angelic castration of the dauphin of Vienne we heard of at the top of the episode.

So you get his drift. All and everything is controlled by God and the saints. Regular prayer, veneration of the saints and adherence to the moral teachings of the bible are the key not just to heaven and to survival but also to worldly success.

Not total success though. Despite Karl’s victory at the battle of San Felice and his father’s return at the head of reinforcements from France, the adventure ended in failure when the money ran out. King John had to sign a peace deal abandoning his allies to the mercy of the Visconti, della Scala and Este. But when he offered the loyal city of Lucca to the Florentines for money, Karl could not bear such treachery and convinced his father to find a more honourable solution.

Karl is 18 at the end of this campaign, he had been knighted after the battle of San Felice and despite the projects ultimate failure, his standing amongst his peers and in the eyes of his father had improved. He had also shown clear signs of becoming independent, not just on the issue of Lucca, but even earlier when he attacked Florence without first consulting with his father.

From Italy, father and son travelled through Tyrol where Karl’s brother Johann Heinrich had married Margarete Maultasch, then to Lower Bavaria, lands of his sister Margaret and from there to Bohemia. When they arrived in Prague there was nobody from the family to greet them. Karl’s mother had died, his sister Bonne had gone to France together with his youngest sister Anne. The kingdom was left to its own devices.

His father, as was his habit stayed in Bohemia no longer than strictly necessary to extract some cash from the local barons and cities. And then he left his oldest son in charge of the kingdom. This is how Karl described the state of Bohemia: “We found this kingdom so neglected that we could not find a single castle that had not already been mortgaged together with all the royal goods. So we had no other place to stay except in one of the town houses, like a common burgher. Prague Castle, however, was so ruinous, dilapidated and run-down because it had been completely abandoned since the time of King Ottokar. In its place, we had a large and beautiful palace built from scratch at great expense, as it still appears to the observer today.”

For the next two years – as he proudly reports – did he regain possession of numerous castles, released others that had been pawned and pushed back the power of the barons. And remember he is still in his late teens and early 20s. And again his resentment for his father shines through when he points out that the Bohemians loved him ”because he was from the ancient line of Bohemian kings”, whilst his father was a foreigner, an interloper who did not even speak the language. As for languages by the way, Karl claims to be fluent in German, French, Latin, Italian and Czech. All this instruction by the future pope Clement VI had clearly borne fruit.

It seemed that Karl was so successful in rebuilding royal power in Bohemia that the barons leaned on his father to remove him from his post as governor. Even the margraviate of Moravia that he had received a few years earlier was removed from his direct control.

These next few years he is given missions by his father in Tyrol to help his brother Johann Heinrich and his wife Margarete Maultasch as well as campaigns in Hungary, Silesia, Prussia and Italy. But all of these had very clear limitations and did not give Karl immediate control over significant assets of the family. Though he does not mention anything about his personal feelings in this regard in his autobiography, it seems clear that relations between father and son had cooled down even further.

The real break between the two came when John of Bohemia reconciled with emperor Ludwig the Bavarian in 1340. John recognised Ludwig as the legitimate emperor, swore loyalty and received his fiefs as a vassal from the Bavarian. That decision flew into the face of everything Karl believed in. Karl was not just deeply pious but also very strongly supportive of the papacy. For him Ludwig was an excommunicate, his coronation as emperor had been a farce and by all means the electors should have deposed him long ago.

When Karl heard that John had gone over to the emperor’s side he raced to meet him in Miltenberg. In his autobiography he blames his father’s yielding to the emperor on deceit and breach of solemn promises by the Bavarian. But the reality is more likely a serious shouting match between father and son. In any case, Karl refused to sign up to the agreement and the Bohemian barons refused to ratify it.

It was Karl who from this point forward ruled Bohemia without much regard for his father’s wishes. Father and son made a deal whereby Karl became the ruler of Bohemia and John would receive 5,000 florin upon promising not to come back to Prague for 2 years. John disappeared to France where he fought for King Philip VI as his governor of Guyenne.

It is around this time that John loses his eyesight completely. And it is also the time when Margarete Maultasch throws her husband, Karl’s brother out of Tyrol. When emperor Ludwig followed this up with granting Margarete Maultasch a civil divorce and marry her to his eldest son also called Ludwig, the reconciliation between the Luxemburgs and the Wittelsbachs became null and void and Karl felt vindicated.

But John still wanted to reconcile with Ludwig. He recognised Ludwig’s right to Tyrol in exchange for Lusatia, a mortgage over Brandenburg and 20,000 florins in cash. But Karl and his brother Johann Heinrich again refused to sign on the dotted line, saying that if their father got hold of the cash he would only waste it with his mates in the Rhineland and they, the two brothers, would still look like  schmucks.

Meanwhile another event had taken place that would have an even bigger impact on Karl’s life than break with his father. His friend from his youth, Pierre Roger, the abbot of Fecamp had succeeded in his march through the institutions and had been elected pope Clement VI with the votes of the now 14 French, 3 Italian and one Spanish cardinals, the only cardinal who did not vote for him was a further Frenchman who was too ill to join the conclave. This composition of the college of cardinals shows just how overwhelming French influence over the Avignon papacy was. No Englishman, no German let alone Pole, Bohemian or Hungarian carried the purple hat of a cardinal.

Karl, with his father in tow, spent a lot of time in Avignon between 1342 and 1346. Initially at least pretending they were seeking a reconciliation between the pope and the emperor, the discussions quickly shifted to ways to remove Ludwig from his position.

It is quite surprising that all throughout the 24 years after the battle of Mühldorf the papacy never put up an anti-king to challenge Ludwig. The most likely explanation was that Ludwig’s position in Germany had remained strong. He could count on the imperial and free cities that he supported through rights and privileges. The Habsburgs had been rewarded for their support with the duchy of Carinthia and aid in their fights against the Luxemburgs.

King John of Bohemia, a friend of the king of France and loyal to the pope would have been the natural choice as papal champion, but never dared to step up. One of the considerations there were almost certainly the broadly anti-French and anti-papal mood in the country. As we mentioned some episodes earlier, we are – very gradually – moving into a period where people identify more and more along linguistic and cultural lines. And the encroachment of French power into the kingdom of Burgundy and the ancient duchy of Lothringia sat uneasily with many observers. Even more significant was the disapproval of the Avignon papacy with its ostentatious display of wealth, interference in the local church appointments and increasingly efficient tax collecting infrastructure. The latter was the main reason most of the German clergy, including even Balduin, the archbishop of Trier who was John’s uncle sided with Ludwig.

But by the mid-1340s Ludwig had overstretched the patience of the imperial princes. By then he had seized Brandenburg, Lower Bavaria, the Palatinate and now Tyrol and a bit later Holland and Hennegau for his almost innumerable sons. This concentration of power made even their closest allies amongst the territorial lords uncomfortable and the means by which he had taken the Tyrol from the Luxemburgs had alienated the clergy.

All these discussions in Avignon and elsewhere culminated in an event early in the year 1346 when the pope first declared that Ludwig had not shown enough contrition to be allowed back into the bosom of mother church and hence the Prince Electors should choose a new king of the Romans, preferably Karl, the margrave of Moravia and crown prince of Bohemia. In exchange Karl made a number of concessions to the pope that went far beyond anything an emperor or future emperor had yet committed to the papacy. This commitment was the price for papal endorsement and a price Karl was willing to pay. We will see how much this will cost him going forward.

With full papal endorsement he could now gather electors. The pope procured the archbishop of Mainz he had managed to place into his position against a candidate supported by emperor Ludwig. As for the remainder, all depended upon the support of Balduin of Trier, not the most powerful but the most capable and most respected of the Electors. Balduin had become archbishop aged 22, had placed his brother Henry VII on the throne 36 years earlier and had dominated imperial politics for decades. He may be Karl’s great uncle but their relationship seemed to have been distant. Karl never mentions Balduin in his autobiography,  not even when he talked about that year he stayed in Luxemburg when he was 15 or 16 and almost certainly met him multiple times.

Balduin had settled into Ludwig’s camp during the Kurverein zu Rhens. Getting him to switch sides turned out to be very expensive. Imperial lands and cities were to be given to Trier, even castles and lands belonging to Luxemburg itself were handed over on top of astronomical sums of money and the promise to always submit to his great uncle’s advice. These excessive demands may be the reason for Karl’s animosity for the member of his family who was probably most similar to him, cerebral, pious, clever and driven.

But however expensive Balduin was, he was worth every penny. On May 20^th 1346 five electors, the three archbishops of Mainz, Cologne and Trier, the duke of Saxony and King John of Bohemia got together at Rhens and elected Karl of Moravia, grandson of the emperor Henry VII as king of the Romans. Pope Clement VI sent his approbation even though Karl had not asked for it explicitly.

Things moved along quite rapidly from there. Karl and his father instead of doing a tour of the empire gathering support for the newly elected king went to France and the fateful battle of Crecy, where John died his heroic or foolish death and Karl was smart enough to leave before things went totally pear shaped.

Returning from Crecy, Karl made a half-hearted attempt to dislodge Ludwig from Tyrol that failed thanks to the determined resistance of the countess Margarete Maultasch. From there he returned to Bohemia and waited.

He did not have to wait long. The emperor Ludwig of Bavaria, the man who had dominated imperial politics for 33 years, the victor of Muehldorf, the excommunicated ruler who brought about the end of papal dominance over imperial politics in the Kurverein zu Rhens and who expanded Wittelsbach territory to its largest extent died from a heart attack on October 11, 1347.

Karl should now be the undisputed King of the Romans, but I am afraid the fight for the crown had only just begun. Next week we will hear about the lengths Karl, now Karl IV will have to go through to dispense with anti-kings and even use the services of one of the Middle Ages most mysterious figures, the false Waldemar. I hope you will join us again next week.

And just to conclude, remember that the History of the Germans is advertising free thanks to the generosity of our patrons. And you can become a patron too. All you have to do is to go the patreon.com/historyofthegermans or to historyofthegermans.com/support and sign up for the cost of a latte per month.

“The noble and gallant King of Bohemia, also known as John of Luxemburg because he was the son of the Emperor Henry of Luxemburg, was told by his people that the battle had begun. Although he was in full armour and equipped for combat, he could see nothing because he was blind. He asked his knights what the situation was and they described the rout of the Genoese and the confusion which followed King Philip’s order to kill them. Ha,’ replied the King of Bohemia. ‘That is a signal for us.’ […] ‘My lords, you are my men, my friends and my companions-in-arms. Today I have a special request to make of you. Take me far enough forward for me to strike a blow with my sword.

Because they cherished his honor and their own prowess, his knights consented. [..] In order to acquit themselves well and not lose the King in the press, they tied all their horses together by the bridles, set their king in front so that he might fulfil his wish, and rode towards the enemy.

There also was Lord Charles of Bohemia, who bore the title and arms of King of Germany, and who brought his men in good order to the battlefield. But when he saw that things were going badly for his side, he turned and left. I do not know which way he went.

Not so the good King his father, for he came so close to the enemy that he was able to use his sword several times and fought most bravely, as did the knights with him. They advanced so far forward that they all remained on the field, not one escaping alive. They were found the next day lying round their leader, with their horses still fastened together.“

Anyone with even a passing interest in late medieval history will remember this scene from Froissart’s description of the Battle of Crecy on August 26^th, 1346. The Blind King of Bohemia, the epitome of chivalric culture riding into the midst of a battle striking at an enemy he cannot see, relying on his comrades to guide him.

This deed made such an impression on the Edward, the Prince of Wales, known as the Black Prince that he honored his foe by adding the Bohemian ostrich feathers and the dead king’s motto “Ich Dien”, to his own coat of arms. So to this day the Blind King’s heraldic symbols and German motto features on Prince William’s coat of arms, the Welsh Rugby Union Badge, some older 2p coins and various regiments in Britain, Australia, Canada and even Sri Lanka.

But this death, call it heroic or foolish, was only the end of an astounding life. John Of Bohemia, very much against his own intentions, played a crucial role in the establishment of the key counterweight to French hegemony in Europe. No, not England, but a power centred on Prague, Vienna, Buda and Pest.

Let’s dive into this story…

TRANSCRIPT

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 154 – The Blind King John of Bohemia, also Episode 17 of Season 8 – From the Interregnum to the Golden Bull.

The noble and gallant King of Bohemia, also known as John of Luxemburg because he was the son of the Emperor Henry of Luxemburg, was told by his people that the battle had begun. Although he was in full armour and equipped for combat, he could see nothing because he was blind. He asked his knights what the situation was and they described the rout of the Genoese and the confusion which followed King Philip’s order to kill them. Ha,’ replied the King of Bohemia. ‘That is a signal for us.’ […] ‘My lords, you are my men, my friends and my companions-in-arms. Today I have a special request to make of you. Take me far enough forward for me to strike a blow with my sword.

Because they cherished his honour and their own prowess, his knights consented. [..] In order to acquit themselves well and not lose the King in the press, they tied all their horses together by the bridles, set their king in front so that he might fulfil his wish, and rode towards the enemy.

There also was Lord Charles of Bohemia, who bore the title and arms of King of Germany, and who brought his men in good order to the battlefield. But when he saw that things were going badly for his side, he turned and left. I do not know which way he went.

Not so the good King his father, for he came so close to the enemy that he was able to use his sword several times and fought most bravely, as did the knights with him. They advanced so far forward that they all remained on the field, not one escaping alive. They were found the next day lying round their leader, with their horses still fastened together. End quote

Anyone with even a passing interest in late medieval history will remember this scene from Froissart’s description of the Battle of Crecy on August 26^th, 1346. The Blind King of Bohemia, the epitome of chivalric culture riding into the midst of a battle striking at an enemy he cannot see, relying on his comrades to guide him.

This deed made such an impression on the Edward, the Prince of Wales, known as the Black Prince that he honoured his foe by adding the Bohemian ostrich feathers and the dead king’s motto “Ich Dien”, to his own coat of arms. So to this day the Blind King’s heraldic symbols and German motto features on Prince William’s coat of arms, the Welsh Rugby Union Badge, some older 2p coins and various regiments in Britain, Australia, Canada and even Sri Lanka.

But this death, call it heroic or foolish, was only the end of an astounding life. John Of Bohemia, very much against his own intentions, played a crucial role in the establishment of the key counterweight to French hegemony in Europe. No, not England, but a power centred on Prague, Vienna, Buda and Pest.

Let’s dive into this story…

But before we start the usual reminder that whilst I do all this for fun and giggles, the whole enterprise is only possible if some of you feel it in their heart to support the show. I know that you do not get an awful lot for that apart from my eternal gratitude and the even more important gratitude of your fellow listeners. If you sign up on patreon.com/historyofthegermans or on historyofthegermans.com/support you become the one who puts the coins into the Jukebox so that everyone can hear the music. And let me thank Paul A., Sam, James A., Ben G., Dan A., Rip D. and Luca B. who have taken the plunge already.

King John of Bohemia has become the “where is Wally” in practically every episode since #145, and he had appeared even earlier in the Teutonic Knights’ season. He was a man of such abundant energy and sturdy gluteus maximus that for more than 30 years he could appear at almost every event of significance between Kaliningrad and Florence and between Toulouse and Prague.  

King John of Bohemia was born as a mere count of Luxemburg on August 10, 1296 in the town of Luxemburg. His father was count Henry VII of Luxemburg, ruler of a middling principality that had recently experienced a catastrophic defeat at the battle of Worringen.

As always little is known about his youth, but by the age of 8 or 9 he is sent to live at the court of the king of France. At that time his family had firmly hitched their fortunes to the Capetian monarchs. His father had fought in various battles for king Philip the Fair, had sworn an oath of loyalty to him. N return the French king used his influence with the pope to elevate John’s uncle Balduin to the archepiscopal seat of Trier at the tender age of 22. 

The link between the Luxemburgs in general and John in particular was not merely political. Paris was by now the cultural capital of europe. 14^th century art, literature, learning and most importantly the code of chivalry reached their apotheosis here. And John embraced all of these. Throughout his life he would travel to Paris at every conceivable opportunity to take part in tournaments, banquets, festivities and even the occasional war, just to immerse himself in the splendor of the French court. He allegedly also studied the liberal arts at the celebrated university of Paris. Judging by his later life, the lure of a damsel in distress much outweighed the intellectual delights of Thomas Aquinas and Marsilius of Padua.

This stay in Paris comes to an end when his father was elected king of the Romans in 1308. Though the French monarch initially endorses Henry VII’s ascension to the throne, even though that derailed his brother’s ambition for the same job, he quickly began to regret that. The new king of the Romans main policy focus was to gain the imperial crown in Rome, which put him on a collision course with King Philip the Fair of France. And as a side-effect of that, young John had to leave Paris.

In 1310 a delegation from Prague arrived in Henry VII’s camp that brought an offer that fundamentally changed John’s life trajectory.

The visitors, led by the abbot of the Cistercian abbey of Aula Regia or -and I will butcher this terribly now: Zbraslav in Czech. It also included members of the Bohemian nobility as well as leading burghers of the two largest cities, Prague and Kutna Hora. And the offer they brought was nothing less than the crown of Bohemia, the richest, largest and most august of the principalities in the empire.

Weirdly John’s father was a bit lukewarm about the prospect of making his 14-year old son the king of Bohemia. For one, this adventure in the east might detract him from his #1 objective, the coronation as emperor, the first in almost a hundred years and key to avoiding a transfer of the imperial title to the kings of France. Moreover, Bohemian politics were extremely convoluted and many astute politicians, like Albrecht of Habsburg and Henry of Carinthia had failed to tame its unruly estates. And finally he was concerned about his son’s emotional wellbeing – or at least pretended to be. The crown came with a bride attached, Elisabeth, daughter of the great Premyslid king Wenceslaus II and sister to the murdered king Wenceslaus III, veteran of multiple palace coups and 18 years of age, too much for his tender son he said.

Henry proposed his brother, Walram, instead; an accomplished warrior and though maybe not the greatest of diplomats, but better than a teenage dilettante. The Bohemians however remained firm. They wanted the emperor’s flesh and blood. Either that or they would go out looking for someone else. And that was no idle threat. Sometime in the last century and a half the Bohemian estates had gained the right to choose their ruler by themselves leaving their imperial overlord with no more than the privilege to confirm the chosen ruler.

With options and time running out, Henry VII relented and gave the boy to the Bohemians. Within a month the young man was married to the hastily dispatched Elisabeth, enfeoffed with Luxemburg and Bohemia and given a modest military detachment to gain his kingdom.

The story goes that John and Elisabeth disliked each other from the very first moment they set eyes on each other. Though as we will see their relationship will fall apart later, it is unlikely this had been the case right from the beginning. A noble lady in the 14^th century knew that she would not be able to choose her future husband, nor should she expect him to have any attributes she might like in a man. Cases of outright refusal as we have seen in the case of John’s sister Marie are massive exceptions. All Elisabeth could legitimately expect was for John to treat her with the respect owed to her station, but not much more. The groom had a bit more discretion, but when it came to a marriage with such immense political benefit, he might as well have married a 50-year old without teeth as the abbot of Zbraslav put it.

In October 1310 John bade farewell to his mother and father and set off for Bohemia. He would not see either of them again. Both died from the exertions of the ultimately doomed Italian campaign as we talked about in episode #146 and #147.

Given John’s young age and lack of experience, his father had surrounded him with his most experienced advisors. Chief amongst them Peter von Aspelt, the archbishop of Mainz, most senior of the electors, descendant of a former servant of the Luxemburg family and, the former chancellor of the Premyslid kings of Bohemia. Peter knew the kingdom and its complex politics well. Alongside him rode the count of Henneberg, Werner von Castell and the Landgraf of Leuchtenberg, all men from the western side of the empire and loyal to the house of Luxemburg.

When they arrived in Bohemia, they found the gates of Prague and Kutna Hore closed to them. Because on the Hradčany/Hradschin, the castle overlooking the city of Prague there was already a king of Bohemia. Our old friend Henry of Carinthia, the father of Margarete Maultasch. Henry was married to Elisabeth’s older sister, had been elected king and had no intention to yield his position, even though he had lost the support of the majority of the Bohemian elites.

After some to and fro the patricians from Prague who had been part of the delegation convinced their fellow burghers inside the city to open the gates and let John in. Henry of Carinthia realized that he did not have enough support to repel John and his supporters and yielded. And with that John of Luxemburg entered the royal castle and a few days later was crowned king of Bohemia by Peter von Aspelt.

John had gained an entire kingdom without a single blow, which was great, but John had gained an entire kingdom without a single blow, which was also bad. Bad, because his regime had been created and was hence entirely dependent upon the support of the Bohemian high aristocrats and the elites in the great cities. And that was no coincidence.

The last of the Premyslid kings of Bohemia, Wenceslaus III had died in 1306 and with him the last remains of the centralised command and control structures his grandfather Ottokar II had installed, collapsed. The high aristocracy of Bohemia had stepped into this vacuum, cycled through three kings in 5 years thereby asserting their right to elect and, as just demonstrated, remove the king, approve or refuse taxes and make decisions about war and peace.

John, or more precisely his mentor, Peter von Aspelt tried to push back the power of the barons and recreate the old centralized state infrastructure with its bureaucrats and royal power. Support for this approach came from the cities, the church and a small number of barons. The vast majority of the aristocracy however refused to yield and conflict became inevitable.

Hostilities kicked off shortly after Peter von Aspelt had left Prague to deal with the process of electing a new emperor after John’s father, the emperor Henry VII had perished in Italy in 1313.

What provoked the uprising was something that John would become famous for, his constant changing of tack, an unsteadiness that frustrated his supporters and left his allies suspicious of his next move.

In 1313 John had yielded to the demands of the Bohemians to remove his German speaking advisors he had brought in from the west and replace them with local senior barons. But within just months of this attempt at reconciliation, John changed his mind and threw the Bohemians out again and re-established his friends as marshal and chancellor of the kingdom.

The backlash came immediately and with force. The barons took up arms and threatened to put a call into the Habsburg dukes of Austria whether they would like to become king of Bohemia. John and Elizabeth’s position deteriorated rapidly as forces from Luxemburg took a long tome to arrive and were insufficient to suppress the entirety of the Bohemian barons. Quite quickly, the royal cause was in trouble. John then did what a great chivalric knight is supposed to do in this situation, he left the country, deserting his wife.  Aspelt made a last attempt to sort things out in 1317 but returned to Mainz having despaired of the complexity of the situation and his frazzled ward.

The queen, Elisabeth tried to rally her supporters in Prague and Kutna Hora to fend off the barons which provided another half year of relief before John finally reappeared with Luxemburg troops. But these prove again to be insufficient and the royal couple was pushed back into the westernmost quarter of the kingdom. At that point John had enough.

He capitulated and agreed with the nobles on a kind of Magna Carta for Bohemia. The barons were to take control of the financial management of the kingdom, including the taxation of the major cities and the proceeds of the great gold and silver mines in the Ore Mountains and Kutna Hora. This set-up was to remain the basis of royal power in Bohemia until the 30 Years War, interrupted only during the reign of John’s son Charles.

This is the moment when the marriage of John and Elisabeth reached breaking point. Elisabeth had grown up at the court of her father Wenceslaus II, one of the richest monarchs in western europe, who had been crowned king of Poland and had even placed a claim on the kingdom of Hungary. All this Premyslid dominance was now gambled away by this feckless teenager the barons had forced her to marry.

Whilst John was celebrating the resolution of the conflict with hunting and feasting on the castle of one of the great barons, Elisabeth was plotting revenge. A few months later, Elisabeth and her allies, the citizens of Prague attempted a coup against her own husband. But that coup failed. The aristocrats now backed John and with some glee and traditional fiscal incompetence suppressed the citizen rights of Prague, which lost its freedoms for the next hundred years.

The marriage of John and Elisabeth never recovered, even though he forced her into 3 more pregnancies thereafter. As for Bohemia, John never spent any more time there than strictly necessary. He would call an assembly of the barons to award him funds for his endless campaigns and adventures and once he had received the cash, would leave and let the barons get on with whatever they wanted to do. Meanwhile Elisabeth and her children watched in horror as royal power seeped away.

Freed from the constraints of actually ruling a kingdom, John embarked on a frantic lifestyle somewhere between an international diplomat and an errant knight in search of glory and maybe political gain. Theoretically his base was Luxemburg, but even there he rarely stayed more than a few weeks.

His political aim, if he had any, was to expand his lands, ideally creating a contiguous territory where he could not just widen but also deepen his influence. He had two realistic options. One was to try to build out his position in the west of the empire, adding neighboring duchies and counties to Luxemburg. Option 2 was to expand his kingdom of Bohemia either northwards into Silesia, westwards into the region around Eger/Cheb and maybe even revive his predecessor Wenceslaus II’s claims on the Polish and Hungarian crowns. And, being John of Bohemia, he also believed there was a third option, the option many a northern potentate had fallen for, ever since the Markomanni had crossed the Danube in 167 AD, John wanted to conquer Northern Italy. And there was a fourth option which was to simply travel around and go wherever the sound of war was heard

Juggling three major projects across three corners of the empire all at the same time resulted not just in a punishing travel schedule, but also in a massively convoluted foreign policy stance. If he wanted to expand in the west of the empire, he needed the support of the French king, if he wanted to expand Bohemia into Poland or Hungary, he needed the support of Ludwig the Bavarian, and if he wanted to go down to Italy he needed access to the Alpine passes which meant either an alliance with the Habsburgs or one with Henry of Carinthia.

Previous historians had blamed the frazzled political agenda and the constant shifting of alliances and projects on John’s personality, and that argument carries some weight. But he also operated in a political environment that was inherently unstable. Three political groupings contested the lead of the empire, the Wittelsbach, the Habsburg and his own family, the Luxemburgs. The fragility of this three body problem forced all players to act instantly every time the system got out of balance and grab whatever was in the vicinity. Though arguably John was the one whose actions were more likely than that of the others to tilt the balance.

In the early years of John’s reign as king of Bohemia his allegiances were relatively stable. The Habsburgs were his natural opponents due to the proximity between Vienna and Prague and the still dormant claim the Habsburgs had on Bohemia. The Habsburg claim was the nuclear option the Bohemian nobles kept mentioning every time John tried to knock them back.

Being opposed to the Habsburgs meant that John had to support Ludwig the Bavarian. In fact Ludwig had been chosen by the Luxemburg party as their candidate for the imperial crown once they had realized that they could not gain enough votes to raise John himself to the throne.

That is why John of Bohemia fought with Ludwig at Mühldorf against Frederick the Handsome, a battle where he showed his mettle both as a fighter and as a war leader.

But after the battle relations between the emperor and the king of Bohemia cooled down rapidly. As we said, one of John’s ambitions was to expand his territory from Bohemia. As reward for both the support at the election and in the civil war he had received the lands around the city of Eger/Cheb, an area that later formed part of the so-called Sudetenland. But John wanted more. He did acquire first lower and then upper Lusatia to the north and had his eyes on the margraviate of Brandenburg.

The last margrave of Brandenburg of the house of Anhalt had died in 1319 and the local powers had begun carving up the territory. John expected to be enfeoffed with Brandenburg by his great friend Ludwig, but Ludwig did not want another electoral vote to go to the Luxemburgs and hence granted the margraviate to his son. This decision brought the end of the Wittelsbach-Luxemburg alliance. To avoid the Luxemburgs and Habsburgs ganging up on  him, Ludwig offered Frederick the Handsome the curious joint rule we discussed in episode 151. John was now isolated. To shore up his position he got himself the backing of the king of France and the Pope.

We are now in 1325 and the pope had excommunicated Ludwig and moved heaven and earth to stop him from acquiring the imperial crown. The papal opposition preoccupied Ludwig who set off for Rome. The Habsburgs at the same time suffered the loss of the energetic Leopold leaving only the rather sluggish Frederick the Handsome pursuing the interests of the House of Austria. These circumstances meant John had pretty much free reign to pursue his politics in Poland and Hungary despite his isolation.

Poland at this point was just beginning to recover from its long period of fragmentation that had followed the death of Boleslaw Wrymouth. First king Wladislaw Lokietek, Ladislas the elbow-high and the Casimir the Great were consolidating the dozens of duchies back into a functioning kingdom. One part of Poland, Silesia had experienced a particularly extreme form of fragmentation. According to Wikipedia there were a total of 46 Silesian duchies, which I think is a bit extreme, but an estimate of about 20 different dukedoms, held by descendants of one 12^th century duke of Silesia is not a bad estimate. Their weakness and the geographic position between Bohemia, Poland and the empire made Silesia easy prey for the intrepid king of Bohemia. 17 Silesian dukes became vassals of the king of Bohemia between 1327 and 1335. Given Silesia was still part of Poland these efforts brough John in conflict with the king of Poland. Ladislaus and later Kasimir tried to prevent the defection of Silesia and allied with the Lithuanians in an attack on Bohemia. In return John allied with the Teutonic Knights and participated in three winter crusades in Lithuania in1328/29, 1335 and 1345/46.

The conflict ended when John gained the overlordship over Silesia from king Casimir the great of Poland against the promise to drop his claim on the Polish crown and a sizeable cash payment. He got the same approval from Ludwig the Bavarian in exchange for his ultimate sign off on the Kurverein zu Rhens he had initially refused.

These transactions almost doubled the size of the kingdom of Bohemia. When the king of Bohemia had previously been the richest and most powerful of the imperial princes, anyone who could tame the unruly Bohemian barons would now be towering over all the other electors. Silesia became an economic powerhouses of eastern europe. Its wealth benefitted the Luxemburg and later the Habsburg kings of Bohemia until in 1740 Frederick the Great seized Silesia in an unprovoked attack that led to the Three Silesian war and the Seven Years War that created Prussia’s position as a major European power and – as they say – the rest is history.

At the same time as John was expanding his kingdom of Bohemia, he also worked hard at an even more ambitious project, the conquest of Northern Italy. This project was again bult more on a suite of coincidences than long term planning. It kicked off with the rapprochement between John and his predecessor as king of Bohemia, Henry of Carinthia. John organized a bride for the ailing duke of Carinthia and, even more importantly, married his son Johann-Heinrich to Henry’s daughter, Margarete Maultasch of episode #152’ fame.

This alliance opened the route into Italy via the Brenner pass. And that route he took in 1330 with 400 armored knights and headed for Brescia. You as faithful listeners of the History of the Germans will remember that Brescia had been the city that broke the army of emperor Henry VII and the disease that arose from the corpses of the men and horses had ultimately killed his wife, the mother of John of Bohemia. But Brescia had called for John to come and to take over the protection of the city.  Whatever John’s feelings may have been when he saw these fateful walls, if he had any, it did not show. He gladly accepted the declarations of eternal loyalty from the citizens and took up residence in the city palace. His arrival caused more and more cities to seek his protection against the increasingly overbearing Visconti of Milan, the della Scala of Verona and the Este of Ferrara. In just a couple of weeks John of Bohemia became the ruler of Lombardy. Even the tree powerful Lombard families submitted to him. All this reminds one of the enthusiastic welcome his father Henry VII had received in Milan. And very much in the same way as it happened to his dad, the vibe as my son would call it, changed rapidly. The Bohemian Rhapsody lasted just 18 months. One by one the cities called off their allegiance as John had the audacity to ask for funds to maintain his army. By 1332 he and most of his troops were back home north of the alps.

All that this adventure yielded was even more conflict between John and the emperor Ludwig the Bavarian and a dimming of the enthusiasm for John’s antics at the French court. Even his uncle Balduin, the Archbishop of Trier was drifting into the imperial camp.

But indefatigable John put in the hours on horseback and managed to appear in Prague, Frankfurt and Paris within the same month, picking up cash in Bohemia, negotiating with Ludwig and having a long sit-down with the king of France.

Parallel to the acquisition of Silesia and the conquest of Lombardy, John pursued anther project closer to his home county of Luxemburg, or more precisely several projects. One was to help his uncle Balduin to become archbishop of Mainz on top of the archbishopric of Trier he already held. Then he wanted to get hold of the Palatinate which would have created a Luxemburg territory stretching from Koblenz to Heidelberg dominating the Rhine and Moselle river with its trade and rich wine production. The Palatinate was however core to the interests of Ludwig the Bavarian. And open warfare was not a real option. Instead John tried to trade. At one point he offered the kingdom of Bohemia in exchange which made him even more unpopular in Prague if that was at all possible. Later he put the Tyrol on the table which, guess what, seriously irritated the Tyrolians and drove the final nails in the coffin of the marriage of his son with Margarete Maultasch.

So, one out of three projects worked out, he expanded Bohemia massively but had failed in Italy, Tyrol and the Middle Rhine.

But then he got engaged in a fourth project, the one he became most famous for and that had no reward apart from the esteem of his fellow European high aristocrat. It was his involvement in the most significant conflict of the 14^th century, the 100 years’ War.

The trigger for the hostilities was a dynastic change in France. King Philip the Fair, he of the burning of the Templars had died in 1314 leaving behind three sons. All three of them died in quick succession and by February 1328 the house of Hugh Capet had died out. The seemingly inexhaustible Capetian loins had produced just one boy, born posthumously who survived just 4 days.

Two contenders for the crown now faced up to each other.  Philip of Valois, grandson of king Philip III through his father, Charles of Valois stood against Edward III, king of England and grandson of king Philip IV through his mother Isabella. It is quite frankly doubtful that anyone, even the English court believed this claim was valid. France had embraced the Salian law that ruled out inheritance in the female line hundreds of years ago. But Edward III was a lad and this cause was as good as any to kick off some jolly fighting.

The war did not really get going before 1337, in part because Edward III was not ready, but the build-up had been under way ever since Philip VI had ascended the throne.

John of Bohemia was extremely close to Philip of Valois, or Philip VI as he should be called. They ere the same age and had grown up together at the Paris court, both of noble blood but neither destined to become kings. Now they found themselves on the upper echelons of the European political stage. The Luxemburgs had been vassals of the French king for a long time, despite their status as imperial princes. Even his father, the emperor Henry VII had at some point sworn unconditional loyalty to the French king. John’s sister Marie, the beautiful girl who had refused to marry Henry of Carinthia, had ultimately wed the last of the Capetian kings, Charles IV.

And in 1332 John of Bohemia had married his daughter Jutta to the dauphin, the future king of France Jean, called the Good. Jutta changed her name into Bonne and though she died before jean became king, her children, the king Charles V, the dukes of Berry, Anjou and most significantly of Burgundy became the dominant figures during the middle of the 14^th century.

But apart from the enormous prestige that such family connections brought him, there wasn’t much tangible benefit coming from this connection. John tried to leverage the French relations and hence influence over the papacy in his negotiations with Ludwig the Bavarian who had was still excommunicated. But little came of it.

In 1338, John was made governor of Guyenne, facing off against the English in Gascony. Not sure what was in it for him, nor did he and so he returned back to the empire shortly afterwards.

In 1339/1340 John returned to the empire and reconciled with the emperor Ludwig the Bavarian. The emperor recognized John’s acquisitions in Eger and Silesia and in return John accepted the loss of Carinthia to the Habsburgs.

Ah, in all this manic back and forth I have almost forgotten the other thing he was so famous for. During his second crusade in Prussia he had suddenly experienced loss of vision in his right eye. Some believe it was a genetic disease common in the Luxemburg family, others blame a severe eye infection he caught during the cold and wet Baltic January. In any event he consulted a physician in Breslau in 1338 who made sure he lost all sight in the right eye. In 1340 having learnt little about the skills of medieval doctors, he went to another physician in Montpellier who knocked out the remaining good eye so that he was now completely blind.

That did not stop him from continuing his lifestyle as a knight errand rushing from one battle or tournament or banquet or wedding or imperial diet to the next.

But his luck was gradually leaving him. His son Johann Ludwig was chucked out of Tyrol in 1341 and Ludwig the Bavarian brought it into his orbit by granting Margarete Maultasch a civil divorce. His son in law, duke Henry of Lower Bavaria died and this duchy too went to the emperor Ludwig. Uncle Balduin had to give up his ambitions for the archbishopric of Mainz.

As the 1340s continued, John focused more on fun than frontline politics. It was his son Karl who took the lead in the next leg of the ascend of the House of Luxemburg leading to the final break with emperor Ludwig the Bavarian and Karl’s election as king of the Romans in 1346, something we will discuss next week.

As for John, he decided to go on another Reise into Prussia, fighting despite his blindness in Samigitia and even ended up in another confrontation with the King of Poland. Into all this joyous chivalric activity comes the news that king Edward III of England was putting together an invasion force. The 100-Years War was finally getting going for real. The King of France demanded the military assistance the king of Bohemia had promised again and again since 1332.

And so, in August 1346, 50 years old and blind, John and his son Karl found themselves on the field of Crecy facing Edward III and the Black Prince with their longbowmen. The outcome you have heard of at the top of this episode.

King John died how he liked to live, fighting for honor, not just material gain. Some have argued that his last attack was a veiled attempt at suicide of a disabled man who saw his extraordinarily talented son overtaking him. That is unlikely. John was by no means as pious as his son, but he was a good Christian and as such suicide was unthinkable. It is more likely that he acted in line with the chivalric code he had lived by all his life. After all the French knights ran up the hill at Crecy again and again and again, riding over the bodies of the dead and dying men and horses in the knowledge that they would likely die too. At the end of the battle the French had lost nine princes, 10 counts, a duke, and archbishop and a bishop. John was just one more high aristocrat perishing in the mud blinded not just by his disease but also by the search for glory.

What made him stand out in the eyes of his peers as one of the greatest of chivalric heroes was not just the courage to ride unseeing into the midst of a battle but also that he fought not for his own lands or material possessions, but to honour an oath he had given to another king.

John of Bohemia wasn’t the last knight, but he was a figure of a world that was slowly fading away. A world where armoured men on horseback were invincible and hence had to be tamed by a complex set of rules they called the chivalric code. For someone like John the dos and don’ts of the aristocratic society he lived in ranked pari passu with the demands of power politics. Fighting for the Teutonic Knights out of a crusading vow or for the king of France out of an obligation as a vassal was of equal importance, if not of higher importance than taking up arms against Ludwig the Bavarian to protect the Tyrol. Travelling half way across europe to attend a tournament in Paris even if that meant leaving your kingdom undefended was something he did without thinking about it.

Managing money and the nitty gritty of the administration of his kingdom was beneath a true knight. As were the concerns of the burghers and merchants let alone the wellbeing of the peasants.

John felt at home in Paris as much as in Luxemburg, Frankfurt or Pavia, maybe not so much in Prague where everybody hated him. He was a member of an international elite that intermarried and interacted without much thought about nationality and language.

Next week we will meet his son, Karl, emperor Karl IV who was nothing like his father. Where John is living by a system of knightly values believed to be ancient and unchanging, Karl is a much more modern figure, rational, calculating, ranking politics much above romantic notions of honor. Karl fought at Crecy too, but as the chronicler Froissart noted quote, “when he saw that things were going badly for his side, he turned and left.” Karl had better things to do than dying in the mud for the lost cause of a foreign king.

I hope you will join us again next week when we get to know this astounding new leader.

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Now if you have listened all the way to here, you deserve a last titbit about John of Bohemia. After the battle of Crecy his body was brought to Luxemburg where he was buried at the abbey of Altmünster. When that abbey was destroyed in 1543 his body was moved to another abbey nearby. In 1795 Luxemburg was taken by French revolutionary troops and the graves of the counts and dukes of Luxemburg were raided, its contents spread around or thrown into the river. It was a local industrialist from across the border, Pierre Joseph Boch, founder of what would later become Villeroy and Boch, makers of China and porcelain bowls who saved the ancient bones. John’s remains stayed in the attic of the Boch family in Mettlach until 1833 when king Frederick Wilhelm IV of Prussia toured the region. The Prussian king who claimed John as his ancestor ordered his chief architect Karl Friedrich Schinkel to build a chapel near Kastel-Staadt where the old king was buried again and  remained until 1945. It was in the last days of the war that a Luxemburg crack team of operatives stole John’s remains from this chapel in Germany and brought them back to Luxemburg, where they still lie in Notre-dame Cathedral.

So, when next time you drop your Savile row trousers made by appointment of his majesty the Prince of Wales and sit down on a Villeroy and Boch seat, you may feel the presence of king John of Bohemia, but do not worry, he cannot see you.