Teutonic Knights (16 page)

The charge that the Teutonic Knights were hindering the process of conversion lies at the root of every condemnation of the order’s actions in Livonia and Prussia. On the one hand, an interpretation dating from the end of the thirteenth century (reinforced at the end of the nineteenth century, and widely accepted at the end of the twentieth) denounced all interference with native customs as Western colonialism and cultural imperialism; at the same time the adherents of this doctrine denounced the order’s failure to spread Christianity and education among the Baltic peoples so as to raise them to the level of the Germans (as though this was not intruding significantly into traditional practices). The order’s enemies assumed that a low-key approach, through native priests, would make an impression on their hearers through their ability to use the native language skilfully and through a morality higher than that possessed by second-rate foreigners. Perhaps they were right. However, that was not the choice the order had. Religious education and the hiring of priests was the duty of the archbishop and bishops, not the master and his officials. If the friar-brothers had attempted to teach religion, no pope would have hesitated to rebuke them severely. Moreover, every effort to persuade the bishops and their canons to become members of the Teutonic Order provoked howls of indignant protest.

Clearly, all efforts to preach the word of God among the Baltic peoples were less than fully effective. Moreover, the reasons for the failure were obvious even to contemporaries: the Church hesitated to trust the sons of pagan priests not to make heretical interpretations of Christianity which would endanger the souls of their congregations; chastity was not a native folkway, and the nearby presence of married Orthodox priests was a dangerous example; and, moreover, because the foreign-born prelates and their canons did not speak Estonian or Latvian, they could not be sure what native-born priests might be saying or doing. The Church lacked the funds to maintain clergy in the countryside and was unable to prevent the priests they recruited in Germany from drifting back to the cities where they could find work and, at the very least, find someone they could speak to other than an occasional merchant, the local noble, or some advocate – individuals with whom they had (or should have) little in common. Lastly, all people who have accepted Christianity relatively quickly have adapted local myths and adopted ancient practices into their understanding of the new faith. We may not worry today about Irish fairies and Croatian
vilija
, but the medieval church did. And so the Church resisted incorporating Baltic pagan beliefs – most importantly those connected with burial and the remembrance of the dead – into daily worship and seasonal observances.

The native peoples resisted Christian burial rites successfully in every part of Livonia. However, we may have information about this form of resistance rather than about other methods only because it was much easier for the church to observe burial practices than to investigate the breaking of fasts, the performance of secret ceremonies, and beliefs in superstitions different from those held by Germans. The women, in particular, were more stubborn in their resistance to change, perhaps because their lives were less affected by the new regime than was the world of men. Moreover, neither Teutonic Knights nor priests were supposed to spend time with women.

All that converts seemed to have understood was the need to repeat certain prayers, to respect the saints, and to add new superstitions to their already heterogeneous belief system. Understanding the role of the trinity in a monotheistic creed was probably as difficult then as it is today, and the Christians’ moral codes seemed to have little connection, at times, with how ordinary Germans lived. The rulers probably did not know what was going on in the villages – the knights of the military order least of all, because they were supposed to be in the convent at prayers instead of mixing with the natives (drinking parties with men were acceptable, but not entertainments where women were present). What the natives wished to preserve was preserved musically, in songs the foreigners could not understand. This singing tradition (though not the songs) has endured through the ages to our present time – in 1988 – 91, when the Baltic states won their independence again, they did so not through terrorism or force, but by means of a ‘Singing Revolution’.

The Teutonic Order’s indirect approach to conversion was more successful in Prussia, where large numbers of German and Polish peasants speeded the process of cultural assimilation and eventual Germanisation. Even so, the question of how sincerely converted the natives had been was discussed through the centuries. Missionaries preached in vain, because they were too few in number and lacked sufficient command of the language to stir the Livonians’ hearts. Christianity made inroads into native society only when the Reformation and Counter-Reformation reached the Baltic.

Contrary to what is widely believed, serfdom and slavery were not the immediate fate of the newly conquered peoples. Taxation and labour duties, yes, monogamy, and formal acknowledgement of adherence to Christianity, but in most other ways the native peoples were able to retain their traditional practices. The elders continued to administer local affairs, the warrior class came to look forward to the opportunities war provided for earning booty and prestige, and farming families had to perform perhaps no more than three days of required labour each year in the fields of their often distant lord. Without question, both secular and religious lords endeavoured to enlarge their estates, abused judicial privilege, and used little restraint in collecting taxes. Almost as certainly, some vassals defended these as rights they had inherited from their Estonian and Livonian mothers and grandmothers – widows or daughters of nobles slain in the wars of conquest, or, in the case of the von Ropp family, marriage into a prominent Rus’ian dynasty.

Livonia remained administratively divided. Consequently, the experiences of individual communities were probably quite diverse. Relatively few Germans settled on the order’s lands, only a few more on the archbishop’s. German influence hardly extended beyond the walls of the small communities clustered around the major castles or the coastal towns. In Estonia, however, where the bishops of Dorpat and Oesel-Wiek governed through landed vassals, and in the lands of the Danish monarch, German knights, merchants, and artisans were more numerous.

Unfortunately, it was only this handful of administrators and merchants who compiled the records and wrote the letters which comprise our most important historical sources from this period. When we reach the last lines of
The Rhymed Chronicle
and realise that our author has laid down his pen for good, we experience a loss almost as painful as the one we feel when we came to the end of
The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia
. The century of the Baltic Crusade concluded with the outbreak of a quarrel we must follow through lawyers’ briefs and statements by the order’s enemies at hearings conducted by papal legates, which, unfortunately, were boycotted by the Teutonic Knights, so that we never hear their version of events directly. The Rigans dared not give up their alliance with Lithuanian pagans, because that would have meant, in effect, their surrender to the Livonian master. For thirty years the Rigans would continue to fight desperately but vainly for their liberty. The crusade of the thirteenth century thus ended in civil conflict that would last many decades and would reappear late in the fifteenth century.

The strategic significance of Pomerellia (West Prussia) was, first, that it lay on the southern Baltic coast along the last stage of the sea route from Lübeck to Prussia, and, therefore, its rulers could aid or hinder commerce as they saw fit; and second, it provided an alternative land corridor for crusaders coming from the Holy Roman Empire. Some crusaders came by sea, especially those from England and Scotland. Sailing was the most comfortable way to travel, though it was expensive, and it was the only way for crusaders and merchants to reach Livonia. But most crusaders to Prussia came from Meissen, Thuringia, and Upper Saxony, and for them the direct route to Thorn, Culm, and Marienburg lay across Great Poland. Whenever that road was closed by the Polish king, they could reach Prussia only via Brandenburg, the Neumark, and Pomerellia.

For Poland, possession of Pomerellia would guarantee access to the Baltic Sea, an important consideration for the increasing volume of grain being shipped down the Vistula to the international market. Moreover, the king could station forces in the rear of the Teutonic Knights’ possessions in East Prussia, within easy striking distance of important castles such as Marienburg and Elbing.

The economic importance of the city of Danzig to the two sides is less clear. The Teutonic Knights had other outlets for their grain and forest products, and Danzig was never to submit meekly to the order’s wishes. The slaughter of citizens in an early uprising was as exaggerated (10,000 people, many more than the actual population) as it was widely publicised by the Polish king. Later the order’s officers would have to negotiate with the wealthy and self-confident patricians who dominated politics in this Hanseatic city, and they would rely on Danzig warships in their efforts to suppress piracy. The Piast monarchs of Poland valued the theoretical sovereignty over Danzig more than any immediate military or financial advantages they could have obtained. Claiming that the German-speaking citizens of Danzig were really Poles was good propaganda, and it was plausible because language was not yet a certain sign of political allegiance.

The real issue was power – if the Teutonic Knights held Pomerellia and Danzig, they could bring crusaders to Prussia no matter what the king’s current policies were, and they could raise troops and taxes from that land to support their operations on the eastern frontier; if the Polish king held Pomerellia, he could reduce Prussia to a dependency. Since the military order considered possession of Pomerellia necessary for survival, the grand masters gave this issue their highest priority. For the king, in contrast, possessing Pomerellia had few advantages other than in bringing the Teutonic Order to heel; the number of knights and taxpayers in that land would increase his power and wealth only marginally. Therefore it was an issue which he could deal with later.

Had the Polish kingdom never suffered military disasters at the hands of the Mongols in the 1240s, Pomerellia would probably have ended up in Piast possession – not only by right of inheritance (and the Teutonic Order suffered in this way for its vow of celibacy), but because the Piast dukes would have been strong enough to force the Teutonic Order to share in the fruits of the holy war right from the beginning, before it was firmly established in East Prussia. At the minimum the Masovian dukes would have taken Culm and named favourably-inclined prelates for the four Prussian bishoprics, and it is unlikely that any ambitious dynasty of any nationality would have been able to refrain forever from attempting to extend its control over the rest of the order’s lands. Since Duke Conrad and his heirs controlled the water routes in Masovia that led toward Lithuania and into Volhynia, they were committed to defending those lands against pagan attacks. Additional early commitments in Prussia would likely have involved them even more deeply in the future conflicts with Lithuania.

This was not Poland’s destiny, however. Since the Polish kingdom suffered one defeat after another, all Poles could do was to bemoan the lost opportunities. All patriots could do was await the day when the kingdom reawakened, when king, important nobles, clergy, knights, and gentry could work together again for the good of the commonwealth and the good of Christendom. At the mid-point of the thirteenth century that seemed far away, but by the end of the century it seemed within reach.

The unification of the Polish kingdom did not come swiftly or easily. It came about, in fact, almost by accident, as branches of the widespread Piast dynasty ceased to produce sons. The line that held the duchy of Cracow (and the crown) ended with the death of Boleslaw the Pious in 1279. Leszek the Black, a grandson of Conrad of Masovia, became king. Leszek proved himself to be a capable leader by defeating Rus’ians in battle, then crushing the Sudovian Prussians in 1282, and finally using Hungarian and Cuman warriors to capture Cracow in 1285. He survived a devastating Mongol invasion in 1287, only to die without issue the following year. With him died the immediate hopes of restoring Polish power and prestige.

Henryk of Silesia moved quickly to claim Cracow. Although his relatives supported Boleslaw of Masovia, Henryk had the bigger army and was closer to Cracow, and therefore he held the southern part of the kingdom easily. But Henryk was not popular – culturally he was less Polish than German. Orphaned early in life, he had saved himself from his Silesian relatives only by asking Ottokar of Bohemia to act as his guardian. He had grown up at the Bohemian court and his army had formed a third of the Czech force that was defeated by Rudolf von Habsburg in 1278 at the decisive encounter in which King Ottokar lost his life; but Henryk did not hesitate to seek out the victor of that contest and swear allegiance to him. After returning to Silesia, he brought in more German settlers and made the German influence at his court more dominant than before. Many Poles were offended by this and feared that under Henryk Poland would become a mere appendage of the Holy Roman Empire. To judge from Henryk’s will, however, this fear seems to have been exaggerated. When he died suddenly in 1290 in the midst of negotiations with the pope for his coronation, he left instructions to give Cracow to Przemysł of Great Poland, and Silesia to his cousin Henryk, with the intent that this latter territory would return to the crown later. Unfortunately, not everyone agreed to this formula. Ladislas the Short (Władysław Łotietek, 1261 – 1333) of Kujavia protested, and so did Wenceslas II (Vaclav, 1271 – 1305) of Bohemia, who began a contest for the throne that lasted, with interruptions, almost two decades.

The Czech king was far more powerful than his opponent and by 1292 had occupied all of southern Poland. The north was held by Przemysł, who was the heir of Mestwin of Pomerellia as well as of the dukes of Great Poland. Przemysł acted first on the idea of reviving the kingship by having himself crowned by the archbishop of Gniezno in 1295, but his reign was short – he was assassinated within a year, in what may have been a failed kidnapping. Although no guilty party was ever discovered, many suspected that the dukes of Brandenburg were behind the plot, the motive being possession of Pomerellia. After the confusion had quieted down, Ladislas the Short held the late king’s lands and pretensions. In the meantime, the vassals of Pomerellia became the de facto rulers; the foremost of these was Swenza (Święca, Schwetz) of Danzig and Stolp and his son, Peter.

By this time it was clear to everyone that the reunification of the Polish kingdom was but a short time off. The Prussian masters had to think about what this would mean for them. Their relationship with the Piast dukes had varied considerably over the years, but in general it had been friendly and mutually helpful. Moreover, in many ways the Teutonic Order had helped bring about the favourable changes that were now occurring in the kingdom. By protecting the frontier from pagan attack, the Teutonic Knights had helped stabilise the country, so that the dukes could concentrate on badly needed internal reforms. By bringing a steady stream of crusaders across Silesia and Great Poland, they had helped stimulate the local economy; this aided in the development of a middle-class that paid taxes and provided services, thus encouraging further development of internal trade and manufactures. The roads and bridges were improved so that communication became easier and more dependable throughout the kingdom.

Following the example of those churchmen who had settled Germans on the land in Silesia, Pomerellia, and Prussia, the dukes began an internal colonisation of their own, using Polish as well as German peasants. More important, they relaxed the laws that kept most of the peasantry in bondage. The newly freed peasants worked harder and were more productive than serfs, and this had a good effect on the economy, which in turn raised the ducal incomes. The numerous Polish knights profited from this, too. However, as they developed a sense of their importance they expressed their growing self-confidence and ambition in a jingoistic patriotism that included strong anti-German sentiments. This naturally worried the leaders of the Teutonic Order, because such vocal hostility had to affect their relations with the Piast dukes.

All the forces that were moving in the direction of a national rebirth in Poland could be harnessed for use in various ways by anyone lucky and skilful enough to unify the country and crown himself its king. The Teutonic Knights would have been frightened by the prospect of having a powerful German prince as a neighbour, but the prospect of having an unpredictable and quarrelsome Piast on the throne must have been particularly unsettling. Especially if that Piast was Ladislas the Short. Well-known to the knights of the order, he, in turn, knew them well. Neither trusted the other, yet neither wanted to begin a feud.

Ladislas was a man of moods but of consistent policy. His abrasive personality often stood between him and his goals, but his perseverance and combativeness won the hearts of many of Poland’s knights and gentry. For many years this was unimportant to the Prussian masters, since Ladislas’ ambitions caused him to look south, not north. Involved in many intrigues over many years, he had relatively little to do with the Teutonic Order for long periods of time; this meant that he made few efforts to undermine the crusade in Prussia in those decades when the outcome was still in doubt. Considering this, and considering that Ladislas would probably not succeed in his ambitions, the Prussian masters resisted the temptation to mix into Polish affairs, although they could have been of great assistance to Ladislas’ enemies.

Ladislas, in fact, relied on the Prussian masters to protect his most vulnerable lands from attack. When the Lithuanians saw that Ladislas had stripped Great Poland of knights to make war in Silesia, they attacked Kalish. This was a daringly deep raid into Poland, and unless Ladislas gave up his pretension to the crown, he had to rely on the Teutonic Order to halt another dangerous invasion. Similarly Ladislas employed the Teutonic Knights against his Brandenburg foes.