The Historical Evolution of Regionalizing Identities in Europe (Identities / Identités / Identidades) 9783034339223, 9783034341240, 9783034341264, 9783034341257, 3034339224

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THE HISTORICAL EVOLUTION OF REGIONALIZING IDENTITIES IN EUROPE

Identities. An interdisciplinary approach to the roots of the present Identités. Une approche interdisciplinaire aux racines du présent Identidades. Una aproximación interdisciplinar a las raíces del presente

Vol. 11

Editorial Board: – Flocel Sabaté (Editor) (Institut for Research into Identities and Society, Universitat de Lleida) – Paul Aubert (Aix Marseille Université) – Patrick Geary (University of California, Los Angeles) – Susan Reisz (Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú) – Maria Saur (London University)

PETER LANG Bern · Berlin · Bruxelles · New York · Oxford

DICK E.H. DE BOER / NILS HOLGER PETERSEN / BAS SPIERINGS / MARTIN VAN DER VELDE (EDS.)

THE HISTORICAL EVOLUTION OF REGIONALIZING IDENTITIES IN EUROPE

PETER LANG Bern · Berlin · Bruxelles · New York · Oxford

Bibliographic information published by die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data is available on the Internet at ‹http://dnb.d-nb.de›. Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data: A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress.

The research for this publication is funded by the European Science Foundation.

ISBN 978-3-0343-3922-3 pb. ISBN 978-3-0343-4126-4 MOBI ISSN 2296-3537 pb. DOI 10.3726/b17167

ISBN 978-3-0343-4124-0 eBook ISBN 978-3-0343-4125-7 EPUB ISSN 2296-3545 eBook

This publication has been peer reviewed. © Peter Lang AG, International Academic Publishers, Bern 2020 Wabernstrasse 40, CH-3007 Bern, Switzerland [email protected], www.peterlang.com All rights reserved. All parts of this publication are protected by copyright. Any utilisation outside the strict limits of the copyright law, without the permission of the publisher, is forbidden and liable to prosecution. This applies in particular to reproductions, translations, microfilming, and storage and processing in electronic retrieval systems. Printed in Germany

Contents

List of Contributors ..............................................................................

 7

Dick E.H. de Boer, Nils Holger Petersen, Bas Spierings and Martin van der Velde The Historical Evolution of Regionalizing Identities in Europe. Introduction ..........................................................................................

 9

Michael Keating Rescaling the European State ...............................................................  37

Part One  Regions Compared Jana Fantysová-Matějková, Kurt Villads Jensen Creating Cohesion in Dynastic Conglomerates. Identities in Comparison: Medieval Bohemia and Denmark ...................................  63 Przemysław Wiszewski and Cosmin Popa-Gorjanu State Power vs Regional Autonomy in the 15th–16th Centuries and the Question of Birth or Renewal of Regional Identity in Silesia and Transylvania ..................................................................................  123 Dorte Jagetic Andersen and Rene Ejbye Pedersen (Un)familiarity in Mobility Practices: Contemporary and Historic Experiences from Schleswig and Former Yugoslavia ..........................  149

Part Two  Construction, Identity and Cohesion of Regions Flocel Sabaté Identity, Perception and Cohesion of a Medieval Region: Catalonia ...... 177 Gábor Klaniczay The Power of Saints (Patronage and Miracles) in Defining Regional Cohesion and Identity ...........................................................  207

6 Contents Gerhard Jaritz and Kateřina Horníčková Region, Saints, and Images (Central Europe, Middle Ages and Early Modern Period): Developments, Variety, and Difference ...........  223 Job Weststrate and Maarten Draper Confession in Times of Crisis. The Regional Characteristics of the Reformation in the Guelders-Lower Rhine Area during the 16th and Early 17th Century ........................................................................  251 Martin Klatt Regions in Crisis: The Volatility of Regional Identity in Face of Nationalization Projects. The Case of Schleswig ................................  275

Part Three  Conclusive Observations Maarten Duijvendak Europe of the Regions: Integration, Economic Development and Policies of Identity ...............................................................................  309

Part Four  Appendix Questionnaire Cuius Regio ..................................................................  339

List of Contributors

Dorte Jagetic Andersen University of Southern Denmark

Gábor Klaniczay Central European University

Dick E.H. de Boer University of Groningen

Martin Klatt University of Southern Denmark

Maarten Draper University of Groningen and European University Institute

Rene Ejbye Pedersen University of Southern Denmark

Maarten Duijvendak University of Groningen Jana Fantysová-Matějková Masaryk Institute of the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic Kateřina Horníčková Central European University and University of Vienna

Nils Holger Petersen University of Copenhagen Cosmin Popa-Gorjanu Universitatea “1 Decembrie 1918” Alba Iulia Flocel Sabaté Universitat de Lleida Bas Spierings Utrecht University

Gerhard Jaritz Central European University and University of Vienna

Martin van der Velde Radboud University

Kurt Villads Jensen Stockholm University

Job Weststrate Leiden University

Michael Keating University of Aberdeen ‒ University of Edinburgh

Przemysław Wiszewski University of Wrocław

Dick E.H. de Boer, Nils Holger Petersen, Bas Spierings and Martin van der Velde

The Historical Evolution of Regionalizing Identities in Europe. Introduction

1. Identities, Borders and Regions This volume concerns the historical evolution of European collective identities as attached to, confronted with, or influenced by the dynamics of regions during various historical periods. It is based on approaches from the three collaborative projects of the EuroCORECODE interdisciplinary programme of the European Science Foundation, 2010–2014. A number of the contributions to this volume are based on presentations at the programme’s final conference “Changing Borders, Regions and Identities”, held in Arnhem, 2013. In the volume, scholars from various social and historical disciplines – history, anthropology, human geography and various cultural areas of scholarship – discuss identities connected with regions as pluriform processual social constructs. They focus on how regionalizing identities of various kinds have continuously been created, challenged, and redefined, how they were experienced and expressed, and to what extent they were connected to feelings of attachment and belonging. Spatial, social, cultural and political foundations and manifestations of identities in Europe are historical phenomena. Their changes and forms can help us to understand essential traits of European societies in time and space, including the development of differences and similarities, degrees of attachment and belonging as well as the dynamics of physical and mental borders. By drawing on a wide range of sources  – from traditional historiography to field observations and in-depth interviews, from devotional and hagiographical texts to pamphlets, including images and music as well as architecture – as expressions of evolving identities,

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this edited volume aims to apply an innovative approach to understanding identity formation in Europe as an historical process and force. In order to emphasize the processes of collective groups constituted spatially, socially, culturally and politically, we use a generalized notion of region as a multilayered and processual key concept which does not only regard spatially compact delimited areas, but also considers regions as social constructs including European entities delimited by political, religious or other kinds of practices and discourses. What constitutes a generalized ‘region’ may be summarized under the notion of shared memories, which produce identity; these memories may include common approaches to life and history, also in cases where the ‘region’ may not be easily spatially circumscribed. During and since the Latin Middle Ages, for instance, monastic movements of various kinds which spread all over Western Europe exemplify such ‘regions’, with each their very particular and well-defined collective identity. Similarly, one may point to ethnic and religious subgroups in most European countries and areas in modern times as well as in previous centuries, and also to members of modern political parties.

2. Collective Identities and Cultural Memories The idea of a ‘regional’ or ‘collective’ identity or ‘group identity’ is based on the notion of individual identity. It concerns how members of the region or group in question share fundamental markers of identity through their belonging to the region or group. This does not preclude that there may be fundamental differences individually, for instance in terms of how important the regional or group identity may be for the individual’s experience of his or her own identity. Jan and Aleida Assmann’s work on ‘cultural memory’ has established a solid foundation for understanding such collective processes of identity formation. When a person feels belonging to a region or group, he or she, to a larger or smaller degree, will assume some of the characteristics of that group, understanding these as forming a part of his or her individual identity. Thus, the collective ‘we’ identity – often opposed to and thereby also partly defined by a ‘them’ identity – is socially constructed whereas individual human identity may also be characterized

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as a psychological phenomenon. As Assmann points out, societies do not have memories in the original meaning of the word: Through the concept of the cultural memory we take a large step beyond the individual who – after all – alone has a memory in a proper sense. Neither the group nor the culture ‘has’ a memory in this sense. To speak in such terms would be a flagrant mystification. Persons continue to be the sole carriers of memory. What this is about is the question to what extent this individual memory is determined socially and culturally1.

Jürgen Straub has given a critical discussion of the notion of identity2. He distinguishes between two notions of collective identity, a normative and a reconstructive, dismissing the first and relating the second to Jan Assmann’s theoretical approach: Whereas the first, with respect to the (putative) members of the collective, (merely) pretends or presents, directs or suggests, or even imposes, common features, a historical continuity and practical coherence ‘binding’ once and for all, the second type describes the subjects’ praxis as well as the self-understanding and world-understanding in order to arrive at a description of the collective identity in terms of a reconstructive and interpretative science of society and culture. Obviously both types are concerned with normative constructs of meaning and significance. Whereas we must call the first a normative prescription, the second one can be considered as a reconstructive transcription with phenomenological intentions3.

The main point emphasized by Straub, drawing on Assmann, is that collective identity does not exist in its own right, but only in terms of “identifications by the persons who make up this collective,” which they may “acquire, cancel, or abandon” at any moment4. There can be no ‘we’ identity, or ‘them’ identity for that matter, except as part of the self-image of

1 Assmann, Religion und kulturelles Gedächtnis, p. 19, my translation Original German text: “Mit dem Begriff des kulturellen Gedächtnisses gehen wir noch einmal einen großen Schritt hinaus über das Individuum, das doch allein ein Gedächtnis im eigentlichen Sinne hat. Weder die Gruppe, noch gar die Kultur ‘hat’ in diesem Sinne ein Gedächtnis. So zu reden, wäre eine unzulässige Mystifikation. Nach wie vor ist der Mensch der einzige Träger des Gedächtnisses. Worum es geht, ist die Frage, in welchem Umfang dieses einzelne Gedächtnis sozial und kulturell determiniert ist”. 2 Straub, ‘Personal and Collective Identity’. 3 Straub, ‘Personal and Collective Identity’, p. 69. 4 Straub, ‘Personal and Collective Identity’, p. 71.

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individual persons5. The communal aspects, which characterize or define the group in question, exist as features with which a group of people identify. Such features may be ideologically delimited or understood, but they will also be historically based and legitimized, since they must point to what brought the group together, in what way it was constituted or defined, or, in the case of a spatially demarcated region, how that region was set apart from other regions. Such historical materials may consist of founding practices, events or documents, or be established through a common, long or short, written or orally remembered history. This history may be based on shared historico-social conditions concerning language, religion or (other) politico-economic factors, including tensions and conflicts with other collective groups, with whom they may also often be intertwined to a high extent, so that they may not easily be separated. Regional or collective identity and the collective memory of the group belong together as two sides of the same coin. Privileged narratives and artefacts, feasts in memory of particular historical events, what is taught privately as well as in schools, including also ethical and political values, appearing as canonical within the community or region, are thus expressive of the group’s or region’s cultural memory. Such features are basic to a collective identity, which, as emphasized, consists in its members’ adherence to them, their participation in them, and, on the whole, identification with them.

3. Personal Identities and Their Dynamics Also the notion of personal identity involves problems, not least concerning stability. In his discussion, Straub points to the fundamental instability of modern existence. The central question in the theoretical discourse about identity of interest here, what sort of a person one is and what sort of person one wants to be, has indispensable practical preconditions. One presupposition, in its particular quality and increasing prevalence, is a specifically modern experience, an experience namely, which suggests that identity is never established, and can never be ascertained once and for all, that

5 Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis, Chapter 3, ‘Kulturelle Identität und politische Imagination’, pp. 130–160, esp. pp. 130–131.

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one never know for certain, who someone is, wants to be, could be. The question of identity around which all these theories circle is based on radicalised experiences of contingency, difference, and alterity, on the experience of reality as the temporalized and dynamised space of possibility in which radical doubt has become the kernel of a self-reflexive, self-critical thought6.

Straub discusses the psychoanalyst Erik H.  Erikson’s famous and influential analysis of Martin Luther’s identity crisis as a young man, which led to his conversion to a monastic life (but a few years later to his confrontation with medieval Roman theology and thus onward to the Reformation). Referencing Charles Taylor, Straub convincingly claims that “Luther’s ‘crisis of faith’ never shook precisely the ‘meaning of life’, insofar as the ‘meaning of life’ was all too unquestionable for this Augustinian monk, as it was for his whole age”7. For Straub, thus, a modern notion of identity cannot be applied indiscriminately to pre-modern persons or in social contexts, which do not share the modern experience as he describes it. In spite of this modern experience of doubt and uncertainty, identity, as Straub discusses it, concerns unity, self-sameness, self-evidence. It is about “qualitative descriptions” of “what sort of person one is and would like to be”: The relevant features of a one’s relationship to self and world are those that are not just accidental for one’s being, but fundamental. Thus one may characterise oneself as a devout Christian or upright Communist, as a committed scholar or devoted parent, and let one’s actions be guided by this self-understanding. The qualitative concept of identity always relates to the framework or horizon that allows one a certain conduct of one’s life, provides the choices one makes or does not make with meaning and significance8.

Unity is considered also in a temporal perspective. Identity requires a certain kind of continuity, in spite of changing circumstances. Unity should be conceived as the coherence of moral and aesthetic systems of maxims, which in the diachronical context of personal identity means primarily: as biographical continuity, thus also as continuity in one’s historical consciousness, through which one locates oneself in the history of the collective reference relevant

6 7 8

Straub, ‘Personal and Collective Identity’, p. 63. Emphases as in the original text. Straub, ‘Personal and Collective Identity’, p. 64. Straub, ‘Personal and Collective Identity’, pp. 64–65.

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Dick E.H. DE BOER et al. to one’s identity. Staying the same person then means, in this case: remaining the same even when conditions, and even one’s orientations, have, precisely, not remained the same9.

Personal identity then is expressive of the individual’s selection of fundamental references for his or her life, always made in relation to social, cultural, political and spatial contexts, without which it ceases to be meaningful: “only someone able to orient himself can have the sense and the experience of being able to be more or less self-identical”10. The same applies also to collective identity since it depends on individuals’ personal identities. But how are such choices made and to what extent are they predetermined and perhaps even enforced as well as negotiated and resisted? And how does one deal with the question of biographical or historical continuity, not least when the questions dealt with concern historical narratives over centuries as in some cases in this volume? The devout Christian or upright Communist mentioned by Straub may not necessarily have come to this identity as a choice made at a specific point in life. They may for instance have been born into families where they more or less inherited that part of their identity. What in such a case is accepted as a given identity for previous generations may cause crises for younger generations, leading either to the abandonment of this (part of their) identity or to take it on more as a personal choice. Changes in how to interpret a particular identity marker as well as the splitting up of a group may cast doubts as to whether a person or a subgroup rightly claims that identity. This is manifest in the history of Christianity (and of other religions) as well as in the history of political parties, not least for socialist parties during the twentieth centuries.

4. Identities as Historical Narratives How then does one deal with individual and collective identities in a historical perspective? We shall here point to Paul Ricoeur’s monumental three-volume philosophical work Time and Narrative which deals with

9 Straub, ‘Personal and Collective Identity’, p. 65. Emphases as in the original text. 10 Straub, ‘Personal and Collective Identity’, p. 62.

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individual as well as collective identities as narrative identities in a way which relates well to Jürgen Straub’s and Jan Assmann’s understandings of the notion of identity. As already pointed out, if an individual or collective identity is to be accepted as well-defined, it cannot change at random from one moment to another; on the other hand it is also not possible to claim for instance that a person’s or a group’s identity is completely unchangeable. Thus, the question of the permanence of individual as well as collective identities is pressing. Ricoeur takes up this question stating that the name of the person or the community is to be seen as the agent of the identity. But, he asks, “what is the basis for the permanence of this proper name? What justifies our taking the subject of an action, so designated by his, her, or its proper name, as the same throughout a life that stretches from birth to death? The answer has to be narrative”. By reference to Hannah Arendt, Ricoeur claims that the answer to the question “who?” is to tell a life-story. Ricoeur uses the notion of “self-sameness” (as does Straub) to overcome the problem of whether a person is the same all through life with all its changes. The problem of a claim of “a subject identical with itself through the diversity of its different states” may be solved if we substitute for identity understood in the sense of being the same (idem), identity understood in the sense of oneself as self-same [soi-même] (ipse). The difference between idem and ipse is nothing more than the difference between a substantial or formal identity and a narrative identity. Self-sameness, “self-constancy,” can escape the dilemma of the Same and the Other to the extent that its identity rests on a temporal structure that conforms to the model of dynamic identity arising from the poetic composition of a narrative text11.

It also seems that the problem, raised by Straub, concerning the difficulty in applying a modern identity notion to pre-modern conditions, may be solved through the notion of narrative identity. A ‘life story’ or a historical narrative of a particular group or ‘region’ will be able to combine different historical ways of identifying with ideas, ideals, or a particular group or region through the employment of the narrative. Ricoeur’s understanding of narrative identity is supplemented by a model for shaping and receiving narratives. A life story is based on what

11 Ricoeur, Time and Narrative, vol. 3, p. 246. Originally published in French as Tempts et Récits (1983–85). For the discussion of narrative identity altogether, see vol 3, 245–249 building also especially on vol. 1, pp. 45–77.

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has actually happened and is in the first place shaped accordingly. Also in the case of broader historical narratives (not only concerning one person’s biography), this can be expressed as a traditional basic sketching of a historical pre-narrative through events that have been reliably recorded through sources. This first pre-figuration of a narrative also in itself constitutes an interpretation, which articulates the perceived identity or character of the historical narrative. Another person reading or in some other way receiving the narrative may then possibly re-configure the narrative in some way, in order to take in (sometimes critically) the ‘message’ as it were concerning the identity of the protagonist of the narrative through the employment of the narrative. Altogether, Ricoeur’s model involves three levels:  prefiguration, configuration and re-figuration, termed mimesis1, mimesis2, and mimesis312. From the above quoted Ricoeur passage it is clear that the discussion about narrative identity as a solution to the question of constancy applies just as well to collective identities – constituted spatially, socially, culturally and politically – as it does to personal identities, the ipse in such a case referring to a community, perceived region or nation in question. This accords well with Assmann’s understanding of identity and cultural memory, which precisely concerns the construction of a memory, of an at least to some extent canonised or privileged history, which is not an individual’s personal memory but a narrative with which individuals may identify. Hille Haker in her summarizing interpretation of Ricoeur’s ideas about narrative identity and narrative configurations raises the question whether the ‘substance’ of the narrative can be separated from its rhetorical and aesthetic side, a question, which Hayden White, not least in his Tropics of Discourse (1989) raised more generally in the context of a philosophy of history. Also Ricoeur references White’s ideas (as they were expressed in earlier publications)13. Haker’s concern is a definition of the connection between existence and aesthetics. For this, not only the connection but also the difference between actions, practices and “life” in general on the one hand, and “story telling” of the kind which takes place in literature on the other, must be clarified. Here Paul Ricoeur’s sophisticated notion of mimesis is

12 Ricoeur, Time and Narrative, vol. 1, pp. 45–77. See also the summarizing discussion in Haker, ‘Narrative and Moral Identity’. 13 Ricoeur, Time and Narrative, vol. 1, pp. 161–68; vol. 3, pp. 152–154.

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important. Ricoeur distinguishes here between three levels of mimesis, which also become relevant for the conception of narrative identity.14

Thus, for Haker, Ricoeur’s model of prefiguration, configuration and re-figuration of narratives provides a complex model for understanding the interaction between aesthetics and existential substance. The interest in how narratives are configured, as well as in the emplotment of ideological standpoints, may be seen as a framework for the involvement with identity formation and regional identity in the present volume. The notion of narrative identity is important for the EuroCORECODE projects and for the present volume, not because each author and chapter necessarily uses this terminology or Assmann’s or Ricoeur’s theories, but because a common overall framework for the understanding of identities and regions in these collaborative projects has been to operate with dynamic notions rather than static ones. This lies behind the use of geographical and anthropological methods not least in the contributions of scholars from the “Unfamiliarity” project, just as in the presupposition that historical narratives contribute to the understanding of regional identities as clearly brought out in the two historically oriented projects, “Cuius regio” and “Cultsymbols”. As pointed out by Peter Burke, in recent times there has been “an increasing emphasis on the performance of culture, or a view of culture as a series of performances”. In particular, Burke notes, the history of identities “has been studied in this way”15. While Burke sees this “view of culture as a series of performances” as a move from a narrow study of rituals to a broader examination of human behaviour as ritualized, he also warns against “the danger of over-extending the idea of performance” and suggests a distinction between two kinds of performance. On the one hand “ ‘framed’ events”, a class of “strong” performances, rituals, festivals, “deliberately set apart from everyday life”, on the other hand the weaker kind of performance in “the informal scenarios of everyday life”16. These two classes of performances stand at each end of a spectrum. The focus on occasions and performances and the methodological questions Burke raises 14

Haker, ‘Narrative and Moral Identity’, pp. 134–152 (esp. 140–141). For Ricoeur’s own extensive discussion of the three kinds of mimesis, see Time and Narrative, vol. 1, pp. 45–77. 15 Burke, ‘Performing History’, pp. 35 and 40. 1 6 Burke, ‘Performing History’, pp. 41 and 43.

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in this context are relevant to the study of collective identity formation as much as for individuals’ attempt to perform their identity as well as the region they feel belonging to. Processions, liturgical manifestations, as well as other expressions of adherence to a group and regional attachment, whether through particular actions, clothing, creative activities may be analysed also according to the spectrum, Burke mentions between ‘strong’ and ‘weaker’ performances. Without explicitly being based on the mentioned notions, the chapters in this volume to a high extent carry out the kind of views and distinctions pointed to here although, of course, the three collaborative projects with each their more particular questions and methodological problems in practice relate to the presented ideas and theories in different ways. Let us, therefore, briefly sketch the topics and approaches as chosen for the three projects, and the narratives they represent.

5. Symbols That Bind and Break Communities The collaborative research project Symbols that Bind and Break Communities: Saints’ Cults as Stimuli and Expressions of Local, Regional, National and Universalist Identities (short: Cultsymbols) contributes to the understanding of the development of regional and other communal identities in Europe, primarily by way of research strategies connected to the notion of cultural memory in the particular context of saints’ cults in the Middle Ages. For a saint’s narrative or legend, Ricoeur’s scheme indicates that the perception of the saint in the legend was first configured in a way to bring out the dramaturgy of the plot of the saint’s life story, or – very often – death story, in such a way as to make it possible to understand the basic message about the saint. This would most often concern how the saint in his or her particular way had contributed to bring divine truth or divine help to humans. The specific events in the saint’s life would be seen in this light, so that the saint would appear as what may be called a heavenly hero. That understanding would make it possible to carry out the actual narration in its specificity, so that it, in the third stage, could then be received by the reader, listener, who would most often be a participant in the cult, according to the congruence between that person and the life values and life (death) story of the saint.

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In the project, various groups (at universities in Budapest, Copenhagen, Krems, Tallinn, and Trondheim) have studied the cultural memory of saints through texts, images, music, and other sources from the Middle Ages and – in some cases – up to the present. All these show ever new re-configurations of a basic saint’s narrative, in various media. The main focus in the project concerned how the formation of communal identities in various groups, nations and regions may be understood to be related to historical processes concerning the establishing of saints’ cults, their preservation and, not least, their transformations over time and how these were expressed through the mentioned re-configurations of a saint’s narrative. This sometimes included their extension from local areas to larger regions, nations or even to a universally recognised significance or, oppositely, their marginalization or even disappearance as markers of identity for the regions or social groups in question. Consequently the leading question is why saints are and have been important with respect to establishing communal identities? The establishing of saints’ cults in the early history of Christianity, and thus also in the history of the Latin West with its liturgical offices brought with it not only a universally important religious practice in all of Christendom. Not least in the Latin West, the saints’ cults influenced religious services and practices also in post-medieval Catholicism. Even in Protestant postmedieval cultures some saints’ narratives, songs and images were received and re-configured. Altogether, a huge artistic European reception history, in music, literature, drama, and the visual arts, came about, even reaching out far beyond the geographical confines of Europe. Saints were from the outset seen as markers of true faith; they were seen as manifestations of what it meant to be an ideal Christian. They manifested the mark of a Christian identity, which ordinary people would not be able to claim as their own, but which nevertheless would stand as a mark of ideals which the faithful would accept as normative and worth striving for. Ultimately, these ideals would be connected to how Christ was perceived as the ideal human. Since saints, however, were not considered to be divine during their lives, they were easier to have as human ideals, manifesting the possibility, even if only for the select few, of actually attaining such ideals. The liturgical practice of saints’ cults was, naturally, inextricably connected to the liturgical offices as they developed over time, partly based on the Rule of Benedict (for the so-called Divine Office, the liturgical hours especially cultivated in monastic contexts), but further developed

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for centuries during the Middle Ages. They were only gradually – not least following the Carolingian liturgical reforms (around 800) – stabilised in structure and contents, including, in particular, and particularly important for the role of the saints: the nightly ceremony of Matins (or Nocturns). Here saints’ lives were traditionally read during the Middle Ages (and beyond in the Catholic Church) among responsories and other musicopoetic elements for the celebration of saints’ days. No other post-biblical persons were given such a place in medieval (or later) church rituals. Church services in Antiquity and the Middle Ages were completely dominated by biblical texts and paraphrases, narrative and normative texts which for Christian Antiquity as well as for the Middle Ages and much further in European history remained the unquestioned canonical text material. By inserting saints’ narratives into the structure of the Divine Office for saints’ days which otherwise (also on saints’ days) primarily featured biblical texts, these sometimes contemporary and at least post biblical figures (except for the late medieval tendency to also canonise biblical figures) were inscribed as exemplifications of God’s continued sacred history with humans17. Liturgical practices are performative events, communal practices or rituals constituting strong performances, using the afore-mentioned terminology of Peter Burke, where religious identity in terms of adhering to fundamental ideas of religious thought and practice may be confirmed and reinforced. This happens not least through the communality and the repetitiveness of the performances, notwithstanding many disagreements about how to define and understand rituals among modern scholars18. The liturgical narration of saints during Nocturns emphasised that liturgical practice was not only connected to something that had happened long ago, it was not only based on one master narrative (about Christ). As time went by, the possibility and even actual practice of getting new saints and thus new saints’ narratives incorporated into the annual celebrations made the ongoing character of God’s history with humankind clear. However, the point was also the opposite: that human history as it evolved and contemporary struggles between evil and good forces were part of God’s eternal plan for the world and its inhabitants.

1 7 See Petersen, ‘Memorial Ritual and the Writing of History’. 18 See for instance Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions.

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Communities celebrating a particular saint shared the common practice of the saint’s celebration on a particular day (or days) in the calendar, and in addition to this probably also private devotions. Members of the community in question would share the saint’s life history, which for the believer, and as described in Ricoeur’s understanding of the mimetic configurations of the narrative, identified the saint as a saint thus contributing importantly to the believer’s communal identity based on the cult of that particular saint. Two chapters from project members in this volume discuss and demonstrate in specific cases within different disciplinary configurations the importance of the saint’s cults in a historical perspective of their relevance for regional identity: Gabor Klaniczay concerning patronage and narratives of miracles, and Gerhard Jaritz and Kateřina Horníčková on how images reconfigure saints’ narratives according to regional interests. Altogether, the importance of saints’ cults may be expressed in liturgical offices (as poetic and musical constructions), in images, religious dramas, songs (also outside the liturgy), popular legends, and other ways of proliferating the saint. All manifest the understanding and use of the saint in question, and how this was negotiated among those belonging to the cult, and even how narrative fragments and ideals pertaining to the narratives were still attached to the saint’s name as a symbol for a cultural memory of importance in places and times where the cult itself no longer existed19.

6. Unfamiliarity and Borderland Communities Within the collaborative project Unfamiliarity as signs of European times: scrutinizing historical representations of otherness and contemporary daily practices in border regions several groups from universities in the Netherlands (Utrecht, Nijmegen and Maastricht), in Finland (Joensuu) and Denmark (Sønderborg) looked into uses of historical narratives in the production and development of images of cultural identity, regions, nationality and Europeanness as well as the changing contextual and conceptual frameworks that have informed them over time. In so doing, 19 See Petersen, ‘Regional Saints and Saints’ Regions and id, ‘The Image of St Knud Lavard’.

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the project also analysed how these narratives are reflected in contemporary representations of and daily practices in borderlands. From a present-day perspective, the history of the construction of state borders is often presented in terms of national consolidation with a strong tendency to cartographically project modern territorial nation-states back to pre-Westphalian history20. Even the heydays of the formation of national states can in some respects be seen as a trans-national European phenomenon with common fundamental changes in political language concerning the rule of law, legitimation of power, rights of the citizen, etc. And, indeed, looking more carefully at later cultural representations of borders, we can in most cases recognise the simultaneity of ethnicnational and supra-national/European arguments and images used in order to legitimise borders. Historical representations of controversies, cooperation, differences and similarities between ‘us’ and ‘them’ can create both relatively steady and relatively swiftly changing borders – as signs of European times. Such representations may have a long-lasting impact on cross-border practices, creating both familiarity as well as unfamiliarity in borderlands. In this context, the concept of ‘unfamiliarity’ is often used to explain whether differences and similarities promote cross-border mobility, attention and interaction or rather immobility, aversion and avoidance21. The concept of ‘unfamiliarity’ is used in many studies on borders and border regions to philosophically explain cross-border (im)mobility. However, no detailed and comprehensive empirical analysis of the concept had yet been undertaken within an internationally comparative framework. This collaborative research project filled part of this gap by drawing on what has been termed the ‘bandwidth of unfamiliarity’, developing (un) familiarity as a dynamic and relational concept22. In so doing, the project provided empirically grounded and richer explanations for cross-border (im)mobility in the EU by focusing on the complex and dynamic interplay between a large variety of social, cultural, physical, political and economic differences and similarities in borderlands.

2 0 Pounds and Ball, ‘Core-Areas’. 21 Spierings and Van der Velde, ‘Cross-border differences. See also Bauman, Life in fragments; Timothy, ‘Political boundaries and tourism’; Molinsky, ‘Cross-cultural code-switching’. 22 Spierings and Van der Velde, ‘Shopping, borders and unfamiliarity’.

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People seem willing to accept and even appreciate a certain degree of unfamiliarity, perceiving ‘appealing’ differences as motivations to cross borders. International price or wage differences due to differences of national legislation, for instance, but also local food specialities and traditional goods could generate cross-border mobility23. The same could be argued for different customs and material cultures24. As such, borders as demarcations of differences are able to promote attention and interaction. At the same time, a lack of appealing differences could hamper mobility because people see no reason to go to ‘the other side’. Unappealing and uncomfortable differences, on the other hand, may prevent cross-border mobility. In fact, people may want to prevent uncomfortable situations in international contexts25. They might feel uncertain when not wellacquainted with foreign languages and cultures for instance26, which could cause borders to generate aversion and avoidance. The main objective of the collaborative proposal was to unravel how mental barriers for mobility are constructed and deconstructed in the minds of EU inhabitants, how historical commonalities and fractures have an impact on their representations of borders and ‘otherness’ and what influence political plan and media campaigns have to change representations of borderlands. During the course of the project, we have been looking into what cross-border unfamiliarity means, how its experience has changed during the course of time and still influences contemporary cross-border behaviour and why – uncovering historical explanations – experiences have changed and behaviour is influenced. The project employed a relational and multi-layered notion of the border region, in the social constructivist sense as also mentioned earlier in this introduction. Border regions are spaces where nationally influenced cultures, identities, politics and economies meet. They are also transnational in nature, characterised by cross-border interaction and cultural overlap, generating their own specific ‘borderland’ identities. Inherent in the recent debate on the changing significance of state boundaries is the notion that 23 Bygvrå and Westlund, ‘Shopping behaviour in the Øresund region’; Zimmerman, European labour mobility. 24 Haldrup and Larsen, ‘Material cultures of tourism’; Edensor, ‘Mundane mobilities’. 25 Reicher, Hopkins, and Harrison, ‘Social identity and spatial behaviour’; Tosun, Temizkan, Timothy and Fyall, ‘Tourist shopping experiences’. 26 Vandamme, ‘Labour mobility within the European Union’; Van Houtum and Van der Velde, ‘The power of cross-border labour market immobility’.

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their dividing character can be overcome through the development of local/ regional transnational communities. Borders between (member) states are then understood as mental representations instead of physical morphologies27. This implies that they are constructed via discourses and narratives which are mediated through many social and political institutions. History books, policy reports, ceremonies, memorials, newspapers, songs, stories and myths, for instance, perpetually reproduce borders in the minds of inhabitants28. These mental representations are also continually reinterpreted and modified when social and political institutions develop. Personal experiences and governmental campaigns, for instance, may change people’s perceptions and beliefs. As such, borders are dynamic mental ‘processes’29, which are constituted by interacting social and political representations as well as practices and clearly rooted in history. In this context, the collaborative project closely investigated the ways in which inhabitants perform practices of bordering and de-bordering, experience cross-border (un)familiarity and how they express this through their material cultures and customs combined with scrutinizing the discourses of identity and power used by government officials and the media sector. The focus has been on an analysis of daily life practices of inhabitants in different ‘old’ and ‘new’ inner as well as ‘new’ outer cross-border regions across the EU, seen as expressing representations of cross-border unfamiliarity and (re)producing mental borders30, generating cross-border mobility as well as immobility. Two contributions in this edited volume are stemming from the Unfamiliarity project. The first one by Dorte Jagetic Andersen and René Ejbye Pedersen makes the case that the region as a coherent space is not a decisive factor when we look at movements across borders. For two regional cases (the Danish-German border region and Dubrovnik) it is made clear that networks and identity-formation are both much more important when it comes to stimulating or discouraging cross-border mobility, by creating (imaginary) familiar and unfamiliar places. The chapter stresses the need

2 7 Paasi, Territories, boundaries, and consciousness. 28 Newman and Paasi, ‘Fences and neighbours’; Laven and Baycroft, ‘Border regions and identity’; Epstein, Interpreting national history. 29 Jones, ‘Categories, borders and boundaries’. 30 Galasińska and Galasiński, ‘Shopping for a new identity’.

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for putting spatial practices at the centre of attention instead of territorial spaces, recognizing and building on the processual and multidimensional foundations of the (un)familiarity concept and the essentially relational nature of the geographical space of the border region involved. The second contribution from Martin Klatt argues for clearly including the region, as a subnational entity in historiographies, that for long have been dominated by a (territorial) nation-state orientation. For the case of Schleswig (as a rather fluid border region between Denmark and Germany), it is shown that crises have influenced the regional identity. A collective regional identity is then to be seen as the outcome of a continuous process and under the influence of the multiple frames of individual identities of the inhabitants. Regional identity then can become a ‘plaything’ in the political arena.

7. Whose Is the Region and Its Identity? In the project Cuius Regio a consortium of eight partners has studied at a comparative basis, for the pre-modern period, a group of areas that were, are, or may be labelled as ‘regions’31. Many of them are nowadays cut through by modern borders. The first area, identified as a region, was the Guelders-Lower Rhine-region: this middle-sized region developed thanks to the axial function of the Rhine, several sub-regions developing into politicized territories, or principalities. The region knew one language (middle-Lower-German) and for a long period was strongly oriented toward its central axe (both economically, culturally and politically). Later on, it witnessed a major change since the Netherlands grew apart from the German Empire, and the territories of Guelders and the Oversticht became parts of the Dutch Republic, whereas the other territories remained principalities within the Empire. The second investigated entity, Portugal, is a large region of a totally different kind: being an Iberian region developing into

31 The partners being the Universities of Groningen (Netherlands), Porto (Portugal), Lleida (Spain), Odense (Denmark), Tallinn (Estonia), Wroclaw (Poland), Prague (Czech Republic) and Alba Iulia (Romania). At an individual basis specialists from bordering countries (France, Germany, Spain, Hungary, Latvia) were invited to participate in workshops etc.

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a kingdom, ultimately a republic. The development of regional dynamics toward a national expression is therefore highly interesting, whereas the existence of regions within Portugal and the special position of border(ing)regions like Galicia adds to a multileveled analysis. The former ‘Livonia’ (German: ‘Livland’) was a region created by the expansion of the Teutonic Order in the eastern Baltic area, with a multiple linguistic, juridical, ethnic, cultural and religious layering. The indigenous, mainly rural population and German urban, mainly merchant elites never really integrated. After the disintegration of the Teutonic Order and the German Hanse and through the expansion of a Swedish and a Russian Realm, an Estonian and a Latvian entity managed to express themselves, surviving also the communist period. As a region, Livonia was highly functional in the project to study the way in which different attachments function within one region. Even more diverse than Livonia was the fourth region: Transylvania, with the largest linguistic, ethnic, religious and political variety of all regions involved and yet developing a very strong cohesion, and consequently a strongly experienced identity. Here processes of integration and assimilation could be observed, next to the effects of being a transitional zone between the (Austrian-)Hungarian and the Rumanian power-spheres. Region five is a combined region at a point where nowadays three states share borders. The Silesia-Upper-Lusatia-conglomerate has great symbolic value as a ‘place of origin’ for these nations, allowing a strong, shared identity, yet, the creation of a Silesian ‘sub-nation’ as a historical potential never came into being. Therefore Silesia is not only an example of a region in between nations, it is also the curious scene where many agents have been trying to create Silesian identity. In this region several layers of ‘social memory’ could be studied. At the same time, the creation of the three bordering states added an extra dimension to the diversity of regions. The Bohemian-Luxemburg crown-lands as the sixth region in Cuius regio offers the extraordinary example of a ‘virtual region’ in the sense that, as the (partially scattered) territories of the ‘Hausmacht’ of the Bohemian-Luxemburg dynasty, they shared many aspects (culture, dynasty, institutions) that could have led successfully to the development of a large region, yet did not (or only did temporarily). As such they form an object of verification/falsification where cohesive and disruptive forces can be seen at work. As region number seven, the Danish-German marshes offered the Scandinavian element in the project. For centuries, these border regions were one of the main contact routes between Scandinavia and the rest of Western Europe. The

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Danish approach also allows a connection with the ‘Hanseatic region’ of the North Sea-Baltic-system, and as such between the Guelders-LowerRhine region and Livland. Also, the complicated political structure of the Danish-German border duchies contributes significantly to discussions of state formations and of different kind of states and power. Eventually, the area itself has had an important symbolic meaning in creating a modern Danish national identity. The seven above-mentioned regions could be studied due to the commitment of the involved national research boards. The eighth region, Catalonia, only could be included through separate funding, since the Spanish funding agency did not participate. This region was on the one hand essential as a comparative counterpart to Portugal, being a large Iberian region, itself subdivided into many sub-regions, but not developing into a nation, although elements like linguistic peculiarity, a role as a Christian stronghold in an Islamized Iberia, a particular maritime tradition etc. pointed in that direction. On the other hand, it was important because of the existence of regional cohesion, during centuries, with the ‘French’ part in spite of a major natural barrier (the Pyrenees). Also, it is one of the best examples of a region where in recent times the traditional cohesion and identity have been expressed vehemently, showing that the achieved regional autonomy within the Spanish nation-state does not fully satisfy the needs for recognition of its identity. At different moments during the long period under investigation the changing cohesion and role of these regions within the larger process of state-formation could document the changing faces of Europe. In 1992 the Europhile Dutch beer-magnate A.H. (Freddy) Heineken (1923–2002) published a booklet, prepared in cooperation with the historians H.L. Wesseling and H.W. van den Doel, in which he sketched a visionary image of a new Europe – a Eurotopia – in which the nation-states were replaced by some 75 smaller entities32. In a sense he joined the ideas already expressed in the 1950s by the originally Austrian political scientist Leopold Kohr, when opposing the megalomania of the ‘big’ nation states. A revealing quote form his work says: The re-establishment of small-state sovereignty would [thus] not only satisfy the never extinguished desire of these states for the restoration of their autonomy; it would

32 Heineken, The United States of Europe (a Eurotopia.

28

Dick E.H. DE BOER et al. disintegrate the cause of most wars as if by magic. There would no longer be a question of whether disputed Alsace should be united with France or Germany. With neither a France nor a Germany left to claim it, she would be Alsatian. She would be flanked by Baden and Burgundy, themselves then little states with no chance of disputing her existence. There would be no longer a question of whether Macedonia should be Yugoslav, Bulgarian, or Greek - she would be Macedonian; whether Transylvania should be Hungarian or Rumanian - she would be Transylvanian; or whether Northern Ireland should be part of Eire or Britain; she would be nobody’s part. She would be North Irish. With all states small, they would cease to be mere border regions of ambitious neighbours. Each would be too big to be devoured by the other. The entire system would thus function as an automatic stabilizer33.

Interesting as these concepts are, they lacked a thorough analysis of regions as alternatives for the larger nations, or as the new small nations. Cuius regio tried in a sense to fill that gap. With a reference to the famous first principle in the Peace of Augsburg (1555), about the capacity of the ruling lord to destine the religion of the inhabitants34, the concept ‘whose region’ was inverted and the ruler reduced to one of the agents destining the development of a region in its formalized shape. The notion of region was reformulated, using concepts derived from social geography, the word cuius asking for a multitude of stakeholders (persons, networks) who could identify themselves with an experienced spatial entity, and regio being understood as a social construct within specific geophysical surroundings. A common questionnaire, that was specially developed, helped to speak the same vocabulary and to develop an analytical framework35. Thus differences in size, chronology, success etc. of regions became at the same time less important and more visible. It helped to see the resemblances in the seemingly unique. Due to reasons of time and experience the project stretched less into modernity, than originally aimed at, but the methodological gains (also by regularly working in changing pairs, and inviting external experts in our workshops and conferences) were substantial. In this volume four contributions directly reflect results from this project. Two of them presenting pairs of regions. Jana Fantysová-Matějková and Kurt Villads Jensen compare how in medieval Bohemia and Denmark

3 3 Kohr, The Breakdown of Nations, p. 59. 34 See for the Peace of Augsburg: Holborn, A History of Modern Germany, pp. 201–248. 35 See appendix of this volume for the questionnaire as a working instrument.

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the role of the dynasty and the development of the idea of patria managed to create a shared identity within what may be considered as conglomerate ‘states’. Their analysis shows how different kinds and levels of identity contributed to create one shared identity, although it was fragile. Highly interesting is their distinction between ‘thick’ and ‘thin’ identities, and a large range of hybrid identities in between. The comparison between Silesia and Transylvania in the contribution by Przemysław Wiszewski and Cosmin Popa Gorjanu is of a different nature. The authors compare the decisive factors that during the late medieval and early modern period enforced political cooperation between different social groups or political organisms, which in their opinion led to the formation of a region with common name, perceived as an entity by external observers. After sketching the development of both regions, they conclude that in the period under investigation the development of political, administrative structures was a catalyst force in the development of a region, since it contributed to create stability and cohesion. To their opinion cultural unity and common historical tradition helped creating and defining a region but did not predetermine its existence. The other two contributions in this volume directly resulting from Cuius regio describe individual cases. Flocel Sabaté, who in a contribution in another volume stemming from the EuroCORECODE-programme, describes how historiography in the nineteenth century created diverging opinions on different Catalonias36, sketches how a Catalonian identity developed during the Middle Ages. After a short survey of modern historiography he turns to the origins of the name Catalonia, following the development of social cohesion, political structures etc. Instead of a too often applied teleological approach, he argues that there was a long convergent social, economic and cultural evolution between the ninth and twelfth centuries that preconditioned the cohesion, which later on became institutionalised, and further developed in contrast with the Spanish kingdom(s). Job Weststrate and Maarten Draper, in their contribution, describe the coming of the Reformation and the subsequent religious conflict in the Lower-Rhine-Guelders region from the early sixteenth century onward, and how this effects possible regionally defined confessional patterns. They do so, referring to the concepts of region, regional cohesion and regional

36 Sabaté, ‘Constructing and Deconstructing the Medieval Origin of Catalonia’.

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identity, that imply religion to be one of the building blocks of a region as a social construct, demonstrating how gradually a diverging pattern was to be seen.

8. Re-territorialization and Europeanization The differences between the three projects notwithstanding, methodologically and in terms of materials studied, in each their ways, as also seen in the chapters in this volume, they contribute to the understanding of how collective, local, regional or national identities are produced, negotiated, performed, transformed, contested, appropriated, and re-appropriated as historical circumstances change. This all happens according to hugely complicated interactions between ideologies, emotional attachments, traditional as well as new collective and individual identities, and their expressions and representations, which may sometimes lead to new ideologies, attachments and identities. The contributions that open and close this volume reflect these problematics in their own way. In his opening chapter Michael Keating describes the re-territorialisation that is taking place in Europe, by which he means the reconfiguration of society, economy and polity at new territorial levels, sub-state; supranational; and transnational (crossing states). In this process the regions get a new importance, maybe even a new meaning as not merely topographic entities but sociological ones. At the same time, he argues that regional devolution might create a conflict with the nationmodel, when the region becomes a political arena. But there is never a perfect fit between territory, function, identities and political institutions; instead – he implies – we must face a kind of permanent dialogue between different notions of territory. The last contribution by Maarten Duijvendak describes the other end of the spectre, analysing how the process of Europeanization effected regional markets, and regional concepts, economies and identities. Comparing three European, newly created regions his conclusion is that artificial, statistical unities have the chance to become conceptualised as new regions with new ‘thin ‘identities. Both authors in each their own way describe the dynamics of regions that – in the volume as a whole – are put in a clear

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perspective through the historical dimension, showing that understanding the changing role of regions helps us to see and understand the process of Europeanization.

9. Concluding and Interdisciplinary Remarks Today, interdisciplinary scholarly collaboration is often called for, with good reason. The problems of the world do not respect disciplinary borderlines. However, interdisciplinary collaboration takes time and careful consideration, in the first place to simply understand the various participating discourses and methodological approaches, which necessarily form part of any academic work. The interdisciplinary EuroCORECODE programme of the European Science Foundation, 2010–2014, was therefore also an experiment. Each of the three participating projects had its own research questions and its own methods, and indeed, each project constituted a collaboration between several disciplines. From the outset, the programme included collaboration between all three projects, with workshops for exchanging methods and findings. This was so not least in order to facilitate what was the daring hope behind the programme, that these very different projects would be able to show how the overall problematic behind the programme meaningfully could be addressed from such different angles. And even more, that it could be addressed in a way, which altogether would shed more light on the problematic than the neat sum of the individual contributions. As stated from the beginning of this introduction, this overall problematic concerns how to understand the historical evolution of regionalizing identities in Europe, broadly but also in-depth, both as an impetus for historical changes and as complex dynamic processes. One overall programme, three projects, and attempts at overall discussions and fruitful exchanges during four years is only enough to stimulate further thinking and further work. Since the end of the projects, several more years have passed, in which, as in so many other research projects, much work has continued to be done in order to synthesise, polish and publish the individual and collaborative results. This volume does not pretend to be anything like a final account of how to deal with identity

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formation in Europe, at a time where the complex European map of regions and regional identities give rise to pressing questions. What it attempts to do is to assemble into one overall shape the different paths, from the three projects, into and behind the surface of what regional identity is about, and how its dynamics work. What is presented here, is, more than anything else, a call for further collaborative, interdisciplinary work in order to get on with, what we, the editors and project leaders for the three projects, see as but the beginnings of a process. It is the beginning of a multitrack road to understand the multifaceted backgrounds and processes at work in how humans live and organise themselves according to ideals and values, events, and collective as well as individual experiences, and thus memories and the narratives and myths these produce. It has not been the prime reason of the different tracks of this volume to excavate a neat overall result. It first and foremost wants to show how many discourses need to be taken into consideration and to be integrated into our overall understanding. This book wants to be a beginning. Hopefully, it will stimulate further thought and understanding.

Bibliography Assmann, Jan, Religion und kulturelles Gedächtnis (München: C.H. Beck, 20042, orig. 2000). Assmann, Jan, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis:  Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen (München: C.H. Beck, 20055; orig. 1992). Bauman, Zygmunt, Life in Fragments: Essays in Postmodern Morality (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995). Bell, Catherine, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997). Burke, Peter, ‘Performing history: the importance of occasions’, Rethinking History, 9 (2005), pp. 35–52. Bygvrå, Susanne, and Hans Westlund, ‘Shopping behaviour in the Øresund region before and after the establishment of the fixed link between Denmark and Sweden’, GeoJournal, 61 (2004), pp. 41–52.

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Edensor, Tim, ‘Mundane mobilities, performances and spaces of tourism’, Social & Cultural Geography, 8 (2007), pp. 199–215. Epstein, Terry, Interpreting National History: Race, Identity and Pedagogy in Classrooms and Communities (New York: Routledge, 2009). Galasiński, Dariusz, and Aleksandra Galasińska, ‘Shopping for a new identity: constructions of the Polish-German border in a Polish border community’, Ethnicities, 5 (2005), pp. 510–529. Haker, Hille, ‘Narrative and Moral Identity in the Work of Paul Ricoeur’, in: Maureen Junker-Kenny and Peter Kenny (eds.), Memory, Narrativity, Self and the Challenge to Think God: The Reception within Theology of the Recent Work of Paul Ricoeur (Münster: LIT-Verlag, 2004), pp. 134–52. Haldrup, Michael, and Jonas Larsen, ‘Material cultures of tourism’, Leisure Studies, 25 (2006), pp. 275–289. Heineken, Alfred H., The United States of Europe (a Eurotopia?) (Amsterdam: De Amsterdamse Stichting voor de Historische Wetenschap, 1992). Holborn, Hajo, A History of Modern Germany: The Reformation (Princeton: Princeton UP, 1982). Houtum, Henk van, and Martin van der Velde, The power of cross-border labour market immobility. Journal for Economic and Social Geography 95(1) (2004), pp. 100–107. Jones, Reece, ‘Categories, borders and boundaries’, Progress in Human Geography, 33 (2009), pp. 174–189. Kohr, Leopold, The Breakdown of Nations (New York: E.P. Dutton, 1978) [1st edition, Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1957]. Laven, David, and Timothy Baycroft, Border regions and identity. European Review of History, 15 (2008), pp. 225–275. Molinsky, Andrew, ‘Cross-cultural code-switching:  the psychological challenges of adapting behaviour in foreign cultural interactions’, Academy of Management Review, 32 (2007), pp. 622–640. Newman, David, and Anssi Paasi, ‘Fences and neighbours in the postmodern world: boundary narratives in political geography’, Progress in Human Geography, 22 (1998), pp. 186–207. Paasi, Anssi, Territories, Boundaries, and Consciousness: The Changing Geographies of the Finnish-Russian Border (Chichester: John Wiley and Sons Ltd., 1996).

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Petersen, Nils Holger, ‘The Image of St Knud Lavard in His Liturgical Offices and Its Historical Impact’, in: John Bergsagel, David Hiley, and Thomas Riis (eds.), Of Chronicles and Kings: National Saints and the Emergence of Nation States in the High Middle Ages (Copenhagen: Royal Library and Museum Tusculanum Press, 2015), pp. 128–158. Petersen, Nils Holger, ‘Memorial Ritual and the Writing of History’, in Mia Münster-Swendsen, Thomas K. Heebøll-Holm, and Sigbjørn Olsen Sønnesyn (eds.), Historical and Intellectual Culture in the Long Twelfth Century: The Scandinavian Connection (Toronto and Durham: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies and Institute of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, Durham University, 2016), pp. 166–188. Petersen, Nils Holger, ‘Post-Medieval Appropriation of Sainthood in Scandinavia: St. Knud Lavard and St. Olav’, in: Dick E.H. de Boer and Luís Adão da Fonseca (eds.), Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe. Regions in Clio’s Looking Glass (Turnhout: Brepols, forthcoming). Pounds, Norman J.G. and Sue S. Ball, ‘Core-areas and the development of the European states system’, Annals of the AAG, 54 (1964), pp. 24–40. Reicher, Stephen, Nick Hopkins, and Kate Harrison, ‘Social identity and spatial behaviour: the relationship between national category salience, the sense of home, and labour mobility across national boundaries’, Political Psychology, 27 (2006), pp. 247–263. Ricoeur, Paul, Time and Narrative, trans. By Kathleen McLaughlin, Kathleen Blamey, and David Pellauer, 3 vols. (Chicago and London: Chicago University Press, 1990, orig. 1984–88). Sabaté, Flocel, ‘Constructing and Deconstructing the Medieval Origin of Catalonia’, in: Dick E.H. de Boer and Luís Adão da Fonseca (eds.), Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe. Regions in Clio’s Looking Glass (Turnhout: Brepols, forthcoming). Spierings, Bas, and Martin van der Velde, ‘Shopping, borders and unfamiliarity: consumer mobility in Europe’, Journal for Economic and Social Geography, 99 (2008), pp. 497–505. Spierings, Bas, and Martin van der Velde, ‘Cross-border differences and unfamiliarity: shopping mobility in the Dutch-German Rhine-Waal Euroregion’, European Planning Studies 21 (2013), pp. 5–23. Straub, Jürgen, ‘Personal and Collective Identity: A Conceptual Analysis’, in: Heidrun Friese (ed.), Identities: Time, Difference and Boundaries (New York and London: Berghahn Books, 2002), pp. 56–76.

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Timothy, Dallen J., ‘Political boundaries and tourism: borders as tourist attractions’, Tourism Management, 16 (1995), pp. 525–532. Tosun, Cevat, S.Pinar Temizkan, Dallen J. Timothy, and Allan Fyall, ‘Tourist shopping experiences and satisfaction’, International Journal of Tourism Research, 9 (2007), pp. 87–102. Vandamme, Francois, ‘Labour mobility within the European Union: findings, stakes and prospects’, International Labour Review, 139 (2000), pp. 437–455. Zimmerman, Klaus F., ‘European labour mobility:  challenges and potentials’, De Economist, 153 (2005), pp. 425–450.

Michael Keating

Rescaling the European State1

1. Social Science, Modernization and Territory Modern social science has had considerable difficult it dealing with territory. One reason is that it is embedded in a certain modernist paradigm that sees territory and function as somehow alternative principles of social organization. Modernization, in this view is essentially a process of territorial integration and functional differentiation in which territorial effects become ever less important. Territorial differentiation was seen as the mark of traditional societies, with their particularist divisions of labour and modes of production, while functional division was the mark of modernity to the point that Emile Durkheim could declare that “we can almost say that a people is as much advanced as territorial divisions are more superficial”.2 Such thinking was strongly influenced by the advance of industrial production with its distinct rationality, the breakdown of traditional and peripheral societies in the late nineteenth century, the creation of unified markets, cultural integration and institutional incorporation of territories, but the reasoning on which this is founded is not always consistent. After the Second World War, territory was further downplayed under the influence of the behavioural revolution coming from the United

1

This work was supported by an ESRC Professorial Fellowship, 2010–13. The argument is more fully developed in Michael Keating, Rescaling the European State (Oxford University Press, 2013). 2 Durkheim, The Division of Labour in Society, p. 187. See also Parsons, The Systems of Modern Societies; Finer, The History of Government, III. To put Durkheim in context, one of his concerns was was to refute the geo-political and territorial determinism of scholars like the nineteenth-century German geographer and ethnographer Friedrich Ratzel.

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States. Behaviourists looked for universal modes of explanation, and were particularly suspicious of the idea of culture, a word that remains taboo for many American political scientists. Arguments that territory might be a factor in behaviour tended to be dismissed as a reversion to stereotypes or a suggestion that backward societies might not be able to catch up with the advanced world (which was identified with North America and Europe). The aim, in the famous words of Przeworski and Teune was to “eliminate proper names”3. Towards the end of the twentieth century, rational choice theory became very prominent, with the same effect, to eliminate context and treat all humans as exactly the same. Yet, paradoxically, the end result of this process of deterritorialization is not universal order but the nation-state, which is a strictly delimited territorial space. The division between International Relations (which has tended to reify the territorial state) and Comparative Politics (which has tended to downplay territory) has enabled scholars to avoid facing this contradiction. Another inconsistency concerns the term ‘nation-state’, used by some (notably in International Relations) to denote the sovereign state, while for others it refers to the coincidence of the nation (a cultural and sociological category) with the state (a juridical category). This cannot really be understood without taking into account a certain normative bias underpinning methodological nationalism as the nationstate has been presented explicitly or implicitly not just as the vehicle of modernization but often of liberal and democratic values as well. John Stuart Mill famously argued that free institutions were possible only in unified nations, where the requisite trust was present, and advocated the assimilation of more backward peripheral societies4. Social science in France and Italy was influenced by memories of the nineteenth-century conflicts over national unity and a historiography that portrayed the provinces of peripheries as hotbeds of reaction5. Even in the 1980s, researching regionalism in France, I found that colleagues were suspicious that I might be some kind of antirepublican reactionary. German Landesgeschichte is also treated with suspicion by political scientists for its assumed conservative bias.

3 Przeworski and Teune, The Logic of Comparative Social Inquiry, p. 30. 4 Mill, Utilitarianism, On Liberty and Considerations on Representative Government, p. 361. 5 Piercy, La France. Le fait regional.

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In the late twentieth century, the deterritorialization theory appeared again, this time in a more genuinely universalist mode. Globalization and the rise of transnational orders of various sorts were said to be eroding the power of nation states within the world order, and their ability to define and shape territory at home. So there was a spate of works on the theme of the ‘end of territory’ or the ‘borderless world’6. At the end of the Cold War, this was linked to a triumphalist thesis about the ‘end of history’7, as American liberal capitalism became the only way or organizing society. Time and space had thus become so compressed to disappear entirely as the modernist teleology reached its conclusion. My own approach has been very different. There is no antagonism between territory and function as principles of social organization. Rather, every social system is both functional and territorial. The European state represents very powerful spatial form but it is historically contingent and it has never entirely gained the monopoly of the definition and control of territory. National integration is a powerful force but it is not explicable teleologically or according to some functional imperative. States have been created in a variety of ways and take a variety of spatial forms but the process of national integration is always contested at some level. We need to explain not only why states come into being but also why and how they stay together. This puts ‘territorial management’ at the centre of argument.

2. Territorial Management and the Reproduction of Space In the 1960s, territorial, regionalist and minority nationalist politics unexpectedly re-emerged across western Europe. Modernists put this down to retarded modernity, or even a ‘revolt against modernity’8. This became ever less convincing as the date of modernity had continually to be pushed back and its meaning re-invented. A few political scientists began to argue that territorial divisions were not necessarily remnants of the past, destined to disappear as states and societies modernized. Stein Rokkan 6 Badie, La fin des territoires. 7 Fukuyama, The End of History and the Last Man. 8 Lipset, ‘The revolt against modernity’.

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and his collaborators noticed the persistence of territorial cleavages in modern states, which they explained by reference to distinct patterns of state formation and development9. Territorial cleavages reflected the uneven impact of religious divisions, nation-building projects and the industrial revolution. State building does not operate evenly across the domains of economics, society and politics but rather these spheres may be out of alignment. So economic integration may not follow political unity or promote social homogeneity. By the 1970s, scholars were arguing that territorial distinctiveness was not a mere legacy of pre-modernity but could be created and reproduced in modern industrial society. Regional disparities did not disappear as national markets were integrated. State formation may have in some cases integrated territories so that political, economic and social space coincided but in other cases the opposite happened. This was partly due to economic factors but sometimes due to the very configuration of states themselves. The imposition of state boundaries had altered older economic and trading patterns, turned formerly central regions into peripheries and created institutionally-sustained inequalities. The most systematic literature is probably on Italy10; indeed the issue had been identified in the 1930s by the Italian Marxist theorist and politician Antonio Gramsci. An extreme version is the ‘internal colonialism’ thesis, based on an analogy with the transoceanic European empires11. Tarrow showed how industrial society, rather than breaking down territorial politics, could generate it by moulding economic and social conflicts in specific ways12. This broke with the assumption that integration is a once-for-ever process and focused attention not just how states made but how they stay

9

After Rokkan passed away in 1979, his work (part of which was published posthumously) and theories remained very influential, especially the ‘cleavage theory’ developed by him and Lipset. See Lipset and Rokkan, ‘Cleavage Structures’, and in general on his ideas: [Rokkan], Flora, Kuhnle, and Urwin, eds., State Formation, Nation-Building and Mass Politics in Europe; Rokkan and Urwin, The Politics of Territorial Identity, and Rokkan and Urwin, Economy, Territory, Identity. Politics of West European Peripheries. 10 Salvadori, La questione meridionale. 11 Lafont, La révolution régionaliste, and Hechter, Internal Colonialism. 12 Tarrow, ‘Regional Policy, Ideology and Peripheral Defense’.

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together and accommodate diversity through ‘territorial management’13. From a slightly different perspective, the French school of sociology of organizations showed how the unitary French state incorporated territorial interests and adapted the application of policy to conditions in the periphery. In this way, even centralization served not to suppress territory, but to reproduce it in new14. The territorial management perspective, like all good social science frameworks, travels in time and can be used to explore state formation and persistence in the longue durée, and especially in the late nineteenth century, a key phase in national consolidation15. In that era, states increasingly penetrated regional societies, extracting taxes and expanding public services. In some cases, they centralized power and in other cases they went for decentralization or cooperative federalism16. All of them, however, required intermediaries to apply policy on the ground, and deal with local societies17. France, Italy and Spain had notables, notabili, or caciques, who selectively represented and interpreted local interests and distributed patronage locally18. Germany relied on a localized class of party notables rooted in local networks19. Even in the Ottoman Empire, modernization sawn the emergence of ‘regional governance regimes’ centred on territorial notables20. As states expanded, territorial notables drew their power less from their inherited social status and more from state patronage so that territorial politics was embedded in the modernizing state. Following the Second World War, western European governments further expanded their role, committing to macro-economic stability, full employment, steady growth and an expansion of the welfare state. These were largely centralizing and unifying in their effect. Keynesian economic

13

Rokkan and Urwin, Economy, Territory, Identity. Politics of West European Peripheries; Bulpitt, Territory and Power in the United Kingdom; Keating, State and Regional Nationalism. 14 Grémion, Le pouvoir périphérique; Dupuy and Thoenig, L’administration en miettes. 15 Keating, Michael, State and Regional Nationalism. 16 Ziblatt, Daniel, Structuring the State, esp. pp. 145 ff. 17 Mann, The Sources of Social Power, volume II. 18 Riall, ‘Elite resistance to state formation: the case of Italy’; Grémion, Le pouvoir périphérique. 19 Applegate, A Nation of Provincials. 20 Barkey, Empire of Difference, esp. pp. 67–68

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management was predicated on a national economic unit. Welfare was tied to ideas of social citizenship and equity and territorial differences were an anomaly. Yet many of the instruments were spatial. Keynesianism was accompanied by explicit regional distribution in what was described as ‘spatial Keynesianism’, an effort to maximize national output by mobilizing idle resources in under-developed or declining regions. In the pursuit of modernization and development, governments sought new, modernizing collaborators, more geared to growth and less to distribution, to replace the territorial notables. In France, these were known forces vives, while British modernizers talked about improving the ‘calibre’ of local councillors. The effect was to destabilize existing structures of territorial representation and management and open up new political spaces. At the same time, top-down state economic modernization encountered opposition on the ground as sectors and industries were displaced and its impact on local societies. This sparked off a round of oppositions, some of which were conservative and protectionist, while others were committed to alternative strategies of modernization.

3. Europe and Territory The story of national integration has also come under challenge as a result of the European integration project. Political science has long approached this from two rival perspectives. The neo-functionalist approach essentially extends the conventional national integration and state-building narrative to argue that European integration is driven by complementary pressures across the domains of economics, society, politics and institutions. European institutions are designed to ensure that these are mutually reinforcing as integration in one domain spills over into another. The inter-governmentalist approach argues that the European Union is no more than an association of states, each pursuing its own national interest. As the European project developed, it became ever more apparent that neither approach could do it justice. Indeed they might even have a lot in common, namely the attempt to apply the nation-state paradigm in a new context. Nor is it adequate simply to say that the European Union is sui generis, defying social scientific categories, an ‘unidentified political object’.

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The European project, rather, is a particular territorial configuration of functional systems and political power, the latest historical effort to align function and territory. Bartolini and Ferrera have shown how European integration is weakening some spatial/functional boundaries while leaving others intact21. For Bartolini, economic regulation is shifting to the supranational level, while social welfare remains a national responsibility, putting at risk national social compromises22. While, for Rokkan, the solidification of state boundaries turned politics inward, reinforcing states as political systems and systems of social intermediation, the selective opening of borders allows ‘partial exit’ of some social actors and disengagement from the national arena. This gets away from the reification of national borders and breaks with state-bound political science to connect changes taking place as multiple levels. European integration and regional assertiveness were at one time seen as being in contradiction, the one tending to territorial integration and the latter to disintegration. From the 1980s, however, it was increasingly argued that they were complementary processes, reshaping the relationship between territory and power and questioning the nationstate model23. The idea soon came into the political arena in the concept of Europe of the Regions, in which regions would become a third level of government or even displace states as the foundation of the European order. It was encouraged in the late 1980s by the expansion of European regional policies, which some people saw as a strategy to by-pass and undermine nation-states. In fact European regional policy was largely functional in inspiration, based on national regional policies of the 1960s, which had become increasingly difficult, and aimed at completing the single market. Regional politics was another, driven by region-builders, who saw in Europe a new space to realize their ambitions. For some, this was an independent state, for which Europe lowered the cost. Others were interested in Europe as a source of money, while others again adopted a post-sovereigntist perspective in which power could be shared among three levels, allowing them to become protagonists without completely breaking from their host states24. The Europe of the regions idea peaked

2 1 Bartolini, Restructuring Europe; Ferrera, The New Boundaries of Welfare. 22 Bartolini, Restructuring Europe, esp. pp.104 ff., and 211 ff. 23 Keating and Jones, Regions in the European Community. 24 Keating, Plurinational Democracy.

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in the early 1990s and had already faded by the time of the Lisbon treaty, but it had brought into focus the complexity of European space with its multiple levels in which the nation-state was just one, historically contingent, tier.

4. Rescaling As the ‘end of territory’ thesis has been discredited, it is becoming apparent that we are seeing, rather, a re-territorialization, the reconfiguration of society, economy and polity at new territorial levels, sub-state25; supranational; and transnational (crossing states). Geographers have coined the term ‘rescaling’ to refer to these processes. Some of them retain a traditional, topological, conception of space, as a delimited territory (they refer to the ‘territorial’ conception)26, with fixed boundaries, which can be mapped. Others open up territory in the ‘relational’ concept, portraying locations or activities as linked through global chains and thus detached from their immediate environment. At some point, this risks deterritorializing the concept of region altogether, but a third group of scholars argue that this is a false dichotomy since they are just different ways of conceptualizing the same processes; the degree to which a territory is bounded or open is an empirical question27. All are agreed that regions are not merely topographic entities but sociological ones, given meaning by the activities that they enclose, which may be more or less territorially anchored and inter-dependent.

25 We cannot say ‘sub-national’ here as that begs the question of what level constitutes the nation (for example Spain or Catalonia). 26 Here we encounter a familiar type of terminological confusion. Political scientists tend not to talk of space but of territory, but we can hardly talk of a non-territorial conception of territory. 27 Hudson, ‘Regions and Regional Uneven Development Forever?’; Jessop, Brenner, and Jones, ‘Theorizing socio-spatial relations’.

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5. Functional Rescaling Rescaling has been best documented in the economic sphere. In the face of global free trade, financial markets and transnational corporations, states find their scope for macro-economic policy restricted. At the same time, there is an increasing recognition of local and regional factors in explaining development and relative wealth and poverty. Economic geographers have embraced territory to varying extents. At a minimum, the New Economic Geography has challenged a-spatial models of development28, which are predominant in neo-classical economics, by factoring in distance. Others go further, to emphasize the importance of locality in fostering linkages among producers29. In a further move, regions and localities are now recognized not merely as locations of production but as production systems30. Some of these theories in turn are strictly economic, focusing on interdependence and clustering of firms and suppliers but others are more institutional, seeing spatial proximity as the basis for exchanging ideas and for innovation. Others again are more deeply sociological, seeking explanations in the structure of local societies or even in cultural norms and practices. These ideas can in fact be traced back to the late nineteenth century work of one of the founders of neoclassical economics, Alfred Marshall31, but are continually being rediscovered. In a complementary development, spatial Keynesianism has faltered because of budgetary pressures and the difficulty of diverting as private investment in an open economy. The consensus on diversionary regional policy has collapsed as even wealthy regions seek investment and know that moneys transferred to their pooper compatriots will not necessarily come back in the form of orders for the products. So state policies for the integration of regional economies have given way to the idea of regional competition, in which regions have to find their own place in the global division of labour. There is some support for competitive regionalism in theories of spatial development that argue that we are no longer in a world of

2 8 Krugman, ‘The New Economic Geography, Now Middle Aged’. 29 Storper, The Regional World; Scott, Regions and the World Economy. 30 Crouch, Le Gàles, Trigilia and Voelzkow, Local Production Systems in Europe. 31 Marshall, Principles of Economics.

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comparative advantage, in which all states, regions and localities can find an optimal niche in the division of labour. Instead, production in a modern high-technology economy is characterized by absolute, or competitive, advantage32. This is not an idea that commands universal consensus and it may apply only to some sectors, but it has certainly caught on in the political realm. Regions have been discursively constructed as competitors and the rhetoric of development policy has shifted decisively towards competition. Both states and, especially, the European Union, emphasized competitiveness as the motif of policy even though, logically, it is not possible for all regions to become more competitive (as opposed to more productive), since competitiveness is by definition relative. This allows states to disengage from diversionary regional policies, managed at state level, towards decentralized strategies focused on territories themselves. It also encourages local and regional politicians to use the development theme as a way of mobilizing support. Neo-liberals welcome the resulting competitive regionalism as a way of disciplining governments, forcing them to cut social overheads and taxes and to deregulate33. Social democrats have worried about a ‘race to the bottom’, which could undermine the welfare settlement. In fact, welfare is also rescaling. During the twentieth century the welfare state was largely national for three linked reasons. First, the nation, based on shared identity, was seen as the best unit for affective solidarity, Second, the state was the largest available unit and so able most effectively to mobilize resources and insure against asymmetric shocks, affecting one territory or one section of society more than others. Thirdly, regulating markets and welfare at the same level facilitated the social compromise between capital and labour that underpinned the welfare bargain. Now the principle of national solidarity is challenged by competitive regionalism and by the rise or re-discovery of other levels of affective solidarity, undermining the first argument. The state is no longer the largest political unit given the rise of the European Union, undermining the second argument. The third argument has been modified by changes in the field of welfare itself. There has been a shift in thinking away from a focus on passive income support towards active labour market policy aimed at getting people back into work. Active labour market policies in turn have 3 2 Scott, Regions and the World Economy. 33 Ohmae, The End of the Nation State; Alesina and Spolaore, The Size of Nations.

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concentrated on local and regional levels since this is where labour markets operate. The repeated rediscoveries and reconceptualizations of poverty also have a strong territorial dimension, as it is recognized that there are multiple dimensions, which may be inter-connected in particular places. So we have had deprivation, multiple-deprivation, social exclusion and social exclusion, all of which share the idea that the locality is a spatial level at which multiple, interlinked problems can be addressed most effectively. This is not to say that social deprivation is essentially spatial since its local manifestations may be the result of wider processes of labour market restructuring, but the local level is the one at which many of the policy instruments operate. Perhaps the most striking challenge to globalization and end-ofterritory arguments is the case of culture since It might be thought that culture and language should be de-territorializing in an age of instant long-distance communication. Yet maintaining a language requires spatial proximity for casual interaction and it needs institutions such as schools and public administration for its reproduction. These are territorially based. Hence we see a stronger territorialization of minority languages. So the language boundary in Belgium (outside Brussels) was fixed in the 1960s and is untouchable. French in Canada is increasingly dominant in Quebec and retreating elsewhere. Catalan and Basque are strongly bound to their home regions. Culture is rediscovered and reproduced as an instrument of region-building even at a time of global cultural exchange.

6. Political Rescaling Politics is rescaling at multiple levels as the state loses its mystique and struggles to maintain its monopoly on the definition of territory. Competitive regionalism encourages political leaders to emphasise shared territorial interests, which can broaden their support base at a time when traditional political cleavages are weakening. In the past, territorial political movements were interpreted as evidence of under-development and lack of modernization, or as a ‘revolt of the poor’, the losers from modernization and change. Nowadays it is more likely to be a revolt of the rich as politicians in wealthy regions jib at territorial redistribution, whether through regional

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policy, fiscal equalization or the uneven territorial distribution of welfare costs and benefits. This has become a vocal complaint in southern and western Germany, in Flanders, in Catalonia and in northern Italy. Minority nationalisms have revived in various forms. Some are irredentist, identifying with the majority in a neighbouring state notably (but not exclusively) in eastern and central Europe, where efforts to contain national identities within the procrustean form of the state have never really worked. Others have confronted the host state with a rival national project, seeking nation states of their own. Many national movements in contemporary Europe, however, are profoundly ambivalent on the issue of statehood, rejecting the nineteenth-century model of the nation-state in favour of new forms of nation-building within the supranational European architecture.34 In this vision, the nation remains the focus of identity but sovereignty is shared with other levels. Functional capacity is also dispersed across tiers of government with an emphasis on interdependence in line with modern theories of multi-level policy-making. Great hope was vested in the Europe of the Regions movement or related concepts such as Europe of the Peoples, but as that idea faded, nationalist movements have often moved back towards traditional forms of statehood and sovereignty. Yet, when called on to define their ambitions, have reverted to various postsovereigntist formulas. So the traditionally moderate Catalan nationalists of Convergència i Unió decided to demand their ‘own state’ but hesitated to use the word ‘independence’. Now they propose a referendum with a soft option asking whether Catalonia should be a state, and a second, harder question on whether that state should be independent. The New Flemish Alliance proposes independence but in the long term, while flirting with ideas of confederalism, with which the Flemish Christian Democrats also play. The Scottish National Party promotes independence but retaining much of the infrastructure of the UK state, including the Pound Sterling. Indeed some regionalisms, as in Germany, do not target the nation-state at all, but are rather integrative, with the regional identity a constitutive part of the national one. At various times, Spanish and French regionalisms have had a similar character, challenging not the state but the uniform, ‘Jacobin’ version of it. What these movements do have in common is the effort to redefine the political community at a different level. Such redefinitions are rarely 34 Keating, Plurinational Democracy.

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consensual since the redrawing of boundaries includes some people and excludes others and the design of territorial institutions affects the balance of political power. Rescaling is therefore a highly political and contested process. Traditional conceptions of territory get in the way of understanding these developments implying, as they do, that territory must be fixed and defined. Modern understandings of territory, which see it as socially constructed, with looser and more penetrable boundaries, not all coinciding, are more altogether more helpful in understanding these complexities.

7. State Response Rescaling has posed a challenge to states’ management of social and economic change, undermining old modes of territorial administration and taking key policy matters out of their control. In response, states have sought new scales of intervention in order to recapture these policy domains. So the European project can be seen as an effort to regulate markets, provide security and later manage common environmental problems at a more appropriate scale. Similarly, at the regional level, states have established new mechanisms, including deconcentrated arms of central government, agencies, intergovernmental mechanisms and regional government. Metropolitan government was in fashion in the 1960s, went of fashion in the 1980s and came back again in the 2000s. Regional government, at the ‘meso’ level between the state and the local level, has spread to all the large European states and some of the smaller ones. The justification for new levels of intervention has often been a technical one, calling for depoliticized management but behind this there is always interest and political calculation. Alesina and Spoloare have argued that free trade erodes the advantages of large states and so promotes the formation of smaller ones35. There is actually little historical evidence to this effect. Small states have emerged with the break-up or empires, which was nothing to do with free trade and, indeed, between the two world wars, were rather protectionist. They also argue that, in small units, the population is likely to be more ‘homogeneous’ and thus to share policy preferences. 35 Alesina and Spolaore, The Size of Nations.

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Again, there is no evidence and there seems little reason to believe that a population of five million is more likely to agree than one of fifty million; some very small places are divided societies. Others have argued that regions emerge because they are the most efficient level for performing certain governmental functions36. In fact, there is no ‘optimal’ scale for the provision of any service or regulatory activity, since this is a normative question and the scale depends on what one is trying to achieve. Some market liberals promote competitive regionalism as a means of disciplining government. Social democrats have often favoured centralization for opposite reasons although more recently some of them have re-embraced localism. Minority nationalists seek to take matters down to their level on principle. Governments at different levels seek to gain new policy competences or to avoid costs in various strategic ways. In resolving these conflicting pressures, states have moved over time from regional policy and administration to regional government, as the most legitimate way of forging policy and delivering it. Regional government takes a variety of forms but increasingly it is elected and multifunctional. There has been a debate on the movement from ‘government’ to ‘governance’37, which suggests a less hierarchical and more networked mode of policymaking. The term governance seems to be used particularly in relation to Europe and to regions. Yet in practice, we may be seeing the opposite, a move from governance European and regional governance towards government in the sense of accountable bodies with their own resources, powers and competences38. So rescaling is intensively political and the new spaces are inevitably politicized as the definition of scale and the drawing of boundaries advantage some interests and disadvantage others. The institutional structure of regions also shapes power relationships and affects the political agenda. As government seeks more authoritative structures for policy delivery and excluded interests seek entry into the new political arenas, there is some convergence of interests on elected government as the best institutional fix. We see this process in Europe, as problems of coordination, especially in the Euro zone, point to stronger institutions. The design of European 3 6 Hooghe and Marks, ‘Does Efficiency Shape the Territorial Structure of Government?’. 37 Bellamy and Palumbo, From Government to Governance. 38 This recalls Goetz’s (2008) argument, about governance being a path to government.

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institutions, such as the removal of monetary policy from democratic control and the extension of this into fiscal policy and spending, has provoked a range of oppositions, some of which seek to bring powers back to the national level while others want to democratize the European level. The way that competition policy has been designed and implemented, and the way it has trumped social considerations, provokes a similar reaction. At the sub-state regional level, competitive regionalism has often privileged business interests, while excluded social interests have sought ways of entering the arena.

8. Regional Politics Functional rescaling creates the context for the creation of territorialized systems of action but it does not ‘cause’ changes in the political landscape or in the institutions of government. Regions are built by social and political actors and vary from one place to another as the territorial cleavage is politicized in different ways. Scotland, Catalonia and sometimes Flanders are discursively constructed as nations. This is not so much a description as a normative claim, since the right of self-determination has, since the nineteenth century, been linked to nationality. Self-determination does not necessarily imply independence, as it could be realised through federal or autonomist arrangements. Other territories are presented as regions, located within rather than against the nation-state, as happens in Germany. In other cases, the terms region and nation alternate or are disputed as, for example, in Brittany. Historiography, as in the nineteenth century, plays a big role in these discursive constructions, challenging the teleology of the nationstate and linking territorial re-assertion with transnational restructuring. At the same time, representations of territorial characteristics have shifted from passéiste and traditionalist theme towards modernity and economic dynamism, allowing nation and region-builders to use the language of competitive regionalism. In some cases (for example the Lega Nord), the region is presented as an exclusive space, with migrants and other ‘outsiders’ excluded. Other projects (such as the Scottish National Party’s), focus on inclusion as nation and region-builders seek to maximize their appeal and legitimate their

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project. Some movements in contested territories have distance themselves from neighbouring ethnic nationalisms by constructing a multi-ethnic or multicultural identity. This has happened in parts of the Balkans39, in Friuli-Venezia-Giulia, and in Silesia, where the local identity is also used to avoid the choice between German and Polish identities (Zarycki and Tucholska, 2007). Caramani has shown how, in general, party alignments established long ago on a state-wide basis have persisted in Europe40, but there are important exceptions. Territorial autonomist parties have strengthened in the United Kingdom, Spain, Belgium and Italy while the German Die Linke can be considered, at least in part, a party of territorial defence. In Belgium, statewide parties have disappeared altogether while in other countries they have come under stress as they need to present differentiated appeals in different parts of the state. Regional devolution accentuates these trends. As the region becomes a political arena, differences in party competition and in voting between state-wide and territorial elections have widened. Personalization of political leadership has allowed distinct electoral coalitions to emerge, with leaders increasingly using the language of territorial defence to enlarge their electoral bases.

9. Interests Modernist state integration theories presents the process of state-building awe a form boundary-construction, which shapes the articulation and representation of social and economic interests, turning them inwards and at the same time extending them across the state territory. Function or class thus displace territory as the basis for interest formation and these interests are intermediated and social compromises are forged at the national level. This stark contrast of function and territory has always been misleading.

39 Stjepanovic, ‘Regions and Territorial Autonomy in Southeastern Europe’; Rost, Stölting in the introduction of the volume edited by tem and others on case studies from Poland, Italy and Germany; and the specific analysis by Zarycki and Tucholska, ‘Regional Identity in Three Polish Voivodships’. 40 Caramani, The Nationalization of Politics.

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Any social or economic interest has a functional scope and a territorial reach, although this is often disguised by the fact that the scope is statewide and can thus be presented as non-territorial. Sometimes territory itself may also become the basis for common interests, if cross-class coalitions of territorial defence are constructed. If it be objected that territorial interests are an artificial construction or a reification, then that is true of any collective interest. In other cases, there is a more complex interplay between function and territory as class and sectoral interests are refracted at different levels. Rescaling has enhanced the territorial dimension of politics, but without eliminating functional ones. Social alliances and conflicts may take on a new shape at different levels while territories are emerging as spaces for the mediation of interests. Surveying the effects of regional devolution, Pastori, Trigilia, and Le Galès and Lesquene have argued that we may have ‘regions without regionalism’ or a ‘paradox of the regions’ in that politics and interest articulation still operate within the nation-state framework41. To test whether this is still the case, I conducted a study of peak interest groups in between two and four regions each in of six countries (the UK, France, Italy, Spain, Germany and Belgium). These are business groups (large and small); trades unions; farmers; and environmentalists. The results are complex and many variables are at play, the main ones being economic interest; ideology; the strength of regional government and the extent to which they can impose a territorial boundary on policy systems; and territorial identities, which may affect members of groups or provide legitimacy for territorial institutions. I  examined the following dimensions:  Organizational, the extent to which groups have a regional structure and power relationships within it; Cognitive, the territorial framework which groups use to articulate their demands and the extent to which territory itself is constituted as an interest; and Relational, the relationships with governments at all levels and among groups. Nearly all interest groups have restructured their organization so as to operate at the regional level. In some cases, this takes the form of decentralized arms of the national organization while in other cases distinct regional bodies exist. It is notable that new groups, like environmentalists, will almost always set up on a regional basis, while older groups often cling 41 Pastori, ‘Le regioni senza regionalismo’; Trigilia, ‘The paradox of the region’; Le Galès and Lesquesne, Les paradoxes des régions en Europe.

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to their older structures based on localities, with only weak coordinating structures at regional level. The degree of autonomy conceded to regional branches varies significantly. On the cognitive dimension, big business appreciates the new importance of territory for development and favours a territorial perspective on policy with a focus on planning and infrastructure. On the other hand, it is less keen on political devolution, fearing that it could be captured by territorial interests including separatists, environmentalist and left-wing movements. It therefore prefers corporatist institutions in which it has a guaranteed role, focused on development in the narrow, economic sense and. Small business depends more on public goods produced by regional government and is sometimes rather protectionist. It is usually closer to popular opinion, shading into the artisan class, and so affected by mass identities and sentiment. This makes it more sympathetic to regionalist demands, especially in wealthy regions, where there are demands to limit territorial redistribution. Trades unions are cross-pressured. They often favour the region as a new spatial level, providing opportunities for influence, which they have lost in national corporatist exchanges or in bargaining in the firm or the work place. In contrast to business, they seek to expand the regional agenda beyond competitive regionalism and to bring a stronger social dimension. This plays out in debates about economic development strategy, training and local investment priorities. On the other hand, unions are strongly attached to the welfare state, which remains essentially a national responsibility and are reluctant to devolve core welfare functions and labour regulation or to see disparities of services between regions. There is also a more purely ideological dimension. Some unions are historically more centralist and linked to the more statist versions of social democracy, while others have localist and regionalist traditions. As mass organizations, unions are affected by strong identity sentiments and movements, which influence their members directly. They do support corporatist structures at the regional level, which gives them an input into the policy process but over recent years have moved to support for elected government as a way of challenging business dominance of the regional agenda and including more social considerations. Rescaling, together with reform of the Common Agricultural Policy, has served to fragment agricultural interests. New interests, including ecological farmers and neo-ruralists, together with many small farmers,

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favour the regional level as a way of undermining corporatist management of the sector by large farmers and agri-businesses in partnership with the states and the European Commission. Ecologists tend to be close to territory, to support regionalism, and to value the European level, where they can obtain binding regulations applicable all the way down. They, and some farming interests, are also part of broader coalitions for the defence of traditional cultures and ways of life. The rescaling of interests has realigned them in many ways. Productivist alliances of business and unions can be found, with environmental movements on the other side, although in other respects environmentalists and unions are on the same side. Old territorial lobbies, on the other hand, can be fractured by the arrival of regional government, which forces groups to compete for the same resource base and over policies and priorities. Rescaling has created new actors and venues for social dialogue and interest intermediation. Regional governments have sought to foster regional interest groups as interlocutors and to legitimize the region-building project by incorporating social and economic interests. In pursuit of this they have established mechanisms for social partnership and compromise, including social and economic councils, quasi-corporatist mechanisms paralleling those at state level and consultative procedures. There are varying experiences of territorial social dialogue. It would be an exaggeration to talk of regional corporatism, since regions are loosely-bounded spaces and some groups have the ability to venue-shop among levels. The region, however, is becoming a significant place for mediation of economic and social interests, not replacing the nation state but supplementing it, to shape the details of public policy in various ways. Regional governments, in turn, seek territorial social dialogue as a form of legitimation so strengthening the regional arena in turn.

10. The Question of Distribution The nation-state is credited with nationalizing political alignments and social interests, so that territorial politics had almost disappeared. With rescaling, however, the issue of territorial justice and the inter-regional distribution of resources has become very salient. Competitive regionalism suggests that

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regions have different, rather than complementary, interests and that they are engaged in a form of zero-sum game. Political leaders use this to enhance their local appeal. The old assumptions of regional policy, that resource transfer will work in the interests of everyone, no longer hold. The establishment of regional governments creates institutional interests with a stake in matters of distribution and converts implicit transfers through national programmes into explicit transfers through intergovernmental fiscal equalization. At the same time, fiscal austerity means that it is no longer possible to manage regional discontent by increasing the amounts available from the centre. Territorial distribution has thus become a very important issue in many European states. There are systems of fiscal equalization in most multilevel systems in Europe but the principles on which they are based are always contested and in practice they are extremely difficult to operationalize. The general idea of equalization is that all areas should be able to provide the same services, taking into account different resources and needs; but the whole point of regional government is to do things differently. Reform in any system also creates visible winners and losers. So states have largely failed in grand schemes of fiscal reform and have instead proceeded incrementally, addressing issues sequentially rather than together. They have themselves absorbed many of the costs of decentralization rather than overtly transferring resources horizontally. Of course, there is a sleight of hand here since, if central government bears the burden of equalization, it is taxpayers in wealthy regions who end up paying. With the fiscal crisis after 2008 even this has become difficult to sustain and states have tended, instead, to transfer the burden of adjustment downwards in response to the European Union asserting pressure from above on them. The effects have been highly asymmetrical, with stronger and wealthier regional governments and parties pressing for more autonomy while weaker and poorer ones have tended to look to the state and back to centralization. The economic crisis has had asymmetrical effects on territorial politics and government. Some Spanish regions have sought refuge in the state, asking to give back powers (a phenomenon known, curiously, as devolución) while some Italian regional governments have effectively collapsed. Stronger, wealthier, or resource-rich regions, on the other hand, have sought more autonomy, especially where this is combined with distinct identities and successful region or nation-building projects over recent decades. These seem to represent demands, not for the proliferation of nation-states within Europe, but for a redefinition of the territorial state itself.

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11. Whither the Region? There is nothing new about territorial politics, which has been a persistent feature of the modern state. Repeated predictions that territory would disappear have been confounded as it remains one of the building blocks of social order. There is never a perfect fit between territory, function, identities and political institutions and the search for one is futile, whether this be in the old nation-states or in new and imagined ones. Territory is, in some respects, becoming more rather than less important in modern society as difficult questions about economic performance, welfare and distribution are projected onto it. These questions can never be definitively fixed or resolved but their management is increasing difficult in the emerging multilevel European space.

Bibliography Alesina, Alberto, and Enrico Spolaore, The Size of Nations (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2003). Applegate, Celia, A Nation of Provincials: The German Idea of Heimat (Berkeley: UCP, 1990). Badie, Bertrand, La fin des territoires. Essai sur le désordre international et sur l’utilité social du respect (Paris: Fayard, 1995). Barkey, Karen, Empire of Difference. The Ottomans in Comparative Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). Bartolini, Stefano, Restructuring Europe. Centre Formation, System Building, and Political Structuring between the Nation State and the European Union (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). Bellamy, Richard and Antonino Palumbo (eds.), From Government to Governance (London: Ashgate, 2010). Bulpitt, Jim, Territory and Power in the United Kingdom. An Interpretation, ECPR Classics (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2008). Caramani, Daniele, The Nationalization of Politics. The Formation of National Electorates and Party Systems in Western Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004).

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Crouch, Colin, Patrick Le Galès, Carlo Trigilia, and Helmut Voelzkow, Local Production Systems in Europe. Rise or Demise? (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Dupuy, François and Jean-Claude Thoenig, L’administration en miettes (Paris: Fayard, 1985). Durkheim, Emile, The Division of Labour in Society (New York: Free Press, 1964). Ferrera, Maurizio, The New Boundaries of Welfare (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). Finer, Samuel E., The History of Government, III. Empires, Monarchies and the Modern State (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997). Fukuyama, Francis, The End of History and the Last Man (New York: Free Press, 1992). Goetz, Klaus H., ‘Governance as a Path to Government’, West European Politics, 31 (2008), pp. 258–279. Grémion, Pierre, Le pouvoir périphérique. Bureaucrates et notables dans le système politique français (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1976). Hechter, Michael, Internal Colonialism. The Celtic Fringe in British National Development, 1536–1966 (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1975). Hooghe, Liesbet, and Gary Marks, ‘Does Efficiency Shape the Territorial Structure of Government?’, Annual Review of Political Science, 12 (2009), pp. 225–241. Hudson, Ray, ‘Regions and Regional Uneven Development Forever? Some Reflective Comments upon Theory and Practice’, Regional Studies, 41 (2007), pp. 1149–1160. Jessop, Bob, Neil Brenner, and Martin Jones, ‘Theorizing Socio-spatial Relations’, Environment and Planning D:  Society and Space, 26 (2008), pp. 389–401. Keating, Michael, State and Regional Nationalism. Territorial Politics and the European State (Brighton: Wheatsheaf, 1988). Keating, Michael, Plurinational Democracy. Stateless Nations in a PostSovereignty Era (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Keating, Michael, and Barry Jones (eds.), Regions in the European Community (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). Krugman, Paul, ‘The New Economic Geography, Now Middle Aged’, Regional Studies, 45 (2011), pp. 1–7. Lafont, Robert, La révolution régionaliste (Paris: Gallimard, 1967).

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Le Galès, Patrick, and Christian Lesquesne (eds.), Les paradoxes des régions en Europe (Paris: La Découverte, 1997). Lipset, Seymour Martin, ‘The Revolt Against Modernity’, in Seymour Martin Lipset (eds.), Consensus and Conflict. Essays in Political Sociology (New Brunswick: Transaction, 1985), pp. 253–294. Lipset, Seymour Martin, and Stein Rokkan, ‘Cleavage Structures. Party systems, and Voter Alignments: An Introduction’, in Seymour Martin Lipset and Stein Rokkan (eds.), Party Systems and Voter Alignments I (New York: Free Press, 1967). Mann, Michael, The Sources of Social Power, Volume II. The Rise of Classes and Nation-States, 1760–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). Marshall, Alfred, Principles of Economics (London: Macmillan, 1920). Mill, John Stuart, Utilitarianism, on Liberty and Considerations on Representative Government (London: Dent, 1972). Ohmae, Kenichi, The End of the Nation State:  The Rise of Regional Economies (New York: The Free Press, 1995). Parsons, Talcott, The Systems of Modern Societies (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1971). Pastori, Giorgio, ‘Le regioni senza regionalismo’, Il Mulino, 10 (1980), pp. 268–283. Piercy, Philippe, La France. Le fait regional (Paris: Hachette, 2006). Przeworski, Adam, and Henry Teune, The Logic of Comparative Social Inquiry (New York: Wiley-Interscience, 1970). Riall, Lucy, ‘Elite Resistance to State Formation: The Case of Italy’, in Mary Fullbrook (ed.), National Histories and European History (London: UCL Press, 1993), pp. 46–68. Rokkan, Stein, Economy, Territory, Identity. Politics of West European Peripheries (London: Sage, 1983). Rokkan, Stein, and Derek Urwin, ‘Introduction: Centres and Peripheries in Western Europe’, in Stein Rokkan and Derek Urwin (eds.), The Politics of Territorial Identity. Studies in European Regionalism (London: Sage, 1982). Rokkan, Stein, Peter Flora, Stein Kuhnle, and Derek Urwin (eds.), State Formation, Nation-Building and Mass Politics in Europe. The Theory of Stein Rokkan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). Rost, Dietmar, and Erhard Stölting, ‘Introduction’, in Dietmar Rost, Erhard Stölting, Tomasz Zarycki, Paolo Pasi, Ivan Pedrazzini, and

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Anna Tucholska, New Regional Identities and Strategic Essentialism. Case Studies from Poland, Italy and Germany (Münster: LIT, 2007), pp. 1–24. Salvadori, Massimo, La questione meridionale (Turin: Loescher, 1976). Scott, Allen, Regions and the World Economy. The Coming Shape of Global Production, Competition, and Political Order (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998). Stjepanovic, Dejan, ‘Regions and Territorial Autonomy in Southeastern Europe’, in Gagnon, Alain-G., and Michael Keating (eds.), Political Autonomy and Divided Societies. Imagining Democratic Alternatives in Complex Settings (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2012), pp. 185–199. Storper, Michael, The Regional World: Territorial Development in a Global Economy (New York: Guilford Press, 1997). Tarrow, Sidney, ‘Regional Policy, Ideology and Peripheral Defense: The Case of Fos-sur-Mer’, in Sidney Tarrow, Peter J. Katzenstein, and Luigi Graziani (eds.), Territorial Politics in Industrial Nations (New York and London: Praeger, 1978), pp. 97–122. Trigilia, Carlo, ‘The Paradox of the Region: Economic Regulation and the Representation of Interests’, Economy and Society, 20 (1991), pp. 306–27. Zarycki, Tomasz, and Anna Tucholska, ‘Regional Identity in Three Polish Voivodships:  Świętokrzyskie, Śląskie, Warmińsko-Mazurskie’, in Dietmar Rost, Erhard Stölting, Tomasz Zarycki, Paolo Pasi, Ivan Pedrazzini, and Anna Tucholska (eds.), New Regional Identities and Strategic Essentialism. Case Studies from Poland, Italy and Germany (Münster: LIT, 2007), pp. 25–162. Ziblatt, Daniel, Structuring the State: The Formation of Italy and Germany and the Puzzle of Federalism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006).

Part One   Regions Compared

Jana Fantysová-Matějková, Kurt Villads Jensen

Creating Cohesion in Dynastic Conglomerates. Identities in Comparison: Medieval Bohemia and Denmark

1. Dynastic Conglomerates in the Middle Ages For several decades, historians researching the modern occidental state have insisted on its composite character, expressed by the terms of dynastic agglomerate or conglomerate. In a dynastic conglomerate, royal authority is organized ‘in complex combinations of different principalities held together primarily by dynastic bonds’1. Conglomerates appeared after the process of ‘regional clustering’, during which some regions disappeared within larger territories and some other became lands (counties, duchies etc.). Some of these lands achieved a degree of individuality such that they were not easy to integrate into another land (duchy, kingdom etc.). It was mainly because a certain part of the land’s population (the stakeholders) was actively involved in the matters of their land, be it just as representatives, who accepted a new ruler and bound him to respect their laws and customs, or be it later as a developed and formalized Estates assembly, or be it in other forms of participation2. Thus, lands included in a conglomerate often to some degree conserved their individuality, a personalité provinciale, differing from each other in law, language and culture, so that they could not be merged together easily. Even successfully integrated counties, such as 1 2

Friedeburg, ‘State Forms and State Systems in Modern Europe’, p. 6; Gustafsson, ‘The Conglomerate State’, pp. 189–213. Boer, de, ‘The Creation and Failure of a Cohesion’, pp. 34–44; Bünz, ‘Das Land als Bezugsrahmen von Herrschaft, Rechtsordnung und Identitätsbildung’, pp. 68–92.

64 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen the eleventh century Gâtinais, Vexin and Vermandois, which lost their autonomy within the Capetian dominium, left traces in people’s minds for several centuries, as the geographical vocabulary of the chronicler Michel Pintoin (writing in Saint Denis around 1400) shows. On the other hand, processes of disintegration and differentiation were under way, too: the county of Tirol grew out of the duchy of Bavaria in the thirteenth century, for example. Lands, territories and provinces represented by their respective communities and stakeholders are inscribed in peoples’ minds and therefore count much more than dioceses or administrative units3. Political units functioned as a principal framework for the development of the regional/national identity: ethnogenesis always follows the statebuilding process and not vice-versa. According to Jean-Marie Moeglin, regional/national identity is formed in a dialectic process between ‘objective’, mostly political conditions (e.g. dynastic state-building effort) and the imagined community of inhabitants or stakeholders, who experiences them. Thus, the imagined community is a result of a collective mental process that assesses the thoughts and experiences of the inhabitants4. At the same time, as modernists argue, the state as ‘objective reality’ is not distinct from the ‘state as image and argument’, which is based on the prevalent concepts of legitimacy within society. ‘The state existed as the “will and imagination” of those running the state and by means of belief about the nature and legitimacy of civil order in the broader society’5. In other terms, the imagined community, the stakeholders and their beliefs influence the objective reality and image of the state, which – the other way around – changes the community’s identity. The creation of imagined communities has been operative throughout Western European history, but it has been argued that it became much more common from around 11006. The twelfth century was a fertile period of state formation, but also of mobility on a much higher scale than earlier. Therefore, many more persons than earlier met others with a different background, language, and customs and began more readily to classify them 3 4 5 6

Guénée, ‘Un royaume et des pays’, pp. 405–07; Guénée, ‘Espace et État’, pp. 744–758. Monet, ‘Nation et nations au Moyen Age’, p 10; Moeglin, ‘Nation et nationalisme’, pp. 539–543. Friedeburg, ‘State forms and State Systems’, p. 3. Schmugge, ‘Über “nationale” Vorurteile im Mittelalter’; Koht, ‘The Dawn of Nationalism in Europe’, who is incorporating Danish and Norwegian sources in his general survey.

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as stereotypical groups. Also, the end of the eleventh century witnessed a new interest in the sharp dichotomy theology distinguishing between we and they, which led to theological justification of warfare against entire ethnic groups. It was part of the fight of the reform papacy for defending the freedom of the Church against secular powers, but it became widely accepted in Western Europe and influenced all writings about others, about warfare, and about identities7. The aim of this article is to discuss the questions raised by this outline in relation to the identity of the medieval dynastic conglomerates constructed around the kingdoms of Bohemia and Denmark. The creation of a conglomerate takes place on the base of the existing reality and imagination of individual lands, but changes the ‘objective reality’ of the state, its ‘image and argument’. It also brings a new political framework and belief about its nature and legitimacy. How does such a change affect the land’s identity? What is the relation between the identity of the individual lands and the identity of the conglomerate state? Is there cohesion between the individual lands? What are the elements encouraging the feeling of togetherness and those working against it? How does the conglomerate create its imagined community, a political society, if not through common Estates?

2. From the ‘core’ Kingdom to a Conglomerate The conglomerates of Bohemia and Denmark were constructed around a ‘core’ land, a kingdom to which other lands were attached by the person of the king, usually by feudal bonds or in personal union. These attachments were sometimes cemented by abstract state-building terminology defining the juridical status of the individual parts and of the whole (esp. kingdom and crown and many verbs expressing belonging – incorporare, unire, annectere, pertinere, adjacere etc.). The medieval idea of centralization (the word was not used in the Middle Ages) differed from the modern one and was applied in three different senses. The first and most obvious sense is the personal centralization, created by the simple fact of that the power 7

So called herem-theology, see Althoff, ‘Selig sind, die Verfolgung ausüben’.

66 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen over several different lands or fiefs lies in the hands of one ruler. The second sense of centralization is institutional (counsel of the prince, financial administration, army, assembly of the representatives engaged in favour of the whole state), which is the consequence of the unity created by the royal power in collaboration with towns and against nobility in order to overcome the feudal dispersion. The geographical centralization (the third sense) constructing the state around one centre, a capital, is not identical with the institutional one, which can be operated by the regional institutions as well. In the Middle Ages, the centralization is mostly hindered by distances and therefore it centralizes rather control over the regional decision making than decisions themselves. Other obstacles to the centralization are differences of language, customs and traditional ways of political life, which the regional communities want to preserve. In this sense, centralization is an underlying issue to the questions of the shared identity and of the cohesion between communities, which is essentially created by the loyalty and the attachment to the king and to the state, which goes hand in hand with the particularism of the province8. 2.1. From the Duchy of Bohemia to the ‘Corona regni Boemie’ Protected by the natural boundaries in the form of, forested mountains, Bohemia was a part of the Great Moravia in the ninth century. During the tenth century, it developed from the personal possessions of dukes from the Přemyslid dynasty to a compact territory with a state structure, which was progressively completed after the crisis of 999–10049, so that it was

8 9

Guénée, ‘Espace et État’, pp. 746–758. After the death of Boleslav II (999), the decomposition of the Přemyslid realm caused a political crisis in Bohemia. The extra-Bohemian acquisitions (namely in Lesser Poland, Silesia and Moravia), situated along the trade route leading from Regensburg to Prague, Krakow and Kiev and reaching the rivers of Bug and Styr in the East, had been lost; the inflow of booty, slaves and resources from the control over the trade had ended. The duchy abundant of warriors, who could not be employed and paid, was content within its boundaries. The economic system based on expansion and booty (only Moravia was conquered again) had to be progressively replaced by a regular administration, a system of castles, where a certain part of the warriors found a new place. Later on, Poland and Hungary went through the same kind of crisis. Cf. Žemlička, ‘Expanze, krize a obnova Čech’.

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able to last independently of the changes at the ducal throne placed in Prague, the capital. Free Bohemians (omnes Bohemice gentis, magni et parvi) gathered in assemblies in order to give their opinion or install a new duke (or bishop). At the end of the eleventh century, the presence of the populus (common free Bohemians) at these gatherings became formal and ceremonial, meanwhile the consensus was created by the elite only (nobiles, maiores natu, comites, primates, proceres etc.). The title of the king (rex Bohemorum, later rex Bohemiae) achieved again by Přemysl Otokar I was ensured also for his successors by the Golden Bull of Sicily (1212), issued by Frederic II, elected king of the Romans10. In this document, the right of the Bohemians to elect their king was formulated as a result of recurrent conflicts of succession in the agnatic system, during which infringements of different emperors were not unusual. In reality, the new kingly ethos and ideology broke up with a significant part of the ducal traditions and delayed the development of the dualism of the power, divided between the land (the Estates) and the king, which emerged by the end of the twelfth century. In the thirteenth century, the primogeniture (and the church reform) made the electoral assemblies useless. The Bohemian elite, mostly dependent on benefits accorded by the ruler, underwent a process, during which it turned into the land-owning nobility, joined in the Bohemian land-community and showing some Estates’ treats11. The Golden Bull of Sicily implicitly conceived Moravia as a part of the regnum Boemie, as it had been understood already in the times of the Duchy. Moravia was conquered by Oldřich, duke of Bohemia (1012–34). Lacking strong local elites, it was occupied by the Bohemians and used as appanage in the agnatic system of succession for some one hundred and fifty years, during which it was divided into smaller parts. By the end of the twelfth century, the title of margravius de Moravia appeared, followed by marchio Moravie in 1230s. Only then the idea of marchia emerged, overcoming the fragmentation of Moravia and suggesting that margraviates are the territories belonging to the powerful Kingdom. Although there were strong signs that the Moravian territory could have been integrated directly in Bohemia, the conglomerate policy of Přemysl Otokar II (1253–78) encouraged Moravia to develop as an individual land. Then, the term of the kingdom of Bohemia achieved two meanings: it could either embrace all the 1 0 CDB 2, ed. by Friedrich, nr 96, pp. 93–94. 11 Žemlička, ‘ “Omnes Bohemi” ’, pp. 111–133.

68 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen lands belonging to the Kingdom, or mean only Bohemia itself, especially when regnum Bohemie and marchionatus Moravie were mentioned in juxtaposition. This last concept originated in Přemysl’s conglomerate rule joining the lands of Bohemia with Austria and Styria (and Carinthia and Carniola), heritage of his first wife Marguerite of Babenberg (and of the Sponheims), which were enumerated on the same level as Moravia. After their loss (1276), Přemysl returned to the title of rex Boemie comprising all his hereditary lands. Nevertheless, the nobility had already differentiated according to its belonging either to Bohemia or to Moravia and two separate land-communities were created, which never merged again12. The conglomerate rule of Přemysl Otokar II has never been studied as such. In spite of the king’s effort to seize control over the lands and overshadow the land representatives, the specific conditions of the conglomerate and its infamous end encouraged the development of the individual land-communities and forged their inner togetherness. Similarities between the lands did not escape historians, especially the leading role of the nobility and Přemysl’s policy focused on the institutional control (administrative reforms) and fiscal income (economical activities). Přemysl placed his administrators (typically capitaneus, iudex provincialis, camerarius regis Boemie per …) in each land, roughly the Bohemians in Austria, Austrians (but also Bohemians) in Styria and Styrians in Carinthia. He aimed at dominating the jurisdiction by a progressive reduction of the number of the land judges and at controlling the income to his Chamber by restricting the power of the land-councils. Přemysl also relied on rich burghers and men of finance, who administrated large territories for him. His fiscal income was to be increased by the foundation of new towns and monasteries, of course in strategic places, which sometimes displeased the neighbouring nobles or required a territorial exchange. Although the ruler’s ideology focused on the peace and its defence, warfare was typical for Přemysl’s rule and many nobles lost their lives in his military expeditions13. It could make sense to consider his administration over such a large territory (some 700 km from Zittau to Kärnten or from Prague to Carniola, the same as from Prague to Luxembourg under John the Blind) in the context of the thirteenth century dynastic conglomerates. Possibly, it would 1 2 Žemlička, Přemysl Otakar II, pp. 255–270. 13 Žemlička, Přemysl Otakar II, p. 483; Antonín, ‘Přemysl Otakar II’, summing up Přemysl’s rule in the Austrian lands.

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change the common consensus among historians, which is based on the national memories of his respective countries and supposes, that Přemysl ruled in an old fashioned style misunderstanding the new leading role of the nobility, that is the land-communities. In fact, although an important part of the nobility was stakeholders in the affairs of their lands and in Přemysl’s conglomerate rule simultaneously, the memory of these lands was not favourable to the king, who fell in the battle of Marchfeld (1278) against Rudolf of Habsburg, king of the Romans. In the Austrian (incl. the Styrian and Carinthian) chronicles, Přemysl is depicted as a usurper or even tyrant. The Bohemian chronicle by the so called Dalimil outlines a heroic picture of the young king, whose power reached as far as the Adriatic see. Later on, the king started neglecting his duty, preferred Germans to the Bohemians and perpetrated violence on the nobility. This criticism (other elements were added by other writers) should justify the ‘treason’ of the Bohemians in the battle, causing the death of their own king. The emergence of the ‘national’ chronicles in Austria and in Bohemia is connected with the extinction of the vernacular dynasties. The situation under the new dynasties of Habsburg and Luxemburg offers striking parallels14. Under Wenceslas II (d. 1305)  and Wenceslas III (d. 1306), the kingdom of Bohemia was a part of a short-lived conglomerate of thee kingdoms – Bohemia, Poland (from 1300) and Hungary (from 1301), which was reflected by the Bohemian historiography in terms of identity, too. Wenceslas II was idealized as a perfect Christian ruler and the similarities and differences between the respective land-communities were discussed. The chronicler Peter of Zittau shows a distance towards Hungarians, but embraces with enthusiasm the Poles. He does not want to admit the factual loss of the Polish kingdom after the extinction of the dynasty and blamed the king John the Blind (1310–1346) of that he sold the Polish crown for 20 000 marks in 133515. John the Blind, king of Bohemia and count of Luxembourg, reconstituted the Bohemian kingdom (in the large sense of the word) after the failed rules of Rudolf of Habsburg and Henry of Carinthia (1306–10). He faced a notorious opposition of the Bohemian nobility, who had adopted a new identity discourse. It was ready to criticize the ‘foreign’ king or show 14 Moeglin, ‘La formation d’une histoire nationale en Autriche’, pp. 169–218; Bláhová, ‘Obraz Přemysla Otakara II.’, pp. 157–58, 161–62. 15 ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, III, 11, p. 331.

70 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen jealousy and contempt for any foreign individuals or cultural elements at any moment of his reign, so that John preferred to be on the road all the time and did not keep a regular court in Prague. In spite of his ‘itinéraire européen’ and his scandalous political clash with his Přemyslid wife Elishka16, John undertook important state-building steps. He re-integrated Moravia, Opava, Bautzen and Görlitz in the kingdom and attached numerous dukes of Silesia by feudal bonds. His son Wenceslas-Charles IV (1346–78), who enjoyed the authority of a Přemyslid-blooded king, topped his father’s conglomerate with an abstract construction expressed by the term Corona regni Bohemiae (Crown of the Kingdom of Bohemia). The conglomerate forged by Charles IV, who was simultaneously king of Bohemia and king of the Romans (Emperor from 1355), survived for several centuries (see Figs. 1 and 2)17. 2.2. Denmark Danish kings are mentioned in Frankish sources very early, but the extent of the territory that they have had any authority over is unknown18. At the end of the tenth century, King Harald Bluetooth claimed on a monumental runestone that he had “conquered all Denmark and made the Danes Christians”. A unification of smaller power centres into a larger kingdom with a incipient state structure seems to have taken place under King Harald, most probably through conquest and military control executed through the strong Viking fortresses erected during his reign, the Trelleborgs. The core areas of Denmark consisted now of the peninsula Jutland and 16 Margue et al., Un Itinéraire européen. Elishka was supposed to stay in the kingdom during king’s absences, but was not able to manage the fractions of nobility, especially the one connected with her step-mother, Queen Dowager Elisabeth-Richenza. She was actually supported by another fraction; the Cistercians and Peter of Zittau were close to her too. Elishka was accused by her competitors of wanting dethrone her husband and install her three years old son Wenceslas (later Charles IV), which the king believed, but according to Peter’s chapter De Discordia inter regem et regine Boemie (II, 6, pp. 250–51) was not true. Allusions to this ‘treason’ can be found in some works issued from the Luxembourgs´ patronage. 17 The main researcher in this domain have been Lenka Bobková, author of many articles and books on the Crown of the Kingdom of Bohemia and initiator of the international colloquia, the proceedings of which have been published in the serie Korunní země v dějinách českého státu 1–7. 18 Gregory of Tours, liber III, cap. III.

71

Creating Cohesion in Dynastic Conglomerates Conglomerate of Luxembourg-Bohemia under John the Blind 1310-46 John the Blind, king of Bohemia and count of Luxembourg 1310-46 Title of the king of Poland ll 1335-36

king

overlord

overlord

count

County of Luxembourg and its fiefs

KINGDOM of BOHEMIA

Margraviate Budissin (Bautzen of and Moravia Görlitz)

Duke of Opava

Lucca (Italy)

Dukes of Silesia

Fig. 1:  Schematic representation of the different power-positions taken by king John the Blind

Conglomerate of the dynasty LuxembourgBohemia under Charles IV DYNASTY of Luxembourg-Bohemia

Corona regni Bohemiae Brande nburg

BrabantLimburg

pertaining

Luxemb urg

Core Bautzen kingdom of Bohemia Lower Lusaa

Margrave of Moravia

Archbish Duke of op of Opava Olomouc

Moravia

Opava

Dukes of Silesia

Silesia

Extended Kingdom of Bohemia

Fig. 2:  Schematic representation of the territories united in the personal union of King Charles IV

72 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen the two main islands of Funen and Zealand, and probably already at this time of Scania in what is today southern Sweden. However, these four lands or ‘provinces’ maintained separate legal systems for centuries, and the memories of separate identities were preserved in the stereotypes that medieval historians attributed to individuals from these different areas. During the eleventh century, Danish kings expanded from the core area and created for some decades a North Sea Empire comprising much of England and Southern Norway. It dissolved after the death of King Canute the Great and especially after the conquest of England by William the Bastard in 1066, but the memory of Danish kings ruling England was kept alive in history writing throughout the Middle Ages and could be activated as political claims into the fourteenth century, albeit without any practical consequences whatsoever. Of lasting importance, however, was the firmer attachment of Schleswig, or Southern Jutland19, to the king of Denmark. Since the 1020s, it belonged in some way under the authority of the Danish kings20. From the years before 1100, a tradition seems to be created that Schleswig became the appanage for the intended heir to the throne or for younger lines of the royal dynasty. The title of duke (dux) is known from c. 1115 and onwards and has probably replaced the older Nordic title jarl. This border area developed through the Middle Ages strong regional identity and institutions. From Schleswig and from the Danish core area, the authority of Danish kings and princes was expanded along the Baltic south coast through yearly military expeditions or crusades against the pagan Slavic population. These were conducted in cooperation and sometimes in competition with the Duke of Saxony and with the German emperor, to whom Danish kings paid homage until 1182. Denmark had been an elective kingdom till the late twelfth century. Candidates to the throne came from within the same family and were numerous, and internal warfare and bloody suppression were ready consequences. When King Erik II Emune gained the throne in 1134 by

19 Schleswig, Slesvig and Southern Jutland are all designations for the duchy south of the King’s River (Kongeåen in Danish) and north of the River Ejder. Schleswig is also the name of the main city in the duchy. 20 Adam of Bremen (writing in the early 1070s) about King Canute the Great and count Eilif: “dedit [ei] Sliaswig [civitatem] cum marcha, quae trans Egdoram est, in fedus amicitiae, et ex eo tempore fuit regum Daniae”. Gesta Hammaburgensis II, 56.

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defeating and killing his uncle and cousin, he immediately had his own brother and eleven nephews killed to reduce the number of competitors. In 1170, King Valdemar I the Great had his father, Canute, canonized and his young son Canute crowned as coregent, to strengthen his own dynastic line and in an attempt to introduce primogeniture. There were many exceptions, but after 1170 sons generally succeeded fathers, but they normally still had to be elected and could therefore be pressed for concessions from the nobility. In 1214, the Roman king and later Emperor Fredric II issued a golden bull that conceded to King Valdemar II of Denmark and his successors all land north of the Rivers Elbe and Elde as far East as to Mecklenburg and Pomerania. These areas including the duchy of Schleswig were now, by imperial decree, part of the kingdom – regno ipsius addicimus21. Fredric II soon regretted and attempted to recall the bull, and both militarily and politically it was disputed throughout the Middle Ages. In the mid thirteenth century, a new period of remittent warfare between kings of Denmark and dukes of Schleswig broke out and was to last for almost a hundred years. King Christopher had been suggested to replace Fredric II as king of Germany but had lacked the backing of Bohemia, and had been advised by his father to turn the proposal down22. Had he accepted, he would have been in a position to solve the problem with Schleswigian independence. Instead, he became king and was drowned some years later in the fjord of Schleswig by his brother, the duke. Christopher having had no male heir, Duke Abel became king, but when he fell in battle two years later, the third brother took the throne in a regular coup by having Abel’s son detained in prison. The troubled situation culminated in 1320 when two counts of Holstein took over the control and almost all income of the kingdom of Denmark and installed their own puppet king, the very young duke of Schleswig. Only in 1340 the two dynastic lines were reconciled when King Valdemar IV married princess Helvig of Schleswig and after decades of warfare had consolidated his position as king. Schleswig, however, continued to have

2 1 Diplomatarium Danicum 1:5, no 48. 22 DD 1:7 no. 52 (5 December 1240) “… electio regis in Alamannia retradatur, quia iuuenis rex Daciæ a proposito omnino recessit, patre suo dissuadente et lapsu regis Boemiæ faciente”.

74 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen Kingdom of Denmark as a dynasc conglomerate KING of Denmark 1300 overlord overlord king Cies as Lübeck, Stralsund

KINGDOM of Denmark Comprising the lands of Jutland, Funen and Islands, Zealand, Scania-lands

Duke of Schleswig

Count of Holstein

Govenor/Duke of Estonia

Free peasants of Frisland

Duke of Halland

Count of Rügen

Fig. 3:  Schematic representation of the composition of the conglomerate of territorial and other dependencies that formed the Kingdom of Denmark

extensive political independence, and the local nobility allied as much with that of Holstein as with that of the kingdom. With the establishing of the Calmar union in 1397, the three Nordic kingdoms and the attached areas were united under one ruler, but by very different authority. He was hereditary king to Norway, elected king to Denmark and to Sweden, and elected or hereditary lord of dukes and counts. The position of the ruler was strengthened, but the Swedes were notorious difficult and rebelled again and again during the fifteenth century, often succeeding in mobilising help from the duchies. The result, however, became a much more firm connection of Schleswig to the kingdom than earlier (see Fig. 3). 2.3. The Fluid Conglomerate A conglomerate was a fluid entity. Some areas were disputed and shifted from being attached to one core land to being attached to another, some of them shifted again and again over the centuries, for example some of the border duchies situated between the kingdoms in Scandinavia. Sometimes a ruler moved the centre of administration and political decision making

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from the core land to one of the attached areas that had been acquired later. King Canute the Great did so in the first half of the eleventh century when he made the newly conquered England the centre of his conglomerate empire around the North Sea. The periphery had become a new core area. The conglomerate-building process necessitates a strong ruler, but the factual strength of the core kingdom was challenged during frequent crisis. Likewise, nothing actually proves that the king was always guided by a real policy in this respect23, and was aware of the consequences of the usage of conceptual tools. Similarly to Bohemia, a double meaning of the kingdom emerged also in Denmark, when the kingdom could mean either the conglomerate or the core, especially if ‘the kingdom of Denmark’ and ‘duchy of Schleswig’ were mentioned in juxtaposition. The precise status of the attached lands vis-a-vis the core was often disputed. It was common for regional stakeholders to insist that their region was different from the core area and not part of the kingdom, but only attached or conjoined or united by some common agreement or by personal bonds that allowed for continued existence of important differences, in identity and in administrative and legal regulations. And vice versa, it was not uncommon for rulers to try to insist that the attached areas actually were integrated parts of the kingdom and inseparable from it. The High and Later Middle Ages saw attempts of formalizing the relations between core and attached areas and change them from personal bonds to impersonal institutions that could last also during difficult dynastic succession periods. In practise, however, the personal bonds never totally lost significance throughout the Middle Ages.

3. The Identity of the ‘core’ Land Medieval theories state that the necessary elements of the Kingdom are the King, the terra where the Kingdom lies, and its populus or gens. Historiography of the twelfth-thirteenth centuries claims an indivisible bond between these three elements, recounting the origins of the terra or regnum, the imagined land’s community, the rulers and the state. The ruling dynasty 23 Cf. Guénée, ‘Espace et État’, p. 755.

76 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen and the land are the most important principles structuring the regional (national) identity, which primarily consists of a fusion between the patriotic sentiment and dynastic sentiment. They are in dialogue, bound together by mutual appropriations and identifications expressed and mediated by the terms of gens, natio, populus, terra, patria, regnum, lingua or the names of the lands and their communities (Bohemia, Bohemi, Dacia, Daci or more common Dani) and specifications (terra/rex Boemorum or Danorum)24. Medieval regional (national) identity is regarded as a social construct by scholars25, and as a political issue by chroniclers and writers, who forge it by their pens. The interpretation of the events confirms and strengthens the wished aspects of the identity and keeps silent about those, which are not desired. Historiography constructs the identity of a community as a binary system organized along principal oppositions: indigenous vs. alien; Christian and civilised vs. pagan, barbarian or schismatic and heretic26; dominance and submission etc. The elements of the ethnical (racial, national) characteristics, such as law, language, religion, (warfare) practice, customs or fashion receive a value within this system, which opposes one community to another. These values can change in time and thus, new images of self and of another can be created and used for political or ideological purposes. The oppositions between ethnical communities can be reduced or effaced, but also reanimated by a new narrative or political argumentation. The condition of a dynastic conglomerate (enlarged kingdom, empire or realm) disturbs the identifications between the dynasty, the land and the people and created specific disruptions, so that a new cohesion must be achieved. In fact, there is only one ruler, but several terrae and usually also several gentes, characterized by their mutually opposed histories and identities. In some of them the ruler is a ‘foreigner’, whose legitimacy is put in question. The establishment of a conglomerate implies new bonding and changes in identity.

24

Moeglin, ‘Die historiografische Konstruktion der Nation’, pp. 354–355; Moeglin, ‘La formation d’une histoire nationale en Autriche’, p. 169. 25 Bartlett, The Making of Europe, p. 197: “While the language of race – gens, natio, ‘blood’, ‘stock’, etc. – is biological, its medieval reality was almost entirely cultural.” 26 For the history of Christian-pagan see Bouchard – Bogdan, ‘From barbarian other to chosen people’.

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3.1. The Disposition of the Bohemian Identity in the ‘Chronica Boemorum’ The Chronica Boemorum by Kosmas of Prague (c. 1045–1125), dean of the Saint Vitus chapter at the Prague Castle, largely draws upon biblical imagination and borrows ideas and expressions from Virgil (Aeneid) and Ovid. Terra Boemica, a patria foreordained for the people led by pater Boemus by destiny, was a locus spread very wide, girded everywhere by mountains in a circle, without human inhabitants and untested by the plow. “Nothing will be lacking to you”, said pater Boemus, after whom the terra was named Boemia. Mythical Bohemia was endowed with resources like a paradise: subject to no one, it was filled with wild animals and fowl, wet with nectar, honey and milk; clear waters were abundant on every side and filled with sweat and healthy fish beyond measure27. Bohemians defined themselves as born in this land (hac in terra progeniti) and defended the resources of their land against foreigners, who – by human nature (humana natura) – always preferred their own patria to the Bohemians and their land, which in consequence they were detrimental to28. People who settled down in Bohemia were the Boemi, but Kosmas uses this name for the first time in the ­chapter 10/I only, when depicting their mythical (defensive) victory over Luczani. Typically, the specificity of the Bohemians is expressed in opposition to the enemies (the Poles, the Germans, the Saxons and the Hungarians). Kosmas’s most important concern regarding the identity of the Bohemians consists in their integration in the Latin Christendom and in application of the related values: he criticizes the Bohemians at some points and places them between the Germans, whose practice complies with the ideals of the Latin Christianity, and other Slavs (Sorbs, Poles) and Hungarians, who are regarded as worse people than the Bohemians. Kosmas expresses Germanophobia in much smaller extent than hatred for the Poles. He also avoids all the possible references to the Slavonic liturgy and language; he uses the word ‘Slavs’ for the Bohemians only in the Germans-related contexts. Slavs are depicted as subjects of contempt of the Germans, who – ‘puffed up with pride’ – are characterized by superbia. The Bohemians, who consider their community to be much

2 7 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 2, pp. 5–7. 28 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 23, p. 116.

78 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen smaller than the number of Teutonici, are supposed to pay tribute as an acknowledgement of their submission to the Emperor. The dukes have a keen interest in learning German language, customs and cleverness and in employing educated German clergy at their court or in the ecclesiastical institutions29. In the thirteenth century, the circumstances of the dynastic conglomerate as well as the so called ‘modernization’ processes (foundation of towns and monasteries, colonization) and cultural phenomena (chivalric culture, etc.) effaced some of these fundamental differences or made them less pronounced. Latin Christianity was fully adopted. On the border between the Slavic and the German world, a new sensitivity to the language emerged. In the Bohemian case, the Slavonic language, which nobody had been proud of, was appropriated by the land and turned into the Bohemian language. This new awareness served i.a. to the new, politically motivated framing of the Poles, as the most similar natio to the Bohemians in ethnical terms (1270s). Later, the Poles were conceived as those who constitute – together with the Bohemians – a gens tota of the conglomerate (corona dupla) of Wenceslas II30. After the extinction of the Přemyslid dynasty (1306) or shortly before, the Czech literature came into being with the versified romance of Alexander (Alexandreida) and the Bohemian chronicle by so called Dalimil. The chronicle restructures the Bohemian history and identity by means of jazyk, the language (nation), to which different rulers, persons, practices and events were either beneficial or detrimental. The chronicle, which is infamous for its strong anti-German sentiment, served as a political manifesto of the nobility, who pretended to be the only true leader of the land, unlike the burghers, who were German, and the king ‘foreigner’.

29

For a more extended description of the Bohemian identity in the narrations of Kosmas and of his continuators see Fantysová-Matějková, ‘Boemi and the others’; see also Plassmann, Origo gentis, pp. 321–58. 30 RBM II, pp.  466–68, nr 1106; ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, I, 67–68, pp. 82, 86.

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3.2. The Danes’ Others The Danish historian Sven Aggesen wrote his “Short History of the Kings of Denmark” around 118531. His family had for generations belonged to the absolute upper strata of society, close to the kings and actively participating in the civil wars between various royal dynastic lines in the middle of the twelfth century. Sven himself was a member of the royal guard and probably living at court, but he also quoted Ovid and had a solid, classical education that he most probably had acquired at some of the centres of learning outside Denmark. Sven Aggesen wrote how the Danes were closely connected to the kingdom of the Danes, the regnum danorum. They had one king – or at least they ought to have only one single king – and the Danes had one common army. They were distinguished from the surrounding peoples who are depicted in condescending stereotypes by Sven. The pagans living to the south on the other side of the Baltic are wild and cruel, characterized by rabies. Authors writing in Latin such as Sven and Saxo designated them as Slavi, Schlavi or similar. Nordic sources normally called them Wends. In the earlier sources, Wends seem to be a relatively neutral ethnic designation, while after 1100 it becomes a pejorative term stressing difference, and soon simply meaning ‘heathen’32. An example of the twelfth century’s conceptualizing of a dichotomy between Danes and others. The Germans, whom Sven calls either teutonici or alamanni, are swollen with pride, turgiditas, or they are especially prone to one of the deadly sins, superbia. Also the Germans are wild and cruel and filled with rabies. A more differentiated approach was chosen by Sven’s contemporary, Saxo33. He wrote a monumental “History of the Danes” around 1200, by far superseding Sven’s short history in length and formulated in a beautiful and not always easily accessible Silver Age Latin. Saxo was a cleric, probably at the archdiocese at Lund, and he was not only a gifted and talented individual, but must have received the best international education of his time. Saxo wrote his history on the request of Archbishop Absalon,

31 For Danish history writing in the Middle Ages, see Scheel, Lateineuropa und der Norden; Boje Mortensen, ‘Sanctified Beginnings and Mythopoietic Moments’. 32 Grinder Hansen, Venderne i Danmark. 33 Hermanson, ‘Föreställningar om ursprung’.

80 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen personal friend since youth of King Valdemar I and tutor and advices to his son, King Knud VI. Absalon was interested in history and cultivated it in different ways, including raising a monumental memorial stone inscribed with runes – a nostalgic commemoration of a past that had then already been gone for more than a hundred years34. Saxo distinguished among different kinds of Danes according to which provinces they lived in, thus attesting to the long memory of separate regional identities. He ascribed to them various characteristics. Danes from Scania were often lazy and came late, those from the southern island of Falster were notoriously unreliable and should not be informed about any military expedition until in the last moment. Else, they may well warn the enemy about the imminent attack. Saxo openly wrote about different competing kings and how they gained support from various Danish provinces in their internecine warfare against each other. It was the ideal to Saxo that there should be only one king, Valdemar, the friend of Bishop Absalon, but Saxo laid open that this had actually not been the situation during much of the twelfth century. In most of his narrative, Saxo was unfavourable towards Germans. In general, they were treacherous, unreliable, filled with superbia, devoted to soft extravagance and refined cooking. Saxo wrote about King Ingjald in a remote past who did not adhere to traditional Danish values but introduced Cuisine nouvelle with female extravagance in the German manner, Teutoniae moribus, so that opulent food from the German dregs streamed down into the poor throat of the Danish Fatherland35. Also the queen of the king had learned to make ‘delicious and adulterous’ food in the German manner, only in an attempt to appeal to the king’s senses and seduce him36.

34

Runes were used throughout the Middle Ages as supplement to Latin letters, but since the late eleventh century only extremely rarely for monumental inscriptions. 35 Saxo 6.8.7:  “[1]‌ E contrario Ingellus, proiectis maiorum exemplis, in novando mensarum ritu licentius sibi, quam mos patrius permittebat, indulsit. [2] Postquam se enim Theutoniae moribus permisit, effeminatae eius lasciviae succumbere non erubuit. [3] Ex cuius sentina in patriae nostrae fauces haud parva luxuriae nutrimenta fluxerunt. [4] Inde enim splendidiores mensae, lautiores culinae, sordida coquorum ministeria variaeque farciminum sordes manavere; inde licentioris cultus usurpatio a ritu patrio peregrinata est. [5] Itaque regio nostra, quae continentiam in se tamquam naturalem aluit, luxum a finitimis depoposcit.” 36 Saxo 6.9.9: “Uxor Ingelli levis ac petulca/ Theutonum ritus celebrare gestit,/ instruit luxus et adulterinas/ praeparat escas.”

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Germans also contributed to the undermining of the political situation during the civil wars in Denmark. Saxo’s narrative has the first description of a trebuchet being used in Denmark. It was constructed by German specialists and put up outside the important city of Roskilde and operated so skilfully that one of the pretenders to the throne, Harald, had to fly in the depth of night. When Harald later negotiated access to Roskilde, he demanded all the Germans to be delivered to him and had their noses cut off as revenge37. The mark of dishonest peoples, thieves, and slaves. In more rare instances, however, some Germans were described more neutrally or almost positively, but only when they supported the Danish king or were filled with admiration over his manly stature and boldness38. To Saxo, Denmark had been exposed to continuous attacks from the pagan Wends, and only the determined effort of Valdemar and Saxo turned the tide and developed into a Danish military expansion into the Wendic areas in what is now Northern Germany and Poland. In practise, there had also been peaceful cooperation between Danes and Wends, princely and royal families had married across the Baltic since the tenth century Viking age. Many Wends had converted to Christianity, bishoprics were established and churches built to the same extent in both areas, but the Wends had repeatedly returned to paganism while Danes remained Christians after the final conversion in the late tenth century. All this is mentioned by Saxo only in passing, and instead he concentrated on presenting the Wends as the prime ‘other’ to the Danes. Wends were cruel and barbaric, even inhuman. Saxo relates how Wends often had sex in the same manner as dogs do, and sometimes it happened that the couple could not separate from each other during and after the coitus. When such a couple was found, they were hung over a pole and exposed in public in the Wendic villages. The pagan Wends took the strange phenomenon as a sign from their Gods, which to Saxo was a ridiculous thought and illogical39. Wends had attacked Denmark since times immemorial, according to Saxo, and the Danish wars in Wendic areas were therefore just wars, wars of defence. They were also wars of conversion and led to building of churches which rendered the wars even more justifiable. Saxo, however, extends 3 7 Saxo 13.11.2. 38 E.g. Saxo 15.5.6–7. 39 Saxo 14.39.43.

82 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen this interpretation of warfare back into a pre-historic period when also the Danes were not Christians. Saxo states namely that it has always – since the beginning of time – been the obligation of Danes to teach justice to the Wends. Justicia is a perfect concept to be used in this context, as it has a relatively precise meaning in a pre-Christian society and also became a key-concept in Christianity, not least after the papal reform movement of the late eleventh century. In this way, Saxo succeeds in presenting the Danish kings of antiquity in possession of all the Christian virtues, in spite of them being pagans. Both Saxo and Sven operated with a binary opposition between Danes and the others. Saxo’s Danes were composed of several different groups, while they seem to have been more uniform in the mind of Sven Aggesen. Their examples were followed by later writers, albeit no great narratives have been transmitted from later medieval periods in Denmark. In shorter annals, however, the Germans were again depicted as unfaithful and unreliable. The late thirteenth century Annals from Ryd in the Schleswigian border area contains an often quoted marginal note: “Note, o reader, that the Germans never, or only rarely, have won or been triumphant except by treason and fraud, what is part of their nature”40. In troubled political situations, the anti-German sentiments could be mobilized. It is illustrated from two lamentations, one from the early thirteenth and one from the early fourteenth century. In 1223, King Valdemar II the Victorious was taken captive together with his son and heir by one of his vassals, Count Henry of Schwerin. The background is complicated, and only after prolonged negotiations involving the Emperor Frederic II and the Pope, Valdemar was released against a substantial ransom. During these negotiations, an anonymous lamentation was written, obviously in an attempt to inspire Danish nobles to take arms and defend their king. The Planctus de captivitate regum Danorum is in fine rhetoric style and very direct: Plange, primatus Dacie/quondam clarus in acie/sed nunc tua militia/vili torpet pigritia.41 It compares Valdemar to Christ, and Henry to Judas betraying his Master. And it adds that the sorrow of Denmark is the joy of Germany: Quicquid iam plangit Dania/leta gaudet Saxonia. And

40 Ryd Årbog, in DMA, ed. by Kroman, p. 170: “Nota lector Teutonicus nunquam aut raro prevaluisse et triumphos duxisse nisi per proditionem et fraudem, quod habet ex natura.” 41 SM 1, ed. by Gertz, pp. 471–486.

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directed towards the noble Danish warriors it claims that they are ridiculed and laughed at by Germans and Slavs: Vos subsannat gens perfida,/irridet plebs vilissima/Saxonia et Sclauia/vestra gaudent ignauia. Influence from German speaking areas is recognizable in the whole conglomerate of Denmark, in practical life and in court culture, but it may have been stronger in the border areas to the south. At least the criticism for Germanizing tendencies was a card that could be mobilized against the counts of Schleswig if deemed opportune also for political reasons. Duke Knud of Schleswig in the early twelfth century liked to appear in fine German dresses and was criticised for his snobbish foreign habits, and responded allegedly that he preferred to dress properly instead of in peasants’ sheep skin like his Danish colleagues42. The anti-German strong sentiments of the twelfth to fourteenth century became much less pronounced or suppressed in the fifteenth century. The Annals from Ryd were translated into Danish, but the sentence about the treacherous Germans quoted about was silently omitted. The explanation for such adaptations is probably that the German speaking duchy of Holstein became much more firmly attached to the kingdom, and that a new line of the royal dynasty from the German speaking area of Oldenburg came to the throne in 144843. In addition, the creation of the Calmar Union in 1397 comprising Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Schleswig, Holstein, Finland, the north Atlantic Isles and many minor principalities adjacent to the Baltic Sea, perhaps made it less convincing to create an identity by contrasting to Germans. 3.3. The Danes Themselves The oldest history work composed in Denmark is the Annals of Roskilde, probably written shortly before 114044. It begins directly, in media res, with the baptism of King Harald (Klak) in 826 in Mainz where the Emperor Lother I functioned as God father. Similarly, the Icelandic Knytlinga Saga, which is a narrative about Denmark and Danish kings, begins with Harald Bluetooth taking over as king from his father. After having fought validly 4 2 Saxo 13.5.4; cf. 13.6.7. 43 Cf. also Poulsen, ‘Was trennte Schleswig von Holstein in späten Mittelalter?’. 44 Chronicon Roskildense, ed. M.Cl. Gertz, SM 1, pp. 14–33.

84 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen against the German emperor and resisted conversion for longer time, Harald in the end became Christian and was the first Danish king to be buried in consecrated soil. The dating of Knytlinga Saga is much debated. It is probably compiled in the mid thirteenth century but contains elements from earlier sources, some from around or even before 1100. In any case, the conclusion is clear: The Danes had no history, before they became Christians. Other twelfth century history works attempted to connect the Danes to something larger and older. The Colbatz annals may not have been composed much later than those from Roskilde, but Colbatz begin with the creation of the world and a subsequent world history, mainly taken from Isidor of Seville. At some point, the world history became Danish and continued to the contemporary time of the annals, which continued to be supplemented by later additions also after the twelfth century. This pattern was followed by most others of the lapidary Danish year book. They began with the creation of the world in order to give the Danes a special origin, which actually was exactly the same as so many other peoples in Western Europe claimed to have. Sven Aggesen and Saxo chose a different way, however. They both rooted Danes and Denmark in an ancient past, but a firm local one and not an international. Sven began with the first king of Denmark, Skjold (‘Shield’) who was truly a defender of all borders of his country. The grandson of Skjold made the kingdom hereditary, Sven noted in a brief formulation – but with huge implications. Without stating it directly, he hereby claimed that the first Danish kings had their authority from the people by being elected or appointed. Even more, he wrote only a few years after King Valdemar I in 1170 had had his young son crowned as co-regent and attempted after years of civil wars to introduce a hereditary monarchy. Sven’s creation of the origin of Denmark and Danish kingdom fitted perfectly into the actual state building of his time. Saxo let his history of Denmark begin two generations earlier: The History of the Danes begins with Dan and Angel, the sons of Humble, who not only were the founders of our people, but also their first rulers – although the author of the History of Aquitaine, Dudo of Saint Quentin, tells that the Danes descend from the Danei, who survived the Trojan War and fled with Aeneas, and get their name from them. Saxo relates that although Dan and Angel got power over the realm and ruled with the unanimous consent of the people and were elected rulers because of their bravery and

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great deeds, they were never called kings, for that title was not yet in use among us45. 3.4. People and King The main narratives founding the Bohemian and the Danish identity – Kosmas, Sven and Saxo – operate identifications between the elements of the Kingdom (the Duchy), the land, the people and the ruler. First of all, they make the people indigenous in their country. Kosmas and Saxo follow the model given by Isidor of Seville, according to which the land is named after the founder and the name of the people is derived from the land46. The autochthonous origin of the Danes was invented explicitly against Dudo who claimed the Trojan origin of the Danes. The later story was extremely common as an origo gentis explanation in the High Middle Ages in Western Europe47 and known also in Scandinavian. The Icelandic/Norwegian Snorre Sturlarson wrote in the first half of the thirteenth century, that the pagan Nordic gods, the Asir, had come from Asia after Troy, and that the God Thor was Hector and Loke was Aeneas48. Therefore, when Sven and Saxo created their own account of the origin of the Danes, they had knowledge of alternatives. It was a deliberate choice to make the Danes indigenous in their own country. The chroniclers connect the king and the inhabitants, when they stress that the rulers got their authority from the people. Kosmas gives account of the election of the first duke on the example of the Israeli, who requested the king. Similarly to the prophet Samuel, Libuše, female

45 Saxo 1.1.1: “[1] Dan igitur et Angul, a quibus Danorum coepit origo, patre Humblo procreati non solum conditores gentis nostrae, verum etiam rectores fuere. [2] Quamquam Dudo, rerum Aquitanicarum scriptor, Danos a Danais ortos nuncupatosque recenseat. [3] Hi licet faventibus patriae votis regni dominio potirentur rerumque summam ob egregia fortitudinis merita assentientibus civium suffragiis obtinerent, regii tamen nominis expertes degebant, cuius usum nulla tunc temporis apud nostros consuetudinum frequentabat auctoritas”. 46 Isodori Hispalensis episcopi Etymologiarvm sive Originvm libri XX, XIV, 5, 18: “Sciendum sane quod quaedam provinciae primum de nomine auctoris appellatae sunt; postea a provincia gentis nomen est factum.” 47 Plassmann, Origo gentis. 48 Gylfaginnung, pp. 4–6.

86 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen judge and soothsayer, held a speech about the ducal power (understood by Kosmas as irrevocable, similarly to the Privilegium maius) before she told the Bohemians to find the man she would marry in the village called Stadice. Next to the village, there was a newly cleared field, where the duke, Přemysl the Ploughman, ploughed with two parti-coloured oxen49. The Bohemians conferred him all the power over their land and themselves by these state-founding words: “Omnia nostra et nos ipsi in tua manu sumus, te ducem, te iudicem, te protectorem, te solum nobis in dominum eligimus”. In the Chronica Boemorum, the history of the Bohemians is largely identified with the history of the Přemyslid dynasty50. In Denmark, the claim to royal descent was of paramount importance for kings. From the earliest history writing in the twelfth century and throughout the Middle Ages, the predecessors of the ruling king  – allegedly all from the same dynasty – are enumerated back to the founder of Denmark, according to Sven Aggesen a King Skjold, according to Saxo King Dan. King and country were united, Dan and Danmark. The king was personifying the kingdom, and his death could often be described as a catastrophe for the realm or people. The mourning of the people standing at the roadside when the deceased corpse of Valdemar I was brought to his last resting place is eloquently described by Saxo. When King Valdemar II died after almost 40 years of rule, the annals of Ryd remarked that ‘With his death, the crown certainly fell of the heads of the Danes’51. The king was here identified with the people and vice versa, the people was the unit or the agent wearing the crown of the king.

49 The theme of ploughing frequently appears in the land-founding mythologies. According to Gallus Anonymus, Piast was a Ploughman too, cf. Třeštík, Kosmova kronika, p. 170; According to Snorre Sturlarson, the mythical King Gylfi donated to the goddess Gefion as much of the land in Sweden as she could plough in one day and one night, but she changed her four sons, the giants from Norwegian mountains, into bulls and ploughed out the whole island of Seeland and let the sons drag it to Denmark. The hole it left in Sweden is now lake Mälarn. 50 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 6, p.  16; Třeštík, Kosmova kronika, pp. 155–183. 51 “In cuius morte uere cecidit corona capitis Danorum, nam ab illo bellis intestinis et destructioni mutue uacantes omnibus in circuitu nationibus facti sunt in derisum.” DMA, ed. by Kroman, p. 172.

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The identity of the ‘core kingdom’ thus consists of the terra with indigenous gens, who has a common origin, elected and irrevocable ruler personifying the nation and coming from an ancient vernacular, natural and legitimate dynasty.

4. Identity of a Conglomerate: Creating Cohesion between the Stakeholders The question of the identity and cohesion of a conglomerate has much to do with the medieval nation. Natio, as well as gens, designates a group of people of the same origin, manifested by common ethnical treats, such as appearance, manners and language and sometimes articulated by historiography. A majority of medieval theoreticians agreed on that the common origin of the inhabitants is a necessary condition of a perfect political community. So, how can a conglomerate community be created, if it is composed of different nationes or gentes? The case of France is revealing in this respect, as the nation de France – a conglomerate identity – emerged at the beginning of the fourteenth century. In the same time, this expression was used in plural until the sixteenth century, because of the obvious variety of languages, manners and customs. So, objectively, the nation de France was not a community sharing common ethnical treats; but these differences, considered formerly fundamental and unbearable, changed into mere nuances, which did not impede the belief that the peoples gathered under the rule of the king are the French nation. The nation de France was the identity of the French conglomerate kingdom, created by the attachment to the king – his person and his institutions – and to the state as a whole. The cases of Bohemia and Denmark are different in the sense that such a belief – that all the people of the conglomerate create one nation – did not really appear, although similar trends towards a conglomerate identity can be observed too: the clash between different ethnical communities seems to disappear in the times of the conglomerate rule; a group of stakeholders share a common conglomerate identity. As outlined above, the factors preventing the communities of the Bohemians and of the Danes to conceive the differences between themselves and the others as unimportant

88 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen are connected with the structuring principles of the identity, the dynasty and the ethnical land-community. They emerge in the moments of crises, when the nature and legitimacy of a ruler is questioned and the dust from the old-rooted discourses of ethnical hatred is removed for the sake of different political players. 4.1. A Conglomerate Ruler from Within and from Without Conglomerate rule is created by expansion and normally survives only through expansion, which turns around the normal interpretation of the idea of peace. “Qui desiderat pacem praeparet bellum” was stated by Vegetius, a military theoretician read throughout the Middle Ages52. As only through war can peace be gained, it was the obligation of the king to bring peace, which in practice meant to fight wars outside the kingdom proper. When Valdemar I of Denmark died in 1182, he was buried with a leaden plaque at his head which described him as the “preserver of peace”, pacis conservator, because he had lead annual crusades against the Wends and had conquered the pagan fortress and temple of Arkona on Rügen. When his father, Canute Lavard, was canonized in 1170, the liturgy for his translation praised him as the bringer of peace: “The saint brought peace to the Danes as well as to the pagans/whom he compelled to give up their empty and blasphemous rites/and believe in Christ in the pact of peace” (Pacem Danis et paganis fidem sanctus contulit/quos a vanis et prophanis ritibus recedere/et in Christum credere compulit sub pacis federe)53. The king of Denmark was the peace maker, who fought incessant wars against outer enemies and against princes within the conglomerate state who did not obey or did not obey to a sufficient degree. Warfare had thus a double function. It enhanced the prestige of the king and, if successful, meant a significant economic contribution, which also provided the necessary political capital to secure his rule. At the same time, warfare was an inseparable element in the constant negotiations between king and subordinate rulers in adjacent lands about the borders between their power and jurisdiction. 5 2 Vegetius, liber 3, intro, p. 101. 53 John Bergsagel (ed.), The Offices and Masses of St. Knud Lavard († 1131). (Kiel, Univ. Lib. MS S.H. 8 A.8o), Copenhagen and Ottawa 2010, vol. 2, p. 16.

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Contrary to Denmark, Bohemia was limited in its boundaries very early and thus the issue of war and peace was more differentiated. The tenth century expansionism of Boleslav II is praised by Kosmas for having generated riches for the Bohemian people54, but the idea of defensive war, generosity of the winner towards the looser and the kiss of peace were emphasized in the narrative sources as well. The so called Christian’s legend on the life of saint Wenceslas written by the end of the tenth century tells an exemplary story of the conflict settlement between saint Wenceslas and the duke of Kouřim: the patron saint wins thanks to God without shading blood and gives a kiss of peace to his enemy, who is allowed to continue keeping (administrating) the territory of Kouřim55. Progressively, saint Wenceslas became a peace-keeping patron of the patria and battle-helper in Bohemian wars. The fourteen century narratives, the Dalimil chronicle and the Saint Wenceslas legend written by Charles IV, actualize the story of the victory over the duke of Kouřim, refusing the conquest (Měj v svém dosti; Contentus esto tuis) and emphasizing a peaceful settlement confirming the status quo56. The Bohemians usually gave their opinion regarding the king’s rule over other lands and expressed serious concern about the person of the king, especially if there was no male heir or he was a young child only. Přemysl Otokar II was proposed by the Bohemians to refuse the candidature for the throne of the Holy Roman Empire (sede in solio patrum tuorum) by 1272, because the rule over the diversarum gentium nationes of the Empire, the king was supposedly unfamiliar with, would have been risky (rerum dubius eventus)57. In 1304, the counsellors of Wenceslas II advised the king not to pursue the army of Albrecht of Habsburg: “Cum sint varii eventus belli”, it would have been more beneficial for the king and the kingdom (magni expediebat regi et regno) to let Albrecht withdraw peacefully, because while fighting, Wenceslas could have lost his life and his kingdom. Supposedly, the incolae regni could have made mischief to Albrecht’s army spontaneously58. It is possible that both of these narrations were influenced by the death of 5 4 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 33–34, p. 60. 55 Some authors have considered this episode as a later addition to the original dating from 990s. Wolverton, Hastening toward Prague, pp. 155–56, 342; Ludvíkovský, ‘Souboj sv. Václava’, pp. 89–92. 56 Ludvíkovský, ‘Souboj sv. Václava’, p. 97. 57 ‘Příběhy krále Přemysla Otakara’, in Fontes rerum Bohemicarum II/1, p. 326. 58 ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, I, 71, p. 88.

90 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen Přemysl Otokar II at Marchfeld (1278) and the ‘bad years’ of irregular rule and crisis after his death. Interestingly, the Bohemians, who took distance towards the Empire whose subject of domination they had been, did not mind the Polish and Hungarian kingdoms. According to Peter of Zittau, the king himself hesitated whether to send his only son to Hungary, but his counsellors agreed with the acquisition of the Hungarian terra, which they had certain knowledge of from their fathers (patres nostri narraverunt nobis…), and thus were not unfamiliar with. They stated that the honour and acclaim of the king would be enhanced (in altum posit extollere regalis honoris et laudis preconia) and that the acquisition of the Hungarian crown by Wenceslas (III) would also allow the king to improve the good state in Bohemia (ordinare melius statum bonum). Eventually, the king offered his son to the Hungarians for the consolation of the poor people and of the fatherland (consolacionem pauperum et patrie)59. Peter of Zittau, who aimed at depicting Wenceslas II, the founder of the monastery of Zbraslav, as an ideal ruler (pacem dilexit, iusticiam custodivit, iudicium in omni tempore fecit), uses the short-lived conglomerate of Bohemia, Polen and Hungary as an evidence of the king’s well-known virtues. Wenceslas was reputed as rex sapiens, bonus, mitis ac princeps pacis, which attracted with magnetic force quelibet qui in circuitu natio vel gens existit, because everybody wanted to live under his pacific and magnificent rule. The Polish representatives allegedly wanted Wenceslas for king, because he was an ‘amator pacis’60. The close identification of the Bohemians with their King made of the acquisition of the Polish and Hungarian kingdoms an achievement of the people of Bohemia: ‘Plaude Bohemica gens, tua fit letissima iam mens./ Ungara, Polona tibi subiacet ecce corona/Hunc lauda regem iam regna tenens tria; legem/Ipsis quam rex dat, unus cum laudibus exstat…’61. Celebrating the concentration of the (legislative) power in the hands of one ruler, these verses reveal the nature of what can be called ‘Bohemian rule’ – a latent domination, which can lead to a disproportion in the structure of the conglomerate. By this time, the Bohemian identity gained certain flexibility in the sense that also the German population, which settled in Bohemia during the thirteenth century was included in the natio, as the specification 5 9 ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, I, 68, pp. 83–84. 60 ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, I, 67, p. 81. 61 ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, I, 68, p. 84.

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‘Theutonici alienigenarum nationum’ shows. Peter of Zittau, who is considered to be German by historians, uses the expression nos Bohemi when recounting the events of 1304. Nevertheless, it occurs only one time in his large work, because the Chronicle of Dalimil (c. 1314) redefined the Bohemian identity in terms of language, so that Boemi were only the Czech speaking inhabitants, the whole population was just incolae and regnicolae. Peter is not insensitive to these issues and his refined Latin allows smart conceptual exercise. The way he insists on the acquisition of the Polish kingdom and one gens tota of the Poles and the Bohemians62, whose ethnical treats give evidence of kinship and common origin, places the inhabitants of the conglomerate Bohemia-Poland in the perspective of the perfect political community. It is interesting to observe how shocking the end of the dynasty (1306) was for the Bohemians, who faced their responsibility also for the death of Wenceslas III63. Although the stakeholders were divided into fractions and were not really able to find a political agreement, the common denominator of their effort was a strong desire of continuity, connecting the ‘new beginning’ with the old-rooted identity. The Dalimil’s Chronicle recounts the past from the origo gentis until the present days of the anonymous author; the coherence of the dynastic change is operated by Peter of Zittau. The chronicler Benes of Weitmil (writing in the 2nd half of the fourteenth century) tells an episode of 1307, when barones, nobiles and civitates regni Boemie tried to make a consensus regarding the election of the new king. As they were not able to agree on one person, the chamberlain Tobias of Bechyně proposed to choose one of the peasants from Stadice and marry him with Elishka, daughter of Wenceslas II. This idea that a peasant could rule over the noble men made some of the participants angry to such an extent, that one of them killed the chamberlain on the spot64. When, in the end, messengers were sent to Henry, king of the Romans, in order to have his son for king, Peter of Zittau discusses the way the nobles wanted to ‘naturalize’ the fourteen years old John. He was supposed not only to marry Elishka Přemyslid, but also to learn the customs of the land (adolescens iste faciliter mores nostre terre

62 For details see Fantysová-Matějková, ‘The Virtual region’, pp. 127–28 and ‘Boemi and the others’. 63 Cf. ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, I, 100, p. 147: “Populus iste Bohemicus proprios reges occidit, fidem nescit…”. 64 ’Kronika Beneše z Weitmile’, pp. 465–466.

92 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen discet), to grow up with the sons of the nobility (cum filiis nostris crescet), to love them in consequence (ipsosque ex hoc semper plus diliget) and to gain love of all the locals (ab universis indigenis dileccior fiet) as if he were born in the kingdom himself (quasi in regno natus sit)65. The Bohemians let the new king sign the Inaugural diplomas, which guaranteed the natives an exclusive access to the offices and the right not to fight abroad and limited the general levy to some concrete situations66. In the Chronicon Aulae regiae, Peter of Zittau synthesized the virtues of the Přemyslids Wenceslas II and Elishka and the ones of the Luxembourg family: the achievements of Emperor Henry, sainthood of Marguerite of Brabant and angelic appearance of the young prince John (Book 1). A few years later, he was horribly disappointed by John’s policy, which showed only a poor continuation with Přemyslid traditions and splendour: he sharply criticizes the king, but also reveals the pride and narrow-mindedness of Elishka, both spoiling the original concept of his chronicle (Book 2). Eventually, Peter achieved to create a sort of comforting parallel between the ancient times and his present days, when Bohemia was administered by Ulrich, an industrious man named vulgariter Phluc, which means aratum – plough – that he had in his coat of arms. This brought to Peter’s mind the story of the first duke Přemysl the Ploughman, because obviously, the present days were somewhat dark and chaotic, too. Just as Libuše, terre domina, wedded virum incognitum, Elishka, heiress of the Kingdom, married alienigenam67. The perspective is implicitly rejoicing, especially when connected with the prince Wenceslas-Charles, son of the last couple: one day, the Kingdom will achieve the state of glory and magnificence it had under the last Přemyslids. The criticism addressed to John can be summed up as a failure of the naturalization and legitimization project. The loss of the imperial title by the dynasty (1313–14), the marital conflict between the king and the queen and the constant competition with the nobility (military conflicts in the first decade of the rule) endangered the authority of the king, who was othered by the natives as a ‘foreigner’ at any moment it suited their interests. The Přemyslid blood was a hot issue: even the burghers of Gorlitz addressed John’s son Charles in order to be reattached to Bohemia (1329), as he – and not his father – was the natural and legitimate ruler68. The personal union 6 5 66 67 68

‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, I, 95, p. 134. CDM 6, ed.by Chlumecký and Chytil, nr 49, p. 37. ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, II, 29, p. 312. ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, II, 22, p. 300.

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of Bohemia and Luxembourg also generated tensions regarding finance, heirs and the question of dominance. The Bohemians wanted the county to be subordinated to the kingdom and not vice versa, as the logic of foreign ruler worked. In 1340, John divided his lands between the ‘Přemyslid’ and ‘Luxembourg’ line, which was de facto respected, when Luxembourg was inherited by Wenceslas, son from his second marriage. Shortly before, in 1349, Charles IV stated that the County belongs to the Crown of the Kingdom (1349)69 (see Fig. 4). In Denmark, the question of ‘foreign’ rule was considered in different circumstances. King Eric VI Menved of Denmark died in 1319 without any surviving children. To finance his many and generally unsuccessful military expeditions in Northern Germany, he had taken huge loans, and when his brother, Christopher II, took over the throne, most of the land and income of the kingdom was pawned to two counts from Holstein, Gerhard and Johan. Johan was a half-brother to the new king and could have raised a claim to the throne, but the German background was used in propaganda against him and Gerhard. It may indicate an animosity among the Danish nobility against foreigners, but it may as well be a sign that the Holsteinian counts were considered too powerful as kings with full royal power and prestige. The Danish nobles preferred a weak rule. When Christopher was elected king by ‘the best men of the realm and the people’ in 1320, he had to sign a constitution including the promise, that he should allow no German to hold castles, land, or income in Denmark, and that no German should become member of the royal council70. This attempt to keep the strategic military strongholds in Danish hands was clearly directed against the counts of Holstein. At the same time, it aimed at preserving a power balance and prevent the Holsteinians from becoming too powerful while keeping the new, weak king dependent upon the Danish nobles. Another paragraph in the constitution stated that no foreigner without knowledge of Danish could become priest in a Danish church. The requirement of knowledge of local languages was general in Canon Law for all priests who should hear confession and as such not an element

6 9 For details see Fantysová–Matějková, ‘The Virtual region’, pp. 130–131. 70 ‘Jtem ut nullus Teutonicus castrum, municiones, exactiones aut terras habeat, nec aliquo modo in consilio regis fiat stricto vel iurato’. Constitutio Christophori II, 1320 die 25 Januarii data, in Samling af danske Kongers Haandfæstninger og andre lignende Acter, (sine ed.) (Copenhagen, 1866–1868; reed. 1974), p. 10.

94 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen

Fig. 4:  View of the eastern side of the Old Town Bridge Tower in Prague, built by the Peter Parler workshop in th last quarte of the fourteenth century. The decorations represent the rule of the dynasty of Luxembourg – namely Charles IV and his son Wenceslas IV (the sitting figures) – over the Holy Roman Empire and the Crown of the Kingdom of Bohemia (the coats of arms between them). The depicted patron saints are: St Sigismund and St Adalbert or St Procopius (statues on the upper level) and St. Vitus (between Charles IV and Wenceslas IV). St Wenceslas is represented by his Coat of arms with flaming eagle. The coats of arms below the rulers symbolise their lands and territories: the County of Sulzbach, the Duchy of Wrocław, the Duchy of Świdnica, the Margraviate of Moravia, the Holy roman Empire, the Kingdom of Bohemia, the Duchy of Luxembourg, the land of Görlitz, the land of Bautzen and the Margraviate of (Lower) Lusatia.

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in the anti-German sentiments in Denmark in the 1320s71. On the other hand, it must mean that the regulations of Canon Law have been violated on more occasions. We can speculate that it has happened more regularly in the early fourteenth century with a Germanification in Schleswig, but the sources are too few to substantiate any firm conclusion. After six years and many wars, Count Gerhard pressed in a new king, his ten years old protégée Duke Valdemar of Schleswig. Valdemar was likewise elected at a general assembly and had to sign in 1326 a constitution in which the clause about excluding Germans had disappeared totally and was replaced by a phrase reserving the most important offices of advocatus and capitaneus to the local stakeholders. It was an attempt from the side of the nobility to reduce royal control. It may also reflect how the stakeholders in time of crises could revitalize old, strong local identities in the different provinces, the ‘lands’. Gerhard should function as regent for the young Valdemar. In the mutual promises, however, the best men of the realm now agreed that as long as one king was alive, they would not elect another, and they would not promise to anybody that he might in the future become king72. The same year, the new king signed the Constitutio Valdemariana: a short declaration that the Duchy of Schleswig never should be united to or incorporated into the kingdom or crown of Denmark, so that one person became lord of both: ‘Item Ducatus Sunder-Jucie regno et corone Dacie non vnietur nec annectetur ita quod vnus sit Dominus vtriusque’73. An immediate result of this was that Gerhard took over the Duchy of Schleswig for himself. For the first time, Schleswig and Holstein were now united under one ruler, and he was German. The Constitutio Valdemariana has 71 In contrast to stated by Niels Skyum-Nielsen, Fruer og Vildmænd, vol. 1: Dansk Middelalderhistorie 1250–1340 (Copenhagen, 1994), p. 223. 72 ‘Item viuente et manente vno rege, rex secundus nunquam in Dacia eligatur, nec de futuro rege caucio vel promissio fiat aliqualis.’ Samling af Danske Kongers Haandfæstninger, p.  13. §  35 that ‘non ponatur aduocatus in aliqua terra siue capitaneus, nisi illius terre indigena’, is hardly directed against Germans or other non-Danes, but intended to ensure that administrators in provinces had knowledge of local affairs. 73 ‘Item ducatus Sonder-Jucie regno et corone Dacie non unietur nec annectetur, ita quod unus sit dominus utriusque.’ The text of the charter is known only from the confirmation of it in 1448, but nineteenth century attempts to argue that it is a later falsification has been disproved. Cf. Erslev, ‘Den saakaldte “Constitutio Valdemariana” ’ and Fabricius, ‘Kr. Erslevs Tolkning’.

96 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen been much discussed in Danish historiography. It may be extorted from the young king by Gerhard to ensure that he could take over Schleswig. At the same time, however, it prevented in principle Gerhard from becoming king, as long as he also wanted to keep control over Schleswig-Holstein, and the constitution may therefore also have been a compromise between Danish nobles on one hand and Gerhard and the nobility of SchleswigHolstein on the other. Since the second half of the thirteenth century, a growing number of middle noble families had moved from Holstein to Schleswig and established themselves as vassals of the Duke and married into the local nobility. This trend continued and was reinforced in the fourteenth century and became extremely important in creating the common ‘Noble estates of Schleswig-Holstein’ (Stand der Schleswig-Holsteinischen Ritterschaft), a loosely united group with great political power, which from the mid fifteenth century de facto was recognized as an estate (Stand) with both political and administrative importance. The nobles came from Holstein to Schleswig because they had the capital to buy land – and there was much more free land for sale in Schleswig than in the highly feudalised Holstein – but many nobles were also invited by the Duke who wanted to create a group of vassals who were not stained by bounds of loyalty to the king of Denmark. It meant a strong Germanification of Schleswig where German replaced Danish as the language of culture, liturgy, administration, and law. The common law in Schleswig, the Danish Law of Jutland from 1241, was translated into German. The duke attempted to create two separate landcommunities, one of the duchy and one of the kingdom. It was not totally successful, as the two groups later intermarried and re-formed strong social bonds between the two geographical entities. By becoming duke of Schleswig, Gerhard had completed on the highest political level the unification that the immigration of nobles from Holstein to Schleswig on a lower level had already prepared. Since 1332, Denmark had no king. The institutions of a central royal government dissolved or were in practise taken over by the Dukes Gerhard and Johan. They acted like kings. There was no minting of Danish coins, no central, royally controlled army, no royal council, and the castles that had formerly been the backbone of the royal control over income were now held by local magnates or vassals of the Holsteinian counts. The attitude of Danes in the core kingdom was ambiguous. A contemporary history work from Jutland describes how Danish nobles themselves had invited

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the Germans to replace king Christopher, and how German rule became intolerable and oppressive. The nobles were now inflamed with ‘hate against the Germans’ and changed strategy in 1329 and supported Christopher, but he let them down and allied with the Germans against the Danish nobility74. In 1329, a lamentation was composed, the Planctus de statu Regni Dacie. It opens with the strong lines Geme, plange, mesto more, dolorosa Dacia. It continues with describing the former glory of the Danes and Denmark, and the deplorable state of affair now with Germans and German costumes everywhere. Danish women dress up in broad hats and yellow robes like German prostitutes. Not exactly a clear-cut opposition between Danish and German interests. The stakeholders both in the kingdom of Denmark and in Schleswig-Holstein were no uniform group but divided after different interest. One seems to have been to keep the king weak by inviting or supporting the Holsteinians. On the other hand, the Holsteinians executing royal power without being kings provoked resistance and were the target for repeated rebellions. Count Gerhard was murdered in Denmark in 1340, and the political situation changed dramatically. The brother-son of King Erik Menved, Valdemar IV, had been brought up at the court of Emperor Ludwig IV of Wittelsbach, and with imperial support he was now in a position to negotiate and become king. He married Helvig, the sister of the Duke of Schleswig. The antagonism between two competing lines of the royal dynasty was ended after 90 years of bitter strife and wars. The marriage gave legitimacy to the ruler, both of kingdom and of duchy. King Valdemar did not gain control over Schleswig, but he got the peace with the Duke on the southern front, which allowed him to begin the conquest of Denmark. But it was no easy task. Danish nobles rebelled against King Valdemar IV several times during the 1350s and 1360s, especially in the western part in Jutland and often in alliance with nobles from Schleswig and Holstein. Some of the prominent

74 ‘ Ex tunc incepit fieri grauissimum lugum Teutonicorum super regnum, qui non solum terram, sed eciam castra regni optinebant; nobilesque regni, qui sperabant se post expulsionem Christoferi regnaturos, iam per Teutonicos, quos introduxerant, artabantur, capiebantur et serui fiebant. Propter quod latenter in odium Teutonicorum Christoferum reuocabant. Sed ipse reuocatus, memor iniurie sibi facte, cum comite in odium Danorum concordabat.’ Chronica Jutensis, ed. DMS, p. 292.

98 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen families in the rebellions had actually come from Schleswig or Holstein in preceding decades. In order to counter these rebellions, Valdemar chose a deliberate policy of inviting members of noble families from the adjacent border areas and use them as vassals on the militarily important castles, because they had few connections or obligations in the core land. Some came from Mecklenburg and Vorpommern, others also from Holstein, as the Limbeck family. Claus Limbeck (died after 1368) changed his loyalty several times from the king to the Holsteinian counts and vice versa and is an example of how integrated the nobility of Holstein actually became in Denmark in the fourteenth century. And how fluid the border between being Danish and being German was in practise. The militarily insecure situation called for more stable juridical solutions. On such attempt was the Landefred (Peace of the country) of 1360. From a constitutional point of view, it is a novelty in being formulated as a mutual agreement between ruler and people, with several social estates represented, and not as a series of promises from king to nobles as the earlier coronation constitutions75. King Valdemar clearly attempted to secure a broader legitimation for his rule. The Landefred was necessitated by the dissention in the realm, it is stated in the opening, and the relationship to Schleswig figures prominently in the arrangement. King Valdemar promised that the Duchy of Schleswig and all other adjacent lands (regno adiacentes) now and in the future should enjoy in freedom all former laws and privileges, found in old law books. The king’s attempts to gain control over castles and land in Schleswig should apparently be ended by this agreement. In return, the duke promised to let all the vassals and inhabitants in Schleswig enjoy their old privileges unhindered in the future. The Landefred is formulated as a general agreement between king and the whole kingdom, but it is stated with realistic clarity that only the drawing of a clear borderline between Schleswig and the Kingdom of Denmark could ensure peace. The memory of the ‘core’ region venerates the vernacular conglomerate ruler for having expanded the territory and ensured resources and peace for his people. Early medieval peace-making rulers (duke Wenceslas I, Canute Lavard) were canonized and became patron saints of the land and eternal protectors of the peace. One of the aims of the idealized picture of Wenceslas II in the Chronicon Aulae regiae (Othon of Thuringe and 75 Samling af danske Kongers Haandfæstninger, pp. 17–21.

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Peter of Zittau) was to provide a narrative, which could serve a possible canonization of the founder of the Zbraslav monastery. Peter of Zittau also actively looks for an ideal conglomerate ‘nation’ united by the ideal ruler. As far as other lands are attached, the domination is driven not only by the fact that the ruler is native to the ‘core’ land (the way the Austrian lands were attached to Bohemia by Přemysl Otokar II or Poland and Hungary by the last Přemyslids), but also by the title of the King and the Kingdom itself, which is felt as superior to the lands with lower title (duchy, county etc.)76. This appears as useful under a regular rule, but becomes problematic during the crisis of royal power (regent rule, extinction of the dynasty, failed battles, limited royal income/ financial problems), which makes the stakeholders identify with the Kingdom. In consequence, they basically refuse to be ruled from abroad, although the interests of the nobility is to take advantage of the weakness of the royal power and to choose the candidate to the throne according to the individual (group) benefits given or promised. Peter of Zittau clearly distinguishes between this attitude and the profit of the Kingdom, when talking about barones and cives ‘qui communi profectui Bohemie intendebant’77. As the stakeholders mostly are noble men with their individual/group interest, the royal power can´t be restored without conflicts about their claims. In this respect, the imperial support was important to Wenceslas II and John the Blind, as well as to Valdemar IV. Contrary to France, where the last Capetians were followed by a new vernacular dynasty – the Valois78 –, Bohemia and Denmark lived a crisis of royal power under the ‘foreign’ rule. In the period, where the nation de France emerges, they experienced the decomposition of the conglomerate and dynastic change, failed expansion and bankrupt, phenomena drawing the developing conglomerate identity back to the ‘core’-land identity: the right not to fight abroad acknowledged by John the Blind’s Inaugural diplomas (1310–11) and by Christopher’s Haandfæstning (1320) seems to reflect the immediate experience and the concern about new expansionism and foreign rule. As the dominance of the ‘core’ kingdom is put in question, an ethnical discourse pointed against foreign (German) domination is introduced, opposing and undermining the shared culture of the conglomerate.

7 6 Cf. Žemlička, Přemysl Otakar II., 345–46. 77 ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, I, 95, p. 134. 78 Guénée, ‘État et nation’, p. 27: Philippe (VI) was chosen for king (i.a.) because ‘il estoit nee du realme’.

100 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen 4.2. The Court Culture: Unity in Diversity The place, where the issues of diversity and cohesion concentrate is the princely court. The service to the king has much to do with the emergence of nobility in Bohemia and in Denmark and its differentiation according to properties and powers. The nobility stood with one foot in the region and one foot at the court – a ‘cosmopolitan place’ already because of the ‘constant stream of envoys, guests, visitors, entertainers and performers of all kinds’, not only in consequence of a conglomerate rule. The king/ duke never missed competent and skilled foreign clergy or later specialist at his court. The court art ‘was in essence eclectic in its nature, drawing up a multiplicity of forms, styles, and sources’79. The court of a dynastic conglomerate was frequently on the road, attended in different places by the local representatives and gathering the elites of all the lands during magnificent feasts and celebrations. Apart from general cosmopolitan trends, it absorbed the vernacular elements, such as national languages; different constituents of this blend worked as a fashionable style, emanating for the milieu. Some of the stakeholders of the individual lands were simultaneously stakeholders of the conglomerate. The high nobility of the adjacent lands moved with ease to the royal court and became important links between the different units of the conglomerate. They were attached more closely to the king by marriages, by various benefices, and by achieving a special status as the king’s elected favourites. The person of the king became the ideological figure uniting the conglomerate, as the anonymous Danish Rule of the Royal court from the late twelfth century shows, the Lex castrensis80. The reason for collecting and codifying these rules was to regulate the behaviour between the men serving the king; it is expressed in the introduction. They should live according to the international rules for chivalric ethic and be an ostentatious expression of the splendour of the court, and at the same time the roles should regulate the internal hierarchy among the king’s men. The king had expanded the borders of his rule – terminos ditionis – so it stretched from the ultimate Thule over the Baltic and Finland to Byzantium, as it was immoderately claimed. His power was now comparable to that of Alexander the Great, and he had in his power all these regions and had subjugated them 7 9 Vale, The Princely Court, pp. 250–251. 80 Lex castrensis, ed. M.Cl. Gertz, SM 1, pp. 94–141.

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to ‘his fatherland the kingdom’: … regiones suam in potestatem redegit patrioque regno subiugavit. All this allegedly had happened during the reign of Canute the Great in first half of the eleventh century, but the rules clearly reflect the situation during Canute VI (1182–1202). From all these different regions, sons of magnates came to the court to serve the king and make a career. They were proud and difficult to manage, and therefore firm rules were necessary. They should be united under one, common will, like the members of the body is ruled by the head, and they should all be kept under control by the command of one single king. The conglomerate was likened to a body, wholly in accordance with contemporary state theories, and the only thing that kept it together and made it move was the head, the king81. The Rule of the Danish court shows some similarities to contemporary rules for the knight Templars and other military orders and may have been inspired by them. The Templars never came to Denmark, but the Hospitallers were introduced in the 1160s or earlier and specially favoured by the king. They got a special privilege of receiving a tax from each and every Danish household to support them in their crusading – a privilege that was renewed again and again throughout the Middle Ages. When Knud Lavard was canonized in 1170, his feast day became not the day he had been killed, but the 25 June in continuation of the great religious feasts of the Hospitallers. The Danish flag with a white cross in red, which is known from around 1200, may perhaps have been inspired by the Hospitallers82. Danish and Bohemian kings participated in the crusades. Danish kings became among the leading figures in the Baltic religious wars throughout the Middle Ages83. The nobility from the adjacent lands was actively involved and fought with the king, and the idea of crusading was spread through architecture and pictorial programmes. When new land was conquered and added to the king’s power, the local nobility was obliged to support the king’s future expeditions and crusades by providing troops. This way, the common enemy was emphasized, defining the realm by its Latin Christian identity. It was especially important to the thirteenth century Bohemians, because of the negative connotations connected with Slavs.

81 E.g. in John of Salisbury, his Policraticus, see Luscombe and Evans, ‘The twelfthcentury renaissance’, pp. 325–329 and 336. 82 Riis, Les Institutions, pp. 184–187. 83 Bysted et al., Jerusalem in the North.

102 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen Regno di Praga, as Dante expressed the admiration for Přemysl’s realm, was largely penetrated by the crusading ethos. This rhetoric was used even against the Hungarians (1260), whose army counted ‘schismatic, heretics and pagans’, common enemies justifying the existence and cohesion of the Bohemo-Austrian conglomerate84. Paintings and figures, preserved for example on altarpieces, show that Danish nobility in the twelfth and thirteenth century were dressed and equipped in the same fashion as their colleagues in Western Europe, and German and French knightly culture must have been integrated into the courtly life in Denmark. The knightly chansons de geste circulated among the Danish nobility, but so little has been preserved that it is difficult to estimate to which extent. In 1311, King Erik Menved arranged the first tournament mentioned in Danish lands. It took place in Rostock and included allegedly a number of princes and 948 knights. It was intended to be a splendid and lavish public manifestation of the might of the Danish king and that his court was a par with any other in Europe. In the thirteenth century Bohemia, the chivalric values were introduced mainly by means of German poetry and versified epics. The knightly culture blossomed at the Prague court, which no neighbour was able to compete with by that time. Přemysl consistently exposed his Stauferian origin and let himself compare to Alexander the Great (Meister Sigher), an idea followed by the German Romance of Alexander (c. 1300) by Ulrich von Etzenbach as well as by the anonymous Czech Alexandreida and still remembered by the Carinthian chronicler John of Victring in 134185. The tournaments were introduced in Bohemia; the most powerful lords rode covered horses showing their heraldic signs and wore exclusive armour from France (1246), which – as Jans Enikel notices in his Fuerstenbuch – nobody could see in the German Empire (daz in diutschen rîchen im niht moht gelîchen). The Bohemian nobility built new castles named in German, commanded German literary works and cultivated their ancestral origin86. The Bohemian language was fashionable as well, so that the Austrian nobles used Czech greetings, phrases and insults. A comic account of this eclectic mixture of languages and fashions, which makes the ethnical identity disappear,

8 4 Žemlička, Přemysl Otakar II. pp. 345–348. 85 Žůrek, ‘Mittelhochdeutsche Dichtung’, pp. 181–84 summing up Czech and German bibliography. 86 Žemlička, Přemysl Otakar II. pp. 186, 251, 448, 353–54.

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is given by the poets Seifried Helbling and Wernher der Gärtner (Meier Helmbreht)87. This nearly idealistic picture of shared Christian values, courtly fashion and cultural melting pot was abruptly replaced by the ancient discourse of contempt and hatred between Germans and Slavs, reanimated by the ideological fight between Rudolf, king of the Romans, and Přemysl II in 1270s. According to the contemporary discourse used by Rudolf, the Slavic identification of the king of Bohemia excluded his rule over the German lands. The consequences of the final clash between the kings (1278) made the Bohemians reconceptualise their Kingdom as independent on the Empire. The theory of the translation of the crown from the Great Moravia to Bohemia was integrated in the Bohemian history by Dalimil. Wenceslas II also assumed his Slavic identity when commanding a new romance by Ulrich von Etzenbach, Wilhelm von Wenden, the hero of which is a Slavic prince bearing some similar treats with the king, presented as a model ruler of both, the Slaves and the Germans88. The radical ‘return’ to the Bohemian ethnical land-identity followed the extinction of the dynasty. The court culture was sharply rejected as ‘useless manners’ by Dalimil, who wanted to promote Bohemian language and literature, recommended the nobles to marry rather a Bohemian peasant (N.B. peasant were subjects of contempt) than a German princess in order to maintain Czech as their children’s mother tongue. He also blamed tournaments of being detrimental to the traditional warfare89. Peter of Zittau wrote his chapter De novitatibus morum in 1330s. He made a critical account of all kind of phenomena, long beards ‘more barbarorum’, male hair on the example of women ‘dignitatem deformando virilem’: he disliked the way people dressed, their headwear and shoes, small tonsures and weapons of the priests and laymen’s rosaries. He noticed that the locals (nostri) spoke various foreign languages in the streets and concluded that this considerable change of regni Boemie is due to the doom of the ‘natural lords’, after which Bohemia passed to different rulers, whose manners it adopted. Allegedly, a proverb was current at this time: the Bohemians behave like monkeys, as they repeat what the others do90. 8 7 Glück, Deutsch als Fremdsprache, pp. 73–75. 88 Staročeská kronika 1, 26, pp.  316–17; Žůrek, ‘Mittelhochdeutsche Dichtung’, pp. 184–86. 89 Staročeská kronika 2, 79, pp. 327–28 and 42, p. 493. 90 ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, II, 23, p. 301.

104 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen Unlike Dalimil, Peter neither suffers of Germanophobia, nor connects he these ‘nasty habits’ with Germans. He rather regrets that the signs of the Bohemian identity change or disappear. Throughout his chronicle, it appears that the international identities, such as Christian ‘crusading’ identity and court culture, which John the Blind was excellent at, are only limited tools when it comes to the rule of the Kingdom. Peter also notices that in the towns and at the court, German is more spoken than Bohemian (1334)91. The German language and culture were inseparable parts of the Bohemian conglomerate identity, which tended to consider language differences as mere nuances. Nevertheless, in the first half of the fourteenth century, the ‘crisis’ discourse put the Germans and the Bohemians/Danes in opposition, looking back to the past and insisting on language and traditional values. The anti-German tone challenged the cohesion of the conglomerate, which included the German element as well, and prevented the extension of the Bohemian/Danish ethnical ‘nation’ towards a ‘supra-national’ plurilingual identity of the conglomerate ‘nation’. If the Bohemians fought against the ‘insatiable maw of the Germans’ (1270s)92, the nation de France forged its togetherness in wars against the English, who were exterior to the Kingdom and the discourse of national defence was dominated by the King93. In practise, Germans were an integrated part of Bohemia’s history, exactly as the Germans in Schleswig and Holstein were integrated into the history of Denmark. 4.3. Common Denominators of a Conglomerate: Patria, Kingdom and Crown Patria ranks among the powerful terms, which can contribute to a creation of the conglomerate identity. Isidor of Seville says that ‘patria autem vocata quo communis sit omnium, qui in ea nati sunt’ – that it is common for everybody born in it94. The use of the word patria for the union of Bohemia and Moravia can be documented already in the chronicle by Kosmas95; it 91 9 2 93 94 95

‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, III, 2, p. 320: ‘nam in omnibus civitatibus fere regni et coram rege communior est usus ligwe Teutonice quam Boemice ista vice’. RBM 2, ed. by Emler, pp. 466–68, nr 1106. Cf. Guénée, ‘État et nation’, pp. 27–30. Isodori Hispalensis episcopi Etymologiarvm sive Originvm libri XX, XIV, 5, 19. Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 47, p. 154.

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is well attested also in the oldest Danish history writing from the twelfth century96. The idea of patria had many implications in the Middle Ages. It could involve the inhabitants in the matters of government, for example by claiming that the earliest people in the patria had elected the king, and that the king therefore had authority from the people. It was the obligation of the king to protect and expand the patria. King Valdemar I (1146–82) was the liberator of the fatherland, patrie liberator, and the restorer of it, patrie reparator. Patria could be physical (natalis patria) or spiritual home, and when kings were involved, these two basic understandings were sometimes combined. Patria could also be goal for individual strive. When Pope Urban II launched the first crusade he explained in his famous sermon in Clermont in 1095, that for the true believer, the fatherland is exile, and the exile is the true fatherland. The first rulers of the crusader kingdom of Jerusalem were spes patrie, the hope of the fatherland, and rulers elsewhere in Western Europe emulated them. The physical expansion of territory had a spiritual dimension, and a connection to the person of the king seems often to have been more important than to the geographical land97. Therefore, patria could also more narrowly focus on the ruler and sometimes almost became synonymous with the king himself. In Bohemia, the anonymous continuator of Vita Karoli reports John the Blind’s speech to the Bohemian nobility. The king explains that the territory ruled by his vassal Nicholas of Opava and attacked at that time by the Polish king is a part of patria that he is supposed to defend by the sword, and thus the Bohemian nobility is obliged to secure him, although the place is situated, sensu stricto, behind the borders of Bohemia and Moravia98. The ruler usually conceived all the sphere of his power as one regnum, dominium or dynastic possession. Nevertheless, the individual lands or fiefs varied in their status towards the ruler. In Denmark, the situation was fluid and shifted over time, and was different from one adjacent land to another. Adjacent lands to the Danish kings were typically administered by counts or dukes, and the competition between kings and counts throughout centuries concerned the degree of independence and subordination. The

9 6 For Saxo’s use of patria, see Riis, Les Institutions, pp. 87–101. 97 Constable (2006, p. 5, remarks that ‘The primary sense of belonging was to a natio rather than to a regio, and territory only gradually replaced descent as the main principle of identity’. 98 ‘Život císaře Karla IV.’, p. 367.

106 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen 1326 Constitutio Valdemariana stated that never the same person should rule over Schleswig and Denmark. This strong statement of the duke’s independence was referred to in the constitution King Christian I had to sign in 1448. The separate identity of Schleswig was carefully stressed by many of the local stakeholders in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In 1423, the Danish king Eric VI had appealed the case of the status of Schleswig to the German-Roman Emperor Sigismund of Luxembourg, actually his cousin99. The counts of Schleswig Holstein claimed that Schleswig had always been separate from the kingdom of Denmark. One proof of this was that Schleswig had its own coat of arms with two leopards in contrast to the kingdom’s with three leopards100. They also claimed that Schleswig had in 1326 been given to Count Gerhard as a hereditary fief101. King Erik claimed in response that Schleswig had always been part of the Kingdom of Denmark and could not be united with Holstein or ruled by a Holsteinian in own right. One argument was that Schleswig had always been described as part of Denmark in reliable history books which had described the deeds of the Danes102. Schleswig had not been a fief or an independent duchy (ducatus specialis), but simply used as appanage for younger sons in the royal family and returned to the kingdom, when these had died. Another argument was that the language in Schleswig was Danish and not German as in Holstein, which was only partly true at that time103. Since the early fourteenth century, important institutions such as the cathedral chapter of the city of Schleswig had changed to speaking German, while the local population still spoke Danish. The king also added that Schleswig could not be a fief, because hereditary fiefs did not exist at all in the Kingdom of Denmark. Sigismund decided that Schleswig belonged to Denmark ‘with direct and unlimited lordship’ and could be ruled by the king without any limitations. The duke was now reduced to a royal administrator, on paper at least, although not in practise (see Fig. 5). 9 9 Hedemann, ‘Ofendommen’. 100 ‘habens arma specialia et distincta, videlicet duos Leopardos blaueos in campo glauco’. Acta Processus inter Regem Ericum’, p. 341. 101 ‘domino Gerardo Comiti ejusque veris et legitimis heredibus dimisit, dedit et Jure feodali contulit perpetuis temporibus possidendi’, Acta Processus inter Regem Ericum’, p. 342. 102 ‘per autenticas cronics regni, in quibus descripta sunt omnia gesta Danorum’, Acta Processus inter Regem Ericum’, p. 402. 103 Acta Processus inter Regem Ericum’, p. 404 ff.

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Fig. 5:  Coat of arms of Christian I and Queen Dorothea, fresco in the Chapel of the three Magi in Roskilde Cathedral, c 1481. Christian was king of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, Duke of Schleswig and Count of Holstein, etc. The main shield is quartered by a white cross with red borders, symbolising the Danish flag. The four parts show the three Lions of Denmark, the three Crowns of Sweden, the Wendic wyvern, and the Norwegian Lion with the battle-axe of st. Olav. A smaller central shield shows the Lions of Schleswig in 1st and 4th field and the Nettle leaf of Holstein in 2nd and 3rd field. The small central shield is the red and yellow colours of the Duchy of Oldenburg from where Christian originated.

The formal status of the two duchies and numerous sub-fiefs became complicated during the fifteenth century because of the many ties of allegiance across political and linguistic borders. It may be the explanation why Danish kings changed the interpretative frame for attaching land and person under their dominion. The earlier phrase regnum et corona had probably designated kingdom and adjacent lands, but now in the later middle ages, corona was often replaced by a personal oath or declaration of fidelity to the king. It thereby circumvented legal discussions about whether a specific area or town actually belonged to the corona or not,

108 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen while it established a connection of subordination directly to the king. Such oats of allegiance became common for many of the towns in Schleswig104. Schleswig seems for centuries to have comprised more, competing identities. Originally, it was firmly attached to the kingdom as appanage for younger lines of the royal family. During the thirteenth century, a ducal dynasty became increasingly independent, and the influence and immigration of nobility from Holstein meant a stronger German element, linguistically and legally. This could be used by historians writing in the Danish kingdom as an argument against specific dukes and princes. In the fifteenth century, however, the anti-German tendency was toned down for different reasons, including that the founder of a new Danish royal dynasty in 1448 came from German Holstein. The complicated constitutional relation to Schleswig and Holstein was solved in 1460 when the noble estates in Holstein and Schleswig chose as duke the king himself. All lands were united under one person, and this person became vassal of himself. An unusual construction, but it lasted for centuries and developed into the successful establishing of a common identity between Denmark and Schleswig. In Bohemia, the incorporation acts issued by Charles IV (1348) allow a similar interpretation of the meaning of Corona regni Boemie, used also in the chronicle by Benes of Weitmil. Corona was a vertical structure of King’s power (in feudal terms) meanwhile the Kingdom was to be enlarged horizontally by means of incorporation of a territory. In 1348, Charles incorporated the parts of the Kingdom – marquisate of Moravia, bishopric of Olomouc and duchy of Opava – to the Crown, that is feudal bonds were created between the king (his successors, the Crown) on the one side and the marquis, the bishop and the duke on the other side. A second charter issued the same day incorporated Bautzen, Görlitz (Upper Lusatia) and the Silesian fiefs without fief holders (sometimes called ‘direct fiefs’) and the city of Wroclaw in the Kingdom and in the Crown, enlarging the territory of the regnum Boemie. In a similar way, other territories and lands (e.g. Upper Palatinate, Lower Lusatia) were incorporated to the Kingdom and to the Crown. According to the confirmation of the Golden Bull of Sicily by Charles IV, the right to elect the king belonged to the communitas regni et pertinentiarum eiusdem105. 1 04 Poulsen, ‘Was trennte Schleswig von Holstein in späten Mittelalter?’. 105 Bobková, Velké dějiny 4a, pp. 281–289; Fantysová-Matějková,’The Virtual region’, pp. 118, 136–137.

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The dynasty of Luxembourg ruled also over the marquisate of Brandenburg and the county/duchy of Luxembourg, principalities playing an important role in its imperial and international policy. No incorporation act was issued for them; they were attached in a different way. In the case of the episodic attachment of Brandenburg, its history was integrated in the Bohemian Chronicle by Přibík Pulkava of Radenín, a true conglomerate narrative supervised by Charles IV and produced in three language versions (Latin, Czech and German)106. The story of the land-founder, i.a. Czech, was connected with the Slavonic vocabulary (Boemia vero in lingua slowanica Czechy secundum nomen primi habitatoris dicta est), meanwhile the Latin and German names were derived from the genuine Originator: ‘Dicitur enim Boemia a boh, quod Deus interpretatur in lingua slouanica’. Pulkava’s origo gentis constructed the common Slavic origin of all the inhabitants of the conglomerate in a way, which corresponded to the political structure of the Corona regni Boemie. As for the more recent stories, Pulkava let the exacerbated tone of his predecessors regarding the controversial subjects, such as the rules of Přemysl Otakar II and John the Blind, disappear. He also integrated the wording or vocabulary of the charters issued by Charles IV, which served a ‘popularization’ of Charles’s state- and nation-building effort107. The Luxembourg was emphasised among the principalities ‘qui ad idem Regnum Boemie pertinent’ already in 1349108. Charles’s half-brother Wenceslas, the first duke of Luxembourg (1354–83), was an important pillar of the imperial power in the West and a promoter of Franco-imperial collaboration. After his death (1383), Luxembourg was inherited by Wenceslas IV (1378–1419), who wished to re-establish the Western pillar of his imperial policy, but the circumstances were not favourable. Eventually, the duchy of Luxembourg lived a long period of mortgage, meanwhile Bohemia went through a new crisis – a religious conflict escalating to the Hussite Wars, calling back the anti-German identity discourse based on language, blood and true faith. It also broke the connection between the Kingdom and the adjacent lands, because the Bohemians and the Moravians fought against their legitimate heir, Emperor Sigismund, accepted by the adjacent lands (1419–37)109. 1 06 Bobková, Velké dějiny 4a, p. 424. 107 Brom, ‘Aus der offiziellen böhmischen Historiographie’. 108 CDM 7, nr 980, p. 682. 109 Šmahel, Idea národa.

110 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen During the interregnum in Bohemia in 1439–53, the duchy of Luxembourg was already on the road to the hands of the Burgundian duke Philipp the Good (1442–61). The Bohemian Estates decided to urge the rulers to reconstitute the Crown: they appropriated this term and used it synonymously to the (enlarged) Kingdom. In 1443, a delegation was sent to Friedrich III stating that if Ladislaus Posthumus wants to become King of Bohemia, he must fulfil the condition ‘dass jenes Land kraft uralter Verschreibungen bei unserer Krone erhalten werde’, that is he must get the Duchy back. In 1444–49 the Estates participated in the War of Soest with 3921 horses and 2635 foot soldiers. They fought with the coalition of the archbishop of Cologne and William of Saxe against the duke of Burgundy in order to save the Duchy for the Crown: the honour and profit of the Crown – der crone czu Behmen… gros ere, nucz und frumen – as well as an understanding with the land von Luczemburg (the pro-Bohemian part of the duchy’s Estates) were evoked. The re-attachment of Luxembourg continued to be an objective of the complicated foreign policy under the kings Ladislaus Posthumus (1453–57) and George of Poděbrady (1458– 71)110. Under Wladislaw Jagiello, a new attempt to re-attach the Duchy to the Crown was undertaken by the Luxembourgians, who sent two delegations to Bohemia after the death of Charles the Bold (1467–79). The King did not show interest. For the last time, the duchy of Luxembourg was claimed by the Bohemians in relation to the electoral capitulation of Friedrich I of Habsburg (1526)111. In the later Middle Ages, Danish kings also developed horizontal bounds with the establishment of the Kalmar Union in 1397, comprising Denmark, Sweden, and Norway with all adjacent lands in the Baltic and northern Atlantic. The conglomerate of these three kingdoms became organized strictly on equal terms, with three royal councils, with the common ruler spending equally much time in each kingdom et cetera – at least in principle. It was followed by a deliberate creation of common symbols for the union – a common union seal, a new knightly Order of the Elephant for the absolute top aristocracy from all three kingdoms, and a new trinity of patron saints consisting of Saint Olav of Norway, Saint Eric of Sweden, and Saint Canute of Denmark. This attempt of creating a common

1 10 Heinemann, ‘O “zahraniční politice” ’, pp. 837, 844–846; Macek, ‘Král Jiří a Francie’. 111 Maršan, ‘Jak došlo k odtržení’, pp. 710–713.

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identity did not succeed, and repeated and successful rebellions among fractions of the Swedish nobility prevented the Kalmar Union from really developing into a stable conglomerate. The identity of the Union remained thin and tenuous and had to be upheld through military force. Sweden left the union in 1523, but Norway only in 1814. The common denominators of the conglomerate serve the establishment of the idea of the whole on different levels. We have observed a dynamic exchange between the ‘crisis’ identity pointed against a foreign ‘threat’ on the one hand and the ‘flourishing conglomerate’ identity on the other hand. It seems to depend on factors of stability, such as the territory and its resources, the dynasty, the political relations to neighboring powers, the religion etc. Another, more subtle dynamic movement takes place between the ‘objective’ reality and the mental image in the stakeholders’ heads, which also varies according to different social groups112. For instance, the nobility could still focus on the ‘crisis’ discourse, while the ruler reconstituted the conglomerate Kingdom (situation under John the Blind). This was the case throughout most of the fifteenth century, when the nobility in Sweden was divided into various factions and opted for two different solutions to what was an internal crisis. Some sided with the king and wanted a strong union, while other nobles mobilized against the king and described the union as a foreign interference in Swedish affairs. Reference to ethnic differences was used in political propaganda by the nobles. At the same time, the king attempted to create a common union identity with strong symbols. An opposite situation was also possible. The land-communities of Luxembourg and Bohemia decided to live within one conglomerate state and share a sort of common destiny under one ruler, but this bond was not supported by the current geopolitical interest of the King. In other terms, different stakeholders conceive different images of the state/nation in the same moment and it takes a certain time, until the ruler’s state-building effort is recognized and appropriated by the lands. The land-communities usually look backwards and aim at ‘conserving’ their past identities understood as unchangeable.

112 Cf. Moeglin, ‘Nation et nationalisme’, p. 541.

112 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen

5. Conclusion: Blending Thick and Thin The creation of a ‘conglomerate nation’ is a relatively fragile process, which depends on many favourable factors. The model case of the nation de France is probably rather exceptional than usual. Nevertheless, similar trends can be observed in other conglomerate kingdoms. The principal role of creating cohesion belongs to the ruler; the land-communities assess their experience and appropriate the king’s achievements. They are champions of the ‘crisis’ identity discourse directed against a threat, but they can also fight very fervently for the past images of the conglomerate they are proud of (if all practicalities are met, e.g. that there is someone who finances the soldiers’ pay). These processes can take place naturally, without conscious effort; but a deliberate building of the state and of the nation by means of constitutional documents, narrations of a common origin and shared identity and different exhibitions of both in public spaces113 are very efficient tools harmonizing current political challenges with the state of the stakeholders’ collective mind. Apart from the crises, the cohesion of the conglomerate was mostly challenged by distances and by linguistic (ethnical) differences114. In the case of Bohemia and of Denmark, distance was connected not only with appropriate management, but also with geopolitical interest, which could be directed towards the Holy Roman Empire or in the opposite direction – the Central Europe in the case of Bohemia and Scandinavia with the Baltic and the North Sea in the case of Denmark. Distance required different kinds of management. For instance, the gap between Bohemia and Luxembourg was bridged by new territorial acquisitions, by a series of Bohemian feuda extra curtem and some imperial fiefs and possession, so that the rulers stayed overnight on their own ‘territory’115. With the Kalmar Union, the rulers strived to have access to and control over centrally located ports and fortifications in the Baltic, along the coasts but also on the Islands such as Gotland and Ösel (Saaremaa).

1 13 See e.g. Iwańczak, ‘L’empereur Charles IV’, pp. 141–144. 114 Guénée, ‘Espace et État’, pp. 752–53 and ‘État et nation’, p. 20. 115 Boer, de, ‘The Creation and Failure of a Cohesion’, pp. 47–48; Bobková, Velké dějiny 4a, pp. 363–64 and the map p. 287.

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The fates of Schleswig-Holstein and of the Kalmar Union differed from each other for many reasons, but also because of distance. The Kalmar Union was first of all a practical solution to dynastic problems. Old personal ties existed between royal dynasties and aristocratic stakeholders, but they were proportionally fewer than those to Schleswig-Holstein, and they competed with several alternative networks to other areas. The union was constructed in a precarious balance in which each country kept separate legal and administrative systems, and the common superstructures never developed into an identity thick enough to keep the whole Union together. The problems with distant management of adjacent lands were immensely much larger for a union stretching from Greenland to Western Russia than for the much smaller duchies of Schleswig and Holstein. However, the difference was also a question of identity. In spite of antagonism and warfare, the duchies were solidly connected to the kingdom of Denmark through centuries of intermarriages in the royal dynasty and between the aristocratic families of the main stakeholders. Language identity functioned in diverse ways within a plurilingual conglomerate. In many respects, the factual differences were not difficult to overcome; they tended to become mere nuances, and many individuals as well as the administration were bilingual. In Bohemia, the most important chronicles  – the Dalimil’s work, Vita Karoli and Pulkava’s chronicle existed in three language versions (Latin, Czech and German). Language nevertheless functioned also on the symbolic level as a sign of the (common) origin:  the state and the nation tended towards a harmonization. The tenacious dream of the Bohemo-Polish union as well as the construction of the common Slavic origin of the Bohemian conglomerate by Pulkava, were motivated by this need of an ideal national community. The Danish language in Schleswig also served as an argument showing that Danes in Schleswig and in the Kingdom had a common origin and thus underpinning the claims of the king of Denmark. In the same time, it did not matter that much what language was actually spoken. In Bautzen, (Lower) Lusatia and Brandenburg, the Slavonic was marginalized by German; in Bohemia, Charles IV aimed at weakening the Bohemian ‘crisis’ discourse, which exhibited language and blood to the detriment of the other regnicolae. Linguistic and ethnic differences could be exposed and used in times of crisis, but fundamentally it worked in practice to have different local languages in the adjacent regions – Danish, German, Slavic, Estonian – and a common language of administration and communication in Latin

114 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen or German. The close relations for centuries meant that stakeholders in Schleswig and Holstein primarily had defined themselves in relation to the Danish kingdom, no matter whether they considered themselves to be part of it or on the contrary distinct from it. The above described identities can be intercepted on one metaphoric scale, ranking from thick to thin116. Thick identity is fixed to a territory, culture and history: it is local, ethnical, ‘national’, old, history-oriented and defensive towards outsiders. It is connected with stability, closed institutions and norms, often magically tabooed, religious and coercive. Its purposes are broad and many, mostly associated with culture. The opposite, thin identity is fluid, instrumental, focused on a specific problem and a single purpose, with regard to economy and political or military demands for security. It is rather open and voluntary among equals, oriented on future, change and new achievements. It includes a less direct involvement with other individuals, looser institutions or flexible networks; it is based on dialogue; it is rather horizontal than vertical. Its scale is universal, international and dynastic. Thus, the ‘crisis’ identity mobilizing the inhabitants against a threat can be understood as the thickest one; while on the other hand Latin Christian universalism, crusading projects, chivalric achievements, the eclectic art and international court culture promoted by dynasties are thin – all of them being able to gather stakeholders form different ethnical backgrounds in a common project, find them a common communication code and a common enemy. Between thick and thin, there is a range of hybrid identities, which consist of multiple bridges connecting the thin projects with the old-rooted thick identities. As it has been demonstrated above, a legitimate ruler bearing the thick identity of his people, incarnating its achievements and future projects is of a supreme importance also in this sense. His state- and nation-building effort creates a hybrid identity of a dynastic conglomerate, which can grow thicker for example into one single nation, as it happened throughout centuries in the case of France; or remain hybrid like in the case of Corona regni Bohemiae, where the discourse of hatred disappeared, but the Bohemian identity of lingua, sanguis and fides persisted. Or it can become thicker between some lands, like between Denmark and Schleswig-Holstein, or it can become hybrid-thinner like between the different kingdoms of Kalmar Union, in which only a limited number of 116 See e.g. Terlouw, ‘Rescaling regional identities’, pp. 454–456.

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conglomerate stakeholders were involved. The kingdoms functioned in separate ways, and a harmonization between the dynastic projects and old territorial identities were never entirely and successfully implemented.

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Grinder Hansen, Poul, ‘Venderne i Danmark. En diskussion af forskning og kilder om venderne i Danmark indtil omkring år 1200’ (unpublished master thesis, University of Copenhagen, 1983). Guénée, Bernard, ‘Espace et État dans la France du Bas Moyen Age’, Annales. Économies, Sociétés, Civilisations, 23 (1968), pp. 744–758. Guénée, Bernard, ‘Un royaume et des pays: la France de Michel Pintoin’, in Babel, Rainer, and Jean-Marie Moeglin (eds.), Identité régionale et conscience nationale en France et en Allemagne du Moyen Âge à l’époque moderne. Actes du colloque. Beihefte der Francia, 39 (Sigmaringen: Jan Thorbecke, 1997), pp.  403–12. Available online:  http://www.perspectivia.net/content/publikationen/bdf/ babel-moeglin_identite/guenee_royaume Gustafsson, Harald, ‘The Conglomerate State: A Perspective on State Formation in Early Modern Europe’, Scandinavian Journal of History 23 (1998), pp. 189–213. Hedemann, Markus, ‘Ofendommen 28. juni 1424. Politiske forudsætninger og juridisk strategi’, Historisk Tidsskrift, 107 (2007), pp. 34–68. Heimann, Hans Dieter, ‘O “zahraniční politice” v době “české anarchie”‘, Český časopis historický, 6 (1990), pp. 834–51. Hermanson, Lars, ‘Föreställningar om ursprung och identitet i Saxo Grammaticus Gesta Danorum och Snorre Sturlassons Heimskringla’, in Edquist, Samuel, Lars Hermanson, and Stefan Johansson (eds.), Tankar om ursprung. Forntiden och medeltiden i nordisk historieanvändning (Stockholm: The Museum of National Antiquities, 2009), pp. 15–33. Koht, Halvdan, ‘The Dawn of Nationalism in Europe’, The American Historical Review, 52 (1947), pp. 265–80. Korunní země v dějinách českého státu. Die Kronländer in der Geschichte des böhmischen Staates, vols. 1–7, ed. by Lenka Bobková and others (Ústí nad Labem: Albis international 2003–2005; Praha: Cassablanca, 2007–2015). Leegaard-Knudsen, Anders, ‘Interessen for den danske fortid omkring 1300. En middelalderlig dansk nationalisme’, Historisk Tidsskrift, 100 (2000), pp. 1–32. Ludvíkovský, Jaroslav, ‘Souboj sv. Václava s vévodou kouřimským v podání václavských legend’, Studie o rukopisech, 12 (1973), pp. 89–100. Luscombe, David E., and Gill R. Evans, ‘The twelfth-century Renaissance’, in The Cambridge History of Medieval Political Thought c. 350- c. 1450,

120 Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen ed. by James H. Burns (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 306–38. Macek, Josef, ‘Král Jiří a Francie v l. 1466–1468’, Československý časopis historický, 8 (1967), pp. 497–534. Margue, Michel, and Jean Schroeder, a.o., Un Itinéraire européen, Jean l’Aveugle, comte de Luxembourg et roi de Bohême 1296–1346 (Bruxelles-Luxembourg, CLUDEM, 1996). Maršan, Robert, ‘Jak došlo k odtržení Lucemburska od koruny české’, Sborník věd právních a státních, 33 (1933), pp. 704–713. Moeglin, Jean-Marie, ‘Die historiografische Konstruktion der Nation – “französisische Nation” und “deutsche Nation” im Vergleich’, in Ehlers, Joachim (ed.), Deutschland und der Westen Europas im Mittelalter. Vorträge und Forschungen, 56 (Stuttgart: Thorbecke, 2008), pp. 353–377. Moeglin, Jean-Marie, ‘La formation d’une histoire nationale en Autriche au Moyen Âge’, Journal des savants, 1983 (nr. 1–3), pp. 169–218. Moeglin, Jean-Marie, ‘Nation et nationalisme du Moyen Âge à l’époque moderne (France-Allemagne)’, Revue historique 123 (1999), pp. 537–554. Monet, Pierre, ‘Nation et nations au Moyen Age: introductions’, in Monet, Pierre (ed.), Nation et nations au Moyen Age. Actes du XLIVe Congrès de la SHMESP à Prague. Histoire ancienne et médiévale (Paris: Presses Universitaires de la Sorbonne, 2014), pp. 9–34. Plassmann, Alheydis, Origo gentis. Identitäts- und Legitimitätsstiftung in früh- und hochmittelalterlichen Herkunftserzählungen, Orbis mediaevalis, 7 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2006). Poulsen, Bjørn, ‘Was trennte Schleswig von Holstein in späten Mittelater? Von frühem Nationalbewusstsein und Fürstentreu’, in Frandsen, Steen Bo, Martin Krieger, and Frank Lubowitz (eds.), 1200 Jahre Deutsch Dänische Grenze (Kiel: Wachholtz Verlag, 2013), pp. 111–123. Riis, Thomas, Les Institutions politiques centrales du Danemark 1100– 1332 (Odense: University Press, 1977). Scheel, Roland, Lateineuropa und der Norden. Die Geschichtsschreibung des 12 Jahrhunderts in Dänemark, Island und Norwegen (Berlin: Trafo, 2012). Schmugge, Ludwig, ‘Über “nationale” Vorurteile im Mittelalter’, Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters 38 (1982), pp. 439–459.

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Terlouw, Kees, ‘Rescaling Regional Identities: Communicating Thick and Thin Regional Identities’, Studies in Ethnicity and Nationalism, 9 (2009), pp. 452–464. Wolverton, Lisa, Hastening toward Prague. Power and Society in the Medieval Czech Lands (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001). Žemlička, Josef, ‘Expanze, krize a obnova Čech v letech 935–1055 (K systémovým proměnám raných států ve střední Evropě)’, Český časopis historický, 93 (1995), pp. 205–221. Žemlička, Josef, ‘ “Omnes Bohemi”: Od svatováclavské čeledi ke středověké šlechtě’, Mediaevalia Historica Bohemica, 3 (1993), pp. 111–133. Žemlička, Josef, Přemysl Otakar II. Král na rozhraní věků (Praha: Nakladatelství Lidové noviny, 2011). Žůrek, Václav, ‘Mittlehochdeutsche Dichtung in Böhmen der Přemysliden’, in Brauer, Michael, Pavlína Rychterová, and Martin Wihoda (eds.), Die mittlalterliche Kolonisation Vergleichende Untersuchungen (Praha: Filosofia 2009), pp. 167–194.

Przemysław Wiszewski and Cosmin Popa-Gorjanu

State Power vs Regional Autonomy in the 15th–16th Centuries and the Question of Birth or Renewal of Regional Identity in Silesia and Transylvania

Silesia and Transylvania are regions shaped by different geographical and political circumstances, with dissimilar social and ethnic structures and cultural traditions. By no means may one describe them as ‘twin-regions’. However, despite all differences, the chronology of birth of political unity of these regions seems similar. The main aim of the paper is to shed light on the problem of main, decisive factors that enforced during late Middle Ages political cooperation between different social groups or political organisms that led to formation of a real, living region with common name, perceived as an entity by external observers. For that aim we will draw outlines of histories of both regions between twelfth and the first quarter of the sixteenth centuries and then in a more detailed way present attempts of Silesian and Transylvanian elites to co-operate politically on regional level.

1. How a Region Was Born? 1.1. Silesia After the death of the duke of Poland, Boleslaus III the Wrymouth (1092– 1138), territories under the rule of the Piast dynasty were divided between his sons. The oldest son, Ladislaus II, was appointed both to be a suzerain of younger brothers and to rule Silesia and Lesser Poland. When he was defeated by his younger brothers, Boleslaus IV the Curly and Mieszko III the Old, in the war that broke out in 1142, he was exiled from Poland

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(1146). Nevertheless, in 1163 the Emperor Frederick I Barbarossa forced victorious dukes to return power over the Odra region to sons of Ladislaus II. Since mid-twelfth century, the Odra region was ruled by descendants of Ladislaus II the Exile. But it lost its unity and had been divided into three parts – northern with the capital in Głogów, middle with the center in Wrocław, and southern, ruled by dukes of Racibórz. The name Silesia started to be used since 1260s in reference to dukes ruling only the northern and middle part of the region. The thirteenth century was marked by the efforts of local dukes to increase economic – and in consequence political – potential of their duchies with a help of colonists from the Western lands (mostly from Germany and Romance countries). This policy made previously Slavonic villages resemble communities of the Holy Roman Empire. In the same moment, the earliest Silesian towns modelled after German and Romance legal matrices were founded. Additionally, in the second half of the thirteenth century, German knights were introduced to Silesian ducal courts. Together with settlers populating new or reformed villages and towns, they developed a new Silesian culture, a hybrid of many local traditions of German-speaking wanderers and Polish-speaking Silesians. In two centuries, German became the official language of elites in most parts of Silesia. However, Polishspeaking Silesians were still numerous. A collective memory of Polish past was fixed also among dukes and part of nobilities by both the dynastic tradition and constant use of ‘Polish knights law’, much more advantageous for nobility than feudal rights. Piast rulers of Silesia tried to regain power over all of Poland throughout the entire thirteenth century. The first and at the same time most successful was Henry I the Bearded (t. 1202–1238), who with his son and heir, Henry II the Pious (t. 1238–1241), ruled the entire Odra region, Lesser Poland and half of Greater Poland. However, the Mongol invasion of 1241 put an end to the hegemony of the Silesian Piasts in Poland. In the fourteenth century, the region reigned over by Piasts of Silesia was divided between numerous dukes. The Odra region saw the greatest political fragmentation in its history. At its peak, more than thirty dukes, with duchies comprising sometimes a town and several villages, were in power at the same time. Weak and conflict-prone but proud dukes were unwilling to acknowledge the sovereignty of their relative, Ladislaus the Elbow-high, who in 1320 proclaimed himself King of Poland. They chose to accept rather political sovereignty of the King of Bohemia, John of Luxembourg. Forced by his

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military dominance, between 1337 and 1339, the majority of the Silesian dukes paid him feudal homage. The heirless Duke Henry VI the Good of Wrocław bequeathed his duchy to King John, who came into possession of the land in 1335. After the death of duke Bolko II the Small (1368), Karol, king of Bohemia, became the direct sovereign of the Duchy of ŚwidnicaJawor situated at the southern border of the region with Bohemia proper. Additionally, since 1347, kings of Prague treated all duchies of Silesia as parts of the Crown of Bohemia. In that way ties between Silesians and the Polish political community were severed, while relations with Bohemian elites became paramount. Nevertheless, despite the military and political dominance of the kings of Bohemia over the Silesian dukes, they, together with the states of hereditary royal duchies, Świdnica-Jawor and Wrocław, guarded cautiously their autonomy within the borders of their respective realms. However, the situation changed in the fifteenth century. Following the Hussite rebellion against Sigismund of Luxembourg, the King of Bohemia, the dukes and duchies of Silesia supported their sovereign by establishing regional alliances. Unstable political situation did not end with reconciliation between Czech elites and the Habsburg dynasty. Although the new king, Ladislaus of Habsburg, was commonly accepted by Silesians, they opposed George of Poděbrady, the regent. Moreover, when George was elected by the Czechs to be a king of Bohemia, after Ladislaus’ sudden death in 1457, Silesians denied him acceptance. A long period of conflicts began between the king and members of a Silesian coalition. Royal enemies in Silesia supported Hungarian king Matthias Corvinus, who managed to annex Silesia in 1464. Wars lasted even after the death of George in 1471, for his crown and rights were taken over by Ladislaus Jagiellon. Matthias Corvinus kept control over Silesia until his death in 1490. During his reign, he struggled and mostly succeeded to consolidate royal rights in the region and to strengthen royal control over whole Silesia. For the first time in history, he appointed starostas (royal representatives) who held power over both ‘Lower and Upper Silesia’. In that way he strengthened separateness of the region and created an administrative framework for regional, political cooperation. After his death, power over Silesia was transmitted to the king of Bohemia, Ladislaus Jagiellon, and after his death (1516), to his son, Louis. The death of the latter in the battle of Mohács (1526) opened the way for the Habsburgs to take over power over the Crown of Bohemia – and Silesia. Ferdinand

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Fig. 1:  King Matthias Corvinus (born in Cluj/Kolozsvár, in Transylvania, which adds an interesting dimension to the comparison of regional versus supra-regional functioning of dynasts) strongly contributed to the development of Silesian identity and cohesion through institutionalisation. Johannes included his portrait in his Chronica Hungarorum, (after 1490) Heidelberg, Univ. Library, Cod. Pal. germ. 156, fol. 164r.

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I Habsburg as the new King of Bohemia began Habsburgs’ 200 years of rule in the Odra region1. 1.2. Transylvania Transylvania was conquered and gradually organized within the kingdom of Hungary from the eleventh century2. During the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, different populations were colonized along the southern and eastern borders of the province, giving it its characteristic multiethnic composition. From the twelfth century onwards, its institutional framework became discernible. While we speak of one region, in reality there emerged at least two concepts regarding this province expressed by the ecclesiastical concept of the diocese of Transylvania, which did not overlap geographically with the political concept of Transylvania, which referred to the voivodate, or the area under the jurisdiction of the voivode3. Moreover, partes Transsilvanas, a formula often employed in official documents to mean the three distinct territorial and jurisdictional units, meaning the seven noble counties governed by the voivode, the area of settlement of the Saxons, and that of the Szeklers, supervised by distinct royal dignitaries, the count of Saxons and the count of Szeklers. During the thirteenth century emerged a layer of lay landowners possessing villages in the Transylvanian counties. By 1280, this group appeared as a legal community, universitas nobilium. From 1324 to 1366, universitas nobilium partium Transsilvanarum consolidated its position within the Transylvanian counties becoming the dominant estate and

1

General outline of the region’s history see Recent state of research, on social changes in medieval Silesia see Górecki, A Local Society in Transition, pp. 36–85; General outline of the region’s history see in Czech: Jirásek, Slezsko w dějinách, I; in German: Geschichte Schlesiens, I (mostly outdated but still the most detailed synthesis in German), Herzig, Schlesien (comprehensive, more recent state of research); in Polish: Czapliński, Historia Śląska, pp. 40–116 (chapters written by Rościsław Żerelik) and Wrzesiński, Dolny Śląsk. Monografia, pp. 55–141 (chapters by Marek L.  Wójcik and Wojciech Mrozowicz). The recent bibliography on the history of Silesia is available online at: http://www.wroclaw-uw.sowwwa.pl/sowacgi. php?KatID=87&new=1&lang=en_GB (6 April 2015). 2 See Nägler, ‘Transylvania between 900 and 1300’, pp. 210–219. 3 Kristó, Early Transylvania, pp. 83–84.

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asserting its regional identity in relationship with the king, voivode and bishop of Transylvania4. The other two privileged groups were the Saxons and the Szeklers. The first consisted of western settlers colonized from midtwelfth to late thirteenth centuries as royal guests (hospites) in southern and northeastern Transylvania. In 1224, the group of Flandrenses settled in the area of Sibiu by King Geza II, in 1141–1161, obtained a collective privilege from King Andrew II, which united all guests settled in southern Transylvania under the leadership of one count, guaranteeing the observance of their customs and the autonomy of this community. By the end of the thirteenth century, this set of rights, called the customs of Sibiu province, was recognized as a model of organization of communities of guests of various sizes, ranging from villages to towns. In the fourteenth century, the king granted the right of using the customs of Sibiu to other communities of German guests, which settled in the province after 1224. Moreover, during the fourteenth century, the seven Saxon seats (septem sedes Saxonicales), to which later the two Saxon districts of Brașov and Bistrița were added, began to organize joint sessions for the settlement of common issues regarding their communities. In the fifteenth century, the process of political unification of Saxon communities under the leadership of Sibiu continued and reached its culmination with the royal recognition of universitas Saxonum in 1486. The Szeklers were presumably associates of the Magyar tribal confederation that settled in Pannonia at the end of the ninth century and positioned on the western borders of the newly created Hungarian kingdom in the eleventh century. In the early thirteenth century, they were present in Transylvania, gradually occupying its easternmost areas. Although sharing the Hungarian language, they were distinguished from the Hungarians of Transylvania by their special status and customs. The area of settlement, known as terra Siculorum, was gradually organized in seven seats placed under the jurisdiction of the count of the Szeklers. The same dignitary ruled also over areas colonized by Saxons, such as the districts of Brașov and Bistrița, thus, his jurisdiction was not confined to Szeklers only, but had a territorial dimension. The Szeklers rights or privileges were recorded late, after mid-fifteenth century5.

4 5

See Popa-Gorjanu, ‘The Nobility as Bearers of Regional Identity in Fourteenth Century Transylvania’, pp. 41–58. Pop, ‘Transylvania in the 14th Century and the first Half of the 15th Century’, pp. 254–260.

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Three royal dignitaries governed the three major Transylvanian areas in the thirteenth to fourteenth centuries. The contacts or political collaboration between the members of these communities were mediated by their respective royal dignitaries and took place in the congregations of the province. In fact, apart from inhabiting a region with distinctive geographical borders, these communities had in common the fidelity that their members owed to the kings of Hungary. Living in the same region was not enough to develop into an active or instrumental element of regional identity before fifteenth century6. Each of the groups took care of its own interests or guarded its own privileges, but were not ready to act together in order to promote their common benefits.

2. Judicial and Political Assemblies 2.1. Silesia Leaving aside Bohemian kings as embodiment of central, superregional power, for centuries dukes, mostly of Piast dynasty, were the most powerful political force in Silesia. Although clergy, nobility, and townspeople may interfere with or support their plans, dukes were those who orchestrated political life in the region. Even bishops of Wrocław took part in political life of the region only as dukes, for they built at the end of the thirteenth century their own ‘state’, estates complex within which they had full rights of dukes. Since then, they were respected as equal to hereditary dukes of Silesia. During the thirteenth-fourteenth centuries, a most important aim of political play for Silesian dukes was to strengthen their own duchies. They fought among themselves in order to conquer small parts of land, but above all, to achieve informal authority over as many of their relatives as possible. Dukes, constantly quarrelling among themselves, became an easy target for kings of Bohemia. Indeed, even when confronted with the

6

On active regional identity see Paassi, ‘Bounded Spaces in the Mobile World: Deconstructing “Regional Identity” ’, pp. 139–140.

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aggressive policy of kings John of Luxembourg and Charles IV, they did not attempt to unite themselves on regional scale7. In such a political context, it was nothing surprising that a cooperation of regional character started late and was of a weak character. Most vivid examples of joint political actions were unions declared to protect their members. It is meaningful that not dukes but towns were first who congregated to secure peace on roads and marketplaces. The earliest example of such cooperation in Silesia confirmed by reliable sources was the confederation of the towns of the Duchy of Głogów. It was formed in 1310 in order to prosecute outlaws. According to political order of the region, almost all unions of towns involved groups of municipal centres deriving from one political community – a duchy. Rare cases involved agreements of towns with their counterparts from the neighbouring duchies (the union of towns of the Duchy of Świdnica and Legnica from 1346). Thus, it would not be reasonable to perceive these unions as symptoms of broader political thinking or unification strategy on regional scale. Their objectives were short-term, and the territorial horizon was narrowed down to the local community8. Nonetheless, they cannot be denied certain importance in the formation of municipal representations, which played a political role at the close of the Middle Ages. Nevertheless, before that the Silesian dukes formed their first unions (perhaps in 1382, for sure in 1387) and political associations (in 1402). They all served to advance the common initiatives of dukes and bond not only Piast dukes but also rulers from other dynasties and those ruling over neighbouring regions. The so-called ‘landfryd’ of 1387, which may have been an extension of the former Union to the lands of Moravia, concerned not only the rulers of Silesia, but also the Margrave of Moravia and the Bishop of Olomuc. All of these associations started their existence in moments of critical weakness of royal authorities in the region. However, at the beginning these alliances had wider than regional character. In fact, they strengthened relations between Silesian and Lusatian elites, started with military and political cooperation of towns of both regions. Thus, it is possible that both ‘landfryds’ – townsmen’s and dukes’ – indicated an attempt at building bridges to cooperation between the regional societies

7 Čapský, Prix, ‘Slezsko v pozdním středověku’, pp. 266–305. 8 Orzechowski, Ogólnośląskie zgromadzenia, pp. 97–99.

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dependent on the Bohemian king within the framework of Bohemian Crown. That means that these first unions – Silesian dukes and Moravian political elites – had not regional context but aimed at consolidating the political position of members inside the Kingdom.9 However, these initiatives doubtlessly gave rise to the conviction of the dukes that being united in a common cause is much more effective than fighting among themselves for authority. One step further on a way to uniting all major political players in the region was the union of 1402. It was initiated by Wenceslaus, the Bishop of Wrocław and Duke of Legnica. His aim was to support King Wenceslas of Luxembourg during his fights with his brother, Sigismund. Bishop Wenceslaus joined forces with the Dukes Rupert of Legnica, Przemko of Opava, Bolko, Bernard and Ofka of Opole, Henry of Lubin, John of Oświęcim, Louis of Brzeg and John of Głogów. He also accepted cooperation of the royal starostas of Wrocław, Środa and Namysłów. And above all – the bishop and the dukes were collectively referred to as ‘herren und in Slesien herczoge’10. That is certain, that the union was a sign of its members’ appreciation of the Bohemian rule, proof of the development of a particular bond between them and the Bohemian Crown. However, more important for us is that in political terms, this relationship could be assigned a status in the middle ground between the level of state and of particular duchies. Still, we are far from a unanimously accepted political union of all local authorities. On the outside of the union remained the royal starosta of the Duchy of Świdnica-Jawor. His views on the political situation in Bohemia were considerably different from those represented by the remaining members of the Silesian elites. Even when faced with the ongoing process of a regional community taking shape within state structures, it was possible to choose not to be a part of it. But if the response to the internal political shuffles in Bohemia was not a sufficient impulse for the permanent unification of Silesian elites, this impulse would come from the Hussites11. At the beginning of the fifteenth century, the Czechs were increasingly turning against the German-speaking elites of the Kingdom of Bohemia connected with the Roman Catholic Church, the royal court, and the magnates. This in turn strengthened the

9

Pauk, Wółkiewicz, ‘The Administrative Structure of Silesia’, pp. 89–90 with earlier literature quoted. 10 Lehns- und Besitzurkunden, vol. 1, no. 9, p. 19. 1 1 Čapský, ‘Spolek slezských knížat’, pp. 341–350.

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sense of insecurity felt by strongly connected with a culture of the German language members of Silesian elites. For them, not only political, but also the ethnic aspect of potential threats from the south could have been of considerable significance. It was not a coincidence that in 1421 the Bishop of Wrocław and dukes from the entire province of Silesia – not only its historical territory – joined forces with the dukes and states of the Reich in a coalition of dukes and knights of ‘German language’ against the Hussites12. What should be stressed is that King Sigismund of Luxembourg did not initiate these integrating activities. During the first two years of the conflict, he suggested clearly that he would rather accept the military help if sent by duchies subordinated directly to him (Świdnica-Jawor and Wrocław). The 1421 union of dukes was their own idea to which royal duchies joined later with an agreement of the king13. An external opinion concerning political activity of Silesians gave us an insight how they were perceived in that moment in the context of regional identity. On 7th June 1421, the Parliament of Bohemia issued an official appeal to all ‘illustres principes et barones, milites, clientes ceterique districtus Slesie civitatum communitates’. All of them – in the eyes of the authors of the document – owed loyalty and faithfulness to the Bohemian Crown. The act of showing support for King Sigismund – who refused to accept conditions issued by Hussites as necessary for legitimate exercising of royal power over Bohemia – constituted breaches of feudal contract14. The Czechs made here clear that a recipient of their statement was a single political elite of the entire ‘district of Silesia’. Imagined by the authors of the charter boundaries of this district included the entire territory of the Odra region, which is now regarded as Silesia. But not all members of Silesian elites accepted the concept of being part of an united political society of the Odra region. During the meeting in Zgorzelec, where the anti-Hussite union was bond, Piast dukes still stressed difference between rulers of northern and southern part of the region. General defeat of the royal forces in combat with the Hussites strengthened bonds between Silesians. No longer did they have a hope for help of the king, when they might be endangered by revenge of the Hussites. They formed the military alliance, officially proclaimed in Grodków (18th 1 2 Geschichtsquellen der Hussitenkriege, No. 11, p. 8. 13 Wiszewski, ‘Region-integrating or Region-disintegrating?’, pp. 156–158. 14 Geschichtsquellen der Hussitenkriege, No. 6, p. 4.

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September 1421). It bond the Bishop of Wrocław, representatives of the Duchies of Wroclaw and Świdnica and dukes from the northern and southern parts of the Odra region. Almost all local rulers joined the initiative. The growing closeness of their cooperation was induced by the rules of the union formed in 1427 in Strzelin. According to them, all potential disputes between allies were to be resolved solely by the union court, not royal representatives. In the same year, an agreement was signed between all the dukes and representatives of royal duchies on one side, and representatives of Bohemian nobility supporting the king on the other. That is the proof of the formation of an equal partnership between representatives of the whole of Silesia and of Bohemia. Although military confederations against Hussites were relatively short-lived, the perpetual threat to the entire Odra region fostered a growing sense of a shared fate among the politically active elites in the confederated realms. Taking collective action to protect the interests of the residents of the Odra region led to changes in the official titles of particular rulers. Dukes from the south, who had formerly been designated as dukes of Silesia only unofficially in the company of other rulers, were more frequently referred to using this title in charters and narrative sources. However, on the other hand, the detachment of the political elites of the northern and middle part of the region did not disappear easily15. The fear of the Hussites forced Silesian political elites to create a system of close but flexible bonds, which united them against lethal danger. And all that without direct engagement or support of the king. Thus, the success of such common action with regard to both Hussites and royal administration encouraged rulers to broaden the scope of cooperation on other political objectives. In the fifteenth century not only the number of confederation of dukes and estates of royal duchies grew, but also the frequency of congresses of representatives of Silesian political elites (dukes, nobility, representatives of towns). No less than 129 such assemblies took place in the Odra region between 1378 and 1469. Nevertheless, 117 of them occurred in 1419–69. What was even more important, during the fourteenth century no assemblies were held, whose participants included at the same time representatives of both cities and dukes. Since 1419, beside rulers and delegates of towns on common meetings appeared representatives of

15 Wiszewski, ‘Region-integrating or Region-disintegrating?’, pp. 156–159.

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knights from the royal duchies. These assemblies proved the intentionality of cooperation between most important members of regional, political elites16. But they must be put in perspective. They never did constitute a coherent system of representation nor a stable platform for permanent cooperation of dukes, estates or royal officials. The aims were pragmatically and narrowly defined. Their importance grew when in the second half of the fifteenth century the process of an integration of political players on regional scale gained the support of the king (George Podebrady). Eventually, the assembly of Silesian states was convened in 1469, in Wrocław, and not by regional rulers but on the initiative of King Matthias Corvinus. For historians it is seen as the first Silesian, regional sejm (parliament)17. What may be seen as paradox is that King Matthias Corvinus (see Fig. 1) wanted to centralize power over the province18. To do so he tried to overlap particularisms of respective duchies and rulers. United Silesia, with strong sense of political community, would better fit a general administrative structure of his kingdom than the land consisting of many semi-independent duchies19. As he deeply understood the concept of the creative power of words, he also promoted modifications to official language by applying the term ‘Silesia’ – as described his scope of power – as encompassing the entire territory of the Odra region. All political subjects, both the dukes and the ducal states on this territory, were part of the Silesian community, which did not exclude affirmation of fundamental, traditional division between northern and southern part of the region. It was king Matthias Corvinus who introduced the notion of the so-called ‘both Silesias’: the old one, called Lower Silesia and a new one named Upper Silesia20. During the second half of the fifteenth century, the real breakthrough occurred in the process of formation of the political community of Silesians and its means of expression. Results of that process lasted long into early modern history of the region. Since the mid-sixteenth century, the common Parliament of Silesia was convened at least once a year, usually more often. For the second half of the sixteenth century an average number is 3.5 times

1 6 Orzechowski, Ogólnośląskie zgromadzenia, pp. 127–133. 17 Orzechowski, ‘Ogólnokrajowe zjazdy na Śląsku’, pp. 63–91. 18 Fukala, ‘Matthias Corvinus’ reign’, pp. 40–41. 19 Manikowska, ‘Świadomość regionalna’, p. 258. 20 Wiszewski, ‘Region-integrating or Region-disintegrating?’, p. 161.

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a year21. Which did not mean that on the verge of medieval and modern era this province of the Crown of Bohemia became well-organized and politically conscious region of Silesians. The states of the royal duchy of Świdnica-Jawor persistently opposed the policy to unify the region22. And kings of Bohemia more or less accepted their separatist attitude towards Silesia for the greater good – relatively peaceful cooperation of the royal administration with the province’ states in the frame of the Crown of Bohemia project. 2.2. Transylvania In the fourteenth century, the congregationes generales, convoked on royal mandate and presided by the voivode, provided an institutional framework for contacts between the three Transylvanian estates. However, these assemblies had mainly a judicial character, only occasionally political issues were discussed by their participants23. Moreover, in the second decade of the fifteenth century, the voivodes ceased to convoke the congregationes generales. During the first four decades of fifteenth century, only eight congregations were recorded24. From 1442 to 1484, there were 25 congregations and again, towards the end of the fifteenth century and the first decades of sixteenth century, their frequency diminished25. The participation of Transylvanians in the diets of the Kingdom of Hungary was rather weak. During King Matthias reign, the presence of representatives of Transylvanian counties was confirmed only at the diets from January 1458 and 1463, and based on reference to their rights, it is assumed that they were represented in 1464 and 147226. This is not a high number, if we remember that between 1458–1490, the diet met twenty-five times.

2 1 Orzechowski, Ogólnośląskie zgromadzenia, pp. 154–163. 22 Wąs, ‘Institutions’, p. 31. 23 For an overview of Transylvanian congregations see Pop, ‘Transylvania in the 14th Century and the first Half of the 15th Century’, pp. 271–280. 24 Bichicean, Congregațiile generale în Transilvania voievodală, pp. 366–369. 25 Bichicean, Congregațiile generale în Transilvania voievodală, pp. 369–393. 26 Bak, Domonkos and Paul B. Harvey, Jr., eds., The Laws of the Medieval Kingdom of Hungary 1458–1490, vol.  3 (Los Angeles:  Charles Schlacks Jr., Publisher, 1996), XXXII.

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To illustrate how the top-down decision-making process worked, with orders issued by the king and transmitted downwards by lay and ecclesiastic dignitaries, the bishop, the vice-voivode, the count of the Szeklers, and the representatives of the nobility or further to the representatives of the other two estates, I shall provide one example from early fifteenth century. The Transylvanian nobility was convoked in Turda sometimes in 1415–1419, pro habendis tractatu with the voivode, the bishop of Transylvania, and the count of the Szeklers regarding recently issued military dispositions of King Sigismund. As the three dignitaries mentioned in their letter to Saxons, the nobility, having seen the royal mandate accepted the requirement of mobilizing one third of the noblemen and one tenth of the peasants for military services (servitia more exercituantium deputare). The three dignitaries informed the community of the seven Saxon seats about the new regulation, urging it to proceed to the preparation of one tenth of the peasants living on their territory for military service27. An example of intraregional cooperation, which preceded the unions, occurred in 1417, when the Saxon community requested military assistance from the vice-voivode of Transylvania in order to suppress a band of malefactores et spoliatores that was threatening their area. The vice-voivode Lorand Lepes responded favorably, asserting his duty of providing defense to the Saxons’ nation and mobilizing his familiares for quick intervention28. As he referred to familiars, it seems that he did not deem a general levy of the nobility necessary, but only his retinue’s resources. Nevertheless, the readiness of providing military aid to the Saxons echoes into the first union agreement of the Transylvanian estates, whose main goal was the intraregional military collaboration. Thus, in the fifteenth century, the collaboration between the three main Transylvanian estates increased and at certain moments, like 1437–38, 1459, 1467, 1491, 1505, these groups signed treaties of union obligating them to provide mutual political or military aid29. These agreements provided an intermediary stage between the congregationes generales and the later

27 Zimmermann, Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, Dritter Band: 1391 bis 1415, p. 641. 28 Gündisch, Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, Vierter Band: 1416 bis 1437, pp. 34–35. 29 For an overview of Transylvania in fifteenth century see:  Dörner, ‘Transylvania between Stability and Crisis (1457–1541)’, pp. 299–344.

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constitutional principle of organization of the principality of Transylvania, based on the unio trium nationum, the union of the three estates or political nations. In the following, the circumstances of each moment when the unions between the Transylvanian estates were signed and their goals shall be briefly outlined. The signing of the first ‘fraternal union’ agreement between the Transylvanian estates was triggered by the uprising of the tenant-peasants from northwestern Transylvania in 1437–38. One should note that before the three privileged estates signed the ‘fraternal union’, a short lived attempt at the establishment of a fourth estate, namely that of the Hungarian and Romanian peasants, unfolded. It is not farfetched to assert that the aim of the ‘fraternal union’ of the three privileged communities was partly that of maintaining the status-quo within the noble counties and to abort the birth of the fourth estate. The immediate cause of the uprising was the decision of the bishop of Transylvania to collect tithes for the previous three years in a new and more valuable coin. The peasants refused to make the payments as demanded and the bishop responded by imposing an interdict. The Hungarian and Romanian peasants congregated in order to proceed for the reacquisition of their liberties granted by the holy kings of Hungary (‘pro reacquirendis et reobtinendis pristinis libertatibus, per sanctos reges cunctis huius regni Hungarie incolis datis et concessis’)30. In June 1437, violence erupted between the rebellious peasants and the army of the nobles of Transylvania. After the voivode executed the envoys of the peasants, the forces of the voivode and vice-voivode and those of the counts of the Szeklers attempted in vain to crush the rebels. Thus, the nobles were forced to negotiate with the peasants. Two agreements were signed between the representatives of the community of Transylvanian Hungarian and Romanian peasants (universitatis Regnicolarum hungarorum et valachorum huius partis Transsylvane) and the community of Transylvanian nobles31. The first agreement, recorded on 6 July 1437 by Cluj-Mănăștur convent, was significant for the manifestation of regional identity because the local

30 Demény, ‘Textul celor două înțelegeri încheiate în 1437 între răsculați și nobili, după documentele originale’, p. 99. 31 Demény, ‘Textul celor două înțelegeri încheiate în 1437 între răsculați și nobili, după documentele originale’, p. 98.

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actors worked out the solution. The agreement was more a strategic step back taken by the nobility in order to reorganize; it nevertheless allowed the short-term tendency of the Hungarian and Romanian peasantry of northwestern Transylvania to institutionalize their own universitas. The most important element of this agreement, for this paper, was the outlining of an institutional framework for monitoring the observance of the rules by the nobility. On 16 September 1437, in the town of Căpâlna/Kapolna, the vicevoivode Lorand Lepes recorded in his own charter the ‘fraternal union’ of the nobles, Saxons, and Szeklers. The first article described the aims of the union and its limits as concerned their relationship with the central power. The three estates swore allegiance to the Holy Crown and to King Sigismund, to oppose all enemies of their country – regardless of the rank of those enemies – and to defend the country in inseparable unity. In order to make clear that the union would not challenge the royal authority, they added, “in case that king Sigismund intended to impose an unjust measure on one of the three estates, the other two estates should come humbly to ask mercy from the king and should not otherwise owe to give help”32. This union was designed with the purpose of confronting the rebel peasants. As the clause shows, the Transylvanian estates were careful to avoid the possibility of having one rebellious part attracting the other two parts into a joint rebellion against the king. The union was disposed by the vice-voivode (“inter predictos nobiles ac Saxones et Siculos talem fraternam disposuimus unionem”)33, but he was aware that the united communities could oppose the monarch’s orders together, in case that one of the communities would be dissatisfied with the king. Therefore, the clause excluded such an outcome by prescribing the desirable course of action in the relationship of the three communities with the state-power. Later, in 1459 and in 1467, in the union agreements, the Transylvanian estates did not hesitate to oppose the royal agents if their interests demanded it.

32 Gündisch, Urkundenbuch zur Geschicte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, Vierter Band: 1416–1437, p. 639, “rex alicuius voluntatis vel actionis versus harum trium partium ut puta nobilium, Saxonum vel Siculorum habere intenderet, tunc aliae duae partes non aliter nisi flexis genibus gratiam tertiae parti impetrare succurrerent nec aliud iuvamen ullomodo praestare teneantur nec ausis”. 33 Gündisch, Urkundenbuch zur Geschicte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, Vierter Band: 1416–1437, p. 638.

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Shortly after the union of Căpâlna, the nobility clashed with peasants and was defeated, thus they negotiated a second agreement with the peasants, which was recorded on 6 October 1437. It was a temporary peace agreement and union which was to be valid until the envoys were to bring back from King Sigismund the laws of King Saint Stephen concerning the statutes of the peasants. The confrontations between the nobility and the peasants continued until mid-January 1439. After the army of the nobility laid siege to Cluj, where the rebels were sheltered, on 9 January 1439, the count of the Szeklers requested the leaders of the Saxons to send urgently their cavalry and infantry. The letter listed also the names of several Transylvanian notable nobles and of the vice-voivode, and made the demand in the name of the king, threatening to report to the monarch in case that the Saxons refused to send their aid promptly34. The letter invoked the superior authority of the king rather than the fraternal union signed a couple of months earlier, which betrays doubts regarding its effectiveness. This could explain why, on 6 February 1438, in the congregation held in Turda, the vice-voivode confirmed the union of the three Transylvanian estates stating clearly its aim, namely to smash the evilness and the rebellion of the cursed peasants and to defend Transylvania against the invasion of the cruelest Turks35. The new agreement became necessary after the nobles were unable to suppress the rebel peasants and the Saxon military assistance was delayed. Therefore, the agreement stated the obligation of the nobles to provide quick military aid to the Saxons in case of Ottoman attack. The Saxons, in their turn, were to support the nobles to crash “the evilness of the cursed peasants”. In November 1459, in a congregation held in Mediaș, the privileged estates established a second union. The motivation was not internal social unrest and urgent military assistance, but rather dissatisfaction with the new king. In the charter recorded by the chapter of Alba Iulia, the three estates were for the first time declared as representing one corporation36.

34 Gündisch, Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, vol. V, 1438–1457, p. 1. 35 Gündisch, Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, vol. V, 1438– 1457, p. 3, “uti protervia et rebelliones nefandissimorum rusticorum contritione et eradicatione nec non sicuti contra insultus Thurcorum saevissimorum has defensari partes”. 36 Gündisch, Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, vol. VI, 1458– 1473, p. 65, “egregia exspectabilisque necnon strenua et agilis atque circumspectissima

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As the three estates were typically active in promoting or defending their separate interests, the statement of their political unity appears as a progress in the development of a sense of common interests. The document had seven clauses. The first clause stated the decision of the representatives of the community of the nobles, Szeklers and Saxons to obey all regulations agreed upon and inserted in the document, observing the fidelity that they owed to the Holy Crown of the kingdom of Hungary37. The second clause contained the mutual assurance of preserving all privileges and rights (“omnibus et singulis praerogativis, libertatibus et privilegiis antiquis et obtentis”) of each of the three communities. The justification for the preservation of their old privileges offers an insight into their political vision; they thought that statutes bring tranquility; they would get richer by having favorable conditions and be prosperous by living in peace38. The third clause obligated the three estates to rise up against any opponent, be that local, neighbor or alien, who would dare to defy or try to attack the treaty of union (foedus unionis). The fourth article stipulated the mutual military aid that each of the three communities was to send no later than the eighth day from the notification. Unlike the 1437–38 union agreements, which indicated the enemies of the nobility (rebellious peasants) and the Saxons (Ottoman invasions), this article did not identify specific enemies, but invoked disturbances, hardships, devastations that shook Transylvania from all directions. The fifth clause was probably the most important in the relationship between the bearers of regional identity and the state power. It forbade all nobles, Szeklers, and Saxons to associate themselves or to assist in any way the aristocrats appointed by royal authority in the region,

universitas tota nobilium ac procerum Siculorum quoque omnium generum necnon Saxonum sedium singularum septem, totius partis huius regni Transsiluanensis”. 37 Gündisch, Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, vol. VI, 1458–1473, p.  65, “Quomodo ipsa tota ac universalis communitas nobilium Siculorumque ac Saxonum omnium suas subinsertas ordinationes, dispositiones et statuta […] quae ipsa universitas tota deliberatione matura in praenotata congregatione seu conventione generali sub firma sincerae fidelitatis coronae sacrae regni Hungariae semper observandae confidentia ordinassent, statuissent […]”. 38 Gündisch, Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, vol. VI, 1458–1473, p. 65, “[…] intendentes prout et velle decet eorum ac prolium et posteritatum suarum tranquilliori statu ac commodo uberiori paceque prosperiori et nihilominus rerum et bonorum suorum preservatione pacifica omni qua possunt efficacia perspicacius providere […]”.

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or to encourage these representatives to demand billeting (descensus), extraordinary provisions (victualia inusitata), or new taxes (inconsuetas exactiones). The sixth article allowed the nobility and the Szeklers and their families access behind the walls of the Saxons’ fortifications during Ottoman invasions, with the condition that they participate to defensive efforts. It is remarkable that they were aware not only damages caused by Ottoman invasions, but also by internal wars and their internal enmities, which weakened the province. These mishaps had to be revised and fixed for the public benefit. The last article imposed the capital sentence and loss of property for whoever among nobles, Saxons, and Szeklers opposed any or all of the points agreed upon or worked against the union. The heirs of such culprits were to be exiled and forever disinherited. Moreover, the homagium for killing these culprits was diminished to three pennies39. The next important moment of collective action of Transylvanian estates took place in the summer of 1467, when the rebellious voivodes succeeded to attract them in a conjuration against King Matthias. On 18 August 1467, the representatives of the three estates swore allegiance to the leaders of the conjuration in front of Cluj Mănăștur convent. They complained about the oppressions inflicted upon them and the kingdom of Hungary through the infringement of their privileges by the king. Their outrage was caused by the introduction of the ‘treasury tax’ by King Matthias Corvinus in February 1467, which was higher than previous portal tax and the nobility had to pay it as well. The stated goal of the action was the restoration of all privileges. According to the stipulations, the rebellious aristocrats were to be supreme judges of the inhabitants; they could mobilize them to take up arms. The Transylvanians also promised to take the field under their leadership in case that the army of the king marched against them. The royal tax, fumales florins, was handed to the leaders of rebellion. The Transylvanians promised to sign no armistice or truce unless they got the approval of the leaders or until they recovered properties lost during the action40. In spite of these bold

39 Gündisch, Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, vol. VI, 1458–1473, p. 66. 40 Gündisch, ‘Participarea sașilor la răzvrătirea din anul 1467 a transilvănenilor împotriva lui Matia Corvin’, pp. 21–30.

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plans, the rebellion ended soon. A couple of weeks later, the king marched into Transylvania and encountered almost no resistance. He caught the leaders. Some were executed and their properties were distributed to the king’s favorites. On 2 December 1492, the Szekler community invited the community of Sibiu to send their envoys, who were to write a petition to the king together with the representatives of the nobles, as concerned the infringement of Szeklers’ rights. They invoked the agreement signed in an assembly held in Șard, after the death of King Mathias, which stipulated that if the rights of Szeklers were damaged, the other two nations were obligated to request together with them the observance of their rights. In the competition for the throne of Hungary between King Wladislas II and his younger brother, John Albert, some of the Szeklers joined the second candidate and attacked the supporters of the first. The Szeklers complained to King Wladislas II against the abuses and trampling of their rights committed by Voivode Stephen Batori and his retainers41. On 18 December 1505, the congregation of the three nations, held in Turda, decided to send representatives at new assembly (conventio) in Sighișoara, on 10 February 1506. This assembly had to establish a legal basis for a common judicial body that was to address all litigations involving members of all three nations. The three nations did not preclude the right of the king to appoint his representatives, the voivodes and the counts of the Szeklers but, as the charter of union stated, the absence of an official voivode, whom the king omitted to appoint for some time, had brought among Transylvanians many odia, discordiaque et dissensiones, oppressiones nocumentaque et damnae42. The judicial assembly was to meet on the octaves of St. George (2 May 1506) in Târgu Mureș. Each of the three nations were to send fourteen judges or arbiters and the cathedral chapter of Alba Iulia was to send one representative, namely the dean. The seven noble counties and the seven Szekler seats were to elect two such judges. The Saxons also were expected to appoint fourteen judges, but no indication about the representation of the Saxon seats, like in the case of the nobles and Szeklers, was indicated. Probably, as it was typical for Saxons, their own authorities

41 Tibor Neumann, ‘Răscoala secuilor și reforma guvernamentală pentru apărarea granițelor de sud (1492–1493)’, p. 135. 42 Friedrich Teutsch, Die “Unionen” der drei ständischen “Nationen” in Siebenbürgen bis 1542, p. 63.

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Fig. 2:  Among the oldest maps of Transylvania, produced in the sixteenth century, is the one drawn by Abraham Orthelius, and included in his Theatrum Orbis Terrarum. The map was based upon the one edited in 1566 in Vienna by Johannes Sambucus. Private collection.

would decide the rules of appointment. The commission was to deal with cases of violent trespass and all other sorts of litigations between the three nations going back for 32 years. In case of capital sentence, the condemned had the right to appeal to royal court. The judicial fines customarily received by the voivode and the count of the Szeklers or the judges of the Saxons were to be paid to the same authorities, the arbiters and judges of this commission could not charge any fee. The litigations arising among each of the nations were to be addressed by their own judicial authorities according to their customs. One of the major problems, or genera malorum, that the union intended to redress was the difficulty of prosecuting wrongdoers who fled from one area of jurisdiction to another. The lack of a common judicial authority with competence over litigations involving members of different areas of jurisdiction was at this time felt as the key problem43. 43

Friedrich Teutsch, Die “Unionen” der drei ständischen “Nationen” in Siebenbürgen bis 1542, “Ista etiam malorum genera pro maiori parte inter ipsas tres nationes ex eo orate

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3. Conclusions – Regions were created when the central administration was on the one hand not strong enough to ensure peaceful profiting of political and economic privileges by elites on local and regional scales, but on the other hand a common acceptance of royal suzerainty, of superiority of central power over regional political players guaranteed relatively stable state of political relations and hierarchy inside the regional community. – Regional political communities may be formed by political forces of both ethnic, social (Transylvanian ‘three nations’) or administrative (dukes and duchies) character/origin. – Central initiative was not needed to create coherent political regions although its engagement sped up the process in the fifteenth century. – Regional political collaboration developed gradually, as the bearers of regional identity were slow in taking initiative and building among themselves political ties that were not sanctioned by the central authority. – The dysfunctions of the traditional administrative forces (ceasing to organize judicial assemblies, or absence of voivode in Transylvania) or external threats (invasion by Ottomans or Hussites) triggered the attempts to address common problems by the bearers of regional identity. – Unions proclaimed the ideal of joint action for defense of common interests of the regional actors, but that goal was easier to enunciate than to put into practice. For that reason, the goals expressed by the unions were seldom applied. – Cultural unity and common historical tradition helped on creating and defining a region but did not predetermine its existence. The first was not indispensable and the second functioned rather as a meaning for strengthening bonds inside planned or existing regional community. – Regions as communities became a durable entity as a result of entanglement of causes with strong emphasis put on interest of internal political elites of a region – dynastic (Silesia) or estates (Transylvania) – Comparative approach to histories of regions that were far away in space and in terms of cultural formation may be fruitful and may help

fuissent, quod hactenus ex parte unius nationis praedictarum alteri similiter earundem nationum judicium et justitia per neminem administrata seu impensa fuissent”.

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to distinguish between local peculiarities and general processes. But only when a well-defined conceptual platform for comparison is established and a risk is accepted of finding nothing at all or only small particles of histories of both regions that would be in common to both regions or/ and usable for third parties.

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Bichicean, Gheorghe, Congregațiile generale în Transilvania voievodală (General assemblies of Transylvania before 1542) (Bucharest: C.H. Beck, 2008). Čapský, Martin, ‘Spolek slezských knížat a jeho pokus o společnou obranu jizní hranice Slezska proti husitům (Poznámky k významu a datování grotkovského snĕmu)’, in Borovský, Tomáš, Libor Jan, and Martin Wihoda, eds., Ad vitam et honorem. Profesoru Jaroslavu Mezníkovi přátelé a žáci k pětasedmdesátým narozeninám (Brno: Matice moravská, 2003), pp. 341–350. Čapský, Martin, and Dalibor Prix, ‘Slezsko v pozdním středověku (do roku 1490)’, in Zdeňek Jirásek, ed., Slezsko w dějinách českého státu, I: Od pravěku do roku 1490 (Praha: Lidové Noviny, 2012), pp. 261–428. Czapliński, Marek, ed., Historia Śląska. Acta Universitatis Wratislaviensis, No 2364 (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego,  2002). Demény, Ludovic, ‘Textul celor două înțelegeri încheiate în 1437 între răsculați și nobili, după documentele originale’ (The text of the agreements signed in 1437 between the rebels and the nobles, according to original documents), Studii 13 (1960), pp. 91–111. Dörner, Anton E., ‘Transylvania between Stability and Crisis (1457– 1541)’, in Pop, Ioan-Aurel, and Thomas Nägler, eds., The History of Transylvania vol. I (until 1541) (Cluj-Napoca: Romanian Academy, Center for Transylvanian Studies, 2010), pp. 299–348. Fukala, Radek, ‘Matthias Corvinus’ Reign in Silesia and Its Consequences’, Historica. Review in History and Related Sciences, 16 (2009), Universitatis Ostraviensis Acta Facultatis Philosophicae, vol.  244, pp. 35–46. Geschichte Schlesiens, 3 volumes (Insingen: Degener Verlag, 6th edition, 2002 (first edition: 1938)), I: Von der Urzeit bis zum Jahre 1526. Górecki, Piotr, A Local Society in Transition: The Henryków Book and Related Documents, Studies and Texts, 155 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2007). Gündisch, Konrad G., ‘Participarea sașilor la răzvrătirea din anul 1467 a transilvănenilor împotriva lui Matia Corvin’ (The participation of Saxons to Transylvanians’ rebellion against Matthias Corvinus), Studia Universitatis Babeș-Bolyai. Series Historia, 17 (1972), pp. 21–30. Herzig, Arno, Schlesien. Das Land und seine Geschichte in Bildern, Texten und Dokumenten (Hamburg: Ellert und Richter Verlag, 2012).

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Jirásek, Zdeňek, ed., Slezsko w dějinách českého státu, 2 volumes (Praha: Lidové Noviny, 2012), I: Od pravěku do roku 1490 (2012). Kristó, Gyula, Early Transylvania (895–1324) (Budapest: Lucidus, 2003). Manikowska, Halina, ‘Świadomość regionalna na Śląsku w późnym średniowieczu’, in Gieysztor, Aleksander, and Sławomir Gawlas, eds., Państwo, naród, stany w świadomości wieków średnich. Pamięci Benedykta Zientary (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1990), pp. 253–267. Nägler, Thomas, ‘Transylvania between 900–1300’, in Pop, Ioan-Aurel, and Thomas Nägler, eds., The History of Transylvania vol. I (until 1541) (Cluj-Napoca: Romanian Academy, Center for Transylvanian Studies, 2010), pp. 199–232. Neumann, Tibor, ‘Răscoala secuilor și reforma guvernamentală pentru apărarea granițelor de sud (1492–1493)’ (The Szeklers’ uprising and the governmental reform for defense of southern borders 1492–93), Banatica, 24 (2014), pp. 135. Orzechowski, Kazimierz, ‘Ogólnokrajowe zjazdy na Śląsku przed panowaniem Macieja Korwina’, Czasopismo Prawno-Historyczne, 24 (1972), pp. 63–91. Orzechowski, Kazimierz, Ogólnośląskie zgromadzenia stanowe (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydanictwo Naukowe, 1979). Paasi, Ansi, ‘Bounded Spaces in the Mobile World:  Deconstructing “Regional Identity” ’, Tijdschrift voor Economische en Sociale Geografie, 93 (2002), pp. 137–48. Pauk, Marcin, and Wółkiewicz, Ewa, ‘The Administrative Structure of Silesia as a Determinant of Legal and Constitutional Cohesion (12th-15th Century)’, in Wiszewski, Przemysław, ed. The Long Formation of the Region Silesia (c. 1000–1526), transl. by Katarzyna Hussar. Cuius regio? Ideological and Territorial Cohesion of the Historical Region of Silesia (c. 1000–2000), vol. 1 (Wrocław: Publishing House Wydawnictwo eBooki.com.pl, 2013), pp. 65–92. Pop, Ioan-Aurel, ‘Transylvania in the 14th Century and the first Half of the 15th Century’, in Ioan-Aurel Pop and Thomas Nägler, eds., The History of Transylvania vol. I (until 1541) (Cluj-Napoca: Romanian Academy, Center for Transylvanian Studies, 2010), pp. 247–98. Popa-Gorjanu, Cosmin, ‘The Nobility as Bearers of Regional Identity in Fourteenth Century Transylvania’, Annales Universitatis Apulensis. Series Historica, 16 (2012), pp. 41–58.

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Teutsch, Friedrich, Die “Unionen” der drei ständischen “Nationen” in Siebenbürgen bis 1542 (Hermannstadt: Closiuschen Erbin, 1874). Wąs, Gabriela, ‘Institutions and Administrative Bodies, and their Role in the Processes of Integration and Disintegration in Silesia’, in Harc, Lucyna, and Gabriela Wąs, eds., The Strengthening of Silesian Regionalism (1526–1740), transl by Katarzyna Hussar. Cuius regio? Ideological and Territorial Cohesion of the Historical Region of Silesia (c. 1000–2000), vol. 2 (Wrocław: Publishing House Wydawnictwo eBooki.com.pl, 2014), pp. 21–73. Wiszewski, Przemysław, ‘Region-Integrating or Region-Disintegrating? The Social Groups of Medieval Silesia Examined in the Context of their Political Activity (from the Last Decades of the 12th Century to the 15th Century)’, in Przemysław Wiszewski, ed., The Long Formation of the Region Silesia (c. 1000–1526), transl. by Katarzyna Hussar. Cuius regio? Ideological and Territorial Cohesion of the Historical Region of Silesia (c. 1000–2000), vol. 1 (Wrocław: Publishing House Wydawnictwo eBooki.com.pl, 2013), pp. 129–166. Wrzesiński, Wojciech, ed., Dolny Śląsk. Monografia historyczna. Acta Universitatis Wratislaviensis, No 2880 (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego, 2006).

Dorte Jagetic Andersen and Rene Ejbye Pedersen

(Un)familiarity in Mobility Practices: Contemporary and Historic Experiences from Schleswig and Former Yugoslavia

As this volume illustrates, the concept of region remains highly contested1. When adapting, as most contributions in this volume does, a relational notion of region, focusing on multiple institutions located in lived practices, it becomes difficult to conceptualise, let alone visualise the region as a coherent space; for example, where are the limits to this space which supposedly should constitute a coherent whole? In this article, we shed light on the need in empirical research to keep problematizing the notion of region as well as the cohesion of the regional space as it can otherwise come to constitute an analytical straight-jacked. As arguably has been the case with the concept of the nation state, we might thereby come to invent spaces of interaction, which do not have much real bearing on everyday life practices2. In showing this, we apply the concept of (un)familiarity in empirical research into (im)mobilities and everyday practices. We argue that the concept of (un)familiarity is helpful in trying to understand and explain the spatial dimension to such practices. In our empirical research, we do not find any clear-cut regional cohesion in these practices in their relation to feelings of (un)familiarity. In other words, the region, understood as a coherent space does not seem a decisive factor when movements are made, and borders are crossed. What we do see is a tendency that spatially anchored

1 2

Cf. Keating, ‘The Invention of Regions’; Paasi, ‘The Institutionalization of regions’. This is of course a long and heated discussion but academia and especially historians have doubtlessly played a role in making the notion of the nation important in modern world politics, and most often more important than it had previously been. Thereto for instance Pickett, Inventing Nations.

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social networks and identity-formation are important drivers and inhibiters for (im)mobilities and practices and, in line with this, that social networks and identity-formation create (un)familiar spaces disconnected from the space of the (cross-border) region. When investigating interaction across borders, it would thus be helpful to not tie the concept of (un)familiarity from the geographical space of the cross-border region. Hence, the article suggests some theoretical considerations on the possible moderation and extension of the concept of (un)familiarity, moderations and extensions which are reflected in our two empirical examples. Our first example is a historical study of labour migration in rural municipalities (1870–1920) in the north of Schleswig, a territorial part of the Danish monarchy until 1864, but hereafter located in the periphery of the German empire near the Danish border. The other example departs from the regional space of contemporary Dubrovnik-Neretva, the most Southern part of Croatia, which is an officially recognised exclave.

1. The Bandwidth of (Un)familiarity The concept of (un)familiarity and the model of ‘Bandwidth of (Un) familiarity’ were developed in two articles ‘The power of crossborder labour market immobility (2004)’3, and ‘Shopping, Borders and Unfamiliarity: Consumer mobility in Europe’ (2008)4. The two geographers, Bas Spierings and Martin van der Velde, attempted to strengthen the concepts’ theoretical foundation through empirical studies in an article published in the Journal of Borderland Studies5. Since then, the concepts have been applied to and studied in multiple settings by various scholars from different scientific fields. A special issue of the Journal of European

3 4 5

Van Houtum, and Van der Velde, ‘The Power of Cross-Border Labour Market Immobility’. Spierings, and Van der Velde, ‘Shopping, Borders and Unfamiliarity’. Spierings, and Van der Velde, ‘Consumer mobility’.

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Planning (2013)6, and a special section of the Journal of Borderland Studies (2014)7, as well as a PhD dissertation8, and other articles have been devoted to the developments of the concepts9. What we find particularly attractive about the concept is that it (re) introduces an emphasis on non-economic differences as drivers and inhibiters of cross-border mobility. Factors such as linguistic or organisational differences are conceived as being if not more, then at least just as important as economic factors when people choose to cross borders. Moreover, the dual effect of (un)familiarity expressed by ‘the bandwidth of (un)familiarity’, enables us to conceive of how the existence of differences can lead to both mobility and immobility; differences create feelings of (un)familiarity that attract and promote mobility as long as they do not transgress ‘the bandwidth’; yet, if the experienced differences becomes either to immense or are experienced as non-existent, immobility is mostly the result10. However, the concept of (un)familiarity developed based on an empirical focus on cross-border interaction, which puts the theoretical and analytical scope of the concept especially to the geographical space of a so-called border region. This is to say that the somewhat narrow contexts of European border regions and the national differences inhabiting these regions have provided an entrance for the study of cross-border mobility despite the far more general analytical scope of the concept of (un) familiarity11. We understand it as crucial to unlock the concept of (un) familiarity from a geographical focus limited to border regions – or nations for that matter – to avoid creating a geographical spatial ‘straight-jacket’

6

Amante, ‘Recovering the Paradox of the Border’; Andersen, ‘Exploring the concept of (Un)familiarity’; Spierings, and Van der Velde, ‘Cross-border mobility’; Spierings, and Van der Velde, ‘Cross-border differences’; Yndigegn, ‘Reviving Unfamiliarity’; Izotov, and Laine, ‘Construction of (Un)familiarity’; Scott, ‘Constructing familiarity in Finish Karelia’. 7 Andersen, ‘Do if you Dare’; Klatt, ‘(Un)Familiarity?’; Knotter, ‘Changing Border Regimes’; Szytniewski, and Spierings, ‘Encounters with Otherness’. 8 Pedersen, The Concept of (Un)familiarity. 9 Szytniewski, ‘Shopping for Differences’; Szytniewski, Spierings, and Van der Velde, ‘Socio-cultural proximity’. 10 Spierings, and Van der Velde, ‘Shopping, Borders and Unfamiliarity’; Spierings, and Van der Velde, ‘Consumer mobility’; Spierings, and Van der Velde, ‘Cross-border differences’. 11 As argued in Andersen, ‘Do if you Dare’.

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that risks constructing a space of interaction not practiced in the everyday life of those investigated. Similarly Bianca Szytniewski and Bas Spierings argue that ‘…otherness [and hence (un)familiarity] can be perceived and reinterpreted at different socio-spatial levels and be expected in places of mobility… [and] such heterogeneous places with different types of people are not only found in borderlands’12. We therefore and in accordance with the ideas put forward by Szytniewski and Spierings, adopt a historicalsociological and relational approach studying the practices of individuals and social groups rather than the dynamics of geographical spaces. Along with the possibilities opened by this, we consider the change of approach to be the main contribution of this chapter. As a direct consequence of applying a relational approach, we argue that it is necessary to abandon the application of the push-pull model widely applied in social science research and also included (as a starting point) in the original framework of Spierings and van der Velde.13 In our view the model rests on flawed assumptions about people’s incentives to move. More precisely, the push-pull model(s) applied in the social sciences, and also in migration studies, builds on the assumption that human beings are per se immobile, non-moving or sedentary. As argued by Steidl this: “Ausgangshypothese … führte in Konsequenz dazu, dass sie zur Entwicklung einer Wanderbereitschaft ‘gestoßen’ oder ‘gezogen’ werden müssten”14. In other words, the model(s) assumes that people only reluctantly move and thus have to be ‘pushed’ away from home or ‘pulled’ by something (e.g. on the other side of the border) if a move should occur15. The push/pull model(s) thus most often portrays mobility as a singular move back and forth (e.g. across a border), not capturing mobility as potential continuous movements, which do not necessarily involve crossing a state border and which might be a practice inherent to an individual or group’s behaviour and acted out on a permanent basis16. Neither are the model(s) able to problematise how movements between destinations might not be onedimensional (in one direction) and how mobilities in either direction – for

1 2 Szytniewski, and Spierings, ‘Encounters with Otherness’, p. 341. 13 Spierings, Bas, and Martin van der Velde, ‘Shopping, Borders and Unfamiliarity’. 14 Steidl‚ Auf nach Wien!, p. 33. 15 Lucassen, and Lucassen, also argue for a focus on: ‘Networks and agency rather than push and pull’; Lucassen, and Lucassen, ‘Discussion – Global migration’. 16 See e.g. Steidl, Auf nach Wien!, p. 45.

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instance between two areas or across a border – can occur simultaneously. A  region or geographical area can in other words simultaneously be characterised as a push and a pull area, thus undermining the explanatory frame altogether. We therefore argue that we must apply a less rigid analytical framework if we want to understand the multiple dimensions to mobility practices involved when we try to articulate feelings of familiarity and unfamiliarity. Moreover, it is our impression that the introduction of keep and repel factors in the model of ‘bandwidth of (un)familiarity’, that is the differences creating (im)mobility, does not solve the flawed assumptions, rather, they to some degree repeat them in that they unintentionally reflect the assumption of the sedentary nature of human beings. It makes the concept subject to criticism that overshadows potentially, valuable contributions to empirical research. We therefore applause that Szytniewski, Spierings and van der Velde in their publication from 2017 abandon the push-pull terminology as this clearly strengthens the concept of (un)familiarity’s theoretical and analytical focus on human practice, or in the authors’ own words ‘[the] interplay between what people feel and know as part of their personal life worlds’17. To sum up, it is our belief that the terminology of push/pull and keep/ repel should be abandoned altogether so as to create a stronger focus on the main argument put forward by Spierings and Van der Velde that perceived differences, or as defined here feelings of unfamiliarity expressed through the perception of differences, affect mobility18. Moreover, instead of narrowly focusing on the geographical space of the border region, the concept’s development would benefit from being applied to a wider range of spatial practices. The present work does this by bringing the empirical results of our respective investigations in the foreground through a focus on the relationship between feelings of (un)familiarity and practices of (cross-border) interaction, for example (cross-border) mobility. It is not argued that borders or border regions should not be studied, but rather that an attempt should be made to open the ‘black box’ of geographical space as a privileged form of space. A focus on social practices is meant to invert the theoretical lens19 to be able to focus on a multiplicity of spaces 1 7 Szytniewski, Spierings, and Van der Velde, ‘Socio-cultural proximity’, p. 67. 18 See similar arguments in Pedersen, The concept of (un)familiarity, p. 38 ff. 19 Andersen, Kramsch, and Sandberg, ‘Inverting the Telescope’.

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where mobility and interaction takes place, a focus which we understand as one of the core insights of the original social constructivist notion of (un) familiarity formulated by Spierings and Van der Velde20.

2. (Un)familiarity, Everyday Practices and Social Networks Everyday practices are heavily influenced by (un)familiarity, emotional as well as practical; feelings of unfamiliarity may create an emotional distance to ‘the other’ sparking off anxiety or excitement, and, in a similar manner, familiarity can make interaction problematic when the encounter with the ‘familiar other’ result in unwanted self-confrontations for which reason interaction is avoided21. Feelings of (un)familiarity may be (trans)formed by information obtained via channels of communication altering perceptions of ‘the other’22. Feelings of (un)familiarity can thus evolve out of practical knowledge, that is through information obtained through social networks, a knowledge making certain practices (or destinations) more viable than others. Differences or perceptions of differences can also create practical (un)familiarity because too large differences, that is cultural or lingual, make it impossible to interact; or, yet again, an absence of differences make an interaction unpractical when the purpose of interaction is encountering difference23. In short, (un)familiarity is the perception of differences between ‘home’ and ‘away’, controlled by feelings occurring in practical encounters or deriving out of identity constructs. Such feelings can be connected to the physical distance to the other, but also to practical and mental distance. The unfamiliar is both the (un)attractive unknown (the unknown-unfamiliar), but also the one known as different (the known unfamiliar), whereas the familiar

2 0 Spierings, and Van der Velde, ‘Shopping, Borders and Unfamiliarity’. 21 Andersen, ‘Exploring the Concept of (Un)familiarity’. 22 Izotov, and Laine, ‘Construction of (Un)familiarity’; Spierings, and Van der Velde, ‘Cross-border Differences’. 23 19th century journeymen going on the tramp to obtain skills from ‘foreign’ building customs provides one example of this; e.g. Ehmer, Soziale Traditionen im Zeiten des Wandels.

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is the space where chaos is avoided and ‘the self’ remains unquestioned24. Feelings of (un)familiarity can also be expressed in the space between the former categories, expressed as the familiar-unfamiliar, that is structures within which familiarity flow, providing an emotional comfort zone in the encounter with unfamiliar differences in the foreign; the familiar-unfamiliar is a space of comfort in a space of chaos. Here it is also useful to add another dimension to the concept’s extensions, namely that of social networks. They make certain options (e.g. destinations and mobility practices) ‘natural’, that is specific destinations become part of an individual’s or a group’s ‘world view’25, creating, as they do, a familiar place in an otherwise unfamiliar world. They influence who (and what) is perceived as the (un)familiar ‘other’ as well as practical (un) familiarity by aligning the expectations of the encounter in ‘the foreign’ with the migratory ‘real’ experience. In this way social networks, whether institutionalised or not, have a core function in creating a social space of the ‘familiar-unfamiliar’. Moreover, networks can in themselves become part of the familiar experience (or practice). Social networks can offer emotional security as they create an emotional haven in the foreign, when the experienced differences become too immense. Networks can provide spheres of relief and emotional comfort26 and function as bridges between the recognisable familiar and the unwanted unfamiliar (known as well as unknown) creating anxiety. Further, social networks provide the security of being able to achieve ‘feelings of home’ while being away and thereby emotional security. Social networks create an emotional and practical sphere securing a degree of excitement (or limited anxiety) while simultaneously operating within a familiar practical and emotional structure not connected to a specific geographical space. By including social networks as expressions of (un)familiarity we thus

2 4 Andersen, ‘Exploring the concept of (Un)familiarity’. 25 Cf. Steidl, Auf nach Wien!, p. 43 ff; Hoerder, ‘Segmented macrosystems and networking individuals’. 26 Migrants are usually part of networks and relationships, such as neighbourhood, professional, ethnic and religious relationships, something, which affects their patterns of mobility, e.g.; Baud, ‘Families and migration’, p. 98 ff. For professional networks, see e.g. the literature on itinerant journeymen in central Europe, e.g. Ehmer, Soziale Traditionen im Zeiten des Wandels; Hahn, Migration – Arbeit – Geschlecht. Examples of networks providing emotional and practical security are many for instance in literature on transatlantic migration, see Moch, Moving Europeans.

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attain a stronger focus on social rather than geographical spaces, thus also illustrating how geographical places are constructed in social interaction – rather than the other way around.

3.  (Un)familiarity in Labour Migratory Practices in Rural Municipalities in North Schleswig 1870–1914 Our first empirical example is a historical study based on archival sources, more precisely on municipal records from selected municipalities in North Schleswig 1870–1914 and memoirs of former Danish cross-border labour migrants27. Here, specific migration patterns, practices and behaviour have been studied through the lens of a classical historical method. In order to identify patterns and practices, the handwritten records and memoirs have been coded, processed and analysed28. This enables an identification of the practices and the geographical and social spaces within which the labour migrants moved. Schleswig was part of the Danish monarchy until the Danish defeat in the Second Schleswig War in 1864, where it was annexed by Prussia. It was a border region with multiple linguistic affinities and identity-formations and migratory (everyday) practices in North Schleswig were similarly multiple. In the following, different cases of migration to rural parishes just south of the Danish-German border (and beyond) will illustrate that practices of (labour) migration were formed by local labour market conditions, an undisputed precondition for labour migration, as well as social networks and traditional practices that influenced and formed feelings of (un)familiarity and spheres of the familiar-unfamiliar. The Duchy of Schleswig, which before 1864 was a preferred aim for Danish labour migrants who served in the region known as a “(…) forjættet land, med frugtbarhed, arbejde og penge” (promised land with fertility,

27 The example is based on content from the PhD dissertation by Pedersen, The concept of (un)familiarity. 28 For an in depth methodological discussion see Pedersen, The concept of (un)familiarity, pp. 12–30.

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work and money)29, continued to attract Danish farmhands and domestics after the annexation. A practice of labour migration to Schleswig from West Jutland had existed since the eighteenth century and was thus well established. For some, migration and service in a Schleswig household was an integral part of entering into adulthood30. Migration to Schleswig was in other words not only driven by economic necessity and habitual structures, but also by adventure or the longing to go abroad; for some it became an experience of a lifetime31. Information, assistance and emotional security provided by the network were central in creating specific migratory relations between localities in Denmark and Schleswig. The networks not only provided guidelines on how and where to go, but also created emotional comfort zones connecting the familiar and unfamiliar thus forming the world view of the migrant and making specific options more viable than others32. The practice of labour migration amongst young domestics and farmhands from (e.g.) West Jutland obtained local expressions through personal networks forming sub-migratory practices deviating from parish to parish. The network not only made the potential migrant familiar with practices of Schleswig migration, but also with the geographical space, that is the migratory destination, an (un)familiar cultural space where they could communicate through the Danish language, while simultaneously encountering the familiar other with different local dialects as well as the German other33. Migratory relations were also formed by feelings of (un)familiarity on the side of the employer. Danish labour migrants were not only a familiar part of the local labour pool; the employment of Danish migrants was for some an expression of national belonging and: “Særligt de sidstnævnte (sønderjyder), der så ligesom noget stort i, at kunne få en sådan dejlig Pige fra deres gamle Land” (Especially the latter (North Schleswigers) saw something important in having a lovely girl from their old country)34. 2 9 30 31 32

Koed Westergaard, Danske Egnsretter, p. 198. Linde, ‘ “Afgået til Slesvig” ’, p. 114. Linde, ‘ “Afgået til Slesvig” ’, p. 115. A former owner-occupier tells how a specific family in the Stubbum parish was responsible for the inflow of labour – consisting of family and friends – from West Jutland; NEU no. 14.523, p. 3. 33 Kaiser Nielsen, ‘Sakkuk, dabs og cropping’, p. 16. 3 4 Linde, K, ‘ “Afgået til Slesvig” ’, p. 124 f.

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The interplay between employer (un)familiarity and social networks created distinct local patterns of migration in North Schleswig. In the rural municipality of Vodder, an entrepreneurial priest with strong Germannational convictions established a farm and invited personal connections from Ditmarschen in Holstein to farm the land, which developed into a self-sustaining network despite the personal bankruptcy of the priest35. The Holstein migrants stretched the bandwidth of (un)familiarity as the network altered the world view of the Holstein migrants, who otherwise would never have considered moving to the municipality. The German congregation in the foreign became a familiar gathering point for the Holstein as well as for the Lippe Detmold and West Prussian migrants employed at the local brickwork36; that is, an unfamiliar place became familiar and a new practice became a familiar practice. Of course it was the possibilities for employment, which made the migrants come but it was the network that made the remote rural municipality in the periphery of the German empire a viable option. The migrants came to a place where the space of familiarity was present in the form of friends, relatives and acquaintances from the home region. In other words, the familiar ‘home’ had been imported into the unfamiliar ‘foreign’37. Feelings of (un)familiarity were also important for local cross-border migratory practices primarily consisting of Danish labour migration to the northern parts of North Schleswig.38 In Stubbum, a small rural municipality in Northeast Schleswig, cross-border migration (mobility) from the so-called eight parishes part of Schleswig until 1864, thrived despite the new border. Migration declined substantially with the agricultural crises in the mid1880s. The local cross-border labour market partially disintegrated and cross-border labour migration never returned to former levels despite the return of favourable economic conjunctures. The economic crisis triggered an alteration of the world view and familiar local practices became less familiar. Another example is the nationalisation policies introduced by the prefect of Schleswig-Holstein (1898–1901) which created negative feelings

3 5 Schmidt-Wodder, and Reitling‚ ‘Chronik der Gemeinde Wodder̕, p. 74 f. 36 Schmidt-Wodder, and Reitling‚ ‘Chronik der Gemeinde Wodder̕, p. 61. 37 For more on the tradition of labour migration from Lippe Detmold, see Lourens, and Lucassen‚ Arbeitswanderung und berufliche Spezialisierung. 38 The information is based on the public records of Rejsby, Vodder, Stubbum and Gammel Haderslev.

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of unfamiliarity and affected Danish migration to Schleswig negatively. Danish citizens and Danes employed by Prussian citizens with pro-Danish affiliations were among other things expulsed from the country. The policy not only created a temporary halt in (official) labour migration to Stubbum39. From a number of memoirs it is visible that longer lasting negative feelings of unfamiliarity arose40, but the negative feelings of unfamiliarity did not have any long-term effect on Danish labour migration41. Migration of journeymen tramping was a habitual practice. Artisans and journeymen travelled throughout Europe and also found their way to rural North Schleswig. The journeymen went on ‘the tramp’ to obtain new skills, to learn different building techniques and customs, but the practice of tramping was also driven by adventurousness and a longing to go abroad. A  central part of the practice was thereby the encounter with differences. From the public records in selected North Schleswig rural parishes it is visible that non-local journeymen from Germany and Denmark came to the rural North Schleswig. However, from the memoirs of former Danish itinerant journeyman on the road between 1890 and 1914, a picture emerges of a relative unattractive border region, which was not part of their worldview. For some (North) Schleswig was perceived as too familiar due to relative similar building customs and socio-cultural similarities and Schleswig was thus only a step on the way to the adventure further south. A typical response of Danish journeymen not satisfied with the encounter of (un)familiarity in the region was therefore to continue the journey southwards and not to return home. Journeyman migration was a habitual migratory practice enforced by social networks that socialised journeymen into the practice, mediated work, 39 Pedersen, The concept of (un)familiarity, pp. 118–122–133; Public records of Stubbum shows that cross-border in-migration first declined and later came to a temporary stop during the fiercest part of the Köller period, Pedersen, The concept of (un) familiarity, 94–96, 100–106; The last of the Köller policies were first abandoned in 1906; Adriansen, Sønderjylland A-Å, p. 219 f.; Schultz Hansen, Det Sønderjyske Landbrugs Historie, p. 205. 40 See e.g. NIHA, Maler Jacob Rasmussen, Mappe: Malere 13, Acc. nr: 0636, p. 56 f.; NIHA, Togfører Just Lorentsen, Mappe: Jernbanefolk 4, Acc. nr: 0054, p. 18 f. 41 A long-term decline is not observed in the municipalities of Stubbum and Vodder; see Landsarkivet for Sønderjylland (LfS): Melderegister for Stubbum 1868–1920; Tyende- og meldeprotokol for Stubbum Kommune 1868–1921, Aller Sogn, pk.5–6; Landsarkivet for Sønderjylland (LfS): Meldeprotokol, Vodder Kommune 1878–1920, Pk.235.

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Carpenter, on the tramp 1889-1891 Joiner, on the tramp 1894-1897 Painter, on the tramp 1901-1907 The Rhine region

Fig. 1:  Routes and main stops of three Danish journeymen on the tramp c.1900. Source: Author’s reconstruction of original map (without routes) from a journeyman guidebook from 1901 (VfUH 1901)

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provided funds for traveling and established centres throughout Europe (primarily in Germany and Switzerland), which additionally functioned as spheres of familiar-unfamiliar. The so-called Scandinavian Associations provided familiar feelings of home in the foreign with Danish newspapers and the lively Saturday nights in the ‘Cave’ with peers from back home42. Traditional journeymen migration declined as the twentieth century approached for example due to increased craftsman specialisation, but new industrial workers kept the tradition alive. As the War approached both Danish journeymen and agricultural migration to Germany declined and ceased with the war43. Familiar networks and everyday practices dissolved. The new national Danish-German border in 1920 became a line of demarcation changing patterns of mobility and the Danish government intensified the process with its policy to secure its regained territories in North Schleswig by creating a ‘felt border’44. Nation states increasingly assumed control with migration in the interwar period, the liberal migration regimes from the 1860s to 1914 ended and cross-border mobility became highly restricted45. The practice of journeymen migration not only exemplifies the experience of differences as central in the migration experience, but also the problem of limiting the theoretical scope of the concept of (un)familiarity to a specific territorial space, that is a border region. The practice of these journeymen was not bound to a narrow territorial space, but rather by familiar social spaces that formed the perception and the importance of the encounter with differences. Hence, rather than tying the concept of (un) familiarity to a specific geographical area, such as the border region, it is better used to identify various socially constructed spaces and their physical or geographical expressions through empirical observations. In sum, the examples above illustrate (un)familiarity influencing specific practices of migration to the most northern parishes of North Schleswig 1870–1920. They exemplify how networks directed migration, how they influenced the perceptions of feelings of (un)familiarity and how networks created spaces of the familiar in the foreign, that is, spaces of

4 2 NIHA Th. Jørgensen, Mappe: Murere 6, Acc. nr: 2435, p. 48. 43 Wadauer, Die Tour der Gesellen. 44 For the Danish border policies, see Andersen, Den Følte Grænse. 45 Torpey, ‘The Great War and the birth of the modern passport system’; Reinecke, Grenzen der Freizügigkeit, p. 267 f.; Lucassen, ‘A many-headed monster’.

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the familiar-unfamiliar. Finally, the examples emphasised that everyday practices of mobility were not confined or created by the territorial space, but by different emotional and social spaces marked by different borders and boundaries.

4. (Un)familiarity and Everyday Practices in Dubrovnik Neretva Our second empirical example is based on an ethnographic study where the researcher has followed relationships that penetrate everyday life practices in a locality. More specifically, the fieldwork has focused on how living in an exclave shape perceptions of space, place and identity.46 Such perceptions are heavily influenced by feelings of (un)familiarity, which both hinder and mobil’s everyday practices. The method is ‘relational’ in the sense that the researcher is ‘sent’ from actor to actor in ‘transference’ of the actors’ experiences, a transference which is guided by these experiences but not determined by them.47 Rather, the researcher engages in ‘reconstructions’ of the experiences in order to ‘make sense’ of them. Hence, the researcher recognises ‘orderings’ in the experiences, patterns that in our case follow the logics of practice and identity-formation (including belonging and othering) together providing impressions of various spaces acted out by the actors ‘followed’. The approach also infers that the actors involved might not be physically present in the location where the research is done, and that they might not be human agents – hence, they could be a backyard, flags or a border checkpoint48.

4 6 Andersen, and Pinos, ‘Challenging the post-Yugoslavian borders’. 47 ‘Transference’ in psychotherapy is typically an unconscious process (from the side of the patient) where the attitudes, feelings, and desires of the patient’s (very early) significant relationships get transferred onto the therapist. Here the term is extended to the social unconscious, so to speak, naming the process whereby the ethnographer gains access to investigate significant relationships in a locality. For an introduction to the use of transference in anthropology see Robben, ‘Ethnographic Seduction’. 48 Cf. Andersen, ‘The Multiple Politics of Borders’.

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As in the Schleswig case, the research here deliberately took the geographically defined, regional space as its point of departure, locating itself in the midst of the wealth of actor practices making up this space. And as in the Schleswig case, in the process of investigation the regional space proved to be made up of multiple practices forming multiple identifications among multiple actors, identifications which are not always very consistent with each other, let alone related to a coherent regional space. Rather, the research shows that the region is geographically dispersed and practically multiple. If you want to travel by car or bus from Split to Dubrovnik you have to pass through the ‘Neum corridor’, an approximately 22-kilometre-long strip of Bosnia-Herzegovina sticking into the Adriatic coast and cutting Croatian Dalmatia into two, thus separating the region of Dubrovnik-Neretva from its mainland. Dubrovnik-Neretva is in other words an exclave and as stated by Ann Kennard, such entities constitute ‘quintessentially bordered regions’49. This is also to say that exclaves create certain tensions in relation to state integrity, administrative issues and within international law and this is no exception in the Dubrovnik-Neretva case50. However, what one has to understand in relation to Dubrovnik-Neretva and its status as exclave is that everyday practices in this region do not gravitate towards Zagreb or other parts of the mainland. Seen from the perspective of most people living in the region, their everyday practices gravitate, if anywhere, towards the town of Dubrovnik and especially its old core, which has an impact on almost all flows of capital, persons, services and goods in the region. The political life of the region is administered from the city of Dubrovnik, the economic life, which is dominated by tourism, has Dubrovnik’s Old Town as its main attraction and the cultural life of the region is strongly influenced by the city’s history as a cultural centre. As Povrzanovic Frykman puts it: Dubrovnik, The Town [‘Grad’ the Croatian word for city, is the name used by locals for the old core of the city], is not only a national symbol, but also an experiential anchor of identity for all the people from the region. It is a point of reference in the

4 9 Kennard, Old Cultures, New institutions, p. 19. 50 Vinokourov, A Theory of Enclaves. For the specific case of the Neum corridor, see Foreign Policy Initiative BH, ‘Policy Analysis. The Republic of Croatia’s Accession to the European Union. Outstanding issues between Bosnia and Herzegovina and Croatia and their implications for Bosnia and Herzegovina’.

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Fig. 2:  Neum greeting sign. For those not familiar with the flags, the Bosnia and Herzegovina flag is blue-yellow, whereas the Croatian flag is blue, red and white, with the characteristic red-white squares. Source: Dorte Jagetić Andersen. landscape bearing the aura of lasting – “eternal” – value and beauty, but it is also the historical and actual centre of the region51.

Hence, Dubrovnik-Neretva is separated from the core country of Croatia, not just because of the Neum corridor but more importantly because of its status as people’s ‘home’ (as in Heimat); it is a place of belonging, a place of familiarity. The region’s spatial identity is constructed around ‘The Town’, the centre stage where familiarity is played out. Despite the fact that the familiarity of ‘The Town’ rules the flow of everyday practices in this place, unfamiliarity does play an integral role in these practices. In the rural hinterlands upon which the town is dependent, the space of familiarity, the city, meets the unfamiliar, the

51 Povrzanovic Frykman, ‘Violence and the re-discovery of place’, p. 86.

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country side: Peasant vs. gospar, an ancient term for nobleman, today locally meaning a person from Dubrovnik region, who precisely for living there is noble52. This unfamiliarity is however integrated into the life of the region, in the functional sense of being a necessary requirement for life to be upheld despite the fact that it cannot be included in the spatial identity of a city-region. The Neum corridor itself sheds another light on this particular space of familiarity. Today, the corridor remains part of Bosnia-Herzegovina but around 90 % of the population confirms that they are ethnically Croatian53. Visiting Neum, you will see Croatian flags being flown on the houses rather than their Bosnian blue-yellow counterpart, something, which symbolises not only the connections to the Croatian nation but also to the unity of the coastal, Dalmatian region. Despite the turbulent history of this region, belonging within and being split by republics, empires and states, the populations living here never lost their coastal identity connecting them more with the sea and trade-relations than with whatever is behind the mountains – mountains which make the coastal zone a strangely limited strip of land in this part of Dalmatia. For locals crossing the border at the coast of Neum, experiences of unfamiliarity are limited to casino visits and the price of cigarettes. In other words, everyday practices are and have for centuries been oriented towards Dalmatia’s location by the Adriatic Sea. The identity, not just of people in Dubrovnik-Neretva but in Dalmatia as a whole is that of a people with close connections to the world due to the region’s costal location. As is the case with many places in the Balkans, Dalmatia can also be considered as a corridor of mobility between places – traveling East/West, North/South and vice versa – always leaving a trace of multiplicity; here we find multiple cultures, multiple goods and multiple people. Confrontations with multiplicity as a familiar-unfamiliar, is made possible, not because of the mobility of the populations living in the region itself but because of the mobility of foreigners visiting and staying in the region, a mobility which has always been possible because of the sea location and possible trade relations to Europe and the East54.

5 2 Povrzanovic Frykman, ‘Violence and the re-discovery of place’, p. 86. 53 According to NationMaster.com, http://www.nationmaster.com/encyclopedia/ Neum#Features (20 July 2013). 54 See also Violich, The Bridge to Dalmatia.

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Moving into the mountains we acquaint yet another unfamiliar; this is where ‘otherness’ becomes threatening55, so to speak. Even when these mountains are present wherever one turns, they can, per definition, not be considered as a familiar part of everyday life, being markers of that which stops flows of practices; they are where ‘home’ ends and another way of life begins, foremost a way of life, which has to do with geopolitics and struggles over what is rightfully yours, a life which is not that of the gospar. As Zidic puts it: Dubrovnik is a city  – and expression  – of the cosmopolitan, peaceful, maritime, hardworking, educated and cultured Croatia, the birth place of great scientists and scholars, writers, sea captains, entrepreneurs, excellent cartographers, and engineers … It was neither servile nor xenophobic … It was also the Frontier: Light on the Border of Darkness56.

To maintain the image of ‘light on the border of darkness’ the land borders must actively be ignored. At the very moment where borders become visible, then the unfamiliar appears in the form of emotional anxiety. After the Town was under siege by Serbian and Montenegrin aggressors in the early 1990s, The Town was integrated into the narration of the Croatian nation as ‘the heart’ of what it is to be Croatian; taking pride in freedom from external aggressors and being willing to give one’s life for independence. It is not uncommon in Croatia to meet the opposing pair of peaceful and open to the world, describing people in Dubrovnik vs. aggressive and destructive, describing the Serbs, Montenegrins and Serbian Bosnians. The mediated discourse of national symbolism brings geopolitics back into the space of the familiar, playing on differences to the barbaric aggressors in the East, but now as a way for the whole nation to ‘occupy’ ‘The Town’ as their space of practice. In turn this constitutes an almost therapeutic way for people in the region to incorporate violence and aggression into their identity as a familiar-unfamiliar, a part of history which was unavoidable due to the national struggle for independence.

55

For this dimension to feelings of (un)familiarity, see Andersen, ‘Exploring the Concept of (Un)familiarity’. 56 Zidić, ‘The siege of Dubrovnik’, p. 62.

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5. Conclusions Within the context of cross-border mobility, regional and/or national identity does appear to be relevant for people’s movements57. Cross-border mobility is in other words influenced by national and regional identity and culture, because the cultural and moral settings provide both the categories and the language that enable people to name and position themselves and others. However, it is important that we provide empirical evidence for such processes, rather than taking the geographical and institutional contexts for granted, using them as an analytical point of departure. When investigating cross-border interaction, we in other words have to be careful not to tie the movements investigated to the geographical space of the cross-border region, or the borderlands, but, rather, empirically follow the practices of the actors we engage with. Only by following the actors in their practical encounters and movements are we able to reflect how feelings of (un)familiarity directs, hinders, provide incentives for, persuades, moves, facilitates, obstructs and motivates mobility and interaction. Here we understand the concept of (un)familiarity to be extremely helpful. It enables us to free us from an analytical tie to the geographical space of the border region through a focus on everyday practices. As we have shown in the present work, extending the analytical scope of the concept of (un)familiarity to the realm of social networks and identityformation, the concept of (un)familiarity also seems helpful in explaining the spatial dimension to (im)mobility and everyday practices. Multiple spaces of interaction emerge from our empirical evidence and by including social networks as structures of (un)familiarity not necessarily bound to geographical space, a stronger focus on social spaces of (un)familiarity is obtained. A variety of networked and identity-forming spaces thereby appear linking notions of place, space, region, border, state, nation and territory in multiple ways. Basing our conclusions on empirical evidence we thus argue that a region, let alone a border region, is never a clearly defined geographical space with a one-dimensional identity; rather, it is a space of lived tensions where multiple identities, spaces and voices are at play at once. 57 Van Houtum, ‘III European Perspectives on Borderlands’; Van Houtum, and Van der Velde, ‘The Power of Cross-Border Labour Market Immobility’; Prokkola, Zimmerbauer, and Jakola, ‘Performance of Regional Identity’.

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Part Two   Construction, Identity and Cohesion of Regions

Flocel Sabaté

Identity, Perception and Cohesion of a Medieval Region: Catalonia

The questions how the cohesion of the region and the birth of the nation developed could be one and the same in the case of Catalonia. This is the reason why the item is so important for a secular historiography and its veracity so difficult for historians. Some preconceived ideas could mediate the conclusions. At the beginning of twentieth century, a Spanish historian criticized some precedent Catalan historians saying that it seemed, from their words, that when God created the world, the Catalan identity was born1. Indeed, the national history often had a teleological vision, with each fact being a step towards a specific destiny. Asking about the point when Catalonia obtained its cohesion and, consequently, the moment from when it began to appear as a nation, the scholars have found many answers ranging over an extremely long period, from the eighth to the thirteenth centuries. Similarly, when delving into the roots of the name, in the belief that the origin of the word could reveal the starting point of the country’s cohesion, they have turned up a confusing variety of answers. In view of this incapacity to reach conclusive and common answers, we may wonder if perhaps the problem lies in the definition of the question. The inquiry, indeed, could guide the answers. It seems best to approach to the real historical context where the processes of social and territorial cohesion took place. Within this framework the notions of identity and perception appear as new tools to reach a renewed perspective.

1

Esos historiadores del siglo XVII, según los cuales cuando Dios creó el mundo creó ya Cataluña (Giménez, ‘La frontera catalano-aragonesa’, p. 489).

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1. Looking for the National Roots When does the identity and cohesion of Catalonia date from? Many historians have devoted their research to this subject over the centuries. Astonishingly, the conclusions are very scattered, with the authors placing the initial moment in very different centuries. The challenge for the King of Aragon, as count of Barcelona, to extend his power over a unified Catalonia meant that, since the twelfth century, the origin of the country has been explained by a shared starting point and evolution of the county of Barcelona and the rest of Catalonia. This momentum would take place at the end of eighth century, when the count Wilfred the Hairy received the commitment over Barcelona from the Carolingian sovereign, and his successors would complete the way fighting the Muslim neighbours until the definitive profile of the country was drawn in the twelfth century2. According to this explanation in 1353, when King Peter the Ceremonious, needing arguments against the growing power of the estates, ordered a search for the founding act of the country in the royal archives, seeking the conditions under which the first count received the county from the French sovereign3. Following this line, during the Middle Ages4 and modern centuries5, different authors defined the appointment of Wilfred the Hairy as count of Barcelona as the political moment that created Catalonia6, although at that time the country was called Marca Hispanica, as has been said since sixteenth century7. The nineteenth century historiography could specify the context, in the assembly of Quierzy where, in 877, the succession of the fiefs was approved. The political recognition could involve a social reality:

2 Zimmermann, ‘Les origines de la Catalogne d’après les ‘gesta comitum Barcinonensium’, p. 538. 3 Rubio y Lluch, Documents per l’història de la cultura mig-eval, vol. I, p. 165. 4 Tomic, Històries e conquistes, p. 100. 5 Feliu de la Peña, ‘Fénix de Cataluña’, p. 14. 6 Des de aleshores li concedia lo comptat de Barcelona y Principat de cathalunya, franch sens subjecció al Rey de França, sols se aturavaque y hagués resos y appellació al rey de França en coses graves (Manescal, Sermó vulgarment anomenat del Serenissim senyor don Jaume segon, f. 30r). 7 Bosc, Sumari, índex o epítome dels admirables i nobilíssims títols d’honor, pp. 89–90.

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el haber sido (el condado de Barcelona) separado de la Septimania por Carlos el Calvo y descentralizada la soberanía por las capitulaciones de Kiersy robustecieron el régimen feudal declarando hereditarios los grandes feudos, dió lugar a que cada comarca se rigiera poco menos que por si propia, a que los condes cuidaran de la repoblación de sus dominios y a que se cimentara en la Marca la nacionalidad catalana, ya que movía a todos el mismo espíritu de raza y eran idénticas y bien manifiestas sus autonómicas aspiraciones. Charles de Bald separated the County of Barcelona from the Septimania and decentralized the sovereignty through the Quierzy Capitulations, which strengthened the feudal regime declaring the great fiefs hereditary. The consequences were that each region became governed almost by itself; the Counts promoted the repopulation of their states; and the consolidation of the Catalan nationality were reached in the March, because everybody felt the same spirit of race and shared a common and well expressed aspiration for autonomous government8.

In this sense, during the first half of the twentieth century, the French historian Joseph Calmette focused his research on the sentiment local (‘local feeling)’ detecting a travail de psychologie collective (‘work of collective psychology’)9 and stating that the enfeoffment offered to Wilfred the Hairy took place in 878 as an agreement with local society, given la montée du sentiment national dans la marché Hispanique (‘the rise of the national sentiment in the Hispanic March’)10. Calmette’s prestige established a general opinion that placed the national origin in the ninth century, like other important European nations. The nineteenth century historians also realized that the counts, in spite of the autonomy of their government, kept a kind of dependence until the end of the Carolingian dynasty, attested by the visits of the counts to the Carolingian court and the supreme acceptance of the royal privileges requested. This came to an end in 987 because, not having received royal help two years earlier against a Muslim attack on Barcelona, the count decided not to do homage to the new Capetian monarch11. Consequently, as Font i Sagué stated, reconquistada la ciutat amb les soles forces catalanes, queda de fet establerta la independència de la ‘Marca’. (‘Reconquered the city through the only Catalan forces, the independence of the ‘March’ became established de facto’)12. 8 Bori y Fontestà, Historia de Cataluña, p. 40. 9 Calmette, L’effondrement d’un Empire et la naisasnce d’une Europe, p. 145. 10 Calmette, La question des Pyrénées et la Marche d’Espagne, p. 24. 11 Pi Arimon, Barcelona antigua y moderna, vol. I, p. 48. 12 Font i Sagué, Història de Catalunya, p. 47.

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Still in the nineteenth century, some historians stressed the function of feudalism for uniting the country. The feudal legal code of the Usatges, attributed (wrongly) to 106813, was interpreted as the culmination of the path to cohesion led by the count of Barcelona14. Hegemony of the count, feudalism, cohesion of the country and new legal order would be different faces of the same reality: Ramon Berenguer I havia arribat a l’apogeu del seu poder i del seu prestige i estava en el millor moment per donar una consagració legal a l’enaltiment de l’autoritat pública. (‘Ramon Berenguer I had reached the height of his power and prestige and was at the best time to give a legal consecration to the exaltation of the public authority’)15. One century after, in the 1960s and 1970s, Pierre Bonnassie, using materialist methods, consolidated the same date, which would reveal the new legal order reached in the second half of the eleventh century through a Hegelian vision of Feudalism. From this perspective, the question about the birth of Catalonia was taken out of the political context and introduced into the social framework: there was a traditional (pre-feudal) society that exploded in social tension – a feudal revolution during vingt ou trente ans (entre 1030/1040 et 1060) (‘twenty or thirty years (between 1030/1040 and 1060)’16 – and concluded with a peaceful new structure: a Catalan feudal society. Therefore, Catalonia was born in the middle of the eleventh century, the offspring of a feudal revolution17. Despite the wide acceptance of this vision during the final decades of the twentieth century, Michel Zimmermann warned that the different counties in the North-Eastern Iberian Peninsula were, in fact, separate and that unity did not arrive until a century later. Including specific attention to the cultural evolution, this author concluded that it was in the twelfth century when the national identity constructed a new political structure. First there was a common cultural framework and from here it derived towards a political structure:

1 3 Torras i Bages, La tradició catalana, pp. 139–140. 14 Fita, ‘Cortes y Usajes de Barcelona’, pp. 389–393. 15 Valls Taberner, Estudis d’història jurídica Catalana, p. 60. 16 Bonnassie,’Sur la formation du féodalisme catalan et sa première expansion’, p. 16. 17 Bonnassie, La Catalogne du milieu du Xe à la fin du XIe siècle, p. 732.

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C’est au milieu du XIIe siècle que se constitue vraiment la principauté catalane: la liturgie politique cristallise un sentiment national; à l’inverse des autres principautés nées au Xe siècle du démembrement du royaume franc, la principauté catalane s’est constitué de bas en haut: la conscience d’une identité y accompagne, y précède sans doute le regroupement territorial. It was in the middle of the twelfth century when the Catalan Principality was really formed: the political liturgy crystallized a national sentiment; different from the other Principalities born in the tenth century through the dismemberment of the Frankish Kingdom, the Catalan Principality was constituted from the bottom up: the consciousness of an identity accompanied and preceded, without doubt, the territorial regrouping18.

However, Thomas Bisson warned that the common cultural identity did not involve political cohesion and, indeed, Catalonia could not reach its own definitive identity without the cohesion from the building of administrative and political structures around the head of the county of Barcelona and the kingdom of Aragon: les élans et progrès de la conscience catalane, loin d’être ‘achevés’ en 1100 ou en 1137, connaissent alors l’ébauche d’une première expression: ils devaient être profondément secoués et accélérés par les conquêtes et les fondations des premiers comtes-rois (c. 1148– 1213) (‘the impetus and progress of the Catalan consciousness, far from being ‘completed’ in 1100 or 1137, knew at these moment the beginning of their first expression: they became deeply shaken and accelerated by the conquests and foundations by the earliest Counts-Kings (c. 1148–1213)’)19. According this explanation, the end of Peter the Catholic’s reign in 1213 marked the definitive moment when Catalonia concluded its primordial cohesion. This survey of historiography shows outstanding scholars dating the birth of regional cohesion and national identity for Catalonia at many different dates between the ninth and thirteenth centuries. Before choosing some answer, we could examine another perspective, namely one derived from the name of the region: knowing the roots of the name, could lead to finding the reason for its cohesion.

1 8 Zimmermann, ‘Des pays catalans à la Catalogne’, p. 80. 19 Bisson, ‘L’essor de la Catalogne’, p. 455.

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2. Seeking the Origin of the Name of the Country The debate around the roots of Catalonia’s name has seemed to be insolvable20, with the scholars proclaiming prudent propositions dando a entender la inseguridad en que se mueven (‘implying the insecurity in which they move’)21. In any case, we have a wide range of suggestions from different researchers. The origin could be a placed from where the founding peoples came22, such as the Ager Catalaunicus, which was situated in Languedoc until the nineteenth century23 when it was related with the correct location in Burgundy24. From there, the catalauni would move to north-eastern Spain to fight the Muslims in the eighth century, according what was believed between the fifteenth and nineteenth centuries25 and still defended by some scholars in the twentieth26. At the beginning of the fifteenth century, it was proposed that the name could be derived from the leader of the warriors opening the way for Charlemagne, accompanied by his nine famous knights27. Although some critical historians rejected this explanation during the modern centuries, the founding myth of this knight, the so-called Otger Cataló enjoyed widespread popularity until the end of nineteenth century28. This explanation related the origin of Catalonia to Gothic roots, to the taste of the fifteenth century29 and still finding linguistic support in the nineteenth30. Nevertheless, another suggestion was that the name of the region was related not to a person or people arriving from abroad but to a native preRoman people, as Zurita stated in the sixteenth century: de unos pueblos que

2 0 Vernet, ‘El nom de Catalunya’, p. 31. 21 Rubio, ‘Catalán-Cataluña’, p. 239. 22 Expilly, Dictionnaire géographique, historique et politique des Gaules et de la France, vol. II, p. 127. 23 Madoz, Articles sobre el Princiapt de Catalunya, p. 430. 24 Desnoyers, ‘Topographie Ecclésiastique de la France», pp. 210–211. 25 Mariana, Historia General de España, vol. I, p. 219. 26 Bonfante, El nombre de Cataluña, 1944. 27 Duran, Sobre la mitificació dels orígens històrics nacionals catalans, pp. 14–17. 28 Bofarull, Historia crítica (civil y eclesiàstica) de Cataluña,, vol. II, pp. 31–41. 29 Tate, ‘Margarit i el tema dels gots’, pp. 151–162. 30 Torras Amat, Memorias para ayudar a formar un diccionario crítico, p. XXVIII.

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antiguamente se llamaban Castellanos, que estaban en la antigua Cataluña, entre los Ausetanos y los Lacetanos (“from some peoples that formerly were called Castellani, which were in the former Catalonia, between the Ausetani and the Lacetani”)31. A similar proposition was formulated pointing the pre-Roman Iberian Lacetani, to value a long afinitat de raça (affinity of race) from Prehistory, according to the nineteenth century expression by Joaquim Cases32. Ernst Schopf accepted it as popular continuity33, and Joan Corominas argued it as a neologism created in twelfth century34. However, still different theories were developed:  perhaps at the beginning there was not a people but a place. The name of the country could spread the original name of a famous city that presided over the territory. This was believed by Lorenzo Valla in the fifteenth century regarding a supposed former Roman city – hubo allí una ciudad ilustre llamada Catalón y sus habitantes se llamaban Catalanes (‘there was an illustrious city called Catalon and its inhabitants were called Catalans’)35 –, by Andreu Bosc, in the seventeenth century sceptically regarding Castelló36, and by Paul Aebischer in the twentieth century looking at Montcada37. However, perhaps the origin of the name was situated in a strategic point from where foreign peoples could reach the country: a non-localized fortress called Talunya by the Muslims enemies38, or an unplaced castle called catalonh by the Occitan speaking neighbours39. If the name could come from an external vision, Catalonia might refer to foreign people who saw the country as a ‘land of mountaineers’40, or to the Muslims inhabitants of

3 1 Zurita, Anales de la Corona de Aragón, vol. I, p. 49. 32 Cases, ‘Estudis d’etnogenia catalana’, pp. 17–18. 33 Schopf, Die konsonantischen Fernwirkungen: Fern-Dissimilation, Fern-Assimilation und Metathesis, p. 196. 34 Coromines, ‘Extensió i origen de ‘català’ i ‘Catalunya’, pp. 159–170; El que s’ha de saber de la llengua catalana, pp. 71–83. 35 Valla, Historia de Fernando de Aragón, p. 84. 36 Bosc, Sumari, índex o epítome dels admirables i nobilíssims títols d’honor, p. 90. 37 Aesbischer, ‘Autour de l’origine du nom Catalogne’, pp. 49–67. 38 Vernet, ‘¿La más antigua cita de Cataluña?’, pp. 231–232; ‘El nombre de Cataluña’, pp. 133–136. 39 Piel, ‘Kleine Besträge zur Katalanischen Toponomastik’, pp. 237–244. 40 Pariente, ‘Sobre el origen de ‘Catalan’ y de ‘Cataluña’·, pp. 373–390.

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Majorca, who – pirating the shores of Catalonia – imagined it as ‘the land of wealth’ (Qat`a al-gunya)41. Moreover, given that the name could derive from a descriptive item, this could be from the many castles that filled it, as proposed in the sixteenth century42. The proposition assimilated the cases of Catalonia and Castile, both facing the same Muslim border43. The name, with this function, would derive from Arabic, according to Guiter44, or from Latin, according to the large majority of the authors. In these cases, regarding the standard linguistic rules, throughout the centuries the proposition was rejected by most philologists but accepted by many historians45. In 1899, José Balari noticed that the name appeared immediately after the start of feudalization: the name would come not from the huge number of castles but from the great social impact of the large number of tenants of these castles46. Enquiring about the name of the country, we found a range of answers from many scholars that believed that some previous people, place, city or item could have projected its name to the whole country that was formed around it. Finally, it seems that the name spread in the twelfth century, at the same time as the region obtained its social cohesion47. Perhaps, more than the founding moment or the roots of the name, we should focus on the ways of perceiving the regional cohesion.

41 Balañà, ‘El nom de Catalunya’, pp.  39–41; ‘Catalunya, ‘la terra de la riquesa’’, pp. 44–53. 42 Cortés, Diccionario Geográfico histórico de la España Antigua Tarraconense, Bètica y Lusitania, p. 323. 43 Rubio, ‘Catalan-Cataluña’, p. 267. 44 Guiter, ‘Catalans-Catalonia’, pp. 13–14. 45 Carreras Candi, ‘Notes sobre los orígens de la enfiteusi’, 15 (1909),198; Bonnassie, La Catalogne du milieu du X à la fin du XI siècle, vol. II, p. 804; Bertran, ‘Notes sobre els orígens d’unes poblacions urgellenques’, p. 243; Zimmermann, ‘Orígenes y formación de una sociedad feudal’, p. 236 ; Bonnassie, ‘Sur la formation du féodalisme catalan et sa première expansion’, p. 21; Bisson, ‘L’éssor de la Catalogne’, p. 456; Riu, ‘El feudalismo en Cataluña’, p. 394. 46 Balari, Orígenes históricos de Cataluña, pp. 30–31. 47 Sabaté, ‘The Medieval Roots of Catalan Identity’, pp. 37–63.

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3. Better to Try to Explain It from the Notions of Evolution and Perception Fascinated with the notion of nation, historians looked for the cohesion of the region by asking about the birth of the Catalan nation. However, in reality, there was no key moment, but rather a sequential evolution of society. Certainly, the designation of Wilfred the Hairy as count of Barcelona by Louis II in 878 was the last nomination by a French King of a count in this area. However, it was not a political concession of independence. In reality, the collapse of Carolingian power after the death of Charles the Bald in 877 obliged the counts to take decisions over their counties, and helped them to keep the public patrimony as their own and be succeeded by their descendants, although they periodically visited the royal court until 956 and demanded royal privileges probably until 986, one year before the end of the royal dynasty. The transfer of power was stated in the words of count Hugo I of Empúries in 1019: potestatem quam reges ibi pridem habuerint, iste Hugo comes ibi habebat48. The different counties were detached from the Carolingian matrix: there was no initial unity called Marca Hispanica around the count of Barcelona. This was just a geographical and descriptive expression, lacking a political or administrative sense49. The counties, bordering on the Muslim lands, progressively underwent a similar evolution that brought them closer to each other: they used Visigoth Law inherited from the previous Visigoth kingdom; spoke a Latin, that was evolving into a common Rusticam Romanam Linguam; experienced economic expansion, cultivating new lands and building infrastructure such as mills, over the border in no-man’s land in the tenth century and in the lands conquered from Muslim territory in the eleventh century; and adopting feudal structures to organize the territory and society from the eleventh century on. The similarities facilitated diplomatic contact. In the dynasties of the counties, 39.39 % of the marriages took place in the same counties, and another 36.6 % with the Occitan nobility50. In fact, the Muslims described the inhabitants with 4 8 Marca, Marca Hispanica, col. 1014. 49 Zimmermann, ‘Le concept de ‘Marca hispánica’’, pp. 29–48. 50 Sabaté, ‘El nacimiento de Cataluña’, pp. 224–242.

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a very similar language and character, living in a common place (Ifranya), where the count of Barcelona is defined as pre-eminent (malik)51. Certainly, the counties shared a strategic, political, diplomatic and social scenario, where the county of Barcelona, backed by favourable economic, strategic and political circumstances, was becoming pre-eminent, which the feudal system reflected while respecting the sovereignty of each count in his own domains52. The twelfth century culminated the emergence of the count of Barcelona. He absorbed other counties (Besalú, Cerdanya, Rosselló, Pallars Jussà), acquired the royal crown of Aragon and conquered the most northerly Muslim capitals (Tortosa and Lleida). At the same time that he consolidated his domains in Provence and Occitania. Between 1163 and 1196, Alfonso the Cast reigned as Dei gracia rex Aragonensis, comes Barchinonensis et marchio Provincie53. In the same century, the nobles consolidated their position through the feudal order as well as the towns and cities from both the old counties (Gerona, Barcelona, Vic, etc.) and the new cities refounded after being conquered (Tortosa and Lleida), grew fast. The economy benefited from rural expansion, urban activities, dynamic markets and growing exportations. Society grew in complexity because the clergy, nobles and urban investors gained access to political power and developed their respective values. Thus, the country generated its own social and economic cohesion. The sovereign was the same in Catalonia and in Aragon, but each of these territories reached its own cohesion at the same time. That meant that it was not the dynasty who gave cohesion, but the dynamics of each society, according to the consolidation of the respective groups of power54. Consequently, at the same moment both neighbouring territories under the same sovereign reach their own name separately. Aragon was in origin a small land in the Pyrenees, and during the twelfth century different areas were aggregated further south, adding new areas and with these, new names until by the end of the century, Aragon became the name of the whole. During the same century, the north-eastern counties were perceived

51

Ibn Hawkal, Configuración del mundo, p. 63; Isa Ibn Ahmad Al-Razi, Anales palatinos, p. 46; Vernet, ‘El ‘statu quo’ internacional de Barcelona en el siglo X’, pp. 515–516. 52 Sabaté, ‘Corona de Aragón’, p. 265. 5 3 Sánchez Casabón Alfonso II Rey de Aragón. 54 Sabaté, ‘Els primers temps’, pp. 62–65.

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as a united space although there was no politically unified country. After leading a coalition of commercial cities between Barcelona and Italy against Muslim Majorca in 1114, the count of Barcelona was described in the Liber Maiorichinus that narrated the expedition of an allied fleet, led by Pisa against the taifa of the Balearic Islands, as dux catalanensis, rector catalanicus and catalanicus heros55. There was an external perception that the lands in the north-east of the Iberian Peninsula had a common identity and could be perceived under a common name, Catalonia. There was also an internal awareness with the spread since the first third of the twelfth century of the Catalan as a name56, at the same time that there was a growing interaction between the members of the society. This was the time when the country became structured with the districts of the castle as the basic jurisdictional unit. This had an enormous impact on society as a reference for places and the centre of a pyramidal organization under the tenants (the castlans), which justified permanent taxation of the people in the castle’s district and articulated the formal structure of the country’s feudal army57. This explains the relation between the castles and their tenants, and the name for the country. I assume the vision of a social evolution and borrow the notion of perception from human geography58 as a tool to overcome the difficulties of previous studies that tried to find a national started point to explain the regional cohesion. In any case, during the twelfth century, the society in the north-east of the Iberian Peninsula was perceived as cohesive, and it had its own awareness about sharing its circumstances and beliefs. Nevertheless, the same evolution was a poisoned legacy for the power of the sovereign. At the beginning, there was no single lord for the country, but different counties, which were internally fragmented by the feudalisation after expanding over the Muslim frontier. This is why, when the count of Barcelona became the sovereign of Catalonia in the twelfth century, his jurisdictional and fiscal bases were extremely weak. He had difficulties finding a name to define his domains – dicta terra mea a Salsis usque ad Dertosam et Ilerdam cum finibus suis59 – and when he tried to impose his jurisdiction and taxes over 5 5 Vidal, El Llibre de Mallorca (Liber Maiorichinus), pp. 3–67. 56 Udina, ‘Cataluña y su corónimo, p. 15. 57 Sabaté, ‘La tenencia de castillos en la Cataluña medieval’, pp. 76–136. 58 Tuan, Topophilia; Villeneuve, ‘Géographie de la perception et méthode dialectique’, pp. 241–260; Tuan, ‘Environment, behaviour and thought’, pp. 77–81. 59 Gonzalvo, Les Constitucions de Pau i Treva (segles XI-XIII), p. 76.

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all Catalonia, the barons blocked these, saying that he could not do it where the jurisdiction belonged to some baron, ecclesiastic or bourgeoisie lord60.

4. The Struggle for Political Power: Discourses and Institutions from Representation Emulating strategies previously followed by such monarchs as the French or English and with the adequate ecclesiastic and juridical backing, the king of Aragon also invoked the king’s peace as a guarantee of the sovereignty of Catalonia through seizing the assemblies of Pau i Treva (Peace and Truce) that had arisen in the ecclesiastic setting of eleventh-century feudalism61. However, the strength of the nobles and bourgeois at the start of the thirteenth century facilitated the transformation of the assemblies of peace and truce into the General Courts of Catalonia, where barons, nobles, clergy, and the cities under royal jurisdiction became structured as estates62, concordant with the dynamic of parliamentary representation63 that was spreading around Europe at the time.64 The tensions between these and the king throughout the thirteenth century illustrated and pushed the cohesion of Catalonia, because this was the framework accepted by all the groups immersed in the tensions of power65. The Courts of 1291 explicitly ruled that the officials had to be Catalans: vicarius, baiulus et curia et quilibet officialis qui jus habeat reddere de uno ad alium in Cathalonia et in Regno Maiorice et dictis insulis et assessor eorum, sint Cathalani. They added that the same be applied to councillors, judges who dealt with Catalan affairs in the court of the procurator of the king as they would have better knowledge of the country’s laws and customs: quia Catalani scient melius consuetudines et observantias Cathalonie66. 6 0 Sabaté, ‘Catalunya Medieval’, pp. 197–210. 61 Gonzalvo, La Pau i la Treva a Catalunya, pp. 50–62. 62 Gonzalvo, ‘Les assembles de Pau i Treva i l’origen de la Cort General de Catalunya’, pp. 74–77. 63 Randall, The Creative Centuries, p. 248. 64 Wilkinson, The creation of Medieval Parliaments, pp. 59–90. 65 Sabaté, ‘Poder i territori durant el regnat de Jaume I’, pp. 61–129. 66 Cortes de Cataluña, vol. I, pp. 155–156.

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In attempts to strengthen their position, throughout the thirteenth century, the kings of Aragon elaborated discourses about their preeminence assisted by Romanist jurists, conquered new countries in Valence and Majorca and organized the central government. In the final decades, royal high institutions over the whole Crown of Aragon and specifically over Catalonia were created, such as the General Bailiff for dealing with royal taxes and incomes. During the early years of fourteenth century, the permanent delegate of the king became consolidated over Catalonia, as well as a complete division of all Catalonia into royal jurisdictional districts – vegueries – and the reorganization of the archive of the royal Chancellery67. This royal ambition clashed with the weakness of its bases. The Courts of 1283 forcefully established that no royal official could even enter any jurisdiction that was not the king’s, as defined with: oficiales quicunque sagiones seu bastonarii nostris non intrent amodo civitates, villas, castra seu civitatum, villarum aut castrorum terminos vel alia quacumque eorum loca Catalonie que non sint nostra68. Thus, the country became a jurisdictional mosaic until the nineteenth century. The challenges of the fourteenth century only exacerbated this situation. To be able to obtain financing, the king had to cede his territorial patrimony, in general as a guarantee for loans that he could not repay. It reached an extreme in 1392: the king only controlled 13.43 % of Catalan territory and 22.17 % of the population69. At the same time, the monarch needed extraordinary subsidies from the estates: the courts became the place for negotiations in which the king obtained money in exchange for concessions to the estates70. From 1359 and definitively from 1365, the courts established the Diputació del General as a permanent delegation to handle the concessions, with power to intervene all over the territory, whatever the jurisdiction71. The new institution soon intervened in political affairs, negotiating with the king and structured itself to ensure its continuance72. This thus epitomised an institutional duality taken to extremes very unusual in Europe, given

6 7 Sabaté, ‘Discurs i estratègies del poder reial’, pp. 622–632. 68 Cortes de Cataluña, vol. I, p. 143. 69 Sabaté, ‘Discurs i estratègies del poder reial’, p. 633. 70 Abadal, Pere el Cerimoniós i els inicis dela decadència política de Catalunya, pp. 257–279. 71 Sánchez, El naixement de la fiscalitat d’Estat a Catalunya, pp. 119–134. 72 Sánchez de Movellán, La Diputació del General de Catalunya, pp. 101–268.

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the constant duality between the king and the permanent Deputation of the parliament73. The estates occupied this position and used its power being sure that they kept the representation of the country. In fact, Marsilio de Padova had appended the populum sive civium universitatem to the organisation of power74, an approach that Baldo de Ubaldis culminated establishing civitas sibi princeps75. In the fourteenth century, the most famous and influential writer in the Catalan bourgeoisie, Francesc Eiximenis, disseminated these ideas to a very receptive Catalonia, given the power of the estates. He is absolutely clear, writing that at the beginning of Humanity there were only free communities (estant axí los homens separats, proposassen de ffer comunitat per millor estament llur), and each one freely chose the system of government it preferred (cascuna comunitat poch elegir senyoria aytal com se volt, si·s volch que fos sots princep, si·s vol sots regiment de alguns de si mateix a temps, si·s vol per altra via) and imposed the conditions and agreements on the rulers chosen (cascuna comunitat féu ab sa pròpria senyoria patis e convencions proffitosos e honorables per si matexa principalment, e après per aquell o per aquells a qui donà la potestat de son regiment). In any case, the order of pre-eminence was clear, because it was each community who chose the ruler for love of itself (la comunitat no alagí senyoria per amor del regidor, mas elegí regidor per amor de si mateixa)76. The representation assumed by the estates let them influence who had to wear the crown. The 1396, the sudden death of John I generated doubts about whether he should be succeeded by his daughter Jean, married to the powerful count of Foix, or his brother Martin, but the discussion did not start because the estates, led by the Barcelona council, chose Martin as the heir77. Even more forcefully, when King Martin died without direct legitimate heir in 1410, the estates bid for the successor to be chosen by the general courts, which in fact, led to a two-year interregnum and election by a delegation from the parliaments78. Regardless of who was elected, the

7 3 Ferro, El Dret Públic Català, pp. 243–244. 74 Marsilius de Padova, Defensor Pacis, p. 49. 75 Canning,, The political thought of Baldus de Ubaldis, pp. 93–208. 76 Eiximenis, Dotzè lliber del Crestià. I.1, pp. 337–338. 77 Sabaté, ‘La mort du roi en Catalogne’, pp. 163–164. 78 Sabaté, ‘Per què hi va haver un compromís de Casp?’, pp. 45–119.

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procedure showed who enjoyed the real sovereignty that allowed the lords to be chosen: fo lo XI Rey de Aragó e Comte de Barçelona elegit per la terra, (‘He was the eleventh king of Aragon and count of Barcelona chosen by the land’) as Pere Tomic described a few years later79. Deputies and parliamentarians were from very specific elites and actually looked after the interests of a certain sector of society. However, they justified their position by their representation of the land and concern for the general interest of the common body of society, the country itself. Thus, the discourses used to justify the representation support and promote the cohesion of the country. Consequently, we should analyse the terms involved.

5. What Did the Names for Cohesion Mean? Nation, Land, General, Mystical Body and Homeland The description or invocation of a collective unity for the late-medieval Catalonia used a diverse range of names, which is why their meanings and implications must be defined. Medieval people were defined by membership of a group, and especially as a social being80. Coherently, in the Late Middle Ages, groups that enjoyed such common traits as a language and often the territory and lord, were perceived as nations81 and generated a feeling of solidarity82 that brought the political unity of the sovereign, the linguistic community and the story of cohesion together83. Given that human beings belong to solidarity groups, it is a question of bringing together those who share common traits of birth (nascor), which is why the term nation (natio) is used84. Thus, when the French king invaded Catalonia in 1285, the chronicler Ramon Muntaner explained that some monks who had been

7 9 Tomic, Històries e conquestes, p. 26.) 80 Sabaté, ‘Els referents històrics de la societat’, pp. 13–25. 81 Guenée, pp. 56–73. 82 Genicot, Europa en el siglo XIII, pp. 129–130. 83 Mertens, Il pensiero politico medievale, pp. 128–129. 84 Vega, Estudio sintáctico-semántico de los verbos de nacimiento en el latín ‘gigno’, ‘nascor’ y ‘orior’, p. 14.

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living for a long time in Catalan territory helped the invaders for reasons of their origins, and they also clearly stated it to the French king: “som naturals de vostra terra e naturals vostres” (“we are from your land and of you”)85. Sharing this common origin meant sharing ways of doing things: “les nostres maneres” (“our manners”) as Peter the Ceremonious said in 136986. This was a series of everyday aspects, like table manners: Eiximenis explains that “la nació catalana era eximpli de totes les altres gents cristianes en menjar honest e en temprat beure”. (“The Catalan nation was an example for all other Christian people in honest eating and moderate drinking”)87. Of all the elements of identity, the most important is language. People, nations and languages became synonymous when in 1471 Bishop Joan Margarit, with other deputies, tried to explain the Catalan civil war through the foreign pressure envious of the Catalan strength, which was why diverses nations e senyories (‘various nations and lordships’) were submitted in the past and now som stats prenda, oprobi e derisió a totes gents e nations; castellans, portoguesos, francesos, gascons, tudeschs, prohensals, ytalians e a totes altres lengues e pobles (“we are taken prisoner, shamed and derided by all peoples and nations; Castilians, Portuguese, French, Gascons, Germans, Provencals, Italians and of all other languages and peoples”)88. The world thus became a competition between nations. It was proclaimed in 1410, that one must ensure per ço que lo gran renom de la nació catalana, preïcat e escampat per tot lo universal món, no peresque ni es trabusc, ans sia mantingut e purament guardat (“because the great reputation of the Catalan nation, preached and spread all over the universal world, does not disappear or become stuck, but be maintained and fully preserved”)89. The nation, shared this way, became a common global feeling: “tota nostra nació” (“all our nation”) had to be cheered that a Catalan had become cardinal, as King Peter the Ceremonious said in 135790. The same nation took on human similes: the Catalan nation suffered from loneliness and cried like a widow at the king’s long absence, with Bishop Margarit proclaiming before the courts in 1454, given that the king had been in Italy since 1432: jau la 8 5 Muntaner, Crònica, cap. CXXII, p. 779. 86 Albert-Gassiot, Parlaments a les corts catalanes, p. 38. 87 Eiximenis, Terç llibre del Crestià, ­chapter 372 [Lo Crestià. Selecció, p. 148. 88 Carreras i Candi, Pere Joan Ferrer, p. 104. 89 Albert-Gassiot, Parlaments a les corts catalanes, p. 93. 90 Rubió y Lluch, Documents per l’història de la Cultura Catalana Mig-eval, vol. I, pp. 180–181.

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dita nació catalana, quasi vídua e plora la sua desolació (“the said Catalan nation lies, almost widowed and weeps in its distress”)91. As the concept of nation is cultural and communal, it goes beyond the political representation of the estates. They invoked their representation when they talked about the land (terra). The men of the towns and cities expressed their concerns about foreign invasions causing gran dampnatge de la terra (‘great damage to the land’)92, and if needed, were prepared to mobilize “les hosts de la terra” (“the hosts of the land”)93, while not hesitating to face the king stating that his policy of jurisdictional disintegration and his fiscal demands could mean that tota aquesta terra seria perjudicada (“all this land will be harmed”)94 a situation worsened per la gran pobresa que és en la terra (“by the great poverty that was in the land”)95. Thus, the land allowed a duality to be built regarding the sovereign: per bon profit e utilitat del senyor rei e de la terra. (“for the good profit and utility of our lord the king and the land”)96. This can even be a counterpoised duality, as the government of Valencia told King John I, in doubting quan la terra n·és calumpniada e quant ne ve a profit de vós, senyor (“when the land is harmed and when you, your highness, take advantage of this”)97. In this scenario, the estates concerned themselves for “la terra de Catalunya” (“the land of Catalonia”)98, and invoked their representation of the land when they faced the king. Thus, this became an argument of cohesion in the hands of the estates and often against the king99. In 1329, the municipal governors of Girona justified their attitude stating that se sien esforçats e se forsen de procurar so qui és profitós a tot lo general de la terra (“efforts have been, and are, required to ensure everything that is profitable for the earth in general”)100. Thus, ‘general’ came to be identified with what affected everyone. The same estates, in their representation, could use it, as reflected by the government of Lleida when

9 1 ‘Albert –Gassiot, Parlaments a les corts catalanes, pp. 210–211. 92 AHCG, I.1.2.1, lligall 7, llibre 1, fol. 51v. 93 AHCG, I.1.2.1, lligall 1, llibre 2, fol. 51v. 94 AHCG, I.1.2.1, lligall 2, llibre 1, fol. 6v. 95 ACU, llibre del consell 3, fol. 6r. 96 ML, llibre d’actes 403, loose sheet between 6v and 7r. 97 Roca, ‘Memorial de greuges’, p. 76. 98 AML, llibre d’actes 400, fol. 52r. 99 Oleart, ‘La terra davant del monarca’, pp. 593–614. 100 AHCG, I.1.1.1, lligall 1, llibre 1, fol. 1r.

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in 1350 it addressed the king to demand an end to his fiscal requirements until an agreement was reached in the courts: “li plàcie que·l vuylle revocar tro que en corts per él e per tot lo general hy sie proveyt” (“that the king would like to revoke it until in Courts a decision will be taken together by him and by all the ‘general’’’)101. Very coherently, the institution created to perpetuate itself as a permanent delegation of the Courts was given the name of Deputació del General de Catalunya102. Apart from being dominated by the oligarchy who would use the institution and mechanisms they themselves introduced, its members justified it as a full representation of Catalonia, accepting the confrontations with the king to which this inevitably led103. In 1340, the participation of the Crown of Aragon against the alleged invasion of the Iberian Peninsula by the Benimerin Muslims was prepared in the royal chancellery “ad exaltaciorum fidei catolice et ad patrie defensionem contra perfidos saracenos”, which was translated, in order to explain it to the population, as: “en exalçament de la fe cathòlica e en deffensió del regne e terra del senyor” (“in exaltation of the Catholic faith in defence of the Lord’s earthly reign”)104. Defining the homeland (pàtria) with the land of the lord is a way of bringing the concepts of homeland and country together. At the same time, the term homeland is frequently used to designate one’s own surroundings105, from the coherence that the jurist Joan de Socarrats defined in the fifteenth century: “dicitur enim propria patria in qua sum natus”106. Thus, that same century, the term pàtria was linked to the country as a whole, independent from the sovereign. So, the term pàtria can be identified with the coutry as a whole: in 1371 “fuerunt mortalitates hominem et mulierum in ista patria and in 1389 gentes Armigerae extraneae nationis intrarunt patriam istam”107. In coherence, the homeland can be mentioned independently of the sovereign. In 1475, the councillors of Barcelona, claimed to act in “benefici e repòs de la re pública de aquest Principat de Cathalunya e a la deffensió de la pàtria” (“benefit and rest of the republic

1 01 AML, llibre d’actes 399, fol, 18v-19r. 102 Ferrer, Els orígens de la Generalitat de Catalunya, pp. 7–44. 103 Sabaté, ‘El poder soberano en la Cataluña bajomedieval’, pp. 509–515 104 ACA, Cancelleria Varia, reg. 273, without number. 105 Sabaté, El territori de la Catalunya medieval, pp. 350–351. 106 Maravall, ‘Sobre la formación del régimen político territorial en Cataluña’, p. 196. 107 Merino - Canal, España sagrada, pp. 399–400.

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of this Principality of Catalonia and to the defence of the homeland”)108. We are well on the way to the position that became generalised in Europe in the centuries immediately following, an appeal to identity109. In 1409, before the Courts, the Viscount of Illa and Canet praised the leading role of the sovereign as the prince who is the head of a mystic body of society, “car és cosa necessària a la cosa pública ésser un príncep, lo qual és govern de son poble, rigor de justícia, majestat pública, per la qual així com a cap és la cosa pública, cos místic, governada” (“because the res publica must have a prince, who guarantees the government of his people, the rigour of the justice and the public majestic, given that he leads the res publica as the head of the mystical body”)110. This is the image shared with the feudal monarchies borrowed from the image taken on by the Church in the twelfth century111. However, the physiological disquisition between head and heart112, which involves discussing where to locate the soul113, is properly exploited by the political discourse. Thus, it is clear who enjoys pre-eminence as it is stated, in the midst of civil war, that “Barchinona lo cor del cors místich de Cathalunya” (“Barcelona as the heart of the mystical body”)114. In all cases, those invoking be representative of Catalonia had used expressions meaning a collective sense of the country, which, being spread, itself has contributed mightily to the cohesion of identity.

6. Epilogue and Conclusions The medieval legacy for the following centuries was precisely the insertion of the discourse of identity into the political game. A general tension in Europe between the absolutist and mixed models of government adjusted 1 08 Carreras i Candi, Pere Joan Ferrer, 1892, p. 123. 109 Friedeburg, ‘The Office of the Patriot’, pp. 241–263. 110 Albert – Gassiot, Parlaments a les corts catalanes, p. 79. 111 Kantorowicz, The King Two Bodies, pp. 195–270. 112 Le Goff - Truong, Une histoire du corps au Moyen Âge, p. 179. 113 Carruthers – Ziolkowski, The Medieval Craft of Memory, p. 106. 114 ‘Barcelona is the heart of the mystic body of Catalonia’, Martínez Ferrando, Pere de Portugal, Rei dels Catalans, pp. 245–246.

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itself to the historical background of each country115. The Hispanic monarchy should deal with a ruling Catalan elite which guarded the discourse of representation forged in the Middle Ages. The privileges granted to Barcelona by Charles the Bald in 844, the limitations imposed on the king by the Courts of 1283 and the choice of the king in 1412 were invoked to condition the actions of the Hispanic monarchy in Catalonia116. The conflict of arguments turned violent in 1640 when the Catalan Revolt broke out117. Immediately, the deputies (els diputats del General del Principat de Cathalunya) invoking their representation over the country, tried to dismiss the king. This perpetuated various opposing and contradictory discourses about the medieval origin and cohesion of Catalonia, at least until the capitulation of Barcelona in 1652. The late-medieval legislation, institutions and representative by the states continued until the 1715 Nova Planta decrees, with which the first Bourbon monarch brought the government of Catalonia into line with the rest of Spain118. During the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the difficulty fitting into the discourse for the cohesion of Spain promoted diverse cultural and political movements, which, one way or another, have included the justification of the cohesion achieved by Catalonia in the Middle Ages119. However, this same liveliness has conditioned the image of the past120, and, inevitably, has tarnished the historical knowledge of what really happened. Only turning to a heuristic and hermeneutic renovation we can, now in the twenty-first century, deconstruct the story and revise the historical analysis. Indeed, rather than some founding moment or a line teleologically continued, we perceive a progressive path, that has concatenated various elements:  a long convergent social, economic and cultural evolution between the ninth and twelfth centuries; the external perception and internal assumption of that reality in the same twelfth century; the institutions established in the Late Middle Ages; and the conflicts over power also in the Late Middle Ages between the groups that sought their justification in representation, thus all leading to specific discourses of cohesion. These 1 15 Gaille-Nokodimov, ed., Le Gouvernment mixte. 116 Villanueva, ‘Francisco Calça y el mito de la libertad originaria de Cataluña’, pp. 75–87. 117 Simon, Els orígens ideològics de la revolució catalana de 1640; Construccions polítiques i identitats nacioals. Catalunya i els orígens de l’estat modern espanyol. 118 Juan, ‘Los reinados de Felipe V y Fernando VI’, pp. 124–133. 119 Colomines, ‘Tradición y modernidad en la cultura del catalanismo’, pp. 97–114. 120 Grau, ‘El pensament històric de la dinastia Bofarull’, pp. 137–138.

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items mixed a specific identity, perception and cohesion for a medieval region, which include justifying discourses, related to the power, that continued to evolve long after the Middle Ages.

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Sabaté, Flocel, ‘El poder soberano en la Cataluña bajomedieval: definición y ruptura’ in Foronda, François, Jean-Philippe Genet, and José Manuel Nieto Soria, eds., Coups d’État à la fin du Moyen Âge? Aux fondements du pouvoir politique en Europe occidentale(Madrid: Casa de Velazquez, 2005b), pp. 483–528. Sabaté, Flocel, ‘La tenencia de castillos en la Cataluña medieval’, in Cabezuelo Pliego, and José Vicente, eds., Alcaidías y fortalezas en la España medieval (Alcoy: Editorial Marfil, 2006), pp. 69–136. Sabaté, Flocel, ‘Els primers temps: segle XII (1137–1213).’, in Belenguer, Ernest, ed., Història de la Corona d’Aragó, 2 vols. (Barcelona: Edicions 62, 2007a), vol. I, pp. 31–81. Sabaté, Flocel, ‘La mort du roi en Catalogne: de l’événement biologique au fait historique’, in Carozzi, Claude, and Huguette Taviani-Carozzi, eds., Faire l’événement au Moyen Âge (Aix-en-Provence: Publications de l’Université de Provence, 2007b), pp. 157–174. Sabaté, Flocel, ‘Poder i territori durant el regnat de Jaume I. Catalunya i Aragó’, in Ferrer, Maria Teresa, ed., Jaume I. Commemoració del VIII centenari del naixement de Jaume I, 2 vols. (Barcelona: Institut d’Estudis Catalans, 2011–2013), vol. 1, pp. 61–129. Sabaté, Flocel, ‘Els referents històrics de la societat: identitat i memòria’, in Sabaté, Flocel, ed., L’Edat Mitjana. Món real i espai imaginat (Catarroja – Barcelona: editorial Afers, 2012), pp. 13–38. Sabaté, Flocel, ‘Per què hi va haver un compromís de Casp?’ in Bellveser, Ricard, ed., Els valencians en el Compromís de Casp i en el Cisma d’Occident (Valencia: Institució Alfons el Magnànim, 2013), pp. 45–119. Sabaté, Flocel, ‘The medieval roots of Catalan identity’, in Sabaté, Flocel, ed., Historical Analysis of the Catalan Identity (Bern: Peter Lang, 2015), pp. 29–104. Sánchez, Manuel, El naixement de la fiscalitat d’Estat a Catalunya (segles XII-XIV) (Vic-Girona: Eumo Editorial – Universitat de Girona, 1995). Sánchez de Movellán, Isabel, La Diputació del General de Catalunya (1413–1479) (Barcelona: Institut d’Estudis Catalans, 2004). Schopf, Ernst, Die konsonantischen Fernwirkungen: Fern-Dissimilation, Fern-Assimilation und Metathesis. Ein Beitrag zur Beurteilung ihres Wesens und ihres Verlaufs und zur Kenntnis der Vulgärsprache in den lateinischen Inschriften der römischen Kaiserzeit (Göttingen: Vanderhocek & Ruprecht, 1919).

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Simon, Antoni, Els orígens ideològics de la revolució catalana de 1640 (Barcelona: Publicacions de l’Abadia de Montserrat, 1999). Simon, Antoni, Construccions polítiques i identitats nacionals. Catalunya i els orígens de l’estat modern espanyol (Barcelona: Publicacions de l’Abadia de Montserrat, 2005). Tate, Robert B., ‘Margarit i el tema dels gots’, in Bruguera, Jordi, and Josep Massot i Muntaner, Josep eds., Actes del Cinqué col·loqui Internacional de Llengua i Literatura catalanes (Andorra, 1–6 d’octubre de 1979) (Barcelona: Publicacions de l’Abadia de Montserrat, 1980), pp. 151–168. Torras Amat, Fèlix, Memorias para ayudar a formar un diccionario crítico de lso escritores catalanes y dar alguna idea de la Antigua y moderna literatura de Cataluña (Barcelona: Imprenta de J. Verdaguer, 1836). Torras i Bages, Josep, La tradició catalana (Barcelona: Editorial Selecta, 1966). Tuan, Yi-Fu, Topophilia. A study of environmental perception. Attitudes and values (Prentice-Hill: Englewood Cliffs, 1974). Tuan, Yi-Fu, ‘Environment, behaviour and thought’, in Boal, Frederick W., and David N. Livingstone, eds., The behavioural environment. Essays in reflection, applications and re-evaluation (London-New  York: Routledge, 1989), pp. 69–136. Udina, Federico, ‘Cataluña y su corónimo, así como el étnico ‘catalán’ aparecen en el siglo XI’, Estudios de Edad Media de la Corona de Aragón, 7 (1962), pp. 549–577. Valls i Taberner, Ferran, Estudis d’història jurídica Catalana (Málaga: Arxiu de la Biblioteca Ferran Valls i Taberner and others publishers, 1989). Vega, Natalia, Estudio sintáctico-semántico de los verbos de nacimiwento en el latín ‘gigno’, ‘nascor’ y ‘orior’ (Bogotà: Universidad Nacional de Colombia [tesis de llicenciatura], 2007). Vernet, Joan, ‘¿La más antigua cita de Cataluña?’, Al-Andalus, 32 (1967), pp. 231–232. Vernet, Joan, ‘El nombre de Cataluña’, Boletín de la Real Academia de las Buenas Letras de Barcelona, 33 (1969–1970), pp. 133–136. Vernet, Joan, ‘El nom de Catalunya’, in Salrach, Josep M., ed., Història de Catalunya, 6 vols. (Barcelona: Salvat editores, 1978), vol. II, pp. 31–32. Vernet, Joan, ‘El ‘statu quo’ internacional de Barcelona en el siglo X’, in Forstmer, Martin, ed., Festgabe für Hans-Rudolf Singer zum 65

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Geburstatg am 6 April 1990 überreicht von seinen Freuden und Kollegen (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang Publishers, 1991), pp. 509–518. Vidal Alcover, Jaume, El Llibre de Mallorca (Liber Maiorichinus) (Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona, Barcelona, 1979). Villanueva, Jesús, ‘Francisco Calça y el mito de la libertad originaria de Cataluña’, Revista Zurita, 69–70 (1994), pp. 75–87. Villeneuve, Paul Y., ‘Géographie de la perception et méthode dialectique’, Cahiers de géographie de Québec, 29/77 (1985), pp. 241–260. Zimmermann, Michel, ‘Le concept de ‘Marca hispánica’ et l’importance de la frontière dans la formation de la Catalogne’, in Sénac, Philippe, ed., La Marche Supérieure d’Al-Andalus et l’Occident Chrétien (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez – Universidad de Zaragoza, 1991), pp. 29–48. Zimmermann, Michel, ‘Orígenes y formación de una sociedad feudal (785–1137)’, in Nadal, Joaquim, and Philippe Wolff, eds., Història de Cataluña (Vilassar de Mar: Oikos-tau, 1992), pp. 207–237. Zimmermann, Michel, ‘Des pays catalans à la Catalogne: genèse d’une représentation’, in Sénac, Philippe, ed., Histoire et archéologie des terres catalanes au Moyen Âge (Perpignan: Presses Universitaires de Perpignan, 1995), pp. 71–85. Zimmermann, Michel, ‘Les origines de la Catalogne d’après les ‘gesta comitum Barcinonensium’. Mythe fondateur ou récit étiologique?’ in Barthélemy, Dominique, and Jean-Marie Martin, eds., Liber largitorius. Études d’Histoire médiévale ofertes à Pierre Toubert par ses élèves (Paris: Droz, 2003), pp. 537–543. Zurita, Gerónimo, Anales de la Corona de Aragón. Libros I-III, ed. by Ubieto, Antonio, Laureano Ballesteros, and Maria Desamparados Pérez, 4 vols. (Valencia: Anubar, 1967–1972).

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The Power of Saints (Patronage and Miracles) in Defining Regional Cohesion and Identity

1. Different Aspects of the Power of Saints In a discussion on the power of saints the final chapter of Peter Brown’s seminal book on the cult of the saints, entitled Potentia, could be a good starting point1. After reviewing how the praesentia of the saints at their relics allowed the emergence of a new type of episcopal power which claimed to be the visible representative of these invisible patrons, and thus provided a redefinition of late Roman patron-client relations and the boundaries of civic community, Peter Brown concludes with several observations on the nature of the power of the saints. The quintessence of this power, he states, is to be found in the “noisy and frightening experience of healing” at their shrines, where their “clean power” triumphs over demons, magicians, illness and death. They act, according to the expression of Gregory of Tours, as “the healing right hand of the divine power”. On closer examination the exorcism of the possessed stands out as the most paradigmatic of this power. The potentia of the saint confronts the unclean power of the demon, who is submitted to an interrogation with “heavy judicial overtones”. In this spectacular drama of healing, after being constrained to reveal his true identity, the demon is forced to recognize the saint’s superior potentia and leave the convulsing body of the possessed, 1 Brown, The Cult of Saints, pp. 106–127. I am relying in this introductory part upon the formulations of a longer study of mine titled ‘The power of the saints and the authority of the popes’, delivered as a plenary lecture at the International Medieval Congress, Leeds, in 2004, still unpublished at the time of the delivery of this study, but published since, in 2016, in Salonen and Katajala-Peltomaa, Church and Belief in the Middle Ages.

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who is thus reintegrated into the human community. Such a delivery from possession may be performed by a living “holy man”2, but the possessed can also be healed in a similar manner near a shrine, where a martyrsaint is claimed to be present. This second case allows further insight. The martyr was originally the victim of an unclean power, and by virtue of his passio he now becomes a judge invested with divine power. An oppressive judicial mechanism is thus transmuted into its reverse: In the exorcism of the possessed the demons will be tortured, forced to confess and repent, and the domination of divine power will be secured. And the power of the saints stands not only against that of the demons but also corrects the evils of unjust secular power. It frees the prisoners and the condemned and prevents further persecution of the just. The second principal aspect of the healing power of the saint is to be perceived in relation to the religious rivals of Christendom. The miracles proved the superiority of his potentia over that of the representatives of ‘paganism’: shrines, magicians, natural cult sites (such as holy trees or springs) and thus convince their clients to convert to Christianity. This triumph of the reverentia paid to the saints had far-reaching consequences in man’s relation to the natural world. One witnesses the imposition of human administrative structures and an ideal potentia linked to invisible human beings and to their visible human representatives, the bishops of the towns, at the expense of traditions that seemed to be part of the structure of the landscape itself. A power operating through “quintessentially human relationships” of friendship and intercession, patronage and dependence, imposing new rhythms of work and leisure according to “purely human time”, structured by the feasts of the saints, replaced a preceding set of religious certainties based on cosmic and natural determinations. The allpervasive praesentia of the saints, concludes Peter Brown, led to a gradual ‘humanization’ of the natural world. A third characteristic feature to be emphasized among the consequences of the miracle working and healing power of the saints is the vertical model of dependence it establishes. The beneficiaries of the healing miracles frequently change their social status and come to be part of the familia of the saint, either at the shrine or at the estate related to it. The saint becomes a caring patron, heir to the ‘invisible companion’ figure (daimon, genius) of the pagans, and source for a new Christian identity conferred by baptism. 2

Brown, ‘The Rise and Function of the Holy Man’.

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The network of individual and personal dependences develops into a wider ecclesiastical and secular system of patronage. The praesentia and potentia of the saints is soon used in the political domain: throughout the early Middle Ages saints were called on to provide victory in battles, protection against enemies, power to abbeys, bishoprics, cities, royal dynasties, and well-being to entire kingdoms. This ‘original’, late antique and early medieval model of the power of saints should be kept in mind when we turn our attention to the evolution and transformation of the cult of the saints that occurred in the later Middle Ages, when the identification and confirmation of new saints came to be determined by an institutional control mechanism unknown to any other world religions, the processes of canonization. The establishment of this new procedure was related in fact to an emerging conflict of authority around the saints, the increasing ambition of the papacy to reserve the right to authorize the establishment of new cults. In previous centuries this right was in the hands of the bishops, who could decide about the elevatio and translatio of the relics of saint-candidates on the basis of the vox populi, the first signa, the first miracles indicating their supernatural status, and institute a cult around them by having their legends written, inscribing their names into the local catalogue of saints and celebrating their feasts in their dioceses throughout the liturgical year. This procedure was in perfect harmony with the original mechanisms of power which came to be embodied in the cult of the saints. The invisible patron was represented and made accessible to his community by the bishop and the immediate local beneficiaries of this patrocinium took an active part in shaping and supporting the new cult. The eventual long-distance radiation of the cult depended on additional ecclesiastical relationships, the translation of relics, and the successful fame of becoming a pilgrimage site3. In my present essay I propose an inquiry in two directions. First, I will look into how the collaborative research in our Eurocorecode project4 enriched our insights into what precisely the patronage of the saints meant throughout the Middle Ages, and how this patronage could be attached to territories, institutions, communities, royal dynasties, with a special 3 4

On the formation of this first phase of the cult of saints see Bartlett, ‘Why can the dead do such great things?’, pp. 3–57. Symbols that Bind and Break Communities. Saints’ Cults as Stimuli and Expressions of Local, Regional, National and Universalist Identities, where the Budapest team was an Associated Project funded by the Hungarian Grant Agency OTKA (No. 81446).

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attention to conflicting claims and affiliations. In a second round I will have a few observations on how a specific manifestation of the power of the saints, the miracle-working capacity is structured, and how it changes throughout the Middle Ages.

2. Patronage and Regions The patronage of the saints could well be examined in the early Middle Ages, when the breakdown of state sovereignty, and the isolated life conditions made especially precious this type of supernatural power, incorporated above all by the local relics. These cults were amply documented in the sixth century by Gregory of Tours (especially for Julian of Brioude and Martin of Tours), Venantius Fortunatus (Germain of Auxerre, Radegund and Hilary of Poitiers) and Pope Gregory the Great (especially for Benedict of Nursia)5. The saints’ patronage could bring protection in warfare, remedy against natural calamities, and support in political struggles. Their shrines became sources of local pride, symbols of regional identity, and if they achieved a broader celebrity, they could also attract pilgrims from far away. The miraculous power of the saints manifested above all in healing, but they could also punish: miracles of vengeance struck the violators of the sacred space of the shrines, all those offending the saint or its sanctuary, or committing other sins against church prescriptions (such as working on Sundays) or church property6. In some cases such vindictive actions by the saint were even challenged by the communities under their protection, leading to the curious ritual of the ‘humiliation of saints’, where their relics or images were symbolically ‘punished’ by the community in order to provoke their intervention7. The early Middle Ages also gave birth to a new kind of patronage mediated by the cult of the saints: the cult of holy rulers. As we have seen, the sacrality of rulers had originally been the symbolic antipode of the ‘holy 5 Gurevich, Medieval Popular Culture, pp. 39–78; Van Dam, Saints and Their Miracles in Late Antique Gaul. 6 Klaniczay, ‘Miracoli di punizione e malefizia’. 7 Geary, Living with the Dead in the Middle Ages, pp. 95–124.

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man’. The latter was deprived of worldly power, suffered a martyr’s death in many cases precisely because of his refusal to recognize the divinity of the emperor, but could triumph over him after his death. Nevertheless, in an evolution lasting several centuries, sainthood came to be appropriated as one of the instruments providing sacral legitimacy to Christian kings. At first this title was usually given to insignificant rulers, who lost their kingship or died a martyr’s death fighting pagan enemies, or became victims of struggles around the throne. Martyrdom, however, became a powerful tool to liken their deaths to the Passion of Christ, and thus contributed to the constitution of a highly successful new ideal of royal sainthood8. The early formation of this model comes with the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms (Oswald of Northumbria [†642] and Edmund of East Anglia [†870]), but the same pattern is to be observed in Eastern Europe with the cult of the Bohemian Prince Wenceslas (†936), the two assassinated Kievan princes Boris and Gleb (†1015), or the Norvegian king Olaf Haraldsson (†1031), killed in the battle of Stiklestad. The cult of martyr kings gradually made the concept of royal sainthood acceptable even without the halo of martyrdom. Saint Stephen (†1038), the ‘apostle’ of the Hungarians and their first Christian king, was the first holy ruler to accede to this title (in 1083) only on account of being a rex iustus9. Around the turn of the first millennium the imperial dynasty of the Ottonians even strove to appear as an entire beata stirps (‘holy lineage’): two queens, Mathilda (†968) and Adelheid (†999), the bishop brother of Otto I, Bruno archbishop of Cologne (†965), and the last emperor of the Saxon dynasty, Henry II (†1024, canonized 1146), together with his wife, Cunegond (†1033) all became saints10. The cult of holy rulers endowed the cult of the saints with an important new potential: these cults could seal the cooperation of Church and State in newly Christianized countries. The cult of saintly ancestors gave sacral prestige to these new dynasties and the example of saintly rulers, as elaborated in their legends, served well the clerical endeavors to promote new ideals of Christian kingship. Needless to say, if we examine this type of sainthood from the perspective of power, we find many new aspects. Holy rulers could bring

8 Graus, Volk, Herrscher und Heiliger im Reich der Merowinger. 9 Folz, Les saints rois du Moyen Age en Occident; Klaniczay, Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses. 10 Corbet, Les saints Ottoniens.

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Christianity to triumph against paganism not only by their martyr’s death, but also by crushing those, who “refused to submit their necks to the yoke of the Christian faith” ‒ as the legend of Saint Stephen said, and the prospective saintly ruler of the Hungarians, the ‘soldier of Christ’ could count on the support of his powerful saintly patrons as well: “… because of Pannonia gloried in the birth of the blessed prelate Martin, and it was under the protection of his merits that the man faithful to Christ… wrought a victory over the enemy…”11. This is indeed, what could make the cult of the holy rulers a new incarnation of the warsome sacred ruler, who proved his charismatic ability by an ‘eternal victory’12. But this did not happen immediately. Saintly rulers, at first, realized a different ideal, a kind of Christian taming of the ruthless rules of power. The Bohemian prince Saint Wenceslas started his rule by destroying the gallows, and liberating prisoners, saying with Mathew: “Judge not, that ye be not judged”13. This ideal, however, changed in the twelfth century, in the age of the Crusades where the holy ruler had to be a knight, fighting a ‘just war’ for the case of Christianity. This was the moment, in 1165, when Charlemagne got canonized by an antipope. His legend said: “He patently declared that he would never turn back his bow; his shield would never shy away from battle, nor would he let down his spear. With utmost vigilance and sublime devotion to God, he would brave every danger to spread the name of the holy faith and to defeat the enemies of God’s holy Church, for Christ’s name”14. In the late twelfth century, in 1192 a new Hungarian royal canonization, that of St. Ladislas, also followed this ideal of the warrior saint. In this century even the peaceful and monkish St. Wenceslas started to operate military miracles, and becoming, with his lance and standard the patron of Bohemian statehood15.

11 Hartvic, ‘Life of King Stephen of Hungary’, p. 382; a new bilingual edition of the legends of Saint Stephen has been prepared by our project and is in press: Sanctitas Principum:  Sancti Reges, Duces, Episcopi et Abbates Europae Centralis, ed. by Klaniczay, forthcoming in 2018. 12 McCormick, Eternal Victory. 13 Klaniczay, Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses, pp. 102–108. 14 Klaniczay, Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses, pp. 171–173; cf. Folz, Le souvenir et la légende de Charlemagne, pp. 214–223. 15 Klaniczay, Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses, pp. 161–194.

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Although the holy rulers were more apt than anybody else to act as saintly patrons – we have a number of Scandinavian examples for that: St. Olaf for Norway, St. Knut and St. Knut Lavard for Denmark, St. Eric for Sweden16, one should not forget that another saint type could fulfill this role as well: bishops, the spiritual leaders of Christian communities. The martyr bishop St. Adalbert, assassinated by the pagan Prussians in 997, became the patron of the Poles. Then, in 1039 his Czech countrymen (Břetislav I) robbed his relics from Gniezno, and made him, jointly with Wenceslas, the patron of Bohemia. Adalbert’s patronage was also claimed by the Hungarian kingdom, for his role in the conversion of the Hungarian rulers, expressed in the legend, spread by bishop Hartvic in the early twelfth century, that he was the baptizer of Saint Stephen17. Another saintly bishop of the region was Stanislaus of Cracow, killed not by pagans but by a tyrant ruler, King Boleslaw, in 1079. Canonized in 1253, he became an influential patron first of Little Poland (less associated to Adalbert anyhow), then a symbol for the reunification of the Polish principalities (the miraculous reconstruction of the fragmented body of Stanislaus stands for the reunification of Poland)18. The rivalry of the two saintly bishop patrons, where finally Stanislaus, called the ‘pater patriae’, could come to a dominant position, is nicely analyzed in the book by Stanislava Kuzmová on the sermons dedicated to him, which present the most eloquent testimony on the local veneration of Stanislaus. To quote an anonymous fourteenth-century sermon: “Our patron being of Polish nation did not want to have his body transferred to another country, as many saints did, but he stayed in this homeland and had his body placed in the Castle of Cracow”19. The intricate relationship of saintly patrons and their communities (the force of cohesion supplied by their cults, the rivalries related to them

16 Hoffmann, Die heiligen Könige bei den Angelsachsen und den skandinavischen Völkern. 17 For Adalbert see Wood, The Missionary Life, pp. 207–225; Gaşpar, ‘Preface’ to ‘Passio Sancti Adalberti martiris Christi’, in Vitae Sanctorum Aetatis Conversionis Europae Centralis, pp. 79–94. 18 Rożnowska-Sadraei, Pater Patriae: The Cult of Saint Stanislaus and the Patronage of Polish Kings. 19 Kuzmová, Preaching St. Stanislaus, p. 282.; cf. Kuzmová, ‘Division and Reintegration of the Body of St. Stanislaus’.

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Fig. 1:  Saint Stanislaus (1030–1079), either called after his place of birth Stanislaus of Szczepanów, or after his diocese Stanislaus of Kraków, is an excellent example of the relationship of saintly patrons and a regional community. The miniature from a manuscript containing the Catalogus archiepiscoporum Gnesnensium and Vitae episcoporum Cracoviensium (ca. 1530) shows him being venerated by King Sigismund I and by Bishop Piotr Tomicki of Kraków, recognizable by their coats of arms and surrounded by dignitaries. Warsaw, National Library.

within their regions or outside of them, the way they “bound and broke communities”) has been researched throughout our projects in various ways, by editing and examining their legends, their miracles, their liturgies, their iconographies, and their sermons. I have been relying here upon the

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work of my colleagues in the CEU administered Budapest group of the common EuroCORECODE project: Cristian Gaşpar, Stanislava Kuzmová, already referred to, were part of this group, which also included Ottó Gecser who published a prime winning monograph on the cult of and the sermons dedicated to Saint Elizabeth of Hungary20, Béla Zsolt Szakács, who published an analysis of the splendid fourteenth century Hungarian Angevin Legendary21, Ildikó Csepregi, who prepared a bilingual publication of the oldest legend and the thirteenth-century acts of the canonization process of Saint Margaret of Hungary, a royal princess who became a Dominican nun22, and Trpimir Vedriš, who defended a PhD dissertation on the hagiographic memory of the urban saints of Zadar in Dalmatia23. The topic of the power of saintly patrons has been discussed at length during a large conference in Dubrovnik in 2013, entitled ‘Cujus patrocinio, tota gaudet regio – Saints’ Cults and the Dynamics of Regional Cohesion’24. The regio in the first half of the sentence does not quite correspond to our notion of a ‘region’, this has been cited from a twelfth-century liturgical hymn dedicated to Saint Denis, and refers rather to the saintly patronage of a kingdom. In any case, the call for papers for this conference also included another nice quote from a late fourteenth century sermon on Saint Elizabeth of Hungary, written by the Viennese University master Henry of Langenstein, which comes quite close to what we have been after: It should be known that, in accordance with the general opinion of theological tradition, angels undertook the care and governance of regions [regionum] and races [gentium], cities [urbium] and men. Similarly, the saints of God are entrusted with the spiritual care of and power over peoples [populos], regions, and cities where they happily lived and were buried, and [where] they left their relics, shined forth through miracles and bequeathed their examples of sanctity or, at least, where through the consecration of churches in their honor they had been received as patrons or patronesses. Consequently, when any race [gens], city [urbs] and country [patria] is placed under the rule of

20 Gecser, The Feast and the Pulpit. Preachers, Sermons and the Cult of St. Elizabeth of Hungary. 21 Szakács, The Visual World of the Hungarian Angevin Legendary. 22 Legenda Vetus, Acta Processus Canonizationis et Miracula Sanctae Margaritae de Hungaria. 23 Vedriš, ‘Hagiography as memory’. 24 Kuzmová, Marinković, and Vedriš, eds., Cuius patrocinio tota gaudet regio.

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This excellent quote, spotted during the researches of our colleague Ottó Gecser, just mentioned25, provides a nice illustration how relevant the power of saintly patrons seemed for late medieval, smaller or larger communities.

3. Changing Concepts of Miracles After having provided a glimpse to the issue of saintly patronage of communities and regions, let me conclude with another aspect of saintly power, the capacity to work miracles. This theme has been mentioned several times throughout this essay: I have spoken of the basic types of miracle – the ones performed by the holy man in life (in vita), and the ones happening near the saint’s relic – the miracles post mortem. Besides the healing miracles – which constitute by far the most voluminous corpus, with the most prestigious ones among them, the ‘resurrections’ – there were also miracles transcending the forces of nature and protecting from natural calamities (such as flood, draught), taming wild animals (even dragons), miracles bringing victory in battles. Another dimension of the miraculous power of the saints is the direct confrontation with the devil: the exorcism of the possessed. And finally there are the miracles of vengeance or the miracles of punishment, when the saint uses his power to sanction misdeeds, irreverence, sacrilege and other crimes. Let me mention here in passing, from the immense scholarship on miracles, the still essential book by Pierre André Sigal, who analyzed a total of 2050 posthumous healing miracles, collected from 76 saints’ lives and 166 miracle lists, before the end of the twelfth century26,

25 Henry of Langenstein, Sermo de sancta Elisabeth in die natali, Darmstadt, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, 792, f. 117r-v; cf. Gecser, The Feast and the Pulpit, pp. 249–250. 26 Sigal, L’homme et le miracle.

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and from the later period of canonization processes the books by André Vauchez,27 Michael Goodich28, and Christian Krötzl29. As for now, in conclusion to this paper, I would single out only one aspect of medieval miracles: Do they indeed testify to the power of saints, or are they just a divine ‘sign’ of their sanctity? Is the saint or the relic operating the miracle, with their vested power, or are they just mediators of God’s grace and mercy? The proper theological interpretations are clearly on the latter position, but from the historical sources, such as the miracles recorded in the canonization process of Saint Margaret of Hungary between 1273 and 1276 we get an ambivalent image. A Dominican nun, who had some doubts about the sanctity of Margaret, addresses her in the following manner: ‘Virgin Margaret, if you want me to believe that you are a saint, show me a miracle!’30. Or in the miracle collection of Margaret’s aunt, Saint Elizabeth of Hungary, in 1233, we hear: ‘Most dear Lady Elizabeth, on account of the grace that the Lord did for you and the glory that you have in heaven, help me with my eyes’ – and such supplications are fashioned according to the principle of do ut des: “If, holy lady, you free my daughter, I will visit your tomb and bring offerings myself ”31. This is in fact a paradoxical situation: On the one hand the bodily remains of the saints, the relics are credited supernatural power, which radiates around them – the closer you get to them, the longer you stay close to them (e.g. by circumambulating them, touching them, sleeping near them) the stronger their effect, in principle. But the granting of the miracle also depends on the judgment of the saint, and the vow addressed to them is actually not related to the cult-site, the relic. In the last centuries of the Middle Ages the ‘distance-miracles’ become the majority while formerly the ‘shrine miracles’ were dominant (as André Vauchez32, and Christian Krötzl33 observed). Thus the saint’s miracle working power is generalized, getting detached from its immediate local and regional bounds, and becomes rather related to the larger community of those who venerate him or her. 2 7 Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident. 28 Goodich, Miracles and Wonders. 29 Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag; Krötzl, ‘Prokuratoren, Notare und Dolmetscher’. 30 Inquisitio super vita, conversatione et miraculis beatae Margarethae virginis, ed. by Fraknói, pp. 187–188. 31 Wolf, The Life and Afterlife of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, pp. 107, 124. 32 Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, pp. 522–523 33 Krötzl, ‘Miracles au tombeau – miracles à distance’.

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In the late medieval evolution of miracle-beliefs, pilgrimages a similarly complex interplay between devout communities and spatial distributions is to be observed as in the field of saintly patronage. This continues to be the object of our collaborative research34.

Bibliography

Primary Sources Hartvic, ‘Life of King Stephen of Hungary’, tr. by Nóra Berend, in Medieval Hagiography. An Anthology, ed. by Thomas Head (Garland, New YorkLondon, 2000), pp. 375–398. Henry of Langenstein, Sermo de sancta Elisabeth in die natali (Darmstadt, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek), 792, f. 117r-v. Inquisitio super vita, conversatione et miraculis beatae Margarethae virginis, Belae IV. Hungarorum regis filiae, in Monumenta Romana episcopatus Vesprimiensis, ed. by Vilmos Fraknói (Budapest, 1896). Legenda Vetus, Acta Processus Canonizationis et Miracula Sanctae Margaritae de Hungaria – The Oldest Legend, Acts of the Canonization Process and Miracles of Saint Margaret of Hungary, ed. by Ildikó Csepregi, Gábor Klaniczay, and Bence Péterfi, Central European Medieval Texts Series, vol. 8 (Budapest: CEU Press, 2017). Sanctitas Principum: Sancti Reges, Duces, Episcopi et Abbates Europae Centralis (saec. XI-XIII) – The Sanctity of the Leaders: Holy Kings, Princes,  Bishops, and Abbots from Central Europe (Eleventh to Thirteenth Centuries), ed. by Gábor Klaniczay, Central European Medieval Texts Series, vol.  7 (Budapest: CEU Press, forthcoming in 2018). Vitae Sanctorum Aetatis Conversionis Europae Centralis (Saec. X-XI). Saints of the Christianization Age of Central Europe (Tenth-Eleventh Centuries), ed. by Gábor Klaniczay, transl. and annotated by Cristian 34

A more detailed discussion of all this can be found in Klaniczay, ‘Ritual and Narrative in Late Medieval Miracle Accounts’.

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Gaşpar and Marina Miladinov. Central European Medieval Texts, vol. 6 (Budapest: CEU Press, 2013). Wolf, Kenneth Baxter, The Life and Afterlife of St. Elizabeth of Hungary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). Secondary Works Bartlett, Robert, “Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?” Saints and Worshippers from the Martyrs to the Reformation (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013). Brown, Peter, The Cult of Saints. Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1981). Brown, Peter, ‘The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity’, in Brown, Peter, ed., Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: The University of California Press, 1982), pp. 103–152. Corbet, Patrick, Les saints Ottoniens. Sainteté dynastique, sainteté royale et sainteté féminine autour de l’an Mil (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1986). Folz, Robert, Le souvenir et la légende de Charlemagne dans l’Empire germanique médiéval (Paris: Belles Lettres, 1950, repr. Genève: Slatkine, 1973). Folz, Robert, Les saints rois du Moyen Age en Occident (VIe – XIIIe siècles), Subsidia Hagiographica 68 (Brussells: Société des Bollandistes, 1984). Gaşpar, Cristian, ‘Preface’ to ‘Passio Sancti Adalberti martiris Christi,’ in Vitae Sanctorum Aetatis Conversionis Europae Centralis (Saec. X–XI). Saints of the Christianization Age of Central Europe (Tenth-Eleventh Centuries), ed. by Gábor Klaniczay, transl. and annotated by Cristian Gaşpar and Marina Miladinov. Central European Medieval Texts 6 (Budapest: CEU Press, 2013), pp. 79–94. Geary, Patrick, Living with the Dead in the Middle Ages (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994). Gecser, Ottó, The Feast and the Pulpit. Preachers, Sermons and the Cult of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, 1235-ca. 1500 (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo, 2012). Goodich, Michael, Miracles and Wonders. The Development of the Concept of Miracle, 1150–1350 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007). Graus, František, Volk, Herrscher und Heiliger im Reich der Merowinger. Studien zur Hagiographie der Merowingerzeit (Prague: Nakladatelství Československé Akademie ved, 1965).

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Gurevich, Aron Iakovlevich, Medieval Popular Culture: Problems of Belief and Perception (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). Hoffmann, Erich, Die heiligen Könige bei den Angelsachsen und den skandinavischen Völkern. Königssheiliger und Königshaus (Neumünster: Wachholtz, 1975). Klaniczay, Gábor, ‘Miracoli di punizione e malefizia’, in Boesch Gajano, Sofia, and Marilena Modica, eds., Miracoli. Dai segni alla storia (Roma: Viella, 1999), pp. 109–137. Klaniczay, Gábor, Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses. Dynastic Cults in Medieval Central Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). Klaniczay, Gábor, ‘Ritual and Narrative in Late Medieval Miracle Accounts. The Construction of the Miracle’, in Katajala-Peltomaa, Sari, and Ville Vuolanto, eds., Religious Participation in Ancient and Medieval Societies. Rituals, Interaction and Identity, Acta Instituti Romani Finlandiae, vol. 41 (Roma: Institutum Romanum Finlandiae, 2013), pp. 207–224. Klaniczay, Gábor, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes. The History of Sainthood and Late Medieval Canonization Processes’, in Salonen, Kirsi, and Sari Katajala-Peltomaa, eds., Church and Belief in the Middle Ages. Popes, Saints and Crusaders (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2016), pp. 117–140. Krötzl, Christian, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag. Formen des Verhaltens in skandinavischen Mittelalter (12.-15. Jahrhundert) (Helsinki: SHS, 1994). Krötzl, Christian, ‘Prokuratoren, Notare und Dolmetscher. Zur Gestaltung und Ablauf der Zeugeneinvernahmen bei spätmittelalterlichen Kanonisationsprozessen’, Hagiographica 5 (1998), pp. 119–140. Krötzl, Christian, ‘Miracles au tombeau – miracles à distance. Approches typologiques’, in Aigle, Denise, ed., Miracle et karāma. Hagiograhies médiévales compares (Turnhout: Brepols, 2000), pp. 557–576. Kuzmová, Stanislava, ‘Division and Reintegration of the Body of St. Stanislaus: A Political Analogy in Sermons?’ in Gecser, Ottó, Balázs Nagy, Marcell Sebök, József Laszlovsky, and Katalin Szende, eds., Promoting the Saints. Cults and Their Contexts from Late Antiquity until the Early Modern Period. Essays in Honor of Gábor Klaniczay for His 60th Birthday (Budapest: CEU Press, 2011), pp. 151–164.

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Kuzmová, Stanislava, Preaching St. Stanislaus: Medieval Sermons on Saint Stanislaus of Cracow, His Image and Cult (Warsaw: DiG, 2013). Kuzmová, Stanislava, Ana Marinković, and Trpimir Vedriš, eds., Cuius patrocinio tota gaudet regio. Saints’ Cults and the Dynamics of Regional Cohesion. Bibliotheca Hagiotheca – Series Colloquia, III (Zagreb: Hagiotheca, 2014). McCormick, Michael, Eternal Victory. Triumphal Rulership in Late Antiquity, Byzantium and the Early Medieval West (Cambridge/Paris: Cambridge University Press/ Éditions de la Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, 1986). Rożnowska-Sadraei, Agnieszka, Pater Patriae: The Cult of Saint Stanislaus and the Patronage of Polish Kings 1200–1455 (Krakow: UNUM, 2008). Sigal, Pierre-André, L’homme et le miracle dans la France médiévale (XIeXIIe siècle) (Paris: Cerf, 1985). Szakács, Béla Zsolt, The Visual World of the Hungarian Angevin Legendary (Budapest: CEU Press, 2016). Van Dam, Raymond, Saints and Their Miracles in Late Antique Gaul (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993). Vauchez, André, La sainteté en Occident aux derniers siècles du Moyen Âge. D’après les procès de canonization et les documents hagiographiques (Rome: École française de Rome, 1981). Vedriš, Trpimir, ‘Hagiography as memory: Saints’ Cults and the Construction of the Past in Medieval Dalmatia’ (unpublished doctoral thesis at CEU Budapest, 2015). Wood, Ian, The Missionary Life: Saints and the Evangelisation of Europe, 400–1050 (Harlow: Longman, 2001).

Gerhard Jaritz and Kateřina Horníčková

Region, Saints, and Images (Central Europe, Middle Ages and Early Modern Period): Developments, Variety, and Difference

The cult of saints is one of the cultural developments that has helped to create the collective identities of communities1. Symbolic and emotional identification with saints tended to have a spatial dimension (localising the holy, controlling distance and proximity to the holy)2. The cultural narratives of a region include cultic elements that help to better define an image of one’s place or one’s region. They are rooted in a specific cultic geography and cultural memory of the place, covering the whole region and are manifested in various kinds of sources, including material and visual ones. The saints that were bound to a region by various forms of their ‘presence’, physical or imagined, were recognised and celebrated as the region’s own achievement. The cult of saints with its manifestations therefore constitutes one factor in the cultural definition of a region3. André Vauchez distinguished between universal Christian saints (including cults that acquire specific local meaning after being moved to a new location) and cults of “modern” saints, that is, cults that evolve around saints whose activity can be traced locally. These saints enjoyed “specialis

1

2 3

On collective identity constructed by ideological, social and/or affective factors, see Gingrich and Lutter, ‘Visions of Community’, p. 2. See also Peter von Moos (ed.), Unverwechselbarkeit. On the integrative power of saints in the formation of a community, see Brown, The Cult of the Saints, pp. 104–105. For the “therapy of distance” and emotional proximity in the cult of saints, see Brown, The Cult of the Saints, pp. 86–87. Cf. Bauer, Herbers, and Signori, eds., Patriotische Heilige.

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affectio since they were indefinitely closer than the great names officially worshipped”4. Vauchez regarded these cults as a sign of the particularisation of the Christian world. Indeed, if one sees Christianisation as a process of taking on a shared European Christian identity, the shift from universal to local cults is an aspect of this Christianisation process that contradicts the mainstream. From a geographical perspective, the term ‘regional saint’ covers three kinds of saints: – A saint active in ‘our’ place or region who exercised his or her power ‘close to us’. Such saints are predestined to understand our needs better due to their spatial attachment to the region during their lifetimes or through their posthumous presence5. – A saint promoted over a large geographical and political area in order to strengthen the attachment of places to the centre and provide the rulers with legitimisation. These saints have ‘political’ cults, vehicles of constructed identity shared across regions defined culturally and politically. Officially introduced and supported through a network of political ties, they are sometimes represented with a ‘regional’ aspect referring to their special power over a particular region. – A universal cult appropriated by a community or regional political body due to its specific efficacy for them. Local aspects are added to the universal or trans-regional personality of these saints and their representations, making them ‘regional’ without any ‘physical’ or legendary connection to the area. This suggests an existing need to develop a regional identity, but it does not necessarily mean similarities between the place of origin of the saint and a particular region6.

4 Vauchez, Sainthood, p. 133. 5 Concerning the importance of ‘we’ and ‘our’ in representing one’s region and saints in textual evidence, see Signori, ‘Patriotische Heilige?’ 6 See Rapp, ‘Zwischen Spätmittelalter und Neuzeit’.

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1. Political Regional Cults and Their Visual Representation The regions of Central Europe appeared on the map of Christian Europe at the time of a crisis of centralised authority from the ninth to the twelfth century. Authors working on the regions of Western Europe see this period as a socio-political process of change when authority became localised and regionalised7. In the more eastern parts of Europe, however, centralised royal power grew and local administration gradually stabilised. Christian Europe expanded continually to newly Christianised areas in the east: Bohemia, Hungary, and Poland. Following demographic and economic challenges in the West, people began to move to the East, transferring existing local cultural patterns. Newly Christianised regions adopted the forms and institutions of Western religious culture, with centralised political power, secular clergy, and monastic orders working closely together8, and adapted them to the local conditions. Cults of saints, universal ones in particular, were a centripetal force to bind these societies to the Western Christian political and socio-cultural influence (which was challenged by the influence of Eastern Orthodoxy), integrating them into the periphery of Western Christianity and subduing them to regional and papal authority. Public cults helped to organise society hierarchically in the cultural sense following the Western Christian models9, separating the elite focused on Latin from the vernacular-speaking people10. In general, local and indigenous cults were on the rise from the eleventh to the thirteenth century in different parts of Europe11. This phenomenon was particularly strong wherever the efforts of a religious organisation matched those of a political one; thus, one sometimes speaks about ‘regional’ or

7 See, e.g., Hamilton, Church and People, p. 2. 8 Hamilton, Church and People, pp. 2–3. 9 Goodich, ‘Liturgy and the Foundation of Cults’, p. 145. 10 Geary, ‘Linguistic Register and Reform’, p. 48. On the social meaning of saints, see Wilson, ‘Introduction’, p. 37. 11 In this sense, the region of Central Europe followed the development in the West, where regional cults were systematically organised from at least the ninth century, with a dramatic social and artistic expansion of the cults of saints from the late tenth until the twelfth century. See Abou-El-Haj, The Medieval Cult of Saints, pp. 12–13.

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‘political’ cults12 that helped the ruling dynasty to gain legitimisation and recognition13. Whilst in the West ecclesiastical authorities, working with regional or local topographies and lay audiences played an important role in establishing a local or regional cult14, in the various regions of Central Europe political power played a role in disseminating new cults by promoting and controlling them. Introducing a new cult could symbolically represent the direct control over a territory by an incoming political force15. The establishment of local saints’ cults became one of the ways to strengthen regional identity in the process of the formation of political entities. Other phenomena were also active in the context of regional difference, development, and change. Comparing the spatial connectivity of specific Central European saints in Austria, Hungary and Bohemia with the help of their visual representations reveals some important different approaches and diachronic developments. Images functioned as media that helped re-assess communal notions of self in a given political, socio-cultural, and spatial framework16. In particular, the ‘reality effects’17 of late medieval visual culture offered different possibilities for achieving connectivity at the levels of the community, region, and territory. Cohesion of saints and their dissemination to beholders led to the connection of ‘This land is my land, this land is your land’ with ‘These saints are my saints, these saints are your saints’. Visual representations of saints bound the community together by bridging past, present, and future, making it clear who belonged to it and what the community’s ideals, values, and moral standards were. Given the political setting of cult foundation in Central Europe it is not surprising that images of the regions’ saints occur first in the illuminated manuscripts produced in close association with ruling families and the prominent religious communities linked to them. These early visual

12 Vauchez, Sainthood, pp. 137–140, 157–183; Gieysztor, ‘Politische Heilige’. For the role of royal saints in the development of regions in Central Europe, see Klaniczay, Holy Rulers. 13 Potts, Monastic Revival, p. 134. 14 Hamilton, Church and People, p. 251. 15 Cf. the unsuccessful effort to introduce the cult of St. Wenceslas in the Cathedral of Cracow in the thirteenth century and the by far more successful change of patronage of the main church in Olomouc from St. Peter to St. Wenceslas in the twelfth century. 16 See, generally, Arndt and Hedwig, eds, Visualisierte Kommunikation. 17 See Moxey, ‘Reading the “Reality Effect” ’; Jaritz, ‘Nähe und Distanz’.

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representations stem from the need for political legitimisation and cultural identification through cults18. The first visual representation of a regional saint from Central Europe, St. Wenceslas, appears on the front page of a manuscript containing his legend by Bishop Gumpold of Mantua. It was commissioned by Duchess Emma of Mělník, wife of Duke Boleslav II of Bohemia (967–999), to claim her rights to the Bohemian throne; it adopts Western models of the institution of rulers (Fig. 1). Typically produced for specific, closed and often politically exposed religious communities or ruling families, such visual representations had little public impact. Wherever the shrine or cult was politically presented and/or disputed, public images could be employed to enforce local cultural memory, as in the case of the St. Adalbert cycle on the monumental bronze doors of Gniezno Cathedral (1173/7) in Poland19. A much greater public impact was achieved by minting coins with a saint’s visual representation, which was done in Bohemia during the formative period of the Bohemian realm. Coins with the name of St. Wenceslas were minted by the Přemyslid dukes from the beginning of the eleventh century, adding his image in the second half of the eleventh century20. Using coins as visual media was an effective means of disseminating the cult and image of the Bohemian patron saint across the region and even beyond, thus spreading the knowledge of the Přemyslid political hegemony in the region. Parallel to the development in the West, but often with a distinct political meaning21, local saints’ cults and the frequency of their visual representations increased in the thirteenth century22. One specific part of this visualisation of regional attachment, however, developed quite differently in Austria, Bohemia, and Hungary: the emphasis on the country’s saint protectors as a group joining power to protect the country defined as a political entity. This phenomenon arrived at different points in time in different political frameworks in these regions, linked to the establishment and stabilisation of political power after the change of a dynasty. Whilst

1 8 For Bohemia, see Sommer, ‘Der beginnende böhmische Staat’. 19 Abou-El-Haj, The Medieval Cult of Saints, p. 30. 20 Gieysztor, ‘Politische Heilige’, p. 339. 21 Manifested, for example, in giving the names of the founding dynastical saints to the princes. 22 Kuzmová, ‘Division and Reintegration’, pp. 153–155.

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Fig. 1:  St. Wenceslas crowned by Christ, manuscript illumination, before 1006. Wolfenbüttel, Herzog-August-Bibliothek, cod. 11.2 Aug. 4°: Gumpold Legend, fol. 18v. From Vaclav Novotny, Ceske dejiny 1,1 (Prague: Laichter, 1912), p. 661: https:// commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gumpold_manuscript.jpg#/media/File:Emma_ Czeska_i_%C5%9Aw._Wac%C5%82aw.JPG

in Bohemia and Hungary ancestral sanctity (beata stirps)23 played an important role in the dynastic claim to the land from the eleventh century, in Austria the Habsburgs only followed this concept with the beatification of the Babenberg St. Leopold in the first half of the fourteenth century, with little success before the end of the fifteenth century.

23 Klaniczay, Holy Rulers, p. 229.

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Fig. 2:  Sts Ladislas, Emeric and Stephen of Hungary, wall painting, c. 1300. Krásnohorské Podhradie (Slovakia), parish church. (Photo: Institut für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit of the University of Salzburg.)

The holy rulers in Hungary and Bohemia, beatified dynastic founders, were depicted more frequently from the fourteenth century on24 (Fig. 2). They played important roles not only in legitimising the ruling families, but also in the imagination of the Hungarian and Bohemian medieval states as political entities constructing their identities25. Whilst in Hungary local noblemen were responsible for the frequent images of the three Hungarian Holy Rulers – Stephen, Ladislas, and Emeric – even in local parish churches,

24 For Hungary, see Nastasoiu, ‘Political Aspects’. Other examples: Marosi, ‘Saints at Home and Abroad’, pp. 182–187. For Bohemia, see Mengel, ‘A Holy and Faithful Fellowship’. 25 See Klaniczay, ‘Königliche und dynastische Heiligkeit’, pp. 352–356, 360.

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in Bohemia representations of St. Wenceslas and other Bohemian patron saints were concentrated in royal and monastic foundations around Prague, the main political and religious centre26. The second half of the fourteenth century witnessed the rise of visual hagiography narratives through which the new dynasties constructed a shared past to legitimise the present. New complex political iconography developed that involved Přemyslid and Árpádian dynastic saints27. Cycles painted across Hungary and Bohemia reveal dynastic ideologies and intensifying regional and political (“proto-national”) attachments. Hagiographic cycles involving “political” saints conveyed metanarratives of good government, its renewal and continuity, religious aspects of rule, and the political concept of unity28. In Bohemia, these cycles decorated prominent places (castles, monasteries, and town houses) and addressed court and urban elites; in Hungary, the majority of them decorated local parish churches founded by the new aristocracy linked to the royal court. If one dares to make general assumptions based on fragmentary material, Hungary offers a different pattern in the dissemination of dynastic imagery under the protection of new wealthy families from the entourage of the king, “homines novi”29, whereas Luxembourg Bohemia presents less coherent patterns of royal, clerical, and monastic patronage and thus more varied iconography. In Austria, in comparison, the effort to find a comprehensive cult of a patron saint for the country and a beatified holy ruler that could be broadly disseminated came only very late, at the end of the fifteenth century. Efforts to canonise the Babenberg Margrave Leopold III (1073–1136), which can be followed from the fourteenth century, were successful in the end, in 148530 (Fig. 3). Before this date, a more universal political concept was applied in the commission of the large altarpiece of Neukloster at Wiener Neustadt, in 1447 (now in St. Stephen’s cathedral, Vienna) by the Austrian Duke, from 1440 German king, and from 1452 Emperor Frederic III31. Regional cults are included in the altar’s program, but they are not given 2 6 See Crossley and Opačič, ‘Prague as a New Capital’, pp. 71–72. 27 See Gerát, ‘Paralely, analógie a kontrasty’. 28 Hlaváčková, ‘Idea dobrého panovníka’; Studničková, ‘Sv. Václav jako scala coeli’. 29 Togner, Stredoveká nástenná malba, p. 51. Similarly, Marosi, ‘Saints at Home and Abroad’, pp. 198, 200, and Szakács, ‘Palatine Lackfi and his Saints’, p. 224. 30 Uiblein, ‘Kanonisation’; Krafft, Papsturkunde und Heiligsprechung, pp. 997–1001. 31 Flor, ‘Ikonographische Überlegungen’; Saliger, ed., Der Wiener Neustädter Altar.

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Fig. 3:  Wiener Neustadt winged altar piece of King Frederick IV (III), Sunday side (detail: Sts Oswald, Charlemagne, Sigismund, Ambrosius, Nicholas, Augustin), 1447. Vienna, St. Stephen’s cathedral.

any special prominence. The commissioners of the altarpiece preferred the concept of composite universal patronage with imperial ambition centered around the Virgin Mary. Generic saints prevail and regionally important saints (St. Coloman, St. Florian, St. Rupert, St. Blaise, St. Wolfgang, St.

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Leonard, including the “neighbouring” patron saints Wenceslas, Stephen, Ladislas, and Emeric) simply fill allocated spaces. The politically imbued message of regional intercessors was also conveyed through the development of representations of the patron saints as a group from the fourteenth century, not only in Hungary but also in Bohemia (Fig. 4). After the thirteenth century both regions developed the concept of the collective patronage of a group of saints, noted first in texts and then shown in images. Whilst the Hungarian depictions of the Holy Rulers of Hungary conjured up three types of medieval rulership and focused on the sacred descent of beata stirps to legitimise the Angevin rule, in Bohemia Emperor Charles IV of Luxembourg promoted the collective patronage of a group of three to six Bohemian saintly intercessors representing different social estates. In Austria, such attempts were only made after 1500, by Emperor Maximilian I of Habsburg with his political conceptualisation of saints as state and national protectors, although his effort to establish an Austrian pantheon of ancient Pannonian saints was not successful (Fig. 5). Saints could also have a divisive symbolic function. In the fifteenth century, the separatist religious movement of the Hussites in Bohemia appropriated Bohemian patron saints to claim religious-political autonomy for themselves based on the cultural memory of these saints32. It also added new saints (St. John Hus, St. Jerome of Prague, the Bohemian Reformation martyrs) to support the exclusive identity of the dissenting groups. Thus, the saints survived the period of the (Bohemian) Reformation, albeit with a different function – not as intercessors or miracle-producing relics, but as symbols of shared political identity and moral examples to follow. This early modern framing of cults in the Reformation period shifted (in the Habsburg lands only temporarily) the notion of sanctity from actors to models. Catholic enclaves then responded by appropriating the Virgin Mary and anti-heretic saints and symbols, which in Central European contexts at the time were the Franciscan Observant saints and symbols (St. John Capistrano, St. Bernardine of Siena, and the yhs symbol)33. In Austria, Bohemia, and the parts of Hungary that shared Habsburg rule the political promotion of cults intensified again with the Catholic Revival. Images from the period attest the revival of older local, even late 32 Horníčková, ‘Martyrs of “Our” Faith’ (in print). See also Hack, ‘Heiligenkult im frühen Hussitismus’. 33 Kalous and Stejskal, ‘The Image of Jan Capistrano’ (in print).

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Fig. 4:  Bohemian saints (Sts Procopius, Sigismund, Vitus, Wenceslas, Ludmila, Adalbert) as intercessors at the Last Judgement, after 1370. Prague, Golden Gate of St. Vitus cathedral.

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Fig. 5:  Albrecht Dürer, Emperor Maximilian’s I pantheon of Austrian saints: Quirin, Maximilian, Florian, Severin, Coloman, Leopold, Poppo, Otto, bishop of Freising, woodcut, 1515–17. The latter two saints, Poppo and Otto, were added by Hans Springinklee (http://www.zeno.org/nid/20004002164).

Antique, cults, and renewed interest in the local and regional connectivity of saints. Cultural memory became localised as it harked back to earlier medieval traditions of locally venerated cults as a charismatic resource in the name of restoring the Catholic faith34. The identifiable depiction of places with an effort at geographical precision returned to images showing pilgrimage sites as places and regions physically connected with saintly power and returned to established regional (national) pantheons whenever possible (Fig. 6). The Jesuits used a particularly successful strategy in promoting piety based on traditional regional saints35.

3 4 Terlouw, ‘Charisma and Space’, p. 341. 35 Crăciun, ‘Implementing Catholic Reform’, pp. 53–5.

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Fig. 6:  Český Krumlov under protection of the Virgin Mary and Bohemian saints, altar frontal from the chapel at Křížová hora, oil on canvas, Petr Antonín Anneis (?), 1727/8. Český Krumlov, Regionální muzeum, sign. U 13.

2. Saints and Late Medieval Visual Signs of Regional Connectivity Any saint depicted had to be made recognisable for the beholders by association with an object attribute connected to her or his activities or certain situations of her or his life. For the Central European ruler saints noted above, it was the shield and sword or lance for Wenceslas, the cross for Stephen, the battle-axe for Ladislas, the lily for Emeric, and a church model for Leopold, representing the Austin Canon house of Klosterneuburg he founded. The contextualisation of these saints in their regions could be increased or strengthened when the saint was identifiable not only by her or his attribute, but also with the help of other signs offering direct connection to the region. An Upper Hungarian example from the parish church of Spišská Kapitula in today’s Slovakia, for instance, shows the three Hungarian kings, Saint Stephen not only with the cross, Saint Emeric not only with the lily, and Saint Ladislas not only with the battle-axe; each of them is also equipped with the Hungarian coat of arms (Fig. 7). Another good example

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Fig. 7:  The three Holy Hungarian kings with the Hungarian coat of arms, panel painting, 1470s. Spišská Kapitula (Slovakia). (Photo: Institut für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit of the University of Salzburg.)

is the Austrian margrave, Saint Leopold III, not only holding a church model but also represented quite regularly with the golden eagle coat of arms of Lower Austria and/or the Austrian red-white-red shield as well as wearing a robe decorated with the Lower Austrian golden eagle on a blue background (Fig. 8). Saint Wenceslas also is often represented with a coat of arms and flag showing the Přemyslid eagle. Cultic geography and regional connectivity can also be traced in the context of visual representations of saints whose lives were in no way related to the region where they were portrayed and where they were venerated. Images of the saint or out of the saint’s life could still be directly connected to one’s region or community, however, by moving or transferring them into a context that could be clearly identified as part of

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Fig. 8:  Saint Leopold with the coat of arms of Lower Austria, the one of Austria, and the Lower Austrian golden eagle on blue on his attire, book illumination, prayer book, ‘Lehrbücher’-Master, 1460s. Vienna, Austrian National Library, cod. s. n. 2599, fol. 181v. (Photo: Institut für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit of the University of Salzburg.)

one’s region or linked with it, even when being only a small sign36. This brought the message of an image closer to the viewers. Such a method was employed, for instance, in a panel painting showing the apocryphal 36 See Horníčková, ‘Contextualising and Visualising’, pp. 24–27.

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Fig. 9:  Rejection of St. Joachim’s offering by the Highpriest (detail), panel painting, Master of the Albrecht’s altar piece, 1438. Vienna, Österreichische Galerie Belvedere, IN 4900. (Photo: Institut für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit of the University of Salzburg.)

story of the high priest rejecting the offering of St. Joachim, later the father of the Virgin Mary. The Austrian red-white-red shield is depicted as part of a stained glass window in the temple (Fig. 9). Another Austrian panel painting shows the Holy Family’s return from Egypt (Matthew 2:19–23). They enter Nazareth, shown as a late medieval town, but at the same time, with the help of a small detail, one of “our” towns, clearly recognisable to the viewers as Austrian, again by the red-white-red shield above the door of a house.

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Fig. 10:  The ‘Austrian’ Nazareth. Return of the Holy Family from Egypt to Nazareth (detail), panel painting, circle of the Master of the Scots’ altar piece, c. 1470. Heiligenkreuz (Lower Austria), collections of the Cistercian house. (Photo: Institut für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit of the University of Salzburg.)

A similar context could be further reinforced by connecting late medieval images of Christ or any of the saints with one’s own region or community by depicting one’s own specific worldly space as one’s spiritual space, and one’s spiritual space at the same time as one’s worldly space; for instance, by representing Jerusalem in the background of Christ’s

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Fig. 11:  Crucifixion with Vienna in the background (detail), panel painting, 1480s, St. Florian (Upper Austria), collections of the Austin Canon house. (Photo: Institut für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit of the University of Salzburg.)

Crucifixion as a clearly recognisable depiction of one’s own community, that is, Vienna (Fig. 11)37. Saints whose actual life was in no way connected to one’s region could be connected visually in another way, indirectly, by placing the narrative or scene into the type of cultural landscape that referred to or represented the region where the expected audience of the image lived: for instance, a prototypical town in images in town churches38, a prototypical village in village churches, or a prototypical castle in an aristocratic chapel or church, but also in other churches where saintly power should be shown as connected with worldly power. One example from the Tyrol shows the connection to a rural environment very well, as it puts the scene of the Visitation, that is, 3 7 Cf. Brauneis, ‘Beitrag zur mittelalterlichen Topographie’. 38 Jaritz, ‘Stadtikonographie’, pp. 50–52.

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Fig. 12:  Detail of a Visitation in rural environment, panel painting, 1460s. Innsbruck (Tyrol), Tiroler Landesmuseum Ferdinandeum, IN3. (Photo: Institut für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit of the University of Salzburg.)

the visit of the Virgin Mary with Saint Elizabeth as recorded in the Gospel of Luke (Luke 1:39–56), into rural space and thus clearly meant to create closeness to rural viewers (Fig. 12)39. There is a farmhouse with a windmill in the background behind Saint Elizabeth and another wooden farm house behind the Virgin; there are barns behind Saint Elizabeth, well-kept trees, a brook, and a bridge. It represents a good, beautiful, and successful rural space connected to ideal saintly space. Behind it is the sign of worldly power exercised over this rural space, that is, the castle of the lord. The saint could also be strongly connected to a region or community by being the patron saint of the main activity there; particularly in mining areas one regularly comes across the visual representations of one or more of the different patron saints of mining, like Daniel, Christopher, Barbara, and Anne. For the members of the mining community, they were ‘our saints’, that is, the specific saints of ‘our work’ and ‘our region’, even when images just represented them as statues or figures standing in front of a neutral background. An emphasis on seeing them as the region’s saints could

39 See, e.g., Jaritz, ‘Late Medieval Saints’.

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Fig. 13:  Saint Christopher and Saint Daniel in front of mining activities, central panel of the Flitschl altar piece, 1514. Klagenfurt (Carinthia), Diözesanmuseum. (Photo: Institut für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit of the University of Salzburg.)

certainly be increased by connecting the visual representation of the patron saints with a depiction of the mining activities performed in the region or community40: for instance, in the early sixteenth-century central panel of a winged altarpiece from the lead mining region of Flitschl (Plezzut) in the Val Canale near Tarvisio where Saint Daniel and Saint Christopher, in a dominant position, are integrated into the portrayal of mining activities. 40 See Jaritz, ‘The Visual Representation’, pp. 128–133.

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Coming back to political regional cults and their visual representation, in the late Middle Ages one finds examples that were also present regularly in the earlier period. These images have an apparent regional cohesion that is connected with the representation of the veneration of saints by particular territory-bound, region-bound or community-bound addressees, especially those who were the ruler or another leading figure in the region. An example of this type of image is an illumination in the illustrated grammar that was produced for the young Ladislaus the Posthumous, son of the Habsburg King Albrecht II. Duke Ladislaus of Austria was born in 1440, was king of Hungary from 1444, king of Bohemia from 1453, and died in 1457. The illumination shows Ladislaus praying to Saints Peter and Paul, with the shields of Austria, Hungary, Bohemia, and Moravia representing his worldly territorial power in a direct context with his prayers to saintly and heavenly powers.

3. Regional Identity through Saints: Patterns and Phases of Visual Expression The symbolic function of the cult of saints as manifested in their images played an important role in building regional identification, although not always in the same way and on the same level everywhere. Three main phases of the contextualisation of saints, images, and region, and their patterns could be determined: • The first phase, from the eleventh to the first half of the fourteenth century, when “regional” cults formed and were generally on the rise in different parts of Europe, In this period one also finds the first visual representations of Central European regional saints, mainly patron saints of politically and geographically defined entities. These early images were typically produced in manuscripts, for specific and often politically connected religious communities or for ruling families. This had little impact on the wider public. Occasionally though, public images of these saints played an important role in promoting a disputed cult, forging a new identity or legitimising a ruling dynasty.

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Fig. 14:  Ladislaus the Posthumous praying to Saint Peter and Saint Paul, book illumination, 1440s. Vienna, Austrian National Library, cod. 23: Grammar for Ladislaus the Posthumous, fol. 1r. (Photo: Institut für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit of the University of Salzburg.)

• The second, late medieval, phase, that is, parts of the fourteenth, the fifteenth, and the beginning of the sixteenth century, is marked by a proliferation of saints’ images and an intensified political notion of these cults and their public or semi-public representation, partly linked to the rise of new dynasties (Habsburg, Luxembourg, Anjou) in Central Europe. It also brought well-known significant changes in visualising and broadly disseminating the closeness of saints and their messages to the beholders.

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This led to a number of specific ways in which their regional attachment was emphasised and became easier for a broader audience to perceive; a variety of saints could become members of one’s own environment. • The third phase, after the Reformation in the context of the active policy of the Catholic Revival from the end of the sixteenth century onwards, is characterised particularly by the increasing occurrence of identifiable depictions of communities or places in specific images, mainly votive images, which accentuated direct interventions of saints in the lives of the faithful. Thus, the contextualisation of saint, image, and region lost its late medieval general role and became much more personal and individual or came to concern specific, often small, communities. Such a situation can still be seen today, in particular in the context of pilgrimages to sites associated with specific saints, especially the Virgin Mary. That means that saints and regions, and the visual representation of saints and regions have played an important role from the Middle Ages onwards until today41: to explain, to motivate, to memorise, to identify. What one must be aware of, however, is that the phenomenon has always been subject to developments and changes of interest and that the factor of region and ‘our’ region was and still can be understood in a variety of ways42. Therefore it is also evident that historians, like historical geographers, should “no longer use regions simply as convenient areal containers, but instead regard them as complex, ambiguous, and ever-changing phenomena”43. In the context of the development of veneration of saints (and their images) from the Middle Ages on, however, this does not change the value of the statement by Jean-Michel Sallmann, who emphasised already some time ago: “Le caractère le plus marquant de la renommée de sainteté est son aspect local”44.

4 1 Cf. Samerski, Die Renaissance der Nationalpatrone, passim. 42 Concerning the varieties and developments of “local interests”, see also Terlouw and Weststrate, ‘Regions as Vehicles’. 43 Terlouw and Weststrate, ‘Regions as Vehicles’, p. 26. 44 Sallmann, ‘Image et fonction du Saint’, p. 835.

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Bibliography Abou-El-Haj, Barbara, The Medieval Cult of Saints:  Formations and Transformations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). Arndt, Steffen, and Andreas Hedwig, eds., Visualisierte Kommunikation im Mittelalter – Legitimation und Repräsentation (Marburg: Hessisches Staatsarchiv, 2010). Bauer, Dieter R., Klaus Herbers, and Gabriela Signori, eds., Patriotische Heilige: Beiträge zur Konstruktion religiöser und politischer Identitäten in der Vormoderne, Beiträge zur Hagiographie, 5 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2007). Brown, Peter, The Cult of the Saints. Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity (London: SCM Press, 1981). Brauneis, Walther, ‘Beitrag zur mittelalterlichen Topographie der Stadt Wien’, Österreichische Zeitschrift für Kunst und Denkmalpflege, 27 (1973), pp. 121–131. Crăciun, Maria, ‘Implementing Catholic Reform. The Jesuits and Traditional Religion in Early Modern Transylvania’, in Ohlidal, Anna, and Stefan Samerski, eds., Jesuitische Frömmigkeitskulturen. Konfessionelle Interaktion in Ostmitteleuropa, 1570–1700 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2006), pp. 37–62. Crossley, Paul, and Zoe Opačič, ‘Prague as a New Capital’, in Boehm, Barbara Drake, and Jiří Fajt, eds., Prague, the Crown of Bohemia (1347–1437) (New  York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2006), pp. 59–73. Flor, Ingrid, ‘Ikonographische Überlegungen zu den Malereien des Wiener Neustädter Retabels zu Sankt Stephan in Wien’, in Der Wiener Neustädter Altar und der ‛Friedrichs-Meister’, exhibition catalogue, ed. by Arthur Saliger (Vienna: Bundesdenkmalamt, 1999), pp. 7–32. Geary, Patrick, ‘Linguistic Register and Reform in the Legend of St. Clement’, in Gecser, Ottó, József Laszlovszky, and Balász Nagy, eds., Promoting the Saints: Cults and their Contexts from Late Antiquity to the Early Modern Period (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2011), pp. 41–49. Gerát, Ivan, ‘Paralely, analógie a kontrasty: poznámky k tematike a funkciám obrazových legiend sv. Václava a sv. Ladislava v 14. storočí’ [Parallels, analogies, and contrasts: Remarks on the themes and functions of the

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pictorial legends of Saint Wenceslas and Saint Ladislas in the 14th century], Průzkumy památek – Příloha 13 (2006), pp. 58–63. Gieysztor, Alexander, ‘Politische Heilige im hochmittelalterlichen Polen und Böhmen’, in Petersohn, Jürgen, ed., Politik und Heiligenverehrung im Hochmittelalter. Vorträge und Forschungen – Konstanzer Arbeitskreis für Mittelalterliche Geschichte, 42 (Sigmaringen: Jan Thorbecke, 1994), pp. 325–341. Gingrich, André and Christina Lutter, ‘Visions of Community:  An Introduction’, History and Anthropology, 26 (2015), pp. 1–7. Goodich, Michael E., ‘Liturgy and the Foundation of Cults in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries’, in Goodich, Michael E., ed., Lives and Miracles of the Saints:  Studies in Medieval Latin Hagiography (Aldershot: Ashgate 2004), pp. 147–157. Hack, Achim Thomas, ‘Heiligenkult im frühen Hussitismus. Eine Skizze’, in Bauer, Dieter R., Klaus Herbers, and Gabriela Signori, eds., Patriotische Heilige: Beiträge zur Konstruktion religiöser und politischer Identitäten in der Vormoderne. Beiträge zur Hagiographie, 5 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2007), pp. 123–156. Hamilton, Sarah, Church and People in Medieval West, 900–1200 (Harlow: Pearson, 2013). Hlaváčková, Hana, ‘Idea dobrého panovníka ve výzdobě Karlštejna’ [The concept of “Good Ruler” in the decoration of Karlštejn], Průzkumy památek – Příloha, 13 (2006), pp. 9–18. Horníčková, Kateřina, ‘Contextualising and Visualising Saints in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries’, Medium Aevum Quotidianum, 62 (2011), pp. 21–39. Horníčková, Kateřina, ‘Martyrs of “Our” Faith: Identity and the Cult of Saints in Post-Hussite Bohemia,’ in Petersen, Nils Holger, Any Mänd, Sebastián Salvadó, and Tracey R. Sands, eds., Symbolic Identity and the Cultural Memory of Saints (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishers, 2018), pp. 59–90. Jaritz, Gerhard, ‘Nähe und Distanz als Gebrauchsfunktion spätmittelalterlicher religiöser Bilder’, in Schreiner, Klaus, ed., Frömmigkeit im Mittelalter: Politisch-soziale Kontexte, visuelle Praxis, körperliche Ausdrucksformen (Munich: Fink, 2002), pp. 331–346. Jaritz, Gerhard, ‘Stadtikonographie des Spätmittelalters’, in Rosner, Willibald, and Reinelde Motz-Linhart, eds., Die Städte und Märkte Niederösterreichs im Mittelalter und in der frühen Neuzeit. Studien und

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Forschungen aus dem Niederösterreichischen Institut für Landeskunde, 36 (St. Pölten: Niederösterreichisches Institut für Landeskunde, 2005), pp. 45–59. Jaritz, Gerhard, ‘The Visual Representation of Late Medieval Work: Patterns of Context, People and Action’, in Ehmer, Josef, and Catharina Lis, eds., The Idea of Work in Europe from Antiquity to Modern Times, (Farnham and Burlington: Ashgate, 2009), pp. 125–148. Jaritz, Gerhard, ‘Late Medieval Saints and the Representation of Rural Space’, in Gecser, Ottó, József Laszlovszky, and Balász Nagy, eds., Promoting the Saints: Cults and their Contexts from Late Antiquity to the Early Modern Period (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2011), pp. 227–243. Kalous, Antonín, and Jan Stejskal, ‘The Image of Jan Capistrano in Bohemia and Moravia’, in Pellegrini, Letizia, ed., The Mission of John Capestrano and the Process of Europe Making in the Fifteenth Century, (Rome: Viella, in print). Klaniczay, Gábor, ‘Königliche und dynastische Heiligkeit in Ungarn’, in Petersohn, Jürgen, ed., Politik und Heiligenverehrung im Hochmittelater. Vorträge und Forschungen – Konstanzer Arbeitskreis für mittelalterliche Geschichte, 42 (Sigmaringen: Jan Thorbecke, 1994), pp. 343–364. Klaniczay, Gábor, Holy Rulers, Blessed Princesses:  Dynastic Cults in Medieval Central Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). Krafft, Otfried, Papsturkunde und Heiligsprechung:  die päpstlichen Kanonisationen vom Mittelalter bis zur Reformation. Ein Handbuch (Cologne and Weimar: Böhlau, 2005). Kuzmová, Stanislava, ‘Division and Reintegration of the Body of St. Stanislaus: A Political Analogy in Sermons?’, in Gecser, Ottó, József Laszlovszky, and Balász Nagy, eds., Promoting the Saints:  Cults and their Contexts from Late Antiquity to the Early Modern Period (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2011), pp. 151–163. Marosi, Ernő, ‘Saints at Home and Abroad: Some Observations on the Creation of Iconographic Types in Hungary of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries’, in Gecser, Ottó, József Laszlovszky, and Balász Nagy, eds., Promoting the Saints: Cults and their Contexts from Late Antiquity to the Early Modern Period (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2011), pp. 175–206.

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Mengel, David C. ‘A Holy and Faithful Fellowship:  Royal Saints in Fourteenth-century Prague’, in Doležalová, Eva, Robert Novotný, and Pavel Soukup, eds., Evropa a Čechy na konci středověku. Sborník příspěvků věnovaných Františku Šmahelovi (Prague: Filosofia, 2004), pp. 145–158. Moxey, Keith, ‘Reading the “Reality Effect”‘, in Jaritz, Gerhard, ed., Pictura quasi fictura. Die Rolle des Bildes in der Sachkultur des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit. Forschungen des Instituts für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit: Diskussionen und Materialien, 1 (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1996), pp. 15–21. Nastasoiu, Dragos-Gheorghe, ‘Political Aspects of the Mural Representations of “sancti reges Hungariae” in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries’, Annual of Medieval Studies at Central European University, 16 (2010), pp. 93–119. Potts, Cassandra, Monastic Revival and Regional Identity in Early Normandy (Rochester: Boydell & Brewer, 1997). Rapp, Francis, ‘Zwischen Spätmittelalter und Neuzeit:  Wahlfahrten der ländlichen Bevölkerung im Elsaß’, in Schreiner, Klaus, ed., Laienfrömmigkeit im späten Mittelalter. Schriften des Historischen Kollegs – Kolloquien, 20 (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1992), pp. 127–136. Saliger, Arthur, ed., Der Wiener Neustädter Altar in St. Stephan in Wien:  Erforschung und Restaurierung 1985–2004 (Vienna: Österreichische Galerie Belvedere, 2004). Sallmann, Jean-Michel, ‘Image et fonction du Saint dans la région de Naples à la fin du XVIIe et au début du XVIIIe siècle’, Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome. Moyen-Age, Temps modernes, 91 (1979), p. 827–874. Samerski, Stefan, ed., Die Renaissance der National-patrone: Erinner­ ungskulturen in Ostmitteleuropa im 20./21. Jahrhundert (Cologne, Vienna, and Weimar: Böhlau, 2007). Signori, Gabriela, ‘Patriotische Heilige? Begriffe, Probleme und Traditionen’, in Bauer, Dieter R., Klaus Herbers, and Gabriela Signori, eds., Patriotische Heilige. Beiträge zur Konstruktion religiöser und politischer Identitäten in der Vormoderne. Beiträge zur Hagiographie, 5 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner 2007), pp. 11–31. Sommer, Petr, ‘Der beginnende böhmische Staat und seine Heiligen’, Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae, 14 (2009), pp. 41–54.

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Studničková, Milada, ‘Sv. Václav jako scala coeli (k interpretaci nástěnných maleb schodiště Velké věže na hradě Karlštejně)’ [St. Wenceslas as scala coeli (on the interpretation of the wall paintings in the staircase of the Great Tower of Karlštejn castle)], Průzkumy památek – Příloha, 13 (2006), pp. 71–77. Szakács, Béla Zsolt, ‘Palatine Lackfi and his Saints. Frescoes in the Franciscan Church of Keszthely’, in Gecser, Ottó, József Laszlovszky, and Balász Nagy, eds., Promoting the Saints: Cults and their Contexts from Late Antiquity to the Early Modern Period (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2011), pp. 207–225. Terlouw, Kees, ‘Charisma and Space’, Studies in Ethnicity and Nationalism, 10 (2010), pp. 335–348. Terlouw, Kees, and Job Weststrate, ‘Regions as Vehicles for Local Interests: The Spatial Strategies of Medieval and Modern Urban Elites in the Netherlands’, Journal of Historical Geography, 40 (2013), pp. 24–35. Togner, Milan, Stredoveká nástenná malba na Gemeri [Medieval wall paintings in Gemer] (Bratislava: Tatran, 1989). Uiblein, Paul, ‘Die Kanonisation des Markgrafen Leopold und die Wiener Universität’, Jahrbuch des Stiftes Klosterneuburg, NF 13 (1985), pp. 21–58. Vauchez, André, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, trans. by Jean Birrell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). Von Moos, Peter, ed., Unverwechselbarkeit. Persönliche Identität und Identifikation in der vormodernen Gesellschaft (Cologne, Weimar, and Vienna: Böhlau, 2004) Wilson, Stephen, ‘Introduction’, in Wilson, Stephen, ed., Saints and their Cults:  Studies in Religious Sociology, Folklore and History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), pp. 1–54.

Job Weststrate and Maarten Draper

Confession in Times of Crisis. The Regional Characteristics of the Reformation in the GueldersLower Rhine Area during the 16th and Early 17th Century

In the year 1550 lord Joost of Bronkhorst-Borculo brought the Augsburg Confession into force in Borculo and Lichtenvoorde, two small independent seigneuries situated in the eastern part of the present day Netherlands, in between the larger principalities Guelders, Overijssel and the bishopric of Münster. Up to that moment, both seigneuries had been Catholic1. By introducing Lutheranism, Joost of Bronkhorst-Borculo set in motion a process of slowly progressing change of the religious landscape at the eastern borders of the duchy of Guelders. Before this intervention, the lords were Catholics. The Lutheran sympathies of the lord of BronkhorstBorculo however, were sustained by his widow Maria van Hoya after he died in 1553. When she in her turn passed away in 1579 the cards were once again reshuffled: the principality was taken by bishop Johann Wilhelm of Münster, a member of the noble lineage Cleves-Berg, who set in motion a vigorous campaign for the re-catholicization of the area. The bishop and the Spanish rulers that succeeded him as a consequence of the struggle during the Dutch Revolt, seem to have made some progress in their re-catholicizing endeavours. However, their efforts were thwarted when the Estates of Guelders dispatched a small army to drive out the Münster Catholic party. The army took Borculo and Lichtenvoorde by storm and added them to the areas under control of the Republic of the

1 Tielen, Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis, p. 93 ff.; Frijhoff, ‘De protestantse Reformatie’, p. 367.

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Seven United Provinces. A new lord was appointed, Joost van Limburg Stirum, a reformed Calvinist Protestant. In the process the Catholic priest of the parish church of Borculo changed his religious affiliation more or less overnight and stayed on to serve the local community as a Protestant minister2. All the while the tiny principality was still neighboured by Catholics after 1616. The town of Groenlo, which was entirely surrounded by BorculoLichtenvoorde remained in Catholic Spanish hands until 1627. The nearby area of De Liemers was Clevish and the Clevish princes tolerated Catholics, Lutherans and reformed Protestants as equals within their boundaries. It may not come as a surprise then that throughout all the turmoil of the late sixteenth and seventeenth century an overwhelmingly large portion of the population of Borculo and Lichtenvoorde itself remained Catholic. Even when under Protestant rule they were not allowed to publicly celebrate mass or show signs of their Catholic faith, the Catholic communities in Clevish territory enabled them to see to their religious obligations. On a small scale the example of Borculo and Lichtenvoorde exemplifies a local variant of a larger process in the Netherlands. The Dutch Revolt induced a large scale political-military crisis, a civil war, which then turned into a religious war. The outcome of these clashes, both military and religious, differed markedly on the (proto-)national, regional and local level3. Everywhere in the Netherlands Catholic communities remained, but the way they survived and faced the challenge of the Reformation was more often than not the outcome of the interaction between local and regional men-in-power and their interaction with the emerging state of the Republic4. For the main principalities of the eastern Netherlands, the Oversticht (part of the prince-bishopric of Utrecht) and the duchy of Guelders it meant that the course and outcome of the political-religious conflict was influenced by developments in the neighbouring territories of the bishopric of Münster, the bishopric of Cologne and the duchy of Cleves-Berg5. The role of the bishops of Münster in their efforts to re-catholicize the eastern

2 Tielen, Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis, pp. 94–95. 3 A recent overview of differences on catholic responses to the Reformation in several societies on the periphery of Europe (including the not so peripheral Netherlands) is offered by Ó hAnnracháin, Catholic Europe, 1592–1648. 4 Pollmann, Catholic Identity and the Revolt of the Netherlands. 5 Geurts and Kuijs, ‘Kerkelijke en godsdienstige verhoudingen in Gelre’, pp. 188–191.

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parts of the Netherlands have been illustrated above with the example of Borculo and Lichtenvoorde. But the German principalities and towns also were also vital for the spread of reformed thought in Oversticht and Guelders from the 1520s onwards. In fact, the Dutch historian Willem Frijhoff has argued in an overview article on the Protestant Reformation in the duchy of Guelders that would later become the Dutch province of Gelderland, that the first wave of Calvinism reached Guelders via the Calvinist communities of the towns in the Lower Rhine area that were closely connected to Guelders. Towns like Emmerich, Xanten, Cleves, Kalkar, Goch, Wesel and Cologne sheltered numerous exiled Calvinists from the Southern provinces. According to Frijhoff “[…] Calvinism must have sprung up in Guelders via the Rhineland”, with the meagre socioeconomic situation serving as a catalyst6. This version on the origins of Calvinism resonates a notion of regional cohesion between Guelders and the Lower Rhine area: the towns of the Lower Rhine area were ‘closely connected’ to Guelders. Twentieth and early twenty-first century historiography has dealt quite extensively with this connectedness, albeit mostly in the political and economic sphere. This came especially to the fore in the work of the German Kulturraumforschung that had developed from the late 1920s onwards and became very influential in the historiography of the eastern part of the Netherlands and the western part of Germany7. Kulturraumforscher tried to do away with the national state as the central unit of historical analysis and with the traditional focus on political-military events. Instead they studied migration patterns, language and dialects, popular habits as expressed in Volkskultur, religious regions and economic zones; all of them objects of study that defy territorial borders by their very nature. Strong proponents of this methodological view for the eastern parts of the Netherlands, which include Guelders, were Wybe Jappe Alberts and Franz Petri8. The latter wrote that “during the Late Middle Ages and the Early Modern Period the German Lower Rhine and the eastern Netherlandish IJssel area were 6 7 8

Frijhoff, ‘De protestantse Reformatie’, p. 367. An overview on the Westforschung is Schöttler, ‘Die historische “Westforschung” ’ and the articles in the special issue De Westforschung en Nederland. Petri and Alberts, Gemeinsame Probleme deutsch-niederlandischer Landes- und Volksforschung. On the controversial ideas of Frans Petri, see:  Ditt, ‘Franz Petri und die Geschichte der Niederlande’, and Weststrate, ‘Die Niederländische Geschichtsschreibung über die Hanse’, pp. 186–191.

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economically inextricably bound”9; this idea pervaded their work and extended itself beyond the theme of economic connections. Alberts also included the Devotio Moderna, which originated in the valley of the river IJssel, in the objects of study that were to be studied as essentially a German-Netherlandish phenomenon.10 This approach is still dominant11. While it is not our objective to dwell on the perception of regions in the body of work that the Kulturraumforschung produced, it is important to understand that the idea of the connectedness of Guelders (and the province of Overijssel) with their easterly neighbours has been very influential in regional historiography. Frijhoff’s remark on the direction from which the Calvinist Reformation reached Guelders seems to be an offshoot of this line of thinking. He does not substantiate his claim any further, at least not with evidence beyond the anecdotal. In this article we intend to put the claim of Frijhoff to the test by analysing the appointments of Calvinist ministers in Arnhem, Nijmegen and Cleves from the 1570s onwards. Can we discern patterns of recruitment that may either confirm or refute the existence of a Calvinist region connecting the Lower Rhine principalities with the (former) duchy of Guelders? However, before we may explore questions of whether anything like regionally defined confessional patterns did exist, we briefly need to ponder on the region as a category of analysis. In order to answer this question, we first need to clarify what we may mean with ‘region’. The concept of region and derivates such as regional cohesion and regional identity are not unproblematic. The meaning of the word ‘region’ differs per country and particular historical context, and in different academic disciplines the concept regions seems to refer to different things12. In some historical studies the term ‘region’ is reserved for broad geographical areas, (largely) irrespective of political borders – the work of the Kulturraumforscher is a

9 Petri, ‘Die Stellung der Sudersee- und IJsselstädte’, p. 43. 10 Alberts, Moderne Devotie. 11 See for instance the two volumes resulting from a cooperative project The Modern Devotion as a vehicle of reflection and education and an instrument of social and cultural cohesion within a German-Dutch trans-regional context, ca. 1350- ca.1580, executed by the Universities of Groningen (Netherlands) and Bochum (Germany): Die Devotio Moderna. Sozialer und kultureller Transfer (1350–1580). Volumes 1 and 2. 12 Paassi, ‘The resurgence of the “Region” ’. See the discussion in Terlouw and Weststrate, ‘Regions as vehicles for local interests’, pp. 24–35 and recently with a focus on the principality and province of Guelders: Verhoeven, ‘Het Gelderse Gevoel’.

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case in point. Other historians use the term to refer to political units within a larger framework (usually on a scale in between the local/communal and the national), that are ascribed certain regional characteristics or regional identities. In the context of Dutch early modern history for example certain principalities or provinces outside of the core province of Holland are often described as regions13. Outside the field of historical studies the conceptual confusion is perhaps just as large, if not larger. The German geographer Hans Blotevogel has defined the region as “eine durch bestimmte Kriterien und für bestimmte Zwecke definierte räumliche Einheit mittlerer Maßstäblichkeit, d.h. oberhalb der kommunalen Ebene und unterhalb der staatlichen Ebene”14. Like some historians he thus imagines the region to be a unit of analysis somewhere in between local and national scales. According to Blotevogel, regions can be a natural or historical landscape or a certain area that has become more intensely populated in a particular historical period (‘Siedlungsraum’). Furthermore, these regions may have natural or political borders, but not necessarily so. A similar summary of the multitude of meanings the term ‘region’ might have for different people within different academic and nonacademic contexts was given by Michael Keating15. Blotevogel’s definition and Keating’s remark beg the question which criteria and purposes one has in mind when defining the region, but first and foremost they point to the fact that regions may be understood as entities that are created and recreated by humans rather than neatly circumscribed territorial units. Regions are social constructs, built by so called regional stakeholders, people or groups of people who try to shape regions in a specific fashion in order to pursue their own particular interests. These constructs usually form on the 13 A recent example is the volume Networks, Regions and Nations, which elaborates on the volume title concepts ‘networks’ and ‘nations’ are elaborated, but uses the term ‘region’ only to refer to the Dutch principalities cum provinces Frisia, Guelders and Brabant, as opposed to the county and/or province of Holland. 14 Blotevogel, ‘Regionalbewusstsein und Landesidentität’, p. 2. 15 “A region may have a historic resonance or provide a focus for the identity of its inhabitants. It may represent a landscape, an architecture or a style of cooking. There is often a cultural element, perhaps represented by a distinct language or dialect. Beyond this, a region may sustain a distinct civil society, a range of social institutions. It can be an economic unit, based either on a single type of production or an integrated production system. It may be, and increasingly is, a unit of government and administration. Finally, all these meanings may or may not coincide, to a greater or lesser degree”: Keating, Regions and Regionalism in Europe, p. xi.

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basis of territorial units, yet these may vary over time in shape and size. Furthermore, the socially constructed regions are expressed in symbols, ideas and values embodying the region16. Religion may be regarded as one of the building blocks of these social constructs, in the sense that religious identity, the feeling of belonging to a group, may get intertwined with ideas about regional identity. There are two aspects to be discerned here. On the one hand, religious identity may coincide with a more or less fixed physical space that is simultaneously united in a political sense. This happens often at a local level: one may think of Catholic enclaves in Protestant areas, that were sustained because the confessional convictions of the inhabitants of local communities were backed up (at least to a certain degree) by the support of local men-in-power such as noble landowners. On the level of early modern principalities and emerging nation states religion could be, and was, used by men-in-power to create a common identity. From this point of view religious identities were consciously instrumentalized for larger processes of state formation and the creation of ‘national’ identities – the role of the Reformed Church in the Dutch Republic is a case in point. On the other hand, religious and confessional networks have the ability to transcend political borders, even when political powerholders try to control the freedom of action and movement for adherents of the respective confessions within the territories under their control. Religious communities that exist in strongly varying contexts and may even be (relatively far apart) can show strong mutual solidarity. The present day globalized world offers numerous examples of such border crossing religious networks, from radicalized Islamist networks to the lesser known trans-nationally organized Protestant conversion of Hmong-communities in Vietnam, and so on. The phenomenon is obviously also to be observed in the early modern world; an example from within the context of this article would be the ties that existed between the Calvinist university of Duisburg and its counterparts in the Dutch Republic during the seventeenth and eighteenth century17. From this perspective religious networks are not

1 6 Paassi, ‘The resurgence of the “Region” ’, pp. 132–134. 17 Frijhoff, ‘Die Beziehungen der alten Universität Duisburg’, pp. 39–54.

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so much an instrument of political power holders, but rather a driving force in itself, creating alternative regional affinities. In practice, both phenomena will have played their part simultaneously in the rapidly changing confessional relations of early modern Western Europe. In the next sections we will set out to investigate the regional ramifications of the early modern confessional conflicts and choices within these conflicts in the Guelders and Lower Rhine area.

Fig. 1:  Map of the Guelders’ Quarter of Zutphen, comprising the seigneuries of Borculo and Lichtenvoorde, in 1741. (Gelders Archief: 0509 Kaartenverzameling 115, Isak Tirion, Nieuwe kaart van ‘t Kwartier Zutphen, Amsterdam 1741).

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1. The Reformation in Guelders until the Start of the Dutch Revolt As in other parts of Europe the confessional conflicts of the sixteenth century seriously altered the religious landscape of the Lower Rhine area, although by no means in unambiguous ways. Initially the Protestant Reformation in Guelders got under way rather sluggishly18. Although Lutheran sympathies existed among at least some inhabitants of the duchy, Lutheranism did not spread quickly. Frijhoff has linked the slow diffusion of early Protestantism to two factors19. Firstly, he points out that in large parts of the eastern Netherlands and the adjoining German principalities the late medieval church was already inclined to internal spiritual renewal, in reaction to both criticism on abuse within the church and on its teachings. The reform movement of the Devotio Moderna in particular was supported by a large part of the urban middle classes. Despite its critical attitude towards Rome, the Devotio Moderna remained within the Catholic Church and its influence crumbled during the second half of the sixteenth century. Secondly, the slow development of early Protestant Reformation in Guelders may be explained through the politics of duke Charles of Egmond during the second quarter of the sixteenth century. Charles of Egmond (*1467 (1492–1538)) was a staunch supporter of the Catholic cause, and kept a close watch on any sign of ‘heresy’ among his subjects. Under his reign a number of heretics were burnt at the stake. His religious zeal even lead him to forbid representatives of the Guelders’ towns to visit the Hanseatic Diet that was held in Lübeck in 1530, on the grounds of the Lutheran sympathies of the North German Hanseatic towns.20 In general, Charles’ subjects complied with his pro-Catholic and anti-Reformation measures, though city councils did have a tendency to turn a blind eye now and again, in order to uphold civic peace. This did not mean that Protestant ideas were absent within the duchy – Lutherans and Anabaptists did reside in Guelders – but the relatively strict surveillance by ducal and local authorities suppressed the formation of large scale and well organised Protestant movements. Moreover, Charles did not only fanatically fight 1 8 Geurts and Kuijs, ‘Kerkelijke en godsdienstige verhoudingen in Gelre’, pp. 174–185. 19 Frijhoff, ‘De protestantse Reformatie’, pp. 362–364. 20 Groustra-Werdekker, ‘Gelderse steden in de zestiende-eeuwse Hanze’, p. 92.

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heresy within his territory, but he also tried to keep a tight grip on the Catholic Church and instrumentalize it for his own secular power policies21. The reign of William of Cleves as duke of Guelders (*1516 (1539– 1543)) appeared to break with the strict Catholic policies. He was inclined to a more Erasmian and humanistic oriented Catholicism and even tolerated non-Catholics within his territories for a short while. The Guelders’ Estates however disapproved of this tolerance and stuck to the Catholic creed22. In this respect, the Habsburg conquest of 1543 did not mark a significant change – Emperor Charles V and even more notably his heir Philip II actually resembled Charles of Egmond in their strong condemnation of any deviation from the Catholic norm. As a consequence, most of the important Guelders Protestant thinkers were not active within the duchy itself, but rather abroad, in Holland or elsewhere. One of the earlier Reformed thinkers, Hendrik van Bommel (1495–1570), wrote the Summa der godliker scrifturen in 1523, a Protestant treatise that was banned in Guelders right away, after which he moved to neighbouring Cleves23. There he was allowed to live and work in Duisburg and Wesel as teacher and preacher at least until 1559, which suggests that the authorities in the various Lower Rhine territories initially reacted quite differently to the confessional conflicts. Within Guelders the Reformation thus did not make much headway until the 1560s. However, the Iconoclast Fury that started in the Flemish town of Steenvoorde in August 1566 and spilt over to a large number of Netherlandish territories, also made its impact in the duchy. In the town of Nijmegen, the city council and the influential guild of St. Nicholas showed sympathies for the iconoclasts’ cause, fuelled by support from several noblemen and other sympathizers from within Guelders24. The Nijmegen officials even went as far as proclaiming a complete freedom of belief for Calvinists within the town walls, claiming that the legal status of Nijmegen as a Free Imperial City entitled them to do so. This sparked off a violent reaction from both the Catholic majority within the town, who took to street riots against the Calvinist sympathizers. The Habsburg authorities also

21 Frijhoff, ‘De protestantse Reformatie’, pp.  363–364; cf. O.J. De Jong, ‘Kerkges­ chiedenis’, pp. 333–335. 22 Geurts and Janssen, ‘1566–1609’, pp. 188–189. 23 Biografisch lexicon voor de geschiedenis van het Nederlands protestantisme. Vol 2, pp. 76–78. Van Toorenenbergen, Het oudste Nederlandsche verboden boek. 24 Hageman, Het kwade exempel, pp. 193 ff.

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reacted: once the Catholics in Nijmegen were restored to power, the Council of Troubles condemned 68 citizens from Nijmegen and nearly a hundred people from the surrounding countryside for their part in the upheaval25. The confessional situation of the towns of Cleves, Jülich, Kurköln and Cologne itself differed from that in Guelders. The Peace of Augsburg of 1555 had established the principle of “cuius regio, eius religio”, but Cologne and above all Cleves turned out to be exceptions to the rule. In Cleves, the dukes and much of the countryside remained Catholic, whereas the largest towns were largely Protestant. Protestant sympathies thus could be voiced much clearer here and from the 1560s onwards the towns housed growing numbers of Calvinists, most of whom originated from the southern principalities of the Netherlands26. Therefore, it is assumed that Calvinism initially spilt from these territories into Guelders, rather than from Holland or Brabant. The real turnover however came during the military campaigns that started in 157227. During the course of these campaigns, the cruelties of the Catholic troops, coupled with the repressive politics had the unintended effect of creating sympathy for the cause of the Calvinist revolutionaries. In the course of the two decades that followed both the political and religious maps of the region were redrawn. Dutch troops succeeded in making the three Guelders Quarters of Zutphen, Arnhem and Nijmegen a permanent part of the Dutch Republic; the southern Quarter of Roermond was ceded to the Spanish28. This was to have lasting effects on the religious adherences of the people of Guelders. From the 1590s onwards the towns of Guelders became frontier and garrison towns, where the Calvinist Reformed Church was to be the only officially tolerated church29. Catholics were seen as possible conspirators with the Spanish enemy and therefore their church was officially banned. In practice, Catholics in Guelders were able to maintain their religion, not in the least because they could rely on priests from across the Cleves’ border to deliver divine service. Reversely, there was the opportunity for Guelders’ Catholics to visit Catholic churches in the Clevish enclaves that existed

2 5 Hageman, Het kwade exempel, pp. 303–304. 26 Dünwald, Konfessionsstreit und Verfassungskonflikt. 27 ‘t Hart, The Dutch Wars of Independence, pp. 12–21. 28 Geurts and Janssen, ‘1566–1609’, pp. 124–131. 29 Frijhoff, ‘De protestantse Reformatie’, pp. 371–372. O.J. De Jong, ‘Kerkgeschiedenis’, pp. 349 ff.

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within Guelders until 1815. Apart from that, a number of noble families, especially in the border area between Guelders and Cleves or Guelders and Münster, were active protectors of the Catholic faith. For a relatively long time, their Catholic sympathies did not prevent them from being active in the political institutions of Guelders – Catholics were only banned from public office from the second half of the seventeenth century. The fact that Catholics could practice their religion openly in the duchy of Cleves hints at the differences of the confessional developments in the principalities along the Rhine. While religious tensions and strife were noticeable in each of these territories, as in the Netherlands often inextricably intertwined with worldly power struggles, they led to markedly varying outcomes. The confrontation between the Catholic and Protestant parties was intense in the archbishopric of Cologne30. From the 1560s onwards a number of members of the Cologne cathedral chapter had secretly converted to Lutheranism. In 1582 their example was followed by the Cologne Archbishop and Elector Gebhard Truchsess von Waldburg himself. His conversion enabled him to marry a Lutheran countess, Agnes von Mansfeld, and led him to proclaim all confessions to be equal in his realm. Moreover, he expressed the wish to turn the archbishopric into a secular principality. Gebhard was excommunicated by Pope Gregory XIII in February 158331. The ensuing struggle over the bishopric saw several rounds of skirmishing and larger scale military confrontations between combined Spanish-Bavarian Catholic on the one hand, and the allied Protestant troops of Gebhard, that were strengthened with Dutch forces, on the other. This so-called Truchsessischer or Kölner Krieg lasted until 1589. Already before that year William of Orange had decided to withdraw his troops from the archbishopric in order to reinforce his armies in the frontier zones of Guelders and Overijssel. The archbishopric fell back in Catholic hands and would become one of the main centres from which the Counter-Reformation into the Netherlands was launched. A similar confrontation occurred in the Clevish Wars of Succession that broke out after the last heir to the Clevish ducal throne, Johan Wilhelm, died mentally insane and heirless in 1609. Subsequently, both the Prince of Pfalz-Neuburg and the Elect of Brandenburg claimed the ducal throne based 3 0 Lossen, Der Kölnische Krieg 1. 31 On Gebhards withdrawal from Catholicism and his ideological struggle with Catholicism: Schmidt, Vaterlandsliebe und Religionskonflikt, pp. 295–309.

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on their marriages to Johan Wilhelm’s sister and niece respectively. Both houses had already formed an uneasy joint guardianship over the mentally incapable duke from the 1590s onwards. After his death matters came to a head. The wars of succession lasted from 1609 to 1614 and came to involve several more parties: among others the emperor Rudolf II, Spanish troops, the French king Henry IV and military forces of the Dutch Republic were involved at some stage of the conflict32. From the confessional point of view, the conflict got an intriguing twist, when several members of the house of Brandenburg, including the Price-Elect Johann Sigismund, converted from Lutheranism to the Calvinist creed between 1610 and 1613 and their opponent Wolfgang Wilhelm of Pfalz-Neuburg turned from Lutheranism to Roman Catholicism in 1613. The succession wars ended with a split of the former possessions of the House of Cleves. Berg and Jülich were allotted to Pfalz-Neuburg and became Catholic, and Cleves and Mark were put under Brandenburg control. However, the two latter principalities did not become fully fledged Calvinist. The Brandenburg rulers did not take the principle ‘cuius regio, eius religio’ to its limit, but rather devised a relatively tolerant policy towards Lutherans and Catholics alike. They were free to practice their faith and could even exert political influence, at least on the municipal level. In the changing religious landscape of the Lower Rhine thus much remained ambiguous. It is hard to exactly pinpoint the way in which the region was used by the population of the territories on the Lower Rhine. Yet despite the fact that the borders between the Netherlands, including Guelders, on the one hand and the territories on the Lower Rhine on the other, became more fixed in the political-military sense33, confessional circuits continued to cross those borders. This was not only true for the Catholic communities, but also for the Calvinist and to a lesser extent for the Lutheran ones34. In the next section we will try to assess the strength of these confessional ties through an analysis of ministerial appointments in two Guilders towns of Nijmegen and Arnhem, and the town of Cleves, in the duchy of the same name.

32 Anderson, On the verge of war. Mostert, ‘Der jülich-klevische Regiments- und Erbfolgestreit’. 33 ‘t Hart, The Dutch Wars of Independence, pp. 170–178.; also Weststrate, ‘The impact of war on Lower Rhine trade’, pp. 73–79. 34 Van Manen, Verboden en getolereerd.

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2. A Guelders-Lower Rhine Region? As stated above, there are reasons to assume that the Reformation in Guelders and the Lower Rhine area were to some extent connected. The first ‘Reformed books’ arrived in Guelders from the Rhineland and Lower Saxony and were written in Lower German, a language similar to that spoken in Guelders at the time, and many Protestant ideas where introduced to the Lower Rhine area by Dutch reformers. Apart from these clues that hint to the importance of the Lower Rhine area for the Reformation in the Guelders, little evidence is provided to substantiate this notion, as churchhistorical work is mostly written from a national or local perspective35. Equally, little is known about the character and the duration of these ties. Here we attempt to test empirically to what extent regional ties played a role in the development of confessional life in Guelders-Lower Rhine region. Using the stake-holder approach of regions – in which the region is seen as the result of stakeholders who try to create and recreate the region with a certain aim36 – the question whether a Calvinist GueldersLower Rhine region existed is approached by analyzing the pattern of minister appointments in Nijmegen, Cleves, and Arnhem in the period 1570–1800. The study of ministerial appointments can give an idea of the religious orientation of the congregations because ministers were chosen by the church council, which consisted of a section of the members of the congregation37. Ministers were often selected from a list of more than a hundred applicants, especially so for the better paid urban positions. Of course, the selection of ministers by congregations was also limited by certain factors. The classis38 also overlooked the selection process, as well as urban governments. Thus, confessional disputes, urban factionalism, the relations between church and urban governments, nepotism, and at times,

35 Frijhoff, ‘De protestantse Reformatie’. Goeters, Studien zur niederrheinischen Reformationsgeschichte, pp. 140–141. 36 Terlouw and Weststrate, ‘Regions as vehicles’, pp. 29–31. 37 Van Lieburg, Profeten en hun vaderland. Goeters, Studien zur niederrheinischen Reformationsgeschichte, p. 225. 38 A classis (plural: classes) is a supra-congregational executive body within the Dutch Reformed Church, intermediate in size or rank between the individual congregation and a provincial synod.

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the direct interference of members of the Orange family, all played a role in this process39. To research the appointment of ministers we compiled a list of the 153 Calvinist ministers who served in Nijmegen, Arnhem, and Cleves from 1570 to 1800, on the basis of two reference works40. It is important to note that the list only includes ministers who were registered by the congregations and classes. In the development phase of the churches the administration was less well organized and therefore ministers could be missing. This implies that the initially very important and mobile ‘Wanderprediger’ are not included in the lists. The first observation that can be made on the basis of Tab. 1 is in the early phase (1570–1650) there was frequent traffic of ministers between Nijmegen and the Lower Rhine. A third of the ministers that served in Nijmegen in this period previously served in a congregation in the Lower Rhine region (Tab. 1). This figure may be explained by the fact that the congregation of Nijmegen had close ties to the Calvinist refugee communities in the Lower Rhine region. Calvinist rule was established relatively late in Nijmegen, after the conquest of the city by Prince Maurice of Orange in 1591, and for reasons that are discussed below the city remained largely Catholic. Initially, the reformed congregation was quite small, and it only expanded to 500–700 members with the arrival of Calvinist refugees from the Lower Rhine area (Jülich, Berg, and Aachen). The ministers that served in the city maintained close relations with the refugee community and were therefore often drawn from the refugee congregations in the Lower Rhine area41. The possible regional orientation of Calvinists in Arnhem is not confirmed by the data presented in Tab. 1. Although the first two officially appointed Calvinist ministers of Arnhem came from the Lower Rhine area, only few of their successors originated from these parts. The data suggest that Arnhem was oriented towards Holland, and the rest of the Netherlands. As the provincial capital of Guelders, Calvinism in Arnhem was strongly related to the city government, which was integrated into the political

39 De Jongste, ‘Conflicten rond predikantsbenoemingen’, p. 76. Van Lieburg, Profeten en hun vaderland, p. 27. 40 Van Lieburg, Repertorium van Nederlandse hervormde predikanten. Both volumes of this work have been used. Rozenkranz, Das Evangeliche Rheinland. 41 Spiertz, De Reformatie en herleving van het katholicisme, pp. 13–15. Lemmens en Van Meerkerk, ‘Kunst, religie en cultuur’, pp. 404–487, 416–417.

Total

13

7 20 1 12 1 0 2 43

Guelders

Holland

Lower Rhine area

Rest Netherlands

Rest Germany

Other

Unknown or inapplicable

Total

100

5

0

2

28

2

47

16

%

100

16

2

2

1

42

2

0

0

15

3

18

4

13

13

6

6

31

25

6

100

100

5

0

0

36

7

43

10

%

n

3 23

Unknown or inapplicable

4

13

n

1

Other

1

1650–1800

3

Rest Germany

26

5

4

Nijmegen (from)

6

Rest Netherlands

9

13

1650–1800

2

Lower Rhine area

%

Arnhem (from)

3

Holland

1

n

22

%

N 5

1570–1650

1570–1650

Guelders

Nijmegen (from)

Arnhem (from)

17

7

0

0

3

4

1

2

n

15

10

0

2

2

1

0

0

1650–1800

Cleves (to)

n

1570–1650

Cleves (to)

7

0

0

100

67

0

13

13

%

100

41

0

0

18

24

6

12

%

Tab. 1:  The appointment of ministers in Arnhem, Nijmegen, and Cleves, 1570–1800. ‘From’ indicates where ministers in Arnhem and Nijmegen served before coming to these cities. ‘To’ indicates where the ministers who served in Cleves served after their service in Cleves. Sources: Van Lieburg, Repertorium van Nederlandse hervormde predikanten and Rozenkranz, Das Evangelische Rheinland. Vol. II.

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266

Weststrate and Draper

sphere of the Dutch Republic. Unlike in Nijmegen, the Calvinist church managed to grow and convert the majority of the population42. The congregation of Cleves seems to have been in close contact with other reformed congregations in the Netherlands, but not specifically with Guelders, as all ministers who did not retire in Cleves found a position in Holland or somewhere else in the Republic (Tab. 1). Like in other parts of the Lower Rhine, Dutch Calvinist refugees brought ‘the true faith’ to Cleves, and the congregation of Cleves belonged to the Dutch Reformed Church (“Nederduits Gereformeerde Kerk”) until 1610. When Ernest of Brandenburg became the stadholder of Cleves in 1611, the congregation’s ties with the Dutch Republic began to weaken. The Brandenburg court was Calvinist and actively stimulated the Calvinism in their largely Lutheran lands by funding churches, education, and Calvinist universities43. In the course of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the congregation of Cleves thus became more ‘German’, as is reflected by the fact that after 1650 only two ministers left Cleves for the Republic. Equally, the ministers that were appointed in Nijmegen and Arnhem after 1650 rarely were recruited from the Lower Rhine area (Tab. 1). In both the Dutch Republic and the Duchy of Cleves the Reformed Church became of matter of state. In the Republic, several controversies within the church brought about government intervention, in order to preserve social order, as well as more ‘hard-line’ version of Calvinism. In Cleves, the emerging Prussian state also interfered more in the Reformed Church, but instead directed it towards a milder form of Calvinism. Thus, the two churches grew apart and the regional ties between branches of the Reformation weakened, whilst ‘national’ ties gained importance. The political integration of Nijmegen into the Dutch Republic had very different consequences for the city’s Catholic community. As the Reformed Church gained its privileged position, Catholicism was pushed to the margins44. Public Catholic services were forbidden, as well as the official Catholic structure, but Catholicism was allowed in the private sphere, and 42 De Klerck, ‘Kerk en religie circa 1500–1700’, pp.  262–271. Knippenberg, De religieuze kaart van Nederland, p. 32. 43 Goeters, Studien zur niederrheinischen Reformationsgeschichte, pp.  187–207. Ehrenpreis, ‘Hofcalvinismus und Flüchtlingekirche’, pp.  213–218. Frijhoff, ‘Die Beziehungen der alten Universität Duisburg’, pp. 39–54. Flech, ‘Die Ausbildung rheinischer Pfarrer’. 44 Parker, Faith on the Margins.

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Fig. 2:  House of Doddendaal in Ewijk, near Nijmegen. During the eighteenth century the cellar of Doddendaal was in use as a conventicle for the catholic community of the surrounding area (Gelders Archief: 1551 – 3709, Abraham de Haen, Het slot Doddendael op de binnenplaats, 1731)

some city governments at times turned a blind eye in order to preserve the social peace in their cities45. Catholics became the biggest minority in the Republic, largely concentrated in the South and the South-East, and all but disappeared in the almost two hundred years when the Church was officially banned46. Catholics in the Dutch Republic had to be inventive in order to able to practice their faith. They had to find new ways to continue traditional religious practices in the hostile religious-political climate of the Republic, making use of the limited space available to them. In some parts of the Republic Catholicism nearly disappeared in the seventeenth century, in other parts Catholic religious life adapted to the situation. In Nijmegen the possibilities of the nearby Lower Rhine area proved of vital importance for the endurance of Catholicism. Nijmegen 4 5 Spohnholz, ‘Confessional Coexistence’, pp. 47–50. 46 Knippenberg, De religieuze kaart van Nederland, p. 23.

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administratively belonged to the poor bishopric of Roermond, and not to the area of the ‘Dutch Mission’, therefore secular priests were no longer active there after Catholicism was banned in the city in 1591. However, Jesuits from Cologne and Emmerich, regular clergymen, soon called on the city and established their permanent presence in the city. Together with local lay women (‘klopjes’) they organized Catholic primary education in the city. Nijmegen had historic links to Cologne, which was the centre of Catholicism in the Lower Rhine area, housing a Catholic university, a nuncio, a seminary, and Jesuit college, as Nijmegen used to belong to the bishopric of Cologne. Many parents also sent their children to secondary schools in the Duchy of Cleves, as Catholic secondary schools were not available in Nijmegen47. Catholic citizens of Nijmegen also crossed the border to Cleves to experience their faith freely in public. They travelled on foot to the Clevish enclave of Huissen, which was enclosed by Guelders’ territory, a distance of 10 km or so, to attend church services there. Whereas in Nijmegen Catholicism was limited to ‘the private sphere’, in Huissen it could be experienced in all its glory: collectively and including of rituals such as baptizing and processions48. For similar reasons, going on pilgrimage to the nearby Kevelaer was also popular amongst Catholics. Pilgrimages were forbidden in the Calvinist Dutch Republic, but were allowed in Cleves. Therefore, groups of more than hundred Catholics walked from Nijmegen to the border in calm and neutral fashion, only to transform themselves into a full-on procession by unveiling special clothing and artefacts and by breaking into religious chants after crossing the border. Church authorities stimulated cults such as Kevelaer to reinforce the confessional identity of Catholics who lived under Protestant rule49.

47 Hamans, Geschiedenis van de katholieke kerk in Nederland, pp. 245–248 and 388. Begheyn, De Jezuïeten in Nijmegen, pp. 8–21. Lemmens en Meerkerk, ‘Kunst, religie en cultuur’, p. 407. Sowade, ‘Katholische Reform’, p. 307. Duhr, Geschichte der Jesuiten, p. 17. 48 Zweers and Smit, ‘Reformatie en Contrareformatie in Huissen’, pp. 92–95. Spohnholz, ‘Confessional Coexistence’, pp. 66–67. 49 Wingens, Over de Grens, pp. 78–101.

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3. Conclusion: Regional Confessional Identities in the Guelders-Lower Rhine Area? What have we learned from the analysis of ministerial Calvinist appointments in Arnhem, Nijmegen and Cleves between 1570 and 1800? The data should be treated with caution, yet they suggest that in the long run the Calvinist churches in Guelders took a definite national turn, especially after the Peace of Westphalia was concluded in 1648. From that time onwards ministers for the Arnhem and Nijmegen classes were recruited from Holland and the rest of the Republic. The picture for Cleves is less certain, but we may cautiously suggest that the Calvinist church, that was initially much more oriented on Holland, turned more towards Germany in the later seventeenth and eighteenth century. This general re-orientation is in itself not so surprising. It is in line with the more general development of state formation, in which confessional networks are a tool to establish and enforce ties and power structures within nation states in statu nascendi. For seventeenth and eighteenth century Guelders, a similar orientation towards the Dutch Republic has also been observed in the commercial sphere as well as in the official historiography of the former duchy50. This long term analysis does not necessarily prove Frijhoff’s theorem that the Guelders Reformation must have sprung up from the Rhineland wrong. The first waves of dissemination of reformed ideas in Guelders indeed came from an important part from the principalities along the Lower Rhine. However, their impact was relatively small, as deviant Christian ideas were swiftly and quite successfully subdued by the Habsburgs until the 1560s, when the Reformation in Guelders really got under way. From 1570 onwards, there is not much evidence for a dominant orientation of Guelders on the Lower Rhine area. The picture that emerges is more differentiated: the Guelders’ capital of Arnhem is clearly tied up in the sphere of Holland and the Dutch Republic, while Nijmegen remains a dominantly Catholic town and remains more oriented towards the Lower Rhine areas, even for its Calvinist ministerial appointments. In the wake of the nationalization of the Calvinist church, Catholicism did survive in Guelders. For their survival and their practice of beliefs 50 Weststrate, ‘Impact of war’, pp. 79–80; Weststrate, ‘‘De verhooging van den luister des Vaderlands’’.

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Catholic communities had to transcend borders. They made use of the opportunities of crossing the border to Cleves until the end of the Ancien Regime, and were actively supported by Catholic institutions from Emmerich and Cologne. Thus, by necessity, in the longer run the Lower Rhine as confessional region was a more meaningful sphere of action for Guelders Catholics then for their Reformed counterparts.

Bibliography Alberts, Wybe J., Moderne Devotie (Bussum: Fibula-van Dishoeck, 1969). Anderson, Alison, On the Verge of War. International Relations and the Jülich-Kleve Succession Crises (1609–1614) (Boston: Humanities Press, 1999). Begheyn, Paul, De Jezuïeten in Nijmegen (Nijmegen: Nijmeegs Museum, 1991). Biografisch lexicon voor de geschiedenis van het Nederlands protestantisme, ed. by Doede Nauta a.o., vol. 2 (Kampen: Kok, 1983). Blotevogel, Hans Heinrich, ‘Regionalbewusstsein und Landesidentität am Beispiel von Nordrhein-Westfalen’, (Discussion Paper University of Duisburg, 2001), http://duepublico.uni-duisburg-essen.de/servlets/ DerivateServlet/Derivate-5198/blotevogel2.pdf. De Westforschung en Nederland, Themanummer Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis, 118 (2005). Die Devotio Moderna. Sozialer und kultureller Transfer (1350–1580). Band I. Frömmigkeit, Unterricht und Moral. Einheit und Vielfalt der Devotio Moderna an den Schnittstellen von Kirche und Gesellschaft, vor allem in der deutsch-niederländischen Grenzregion, ed. by Dick E.H. de Boer and Iris Kwiatkowski (Münster: Aschendorff Verlag, 2013). Die Devotio Moderna. Sozialer und kultureller Transfer (1350–1580). Band 2. Die räumliche und geistige Ausstrahlung der Devotio Moderna – zur Dynamik ihres Gedankengutes, ed. by Iris Kwiatkowski and Jörg Engelbrecht (Münster: Aschendorff Verlag, 2013). Ditt, Karl, ‘Franz Petri und die Geschichte der Niederlande. Vom germanischen Kulturraum zur Nation Europas’, Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis, 118 (2005), pp. 169–187.

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Duhr, Bernhard S.J., Geschichte der Jesuiten in Ländern Deutscher Zunge. Band II (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1913). Dünwald, Achim, Konfessionsstreit und Verfassungskonflikt; die Aufnahme der niederländischen Flüchtlinge im Herzogtum Kleve, 1566–1585 (Bielefeld: Verlag für Regionalgeschichte, 1998). Ehrenpreis, Stefan, ‘Hofcalvinismus und Flüchtlingskirche. Zwei Modelle reformierter Kirchenorganisation und Politik’ in: Reiss, Ansgar, and Sabine Witt, eds., Calvinismus. Die Reformierten in Deutschland und Europa (Dresden: Sandstein Verlag, 2009), pp. 160–168. Flesch, Stefan, ‘Die Ausbildung rheinischer Pfarrer an der Universität Duisburg’ in Geuenich, Dieter, and Irmgard Hantsche, eds., Zur Geschichte der Universität Duisburg, 1655–1818 (Duisburg: MercatorVerlag, 2007), pp. 65–100. Frijhoff, Willem, ‘De protestantse Reformatie in de Nederkwartieren’, in Stinner, Johannes, and Karl-Heinz Tekath, eds., Het hertogdom Gelre. Geschiedenis, kunst en cultuur tussen Maas, Rijn en IJssel (Utrecht: Matrijs, 2003). Frijhoff, Willem, ‘Die Beziehungen der alten Universität Duisburg zu den Niederlanden’, in Geuenich, Dieter, and Irmgard Hantsche, eds., Zur Geschichte der Universität Duisburg, 1655–1818 (Duisburg: MercatorVerlag, 2007), pp. 39–54. Geurts, Jac H.J. and Jan Kuijs, ‘Kerkelijke en godsdienstige verhoudingen in Gelre, vóór en na 1543’, in Buisman, Frank Keverling, O. Moorman van Kappen, H. De Schepper, and M. Van Driel, eds., Verdrag en Tractaat van Venlo. Herdenkingsbundel, 1543–1993 (Hilversum: Verloren, 1993), pp. 171–199. Geurts, Pieter A.M. and Antoon E.M. Janssen, ‘1566–1609’, in Meij, Petrus J., a.o., eds., Geschiedenis van Gelderland 1492–1795 (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 1978), pp. 97–131. Goeters, Johan F.  Gerhard, Studien zur niederrheinischen Reformationsgeschichte. Herausgegeben von Dietrich Meyer, Schriftenreihe des Vereins für Rheinische Kirchengeschichte, 153 (Cologne: Rheinland-Verlag, 2002). Groustra-Werdekker, Aafje H., ‘Gelderse steden in de zestiende-eeuwse Hanze: de tering naar de nering zetten’, Zutphen 24 (2005), pp. 83–101. Hageman, Maarten, Het kwade exempel van Gelre (Nijmegen: Vantilt,  2005). Hamans, Paul W.F.M., Geschiedenis van de katholieke kerk in Nederland, I: Van missionering tot herstel van de hiërarchie in 1853 (Brugge: Tabor, 1992).

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‘t Hart, Marjolein, The Dutch Wars of Independence and the Republic’s Golden Age, c. 1580–c. 1680 (London: Routledge, 2014). Jong, Otto J.  de, ‘Kerkgeschiedenis’, in Meij, Petrus J., a.o., eds., Geschiedenis van Gelderland 1492–1795 (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 1978), pp. 331–384. Jongste, Jan A.F.  de, ‘Conflicten rond predikantsbenoemingen in enkele Hollandse steden, ca. 1670–1770’, Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis, 75 (1995), pp. 64–101. Keating, Michael, Regions and Regionalism in Europe (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 2004). Klerck, Jan de, ‘Kerk en religie circa 1500–1700’ in Benders, Jeroen F., and Frank Keverling Arnhem tot 1700 (Utrecht: Matrijs, 2008), pp. 254–275. Knippenberg, Hans, De religieuze kaart van Nederland. Omvang en geografische spreiding van de godsdienstige gezindten vanaf de Reformatie tot heden (Assen/Maastricht: van Gorcum, 1992). Lemmens Trudy, and Edwin M. van Meerkerk, ‘Kunst, religie en cultuur in de Nieuwe Tijd (ca. 1500–1796)’, in Kuijs, Jan, and Hans Bots, eds., Nijmegen. Geschiedenis van de oudste stad van Nederland. Deel II: Middeleeuwen en Nieuwe Tijd (Wormer: Inmerc bv, 2005), pp. 404–487. Lieburg, Fred A. van, Repertorium van Nederlandse hervormde predikanten tot 1816 (Dordrecht: Private Edition, 1996). Lieburg, Fred A. van, Profeten en hun vaderland. De geografische herkomst van gereformeerde predikanten in Nederland van 1572 tot 1816 (Zoetermeer: Boekencentrum, 1998). Lossen, Max, Der Kölnische Krieg 1: Vorgeschichte 1561–1581 (Gotha: F.A. Perthes, 1882). Manen, Kosterus G. van, Verboden en getolereerd. Een onderzoek naar lutheranen, lutheranisme en lutherse gemeentevorming in Gelderland ten tijde van de Republiek. Werken uitgegeven door Gelre 55 (Hilversum: Verloren, 2001). Mostert, Rolf-Achim, ‘Der jülich-klevische Regiments- und Erbfolgestreit – ein Vorspiel zum Dreißigjährigen Krieg?’ in Ehrenpreis, Stefan, ed., Der Dreißigjährige Krieg im Herzogtum Berg und in seinen Nachbarregionen. Bergische Forschungen. Quellen und Forschungen zur bergischen Geschichte, Kunst und Literatur, vol. 28 (Neustadt an der Aisch: Schmidt, 2002), pp. 26–64.

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Ó hAnnracháin, Tadhg, Catholic Europe, 1592–1648:  Centre and Peripheries (Oxford: OUP, 2015). Paassi, Ansi, ‘The resurgence of the ‘Region’ and ‘Regional Identity’:  theoretical perspectives and empirical observations on regional dynamics in Europe’, Review of International Studies, 35 (2009), pp. 121–146. Parker, Charles H., Faith on the Margins. Catholics and Dutch Catholicism in the Dutch Golden Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008). Petri, Franz, ‘Die Stellung der Sudersee- und IJsselstädte im flandrischhansischen Raum’, Hansische Geschichtsblätter, 79 (1961), pp. 34–57. Petri, Franz, and Wybe Jappe Alberts, Gemeinsame Probleme deutschniederlandischer Landes- und Volksforschung (Groningen: Wolters, 1962). Pollmann, Judith, Catholic Identity and the Revolt of the Netherlands, 1520–1635 (Oxford: OUP, 2011). Rozenkranz, Albert, Das Evangelische Rheinland. Ein rheinisches Gemeinde- u. Pfarrerbuch Band II, die Pfarrer (Düsseldorf: Verlag Kirche in d. Zeit, 1958). Schmidt, Alexander, Vaterlandsliebe und Religionskonflikt:  Politische Diskurse im Alten Reich (1555–1648) (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007). Schöttler, Peter, ‘Die historische “Westforschung” zwischen “Abwehrkampf ” und territoriale Offensive’, in Schöttler, Peter, ed., Geschichtsschreibung als Legitimationswissenschaft:  1918–1945 (Frankfurt a.Main: Suhrkamp, 1997), pp. 204–261. Sowade, Herbert, ‘Katholische Reform zwichen Absolutismus und Aufklärung (1609–1794)’, in Janssen, Heinrich, and Udo Grote, eds., Zwei Jahrtausende Geschichte der Kirche am Niederrhein (Münster: Dialogverlag, 2001), pp. 301–396. Spiertz, Mathieu P.G., De Reformatie en herleving van het katholicisme in Nijmegen (1591–1623). Rogier herzien en herdacht (Nijmegen: Katholieke Universiteit Nijmegen, 1993). Spohnholz, Jesse, ‘Confessional Coexistence in the Early Modern Low Countries’, in Safley, Thomas M., ed., A Companion to Multiconfessionalism in the Early Modern World (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2011), pp. 47–74. Stein, Robert, and Judith Pollmann, eds., Networks, Regions and Nations. Shaping Identities in the Low Countries, 1300–1650 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2011).

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Terlouw, Kees, and Job Weststrate, ‘Regions as vehicles for local interests: the spatial strategies of medieval and modern urban elites in the Netherlands’, Journal of Historical Geography, 40 (2013), pp. 24–35. Tielen, Theo A.M., Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis van de katholieke enclave Groenlo-Lichtenvoorde (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 1966). Toorenenbergen, Johan J. van, Het oudste Nederlandsche verboden boek. 1523. Oeconomica christiana. Summa der Godliker Scrifturen (Leiden: Brill, 1882). Verhoeven, Dolly, ‘Het Gelderse Gevoel en de betekenis van grenzen in ruimte en tijd’. Inaugural lecture Radboud University Nijmegen (Nijmegen 2016), also published in Bijdragen en Mededelingen Gelre 106 (2015), pp. 195–215. Weststrate, Job, ‘Die Niederländische Geschichtsschreibung über die Hanse’, Hansische Geschichtsblätter, 130 (2012), pp. 175–209. Weststrate, Job, ‘The impact of war on Lower Rhine trade from the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries’, in Schaïk, Remi W.M. van, ed., Economies, Public Finances, and the Impact of Institutional Changes in Interregional Perspective: The Low Countries and Neighbouring German Territories (14th-17th centuries). Studies in European Urban History (1100–1800), vol. 36 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015), pp. 61–80. Weststrate, Job, ‘‘De verhooging van den luister des Vaderlands’. Gelderland in de Nederlandse historiografie rond 1800’, in Weststrate, Job, and Dick E.H. de Boer, eds., Tussen streek en staat. Identiteit, beeldvorming en functioneren van regio’s aan de rand van Nederland rond 1800 (to be published Hilversum: Verloren, 2020). Wingens, Marc, Over de Grens. De bedevaart van katholieke Nederlanders in de zeventiende en achttiende eeuw (Nijmegen: SUN, 1994). Zweers, Jan F.H., and Emile J.Th.A.M.A Smit, ‘Reformatie en Contrareformatie in Huissen. In een angel in Gelders vlees’, in Doormalen, Sil van, ed., Geloven tussen de rivieren. Verkenningen in de Gelderse kerkgeschiedenis. Verzameling bijdragen van de Vereniging voor Nederlandse Kerkgeschiedenis, vol. 11 (Delft: Eburon, 1999), pp. 89–103.

Martin Klatt

Regions in Crisis: The Volatility of Regional Identity in Face of Nationalization Projects. The Case of Schleswig

1. Nation, Region and Identity History has rediscovered its interest in the regions, after the nation state (and the nation) dominated the science in the nineteenth and twentieth century, if not as research object, then as research category or framework in and for historic sub-disciplines. This is in line with a social science discourse on regions and regionalism, fed by contemporary political agendas of regionalization in Europe and elsewhere1. Especially the 1990s paradigm of a Europe of Regions triggered recourse to regions as a core spatial, but also identity-building category hitherto suppressed by the dominating national paradigm. Europe is re-scaling2 and seemingly moving away from the clearcut nation state system of the first half of the twentieth century. Within this re-scaling, ‘historical’ regions were said to reappear across national borders, and secession movements in Scotland and Catalonia, to name the most prominent, have embarked on the regional train to achieve greater independence within or from their states. This challenges the predominant consent of the nation, as it was imagined in nineteenth century nationalism, as being the ultimate living form and society for human beings, and to national identity as the dominating category of defining or identifying humans in modern and post-modern society. I  will not engage in the continuing debate between primordialists and social constructivists on the

1 2

For an overview see Jones and Paasi, ‘Guest Editorial: Regional World(s)’. Keating, ‘Re-Scaling Europe’.

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origin of nations and national identity, though3. Even though I take sides for the social constructivists’ approach, focus in this article will be on the loss of the region in historiography4. The concept of region is still blurred. In popular usage and also in academic fields the region typically “conjures up the idea of a homogeneous block of space that has a persisting distinctiveness due to its physical and cultural characteristics”5. The idea of the region typically challenges the idea of the nation state as the fundamental geographical unit and base of analysis for both the humanities and the social sciences since the nineteenth century6. Others argue, though, that regions should be understood relational, not territorial7. Anssi Paasi argues that regions are historically contingent structures based on territorial, symbolic and institutional shaping with regional identity as an abstraction to be used to analyze the links between social actors and the institutionalization process of these regions8. Still, there is agreement that at least ‘strong’ or ‘thick’ regions need identity9, they can become natural parts of people’s spatial identities10, identity needs history, but we also know that identities can be multiple and can change11. Social, political or ethnic discourses can make regions appear as inherited cultural entities12. Social and cultural practices orchestrating regions can be steady and do not transform overnight, but depend on people making claims on them13. But then, what is identity? It is still a fuzzy concept. Human behavioral science defines identity as a child’s emotional development of

3 Smith, The Ethnic Origin of Nations; Smith, National Identity; Anderson, Imagined Communities; Hobsbawm and Ranger, The Invention of Tradition. 4 See for example Applegate, ‘A Europe of Regions’; Zahra, ‘Imagined Noncommunities’. 5 Agnew, ‘Arguing with Regions’, p. 7. 6 Agnew, ‘Arguing with Regions’, p. 8. 7 Varró and Lagendijk, ‘Conceptualizing the Region’. 8 Paasi, ‘The Institutionalization of Regions’; Paasi, ‘Bounded Spaces in the Mobile World’. 9 Paasi, ‘The Resurgence of the ‘Region’ and ‘Regional Identity’’; Terlouw, ‘Rescaling Regional Identities’; Terlouw, ‘From Thick to Thin Regional Identities?’. 10 Vainikka, ‘The Role of Identity for Regional Actors and Citizens in a Splintered Region’. 11 Klatt, ‘Mobile Regions’. 12 Johnson and Coleman, ‘The Internal Other’. 13 Paasi, ‘Place and the Region’.

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his self-concept, which is the sense who he is and what his relation to other people is14. Basically, this is a useful definition also applicable for concepts of national, European or regional identity. All these have to do with a person’s self-concept and self-categorization in relation to other individuals, whether somebody identifies (and is identified by others) as being German, European or Schleswigian. The methodological problem is, of course, that self-concepts are at first sight individual, only at second sight collective. Furthermore, they are not singular. Humans have many concepts of themselves, as men, women, football player, garden-lover, railway enthusiast, worker, member of the nobility etc. etc., and these concepts may change during lifetime: Self-concepts as child and teenager might be different from the same person’s self-concept as a senior citizen. Identities can also be spatial. Heimat as our home, our place of belonging, bears and constructs identity15. Historically, the core spatial identity concept of Heimat has been manipulated to legitimate power by constructing spatial legitimacy. Feudal territories bound together by dynastic bonds had to be aligned to the resident’s Heimat to socially construct territorial identity – especially by the nation state16. While this is well documented, it is more difficult to assert how far these social constructions were successful. Just as nineteenth century historiography contributed greatly to the apparent success of the nation state in the twentieth century and the creation of national identity, there is a renaissance of regional history to contribute to strengthen or to discover regional identity17; something which often is assumed to just be there, but moved into the background by or aligned with superimposed national identity18. “The individual’s identification with the nation … rests on a large variety of social ties, which simultaneously forge the links between

1 4 15 16 17

Encyclopedia Britannica, online edition, “Human behaviour” (8 July 2014). Larkey, ‘New Places, New Identities’; Confino, ‘The Nation as a Local Metaphor’. Confino, ‘The Nation as a Local Metaphor’. Terlouw, ‘Rescaling Regional Identities’; Paasi, ‘The Institutionalization of Regions’; Paasi, ‘Territorial Identities as Social Constructs’; Paasi, ‘The Resurgence of the ‘Region’ and ‘Regional Identity”. 18 Especially in Germany Landesgeschichte was instrumentalized as a regional version contributing to the greatness of the nation, aligning the local with the national in the emotionalized term of Heimat, see Confino, ‘The Nation as a Local Metaphor’; Larkey, ‘New Places, New Identities’.

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the individual and the nation”19. Only recently have a minority of historians (and social scientists) challenged the ‘victory’ and supremacy of national identity by focusing on indifference, documenting that the elite concepts of nation and nationalism did not disperse through twentieth century Europe as fast and all-encompassing as claimed by mainstream historians20. Indifference to elite concepts of identity is a key focus to have in mind, when trying to assess identity history in pre-literate times. It is the key variable to be applied to the few sources we have on local, regional, national and/ or kingdom or empire identity before and long into the so-called period of national awakening during the ‘long’ nineteenth and even the twentieth century. So how about regions? Regional identities have most often only been researched as absence of or complementary to national identity. Only recently have sub-national regional identities become the focus for social historians and others concerned with the restructuring of European identities21. A basic premise is that regional and national identities are often intertwined rather than oppositional22. ‘Traditional’, not only nineteenth century, historiography has been keen on demonstrating a teleological route of identity development into national and the nation state as the ultimate form to contain a society. Today, nations are the central category when we define collectives of people, both vernacular and in social science research, data, statistics etc. Even Eurostat operates with units within national borders and their sub-administrative boundaries. The continuing debate on a lack of European identity bases on the (not documented) assumption of the supremacy of national identity as the European individual’s most important aspect of self-identification. For a historical study, furthermore, a suitable method to assert collective identity is difficult to find. Sources on individual identity are scarce before the nineteenth century, especially, when low alphabetization of the population is taken into account. Or said in another way: the individual sources are hardly representative. For the Schleswig-plebiscite of 1920,

1 9 20 21 22

Tacke, ‘The Nation and the Region’, p. 698. Most important Zahra, ‘Imagined Noncommunities’. Agnew, ‘Arguing with Regions’, p. 11, especially Applegate, ‘A Europe of Regions’. Agnew, ‘Arguing with Regions’, p.  11. Especially Keating, ‘Europeanism and Regionalism’ and Murphy, ‘Emerging Regional Linkages’. See also Klatt, ‘Mobile Regions’.

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Nina Jebsen and I have tried to use visual sources to discuss the intertwining of regional and national identity, assessing limitations of representativeness of these sources, too23. Contemporarily, measuring identity is not an easier task, either. Eurobarometer (and others) do make polls on citizens’ identification. For example, Eurobarometer 36 (1991) lists figures of 85–88  % of people feeling attached with their home country, home region and home town (only slight differences)24. Attachment is not equal identity, though. Studies from Wales reveal slight differences over time (1979–2007), on whether people identify primarily as Welsh or British25. Such polls do not reflect more than self-identification, though. Answers can be situational. And, can something as complex as identity be assessed by 2–3 numeric answers on a Likert scale? We must assume that most commonly used and referred measurements of identity do not fulfill the demands to measure the many dimensions of collective identity26. Research on the Irish republic-Ulster border case demonstrates that official identity discourses still tend to reify homogeneous national identities, not reflecting the more complex and fluid understandings of nationality in everyday border region life27. In spite of the methodological difficulties, some studies try to measure and quantify regional identity and its relation to national and other identities. Peter Thaler has demonstrated the fluidity of borderland identity through an election analysis of late nineteenth and early twentieth century elections in the Habsburg Empire and Germany. His results indicate that regional and national identification in Silesia, Masuria, Poznania and Styria intertwined between the dominating German, Polish, Lithuanian and Slovenian identifications28. On the basis of Eurobarometer data, Rune Dahl Fitjar has explained variations in sub-state regional identity, where ‘hard’ factors as a regional language and/or peripheral geographical position are connected with more ‘soft’ political and economic factors, such as that 2 3 Jebsen and Klatt, ‘The Negotiation of National and Regional Identity’. 24 Eurobarometer 36, 1991, p.  66. Available at http://ec.europa.eu/public_opinion/ archives/eb/eb36/eb36_en.pdf (10 July 2014). 25 Bradbury and Andrews, ‘State Devolution and National Identity’. 26 Ashmore, Deaux, and McLaughlin-Volpe, ‘An Organizing Framework for Collective Identity’. 27 Todd, ‘Introduction: National Identity in Transition?’. 28 Thaler, ‘Fluid Identities in Central European Borderlands’.

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high economic development and/or the existence of a regional party system correlate with strong regional identity29. Irish research demonstrates that everyday constructions of national identity are subtly changed by individual choices in multiple minor situations. Every individual identity change may be constrained by communal solidarity, but it may also underpin collective change30. So, identity is manifold, subject to change, and the hierarchy of identities situational. In this article, I will examine identity change in the region of Schleswig in a historical perspective, as comprehensive as possible keeping all methodological limitations in mind. I will be focusing on the interplay and changeability of regional and national identity. It will give a view on Schleswig as a region in crisis from a regional focus. Nationalism and nationalization will be considered the antithesis to regionalism in Schleswig during the period of crisis, which I define as the period from the early 1800s until a regional renaissance (at least in rhetoric) in progress from the late 1990s.

2. Schleswig: A Borderland? The duchy of Schleswig became a border region between what in the nineteenth century became Denmark and Germany, divided by a plebiscite in 1920 defining today’s border between Denmark and Germany. It is an interesting case here, as it demonstrates volatility of identity, identity changes as well as multiple identities coinciding, but also conflicting with nation- and region-building projects throughout history31. Historically well researched because of the long-lasting national conflict on and in the region (at least from the 1840s until the 1950s), it gives a good example compatible to other, late nationalized regions in Europe. Schleswig’s history as a territory goes back to the 1100s, when it was given as a fief to a minor line of the Danish royal family in the then rather weak Danish monarchy. The territory was consolidated and divided in the 2 9 Fitjar, ‘Explaining Variation in Sub-State Regional Identities’. 30 Todd, ‘Introduction: National Identity in Transition?’, p. 569. 31 Klatt, ‘Mobile Regions’.

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course of time, but remained under the Danish crown except for about half a century during the post-30-years war conflicts between Denmark and Sweden on the domination of the Baltic Sea Area. Then, the Gottorf dynasty gained temporary sovereignty from Denmark under Swedish protection with dynastic connections to the Russian throne. Still, after a series of wars Denmark succeeded to recover Schleswig and incorporate it into the conglomerate state in 1721. Nonetheless, incorporation did not mean integration: the region was characterized by manifold different administrative practices and local privileges as well as a strong position of the local nobility, the Schleswig-holsteinische Ritterschaft; contrary to absolutist Denmark, which survived into the nineteenth century32. Conflict broke out in the 1840s, when two competing national movements wanted to incorporate Schleswig into their national projects. While the War of Independence (1848–1850) did not change the region’s status, it was annexed by Prussia and incorporated into the German Kaiserreich after the war of 1864. In 1920, Schleswig was divided after a plebiscite incorporated into the Versailles Treaty to assure the application of the principle of national self-determination. The period between the two world wars was characterized by bordering efforts securing the new state border, but also irredentism especially on the German side. In 1945, the border issue was raised again, when a growing Danish movement in South Schleswig (the part of the region that remained with Germany in 1920) in the face of NaziGermany’s collapse demanded a revision, supported by broad nationalist circles in Denmark. From 1955 onwards, with West Germany entering NATO, the conflict was appeased, and from the 1990s, increased crossborder cooperation tried to re-integrate the region within further European integration.

3. Early Regionalism Schleswig’s history as a region is both territorial and relational. Using natural and social geography as indicator, Schleswig (and the rest of the

32 Schlaber, Hertugdømmet Slesvigs Forvaltning; Klatt, ʻMobile Regions’.

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Cimbrian Peninsula/Jutland) can be divided into three ‘natural’ regions. To the East, rich moraine soil farmland dominates. In the center, sandy soil made farming difficult. In the West, rich marshes were the basis for cattle farming, and the Frisian immigrants arriving from the eighth century continued a sea-based economy of fishery and trade. Consequently, the map in figure 1 on known iron-age localities demonstrates a higher population density in the East and on the West coast, compared to the center. It also reveals north-south going fortifications, indicating tribal divides aligning with the geographical divide. The different landscapes have influenced local social geography until today – even though they were never politically institutionalized, for example as administrative units or within spatial planning. For the early regionalism, the relational component is more important, though. The territory as such was legitimized by dynastic relations, which connected it to Holstein (that is, the land-owning nobility there) and hereby to the Holy Roman Empire in the 1300s. In 1460, relational bonds where strengthened by the election of Danish king Christian I. as duke and the securing of the nobilities’ privileges in the Ribe Treaty. These privileges remained in force and were re-granted continuously in spite of centralizing policies by the Danish crown as the introduction of absolutism in core Denmark in 1665. On the territorial side, the duchy’s territorial shape as a whole was not challenged until the division in 1920. ‘Schleswig-Holstein’ as a regional concept probably developed under the rule of the Schauenburg dynasty in the duchies in the fourteenth and early fifteenth century. Its bearer was the region’s nobility organized in the Schleswig-Holstein equestry (Ritterschaft). The Ribe treaty of 1460 and subsequent negotiations between the equestry and the Danish king witness of a self-conscious, strong, regionally based nobility. This allowed them to maintain their privileges into the nineteenth century; contrary to the land-based nobility in the rest of the Danish conglomerate state. We do not know, though, and probably never will know, whether this regional self-consciousness and identity disseminated into the rest of the population. Considering the period being characterized by a feudal society, with clearly socially bounded estates, I would consider the probability of the existence of a wide spread, territorially based regional identity in the population to be very low. This might have changed from the late sixteenth century, when the Danish monarchy became more physically present in the duchies. The

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king’s voyages were orchestrated as celebrations of the ‘land’s father’ and as meetings with his subjects. Narratives witness about confidence in the ‘good king’, when subjects were in conflict with the local authorities or their landlord and complained. The primary identification is the king as the person symbolizing the state, though. Regional affiliation is not implied. Other aspects categorizing regional identity are difficult to assess in a historical perspective. For example, Schleswig had a cultural affinity to Germany, even though Danish and Frisian dialects were spoken by most of its inhabitants at home, while, typically for pre-national Europe, some language competency in other languages was common and used according to individual demand. Around 1840 we can, for the first time, estimate vernacular language use based on somewhat dependable data. This data reveals a gliding transfer from north to south in the primary use of Danish (Southern Jutian dialect) and German (Low German), with Frisian dialects being spoken on the West Coast. Large areas of the region are characterized by multiple language use, indicating typical nineteenth century (and earlier) border zones’ or multicultural regions’ use of language according to situation.33 Even though a static picture, the map in figure 1 reveals that language use is in motion. We also know that use of vernacular language did not reflect language use in education, church services and administration at the time. Here, German dominated in the whole duchy. It was exclusive as language of higher schooling, administration and courts. The border line of use of German in elementary education and church services is not reflected in the map either. It was, at the time, further north around the later (1920) border of Denmark and Germany. Frisian, still widely used as vernacular language, was not used in schooling and administration at all, and, as far as we know, not in church services either. On the basis of the above, I will now point out six points of crisis and their influence on regional identity in Schleswig. 3.1. Crisis of the Monarchy The consolidation of Danish rule in Schleswig achieved during the eighteenth century was implemented without opposition. Frequent travels 33 Judson, Guardians of the Nation.

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Fig. 1:  Language use in Schleswig around 1840, based on studies of H.N.A. Jensen, pastor in Angeln (by permission of: Jørgen Andersen. Sønderjyllands Historie, Aabenraa 2009, Vol. 2, p. 64).

of the monarch through the duchies created a conglomerate state patriotism encompassing at least the administrative and civil elite, as far as can be judged from contemporary sources34. This lasted at least into the early nineteenth century, into the Napoleonic wars, when Denmark was pushed 34 Henningsen, Kongen Kommer!.

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into an alliance with Napoleon. In 1807, the bombardment of Copenhagen and the following appropriation of the Danish fleet by the British created waves of solidarity all the way down to Altona35. Still, the new ideas of the French revolution gained a foothold. Already in 1776, public offices in the Danish conglomerate state had been reserved for natives (Danish, Norwegians, and Holsteinians). In the beginning of the nineteenth century, it was the language status, which created conflicts. Hitherto, the kingdom of Denmark proper had been administered in Danish, Schleswig and Holstein in German – even though Danish was the primarily spoken language in wide parts of Schleswig. Plans to introduce Danish as language of administration and in courts in these areas were not implemented, though, because of feared resistance from the local civil servants, who often did not speak Danish. In Holstein, local opposition against the temporary incorporation into Denmark (1806–1815) could be detected36. The state bankruptcy in 1813 and the Peace Treaty of Kiel (1814) weakened Danish authority in the region. The Danish Empire lost Norway in exchange for another German territory, the small duchy of Lauenburg, and a severe economic crisis followed state bankruptcy. So while the fortunate economic conjunctures and the long peace of the eighteenth century gave no reason to question Schleswig-Holstein’s political status, the new ideas of nationalism as well as the economic crisis of the early nineteenth century roused doubts, whether Schleswig-Holstein still should be a part of the reduced Danish empire. In the 1840s, nationalization of Schleswig accelerated. Both the Danish Eider-movement and the German SchleswigHolstein movement claimed the duchy for their national project37. These movements were not regional, though, but rather a regional implementation of more general, European trends of thoughts. Their regional base was very weak in the early nineteenth century. The ideas of SchleswigHolstein as a part of Greater Germany evolved in the academic milieu of the University of Kiel and were influenced by pan-German ideas evolving during the liberation wars from Napoleon’s rule. Eider-Denmark was a

35 Fangel, Hoffmann, Jacobsen and Scharff, eds., Der Nationale Gegensatz; Japsen, ʻStatspatriotisme og Nationalfølelse’. 36 Frandsen, Holsten i Helstaten, p. 16. 37 Hansen, ʻSchleswigsche Identität 1840–1848ʼ; ʻDemokratie oder Nationalismusʼ; Hansen, Henningsen and Porskrog Rasmussen, Sønderjyllands Historie 2; Klatt, ʻMobile Regions’.

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concept which evolved in Copenhagen’s bourgeoisie, who increasingly felt threatened by what they perceived as German influence at court, university and trade38. We witness a debate of these issues in the Estate Assemblies, which were established in 1834 in the Danish Conglomerate State. Suffrage to these consultative assemblies without any real legislative powers was very restricted. Still, the debates reflected the difficulties the monarchy had with adjusting the multinational conglomerate state to the new idea of nationalism. In the 1840s, the conflict escalated. Different addresses by inhabitants of Schleswig to the Danish king give a hint of either a conglomerate state identity, or a Schleswig-Holstein identity – the latter especially as an opposition to any separation of the duchies as advocated by the Eider Danes39. Still, these addresses are not representative for the whole population. Perhaps they can be considered representative for the educated bourgeoisie, but even that claim cannot be supported by statistical significance. Nevertheless, the monarchy was not able to canalize the sentiments and solve the issue, so in the aftermath of the bourgeois revolution in France in February 1848, in March a nationalist Eider-Danish government was appointed in Copenhagen for fear of revolution, while almost at the same time a group of intellectuals and nobles declared SchleswigHolstein independent and formed a secessionist, provisional government. The following war (1848–1850) ended with Danish victory and the re-establishment of the status quo ante. Neither elite was happy with the results and blocked for a constitutional settlement, so renewed war in 1864 settled the issue by force, integrating Schleswig-Holstein into Prussia and the German Kaiserreich. Regional identity can be assessed during the 1864 conflict. While the population greeted the invading Prussian and Austrian troops with excitement in Holstein, the situation was more divided in Flensburg, where Schleswig-Holstein-oriented people used the invasion to riot against perceived supporters of Denmark. Following the armistice, many citizendelegations demonstrated for the Count of Augustenburg as the legitimate duke of Schleswig-Holstein and their claim for an independent SchleswigHolstein as member of the German Confederation. These demonstrations of regional identification were suppressed by Prussia, who finally annexed 3 8 Feldbæk and Winge, ʻTyskerfejden 1789–1790’; Winge, ʻDansk Og Tysk 1790–1848’. 39 Hansen, ʻSchleswigsche Identität 1840–1848ʼ.

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the duchies as a Prussian province and in the following years put an effort into eliminating Schleswig-Holstein separatism by “Prussianization”, that is in the public schools40. The glory of the Kaiserreich after the victory over France in 1870, as well as the later emperor William II’s marriage to an Augustenburg-princess appeared to have been successful in aligning regional identity with loyalty to the empire. 3.2. Nation or Class? During the Kaiserreich, a policy of nationalization was slowly applied from the 1880s. Nationalization meant both the aligning of the SchleswigHolstein regionalism with the pan-German ideas of the Kaiserreich, and the suppression of the Danish national movement in Schleswig. This was implemented by the mentioned ‘Prussianization’ of school curricula, including the reduction of teaching in Danish to religious education in the Danish speaking areas. Censorship of the press and forbidding some national Danish songs were other tactics, culminating in the suppressive Köller-Politik at the end of the decade, when Prussian prefect Köller used all legal means to harass and suppress the Danes in North Schleswig. Electoral behavior indicates that these policies did not have the aspired effect: the Danish party continued to win a secure majority in the northernmost voting district of the Kaiserreich, which repeated itself in the 1920 plebiscite. It might have had an effect on regional identity, though, as Schleswigianism was no longer advocated within the Danish oriented population. Rather, they rallied around the bonds with Denmark41. To the south, in Flensburg, a change of identity is reflected in the city’s voting behavior at German Reichstag elections. These elections had universal male suffrage and can thus be considered representative. In 1867, a Danish candidate won the election in the city. The Danes continued to have rather high shares of the vote, but in the 1880s, suddenly, most of the Danish votes moved to the Social Democrats. Workers migrated from the Danish speaking suburbs into Flensburg. While voting Danish in the first decades after the city came into the Kaiserreich, working class votes shifted to the Social Democrats with Danish votes receding from 40 % at the 4 0 Jahnke, ʻ1864 und der Verlust der eigenen Geschichteʼ. 41 Fink, Båndene båndt.

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1881 Reichstag elections to 16 % in 1887, with SPD (Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands; the Social Democratic Party of Germany) votes increasing correspondingly. Integration of the workers into the expanding labor movement influenced their voting decision and presumably also their identity – which in some cases was revoked after the end of World War I and the expectations of a plebiscite. The intermingling of class identity and national identity in the working class of the border region continued and came to surface again during the following points of crisis. During these crises, national identity in the region was also related to social status42. Thus, when the Nazis took power in Germany in 1933, the conservative German daily paper of Flensburg orchestrated a campaign against the Danish minority, accusing the minority to be a hiding place for “communists and Marxists”. At the same time, the minority leadership undertook measures to inhibit double membership in minority organizations and the social democrat or communist party43. Still, the milieus connections continued. Socialist and communist resistance networks used their connections and familiarity with the Danish language to smuggle refugees across the border, and after 1945 openly identified with Denmark and argued for a border revision44. Until today, regional election results deviate from federal by the SPD receiving most of the ballots at Federal elections normally cast on the Danish minority party, which does not participate in Federal elections, at local and state/Land elections. 3.3. Crisis of the Region: The 1920-plebiscite Schleswig was one of the five European regions, where a plebiscite should decide on its national future after World War I. As the voters could only choose between either Denmark or Germany, with no additional regional alternative, the plebiscite can be considered the ultimate nationalization of the region. Furthermore, it came to divide the region, which northern

42 Klatt, ʻDie dänische Minderheit in Südschleswig nach 1933ʼ; Klatt, ʻFliessende Grenzen in einer Grenzstadtʼ; Hansen, Danskheden i Sydslesvig; Schartl, ʻFlensburgs Sozialdemokratieʼ; Schartl, Rote Fahnen über Flensburg. 43 Klatt, ʻDie dänische Minderheit in Südschleswig nach 1933ʼ. 44 Klatt, ʻDie Dänische Minderheit. Ausgrenzungʼ; Klatt, Flygtningene og Sydslesvigs danske Bevægelse.

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and southern boundary had been consistent for many hundred years, along a new line, which was not identical to previous political, administrative, natural or cultural borders45. The modus of the plebiscite was decided upon at the Paris Peace Conference, and it reflected a proposal elaborated by the North Schleswig member of the Kaiserreich parliament, the Reichstag, Hans P. Hanssen, and his supporters in November 1918 – shortly after the German surrender. It implied the division of a region, which had been mythical in Danish national self-identification, and was therefore heavily criticized in nationalist and conservative political circles. The modus foresaw the establishment of three (later reduced to two) voting zones. Zone 1 extended from the northern boundary of Schleswig to today’s border between Denmark and Germany. This line, the so-called Clausen line, was drawn around the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth century by a Danish linguist and historian, Hans Viktor Clausen. He had made secret field studies in the region and believed that this line marked the largest area, Denmark could recover and digest, when drawing a border according to national self-identification in the region46. The votes of Zone 1 should be counted en-bloc, which secured the return of the area to Denmark already before the vote. Zone 2 (and 3) extended further south. Zone 3, which extended until the mythical Dannevirke line, marking the southernmost extension of etymologic Danish place names, was eliminated already during peace treaty negotiations, because all parties agreed that there were no chances for Danish majorities there. In zone 2, voting procedure was per parish, allowing small changes to the future border line in Danish favor in case of local Danish majorities. This included the city of Flensburg, which was (and still is) Schleswig’s largest city. The city had been pro-Danish during the Schleswig wars, and a pro-Danish candidate won in the elections for the North German Reichstag in 1867. In consequence, the city of Flensburg was central in the Danish and German plebiscite campaign. The campaign itself is an interesting example of social manipulation of identity. Schleswig can be considered to be a region in crisis in the post WW I years. The war economy had caused difficulties, both on personal and societal level. Traumatized families, lack of investment in infrastructure and a currency crisis were the obvious adamants of political crisis. Still, the actual crisis came by surprise. Censorship of 4 5 Jebsen and Klatt, ‘The Negotiation of National and Regional Identity’. 46 Fink, ʻDen første streg på kortet’.

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the press inhibited local knowledge of the devastating situation for the German forces, almost until surrender in November 1918. While catching the German associations like the Pan German League (Alldeutscher Verein) by surprise, the Danish associations in Schleswig were prepared and agreed on the Plebiscite program already on 17 November 1918 in the so-called Aabenraa resolution, hereby abandoning the unity of the region or any regional arrangement or autonomy47. The German side, on the contrary, maintained the standpoint of regional indivisibility by originally proposing a plebiscite for the whole Schleswig as maximum concession to the Danes. As we know, the German side was not conceded any role in the negotiations of the peace terms eventually. Images of national and regional identity were applied in the plebiscite campaign. Here, though, it was mainly the German side playing with the concepts of nation, region and Heimat in securing plebiscite votes, while the Danish side used more rational arguments besides national narratives and myths48. In the end, though, the plebiscite did not leave a regional choice. It was only possible to vote for Denmark or Germany, not for Schleswig (or Schleswig-Holstein). In Zone 1, 75 % voted for Denmark, but there were local German minorities in some towns. In zone 2, 80 % voted for Germany with no local Danish majorities except for two small villages on the island of Föhr. Voter turnout was 90 %. Thus, the plebiscites of 10 February (1st Zone) and 12 March (2nd Zone) 1920 were probably the utmost crisis point of the region, as their outcome also was the end of territorial unity. While the northern part was “reunified” with Denmark in summer 1920 with no special regional status, the southern part remained part of the Prussian province of Schleswig-Holstein. The term reunification, which is not historically correct but still used especially in Danish popular historiography, marks the end of a Schleswig/Southern Jutland regionalism. It was the declared political objective of the Copenhagen government to fully integrate the recovered territories, with no exempted legislation and plenty of policies to ensure a clear demarcation at the new border and socioeconomic as well as cultural integration into Denmark49. The German side, though, successfully managed to align the Schleswig-Holstein regional concept with the national mission, equalizing Schleswig (in connection with 4 7 Fink, Da Sønderjylland blev Delt. 48 Jebsen and Klatt, ‘The Negotiation of National and Regional Identity’. 49 Andersen, ‘Nation-Building and Border Identities’; Andersen, Den Følte Grænse.

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Fig. 2:  Danish-German border 1864–1920 (by the author).

Holstein) with Germany, constructing an all-encompassing national identity from the local Heimat via the region to the nation.50 Still, they were not able to integrate Danish minded or speaking Schleswigians into this concept. In the end, the about 90 % of the region’s inhabitants participating did not vote for a region, but for a nation. The vote did not document stability with regard to national and regional identity, though. The dissenter vote (some 25 % in the north, some 20 % in the south) did not totally integrate into the national minorities “established” in 1920. Their political parties never

50 Confino, ‘The Nation as a Local Metaphor’; Jebsen and Klatt, ‘The Negotiation of National and Regional Identity’.

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received as high a share of the votes at national or local elections during the interwar years. 3.4. Crisis of Democracy The breakthrough of the NSDAP (Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei: national socialist german labourers party) in the Reichstag elections of 1930 and 1932 was mirrored in Schleswig-Holstein, where the party was more successful than average. Still, Schleswig-Holstein was not per se bound to become one of the Nazi party’s electoral strongholds. Actually, it had a very liberal heritage. In the eighteenth century, the local nobility were engaged in the ideals of enlightenment, and the duchies were considered to be leading in Europe with the implementation of these ideals into society51. The Schleswig-Holstein secessionist movement of the nineteenth century had a liberal, constitutionalist agenda. Uwe Jens Lornsen’s paper Über das Verfassungswerk in Schleswigholstein argued for the establishment of a free constitution in the duchies with a legislative assembly. The Estate Assemblies established in 1834 were used as forums to discuss the democratic reform of state and society52. At the elections to the first German national assembly on 1 May 1848, all men over 21 years of age had suffrage in Holstein. The state constitution elaborated under the provisional, revolutionary government of 1848, provided that only half of the members of the prospect parliament should be elected by universal male suffrage, though53. During the Kaiserreich, this liberal tradition continued in the Reichstag elections (with universal, male suffrage)54, and resurfaced in the elections to the post World War I German national assembly in Weimar (universal male and female suffrage), where the Social Democrats won 45.7 %, followed by the liberal parties DDP (Deutsche Demokratische Partei, German Democratic Party, 27.2 %), DVP (Deutsche Volkspartei, German People’s Party, 8.0 %) and the regionalist, but also liberal SchleswigHolstein Landespartei (7.3 %)55. The liberal parties were even stronger in the

5 1 Lange, Geschichte Schleswig-Holsteins. 52 Hansen, ʻDemokratie oder Nationalismusʼ. 53 Hansen, ʻDemokratie oder Nationalismusʼ, pp. 444–445. 54 Pohl, ʻDemokratisches Schleswig-Holstein?ʼ. 55 Lange, Geschichte Schleswig-Holsteins, p. 558.

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districts of Schleswig56, where they received over 60 % of the votes57. Still, in the late 1920s, Schleswig-Holstein experienced a crisis of democracy more violent than the rest of Germany. This is mostly attributed to the province’s socioeconomic structure: rural areas, a protestant population and farmers as well as a petty bourgeoisie afraid of losing their social status after the Agrarian crisis starting in the 1920s followed by the economic crisis after 192958. Like the rest of Germany, the trauma of defeat in World War I as well as the humiliating peace treaty influenced the people’s attitude towards the new republic. In Schleswig-Holstein, furthermore the loss of the northern part of the province was regarded as unjust by a majority of political actors and in the population. This is reflected in the local election results. The liberal and social-democratic majorities of the early 1920s have been replaced by extremist voting. In the Reichstag elections of 31 July 1932, the NSDAP won an absolute majority of 51.1 % of the votes. The SPD was reduced to a meager 26.1 %, the Communists received 10.7 %, while none of the liberal parties reached 1.5 %59. In the Schleswig districts, it was even more extreme with the NSDAP scoring between 65–70 %60. But even here, there were topographical differences between the geographical regions: in towns with less than 2,000 inhabitants, the NSDAP scored highest in the sandy midlands (78.7 %), with the Western marshlands following (61.6 %) and “only” 57.1 % in the more fertile Eastern areas the July 1932 elections61. In the sandy midlands, perhaps surprisingly, a large share of the population still predominantly used the Danish dialect of South Jutian in the early 1930s62. This is parallel to a similar situation in Masuria in East Prussia, though: also here the NSDAP scored high results with a population speaking a Polish dialect63. Apparently, regional identity did not prevent the voters from national extremism and the belief in the necessity of a national rebirth. This is also reflected in the development of the German minority of North Schleswig after 5 6 Landkreise Flensburg, Schleswig, Husum and Südtondern. 57 Heberle, Landbevölkerung Und Nationalsozialismus, p. 43. 58 Heberle, Landbevölkerung Und Nationalsozialismus. 59 Lange, Geschichte Schleswig-Holsteins, p. 558. 60 Landkreise Flensburg, Schleswig, Husum and Südtondern; Heberle, Landbevölkerung und Nationalsozialismus, p. 43. 61 Heberle, Landbevölkerung und Nationalsozialismus, p. 97. 62 Selk, Die sprachlichen Verhältnisse. 63 Kossert, Preussen, Deutsche oder Polen?.

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the Nazi takeover. The minority was soon streamlined, though not without conflict, in their organization after the Nazi takeover of power, by a centrally governed Gleichschaltung of North Schleswig’s German organizations64. Advocates for a regionally based identification were put aside and replaced with younger persons, who strongly supported the national revolution in Germany and advocated for a border revision, if necessary by force. This demand was not new, as North Schleswig’s Germans and their leadership had been rallied by the consensus of a border revision since the plebiscite of 192065. The loss of the connection with Schleswig-Holstein and Germany was narrated as a catastrophe and referred as the cause for all economic problems since 1920. After 1933, though, these demands were made more aggressively, coupled with open admiration for the developments in NaziGermany. Heim ins Reich became a ceterum censeo for German minority leaders, as well as the developments in the Reich rallied the different factions in the minority. While most German-affiliated working class had joined the Danish labor organizations already, the Nazi’s persecution of the German labor movement estranged the last working class minority members66. The clear focus on self-identifying German-ness and German identity as core to the minority was not bothered by the fact that the vernacular language spoken in most German North Schleswig’s homes was (and still is) the Danish dialect South Jutian. 3.5. Crisis of the Nation When Germany collapsed in May 1945, trends changed. The Nazi stronghold of 1932–33 became Danish, as a majority of the population of South Schleswig now expressed the will to become Danes, or at least loyal citizens of Denmark, after a requested border revision. Several petitions circulating in summer 1945 demanding a border revision and the Danish annexation of South Schleswig received wide support, and the first elections in 1946 and 1947 also demonstrated the wish for “reunification” with

64 Becker-Christensen, ʻNordschleswig Erwache!!!ʼ; Klatt, ʻJohannes Schmidt-Wodder und Jens Möllerʼ. 65 Becker-Christensen, Det tyske mindretal i Nordslesvig; Klatt, ʻJohannes SchmidtWodder und Jens Möllerʼ. 66 Klatt, Die Sozialdemokratie in Nordschleswig.

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Denmark67. Social analysis shows that the social-economic background of the core of this pro-Danish movement was urban and working class, differing from the milieus supporting the Nazis in 1932, but without doubt there also was some overlap68. A comparison of the seven municipalities in Flensburg County with the largest share of Danish votes in 1947 and the respective NSDAP and DNVP (Deutschnationale Volkspartei, German National People’s Party, monarchists) reveals no clear correlation: Municipality Danish votes 1947 NSDAP 31 July 1932 Sünderup 70.4 % 43.4 % Harrislee 56.5 % 34.5 % Weding 52.8 % 65.0 % Tarup 46.3 % 54.3 % Gottrupel 41.5 % 73.9 % Großenwiehe 41.0 % 95.1 % Jarplund 40.0 % 41.5 % Towns in Flensburg-Land County, 1947 Schleswig-Holstein elections (>40 % Danish votes) – votes for the NSDAP, July 1932a Share of NSDAP-votes calculated from the contemporary election report in Flensburger Nachrichten. a

Several indicators of social crisis do explain better, why adaptive processes to contemporary crisis led to a re-definition of many of the Region’s inhabitant’s self-proclaimed identity. First of all, individual historical experience must have made the people expecting a border revision. After Germany had lost the First World War, Denmark was compensated with North Schleswig, even though she had not fought in the war. Now, after having been occupied by Germany during World War II, the people must have expected a Danish claim for the historic Eider border. Secondly, the total, unconditional surrender of Germany created a vacuum of order. Here, the immediate annexation to Denmark would have restored order, probably

67 Noack, Det sydslesvigske grænsespørgsmål; Klatt, Flygtningene og Sydslesvigs danske bevægelse. 68 Klatt, ʻNationalsozialismus und dänische Minderheitʼ; Noack, Det sydslesvigske grænsespørgsmål.

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moved out the East German refugees that had been quartered everywhere in the region, and reinstalled basic prosperity and food supplies. Denmark seemed to be the best option, too, as family genealogy, reinforced by the Nazi’s requirements to prove Aryan heritage, had made people realize their border region heritage with most families having roots in Denmark as well as Germany. Last not least, being annexed by Denmark promised a better future, as the future of Germany was very unclear in the summer of 1945. This rather encompassing wish to become Danish was not consistent, though. When Denmark refused immediate annexation and institutional stability was restored under British military administrative supervision by the summer of 1946, the movement for Danish annexation met fierce German resistance. The election campaigns for the Schleswig-Holstein diet in 1947 and for municipal councils in 1948 where German-Danish campaigns. The Danish movement, organized in the South Schleswig Voters’ association (Südschleswigscher Wählerverband, SSW), tried to unite all natives of the region against the East German refugees under a Heimat-focused campaign. It was not successful, though, as the German counterpart identified the so-called Heimat-movement as Danish. Neither in the 1948 nor in the 1950 and 1951 elections could the SSW expand its voters – a Schleswigian regional identity was drowned in the national conflict on the region’s future with either Denmark or Germany69. 3.6. Crisis of the Cross-Border Region? In 1997, Danish Southern Jutland County and the German counties of Nordfriesland, Schleswig-Flensburg and Flensburg established Region Sønderjylland-Schleswig, a Euroregion not using the euro-name. The new institution should at least improve cross-border cooperation, but especially German proponents hoped for a reintegration of the border region or even a renaissance of the Duchy of Schleswig and the “happy 400 years of Danish rule”, as then mayor of Flensburg, Olaf Cord Dielewicz, expressed it in a Danish TV interview. Since then, many cross-border projects focusing on people-to-people activities and culture have been implemented, a crossborder cultural region being the latest70. Still, all stakeholders agree that 6 9 Klatt, Flygtningene og Sydslesvigs danske bevægelse. 70 Kulturministeriet, ʻKulturaftale/Kulturvereinbarungʼ.

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the optimistic aims of creating an integrated region have not been achieved. This was also confirmed in the hitherto two external evaluations of the cooperation71. Many projects were discontinued after EU-subsidies no longer were available. The labor market is largely segregated72. Unfamiliarity is confirmed by a recent poll indicating that the large share of the population apparently only have very superficial ties to the neighboring country, as 75 % of the polled admitted not to have friends or family residing on the other side of the border73. So while the majority of the borderland population continues to live in cross-border indifference, some interesting changes can be recognized in the region’s two ‘national’ minorities. Historically, the minorities represent the dissenters of the 1920 plebiscite. They are identified as Germans in North Schleswig, people who have a German identity, bonds to Germany and would have preferred that their home were part of Germany. Vice versa, Danes in South Schleswig, believing in their home region’s inherent Danish-ness, dreaming of its eventual reunion with Denmark. These concepts of identity have remained relatively unchallenged from 1920 until at least the 1980s. Since then, more and more minority youth have rebelled against being put in a national cage, arguing that their identity reflected regional components and was not an either-or, but a both-and. This has been acknowledged lately within the core minorities. On a political level, they have actually developed a close cooperation on issues of minority policy and regional development74. Furthermore, research acknowledges the minorities’ increasing potential in developing cross-border cooperation75. This development of an identity moving away from “national minority” to transnational borderlanders76 is challenged by conservative forces within and outside of the minorities. On the outside, especially Danish politicians from the national-populist Danish People’s Party (Dansk Folkeparti) have demanded that the minority strengthen their identity as a Danish outpost in

7 1 Hjalager, ʻEvalueringen 2009ʼ; Hjalager, ʻEvaluierung der Arbeit in der Regionʼ. 72 Klatt, ‘(Un)Familiarity’. 73 http://issuu.com/region-syddanmark/docs/gr_nsepanel (17 May 2013). 74 See among others Kühl, ʻVon der Abgrenzung zum Miteinanderʼ. 75 Malloy, ‘Creating New Spaces for Politics?’; Malloy, Engl, Heichlinger, Hopfgartner, Pechlaner, Teglas and Zabielska, ‘Competence Analysis’, but also Klatt, ‘National Minorities as a Model’. 76 Martinez, Border People.

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Germany. On the other hand, in a recent conflict on the funding of Danish minority schools by the state of Schleswig-Holstein, German conservative politicians have questioned the authenticity of the minority as not being “really” Danish77.

4. Conclusion It has been demonstrated here that Schleswig as a region underwent historic changes which influenced its inhabitants’ identity. Moments of crisis can be assessed as turning points, but turns might not necessarily be permanent. Identity is a continuous process, multiple, and changeable. Power relations reflect shifts of identity, as they can impose social pressure and community solidarity. So do we here witness changes in regional identity, or the role of regional identity within the multiple frames of identity of Schleswig’s population? The role of identity in the change of voting patterns and the move from nineteenth century liberalism to 1930s extreme nationalism is difficult to assess. Social crisis is probably better able to explain the changed patterns. It can also be argued, though, that the lack of deeply rooted nationalcultural values led to the political extremes in this (and the German-Polish) borderland region. This argument seems most appropriate when looking at the development in Schleswig after the end of the Second World War. Still, this article has documented that national and regional identification is not constant. For South Schleswig it can be documented that the size of the Danish minority is much higher today (about 50,000)78 than it was in the interwar years (about 10,000). In North Schleswig, the German minority of about 25,000 in the interwar years has been reduced to about 12–15,000 today. So, without doubt, there have been identity changes in the region. Identity is a continuous process influenced by many factors. Still, national frames of identification remain strong: Identity change seems to 7 7 Kühl, Mindretalsmodel i krise. 78 As there is no register, it is not possible to give an exact figure. Contemporary estimates are primarily based on school attendance, see Kühl and Bohn, Ein europäisches Modell?.

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be predominantly from German to Danish and vice versa, while regional identity has remained a secondary category. I would go as far as to argue that regional identity only became relevant when it became political and threatened to influence existing power relations. In these cases, the German state has been much more successful in manipulating regional identity to comply with its power interests.

Bibliography Agnew, John A., ‘Arguing with Regions’, Regional Studies, 47 (2012), pp. 6–17. Andersen, Morten, ‘Nation-Building and Border Identities: The Economic Reconstruction of the Schleswig Border Region, 1919–1924’, in Hurd, Madeleine, ed., Borderland Identities. Territory and Belonging in North, Central and East Europe. Baltic and East-European Studies, vol. 8 (Eslöv: Gondolin, 2006), pp. 225–254. Andersen, Morten, Den Følte Grænse. Slesvigs Deling og Genopbygning 1918–1933. Skrifter Udgivet af Historisk Samfund for Sønderjylland (Aabenraa: Historisk Samfund for Sønderjylland, 2008). Anderson, Benedict, Imagined Communities (London/New  York: Verso, 1991). Applegate, Celia, ‘A Europe of Regions: Reflections on the Historiography of Sub-National Places in Modern Times’, American Historical Review, 104 (1999), pp. 1157–82. Ashmore, Richard D., Kay Deaux, and Tracy McLaughlin-Volpe, ‘An Organizing Framework for Collective Identity:  Articulation and Significance of Multidimensionality’, Psychological Bulletin, 130 (2004), pp. 80–114. Bastian, Andrea, Der Heimat-Begriff. Eine Begriffsgeschichtliche Untersuchung in Verschiedenen Funktionsbereichen der Deutschen Sprache. Reihe Germanische Linguistik, vol. 159 (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 1995). Becker-Christensen, Henrik, Det Tyske Mindretal i Nordslesvig 1920–1932. 2 vols (Aabenraa: Institut for Grænseregionsforskning, 1990).

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Becker-Christensen, Henrik, ‘‘Nordschleswig Erwache!!!’. Det Tyske Mindretal og Nazismen i 1933’, Sønderjyske Årbøger (1998), pp. 161–204. Bradbury, Jonathan, and Rhys Andrews, ‘State Devolution and National Identity:  Continuity and Change in the Politics of Welshness and Britishness in Wales’, Parliamentary Affairs, 63 (2010), pp. 229–49. Confino, Alon, ‘The Nation as a Local Metaphor: Heimat, National Memory and the German Empire, 1871–1918’, History and Memory, 5 (1993), pp. 42–86. Fangel, Henrik, Erich Hoffmann, Hans A. Jacobsen, and Alexander Scharff, eds., Der Nationale Gegensatz – De Nationale Modsætninger 1800– 1864, Quellen Zur Geschichte Der Deutsch-Dänischen Grenzregion – Kilder til den Dansk-Tyske Grænseregions Historie, vol. 1 (Flensburg/ Aabenraa: Institut für Regionale Forschung und Information im Deutschen Grenzverein e.V./Institut for Grænseregionsforskning,  1984). Feldbæk, Ole, and Vibeke Winge, ‘Tyskerfejden 1789–1790. Den Første Nationale Konfrontation’, in Feldbæk, Ole, ed., Dansk Identitetshistorie (København: C.A. Reitzels Forlag, 1991), pp. 9–109. Fink, Troels, Da Sønderjylland blev Delt, 3 vols (Aabenraa: Institut for Grænseregionsforskning, 1979). Fink, Troels, ‘Den Første Streg på Kortet – Clausen Linjen’, in Christensen, Henrik Becker, ed., Grænsen I  75 År (Aabenraa: Institut for Grænseregionsforskning, 1995), pp. 11–23. Fink, Troels, Båndene Båndt. Forbindelsen over Kongeåen 1864–1914. 2 vols (Aabenraa: Institut for Grænseregionsforskning, 1999). Fitjar, Rune Dahl, ‘Explaining Variation in Sub-State Regional Identities in Western Europe’, European Journal of Political Research, 49 (2010), pp. 522–44. Frandsen, Steen Bo, Holsten i Helstaten. Hertugdømmet inden for og uden for det Danske Monarki i Første Halvdel af 1800-Tallet (København: Museum Tusculanums Forlag, 2008). Gellner, Ernest, Nations and Nationalism (Oxford: Blackwell, 1983). Hansen, Hans Schultz, Danskheden i Sydslesvig 1840–1918 (Flensborg: Studieafdelingen ved Dansk Centralbibliotek for Sydslesvig, 1990). Hansen, Hans Schultz, ‘Schleswigsche Identität 1840–1848  ‘, in Christensen, Henrik Becker, ed., Geschichte Schleswigs. Vom Frühen Mittelalter bis 1920 (Aabenraa: Institut for Grænseregionsforskning, 1998), pp. 127–36.

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Hansen, Hans Schultz, ‘Demokratie oder Nationalismus  – Politische Geschichte Schleswig-Holsteins 1830–1918’, in Lange, Ulrich, ed., Geschichte Schleswig-Holsteins. Von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Neumünster: Wachholtz Verlag, 2003). Hansen, Hans Schultz, Lars N. Henningsen, and Carsten Porskrog Rasmussen, eds., Sønderjyllands Historie 2.  Efter 1815. vol.  2. (Aabenraa: Historisk Samfund for Sønderjylland, 2008). Heberle, Rudolf, Landbevölkerung und Nationalsozialismus. Eine Soziologische Untersuchung Der Politischen Willensbildung in Schleswig-Holstein 1918–1932. Schriftenreihe der Vierteljahreshefte für Zeitgeschichte, 6 (München: Institut für Zeitgeschichte, 2010 (first edition 1963)). Henningsen, Lars N., Kongen Kommer! Kongebesøg og Kongeloyalitet i Sydslesvig. Grænseforeningens Årbog (København: Grænseforeningen, 2000). Hjalager, Anne-Mette, Evaluierung der Arbeit in der Region SønderjyllandSchleswig 2000–2004 (Aarhus: Advance/1, 2004). Hjalager, Anne-Mette, Evalueringen 2009 af Region SønderjyllandSchleswig (Aarhus: Advance/1, 2009). Hobsbawm, Eric, and Terence Ranger, eds., The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). Jahnke, Carsten, ‘1864 und der Verlust der eigenen Geschichte. Die Borussifizierung des Schleswig-Holsteinischen Geschichtsbewusstseins in den Volksschulen’, in Carsten, Jahnke, and Jes Fabricius Møller, eds., 1864  – Og Historiens Lange Skygger. Den Dansk-ØstrigskPreussiske Krig I 1864 Og Dens Betydning I Dag (Husum: Ihleo, 2011), pp. 279–304. Japsen, Gottlieb, ‘Statspatriotisme og Nationalfølelse i Sønderjylland før 1848’, Historie, ny række 13, no. 1–2 (1979), pp. 107–22. Jebsen, Nina, and Martin Klatt, ‘The Negotiation of National and Regional Identity during the Schleswig-Plebiscite following the First World War’, First World War Studies, 5 (2014), 181–211. Johnson, Corey, and Amanda Coleman, ‘The Internal Other: Exploring the Dialectical Relationship between Regional Exclusion and the Construction of National Identity’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers, 102 (2012), pp. 863–80. Jones, Martin, and Anssi Paasi, ‘Guest Editorial:  Regional World(s): Advancing the Geography of Regions’, Regional Studies, 47 (2012), pp. 1–5.

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Judson, Pieter M., Guardians of the Nation. Acitivists on the Language Frontiers of Imperial Austria (Cambridge/London: Harvard University Press, 2006). Keating, Michael, ‘Europeanism and Regionalism’, in Jones, Barry, and Michael Keating, eds., The European Union and the Regions (Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), pp. 1–22. Keating, Michael, ‘Re-Scaling Europe’, in Andersen, Dorte Jagetic, Martin Klatt, and Marie Sandberg, eds., The Border Multiple. The Practicing of Borders between Public Policy and Everyday Life in a Re-Scaling Europe, Border Regions Series, 23–34. (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), pp. 23–34. Klatt, Martin, Die Sozialdemokratie in Nordschleswig und die Nationale Frage 1918–1922. Unpublished Masterthesis, Christian Albrechts Universtität Kiel, 1995. Klatt, Martin, ‘Die Dänische Minderheit. Ausgrenzung eines Bevölkerungsteils’, in Schwensen, Broder, Gerhard Paul, and Peter Wulf, eds., Ausgebürgert, Ausgegrenzt, Ausgesondert. Opfer Politischer und Rassischer Verfolgung in Flensburg 1933–1945, Flensburger Beiträge zur Zeitgeschichte (Flensburg: Stadtarchiv Flensburg/IZRG Schleswig/BU Flensburg, 1998), pp. 62–88. Klatt, Martin, ‘Die Dänische Minderheit in Südschleswig Nach 1933: Infiltriert von Kommunisten?’, in Bohn, Robert, Uwe Danker, and Jørgen Kühl, eds., Zwischen Anpassung und Bedrägnis. Minderheiten im Deutsch-Dänischen Grenzraum in der NS-Zeit. Izrg-Schriftenreihe. (Bielefeld: Verlag für Regionalgeschichte, 2001a), pp. 83–96. Klatt, Martin, Flygtningene og Sydslesvigs Danske Bevægelse 1945–1955. [Studieafdelingens Udgivelser], Nr. 44. (Flensborg: Studieafdelingen ved Dansk Centralbibliotek for Sydslesvig, 2001b). Klatt, Martin, ‘Nationalsozialismus und Dänische Minderheit: Versuch einer Annäherung an einen Zeitgenössischen Erklärungsversuch des Nationalen Gesinnungswechsels in Südschleswig nach 1945’, Demokratische Geschichte, 16 (2004), pp. 171–78. Klatt, Martin, ‘Fliessende Grenzen in einer Grenzstadt. Sprache, Kultur, Gesellschaftlicher Status und Nationale Identität im Flensburg des langen 19. Jahrhunderts’, in Duhamelle, Christophe, Andreas Kossert, and Bernhard Struck, eds., Grenzregionen. Ein Europäischer Vergleich vom 18. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert (Frankfurt/New York: Campus, 2007), pp. 315–32.

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Klatt, Martin, ‘Mobile Regions: Competitive Regional Concepts (not only) in the Danish-German Border Region’, in Jagetic Andersen, Dorte, Martin Klatt, and Marie Sandberg, eds., The Border Multiple. The Practice of Borders between Public Policy and Everyday Life in a Re-scaling Europe, Border Regions Series (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2012), pp. 55–76. Klatt, Martin, ‘National Minorities as a Model for Cross-Border Integration. Lessons from Schleswig’, in Beck, Joachim, and Birte Wassenberg, eds., Grenzüberschreitende Zusammenarbeit Leben und Erforschen. Integration und (Trans-)Regionale Identität. Beiträge aus dem Kolloquium ‘Grenzen Überbrücken: Auf dem Weg zur Territorialen Kohäsion in Europa’, 18. und 19. Oktober 2010, Strassburg. Studies on the History of European Integration (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2013), pp. 301–20. Klatt, Martin, ‘(Un)Familiarity? Labor Related Cross-Border Mobility in Sønderjylland/Schleswig since Denmark joined the EC in 1973’, Journal of Borderlands Studies, 29 (2014), pp. 353–373. Klatt, Martin, ‘Johannes Schmidt-Wodder und Jens Möller  – Nordschleswigsche Folketingsmitglieder der Zwischenkriegszeit zwischen Alldeutschtum, Friedensverein und Nationalsozialismus’, in Conrad, Benjamin, Jan Kusber, and Hans-Christian Maner, eds., Parlamentarier der deutschen Minderheiten im Europa der Zwischenkriegszeit. Beiträge zur Geschichte des Parlamentarismus und der politischen Parteien, vol.  170 (Düsseldorf: Droste, 2015), pp. 47–64. Kossert, Andreas, Preussen, Deutsche oder Polen? Die Masuren im Spannungsfeld des ethnischen Nationalismus 1870–1956 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2001). Kulturministeriet, ‘Kulturaftale/Kulturvereinbarung 2013–2016’, edited by Danish Ministry of Culture (Copenhagen: Danish Ministry of Culture, 2013). Kühl, Jørgen, ‘Von Der Abgrenzung Zum Miteinander 1955–2010’, in Henningsen, Lars N., ed., Zwischen Grenzkonflikt und Grenzfrieden. Die Dänische Minderheit in Schleswig-Holstein in Geschichte und Gegenwart (Flensburg: Studieafdelingen ved Dansk Centralbibliotek for Sydslesvig, 2011), pp. 207–318. Kühl, Jørgen, Mindretalsmodel i Krise (Flensburg: Dansk Skoleforening for Sydslesvig, 2012).

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Kühl, Jørgen, and Robert Bohn, eds., Ein Europäisches Modell? Nationale Minderheiten im Deutsch-Dänischen Grenzland 1945–2005. IzrgSchriftenreihe, vol. 11 (Bielefeld: Verlag für Regionalgeschichte,  2005). Lange, Ulrich, ed., Geschichte Schleswig-Holsteins. Von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Neumünster: Wachholtz Verlag, 2003). Larkey, Uta, ‘New Places, New Identities: The (Ever) Changing Concept of Heimat’, German Politics & Society 26 (2008), pp. 24–44. Malloy, Tove, ‘Creating New Spaces for Politics? The Role of National Minorities in Building Capacity of Cross-Border Regions’, Regional & Federal Studies, 20 (2010), pp. 335–351. Malloy, Tove, Alice Engl, Alexander Heichlinger, Veronika Hopfgartner, Harald Pechlaner, Eva Teglas, and Karina Zabielska, Competence Analysis:  National Minorities as a Standortfaktor in the DanishGerman Border Region, ‘Working with Each Other, for Each Other (Bozen/Bolzano: Europäische Akademie EURAC Research, 2008). Martinez, Oscar J., Border People. Life and Society in the U.S.-Mexico Borderlands (Tuscon: University of Arizona Press, 1994). Murphy, Alexander, ‘Emerging Regional Linkages within the European Community: Challenging the Dominance of the State’, Tijdschrift voor economische en sociale geografie, 84 (1993), pp. 103–118. Noack, Johan Peter, Det Sydslesvigske Grænsespørgsmål 1945–1947 (Aabenraa: Institut for Grænseregionsforskning, 1991). Paasi, Anssi, ‘The Institutionalization of Regions: A Theoretical Framework for Understanding the Emergence of Regions and the Constitution of Regional Identity’, Fennia, 164 (1986), pp. 105–146. Paasi, Anssi, ‘Territorial Identities as Social Constructs’, HAGAR: Studies in Culture, Polity & Identities, 1 (2000), pp. 91–113. Paasi, Anssi, ‘Bounded Spaces in the Mobile World:  Deconstructing ‘Regional Identity’, Tijdschrift voor Economische en Sociale Geografie (Journal of Economic & Social Geography), 93 (2002a), pp. 137–148. Paasi, Anssi, ‘Place and the Region: Regional Worlds and Words’. Progress in Human Geography 26, no. 2 (2002b), pp. 802–811. Paasi, Anssi, ‘The Resurgence of the ‘Region’ and ‘Regional Identity’: Theoretical Perspectives and Empirical Observations on Regional Dynamics in Europe’, Review of International Studies, 35 (2009), pp. 121–146. Pohl, Karl Heinrich, ‘Demokratisches Schleswig-Holstein? Zur Politischen Kultur bei den Volksabstimmungen 1920’, Demokratische Geschichte, 10 (1996), pp. 105–124.

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Schartl, Matthias, ‘Flensburgs Sozialdemokratie von den Anfängen bis 1918 ‘, in Börm, Erika, Günther Börm, and Edith Gerstenberg, eds., 125 Jahre Spd in Flensburg 1868–1993 (Flensburg: Flensburger Gesellschaft für Stadtgeschichte, 1993). Schartl, Matthias, Rote Fahnen über Flensburg. KPD, Linksradikale Milieus und Widerstand im Nördlichen Schleswig-Holstein 1919– 1945. Schriften der Gesellschaft für Flensburger Stadtgeschichte e.V. (Flensburg: Flensburger Gesellschaft für Stadtgeschichte, 1999). Schlaber, Gerret Liebing, Hertugdømmet Slesvigs Forvaltning. Administrative Strukturer og Retspleje Mellem Ejderen og Kongeåen ca. 1460–1864. Skrifter Udgivet af Studieafdelingen ved Dansk Centralbibliotek for Sydslesvig (Flensburg: Studieafdelingen ved Dansk Centralbibliotek for Sydslesvig, 2007). Selk, Paul, Die Sprachlichen Verhältnisse im Deutsch-Dänischen Grenzgebiet südlich der Grenze. Eine statistisch-geographische Untersuchung. Text- und Kartenband. Beiträge zur Heimatforschung, 3 (Flensburg: Heimat & Erbe, 1937). Smith, Anthony D., National Identity. Reno: University of Nevada Press, 1991. Smith, Anthony D., The Ethnic Origin of Nations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). Tacke, Charlotte, ‘The Nation and the Region: National Movements in Germany and France in the 19th Century’, in Beramendi, Justo G., Romon Maiz, and Xose N. Nunez, eds., Nationalism in Europe: Past and Present (Santiago de Compostela: Universidad de Santiago de Compostela, 1994), pp. 681–698. Terlouw, Kees, ‘Rescaling Regional Identities:  Communicating Thick and Thin Regional Identities’, Studies in Ethnicity & Nationalism, 9 (2009), pp. 452–464. Terlouw, Kees, ‘From Thick to Thin Regional Identities?’, GeoJournal 77 (2012), pp 707–721. Published previously electronically 29 May 2011. doi:10.1007/s10708-011-9422-x. Thaler, Peter, ‘Fluid Identities in Central European Borderlands’, European History Quarterly, 31 (2001), pp. 519–548. Todd, Jennifer, ‘Introduction: National Identity in Transition? Moving out of Conflict in (Northern) Ireland’, Nations & Nationalism, 13 (2007), pp. 565–571.

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Vainikka, Joni, ‘The Role of Identity for Regional Actors and Citizens in a Splintered Region: The Case of Päijät-Häme, Finland’, Fennia, 191 (2013), pp. 25–39. Varró, Krisztina, and Arnoud Lagendijk, ‘Conceptualizing the Region – in What Sense Relational?’, Regional Studies, 47 (2012), pp. 18–28. Winge, Vibeke, ‘Dansk og Tysk 1790–1848’, in Feldbæk, Ole, ed., Dansk Identitetshistorie (København: C.A. Reitzels Forlag, 1991), pp. 110–149. Zahra, Tara, ‘Imagined Noncommunities:  National Indifference as a Category of Analysis’, Slavic Review, 69 (2010), pp. 93–119.

Part Three   Conclusive Observations

Maarten Duijvendak

Europe of the Regions: Integration, Economic Development and Policies of Identity

Perspectives on regions in Europe change over time. With the rise of the nation states most regions lost their autonomy, and in most cases, turned into solely administrative territories. In post-World War II Europe, economic recovery and the succeeding unification process brought a new status to regions. In some countries a decentralisation process started, and some regions became objects of intensive planning and modernisation policies. In the 1980s and 1990s these subnational units were seen as agents in the European unification process, as cornerstones of a new regional Europe. In this integration process regions were treated as benchmarks for an equal economic development. For some western European states this matched with their tradition of regional policies, their efforts to decrease regional inequality in the European Economic Community (EEC). These policies continued and were extended after the establishment of the European Union (EU) and formed the cohesion policies. Over the years policy-makers developed several programmes aiming at regional balanced economic growth. This contribution will discuss some of these and consider their relation to social and economic development. It will be argued that regional diversity in Europe changed not just as a consequence of the accession of new member states but also as an effect of these regional policies. While some less favourised regions, in East and West, showed economic growth per capita far above the average and by consequence produce economic convergence, judged by this Gross Domestic Product (GDP) per capita, regional diversity is fostered by policies accentuating different regional identities. The core of my argument is a positive relation

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between regional economic development, income convergence and an endurance of diversity among regions1. There exists an abundant corpus of literature on regional inequality and regional development programmes. However the majority of these studies is written for short term policy evaluations or have a comparative econometric or geographical approach. Not often European regional policies, regional economic growth and changing identities are researched within a broader time frame and placed in a historical discourse. Recently the Austrian economist G. Tondl (University of Vienna) discussed the most important studies published over the last ten years. She distinguishes between two lines of research; firstly studies focussing on the question whether European regions show a pattern of income convergence based on analysis of GDPperformance and secondly studies that tries to relate economic growth to specific regional policies. The research she discusses is econometric, some of them are case studies, some of them surveys and often based on specific growth models. Her general conclusion is not positive, there is income conversion, but not always explained by cohesion policies. However in cases, she underlines policy effects are proven on solid grounds2. More or less the same group of publications was discussed by two economists working for the European Commission, J. Pienkowski and P. Berkowitz. They started their research with a more policy-oriented perspective, paying more explicit attention to the different methods applied in the studies under evaluation. It seems that the chosen model of analysis does influence the results; macro-economic models are in general more positive on policy effects on regional economic growth compared to econometric models. Also Pienkowski and Berkowitz point at certain studies that show a positive correlation between cohesion policy and economic performance3. So two recent evaluations show how difficult it is to proof that a specific policy has a particular effect on economic growth, but also, there seems a positive correlation between both. 1

2 3

This contribution was inspired by the numerous meetings during the Cuius Regio/ EuroCORECODE project, and profited greatly from presentations and discussions with students and colleagues at the University of Groningen and places as distinct as the Central Michigan University, Hebei Normal University, Osaka School for International Public Policy, Shaanxi Normal University, Capital University and Tsinghua University Beijing. Tondl, ‘Economic and Social Cohesion’, pp. 189–213. Pienkowski and Berkowitz, Econometric assessments of Cohesion Policy.

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There will be no use made of macro-economic or econometric models in this article, not because the results are contested, but because it is not needed for my argument to connect a specific policy with a specific amount of economic growth. This analysis is more general and more historical, taking in global and regional economic developments, among which regional policy programmes, and will focus on structural changes, regional characteristics and identities. The Scottish political historian Ch. Harvie (Tübingen University) stressed the specific attitudes towards regions and regionalism in Europe, its variations between different corners of the continent plus its continuous change over time. In his opinion, the modern nation-state is responsible for much of this variance, offering more or less administrative powers to the subnational layers and at the same time creating more or less opportunities4. This historicist perspective connects neatly with the critical reflection of spatial planning in post-1990 Europe by A. Faludi. This Dutch professor in European spatial planning systems evaluates and contextualises the influence of planners on European regional polices. His study is a rather personal view on the different phases in European spatial planning. To this author there was no linear development, no clear improvement nor increase, except for an increase in scale, joint with economies of scale. This rise in scale has provoked a threat of a loss of sovereignty among governments. The value of his study to this contribution is that it provides an understanding of planning in the European regional programmes and situates this within in European administrative periods5. There exist several definitions of ‘regional diversity’. Often regional diversity is understood as economic inequality between regions6. Here the concept diversity will be used as the territorial based ‘potential for change and development’. It is not just about socio-economic differences, urbanisation, specialisation and comparative advantages, but also about regional culture, policy traditions and identities7. A wide perspective is 4

One of the few recent histories of post-World War II regional Europe is written by Harvie, The Rise of Regional Europe. 5 An intriguing discussion on European regional planning: Faludi, Cohesion, Coherence, Cooperation. 6 Dijkstra, Investment for jobs and growth, pp. 57–97 (Chapter 2). 7 Bäcklund, Schenk, Atger, Benoit, Jacques, Lacam, Berkhoff, Döllefeld, Hermann, Scholz, Volkers, Elbe, Nadin, Wandl, van Nies, Verburg, van Berkel, Dockerty, Lovett, Carvalho Ribeiro, Viegas Firmino, Understanding European Regional Diversity, pp. 4–5.

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necessary to understand the full relevance of the cohesion policies and their use of endogenous growth potential. This combines social-economic and other indicators to identify spatial changes and regional identities. These regional identities are seen as either ‘thick’ or ‘thin’. The latter are fluid forms of identity, socially constructed, using ‘thick’ or old, ancient cultural elements and social phenomena to mobilize people to solve specific societal problems. In this perspective ‘thick’ regional identities are older social constructs, deeply institutionalised, often experienced as ‘real’, as notconstructed. In regionalist or nationalist narratives these ‘thick identities’ function as the ‘essentialist’, where ‘thin’ regional identities could be young results of regional policies8. In this contribution, the concept of identity is used to address regional characteristics that obtained special value over time, and that perform a specific role in the process of regional development. These could act as an obstacle to regional economic growth or provide resources for development. It is important here to underline the dynamic and historical character of it all, too often the analysis of regional identities and regional culture are treated as static, not as part of a process. This is a line of reasoning inspired by two totally different angles; the Finnish regional geographer Anssi Paasi and the British historian Eric Hobsbawn. Each wrote an appeal for a more temporal perspective. To treat regions and identities as concepts that change continuously, that are reinvented, where stakeholders perform their roles and where under certain conditions a process of institutionalisation could take place9. Nowadays, one of the most fascinating questions about regional economic development is its relation with regional identity and what role there was for programmes aiming at endogenous economic growth. This is essential to any understanding of regional economic policies in the last decades. At the base of this article stands data on GDP of all NUTS-2 regions in Europe that will be used to show regional development. The first set of questions is which NUTS-2 regions show growth, what are the richest and poorest regions in each country in terms of GDP, and is there a pattern in their development? A second set of questions is about the explanation of the growth performance and the influence of European 8 Terlouw, ‘Rescaling Regional Identities’, pp. 254–255. 9 Paasi, Territories, Boundaries and Consciousness, and of course Hobsbawm and Ranger, ed., The Invention of Tradition.

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regional programmes on the development and character of these regions. These questions will be answered for three selected examples with the aid of a variety of sources. The examples are chosen to show regions with strong and slow economic development. The article is a qualitative assessment of what was happening in the Europe of the Regions during the last decades, ca. 1975–2015. By sheer coincidence, starting and ending with the full participation of the United Kingdom in the European unification process.

1. Regional Inequality Satellites pictures of Europe by night show the differences between rural and urban areas in sharp black and whites. They show the concentrations of urban metropoles in some parts of Europe, some stand-alone capitals and towns, and the dark open rural spaces in between. Lights reveal the major cities, connected by highways and the small towns and villages alongside these. A comparison of satellite photographs of nocturnal Europe taken in the 1970s with more recent ones, show important differences. Foremost, there is an improvement in the quality of the pictures these satellites took. But when studied more closely, one sees new lights in coastal areas, growing cities and towns, and the spread of electric light in former dark areas. In the centre of Europe a line of lights indicate an urban concentration, leading from the English Midlands, London, The Low Countries along the Rhine into Northern Italy, sometimes referred to as the ‘blue banana’. This is an old urban core that is accompanied now by urban centres on the Mediterranean coasts, and along the Danube in Central and Eastern Europe. These black and white images show urban-rural disparity in their extremes, as night and day. Satellite pictures with black rural areas stress the emptiness of these regions, and the light bright urban spots the contrary. In the minds of people these concepts could become shorthand for dark and backward, versus light and modern; and could be associated with chances in life or a lack of chances. Or put differently, on the satellite pictures, rural dark could be associated with ideas like ‘attractive’, ‘green and spacious’, and the lights could stand for ‘urban hell’, concrete, polluted and crowed, depending on one’s framework of reference. But the images suggest as

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much as they conceal; rural and urban are neutral concepts, defined by population density as much as by an agglomeration of societal functions. Often the rural-urban divide is seen as one the most striking differences across Europe affecting the wellbeing and opportunities for millions of Europeans. Since the early-1950 national regional policies were introduced by several European governments to counter these effects10. An interventionist attitude fitted in with the widespread ambition among policy-makers to fight unemployment and to stimulate agricultural production by modernizing rural society. The policy to stimulate agricultural production was one of the major projects at the start of the EEC and was in 1968 reformed into the Structural Agricultural Fund and became part of the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP). It targeted poor rural areas and aimed at rural modernization, while regulating agricultural prices, guaranteeing agricultural incomes, and in the end obtaining more convergence between regions. The CAP provided money to modernising farmers; income guarantees and stimuli to raise food production by increasing productivity per acre. The agricultural modernization led to a higher market orientation and more prosperity in most rural regions, but it also decimated demand for rural labour11. Policy-makers saw themselves confronted with unbalanced growth between parts of their countries. So what followed were attempts, not just to stimulate and ease migration to industrial cities, but also to bring modern industry to rural regions with relatively high unemployment. In the EEC countries investment programmes in infrastructure and industrial parks emerged, to make these regions more attractive for industries. The development of rural and peripheral regions was widely seen as an additional strategy aiming at full employment and creating economic growth and social stability. Consequently the programmes spread out from the rural to the urban areas, governments considering how to renew old industrial zones and make these productive again, used the same type of framework. The policies coincided with the golden years of capitalist economic growth in the post-World War II period12.

1 0 Manzella and Mendez, The turning points, pp. 7–8. 11 Hoggart, Buller and Black, Rural Europe, pp. 111–143. 12 Eichengreen, The European Economy Since 1945.

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2. Regional Policies, a Historical Background Regional planners combined the spatial economic theories and economic ideas that were dominant in the 1950s and 1970s. This was the period that the ideas of J.M. Keynes on the role of the state in the economy were general accepted throughout Western Europe. Regional planning was the spatial translation of this, the logical counterpart of economic coordinated capitalism that remained so prominent in the political arena till the late 1970s. And when Keynesianism lost its supremacy around 1980, regional planning was transformed into a new pan-European phase, providing the tools on which the new cohesion policies depended13. In pre-1973 Europe, regional policies were used to redress problems of rural regions that were characterised by high unemployment and strong net out-migration. These programs aimed at infrastructural improvements, the building and modernizing of roads and the establishments of industrial parks. The focus was on creating better facilities for industry and to attract specific enterprises to invest in these regions. To encourage these companies to build factories, the prices for industrial land were kept artificially low, often land sales were subsidized, sometimes even industrial facilities on these properties were paid for by the national governments. In The Netherlands, this policy was defended among policy-makers with the argument that the same was done in the neighbouring countries. In general, policy-makers shared the view that regional economy was stimulated best in these regions by bringing in industrial jobs, and if necessary by training people to perform the jobs. In this manner the surplus rural population could obtain a modern industrial, productive occupation, helping to reach the Keynesian goal of full-employment. In the some countries, like The Netherlands, Italy and Germany specific towns were chosen as the centres of progress; these received special facilities and were treated as the places where all would happen, and with an expected wide impact on the nearby country side14. The competition grew between these countries and regions for the ‘biggest fish’, especially for large transnational corporations from the USA and Scandinavian countries. This resulted in ever more vigorous policies. 1 3 Faludi, ‘Spatial Planning’, p. 158. 14 Molema, Regionale Stärke.

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An anecdotal example from the north of the Netherlands will make the point. The province of Groningen appointed a retired director of Royal Shell as a special ambassador to convince international corporations to invest in this province. The man travelled around Europe, not having a salary paid by the province, but it covered all his travel-expenses. Although these were a real burden, he reported on a regular base about ‘interesting’ and ‘promising’ contacts and remained in service. After almost two years without any result, his contract was ended by a disappointed province15.

3. Regional Policies and a Changing European Agenda The nation based regional policies gained a European component in the European Economic Community (EEC) during the negotiations preceding the British, Danish and Irish membership in 1973. The introduction of the European Regional Development Fund in 1973–1975 suited the governments of the new member states, and was as strongly welcomed by the French and Italian for their initiatives regarding their rural southern areas, as by the British policy-makers for their perspectives on the problems in the old-industrial British midlands16. With England, Ireland and Denmark on board of the EEC, the scale and nature of these policies slowly changed. This is visible in the amount of money spent on regional and structural funds by the EEC (Graph 1). Up till the 1980s most of the European budget was spent on the Common Agricultural Policies (CAP). From the year 1975 onward expenses paid on the CAP decreased from 75 % to a mere 40 % in 2010. The expenditures on regional funds (the ERDF and the cohesion funds) turned into the largest part of the European budget, leaving the rest, like general administrative costs, costs for research, foreign policies etc. under the 15 %. With the economic problems of the 1970s and 1980s debates on economic policies obtained attention in the national political arena all over Europe. New priorities and a decrease in spending on regional projects followed the wish for austerity. But after 1985, regional policies became 1 5 Duijvendak and de Vries, Stad van het Noorden, p. 289. 16 Faludi, Cohesion, p. 41.

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Graph 1  European budgets 1957–2010. (Source: Annual reports EU budget http://ec.europa.eu/budget/biblio/, retrieved February 2013.)

again more visible on the European budget, during the new presidency of the European commission by Jacques Delors (1985–1994). He tried to obtain a new momentum in the European integration process and set the goal of a single market, a larger and more political, monetary and cohesive union. One of the strategies towards this end was a newly elaborated regional policy. In 1988 the European commission published its new goals in a document called the Future of Rural Society. Rural policies had to be “multi-disciplinary in concept and multi-sectoral in application, with a clear territorial dimension to it”. The commission introduced several instruments to stress the importance of regional policies, and among these were a new European fund for regional economic development, the cohesion fund, that started in 1988; and in 1994 a Committee of the Regions that gave voice to the different regions in Europe and advised on regional policies. Regional economic policies were now part of the European cohesion policies and seen as a natural compensation for the new member states that would have been outperformed without. This were not just administrative changes, the

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content of the policies changed as well, ant fitted well under the broad, and often quoted, heading ‘New Regionalism’17. The Delors initiative came at very special moment in the post-1945 European history. Several developments coincided and gave momentum to it. In the 1980s in quite a few European countries there was a political shift in the national parliament from socialist of social-democrat dominance to liberal or Christian-democrat dominance. This resulted in a more neoclassical ideology stressing a smaller type of government, economic privatisation, deregulation and the liberalisation of markets. This neoclassical liberalism ended the classical Keynesian type of economic policies. There was another academic rationale for new types of policies found in the new economic geography. These approaches, with its stress on the relevance of space and place, resulted in more attention for local initiatives. From now on regional policy initiatives became increasingly based on so called theories of endogenous economic growth. Regions were expected to generate economic growth by using their specific local or regional strengths and selling points18. But another development decided on the wide impact of this new approach; the implosion of the Eastern European centrally planned economies in the last months of 1989 and early 1990s. This brought a new political balance in Europe plus a new call for economic growth policies and regional development plans. These political changes and new insights brought new élan to regional policy. The concept of endogenous economic growth in itself led to interesting social and political developments. The proposed stress on local and regional initiatives caused alternative names for this policy. Labels as “communityled rural development theory” and the “bottom-up partnership approach” illustrate the expected change, but also the vagueness of the concept19. The emphasis on local participation is supposed to promote more political democracy, and to develop a greater European consciousness. This participation could lead in rural areas to communal development, including more regional-political awareness or a stronger regional identity, establish a better connection between the regional population and Europe, plus introduce more market-oriented strategies to development20. Within this 1 7 Keating, The New Regionalism. 18 Molema, Regionale Stärke, p. 37; Molema, ‘European Integration’, pp. 271–283; Dąbrowski, Bachtler and Bafoil, ‘Challenges of multi-level governance’, pp. 355–363. 19 Margarian, ‘A Constructive Critique’, p. 3. 20 Keating, ‘Re-thinking the Region’, pp. 217–234; Ray, ‘EU LEADER’, pp. 163–171

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diversity of goals, a couple of elements seem central to the approach. There was attention for the regional environment and institutional settings, the roll of new, small and medium sized, firms outside the agricultural sector, and the relevance of technology transfer and human capital formation. This type of regional policies required local and regional knowledge and the participation of regional actors or groups of actors21. Behind all this, there was the personal computer and the recently established Internet, that promised new opportunities of a network economy. Silicon Valley in California seemed the most impressive example of a bottom-up partnership economic approach. New in the regional policies were programmes aiming at interregional cross-border cooperation with the name INTEREG-programmes. These started in 1990 and offered funds for interregional cooperation for economic, social and cultural projects, initiated by local or regional actors. Most of these plans made use of the performative character of identities of bordering regions22. Another programme aimed at stimulating innovation in rural areas called LEADER (Liaison Entre Actions de Dévelopment de l’Economie Rurale), launched by the Commission in 1991. These new regional policies aimed at promoting a stronger cohesion and therefore economic prosperity in and between regions, based on what was called a ‘border-free rationality’, a free an greater flow of capital, people and culture through the internal borders of the EU. The relevance of these programmes was not in the rather modest amount of Euros spent, but found in the nature of the phenomenon itself. Particular LEADER was characterized as a panEuropean laboratory of rural development, with anarchistic- autonomous elements. The relevance was seen in the potential empowerment of local communities, the participation of local action groups (LAGs). Existing local organizations and (later) institutions could apply for leader funds by submitting a ‘business plan’ showing how they saw possible developmental actions based on the capitalisation of local resources, the participation of the public, the incorporation of voluntary and business sectors, within the specific eligible region. The following LEADER-programmes restricted the bottom-up procedures somehow and brought in more regional and national controls, but leaving the endogenous rhetoric untouched. The last, 2 1 Capello, ‘Location, Regional Growth’; Bachtler, Where is Regional Policy going. 22 Heaton, ‘Interregional Development’; Prokkola, Zimmerbauer and Jakola, ‘Performance of regional identity’ pp. 104–117; Molema, Regionale Stärke p. 242.

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post-2007, round was less spectacular in this respect, leaving commentators and initial participants with some disappointment23. The LEADER and INTERREG programmes were also available for the new, and prospective member states. Some of its political rationales where found in the supposed effects on rural territories of the newest member states; Spain and Portugal in the 1980s and the Scandinavian countries in 1990s. These had extensive rural areas. But also the former eastern European countries, negotiating in the 1990s for membership had eligible regions. These programmes attracted a lot of attention from policy-makers and scholars form these countries24. However some of the older structural and former cohesion policies remained in place, or remained important under new names. These funds came available to the new member states, plus to eastern Germany, the Länder that formed the former German Democratic Republic. These regions lacked modern infrastructure and economic opportunities outside the agricultural sector or witnessed an implosion of their former industries. These were closed because of their outdated production process; sometimes also because of their polluting the environment. 3.1. Growth and Convergence To research economic growth and income convergence of regions, data on regional GDP was collected for the years 1995–2013 from the EUROSTATdatabase25. For the 27 member states in 2012 these data are available for most of these years. These figures are composed by EUROSTAT for the different NUTS-2 regions. The NUTS-2 regions are statistical constructs, sometimes similar to old administrative units like counties, provinces, departments, oblasti or regioni that existed for decades, sometimes new created in the Twentieth century, and sometimes completely artificial units created for statistical reasons. NUTS-regions are defined by population size; the 97 NUTS-1 regions have a population somewhere between

23

Ray, ‘The EU LEADER Programme’, pp. 169–170; Navarro, Woods and Cejudo, ‘The LEADER Initiative’, pp. 270–288. 24 Ray, ‘The EU LEADER Programme’, p. 161. 5 Source:  Eurostat 2013:  nama-r-e2gdp, GDP at current market prices (retrieved 2 27 February 2013 - last time visited 22 March 2016).

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3 million and 7 million; the 270 NUTS-2 regions count at least 800.000 inhabitants; and the almost 1300 NUTS-3 regions are all smaller. There are some problems connected to the data collection, the population in some of the member states (like Cyprus, Estonia, Luxembourg or Malta) is too small to form more than one NUTS-region. Another complication is that in some countries the NUTS administration started later (like in Italy, Austria and some of the former eastern European Countries) or was redefined by population developments. Also more general problems do exist in this type of data on growth accounting. GDP per head is a rough indicator. This regional GDP is calculated on added values and profits produced by firms in a specific place. So the regional GDP figure is highly influenced by the existence here of headquarters of large transnational firms, or an industry that performs an extraordinary economic role, like extraction of oil or natural gas26. For this contribution the data-series on regional GDP performance were combined with qualitative and quantitative information from different sources. Graph 2 shows the European countries sorted according their relative wealth presented as an index figure, starting with Bulgaria (index value 8) and ending with Luxembourg (index value 264). The index is 100 for the European average, more or less the average level of countries like Ireland, Italy and the UK. The dots represent the state average, the arrows show the relative position of the richest and poorest regions in that state. Some regions attract the attention, like the Brussels region, Hamburg or Inner London, having an extremely high GDP per capita, compared to the rest. In these countries, Germany, Belgium, United Kingdom, France and Denmark, regional inequality seems quite large. In some other countries differences in regional GDP are hardly visible, like in Bulgaria, Poland and Romania. In others, the differences in regional GDP are rather moderate as in Slovakia, Czech Republic, Portugal or the Netherlands. The lowest GDP in 1995 was found in the Bulgarian region of Severozapaden. This factual ‘North-west’ region remained one of the regions in Europe with the

26 Of course this is the case in the NUTS-2 region Inner-London, where a large number of offices exist that host transnational corporations, or financial institutes with a high value. Another example is the Dutch NUTS-3 region the province of Groningen, where the profits from the extraction of natural gas by the national gas corporation is added to the regional product. These circumstances do influence the results, but not the general observations.

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Graph 2  GDP P/C European NUTS-2 regions and (prospective) member states 1995.

lowest GDP per capita in our research period, however in 1995 there were more regions with an equally low figure. The Romanian NUTS-2 region North-east (called in Romanian Nord-est) had an equal low kind of GDP for most of the research period. Graph 3 shows the European Countries and their regions presented in the same way 18 years later. Visible is the change in order of several European countries, and new highest or lowest regions. In general the variance decreased, much more regions (and the countries averages) were near the 100. This development was the result of a stronger economic growth in the lesser development regions of Europe (as will be discussed in the next section). The European extremes didn’t really change, these remained Luxembourg (on average) and Bulgaria, but their relative position became nearer. The Luxembourg average, as an index value, decreased from 264 to 258. At the same time the Bulgarian average rose from 8 to 43. The GDP per capita of Severozapaden, the region with the lowest figure rose from 7 to 30. A similar development happened in Romania. The Romanian region with the lowest index value, Nord-est, rose from 7 in 1995 to 34 in 2013, and Romania as a country rose from 9 to 54. Striking in Romania is the development in the Bucuresti-Lifov region, encompassing the capital of Bucharest and its surrounding region. Economic convergence is apparent when we look at the GDP p/c in 1995 and compare this with 2013. The regions with the lowest GDP moved

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Graph 3  GDP P/C European NUTS-2 regions and member states 2013.

up and in 2013 the majority of regions has an index between the 50 and 150. This is in line of what we could expect. There was consensus on this among the studies evaluated by Tondle, Pienkowski and Berkowitz. And also the European Commission claimed in its sixth report on cohesion policies a successful decrease in regional disparities judged on GDP per capita27. What is clear in these graphs presented is the strong development of regions with low GDPs in 1995 into the ranks of the middle range regions in 2013. Among these regions with strong economic performance were various regions in Southern and Eastern Europe. The three regions that will be discussed in the remainder of this article stand for three types of regions, two taken from new member states, one from within the European core. One with low GDP and small growth, the Bulgarian Severozapaden region, one with a strong economic performance, the Bratislava-West Slovakia region, and the French Roussillon-region a relatively declining region in France, one of founding states of the EEC.

27 Tondl, ‘Economic and Social Cohesion’; Pienkowski and Berkowitz, ‘Econometric assessments’; Dijkstra, Investment for jobs. pp. 1–7.

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3.2. Growth and Identity It is no coincidence that the regions with the highest GDP in 1995 and 2013 are highly urbanized regions and combine important economic and political functions. London, Brussels, Hovedstaden (Copenhagen region), Stockholm and the Paris region (Ile de France) are all capital or city regions. The port region of Hamburg is a major European gateway. In the 2008–2013 period, Bratislava and Praha positioned themselves among these major European city-regions. The significance of these cities is not just national nor European. At the end of the twentieth century, in the globalised world these cities formed, what Saskia Sassen called, a transnational urban system, a city-system that functioned within the network of the dominant ‘Global cities’, of which London was one. All of these cities combined political and economic functions on a supranational scale, competed for leadership on financial, industrial or commercial markets, and were home to ‘high profit making specialized service firms’28. Being the headquarters of transnational firms, plus their adjacent firms for all kinds of services, these cities house a large number of ‘high-level professionals’ with high incomes; this had special effects on the local house market and gave a strong international character to the local labour market. Sassen portrays these cities as real hubs in a global information network. In the 2008 financial crisis, most of these cities being intertwined in the international commercial services were hit hard. Nevertheless there was recovery, but concentration of economic functions also; especially London recovered remarkably in 2008–2013, drawing in more financial services from abroad and strengthening its global status. The newcomers, the regions around Bratislava and Praha, and at some distance the Bucurest-Lifov region, show an interesting growth performance. These central and eastern European capitals are booming cities for multiple reasons. They attract capital form different sources, foreign direct investment from transnational corporations and investors, money from the European Union, and they attract a large number of tourists. The strongest development took place in the west-Slovak region, Bratislava and its vicinity. Because of this economic growth, it will serve as an example here. In 2015 the regional GDP per capita stood on 35,400 were it was 6,000 in 1995 (see Tab 1.a). In nominal terms, in current market prices, 28 Sassen, Cities in a world economy, pp. 70–79.

108 28 41 100

FR81 – Languedoc-Roussillon

CZ04 – Severozápad

SK01 – Bratislavský kraj

European regional average

1995

100

47

27

96

2000

100

77

37

95

2005

100

182

64

83

2010

Tab. 1.a:  Regional Index GDP/c. Source: http://ec.europa.eu/eurostat/web/regions/data/main-tables: (tgs00006/1995 figures from nama_r_e2gdp).

100

188

65

79

2015

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this region developed extremely well, which is also visible in the relative index figures. It surpassed the, in 1995, much richer Languedoc-Roussillon region between 2005 and 2010 (see Tab. 1.b). Bratislava and its region received a serious amount of financial support. During a decade the country received aid from within the framework of the European Neighbourhood policy and the Instrument for Pre-accession Assistance (IPA). These preaccession funds were aimed at aligning government procedures with European Union common market principles during the pre-accession period29. The subsequent ‘Accession policy Aid’ that the country received between 1995 and 2004 was mostly spent on infrastructure, modernisation of infrastructure, motorways and railways. These type of investments continued in the years after accession, now funded by the Operational Programmes. Some of these programmes were on the country as a whole, but the western part and the Bratislava region had a special focus, and had its specific programmes. Goal of these was the improvement of the region’s appeal and quality of life; the attractiveness of the region for its inhabitants, tourists and to create an innovative milieu for small and medium-sized enterprises. To obtain this, investments were made in the knowledge economy, urban and regional public transport, cycling tracks, broadband internet, energy efficiency and the quality of housing. The different programmes were expected to enforce each other. In these operational programmes 85 % of the costs were covered by EU-funding, from the European Territorial Cooperation Objective and co-funded by the European Regional Development Fund (ERDF), 15 % was contributed by the national government30. Bratislava and its region became a new modern urban area, participant of the Danube Cities and Regions Council, an off spin of the EU Strategy for the Danube Region that started in 2011. International and interregional cooperation is its main aim. Among the policy priorities are culture and tourism, investments in people, skills, and institutional capacities. Startups and small and medium sized firms are strongly invited start business in creative industries, IT and financial services, and also start-up are welcomed in bike-rentals, guided tours, direct connections between Vienna, Praha and Bratislava, etc. The cross-border cooperation programme stimulated this 2 9 Roebling, ‘Existing aid and enlargement’, p. 34. 30 European Commission, MEMO/08/244 and MEMO/08/245; Council of Danube Cities and Regions.

15,800 1,100 6,000 14,700

FR81 – Languedoc-Roussillon

CZ04 – Severozápad

SK01 – Bratislavský kraj

European regional average

1995

19,800

9,000

5,400

18,700

2000

23,400

17,800

8,600

21,900

2005

25,500

30,400

11,500

23,600

2010

28,900

35,400

11,800

24,500

2015

Tab. 1.b:  Regional GDP/c/PPS. Source: http://ec.europa.eu/eurostat/web/regions/data/main-tables: (nama_10r_2gdp/1995 figures from nama_r_e2gdp).

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last type of business and this formed an extra dimension, creating new ‘thin’ identities: Bratislava as young and vibrant city, the perfect technological hub and start-up scene. Bratislava might not (yet) rank among the ‘Global cities’ Sassen envisaged these, but Bratislava as a Danube-regional capital moves out of the shade from Vienna and Praha. The mixture of EU-funding and national resources created enough dynamics to attract a lot of Foreign Direct Investments in the two decades between 1995–2015. Some sixty percent of the total FDI that Slovakia received in these years went to the Bratislava West-region. It was mostly coming from Volkswagen, Siemens and Samsung Electronics31. These corporations and their impact helped Bratislava to become a core in this transnational urban system. At the other end of the spectrum we find typically rural regions like the Bulgarian Severozapaden (North-west) and the Romanian Nord-Est, the two regions with the lowest GDP per capita in Europe. These regions are predominantly agricultural areas with some towns that thrive on the region’s agricultural profits. The Northwest region in Bulgaria is an agricultural area on the Danubian Plain. Pleven is its regional capital, the seventh city in rank-size in Bulgaria with some 110 thousand inhabitants32. The economic importance of the region is relatively small. The region supplied in the year 2000 about 6,2 % of the country’s gross value added, and some 7,5 % ten years later, much lower than could have been expected from the average growth in GDP over these years. The majority of the population in these regions lives on farms in villages. However there is also some manufacturing, trade, transport and services, but almost exclusively for the regional market. To illustrate this, in the district of Montana, a stagnant 91 % of the employed is working in small rural enterprises (less to nine persons), the unemployment rate fluctuates between 10 and 16 %, and the percentage of households with internet rose from 19 % in 2009 to 49 % in 201433. There is a constant outward flow of migrants from the NorthWest region. While out-migration from Bulgaria is slowly decreasing in this period, the Severozapaden region still has one of the highest numbers of migrants to North-west Europe. These migrants remain important to the region. They send back money (remittances) to their home towns. For Bulgaria as a whole the value of the officially registered remittances rose 3 1 KPMG, Investment in Slovakia. 32 http://www.nsi.bg/en/content/6710/population-towns-and-sex 31.12 (22 March 2016). 33 http://www.nsi.bg/en/node/11457 (22 March 2016).

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as percentage of GDP in 2004 from 1.77 % to 4.3 % in 2010, a value of almost 695 million euros34. The growth of regional GDP in the Severozapaden region was substantial in the 2000–2010 period, in absolute and relative terms. In these area’s European Operational Programmes were active. In the 2000– 2013 period money was available for the improvement of the regional infrastructure, living conditions, better drinking-water and better waste management, but also for schooling, broadband internet, cultural heritage and regional tourism. A large part of the money was spend on regional contractors. But there exist no published evaluations that assess the financial or economic impact of these projects. For example in 2007–2013 the Plovdiv Peristera Fortress project restored buildings and the access for tourists at an archaeological site form the classical and early mediaeval period, which is called successful on its website, without further information35. It is not within the scope of this article to assess the specific causes of economic growth here; the regional agricultural production (probably not), the inflow of remittances, the investments in infrastructure or other investments. It is not clear yet if this growth is connected with a change in the regional economic structure, a shift away from agricultural dominance, towards a more diverse economy, and hence a change in regional identity. In general there are problems for rural regions to apply successfully for EU programmes, and subsequently to absorb the project money effectively. The success of absorption was strongly connected with administrative capacity. In rural regions the administrative capacity is relative weak, although improvements are reported in the 2007–2013 period. J. Tosun states that in 2006–2008 the absorption rate was relatively high in these regions belonging to the new member states36. The French Roussillon region may serve as an example of rural development that is directed at a more diverse economic structure. In 1995 the Roussillon was judged to be the poorest mainland region in France, on base of its regional GDP per capita. On a European scale it was just above

34 Vankova, Population Decline, pp. 47- 51; Bogdanov and Rangelova, Social Impact of Emigration, pp. 13–14 and 71. 35 http://www.focus-fen.net/news/2016/03/21/401173/bulgaria-tourism-minister-over1000-tourists-visit-peristera-fortress-per-month.html (22 June 2016). 36 Paliova and Lybek, Bulgaria’s EU Funds Absorption; Tosun, ‘Absorption of Regional Funds’, pp. 371–387.

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median (with an index of 108). It was dominantly rural and agricultural with a couple of towns and Montpellier as its regional capital. It had been subject to regional aid in the early 1960s, but it was not until the late 1980s that development started to accelerate. In this case, a combination of national programmes and the European LEADER programme started to generate a positive development. European money was spent on the cultural heritage of the region: the ruins and other remains of the Cathar heritage, medieval castles and the historic fortified city of Carcassonne. The reinvention of the twelfth century ‘Great Heresy’ created a new type of tourism, one that strengthened the older mass-tourism that visited the Mediterranean for the sun and beaches. Interestingly, this differentiation in target groups led to a new mixed regional identity, a culture de paradoxe. It mixed, the ruins of the Cathars elegantly with other identities from the region, like rural live, and Cevennese Protestantism into something new, a prototype of an invented new ‘thin’ identity. This was strongly connected with the up-market gîtes ruraux, museums, old-cloisters, regional wines and local food, but also connected with mass-tourism, the fairgrounds, large hotels and beaches. Interregional cooperation (the INTERREG programmes) gave these initiatives a Languedoc-wide impact37. But if one looks closely, there is more to tell. It is not just about agriculture, heritage and sun. The region is profiting from investments in industry, in heavy industry nearby. The Airbus factory in Toulouse is a major firm, employer to thousands, and a lot of these people spend their money and their holidays in the region. But probably more important to the region itself, is the combination of investments in research, light industry and high-tech. The local university, and the investments made by IBM and Agropolis International, turned Montpellier in to a high-tech hub with important impact on the Roussillon region and abroad. These firms are not focused on the region its self, but part of their research developed in interaction with the region, solving problems of regional producers and the quality of regional products. Technical improvements were helpful in promoting regional food, especially produced by the region’s cooperatives. So the programmes added also to the regional competiveness by strengthening local action groups (LAG) or their cooperative successors,

37 Hansen, ‘Endogenous Regional Development’, pp.  91–104; Druan, Sub-state diplomacy, pp. 157–162, 255.

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one of the elements of the LEADER I initial programmes.38 And turning again to Tab. 1.a, one notices this growth performance was much slower than the European average. While the Languedoc-Roussillon grew from a GDP of 15,800 euro in 1995 to a 24,500 euro in 2015, its relative position declined. Relative to the European average is was 8 percent points above in 1995 and it dropped to a 21 percent point below in 2015. This happened in the decades the regions in Eastern Europe grew much faster.

4. Conclusion: ‘Making the Most of What is There’ In the last decades the former Eastern European regions showed remarkably economic development. When entering the EU the Eastern European countries harboured regions with the lowest per capita incomes and, in less than a decade, most of these regions belonged to the middle ranges, some above. This economic growth came with tremendous economic change; institutional conversion brought by the introduction of the market system, new investments, changes in the sectoral division of labour and a new phase in urbanisation. This effected the spatial organisation of these regions, their connections to national capitals, to other regions, their connections to the globalising world and it changed their identity in modernised versions of themselves. The Bratislavian case is an extremely successful one. Amongst others, cohesion policies were used for “… making the most of what is there, aligning funding sources and creating synergies”39. Most economic programmes that the European Union launched to foster economic growth in these countries aim at modernisation, infrastructure and do address its endogenic growth potential. Its motto “… making the most of what is there…” sounds appealing. Central to the cohesion policies are those programmes that try to mobilise local potential to foster economic growth. In Bratislava local culture and regional identity mix with new young urban

38 http://www.agropolis.fr/ and http://coop-ist.cirad.fr/ (22  March  2016); See also Implementation of the LEADER approach. 39 First Annual Forum, p. 7.

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professional live styles. European money on regional heritage is mixed with foreign direct investment coming in from the Unites States or Korea. The second example was about the Roussillon, a relatively poor region in the Southern part of France. Within fifty years the number of people working in the agricultural sector decreased, unemployment reached a post-World War II low and incomes have risen. In this rural region an important impulse on economic development came from a new presentation of regional heritage to international tourists, but importantly in combination of developments in the regional capital Montpellier, and the influence of economic growth in the distant city Toulouse, that was in its turn a result of the global demand for airplanes. The Languedoc provides a perfect example of the interconnectedness of regional developments, changing regional identity with globalisation. European programmes as LEADER helped to trigger the developments and provided a specific direction to these, a new blend of regional and global cultural trends. In the development of the Bulgarian North-west region, Severozapaden it is less evident that its regional identity is changing yet. There is economic growth and there is modernisation, people leaving their jobs in agriculture, people migrating to the city, an increase in Internet connections and so on. When developments continue a clear change is to be expected for the near future. The European integration, aided by the market forces of globalisation, influenced the different rural regions in a more or less uniform way. It is the national institutional environment and the distinct regional cultures that produced a variation in responses. The clash of these created new ´thin´ identities which were promoted by the European cohesion policies. It is unclear form this research how strong this influence was. In general across Europe, disparities in regional GDP diminished, but the last decade there were severe business-cycle shocks that had negative consequences for profits and employment figures. Most regions with strong economic resilience are dominated by one or more urban centres, and there are spillovers from these towns into the rural areas around. NUTS-2 regions are new administrative regions, created for the European statistical bureau. It is a strange concept, some of these regions being old counties and provinces; the three examples used here were completely new constructions. To the outsider some of these new constructions, like Severozapaden may sound as a region with a specific strong rural character, a distinct regional identity. But all of these regions

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are mixtures of urban and rural areas, and the Bulgarian North-West is no exception and is a new built up from five different oblasts or districts. These five share characteristics as the traditional agricultural dominance and therefore their urban rural relations. These statistical unites have the chance to become conceptualized as new regions with new ‘thin’ identities.

Bibliography Bachtler, John, Where Is Regional Policy Going. Changing Concepts of Concepts of Regional Policies (Glasgow: University of Strathclyde, 2001). Bäcklund, Ann-Katrin, Anett Schenk, Florence Atger, Marc Benoit, Vanessa Jacques, Magali Lacam, Karin Berkhoff, Manuel Döllefeld, Sylvia Hermann, Johanna Scholz, Janita Volkers, Sebastian Elbe, Vincent Nadin, Alex Wandl, Akki van Nies, Peter H. Verburg, Derek B. van Berkel, Trudie Dockerty, Andrew M. Lovett, Sónia Carvalho Ribeiro, Ana Maria Viegas Firmino, Understanding European Regional Diversity – Lessons Learned from Case Studies (Lund: Lund University Research Reports in Human Geography, 2011), vol. 2. Bogdanov, George, and Rossitsa Rangelova, Social Impact of Emigration and Rural-Urban Migration in Central and Eastern Europe. Bulgaria. Final report on behalf of the European Commission DG Employment, Social Affairs and Inclusion (Brussels: European Commission, 2012). Brunet, Roger, and Jean-Claude Boyer, Groupement d’Intérêt Public RECLUS Les villes européennes: Rapport pour la DATAR (Paris: La Documentation Française, 1989). Capello, Roberta, ‘Location, Regional Growth and Local Development’, Aestimum, 58 (2011), pp. 1–25. Dąbrowski, Marcin, John Bachtler, and François Bafoil, ‘Challenges of Multi-level Governance and Partnership:  Drawing Lessons from European Union Cohesion Policy’, European Urban and Regional Studies, 21 (2014), pp. 355–363. Dijkstra, Lewis, ed., Investment for Jobs and Growth. Promoting Development and Good Governance in EU Regions and Cities. Sixth

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Report on Economic, Social and Territorial Cohesion (Luxemburg: Publications Office, 2014). Drake, Helen, Jacques Delors:  Perspectives on a European Leader (London: Routledge, 2000). Druan, Manual, Sub-state Diplomacy as a Motor of Reterritorialization? The Case of the Mediterranean Region (Antwerpen: Proefschrift Universiteit van Antwerpen, 2013). Duijvendak, Maarten G.J., and Bart de Vries, Stad van het Noorden. Groningen in de Twintigste eeuw (Assen: Van Gorcum, 2003). Eichengreen, Barry, The European Economy since 1945. Coordinated Capitalism and Beyond (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007). Faludi, Andreas, ‘Spatial Planning Traditions in Europe: Their Role in the ESDP Process’, International Planning Studies, 9 (2004) pp. 155–172. Faludi, Andreas, Cohesion, Coherence, Cooperation: European Spatial Planning Coming of Age (London: Routledge, 2010). First Annual Forum for the Danube Region, Reflection Paper on the Implementation of the EU Strategy for the Danube Region (Regensburg: 27–28 November 2012). Hansen, Nils, ‘Endogenous Regional Development:  Lessons from Languedoc-Roussillon and Montpellier’, Review of Regional Studies, 29 (1999), pp. 91–104. Harvie, Christopher, The Rise of Regional Europe. Historical Connections (London: Routledge, 1994). Heaton, Phil, ‘Interregional Development as an Imaginative Process’, (unpublished seminar paper MHIR University of Groningen, 2013). Hobsbawm, Eric, and Terence Ranger, ed., The Invention of Tradition (London: Cambridge University Press, 1983). Hoggart, Keith, Henry Buller, and Richard Black, Rural Europe, Identity and Change (London: Routledge, 1995). Implementation of the LEADER Approach for Rural Development (Luxembourg: European Court of Auditors. Special report no 5, 2011). Keating, Michael, The New Regionalism in Western Europe: Territorial Restructuring and Political Change (Northampton: Edward Elgar Publishing, 1998). Keating, Michael, ‘Re-thinking the Region:  Culture, Institutions and Economic Development in Catalonia and Galicia’, European Urban and Regional Studies 8 (2001), pp. 217–234. KPMG, Investment in Slovakia (Bratislava KPMG, July 2011).

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Manzella, Gian Paolo, and Carlo Mendez, The Turning Points of EU Cohesion Policy. Report working paper (Luxemburg: European Investment Bank/Glasgow: University of Strathclyde, 2009). Margarian, Anne, ‘A Constructive Critique of the Endogenous Development Approach in the European Support of Rural Areas’, Growth and Change, 44 (2013), pp. 1–29. Molema, Marijn, ‘European Integration from Below: The Construction of the Ems-Dollart Region 1964–1978.’ Journal of European integration history, 17 (2011), pp. 271–283. Molema, Marijn, Regionale Stärke. Wirtschaftspolitik im Norden der Niederland und in Nordwestdeutschland, 1945–2000 (Sögel: Verlag der Emsländische Landschaft, 2013). Navarro, Francisco A., Michael Woods, and Eugenio Cejudo, ‘The LEADER Initiative has been a Victim of Its Own Success. The Decline of the Bottom-Up Approach in Rural Development Programmes. The Cases of Wales and Andalusia’, Sociologia Ruralis, 56 (2016), pp. 270–288. Paasi, Anssi, Territories, Boundaries and Consciousness. The Changing Geographies of the Finnish-Russian Border (Chichester: J. Wiley & Sons, 1996). Paliova, Iana, and Tonny Lybek, Bulgaria’s EU FundsAbsorption: Maximizing the Potential (International Monetary Fund, Working Paper 21, 2014). Pienkowski, Jerzy, and Peter Berkowitz, Econometric assessments of Cohesion Policy growth effects: How to make them more relevant for policy makers? European Commission Regional Working Paper 02 (open access, 2015). Prokkola, Eeva-Kaisa, Kaj Zimmerbauer, and Fredriika Jakola, ‘Performance of Regional Identity in the Implementation of European Cross-Border Initiatives’, European Urban and Regional Studies, 22 (2015), pp. 104–117. Ray, Christopher, ‘The EU LEADER Programme:  Rural Development Laboratory’, Sociologia Ruralis, 40 (2000), pp. 163–171. Roebling, Georg, ‘Existing Aid and Enlargement’, Competition Policy Newsletter, 1 (2003), pp. 33–38. Sassen, Saskia, Cities in a World Economy (Thousand Oaks: Pine Forge Press, 2011). Terlouw. Kees, ‘Rescaling Regional Identities: Communicating Thick and Thin Regional Identities’, Studies in Ethnicity and Nationalism, 9 (2009), pp. 252–264.

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Tondl, Gabriele, ‘Economic and Social Cohesion and Regional Policy: A Review of the Literature’, in Tovias, Alfred, and Amy Verdun, eds., Mapping European Economic Integration (London: Palgrave, 2014), pp. 189–213. Tosun, Jale, ‘Absorption of Regional Funds: A Comparative Analysis’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 52 (2014), pp. 371–387. Vankova, Gergana, Population Decline and (Re)Distribution in Bulgaria. Master thesis University of Utrecht (2011).

Part Four   Appendix

Questionnaire Cuius Regio

1. Methodological Approach* The Cuius-Regio-project follows the development of the regions from the moment when regional clustering first becomes apparent, through its maturing and its interaction with the (mainly) supra-regional state, until the end of the Ancien Régime. It does so, using the following working hypothesis, based on a comparison of the concepts developed by Paasi (regional formation theory) and Blotevogel (Realregionen, Tätigkeitsregionen and Wahrnehmungs- und Identitätsregionen): The evaluation of regional formation and evolution (cohesion or disruption) as a historical phenomenon and as a process for all European regions, disregarding size, makes a strong contribution to both the analytical level of the discipline of regional history and to the tool kit of regional studies and policies. This can be realized through the application of five key-analytical elements to a select group of regions: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Environment as nature and landscape Institutions, administrations and actors (like politicians and dynasties) Social & economic structures and relations Ethnicity and languages Self-identification and expression in popular art, literature and historical writing.

Inherent in these five key elements is a strong awareness of the analytical role of scale (the dialectics of internal – external forces and influences; *

This questionnaire was the result of methodological discussions during preparatory Cuius-regio-meetings, and workshops during the course of the project, and was carefully synopted by Maarten van Driel, Archives of Guelders, Arnheim, Netherlands.

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the relative position (such as centrality versus peripherality) of the regions under study in wider constellations). The project investigates these elements at a longitudinal basis, following the developments from the pre- and proto-national phase into the national phase of Europe, thereby including the interplay of structure (both embedded in the regions and external) and process (historical change) in the analysis. The fact that the same set of key-elements is used to analyse every single region offers a strong directive for comparison and in-depth-analysis. So far regions as a historical phenomenon are mainly studied for their ‘uniqueness’; this project looks for the similarities in seemingly unique developments, for structures underlying events, for trends and the deviations from these trends. Instead of being mainly descriptive, the analysis will profit from results available for different regions, they will add detailed analysis of primary sources when needed, but will concentrate on the evaluation of the historical events, and thus avoid superficiality and repetition. Allowing on the one hand for special emphases per region (in time and theme), doing justice to individuality and providing evidence about difference and diversity, and on the other hand applying a collective focus, is the best way to realize the goals of this project. To facilitate comparison, all individual projects concentrate on a range of benchmark-moments (B) and formative period (F), or ‘snap-shots’, as far as they are relevant. The benchmark-moments are moments in time, chosen from general European history, considered to offer a common background to all, or at least a major part of the regions in Cuius Regio, whereas the formative periods may reflect special moments or periods in the development of an individual region, in which a historical watershed or cataract is visible, during which intensification of developments, major changes etc. can be considered as of special interest for the (des)integration of an individual region. This is represented in the matrix given in Tab. 1: The first formative period (F.1) will be indicated per region by the moment in time when the cohesion of the region becomes manifest and when primary sources and secondary studies allow application of the analytical keys. The benchmark-moments (B) are chosen as the main timeslots during which all regions were involved in essential evolutional events in European history. B.1 is the period when the proto-national conflict of the 100-Years War grew into a confrontation involving many regions under observation. In this time-slot major dynastic changes took place; a crisis of authority (both worldly and ecclesiastically) afflicted political and social systems; the German Hanse turned into a league of towns; the population crisis of

 

 

 

 

F.4 *

B.3: ca 1775–1825)

F.3

B.2: ca 1525–1575)

F.1

B.1: ca 1325–1375

 

 

B.4: ca 1900–1950 *

F.2

1. Environment, nature & landscape

Analytical keys → Benchmark moments:  ↓

 

 

 

 

 

 

2. Institutions, administrations & actors

Tab. 1.  Matrix analytical keys and benchmark-moments

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

3. Social & economic 4. Ethnicity & structures and languages relations

 

 

 

 

 

 

5. Self-identification and expression

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the Black Death and the consequent socio-economic transformations had a general impact in regional developments. B.2 starts with the aftermath of the expansion of Ottoman power on the Balkan, and is the period in which the development of Habsburg power was at its zenith, followed by its splitting up in a Spanish and an Austrian part. The Reformation and Counterreformation remodelled the European religious landscape. European expansion and the coming of proto-capitalist structures changed relations within Europe and the relative importance of regions. The downfall of the Hanse started. B.3 is marked (a.o.) with the last Polish divisions and the French Revolution and ends with the effects of the downfall of Napoleon and the Congress of Vienna that re-arranged the map of Europe. All regions felt, to different degrees and in different ways the effects of revolution and change. With B.3. the main period of Cuius Regio ends and the period covered by existing national studies and modern approaches starts. F.4 and B.4 represent the modern and contemporary comparative elements. As B.4. the period including the Balkan Wars, both World Wars, the restructuring of Europe at the Peace Negotiations in Versailles, the Economic Crash of 1929 and the coming of communist regimes is chosen. F.4. may be chosen either as a specific moment during the 19th c., or at a very recent moment (fall of the Berlin Wall and after). The participating regions are spread over Europe and differ in size, social and ethnic composition, geographical position and geophysical disposition: (1) The Guelders-Lower Rhine region, (2) Portugal, (3) the former Livonia, (4) Transylvania, (5) Silesia-Upper Lusatia, (6) the Bohemian crownlands-Luxemburg, (7) the Danish-German marshes, (8) Catalonia. To enhance the analytical approach, a questionnaire is developed, offering a tool to develop subproject-relevant research questions, serving description and understanding of individual regions, and to compare regions at a higher level. The questionnaire is composed of a set of key questions, which are related to yet not identical with the key aspects mentioned above. • The questionnaire departs from the notion that regional consciousness is the central variable of the project. • Several of the questions aim to include awareness of the existence of (partial, facetal) networks within the region or connecting the region (as a whole or in certain aspects) to the outside world. • Many of the questions concern moments of time, yet are to be placed in ongoing processes (e.g. migration, political transformation). Long-term processes, may be clarified through comparison of successive ‘snapshots’.

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The questionnaire by no means can be exhaustive or final, but offers a basic set, to which new questions can be added, or out of which questions can be chosen to allow either global, or detailed comparison. As such it offers a tool for research of any region, its identity and cohesion.

2. Key Questions 1. In the researched region, was there at moment X a regional consciousness? – for moment X, take any of the benchmark/snapshot-periods 2. If yes, who were the bearers of this consciousness? – persons/groups/organisations within the region that in any way show awareness of the region as an entity 2.1 Identify at group and/or individual level 2.1.1 Rulers esp. dynasty, elected rulers 2.1.2 Nobility –  may be differentiated, for example higher nobility, in opposition to prince; certain factions within nobility 2.1.3 Towns – may be differentiated, for example capital town, central towns in an urban hierarchy etc. 2.1.4 Others –  for example, intellectual elite, administrative elite (bureaucracy), religious elite 2.2  Identify interest/aims of consciousness-bearing actors in expressing/furthering this consciousness –  for any of the groups identified 2.3 Was (the expression of) this consciousness or ideology an element in the political discourse during the time-slot under investigation? Was retaining of independence or ‘own-ness’ a topic? 3. Can this region be defined geographically? – indication on maps; state surface in square KM (and, for scale, also see population) –  see further question 9.

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4. Can any sub-regions be identified? –if yes, apply questionnaire for each sub-region 5. Were any transcending identifications made by bearers of regional consciousness or others? –  for example, regions considered as part of larger entity (e.g. Portugal = identified as part of Spain); towns’ membership of regiontranscending leagues (German Hansa, Schwäbischer Bund); (parts of) nobility as part of transcending (supra-regional) politico-social network (e.g., in Lower-Rhine region, (certain) families intermarrying in a larger geographical context than individual territories, possessing goods spread over a larger area, serving as ducal counsellors or officials in more than one territory) 6. Can any external identification/perception of the region be shown to have existed? –  for example, in literature, travel-accounts, political discourse, etc. 7. What symbols or focal points were used for identificational purposes; how, and by whom of the groups/individuals identified sub 2.1.1? 7.1 Dynasty/prince/ruler 7.2 Patron saint, other regionally important saints 7.3 Certain shrines, monasteries (mausolea) and other places of memoria, pilgrimages 7.4 Other meeting-points (e.g., open-air places of justice or (political) meetings 7.5 Myths (of origin, heroism etc.) –  (e.g., for Guelders, the myth of the dragon slain by the dynasty’s forebears; referrals to descent of Germanic tribes, Trojan princes, Huns (Magyars in Transylvania) etc.) 7.6  Heraldry, banners, colours 7.7 Common external enemies (or other binding sources of fear of “strangers”) 7.8 Stressing own common language, forbidding non-native born persons to hold office 7.9 Stressing common feats of arms –  for example battles, invasions, wars leading to or caused by acquisition or loss of formal autonomy etc. 7.10  Naming the region (as “terra”, “patria”, “Land”): what name(s)? 7.11 Other

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8.  Can any earlier substrates be identified for this region? –  for example, Roman districts, tribal areas, dioceses, pagus 9.  Can this region be identified as a geographical phenomenon: 9.1  Is it characterised and recognizable by natural borders? – specify: river, mountain range, desert, marshy/wild/uninhabited areas, etc; 9.2 Is it characterised by a common uniform landscape (e.g., hilly country, plain), or does it rather consist of disparate landscapes? 9.3 Does the region have a clear centre/periphery structure? 9.4 Were there changes to structure or content? 9.5 Is the region only existing as a geographical entity with a regional consciousness attached to it? –  for example the Pays de Gaume north and south of the present French-Belgium border 9.6  or does it know an institutionalized form? If so see question 10. 10.  Can this region be identified as a political-institutional entity? If so:   10.1 Is the region subject to one ruler and the only territory ruled by this ruler?   10.2 If yes, is this an ecclesiastic, an elected or a dynastic ruler?   10.3  If a dynasty: is the dynasty resident?   10.4  Is the dynasty old or new?   10.5 If in personal union with other territories: is this union affecting the government (integrated/integrating institutions and elites, unifying legislation); or, is the region caught up in any unifying, larger state/nation-building process?   10.6 Or is the region rather not politically unified but made up of more than one principality/territory? –  may also contain self-governing city/cities and its/their subjected lands 10.7  What is the institutional set-up of the region? –  for example, relative role of prince(s) and estates, composition of estates; political stakeholders; excluded groups; strength of “central” princely government; structure of local government (country-districts, towns) 10.8 As to the ecclesiastical setting: is the region as a territorial entity identical with a (arch)diocese, part of one or more dioceses, does it coincide with any lower ecclesiastical entity (provincial, circaria of a monastic order, etc.)?

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– possible sub-question: if the region is a one-prince state and on a sub-diocesan scale, what is the attitude of the prince toward this situation? Does he try to establish a boundary-conform diocese of his own? 10.9  Is the region mono- or poly-religious? –  this question applies only to diversity within the Christian world in a ecclesiastical-organisational sense; the question of religious cohabitation in an ideological/social/ cultural sense, is included elsewhere.   10.10 If non-Catholic, and after the Reformation, is the church organized top-down (Lutheran model) or bottom-up (Calvinist model)? 11. Social and economic structures   11.1 What are the main features of the regional economy and sources of livelihood? 11.2 Is the region rather closed to the outside world and self-contained, or embedded in larger economic structures (markets)? –  differentiations should be noted, for example more selfcontained rural areas vs trading towns either long- or short distance; active or passive trading; (industrial) exporting production centres; rural industries; special features such as mining   11.3  What are the region’s characteristics as to land use – large estates or peasantry; dominant forms of ownership and use; methods of cultivation; organisation of ownership/usage of wilderness; specialization on crops or cultures for example wine, olives, potatoes etc.)   11.4 Is the population in the countryside characterizes by (dominant) serfdom, or free peasantry? – does attachment to the soil imply identification with the region, or is freedom an essential prerequisite.   11.5 What is the degree of urbanisation of the region – percentage of population living in towns; (dominant) types of towns (small semi-rural/medium-sized (sub)regional centres; large cities 11.6 What is the demographic situation as such: number of inhabitants; population growth/stagnation/ reduction? Immigration/ emigration? Push/pull? Stimulated/restricted?  11.7 How is the accessibility and internal communications, and infrastructure (road system, harbours, rivers)

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  11.8 All in all, is the region to be considered as a social and economic entity? 12.  Ethnicity and language; religion   12.1  Is the region ethnically homogeneous?   12.2  If not, describe groups and their interrelations –  Also, possible connections with (larger) external parts of the same ethnicity   12.3  Same (mutatis mutandis) for language/dialect  –  Are different languages/dialects related to social/political divisions/stratifications?   12.4  Same for religion/religious denominations –  Christians (of different denominations:  Roman-catholic, Reformed, Lutheran, Greek or Russian Orthodox etc.); Muslims; Jews; others 13  Self-identification and expression   In addition to question 7: was the regional consciousness explicitly expressed by  13.1 Historiography   13.2  Pamphlets, (political) songs   13.3  Expressions of political nature  –  for example demands of many regions, esp. in cases of dynastic crisis, to remain indivisible, or in 1538, the Guelders Estates, at the approaching childless death of the last duke of the Egmond dynasty, faced with a choice of pretenders, chose for the duke of Cleves-Juliers-Berg (motivating this as a choice for “next of kin” and “Roman Empire”) and rejected the duke of Lorraine and most of all the Burgundo-Habsburg Emperor Charles V (he being a foreigner, and threatening to alienate the duchy from the Empire).   13.4  Any other means 14.  Other characteristics  14.1  Is the region specifically visible in/through art (painting, architecture, sculpture, music)   14.1.2 are there characteristic regional products/schools? Does the region have an artistic radiation/influence? In how far is the art subject to external influences?   14.2 Is there a regionally distinct organisation of the cultural scene as market (mecenate/customers/those ordering artistic produce; and those producing); import and exports.   14.3  Tradition, customs, dress

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–  can the region be said to have a distinct culture in this respect, can sub-regions be indicated, or are internal differences rather along social, ethnical or religious lines? Are these differentiations typical in themselves?  14.4 Education. Describe the educational system:  literacy; higher education within or without the region  14.5 Law:  what law system is prevalent? Role of Roman, canon, common/traditional law. Part of larger area? Learned jurists and customarians.

Identities. An interdisciplinary approach to the roots of the present Identités. Une approche interdisciplinaire aux racines du présent Identidades. Una aproximación interdisciplinar a las raíces del presente

Individual or collective, assumed or imposed, accepted or disputed, identities mark out the basic framework that root the human being in society. Language, literature, the creation of a shared memory, social formulas and the range of all cultural expressions have contributed to articulating human life as a mixture of identities. Given these concerns, this series publishes books from the different branches of the Humanities and Social Sciences, which have taken identity as a prism through which the problems of current society and its historical roots are studied. The preferential use of English, French and Spanish ensure greater dissemination of research collected here. The series includes monographs, collected papers, conference proceedings. Individuelles ou collectives, assumées ou imposées, acceptées ou combattues, les identités configurent le premier cadre d’enracinement de l’être humain en société. La langue, la littérature, la création d’une mémoire commune déterminée, les formules sociales et toutes les expressions culturelles ont contribué à articuler la vie humaine comme un treillis d’identités. Compte tenu de ces préoccupations, cette collection publie ouvrages depuis les diverses branches des sciences humaines et sociales qui prennent l’identité comme prisme par lequel étudier les problèmes de la société d’aujourd’hui et ses racines historiques. L’utilisation préférentielle de l’anglais, le français et l’espagnol assure une plus grande diffusion des recherches ici présentés. La collection accueille des monographies, ouvrages collectifs et actes de congrès. Individuales o colectivas, asumidas o impuestas, aceptadas o combatidas, las identidades configuran el primer marco de enraizamiento del ser humano en sociedad. La lengua, la literatura, la creación de una determinada memoria común, las fórmulas sociales y todas las expresiones culturales han contribuido a articular la vida humana como un entramado de identidades. Asumiendo estas preocupaciones, esta colección publica obras provenientes de las distintas ramas de las Humanidades y las Ciencias Sociales que adopten la identidad a modo de prisma con que estudiar los problemas de la sociedad actual y sus raíces históricas. El uso preferente del inglés, el francés y el castellano garantizan una mayor difusión de las investigaciones aquí recogidas. La colección acoge monografías, obras colectivas y actas de congreso.

Editorial address:

Institut for Research into Identities and Society (IRIS) University of Lleida Plaça Víctor Siurana 1 25003 Lleida Catalonia / Spain

Vol. 1 Flocel Sabaté (ed.) Identities on the move ISBN 978-3-0343-1296-7, 2014 Vol. 2 Flocel Sabaté (ed.) Hybrid Identities ISBN 978-3-0343-1471-8, 2014 Vol. 3 Flocel Sabaté (ed.) Perverse Identities ISBN 978-3-0343-1556-2, 2015 Vol. 4 Flocel Sabaté (ed.) Conditioned Identities ISBN 978-3-0343-1618-7, 2015 Vol. 5 Flocel Sabaté & Luís Adão da Fonseca (eds.) Catalonia and Portugal ISBN 978-3-0343-1650-7, 2015 Vol. 6 Flocel Sabaté (ed.) Historical Analysis of the Catalan Identity ISBN 978-3-0343-2010-8, 2015 Vol. 7

Igor Filippov & Flocel Sabaté (eds.) Identity and Loss of Historical Memory The Destruction of Archives ISBN 978-3-0343-2506-6, 2017

Vol. 8

Miguel Ángel Sorroche Cuerva & Gonzalo Águila Escobar (eds.) Las riberas del Pacífico Lengua e identidad cultural hispanas ISBN 978-3-0343-2783-1, 2017

Vol. 9

Luciano Gallinari (ed.) Sardinia from the Middle Ages to Contemporaneity A case study of a Mediterranean island identity profile ISBN 978-3-0343-3518-8, 2018

Vol. 10 Àngel Casals / Giovanni C. Cattini (eds.) The Catalan Nation and Identity Throughout History ISBN 978-3-0343-3811-0, 2020 Vol. 11 D  ick E.h. De Boer / Nils Holger Petersen / Bas Spierings / Martin Van Der Velde (eds.)   The Historical Evolution of Regionalizing Identities in Europe   ISBN 978-3-0343-3922-3, 2020