The Hussite Revolution Part 4

“It is we the followers of master Jan Hus, who are obeying the law of God, we who are the true followers of Christ. Thus therefore, who oppose us, oppress us, kill us, are themselves heretics, trying to thwart the will of God. Out of this deep, passionate conviction was born the determination not to yield, not to surrender, but to challenge if need be, all the forces of the religious and political order which had dominated medieval europe for nearly a thousand years, to fight it out against odds the like of which have seldom been seen in history”

So it is written in the “Very Pretty Chronicle of the life of John Zizka” which tells the not so very pretty story of the war against the Hussites that is now heating up. Sigismund musters his crusading army in Silesia whilst the radical Hussites take to the hills and then take a hill.

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TRANSCRIPT

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 178: No Hill to Die On– From Tabor to Vitkov

Quote: “It is we the followers of master Jan Hus, who are obeying the law of God, we who are the true followers of Christ. Thus therefore, who oppose us, oppress us, kill us, are themselves heretics, trying to thwart the will of God. Out of this deep, passionate conviction was born the determination not to yield, not to surrender, but to challenge if need be, all the forces of the religious and political order which had dominated medieval europe for nearly a thousand years, to fight it out against odds the like of which have seldom been seen in history”

So it is written in the “Very Pretty Chronicle of the life of John Zizka” which tells the not so very pretty story of the war against the Hussites that is now heating up. Sigismund musters his crusading army in Silesia whilst the radical Hussites take to the hills and then take a hill.

And now an announcement forced upon us due to recent events. I have always kept the show out of current politics. This is a history show and everybody is welcome. I am actually taking a lot of pride in the fact that there are many listeners to this show who fundamentally disagree with my political views and still enjoy it. We may come to different conclusions from the same facts, but we share a passion for historical accuracy and willingness to listen to different perspectives.

However, there are moments when limits are breached, and things need to be said. My limit is $86, £86a of the German Penal code which bans the distribution and use of national socialist propaganda. That does include the Hitlergruss, the Hitler Salute. Elon Musk did perform the Hitler Salute on January 20th, 2025. That needs to be said. That is why the History of the Germans Podcast had comment on social media. Further the History of the Germans  will no longer post on X, the platform formerly known as Twitter.

And with that, back to the show.

Last week we left the Hussite radicals under the military leadership of Jan Zizka at the gates of Tabor. They had left the city of Pilsen that had been put under siege by a royalist army in late March 1420. Though they had been promised free passage to join their brethren in southern Bohemia, the small army of about 400 found itself under attack from a much larger and much better equipped force of catholic royalists.

Thanks to Zizka’s quick thinking and the sun setting, the Hussites did win that encounter. And a few days later they arrived at the place that would become the centre of radical Hussitism for the remainder of the conflict.

But at this very moment there was not a lot there. It was just an open space on top of a hill. The ancient settlement that had once occupied it had perished in the 13th century. When Zizka and his small warband arrived, they found friends and fellow Hussites from Southern Bohemia who like him had left Prague in November 1419.

This group had gone to the town of Pisek. When Pisek was besieged by a royal army in February 1420 they left and headed for the city of Usti. They hid in the woods until Ash Wednesday, when they knew the predominantly catholic inhabitants would be nursing an almighty post-carnival hangover. They captured the city with ease. But Usti prove difficult to defend, so they put the whole city to the torch and chose this abandoned hillfort as their new base.

They renamed it Tabor after the mountain in Galilee where the miracle of Jesus transfiguration is believed to have taken place, That was the moment when he appeared radiant and in the company of Moses and Isaiah revealing himself to be the bridge between the divine and the temporal.

This was not the first hill the radical Hussites had named after Mount Tabor. At least one of the mountains where they had gathered before to pray, to take communion as bread and wine and to experience their communal meals had also been named Mount Tabor. Mount Tabor was not meant to be a physical location as more of a spiritual place.

But this Mount Tabor would be a very physical a permanent space, no longer a sort of religious Woodstock. This was to be where the elect, the true members of the church can be together. It is here that they would build their own society, uncontaminated by any outsiders. And a very different society it was to be. Here is how one Taborite writer described it; quote “at Tabor there is nothing mine and nothing yours., but everything in the community is possessed equally, so everything should be in common for all and no one may have anything privately. And if he does, he sins mortally” end quote. All social hierarchy was dissolved, the baron and the labourer were equals who called each other brother and sister. The priests were their spiritual leaders but they would wear the same peasant shifts as their congregation nor would they stay in better tents or houses. The host was not passed in its round form, but as a torn piece of unleavened bread, the wine served not from a golden chalice but from any cup or tin or any common receptacle available. The writings of the great doctors of the church were not to be accepted, university education was seen as vain and heathen, the rites were abolished as traditions of antichrist. No chrism, no holy water, no canonical hours, chasubles or church chant. Just the prayer and the eucharist.

There was however one problem. Like Wenceslaus Koranda who had led the radicals in Pilsen, the Taborite priests had called the end of days for February 14th, and like in Pilsen, not much happened on that day. Babylon did not fall.

There are two well-trodden ways for any prophet of the apocalypse to deal with this, so far inevitable occurence. One part of the Taborites just pretended they had never made any such claim and simply soldered on, building their community of the faithful on the hill. Nothing to see here.

The remainder went the other way and dialled it up to eleven. I never thought I would find myself reading the book of revelation, but now that we are deep in the weeds of the debate of what happens at the end of the world, I had to. And to say it with the inimitable words of George Walker Bush: That’s some weird shit. Open to literally any kind of interpretation. There is this whole debate about the millennium before or after antichrist or Jesus arrival, which may be bliss or horror, or does not happen at all, take your pick.

The interpretation the Taborite millenarians went as follows. The day of wrath had actually come. But instead of wiping out all the bad people, it brought on the thousand years of righteous rule. So from now on, those who had left for the five cities and had now all come together on Mount Tabor would be ruling the world. That they would no longer have to pay rent to their lords, take over all the villages, fish ponds, meadows and forests, in fact they would be drowning in an abundance of silver and gold. The only bit that was required to get there was the extermination of the sinners, which god had now assigned to them. As one chronicler said, quote “the seducers, wanting to bring the people to that freedom and somehow to substantiate their lies, began to preach enormous cruelty, unheard-of violence and injustice to men” end quote.

This is a revolution and like every revolution it has to stay in motion. At every junction a new chapter is opened and the rhetoric is ratcheted up. Once the movement stalls, the forces of the counterrevolution brings the process to a halt. And the Hussite Revolution still had a lot of motion.

Back in the physical world we should note that this new Jerusalem found itself in a geographically advantageous position, on a rock, surrounded on two sides by rivers. But that was it. The defensive walls of the previous settlement if they had ever been material, were gone, as were the houses. With Sigismund’s crusade being called and royalist armies swarming the land, for this community to survive it needed walls and towers and most importantly soldiers.

And to deliver those, even an egalitarian community requires someone who organises things. Which is why on April 6, days after the faithful from Pilsen had arrived, they elected four leaders, captains as they called them. One of them was Jan Zizka who would soon take charge of all military matters.

And they got going on building defences. Day and night the Taborites, the older men, the boys and the women carried stones and mortar, creating a hexagonal fortress surrounded by a double wall, a moat and strengthened by six bastions, one at each projecting corner. Originally there was but one gate into the city leading to the bridge over one of the rivers. This was a remarkably modern, impregnable fortress that would mightily impress Silvio Aeneas Piccolomini, the future pope Pius II.

And here is the truly astonishing thing, it was built in less than 2 months, between March 27th and May 18th. The people who built it lived in tents inside the walls. There was no time to build houses or churches yet.

Even the mightiest walls and towers are of no use if there aren’t soldiers able to defend them. And that is where Jan Zizka’s true genius played out. At the same speed as the walls rose up around Tabor did he create an army such like had never be seen before.

Medieval military doctrine stated that no infantry force could withstand a charge by  armoured riders. This doctrine had already been challenged hard at Muhldorf, Morgarten, Poitiers, Agincourt and Nicopol where the flowers of chivalry had been decimated by people they regarded as beneath them.

There is a difference though. The Janissaries at Nicopol and the English Longbowmen at Poitiers and Agincourt had trained for years before they got deployed in battle. The Swiss and Bavarian infantry too had training and benefitted from knowledge of their very specific geography.

What Zizka did was to turn a ragtag bunch of peasants, a few artisans and even fewer experienced soldiers within less than two months into an army that would never be defeated by an army of knights, never. How he did it, well even though there are many accounts, in the end, it is hard to explain and even more difficult  to replicate.

On March 27th he had brought 400 men from Pilsen who may have had received some military training during the fighting there, but Zizka will leave Tabor at the head of an army of allegedly 9,000 on May 18th.

The early 15th century was a time of such brutality, that everyone had a weapon and knew how to use it. That means townsfolk, even artisans would likely have a swords or a crossbow and some experience in handling these. But the majority of Zizka’s new army were peasants who had their agricultural tools, their pitchforks and flails as their means of defence.

Just in case like me you do not know exactly what a flail is, here is what I found out. It is a tool that consists of a striking head that is attached to a handle by a metal chain or rope. It is what was used for threshing, i.e., for separating grains from their husks. The flail has some advantages. An agricultural flail has a fairly long handle and because the striking head is on a chain, it is hard to parry. It can go around a shield or hit over a wall. By adding spikes or studs to the striking head, it can be become deadly. These agricultural flails are not to be confused with the military flails you see for instance in many depictions of Jan Hus. These have shorter handles and small metal spiked balls at the end. Germans call them Morning stars. These were expensive weapons yielded by the nobility. What we are talking about here are peasant tools, repurposed for warfare.

And that means they were available, and other weapons weren’t. One of the most famous contemporaneous depictions of a Hussite army shows the men carrying very long flails, maybe two metres tall.

The men carrying flails were one of three major infantry formations. An other one were the pikemen or lancers. They carried long lances meant to unseat riders. And the third formation were archers and crossbowmen who provided long distance firepower.

Mustering the men and optimising their weapons was one thing, but the most crucial component of infantry going up against a cavalry charge was discipline. I think I said that many times before, but there are very few things more terrifying than a thousand riders on heavy hoses bearing down on men on foot. They may know that they will almost certainly die if they run, but for centuries after the fall of the Roman empire, running was what infantry in europe did.

Discipline did not just come from the imposition of authority, though that surely existed given the religious fervour and respect for the scarce military experience, but from the structure of warfare Zizka had invented.

That is where his first major innovation came in, the war wagon. The wagons Zizka had used at the previous two encounters had been just ordinary carts of the kind used to transport foodstuff to market or on campaign.

The war wagons that Zizka used later and presumably developed further as he went along, were of a different kind. These were designed as moveable fortresses. They were heavy and robust carriages. The sides could be reinforced with movable boards for his soldiers to take shelter behind. Other boards could be deployed to protect the wheels and to stabilise the wagon. The gap between two wagons was protected by a heavy mobile shield. That meant the Hussite army could create a mobile fort simply by pulling their war wagons into a circular formation and deploying the shields into the gaps. If they had enough time to set it up on top of a hill and dig a moat around it, these fortifications were almost impregnable. And as we will see, he also found a way to turn the war wagon from defensive tools to offensive weapons.

But beyond the mechanical change this brought, it also forced a complete rethinking of European military tactics. A medieval battle was effectively a giant melee where the great lords decided more of less freely when to attack, where and who. They were all doing more or less the same thing and since the only honourable formation was to go straight at them, no flanking or other cowardly moves, there was less need to coordinate across different divisions.

That lack of discipline and coordination is what led to the catastrophic French defeats in Crecy, Poitiers and Agincourt, the loss of the battle of Nicopol and scores of other, less famous encounters. None of the field commanders were able to bring in the kind of discipline that allowed generals to deploy their forces according to some battle plan.

An army that fights out of a formation of wagons was forced into coordination for the simple reason that the movable fortress only worked as well as its weakest link. Every wagon team had to get to the right place at the right time. Otherwise there would be a giant opening in the wall. Operating war wagons required specialisations, some soldiers were manning the wooden walls, other the shields between the wagons, there were the wagon drivers and those who handled the artillery. Every member of the team needed to know what to do and their comrades had to rely on him, or in fact her, doing their job.

The last component that made the Hussite armies so special was the use of field artillery. Artillery had been around for at least fifty years by then. The oldest surviving European firearm, the Tannenberg handgunne dates back to 1399 but they had been mentioned far earlier. These guns were predominantly used in static warfare, i.e, as a way to break walls during sieges. There were guns deployed at the battle of Tannenberg in 1410, but it is in the Hussite wars that they start to make a material difference. Shooting balls from behind the walls of their mobile fortress not only terrified riders and their horses, but as aim and speed increased it became a way to overcome the advantages of steel armour.

We do not know when Zizka exactly developed this form of warfare. It might have already gone around in his head when he fought in the wars against the Teutonic Knights. We have heard that he first deployed some of his tactics during the siege of Pilsen and then on the trip over to Tabor. But it is during this time in April 1420 that he was able to scale it up.

It was almost certainly an iterative, learning by doing process. During these two months he kept his new army in the field, running a number of attacks across the neighbourhood of Tabor. They raided the castles of the lords who had broken the promise of safe conduct. They attacked the small army of Nicholas of Jemniste, the man in charge of the massacres in Kutna Hora. They inflicted damage on his forces and forced him to release his prisoners. Once the truce between the royalists and Hussites ended on April 23rd, he felt free to attack any of the local lords who had sided with the king. In the process he took a lot of booty which included arms as well as horses, which allowed him to add a small troop of cavalry to his force.

As the Hussites became more powerful they also became more cruel. At one point they told six prisoners that they would release whoever was prepared to decapitate all his five comrades. Zizka himself ordered seven monks to be burned at the stake.

But the next great battle was however not fought over Tabor as the leaders of the community had feared, but in Prague.

Prague as we know had signed a truce with the royalists in November 1419 and had cowed before Sigismund in December. The leaders of the city and the moderate Hussite barons had believed that there was space for reconciliation, in particular that Sigismund could be made to tolerate the chalice, the communion of bread and wine as well as three more demands. But as we explained last week, Sigismund as emperor elect and king of Hungary could not compromise, even if he had wanted to.

The pointlessness of their attempt at compromise became abundantly clear when Sigismund sanctioned the burning of a Prague merchant who was reluctant to give up his Hussite beliefs. Then he issued an order that anyone who was found practicing Hussite beliefs by the time he arrived in Bohemia would be punished by death and loss of all possessions.

At that point the leader of the moderate Hussite barons, Cenek of Wartenberg, who had been appointed Sigismund’s regent in Bohemia and who held the Royal castle above the city, turned publicly against the king. In a symbolic act he sent back his precious insignia as a knight of the dragon. And then convinced his fellow magnates to side against the enemies of their faith. And even the most conservative Hussites amongst the city councillors and nobles concluded that they had to fight.

On April 3rd, 1420, the city of Prague formulated what would become known as the four articles, a summary of the key demands of the Bohemians to their king. It was a manifesto all the now various factions of Hussites could agree upon.

And this is what they said, quote:

  1. We stand for the ministering of the body and blood of the Lord to the laity in both kinds, for … this was Christ’s institution and …that of the first apostles.
  2. We stand for the proper and free preaching of the word of God and of his every truth
  3. All priests, from the pope down, should give up their pomp, avarice, and improper lordship [..] over temporal goods and they should live as models for us.
  4. We stand for the purge and cessation from all public mortal sins, by each in his own person; and for the cleansing of the Bohemian realm and nation from false and evil slander; and in this connection, for the common good of our land.” End quote

From now on, whenever Bohemia is threatened from outside, the various Hussite forces will coalesce around these four demands, and every time they are left alone, they will fall out over what exactly they mean.  

For now they were under attack and hence they were united. The city of Prague was readying its defences. They expelled the remaining Catholics, most of them German speaking. The Vhysherad they had so foolishly  handed over to the royalists in 1419, was put under siege.

Meanwhile Sigismund’s army marched from Silesia towards Prague. The numbers for the size of Sigismund’s army are all over the place. Our chronicler Lawrence of Brezova talks about 150,000 men, including bishops, archbishops, dukes and secular princes, approximately 40 in all, not counting margraves, counts, barons and nobles. These were Bohemians, Moravians, Hungarians, Croats, Dalmatians, Bulgarians, Wallachians, Huns, Tassyans, Ruthenians, Russians, Slavonians, Prussians, Serbs, Thuringians, Styrians, Misnians, Bavarians, Saxons, Austrians, Franconians, Frenchmen, Engishmen, and so forth and so forth. Sigismund’s chronicler talks about 80,000. Neither of these numbers are believable. The French and English side at Agincourt in 1415 counted each about 15,000, at Tannenberg/Grunwald, high estimates talk about 30,000 men. And these were battles involving some of the richest and most powerful monarchies of the middle ages, not an impecunious claimant for the crown of a medium-sized kingdom.

But it was still a huge army, quite likely one of the largest forces assembled in that century to date. Seeing all this, some moderate Hussites were either getting cold feet or became disconcerted about the increasing brutality of the Taborites, or both.  Amongst them was the grand magnate and leader of the moderate Hussite barons, Cenek of Wartenberg. He opened discussions with Sigismund and in exchange for the promise that he and his family could continue receiving the chalice, handed over Prague castle.

That was a massive blow for the defenders. The city of Prague was now wedged in between Prague Castle and the Vysherad. They tried to take either of them and failed. With the main forces of the enemy approaching at pace, despair spread through the city. Again they were considering a truce and sent delegates to discuss with Sigismund in Kutna Hora.

And again Sigismund turned them down. He demanded unconditional surrender, no ifs no buts. Return to old school Catholicism, no chalice, the return of the monks and the Germans, and restitution of church property. And there was no way the Hussites could accept it, certainly not the radicals, but neither could the moderates. The delegation returned to Prague and the city prepared to fight to the end. One of the astonishing things about this conflict is how often the moderates try to reconcile with the king and how they do not understand that he would not and could not budge.

 So, rather than dissolving their militia and removing their barricades as they had been ordered, wherever there had been one chain to barricade the street, they put two, and locked themselves up against the king.”

And the city now called for help. Hussites from all across the country mustered their forces and journeyed to Prague. On May 18th, an army, 9,000 strong, armed with flails, swords, crossbows, lances and pikes, accompanied by war wagons and led by Jan Zizka set off from Tabor on the 50 mile journey to Prague. Medieval armies tended to be slow and it would have usually taken a week to cover this distance. Zizka made it in three days, which included a successful skirmish with Royalist troops halfway through.

Whilst the city was filling up with determined fighters, the strategic position remained extremely challenging. The Hussite positions were the Old Town and the New Town which are lying on a plain on the right bank of the Vltava. The Lesser Town on the opposite side of the river was a smouldering ruin. The royalists held Prague Castle, one of the largest medieval castles in the world that sits 150 meters above the town. And they hold the Vhsherad, a somewhat less imposing hill, but still a mighty fortress to the  the south.

Both sides assumed that once Sigismund arrived, he would try to put the city under siege, cutting off food supply and slowly starve them out. To do that he needed to close down all access roads into the city.

There are four main routes into Prague, along or on yhe river, either from the north or the south, and by road from either the South-east or the North-east. Three of those routes were blocked by Prague Castle and the Vysherad. There is always a reason why the castles are built where they have been built.

The only road the royalists did not control was the North-eastern access route. That road came in on the right bank of the Vltava, i.e., the side where the Old and New Towns are and crossed a fairly wide plain called Hospital Field. Hospital field was  bordered on one side by the river and on the other by a 70m high, long ridge called the Vitkov Hill.

The destiny of Prague and now that all Hussite forces were gathered inside its walls, the movement itself was to be decided on Hospital Field and on Vitkov Hill.

Sigismund and his army arrived in early summer and made camp by Prague Castle. And that is where they stayed for the next couple of weeks, growing in number as more and more crusaders arrived. Prague was after all one of the largest cities in the empire. Surrounding it from all sides will take a huge army. Hence they were waiting for the moment that their forces would be sufficient to fully invest the city.

Meanwhile the defenders dug moats and strengthened walls. And they prepared the key strategic point, Vitkov Hill. On one end of the ridge stood an old watchtower, once built to protect the royal vineyard on the southern slope of the hill. Zizka then had two more wooden bulwarks built at the other end. These were fairly small, each holding maybe 30 defenders. Around these bulwarks all trees had been felled and houses that could impede access or visibility had been taken down. And then they waited.

The action began on July 14th, 1420. Sigismund planned an all-out assault. One contingent of a few thousand cavalry, mostly troops from Meissen and Thuringia were to take Vitkov Hill. Once that was accomplished a force of 16,000 was to come down from the royal castle and fight their way across the bridge, whilst another large army was to attack the new Town from the Vysherad. Overall a sound plan. Either the defenders would give up as soon as Vitkov Hill had fallen, or if they continued to resist, they could be starved to death.

Here I leave the storytelling to Lawrence of Brezova: quote “Those from Meissen climbed the mountain with their own troops and the 7,000 to 8,000 cavalry allied to them, in force and with trumpets blowing, and launched an assault on the aforementioned wooden battlements., successfully crossing the moat and taking the watchtower in the vineyard.  When they wanted to scale the walls made from mud and stone, two women, with one girl and 26 men who had remained temporarily in the bulwark offered brave resistance with stones and spears and were repulsing the attackers, having neither shells nor gunpowder. One of these women, even though she was unarmed , surpassed even the courage of the men, refusing to yield a single step, saying it was wrong for a faithful Christian to yield to an Antichrist. Fighting with great zeal, she was killed and breathed her last. Then Zizka came to their defence and he himself would have been killed had his own men not come with flails and rescued him from the hands of his enemies. Just as practically the whole city was terrified at the prospect of its doom, and the citizens were pouring out tears and prayers with their small children, counting on heaven alone to aid them, a priest approached with the sacrament of the body of Christ. Behind him were about 50 archers and a number of peasants unarmed except for flails. When the enemy saw the sacrament and heard the little bell, together with the loud cries of the people, laid low by powerful fear, they turned their backs, fleeing in haste, everyone trying to get in front of those before them. Many were unable to keep their balance against the onslaught and fell from the high rocks and broke their necks, and many more were killed by their pursuers. Within an hour more than 300 of them were slain while others were mortally wounded or captured” end quote.

I understand that this story as told here is one of the foundation stories of Czech national identity, so I will not dig too deep into the embellishments our chronicler might have added to the story. Let’s just say that Jan Zizka would not be much of a military genius if he had left the garrison at this crucial point without weapons and in particular without guns. It is also somewhat doubtful that a thousand battle hardened mercenaries would be turned into panicked wrecks by the sight of a priest with the Holy sacrament and 50 archers.

Despite this spot of myth making, the fact remains that Sigismund’s army was unable to take Vitkov Hill on that day and the following days the citizens of Prague dug deeper moats and build larger forts on Vitkov Hill so that the supply lines into Prague remained open.

And as it had happened twice before, the victory of the rebels was followed by negotiations. Again the Leaders of the city of Prague and the moderates sought reconciliation with their king and with the catholic church.

Sigismund, realising he could no longer take the city by force began to lend his ear to the catholic barons who promised him Prague without bloodshed. At which point the German princes who had been promised the land of the Hussite barons as well as booty from the sack of Prague turned first on the Bohemian barons and ultimately on their own king. One by one the imperial princes left the camp and went home, burning and plundering as they went. Sigismund was crowned king of Bohemia in St. Vitus cathedral but immediately afterwards retreated to Kutna Hora the centre of catholic power in Bohemia to await the peaceful resolution of the conflict.

We will see next week whether Jan Zizka and emperor Sigismund will hold hands and ride off into the sunset. But even more importantly, we will find out what repercussions these events have in the German lands, how they change the institutions of the empire and the position of its ruler. I hope you will join us again.

And in the meantime, if you feel inclined to support the show, you can do so at historyofthegermans.com/support.

The Hussite Revolution Part 3

“To our great shame and sorrow, we must acknowledge how our brethren have been cleverly seduced by Satan, and how they have departed from Holy Scriptures in strange and unheard-of ideas and acts. When Satan first came to them it was not with an open face, as the devil, but in the shining garb of voluntary poverty, [..], and in the zealous work of preaching to and serving the people and in giving them the Body and Holy Blood of God. And [..] a great many people flocked to them.

Then the devil came to them clothed in other garb, in the prophets and the Old Testament, and from these they sought to confect the imminent Day of Judgement, saying that they were angels who had to eliminate the scandals of Christ’s kingdom, and that they were to judge the world. And so they committed many killings and impoverished many people; but they did not judge the world according to their words, for the predicted time has elapsed with which they terrified the people, telling them strange things.” End quote.

Strange things indeed were happening in Bohemia. Peter Chelcicky whose words you just heard reported how the radical Hussites had called the End of Days for February 14th, 1420. But when that day came, and instead of all the enemies of the faith lying dead with their noses pointing skywards, royalist forces surrounded the radical Hussites in the city of Pilzen. Now the end really seemed nigh, but cometh the time, cometh the man, even if the man is a one-eyed, gruff ex-Highwayman.

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TRANSCRIPT

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 177 – The Day after the End of Days, which is also episode 14 of Season 9 The Reformation before the Reformation.

“To our great shame and sorrow, we must acknowledge how our brethren have been cleverly seduced by Satan, and how they have departed from Holy Scriptures in strange and unheard-of ideas and acts. When Satan first came to them it was not with an open face, as the devil, but in the shining garb of voluntary poverty, [..], and in the zealous work of preaching to and serving the people and in giving them the Body and Holy Blood of God. And [..] a great many people flocked to them.

Then the devil came to them clothed in other garb, in the prophets and the Old Testament, and from these they sought to confect the imminent Day of Judgement, saying that they were angels who had to eliminate the scandals of Christ’s kingdom, and that they were to judge the world. And so they committed many killings and impoverished many people; but they did not judge the world according to their words, for the predicted time has elapsed with which they terrified the people, telling them strange things.” End quote.

Strange things indeed were happening in Bohemia. Peter Chelcicky whose words you just heard reported how the radical Hussites had called the End of Days for February 14th, 1420. But when that day came, and instead of all the enemies of the faith lying dead with their noses pointing skywards, royalist forces surrounded the radical Hussites in the city of Pilzen. Now the end really seemed nigh, but cometh the time, cometh the man, even if the man is a one-eyed, gruff ex-Highwayman.

Before we get to the delights only a full blown apocalypse can offer, let me offer you nothing, nothing to buy, nothing to sign up for, nothing but the gratitude of your fellow listeners and your humble podcaster. Protecting us against an ever rising wave of advertising is a noble pursuit you can indulge in at historyofthegermans.com/support. Hence we thank all the lords and ladies who have so graciously lent a hand, namely Phil Grass, Hendrik N., Brian K., Chris C., John F., Martin W. and special thanks also to Historygirl Susan E. whose generosity and support all across social media is much appreciated.

And with that, back to the show.

Last week we left the Hussites at a low point. Though they had won the battle of the Lesser Town of Prague, their subsequent truce and kowtow before emperor  Sigismund had wiped out all of this success. A massive Catholic backlash against the religious reformers was under way. Sigismund had ordered the magistrates of Prague to lift the siege of the Royal Castle and to dismantle their fortifications, an order they were too weak to resist. The monks and nuns returned to their ransacked monasteries and the German merchant elite re-occupied their houses in Prague. The mining town of Kutna Hora became a centre of the repression of the Hussites who were thrown down mine shafts, some dead but also some still alive.

Sigismund, rather than entering Prague for a coronation went on to Breslau for an imperial diet. At that diet the Electors and princes signed up for a crusade against the Hussites. That crusade was initially intended to defend Hungary against the Ottomans, but pope Martin V had allowed for it to be diverted to eradicate the heretics of  Bohemia. And to make it abundantly clear that there was no room for reconciliation between even moderate Hussite demands and the imperial will, the diet convicted another Hussite priest, dragged him behind a horse over the cobblestones and when he still refused to die, burned him next to the abattoir.

What made all this even more disconcerting for the people was that most of that calamity had been self-inflicted. On November 5th, 1419 the Hussites were a cohesive movement. The citizens of Prague, both the more radical artisans and labourers in the New Town and the more affluent patricians of the Old Town, the provincial  communitarians who had come from their mountains to support their brethren and many of the Bohemian barons had all been united in their opposition to the royalists up in the castle. They had fought together, they had died together and they had won together.

But just 8 days later, the moderate factions in Prague had agreed a truce with the Royalists which allowed the Catholics to retaliate. The Radicals were opposed to the truce and the movement splintered into factions.

For these radical Hussites who had come from the provinces, this turn of events was almost impossible to understand. How could they get through the canon fire on the Charles Bridge and put experienced and well-armed mercenaries to flight, only to see the enemies of the faith triumph.

And this was not the first time they had experienced hardship. This is the early 15th century and the four horsemen of the Apocalypse are riding high.

The rider on the white horse had brought the plague, the plague that had begun in 1348 but had come back again, and again and again taking its grim toll.

The rider of the red horse had come to take peace from the earth and to make men slay other men. He had brought war, incessant war between the kings of France and England, between the princes of the empire over this, that or the other parcel of land, and the war between Wenceslaus, his barons, his cousins and at times his brother that devastated Bohemia the once richest and most august of the principalities of the empire.

The rider of the black horse came with a pair of scales weighing what little bread was allowed in times of famine. And now that the climate was turning colder and colder, even a good harvest in 1410 was no better than a poor harvest 150 years earlier. Those who have stayed on their land and failed to negotiate better wages found themselves re-enslaved following the plague whilst many who had left for the bright lights of the cities found themselves as menial labourers or domestic servants.

And the fourth rider on his pale horse of death was ever present, the catch all for those who had not succumbed to disease, war or famine.

It was a brutally tough time to be alive, very much the opposite of the beautifully illuminated images that the early renaissance masters, the Giottos, Lorenzettis, Martinis and Masaccios produced during that time.

And for the men and women who had left their homesteads in the autumn of 1419 to come to the aid of Prague, all this felt even more dystopian. Not only had they suffered the agony of disease, war, famine and death, they thought they had found the reason for their suffering. And that reason had been the corruption of the church, the church that turned its back on the example of the apostles, that had them denied the sacrament of bread and wine, without which there was no salvation. And they had not only found the reason for their suffering, they had begun remedying these ills. They had gathered on the mountains and had taken the bread and wine, they had shared their worldly goods as the apostle had done and they had listened to and tried to live by the scripture.

If they had done all that was required, how could it be that they found themselves leaving the city of Prague in fear of persecution and with nowhere to go?

Their priests were as confused as they were themselves and sought the answers in the one place they knew had all the answers, the holy scripture. Here is what our chronicler, Lawrence of Brezova reports they did next quote: “during this time some Taborite priests were preaching to the people Christ’s Second Coming, during which time all evil ones and adversaries of the truth deserved to perish and be annihilated, and all the righteous ones would be saved in five towns. [they were] warning that everyone who wished to escape the wrath of almighty God, which was supposed to be sent into the entire world, should move from their towns, castles and villages like Lot from Sodom to the five cities of refuge. These were the names of the cities: Pilsen, which they called the city of the sun, Zatec, Louny, Klatovy and Slany. This was on account of the fact that almighty God wanted to annihilate the entire world, with only those who fled to the aforementioned towns being spared” end quote.

Medieval history is full of predictions of the end of the world, from the millennial fears that gripped the contemporaries of Otto III and Henry II to the predictions of Joachim of Fiore that called upon Frederick Barbarossa to go to Jerusalem to bring about the 1000 years of bliss that preceded the coming of antichrist.

Seeing the defeat of their side and hearing that Sigismund was about to arrive in Bohemia to strike the final blow, the Taborite priests wrote quote: “The lion has gone forth from his lair and the heathen pillage has arisen..[..] the King of Hungary has gone forth to lay waste your land. Your cities will be wiped out..[..] therefore, knowing these things give diligent heed to the lord God himself and do not be tardy; He is at the gates.” end quote

And they gave a date for when he, Christ, not Sigismund, was to arrive – they said soon, very soon, in fact in just three months, in mid-February 1420.

And with that date being so close, the persecution of heretics in full swing across the country and a crusade against them being called, thousands of ordinary people left their homes, sold their belongings and took their husbands or wives, their children and their livestock to seek safety in one of these five cities. At this stage the biggest concentration was in the city of Pilsen, today more famous for Pilsener beer, the original Lager. Pilsen was turned into a fortress, many of its citizens who did not adhere to the Taborite beliefs left or, according to some accounts, were thrown out or even killed. The monasteries were ransacked as were the churches and the homes of the rich. In line with the tradition they been had established in their gatherings on the mountains before, they pooled their possessions, or as the our rather biased chronicler said, threw their money at the feet of their priests.

Conditions within these five cities must have been very difficult. Pilsen may have been a city of a few thousand people if that and the influx of thousands of pilgrims from the countryside must have led to massive overcrowding. Moreover, these people had no business in these towns, no work or income. And since they were there only to wait out the coming apocalypse, there was no incentive for them to set up shops or create much of a society. Feeding these masses was a challenge even before the cities were put under siege. And then there was the question on how to defend the city with nothing but pilgrims, most of them peasants and artisans and very few soldiers

The answer to that last question had already arrived in November 1419, a grizzled old soldier with only one eye who had fought for decades but had never held command of a major force.

I have promised to talk about Jan Zizka for three episodes now, and finally we are getting there. And at this point a big thank you to Czech listener Jiri D. who kindly summarised some of the recent Czech historical research for us.

There is precious little information about the first fifty years of the great Czech hero, the man who broke the dominance of the armoured knights and whose bronze equestrian statue overlooking Prague is the third largest in the world.  But recently a major works has been published by professor Petr Čornej that sheds more light on his life before the Hussite Revolt. And from that we can conclude that Jan Žižka had already lived and survived more lives than the proverbial stray cat before he came into historical focus.

Jan Žižka was born between 1360-1363 most likely in Trocnov, 16km southeast of Budvar, yes, another town that makes great beer and also gave its name to something called Budweiser. The family background was petty landed gentry which provided him with a coat of arms of a red crayfish on a silver field, but not an awful lot more.
His parents and relatives owned two farms, covering together not more than 40-50 hectares of very poor soil. The place was later deserted and converted into pastures, so  not enough to maintain the standards of even just the lowest level of gentry.

The name Žižka by which he is known, was actually a nickname. It means “one eyed” as Jan lost an eye quite early, probably due to an accident roughhousing with a childhood friend.
His early years, upbringing or education left no trace. He first appears in public records in four documents dated between 1378 – 1384, presenting him as a poor manager and householder, constantly in debt and incapable of taking care of his farm. He gradually sold off all of his land and assets and disappeared from the local land register. In the meantime, Jan had two short-lived marriages. Both wives died very early, probably in childbirth, leaving him with only one surviving child, his daughter Catherine.

Jan Žižka initially served Heinrich von Rosenberg, the all-powerful lord of Southern Bohemia, but must have fallen out with him fairly early on. Jan Žižka and his brothers, once their money had run out, joined a gang of Highwaymen under a certain “Matthew the Leader”, which operated between the years 1404-1409 in the border region between Bohemia, Moravia and Austria. They were a particular menace to the lands of his former master, the Rosenbergs and the citizens of Budvar. Jan Žižka did what a highwayman does, he took a load of herrings from the Rosenbergs, killing one of the lord’s men, shook down two brothers for cash and fleeced the merchants travelling between Vienna and Prague.
On occasion and at the behest of clients his gang would have a go at larger prey too. They tried to capture the royal castle of Hus and another time they planned to seize Nové Hrady, scaling the walls with rope ladders.

That brought the authorities on to the scene who systematically wiped out their local network and cornered, caught and hanged the gang members. Jan Žižka remained in hiding until he was saved by a royal pardon.

That royal pardon is seen as the great mysteries of his earlier life. Why would a king of Bohemia suddenly pardon a robber down in the south of the country who he may have never met before? Wenceslaus IV  wrote to all concerned on  July 27,1409 that “…he has accepted Jan the said Žižka, his beloved faithful, on his mercy, forgiving him graciously all the offences committed against Him and against the Crown of the Kingdom of Bohemia.”
Hmm, a state prosecutor pardons a gang member whose affiliates have all been hanged? Honi soit qui mal y pense as they said in the 14th century..
 
There is also a completely different story going round. Records of the court of Burgundy mentions a certain Jehan Susque de Behaigne which sound like Jan Zizka from Bohemia who acted as a go-between for King Wenceslaus and duke John the Fearless. This Jehan passed messages between the two princes, brought expensive horses to Dijon and accompanied the Burgundian chancellor on various diplomatic missions to eastern europe. The problem is  that the timing of these two stories overlaps, and whilst one can move from convicted felon to ambassador, nobody can be a diplomat and a highwayman at the same time. So either Zizka was a highwayman and this Jehan person was someone else, or Zizka was indeed a diplomat and the pardon was granted to him for a crime committed on occasion of one of his missions.

By 1410 we are on firmer ground. We find him fighting as a mercenary for Jogaila of Poland and Lithuania in the war against the Teutonic Knights. He may or may not have participated in the battle of Tannenberg/Grunwald in 1410 but he was definitely involved in the campaign and the defence of the castle of Rheden/Radzyn. This must have given him a good idea of how detachments of knights operated on the battlefield and how royal armies conducted large scale sieges. And he also could see the use of fire weapons at scale, weapons that had only recently become deployed more broadly.

Sometimes between 1411-1414 Jan Žižka joined the household of King Wenceslaus as a “palace gatekeeper”, someone close to the king, acting as a bodyguard. Wenceslaus was famously unstable and erratic. As a member of his immediate entourage Zizka must have been good at gaging his master’s moods, information that was exceedingly valuable to anyone with business at court. That may explain why his financial situation finally improved. In 1414 Žižka bought a representative house close to Wenceslaus favourite palace, though he did not keep it for long. He sold it to fund his daughter’s dowry two years later. As a member of the royal court Žižka made friends with prominent political, religious and military figures. It also brought him in contact with the Bohemian reformers who had many powerful supporters at court. There is a story that Zizka regularly accompanied queen Sophia when she attended Jan Hus’ Sermons at the Bethlehem chapel.

In 1419 when the Hussite revolt kicks off, Jan Zizka is already in his mid to late Fifties. Very little makes him out to become one of the greatest military figures in European history. Not only is he a relatively old man, he is visually impaired, had never held command of significant military forces before and his backstory is, as we have seen, a little too checkered to lead a religious movement. But then he did all that. Cometh the day, cometh the man!

And that day when Jan Zizka first steps into the limelight of history was the 30th of July 1419, the day of the first Defenestration of Prague. Our chronicler Lawrence of Brezova tells us that the royal councillors were quote “outrageously slaughtered by the common people and Jan Zizka, courtier of the Czech king” end quote. Many biographers ascribe Zizka a significant role in this event, though there is no further evidence of him even being there. I personally think that it is unlikely that he was one of the ringleaders at this event, simply because if he had been, the chroniclers would have made a big song and dance about it. But they didn’t. Hence my guess is that at this point he was still only another man in the crowd.

More interesting is the question why he was there. He was after all a royal servant, a “familiaris” of the king who had risen to wealth and prestige at court. Taking part in the insurrection, even in a minor role, was an act of treason. So why did he do it.

In a chronicle written about his life in 1436 it says simply, that he “took the field to fight against who did not take the Body and Blood of Christ in both kinds. Those he took for his enemies” end quote.

It was likely as simple as that. Jan Zizka, like almost everyone in Bohemia at that time had to make a decision, to stand either with the Hussites or with the Catholics. There was no middle ground. Zizka was close to the reformers at court who had just been dismissed. And he may simply have agreed with their view of scripture and decided to stand with the Hussites. And that was that.

From here on we find Zizka at the forefront of events. He led the attack on the monasteries following the death of Wenceslaus and then, as captain of the forces of the New Town, led the attack on Vysherad castle that kicked off the actual revolution.

During the battle for the Lesser Town some chroniclers ascribe Zizka a major role alongside the overall commander Nicolaus of Hus. And he seemed to have displayed a lot of personal courage during the fighting on the Charles Bridge.

Which is likely why he took the signing of the truce between the city of Prague and the Royal Castle so hard, in particular the decision to return the Vysherad to the Royalists. He had taken that castle, he understood its strategic importance and he knew what a foolish decision the truce had been. And like so many other disaffected radical Hussites, he left the city.

Passing through the gates of Prague he had once defended and where he once had a handsome house and position at court, he headed to one of the five cities the radical Hussites had declared the safe haven in times of the apocalypse. He went to Pilsen, the city of the sun where he arrived in the middle of November.

He had been invited to Pilsen by Wenceslas Koranda, a Hussite preacher who had already established himself as one of the leaders of the more extreme branch of the Hussites. Koranda was one of the most vocal Adventists who had predicted the second coming of Christ for mid-February 1420 and had urged the faithful to take refuge in one of the five cities.

After Koranda and Zizka had arrived, Pilsen began to fill up with those seeking safety from the Day of Wrath and/or protection from the brutal persecution by the Catholics that was kicking off.

As these people arrived, the demographics of Pilsen changed. Initially a city dominated by Hussite moderates, the radicals took up more and more space. That gave Wenceslaus Koranda the room to imprint more and more of his ideas on to the cityscape. He started with stripping the churches of their idolatry images before moving on to the destruction of the monasteries. The monks and the inhabitants unwilling to fall in line were expelled. And from there he whipped up the crowd with fear of the imminent Second Coming, which got ever more aggressive as news of the massacres at Kutna Hora spread.

I have by the way found another source for these events we discussed last week. A letter written by the magistrates of Prague to the city of Venice in July 1420 highlights both the incredible cruelty and the involvement of the largely German population. The leader of the atrocities was a certain Nicholas of Jemniste. Jemniste had initially been sympathetic and had warned Jan Hus against going to Constance, but he ended up a fanatic anti-Hussite. He is supposed to have devised the murder by mineshaft we discussed last week, earning him the nickname “the fierce”.

Naturally, Pilsen refused to sign up to the truce with the royalists. The government in Prague sent troops to bring Pilsen to heel. Initially this was a small army recruited mainly from the local nobility. They were unable to surround the city completely. Instead, they ran a campaign of destruction of neighbouring fields and villages, thereby reducing the availability of foodstuff in the overcrowded city.

Up until now the Taborites had been a peaceful lot, except for the destruction of churches and monasteries. Their whole ethos was to replicate the lives of the apostles who had spent their time preaching and living a communal life. But now that the armies of the enemy had gathered, the question is whether they were allowed to defend themselves. Zizka and his fellow commanders had already used military force in Prague, but the question was whether the faithful and even the priests could join them in this fight. After all the apostles had accepted martyrdom without resisting and does that not mean they should too? Zizka and his fellow commanders put this question to the masters of the university in Prague. And the masters concluded that it was appropriate for the laity to use violence in defence of their faith but reiterated the prohibition for priests to carry swords. That is often seen as the moment when Koronda and Zizka began to fall out, something that will be relevant later.

For now, the defence of the city was priority number 1. The small contingents of royalists roaming the countryside were clearly just the advance guard of a much larger army that would be sent against Pilsen. Zizka as captain of the city was in charge of defence. We know little of the early skirmishes in that period except for one significant event.

Sometime in December Zizka had made a sortie to take a small royalist fort at Nekmer, a few miles from the city. What he did not know was that this had been a trap, set up by the royalist commander. As Zizka arrived, he suddenly faced up against the entirety of the enemy.  forces, made up of dozens maybe a hundreds of knights, all in shining armour confident in the knowledge that nothing could resist their charge.

Zizka, it is said, had just a small force of men, not all of them trained soldiers, a few guns and seven wagons. As far as we know this was the moment when he first deployed the technique that would later make him the greatest military tactician of his day.

He ordered the wagons to form a circle on top of a hill and placed the canons in the middle. As the knights attacked they were met with canon fire that could penetrate their armour. And even if they were willing to dodge the shrapnel, they found their progress barred by the heavy wagons. The defenders meanwhile stayed behind in the safety of their mobile castle, taking shots at the enemy out in the open, or hitting them with their flails. This kind of warfare did not require years of training the knights went through. All you had to do was to be mad enough to handle one of these early guns that were almost as likely to explode in your hands than to send a projectile and to hold still whilst the stampede of armoured riders was coming at you. And if you believe that the End of Days was coming anyway, that was not quite as difficult as it sounds.

This tactic prove extremely effective against medieval knights in this and many later encounters. The royalists fled the field of battle and a new form of warfare was born.

But before this new model could be deployed successfully and at scale, Zizka and his men had to deal with a much, much larger royalist army that now invested the city of Pilsen. If that was pretty bad, what had made their position inside the city even more untenable was that February 14th had passed as just another uneventful Saturday. Instead of finding quote “all the others dead, with their noses sticking up in the air”. Instead the royalists were putting up their noses at those who quote “had been deceived in such an ugly way”.

The garrison of Pilsen was quickly running out of food, the population grew hostile and the royalist army outside the gates was growing by the day. It was time to go.

There was one silver lining. The commander of the royalist army was Wenceslaus of Duba, the Bohemian nobleman who had accompanied Jan Hus to Constance and had stood by his side until the end. Duba may not have been a full blow Hussite, but he was definitely no catholic fanatic. He offered Zizka and his fellow commanders an honourable surrender. If they gave up, they could leave the city with their camp followers and their weapons. Utraquist communion would be allowed for those citizens of Pilsen who desired it without punishment or molestation.

Jan Zizka took the deal and on March 22nd , 1420 a small troop of probably 400 armed men accompanied by women and children and now 12 wagons left the city of Pilsen. Though they had been promised safe passage, they soon found themselves under attack from a much larger force of 2,000, most of them armoured riders, commanded by some of the grandest barons of the realm. One had been in charge at the previous encounter and another was Nicholas of Jemniste, the cruel master of Kutna Hora. And again the wagons proved to be their salvation. This time the terrain was much less advantageous. The enemy attacked when his group was crossing a river. There was no chance for them to set up a defensible position on a hill. But Zizka spotted a number of fishponds nearby. That is where he guided the wagons, forming a circle which incorporated the ponds. This time the royalists were not so easily surprised by Zizka’s tactics. Instead of mounting rolling charges one after the other, the knights dismounted and fought their way hand to hand towards the Wagenburg. At one time they nearly succeeded in breaching the line of wagons, destroying two or three of them. But by then the battle had lasted for several hours and night fell. The royalists lines became muddled and ultimately so confounded that they could no longer distinguish friend from foe. Having beaten each other over the head a couple of time, they realised that this was not going to work out and retreated. Jan Zizka and his ragtag band of a few professional soldiers but mostly badly armed peasants had again defeated a much superior and much better equipped force.

On March 25th, 1420 they reached their destination, a place that was once called Hradiste and where their religious brethren were building a whole new city, a city they called Mt. Tabor and that would become the epicentre of radical Hussitism, giving it its name, the Taborites.

I would love to go on now and talk for another 45 minutes about Mount Tabor, the people who congregated there, what they believed and how they became the most powerful political and military machine of Bohemia, but we have already been going for more than 35 minutes. And that is enough for all of us. So Mount Tabor will have to wait until Next week. I hope you will join us again.

And in the meantime, just a quick hint, if you want to support the show go to historyofthegermans.com/support and become an imperial knight, a peer of the realm or even a Prince Elector for the equivalent of one, two or four cappuccinos a month. Who else can offer such elevated status?

The Hussite Revolution Part 2

Revolutions are exceedingly rare in world history. And they are so rare because they require a whole host of things going wrong and going wrong all at the same time. In 1419/1420 a whole host of things are going wrong in the kingdom of Bohemia. We did already hear about the defenestration, the first in Czech history. As dramatic an event that was, there was no reason to believe that death and destruction was inevitable at that point. After all there had been dozens, if not hundreds of bloody revolts that did not end up with a revolution.

Amongst Mike Duncan’s very many achievements, the concept of the great idiot theory of history is my absolute favorite. A great idiot of history is someone who out of incompetence, stubbornness, narcissism or other impediments created a situation where historical time accelerates and change occurs. It is the counterpart to the great man theory of history that is presumably a bit better known.

Which gets us to what we will discuss in this episode. Looking at my gradually swelling library of books about the Hussite revolt, it appears as if Sigismund, the king of the Romans and heir to the Bohemian crown was one of these great idiots of history. Many an author, not only Czechs, has blamed him for turning a simple revolt into a revolution out of bigotry, incompetence or even malice. But is that fair? That is what we will investigate in this episode, along a spot of street fighting on Europe’s top 3 backpacker destination.

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TRANSCRIPT

Hello and welcome to the History of the Germans: Episode 176 – A Great Idiot of History?  also Episode 13 of season 8 The Reformation before the Reformation.

Revolutions are exceedingly rare in world history. And they are so rare because they require a whole host of things going wrong and going wrong all at the same time. In 1419/1420 a whole host of things are going wrong in the kingdom of Bohemia. We did already hear about the defenestration, the first in Czech history. As dramatic an event that was, there was no reason to believe that death and destruction was inevitable at that point. After all there had been dozens, if not hundreds of bloody revolts that did not end up with a revolution.

Amongst Mike Duncan’s very many achievements, the concept of the great idiot theory of history is my absolute favorite. A great idiot of history is someone who out of incompetence, stubbornness, narcissism or other impediments created a situation where historical time accelerates and change occurs. It is the counterpart to the great man theory of history that is presumably a bit better known.

Which gets us to what we will discuss in this episode. Looking at my gradually swelling library of books about the Hussite revolt, it appears as if Sigismund, the king of the Romans and heir to the Bohemian crown was one of these great idiots of history. Many an author, not only Czechs, has blamed him for turning a simple revolt into a revolution out of bigotry, incompetence or even malice. But is that fair? That is what we will investigate in this episode, along a spot of street fighting on Europe’s top 3 backpacker destination.

Before we get down to the soon blood soaked streets of Prague just another irritating but inevitable reminder that the History of the Germans is advertising free thanks to the support from so many of you. If you want to join the ranks of these most generous patrons, you can do so on my recently redesigned membership page at historyofthegermans.com/support. There you can become a member or make a one-time contribution very much as you could on patreon.com  before. If you are already on Patreon, there is no particular need to change, though you are obviously most welcome to do so. On the new membership site you find the bonus episodes as before and a chat room where members can exchange views and ideas about the show. Unfortunately I have not yet found a way to invite Patreon members to this chatroom, but I am working on something. In any event we should thank Dave E., Margus S., Jesper Glargaard – which I hope I got right!, Lidija F., Nick S. and Cat C. who have already joined this illustrious set.

And with that back to the show

Last week we ended on the first defenestration of Prague in 1419, the one that was much deadlier than the more famous second one in 1618. A protest march of Hussites demanding the release of prisoners had gathered outside the Town Hall of Prague’s New Town. Things got out of hand or went according to plan – depending on who you listen to.  In the end 13 royal councilors lay dead on the pavement  having taken involuntarily flying lessons. The Hussite revolt had its own storm of the Bastille.

Louis XVI diary entry for the 14th of July 1789 was famously “rien” = nothing. The king of Bohemia Wenceslaus IV did not display the same sang-froid. Our chronicler Lawrence of Brezova reports that King Wenceslaus was “angered, vexed, and aggrieved [..] and decided to eradicate all Wycliffites and Hussites, especially their priests”.  This decision, like all his other great pronouncements came to nought. Instead, a month later having vexed, angered and aggrieved a bit more, he suffered a long overdue stroke and died with “a great shouting and roaring like a lion”.  

The city of Prague was in such a state of unrest that the king could not even be given a proper burial. His body was moved under cover of darkness from the Royal castle on the hill to the castle of Vysherad on the opposite bank of the river and from there again in the  night to the monastery of Aula Regia where he was finally put to rest. Only a few monks, fishermen and bakers were in attendance at the funeral of a man who had once been king of the Romans, king of Bohemia, duke of Luxemburg and Margrave of Brandenburg. His father, the great emperor Karl IV was lucky not to have seen what had become of the boy he had placed so much hope in, whose election had cost him the humungous sum of 500,000 mark of silver and the support of the once loyal imperial cities.

When news of the king’s demise spread, Prague erupted in an even greater frenzy of destruction. The mob broke into the remaining catholic churches and tore down the images and decorations, the priests and monks fled or hid. By the evening the crowd looted the Carthusian monastery and took away everything that wasn’t nailed down, got drunk from the liquor the monks produced and spilled what they could not pour down their throats. They seized the friars and dragged them through the streets of Prague in a riotous procession, because, as the chronicler said “they had consented to the death of master Jan Hus and resisted utraquist communion”. The next day the monastery was consumed by fire. Over the coming days even more churches and monasteries were ransacked and put to the torch.

The mob controlled almost the entire city with the exception of the Royal Castle. The nobles and rich merchants either left town or hunkered down in their fortified houses. Meanwhile out in the countryside the faithful of Mount Tabor were replicating the events of Prague in dozens of towns and cities.

The death of the king not only triggered street violence, it also caused a massive political problem for the more moderate Hussites, the barons, patricians and university doctors. Until now their strategy, assuming there was one, had been to put pressure on the weak king Wenceslaus to recognize the Hussite program. The masters of the university and the barons knew their king extremely well. They knew that his wife and maybe he too had Hussite sympathies and that the only reason Wenceslaus had sanctioned the conservative backlash of 1419 had been external pressure from his brother Sigismund and from the pope. Hence a carefully administered spot of mob violence was needed to tilt the balance in the favor of reform.

But now Wenceslaus was dead and the waving of flags and shouting had turned into full blown riots – not what the moderate Hussites had been aiming for.

Moreover, Wenceslaus’ heir was none other than Sigismund, the man many of the Hussites held responsible for the burning of Jan Hus. The man who had urged Wenceslaus to clamp down on the spread of utraquist communion across the country, in short the man who was at least one of the forces behind the catholic retaliation.

That left the moderate Hussite, basically the intellectual and political elite of Bohemia between a rock and a hard stone. On the one hand they really, really did not like Sigismund, but on the other hand the university professors and barons could not imagine a world without a legitimate feudal ruler, this is the 15th century after all. And for the barons in particular, their legitimacy was also tied closely to that self-same feudal system and hence the king.

As we have heard in the episodes about Karl IV and Wenceslaus, Bohemia had a rather unusual constitution. Unlike the other prince Electors, the king of Bohemia ruled with the consent of his barons. The barons were able to and had in the past deposed kings and invited new contenders to take the throne. This is how the Luxembourgs had become kings of Bohemia in the first place. And new kings could be made to sign settlements with the barons laying out their respective rights. Karl IV had done that and so did Wenceslaus.

For many moderate Hussite barons such a capitualation seemed to be the most sensible solution. Therefore, at the same time as monasteries were going up in flames all across the country and the radical reformers were dancing on the tables, the Hussite Barons and the university masters opened up negotiations with the royal party holed up in the Hradčany above the city. They put together a list of demands that if granted would allow them to recognize Sigismund as their overlord. These demands contained four main points, that priests could preach freely, only subject to the jurisdiction of the Prague archbishop, that the eucharist could be offered in both forms, as bread and wine, that the church was to give up all its property and that no Bohemian could be forced to stand trial outside Bohemia, in particular not in Rome. To soften the blow they promised to leave the Catholics unmolested and would return some of their churches.

That was the offer, the crown of Bohemia in exchange for the recognition of some key Hussite demands.

Before Sigismund could even respond to the offer, events moved on.

On September 28th there was a large gathering of the rural Hussites in a place called the Crosses. After their usual extended sermons and religious rites followed by communal dinners, they decided to march on Prague. The citizens of Prague welcomed them, led them through town in a torch-lit procession, fed them and housed them in one of the monasteries that were still standing. What further happened during this stay is shrouded in mystery. But most likely the two radical factions, those from the new Town of Prague and the rural activists who we will call the Taborites after the name they gave the hill they had gathered on, agreed to a joint position, a position that is unlikely to involve the kingship of Sigismund or toleration of Catholics.

Seeing the thousands of militant peasants all over Prague who were talking about sharing the wealth and forcing babies to take wine at communion was the final straw for the moderates. They joined the beleaguered royalist party up in the Royal Castle, conditions agreed upon or not.

This newly formed royalist party made up of Wenceslaus’ widow Sophia, the catholic barons and the moderate Hussites mustered their forces and recruited German mercenaries. Meanwhile the radicals down in the city were forming militias. We are moving to the stage in the revolt where a military confrontation becomes inevitable.

Which begs the question, where was Sigismund, the heir to the Bohemian crown, whilst his kingdom was tumbling towards civil war? In one of these twists of fate, the one man who could have deescalated the situation was unable to come to Bohemia.

After his long stay in Constance the situation in his kingdom of Hungary had become even more challenging than normal. The Ottomans had recovered from the catastrophic defeat at the battle of Ankara in 1402. Sultans Mehmed I (1413 to 1421) and Murad II consolidated the divided empire and resumed their expansion policy across the Balkans. Hungary was now Europe’s forward defence against the Turks, not counting the Byzantine empire that had shrunk to not much more than the city of Costantinople.

Moreover, Venice had begun its territorial expansion first along the Dalmatian coast and then into the Terra Ferma, its northern Italian hinterland. This impacted two of Sigismund’s realms, the kingdom of Hungary that used to comprise Croatia and Bosnia and the Empire which included the patriarchy of Aquilea and the Friaul. Venice not only dominated the Adriatic but was also completely ruthless. In 1418 the Great Council had passed a formal decision to have Sigismund assassinated – nothing personal, just business – it was cheaper than raising an army. Spoiler alert, they did not succeed and still had to raise the armies

That I think were good enough reasons for Sigismund to stay away from Bohemia, but they weren’t good enough reasons to mess things up in Bohemia. He played for time. In his letters he said things like, do not worry, I will confirm all the rights and privileges of the estates and we will surely find a solution for the religious differences once I come down. Just for the time being could you please all refrain from any more violence against the Catholics, restore the monasteries to the monks and nuns and allow the expelled German citizens to return to Prague. Being the future king and emperor he did not say please, please. Instead he ended his statement with “if you do not do what I command…we will make you do it”.

After decades of drunken Wenceslaus’ rule his new subjects were not accustomed to imperial commands. They did not refrain from violence against Catholics, did not return the monasteries to the monks and nuns and did not allow the expelled German citizens to return to Prague. At which point Queen Sophia who is now Sigismund’s regent put the second part of his statement into action. The mercenaries and baronial troops took over several of the monasteries and garrisoned key strategic points in the city. They rounded up some of the radical preachers and then they waited.

Jan Želivský , the leader of the New Town radicals called on the Taborites in the provinces to come to Prague and defend their religion as they had promised in the meeting a few weeks earlier.

The civil war began on October 25th 1419 with the radicals capturing Vyšehrad castle.

It may be useful at this point for you get an idea of the topography of the city of Prague. The city spans two sides of the Vltava river, which the Germans call the Moldau. The left bank is dominated by the Royal castle, the Hradčany with its huge cathedral and enormous palace. Below the castle is the so-called Lesser Town. The Lesser Town is connected to the Old Town on the right bank of the river via the Charles Bridge. The Charles Bridge itself is protected by two towers, one at each end. The Old Town is, as the name suggests, the oldest and still richest community of the city. That is where you find the famous Teyn square and the Jewish ghetto. The Old Town is surrounded on three sides by the New Town, the massive extension emperor Karl IV began. That is where the artisans and the labourers lived. It is also where the enormous squares, St. Wenceslaus Square and Charles Square are found, as well as the Bethlehem chapel. At the southern end of the New Town also on the right bank is Vyšehrad castle, the original residence of the Bohemian kings.

In October 1419 the Royal castle and the lesser town were held by the royalists. The new Town was held by the radicals. The old Town was caught between both sides, trying to steer a course between them. When the Vyšehrad fell to the radicals on October 25th, the royalists were limited to their bank of the river, the Hradčany and the lesser Town, unable to relieve the Old Town against attacks by the radicals. So the radicals moved into the Old Town.

The two sides were now heading for a showdown. The radicals in the new Town were waiting for more of the rural radicals to join them whilst the moderates and royalists tried to prevent these supporters from getting to the city. Several groups were intercepted and forced to return. The largest contingent, the one that had gathered on Mount Tabor, was held up by a contingent of royalist soldiers. This was the very first battle of the Hussite war and one where the Taborites sustained severe losses and were forced to return.

On November 4th, 1419, the war got under way properly. Led by Nikolas of Hus militiamen from the New Town, the Old Town and rural insurgents crossed the Charles Bridge under canon fire and broke into the Lesser Town. The drawn-out street fighting lasted until nightfall and ended with a victory for the radicals. Before they could be wiped out completely, the royalists rushed back up the hill into the safety of the Royal castle.

It is hard to understand why, but that same night the radical militia returned across the bridge to the old Town. So, the next morning the royalists reoccupied the Lesser Town. The same process repeated itself, the militia crossed the bridge followed by street fighting, only that this time several of the main buildings on the left bank, including the archiepiscopal palace, the monastery of St. Thomas and the house of the dukes of Saxony caught fire and burned down to the ground.

Looking down on her burning capital, queen Sophia and her ally and largest landowner in Bohemia, the Baron Rosenberg, fled. The remaining garrison in the Royal Castle was put under siege. Out in the countryside a royalist army was defeated by the rural radicals and their mercenaries were turning tail.

Hurrah, the Revolution had won. The Queen and her mercenaries were gone from Prague, the barons were defeated. Surely now a Hussite paradise of free worship, primacy of scripture and utraquist communion was at hand.

Not so fast. There is also another way of looking at this. The city that was burning was not just the city of the queen and the barons. It was a city where people lived. People who had followed Jan Hus’ sermons whose most famous quote was “Love the truth. Let others have their truth, and the truth will prevail.” The Hussite movement had not been about overthrowing the catholic church and the existing political order, it had sought to bring the catholic church back to its roots in the church of the apostles, a church built on faith, the teachings of Christ, forgiveness and community.

And now, instead of sharing food and listening to the word of God together, dead bodies were strewn across Charles Bridge, not just foreign soldiers, but Bohemian men and women too. The night sky was illuminated by the embers of the burning houses and monasteries.

Did anyone really want that?

Once the frenzy of the fighting was over and calmer minds surveyed the wreckage, there were two options laid out before the Hussite leadership.

One route was to push on, to cleanse the country of the catholic clergy, establish utraquist communion everywhere, set up a new political system with another king or even no king and brace for the inevitable backlash from the catholic forces of Europe. The alternative was again to seek reconciliation with king Sigismund, with pope Martin V and the catholic forces of Europe. A reconciliation that would seek toleration of the Hussite beliefs, freedoms and practices but would allow Bohemia to remain within the catholic church.

It was the same question that had been posed right after the defenestration and that would be the question that will run through the entirety of the coming decades of Bohemian history. The pendulum will swing back and forth between these two extremes.

And just now the pendulum had swung far out towards the radical side which could only mean it would swing back to the moderate position. What is astonishing is the speed with which this happened.

The battle over the Lesser City of Prague had taken place on November 4th and 5th. On November 13th the magistrates of Prague signed a truce with the royalists in the castle. This truce was scheduled to run until April 1420. Under the agreement the royalist could not only keep the royal castle but also got the Vyserad back and with it some control over the Old Town. In return the queen promised to not just tolerate but to defend the utraquist communion and what the chronicler calls “the law of god”, i.e., the freedom to preach from scripture.

At the end of December Sigismund called for a diet of the Bohemian crown in Brno in Moravia. All the barons, Catholics and Hussites, the magistrates of Prague and the major cities and church leaders gathered there. This was the big moment, the great reveal. Sigismund will now finally disclose where he stood on the deal the Moderates had been proposing for a while – toleration of the Hussite beliefs and rites in exchange for the Bohemian crown. This was the opportunity to reinvigorate the royalist coalition of Catholics and moderate Hussites, suppress the more extreme elements in the New town and on Mount Tabor and bring an end to the unrest.

If that is what the delegates from Prague were hoping for, they were in for a very cold shower. Sigismund was in no mood for reconciliation. He let the delegation from Prague wait for three days before receiving them. Once admitted to his presence they knelt before Sigismund and recognised him as their hereditary king and master. Then he quote spoke to them quite harshly, and sent them to Prague with the order to remove all chains and posts from the streets of the town and to pull down all fortified buildings in front of the castle [..]. This was to be indicative of their submission to his power and reign. [..] at the same time he deposed all of the officials of king Wenceslaus as well as the burgraves of castles who were supporters of Utraquist communion [..], and installed in their posts adversaries of the truth and blasphemers.” End quote. In other words, Sigismund ordered the power structure of the Hussites to be dismantled.

That was a very hardline position. The conditions posed by the Moderates weren’t really that demanding. Allowing Utraquist communion wasn’t that much of a theological issue, after all that is what had been practice in the catholic church until the 12th century. Freedom from courts outside Bohemia was at least on temporal matters something that had been part of the various special privileges of Bohemia for centuries. Whilst on the other hand forcing the Bohemians to accept him as king unconditionally will prove extremely expensive if at all possible.

So why did he not take the offer?

Some see him simply as evil and debauched. After all he sported a forked beard and w sin the habit of dancing wildly and dropping his pants at the end of dinner parties. From there it is only a small step to being the devil’s apprentice.

Most writers point to his catholic faith as the reason why Sigismund turned this option down. But that is confusing to me. At no point so far had Sigismund displayed any of the deep personal piety of his father. Sure, he was a believer like everybody else in the Middle Ages. But a malicious bigot who was hell bent on destroying heresy, that simply does not gel.

Others claim he wasn’t a great politician and diplomat. But that does hold even less water. This was a man who had acquired the kingdom of Hungary despite not having a valid claim to the throne and against the opposition of the dowager queen, the heiress of the kingdom herself and two-thirds of the magnates. And then he had engineered the end of the schism, something that had eluded the brightest political minds of Europe for 40 years.

If Sigismund did take a hardline position and it wasn’t for bigotry or stupidity, then it must be based on a sober political calculation. And that calculation might have gone as follows. Sigismund was not just the hereditary king of Bohemia. He was also king of Hungary and king of the Romans. Hungary, as we have just heard was in a fragile state, under pressure from both Venice and the Ottomans. And Sigismund’s position as king of Hungary was still subject to potential challenges from his nobles and the Angevins in Naples. Just relisten to episode 169 to remind yourself of the cut and thrust and occasional decapitation of Hungarian politics.

His position as king of the Romans was even more wobbly. In 1420 this king of the Romans had no landholdings in the empire – nada, zilch. He had granted his margraviate of Brandenburg to Friedrich von Hohenzollern. He had lost the ancient family lands in Luxemburg to his niece when he was unable to repay a loan. And as for the most valuable part of the Luxemburg inheritance, the crown of Bohemia, well, see above.

That meant his position as king of the romans and his eventual imperial coronation in Rome was down to nothing but his personal standing, his imperial prestige. And he had been working very hard on that. His involvement in the council of Constance had less to do with his personal spiritual unease about the schism but had been an amazing platform to establish himself as the first lord in all of Christendom. But all this was a walk on a tightrope. One false move and it would become apparent that this emperor could not afford even his clothes.

Embracing Hussite positions, even just tolerating them would have been such a misstep that tarnished his reputation. The Bohemian reform ideas had percolated into Saxony and Poland but not much beyond. For the Prince electors, the senior imperial princes and the magnates of Hungary, the Hussites were heretics whose leaders had been convicted by a legitimate church council and had been burned at the stake. Leaving them be was not only negligence on the part of the ruler of Bohemia, it jeopardised the unity of the holy mother church and thereby endangered everyone’s smooth transition to the afterlife.

As far as Sigismund was concerned the offer from the Hussite moderates amounted to no more than to resume the position of his brother Wenceslaus in Bohemia whilst losing the crowns of both Hungary and the empire. And sitting on the Hradčany and get bullied by barons, university masters, archbishops and radical preachers wasn’t really such an appealing prospect.

From Sigismund’s perspective the only viable political position to take was to turn back time, if necessary, by brute force. That does not make it a good decision, but a rational one. So he was not one of the great idiots of history, but certainly not one of its great men either. Just a man standing before a kingdom and asking it to kneel before him.

Next thing is now sent the magistrates back to Prague, where they did as they had been ordered, they removed the fortifications and readmitted the catholic clergy and rich merchants who had fled the city during the uprising. The garrison of the castle, seeing the enemy ramparts being torn down laughed and called down quote “Now the Heretics and Wyclifites will perish and will be finished” end quote.

Why did the moderate Hussites comply with Sigismund’s orders? Simple. Once their deal was rejected by Sigismund they had neither the backing of the committed royalists nor could they call on the radical forces to support them. Their power has simply been stripped from them. For now, all they could do was obey the king. 

The most eminent American scholar of the period, Howard Kaminsky, believed that had Sigismund gone directly to Prague after the knee fall of the magistrates at Brno, he could have successfully suppressed the Hussites for good.

This I very much doubt. By 1420 Hussitism had taken deep roots in the country, both in Prague and the provinces, amongst peasants and labourers as well as barons and patricians, it would have required and did require a massive military and political presence to keep them down.

And this is what was now deployed, both from within Bohemia and from without.

The backlash against the Hussites moderates and radicals alike inside Bohemia had already begun in November. The chronicler Lawrence of Březová reports that quote “enemies of the truth inflicted on the [Hussite] Czechs the theft of property, cruel manners of captivity, hunger, thirst, and bodily slaughter. [..] They turned them over to the miners of Kutna Hora, and some were indeed sold to them. These people of Kutna Hora, being Germans, cruel persecutors of the Czechs, [..] inflicted various blasphemies and different manners of torture on them, inhumanely threw them down into very deep pits, or mine shafts, primarily at night. Some were still alive when they were thrown down, others were beheaded first. This was done primarily at a place the mountain men called Tabor.” End quote. The chronicler goes on to say that a total of 1,600 Hussites were killed in that way “in a short period of time”.

I will leave this standing here as the chronicler reported it. I have tried to find corroborating evidence about the scale of these atrocities and the role of the German citizens of Kutna Hora but have not been able to find anything in English or German. If any of you Czech listeners have more information, I would be very interested.

What is fact though is that the miners of Kutna Hora were largely German speaking. Germans had developed mining expertise when the first European silver mines opened in Goslar in the 10th century and German miners were active from the enormous copper pit of Falun in Sweden to the great mines of Hungary. As we discussed in episode 153 Nürnberg had become the European centre for mining and in particular smelting technology. Hence it is very likely, if not certain that the miners of Kutna Hora had been German speaking.  

And it is also true that Sigismund had issued orders to all his recently installed chamberlains, burggraves, burgomasters and city councillors that they should by any means possible arrest, persecute and to the extent possible wipe out the Wyclifites and Hussites, and those practicing communion with the lay chalice. This order was however issued after the date the chronicler gives for the massacres at Kutna Hora.

As for the exertion of military might from abroad this came to fruition three months later. Sigismund had called an imperial diet in Breslau, Wroclaw in Silesia for early January. Two items had originally been proposed for this diet, the first was the resolution of the conflict between the Teutonic Knights and the kingdom of Poland and the second one the organisation of another crusade against the Ottomans.

We will leave the Teutonic Knights to one side, if you want to refresh your memory on this less successful intervention, check out episode 135.

As for the crusade against the Ottomans, Sigismund convinced pope Marti V to give him a sort of carte blanche to repurpose it as a crusade against the Hussite heresy if needed.

The crusade was first to go to Bohemia and should the Bohemians give up their Utraquism and exceptionalism the crusaders would then march on the Ottoman. But if the Bohemians persisted in their beliefs, then the forces of the lord would be unleashed against them.

These three events, the sudden collapse of the Hussite front after the victory in Prague, the brutal catholic repression and the call for a crusade against them left the Bohemians not just distressed but also wondering what could have brought all of these calamities about. And many looked for answers in the New Testament and in particular the Book of Revelation.  Quote: “Fall on us and hide us from the face of him who sits on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb! For the great day of their wrath has come, and who can withstand it?”

And what do you do when antichrist is about to take the throne? Where do you go? Shall you arm yourself and defend the faithful or shall you “hide in the dens and rocks of the mountains” as the “kings of the earth and the great men, the rich men, the wise men and every free man” will do when the seventh seal of the Apocalypse is opened.

That is what we will talk about next time…and I hope you will join us again. And in the meantime, as we are talking about a revolution you may want to look again at our first revolution. The one that kicked off with a letter sent to pope Gregory VII calling him Hildebrand, not pope but false monk” Episodes 32 to 42. And do not forget that if you want to support the show, you can do so at historyofthegermans.com/support

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.